Animal

by Foye, K'wan

  “Straight like that. If these bitches wanna thump, then that’s on them, but please believe I ain’t having my homegirl get jumped,” Frankie let her know.

  Bess was a warrior, but she knew that Frankie was too. Bess couldn’t say for sure if she could take Frankie in a fight, so she figured, why bother if she didn’t have to. “What’s up, V? You wanna shoot the one-deep with this chick?”

  Veronica was hesitant. The only reason she had pressed it as far as she did was because she knew Bess had her back if anything went down. For as long as she and Bess had been hanging, she had always been the pretty one who reeled the guys in and Bess had been the rough one who knocked the bitches out. Without having Bess as her security blanket, she was no longer sure how the fight would play out and really didn’t want to chance it, but she had already put it out there and couldn’t back down.

  “Fuck it. I’ll molly-wop this bitch right quick.” Veronica came out of her shoes.

  “We’ll see.” Porsha came out of her blazer.

  “Porsha, chill. Don’t fight this girl over me. Shit ain’t worth it,” Alonzo tried to reason with Porsha.

  Porsha chuckled. “Once again you give yourself too much credit, youngster. I’d never fight a chick over some dick. I’m gonna beat this bitch’s ass off the principle.” She took her earrings off and placed them in Alonzo’s hand. “This shouldn’t take too long.”

  Porsha turned around just in time to see Veronica swooping in for a sneak attack. Porsha weaved and avoided getting punched directly in her face, but her chin took the brunt of the blow. Her legs got tangled, throwing her balance off for a second, but she quickly recovered and came back at Veronica throwing rights and lefts. She stole Veronica in the eye, snapping her head back and opening up a small cut over her eyebrow. Porsha grinned when Veronica noticed the trickle of blood running down her face.

  Veronica touched her hand to her head, and to her horror, it came away bloody. “Bitch, that’s yo’ ass now!” Then she charged Porsha like a bull.

  Porsha tried to sidestep the charge, but the wedges on her feet made her movements awkward and slow. Veronica locked her arms around Porsha’s lower body and tried to lift her up. Porsha knew that if Veronica got her off her feet it would be a wrap. She rained blows ferociously on Veronica’s head and face every time she tried to lift her. When Veronica’s grip slackened, Porsha kneed her in the face.

  Veronica staggered to regroup. Blood leaked from her nose and dripped on the ground. She seemed dazed but was hardly done. With a grunt, she took a boxer’s stance and advanced on Porsha, throwing punches from the hip. Porsha managed to protect her face from the onslaught, but every time Veronica’s fist connected with her forearm, she felt her bones rattle. She had to admit that Veronica hit like a jackhammer, but her pride kept her standing. There was no way in hell that she would be remembered on that block as the chick who came from Harlem and got her ass whipped over a man, because that’s surely how the story would end up spun whenever it was retold.

  Porsha moved to put some space between her and Veronica and a dude in the crowd stuck his foot out, tripping her. Porsha landed hard on her hands and knees and before she could get back to her feet Veronica was on her, raining punches. Alonzo and Frankie moved at the exact same time, with Frankie moving to pull Veronica off Porsha and Alonzo creeping through the crowd toward the dude who had tripped Porsha.

  “Don’t jump in, Frankie. Let that bitch take her medicine!” Bess warned.

  “I ain’t jumping in. Your peoples tripped her. Let her get up and shoot the fair one.” Frankie stood between the Brooklyn girls and Porsha who was slowly recovering.

  While Frankie and the girls were arguing, the dude who had tripped Porsha stood off to the side, laughing with his friends about his shady move. He never saw Alonzo coming, but he felt the powerful strike to his jaw. The dude stumbled, and Alonzo delivered two more bone-crushing punches to the side of his head to make sure he stayed down. One of the dude’s friends snuck up on Alonzo and hit him in the side of the head with a bottle. Alonzo stumbled, holding his head. The dudes from the block closed in, ready to finish the Harlem cat off, but they all backpedaled when he came up waving his .357.

