by Noire
The first two steps were the worst. He almost blacked out right then and there. The shit was just that bad. He held on to the banister and leaned his weight onto his good arm. This way he was able to slide his bad leg out, then lift it up without jerking his hip too much. He’d gone up three-quarters of the steps. Sweating and moaning, determined to get to Milena, when he saw feet at the top of the landing.
Mello froze, all pain forgotten. One foot looked soft and brown. The other was black and shriveled. Like it had gotten frostbitten or something and was rotting away. Mello cocked his head to the side, trying to figure that shit out. He took another step up, and then another. Something glinted on the blackened foot. He was in the midst of taking the third step when he realized what his eyes were seeing. A gold toe ring. He’d bought it from Cartier and slipped it onto her toe with his very own lips.
He heard his cry, but it seemed so far away. He staggered quickly up the few remaining steps, falling forward in his haste, and the only pain he was conscious of was the stabbing pain in his heart.
“Evaaaaaaaaaaaa…” Mello screamed. He fell on top of her, clutching her stiff, mutilated body to his chest. His mind refused to believe what his eyes were telling him as he hugged her, patted her hair, and wept tears of pure love and devastation that sprang from the very bottom of his soul.
Inside the apartment Fiyah had just risen from the sofa cushion he’d been laying on with Milena. She’d clung to him all through the night, refusing to let him leave her, not even to take a piss.
He’d been holding that shit for hours, and now, just before the sun came up, he eased away from his sleeping mother. He stood up and stretched his arms over his head, and was walking toward the bathroom when a sound so fucking tortured, so blood-curdling, shattered the silence of the morning and sent him running toward the door.
“Evaaaaaaaaaa…”
Fiyah heard the brokenhearted cry as he flung the door open wide. The scene before his eyes was overpowering, and at first he couldn’t move. But then a scream tore from his throat as he realized what he was seeing, and he couldn’t stop himself from falling to his knees.
“Evitaaaaaaaa…” he screamed, crawling toward his cousin on his hands and knees. Eva’s eyes were open, staring blankly. Her body looked rigid in Mello’s arms and her beautiful brown skin was turning gray. She had on a shirt and her bra was showing, but that’s all she wore. Her skin had been cut into, and blood-crusted lashes were all over her. Guilt and rage tore through Fiyah with a force that was strong enough to stop his heart. Mello was clutching her in his arms, and rocking her like she was a baby.
Fiyah reached out for her, his heart pounding with grief, but a bitter, hate-filled look from Mello checked him cold.
“Don’t fuckin’ touch her!”
Fiyah shrank back, stunned silent.
“You dished her off, bitch. And now she’s fuckin’ dead.”
Fiyah climbed to his feet. The whole world had turned dark before his eyes. He turned around and staggered back into the apartment where Milena was sitting up on the cushions looking disoriented.
“Fuego?”
“Don’t go out there, Ma,” Fiyah said, his voice cold and empty as he headed toward his room to get his gat. “Eva’s dead.”
Fiyah walked from Harlem all the way downtown to Lexington Avenue.
His mind was so full of guilt and grief that he didn’t even feel the sidewalk under his feet.
He stood outside of Brody’s crib dripping with sweat. The sun was up and beaming down on him. His gat hung heavy in the front pocket of his hoody, as he took the stairs up to Brody’s joint, two at a time.
He tapped on the door using the butt of the pistol, then stood to the side as somebody barked, “Who is it?”
“It’s Fiyah,” he said calmly, holding the burner at his side.
The door swung open and Bullet stood there in a pair of boxers. He scoped the gun in Fiyah’s grip and the rage in his eyes, then slowly moved aside and let him in.
Fiyah walked into Brody’s joint fully aware that he would never walk back out. He could hear Brody and his crew chillin’ in the living room and he headed that way. They were sprawled on the leather couches, eating breakfast and watching cartoons. Brody looked up and saw him coming. His crew jumped to it like trained dogs. Tools were brandished in a flash, every one of them trained and ready to bark at Fiyah.
