by Noire
I shuddered and crossed my arms. “They cut off his hand because whoever shot me also stole my wedding ring while I was laying there bleeding on the floor. At least that’s what Renata told me.”
“Well it wasn’t Pit because he never got anywhere near downstairs where y’all were at! I swear I wanted to come tell you all this while you was in the hospital, Juicy, but I was running for my life. I got outta town as fast as I could too. Pit was dead, and the Italians had caught two of his boys out there and served them too. It was just a matter of time before they came looking to X my ass out, so I came back home. I figured it was better to take my chances here in Brooklyn with my crazy ex-boyfriend than to sit around like a duck waiting for the mob to make me disappear. It was really a no-brainer.”
I shook my head. “None of it makes sense,” I said, but in the back of my mind I was thinking how out of everybody me and Gino knew, Slick Sallie had known where our money was stashed, so he had the biggest reason to want the two of us dead. Hell, he’d had over half a million dollars worth of reasons to get rid of our asses.
I didn’t wanna believe what Quese was telling me. I swear to God, I didn’t. I’d spent a lot of time hating her and Pit. When I found out that the Italians had fucked Pit up I was happy that the animal who had killed Gino and caused me so much grief was dead. But if Quese was telling the truth and Pit wasn’t the one who had fired that gun, where did that leave me? Who the hell was I supposed to hate now? Sallie?
“Juicy, just think about it,” DarQuese continued to plead her case. “Why would I wanna set you up anyway? For what? I got crazy love for you! Do you really think I could hurt you or your baby, Juicy? I was gonna be lil man’s godmother!”
Egypt shot me a curious glance when DarQuese mentioned my baby and I started crying. She reached out and put her arm around me and whispered that it was okay. I hadn’t gotten around to telling her about that part of my life yet and if we hadn’t ran into DarQuese, I probably wouldn’t have ever told her.
“Why, Juicy? Why?” DarQuese asked again, demanding that I respond. “Why would I do something like that to you?”
“I don’t know fuckin’ why!” I spit as a river of tears fell from my eyes. “All I know is somebody in that church shot me! They shot me and Gino. My man and my baby died, DarQuese! They died and now I don’t have nobody. That’s all I fuckin’ know!”
CHAPTER 14
Less than an hour after being escorted inside Harlem’s 28th Precinct, Trey Jackson walked back out the front door on his own accord.
“I know what kind of cat you are,” said the burly lead detective who was investigating the death of J-Ugly, the young drug dealer who had been thrown off the roof of a well-known crack den. “You got a lotta passion for the kids on these streets, Trey, but remember son, restraint beats overkill seven days of every week. I’m not saying I want you to stop all that good lookin’ out you be doing out on these streets, I just need you to ease up sometimes and let shit play out through the proper channels, okay?”
Trey stared at the older man whose salt-and-pepper hair he had neatly trimmed only a few days earlier. Not only was Detective Bobby Peterson one of Trey’s regular customers, he was also the cop who had arrested Trey after he pumped cold lead into two drug dealers in a dark, deserted parking lot what seemed like a lifetime ago.
“A’ight, Mr. P,” Trey said, dapping his friend and mentor out. The proper channels of conducting police business had very little to do with handing out street justice, and both of them knew that if the cops didn’t handle shit on their side of the law, then Trey and his men of the Talented Ten would take care of business in their lane.
Trey stood on the precinct steps shooting the shit with the detective while he waited for his manz Rain to pick him up. He grinned when a shiny new ride pulled in at the curb and a New York City probation officer got out.
“What it do, Dutchy?” he said, as he gave up a rare smile to a member of law enforcement. Dutchy was his sister Chiney’s long-time P.O. and their families had been tight back in the day. Trey nodded at his boy. “I ain’t seen you in a minute. What’s good in your world?”
Dutchy Gaines grinned and reached out for some dap. “I ain’t doing as good as you, Trey, but I’m handling mine. You know I got your sister Chiney on my roster again. She told me you still doing big things at The Crossover, man. That’s what’s up.”
