by K'wan
Bullet faced her. “What the hell was that about?”
“I need a favor from you.”
“A favor? Baby girl, you just blew my phone bill. Why should I do you a favor?”
“Because you love me, and I’m your favorite student.” She batted her eyes.
“What do you want, Eve?”
“I need a hammer.”
He eyed her. “A hammer, for what?”
“I just need one. Come on, Bullet.”
“Jesus, you love trouble, don’t you?”
“Bullet, would you rather I came to you for it, or approach one of these larcenous niggaz in the hood?”
Bullet looked at her beautiful face and saw the same little girl he had taught how to pick locks four years prior. He never could deny her when she asked for something. “Come on.” He started off down a side street. They came to a stop next to Bullet’s beat-up Chevy. He got behind the wheel and motioned for her to get in the other side.
“You still pushing this piece of shit?” she teased.
“You better watch it, Eve. This is my Thursday car.” Bullet fished around under the driver’s seat until he found what he was looking for. He handed her a black Beretta that had electrical tape around the handle.
“Does this thing even work?”
“Course it works. Just a little beat up.” He smiled. “That little number has gotten me out of quite a few jams. If you get knocked with it…”
“I didn’t get it from you,” she finished his sentence. “Thanks, Bullet.” She tucked the gun in her purse and moved to step out of the cat. She was halfway out when she leaned back in. She kissed Bullet on his rough cheek and made her exit.
Now that she was armed, Eve felt a bit better. The Beretta was a little on the old side, and it wasn’t the most powerful gun she’d had, but it would do. If she was lucky, she’d never have to use it. Before going to her final destination, she made a pit stop by her crib to change. When she was done, the reflection that stared back at her in the full-length mirror was totally different. She reemerged from her building wearing black army fatigues and a fitted cap.
Beast lived in a beat-up building on 132nd and Eighth. The few people who were conversing in front parted and fell silent when Eve came through. She made sure to make eye contact with each of the men as she passed. When she began her climb up the stairs, she could smell the urine and other foul stenches. People lived in the building, but it was mostly used as a hideaway for undesirables. Dogs were kept on some of the higher floors, while addicts got high on the lower ones.
Beast lived on the top floor, which was one of the worst. The floors were cracked up and had holes in certain areas. Eve made sure not to touch the walls, unsure of what would come away on her hands. So many trash bags and other discarded items littered the floor that the walk to Beast’s apartment was like navigating an obstacle course. She knocked on the faded burgundy slab and waited.
She looked around at the wartorn hallway. It was amazing how some people were forced to live. The government was so busy funding staged wars that they had forgotten about the people they had been created to service in the first place. Sad was the state of the world.
After a moment, Eve heard stirring beyond the door. First she heard clawed feet scampering back and forth. Knowing Beast, it was some stray that he picked up. Her ears finally registered his lumbering footsteps approaching. Beast opened the door, wearing a mask of pure irritation. He was naked from the waist up, wearing a pair of faded black sweat pants. He glared at the young man dressed in all black and sneered viciously. Only when Eve removed her hat did his face soften.
“Hi, Eve!” he squealed. “What’re you doing here?”
“I told you I would come and visit.” She smiled. “You gonna leave me out here, or can I come in?”
“Sure,” he said, ushering her into the apartment.
Beast’s apartment stunk to high hell, but Eve ignored it. She stepped over a puddle of urine that was beginning to dry in the hallway. He had three bedrooms. One he kept for himself; the other two were for his pets. Eve could hear the animals becoming restless as a stranger’s scent entered the house. Dogs barked and birds squawked in some of the back rooms. Eve paid no attention to the noise as she followed her friend into the living room.
Unlike the rest of the house, the living room was relatively clean. There was a coffee table, sofa, and a love seat. The furniture wasn’t top of the line, but it wasn’t stained with animal excrement. Beast sat on the sofa, taking up a good portion of it, and motioned for Eve to sit in the love seat.
“I’m so happy to see you, Eve. No one comes to visit me since you left,” he said, sounding more like a child than she remembered.
