by Love Belvin
“Hey,” I breathed, taken by how much he’d resembled our father now more than ever.
Same warm brown skin, button nose, and even dark eyes my father earned in his last years from hard living.
“Tell these muthafuckas I live here so they can get the fuck on.” He mean mugged them. “I just got the fuck out and you switching up shit, making it hard for a nigga to keep his head.” Abshir rolled his eyes, sauntering into the empty living room.
“Sorry about that.” I regarded the one officer of the three.
Two had followed my brother out of the room. It took close to five minutes to verify my identity, and that Abshir did indeed live there officially. The whole process felt like an hour with the way Abshir shot daggers my way and was snappy to the officers. When it was over, I saw them out. Before I could close the door, he started up.
“The fuck you think you is?” He came barreling toward me. “How the fuck you gone move and not tell me? Where the fuck my shit at? Where Mommy and Daddy shit?”
I lifted my palm, feeling weak and not up for a fight.
“First of all, it’s good to see you’re home, Abshir.” He sucked his teeth, mumbling something beneath his breath. “Next, you didn’t tell me when you’d be coming home. I specifically asked, and you told me not to worry about it. How was I supposed to know? I haven’t heard from you in months. Had I known, I would have told you what caused me to pack up and move.”
“The house ain’t sold, so miss me with the bullshit!” He was ready for a verbal war.
I didn’t miss this aggression and constant warring between my brother and me. When I was younger, I had more stamina. At this age, I couldn’t do it. Abshir was angry, always combative.
“No. I got another letter stating the same status of foreclosure. I don’t know when they’ll ask us to leave.”
“Then why the fuck you move out? Trickin’ more fun when you a live-in?” The sinister grin on his face made him ugly.
“What are you talking about?”
“I heard you fuckin’ one of the Ellis brothers—or he fuckin’ witchu. Got you living in his crib, and shit.” Abshir laughed bitterly. “You’s a dumb broad if you think you his type of pedigree. I told you back in the day not to tire ya pussy out on niggas you ain’t built for.”
My head swung back; I grabbed my forehead as I swallowed hard. “Abshir, I moved out because someone killed a dog I bought for protection before or after they broke in here.”
“Broke in here?” He scoffed.
“Yes. The security system we had all those years…the keypad was ripped from the wall. It confirmed my suspicion all this time that someone had been lurking around here for a while now.”
“Yeah, probably somebody you ain’t want no work with ‘cause they ain’t fuckin’ heavy duty like that nigga you fuckin’.”
My eyes closed as I tried to calm myself. “You have no idea what I am or am not doing. You know nothing about me.”
“Bitch, you damn right. I don’t need to know more than you out here fuckin’ big wigs in these streets, and you won’t be here in the house no more. Glad you moved the fuck out. You can take that new security system, too. Won’t be needing that bullshit either.” The disgust I saw in his eyes as he leered my way sent goosebumps shooting down my arms.
It cut me deep. Deep. But I refused to cry. He didn’t deserve my tears.
“Your things are still downstairs. The washing machine and dryer are, too. Mommy and Daddy’s things are in a storage facility. I have an extra set of keys for it if you want—”
“And where the fuckin’ car?” He looked me up and down. “By the looks of ya Balenciaga track suit and matching sneaks, I see you getting around good.”
I didn’t want to part with my father’s car. I made that clear to Sadik when he offered to have his people dump it. Instead, it was parked in the garage of his apartment building. Sadik also owned an apartment building in South Paterson. He offered a unit in there for Abshir should he have a housing issue once the foreclosure was completed. But there was no way I’d make that offer to him right now.
So I decided to lie. “I’ll have it dropped off to you.”
“Yeah.” He turned his head away from me, scratching his crotch with indifference to my presence. “Do that.”
“You know they’d be disappointed. Right?”
“Who?”
“Mom,” I answered the obvious. “Dad, too!”
His face tightened angrily. “Fuck him,” he sang. “Prolly in that box in the ground with a pipe, powder, and a lighter.”
My stomach toiled at the visual.
