“Sammy, I’m so sorry,” he repeated. He reached for me, but I recoiled from his touch. “Baby, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just got a lot on my mind right now and I snapped on you. I love you, baby. I love you.”
It was hard to hear him say that he loved me when he physically raped me like I was some whore on the streets. I cried; he wanted to console me. Now, he wasn’t in any rush to run out on me and see his crew. I had his undivided attention, but not the way I wanted it.
“Let me make this up to you,” he told me in his most sincere tone. Power reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of hundred dollar bills. I watched him peel away a few hundreds from his fat bulge and he placed the cash beside me.
“That’s three grand right there, baby. Go out and buy whatever you want. I don’t care. You deserve it,” he said.
I looked down at the money. I didn’t know what to think. Did he think he could pay me off after what he did to me? He continued to say, “I didn’t mean to do this to you, Sammy. I just got a lot on my fuckin’ mind. I just wanna find this muthafucka who’s been killing my niggas and tear his fuckin’ head off and piss down his gotdamn neck. I’ve been stressed, baby, really stressed. And if it weren’t for you, I don’t know where I would be.”
I continued to be silent toward him. I dried my tears and felt some kind of way. A part of me wanted to just get up and go, leave Power behind. He was going through too much, putting me through too much, but there was a stronger part of me that forced me to stay and be with him. I needed him. He loved me and I loved him. And besides, I needed the cash. I needed his help. I felt to walk away from Power would have been suicidal. I started to collect myself. I started to ignore what he just did to me and write it off as if it was only rough sex. I would survive.
I picked up the money. Power smiled at me. “That’s my girl.”
I locked eyes with him and warned, “Don’t you ever do that to me again.”
He came near me and sat beside me. “Baby, best believe I never will. I’m sorry what I did to you and it won’t happen again. I promise. You are my queen. And I promise you, once we find this muthafucka, whoever this OG is who’s fuckin’ wit’ us and digging his own grave, everything’s gonna be back to normal between you and me. We gonna take a trip somewhere. Vegas, Miami, how about the Caribbean? Yeah, the Caribbean sounds really nice, baby. We goin’ there after we end this beef wit’ these BMB muthafuckas.”
I huffed.
Power looked at me momentarily, patted me on my knee, and then stood up. He continued getting dressed. I watched him get dressed and then observed him remove two pistols from the top drawer and conceal them on his person. He was a gangster of a certain magnitude, a hardcore killer. I could see it in his eyes that he loved the streets and he loved that lifestyle. I wanted to get away from it all, but how? How could I get away from it when I was in love with a man who idolized it?
Power kissed me on the lips good-bye. I savored the taste of him and felt brainwashed by him. He threw on his leather jacket, winked good-bye to me, and left his apartment. When the door shut, I got up myself, placed the money in my pants pocket, and got dressed. What could mend today’s wrong was going out tonight and enjoying myself with friends at the club, and then, tomorrow, go shopping and buy whatever I desired. Fuck it, I deserved it. I lived poor for too long now and now it was my time to shine.
As long as Ms. Wilson got paid her money, she didn’t mind watching Danny all night. And I was paying her handsomely, one hundred dollars a night to babysit for me; the bitch didn’t complain not once. Fuck it, I could afford it now. I was dating and fucking one of the biggest hustlers in New York City. Power’s reputation preceded him. Nobody fucked with him, and through stories I’d heard, those who did would later regret it with their life or their families’ lives. And when it was soon known throughout the tri-state area that I was his girl, I was getting so much respect from everyone that it felt like I was the first lady of the United States.
My reputation was growing, but as it did, Rico was becoming more threatening. When I stopped answering his collect calls, the letters came in the mail. He was fucking with me, taunting me with this black cloud of guilt and extortion over my head and mentioning Macky in his letters, bringing up the past, making noise when I wanted silence and trying to rock the boat. In one of his letters, he even stupidly wrote:
I’m hearing you think you a queen again, got your king now, so Rico’s forgotten now. Yeah, right, bitch. I’m gonna always be around and always in your life. You have my son, so don’t get cute and think some other nigga is gonna be a daddy to my seed. You don’t want him to end up like Macky now. We know you are the hand of death, Sammy. What skeletons do you keep in your closet? You know I got the key, right, so don’t fuck with me. I haven’t heard from you and I’m still waiting on your answer, and you know a nigga ain’t trying to hear no. Get at me soon, and for your sake, please don’t keep me waiting long. I love you.