“Yeah,” Trey said, stepping off as his boy Rain pulled up behind Dutchy’s whip. “We do what we can. I’ma need you to come lay some rap on the kids when we have career night, cool?”
Dutchy nodded. “Oh hell yeah. I’m definitely down for that. Whatever you and those kids need, I’m down for whatever.”
Trey climbed into the car with Rain and gave his boy some dap.
“I woulda got here sooner but shit got bad out at the cemetery,” Rain said. “Mr. Howell passed out, man. We had to call an ambulance to come get that old dude.”
“Muh’fuckas,” Trey muttered, shaking his head and referring to the cops who had picked him up. “I wanted to be out there for Mr. Howell. Instead them fools had me in the station wasting my time.”
“We got him through it,” Rain said with his jaw set in a serious line. “But we still got some shit to handle. That bitch Lil Lee is gonna be a problem. J-Ugly was her boy and that little drama she popped off today is only the beginning. Matter fact, all of those Divine Nine fools are starting to act a little bit ill. That niggah Flex been sticking his toe across a couple of lines just a’ probing and violating. He’s tryna expand his territory and get real swole.”
Trey frowned at the mention of Flex’s name. He thought about the cold look he’d seen in Maleek’s eyes during Princess’s funeral. Just the thought that Mayhem’s young brother was out there scrambling yay and everything else for Flex and his grimy crew was a painful blow to Trey’s gut.
“Yeah,” Trey grunted as he got out of Rain’s car in front of his crib. “That stunt Lil Lee pulled today was unpardonable. Somebody is gonna have to teach her ass a little lesson.”
CHAPTER 15
“All the goddamn toilets are backed up again,” Salida bitched at Ace as she came out of G’s bathroom drying her freshly manicured hands on a paper towel. “I already told you the building inspector is about to come through here. I thought your simple-ass partner said he unclogged all the pipes?”
Ace looked up from the plate of barbeque rib tips he was devouring and shrugged. He’d thought a whole lotta shit about Pluto his damn self, and he was starting to believe most of what he thought he knew about his boy was wrong.
The street grapevine had been whispering and tickling Ace’s ears. He’d heard all the low-cutting jokes from the hardcore Harlem hustlers who ran hole-in-the-wall clubs, pool halls, and number spots. Them cats had been making ha-ha’s and poppin’ live shit about Salida and the new direction that she had taken the G-Spot in. Ace didn’t like his woman being the butt of nobody’s fuckin’ jokes, and he couldn’t help thinking that his manz Pluto was behind some of that noise.
The tension between the two men had grown thick as shit, and it wasn’t that he had let a piece of pussy fuck up their partnership like Pluto claimed he did. Nah, it was about being a stand-up niggah and doing whatever it took to get what you needed out on these mean streets.
Not only had Salida launched a whole new flava and attracted new customers to the Spot, her club drug operation was booming like a muh’fucka and that shit she cooked upstairs was now being packaged for deep distribution all over Harlem.
Pluto swore Salida was just greedy and selfish, and he claimed she wasn’t doing a damn thing to put any extra dollars in his pockets.
“You let that chick take over everything, man,” he had complained one night. “You wanted me to go along with her shit and we was all supposed to benefit from it. As far as I can tell ain’t nobody collected a dime off of nothing she got going except her.”
“But that’s the thing,” Ace had countered, rushing to Salida’s
defense. “Just because her shit is jumping off don’t mean me and you can just sit back and play with our nuts, son. We had a mission and we fucked it up and that’s why me and you is broke. Haters gone hate, but who you think paid the back rent up in here? How is the damn cops getting their cut every week, and how you think we got squared up with the back utility bills and the liquor license too? All that shit got taken care of outta the doe Salida brought in. Me and you still gots to get our own.”
It was this kinda talk that pissed Pluto off. Salida was all the time yakking about how bad him and Ace had fucked up their opportunity to get their hands on some big cash. She was still mad as fuck that Juicy had slipped through their fingers, and he figured she was withholding her cash from them as some type of punishment or some shit.
