Wifey, Part 2

by Erica Hilton

  The streets were definitely Nico’s, BJ’s, and Ghetto Mafia’s life, and it was also now Jasmine’s life. It was a life that came with riches and fame, but it also came with violence, death, prison, and all kinds of worries. Jasmine was super worried. She was wondering if BJ and Nico were on to her role as a confidential informant. She knew that to really survive and make it in the life they lived required a certain level of smarts and skills like a chess player, and a certain level of acting, like an Oscar winner.

  Jasmine knew that she was acting and playing the role as a confidential informant. But she just hoped that BJ and Nico weren’t better actors than she was. If they were, there was going to be a murder scene in which she would be playing the victim. She wondered if she should heed BJ’s advice to hold her tongue.

  Twenty-Nine

  “Sak passé.”

  “Sak passé,” Mia replied, smiling as she sat up in her beach chair to take a break from tanning her body on Miami’s famous South Beach.

  Mia was trying her hardest to remember the Haitian girl’s name. She didn’t want to be rude and ask, so she just continued to smile and play things off as she sipped on her piña colada.

  “Yeah, so like I was saying, if you want me to take you around later on and show you some different areas, I can do that.”

  The name finally hit Mia. The chick’s name was Pascale.

  “Well, I think I’m just going to let Nico handle that. I appreciate the offer, though,” Mia replied.

  “Oh, okay. So you want to go shopping or do something else later?”

  “I’ll let you know.” Mia then put her shades over her eyes and reclined in the beach chair. She was hoping Pascale would leave her alone.

  “So when I come up to New York, I want you to take me everywhere. I don’t want to rest for one second.”

  Mia kept quiet.

  “And I never been to New York. I can’t wait!” Pascale added.

  Mia continued to keep quiet.

  “You okay?” Pascale asked.

  Mia nodded but didn’t say anything. She was loving her time in Miami with Nico, but she hated being around Pascale because she would never shut up. She reminded Mia of a nagging and annoying little sister. Pascale was the girlfriend of Nico’s right-hand man in Miami, Haitian Jack.

  While Haitian Jack and Nico were out running the streets or at the gym lifting weights, Pascale felt it was her duty to show Mia a good time so that she wouldn’t be bored. And while Mia appreciated the hospitality, Pascale would never give her more than five minutes to breathe.

  Pascal was drop-dead gorgeous with her light skin, Indian hair, and voluptuous body. She had high cheekbones, which defined her face and accentuated her green eyes. There was no denying her beauty, but it definitely seemed like God forgot to dish out a fair share of brains and common sense when it came to Pascale.

  “It’s just that time of the month for me,” Mia lied, hoping that would explain her silence.

  “Oh, do you get really bad cramps?”

  Mia nodded her head.

  “When we leave here, you have to come with me and let me take you by this herbalist. She is the best. I’m telling you, I used to have the worst cramps, and when I went to see her, she told me what to take, and I never had a problem since.”

  “Really?” Mia asked, trying to sound like she was somewhat interested.

  “Oh, she’s the best. We’ll go when we leave the beach.”

  Mia nodded and sat back up and sipped some more of her drink. There was no sense in trying to relax and get a tan with Pascale and her annoying motor mouth sitting a couple of feet away from her.

  Mia couldn’t wait to speak to Nico later that day to let him know that she had to somehow ditch Pascale, or else she was going to go crazy.

  When it was all said and done, Mia knew that putting up with Pascale and her annoying self was a small price to pay in exchange for the good life that she and Nico had been experiencing on a daily basis in Miami.

  Every night Nico and Mia were going to the best restaurants, and in the morning, they were having breakfast on South Shore Drive. Every day they were seeing different celebrities, and at night when they went out, they were treated like royalty at every night spot they went to, since Haitian Jack had the city on smash.

