When It All Falls Down 3 - Somebody is Gonna Die: A Chicago Hood Drama (A Hustler's Lady)

by Tamicka Higgins

  “Um,” Ayana said. “My boyfriend doesn’t even have a house.”

  “Well,” Byron said, leaning back into the couch. “He should work on gettin’ one of those. So, tell me, is he one of them niggas who say they grown, but they stay with they mama or somethin’?”

  “Naw,” Ayana said. “He stay with his cousin. They got a place and shit. It ain’t nothin’ spectacular or nothin’, but it’s coo I guess.”

  “I see,” Byron said. “Yeah, I can’t take living with some other niggas too much. I need space. Shit, my bed is even big.”

  “What you mean?” Ayana asked.

  “I mean I got a big bed for a big boy,” Byron said, sarcastically. “Naw, I got a California King bed. You know? The ones that are bigger than the King-size beds?”

  Ayana shook her head. “Naw, I don’t think I ever heard of that.”

  “Well,” Byron said, smiling. “When I give you a real tour of the house, you’ll see it.” He held up the blunt. “You ready to smoke? You look like you need to relax.”

  Ayana nodded as Byron lit the blunt. He hit it first then handed it to Ayana. She took it, smiling as she did so, and took a hit that went straight to the back of her head. She smiled a little bit. “Damn, this some good weed,” she said.

  “Yeah, that’s the way I do it,” Byron said. “A nigga gotta keep the good shit on deck and shit, you know. Glad you like it, though, Christian.”

  Ayana still wasn’t used to being called by someone else’s name, especially a name like Christian. Because of this, her response time was definitely slower than it would normally be. She looked at Byron, noticing how hard he must work out to keep his body in shape. All of that body, though, was not enough to hide the evil in his eyes. While Bryon was indeed a handsome man, Ayana could not even pretend to be comfortable around him. Every second seemed twice as long as the previous second. The minutes seemed to crawl by as if they were mocking Ayana and her current situation. She glanced around when she felt like Byron wasn’t looking in her direction. It wasn’t long before she felt his hand rubbing her thigh.

  At first, Ayana’s instinct was to jerk away. She played it cool, though. She managed to keep her leg in place, having faith that Jackson and Tramar hadn’t been pulled over by the police and taken in. That would be the worst thing in the world right now because Ayana really didn’t know where she was in the Chicago Metro area, and there was no way she could overpower this man. As these thoughts moved through her mind minute after minute, they intensified. Ayana realized just how vulnerable she was by being in the basement of this man’s house. Anything could have happened to Tramar and Jackson when they were following her and Byron on the way up here. She had tried to keep track in her rearview mirror, but it was useless.

  “You all right over there?” Byron asked. He noticed that Christian was being a little cold toward him and his advances. “You actin’ like you a little nervous over there.”

  Ayana shook her head. “Hell naw,” she said, smiling. “I’m not nervous. I was just thinkin’ about how good that felt … your hands. Whew.”

  Byron smiled, leaning in closer to Ayana. “Oh, is that so?” he asked. He rubbed her thigh some more. “You got some nice thighs on you, Christian. How they get so fuckin’ thick?”

  Ayana smiled and shrugged her shoulders. “Shit, I don’t know,” she said. “I was just born with them.”

  Bryon leaned down and kissed Ayana’s thighs. Even to the touch of his lips, they were soft. She wasn’t like the other chicks he’d brought home. Something about her was different, almost too different.

  “So, what made you wanna get into the truck with the nigga when you met me out on that street tonight?” Byron asked. “You don’t do shit like that often, do you?”

  “Naw,” Ayana said. She smiled again. “And I don’t know. I mean, your swag and just everything about you. You came right at the right time for me.”

  “Oh, is that so?” Byron asked, having mixed feelings. “I just so happened to come at the right time for you? What’s makes you say that about a nigga?”

  “Cause, I mean,” Ayana began, “there I am, walking down the street and shit and just feelin’ all sorts of kinds of ways. And you sittin’ there, on your phone and shit. At first, I ain’t even think you was payin’ me no attention. I be feelin’ invisible to niggas.”

