by K'wan
“Come in,” Kahllah said, a little annoyed. The door creaked open, and Kahllah relaxed her defenses when it was Woody who walked in.
Woody was one of the young neighborhood men she provided with work. When she and Audrey had first met him, he was an around-the-way knucklehead who lived in one of the neighboring buildings. You could usually find Woody posted on the corner, trying to rap to girls and hustling twenty-dollar bags of weed. He’d attempted to push up on Audrey once, but she hadn’t given him the time of day. This was fortunate for Woody; his flesh was too tender for her fangs. He was a nice enough young man, but he couldn’t seem to keep out of trouble. Kahllah had gotten wind that his probation officer was planning to hit him with a violation if he didn’t land some sort of steady employment, so she stepped in and offered him a job. It didn’t pay much, but it kept him from getting sent back to jail, so he was grateful.
“’Sup, baby girl?” Woody greeted as he strode into Kahllah’s office. He rubbed his hands down over his fade, trying to look sexy. He was young, broke, and thin as a rail, but you couldn’t tell him he wasn’t God’s gift to women.
“I’m kind of busy, Woody. What do you need?”
“It ain’t about what I need. It’s about what you need.”
“Woody, I can’t think of anything I might need from you.”
“C’mon, baby. Stop acting like that, smelling all good and shit.” He sniffed the air around her. “What kind of perfume is that?”
“Jasmine,” she answered, the same as she had at least five times since he’d started working there. Kahllah had never been into perfume, but jasmine was a favorite scent of hers. Something about it brought her peace. She made it herself from the plants she grew in her greenhouse. Botany was something she’d studied since she was a little girl, and she had a working knowledge of hundreds of species of plants and their properties. Extracting different fragrances and selling them to tourists as perfume was how she’d fed herself in her early years of bondage.
“Well, it smells like a snack to me.” Woody licked his lips.
“Woody, your young ass needs to quit. It ain’t gonna happen.”
“Why you be trying to play me? You act like you’re crazy old. You only got me by like five years, if that. The important thing is that we’re both grown, right?”
“Woody,” she said, bumping him off the desk, “just because you smell grown, doesn’t mean that you are. Now, what do you want?”
“Okay, I can take a hint. I was about to go to lunch and I wanted to know if you needed anything.”
“I’m fine, thanks. But could you run this to Edna for me?” She popped a flash drive from her computer and handed it to him. “I need it proofed and uploaded to our site ASAP.”
“New story?”
“Yeah. It’s the interview I did with Jerome Yates.”
“Ain’t that the cat that killed all those people?”
“Allegedly,” she corrected. “He’s still fighting the case.”
Everyone knew the story of Jerome Yates. He was arrested in connection with a shooting at a basketball tournament that left five people dead and at least a half dozen injured. The details of what went down were sketchy, but the police claimed to have his prints on the gun and a witness who placed him at the scene. To this day he proclaimed his innocence, but nobody would listen, except for Kahllah. She knew the real shooter was already dead, yet the problem she faced was proving Jerome’s innocence without incriminating herself.
“He did it,” Woody said matter-of-factly. “You can tell by looking at that crazy muthafucka.”
“Woody, you can’t judge people based on appearances.”
“Bullshit, Kahllah. When the police found him, he was living in his mother’s basement, collecting snuff porn. That shit screams serial killer to me.”
“So, those are the facts your argument is based on?”
“Damn right!”
“Woody, if I recall correctly, you still live with your mother. And I’d be willing to bet a month’s salary that you own a porno or three.”
“Man, I don’t need no funky movies or books, I gets mine. A real player knows what to do with a woman.”
“Is that right?” She moved closer to Woody. “So, what would you do with me?” Her breath brushed across Woody’s neck.
“I . . . I’d make you cum like you never did.”
She stroked his cheek gently and smiled. “Woody, baby, if you go outside like that, the police might arrest you.”
He glanced down and noticed the bulge in his pants, then turned his eyes away in embarrassment. “You ain’t right, Kahllah!”
