Numbers

by Dana Dane

  “You see Jar in here, Ketta?” Numbers asked, pouring two flutes.

  Waketta surveyed the crowd. She caught sight of Jarvis in the far corner, talking to Crush. Under further scrutiny they seemed to be arguing. Waketta wasn’t sure if Jarvis had seen them come in, but he looked mad as hell when he turned and walked up to Numbers and Waketta at the bar.

  “What up with that?” Waketta asked, not giving Jarvis time to dap them up.

  “It ain’t nothing. I told that nigger not to have them busters selling his shit on our territory,” Jarvis said.

  “Yeah, okay,” Waketta replied, not believing him.

  “Mind your business.”

  Numbers noticed more and more that Waketta and Jarvis were at odds with each other. “What y’all arguing about now?” he said, giving Jarvis a pound, then pouring him a glass of bubbles. As Numbers handed Jarvis the glass, the deejay threw on some Mary J. Blige.

  Waketta reacted immediately. “That’s my jam!” she exclaimed.

  She began dancing in front of Numbers, sexy and seductive. She rubbed her ass up against him. His nature rose. Numbers bobbed to the music a little, pressing his firmness up on Waketta as she backed it up on him. She always knew how to turn him on. They had intentions of serving each other later on. The deejay followed Mary Jo with the new joint.

  “Hold up, Ketta, I’ll be right back. Gotta take a leak.” Numbers put his flute down and turned to walk to the back of the lounge. Jarvis decided he had to relieve himself too, so he caught up with Numbers.

  “What up with Crush? What he talking ’bout?” Numbers asked Jarvis, scoping some of the phat butts dancing by.

  “That nigger a clown. He ain’t saying nothing, but he keep asking ’bout Ketta. You need to check Ketta. I think she sweet on dude.”

  “How you figure?” Numbers asked.

  “I saw them getting at each other, and they looked rather friendly. Something was up.”

  Numbers was next on line to use the restroom. The door opened and Crystal came out. Crystal wasn’t a looker, but what she lacked in beauty she made up with booty. Her waist was a petite twenty-four, but her ass was one of the roundest, shapeliest, plumpest rumps God ever created, and she knew it.

  “Damn, girl, don’t hurt nobody with all that ass,” Numbers flirted.

  She smiled.

  “I’d love to put this dick up in you,” Jarvis got at her.

  She frowned at him and went on her way, not feeling his pickup line.

  “Fuck you, whack ho,” he shot at her over the music.

  Numbers tried to reel him in. “Easy, Jar, you too hard on the chicks.” Jarvis was far from a ladies’ man; he was too abrasive most of the time.

  When Numbers exited the bathroom, Jarvis was still waiting to use it. The other room must’ve been occupied by females. They always made using the restroom an adventure.

  “I’ll see you back by the bar, Jar.”

  Jarvis waved him off. He was kicking it to some short ugly chick.

  Numbers made his way to the bar. The little spot had gotten crowded that quick, and it was difficult to navigate through. He attempted to slide by Crystal, and she bounced her sexy ass up on him to the beat. He stayed there for a minute, letting her softness make him hard. He looked to where Waketta was and saw Crush all up in her face. His blood boiled. Every time he and Crush crossed paths, whether it was at the dice games or the corner store, Crush always shot some slick shit out of his mouth.

  Crush was a light, bright nigger, average height, average weight. He kept his Afro trimmed and neat like he was an Afro Sheen model. With his strong, etched facial features, it was easy to see why women would be attracted to him until he opened his mouth. His overbite protruded so much it made him look somewhat dorky. It looked like the product of years of sucking his thumb.

  Numbers walked toward them. Crush was trying to manhandle Waketta, grabbing her around the waist. Numbers really couldn’t tell if she was fighting him off or not, but he didn’t care. He wanted him to back off her.

  “Ketta, why you got this dude all up in your face?” Numbers grilled her like he was her father. Waketta wanted to tell him that wasn’t the case as she continued trying to pry herself loose from Crush. “Crush, my man, you playing the lady too close,” Numbers said to Crush in his calm, cool manner.

  “Look at this nigger … Captain Save a Ho … This your bitch or something?” Crush smiled, showing his horse dentures.

