Animal

by Foye, K'wan

  “Is there anything we can do?”

  “Wait and pray that someone turns the lights back on in those eyes of hers.” Tionna brushed Gucci’s hair out of her face. “You gonna be a’ight, ma.” She kissed her on the forehead.

  “You’re talking to her like she can hear you,” Ashanti said.

  “She can, she just can’t answer. You know Gucci’s nosey ass ain’t never missed a beat,” Tionna joked.

  Ashanti came to stand beside her, and this time he couldn’t help but to look down at Gucci. It was almost as if she was in a deep slumber. With the breathing tube gone she didn’t look as tragic, but it was still hard for him to look at her. In his mind he saw her scrambling eggs for him when he had come down to visit her and Animal in Texas and trying to get him to abandon his criminal life and resume his schooling down there. Every time she brought it up, Ashanti would laugh and say they’d talk about it later, and to his despair, later may never come.

  “I’ll never get used to seeing her like this,” Tionna began. “This shit is so fucked up because Gucci ain’t never did nothing but try to help people, even when they didn’t deserve to be helped. This wasn’t supposed to happen to her.” Tionna’s voice cracked, but she didn’t cry. She had cried so much since Gucci had been in the hospital that she didn’t think she had any tears left.

  “It’s gonna be okay, T.” Ashanti gave her a gentle hug.

  “I know.” She composed herself. “A lot of people had love for Gucci, and this ain’t just gonna go away. Somebody gonna feel this shit,” Tionna spat.

  “Listen to you trying to sound all gangsta.” Ashanti nudged her playfully to try to lighten her mood.

  “Nah, I ain’t no gangsta, but I know a few.” She gave Ashanti a knowing wink.

  Ashanti turned his attention back to Gucci. He felt awkward just standing there. He needed to say something, but he wasn’t sure what, so he took her hand and spoke from his heart. “Baby girl, I know you and the big homie always urged me to do the right thing, but you know I’ve never been good at doing the right thing, so it is what it is. You take all the time you need to get well, but just know that while you’re in here recovering, I’m gonna be in the streets banging for you. That’s on the homie Animal,” he vowed. Ashanti squeezed Gucci’s hand, then something happened that left him speechless . . . she squeezed his hand back.

  FIFTEEN

  ANIMAL GASPED LIKE A DROWNING MAN WHO had just cracked the surface of the water. His brain was still heavy with sleep, and his eyes blurry, but from instinct he snatched up his gun and swept the room for enemies. Slowly the sleep rolled back and his vision cleared. He sighed and lowered his gun. He was safe . . . at least for the moment.

  His heart was working overtime in his chest, and the burst of adrenaline made his head hurt, but he was getting used to it. The dreams were always intense. Since Animal had returned to New York he’d started having nightmares that felt more like intense hallucinations. Some of the murders he had committed began to replay themselves in his head while he slept. Animal had an extensive résumé of bodies, but the nightmares were of the brutal ones. The one he had just awakened from was always one of the worst. Not because of how he killed his victims, but because of how cruel he had been in the deed.

  The road Animal traveled trying to escape Puerto Rico to sneak back into New York was a rough one and mostly done by water. Even with Sonja using her father’s resources to help Animal, his face was too notorious to dare risk getting on an airplane, so he would have to go the long way. He traveled by ship from Puerto Rico, to the Dominican Republic, and eventually, Florida. During his travels, he had visited many ports and came in contact with people from all walks of life, but none stuck with him like the New Orleans refugees that he had met in Miami.

  Sonja had hooked Animal up with some cats from New Orleans who had set up shop in Miami. Diamonds was a slick-talking Creole cat, who, along with his crew, had escaped to Florida during Hurricane Katrina. Rumor had it that Diamonds had executed a big-time dealer from New Orleans and robbed him of all his product before fleeing, which was how he was able to establish himself so quickly as a power player in the Sunshine State. Diamonds was supposed to be the man to provide Animal with guns and safe passage to New York from Miami for a fee that neither he nor Sonja had ever revealed to Animal. She seemed to trust Diamonds, but Animal never really did. There was something sinister about the young Cajun that Animal couldn’t put his finger on.

