by Cortney Gee
I rapped on the door and announced myself. "Hey Lance, it's me, Cameron, pimp. Is everything cool?"
"Nah shit ain't right, but we gonna make it right," I heard Lance speak from the dining room.
I walked into the door and was surprised to find Lance's crib in complete disarray. There was women's clothing flung all over. Something had to be wrong because not only was my friend paranoid, but he was a clean freak that suffered from OCD.
As I journeyed further inside, I witnessed Lance doing something that shook me. He was sitting in a chair, knocking back slugs of vodka with his gat on his lap.
"What the fuck are you doing?" I asked, without taking my eye off of him or the weapon.
"I'm having a celebration drink, what the fuck does it look like I'm doing?" he replied sarcastically.
I just stood there before him in silence, knowing shit was bad because Lance never ever, never ever drank.
"Lance what's wrong, bruh? Why are Gwen's things all over the floor?" I asked him.
But he just sat there, spaced out, neither here nor there with one hand on his drink and the other hovering near his gun. I walked slowly toward him making sure not to make any sudden movements that might startle him into a defensive reaction.
"Lance, where is Gwen?"
He looked up from his drink and then poured some liquor into an empty glass on the dining room table.
"You gonna make me drink alone or are you gonna join your boy?"
"No brother, I'm good. Where's Gwen, Lance?" I asked him, more focused on what was going down than on a drink.
"She's in the bedroom." He paused and gave me a cold stare. "I think you better have that drink, Cameron."
The way he said it, I knew Gwen's condition wasn't for sober eyes. I lifted the glass filled with Skyy vodka and asked him what we were toasting to.
"You being a man of your word, that's what the fuck we're toasting!"
"No doubt, son, my word is bond," I told my friend who had kept me off the back of a fruit truck and gave me entrance into a world of thievery.
"Yeah, my man, Cameron, my nigga. So your word is bond, I heard that shit."
Then suddenly, he stood.
"Come with me," he said, walking toward the bedroom.
I figured that I would see Gwen's swollen face from an ass whuppin', but instead I saw a vision that made me weak in my knees and threatened to make the drink I had just consumed come back up.
Gwen was laying in the bed, lifeless. Her limp body was slung on her back and her eyes were locked in an eternal stare upward.
"I had some questions that needed to be answered and she refused to cooperate," he said like he hadn't committed hell felony number one.
"Lance, what the fuck do you mean you needed answers? Was whatever the fuck you just had to know worth her life?" I was horrified.
"Look, Cameron, I ain't doing all this hustling, putting me at risk for felony charges just to have some bitch, no matter how fine she was, steal from me."
I couldn't believe my eyes or my ears.
"Nigga, how much money could she have taken to deserve to be slumped?"
"It could have been a dollar and that would have made it justifiable, dog. I was going to marry this worthless lump you're looking at."
I slammed my fist into the wall. I felt like I was in the middle of some bad movie. "How much, dammit?"
"Three hundred thousand dollars. Not all at once, but she had been piecing me off. I thought my shit was short but I tried to give her the benefit of the doubt."
"Damn."
I paused and stared at her body for a moment.
"So, what are you going to do?"
"Fuck you mean, what am I gonna do? You mean what are we gonna do?"
Shit, I knew one day my big mouth, word-is-bond ass was going to write a check I couldn't cash. But you could have never told me a promise would have me as an accomplice to murder, or at the least, involved in the criminal disposal of a corpse.
"Lance, I know I owe you man, but this goes against some ten-commandment type shit, bruh."
"And coveting your neighbor's bitch ain't?" he replied, effectively destroying any doubt that he was oblivious to Gwen's and my tryst in Vegas.
What he said paralyzed me internally but instead of showing my fear I fronted with bravado.
" So what you want me to do? Apologize? Because I can do that. What you wanna kill me, too? Just know I ain't nobody's bitch and I'm gonna fight for my life!" I spat at him, not knowing where this massive rush of courage was coming from inside of me.
