by Foye, K'wan
Scotty ran his hand over his face in frustration. “Leave it to the police to be more clueless than most. Well, we ain’t at war with anybody that I know of so my question is; who might’ve been holding a big enough grudge to risk getting wiped off the fucking map for disrespecting this thing of ours?” He looked at Shai.
“Someone with very little to lose,” Sol answered for Shai.
FOUR
ANIMAL SLOUCHED IN THE CHEAP MOTEL CHAIR with his feet outstretched and crossed at the ankles. Playing softly in the motel’s cheap CD player was the first mix tape he had released under Big Dawg. With his eyes half-closed, dreamily, he nodded and mouthed the lyrics. He had been sitting in that position almost the entire night, chain-smoking and replaying the night’s events over and over again in his head like his favorite movie. The heady rush of the kill had him too wired to sleep.
Sleep hadn’t come easy to Animal in a long time, and it became harder for him with every sin he committed. He was afraid of the things he would see when he closed his eyes. Sometimes he would stay awake until his body forced him into deep, dreamless sleep just to avoid the images that lived in his subconscious.
Old San Juan would forever be a stain on Animal’s already splotched soul. The war between Poppito and Cruz had torn apart the very streets that they both claimed to love so much. Poppito was a powerful drug baron who commanded a small army, but Cruz was a crooked police captain and had the government on his side. Poppito couldn’t match Cruz’s resources, and it looked as if he would lose the war when, in an act of desperation, he made a pact with the devil and in came Los Negro Muertes.
Los Negro Muertes was a crew of mercenaries known throughout the Caribbean and coastal U.S. as the Black Death, a title they had earned from the trail of dead bodies they left in every city they visited. Their numbers were made up of outlaws from different ports who had sold their souls to the ringmaster of the deadly circus, K-Dawg. Animal watched as K-Dawg twisted the wills of his followers to where they were loyal to him above all, including their families. Animal had seen this firsthand when he found himself in a fight to the death with his own brother.
When Animal fled the clutches of Los Negro Muertes in an attempt to get back to Gucci, it was Justice who K-Dawg sent after him. Animal couldn’t believe his eyes when he came out of the church to find his brother waiting for him with some of K-Dawg’s men and orders to bring him back dead or alive. Animal sought to reason with his brother, but when Justice pointed that M16 at him, he knew there was no more to be said between them. In the shadow of a church in Old San Juan, history repeated itself and pit Cain against Abel, but in this version, it was Abel who bested Cain. When Animal opened his brother up and saw the blood, the same blood that pumped in his veins, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He spared Justice’s life, but left him with a scar letting him know he wouldn’t be as merciful the next time they met.
The first rays of the sun crept through the motel window and kissed Animal’s eyelids, bringing him back to the here and now. Animal stood and stretched the kinks out of his body from sitting in one position for so many hours. He stiffly pulled his hoodie over his head, then went about the hassle of stuffing his hair into the wool Rasta cap. With his disguise in place, Animal armed himself and headed for the door. As an afterthought, he went back and grabbed the CD from the player and took it with him.
Traffic was light at that hour of the morning. Animal rolled through the drive-through to grab two breakfast wraps and two coffees. He mashed both breakfast wraps and guzzled one of the coffees by the time he was pulling out of the McDonald’s parking lot and hung a left for the West Side Highway. He steered the rental with one hand and used the other to pour the last bit of liquor from the pint into the other coffee cup. It was way too early for him to be drinking and far too late for him to care.
Animal shot north on the West Side and merged with the morning commuters into the traffic leading toward the George Washington Bridge, heading into New Jersey. The ride to Jersey City was longer than it had to be because of the route that Animal had chosen to take. Going through the Holland would’ve put him in Jersey City in less than five minutes, but he took the G.W.B. because it was a less secure route. The last thing he needed was to be a victim of a random checkpoint and have some overzealous cop lose his life for trying to stand between Animal and fate.