  Diamonds and his team welcomed Animal as if he was one of their own while he was in Miami and as Sonja had promised, Diamonds provided him with the things he would need to get to New York and handle his business once he made it, including his choice from an arsenal of firearms. The whole time leading up to Animal’s departure Diamonds had been trying to sway Animal to get down with his crew, but Animal declined. His business was in New York, not Miami. For all Diamonds’s best efforts, he couldn’t sway Animal, but on the night before Animal was to depart, Diamonds made a statement that would change everything.

  “The tongue of my enemy will speak the name of your enemy. I think we can help each other, mon ami,” Diamonds had whispered to him. When he had Animal’s full attention, he went on to offer Animal what he would think back on as the devil’s bargain.

  There was a prominent dealer in the area named Flames who held sway over some territory that Diamonds was looking to take over. Flames was well connected in the Florida underworld, and for Diamonds or one of his crew to touch Flames would’ve been an immediate death sentence, so he turned to Animal to do the deed. In exchange for murdering Flames, Diamonds would give Animal the one thing he desired most: the name of the ones responsible for shooting Gucci.

  Animal’s voice was hard and cold when he replied. “When I kill a man you can always expect it to be clean, but for the name of the dude who tried to waste my old lady, I’ll see to it that your enemy’s mama is gonna have to lay him to rest in a sippy cup, cuz it ain’t gonna be enough left of him for a coffin.” And with that, the bargain was struck.

  Normally Animal would’ve stalked the victim for at least a week before moving on him, but he didn’t have that kind of time. He needed to get back to Gucci ASAP, so he kept it to three days; two to get a feel for his movements and one to push him off the planet. Flames was easier to find than most because everybody who was anybody in South Florida knew him. Finding him was one thing, but getting to him would be another. He moved carefully and rolled with a ruthless gang of young boys under him that loved to murder niggaz. Animal knew that staying one step behind Flames wouldn’t get the job done so he moved a step ahead of him.

  Flames had homes all throughout Florida, but his primary residence was a townhouse in a gated community that sat just outside Cocoa Beach, Florida. It was the one place that was off-limits to his crew and where Animal would spring his trap.

  One night after Flames had been clubbing he returned to his townhouse, as he did most nights, with a chick on his arm. This one was a curvaceous chick wearing a dress so tight that it left little to the imagination. Flames and the girl staggered through the front door and into the living room, pawing, kissing, and trying to tear each other’s clothes off. They were so caught up in each other that neither of them initially noticed the man sitting on the couch, cloaked in the shadows of the moonlight shining through the window, but they both paused when they heard the familiar sound of a gun being cocked.

  Animal’s voice cut the darkness. “Had I known you were bringing company home, I’d have set an extra place at the table.”

  If Animal had expected Flames to show fear, he would’ve been disappointed. The gangster poked his chest out defiantly. “From yo’ accent I can tell you ain’t from round here, so you can’t possibly know who it is you trying to rob, dawg.”

  “I’m holding the biggest bag in this whole city.”

  “And what’s that?” Flames asked and immediately regretted the question.

  “Revenge.”

  Animal tapped the trigg
er twice. The first shot snapped Flames’s head back so violently that you could hear his neck crack. The second shot hit him high in the chest, taking him off his feet. Flames landed at the feet of the terrified girl, and she looked upon what was left of him in horror. The skin of Flames’s left cheek, as well as his upper lip, had been completely blown off, leaving behind exposed bone and muscle. What was left of his ruined mouth flapped open and closed like a beached fish as he whimpered something that was too distorted for her to make out.

  The girl opened her mouth to scream, but Animal’s hand wrapped around her neck, trapping the scream in her throat. “You’ll get your chance to scream.” He kissed her on the lips softly. “But you’ll have to wait your turn.” He slapped her viciously across the face, knocking her out.