“You’re horrible. He was sick, Abshir,” I choked out, refusing to let a single tear drop.
He leaped in the air, landing at the toes of my sneakers. “HE WAS FUCKIN WEAK!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, face stretched wide like an animal. “Like you, you fuckin’ corny ass book worm, dummy. You fuckin’ weak!”
Snickering from the other side had me looking toward the door. One of the guys sitting on the porch was there, laughing, clearly having heard what Abshir said. I turned back to see a smile spread on my brother’s face in return.
“Man, get the fuck outta here, Bilan, before I end up chokin’ the shit outta you.” He scratched his crotch again, eliciting another guffaw from his friend.
I turned to leave, the guy standing in the doorway not moving to let me through.
“Could you tell your friend to move?” I shouted.
“Man.” He pulled at the hairs of his beard, his chin angled in the air. “Let that bitch go. Should make her suck ya dick for a pass.”
When the guy fell over laughing, I took my opportunity to leave. I moved swiftly down the stairs and to the truck. It wasn’t until I got inside that the first tear slipped. I cried the entire way back to Sadik’s and was so distraught, I forgot to grab the special box from my bedroom I’d forgotten when I packed the house up.
That was two weeks ago, and I hadn’t breathed an embarrassing word of it to Sadik. Neither had I returned my father’s car.
∞24∞
“A’ight. That’s it!” Iban hopped from the chair. “We doin’ it. We know where Damien at. So he’s gone today. I’ll call in my crew now.”
My father’s regard bounced from Iban to me. He didn’t speak, likely sensing my unease. This was it. It was the end of the period I’d been working on for over six years. It had been a long era where I’d tried keeping everyone alive despite their offenses. Damien, Abshir and, eventually, the Derrick kid had to go. Regardless of my peaceful attempts at following the NJ Commission’s rules of killing a member, my father had a reputation to protect. One he believed was being tested by Rizzo, who’d still been working hard at making it difficult for my father to make money.
I was uneasy, but wouldn’t say exactly why. I’d gotten a call from my guys about Damien being back in town. He’d been spending copious amounts of time in Hopewell Township, a town in Cumberland County. When in Paterson, Damien usually stayed at the barbershop he bought for his brother years ago. He’d sleep in the basement of the building he purchased in his brother’s name.
But my intel on him also mentioned following Damien and his crew to an old, abandoned B-Way Burger building in Paterson. It was the second location the owners bought when they began expanding many years ago. The problem was the wiring was shot in the whole building, putting it at risk for fire. The restaurant owners didn’t own the building and refused to put money into the repairs. It was too expensive, and a job they believed should have fallen on the property owner. There was a big legal battle in the papers over it. B-Way Burger decided to move. Ironically, learning from that incident, they began purchasing the buildings their restaurants functioned out of. The place had been abandoned since then.
Apparently, Damien and his crew carried large garbage bags in there last night. For what? That was bugging me. And I wouldn’t reveal what I didn’t understand.
“Be careful. Damien is a weird muthafucka,
” I warned.
“Too bad for his queer ass, I was born with a few pieces missing.” Iban pointed to his head and heart.
“And the kid, Ab,” my father noted.
I asked, “What about him?”
“The nigga gotta go,” Iban declared. “Fuck you mean, what about him?”
My eyes drew to my father. He held them, communicating his adamancy. He wanted Abshir dead.
“Man,” Iban began. “It’s been six fuckin’ years! Six fuckin’ years and that nigga been living on borrowed time. His breathing been a stain on the Ellis brand. That nigga shoulda been shanked in Trenton State, but you kept saying we had to wait.”
My brother couldn’t keep still, bristling with convergent murderous energy. It was because of that a decision had to be made. Now.
It was the first week of August and Bilan’s brother, Abshir, had been home for a month now. She hadn’t mentioned him much, but I found it hard to believe she hadn’t been in touch with him. He’d been staying at their family home and had been in touch with Damien, too, recently.
“I’ll take care of him,” I told my father.
My attention went to the phone vibrating in my hand. It was a text from Lamont, telling me he was taking Bilan to the diner for a party.
