Animal

by Foye, K'wan

  Janette and Nickels stayed with Shai and Honey at the compound for two weeks while Shai got to know the little boy that his cousin had abandoned. Nicky was a little rough around the edges, but he was a good kid who had been through some real grown-up things. When Janette announced that she was ready to head back to Florida, Shai found himself reluctant to toss his little cousin back to what was waiting for him, so he set Nickels and his mother up in the guest house while she tried to get herself together.

  Shai enrolled Nickels in a private school in New Jersey, and his abilities on the court and engaging personality quickly made him popular in school and the transition that much easier. It wasn’t long before Janette fell back into her old routine of partying. She fit right into the New Jersey underworld society and spent more time with hustlers than she did with Nickels. Though he never said anything, Shai and Honey knew it bothered the boy, so they went out of their way to make sure Nickels always knew that he was loved under their roof. A little over a month ago, Janette said she was going to Florida to take care of some business and would only be gone a week. That was the last time anyone saw her alive. Shortly after she left, Janette was found murdered in the home of a notorious Miami drug dealer. They had both been shot, execution style. Social Services wanted to take Nicky, but Shai wasn’t trying to hear it. Nicky was one of the few people who carried Clark blood in their veins, and his place was with his family.

  “What it do?” Shai came into the kitchen and gave Swann dap. He leaned in to hug him, but Swann held him at arm’s length.

  “Chill, my nigga; you too sweaty to be all up on me. You might fuck up my white tee.” Then he brushed imaginary dirt from the white T-shirt he was wearing.

  “My dude, that’s a five-dollar T-shirt not Versace.” Shai leaned on Swann, getting sweat on his T-shirt. “What’s goodie though, my G? I know you ain’t burn up that high-ass New York gas just to come over here and shoot the shit.”

  “Fuck you, Shai,” Swann laughed. What Shai said wasn’t that funny, but the way that he said it reminded Swann of Tommy Gunz.

  “Watch your mouth.” Shai nodded at Nickels, who was looking back and forth between them, grinning.

  “Who this li’l nigga?” Swann mussed Nickels’s hair. “Shorty got a worse mouth than mine.”

  “He better not let me catch him cussing,” Suge said over her shoulder. They had all almost forgotten she was standing there.

  “But on the real, Shai,” Swann continued, “you ever had a conversation with this li’l dude? I mean a real conversation?”

  “I know just how deep the rabbit hole goes with this li’l one, don’t I, Nickels?” Shai smirked at his little cousin.

  “Yeah, cuz,” Nickels said, smiling back mischievously.

  “So as long as you know that I know, then we’re all good.” Shai bumped fists with Nickels. “Now, go watch TV in the other room so I can rap with your uncle Swann right quick.”

  “A’ight.” Nickels slid off the stool with a saddened look on his face. He gave Swann dap before disappearing into the living room.

  Swann waited until he was sure they were alone before he addressed Shai in a hushed tone. “I got some scuttle on that shit them two dicks was talking about the other night . . .” he began, but Shai cut him off with a raised finger.

  “Let’s go outside and talk.” Shai led the way through the glass doors from the kitchen into the sprawling green acres of land that was his backyard. They walked down the cobblestone path to the duck pond, where they posted up on a wooden bench. There Shai nodded, letting Swann know it was okay to talk.

  “Like I was saying, I got word back on one of them bodies them bitch-ass detectives came at us about,” Swann said.

  “Well, don’t keep an asshole in suspense,” Shai said sarcastically.

  “The boy’s name was Slick. He was one of our lieutenants who had it clicking on the Westside,” Swann explained.

  Shai searched his memory bank and shrugged. “I don’t know that nigga.”

  “Of course you don’t, because you got a nigga like me to keep you insulated from the soldiers,” Swann said proudly. “Anyhow, I managed to track down the broad who had been with Slick that night and got the E! True Hollywood Story of what happened, and it ain’t good.”

  “Swann, please stop setting the scene and tell me what the fuck is good.” Shai was agitated.

