Animal III

by K'wan

  He was an older black dude, wearing a stained white cook’s shirt and plaid pants. The center of his head was balding, and the sides were sprinkled with the same scruffy grey hair that lined his chin. When his weary eyes landed on Animal, he squinted suspiciously.

  “Got a few strays that need feeding. Think you can spare a few scraps?” Animal asked.

  The older man acknowledged it was the right code phrase and let them in. “You got something for me?” he asked Animal as Ashanti and Abel crept inside.

  Animal pulled an envelope from his pocket and handed it to the old man. He didn’t bother to count it. He just stuffed it inside his white shirt. “Go through those doors, and pass the bathroom and it’ll put you in the main area. The man you’re looking for has a booth upstairs on the second level. He’s got three bodyguards with him that I counted,” he gave Animal a quick run down. “You’re on your own from here, and if anything goes wrong I don’t know you or Sonja, ya dig?” Without waiting for an answer he slunk back into the kitchen.

  Ashanti stood beside Animal. “So far so good, huh?”

  “So far,” Animal looked towards the doors the old man had directed them to and felt his stomach shift a bit. Past that point, there would be no turning back.

  “So you got any idea how we’re supposed to get this guy out without having to kill a bunch of people?” Abel asked Animal.

  “We’ll walk him out,” Animal opened his hand and revealed two small syringes.

  “What the hell is that?” Ashanti asked, carefully plucking one of the syringes from Animal’s hand. He turned it end over end, studying the piss colored liquid inside.

  “A sedative, courtesy of Red Sonja. If we can get him alone we’ll pump him full of this. It won’t knock him out, but it’ll disorient him enough to where we can stroll out of here with him like we’re just trying to help our drunk friend home,” Animal explained.

  Abel nodded. “That’s some slick shit on your part.”

  “It was Sonja’s idea,” Animal admitted.

  “That Red Sonja is just full of ideas. For this to have happened so suddenly, it seems like Red Sonja has had quite a bit of time to think through the details, doesn’t it?” Ashanti asked suspiciously.

  “Sonja is military, so I expect her to be thorough, even on short notice,” Animal told him.

  “If you say so, big homie.” Ashanti let it go. He picked up on the uncertainty in Animal’s voice, but didn’t want to say anything in front of Abel to create doubt. Animal was leading them, and Ashanti needed everyone to be as confident in Animal’s leadership skills as he was. Still, he would keep a close eye on Red Sonja until this was all over.

  SEVENTEEN

  THE PLACE THAT KAHLLAH WAS looking for didn’t prove too hard to find. It was located in a less than savory part of town. It was one of the smaller establishments on the block, a storefront to be exact. Above the doorway flew a flag sporting two stars, one red and one blue. For a social club, it didn’t look very social.

  Kahllah took a few minutes to make sure her guns were loaded and her blades were accessible. She had done some digging into Panama Black to get a better idea of what she was up against and couldn’t find more then a few random articles that mentioned his name. He was like a ghost in all the city and state databases, and she dared not try to check him against the federal records. If the Brotherhood was watching her, which they likely were, they’d know the minute she used her pass code to accessed the files and it would tip them off that she was getting closer to the truth. She had to keep her investigation off the grid for as long as she could.

  As Kahllah strolled towards the entrance of the bar, she spotted two older men sitting on crates and playing chess on a piece of cardboard. Even though she felt like she was dressed like the Happy-Hooker, the old men were so into their game they never so much as gave her a second look. Just as Kahllah was walking into the place, one of the waitresses was coming out, carrying two sodas. They collided in the doorway, causing the soda to splash on Kahllah’s jacket.

  She was a pretty young Spanish girl, who appeared to be in her early twenties. The uniform skirt and wore, hugged her thick thighs so tight that it was a wonder she could walk in it.

  “Sorry about that, I didn’t see you coming,” Kahllah apologized. “Let me pay for the sodas,” she offered.

