Checkmate

by Nisa Santiago

  “It’s a girl!” Mary announced.

  Mary had the tiny infant wrapped snugly in a sheet in her arms. She knew the procedure with the umbilical cord. She had one of the girls get a pair of sharp scissors. Nothing was sterilized; only washed with soap and water. Mary clamped and cut the cord, and then she handed the infant over to Apple.

  Apple was spent. She didn’t know what to do. She looked hesitant and reluctant in taking her own child into her arms. “I can’t.”

  “Just hold her gently. A baby needs to feel her mother’s touch,” Mary said.

  Apple slowly reached up to pull the infant into her arms. Anxiety washed over her.

  Mary gently placed the infant girl into Apple’s arms, and Apple took a tender hold of her baby. She gazed at her daughter and couldn’t help but smile, weep, and then feel remorseful.

  Giving birth was rough for Apple, but looking into the infant’s innocent eyes and feeling her fragile frame against her own made her feel like she was something from heaven. “Oh my God!” Apple uttered. “She’s beautiful.”

  In some way for Apple, the child was a blessing and a curse. She didn’t know who the father was. It had to be some Mexican trick she’d fucked. But it was hers. It was the only thing Apple had felt proud of in a long while. The other whores who stood around her watching smiled also. They spoke in Spanish, which Apple vaguely understood. But she knew the word primorosa meant beautiful or exquisite. She still had a lot to learn with her Spanish.

  “You need to name her,” Mary said.

  Apple looked at her child and decided to name her daughter Peaches. She felt it was the perfect fit.

  Shaun was in the room with an emotionless gaze glued on Apple. He was just happy that everything was over with. He wanted his house back in order and his whores back to making money. He stared at the infant for a moment and walked out the room.

  ****

  It was late in the evening. The day had sped by for everyone. Mary and the stable of women felt like they had something to celebrate. They’d felt a brief aura of happiness and joy.

  “You need your rest, Apple,” Mary said.

  Apple nodded. She felt that her baby was in good hands with Mary. She rested against the pillows and slowly dozed off.

  ****

  Hours passed. It was after midnight, and the whorehouse was booming with activity. But in Apple’s room, there was silence and a momentary peace that Apple felt while having her daughter in her arms. She gave life, and it was an overwhelming feeling that she would never forget.

  “Peaches,” she said softly.

  Her room door unexpectedly split open, and Shaun stormed into the room shouting, “Wake the fuck up!” A stranger in a dark three-piece suit accompanied him.

  Apple clutched her baby tightly. She fixed her stare at Shaun and shouted, “What you want, Shaun?”

  “That baby! You need to give her up to this gentleman here,” Shaun said.

  Apple was confused. “What?! No!”

  “Listen, you dumb bitch, what the fuck you think was goin’ to happen? That you was goin’ to be a mother to that little brat in this house? Bitch, please. I run a whorehouse here, not some fuckin’ daycare. And, besides, this is business. You see, my friend here paid fifteen thousand pesos for your daughter. That’s five thousand dollars.” Shaun stepped forward.

  Apple clutched her child securely in the sheet.

  Shaun reached for the baby girl.

  Apple flinched with the infant in her arms. “Nooooo!” she screamed hysterically.

  “Give that child here!” Shaun screamed.

  Apple continued to draw back and shouted out, “Nooo! She’s mine! She belongs to me.”

  The stranger in the suit stood in the shadows and only watched. Shaun punched Apple in the face and quickly grabbed the baby from her arms.

  “I told you, don’t fight wit’ me,” he exclaimed. “This baby is already sold.”

  Shaun passed the crying infant over to the stranger in the suit. He took the newborn infant in his arms, and then gave a nod of approval to Shaun.

  “Nice doing business with you,” Shaun said.

  The stranger made his exit.

  Apple started to cry, hysterically. The tears flooded her face. The anguish she felt had her paralyzed. She was too weak to fight back and didn’t know if she could endure the pain she felt. How is this happening to me? How is this even possible? She felt trapped in a bad dream and just wanted it to end. She made up her mind that if someone didn’t come to rescue her soon, she’d end her life on her own accord.

