Thirsty

by Mike Sanders

  I told her, “Look, we’ll talk when we get to my place, all right?”

  Sapphire looked semi-appeased for the moment. She turned the volume back up and sat in her seat with a slight smirk, satisfied that she’d gotten her way.

  The rest of the ride to my place was pretty much quiet and uneventful. Twenty minutes after leaving my brother I was pulling into my condominium complex on W.T. Harris Boulevard. As I passed the security gate, I waved at Otis, the graying, obese security guard who was sitting in the booth. I was surprised as hell to see him still awake. Normally around this time he would’ve been snoring and slobbering on himself. He waved me through the gate and winked flirtatiously at me and Sapphire as we passed.

  As soon as we entered my condo I disengaged the alarm and headed straight for my bedroom while Sapphire disappeared into the guest room.

  Sitting on my large canopy-post bed, I untied my boots and kicked them off so I could rub my aching feet. I wiggled out of those tight ass shorts and breathed a sigh of relief. As I sat on my bed I glanced at my nightstand and saw the gold-plated picture frame with a photo of my mother in it. Staring at the photo made me remember that my mother’s birthday was three days away. She would have been turning forty-six.

  As I thought about my mother, wet clusters began forming around my eyes. I didn’t want Sapphire to see me crying like a baby so I went into my bathroom, which was connected to my bedroom, and took the photo with me. I hit the light switch and once the room was filled with light I stared into the large vanity mirror at my reflection. I saw how weary my eyes looked and how it looked as if someone had pushed the fast-forward button on my life. Time had been going by fast as hell because it seemed like just yesterday when my mother had passed. It definitely didn’t seem like five years had passed.

  I rubbed my fingers across the smooth surface of the picture as if I could feel my mother’s soft cheeks. As I observed her Filipino features I noticed how much we resembled. The only difference was the fact that my skin was darker and my body more voluptuous; traits that I’d inherited from my father’s side of the family.

  My mother, Kimoka Pasca, was a full-blooded Filipino who could barely speak English when she’d met and fell in love with my no-good ass father, Tyson Dial, while he was serving active duty in her country as a marine. Eventually, they married and he moved her to the U.S. where they settled in his hometown of Chicago. I was born a few years after their arrival to the States, followed by Monk. Tyson’s side of the family, the black side, is where I’d inherited my tanned skin and brazen attitude from. But it had been Kimoka who had passed down my exotic features.

  Lung cancer had taken my mother away from me only a week after I’d finished high school. I was so glad I’d gotten that chance to fulfill her last wish of seeing me walk that stage. She had also made me promise that I’d take care of Monk and make sure he didn’t fall victim to the lure of the streets like so many other young black males. If she was still living to see how her baby girl and her son had turned out, lung cancer wouldn’t have killed her because she would have surely died from a broken heart. I missed my mother more than any words could possibly describe.

  As I continued to stare into the mirror, I whispered a hushed, “Girl, yo’ mamma pro’lly turning over in her grave right about now.”

  I dreaded to think about how Kimoka would react to what my brother and I were doing. I silently wondered if all the materialistic things I had accumulated from getting street money were worth getting “caught up” for.

  I had to give it to myself, at age twenty-two I had it going on. My ride was tight, pockets phat, and crib was laced. Not to mention that my wardrobe was full of Prada, Gucci, Louis Vuitton, you name it I had it. I probably could have started a small boutique with my clothes alone.

  My home itself spelled luxury! I had spared no cost at decorating it with Italian furniture, expensive art, and a few whatnots. I still had a headache from the cost. Thank goodness my brother kept up with boosters who had a few stolen cards that helped with the appliance area. Entering my home, most people marveled over the Victorian style mantle that stood out in my living room. Even though I didn’t have carpet I still wanted my guests to remove their shoes while walking on my cherry wood floors. The collection of books that lined the wall of my study was a conversation piece. And for those who were lucky enough to sleep on my canopy post Renaissance-style bed, couldn’t figure out if it was the silk Versace sheets or the mattress that made them sleep so well.