  “No, no, it was my fault,” the girl said nervously. Don’t trouble yourself,” she said and hurried off to give the chess players what was left of the soda.

  From the girl’s speedy departure, she had no doubt felt the harness under Kahllah’s jacket when they collided. The question now was, would Kahllah be able to get in and out with the information she needed before the girl tipped someone off? She had to move quick.

  It took a few seconds for Kahllah’s eyes to adjust to the poor lighting. The place looked even smaller on the inside as it did the outside. There was only enough room for a small horseshoe bar, a pool table and a few tables and chairs. Normally she would’ve cased the joint a few days before the job, but this was short notice. The smell of sweat and smoke in the cramped room was so offensive that she had to breathe through her mouth.

  The few men who had been sitting on the bar stool immediately turned their attention to Kahllah. Most of them were Panamanian, or of other Hispanic descent, and they all wore hard faces. She could feel them watching her as she crossed the room. Predatory stares and visions of her naked, dancing behind drunken eyes. It was all she could do to keep from breaking the hand of a man who had tried to grab her ass when she passed him.

  Kahllah took a seat at the end of the bar, closest to the bathroom. It gave her the best view of the entire place. The waitress she’d collided with came back inside. When she saw Kahllah sitting at the bar, she did everything in her power to avoid making eye contact with her. Kahllah watched the waitress, as she went to a table full of tough looking men in the back to take their drink orders. She saw one of them, presumably their leader, grab a fist full of her bottom. The girl made no attempt to move his hand so Kahllah figured it was part of whatever arrangement the girl had with the regulars who frequented the place. The girl spared a glance behind her at Kahllah, but didn’t let her eyes linger.

  It only took a few seconds for the bartender to approach her, sitting a shot glass and a beer in front of her. He was a sour looking old man, wearing a dirty tank top under a leather vest.

  “I didn’t order anything,” Kahllah told him.

  “I know, those are on the house,” he said with a thick accent. “We welcome all new and pretty faces to our establishment this way.”

  “That’s sad, because I was starting to feel like I was special,” Kahllah faked disappointment.

  “Oh, you’re special indeed. Hands down the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen come through these doors,” the bartender poured it on thick. “Sweetheart, your money is no good here. Anything you need, you come to me.”

  “Funny you should offer, because I’m in need of something . . . information,” Kahllah told him.

  The bartender frowned. “You want information, I suggest you dial four-one-one.”

  “Already tried that, and the information I need isn’t listed. You seem like an important man about the world and I was thinking maybe you could help me out,” Kahllah placed something under a napkin and slid it across the bar to the bartender. His greedy eyes lit up when he saw the folded hundred dollar bills.

  The bartender gave a cautious look around before sliding the money into his pocket. “We might be able to help each other out after all. What do you need to know?”“I need to know how to find Panama Black.”

  At the mention of the gangster’s name, the bartender’s face drained of all its color. He took the money out of his pocket and slid it back to Kahllah. “I’m sorry, afraid I can’t help you,” when he tried to remove his hand, Kahllah grabbed his wrist and held his hand flat on the bar.

  “From the load you probably just took in your pants, I take it you know Panama Black well eno
ugh to be afraid of him,” Kahllah observed.

  The bartender leaned in and whispered to Kahllah. “Listen, little girl, I don’t know what your game is, but you need to be mindful of the stakes you’re playing for. You do not want to find Panama Black.”

  The waitress came to the bar to grab two waiting beers for her table. She took one look at the exchange going on between Kahllah and the bartender, and hurried away with the beers. She knew the moment she saw Kahllah walk in that she was trouble and wanted no part of it.

  “But indeed I do,” Kahllah assured him. “I’m willing to pay for the information,” she produced a small blade from somewhere inside her jacket and placed it over the bartender’s pinky finger, “or get to cutting pieces off you until you feel like sharing. It’s your call.” While Kahllah was waiting for the bartender to make his choice, her eyes drifted to the mirror behind the bar. She saw the men who had been sitting at the table in the back exchange words with the waitress, before getting up and heading in her direction. She could only imagine what the girl had told them, but she didn’t have to guess at what they were coming to do.