  The girl was awakened by what felt like someone licking her face. She turned her head in the direction of the tongue and began to suckle it gently between her lips. Slowly the fog began to roll back from her brain and remembering where she was, her eyes suddenly snapped open with a start. She was greeted by Animal’s grinning face hovering over hers. Pinched between his fingers playfully was a severed tongue. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know whose it was.

  “Oh my God,” she recoiled and scrambled into the corner.

  Animal stood and stalked slowly toward her. “Nah, not God, more like the rebellious little brother who they kicked outta heaven. I think you know who I mean.” He drew his gun and chambered a round.

  “Please don’t kill me,” she pleaded.

  “No loose ends, baby. It’s one of the first lessons I learned and a rule I live by.” Animal pointed the gun at her.

  “But I got a kid,” she said, tears pouring down her cheeks.

  “Good,” Animal nodded. “That means they’ll be somebody to mourn your passing,” he told her before blowing her brains out.

  Revisiting that particular murder always made him ill. It was necessary to murder Flames because he was a means to an end, but he could’ve spared the girl. He tried to convince himself that he had killed her to keep her from identifying him, but it was a weak lie. The chances of the girl going to the police and admitting to being at the scene of a murder of a known drug dealer was about as likely as him turning himself in for committing the murder. In all truthfulness, he had killed the girl more out of spite than anything else. He wanted to spite God as God had sought to spite him when Gucci was taken away. They were all casualties in his personal holy war.

  This made him think back on the conversation he had had with the priest at the church. The priest’s words were like searing needles in his skull that he desperately wanted out. The priest thought that by challenging Animal’s faith he could reason with him, but Animal would not be swayed. First blood had been on them, and the last would be his to draw.

  Shrugging off the ghosts that were trying to ride him into insanity, Animal got out of bed and prepared for the night’s work. He took a weed clip from the ashtray and lit it on his way to the kitchen, where he began rummaging through the cabinets until he found what he was looking for: a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels. Animal turned the bottle upside down and took several hardy gulps before slamming it on the counter. The burn was good; it woke up his senses and stirred the evil lurking in his heart. With the bottle dangling from his hand and the blunt hanging from his lips, he shuffled out of the kitchen.

  Even in the dark, Animal navigated the apartment with ease. Before hanging up his guns for a microphone, it had been the only home he knew and one of the few places he always felt safe. Since he’d been back, he’d been staying at a safe house in New Jersey, but after seeing the condition they had left Gucci in, he knew that he needed to be in the center of the hornet’s nest, but to set up in New York he needed someplace where he could be at ease, so he went home.

  Most would’ve called Animal crazy for hiding out in his double apartment, in a city where he was wanted for multiple counts of murder and a prison break, but there was always a method to Animal’s madness. Sometimes the best place to hide was in plain sight, and he was right under their noses. During his trial, the police had gotten warrants for the apartment he and Gucci shared in New York as well as their house in Texas, but the apartment had never been mentioned because the police didn’t know about it. When Animal had taken over the apartment from his aunt and uncle, he’d left all the paperwork in their names and gave them money every month to pay off household bills. At the time he’d done it that way because he was irresponsible and knew they’d make sure everything was up to date, but years later, the decision had proved to be one of the smartest he’d ever made. Since his name wasn’t on anything involving the apartment there was no paper trail back to him.

  Animal stepped into his bathroom and flicked on the fluorescent light over the mirror. The reflection staring back at him was startling and frightening. His hair was more of a mess than usual as it hadn’t seen a comb in Lord knew how long. Heavy bags hung under his eyes from sleepless nights, and the stress had stripped him of at least ten pounds. He was starting to resemble the shadow of death that he had been so long compared to. Between the drugs and the sleepless nights, Animal was putting a hell of a beating on his body, and it was starting to show in his appearance. Disgusted with the sight of himself Animal put his fist through the bathroom mirror in an attempt to destroy the monster staring back at him, but the monster simply multiplied in the broken shards of glass. In each split image he saw the faces of his victims laughing at him mockingly.