“Well look at this shit,” Brody said, shaking his head amazed to find a cat brandishing a tool approaching him in his own living room. “This dick-headed bitch rolling in here with a fuckin’ burner when I got my own brother manning the door. ’Sup with that shit, Bullet? You stupid-ass fuck…”
Still cool, Brody set his plate of food down on the table and leaned back in his big, king-sized chair.
Fiyah walked right up on the big guy, and pressed the gat to his dome, expecting to take at least five rounds at any moment.
“Eva’s life wasn’t the trade-off, Brody. Yours is.”
Brody put his head back and laughed. He waved his hand at his boys who were ready to let their burners spit. “Put ya tools down. This niggah don’t flex. Not even with a fully loaded gat.”
He looked up at Fiyah as his boys settled back down. “It’s about time you got here. Did you see the little present I left for you outside your moms’s door?”
Fiyah shrugged. He refused to let Brody see his pain. “I got a little present for you too, ak. It’s time for your fuckin’ ass to get brodied.”
Sliding the gun across the top of King Brody’s head, Fiyah pulled the trigger and bust a cap straight down the middle of Brody’s body.
Nobody moved except Fiyah and Brody.
Brody slumped over, dead where he sat, and Fiyah tossed his gun down on the table next to Brody’s plate. He held his hands in the air, surprised that he was still alive and on his feet.
Bullet moved into the room and froze Brody’s crew with one look.
Fiyah stared at Brody’s brother and four of Brody’s most trusted lieutenants without an ounce of fear in him. He had done what he came to do and now he was ready to die.
“Well? What the fuck y’all niggahs gone do?” he said with a shrug.
Bullet took a step up on him. A glass of orange juice was in his hand. He walked past Fiyah and over to the dead body of his brother and stood looking down at him. Bullet’s deadly gaze traveled from Brody over to Fiyah, and back to King Brody again.
Without warning, he smashed the glass over Brody’s motionless head. Then he slung the lifeless body of his older brother out of the chair, and claimed his seat.
“We gone finish grubbin’,” Bullet said, shrugging his massive shoulders. He picked up a piece of bacon off of Brody’s plate and stuffed it into his mouth. Then he snatched Fiyah’s gat off the table and tossed it back at him. “The muhfuckin’ King is dead. Long live the King.”
Wednesday’s child is full of woe,
Wednesday’s child is full of woe,
Wednesday’s child is full of woe…
They buried Eva on a Wednesday.
Milena was in no condition to make funeral arrangements, and Rasheena was off somewhere on a mission and couldn’t be found. There was no one else for Fiyah to call. Until Reem tossed a name at him that he’d never heard before.
“Get in touch with a lady named Miss Threet. I know her. She lives in Howard projects in Brooklyn, and Eva knew her too. I don’t know how to tell you this, ak, but she’s raising Eva’s son.”
Fiyah had rocked on his feet. “Eva’s son?”
Reem nodded, then told Fiyah everything that Eva had confided in him.
“You got a little cousin, man,” Reem said. “He’s around four now. Miss Threet used to take in homeless kids when me and Eva was coming up. She was good to everybody, and Eva trusted her to raise her son.”
Reem shook his head and there was sorrow in his voice for his lost friend. “Eva always talked about getting her baby back, yo. That’s what she was living and grinding so hard f
or. She was trying to get herself situated and get up enough ends to one day walk into building 420 and be a mother to her son.”
Fiyah’s mind was heavy with grief and disbelief as he rode the train out to Brooklyn and found the lady Reem had told him about. Miss Threet had broken down and cried when she learned of Eva’s death. Fiyah told her Eva had been in a real bad accident, and kept the grimy parts of her death to himself.