  Mia and Nico were living ghetto-fabulous in Miami, and at the same time they were getting money without all of the headaches and drama going down in New York. The way Nico looked at it, he was getting the best of both worlds. He was New York to the core, but as long as he was getting money, he really didn’t care what city the money was coming from.

  ***

  While Mia was experiencing the spoils of the Miami good life, Jasmine was in New York trying to decide if she was going to answer Agent Gosling’s phone call. Gosling had been blowing up her phone repeatedly for the past hour. All Jasmine could think about was BJ’s words about her holding her tongue.

  At the same time she knew that now that she had the SoHo apartment, there was no way she would be able to duck Gosling for long, so she decided to answer on the tenth call.

  “Hello,” she answered nonchalantly.

  “I been calling you.”

  “I’m sorry. I was ’sleep and didn’t hear my phone.”

  “Well, wake your ass up and get to Madison Square Garden by eight o’clock. We got you seats two rows from the floor, Knicks and Lakers, and you’ll be in the same row as Homicide.”

  Jasmine didn’t respond.

  “Work your magic,” Gosling added.

  Jasmine sighed. “Just one ticket?”

  “No, two tickets. Bring somebody with you. Pick the tickets up from the box office window. Both tickets will be under your name.”

  “Okay,” Jasmine responded.

  Jasmine was reluctant to go, but she had no choice. She had signed up for this role and now she had to live it out or risk being thrown in jail and giving up her monthly stipend, her apartment, and all the perks that came with being a snitch.

  She sat down on the couch and thought about how she should play things. She thought about calling Simone, but then she remembered her fourteen–year-old cousin who loved basketball to the point where he ate, drank, and dreamt basketball. She figured she would call him and see if he would want to go.

  “Jasmine, you lyin’!”

  “No, Corey, I’m serious. Good seats too.”

  “Don’t play with me like this, Jasmine.”

  Jasmine couldn’t help but laugh. She loved her cousin’s innocence. “You know where Spike Lee sits at, right on the floor?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, we’re two rows behind Spike and all the celebrities.”

  “Oh my God! Jasmine, are you serious?”

  “Dead-ass.”

  “Yo, I love you! I definitely want to go.”

  Jasmine laughed. It made her feel good that she could make his day the way she did.

  “Just let your mother know that you won’t need no money or anything and that I’ll drop you off at your house after the game. I would come pick you up now, but by the time I get dressed and head to Brooklyn and then drive to Manhattan, we’ll get there too late and miss the start of the game.”

  Corey told her that he would let his mother know and that he was going to get dressed and be on the A train in fifteen minutes.

  “Just keep your phone on in case we can’t find each other,” Jasmine warned.

  Jasmine jumped in the shower, but seeing that she hadn’t had a chance to bring any of her clothes to her new apartment, she put on the same clothes she had been wearing all day long.

  She went out for about a half an hour to find a new outfit to wear to the game. She purchased the outfit, and then she ran back to her apartment and got dressed.

  By the time J
asmine finished getting dressed, it was close to seven-thirty. So instead of driving her own car, which would have slowed her down and gotten her to the game later than she wanted, she hopped in a yellow cab and got to Madison Square Garden by seven forty-five.

  Jasmine linked up with her cousin, and before long the two of them had their tickets and were headed into the world’s most famous arena to see the Knicks play the Lakers.

  Thirty

  “Jasmine, I can’t believe this!” Corey gushed. “There go Kobe right there, and there’s Carmelo Anthony.”

  Jasmine smiled like a supermodel in her black oversized Dior shades, her Gucci signature bag dangling from her wrist as they finally reached their seats. She reached into her bag and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to the usher who had helped them.

  “Thank you,” the usher said to her. “Are you familiar with The Ainsworth Prime?”

  “No. What is that?”

  “It’s a restaurant bar that’s located on the third-floor terrace level. It’s open to all club-seat holders such as yourself. I think you would like it.”

  “Oh, okay.” Jasmine replied.