  As I continued to observe my appearance in the mirror I heard Sapphire milling about in my bedroom just outside my bathroom door.

  She yelled, “Where’s that scarf I left over here last weekend?”

  I took a deep breath and wiped my wet eyes. I sniffled one last time, then yelled back, “Look in the bottom drawer where I keep all of mine.”

  I began scrubbing my face with a sponge to remove the light touch of foundation I’d been wearing. Then I figured Sapphire would never find her scarf amongst all of mine so I yelled again, “Just use one of mine if you don’t see it.”

  While I was washing my face I was debating whether or not to put Sapphire up on my game or if I should leave her in the blind a little longer. I was undecided. Then after giving it a little more thought I decided that I would not broach the subject and would only discuss it if Sapphire brought it back up.

  I dried my face with a towel, grabbed my mother’s photo, and exited the bathroom. Sapphire watched me as I placed the picture back onto the nightstand but she didn’t comment. Instead, she wasted no time getting all up in my mix.

  “So, wuzzup? Put me on,” she smiled.

  She was sitting on my bed Indian-style wearing a pair of my gym shorts, one of my old T-shirts, and her hair was wrapped up in one of my scarves.

  I looked at her and joked, “Lemme find out you got on a pair of my panties too.”

  “You know you don’t wear this old stuff. You oughtta be glad it’s goin’ to good use.”

  I slipped on a pair of my favorite sweats and a wife beater. Grabbing the remote, I flicked on the 62-inch plasma that was mounted on the wall across from the bed. I was hoping to catch the late news. As I flopped down on the bed Sapphire let out a long sigh. She was looking at me with an exasperated glare. I knew she was getting impatient with me.

  Tired of being brushed off, Sapphire sucked her teeth and stood to leave the room. Frustration was evident in her features.

  “Okay, Okay, damn, you act like a lil’ baby sometimes,” I stated sarcastically while wrapping my hair in a scarf. “Hand me my bag.” I pointed in the direction of my dresser. She walked over to the dresser and tossed my bag at me.

  “Excuse you. You do know that this is a Chloe,” I said, holding up the purse.

  “Whatever,” she responded.

  She was watching me with curious eyes as I took out the money I’d gotten from my brother.

  “Count this.” I handed her the wad. She took it from my hand and sat back down on the bed and began counting.

  While Sapphire was counting my money I looked at her and stated with all seriousness, “Look, what I’m about to tell you, you betta not repeat. You hear me?”

  “Yes, maam,” Sapphire sarcastically replied while continuing to count the bills.

  “I’m serious! I ain’t tellin’ you nothing until you promise me you ain’t gonna tell nobody.” I was sure she could detect the graveness in my voice.

  “Damn you act like this some top secret type shit you got goin’ on.” She was tallying up the last of the bills as she spoke.

  “You better treat it like it’s some top secret shit, ’cause if I hear this shit get repeated we gonna fall-the-fuck-out! Seriously!”

  Sapphire placed the counted money in one neat stack, then looked up at me. “Aiight, you got my word.”

  “Good ’cause I’m graveyard serious about what I just said.”

  “Didn’t I just say okay?” She pointed at the money, which was lying on the bed. “By the wa
y, it’s thirty-three hundred.”

  I could tell she really wanted to know why I had just gotten over three grand from my brother. I thanked her for counting the money for me, then I began to explain my hustle to her.

  “See, me and Monk and nem got a little binness deal worked out.”

  Sapphire was looking at me with inquisitive eyes that were full of unasked questions. All of a sudden her eyes widened and her mouth sprang open as if she’d gotten hit by a bolt of lightening. The words jumped from her lips.

  “Oh, shit! You sellin’ drugs ain’t you?” She was almost sure of the impending answer.

  “Would you just listen?” I snapped, almost becoming impatient.

  “My bad. Go ahead and finish.”

  Just then, as if on cue, a news brief was flashing across the television screen. Sapphire started to speak again but I hushed her and pointed to the television indicating that she should watch for a minute.