“And neither are you. Now go and do what I asked.” She laughed as he slunk from her office.
Kahllah waited until Woody had gone before retrieving the copy of the Village Voice from beneath the folders. She gave it one last hard look before tossing it in the trash. Whoever the client was could find somebody else to do their dirty work. Her days of dealing in blood money were over.
Chapter 2
Tony Thompson sat in the passenger seat of the unmarked white van, staring idly out the window. It was just shy of ten a.m. and the sun had begun to creep higher into the sky. It shone with a brightness Tony wasn’t used to as he usually didn’t make it outside until after dark, unless he was out of weed. He was a member of New York City’s growing number of unemployed. Had been for nearly six months. It wasn’t that Tony wasn’t willing to work, it was just hard finding an employer that would overlook the fact that he had done time. It didn’t matter that he’d graduated high school and even managed to snag himself an associate’s degree; most jobs that would hire him either wanted to hand him a mop or a spatula. Just when Tony was ready to give up and go back to slinging crack, someone came along who was willing to take a chance on him.
“You ain’t falling sleep already, are ya?” Hank’s gruff voice broke Tony out of his daydream. He was an older man, with sharp eyes and a square jaw largely covered by his salt-and-pepper beard.
“Nah, man. I ain’t asleep. I’m just enjoying the view,” Tony told him.
“I’m glad you got your eyes on your surroundings. Just make sure you don’t lose focus. We’re being paid to get this to where it needs to be, not watch the damn grass grow. The eagle don’t land and we don’t get paid.” Hank eased the van into the left lane to pass a slowly moving Honda.
“And what are we transporting again?” Tony asked.
“What are you, the police?”
“You know better than that. Shit, I just want to know what’s so important that we gotta roll heavy to guard it.” Tony nodded toward the revolver wedged between the driver’s seat and center console.
“This ain’t heavy.” Hank plucked the gun and held it up. “Heavy is you and five angry niggas who ain’t seen a woman in months, crawling through the desert with HKs looking to whack a couple of sand rats. This ain’t heavy, it’s a deterrent.” He put the gun back.
“You think we’ll run into trouble?” Tony wasn’t afraid, he just wanted to be prepared.
“Doubt it. You’d have to be a special kind of stupid to try and rob the fellas we’re hauling for. Now, if you’re scared, I can drop you off on the next corner and finish the run on my own.”
“Man, quit trying to play me. You know my pedigree. If some shit goes down, I’ll probably get to that gun before your old ass!”
Hank yanked the wheel, cutting across several lanes of traffic. Tony gasped as the older man almost caused an accident getting to the shoulder. Hank pulled the car to an abrupt stop and threw it in park. There was a serious edge to his voice: “Listen, young buck. In the event that something pops off, you just keep your fucking cool and follow my lead. I done survived two tours and an eight-year prison bid, so I don’t plan on dying behind some pissy little nigga trying to play hero. We go from points A to B, get our bread, and go home to our families. That’s the job. You get me?”
“Yeah, man. I get you.”
For the next few minu
tes they rode in silence, save for an old-school CD that Hank had going in the player. From the sour set of Hank’s face, Tony could tell that he was still feeling in a way about his questions, but all Tony was trying to do was figure out the score. The cats they were working for were giving them five grand apiece to deliver whatever was in the back of this van. This told Tony that it was most likely drugs. If they were getting it to the point where they could afford to pay the drivers five grand, there was no telling what kind of money they’d spend on a smart young dude who knew the ins and outs of the game, like Tony. Hank might be content as their driver, but Tony had bigger plans.
His dreams of surpassing the man who had given him a job were interrupted when a green van pulled up alongside them, from the right. The driver was wearing what looked like a rubber snake mask. Before Tony could even process what he was looking at, the side door of the green van slid open. A second man peered over at Tony. He, too, was wearing a mask; it looked like a bearded old man wearing a frumpy pointed wizard’s hat, like the sorting hat from Harry Potter that chose which houses of Hogwarts the children would be separated into. The wizard waved his hands and, as if by magic, produced a thin metal wand with blinking lights. He made an overly dramatic sweeping gesture before jabbing the wand into Hank’s van. That was when everything went to the left.