  “Invisible,” Byron said, leaning over the side of the couch. “Wow, your boyfriend really is doing a number on you, ain’t he. How the fuck someone as sexy as you gon’ feel invisible and shit? You gotta be one of the prettiest girls I done seen in a minute. And you got a nice attitude and ain’t all full of yourself and shit.”

  Ayana looked over at Byron, realizing that she needed to keep the roll up if she wanted to be convincing. “Well,” she said. “Thank you, I guess.”

  “So, what is your boyfriend doin’ to you that got you so upset?” Byron asked as he was slowly leaning up from reaching over the side of the couch. His voice was low and deep. “He ain’t out there robbin’ banks and shit, is he?”

  No sooner than Ayana could scream and jump up off of the couch, Byron had pulled a gun up from the side of the couch. It had been in his jacket packet after he snuck it from under his seat. He was too smart for a couple of simple niggas from the hood to really fool him. He looked up the staircase, knowing that at any minute there would be a rumble upstairs. Actually, it wouldn’t be much of a rumble…because of one thing he’d purposely not done when coming into the house.

  “Bitch, I see right through you,” Byron said, angry as ever. He pointed the gun at Ayana, watching her shake. She’d never had a gun pointed at her. Suddenly, she felt abandoned. She felt as helpless as a baby that couldn’t talk or walk.

  Ayana held her hands up, wanting to burst into tears. “Please, don’t kill me,” she said.

  Byron snickered and grabbed a handful of Ayana’s hair. He pulled her down to the couch, where her head was now being pressed into the couch cushion. He pressed the barrel into the side of her head. “Little bitch, you think it’s just normal that a bitch like you just hop in the car with a nigga and ride twenty minutes out?” Byron said, letting his flirtatious persona melt away. “I saw right through you when you came walkin’ down the street with that thirsty for some dick look on your face. Bitch, I ain’t stupid.”

  “I’m sorry,” Ayana pleaded.

  “Who the fuck are you to them niggas anyway?” Byron asked. “Is you one of they hoes or something?”

  “I’m not any of that,” Ayana lied, not wanting to say.

  Byron snickered. Just as he let go of his grip of Ayana’s hair and backed away to cock his gun, determined to end the night with her body on the floor, Tramar and Jackson came bursting through the glass French doors. A loud shatter filled the basement as glass shattered everywhere. The wooden frames of the door snapped away, leaving segments of wood spread about on the floor. Out of reflex, Byron ducked back toward the basement staircase. He’d purposely left the front door unlocked, with the idea that Tramar and Jackson would come through there and be an easy target. However, to his surprise, everything had changed.

  Not even sure what was happening, Ayana ducked down and behind the couch. When she finally did look up, she found Tramar and Jackson standing in the middle of the room. They each pointed their guns at Byron. Bryon had lost his gun in the chaos of the doors shattering. By the time he opened his eyes, he realized what had happened. And he realized he was without his weapon. He smiled.

  “Y’all might be some smart little niggas,” Byron said. “I can’t lie. I ain’t even see that shit comin’, again. Damn, guess y’all done got me twice real good. Y’all niggas should call the mayor of Chicago and get a street or some shit named after you ‘cause you pretty fuckin’ good.”

  “Shut the fuck up, nigga,” Tramar commanded. He looked over at Ayana. “Baby?” he said. “You okay and shit?”

  Ayana stood up, seeing that Tramar had control of the room. She nodded her head and said, “Yeah, I�
�m okay, Tramar. I’m okay. Shit.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that,” Jackson said.

  “Yeah, my bad,” Tramar said, very sarcastically. “We figured the front door wouldn’t be open, so we decided to do some big, brave shit.”

  “Y’all niggas is dumb as fuck,” Byron said. “You know with all these white people that live around here and how they got dog hearing and shit that they done prolly already called the police on y’all niggas.” He looked specifically into Tramar’s cold, killer eyes. “And you, nigga. From what I hear, you the one becoming the celebrity. Not only did your dumb ass rob some fuckin’ banks and shit, but you also did the shit in a suit, which was kinda nice, for once seein’ niggas on the news doin’ crime in suits, and killed the motherfuckin’ security guard. Now, not only are you a robber, but you also a fuckin’ murderer.” He looked over at Ayana, looking her up and down. “I picked her up when she came walking down the sidewalk, nigga. Shit, with the way she walk, she walk like she ain’t had no good dick in a long while. I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ or nothin’, but nigga, she walkin’ like she really need it.”