He pushed the rental through the streets of Jersey City, navigating more by instinct than the directions of the GPS on his lap. He wasn’t too familiar with Jersey, but he knew the place where he was going like the back of his hand. He turned into the driveway of the park and coasted through the parking area but didn’t see the car he had been tailing for the past few weekends. Since he didn’t see it, he pulled to the far end of the lot and decided to wait. One thing he had learned was patience. After checking to make sure his gun was loaded and a round chambered, he turned his attention to the basketball court a few feet away.
Teenagers crowded the court wearing either black or white basketball jerseys, playing ball, while an older white man in a warm-up suit barked instructions at them. Animal ignored most of the teens and searched for one in particular. It took a few minutes, but he finally spotted him at the other end of the court practicing his free throws. Animal studied his youthful brown face and couldn’t help but to marvel at how strongly all the men in that family resembled one another. Seeing the boy’s face took Animal to a place of pain and rage. His heart beat so hard in his chest that he feared people could hear it outside the car, so he turned up the volume on the CD spinning in the system. Something about the sound of his own voice soothed him, and he was able to calm down a bit, though not much. He was always on edge just before a kill.
Animal watched the boy as he and the rest of the teens performed a series of drills, then separated into two teams and played a game of full court basketball. The young boy was impressive as he moved fluidly up and down the court, scoring on the other kids with ease. He was a natural, and it was apparent to anyone watching. If the boy managed to fly straight he would have a promising future, but if he was anything like the others, he would throw his future out the window once he got his first good whiff of the streets.
“Such a waste,” Animal said to no one in particular.
Animal had been so engrossed in watching the boy that he almost missed the SUV he had been waiting for turn into the parking area. It was a money green Yukon with tinted windows and a chrome grill to match the rims. As luck would have it, the hulking truck pulled to a stop directly behind the rental, boxing Animal in. Animal adjusted his rearview mirror so he could try to see who was inside. The tints made it almost impossible to make a positive ID on the driver, but it didn’t matter. They were dead. Shoving his pistol into his pants, Animal slid from the car to step to his business.
“That joint go hard.”
The voice startled Animal. He spun, ready to draw his weapon and cut down whoever had tried to get the drop on him, but caught himself when he realized it was the boy from the basketball court speaking to him. He hadn’t even heard him approach, but there he was standing less than three feet away.
“You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that, kid,” Animal told the boy.
“My fault, I was just trying to hear the song.” The kid took a cautionary step back. His eyes drifted from Animal’s face to the bulge under his shirt.
Animal started to shoo him away, but thought better of it. If he played it right he could use the boy to draw his prey out and put him at a disadvantage.
“You good, shorty,” Animal leaned against the rental. He positioned himself so that he could still see the Yukon in his side mirror. As soon as the driver stepped out to investigate, Animal intended to splatter him.
“What you know about that?” Animal asked the boy.
“Man, it ain’t like nothing I ever hear round here,” the kid said with a slight accent. Animal could tell he was a native of the South, but couldn’t place exactly where.
“That’s b
ecause your generation don’t know much about real music.”
“Who is that?” the boy asked, fascinated with the complex lyrics.
Animal paused. “Just some dude I used to know.” He made small talk with the boy, while watching the Yukon the whole time. The driver finally got tired of waiting and made to get out of the car as Animal knew he would. “Go ahead and turn it up so you can really hear it.” Animal opened the door for the boy so he could get in and adjust the volume. While the boy fumbled with the stereo Animal drew his gun, ready to bang out on his enemy, but when he caught a glimpse of the reflection in the window of the open door, it wasn’t a man storming in his direction, but a female. In his haste for vengeance he had almost made a horrible mistake. Animal barely had time to throw the gun back in his pants before she was on them and furious.
“Boy, have you lost your damn mind?” The woman shoved Animal out of the way and snatched the boy from the vehicle. She was dark skinned and beefy with salt-and-pepper hair that she wore in feathered curls. “This ain’t the South. Little naïve boys get kidnapped in New York City,” she scolded him.