There was a popping sound, followed by a surge of energy that washed over the vehicle. The stereo died first, filling with static then falling silent. Next was the onboard computer system. Every light on the dashboard lit up like Christmas, before winking out. Tony held on for dear life as the engine died and the steering wheel began to seize up, causing the van to fishtail as Hank struggled for control. It went off the road and slammed into a metal guardrail. Tony lurched forward, smashing his face on the dashboard; without his seat belt he’d likely have gone through the windshield. Though the van stopped, Tony’s world was spinning. His nose throbbed, likely broken, and blood dripped down his face and stained his shirt. He looked out the broken windshield and saw that the green van had parked in front of them. Several people wearing masks spilled out and approached. It was clear what was going down—they were being robbed.
Tony made to reach for the revolver, but Hank stopped him. “Two tours and a bid,” the older man whispered.
There were four of them, three men and a woman. All wore dark coveralls and different animal masks. The snake-headed driver was the first to approach. He was carrying a gun like nothing Tony had ever seen—nearly three feet long, chrome with blinking lights along the barrel that resembled the lights on the wizard’s wand. It evoked the sci-fi movies Tony had loved so much as a kid. Snake ambled up the driver’s side and pointed the weapon.
“Little pigs, little pigs, let us in,” he sang, tapping the barrel on the window.
“Just be cool,” Hank said, holding his hands above his head.
Tony heard his door being ripped open. He was confronted by a brute of a man with wide shoulders and a large head, crowned by a helmet made to resemble an elephant. Jutting from the sides were two curved iron tusks, sharpened to fine points. “Out!” he barked, grabbing Tony by the jacket and yanking him from the van. Tony skinned his hands and knees when he fell onto the gravel road.
“No need to be so rough about it, he’s only the help,” scolded a feminine voice. Tony looked up and found the woman standing over him. She wore a fox mask with furry red ears. “C’mon, suga. Ain’t nobody gonna hurt you, so long as you play nice.” Her voice, sweet, had a thick Southern accent. Fox extended a hand that was covered in an iron gauntlet.
Tony must’ve hesitated too long, because Mastodon grabbed him and yanked him to his feet. He shoved Tony around to the other side of the van where Snake was holding Hank at gunpoint. With him was Wizard and his pulsing wand. He and Snake seemed to be in the middle of a heated exchange. After a few ticks, Snake, in a huff, entered Hank’s van. He snatched the keys from the ignition and headed around to the cargo section. A few seconds later he was back.
“None of these work,” Snake announced. “Where are the keys to the back, old-timer?”
“We ain’t got ’em. We only get the keys to the ignition. The cargo ain’t our business,” Hank explained. “I suggest you just take the whole van and figure the rest out later.”
“And have you call this in as soon as we’re gone?” Mastodon barked. “The fuck? Do we look stupid to you?” Tony snickered nervously. “Oh, you think this is a joke, huh?”
“Pay the boy no mind. He’s slow,” Hank said.
“Did I ask you to play defense attorney?” With the top of his helmet, Mastodon rammed Hank’s chest. He barely put anything behind it, but the force knocked the wind out of Hank and sent him flying. “Next time, you get the tusks!”
Hank lay on the ground feeling like he’d been hit by a truck. He could barely catch his breath and his ears were ringing. His eyes, fortunately, were working just fine, but what he saw caused all the color to drain from his face. Mastodon and Fox were exchanging words while Wizard appeared to mediate, and Snake still looked unsure of what to do next—but it wasn’t any of the bandits who had Hank’s attention, it was Tony. He was inching toward the open van door, and there was no question in Hank’s mind as to what he intended to do and how it would turn out. That was the moment a well-laid plan had gone totally to shit.