Pluto had smirked and waved his boy off. “Both of y’all can kill all that whining about G’s missing doe, yo. That shit is gone somewhere out in Cali and what’s done is done. Don’t nobody know where that bitch Juicy is at, and don’t nobody know where the money is neither.”
“But see, that’s where your thinking is all fucked up,” Ace insisted. “We can’t forget about that shit, man. We gotta keep pushin’. We gotta be diligent. We gotta go back in, ak. And we gotta go back in hard.”
“That shit is dead, man. It’s dead.”
That’s the same thing Ace had tried to tell Salida, but she had snapped on him with a quickness, telling him, “Dead my ass. I know damn well y’all ain’t gonna just give up on that kinda goddamn money! I ain’t the only one still scheming and dreaming up in here, am I? ’Cause if I am, what the hell do I need with you two broke-ass clowns?”
“Look, P,” Ace had pleaded with his partner. Yeah, he had sent Izzy and Zero out on a death-mission over that doe, but what the fuck. His cousin Rabbit wasn’t even speakin’ to him no more. He told him he didn’t give a fuck how much money Juicy mighta been hiding out in Cali. He had lost two good killers when that car bomb went off and Ace could kiss his black ass. “Pluto, that money is still out there somewhere, man. It didn’t disappear. It’s up to us to use everything we got to find it and get it back.”
Pluto took a deep breath and grilled his old friend. “I tell you what, niggah. I ain’t feelin’ the kinda slimy shit y’all niggahs been pullin’ on Nooni, ya heard? She’s Truth’s bitch, and that shit just ain’t right. If we go at that money one last time and we still come up empty, then we gotta let that girl go.”
With his eyes wide and innocent, Ace had nodded in agreement. He’d dapped his boy out as they settled on a course of action, but deep inside he knew releasing Nooni was never gonna happen. Somehow the young girl had become Salida’s personal pet, and her junkie ass wasn’t going nowhere. At least not no time soon. Shit, probably not never.
CHAPTER 16
Cigarette smoke hung heavy in the air as the G-Spot strippers gripped the golden fuck-poles between their thighs and performed tantalizing feats of sexual strength and provocation.
Monique sat at the bar pretending to rest her feet as she watched Salida put the moves on Nooni. That old lady had Nooni in her clutches, Monique saw. She was manipulating the girl with an expertise that was simply fuckin’ mind-boggling. Acting all motherly. Pretending to be so nice and concerned about her. Gaining Nooni’s trust by stroking her with one hand, while deep-screwing her with the other one.
And Nooni was simple as fuck too. For a wanna-be grown-ass who had been born and bred right there in Harlem, it had been too easy for Salida to get in the girl’s head. That child had almost zero street smarts, and Monique couldn’t help giggling as she remembered how she’d made the young girl believe that she had killed a white trick in Atlantic City, and then convinced her that the cops were looking to bust her and throw her in jail right here in Harlem.
It was hilarious. Twice already Mo had suckered the hell outta Nooni when the local police came to the G-Spot to pick up their weekly protection money. Monique had looked all scared and panicked in the face when she lied and told Nooni the police were there looking for her, and that they had her pictures from their hotel surveillance cameras.
That chick had broke out running like a goddamn racehorse. She’d jetted into one of the fuck rooms so fast that it was comical, and Monique had bust out giggling before Nooni could get inside the room and close the door good.
And it had been pure damn street smarts and the ability to think on her feet that had allowed Monique come up with that little caper she’d pulled on Nooni when they were in the car that day. Salida had sent them to pick up some supplies for the cut room, and Truth had been waiting at a traffic light. Monique had almost panicked when she looked up and saw that fuckin’ bitch Rita crossing the street right in front of the car!
Using her street wit she had screamed, “Cops!” and told Nooni to duck down in the seat. She’d tossed Truth’s jacket over the girl quick-fast until Rita had finished crossing in front of them and was all the way on the other side of the street.