“Well, I’m home now, and you know I’ll make sure you’re okay,” she assured him. “Did you take your medication today?”
“I was just gonna do it.” Beast retrieved the pill bottle from his pocket and shook a few into his hand. He tossed the pills into his mouth and swallowed them dry. “See,” he said, opening his mouth for Eve to inspect, “all gone.”
“That’s my boy.” She smiled. “Now, I got something for you.” Eve dug into her pocket and pulled out a box of Cracker Jacks. Beast snatched the box from her so fast that he almost took a finger with him. With the glee of a small child, he tore the top from the box and began to devour the caramel treats. Eve found herself feel a mix of joy and sorrow. She was very happy to see her friend, but it was heartbreaking to see what he had become.
“Cracker Jacks are the best,” he said, licking his sticky fingers. “Thanks, Eve.”
“You know I’d do anything for you,” she told him. “So what you been up to?”
“Nothing much. My friends keep me real busy.” By friends, he meant the array of animals that he cared for. Besides Eve, they were all he had. As if on cue, the kitten he showed her the day before came hopping onto his lap. Beast stroked the kitten’s head affectionately.
“So you gonna sit in the house playing Doctor Doolittle, or we hitting the streets?” she asked.
“Okay,” he said standing, but still cradling the kitten. “Let me put my shirt on first.”
While Beast disappeared, Eve decided to have a look into the kennel. It had been a while since she had been to her friend’s house. Beast was always known for keeping strange animals, and she was curious to see what he was housing these days. When Eve opened the door, her curiosity almost made her wretch.
The smell of urine and animal waste rushed her senses. The stink was so bad, she was afraid it would get caught in her clothes. She peered into the room and observed Beast’s circus. Apparently this was the room he reserved for the larger animals. Chained to opposite corners of the room were three dogs. Two were pits and the third looked like some mixed breed. All of the animals bore scars and tooth marks in their hides. Obviously someone had been fighting them before they came under Beast’s care.
After seeing the first room, she decided that she didn’t want to see the other one. She closed the door continued down the hall. Several dust-covered pictures hung crookedly along the left wall. She took one down and felt her eyes water. Beast was crouched, in his football uniform, holding Eve on his shoulder. If he’d never taken such a liking to her, he might’ve been more in life. The more she thought about that fateful night, the more fitting her nickname became. Before she could embarrass herself by crying, Beast came out of the bedroom.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, with a child’s innocence.
“Nothing,” she responded. Eve kissed her fingers and ran them across his image before following him out the door.
Bullet watched from the shadows as the man he was supposed to meet entered the school yard. The big man was alone, but Bullet could see the glint of metal from the pistol he had dangling at his side. Big Steve was still as paranoid as ever. Bullet couldn’t blame him, though. When you lived as they did, being too relaxed could get you an early retirement plan in potter’s field.
He and Steve h
ad something of a history. They both came up in the crack era and had occasionally been allies on Riker’s Island. When the big man had called him, he was a bit suspicious at first. Since going to work for the Italians, Steve had distanced himself from his hood ties. He and Bullet would still speak when they passed in the streets, but it didn’t go beyond that. When Steve called to request a meeting, Bullet found it odd, but his curiosity wouldn’t allow him to decline.
Steve strode right past Bullet’s hiding place but didn’t notice the seasoned criminal lurking. He had gotten about three feet when he heard the faint sounds of shuffling gravel to his rear. He started to turn around, but the feeling of cold steel at the base of his skull froze him. He had been caught slipping.
“Sup, Steve,” Bullet whispered.
“B-Bullet? What’s with the gun?” Steve asked in an unsteady voice.
“I was gonna ask you the same thing,” Bullet replied, removing Steve’s pistol and placing it into his jacket pocket. “Old friends don’t talk business over pistols.”
“Chill, man. That shit ain’t bout nothing. You expected me to come down to this shit hole and not be strapped? Come the fuck on.”
“Yeah, I can understand that.” Bullet lowered his weapon, but neglected to return Steve’s. “Anyhow, you said you had a proposition for me, nigga?”