“I never could stand that Rasheena,” Miss Threet said. “I remember how cold Eva used to be in the winters. The child never had enough clothes to wear or enough food to eat. I tried to help her as much as I could. I even went to talk to her mother one day, but that fool pulled a knife on me and told me that Eva was a bitch and a tramp.” She pursed her lips, tears in her eyes. “Of course you could see that wasn’t true. The girl couldn’t have been more than eight or nine at the time. I watched Eva, though. Gave her what I could give her whenever it was possible. I saw what her people were doing to her. I knew what they were turning her into. That’s why when I found that naked little baby down in the laundry room early one morning I took him in and I kept him. I knew all along who he belonged to. I’d seen Eva sitting out there on the bench crying as I walked up, and when I came out carrying her baby in my arms this real big smile came over her face, then she turned around and ran like the dickens.”
Fiyah asked to see Eva’s son, and almost broke down when a little curly-haired boy came out of a back room with a brown face and Eva’s distinctive birthmark under his chin. Fiyah stared at the child as Miss Threet kissed him and smoothed his hair. He looked just like Eva, and it was heartbreaking to see her beautiful brown face on his little body.
“I was worried when she moved to Harlem, but she came down here all the time, you know,” Miss Threet said. “She sent money too. Wrinkled tens and twenties with no note or nothing in the envelopes. I knew it was her, though. I knew that child was trying her best to do what she thought was right by her son. She was always trying to get a peek at him, and whenever she showed up I made sure to bring Cameron outside so she could get as full on her baby as she wanted. I figured I was just holding him for her, you know? Keeping him safe until she got her life in order. I always expected her to come and get him one day. I could see how much she loved him. I guess that’s not gonna ever happen for her now. It won’t happen for Cameron either, huh?”
Tears flowed freely down Fiyah’s face. He was stunned by what the old lady was telling him. But he was also feeling a spark of joy that there was still some part of Evita that was left for them.
“What are you going to do with him?” he asked. “With Eva’s baby?”
Miss Threet shrugged. “I’m gonna keep on loving him and feeding him. Eva left him in my arms so I know she trusted me to do him right. I’m gonna keep her trust.”
Fiyah was devastated. Eva’s son was his family. But in his heart he knew he couldn’t take care of a kid, and Milena’s life was on the fucked-up path again. Taking the best part of Eva and putting him in that kinda gutta environment would be like killing her all over again.
“You can come and see him, you know,” Miss Threet offered. “I’m not holding the boy hostage. Just giving him what his mama would have wanted him to have. I’m sure she would’ve wanted him to have you too. After all, you are his family.”
By the time Fiyah left Brooklyn he was busted up inside. He rode the train uptown with a stomach that was heavy with grief but hopeful for Cameron too.
Miss Threet arranged for a double funeral. For Eva and for Rosa. There were cars lined up and down Lenox Avenue as the good people of Harlem came out to show their respects. An organist played “Keep Your Eye on the Sparrow” as mourners walked past the caskets and cried. Both caskets were closed. They had to be. The bodies of Eva and Rosa were in no shape to be on display to the world.
Milena and Alex sat in the front row and were comforted by Miss Threet and her friends. Alex had rushed back to Harlem with a quickness, and had spent hours crying with Fiyah and with Mello too.
Reem and ill Nino sat up front too, watching as Fiyah leaned over Eva’s casket and placed a gentle kiss on the lid.
Mello sat in the front aisle in a wheelchair watching Fiyah too, grief blending with his rage. “Just hold on,” Miss Threet told him as she came up and patted and rubbed his back over and over again. “Hold on, son. It only hurts until it starts feeling good.”
Mello cried out. “This shit ain’t gone never feel good!”
“Oh, it will, baby,” Miss Threet promised. “God won’t allow us to hurt forever. One day you gone feel good again. One day.”
But right now all Mello could feel was the pain. Speedy rolled him over to the casket and he gazed at the smiling picture of Eva that had been blown up and placed on a large metal stand. He had taken this picture himself, the first time he’d ever seen her, and Eva’s bright smile had been just for him.
Fiyah came over and looked up at the picture too. His face was a conflicted mask of grief and remorse. Then he looked down at the tears in Mello’s eyes. The last time they’d spoken Mello had been laying on the floor outside his apartment with Eva’s cold body clutched in his arms.
“Yo, man,” Fiyah said, his voice low and deep. “I’m sorry.”
