La’Tasha sucks her teeth. “Damn, Ronnie, you reneged!”
“Wait, hold up, y’all,” Chanté says, her hand raised to quiet us. “Yo! That’s Pierce Williams on the radio!”
I suck in a breath. Shit, is Pierce about to get on the mic and tell everyone about Steph?
“Shhh,” Ronnie says. “Listen!”
“What up, everybody,” Pierce says. He doesn’t sound angry. Not like a man whose been lied to for weeks.
“I got a special announcement ’cause we got a very special event going down tonight! Now, I know y’all heard of Fast Pace and this new kid the Architect. But tonight . . . we taking it back to the corner, back to the streets! Battle of the Emcees, Brooklyn vs. Brooklyn, Fast Pace vs. the Architect.”
My mouth drops. “What . . . ?”
“And only you, ladies and gentlemen, can decide the winner. Tonight, you’ll decide these two brothas’ fate at the Tunnel, where we’ll be coming to you LIVE—”
BOOM BOOM BOOM
We all shriek at the loud knock on the door. Ronnie and Tamika look at each other, something unsaid passing between them before they glance at me. My stomach drops as I jump to my feet.
Ronnie puts a finger to her lips, waving, and the girls spread out, Tamika grabbing the baseball bat in the corner. I don’t know what to do. Not like I can climb out the window and jump. My muscles start to mush but I push myself up, fists ready. A tribe of fierce women surrounds me, and I’m not going down without a fight.
Don’t faint! Stay strong.
Ronnie tiptoes to the door, inching toward the peephole.
“Shit,” she exhales. “It’s just Quady.”
She clicks the locks and swings the door open. Quady stands in the doorway, eyes scanning the room until they lock on me, chest heaving. He rushes across the room and gathers me in his arms.
“Damn,” he whispers. “I was so scared.”
I grip him back tight, burying myself in his warmth. Over his shoulder, Ronnie’s face changes from a dozen different expressions at once but one that stood out the most is hurt. Tamika stands by her, taking her hand.
Rell stumbles in, sweaty and out of breath. “Whew, thank God!” He leans against the doorway, panting.
“Yeah, she’s straight,” Ronnie snaps. “Some guys were trying to snatch her up.”
“Well, what’s up, ladies,” Rell says, smoothing down his eyebrows. “Oh, we having a party?”
“No!” the girls say in unison.
Rell grins. “Hey La’Tasha. How you doing?”
Tasha rolls her eyes. “I’m good.”
“Oh, I know you good,” he chuckles. “I’m just trying to be a part of your better.”
Ronnie purses her lips. “Y’all wanna tell us what’s going on now?”
Quadir turns to her, his arm still around my back. “It’s . . . a long story.”
She nods, her lip twitching. “Whatever. Well, y’all better go before my pops come home.”
Rell straightens. “Welp. Don’t gotta shoot at me twice. See y’all at the elevator.”
“Can you go with him?” Quadir whispers.
I wince a smile at the girls. “Nice meeting y’all. And, uh, thanks.”
The girls don’t say nothing. Just stare with hard eyes. I shrink into the hallway after Rell. Quadir follows, stopping at the door to face Ronnie.
“Yo, Ronnie thanks for taking care of . . . Jasmine. You know, she already been through a lot and—”
“Yeah, whatever. I didn’t do it for you.”
He takes a breath. “Listen, I’m sorry . . . about everything. I know we haven’t talked, and there’s a lot I want to tell you. But right now . . . I just gotta deal with something. But I promise, I’ll tell you everything. I owe you that.”
Ronnie doesn’t say anything, and I try to ignore the tightness around my neck. Maybe he’d rather be with her. Maybe he’s changed his mind.
But once he walks out, the door slams so hard behind him the whole hallway shakes. Quadir and I look at each other and a relieved smile grows across his lips.
“I just heard Pierce on the radio,” I say, in a daze. “What the hell happened?”