Tony dove through the open van door and went for the gun. Hank could see Tony positioning himself, taking aim. He probably would’ve blown Snake’s head clean off, had Mastodon not intervened. At the same time Tony pulled the trigger, the brute slammed his helmet into the door with so much force that it nearly cut Tony in half. He was done, but Mastodon wasn’t. He hit a button on the side of his helmet and the tusks extended like spears, puncturing the door and the young man within. The tusks made a wet noise when Mastodon pulled them free and dropped Tony’s lifeless body to the ground.
“We were gonna give the shit up. You didn’t have to do that. He was only a stupid kid!” Hank bellowed.
“And now he’s a stain.” Mastodon laughed, tusks still slick with Tony’s blood.
“We said no bodies,” Snake snapped. “That was the deal!” His earlier bravado was gone.
“And who the fuck is you to tell me anything?” Mastodon snarled. “I’m about sick of you bumping your gums like you call the shots!”
“If you’re sick, I got something that’ll make you feel better.” Snake tightened his grip on his weapon.
“You two assholes done?” Wizard said. “This ain’t recess, we still on the clock. Fox, pop this can open so we can get gone.”
Fox made her way to the back of the van, followed by the others. A thick lock secured the cargo doors. Fox flexed her fingers and metallic claws sprang from the tips of her gauntlets. Two quick slashes and the lock fell away in pieces.
“I got this.” Snake bumped Fox aside before she could open the doors. This was his score . . . something he had brought to the table, and he felt that gave him the right to be the first to lay eyes on the prize. When he popped the doors the first thing he noticed was the smell. It was like something rotting in the heat.
“Wait, is that . . .” Fox began, before covering her mouth and turning her eyes away in disgust. There was no cocaine in the van, only trouble.
“I think the word you’re looking for is shit,” Hank said. “And you all just stepped into a steaming pile of it. There’s some important people that ain’t gonna take too kindly to what you all have done.”
“Us??” Snake roared. “We didn’t have shit to do with that!”
“True enough, but I think you’re gonna have a hard time convincing the old man of that.” Hank gave a smug grin. “As we speak there’s a little bird somewhere singing a song with all your names in the lyrics.”
Wizard stood before Hank and glared down at him. The pieces were now falling into place. He drew a gun, a black revolver, and placed it to Hank’s head. “You set this whole thing up, didn’t you?”
“Sorry
, son. That’s above my pay grade. My job was to dangle the carrot, not spring the trap.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Fox asked.
“It means we’ve been double-crossed.” Wizard looked at Snake.
“Wait a minute,” said Snake. “I didn’t have anything to do with this. I’m just as shocked as the rest of you.” It was true. This job was supposed to be a defining moment for him within the ranks of the crew.
“We’ll see,” Wizard said. “What’s the game here, old man?”
“Ain’t no game, youngster. Let me give you some cold truth: the minute you opened that van, it started the shot clock on what’s left of your lives. I’ll see you boys in hell.”
“Tell the devil to hold a place for us!” Mastodon, in an incredible show of strength, lifted Hank off his feet with one hand. Using one of his tusks, he gored the driver, spilling his intestines onto the ground, then tossed him aside as if he were trash.
“Fuck you do that for, man?” Snake rasped. “We should’ve made him talk and tried to figure out what’s going on!”
“Ain’t nothing to figure,” Wizard said, staring into the back of the van.
“This is bad. If he thinks we had anything to do with this—”
“He won’t,” Wizard assured Fox. “Bleach all this shit, then burn the van. We were never here.”
Chapter 3
Kahllah had some time before she needed to meet Audrey at Amy Ruth’s, so she decided to walk. Real Talk was located on 125th, so it wouldn’t take her very long to get there. Besides, it was a beautiful day and the exercise would do her good.
Kahllah loved strolling through Harlem. She had long been fascinated by the sights and sounds of the historic place. It was nothing like Brooklyn, where she’d first landed upon moving to the United States.
