Baddest Apple

by Nisa Santiago

  “This is nine-one-one dispatch. What’s the emergency?”

  Her tiny voice was barely a whisper as she reported, “My parents have been shot.”

  The ride back to Apple’s apartment was ridden in silence. Hood and IG felt uneasy about leaving a witness alive. This was a triple homicide, and adding another body to the count wouldn’t change a thing in the eyes of New York State’s judicial system. If found guilty, it was still the same sentence: life without the possibility of parole.

  Apple sat in the backseat unaffected by her team’s ambivalence toward her. There was no connection between them and Nerd, so any description a child gave to police would be fruitless. They would go looking into his past, and Apple wouldn’t come up on the police’s radar. Nine million people were living in New York City. Looking for a black female with light skin and no history with the victims was a needle in an enormous haystack. Besides, she was a murderer, not a monster, and there wasn’t any way she was killing a kid. The little girl was a child with her whole life ahead of her, and Apple didn’t want to push fate. Karma had a way of coming back around, and sins of the mother were real to her. For all she knew, had she killed that kid it could trickle down to her own daughter. Despite the messy outcome, she still felt they scored a win. Nerd had dropped a dime on Queenie, and it was finally time to bring down the L.E.S. Crips and the woman masquerading as the Queen of New York.

  28

  Rehab lectured their men, “Yo, y’all niggas watch your six out there. We gettin’ heat from that twin bitch. She trying to take Queenie’s crown! Each move she successfully makes against us takes food out all our mouths. Y’all feel me? Keep ya eyes peeled on your product and your blocks ’cause we ain’t paying for any more funerals.”

  Queenie’s soldiers were ready. She had handpicked them all. Her henchmen had survived gang initiations, turf and drug wars, and police raids. Most had been shot or stabbed up for a cut of that drug money. Rehab looked into the faces of the meanest muthafuckas the streets had raised up—angry goons marginalized all their lives with boulder-size chips on their shoulders. Each night they made it home alive gave them another day to flood the streets with their product, terrorize neighborhoods with their presence, and take rivals away from their loved ones. These men would kill your grandma over an ounce of weed, your child for a ki of cocaine. Some had battle scars etched in their faces that resembled a closed zipper, and others had keloids that now replaced wounds where bullets had entered and exited. These men had waged wars against the most thorough triggermen the boroughs had produced and lived to brag about it.

  Rehab was paranoid because they were taking too many losses and also because Queenie had put him in charge over Lord. His new position as her right hand came with a lot of responsibilities, and one false move could cost him his life. Rehab wasn’t fucking around with this Apple bitch. The beef had him carrying three pistols. He had a 9mm tucked in his waistband, a .45 in his shoulder holster, and a snub-nosed .380 attached to his ankle.

  The latest trap house was in a densely populated section of Spanish Harlem, a location where high activity was regular. Tonight, everyone had a part to play. They had just received a large shipment of 35 kilos of heroin from Queenie’s connect Diego Guzmàn and a cargo van full of immigrant women who would be sold over the border in Canada as slave labor. The murder of Pastor Foster and the tainted heroin had set them back, so these new shipments were needed to build them up again.

  Lord spoke up next. There was no way he would allow only Rehab to address who he still considered his men. To Lord, it was just a matter of time before Queenie was snuffed out and he could take his rightful position over her organization.

  “I would trust any of y’all soldiers with my life. We all came up L.E.S. Crips for life, and we gonna die that way!”

  Lord threw up a few gang signs, stiff finger and hand movements that got the crowd hyped. A few goons began to Crip Walk, showing off their footwork.

  He continued. “I’ve bus’ed my gun beside most you niggas, fucked the same bitches, and we all rep the same L.E.S. Crips tattoo. We have a brotherhood—that means something. None of us take handouts; we earn ours. This here product is how we feed our families, take care of our women, and support ourselves, so if any muthafuckas come between us and our livelihood, make it bloody.”

  The men nodded their agreement.

  Stone wondered if he should make a speech next, but Rehab apparently wasn’t done holding court. He addressed his top enforcers. “Gee, Mitch, Bliss, and Pop, y’all on the women. Stop and get them something to eat before y’all hit the road. And Peanut, Tank, Kidd, Spanky, and Lil’ Whop, y’all niggas on the dope. Make y’all drops and hit me up later.”

