Animal

by Foye, K'wan

  Don B. frowned. “Gucci’s people? Animal’s royalties go into an account, and I know for a fact his lawyer breaks her off every so often so I know the broad ain’t hurting for no cheese.”

  Ashanti wanted to slap Don B. in the mouth for his reckless talk, but he kept it cool. “Blood, it ain’t for Gucci. It’s for her peoples. You know she all twisted up in the hospital, and her moms and Tionna been taking off work and shit to hold her down, so I know things gotta be a li’l tight. They ain’t asked me for nothing, but I figure they could use it.”

  “Tionna? Man, fuck that bitch! She could be sitting at Jesus’ bedside, and I wouldn’t put a dollar in that tramp’s hand,” Don B. spat.

  A few years ago he and Tionna had a thing that went sour. Tionna thought she had a come-up in Don B. and tried to play him like a trick, but she soon found out there was a dark side to The Don that she wasn’t ready for when he released a tape of them having sex that spread on the net like wildfire. The sex tape scandal rocked Tionna’s life to the core and proved to be the straw that broke the camel’s back in her already shaky relationship with her baby daddy, Duhan.

  To get back at Don B., Tionna threatened to go to the police and scream rape. Shortly after making the threat, she came home from work one day and found that her apartment had mysteriously burned down, leaving her and her children homeless once again. The message was clear, so Tionna wisely backed up off Don B., but the bad blood between them still lingered.

  “Blood, you still off that shit?” Ashanti asked as if it had been a simple argument.

  “Muthafucking right. That bitch tried to break me, then ruin me, and I’m supposed to let it go? Nah, B. I ain’t doing shit for Tionna,” Don B. said finally.

  “Then don’t do it for Tionna. Do it because I’m asking you to.”

  Don B. looked at Ashanti. His face was emotionless, and his eyes had that same predatory look that Animal’s did when Don B. had first met him. “Because I got love for you, I’m gonna do it. But don’t make this shit no habit, B. Is twenty-five hundred enough?”

  “For now,” Ashanti said with a devilish smirk.

  “This nigga here.” Don B. half-laughed and continued leading the way through the spot.

  Don B. was saying something to Ashanti, but he was only half-listening. His attention was focused on the kid in the blue Kansas City cap staring at him from across the room. Ashanti thought he recognized his face, but couldn’t place it right off. The two young men drew nearer to each other, and it dawned on them both at the same time. Ashanti hadn’t seen him in years, but Dance looked the same as he did when they attended middle school together. Ashanti and Dance had been friends back then, but after awhile, Dance had started doing music, and Ashanti got caught up in the streets so they went their separate ways. Though Dance was a Crip and Ashanti claimed Blood, they had remained cordial the few times they did bump into each other.

  “Damn, you’re one of the last people I’d have expected to bump into here. What up, Ashanti?” Dance shook Ashanti’s hand, then pulled him in for a hug.

  “Chilling, baby boy. Been a long time,” Ashanti smiled. It was the first time in a long time that he had smiled, and it was genuine. “What’s good with you, Dance?”

  “I was about to ask you the same thing. I ain’t seen you in a minute, but I hear your name ringing all through these streets though. They say you grew up to be a menace to society,” Dance told him.

  “And they told me you grew up to be a pop star, so I guess we can’t believe everything they say, huh?” Ashanti replied.

  “True,” Dance nodded, “but what you been up to otherwise? It’s like once you stopped going to school you vanished off the face of the earth.”

  “I always been here. You just had to know which rock to look under to find me,” Ashanti half-joked. “But enough about my tragic-ass life; I hear you’re doing your thing with the music. I’m proud to see cats from the trap make it, real talk.”

  “Thanks, Ashanti. It’s been hard, but we’re hanging in there trying to do what we do.”

  “And everything you do is gonna be big for as long as you’re fucking with Big Dawg,” Don B. cut in. “I didn’t know y’all knew each other.” He looked from Ashanti to Dance.

  “Man, me and Ashanti go back to free lunch,” Dance told him.

  “Oh yeah?” Don B. raised his eyebrow behind his shades. “Then I gotta ask, has this li’l nigga always been this vicious?”