  “Slick had just dropped off the package and picked up the bread for the night when some nigga wearing a Halloween mask got the drop on them. He roughed the broad up but let her go, then he murdered a cat in front of one hundred people before he bounced with Slick and the car.”

  “So what happened to the bread?” Shai asked, more concerned about the money than the life lost.

  “That’s the thing. When the police found Slick’s car, all the money was still there, the whole twenty-five thousand,” Swann said.

  Shai was shocked. “Get the fuck outta here.”

  “On my li’l ones, that money is sitting in a police evidence locker as we speak. To keep it one hundred, that’s the thing that’s fucking with me the most. Why go through all that trouble and risk having those kinds of problems and not take a dime for your trouble?” Swann wondered.

  “War,” Shai said, remembering the photograph.

  “Huh?” Swann was lost.

  “War. It was the word carved into homie’s forehead. Whoever did that was an attention whore and wanted to be seen, so we’re gonna make sure we see them.” Shai nodded in anticipation of retaliation.

  “I’m with you on that. There are a few cats who’d like to see us knocked outta the box, but if I had to place a bet, then my money would be on them cats from Grant Projects we got into it with at Brick City. I had my ear to the streets, and the word is that nigga King James been selling wolf tickets about how it’s over for us.”

  Shai’s mind flashed back to the altercation in the VIP. “You talking about the bum-ass nigga with the big chain? Them dudes is bottom-feeders; they ain’t got the balls or the resources to get it popping with us. On our long list of enemies he falls at the bottom,” he boasted.

  “Maybe, maybe not. I’m just trying to make sure we cross all t’s and dot all i’s going into this,” Swann told him.

  “You right, my nigga, so instead of focusing on one, we’ll make our rounds and touch ’em all. We gonna pat these niggaz on the asses right quick to let ’em know that the Clark name still rings bells in Harlem!”

  Honey sat on the living-room couch with her arms folded and her leg bobbing up and down. Shai and Swann came through the living room on their way out to only God knew where. She said good-bye to Swann, but rolled her eyes at Shai. When he leaned in to kiss her, she made sure to nick his bottom lip with her teeth. When he told her he loved her, she just rolled her eyes and let him leave without giving him a second look. She was heated and wanted him to know it.

  The conversation she and Shai had on the stairs a few hours prior was still fresh in her mind, and she got angrier the more she thought about it. She understood that he kept certain things from her for her own protection, but the way that he had dismissed her, stating that it was family business, stung her. She had known Shai since he was still a screwed up teenager playing gangster in the streets. She was wearing his ring and about to welcome his child into the world, so in Honey’s mind, she was a Clark and part of the family, but the way that he’d carried her showed Honey that there was still an imaginary line in the sand that she wasn’t allowed to cross.

  “You okay?” Nickels asked, coming to sit on the couch beside Honey. He had a pair of oversized headphones on his head and a portable CD player in his hand.

  “Yeah, I’m good. Thanks, Nicky.” Honey patted his leg. “What you listen to?”

  “Oh, this new CD I got. This joint is cold!” he said excitedly.

  “I thought when you liked something you said it was fire?” Honey said.

  “Nah, y’all say fire up North; down South, we say cold.”

  H
oney laughed. “Okay, so what is this cold CD?”

  “I ain’t never heard of him before, but he’s pretty tight.” He handed Honey the CD case.

  When Honey looked down at the artwork on the CD case and saw the diamond and gold grill sneering back at her she dropped the CD to the carpet and clutched her chest. As cautiously as if it was a snake, she picked up the CD case and stared at it in horror. When she saw the signature on the cover she felt a sharp pain shoot through her side. Without realizing what she was doing Honey grabbed Nickels and began shaking him. “Where did you get that CD?” she asked.

  “Honey, why you tripping?” Nickels was getting nervous. The look in her eyes was the same one he would see in his mother’s eyes right before she hit him.

  “Where the hell did you get this?” she repeated.