  Tramar pressed the barrel of the gun into Byron’s forehead. “Nigga, I’m sick of you,” he said. “You took my fuckin’ family and shit and held them over in that creepy ass house and shit like some fuckin’ prisoners.”

  “They weren’t prisoners,” Byron said. “They were guests…company. Come on nigga, you know I wasn’t really gonna hurt them.”

  “What happened to my daddy then, nigga?” Tramar asked. “See, got a gun to your head and tellin’ lies and shit.”

  “I never beat your daddy’s ass like that,” Byron said. “That was them two niggas that did that shit. The two niggas you tied up and shit without no damn clothes on. Why you do Knight like that? Now he gon’ be even more fucked up for the rest of his life.”

  “I’m gettin’ tired of hearin’ this nigga’s voice,” Tramar said, looking down at Byron. “A nigga is really gettin’ tired of hearin’ it.”

  “And a nigga still ain’t pulled no trigger,” Byron said. “A real nigga woulda shot me already if he was really bout doin’ that kinda shit and not just try’na play out some shit that he done seen in a fuckin’ movie and shit.” He looked up at Tramar. “You not really like that, nigga. I bet you only shot the security guard ‘cause you was scared and shit like a little bitch. They gon’ jump on that ass in prison, once they catch your ass and shit, nigga. You know if I don’t catch you after tonight, the fuckin’ police and feds and whoever the fuck else that they all related to, will definitely get up to that ass. Then you gon’ be on the news all over again, lookin’ stupid.”

  “Yeah, right nigga,” Tramar said, smiling. He looked at Jackson then Ayana before looking back to Byron. “Dead niggas can’t catch shit.”

  Tramar closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. Thanks to the gun having a silencer on it still from when they robbed the bank, the ping of the bullet was suppressed. It sounded muffled and had no echo effect of any kind. Byron’s head jerked back into the wall as the life drained out of him. The blood oozed out of the front and back holes in his head, causing Tramar to turn away.

  “Let’s get the fuck outta here,” Tramar said to Jackson and Ayana. “I feel better now and shit. Got this nigga up out of this world so we ain’t got to worry about him no more. We really betta get the fuck outta here before the police come crowding the block and shit.”

  Jackson began to head toward the French doors when Ayana reminded them that they needed to take Byron’s Bugatti since, as far as they knew, it wasn’t a wanted vehicle.

  “See, that’s why we got you by my side, baby,” Tramar said, slapping Ayana on her ass. His chest still pumping, he headed upstairs to look for Tramar’s keys. Ayana lagged back for a moment, just to take a look at Bryon’s body. It was slouched down onto the ground as if he were sitting with his legs straight out. His back was against the wall, literally. Even with growing up in the rougher parts of Chicago, Ayana had never seen a dead body, let alone someone taking another person’s life. She looked up the steps, knowing that she’d seen another side of Tramar that she never thought she’d see.

  Now, as Ayana headed up the stairs to meet Tramar and Jackson on the main level of the house, she couldn’t help but think about how much her life had really changed by simply even being there. Now that Byron was out of the way, the real journey was going to begin. She contemplated very hard whether she wanted to go back home and claim that she had nothing to do with any of this. However, she also knew it probably wasn’t likely that the racist, corrupt, white system in Chicago would work out in her favor. She was more than sure that the prosecutors would find some way to pin something on her, even if there was no proof. They had a funny way of doing that shit.

  As they hopped into Byron’s Bugatti, Tramar, who was behind the wheel, had begun to pull out of the driveway. He stopped, braking on the drop of the dime. He looked at Jackson and said, “Nigga, get in your car so we can get rid of that shit and they won’t be able to say that we was here or whatever when they do find that nigga dead. By the time they do, maybe, ‘cause I don’t hear no police cars, then our asses will probably be long gone and shit.”