  “Ashanti been about his business since he was yay high to a mailbox. But being that y’all know each other, I guess I ain’t gotta tell you that, huh, Don?” Dance said slyly.

  “Cut that out, Dance. This my li’l man right here.” Don B. tried to drape his arm around Ashanti affectionately, but Ashanti stepped out of his reach. When he did so, he accidentally bumped into a kid who had been passing by. He was wearing a red T-shirt and flannel shirt and denim Capris.

  “My fault,” Ashanti said. Little did he know, the kid and Dance had been trading evil looks all night as their respective crews were from different sides of the color line.

  “Yo, watch that shit, Blood,” the kid snapped. Seeing Ashanti talking to Dance the kid assumed he was a part of Dance’s crew.

  “I said sorry, fuck you. Want a cookie, homie?” Ashanti barked back.

  By now, the kid’s crew came to flank him. Dance stood with Ashanti, ready to put in work if it went that far. The kid Ashanti had bumped lifted his shirt exposing the butt of his gun. “Nigga, I think you need to recognize where you at.”

  “I know just where we at, now ask me if I give a fuck,” Ashanti said, drawing his gun. “You wanna bang, nigga? Stop bumping ya gums and draw,” Ashanti challenged. Everyone looked on in surprise as the frail little boy stood fearlessly against the goons.

  “Y’all niggaz chill the fuck out.” Lord Scientific stepped to the forefront. His long dreads swung back and forth when he moved. His lanky frame seemed to tower over the rest of his homies. Lord Scientific was another artist Don B. had recently signed who hailed from Newark, N.J. He lived the life most rapped about and wore it on his sleeve like a badge of honor. He was street poisoned with no care for an antidote. Don B. had seen firsthand the kind of mayhem Lord Scientific could bring to a venue so he quickly signed him to a record deal, as well as purchasing the rights to his mix tape, which was about to be rereleased under Big Dawg Entertainment.

  Lord Scientific stood before Ashanti. “Blood, you really wanna go there with it?”

  Ashanti looked him up and down. “Not really, but I ain’t in the way of being carried either. A man respects a man, and I’m a man.”

  Lord Scientific nodded in approval. “A man of simple philosophies and strong principles.”

  “The only philosophy I know is survival of the fittest. Anything besides that,” Ashanti paused, “I guess I’ll leave it to God to sort out.”

  “I hear you, shorty. Ain’t no problems here, right?” Lord Scientific looked at the kid who started it. He hesitated, but finally nodded. “Cool,” Lord Scientific extended his fist to Ashanti.

  Ashanti studied the fist as if it might have been booby-trapped before giving Lord Scientific dap. “Cool.” Ashanti was about to leave, but Lord Scientific wasn’t done.

  “What’s your name, shorty?” Lord Scientific asked.

  “My name isn’t shorty; it’s Ashanti.”

  “Ashanti,” Lord Scientific stored the name in his head. “I’ll remember it.”

  “You’d do well to, as I’m sure you’ll be hearing it again,” Ashanti told him with a knowing grin.

  NINE

  “ASHANTI? I DON’T KNOW ABOUT THAT ONE,” Pam said, refilling her plastic cup with coconut Círoc. Pam was older than Fatima and loved her like a little sister. The two girls did almost everything together. For the last hour or so, she and Fatima had been sitting on the benches, sipping and talking shit when the conversation switched to guys in the hood that they would sleep with.

  “What’s wrong with Ashanti?” F
atima asked defensively. This was her first time ever confessing her crush on the young shooter to anyone, and she didn’t like Pam’s reaction.

  Pam paused, trying to find the words to articulate what she wanted to say without being offensive. Eventually she shrugged and said, “Because he’s Ashanti!” she saw anger flash in Fatima’s eyes so she softened her approach. “Fatima, all I’m trying to say is with all the boss dick that would love to have you, why get hung up on a soldier?”

  “It ain’t always about what somebody can do for you, Pam,” Fatima told her.

  Pam reared her head back. “Why isn’t it? Listen, my sister used to always tell me that if a man couldn’t do anything for you, then he wasn’t worth keeping around for more than the occasional nut.”

  “I guess that’s why ya sister got four kids by four dudes,” Fatima capped.