43
Jarrell
Quady is pacing around my room, which basically mean he’s twirling in a circle ’cause they ain’t no room in here to pace.
“Yo, I can’t believe they went after Jasmine like that,” he barks. “She could’ve been hurt! You think they gone for good?”
“The way the homies tell it, sounds like them Arrested Development hippies went back to Tennessee.”
“And then Pierce went on the radio and now the whole city gonna be up in the Tunnel looking for Steph!”
“If it ain’t one thing, it’s another.” I sigh and slip the tape out of my back pocket, loading it into the boom box.
“Son, you really trying to listen to music right now?”
“Yo, did you peep that missing verse Pace was playing? He cut it short. Why?”
The tape hisses as Steph busts out the speakers . . .
‘Cause Holmes, hate don’t pay
Shout-out to Sport and the whole Brevoort
I heard they killed Rashad in broad daylight on the court
At first thought
Sound a little like BUMPY to me, now the whole hoods jumpy ‘cause that bump in streets
But we gon’ pave the road
I’m ‘bout to take it home
Started this verse OK
End it with a K.O.
“Rashad?” Quady says. “Ain’t that that kid that got murked last summer?”
“Yeah! But . . . who the hell is this Bumpy cat Steph talking about?”
“I don’t know. But I swear that verse wasn’t on anything I listened to in Steph’s room.”
“And this ain’t no bathroom studio track either,” I say, popping out the tape. “This shit sounds professional. There’s probably more. Where you think Pace got this from?”
Quady slaps his forehead. “Kaven!”
“Kaven? How? He don’t know nothing about Steph. We’ve been careful!”
“Remember that first day in the studio? I swear he made a face when he played them tapes, like he recognized Steph’s voice. Then Jasmine said when she was in the booth, she saw that little doodle Steph always did, right on the wall.”
“That three lines and a snake?”
“Yeah!”
“Damn. So Kaven’s been playing us from day one.”
“But I don’t get it. Why cut out this verse?”
I purse my lips. “Son, think about it. Steph was naming names without naming them. If the wrong person heard this, the right person would catch a case.”
“So you think Kaven knows Bumpy, and he took the verse out?” Quady shakes his head. “Son, we need that original recording. That’ll prove Kaven knew Steph all along!”
“Man, how we gonna prove any of this to anybody?”
Quady snaps his fingers. “The cameras! Jazz called it. Steph gotta be on them security cameras. If we can get the original track and footage, we can prove he was there and Kaven had something to do with Steph’s murder. Yo, we gotta do it now before Fast Pace gives him the heads up and he deletes everything!”
“That’s if Pace hasn’t figured out I swiped his tape. Him and his boys could be looking for us right now.”
“Nah, remember, he should already be heading to the Tunnel. Come on, son, we can do this!”
Quady’s right, but there’s no way Kaven gonna give us the goods without us packing some heat.
I dive under the bed, scooping shoeboxes out from underneath.
“Son, what you doing?” Quady asks, panicking behind me.
“Come on, where is it?” I mumble to myself.
“Rell! What you doing? Come on, we gotta go!”
I grab the last box, way in the back, and throw it on the bed.
“Yo, close that door!”
Quady rolls his eyes and slams the door shut. “Now what?�
��
I pop the lid and almost shit on myself. Nothing but a pair of brown Lugz I wear when it rains. Maybe I’m tripping.
“It’s in one of these,” I say, my voice drifting. Boxes are scattered all over. I’m sweating and cursing as I rip off each lid. Quady just stands there watching me search through nothing but sneakers, boots, and money.
“Rell!” Quady barks.
“I swear, I put it right there!”
“Put what where?” Quady says, kicking a box next to him.
If Mummy found it, I would’ve been kicked out the house by now. Could I have thrown it away by mistake? Nah, I ain’t that dumb. Should I ask the twins? Nah, they would’ve been rat me out to Mummy.
Could’ve, would’ve, should’ve . . .