  The usher walked away, and Jasmine and her cousin both took their seats under the bright lights. Corey looked at the NBA stars with amazement as they warmed up and got ready for the game.

  Jasmine looked around trying to locate Homicide, but she didn’t see him or anyone that looked like him. She took out her phone and sent a text to Agent Gosling and asked him if he could send her a photo of Homicide.

  Fifteen minutes later the photo arrived on Jasmine’s phone. She opened it up and studied it for about two minutes and then looked around some more to see if she could locate Homicide, but she still didn’t see him. She decided to chill and just relax and enjoy the game with her cousin and not stress out about him.

  “You want anything to eat or drink?” Jasmine asked Corey.

  He shook his head and told her that he was all right.

  Jasmine went into her bag and pulled out a fifty-dollar bill and gave it to Corey. “Here. You don’t have to be shy around me. I want you to have a good time.”

  Corey thanked her and took the money and made his way to the concession stand and to the bathroom. Just as Corey walked out of the row, two guys began to make their way into the same row Jasmine was sitting in. Immediately she recognized Homicide from the photo. Homicide had on a black snap-back Yankees hat, so it was kind of hard to get a great look at him, but Jasmine was sure it was him.

  Homicide was a lot shorter in person than Jasmine had imagined him to be. He also had a full beard, even though none of the pictures she’d seen of him depicted him with a beard.

  “Pardon me, miss,” Homicide said to Jasmine as he carefully made his way past her.

  “No problem.”

  Homicide was wearing a pair of Stash House jeans, a black shirt, a gray biker’s leather vest, a pair of Adidas sneakers, and a big-linked platinum bracelet flooded with diamonds. Homicide’s homeboy was taller than him and much skinnier. He was wearing a pair of brand-new Levi’s, a pair of Nike GTX boots, and a black-and-purple Lakers hoodie.

  As Homicide and his homeboy took their seats, Jasmine thought of exactly how she was going to approach them. She wasn’t sure about what move to make, but she was definitely happy that Homicide had come to the game with another dude and not a chick.

  At the end of the second quarter and during halftime, mostly everyone got out of their seats and headed either to the bathroom or to get something to eat or drink. Jasmine and Corey stayed in their seats, while Homicide and his homie made their way out of the aisle.

  “My man, that’s your girl?” Homicide asked Corey, referring to Jasmine.

  Corey shook his head no.

  Homicide gave Corey a pound, and then he looked at Jasmine, who didn’t say anything.

  “You a CO on Rikers Island, right?”

  “Who, me?” Jasmine asked.

  Homicide nodded and continued to stare Jasmine down.

  “Far from that.”

  “I know you’re a cop or some shit like that. You look too fuckin’ familiar.”

  Jasmine instantly got nervous, but she kept her cool, just slowly shaking her head.

  “No?”

  “I told you she wasn’t no CO,” Homicide’s homeboy said.

  “You look familiar too,” Jasmine said to Homicide. “What’s your name?”

  “Homicide.”

  Jasmine smiled. “What did your momma name you?”

  “Aziz,” Homicide replied, and then his cell phone starting ringing. He answered the call, and then he told Jasmine he would be right back, and he and his homeboy walked off.

  “So you good?” Jasmine asked her cousin.

  “More than good!” He continued to watch the sexy Knicks City Dancers perform their halftime routine.

  “OH, MY GOD!” Jasmine said in a slow cadence to herself but loud enough for her cousin to hear.

  “What’s the matter?” Corey asked.

  “Oh, nothing,” Jasmine replied, not wanting to tell Corey what she was thinking. She pulled out her BlackBerry and looked at Homicide’s picture again. I can’t believe this, she thought to herself before the full name Aziz Zahir came to her mind.

  Jasmine was certain that Homicide was the same person she’d had a secret childhood crush on since she was in the fourth grade. Her palms started to get sweaty, and she started to get both excited and nervous at the same time. Immediately she deleted his picture from her phone.