I quickly got rid of the letter and was so upset, I wanted to scream. Rico obviously wasn’t going to go away. I needed to get my mind off things, so I decided to hit the club scene. I didn’t want to party alone, so I invited Kawanda, a girl named Lisa, and Mouse. I told them that drinks tonight were on me.
Kawanda and Lisa were willing, but Mouse was still unsure. She told me that she needed to find a babysitter. I urged her to come out, maybe have Tango watch Eliza, because it’d been too long since we went and hung out, and actually had a good time. I needed to unwind. I needed my best friend with me.
Club Eight Ball in the South Bronx was always a lively and entertaining place to be on a Thursday night. It was where all the hustlers, shot callers, and players went to have a good time, via flaunting, flirting with the ladies, popping bottles, and doing business. It was a huge club with several VIP rooms and a long wraparound bar that carried every drink available to man.
There were always plenty of bitches in the place for the men to flock to. The men came with their A game and the ladies came dressed like they were about to walk down Hollywood Boulevard, showing off what their mamas gave them.
I was no different. I walked into the place clad in a very low-cut, red minidress with clinched ties on the sides and my six-inch stilettos that stretched my defined legs to the heavens. I felt like I could touch the ceiling in my shoes. I was with Kawanda and Lisa, and the minute I stepped into the club all eyes were on me, gawking and hypnotized by my beauty and outfit.
Of course we got our own VIP and ordered Moët and Cristal, all on Power’s dime. We danced with each other and got our drink on. The DJ was blending some of the sweetest mixes and we all got hyped. The Moët had me feeling so right. And the atmosphere was what a bitch needed. But every so often I would look around to see if Mouse had shown up.
Two hours into partying and drinking I was starting to give up hope that Mouse was going to show. Maybe she couldn’t find a babysitter. It wasn’t a big issue, but the minute I thought that, there she was, entering the club; and she didn’t come alone. I assumed she was with her man, Tango. I didn’t mind him coming along; as long as he was making my friend happy, then I was happy.
Mouse started to look around for me. I stood up and waved her way to get her attention. I could see her searching. I tried to shout for her, but the music was just too loud. The man she was with, he was attractive and tall and older. I admit, Mouse picked a winner in my eyes. She was wearing tight blue jeans, heels, and a tight Guess shirt underneath a leather jacket that highlighted her tits. Tango, he looked pensive and looked like he didn’t want to be there. He was dressed in a leather jacket also, and his demeanor to me read thug from head to toe.
Mouse finally spotted me waving frantically her way. She smiled and she and her man came over. I hugged her, introduced her to Kawanda and Lisa, and the formal introduction was made to Tango. While Mouse and I talked and got our drink on, Tango was the quiet type. He didn’t speak much and he didn’t drink much either. It felt like he was cautious about someth
ing, like he didn’t want to be around us, or didn’t want to be in the club at all. I asked him a few questions, to get to know him better, but his answers were terse. So I stopped talking to him completely. But Mouse and I were having a great time, reconnecting and partying. We even spat a rhyme for everyone. It was one of our old-school joints that we used to perform when we were young teens. It felt like old times again and I didn’t want this night to ever end.
An hour and a half after their arrival, Tango looked like he was ready to go. He was constantly looking around, and would sit with his back against the wall, not willing to get up dance with his woman and have a good time. That type of behavior made me think he was doing some grimy shit out there in the streets, because only a nigga who acts like that, always looking around, quiet, too cautious, he’s definitely doing dirt. Mouse said he was working a legit job. I assumed he was lying to her. But it wasn’t my business to get into. I just dealt with Mouse and learned my lesson long ago not to make the same mistakes twice.