  By the time he finished the Jack Daniels, Animal was halfway dressed. He pulled on a black thermal and a pair of black fatigue pants, stuffing a red bandana deep into the back-right pocket. He strapped on a lightweight bulletproof vest and pulled on a thick hoodie to conceal it. Animal stood in front of the mirror tugging at the straps of the vest. The Kevlar would help, but he would need to retrieve his armor before he was truly ready to do battle, and for that, he needed to pay a visit to an old friend.

  Animal set out on his mission with visions of his enemies begging for their lives at the wrong end of his smoking guns, but little did he know, he wasn’t the only one with murder on his mind.

  SIXTEEN

  AFTER MAKING SURE HE TOOK CARE OF everybody he needed to see for the day, Ashanti was finally able to focus on the person most important to him . . . himself.

  When he’d left the hospital Gucci was still heavy on his mind. He was used to her fussing and chasing after him about this or that, so seeing her still and silent stabbed him in his gut with guilt. Ashanti had singlehandedly turned the tide against Shai Clark’s assassins and managed to save everybody except the person he should’ve been protecting: Gucci. His wasn’t the bullet that had struck Gucci, but he felt responsible because he had initiated the shooting. Ashanti had replayed the night at the club over and over in his head, wondering if things could’ve been done differently, but he kept coming to the same conclusion. It was either stand by and say nothing or watch his homies die.

  After some effort, he was able to push the tragic night out of his mind and turned his thoughts to what he would get into that night. Zo-Pound was off chasing pussy like he always did so that pretty much left Ashanti to his own devices. He figured he would hit the liquor store, then roll through the hood to see who was out. With any luck he might be able to bump into one of the project rats and see about getting her to do something strange for a piece of change. Ashanti had become quite popular with the chicks in the hood since he started running with King James, which was something he wasn’t used to. He wasn’t a virgin, but his experience with women had been somewhat limited. The only person he had confided this in was Zo-Pound. He expected Zo to laugh, but instead, he gave him some words of wisdom. “You’re a young man, so you don’t have to rush and try to eat the whole meal at one time. Sample each dish and see which one appeals to your palate.”

  When he’d first made the statement, Ashanti had been clueless of what he was talking about, but the more chicks he dealt with, th
e more sense it made. Ashanti was enjoying the spoils of being with a made crew, but no matter how many women he slept with, he still felt like something was missing. The chicks were cool to fuck and get high with, but after the bottle had been drained and his nut had been busted, he quickly lost interest. He didn’t see the same spark in his conquests that Animal saw in Gucci or Alonzo saw in Porsha when he was chasing her. There was one girl in the hood who he did enjoy talking to and wanted to push up on her, but he doubted that Fatima even knew he was alive. Chicks like her didn’t date the help; they dated the boss, and Ashanti wasn’t quite there yet.

  Ashanti contemplated walking back to the hood from the hospital because it was a nice night, but he didn’t feel like it. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts so he called a Harlem cab and requested a driver he was cool with to come scoop him up. Fifteen minutes later, a big white Suburban pulled up in front of his building. Ashanti jumped in the back and greeted the driver, who he called Nine-Five, which was his cab number. Nine-Five was a young Senegalese cat who Ashanti had met through Brasco.

  “What’s good, little brother?” Nine-Five bumped Ashanti’s fist. He was rocking a Yankee fitted, pulled low on his head, and an iced out cross dangling from his neck on the end of a chain. Nine-Five had only been living in the States for just a little over ten years, but from the way he spoke and dressed, you would’ve thought he was born in America.

  “Chilling, Nine-Five. What’s good with you? I called the base a couple of times for you but you weren’t working,” Ashanti told him.

  “Yeah, I had to go home and check on some shit,” Nine-Five replied, referring to his native Senegal.

  “Everything good?” Ashanti asked, recalling some of the horror stories Nine-Five had mentioned of his childhood growing up in Africa.

  “Yeah, man. Had to oversee some work on one of my properties on the coast,” Nine-Five explained.