by K'wan
Billy took Yoshi by the uninjured shoulder and turned her so that they were facing each other. “My mother always told me that God worked in very strange ways, but never to doubt his intentions or purpose for us. Yeah, you’ve got some heavy shit going on in ya life, but you know what? You’re still here. Rhonda’s kid’s gotta grow up with no mother, and Paul’s talent died with him in that prison shower, but that doesn’t have to be us. Yoshi, can’t you see that we’re blessed? Girl, I know it might not look that way now, but trust and believe, it will get greater later.”
“Sometimes it just feels like I’m carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders,” Yoshi whispered.
“Then let your friends and that crazy-ass man of yours help you with that burden. Yoshibelle, at the end of the day all we got is each other,” Billy said with conviction.
The tears that had been forming in Yoshi’s eyes slid down her cheeks one at a time. The bright sun made them look like diamonds rolling from her face, dripping onto the blouse that Billy had loaned her to come home in. Her face seemed to be caught between stages, like she didn’t know whether to cry or rage. Not being able to hold it off any longer, Yoshi collapsed in Billy’s arms and had a long-overdue cry.
CHARLIE ROCK SAT ON AN old milk crate in front of the bodega on the corner of Sterling and Ralph avenues. His left arm was in a sling, but his right was still free to grab the gat stashed under the tire of a parked car if trouble popped. The codeine pills he had managed to score from his grandmother’s house had him feeling like Neil Armstrong, but he was coherent enough to spot One-Time if they tried to roll. It wasn’t the smartest thing in the world, him being out in the element with a gaping hole in his shoulder, but he had to eat, and the pound of Cali dirt he had in the crib wasn’t gonna sell itself.
“What you working wit?” a skinny kid wearing a pair of jeans that were too sizes too small said as he rolled up on Charlie.
“Tens and twenties,” Charlie replied, looking up and down the block for police.
“A’ight, let me get a dime,” the kid said.
Charlie dipped his hand inside of the sling holding his arm up and pulled out a dime sack of weed, which he slapped in the kid’s palm like he was giving him a pound. The kid took the bag and made hurried steps down the block. As he was leaving, Charlie couldn’t help but to look at his tight-ass jeans and wonder what the hell the world was coming to.
A burgundy minivan came coasting down Ralph, honking its horn. As a rule, Charlie never walked up to strange cars. He moved himself into a position where he could fight or flee, depending on what the situation called for, and strained his eyes to see who was in the minivan. It was then that Roxy got out of the passenger’s side.
“Roxy, why the fuck y’all rolling on the block like that, knowing a nigga out here trying to stay low?”
“Stop acting like the feds taking pictures, you ain’t that high on the food chain, nigga,” Roxy teased him. “Yo, how you gonna leave a bitch assed out yesterday, I thought you was gonna be at the shoot?”
“My fault, something came up, so we never even made it uptown,” he lied.
“Damn, kid, what happened to ya arm?” Sugar said, stepping onto the curb. She had a cigarette dangling from her mouth that bobbed when she spoke.
“Oh, this ain’t nothing.” He brushed it off. “So what y’all doing up this early, looking like y’all coming in from the track?” He motioned towards the club clothes they were still wearing from the previous evening.
“Long story,” Roxy told him. “So what’s up? Can we get high?”
“Y’all spending or reaching?” He looked at the girls suspiciously.
“Yeah, we spending, but a bitch need a lookout,” Sugar said.
“What you need?” Charlie sat up on the crate.
Sugar sifted through her purse like she didn’t already know exactly how much money was in there. “Let us get the five for forty-five, son?”
“Must’ve been a good night, huh?” Charlie asked, digging into his sling.
“Not really, we thought we caught these niggaz slipping, but they was faking,” Roxy said.
“Shit, I wish y’all would’ve caught some donkeys, cause a nigga out here on thirsty.”
“I’m surprised you and that nigga, Sha Boogie, wasn’t out creeping, cause there was damn sure some ballas out there,” Sugar said.
“Charlie,” someone called from behind Roxy. Charlie craned his neck and saw little Sheeka making her way towards him. Of all the people he could’ve bumped into, he didn’t want to see her. Still, she was Spider’s little sister, so he acted like he wasn’t disturbed by her presence.