  “Your mother’s a bitch and ho,” Waketta snapped at him, finally getting loose from his grasp.

  “Crush, you know we don’t fuck with you. Why you always running your trap, duke? Beat the road up.” Numbers nudged him on his way with his left forearm.

  Crush took exception to Numbers touching him. He swiped his arm away like the Karate Kid’s wax-off move. Numbers reacted by coming across the top with an overhand right that clocked Crush on the jaw. All hell broke loose. Numbers didn’t give Crush an opportunity to get a punch off. He rained lefts and rights to his head region. One of Crush’s boys tried to get a sucker punch in on Numbers, and it grazed his dome. Waketta didn’t give him another chance. She crowned the sucker puncher with the Moët bottle, laying him out.

  Numbers and Crush wrestled into the back of the lounge near the bathroom and exit. The crowd scattered. Jarvis came out of the bathroom to find his boy beating Crush’s ass something lovely. Seeing that Numbers didn’t need any help with Crush, he made sure no else jumped in. Crush’s face was bloody; he was fighting a losing battle. Waketta was over Numbers’s shoulder screaming for him to stop before he killed him. By now the lights were on. The security rushed over, ready to hem up whoever was brawling in their spot. They saw Jarvis watching over the scuffle. The bouncers knew all too well who these guys were. They did not want it with them, but they had a job to do. They yelled at Jarvis to get Numbers and Crush out of the spot. They weren’t about to violate the two rival gangsters and risk the chance of having beef with these crazy-ass Fort Greene niggers. Jarvis grabbed Numbers up and led him out the back exit, followed by Waketta. Crush lay on the floor, beaten and trying to recover from the thrashing.

  “What up with that shit, Ketta? You fucking with that duck?” Numbers screamed at her as they walked back to his ride. Waketta was hurt that Numbers would think she was dealing with dude. Her eyes welled up, but she said nothing.

  “You beat that nigger ass, Numbs. What he do to you?” Jarvis said with a chuckle as he walked behind them down Ashland and across Fulton Street, where their cars were parked. Numbers didn’t answer.

  “You know it’s on now! We gotta watch our backs. Crush gonna want payback,” Jarvis said, becoming more serious.

  Numbers was unconcerned; he’d tired of dude. If it called for it he would whip Crush’s ass again and again. “Fucker don’t want it!”

  Snatched

  “Jar, you gonna be able to pick Rosa up at eight or not?” Numbers spoke into his Motorola brick cell phone. He would have gone to pick up Rosa himself, but didn’t want to be riding around with her dirty.

  “Nah, Numbers, I can’t make it over there in time. It’s crazy out here, baby boy. You know Crush is gunning for you? Where the baby at?” Jarvis spoke into his cell phone.

  “L’il man’s home with Ms. Vasquez. He’s all right. Okay, Jar, I got it.” Numbers was a little bit upset that he couldn’t count on his friend lately when he needed him.

  “You sure you can make it back?” Jarvis asked.

  “It’s cool, I got her.” He quickly dialed out to Coney to let him know he had to pick up and drop off his lady. Coney’s only concern was his product.

  Numbers was uptown with Sanchez making a pickup for Coney. Rosa-Marie needed to be driven home from Crown Heights. She was taking evening courses at Medgar Evers College. Numbers hung up and paged Waketta. She called him back in moments.

  “Hey, Ketta, I need you to go pick up Rosa from class for me. Can you do that?”

  “Yeah, baby, I got you and I got something t
o tell you. Well, I got two things to tell you. I hope you don’t get mad at me. Can I see you later?”

  “Okay, let’s hook up. What you got to tell me?”

  “No, baby, I want to tell you in person, okay?” she spoke softly.

  “Oh, and I got your car. Take my Acura. Pick her up at eight P.M. You know where, right?”

  “Yes, I got it. See you later, sexy.”

  “Okay.”

  Numbers hung up the phone. It was seven-fifteen in the evening. He was completing his transaction with Sanchez and would be headed back down to Brooklyn in a few minutes.

  At 7:55, Waketta pulled the silver Acura coup up in front of Medgar Evers College on Bedford and waited for Rosa to come out. Unable to see who was in the car because of the dark limousine tint on the windows, Rosa took it for granted it was Numbers as she opened the door to get in. She was taken aback to see Waketta in the driver’s seat. She scoffed slightly and rested into the passenger seat.