  Shaun stood over her and proclaimed, “Don’t worry about that one, ’cuz we gonna get you pregnant again very soon.”

  Apple looked up, with swollen, puffy eyes, her voice barely a whisper. “I’m going to see you dead...I put that on my child’s life.”

  The ominous threat spooked Shaun, but only momentarily. He left the room, slamming the door behind him. Apple’s piercing crying could be heard from the hallway.

  Mary stood not too far from the room. She sighed heavily, understanding Apple’s grief. She had been through the same grief plenty of times. Mary agreed with Shaun. A whorehouse was no place to raise a child, and Apple had to understand that.

  Chapter 9

  The sprawling five-bedroom mansion in Great Neck, Long Island was perfect for Chico and Blythe. The place was Chico’s speed and taste.

  Blythe fell in love with her new home. It was far removed from the ghetto trenches of Harlem and the drug-ridden Pink Houses in Brooklyn. Blythe felt like she was in a different world—this was the good life for her.

  She explored her new home with a huge smile and took in everything slowly—the dual fireplaces, French-chalked wood paneling, Brazilian wood floors, and magnificent floor-to-ceiling windows.

  The backyard had an in-ground pool and Jacuzzi with a patio. The bedrooms were tricked out with plasma TV’s mounted on the walls, thick, rich carpeting, and the master bedroom had a massive custom bed that could fit five adults comfortably. The bathroom featured marble-tiled floors, a deep-sunken jetted tub, glass shower, and granite countertops, with mirrors everywhere.

  Blythe felt like a queen in her new home. She hugged and kissed Chico passionately and exclaimed, “Baby, I freakin’ love it!”

  Chico smiled.

  It was only one of many fruits of his hard labor. The Mexican connect was working out better than ever for him.

  It had been a month since his meeting with Roman, and afterward he’d flooded the hood with his new product—pure cocaine cooked up and cut into crack for his customers uptown, cocaine for his midtown and downtown clientele, and then the black-tar heroin he was distributing.

  He was making a boatload of money, and business was good, but his problems with Cross and Kola were escalating.

  The streets were on fire with bloodshed. The war was costing Chico soldiers and workers. And the NYPD were trying to crack down on his turf.

  Two-Face was doing his job on the streets a little too well. He had a few of Cross’ men shook and running with his ruthless killing tactics. Chico’s name was heavy from corner to corner.

  Chico stood in the center of the living room and looked around. Blythe deserves it, he thought to himself. His girl already had plans for their new home. She moved from room to room and already had decorators on the phone.

  He walked out to the patio area and peered at the grassy yard, the trees, and his in-ground pool. He could remember growing up poor in the ghetto, enduring harsh conditions, and dreaming about a place like this. He was a child birthed into a world of destruction. His life was the same old cliché like many young men from the hood—no father figure around, abandonment issues, detention centers, violence, and yearning to get rich quick.

  By the time Chico was thirteen, he was a hardcore g
ang member and violent repeater in and out of the justice system on a continuous basis. He knew guns and selling crack. He knew the streets, and that the only way to handle a problem was through gunplay.

  Chico committed his first murder when he was sixteen. He shot a rival dealer in the head over a corner. Chico was panicky afterwards, but it was a fleeting feeling. He had gotten away with it, and he soon knew that he was capable of doing anything. His reputation grew fast in the hood, and in due time, he was making tons of money and ordering hits against his rivals.

  The streets were a hard and cold place. At first, the only thing Chico knew was the projects and violence. His first love, his girlfriend back then, Nikki, taught him about diversity and expanding into more positive things with his money. But after Nikki’s violent death, all that she tried to teach him went out the door, and Chico became more of a brutal gangster. Now, he had the money to buy three homes if he wanted to. He’d come a long way from the gangs and the corner shootouts.

  Chico became lost in his own thoughts as he stood in the backyard of his lavish home. He thought about his cousin, Dante. He was truly missed. He thought about Nikki, his mother, and a few friends and homeboys he’d lost over the years.