“Suge, I was only listening to the music,” the boy tried to explain.
“I don’t give a hoot what you were doing; it was dangerous. You know how your cousin is over you and ain’t no telling what he’d do if I let something happen to you,” she said. Animal could pick up the genuine fear in her voice under all her gruff bravado.
“It was my fault, ma’am,” Animal interjected. “He liked the song, so I was trying to let him hear it. I didn’t mean any disrespect.”
Suge looked Animal up and down. “What you did or didn’t mean is anyone’s guess, but you look like you got sense enough to know you can get in a mess of trouble for inviting children into your car.”
“You’re right, and I’m sorry,” Animal said sincerely.
Suge nodded, neither accepting nor rejecting his apology. “Let’s go,” she ordered the boy and stormed back toward the car. The boy gave Animal a sad wave, then made to follow Suge to the SUV.
“Hold on, kid,” Animal called after him. He popped the CD from the player and placed it in the CD case. “Here you go.” Animal presented the boy with the CD.
“I can have it?” The boy’s eyes widened in excitement.
“Since you like it so much, run with it. I ain’t got no more use for it,” Animal told him.
“Thanks a lot, man!”
“What’s your name, kid?” Animal asked, though he wasn’t sure why. There was something about the way the boy carried himself that made him intriguing.
“Nicholas, but everybody calls me Nickels.”
“Nicholas Clark, if I gotta call you again we’re gonna have a problem!” Suge shouted through the window.
“I gotta go, but thanks again,” Nickels told Animal and hurried to the truck.
Animal had spent the entire ride from New Jersey back to Harlem fuming over the cancelled hit. This wasn’t just some street punk he was after; it was Angelo, one of Shai’s capos and closest friends. Angelo was a cagey street vet who kept with no set routine except taking Nickels to basketball practice on weekends. Animal wanted to chalk Angelo’s absence up to shitty luck, but something about it didn’t feel right. The fact that Angelo wasn’t there meant that Shai and his crew had gotten the message and were gearing up for battle. The fact that they were now aware of the threat did little to take away from Animal’s element of surprise because he was pretty sure none of them knew how to defend themselves against a ghost.
Animal jumped off the highway and took the streets. He rode down Broadway, looking at the General Grant Houses looming to his left. He had had some wild times in the hallways in his days as a street punk. The last he’d heard, King James had Grant in a headlock and was gobbling up more and more territory by the day. Animal knew firsthand that King had been groomed by one of the greatest criminal minds of the underworld to be the next heir to the throne of Harlem. Much like his mentor, he quickly established himself as a force in the streets, but unlike his mentor, he was a novice at the arts of manipulation and diplomacy. King James had built a reputation as a bull on the streets, and Animal respected his gangsta for taking the hood the way he did, but wondered if he possessed the qualities it would take to hold onto what he had taken.
Animal sat waiting for the red light to turn green at the intersection of Broadway and LaSalle. He was admiring the renovations they had done to some of the stores when he spotted a familiar face coming out of the bodega. When he realized who he was looking at, his heart leaped into his throat, and he almost cried out. He started to hit the horn, but caught himself. He wasn’t in New York on a social call and had to keep his focus on his mission.
Ashanti had gotten taller since the last time Animal had seen him, but he still had the same baby face and wore the same mischievous scowl. His jeans were sagging off his ass so you could see his boxers and he was flamed up, with a red bandana tied around his neck and one hanging from his back pocket. His whole appearance screamed gang related, and he wore it like a badge of honor. Animal used to always warn Ashanti about making himself a target for rivals or the police, but big brother wasn’t around to scold him anymore so the youngster was marching to his own beat.