  “I see what you mean,” Jackson said. He hopped out of the car and into his car. The two of them pulled out into the street with Tramar following closely behind Jackson. Once Jackson came to a wooded area where he saw a deep driveway that seemed to have been abandoned, judging by how overgrown the weeds were through the pavement, he turned into it. He found it led the equivalent or a block or so back. He stopped his car, tossed the keys, grabbed the few things he wanted, and ran back down to the road. In almost one swoop, he jumped into the Bugatti and Tramar pulled off.

  Chapter 9

  That night, Tramar went back to the motel where his father and Vivica were staying. He did something he’d never thought he’d do. Feeling the pressure of needing to get out of town as quickly as possible or stay back and face terrible consequences, he said goodbye to Frank and Vivica out in the parking lot of the motel. Frank, as any father would, tried to convince his son that turning himself into the authorities was the best thing to do. However, Tramar, as well as Jackson, truly believed that they had a chance. Ayana stood behind them. She knew they needed to leave.

  “You all really didn't have to do this to get me and Vivica back,” Frank insisted.

  “You know you’ve messed up your lives, right?” Vivica asked.

  Tramar, Ayana, and Jackson all looked at one another. “Yeah,” Tramar said. “But it woulda been messed up even worse if we let that nigga Byron get y’all and kill y’all or something.”

  Frank backed down from the topic, seeing that there was nothing he could do to change his son’s mind. His paternal instincts made him want to ask where his son was going. However, he realized that if he were to have asked such a question, then he could be culpable and would have to tell the police should they ask. At least this way, he didn’t have to worry about telling where his son was because he honestly didn’t know.

  Tramar said, “Excuse me,” and gently pushed past his father and stepmother. He stepped into the motel room and looked at his precious son sleeping in the bed. Cheap motel blankets covered his body, making him look so small in comparison to the bed. He walked over to the side of the bed. He leaned down and kissed his son. “I’mma be back for you. This ain’t the last you done seen me, okay?” he softly uttered.

  Quan simply breathed in rhythm, fast asleep. Tramar felt a tear nearly come to his eye. One of his life goals had been to be a good father. As much as it hurt, he turned away from the bed and walked back out into the parking lot. Everybody stopped talking and looked up at Tramar’s face.

  “Are you at least going to tell his mother what happened, son?” Frank asked.

  Tramar looked up at his father. “Naw,” he said, shaking his head. “She just gon’ find out one way or another.”

  Ayana then remembered that she had Quan’s phone in her jacket po
cket from when she was sitting with him at McDonald’s. She rushed into the motel room, kissed the boy on his forehead, and set the phone down on his nightstand. When she did, she accidently pressed a side button when the phone touched the base of the lamp. She saw that Quan had countless missed text messages and calls from his mother. There was no doubt that she had indeed found out. Ayana could only silently groan, imagining what Precious must be going through. She pulled herself away from the bed and back out into the parking lot.

  They finished saying their temporary goodbyes and hopped into Byron’s Bugatti. Frank and Vivica had said they’d call a cab in the morning and make sure that once they’d arrived back at their home, they would drive Quan home safely. Frank said he would work on coming up with a story that made sense as to how he wound up with Quan without giving away too many details, but he couldn’t make any promises.

  Tramar pulled out of the parking lot and onto the main road. “Any other stops we gotta make?” he asked. He thought maybe there might be more family to see.

  “Man, it’s like four o’clock in the morning,” Jackson said. “It ain’t like none of my family is gon’ be up anyway, nor care. Man, let’s just get out of town.”

  “And you baby?” Tramar asked, looking into the rearview mirror. “You got any stops that you wanna make?”

  Ayana looked at the wooded area around her. She thought about Sharli and her mother. She shook her head and said, “Naw, I’m with you now. I’ll catch up with them later. Let’s just hurry the fuck up and get out of Chicago before these fuckin’ police get us.”

  Tramar chuckled as he pushed the accelerator. As of right now, their plan was to fill up and head west. They wanted to get as far west as they could, stopping as little as they could. All three of them were ready to start new lives or to be constantly on the run from their former selves. They were up for seeing how long the money they had left would last, not stopping to count it until they got far away from Chicago.