He shook his head.
"Cameron, you're my brother; I would never step to you about no broad, man. I set myself up for the shit that went on in Vegas. I knew Gwen was hot for Anna. If I wasn't so preoccupied with fucking Terri, I would have hipped you to it." He looked at the dead body sprawled across his bed.
With the chance of Lance retaliating against me diminished, I asked him what he had in mind about what he would do with Gwen's body. I was open to helping him, but I wasn't about to be party to no gory dismemberment.
"First, we need to clean up my shit in here."
He put his gun down, then began rolling his fiancé into the comforter.
I watched as he finished that task, then started bagging all traces of her being in his home. I just stood there; I had seen enough America Justice on TV to know I didn't need to be touching anything. DNA had a funny way of showing up from simple shit like dropping sweat from a brow. And since I was sweating like a motherfucker, I was probably leaving a plethora of evidence for the authorities to find.
"Here, put these on with your scary ass. You sure are shedding that goon swag you displayed a minute ago," Lance taunted as he finally turned to me and gave me some gloves.
That jab pissed me off, especially since I was way outside of my hook-up helping him cover up his animalistic way of dealing with a problematic relationship. I was cool with helping him sanitize his crib, but I was drawing the line when it came to touching Gwen's rigid body. I had already enjoyed it when it was warm and full of desire. It would have been pure sacrilege to touch her in the state she would be in for eternity.
After an hour of making sure that Lance's condo was spotless, I asked him what our next move was.
"We're going to take her to the marina, put her on my boat and Gwen will be sleeping with the fishes."
"Okay, so just how are we supposed to do this because I’m not touching her?"
"I'm going to put Gwen in her truck, you're going to follow me in my Porsche. We'll dump her and then I'll leave her truck in South Central."
Though this was no laughing matter, I couldn't stop laughing. This fool had concocted a plan that sounded like a fucked-up Lifetime Channel script and I was following his lead like Lance's plan didn't have holes in it.
"Okay, just so I got this shit right, you intend to take that dead body on the elevator of a well-secured and heavily populated condominium community, wrapped in a comforter. Then, dump the body into the back of an Expedition, drive to Marina Del Rey, get on a boat in the middle of the night, hope by coincidence that a hungry great white shark has the munchies enough to devour all of that dead ass that Gwen has. Then after all of that having to go right, we drop off her truck in Watts and hope a Blood or a Crip takes it?"
He grinned. "Yeah genius, ain't it?"
"Only if we don't get caught it is, but if not, we are going to be viewed as the dumbest inmates in Folsom."
Lance tried his best to convince me not to worry, like he had done this shit before. I mean, he really said the shit like it was going to be a walk in the park or better yet a romp in the ocean.
The biggest hole I saw in the plan was that fucking elevator. The probability of someone happening upon us as we removed a corpse was too high for me to just brush off. Luckily, I was able to convince him to take the stairs. If this fool hadn't helped me touch my first million dollars and taught me the game, I would have given him the peace sign minus one finger and bounced
. My dumb ass knew better, but I had made an oath so I helped.
Much to my surprise, everything went off without a hitch. I was amazed how emotionless Lance was toward the remains of the woman he supposedly loved. He was so cold that before he tossed her overboard, Lance removed the huge diamond ring he had given her.
After he tossed Gwen and her car away, we headed back to his spot. It was getting late and I knew Karen would be worried so I called her.
"I had to make a run with Lance, baby. I shouldn't be much longer. You need me to bring you back anything?"
"No just bring your ass home," she demanded, satisfied I wasn't out whoring around but still impatient with my absence.
I thought about trying to catch up with Anna being that I was on her side of town, but seeing that I had put enough bad in my karma bank, it was best that I went home.
When we returned to Lance's spot, he pulled his car up next to mine. I lit a cigar to calm my nerves. After puffing a huge plume of smoke, I broke the silence between us.
"Now you know if you get pinched, this is your load to carry, right?"