  Jasmine and Aziz had been in the same class at Public School 22 on St. Mark’s Avenue in Brooklyn before she moved to Queens. She wondered if she should say anything to him when he got back to his seat, or if she should just play things cool and see where they led.

  The second half of the game started, and a lot of people including Homicide had not yet made it back to their seats from the halftime intermission. As Corey watched the NBA action, Jasmine combed her mind and thought back to her years in elementary school. She remembered how all of the kids laughed at Aziz’s name when their teacher introduced him to the class. She also remembered how the kids teased him because he was two years older than all of the kids in his class. Aziz was a smart kid. He was two years older than everybody because he had started school late in Egypt, where he was born, and when he’d moved to the United States at the age of eleven, he was considered a fourth grader by United States standards.

  Jasmine could not believe that the former teacher’s pet, who was very religious, and a borderline nerd, had grown up to be the feared drug hustler and murderous stickup kid from Brooklyn known as Homicide. After graduating from Public School 22, Jasmine soon moved to Queens, and she had not seen or heard from him since.

  By the middle of the third quarter of the game, Homicide and his homeboy came back to their seats, both carrying a box of chicken fingers, French fries, and beer.

  “Excuse me, sexy,” Homicide said to Jasmine.

  Jasmine smiled as she stood up so he could get by her. As weird as it was, she had waited more than a decade to hear him call her sexy—since she was a skinny fourth-grader with pigtails.

  Homicide and his friend were six seats from her and Corey. Jasmine didn’t know what to say or do, but she figured she had to say something. She thought about taking things back to fourth grade, scribbling something on a piece of paper and then passing the note down to Homicide, but she changed her mind about that and just waited.

  Before long the third quarter had ended, and Jasmine took off her shades so her face was fully visible. Some people in her section were milling around, standing and stretching their legs, and others stayed put in their seats. Jasmine looked down her row and saw Homicide on his phone. He looked as if he was texting somebody.

  Jasmine’s heart started racing. She wa
s about to make a move and was hoping that Aziz would remember her. She was able to get the attention of Homicide’s homie, and she signaled for him to tap Homicide for her. When Homicide looked in Jasmine’s direction, she smiled and motioned with her index finger for him to come to her, and he got up and made his way toward her.

  “What’s good, ma?” Homicide asked with a slight smile.

  Jasmine looked at him, a huge smile on her face. “I know you.”

  Homicide looked at her as the two of them stood in the aisle so people could freely walk in and out of their row. “From where?” Homicide loved the scent of Jasmine’s Burberry Brit perfume.

  “Is your last name Zahir?”

  Homicide squinted his eyes as he looked intently at Jasmine. He slowly nodded his head. “How you know my government name?”

  “I been sitting here since halftime, and I was bugging, trying my hardest to remember where I know you from. And you are not going to believe this.”

  “What?” Homicide was a man of few words, so he wanted Jasmine to hurry up and get to the point.

  “Remember Mrs. Freeman? P.S. twenty-two?” Jasmine continued to smile.

  Homicide thought back for a minute. “Ohhhh, shit! Get the fuck outta here!” he yelled. “Little skinny Jasmine with the pigtails. Ohhhh, shit! What the fuck!”

  Homicide laughed, and then he extended his hand to Jasmine’s. Jasmine took hold of his hand, and he pulled her toward him and gave her a firm hug.

  When the fourth quarter of the game started, people were rushing back to their seats. Jasmine thought quickly and formally introduced her cousin to Homicide, explaining that she knew him from back in the days. She asked Corey if he would switch seats with Homicide, and he agreed.

  “This is crazy, right?” Jasmine said, leaning in to Homicide. The crowd was cheering real loud, so it was hard for them to hear each other.

  “Word up. So what’s good wit’chu?”

  Jasmine yelled into his ear, “It’s so much to tell you and catch up on.”