  The leader of their group, the man Kahllah had seen palm the girl’s ass, led the group with a purposeful stride. He was a muscular man, wearing a white t-shirt and a bandana on his head that was a replica of the Panamanian flag. As soon as she saw him raise his hand to touch her, she went into action.

  Kahllah spun on the barstool, grabbed the leader by the arm, and stabbed him twice in the belly with the blade she’d been threatening the bartender with. His body had barely hit the ground before she sent the blade flaying, stabbing the man closest to him in the throat. Seeing her kill two men in two seconds gave the rest of the men food for thought, and sent them running.

  Kahllah turned her attention back to the bartender just in time to see him pulling the slide on the shotgun that had been hidden under the bar. She ducked just as the powerful spray of buckshots sailed over her head. A few stray pellets peppered her neck and shoulder. They didn’t do any major damage, but the fragments hurt like hell. She wished she’d had the good sense to wear her body armor, but there was no way she would’ve been able to hide it under the tight jacket.

  Before the bartender could get off another round, Kahllah had bounded to the bar and was smashing the heel of her bootie into his chest. The bartender fell into the rack of glasses and bottles behind him, bringing the whole thing crashing to the ground. He tried to get to his feet, but a kick from Kahllah to the ribs sent him back down. She dragged him up by his hair and slammed his head against the bar twice, before laying his neck on the bar top like a chopping block. From the spine of her harness, she drew a nasty looking short sword and laid the edge of the blade against the bartender’s throat.

  “You’re the third muthafucka in almost as many days who didn’t know how to answer a simple fucking question without taking a swing at me or trying to have me killed. One of them is dead and one of them wishes that he was dead. Which side of that coin are you going to fall on?” Kahllah asked him.

  “Okay, okay . . . I know Panama Black,” the bartender admitted.

  “That’s obvious to a fucking duck. Now where can I find him?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him around in a few days,” the bartender told her.

  Kahllah raised the sword, poised to take his head. “Why don’t I believe you?”

  “I swear to God, I’m telling you the truth. Panama used to come in here all the time, but a few days ago he went missing. Nobody has seen him,” the bartender said honestly.

  “What about his girlfriend? They say she works in this place. Where can I find her?”

  “That’s the same thing I want to know,” a voice called from the door. Kahllah spun, drawing one of her guns with her free hand, ready to gun down the new threat. To her relief, it was just one of the old men who had been sitting outside playing chess. “That girl was supposed to replace the soda she spilled, but she never came back.”

  Realization hit Kahllah like a slap in the face. The Spanish girl! She’d no doubt overheard Kahllah asking about Panama Black, and used the thugs in the bar as a distraction while she slipped out, no doubt to warn Panama Black. Kahllah had officially lost the element of surprise. Had she not been so deadset on revenge, she would’ve made sure she knew what Panama’s girlfriend looked like before she came to the bar. Once again she had let her emotions get in the way of her mission. There was nothing she could do about it now, except follow through. She just hoped that Animal and Red Sonja were having better luck than she was dealing with their problem.

  EIGHTEEN

  IT HAD BEEN A LONG time since Animal had been inside a club. If he recalled correctly, the last time he had been in one was to do harm to someone, much like that night. As soon as they hit the main floor they split up, with Ashanti mixing in with the crowd, and Abel positioning himself near the hallway where they had come in. Animal pushed a path through the crowd to the bar and leaned with his back to it.