Who else was in here that would’ve been messing with my stuff? Who else even comes in here like that except . . .
“Aw shit,” I groan as it hits me. “Damn. That fool took it.”
“Who? Took what?”
“Steph,” I sigh, staring out the window at the courts. “My gun.”
44
Jasmine
Detective Paul Vasquez. Of the 79th Precinct.
I pinch the edges of the business card Jarrell dropped off with my thumb and forefinger at the kitchen table, drawing blood.
“Jasmine, can I have some more Kool-Aid?”
Behind the card, Carl’s little face stares up at me, mouth covered in cheese sauce. I picked him up early from the babysitter and cooked him some dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets and Kraft macaroni and cheese. So caught up in everything, I haven’t paid Carl much attention the past few months, and all I want to do is be close to the ones I love. I mean, he lost a brother too, and I’m his only sister. I need to be there for him, make sure he remembers Steph and Daddy.
“Sure, pook. Let me make you some more.”
Outside, night has fallen. And Jarrell and Quadir are heading to the studio, about to charge in like some superheroes and save the day.
Dummies.
I begged them not to, but they wouldn’t listen. Instead, they left me with one job to do.
Detective Paul Vasquez. Of the 79th Precinct.
After dinner, we watch some TV, and I tuck Carl into bed with his Hess truck. First time he’s tried sleeping on his own since Steph died. Hopefully I won’t wake up and find him in my bed again.
I slide the card out my back pocket and stare at it some more. My gut says never trust the police. So what business does Steph have with one? Only one way to find out.
I pick up the phone in kitchen and dial the number before I have chance to change my mind.
RINGGG
Damn, it’s already nine thirty. Maybe it’s too late to call. Should I leave a message? Who do I even ask for? Is that safe—
“Vasquez!” His voice is sharp and alert, as if he just started his day. “Hello? Helllooo?”
I jump up to close the open kitchen window, afraid of my voice carrying and someone overhear me talking to the police.
“Yes,” I whisper. “Is . . . is this Detective Vasquez?”
“Well, it’s Sergeant now. Who’s speaking?”
His voice sounds real familiar.
“Um . . . J.”
“Okay . . . J. How can I help you?”
I squeeze the phone to my ear and clear my throat. “I found your card in my brother’s stuff.”
“What’s your brother’s name?”
“Steph.”
Silence. He snaps his fingers, muttering at someone and papers ruffle.
“Steph?” he asks eagerly. “Tall, brown skin, braids?”
I slide down the wall, landing on the kitchen stool. “With a scar, yes.”
“Young lady,” he says with a sigh of relief. “Boy, am I happy to hear from you.”
I don’t know what to feel about him. “How do you know my brother?”
“Steph reached out to me last August. Said he had some information about a murder.”
“He reached out to you? Why? How?”
“Said he got my number from a friend, and I didn’t question it.”
None of this makes sense. Where would he get this cop’s number from?
“After our last meet-up,” he says, “it’s like he disappeared off the face of the earth. Been trying to contact him for weeks, but we only had a pager number. He called back once . . . but I take it that was you. We heard about his murder from his friends. I’m sorry for your loss.”
So that’s where I know him from, the pager!
“His friends? How you didn’t hear about him being killed before?”
“We only had a first name to work with, and nothing came up in our system. We tried everything. Stefan, Stephon. Stephen. Nothing.”
Steph’s smile shines bright in the picture of us on the windowsill. The last picture we took as a family—Mommy, Daddy, Steph, Carl, and me. The last time we were whole.
“He goes by Steph,” I say slowly. “But his real name Michael Stephon Davis. Junior.”
“Wait . . . Steph is Mikey Davis’s son? Is this little Jasmine?”
I pop up from the stool. “You know my daddy?”
He chuckles. “Yes, sweetheart. We all know him well around here.”
45
Jarrell
We about to bring a knife to a gun fight. Except we don’t got no knife. Might as well say we rolling up to Kaven’s studio butt naked.