“Sup?”
“Charlie, you seen Spider?” she asked, with a worried expression on her face.
“Nah, not since some time yesterday,” Charlie lied.
“Well, I thought he was with Tina, but she said she dropped him off with you and Sha Boogie last night.”
Charlie hoped that no one had seen his eye jump when Sheeka said it. “That was like yesterday afternoon. The nigga said he was going to see some chick out in C.I., and that was the last we saw of him.”
Sheeka stared at him for a minute as if she was trying to weigh the truth in his words. “A’ight, well if you see him tell him to bring his ass home, somebody wants to see him. Plus, my moms is pissed cause he stayed out all night without calling.”
“I’ll tell him,” Charlie said, fishing around in his pocket with his good hand, looking for a cigarette.
Sheeka turned like she was going to leave, but stopped short. She looked Charlie directly in the eye and asked, “What happened to your arm?”
Charlie’s heart began to beat faster, making it feel like the blood was draining from his face. “You know how we on it,” he told her.
“Yeah, y’all wild as hell with it,” Sheeka laughed, but there was something sinister about it. “Alright then. Tell Spider to come to the crib. Bo is home and he wants to see his little brother.” Not missing the sickened look that came over Charlie’s face, Sheeka went back across the street towards her building.
“Yo, was that one of Killer-Bo’s sisters?” Roxy asked.
“Yeah,” Charlie said in a very flat voice. His mouth was suddenly very dry and he found it hard to swallow. What everyone assembled on that corner and ten blocks squared knew was the legend of Killer-Bo.
Killer-Bo was a throwback to old-school Brooklyn, where senseless murder and robbery were the norm. Killer-Bo was never some big drug dealer or notorious crime boss, but he was recognized throughout the five boroughs as a certified headache. Killer-Bo had been arrested for damn near every crime from murder to rape and still hadn’t learned his lesson. He was a nigga who was content to die in the streets as long as his name carried on. Bo was brutal and untrustworthy, but aside from all that, he loved his sisters and baby brother, Spider.
“What did she want?” Sha Boogie startled them. No one had heard or seen him approach.
“Ain’t nothing. She was looking for Spider,” Charlie said nervously. “Yo, you knew Killer-Bo was home?”
“Should I have known?” Sha asked, as if he really didn’t give a fuck. “Sup, ladies,” he said, addressing Sugar and Roxy.
“Ain’t shit,” Roxy told him. “We was about to puff, what’s good?”
“I’m wit it, but I ain’t trying to stand out here and smoke,” Sha told her.
“We don’t have to, we got the whip right here.” Sugar pointed to the van.
Sha looked at it and the girls suspiciously. “Where did y’all get this shit from?”
“It’s a long story. Just bring ya ass on in.” Sugar grabbed him by the arm and led Sha to the van. Charlie grabbed his gun from under the car and jumped in the van behind them.
ON THE OTHER SIDE OF town, Shannon’s minivan was parked several blocks away from an abandoned building that they were in the process of climbing the steps to. Spooky played the lookout, while Shannon worked the lock on the rotted wooden door. No matter how m
any times he did it, it was never a simple task. After gaining entry, they hiked up to the third floor of the building. Most of the steps were rotted out or missing, but the two men had been inside the building so many times that they could’ve navigated the stairs in the dark.
From the end of the third floor hallway came two very distinct sounds, a muffled cry and the scampering of rodents. The whole building was lousy with them, but for some reason the majority seemed to be focused on the room Spooky and Shannon were approaching. Spooky stopped outside the door and picked up a fire extinguisher that was propped against the wall.
“You ready?” Spooky asked Shannon.
“Man, let’s just get this shit over with. You know I hate fucking rodents of any sort,” Shannon said, placing his hand on the doorknob and bracing his shoulder against the door. With a grunt he shoved the door open and Spooky slipped inside.
The room had once probably been a bedroom, judging by the peeling, violently streaked wallpaper. Rats of all sizes were moving throughout the room like singles at a bar, most seemingly oblivious to Spooky and Shannon’s presence. A large cluster of rats were gathered in the middle of the room with their beady eyes fixed on Roots’s limp and naked body. His hands were cuffed above his head and looped over a rusty pipe. He was too high up to plant his feet on the floor and possibly free himself, but he wasn’t too high up that the rats couldn’t nip at him throughout the night.