  “Back the fuck up!” Alonzo roared, sweeping the gun back and forth. One of young boys tried to inch up on him and almost lost his foot when Alonzo blasted the ground. “Li’l nigga, don’t make me murder you,” Alonzo barked. He found himself backed into a corner with Frankie and Porsha, with damn near everyone from the neighborhood trying to converge on them. It was about to go down, and it wasn’t looking good for Alonzo. Even being armed, there were five times as many of them as he had bullets. He cursed himself, because if he’d stayed his black ass in Harlem, he might not have been in that situation.

  Alonzo was about to try to blast his way out when he heard what sounded like thunder, but there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The thunder rolled a second time and the crowd parted like the Red Sea, making way for a chick, followed by several dudes. They all brandished guns like they were legal. She was a thick chick with red and black braided hair who walked with the authority normally reserved for a man. In her right hand, she held smoking Desert Eagle and in her left a smoldering blunt clip. She took two drags of the clip before tossing it into the streets and turning her weed-slanted eyes to Alonzo and the two girls. Alonzo was still holding the .357, but she didn’t seem to notice it when she stepped in front of him.

  “Who the fuck is y’all making all this noise in my hood? Don’t y’all know that don’t nobody do no gun-clapping on this block unless it’s us?” the redhead sneered at Alonzo.

  “That bitch came through here fronting, talking about I was fucking with her man so I put the pieces on her,” Veronica lied.

  The redhead turned to Veronica. “I don’t believe I was talking to you, V, and if your ass was in the middle of it, I know there’s more to the story than what you’re telling. Every time you come around here you get into something. I told you about that shit before.” She looked from the bloodied Veronica to Porsha, who looked ready to pop off at a moment’s notice, and finally to Alonzo. Even outgunned, he still stood defiantly clutching his .357. “Young man, you must sling dick like a porn star to have these two hoes out here boxing over you. Who you be, soldier?”

  “The name is Zo-Pound,” Alonzo announced.

  The redhead scratched her chin. “Zo-Pound? You the same Zo-Pound that runs around with little Ashanti?”

  “That’s my crime partner,” Alonzo told her.

  The redhead turned to her shooters. “Ain’t about nothing. The young boy gets to keep his life.” The shooters griped and reluctantly lowered their guns. “Zo,” she turned back to him, “we getting money around the corner so all this drama ain’t no good for business. Take your li’l girlfriend and head back uptown.”

  “You got that.” Alonzo grabbed Porsha by the hand and began leading her away.

  Porsha stopped short and turned to Frankie. “You good, ma?”

  Frankie laughed. “Yeah, y’all go ahead. These bitches is scandalous, but they ain’t stupid. They know what it is with Frankie Angels, right?” she looked from Veronica to Bess. Neither of them said a word.

  “A’ight, I’m gonna call you later.” Porsha waved at her friend. She was skeptical about leaving Frankie in Brooklyn, but she wasn’t really in a position to argue the point.

  “Zo,” the redhead called after him, “when you see Ashanti, tell him Auntie Kastro says hello and that he could at least call from time to time to see how I’m doing. We still family.”

  “I’ll do that,” Alonzo promised before hot stepping off the block with his lady in tow.

  “Who is that chick, and how does she know Ashanti?” Porsha asked when they had rounded the corner.

  “I don’t know, and I don’t care. Just keep walking before she changes her mind.” Alonzo didn’t feel safe until he and Porsha were in a taxi and on their way out of Brooklyn. “How come every time I turn around I gotta get y
ou outta some shit?” he asked Porsha as the taxi carried them across the bridge into Manhattan.

  “Nigga, knock it off because you know I didn’t start that shit. That was your crazy-ass girlfriend who was out there clowning,” Porsha rolled her eyes.

  “She ain’t my girl,” Alonzo said defensively.

  “Well, that bitch must not have gotten the memo.” Porsha pulled her compact mirror from her purse to assess the damage from the fight. There were three faint scratches on the side of her face, but nothing that a little makeup wouldn’t cover. “Crazy ho.”

  “Yo, I didn’t know you could throw hands like that, Porsha,” Alonzo told her. He knew Veronica to be a bruiser since back in the days but was surprised at how Porsha had handled her.

  “When you’re this pretty you gotta know how to defend yourself against haters,” she capped while fixing her hair. “This bitch done pulled me all outta my character.”