  Chico started to think about Apple. He had never forgotten about her. He couldn’t comprehend how Apple could just vanish without a trace so easily. He knew she was upset—maybe damaged goods with the incident with her face—but he was willing to look past everything.

  Chico was upset about Apple’s disappearance, but he kept it in and moved on with his life. Blythe had his attention now. And it was Apple’s loss. He had business to take care of, a woman to support, and a war to win.

  “Baby, why you just standing out here? Come inside and let’s enjoy our new home together,” Blythe said cheerfully. She walked up to Chico and wrapped her arms around him. They nestled together for a moment and both took in their backyard view. “It is lovely out here,” she said.

  Chico remained quiet.

  Blythe began to pull up his shirt and slowly massaged his abs. As she touched him, her hand brushed against the butt of his gun, which was tucked in his waistband. “You don’t need that tonight, baby. Nobody knows us out here,” Blythe said.

  “I feel safe wit’ it on me.”

  “But I’m with you. I have something safe for you to be in, baby.” She gripped the gun and began to pull it out of his waistband.

  Chico was hesitant, but he allowed her to remove it.

  Blythe gripped the gun in her hand and placed it on the table. She wasn’t a stranger to the deadly tool. She was from the Pink Houses. She could recall her brothers always having a collection of guns in their mother’s apartment. Growing up with three older brothers, with them all being in the streets, Blythe knew how to aim and shoot a gun like the best of them.

  Blythe wrapped her arms around Chico again. She reached around his waist, fumbled with his zipper for a moment, and began stroking his dick with the softest caresses he’d ever felt from a woman. Chico moaned from her seductive touch.

  “You like it, baby?” she whispered in his ear.

  Chico’s moaning gave her the answer. He turned to face his beautiful woman.

  Blythe smiled. She felt that he was the sexiest, most thuggish man around. And she wanted to please him to the fullest. Especially after the marvelous new home he had bought her.

  Blythe took Chico by his hands and began pulling him into their new home. As they entered the kitchen, Chico took in her sexy attire from head to toe—she was barefoot in a pair of coochie-cutting shorts that exposed her camel toe, and a lace bra.

  “C’mon, baby, let’s just enjoy this house together,” she said with a smile.

  Chico pulled her into his arms, groped her ass, and the two began kissing fervently. He then lifted Blythe onto the granite countertop.

  Blythe straddled her long, toned legs around him and felt his erection pressing against her. She wanted Chico inside of her. She moaned in Chico’s ear as his fingers undid her shorts and he reached for her treasure.

  Chico fingered her, setting off a reaction inside of her, as she squirmed and panted like a winded runner from the stroke of his touch.

  Blythe’s shorts came off and were tossed to the floor, followed by Chico’s jeans. He then slammed himself into her love box. She cringed and clutched Chico to her frame, feeling his large erection tunnel into her. Her legs trembled against him.

  “Aaah! Aaah! Shit, baby!” she cried out.

  Chico pumped in rhythm into Blythe. He felt her juices trickling, and her lips tasted his ear.

  The two soon repositioned onto the cold, tiled floor. They were tangled in the missionary position.

  Her manicured nails traveled down Chico’s sweaty back and rested against his moving ass between her thighs. “Fuck me, baby! Ooooh, fuck me, baby!” she chanted.

  A moment for a quickie turned into an hour, and soon they both were lost in the rapturous haze of mind-numbing orgasms.

  When Chico was done, he got up and walked outside into the backyard buck naked, leaving Blythe spent on the leather sofa, her hair disheveled and feeling very satisfied. He lit up a cigarette, took a few drags, and looked around.

  Chico felt peace for a moment. He wasn’t known in Great Neck, which was a high-class, Long Island neighborhood many miles from his hood. This was what life was about for Chico—having his own and having respect, along with power, in the streets. The new product from the Mexicans had taken off like a rocket, and he wasn’t trying to come down from the high of his success anytime soon.