Spooky and Shannon had brought the dread here right after the botched hit. They beat him something awful, but let him live to see another day, if the condition he was in could still be considered living. Instead of just leaving him chained up, Spooky thought it would be funny if they rubbed sticky Apple Butter on him before they left, to see what would happen. His legs, feet and even genitals bore the nicks and scratches the rats had left trying to eat the sweet spread off him.
Spooky sprayed the fire extinguisher at the rats, clearing a path for Shannon and himself. One of the rats scuttled across Shannon’s foot and he had to fight against the urge to pull out his gun and start shooting. Once the last of the rats had been cleared away, the two men moved in on Roots.
Shannon slapped him viciously across the face, snapping Roots’s eyes open. “Wa fe do, star?” Shannon taunted him. “Did you sleep well?” Roots responded by trying to scream through the gag, any hopes he had of escaping had probably fled with the all-night buffet.
“Damn, they fucked you up,” Spooky said, crouching to examine the rat bites. The thought of what Roots’s ass had probably endured during the course of the night was sad, but Spooky got a kick out of it.
Shannon grabbed Roots by the jaw and squeezed as hard as he could. Something slick dripped from Roots’s mouth, over the gag, and onto Shannon’s hand, but he didn’t seem to notice. “You picked the wrong muthafucka to try and kill.” Roots mumbled something, but they couldn’t understand him through the gag. “My fault,” Shannon said, ripping the gag from his mouth.
“Muthafucka, you think this shit scare me. Me from the yard, pussy boy!” Roots spit blood into Shannon’s face.
Shannon wiped the blood from his face and looked at his stained hand. He cocked back to hit Roots, but suddenly he had a better idea. From the corner he retrieved a piece of wood with a rusty nail lodged in the end of it, and he hefted it, tested the weight.
“So, you wanna spit on niggaz, huh?” Shannon asked, before smashing the wood into Roots’s ass as hard as he could. Roots opened his mouth to scream, but Shannon smashed the wood into his gut, knocking the wind out of him. Slowly, he made his way around Roots, tearing him up with the piece of wood while Spooky smoked a cigarette and laughed like he was watching Def Comedy Jam. He had just about beaten Roots into unconsciousness when Spooky stopped him.
“I told you, we want the nigga to suffer before he dies,” Spooky told him. Shannon looked on, confused, while Spooky rummaged around in an abandoned tool box that sat in the corner. When he came back over to Roots he was holding a small can of lighter fluid.
“Fuck is you gonna do with that?” Shannon instinctively backed up.
“Bout to show you how to make a nigga suffer,” Spooky said and began dousing Roots with the fluid. The tough-guy persona Roots was wearing faded when he realized what Spooky meant to do. Unfortunately, his pleas fell on deaf ears, as Spooky tossed the smoldering cigarette butt at Roots, igniting him.
Never had Shannon, in all his years of life, heard a man scream the way Roots did that day. The fire seemed to flare everywhere at once, as Roots struggled hopelessly against the handcuffs. The sound of Roots’s crackling flesh reminded Shannon of hearing fried bacon on Sunday mornings. As soon as the smell hit him, he immediately ran off to vomit, while Spooky watched intently. When Roots stopped moving Spooky decided he had seen enough. Before turning to leave, he took another cigarette from the pack and lit it on Roots’s flaming body.
Chapter 30
DENA CAME WALKING DOWN THE STEPS OF HER building like she was strutting the catwalk in Milan. She had blown out her hair and let it fall straight down around her face and shoulders. A green tunic was slung across her chest, with a gold belt across her flat stomach. Tight denim Capris hugged her hips and thighs, stopping just above a pair of gold strap-up sandals.
“Oh-oh, I see you, boo!” Yvette shouted when she saw her. “You must got a date, or something like that?” She had traded in her pajama pants and slippers for jeans and sneakers. They had chased Shakira and her skank-ass crew off the block, but if they came back Yvette wanted to be ready.