  Gee nodded. “We on it, Rehab.”

  “One more thing. Any time, any place y’all see Apple, Hood, or IG, shoot on sight.”

  “They better hope they don’t cross my fuckin’ path. I will blow their heads off,” said Peanut as he brandished his Desert Eagle to punctuate his point.

  Rehab took a pull from the blunt he had just sparked up and then passed it to Lord. “Y’all hold it down out there.”

  “A’ight, y’all go feed the streets,” said Stone, adding his two cents as everyone dispersed.

  Apple, IG, and Hood patiently watched the trap house like hawks. They knew Queenie’s men were inside. Lord, Stone, and Rehab were their primary targets tonight.

  “This shit gonna be like shooting crabs in a barrel.” Apple inhaled her cancer stick and exhaled the carcinogen into the air, which mixed with the weed haze. She looked at Hood in the driver’s seat—his eyes were low—and then glanced over her shoulder at IG and Tokyo in the backseat. “Y’all better not get too faded. We got some murders up next.”

  Hood was already faded, but he felt this was lightweight. He’d been putting in work for years, and this ambush was just another day for him. “I always get lifted before a little gunplay,” he admitted.

  IG was quiet when something dawned on him. “Yo, where that nigga Killer Mike been?”

  The question had them stumped. It felt like a college exam was going down inside Hood’s SUV as everyone pondered all the possibilities.

  “Word, I ain’t seen him in a minute,” said Hood.

  “He could have gotten jammed up,” added Apple.

  “Or, he could be plotting,” said IG.

  “Fuck that nigga,” said Apple.

  All they saw were hoodies shielding each goon’s face as a group of dark figures coolly walked out of the trap house. Apple counted nineteen killers but couldn’t distinguish one man from another. The men gave each other dap while they had their backs turned against the curb.

  “Tokyo, you ready?” Apple said.

  “Hell yeah!”

  Apple removed her 9mm and handed Tokyo a .380. She gripped the handle with confidence and knew she had something to prove. IG had his MAC-10 on his lap while Hood had two ninas. Everyone stealthily exited the vehicle, crouching low to catch their prey by surprise. It was easy creeping up on niggas who were about to get caught slipping.

  IG let his MAC-10 loose. Rat-ta-Tat! Tat! Tat! Tat! Tat! Tat! Tat! Tat! At least four bodies dropped instantly as deafening bursts of gunfire exploded from the automatic weapon. The powerful firearm mowed down half of Queenie’s men and tore into Stone’s back, pushing him violently forward. Lord opened fire, shattering the glass of several cars on the street.

  Bak! Bak! Bak!

  A bullet whizzed past Tokyo’s shoulder as she ducked for cover. Hovering behind a parked car, she was frozen with fear. Her heart lurched as her assailant zeroed in on her. Tokyo fumbled with the pistol in her hand to defend herself. Lord kept advancing forward, determined to body that young bitch as she hid from his barrage of bullets. Apple noticed and opened fire.

  Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!

  Apple ran toward Tokyo and grabbed her up by her collar, shi
elding Tokyo with her own body. With her arm outstretched, Apple shot her way to safety. Ducked behind an SUV, she gave her protégé instructions. “When I tell you to run, take off down the block. I’ll cover you and meet you at home.”

  “I can’t leave you!”

  Apple rose up and bucked off her gun again.

  Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!

  She turned toward Tokyo and yelled, “Run!” and she took flight like a track star, never looking back.

  Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!

  The one-block radius was pure pandemonium. Hood and Rehab were exchanging bullets, trying to take each other’s head off, while IG was mowing down soldiers one by one like bowling pins. Peanut’s chest cavity was opened up as three rounds slammed through his flesh. His body fell hard on a tricked-out Navigator and dented its exterior.

  Neighbors watched the horrific scene from second and third story windows and immediately dialed 9-1-1.

  Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!

  Bak! Bak! Bak!

  Ra-ta-tat! Tat! Tat! Tat! Tat! Tat!