“Who?” Iban scoffed, causing my head to swing up. “You? Mr. Keep His Hands Clean?” He laughed. “Fuck outta here. I got both them niggas.”
I glanced at my father again. “It’s too much for one night. Too big of a risk to have your guys bounty hunting for two. I can put mine on it.”
“Who?” my father asked, knowing I didn’t reveal my sources.
But I knew he’d be satisfied with one name. “Rory.”
“Deek, man!” Iban sang, spirited. “You ain’t in this shit. Remember? You been making it crystal clear to Pops and me you hate even coming to our place of business.” He referred to the warehouse as their office all the time. He pounded his chest. “I got this. I’m that son now. Move the fuck aside.”
Again, I tried pleading to my father. “You know I can handle this.”
“Okay,” my father sighed, swinging behind his desk, in his chair. “Let’s see if you still ‘bout that work, Sadik.”
I took a deep breath, grateful for a level head in him.
“Tonight!” he made clear.
I turned to leave. “Right now,” I countered, lifting my phone to my ear.
When the truck pulled up to the corner, I pushed the door open. “I’ll text you when I’m ready.”
“A’ight, B,” Lamont replied, eyes gazing around the block. “I’m outchea.”
I hopped down, closing the door behind me and walking down to the diner. The place was busier than a typical weekday, and I imagined it was because of the occasion. Today was Nicky’s birthday. His and his brother and co-owner, Vinny’s, life revolved around the diner. This meant everything was celebrated here. Parties happened during business hours. Most gathered around for the cake, but other than that, well-wishes from friends and family happened around the clock. Because he turned sixty, the cake cutting time was scheduled.
Carina was sure to extend the invitation a week before. Completely exhausted, I almost didn’t make it this evening. I canceled twice in my head, preferring to wait until Sadik got in from work tonight to finally talk to him. But Abshir sent a text asking to meet me so he could apologize for his nastiness a month ago. The diner always felt safe to me, so I thought telling him to meet me here was a one stone, two birds type of deal.
“Hey! Look who’s here!” Gino, the bosses’ nephew, shouted from behind the counter.
An excited smile curled my lips.
“Bilan!” Carina yelped from the register over the small line of customers waiting their turn to pay. “I should make your ass grab an apron.”
I waved, shyer than usually, overwhelmed by the attention. It was clear I was missed. Saying goodbye in June was difficult for all. And the reason was so stupid, hence Lamont not coming in with me. Having security was ridiculous.
“Go around back,” Carina granted. “He’s going to love this.”
I threaded through a few bodies to get behind the counter. A few of the waitresses spoke on the way, some while carrying heavy trays of food and drinks. When I made it to the back, Nicky was rolling dough, wearing a cone birthday hat. It read “Nicky” in gold frosting.
“Who made that for you and lived to take pictures?” I teased.
Nicky dropped his rolling pin and grabbed his heart, unveiling a rare beam. With my arms crossed, I sauntered toward him, pretending to have my nose in the air.
“I’d like a slice of sweet potato pie.”
Nicky grunted. “Don’t mention those damn pies.” He went back to work.
“Hey, Bilana!” Vincent greeted me with a hug, coming out of nowhere.
I returned it. “You’re not over a piping hot stove over there?”
“Taking a break to get some cake,” he expressed in his thick accent. “Come on.” He pointed toward the back of the kitchen.
People were gathering there already. A sheet cake laid out on the table was covered in an edible photo of an, even then, chunky Nicolas Ricci. It was adorable.
“I guess we’re giving Super-Super business nowadays, huhn?” I jeered out loud about the Hispanic grocery stores now all over Paterson.
Vincent’s face burned pink. “I’d cut off my right nut off before giving them a dime of my fucking money!”
Half the crowd turned up with laughter, the other half with their own racist threats. We sang happy birthday to the big guy and performed some celebratory song from the Ricci’s childhood taught to each employee at these types of parties. It was ridiculously annoying and fun at the same time. The cake was cut, employees returned to their posts, and I was pulled by one or another for small chat.