  ****

  Chico started thinking about ways to get rid of Cross and Kola, his main competition in the streets. He clearly understood that, with them out of the way, he would be finally able to corner the market.

  Chico and Blythe’s names were buzzing in the streets of Harlem. They were the talk of the town—the couple doing it big. The men in the hood envied Chico, and the women wanted to be with him. But some were disturbed and highly upset that Chico had the audacity to bring a Brooklyn girl into their mix and have her in his circle. The local ladies in the hood felt that it was the ultimate betrayal.

  But Blythe moved through the streets of Harlem unfazed by the hate and negativity aimed at her. She drove around Harlem like she owned the place in her fully loaded powder blue Lexus IS with moon roof and cream leather seats; a gift from Chico. Blythe loved the car and often stunted in it with her Brooklyn friends.

  Blythe drove down Seventh Avenue profiling, the windows down and her music system blaring Drake and Nikki Minaj. She had her best friend Vanessa riding shotgun, and her cousin TT was seated in the back. The girls were enjoying the warm, summer day in uptown. The streets were filled with people, and a few turned their heads to take notice at the young, pretty girls cruising in the high-end car.

  Blythe smiled. She felt like she was on top of the world. It was her day out with her friends, and they chose to spend it chilling in Harlem. Her man ran the streets, so Blythe wasn’t worried about running into any trouble. And the haters thought twice about messing with her, because of Chico and Two-Face. The girls had gotten a pedicure and manicure at a popular Korean spot in midtown then went shopping on Fifth Avenue and decided to get something to eat at one of Blythe’s favorite spots uptown, Mamma’s Take Out & Stay soul food restaurant on Lenox Avenue.

  Blythe pulled up to the restaurant where there was already a crowd of people waiting inside and out. Mamma’s was famous for their fried catfish, smoked salmon, rib dinners, peach cobbler, sweet potato pies, and macaroni and cheese. People from every borough and even out-of-towners flocked to the low-key, modest-looking storefront location restaurant with the weathered black-and-white awning and fading sign that read, “Mamma’s, We Feed and Please.”

  Blythe stepped out of her car with a smile as she peered at the sign. It’d been a while
since she’d eaten from there, and she was craving to taste her some fried catfish and a piece of peach cobbler.

  The three ladies walked toward the place looking fresh. Blythe had on a pair of tight-fitting Citizen jeans, stylish high heels, and a form-fitting shirt that accentuated her ample breasts and curvy waistline. Blythe’s friend and cousin had on similar attire, but different color jeans and shirts. Each of the girls had their long hair flowing down to their backs, looking like video vixens.

  As they strutted toward the entrance to Mamma’s, the ladies turned heads and caught hard stares, and the catcalls came from every direction.

  “Damn! What’s good, ma? Can a nigga holla?”

  “Yo, shorty, let me holla at you fo’ a minute.”

  “Yo, ma, what’s up? The one wit’ the phat ass!”

  “Damn, y’all fine!”

  Blythe and her Brooklyn crew didn’t even break their stride or a smile as they walked toward the soul food restaurant. The men calling out to them were a waste of their time. None of them were Blythe or her friends’ taste. Blythe just wanted to get something to eat from her favorite spot and head back to midtown and party at her favorite club.

  The ladies walked into the crowded eatery and couldn’t make up their minds if they wanted to stay and dine in or take their food to go. TT wanted to stay, but Blythe didn’t feel comfortable lingering around the place longer than she needed to. She was starting to get bad vibes. There were too many eyes focused on them, and some were looking at Blythe and her friends for all the wrong reasons. She felt the hate coming from a few of the ladies in the place. She knew that some of the girls already knew who she was and who she was affiliated with.

  “Let’s just get our shit to go and leave. We can eat at Chico’s place on the West Side,” Blythe said.

  “A’ight, I’m down,” TT said.

  Vanessa went along with them. The girls waited on line and couldn’t help but to roll their eyes and glare back at the men and women constantly checking them out. Blythe heard the snickering and noticed the dirty looks.