  “Hey, Rose,” Waketta greeted her with a smile. Rosa-Marie looked teed off.

  “Where’s Numbers?” she asked coldly.

  “On his way back from uptown.”

  Waketta didn’t understand why Rosa was acting like this. They were on good terms. They’d never had a problem between the two of them. After all, Waketta was the godmother to her son. Waketta didn’t pry, just chalked it up to Rosa probably having had a long, hard day. She pulled off and headed north back to downtown Brooklyn. They rode home in an uneasy silence.

  Crush picked up his home phone. “Yeah, what up, my dude?” He listened to the voice on the phone. “Nah, we not gonna kill duke, just gonna put the fear of God in his ass. Yeah, I told you, we gonna shoot up his tires or something. Word is bond!” Crush assured the caller, meaning his word meant jack shit due to the fact he wasn’t a 5 percenter. “After we done tonight, that nigger Numbers ain’t gonna want no part of this game. That’s my word!”

  Crush pressed the button to end the call, then listened for the dial tone and punched in an eleven-digit number. He listened for the beep, then put his code in. In moments, his phone was ringing again. “Yeah, it’s on. Yep, that’s what he’s driving. Do what I told you to do,” he said into the phone. “He should be pulling up on the block in the next fifteen minutes or so, so get over there and get his bitch ass.” With that command, he hung up.

  Numbers drove across the Brooklyn Bridge and made a left onto Tillary Street, then a right on Flatbush Avenue Extension, and a left onto Fulton. The dashboard clock, which was five minutes fast, read 8:15. He was making his way to Suki’s to drop off the goods, then he’d do a quick turnaround and head back to the hood. Rosa called him a couple of times, but he couldn’t pick up. He was curious about why she was blowing up his phone and pager.

  Waketta was on Myrtle Avenue approaching Adelphi Street when Rosa-Marie finally broke her silence; she was clearly beside herself with anger.

  “What’s up with you and Dupree?” Rosa asked, using Numbers’s government name.

  The question took Waketta by surprise. She mustered up a smile. “What are you talking about?” she asked, trying to make light of the question.

  “Don’t play stupid, Ketta. What’s going on with you and my man?” she asked sternly and unwavering.

  “I don’t know what you’re getting at,” Waketta fibbed. What’s this all about? Why is Rosa getting at me like this? Where’s all this coming from?

  “Right before I got out of class I got a voice message that said, ‘I bet you don’t know Numbers and Ketta are fucking each other, you dumb cunt.’ So I’m asking you again: Are you fucking my man?”

  “No. Hell no! You can’t be serious, Rosa. Me and Numbers is cool—you know that!” Waketta started getting loud. For the first time she felt terrible for being with Numbers. She felt bad for lying to Rosa, but she couldn’t tell her the truth—it would devastate her. Even worse, she’d be betraying Numbers, which is something she absolutely wouldn’t do. Her loyalty was to him, so she lied. Now she wasn’t sure if she could tell Numbers her news—it was all too much. Her mind was racing. Who the fuck would do some grimy shit like this? She had an idea.

  A horn honked from behind. The light was green and Waketta hadn’t noticed it. She got moving.

  Rosa didn’t know what to believe. Why would someone leave her a voice message saying these foul, hurtful things? They turned onto North Portland Avenue, cruising slowly up the block, approaching her mother’s building. There was a lot of movement on the street on this June pre-summer night. Waketta pulled into an open space near the walkway to Rosa-Marie’s mother’s building.

  Numbers rolled onto Lefferts Place looking for a parking spot near the building. He hated when there were too many people hanging out in front of Suki’s complex, like there were tonight. He wanted to run in, drop the keys off with Coney, and break out.

  He put his pistol in his belt; the dark-tinted windows shielded him from prying eyes.

  A dark-colored Chevy rolled down the block, two men inside. They spotted their target stopped on the right side of the road. The driver was Spank, the dude that PWH put it on by the park last winter for selling product on their turf. He was still smarting from that ass whipping, and he wanted payback. The guy in the passenger seat was Holiday, Crush’s little brother. He was always up for a murderous deed.

  “You ready to do this, slouch?” Spank asked his partner.