On Ashanti’s heels was a young girl. She was short with a pretty face and curves so nice that you couldn’t help but to take a second look. From the way she moved Animal could tell she was too young for him to ever consider going in on, but she was just Ashanti’s speed. Animal smiled like a proud father as his young boy handled the girl with the poise of an old head. In all the years Animal had known Ashanti, this was his first time ever seeing him interact with a girl, outside of trying to avoid getting slapped for something he said or did. It was an emotional and proud moment for Animal, and he had no one he could share it with because he was supposed to be a ghost. Ashanti and the young girl ended the conversation, and he sent her on her way in the direction of 3150, while he, himself, climbed back on his mountain bike and went his way.
Seeing Ashanti made Animal think of young Nickels Clark and how what he planned to do would affect the grand scheme of Nickels’s life. He wondered how little Nickels would make it in the world if he was left to raise himself. Would he still chase his hoop dreams or become like the rest of them—another bastard child of the ghetto?
FIVE
THE PROJECT APARTMENT WAS A WHIRL OF noise and activity. In the kitchen, a crackhead named Patty stood over the stove, shuffling pots and adjusting the level of the flame as needed like a master chef. She took a pot off the stove and eyeballed it, making sure the cookielike object was in the bottom of it. Once the cookie began to coagulate, Patty removed the pot from the stove and placed it on the table, where two chicks sat chopping up the cookies that had hardened already and placed small pieces into baggies to be sold on the street. Welcome to the trap house.
King James stood near the window staring out intently, stroking his goatee occasionally. He wore a red and white Nike tracksuit with the matching red and white Nikes. Hanging from his neck was a thick cable chain with a large medallion dangling at the end of it. The medallion was black onyx with a diamond-filled number seven nestled in a crescent moon. For all who saw it, the piece was a symbol of his faith and his ruthlessness.
The sound of raised voices drew his attention from the window to the middle of the living room. Two young men, Dee and Meek, sat on the couch in front of a big-screen television engaged in a heated game of NBA 2K12. Dee was getting the better of Meek, and Meek wasn’t happy about it, cursing every time he missed a shot. King James had tried ignoring them, but their bickering had finally gotten on his last nerves.
“Fuck is y’all making all that noise for?” King snapped.
“This nigga is mad because I’m getting in that ass,” Dee laughed.
“Fuck you! The only reason you’re winning is because you got the Heat and I’m playing with these bum-ass Hawks,” Meek shot back.
Dee flicked his thumb
on the controller and nailed a three-pointer with Mario Chalmers. “My nigga, you could have the Dream Team and I’d still be busting your ass because you’re garbage!”
King walked over and snatched the cord from the wall, abruptly ending their game. “I’m glad y’all got time to play video games instead of doing what the fuck I’m paying you to do.”
“C’mon, King, we had money on that game,” Dee whined.
“Nigga, fuck the money on that game. We got money on the streets, and y’all need to be worried about that instead of that fucking game.”
“It’s slow right now. Ain’t nothing going on outside,” Meek said, propping his feet on the coffee table and lighting the weed clip he and Dee had been smoking.
King James slapped Meek’s feet off the coffee table and snatched him up roughly by his shirt. “Ain’t nothing going on, huh?” He dragged Meek to the window and pressed his face to the glass. “What is that?” King pointed to a Direct TV van that was parked near the bus stop.
“It’s a cable van, B. Somebody is probably getting their cable hooked up. Why you acting all paranoid?” Meek babbled.
“This is the projects. You’re not allowed to have those dishes, so why would they be here, you dumb muthafucka?” King released him. “Keep your eyes on that fucking van. If they’re still there in fifteen minutes close shop for the day. And you,” he turned to Dee, “since you ain’t got nothing to do, grab a razor and help these bitches finish chopping and bagging my shit.”
“I ain’t no bitch,” one of the girls at the table spoke up.
“For as much as I pay you I can call you what the fuck I want. If you don’t like it, get yo monkey ass out, and I’ll get somebody to replace you,” he told her. King crossed the living room and saw that the apartment door was open, which angered him more. Everybody in the spot knew that unless you were coming and going, the doors were to be closed and locked at all times. “Who the fuck is that?” He snatched the door open, startling Fatima, the girl who had been holding the door ajar.