“Something like that,” Dena said, pushing her hair out of her face. “What the hell was y’all doing out here scrapping so early in the damn morning?”
“Bitches came through like it was something sweet, so we had to teach em,” Yvette said, giving Mousy a pound.
“On the real, D, you need to tell Shannon to check that lil bitch before she finds herself in a bad way,” Mousy said. She, too, had traded in her normal stoop attire for jeans and sneakers. In addition to Yvette’s .25, which was stashed in the trash can, Mousy had a hatchet inside her dingy denim Guess bag.
“Shit, y’all see him more than I do, tell him yourself,” Dena said.
“Damn, look at that pretty muthafucka,” Mousy said, looking towards the corner of the block. The white Escalade took its time rolling down the block, blasting Don B’s hood anthem, “Everything is Food.” When the truck finally pulled to a stop in front of 437, Black Ice rolled down the window and stared at Dena from behind black Gucci shades.
“Well, its been real,” Dena smiled at them and stepped off the stoop.
“Damn, you rolling like that?” Mousy asked, with a bit of jealously in her voice.
“I see you, Dena-D. Yo, see if that muthafucka got a brother!” Yvette shouted at her back.
“DAMN, IF YOU WERE AN ice cream cone I’d lick you,” Black Ice said, admiring Dena’s outfit as she hopped in the car.
“Well, I ain’t made from no dairy products, but if you play ya cards right you might get a taste,” Dena teased. “So, where’s your entourage?” She asked, noticing that Ice was alone.
“I gave everybody the day off so I could kick it with you,” he said, pulling away from the curb. He didn’t miss the look that Yvette was giving him, and he silently wondered how she would look cleaned up and how much bread a thick chick like her could check in. Ice’s mind was always on paper.
“Wow, I feel special,” Dena said, adjusting her seat.
“You should. I ain’t had a day off in almost five years,” he said seriously. “So, you free for the rest of the day, or do I have a time limit?”
“I’m all yours.”
Black Ice looked at her. “Better watch what you say, cause there’s a lot of power in words.”
“Is that right?”
“Sure as my ass is black,” he chuckled.
“So, where we off too?” Dena asked, changing the radio station without invitation. It irked Black Ice, but he didn’t let it show.
; “Gotta hit Harlem for a minute to take care of something, then we can start our date. I got something special lined up for your pretty ass; but don’t ask, cause it’s a surprise.”
“I like surprises,” Dena smiled.
Black Ice licked his lips. “Baby, I’m full of them.”
Instead of going the most direct route, which would’ve taken them up Atlantic Avenue, Black Ice came back around to Throop and went up Putnam. Black Ice claimed to have been born and bred in Harlem, but he seemed to know Brooklyn pretty well. Once they hit the bridge, it was a straight shot up the FDR to Harlem.
Just being uptown made Dena think about Lazy and how things had been going between them lately. They had had their ups ad downs in the past, but the last few days had been really stressful. A part of her felt like she was violating by rolling through Harlem with Ice, but Lazy didn’t seem to have any qualms about who he sported on his arm. Seeing him out in plain view with the chick Becky made Dena feel disrespected. Sure, Harlem was his domain, and she knew he had a wayward bitch or two, but Dena felt like when she was on the scene it was supposed to be strictly about her, whether he was expecting her or not. And to top it off, he was trying to stunt for his boys like he could bark on her in public. She quickly shut that down and reminded him who the fuck she was.
The truth of the matter was that she really did love Lazy, but they had considerably different views on the life. All she wanted him to do was love and respect her like she respected him, but he was constantly fucking up. If it wasn’t something going on with him and another chick, he was putting his boys and the block before their relationship. Dena was growing tired of the senseless arguments they were getting into, and frankly didn’t know how much longer she could, or would, put up with it.
Getting off on the 135th Street exit, Ice steered the car east and hung a left on Lenox Avenue. As they sat at a red light in front of Harlem Hospital, Dena thought she saw the girl Yoshi outside talking to someone, but the light changed before she could make a positive ID. Ice continued north on Lenox until they arrived at a large park. As soon as Dena saw Don B and True watching the Big Dawg basketball squad run around the baseball diamonds, she got a very sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.