  From where Animal was standing, he had a clear view of the second floor, where George was. The VIP area was not as crowded as the main level, but there were enough people to where it took Animal a few minutes to pick George out. George wore a plain white t-shirt, with blue jeans and heavy jewelry. Animal could tell just by the way the light was catching the diamonds in his chain that it had cost a few dollars. He was sitting on the backrest of one of the booths, drinking champagne from the bottle. There were several females at his booth, fawning over him like he was God’s gift, while he smiled and talked shit amongst them. George looked more like a rapper than a kingpin’s step-kid.

  The old man had said George had three guards with him, but Animal could only spot two. They sat on opposite sides of George like bookends. They were both mean looking Hispanic dudes, one with a mustache and the other clean-shaven. Their keen eyes watched everyone who ventured too close to George, ready to go into action at a moment’s notice. Not even the females vying for the group’s attention could distract them. They were no amateurs, all business and likely to be Animal’s biggest obstacles, next to actually gaining entrance to the VIP. Security at the bottom of the stairs was checking everybody for the proper colored wristbands and those who didn’t have them were getting turned away. He needed to find a way to get up there.

  “Sweetie, if you’re not ordering a drink I’m going to need you to clear the bar,” a feminine voice said behind Animal. He turned and found himself looking at the bartender. She was a statuesque dark skinned dime, with a head full of expensive weave and a pretty smile. When she saw Animal’s face a light of recognition went off in here head. “Is that little Animal?”

  Animal was taken back. The girl looked familiar, but he didn’t think he knew her. “I think you’ve got me confused with someone else.”

  “Knock it off, I’d know you anywhere. You used to live on my block in Brooklyn,” she told him, but Animal still didn’t make the connection. The girl sighed. “I know it’s been a long time, but I couldn’t have changed that much. I’m Lizzy, Kastro’s home girl.”

  When she dropped Kastro’s name the pieces fell into place. Lizzy was one of the girls who used to hang around the apartment building where Animal was staying. The people in the neighborhood had affectionately nicknamed it Hell, because it was an unsavory place where you could satisfy all your vices. Hell was open to any and all misfits who needed a place to stay and were willing to work to earn their keep. Back then Lizzy was just a little girl who used to hang around running errands for Kastro, but she was all grown up now. The last time he’d seen her it had been his sixteenth birthday and she delivered him a gift from Kastro that would change his life.

  • • •

  The day of his sixteenth birthday, Tech had gotten all of the gang together and threw Animal a birthday barbecue on the block. Animal remembered it clearly because it was the first time he’d seen Ashanti after being missing for a couple of years. They were catching up on old times when a late model Honda with
tinted windows pulled up to the curb. It was an unfamiliar car, so everyone was instantly on point, ready to pop off at a moment’s notice. Surprisingly, a cute dark-skinned girl got out on the passenger’s side and stepped onto the curb. It was Lizzy. She was carrying a large gift bag in her hand and looking over Animal’s rag-tag crew like they were something vile. “Anybody know where I can find Animal?”

  Silk, who was new to the crew at the time, stepped up. “Nah, but I’m Silk if you’re looking for a good time.”

  Lizzy rolled her eyes at Silk. “Sweetie, I’m strictly dickly, and I have a man. I just came to drop something off for Animal from a friend, so either you know where he is or you don’t.”

  “I’m Animal.” He stepped forward. As he got closer to Lizzy, he realized he had seen her before. She was one of Kastro’s errand girls and the one who had told them about the death of Tango.

  Lizzy smiled and held out the bag. “This is from Kastro. She says to tell you ‘Happy Birthday.’ ”

  At the mention of Kastro’s name, Animal’s face lit up. Kastro and a bunch of the others had been arrested a few months prior when the police raided her apartment and killed her brother, Gladiator. Animal hadn’t seen or heard from her since she’d been locked up.

  “How’s she doing?” he asked as he accepted the bag.

  “She’s doing good, but she’s been better. She’s still locked up, fighting the case from the raid, but things are looking good for her,” Lizzy informed him.

  “I’m glad to hear it. I was worried about her,” Animal said.

  “No need to be. You know Kastro is a survivor,” Lizzy replied.