  Two more of Queenie’s men went down. Windshield after windshield was shot out, and shards of glass shattered through the air like confetti and blanketed the pavement.

  The police sirens blaring in the distance were like a silent whistle to dogs; everyone’s ears perked up. Apple glanced over her shoulder, relieved to see that Hood and IG were still alive, but so were Lord and Rehab along with two underlings, Gee and Spanky.

  Spanky found himself boxed in. It was raining bullets, and one tore through his shoulder. The blood slid down his arm, making it difficult for him to aim. “Fuck y’all!” he screamed out, shooting wildly, unable to hit his target. Through his peripheral Spanky saw the shadowy figure continuing to advance forward. He tried to steady his Glock, but he had lost feeling in his hand.

  Bak! Bak! Bak!

  Hood stood firm, both arms outstretched with his ninas, and pumped bullets into Spanky’s face and neck. His body instantly dropped to the pavement. Hood walked up and slammed four additional rounds into his face and spat, “Closed casket, nigga!”

  Apple wanted Lord. She had been gunning for him since he went after Tokyo. She saw him trying to exit. Lord jumped over a Fiat 500 like it was a milk crate, making a mad dash toward an alleyway.

  Apple wanted to give chase, but it was too late. The blue-and-white vehicles had descended on the block, and more gunshots were exchanged as police officers opened fire.

  Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!

  Bak! Bak! Bak!

  Ra-ta-tat! Tat! Tat! Tat! Tat! Tat!

  Enemies had formed an alliance as Hood, IG, Rehab, Gee, and Apple were in a fierce gun battle with NYPD. When IG reloaded his clip and sprayed the cop cars with unrelenting rounds from his MAC-10, the firepower was too overwhelming. The boys in blue took off, running in the opposite direction.

  Ra-ta-tat! Tat! Tat! Tat! Tat! Tat!—echoed in the air—Ra-ta-tat! Tat! Tat! Tat! Tat! Tat!—he bucked off again.

  And then an eerie silence enveloped the block as the assailants made their escapes.

  Thirty minutes later, the area was blanketed with SWAT and additional red and blue lights. Within an hour the neighborhood was overrun with men holding brass badges wanting to interview any and everyone who had witnessed the melee. This was a massacre. And to complicate matters, a van full of immigrants was found. No one knew what they were up against.

  29

  Three weeks later

  The unknown caller was sent straight to voicemail as Apple and Peaches sat in the custom leather seats at her local nail salon, Susie’s Nail Bar. She and her daughter had their feet submerged in bubbly water as the nail techs, Minah and Seohyun, went to work removing old polish and cutting cuticles. The unknown number called again, and Apple promptly hit the ignore button and continued her conversation with Peaches.

  “Is that the color you picked out?” Apple asked as she looked at the Barney-purple polish. “I like it.”

  Peaches nodded. “What’s your color, Mommy?” Apple held up a nude colored OPI polish for her approval. “Oh, that’s pretty, Mommy.”

  The phone rang a third time, and curiosity led Apple to say, “Who is this?”

  An exasperated Kamel sputtered. “Apple, don’t hang up!”

  “Kamel?” Apple was heated how her sister had forced her to take her daughter before she was ready. Three weeks ago she had tried to return Peaches back to them, but no one was home. Apple had called both Kola’s and Kamel’s cell phones repeatedly, but they just ignored her. “That’s some foul shit y’all on!”

  Apple’s anger was inconsequential to him. His questions were rushed, desperation from a caged man. “Are you alone? Can you talk?”

  She heard the urgency and panic in his voice and feared something had happened to Kola. Apple put up her index finger to pause her pedicure with her nail tech and then turned toward Peaches. “I’ll be back in a sec.”

  Apple slipped her wet feet into the flimsy flip flops and walked briskly to the front entrance for privacy. “What’s happened?”

  “Where’s your sister?”

  Apple sucked her teeth. “You tell me.”

  “When was the last time you spoke with her?”

  Apple heard commotion in the background—gates slamming shut, numerous men shouting, buzzers going off. “Where are you?”