  “Bitch, don’t go there with all the brothers and sisters you got floating around. No disrespect, Fatima, but I heard when your dad was running the streets, him and his crew was knocking everything down with a pulse,” Pam laughed, but Fatima didn’t.

  “Fuck that nigga,” Fatima said.

  “Wow, y’all still beefing?” Pam shook her head. She knew the history between Fatima and her father. “When you gonna let that shit go?”

  “When that nigga is in the ground,” Fatima said seriously. “Don’t get ghost and then come back in the ninth inning and expect us to be the Cosbys. I ain’t trying to hear that shit.”

  Her father was a touchy subject. Her mother had been little more than another conquest to a hustler named Cutty whose name used to ring off, and he made it apparent by not bothering to take an active role in Fatima’s life. Cutty would drop money off every so often, but other than that, the only time Fatima saw him was when he came through to smash her mother. When she was about six, Cutty went to prison for murder, among a slew of other charges, and was supposed to never see the light of day. Due to a technicality, he was released after serving just over ten years. By then, Fatima was already a young woman and set in her ways so when Cutty finally came around to play daddy she rejected his efforts. As far as she was concerned, she didn’t have a father.

  Pam knew enough not to press Fatima so she switched back to their original topic. “So let’s talk about you and Ashanti . . .”

  “Ain’t no me and Ashanti,” Fatima cut her off. “All I said was that he could get it!”

  “It ain’t what you said, but how you said it. I know you, Fatima. I know that look,” Pam told her.

  “What look is that?”

  “The love-struck schoolgirl look.”

  “Get outta here,” Fatima waved her off. She picked up her drink and took a sip so that Pam wouldn’t see the busted look that had just spread across her face. “And let’s say if I did have designs on Ashanti, why would that be wrong, because his paper ain’t up?”

  “That and the fact that that li’l nigga is dangerous,” Pam became serious. “Fatima, I got mad love for Ashanti, probably more than most because that li’l nigga got heart! But at the same time, I know a rabid dog when I see one.”

  Fatima rolled her eyes. “Ashanti ain’t even that bad. I know he does dirt, but who doesn’t?”

  Pam shook her head. “You have no idea where I’m coming from, do you? Fatima, you on it like that because you’re just meeting Ashanti since he’s been fucking with King, but do you really know the nature of the animal you’re dealing with?”

  Fatima was silent.

  “A’ight,” Pam continued, “dude is younger than me but we ran in some of the same circles. I was fucking with his man Brasco.”

  “Why does that name sound so familiar?” Fatima racked her brain.

  “Because he was Animal’s best friend,” Pam helped her along.

  “Animal, the rapper?”

  “No, Animal the mass murderer. Now stop cutting me off so I can finish my story. Like I was saying, me and Brasco had a thing, and it looked like it was gonna get serious so he introduced me to his brothers, Animal, Nef, and Ashanti. I knew they wasn’t real brothers, but it still felt special that he was introducing me to people close to him. Brasco treated me better than any guy I’ve ever dated, but I had to back up off him.”

  “Why?” Fatima asked, now caught up in Pam’s story.

  “Because when they let me into their inner circle, I found out that I wasn’t dealing with men. They were monsters, and some of the shit I’ve seen still gives me nightmares. They were killers with baby faces, and the most ruthless of their crew was Animal. That was the first man I’ve ever met whose eyes were just empty. It was like somebody had just cut the lights out in his soul. All y’all li’l chicks know the rapper, but I know the demon who lives where a young man’s soul used to reside. And when I look at Ashanti, I see that same dead look in his eyes. That boy has been molded in Animal’s image. When I saw that King had put Ashanti down with his crew, I knew that it was about to be all bad.”

  “You act like Ashanti is evil or something,” Fatima said, reflecting on what her friend was telling her.

  “Not evil, baby, just broken,” Pam said. “Ashanti is the last of a dying breed. Most dudes talk about how gangsta they are, but kids like Ashanti are willing to die to prove it. He’s street poisoned.”

  “Maybe all he needs is to find the right antidote,” Fatima tried to reason.

  Pam snorted. “Boo-boo, no matter how good of a chick you try to be to a kid like Ashanti, you’ll always be in competition with that other bitch.”