  “I got it from a guy at the park where we have basketball practice on Saturdays. The dude was blasting it from his car, and when I told him how much I liked the song he gave me the CD. Did I do something wrong?” Nickels’s eyes were pleading and frightened.

  “No, I’m sorry, Nicky.” Honey hugged him to her. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” she consoled him. She continued to reassure Nickels that he wasn’t in trouble, but she couldn’t take her eyes off of the CD. Was someone giving Nickels the CD a coincidence or an omen?

  THIRTEEN

  ANIMAL TRIED TO GET SOME REST BEFORE he initiated the next phase of his plan that night, but it was futile. He had too much weighing on him to sleep, so he decided to go out for a walk. It was risky considering he was a hunted man, but between his long voyage and being holed up in a motel room the whole time he had been back was starting to make him feel caged. Besides, it had been far too long since he’d taken a stroll through Harlem.

  Much had changed since last time he strolled the streets of Harlem. Where tenements and bodegas had once stood there were now high-rise buildings and fancy cafés. The changes to Harlem weren’t limited to the construction; the people had changed too. The once-predominantly black neighborhoods were now occupied by different ethnic groups of people who had migrated uptown to get their pieces of what was now considered prime real estate. It was as if they were the natives and he was now the outsider. Just about everyone he’d known was either dead or in jail, and he didn’t recognize any of the new faces hugging the blocks he once claimed as his domain.

  He reached in his pocket for his pack of cigarettes and found it empty. With a sigh, he crumbled the empty pack and tossed it on the ground before heading into the store on the corner. The first thing he noticed when he entered the store was the pungent odor of weed. Several young men lingered inside the bodega trying to act as if it wasn’t a front for whatever they were up to. Animal kept his head down as he approached the counter, but he could feel all their eyes on him.

  “Let me get a pack of Newports and two Dutch Masters,” Animal told the cat behind the counter. He was an older Spanish dude, rocking a do-rag and a chain that was supposed to pass for real, but clearly fake to someone who knew fine jewelry.

  “Eleven eighty-five,” the Spanish cat told him.

  Animal was caught off guard by the price hike. “Damn, shit really has changed in Harlem.” Reluctantly, he pulled out his bankroll and peeled off some bills to pay for his items. On his way out of the store, he noticed one of the boys tap his friend and nod in his direction. He knew they were sizing him up, weighing their options. There was no doubt in his mind about him being able to take the youngsters, but a confrontation with the street punks was something he didn’t need. He had much bigger fish to fry.

  After making it almost a block away from the store, Animal felt the hairs on his neck stand. He knew the feeling well from his years of being both predator and prey in the streets. He veered to cut across the street and looked down the block as if he was watching for traffic and spotted two of the boys from the store at the end of the block, trying as best they could to be stealthy. They were amateurs and stuck out like sore thumbs. He had hoped to avoid a confrontation, but it didn’t seem like they were going to give him a choice.

  Animal made a left on 126th and Seventh Avenue and headed west on a block that he knew was a less-traveled one. In the back of one of the buildings there was a dip that led to a small loading area that you couldn’t see from either end of the block until you were right on top of it. He stepped into a corner of the nook and undid his belt like he was about to relieve himself. His back was to the street, but he could see behind him via a small dirty mirror that sat above the loading bay door. Just as he had predicted, the two knuckleheads rounded the corner a few seconds later. Animal let out a sigh. They were little boys who were trying to play grown men’s games but would learn that Animal didn’t play well with others.

  There were only two of them, one wearing a hoodie and the other only a T-shirt. It was simple to figure out which of them, if either, was armed. After some debate, the one with the hoodie was designated the point man on the caper. With his heart halfway in his throat and a knife in his hand, he approached his intended victim with his partner in crime on his heels.

  “Yo, you know what this is. Give up before I—” That was as far as the kid in the hoodie got.