  Kamel realized that Apple was in the dark. “I’m locked up, Apple. I’ve been here for weeks. Your sister just left me here to rot.”

  “Why? What did you do to her? If you hurt her, I will end you!”

  “Shit’s fucked up, Apple. I don’t know how to tell you this, but there was an accident at the crib, and Junior and Sophia are both dead.”

  “Dead?” Apple repeated the word but couldn’t say much more; it stuck in her throat and choked her up. She fell back against the wall for support. Instantly Apple thought of her daughter. How was she going to explain this to her? “What kind of accident? Swimming?”

  “Nah. Gas leaked carbon monoxide from our basement while they were asleep. I had to make a quick run and had to leave them alone. When I came back, it was too late.”

  Apple knew that lately, Kamel was the responsible parent and would never leave Junior and Sophia alone. He was covering for his wife. “You haven’t heard from Kola at all?”

  “I haven’t seen her since the incident. I’ve been arraigned, and she didn’t come to court, post my bail, hire me a lawyer, nothing.”

  “Why didn’t you call me weeks ago? This would have been handled.”

  “I was in here racking my brain tryin’ to remember numbers. The only cell number I know is my wife’s, and she wouldn’t pick up.”

  “That’s fucked up.”

  “Jamel just might be an angel watching over me despite our differences ’cause I was blessed when Monk came through. He knew your number off his dome. Nigga said he makes it a priority to remember all numbers for situations such as mine.”

  “Your brother was a lot of things, but he ain’t no angel. I would bet my life on that,” Apple remarked. “But someone was looking out for you ’cause I just saw that nigga Monk last week and gave him my number.”

  “But, yo, App, find my wife and get me the fuck up outta here. I know you and I have our issues, but we’re still family, and on my life, the only good thing about this situation is that Peaches was with you that night.”

  “I got you,” she said.

  Apple hung up, and unexpectedly, she broke down. Crying was a rare emotion for her. She placed both hands over her face and screamed into the palms of her hands for the two children she considered her niece and nephew, and for how grateful she was that Peaches wasn’t there.

  “Damn, Kola. Fuck!” she said out loud.

  Apple wiped her tear-streaked face and lit up. She pulled on her Newport as she dissected the situation. Where was Kol
a? She had no idea where she would look for her. And where were Junior and Sophia buried, and why didn’t her sister allow her and Peaches to attend the funeral to say their goodbyes? Apple flicked her cigarette toward the curb and bolted inside. She had things to do. A crisp hundred was handed to Minah while Apple scooped up Peaches into her arms.

  “Why are we leaving?” Peaches wanted to know.

  “We have things to do baby. We have to go and help Uncle Kamel.”

  Peaches wasn’t ecstatic about having to cut her day short to help Uncle Kamel because her mother had promised to take her to the movies to see Avengers: Endgame. However, a quick stop through McDonald’s drive-thru had silenced her for the moment. Chicken nuggets and fries had halted the million questions Peaches kept asking and allowed Apple to handle some business.

  “Peaches, put on your earphones and listen to some music or YouTube while I make some important phone calls,” Apple directed.

  Her daughter was too focused on dipping her nugget into her hot mustard sauce to question the command. She simply nodded and did what she was told.

  The lawyer, Angelo Scarpetta, was retained with one quick phone call and her Apple Pay cash app. After she had secured counsel for Kamel, she called Hood.

  “El Jefe, what’s good?”

  “Yo, I’m going to keep this short. My sister is missing. Put the word out that there’s a hundred large for whoever brings her to my front door—alive.”

  “This got anything to do wit’ Queenie?”

  “Nah, this is personal.”

  “Anything more I can do?” he asked.

  “I got it from here.”

  Apple fought through traffic to arrive at the county jail, where she posted Kamel’s bail. It would take hours of idle time and a couple tantrums from Peaches before he was eventually processed and released. Kamel laid grateful eyes on Apple as Peaches ran and jumped into his strong arms. He picked her up in a bear hug and spun her around until she squealed. They were both happy to see one another. She planted a massive kiss on his cheek and wrapped her arms around his neck as he carried her to the car. Kamel tickled Peaches and jostled her around for a few moments until Apple suggested that it was time to go.