by K'wan
“Yo, ack, hurry up with my sandwich!” Ashanti called behind the counter. He was overcome with the urge to get off the streets. When his sandwich was done, Ashanti grabbed his bag, threw a ten-dollar bill onto the counter, and skirted without bothering to wait for his change.
The whole walk back to his building, Ashanti kept looking over his shoulder, as if he expected someone to jump out behind him. He skipped the elevator and bounded up the few flights to his floor. Tucking the sandwich under one arm, he fished his key from his pocket, undid the bottom lock, and slipped inside. Only when his back was pressed firmly against his apartment wall did he breathe a sigh of safe relief. When he’d calmed, he realized something of great importance that he’d missed when he came in. When he left to go to the store, he’d secured both locks, but when he came back, only one was still in place.
Ashanti dropped his sandwich and reached for his gun; at the same time, the shadows in the apartment closed in on him. He pulled his gun and fired on the closest thing to him. From the scream in the darkness of the apartment, he knew he had hit his mark, but he would never get to see it fall, because a split second later, he was clubbed in the back of the head with something heavy, and everything went dark.
• • •
Ashanti was awakened by a glass of cold water being thrown in his face. He sprang up, only to be overcome with vertigo and plopped back down in the chair he was sitting in. The room was spinning, and all he could see was shapes and colors, but he knew he wasn’t alone. As his vision cleared, he was able to make out a face hovering over him.
“Animal?”
“No, nigga, the boogey man,” Animal said harshly.
“Does he always greet his guests by shooting them?” Kahllah asked from the sofa where she was sitting. She had her T-shirt raised, while Gucci examined the bruise on her stomach. Had it not been for the fact that she was wearing body armor when Ashanti shot her, the wound would’ve likely been fatal.
“When they show up at my crib uninvited,” Ashanti replied. “What is this all about? I thought Priest said we were gonna meet at the church.”
“Priest is gone, and so is the church,” Animal said sadly. The sorrowful look on his face said what his mouth could not.
“I’m sorry,” Ashanti said sincerely.
“No need to be. Death comes for us all eventually. Some sooner than others,” Animal said, as if he were simply talking about a spilled glass of water instead of the loss of his father.
On the exterior, Animal was as composed and cool as ever, but Ashanti knew his friend well enough to tell when he was hurt. “So if Priest is dead, what are we supposed to do now? He was the key to us settling this thing with Shai.”
“Just because Priest is dead doesn’t mean the plan is.” Animal showed him the SD card. “Do you have a computer?”
• • •
Animal, Ashanti, Kahllah, and Gucci sat huddled around Ashanti’s desktop computer. All their eyes were locked on the screen as they pored over the information that was on the SD card. There were names, dates, crimes, and dollar amounts. In the right hands, the electronic files could topple New York’s entire criminal underworld.
“Man, this is bigger than I thought,” Ashanti said, in shock. “Animal, do you know what you can do with all this?”
“I didn’t at first, but Priest did. He gave his life so that I could put it to use, and I intend to. This is the trump card we needed to end this feud with Shai Clark once and for all.”
“So what now? Do we turn the information over to the police and let them go after Shai?” Gucci asked.
“Silly little girl, we don’t talk to police,” Kahllah told her. “And even if we did, they’d likely lock us up and take it from us. There’s blood on all of our hands, including yours.” She pointed at Gucci.
“OK, so if we aren’t going to take it to the police, then who?” Gucci asked.
“We take it to Shai and use it to negotiate a reprieve from his executioners, exactly as my father planned it,” Animal said.
“Yes, but his plan included him being the go-between. Now that Father is dead, we don’t stand a chance of getting anywhere near Shai Clark without getting shot. We need to find some type of leverage, insurance to make sure he plays fair while we speak our piece. Unfortunately, I have no idea what, though,” Kahllah said.
“Fuck it, without a buffer, it looks like the only choice we have is to bang until there’s nobody left standing,” Animal said heatedly.
“I’m fine with that. Since Father is gone, my spirit isn’t long for this world anyhow. I’m ready to die if the cause is a just one, and you’ve proven that your cause is just that, Animal,” Kahllah told him.
“Kahllah, you gangsta as hell, but I’m sure we can think of something else that doesn’t involve sacrificing ourselves,” Ashanti told her. “Animal, what you wanna do, big homie?”
Animal leaned against the wall, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to alleviate some of the tension that had built up. He glanced around the room, taking in each of the faces that were upturned toward him, waiting for a sign or some direction. Being a leader wasn’t something new to Animal; he’d held the same position in the Dog Pound, but that was different. Brasco, Nef, and the others had gotten into the race car to hell willingly; the rest were shanghaied. Animal was the glue that bound them all together, so it fell to him to make sure they survived the ordeal.
“I’ve got an idea.” Gucci spoke up, and all eyes turned toward her.
THIRTY
PURPLE CITY GENTLEMAN’S CLUB WAS one of the newest strip clubs to pop up in New York City, but in the short time it had been open, it had caused quite a buzz. It was part of a franchise, started by a hustler/killer named Diamonds who operated out of Miami. The New York location was the second one to open, and there was currently one under construction in Los Angeles. Diamonds was as much of an entrepreneur as he was a criminal.