  “Don’t worry about it. You still the finest muthafucka living.” Alonzo pinched her chin playfully.

  Before they knew it, the cab was slowing up in front of the projects. Alonzo spotted Ashanti walking up the block with Fatima. He was about to tell the cabdriver to drop them right there until he saw the familiar brown Buick pull up in the bus stop. He already knew who was in the car so he told the cabdriver to let them off on the next block. As the cab passed the Buick, Alonzo watched the black and Hispanic detectives get out of the car and head straight for Ashanti, wondering what the fuck they wanted.

  THIRTY-SIX

  ASHANTI AND FATIMA WALKED UP BROADWAY, LAUGHING as they recapped the funny moments in the movie they had just come from seeing at the Magic Johnson Theater. They were the picture of an urban Romeo and Juliet, walking shoulder to shoulder and sharing an order of chicken wings. Every so often, they would nod or say hello to the people they passed, but their attention was fixed solely on each other.

  Since the night of Meek’s unfortunate murder the two of them had been inseparable. Though they had never spoken of it since the night it happened, they found an unspoken comfort in each other to get through it. Ashanti had had a crush on Fatima for the longest, and it seemed that she had been sweet on him too, but neither wanted to make the first move. For as tragic as Meek’s murder had been, it had been the thing that pushed Ashanti and Fatima together and sparked an unlikely romance.

  “That movie was funny as hell. What made you pick that one, Ashanti?” Fatima asked, chomping on a piece of chicken, trying her best not to get grease on her clothes.

  “Because Russell Brand is in it. He killed it in Get Him To The Greek, so I went back and checked out some of his other stuff. That English dude has got issues,” Ashanti laughed.

  “Yeah, he is mad funny. I gotta see some more movies with him in it.”

  “I got a bunch of his stuff on DVD if you wanna come by one day,” Ashanti offered.

  Fatima gave him a suspicious look. “What? You trying to get me to your crib so you can take advantage of me?”

  “Never,” he said defensively. “Fatima, I told you I ain’t on it like that. Me and you—”

  “I was just joking,” she cut him off. “Loosen up, Ashanti. You’re always so serious.”

  “Life is serious.”

  “I know, but all the time?” she countered. “Ashanti, I know what it is with you, and I know your position out here, but you gotta treat yourself to a good time every so often. You can’t eat, sleep, and breathe the streets.”

  “Why not?” he asked. It sounded like he was being sarcastic, but he was seriously asking.

  Fatima wasn’t sure how to answer. “You just can’t.” She threw her hands up in frustration. “Look, we all got problems, Ashanti, but that doesn’t mean we have to carry them around with us everywhere we go. Besides, I’m young, and I like to have a good time, so if you’re gonna be my boo, then you gotta learn to loosen up.”

  “So, I’m your boo now?” Ashanti raised an eyebrow.

  Fatima smiled and looped her arm in his. “Yes, you’re my boo.” When she’d initially said it she was kidding, but the more she thought about it, the more appealing the idea became. Ashanti was a thug, but he was a good dude. He was always on his best behavior around her, and he treated Fatima like a queen instead of a piece of ass. In him, she found the love and attention that she had been looking for in all the wrong places.

  They continued walking up the block toward the project building when Ashanti spotted the brown Buick pull up the bus stop a few yards in front of him. He had seen the car enough times in his life to know who was riding in it. “Fuck,” Ashanti cursed.

  “What’s the matter?” Fatima asked.

  “These niggaz.” Ashanti nodded toward the detectives who were now walking in his direction.

  Fatima saw the detectives and immediately thought of the gun she knew Ashanti had on him. Without him having to ask, she went into action. Fatima stepped in front of Ashanti, temporarily blocking the detective’s view of him. She kissed him long and deep on the lips, while removing the gun from his pants and slipping it into her purse. “Holla if you need me.” She wiped a smudge of lipstick from his upper lip with her thumb, then made hurried steps toward the building.

  Watching her walk away, Ashanti couldn’t help but to beam. That one act let him know that he had a down-ass chick in his corner, and Fatima was a keeper.

  “Where’s your li’l girlfriend off to in such a hurry?” Detective Alvarez asked when they had finally reached Ashanti.