Mello igged the shit outta him, and then Fiyah said it louder. Much louder, because he wanted to make sure Mello really heard him. “Yo, I said I’m sorry, Mello. I took Evita away from both of us, and it’s nobody’s fault but mine.”
Mello turned toward him then. He looked up at Fiyah with a tearful gaze that was colder than the most bitter winter. “You got that shit right, you bitch-niggah. You got that shit right.”
Four Months Later
Mello took his time walking down the streets of Harlem. It was a fall day, but kids were playing stickball in abandoned lots and it was hot enough to pass for summer. He walked past a group of young girls who were laughing and jumping double dutch. He caught a glimpse of Eva in a smiling brown face, and for the first time in a while he grinned inside.
Mello paused near a tenement stoop. A little kid who looked about five years old was sitting on the steps, coloring in a jumbo-sized coloring book.
The little boy looked up with a curious expression on his face. He pointed at the sling Mello still wore on his arm.
“What happened to your arm, Mister?”
Mello stared down at the kid.
His hip and his shoulder were both healing, but his one-handed jumper would forever be shot.
“I had an accident, lil man. I got hurt.”
The kid looked doubtful. Like he didn’t believe him.
“Did you get shot or something? All five of my brothers been shot before. My brother Dame got shot in his throat. He can’t talk no more but he can still draw. Can you draw, Mister?”
Mello shook his head.
“Nah, little man. I never could draw.”
Mello moved on for a few blocks, then stopped outside of a storefront shop. The sign on the door said BOTTOM HALF BOYZ, and after taking a deep breath, he walked inside.
Inside, Mello spotted Reem. He was spittin’ in a booth while the sound engineer and a few of his boyz did their thing on the console.
“’Sup.” Mello nodded.
Reem peeped him and signaled the engineer, then came out of the booth with a grin on his face. He dapped Mello out, then gave him a hug, being careful not to get too close to his bad arm.
“You aiight?” Reem asked, stepping back and checking his boy out.
Mello nodded. “I’m straight, man. I’m straight.”
Reem nodded back. “Good. ’Cause she woulda wanted that, you know. For you to be aiight.” Reem looked over Mello’s shoulder just as Fiyah came out of a back room.
“Just like she wanted y’all to get down on this track. We talked all the time, me and Eva. She was excited about this shit, man. So y’all cats be cool. Aiight? Put all that bullshit beef in a box and let’s get this one in for Eva.”
Fiyah walked in
to the room and Mello stared him down. Harlem was small, yet they hadn’t run into each other on the streets since Eva and Rosa’s funeral. Mello’s eyes told Fiyah that he hadn’t missed his ass neither.
Reem busted the vibe crossing the room and held up his hands. “Aiight now. Be easy, my nigs. This my muhfuckin’ spot and I don’t want no shit outta y’all. Ya feel me?”
Reem turned to walk into the booth, but checked himself when he saw that neither Mello nor Fiyah had moved an inch.
“What the fuck? Y’all still standing around bumping eyeballs? Man, get y’all asses in that fuckin’ booth. Time is money, gentlemen. Let’s get it in!”
Mello turned around and followed Reem into the booth. When he got to the glass door he paused and looked back, then held the door open for Fiyah.
“You coming?”
Fiyah hesitated. So much had happened. The guilt still lived on his face.
He nodded and pulled out his little notepad.
“Yeah,” he said, moving forward and following Mello into the booth. “Yeah.”
Inside the booth, Mello and Fiyah got busy laying down the track. The beat was sick, and both men were prepared to ride it.
Fiyah glanced at Mello, and put his shit out there.
“I ain’t doing this for you.”
Mello stared at him. Hard. “And I sure as fuck ain’t doing it for you.”
“I know.”
Mello nodded. “Cool. Then let’s lay this shit all the way down and let’s do it right.”
Fiyah nodded, then muttered under his breath, “This is for Evita.”
“Yeah,” Mello said out loud. “For Eva.”
Mello led off as they got it in right there in the booth, busting the track up.