It was still early in the evening, so the spot hadn’t really kicked off yet, but there were a few dudes who had slipped in during happy hour and decided to linger until the main event to avoid paying the twenty-dollar cover charge. A few of the new girls were doing their best to entertain them and get all the paper they could before the show stoppers came out and snatched it all up. Purple City was known to have some of the most beautiful and skilled dancers on the circuit. They rotated their stable regularly, so you weren’t likely to see the same girls from week to week.
Four girls danced around both sides of the large glass-top bar that divided the room. The extra-thirsty cats occupied the seats close to the bar. One dude in particular was feeling himself, thanks to the frosty bottle of Patrón in his hand. He probably spilled more liquor than he drank, while he threw dollars at the girls and tried his best to cop a cheap feel. He was one of those dudes who did the most for the least, draped in an imitation fur jacket with an oversized hood. The temperature outside had dropped but not enough to call for the coat. Behind black sunglasses, he did his best impersonation of a rapper.
Swann sat in the back of the club, nursing a bottle of champagne and taking slow tokes off a hookah. Dancing on the table in front of him was a light-skinned girl who was pretty but could stand to lose a few pounds and schedule an appointment with the dermatologist. Swann motioned for her to turn around, and she proceeded to touch her toes and wiggle her large ass in his face. Swann ran his hand down her ass and slipped two fingers into her pussy. She was warm and tight, and for a moment, he thought about taking her into the bathroom and monkey-fucking her. When he removed his fingers, a smell reached his nose that made him decided against it.
“Next,” Swann said, dipping his finger into somebody’s stray glass of vodka, hoping the potent alcohol was strong enough to kill whatever she had deposited on his hand.
Another girl took the first one’s place. This one was tall and exotic-looking, with locks of deep raven that fell down her back. Her movements were sensual yet not fluid, so you could tell she hadn’t been danci
ng long. She turned her back, dropped down, and popped her ass for Swann. When she flipped her hair, he could see the tattoo on the back of her neck. It was a dragon swallowing its tail. Bending over and arching her back, she shook her perfect ass in Swann’s face.
Swann’s brain screamed for him to mount her on the stage and take her from the back like the whore she was, but his heart wasn’t in it. Under different circumstances, he would’ve probably sucked a fart out of the pretty girl’s pussy in front of everyone in the room and not care how anyone felt about it, but he had so much weighing on him that even pussy couldn’t take his mind off it.
Swann hadn’t seen too much of his best friend, Shai, since Percy was murdered. Swann and Shai were thick as thieves, but lately, Swann had kept his distance. He was still handling his business as far as being underboss of the Clark family and field general, but most of his attention had been turned to his little personal war with Ashanti. The teenager was reckless, and there were no limits to how far he was willing to go. When it came to the streets, he was all in, and that meant he had to go. Swann had buried one Animal and wouldn’t see another one born on his watch.
Swann had used a good deal of the Clarks’ resources and lost some key men trying to take Ashanti out. Those kinds of losses didn’t go unnoticed. Swann would have to answer for it sooner than later, and when that time came, he planned to present Ashanti’s corpse to Shai and dress it up as if it was a victory in the war effort against King James. All Swann had to do to give the story an airtight seal was kill Ashanti, but that was proving to be a bit more difficult than he expected. Swann had to come up with some slightly more conventional methods of getting Ashanti out of the way.
A lanky, sand-colored young man with a boyish face, a head full of thick black curls and eyes so brown that they looked copper, approached Swann. They called him the Turk, because he was the offshoot of a black prostitute mother and an alcoholic Turkish butcher, who freelanced as a career criminal. Turk had hooked up with the Clarks by being friends with Baby Doc. They went to school together, but Turk was more into the streets than he was into books. He started out as a runner and worked his way up to soldier. Swann had promoted him after Holiday got put on injured reserve and Ty got murked. Turk wasn’t a cold-blooded killer like Holiday, but he was willing to clap his gun. That was the only opening Swann needed to plant his seeds of corruption. Under him, Turk would get his first taste of blood and start his slow walk to hell.
“Your guest has arrived,” Turk said to Swann with a knowing smirk on his face.
Swann exhaled the hookah smoke. “Then by all means, invite the fly into the spider’s parlor.”
Turk waved his hand to get the attention of the two men who had been standing near the door waiting for his signal. The men said something to someone outside Turk’s line of sight and began making their way through the club toward Swann. Muscled between them was a pretty light-skinned girl, dressed in tight jeans and a baseball cap with a leather jacket. Her shape was evident even through the jeans. Turk openly ogled her, but she didn’t seem to notice him, stepping past the young man and standing before Swann.
“So you’re Tima?” Swann asked.
“Fatima,” she corrected him.
“Whatever, just have a seat.” Swann motioned toward the empty space next to him.
Fatima looked over her shoulder at Swann’s men, who were circling her like vultures. She began to think that what she planned to do was a bad idea and she should leave.