  Animal spun, snatching his belt off as he did, and went on the offensive. The thick leather belt struck as quickly as lightning, snapping twice across the kid’s face and ruining his whole game plan. Before he could even consider swinging the knife, Animal had looped the belt around his wrist and slung him face-first into the loading bay door. The impact of the kid’s face hitting the door set off a thunderous boom, but it was nothing compared to the scream the kid let out when Animal broke his wrist with the belt.

  The second kid tried to run, but Animal tripped him and he fell, face-first, to the ground. Before he could get up to scramble away, Animal was on him. He looped the belt around the kid’s neck and dragged him into the corner, where his partner was rolling around on the ground blubbering about his broken wrist. Animal let his attention slip for a second while trying to decide what to do and that was all it took. The kid with the belt around his neck swung blindly and managed to pop Animal in the mouth, busting his top lip. Animal licked away the trickle of blood and gave the kid a nod of respect before he stomped on his ankle and broke it. The kid in the T-shirt lost his balance, and Animal swung him headfirst into a brick wall, opening a nasty gash on his forehead. With a quick jerk of his belt, Animal spilled him on the floor next to his partner.

  Animal looked down at the two crippled would-be robbers. “Everybody wants to be a tough guy.” He shook his head and walked off.

  An hour after dealing with the two knuckleheads, Animal found that he was more wound up than when he had initially set out. The two kids were little more than a warm-up, but their screams had stirred the monster that lived inside him. The beast demanded to be fed, but the meal was not yet ready.

  Animal continued to walk, lost deep in his thoughts. He didn’t have a particular destination; he just knew he needed to walk to burn off some of his anger. Twenty minutes into his walk he was passing a church and stopped abruptly. The church was old and looked like it had seen better days but was still beautiful in its design. Staring at the church, there was something familiar about it that tugged at his brain. He couldn’t recall ever having been to the church, but something about it was familiar to him. He started to walk away, but curiosity made him go inside.

  The interior of the church wasn’t as dilapidated as the exterior, but it needed serious work. A rat scampering across Animal’s foot drew his attention to the wooden floors; at least he assumed they were wooden. All of the varnish was stripped away, turning the floor a very pale shade of brown. The purple cushions that padded the benches were faded and stained on the few seats where they hadn’t fallen or been ripped off of. It was obvious that there hadn’t been any worshiping within those walls in quite some time.

  Animal quietly made his way down the aisle, eyes fixed on a stained glass mural that depicted Jesus Christ
which hung over the podium at the front of the church. It was the only thing in the entire place that didn’t seem to have been touched by time and neglect. The ruby eyes seemed to bore into the killer accusingly, as if the mural could see his sin-laden soul.

  Animal sneered at the mural. “Who the fuck are you to judge me?”

  “Have you no respect for the church?” a feminine voice startled Animal. He spun, expecting to find an enemy, but was surprised when he was confronted by a young woman dressed in leather pants and a white shirt, sitting on one of the benches. She was a beautiful girl with olive skin and long, jet-black hair. From her features he knew she was from somewhere in the Middle East, but her thick lips and hips indicated that she may have been mixed with something else too. Her fierce black eyes stared at Animal accusingly.

  “Sorry, I didn’t realize anyone else was here,” Animal said sincerely.

  “It shouldn’t matter if you were here alone or not. This is still a house of worship, and you’d be wise to leave all that street mess at the door when you enter these walls,” she scolded him.

  “Damn, who are you? The freaking church hall monitor? Look, I said I’m sorry. What more you want, shorty?” he challenged.

  She stood and approached Animal. “My name isn’t shorty. It’s Khallah, and you will address me by my name or not speak to me at all.” She got in his face.

  “Baby girl, you better back up. You’re a little too close for comfort right now,” he warned.

  Khallah laughed. “Little boy, you have a sharp tongue. Maybe we should see what we can do about dulling it a bit.”

  “Ma, back up before one of us gets hurt and ends up having to apologize for clowning in this church.”

  “And I would gladly accept your apology, as soon as you’re released from the hospital,” Khallah said in a deadly tone. Her hands hung at her sides, but her fingers were rigid and pointed like spears.