  “What other bitch?”

  “Death, ma. Death is his mistress, and despite your best efforts, she’ll always be waiting in the wings for him.”

  Before the conversation could go any further, Fatima’s cell phone went off. She looked at the number, hit ignore, and put it back in her pocket.

  “Who that you looping?” Pam asked.

  “That ain’t nobody but King James. He been blowing my phone up since I left earlier,” Fatima told her.

  “He’s probably mad that you didn’t come back to finish your shift,” Pam said.

  Fatima rolled her eyes. “Like I give a fuck. He should’ve thought about that before he tried to style on me. That nigga was trying to talk to me like I was one of his workers.”

  “Technically, you are,” Pam pointed out.

  Fatima cut her eyes at Pam.

  “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. I’m only keeping it tall with you, Fatima. There are a lot of people eating out of King’s hand right now, and to keep them in line, he has to be stern with everybody, including his fake baby sis,” she nodded at Fatima. “You know this game is all about appearances, and if you let one person slide, then you’ll have everybody testing your authority.”

  “But I ain’t everybody, Pam. Me and King go back to when he was James King, running around trying to get a dollar like everybody else. We got history!”

  “If y’all got history, then you of all people should know what it took to put him where he is and respect the things he has to do to hold that position. Everybody has to be held accountable. Playing favorites in this game can get you murdered, ma.”

  “Whatever,” Fatima waved her off. But she digested everything Pam was telling her, and even agreed with her to an extent, but wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of saying so.

  “Speaking of paper chasers,” Pam changed the subject, “I knew I had some fresh gossip to tell you. You’ll never guess who I’m hooking up with tonight.”

  “Well, don’t keep an asshole in suspense; spill it!” Fatima said excitedly.

  “Girl, Young Dance!” Pam confessed excited.

  “Young who?” Fatima was confused.

  Pam slapped her hand against her forehead in frustration. “Young Dance, the rapper.”

  “The cutie from Fifty-third? Bitch, you lying!” Fatima squealed.

  “I put that on my kids,” Pam declared. “Me and my homegirls went out one night to celebrate her birthday, and Young Dance happened to be performing that night.
He took one look at me in that tight red dress and caught the vapors. He tried to slide with me that night, but I put him on pause so he didn’t think I was a ho or nothing.”

  “I am so sure,” Fatima said sarcastically.

  “Shut up and let me finish,” Pam scolded. “Anyway, we exchanged numbers and been playing phone tag for the past week or two, and he asked me to come hang out with him tomorrow night. I think Big Dawg got something going on downtown so you know there’s gonna be money in the room.”

  “Money and killers,” Fatima scoffed.

  “I know you ain’t passing judgment when you’ve got a crush on a junior serial killer,” Pam teased her.

  “Fuck you, Pam,” Fatima laughed.

  “But on the real, come out with me, Fatima.”

  “I dunno, Pam. My bread ain’t really right,” Fatima said.

  “C’mon, ma, you don’t need no bread. All we gotta worry about is getting to the spot. Once we in the building, everything is on Dance. You know how I do.”

  Fatima was still hesitant. “Maybe I’ll just play the block, and we can hook up when you come back.”

  Pam looked at Fatima as if she had lost her mind. “Play the block? Fatima, you always play the block. Yo, for as long as I’ve known you I can’t ever recall you ever traveling outside of Manhattan. The world is gonna pass you by if you keep thinking like that.”

  Fatima rolled her eyes. “Pam, don’t even go there because you spend as much time in this hood as me, if not more. You been in this hood all your life.”

  “And look how my life turned out because of it. I got baby daddy drama, my kids drive me up the wall, and I can’t get a decent job to save my life, because I spent all my good years on the block accepting what life gave me instead of seeing what else it had to offer.”

  “I know, but sometimes I just feel like I’m gonna miss out on something when I leave the hood,” Fatima admitted.

  Pam reached out and touched Fatima’s hand. “Fatima, I don’t wanna see you as just another washed up broad out here like the rest of us bitches. The only thing you’re gonna miss out on by traveling outside the hood is the same bullshit that goes on every day; somebody getting locked up or murdered.”