Swann put the hookah tube down and looked up at Fatima. “Shorty, you’ve already come too far to do anything about it if my intentions were to harm you. Why don’t you sit down?”
“You can’t blame me for being a little nervous. I’ve seen enough of people like you to know better than to keep my back unguarded.
“You don’t have to worry, Fatima. I respect your father, and I gave him my word that I would let no harm come to you so long as you were under my roof. What happens to you when you leave here all depends on what you have to say. Please.” He motioned toward the seat again.
Fatima sat down, hands folded over her purse, trying to watch Swann and his men at the same time. “How do you know my father?” she asked.
“Cutty is a man of respect on these streets. We all knew him growing up. Rio, Shamel, that whole crew. They were the ones we aspired to be like,” Swann told her.
“And look at them now,” Fatima countered.
“Anyway, what is it that you want from me?” Swann asked in a tone that said he had better things to do.
“A pass,” Fatima said.
Swann burst out laughing. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. Ma, don’t act like you don’t know what ya man and his crew been up to in these streets. King James is about to foul out of the game, and anybody else riding with him will be retired to the locker room, too.”
“Swann, whatever is going on between King James and the Clarks isn’t my business. I’m just tied up in it because I’m with Ashanti, and he’s with King, but this isn’t really our beef. I’m not stupid. I know what kind of power Shai has. I just want to bow out gracefully with my man,” Fatima explained.
Swann looked up at Turk, who simply shrugged and shook his head, before turning his attention back to Fatima. “Shorty, you must’ve fell and bumped your head. Do you know how much shit Ashanti has done, and you want me to give him a pass? Get the fuck outta here! If all you’ve got to bargain with for that man’s life is a pretty smile and a sob story, then you’ve wasted my time. Get out before I have Turk throw you out.” He dismissed her like a common beggar.
“I can tell you where to find Animal,” she blurted out. It was the only card she had to play, so she did.
Swann’s eyes narrowed to slits at the mention of Animal’s name. “I know where to find him, too, buried in a shallow grave under a bunch of junked cars, right alongside his bitch.”
“Are you willing to bet money on that?” Fatima asked, taking her cell phone from her purse. She scrolled for the image she was looking for, then handed the device to Swann.
Cautiously, Swann took the phone and looked down at the image. It was slightly blurry, as if she had been sneaking to take the picture, but Swann would know Animal anywhere. He’d been around him since he was a kid. Without warning, Swann lunged and grabbed Fatima by the neck. One of the bouncers moved to intervene, but Turk and the two men who had walked Fatima in formed a wall in front of him.
Turk lifted his shirt and showed the bouncer the butt of the gun in his pants. “Take a walk or take a nap.”
The bouncer turned on his heels and went the other way. They paid him to break up fights between drunks, not take bullets over things that had nothing to do with him.
“What kind of fucking games are you playing?” Swann snarled in Fatima’s face.
“It’s not a game. Animal is alive.” Fatima gasped as Swann’s fingernails bit into the flesh of her throat.
“Tell me what you know, and if even for a second it feels like you’re lying, I’m gonna finish your pretty ass,” Swann warned.
“I’m not lying. I’ve seen him. I was with him last night at this old church. He was there with a man named Priest.” Fatima went on to tell him the story of the shootout at the warehouse and her abduction.
Swann searched her face while she spoke, looking for any traces of a lie, but she seemed to be telling the truth. It all made sense now, Priest’s strange behavior since Shai had ordered him to execute the young couple and his refusal to produce proof of their deaths. Swann had tried to tell Shai that something didn’t feel right about Priest’s story, but Shai had taken the executioner’s word as law and didn’t press it.
“That fucking snake,” Swann grumbled, thinking of Priest’s betrayal of the Clarks. He had no idea why Priest would go against them for Animal, but he intended to make sure the old head didn’t live long enough to regret it. “Write down the address.” Swann slid her a napkin and a pen.
Fatima hurriedly scribbled down the ad
dress of the church. She felt horrible about what she was doing, but one lesson that life had taught her was that self-preservation was the golden rule. Fatima knew Animal was her boyfriend’s best friend, but she didn’t know him and owed him no loyalties. She reasoned that if Gucci was in her position, she would’ve done the same to save her man’s life. “Swann, I don’t know what’s going on, and I don’t want any part of it. I just want to be left out of this shit.”
“Oh, I’m going to leave you out of it, all right.” Swann addressed his protégé. “Turk, take this bitch in the alley and put her out of her misery.”
Fatima’s eyes grew wide with fear as Turk and the two men stalked toward her. “But you promised my father I would be safe,” she reminded Swann.
“I told him that no harm would come to you under my roof, but I don’t own Purple City.” Swann smiled wickedly.
The two men who had walked her in snatched Fatima to her feet. When she looked at Swann, her eyes reflected the hurt and betrayal she felt. Much like how she had just betrayed Animal and, by extension, Ashanti. “You a foul nigga, Swann, real foul.”
“I’ve been called worse by better, sweetie.” Swann laughed.