Before I knew it, forty-five minutes had passed and I felt marginally better. Having a sliver of Nicky’s lemon tart helped, too.
“So, that Damien guy,” Carina murmured, coming my way with a tray stacked with clean cups to store.
“What about him?”
“He comes in here a couple of weeks after your last day, rude to Stephanie when she said you quit.”
“Oh, wow,” was my only response. I hadn’t thought of Damien in ages; my life had changed so much, including the people in it. “Wonder what that was about.”
“I told her she talks too fucking much, that one.” She huffed. “Just like when you were away that last time for a few days. He came in here asking about you, and the big mouth tells him you were on vacation—again. Vincent made her bawl her eyes out for running that mouth, you know?”
“Yeah. Why would she say so much to someone she doesn’t know? I really don’t know him.”
Carina began stacking the cups in the dispensers. “She said she felt we owed him something with the way he looks out for us.” She sucked her teeth. “Her ass almost got fired,” she hissed. “What’s going on between you two anyway? You sure you didn’t fuck a time or two?” she asked on the sly.
My eyes shot wide. “I told you I don’t really know him.”
“Honey,” she sighed, chomping hard on gum. “You don’t have to know a man to have an agreement, if you know what I mean.”
I shook my head while pinching the bridge between my eyes.
God, Carina! Don’t let a certain Ellis man hear that…
At the back door with guns drawn, Rory, J-Dot, and Jamil glanced my way for the green light. With a nod, Jamil used the key I slipped from Bilan’s ring a few days ago to unlock the door. Quietly, he turned the handle. Rory kicked in the door and moved in first. Covertly, we all toed inside looking for bodies—Ab’s or anyone else’s.
J-Dot signaled us. They were in the living room, but the basement door was cracked and the light was on. I pointed to J-Dot and Jamil. They moved right away. Soundlessly as possible, they took off down the stairs. We stood guard at the basement door, and at the other side of the kitchen. Within forty-fi
ve seconds, three bodies were coming back up. One wasn’t as quiet as the other two and could call for attention, so I motioned for Rory to move into the hall. I covered her.
When she landed in the doorway of the living room with her pistol pointed, I heard the announcement of her presence.
“Fuck! It’s Rory!”
Hearing that shouted from a grown ass man delighted me. When Rory didn’t express weapons, I glided around her into the empty room. Two men were inside. Liquor and beer bottles about, tossed tobacco and bags of trees, too. Not only did the place look starkly different from the last time I was here, it smelled different too.
I distinguished Ab right away. Behind the big frame and bearded face, I saw features I’d come to obsess over in recent months. He returned the same dedicated gaze I’d given him, only I could see the rapid pulse beat in his neck.
“Wait, man, Rory!” the guy next to him begged with wide eyes and hands in the air. “Yo, I know what time it is when I see you, but I ain’t do shit, man. Help me out. The fuck this about?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Rory growled.
“I know what this about,” Ab spoke up.
“Do you?” I grabbed an empty seat. “Pray tell.”
“About that robbery we did on ya pops’ warehouse. I ain’t got boss status. That shit came from over my head.”
I shrugged. “Damien’s being dealt with as we speak.”
Some emotion passed over his face. It was more than confusion, but I couldn’t grasp what.
He watched as Jamil brought his friend in. J-Dot surveilled the front of the house. I didn’t have much time.
Ab spoke slowly, “Then what the fuck this about then?”
I tossed my chin. “Well, Rory’s here, so you know what time it is.”
His lips parted as understanding blossomed in his mind. “I told you that shit was over my head. He paid us to rob the joint. I know you ain’t here over no ass.”
“Ass?”
“My sister’s. I know you ain’t trippin’ ‘cause of her. Man, that’s some family beef that go way back. Me and you street niggas, Deek. We ‘on’t trip over no ass. Right? I came home to a empty house and she had to explain for it. I had to wait here with the fuckin’ pigs all in my shit till she got here. That shit fucked me up. I been down for six years and couldn’t get into my own shit ‘cause of her? Plus, I wasn’t really gone make her suck Manny dick that day. I was fuckin’ with her when I said that shit. Ask him.”