But fake it till you make it has been the motto from the start.
Not for nothing, I should holla at Mack first like he told me. But then I would have to come clean about losing that piece he gave me, and my plate’s already full.
But for real, though, what the hell did Steph do with my gun? It wasn’t anywhere in his room, we’d checked through all them boxes. So what he end up doing with it?
Quady rings the bell at Kaven’s studio, standing in front of the camera, nibbling on his bottom lip.
“You ready?” he whispers without looking at me.
Off to the side, I squat down, hidden. “Yup. Let’s do this.”
Quady has the mace in his hoodie pocket and I have the size. Between the two of us, we could over overpower this fool, no question. Get what we need and dip.
The door locks click. I take off running, ready to ram it until some brown-skin young cat with short dreads swings it open.
“What the . . . ?” I trip right into him and we fall inside.
“Yo, get off me!” he barks, shoving my chest. “Aye yo, Kaven! Who the hell is this?”
Inside, it’s a party. I mean, so many brothas squeezed up in the spot you could barely see the walls. And it ain’t them regular around-the-way brothas either. It’s that Mobb Deep–loving crew that got the room smoky and Henny flowing, dressed in nothing but black and army green. It’s like we interrupting a cypher or something.
Kaven leans back in his chair at the soundboard, poking his head around a few cats standing in his way.
“What y’all doing here?”
Quady grabs my jacket, pulling me up off the floor.
“Nothing. We must’ve got the days wrong. We leaving.”
Dread jumps to his feet, slamming the door shut.
“Nah, bump that, son! They were scheming. Trying to run up in here and stick you!”
Shit. Busted.
The whole room stops to stare at us. The kid in the booth rapping over Big’s “Warning” beat takes off his headphones to see what’s popping. Kaven’s the only one that doesn’t seem surprised.
“Really,” he says, his voice calm.
Quady’s jaw clenches as he surveys the scene. We outnumbered at least nine to two.
“Aight, look. We ain’t want no problems. We just here . . . to get our man’s music.”
Kaven shrugs, all cocky. “I don’t know what you talking about.”
“Quit playing games,” I bark. “You know what we talking about! You knew who Steph was the first time we walked up in this bitch.”
“Maybe.
Maybe not.”
“We just came to get what’s his, and that’s it,” Quady insists.
His face twists up. “Ain’t nothing in here belongs to anybody but me.”
“Yo, how you gonna lie to our face?” I snap. “We heard the song, the real song, b! Not that shit you gave Steph before you had him killed!”
Kaven slowly rises to his feet. “You coming up in my spot, accusing me of murking some kid?”
The temperature in the room changes, like project heat on full blast as everyone stirs. Quady double-taps my elbow, warning me to chill. But it’s too late. Duke is lying, and he has something to do with my best friend being murdered.
“We don’t want no beef,” Quady says. “We just need his song.”
“You hard of hearing?” Dread says behind us, taking a step closer. “There ain’t no song!”
“Son, this ain’t none of your business,” I snap. “And I ain’t leaving without my man’s shit!”
Kaven chuckles and waves us off, turning back to his board. “Y’all handle that, will you?”
I only manage to throw one punch before the room caves in on us.
46
Jasmine
BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM
At first, I thought I was dreaming. The banging on the front door sounded like four quick gunshots. I rub my eyes and check the time.
BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM
Three a.m.? Who the hell is knocking at our door this late? Rolling out of bed, my feet hit the cold floor as it hits me.
Oh shit. The Guerrillas . . . they know where I live!
BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM
I throw on some sweats and my sneakers and rush out into hall, running right into Mom.
“Ah!” she screams. “Jasmine, you scared me to death!”
“Mom! What are you doing home?”
She throws her hands on her hips. “Girl, I live here!”
BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM.
We stare at the door and I gulp, breaking into a cold sweat. What if they come in here and something happens to Mom and Carl. I can’t let anyone else get hurt because of something I did.
Let Me Hear a Rhyme Page 23