  We both listened as the news reporter stated: “Authorities were called to the Embassy Suites hotel on South Tryon Street just over an hour ago in response to a call made by the manager, stating that an armed robbery had taken place in one of the suites occupied by two members of the Carolina Panthers football team. No one was injured, however, the assailants managed to get away with an undisclosed amount of cash along with several pieces of expensive jewelry. Police are on the lookout for three black males believed to be in their late teens to early twenties. Representatives for the Panthers are refusing to release the names of the two victims and are…”

  The reporter’s voice trailed off as Sapphire sat there and stared at the television, looking as if she were lost in thought. Her eyes widened again, this time with astonishment and slight confusion.

  She pointed to the television in disbelief and blurted out, “We was just down there! What…I mean…How did…”

  I was watching my girl’s demeanor to see if she had actually figured out what I’d been trying to tell her.

  Already speculating the answer, Sapphire asked, “So that’s what you had to meet Monk and nem for?”

  I was still watching the television as police cars surrounded the Embassy Suites.

  I pointed to the tube. “That right there was my work. I did that.” Sapphire was looking confused so I added, “I overheard these two chicks talking about meeting those football players at the hotel and I even heard them mention room numbers. So, me being the bitch that I am, I put my lick down and beat them hoes to the punch.”

  I went on to explain how I had peeped which car the girls had been driving while I was outside the club talking to Monk on the phone. I even told her about how I had slashed the tires to immobilize the girls so they wouldn’t be able to show up at the room while Monk and his boys were there handling their business. When I’d finished telling Sapphire about what I’d done I was thinking she’d look at me indifferently or try to give a bitch the third degree. But to my surprise, Sapphire was more so intrigued than anything else.

  “Damn, all you doin’ is settin’ that shit up for Monk and nem? I mean, you ain’t gotta go with them or nothin’ like that?” Sapphire had become enthralled.

  I took a deep breath, “Sometimes they might need a female to help them gain entry ’cause you know a nigga’ll let a fine bitch up in his spot any day before he’ll let a hard-head in. So, in situations like that all I do is get ‘em to open the door, then the rest is on Monk and nem, ’cause a bitch be out. I ain’t never stayed around while they handled their binness. Tonight I didn’t even have to be with them. I just called Monk and gave him the details I’d overheard the girls divulge at the club.”

  “And them niggas be breakin’ you off like this,”Sapphire was holding up my wad of cash. “Just to get them inside?” she was in disbelief.

  “Yep. They owe me some more after they get rid of the jewelry they took from them niggas.”

  I was trying to catch the last of the news report while she spoke. I was hoping they didn’t have any suspects for the robbery. After hearing that they didn’t have any, I was finally able to relax.

  “Jewelry?” Sapphire asked.

  “You didn’t see all that ice Monk had in that plastic bag when he showed it to me at the gas station?”

  “Guuuurl, you gotta put a bitch on,” Sapphire stated while looking at the bills in her hand and smiling wickedly.

  “I’on’ know, Phire, this shit ain’t as sweet as you think it is.” I was trying to deter her.

  Sapphire got up off the bed and walked around to my side where I was seated and got all up in my face.

  She was smiling when she stated, “Bitch, cut me in or cut it out. You know we go back way too far for you to be leaving me outta shit like this. Damn, I thought we was better than that.”

  “Girl, you know we still got each other’s backs like chiropractors, and we still as deep as them dimples in yo’ cheeks. But, I’on’ know ’bout this.”

  “Justice, put me on. I’m serious. Girl you know a bitch needs some damn money.”

  Toying with her emotions, I lay back on the bed and nonchalantly stated, “I’ma think about it.”

  I licked my thumb and started slowly flipping through the bills of cash like a drug dealer counting his stacks.

  “Yo’ broke ass need a loan?” I asked.

  “See there you go wit’ that ole bullshit,” Sapphire stated as she playfully swung one of my pillows at my head.