Nooni had been so convinced that the cops were on her ass that she’d stayed crouched down in the car all the way to the store and all the way back. Even when Monique had told her the coast was clear, the girl had refused to pop her head up and she’d kept her face covered up with Truth’s jacket.
Monique took a long drag on her cigarette as she watched Salida work the girl over. All those crazy drugs was fuckin’ the young girl up, and if Salida didn’t get up off the money she had promised her, then Monique might have to make herself an anonymous call and tell Rita exactly who was playing pusher to her little sister.
CHAPTER 17
Two days after I ran into DarQuese in downtown Brooklyn I saw a flyer posted on the bulletin board in the shelter’s kitchen. There was a black-and-white photo on it of a spoken-word group called Street Talk N.Y.C., and the flyer said they were coming to perform that night for the kids who were staying in the shelter.
“What’s Street Talk N.Y.C. about?” I asked Egypt when I went back to our room. Her ten days were just about up and she had just packed her stuff so she could move to whatever shelter had the next open bed.
“You never heard of them? They’re from Manhattan but they visit shelters in every borough. They come through this one a lot,” she said as she looked in the mirror and put on some huge silver hoop earrings. Her locks were parted down the middle and she had two big spiral ponytails on each side. “They’re real creative. Sorta like the groups in that Russell Simmons show called Brave New Voices. They travel all over New York doing spoken word, poetry, rap, hip-hop, and all that. They even perform at hospitals, schools, community centers, everywhere.” She chuckled. “Girl, I’ve even seen them bust out spitting fiyah on the buses and the trains too.”
“Oh yeah?” I had heard a little bit of spoken word when I was in high school, and I’d always wished I had the guts and the talent to get up on a stage and let all the shit that was bottled up inside of me just come pouring out in a poem like that.
“Yeah. Those Street Talk kids are young, and they’re real smart too,” Egypt said. “Sometimes they visit shelters on the weekends and hold little workshops and writing sessions and stuff too. It’s fun. All the teenagers up in here really seem to get into it.”
I was ready to get into it too, and at seven o’clock I followed the shelter crowd into the dayroom. I was surprised to see that it wasn’t just the teenagers who were showing up. Plenty of people of all ages were already crowding into the room and everybody seemed excited. All the couches and chairs were taken, and most of the littler kids were sitting in a circle on the floor. There was no place for me to chill, not even up against a wall, so I sat on top of a metal trashcan and waited for the show to begin.
They had turned all the lights off except for two lamps right behind me near the pool table, and a chubby light-skinned girl with long twists hanging down her back stood in the middle of floor and opened it up.
She told us that Street Talk N.Y.C. was dedicated to positive social change, and how they gave lif
e to the concerns in our communities through their spoken and written word. And then her voice dropped low as she informed us that their performance tonight was being dedicated to the memory of their friend and fellow poet, Princess Howell.
“Princess was one of our brightest angels. Her light shined on everybody who knew her. And even though she was only on this Earth for thirteen years, she left a piece of her spirit with us when she died and we’re here to share that beautiful spirit with each of you tonight.”
Lil mami with the beautiful twists in her hair stood up there giving off some real positive energy about her girl Princess, and my heart felt heavy just hearing about the death of a child that young.
Those youngstas set Princess’ eulogy to poetry, and I couldn’t believe how powerful their words were. I felt kinda sad and empty inside, like I had missed something important in life. I had never had the opportunity to join no kind of poetry clubs or stuff like that when I was in high school. Living with Grandmother it had been all about going straight to school and coming my hot ass straight back home.
And life had been even worse with G. That niggah had squashed any thoughts of creativity and freedom of expression that might have even thought about popping up in my head.
I sat there mesmerized like a little kid as I listened to those youngsters lay their Black consciousness down on the entire room. They brought the joy and they brought the pain too. They talked it exactly the way it went down in the streets, and the words they spit were on point and realer than real.