Around 2:00 a.m., I got a surprise visit from Power. He decided to show up to the club. I didn’t know how he found out what club I was partying in, but there he was, entering with his harrowing-looking entourage and looking menacing himself. As he and his group of thugs moved through the crowded dance floor, I couldn’t help but notice how much respect he got from everyone and each person parted like the Red Sea allowing Power and his men to move easily without any problems. Power looked like a Don in his turtleneck and bling-bling gleaming on him like the sun. He towered over almost everyone in the place and his bald head glistened with his thick goatee neatly trimmed and his ink-black eyes probably searching for me.
When he saw me seated in VIP, he slightly smiled and came over. His goons made our comfortable area abruptly cramped with their presence. They didn’t hesitate to take over our fun. They snatched up our bottles and helped themselves and started harassing my girlfriends. Power gave me a kiss and said, “I see you decided to have some fun with my money.”
I shrugged. “I needed to get my mind off of things.”
“Hey, I ain’t complaining. I like seeing my woman having a great time.”
He made me take a seat on his lap and wrapped his arms around me. I didn’t mind. We started to show off. He fondled me gently, whispered something naughty in my ear, I chuckled at the comment and then he grabbed the chilly Moët out of the ice bucket. It was his mindset to take over and run things wherever he was at. He smoothly took things over at my small party.
Mouse was nestled against her man. They both were quiet. I noticed Tango became extra uncomfortable. He had his fingers locked and was faintly crouched forward with Mouse’s arms wrapped around him. It looked like he was ready to leap. He looked at my man like it was going to be a problem between them. Power turned and noticed the man’s eyes on him. He took a swig of Moët, locked eyes with Tango, and asked, “Nigga, you know me?”
“Nah, I don’t,” Tango replied coolly.
“Then why you clockin’ me so fuckin’ hard?” Power chided.
Oh shit, I thought. The last thing I needed was problems. I tried to defuse the situation before it escalated into some serious. “Power, this is Mouse’s man, Tango. He’s wit’ her.”
“I don’t care who he wit’, he needs to correct his fuckin’ eyes,” Power exclaimed.
Power’s entourage was all scowling a great deal at Tango. They all looked like they were ready to tear him apart. The funny thing, though, Tango didn’t look nervous at all. He didn’t even flinch. He kept his cool. He didn’t fuss back.
“We were just leaving,” Mouse chimed.
Good idea.
She stood up, grabbing her man, knowing it was about to get ugly. Tango didn’t fight with his woman. He stood next to her with this smirk on his face. The smirk angered Power. He pushed me off of his lap and stood up also, ready to confront Tango. And his wolves were ready to attack. I became nervous.
“What’s ya name, nigga?” Power demanded to know.
“Tango,” he replied gruffly. “It ain’t no beef wit’ you though. I just came home not too long ago.”
All eyes were on him and Mouse. Power stood at his full height, looking like a black grizzly bear in the room with his claws showing and teeth exposed, ready to gnaw at the man.
“We’re leaving,” Mouse chimed once again. “Sammy, it was so good seeing you again. We had fun.”
I didn’t say anything. Mouse pulled Tango out of the fire quickly and I felt relieved. Power shouted out, “Fuck outta here, nigga, YGC in the fuckin’ building.” He then glared at me and exclaimed, “What the fuck you got this clown-ass nigga around you?”
“He came wit’ my homegirl,” I explained.
“I don’t give a fuck who he came wit’. I don’t trust this nigga yo, sumthin’ funny ’bout him, my niggas.”
His crew nodded and agreed. “I feel you, my nigga.” They looked fiercely at Tango until he and his woman were finally out of the building.
“Tango,” Power uttered. “Yo, I want ya niggas to find out about that nigga, see who he run wit’ and what he about.”
“We on it, Power,” Mitch replied. Mitch was a pit bull who always had his teeth showing; he was the young and vicious killer in the mix. When Power gave him orders, he didn’t ask questions. He just did what he was told.