  “Born ready, nicca. Let’s scorch his ass with this heat.” Holiday laughed deviously.

  They crept up slowly next to the parked ride, bumping Biggie’s “Somebody’s Gotta Die.” Holiday extended his Glock out the window and let off multiple rounds, shattering the back window, then the driver’s-side window. Screams echoed in the night and people ran for cover. The two assassins sped off down the street, not waiting to see if they’d hit their target. A police cruiser was just turning onto the block and it rammed the escaping Chevy. A gun battled ensued and when it was over Spank and Holiday lay fatally wounded in the crumpled vehicle.

  Numbers’s pager was blowing up 911, 911, 911. He dropped the product off with Coney and went back to his ride. He just missed a call on his phone. He dialed that last 911 one call from his beeper. It was Broz.

  “Numbers, you need to get to the PJs quick—they shot up your ride. Hurry!” Broz yelled frantically.

  “Is Rosa all right? Is Waketta okay?” Numbers asked, his heartbeat becoming rapid.

  “Hurry, Numbers. It’s bad. We by Rosa’s mom’s building.” Numbers heard cracking and pain in Broz’s voice. He threw down the phone and sped to the projects, running lights when he had to.

  When he reached North Portland, the street was blocked, so he parked the silver Honda and sprinted down the block. The closer he got, the faster his heart raced. He didn’t know what to expect. He thought he was losing his mind. As he neared the crime scene, he saw his car taped off by police and his mother standing next to an ambulance crying. Then he saw Rosa sitting in the ambulance being looked at. She’s okay. He felt the pressure ease off his heart. He kept looking, searching—Where is Waketta? He got to his mother and hugged her tightly. She cried in his arms, and whispered, “I’m so sorry, baby.”

  Why is she sorry? “Where’s Ketta, Mommy?” She held him tightly, not wanting to let him go. He looked toward the driver’s seat of his car and saw her. Waketta was dead. They had snatched her from his life. He screamed in unimaginable agony, then collapsed.

  Questions, No Answers

  Waketta’s body was laid to rest on June 21, 1998, the first day of summer. The day started out with overcast skies but cleared up when the family tossed the first handful of soil onto the casket. It was a beautiful ceremony.

  Right afterward, Waketta’s mother, Ms. Dixie, pulled Numbers aside. “Numbers, can I speak with you a minute?” Grief was engraved on her face. She looked like she would never smile again.

  “Yes, Ms. Dixie.” Numbers couldn’t look in her eyes.

  “Baby, I know how much you cared a
bout my daughter. She told me how you always looked out for her.” She paused, wiping a tear from her eye. “You know Ketta had a great sense of humor.” She was able to form a smile. “And she was also very secretive. I want to ask you if you knew who she was dating.”

  “Dating, Ms. Dixie? No I don’t,” he lied, surprised the conversation was going in this direction. “May I ask why you’re asking?”

  “Well, according to the medical examiner, she was ten weeks pregnant.” Ms. Dixie’s head dropped and tears poured out of her eyes.

  Numbers was floored. He knew it was his baby. He became light-headed and dizzy with guilt. It was his fault Waketta and their unborn child were dead, but he couldn’t tell that to Ms. Dixie. This was the darkest day of his life.

  Numbers became so depressed that he could barely eat or focus. He stopped hustling. He stayed in the house and spent most of his time with his son. He didn’t answer his pager or his phone. Almost a month had passed since Waketta died, and he hadn’t spoken to Jarvis, Broz, or Coney since the funeral. Rosa thought she was losing him. She didn’t know how to get through to him.

  One morning Numbers was at his mother’s apartment attempting to eat breakfast. Jenny looked at her son with a mother’s concern. She could tell his heart was heavy and he was still laboring over the loss of his childhood friend.

  “I spoke to your Aunt Camille. She asked how you were doing. She suggested you come down and spend some time with her and the boys.”

  Numbers looked up from his plate, calculating. “I ain’t been down there in as much as fifteen years or so.” Jenny’s next-to-oldest sister lived in Norfolk, Virginia, on a navy base with her two sons, who were around Numbers’s age. Numbers thought the visit might be just what he needed. He decided it was time to take a road trip, get his family out of the city for a while.