  “I wonder what we’ll find on her if we go stop her,” Detective Brown chimed in.

  “Ain’t y’all got nothing better to do than harass innocent people?” Ashanti spat on the ground.

  “I doubt anyone kissing your rancid mouth could be considered innocent, kid,” Detective Alvarez shot back.

  “Y’all come to trade insults or try to pin a bogus charge on me? Either way, I ain’t got time,” Ashanti said with an attitude.

  “Now why would you think we had a reason to come over here and charge you with anything? You done something you wanna tell us about?” Detective Brown questioned.

  Ashanti twisted his lips. “You know me better than that, fam. Steel don’t break.” He patted his chest.

  Detective Alvarez laughed. “Yeah, but it’ll sure as hell bend if you apply enough heat. I gotta admit, they don’t make them like you anymore, Ashanti.”

  “And they never will again. Now, state your business so I can be on my way,” Ashanti told him.

  “A’ight, gangsta,” Detective Brown said. “I could stand here and tell you about all the murders that have been committed recently, but somehow I don’t think it would surprise you.”

  Ashanti’s face remained blank.

  “Exactly,” Detective Brown continued. “Now, I’d bet my pension that your li’l ass is elbows deep in blood, but you’re still just a puppet on a string. We want the puppet master. Where is King James?”

  “Who?” Ashanti faked ignorance.

  “You know who! The idiot who declared open war on Shai Clark in our streets,” Detective Alvarez cut in.

  “War? I thought the president brought all the troops home already,” Ashanti laughed.

  “You think you’re real funny, don’t you?” Detective Brown addressed him. “Well, let me tell you something that you might not find so funny. Word on the streets is that King James is trying to take the throne and calling Shai to task. Right now, none of you are enough of a threat to warrant his attention, but that’s gonna change pretty soon. When it does, Shai is gonna send a death squad to take King James out and anyone with him is going along for the ride, including you.”

  “Maybe even his pretty girlfriend too,” Detective Alvarez added.

  “Man, I don’t know no Clarks, no Kings, and no Queens, Detectives,” Ashanti said with a straight face.

  “So be it.” Detective Brown shook his head sadly. “You might feel like dying, but let’s hope your man King James is smarter than that.” He shoved a business card dow
n the front of Ashanti’s shirt. “We expect to hear back sooner than later.” He walked off with his partner closely behind.

  Ashanti waited until the detectives had gone before tossing their business card on the ground and spitting on it. “Fuck outta here.”

  “What them niggaz wanted?” Alonzo appeared behind Ashanti as if by magic.

  “Homie, you know better than to be creeping like that. You could’ve got blasted on.” Ashanti gave him dap.

  “I doubt it. I saw you pass your hammer to Fatima. Back to my question, what did those pigs want?” Alonzo pressed him.

  Ashanti exhaled. “Chasing tall tales about King. Man, shit crazy right now.”

  “Asking about King? What the fuck for?” Alonzo asked surprised. For as long as he had been rolling with the team, King James had been like a ghost to the police, flying under their radar, so the fact that they were now asking about him was odd.

  Ashanti hesitated. “I’ll fill you in later,” he told Alonzo while cutting his eyes at Porsha, who was a new face but looked familiar.

  Alonzo noticed his hesitation and made the introductions. “Porsha, this is Ashanti. Ashanti this is Porsha.”

  Porsha extended her hand, but Ashanti pulled her in for a hug. “Handshakes are for strangers. For as much as I’ve heard about you, I feel like we’re family.”

  “I hope they were good things that you heard,” Porsha smirked.

  “All good.” Ashanti winked at her. “Fuck happened to your head?” he asked Alonzo, noticing the knot on the side of his head from where he had been hit with the bottle during the scuffle.

  “Long fucking story, but it’ll keep.” Alonzo touched the knot on his head and winced.

  “Looks like we got some story swapping to do. But dig, I see you busy so I’ma let you do what you do with shorty, but we gotta talk later,” Ashanti told Alonzo.

  “Funny, because I was gonna say the same thing,” Alonzo replied, thinking of how he wanted to confront Ashanti about his strange behavior.

  “A’ight, so we’ll meet back here at sundown,” Ashanti gave him dap and headed toward the building.