I just prayed this drama, it ended here, in the club, and didn’t escalate into anything critical. I had Mouse back in my life and I didn’t need anything or anyone else fuckin’ it up for me.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Mouse
The first piece of our furniture set arrived today and I was happy. Seeing the three-piece living room set being delivered made me forget about the small drama in the club last night. I wondered what that was about; most likely boys being boys, trying to boast who got the bigger dick. I didn’t think anything of it. Tango did have his past and maybe it was nothing. While Tango was at work, I was busy decorating our apartment, turning the cramped, ghetto-looking place into our home. We could finally afford a few nice things. We had gone down to Aaron’s and decided to rent our furniture by the month. It saved us a pretty penny and the set I picked out, it was a metal and wood sectional sofa set in dark truffle, perfect to enhance my home décor. The whole thing went for $1,500. We picked up a fifty-five-inch flat-screen TV, too.
Gradually, my place was coming to life. We had a used bedroom set in the master bedroom, and in the second bedroom I painted the walls sky blue, placed some Disney drapes over the windows, and set it up for my daughter’s room. It was also going to be the baby’s room. I didn’t tell Tango about the pregnancy yet. I wanted to find the right time to tell him.
All morning, I was decorating and cleaning, and started cooking, while tending to Eliza when she was awake. Changing diapers, making bottles, and becoming a housewife, yeah, this was the new me. But I didn’t mind it at all, it beat sucking dick in Hunts Point and living with a bitch who used me and took me for granted. I never wanted to go back to that.
While Eliza was sleeping in my bedroom, I continued working in the second bedroom. I wanted to do the floors over. They were dull and creaky. I wanted to make this bedroom feel like magic. Tango had called me and said he had a surprise for me after work and suggested that I try to find a babysitter for tonight. He was taking me out to dinner. I couldn’t wait. I loved being with him from sunup to sundown. We were a couple and the next step I assumed would be marriage. Yeah, I was ready to get married. I wanted something different and Tango, he definitely felt different. He felt so real to me. It was a sure thing that this was legit and we both weren’t going anywhere.
Yes, I was happy.
I started in the bedroom closet. It was filled with mostly jackets and some of Eliza’s clothing. I turned on the lights and looked around. I noticed there was a squeaky and lose floorboard. The minute I stepped on it, it popped up like a seesaw. I looked at it and something caught my attention. I kneeled down curiously and removed the floorboard and to
my surprise there was money underneath it. It was a wad of bills, mostly hundreds and fifties wrapped tightly around a few rubber bands. I picked it up and couldn’t believe my eyes. There had to be close ten or fifteen thousand dollars in my hand. Where did this money come from? Did it belong to Tango or was it left there by the previous owners? So much money, I didn’t know what to think. If it belonged to Tango, then it was obvious that he was doing something illegal out there. I went from being angry to disappointed, but I couldn’t jump to conclusions. I had to give Tango a chance to explain himself.
The Blue Hill restaurant was classy, and it was expensive. It was uptown, near Washington Square Park. It was a place where presidents and kings and queens would dine. Where fat bankers would take their wives and pink-shirted bros would bring their high-heeled girlfriends. The décor was breathtaking with its high ceiling chapel of twirling meat, and butterscotch banquettes projecting a beauty more natural than that of the nip-tucked Upper East Side ladies who dined there. There was plenty of civil conversation and people I was very unfamiliar with.
But here we were, Tango and I, two urban natives from the projects still trying to find ourselves in the world. I tried to dress for the occasion, wearing a long skirt and blouse, my long hair styled in a French bun and having just the right makeup on and the jewelry Tango bought me. I had to look good for my man, classy. It was the first time I saw Tango in a blazer; it was blue and he wore a collared shirt underneath looking like the Renaissance man himself. I was proud of him, but in the back of the mind, I couldn’t stop thinking about the money I found hidden in the closet.
We had causal talk, sipping on water while waiting for the waiter to bring our meals. I ordered a pepper-crusted rib-eye for forty-five dollars and a scattering of under-crisped vegetable sides. It was expensive, but Tango told me to order whatever I wanted; price wasn’t an issue tonight, which made me more suspicious. He had the main course in American cuisine, a surf and turf and steaming mashed potatoes. It looked good.
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