  “Gurl, you betta chill. You know you playing with authentic Versace and your “I need some money” ass can’t pay for it if you rip it. Matter o’ fact, get an umberella ’cause I’m finna make it rain on your broke ass.” I tossed the three Gs toward my ceiling and watched as they fell onto Sapphire’s scarf-covered head. We both laughed at my antics.

  Sapphire and I stayed up well into the night talking about the many capers I’d been on with my brother and other stick-up kids. I told her about the lick I had set Monk up with two months back. I’d put him on a hustler who had been fucking with this stripper I knew who danced at Onyx. I also told her about several other hustlers in Charlotte I had set up over the years. I told her that the nigga J.T. was currently in my crosshairs, and that it would be only a matter of time before he felt my wrath!

  The more I talked the more she wanted to be down. I told her I would link her with Monk and his boys as long as she promised to keep everything confidential. She said that she fully understood the seriousness of it all and she was more than ready to get her feet wet.

  That night, I drifted off to sleep with racing thoughts. I was silently wondering if I had done the right thing by putting Phire on or if I had very well made a grave mistake.

  CHAPTER THREE CARLOS

  Surveying my smoke-filled playroom, which I call the “Men’s Lounge,” I took in the scene. For True Players Only read the neon light that hung on the wall over my fully stocked bar. The still image displayed on the projection TV screen was from the Playstaion 3 being paused. Two arcade pinball machines sat idle in one corner and a professional length pool table occupied the other corner. There were only a selective few that knew this room existed, my connect and my street team. It was also a safe spot to meet without having to worry about unwanted niggas and bitches being all up in our mix. We met here once a month to unwind and get blitzed.

  My two youngans, Lil’ Joe and Dave, were shooting a game of pool for a hundred dollars a ball. Dave was nineteen and Lil Joe was twenty. Lil Joe was the youngest and the biggest of my soldiers in the room. Standing six-four and weighing in at two-seventy, he looked like a college linebacker. Dave was the smallest of my men. He was five feet six inches of pure gangsta. Together they ran several crack houses for me on the west side of Charlotte and served weight to other dealers in that same area. Because of their size difference, I often referred to them as David and Goliath.

  After rolling up and refilling their drinks, Face and Supreme unpaused the Madden football game on the Playstation 3. The table stakes were five hundred dollars a quarter and from
the looks of things Face was losing. Face was medium height, medium built, and light brown skinned with a grotesque scar that ran from his right temple to just below his chin. The scar was the reason he had been given the nickname Scarface.

  Supreme was a rail thin brother with long, thick dreads that hung down to the middle of his back. His complexion was dark brown and he had cold, beady eyes. His lips were just as dark as his complexion due to chronic cigar and weed smoking. Preme claimed to be a FivePercenter, a religion a lot of niggas claim to pick up during one of their many trips to the penal hotel. He called himself a God Body, a naturalborn god whom had the power to give and take life. If someone were to ask me I’d say the nigga was an angel of death. Preme and Face were my two hit men whom once used to murder just for the sport of it. They enjoyed it so much they were actually doing it for free...until I had come along. Then they were getting paid more than generously for doing what they loved.

  Lastly, there was Ali. Ali was my lieutenant and trustworthy sidekick who had always been down for whatever. Ali and I had grown up in the same housing projects, Boulevard Homes on West Boulevard, on the west side of the Queen City. We had both gone through the same struggle of trying to make it out. I made it out of the hood first and as soon as my pockets got right it was without question that my man got right too. We had known one another long before all of the money had come into our lives, explaining the reason why he was second in command.

  Standing an even six feet tall and weighing in at a solid 190 pounds, Ali and I were almost identical in size, only I’m an inch taller. Whereas, I’m a deep dark brown, Ali was a shade or two lighter. Like me, Ali also sported a low cut with sea-sickening waves. Because of his name, many thought my nigga was Muslim. However, he’d received the moniker at an early age because of his acute ability to box so well. He was a dangerous man with his hands. Ali could scrap with the best of them. Now that he was older, he let his pistol handle most confrontations.