"Yeah, I feel you," he replied in a listless manner.
"If I was you, I would get conveniently lost somewhere, as far away from this crime scene, ya dig?"
"Yeah, I was thinking of going to Vegas."
"Vegas? Motherfucker I said as far away from here as possible. Venice might be an option but Vegas? You have to be fucking kidding me. There is no way your flamboyant ass can be low key in Sin City."
"You might have a point there," he replied, knowing I was right.
I took another long pull on my MonteCristo #2, got out of his Porsche and opened the door to my Jaguar. As I was about to sit in my seat, I turned and said to Lance with all the seriousness I could muster up, "Oh yeah, and we are even!"
Lance nodded, but I didn't feel he completely agreed with me.
"Say it, we are even," I demanded.
"Yeah no doubt, we are even, blood."
I sat in the car, slammed the door, and cranked up The Wu Tang Clan’s “C.R.E.A.M.”
Just as I was pulling off, Lance asked, “Hey Cameron, you looking to own some real estate and a few new toys?”
“It depends on what you're offering and how much it’s going to set me back.”
“Obviously for me to disappear, I can’t take none of this shit with me. I’m talking about the condo, the cars and the boat. I’m asking for two hundred thousand and I’ll turn over the deed and the titles.”
With those words, now I was sure he saw my point about doing a ghost move. I told him that I was down.
“Let’s link tomorrow and settle up.”
Pulling off, I was already missing dude, but I couldn’t wait to get him that cash and seeing his ass off into the wind.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
My sleep had been disrupted by nightmares starring Gwen on several occasions. Today's subconscious feature film was a perverse dream of me making love to her cold corpse while her lifeless eyes stared holes into me. Nothing like nocturnal necrophilia to cause you to wake in a cold sweat.
My rustling in the bed woke Karen.
"Baby, are you okay?" she asked, snuggling up to me, pressing her warm chocolate body into mine.
"Yeah, I'm fine, it was just a bad dream," I told her, hoping she would fall back asleep.
"You wanna talk about it?"
I paused. "Nah it was stupid really. Now that I think about it, I don't remember what it was about." I kissed her on the forehead. In no time she was back asleep and I laid in the bed staring at the ceiling. I feared going back to sleep, there was no need for a sequel. So I just stayed there and thought about how overjoyed I was that Lance had taken my advice one month ago and got ghost.
I had no idea where he was and it was best that I didn't. The only problem was I didn't have anyone to discuss the guilt I had about my involvement in the crime. It didn't take a rocket scientist to know that the people who got caught were those who ran their mouths about their illegal activities. I was hoping Lance was following the same code that I was... loose lips sink ships. I stared at the ceiling until I fell back asleep, praying that Gwen wouldn't make a reappearance.
When I awoke, the house was quiet. Karen was off to work, the twins were off to school, and I was left alone to handle whatever business I had. I checked my emails and saw that Brian Mouton had left me a message concerning an upcoming date and wanted to know if I was available. I was surprised he contacted me via email, but then it dawned on me that he was used to hiring me through my old management. I called the number he left and Brian answered on the second ring.
"Cool Mou Promotions, how can I help you?" he said like he had an entire staff working for him.
"Nigga, do you still live in your grandma's house?" I chided him.
"Who the fuck is this?"
"So quick to ditch your professionalism, Brian, I'm surprised. It's Cameron, brother, I received your email, wassup?"
"Cameron B, my nigga, if you don't get no bigger. I heard that you and Tony weren't working together anymore, but I still wanted to pull your coattail and let you know I had a three-day run up here in Da Town. You open?"
"I saw the dates you offered and I'm good to go. I could stand to bask in the loveliness of the 510 and 405. You still paying a nickel a night or did I get lucky and your stingy ass has bumped up the budgets?"
"I'm still paying five hundred a night, but I would think with the added amenity of Tasha's ass thrown into the mix, you won't be complaining," he said, knowing my saying that I needed a Northern Cali excursion really meant that I wanted to hook up with my half-black half-Japanese side piece. We shared an on and off again relationship that was magically activated whenever my comedic career found me in the Bay Area.