“Yeah, man. How would you like to make yourself a whole lot of cake?” Steve asked slyly.
“Shit, who wouldn’t? What’s your angle?”
“Ain’t no angle, Bullet. My people just need some work done, and I think you’re the best man for the job.”
“Or the best patsy for the fall.” Bullet shot back. “What you need from me?”
“What else? I need you to steal something.”
13.
Carlo bucked like a wild bull while the prostitute he had picked up grabbed the sheets and moaned. Her bronze ass was whelped and bruised from his vicious blows. She cried out in pain, but he ignored her.
“Yeah, bitch,” he snarled, “you love this cock, don’t you?” Carlo grabbed her viciously by the waist and flipped her over. Her silky hair was stuck to her face by sweat, but still allowed glimpses of her brown eyes. He stroked her gently and let his imagination go. He imagined that the girl was someone else. She was a tall Black woman with a curvaceous body. Cassidy smiled at him wickedly, beckoning for more. In his delusion, she called for him to stroke her harder.
The more intense the image, the harder Carlo stroked. He began to plow into the girl with animalistic fury. She began to whine and try to slow him down, but Carlo was caught up in the moment. He pumped harder and harder while the girl screamed out. Just as he was about to cum, he opened his eyes so he could kiss Cassidy. To his dismay, the Puerto Rican girl lay there beneath him.
Something in Carlo clicked. He bared his teeth and started to pump the girl as hard as he could. She tried to put her arms up and he slapped them away. When it became irritating, he began slapping her in the face. The girl screamed, but no one would come to help her. The apartment was empty, save for Carlo’s bodyguards.
He threw his head back and howled as he released in the girl. When he was spent, he rolled off her and slouched over the side of the bed. The girl leapt from the bed with fear twinkling in her eyes. She scrambled around, frantically trying to gather her clothes. Carlo eyed her for a few moments before he bothered to speak.
“Sometimes I get a little crazy.” He shrugged. The girl looked at him as if she wanted to stick a knife in his back while Carlo dug into his pants pocket. “We won’t have a problem,” he said, holding out several hundreds, “will we?”
The girl looked from the money to Carlo as if he had lost his mind. She felt violated and dirty, but what could she do? Carlo was the son of a mob boss. There was no one she could go to with it. She wiped her face and took the money. She spared one more glance at the motionless man and fled.
“Sorry I’m late, Dad. Had to stop and take care of something on the way here,” Carlo said, flopping down on the sofa.
“So you say. Probably laid up wit one of them nigger whores.” Franko De Nardi was as vicious at the age of fifty as he was at twenty-one. His face sagged a bit more and the edges of his hair were going gray, but his eyes still flashed blue menace. Franko had been laying bodies for the mob for over twenty years. After enough blood had been shed, they allowed him to retire to a nice-sized house in Long Island. He might’ve been retired from the execution game, but he still had his hands waist deep in dirt.
“So what’s so important that I had to come down here and couldn’t hear it over the phone?” Carlo asked, not bothering to hide his impatience.
“What do I always tell you about those fucking phones, Carlo? Guess you won’t be happy until you’re doing time with some ballooned-up spade in Attica.”
“Sorry, Pop.”
“Anyhow, I called you in to check on things with those guys you got to move this shit.”
“Like I told you, Pop, it’s in the bag. Felon is a stand-up dude.”
“You put too much faith in these people, Carlo.” Franko sat next to Carlo and patted his leg. “Trust is a fool’s suicide. But I’m sure you know that.”
“Sure. I learned from the best.” Carlo smiled, trying to avoid a lecture.
“You damn well better, Carlo. This ain’t your everyday shit. A lot of people got clipped trying to get it in. Shit, it damn near cost me my soul for the piece were getting. There can’t be any fuck-ups.”
“It’s like I said,” Carlo spoke, trying to control the natural fear he had of his father, “Felon can handle it.”