Brian informed me that he had been trying to get in touch with Lance to no avail and asked me had I heard from him.
"Nah man, I haven't heard from dude, but check it, if you need someone else on the bill how about you book Marc Howard?"
Marc was another DC product who had come to LA pursuing the dream of hitting the big time. He was the polar opposite of Lance. Where The Great One wouldn't be caught dead without being casket clean, Marc was happy and most comfortable onstage clad in blue jeans, Nikes, and a jersey. He was still signed to my old management, but that didn't get in the way of me occasionally throwing some cash his way. There was a time when Lance and I considered Marc as someone we might add to our fraudulent fraternity, but we decided against it because he was so square.
"Cool," Brian said, "tell him that it's three hundred a night flight and hotel." He had saved two hundred dollars by hiring a lesser-known talent than Lance.
"All right, well lock my number in and if anything changes let me know."
"Oh dude, as far as I'm concerned, we solid. I'm going to start promoting the shows and don't worry, you're going to dig the spots," he told me before hanging up.
After finishing the conversation with Brian, I immediately contacted Lisa to inform her of the booking.
"Cameron, I wish you would let me handle things."
I could tell she was exasperated.
"Here it is I'm getting ten percent of a fee I didn't negotiate."
I reasoned with her that I had handled dealing with Mouton because he was much more like family than a promoter. As a gesture of apology, I offered to bring over her commission instead of making her wait until after the gig.
"It's fine, I can wait until after you have made it. But I thank you for the offer, it's very noble of you."
Again I promised to do a better job of letting her handle my comedy business and disconnected the call. After talking to Lisa, I had to contact Marc to see if he could actually do the gig. When I got him on the line, he let me know that the Oakland gig couldn't have come at a better time.
"Man, I would have been staring down an eviction notice if you hadn't thrown this my way, good looking out."
"It's all good, man, just make sure to clear th
is with Tony and get him his due. I don't need any flack for bypassing him," I told him to avoid the wrath of my ex manager.
A week later on a Thursday morning, Marc and I found ourselves aboard Southwest Flight 254 headed to The Town. Oakland was the only city in California that reminded me of Cleveland. Where LA was Hollyweird and plastic, Oakland was Hollyhood and real. Our first show was going to be at Sweet Jimmy's, a nightclub infamous because of its player clientele and being featured in the black exploitation classic The Mack.
Mouton used the spot to gauge the abilities of the comedians he booked. If a comic could grasp the attention of the loud and bawdy crowd, the other two nights were a breeze.
On the flight, I kept reiterating to Marc how important it was for him to put his best foot forward at tonight's show. Even though I had proven myself under fire at Sweet Jimmy's time and time again, I knew the audience wasn't to be taken for granted. Many a comedian had left that spot with their egos deflated and tails tucked.
We touched down at OAK and after debarking the 737, we made our way to baggage claim and retrieved our luggage. Marc ribbed me because of the large rolling suitcase I brought along.
"What are you doing? Running away from home?" Marc asked as he grabbed his gym bag off of the conveyor belt.
"No, unlike you I have outfits and matching reptilian accessories for each night. You might want to upgrade your wardrobe, pimpin’, and then you could demand more money," I said already knowing he was feeling a certain kind of way about the difference in our pay.
"Fuck you, Cameron, the only reason why you're making more money is because you hooked up the gig," he fired back.
"No, Mr. Howard, I'm making more money because I command more money," I responded, knowing his competitive spirit would fire him up to perform at his best.
Truthfully, I wasn't trying to rub his face in shit. The fifteen hundred dollars I was being paid he could have had. I was still sitting on a small fortune. I was merely raising the bar so that he didn't give a half-hearted performance. I knew if he fucked around at Sweet Jimmy's, just going through the motions, Mouton would have no problem sending his ass home.