“You make sure that he can. If we play our cards right, we stand to make a fortune. This stuff is way more potent than what everybody else has got. Out in the bush, they call it ‘Body Bag.’ You know how many people OD’d while the chemists were trying to get the mix right? You can cut this shit to hell and still knock a horse out.”
“Geez, you act like I’m stupid or something, Dad. All we gotta do is pick the van up and drive off with the shit. Simple.”
“Watch your mouth!” Franko said, pointing a chubby finger at his only son. “I’m your father, not one of those fucking punks you’re used to dealing with.”
“Sorry,” Carlo whispered.
“Don’t be sorry, be careful. Now, make sure these guys don’t fuck it up. They handle this right and they’ll be ‘moving on up,’” Frank sang, mimicking the theme song from the Jeffersons.
“I got you, Pop. Can I go now?”
“Yeah, kid. Get outta here.”
Carlo could tell that his father was pissed but didn’t say anything. He knew how important the deal was without his father constantly pointing it out. Besides that, his mind was elsewhere. Ever since he had seen her, he couldn’t keep his mind off Cassidy. He knew she was one of Butter’s bitches, but the look in her eyes said she would play the game. That was all the invitation Carlo needed.
Jack Hayes stood against the liquor store, puffing his Newport and shooting shit with his crew. He was a lanky man, with a bald head and a dusty black patch over his eye. His lips were pink and discolored from all the years of drinking, but that still didn’t stop him from smearing lip balm on them, trying to win back the natural luster.
Eve strolled up 131st Street with her hands tucked into her pockets. She had spotted Jack from down the block, but he wasn’t paying her any mind. With her hair tucked up into her fitted cap and the oversized army jacket she wore, Eve could’ve easily been mistaken for a boy. Jack didn’t even spare her a second look as she brushed past him and went into the liquor store.
Eve had her back to Jack, but she was using the faint reflection in the partition to clock his movements. When she brushed past him on the way in, she didn’t feel a bulge, so it was a safe bet that he wasn’t armed. But just in case, she had her pistol firmly tucked into her hand. Jack’s movements were sluggish and somewhat clumsy, suggesting that he had been drinking already. The whole thing should go over smoothly, but if i
t didn’t, she had a B plan. After purchasing her liquor, Eve headed back outside. This time, when she bumped Jack it was almost hard enough to knock him over.
“Say, man. Why don’t you watch where you’re going?” Jack said, angrily.
“Shouldn’t have yo drunk ass in the doorway,” she said, staring him directly in the eye.
“Lil nigga, you must not know who you’re talking to.”
“I know just who I’m talking to,” Eve said, taking a step closer. “A drunk-ass old man who likes to touch little girls.”
Before Jack could say anything else, Eve was in motion. She caught him with a two-piece to the chin, but it didn’t drop him. When Jack tried to right himself, Eve cracked him with the bottle. His two companions would’ve come to his rescue, but Beast had them both secured about the throat.
“Sit yo punk ass up,” Eve said, grabbing Jack by the collar and partially lifting him. “Let me tell you something,” she said, sticking the pistol to his temple, “Jasmine is my peoples. She down wit Twenty-Gang, muthafucka. If I ever hear talk of you putting your hands on her again, I’m gonna put two in you. Understand?”
Jack nodded.
“Good,” she said. “Now this is what you gonna do. You’re gonna go by the house, pick up whatever you got there, and get the fuck gone. If you I hear you took longer than ten minutes to make the shit happen, you gonna have to answer to my homey.” Eve motioned toward Beast.
Jack looked at the monstrosity holding his two friends and nearly wet his pants. He had it good at Cora’s. She catered to him and had a fine-ass daughter who, until that moment, he planned on fucking. The young man who had hit him and his huge friend had changed that plan significantly.
Cassidy came out of the bodega, chewing a Snicker’s bar and clutching a Dutch Master. A Jamaican kid she dealt with had given her some high-grade weed and she couldn’t wait to try it. She stepped into the street at the intersection and immediately jumped back on the curb as a white Benz screeched to a halt in front of her. She started to flip, but held it when she saw the face in the backseat.