by N'Tyse
Fletch’s hands weren’t releasing their grip from around Ty’s throat. “Where’s the fuckin’ money, Ty?”
Ty couldn’t talk and could barely breathe. All she could do was nod her head and blink her eyes.
Nike’s face lit up when he heard the word money. This was it. He walked Sand around the car, closer to where Fletch and Ty stood.
“Where the money!” Fletch yelled again, ready to rip Ty’s head clean off her shoulders.
“Look, I’ll give you the money. Just ease the fuck up off her, man. She ain’t do shit,” Sand spoke up in Ty’s defense.
Nike was so excited he could barely hold the heaters straight.
Fletch turned Ty loose, sending her into a choking fit. He wouldn’t care if the bitch was dying as he watched her bent over fighting for air.
Ty palmed her throat and bobbed her head up and down in gasping motions. She hurled out a glob of spit. When she finally regained composure, she stood up straight and cautiously walked directly in front of Fletch as Sand guided them to the trunk of the car.
“It’s back here,” Sand told them.
Nike waved both of the guns in her direction as he yelled, “Well, open it, bitch! What you standing there looking at me for?” He had both guns trained on Sand at all times, prepared to spray everything moving.
Sand walked around the car and popped the trunk release. She stepped around toward the back, lifting the trunk slowly. She pulled out the black gym bag and let it drop to the ground.
Nike’s eyes flashed dollar signs. This grinding shit was so simple for grimey goon niggas like him. It was in his blood. He kicked the bag closer to him, already feeling his come-up. “Let these hos roll out,” he yelled to Fletch, not feeling threatened by either of them.
Fletch looked at Nike as if he was crazy. “Nah. Chyna gon’ hear about this shit.” He flipped his phone open.
Nike suddenly positioned one of the guns on Fletch, his beady eyes red as fireballs. His gold teeth were pressed deep into his bottom lip as he showed off a side of him that only came out when it was time to go after that presidential express train. “Nigga, I said let the hos roll out. We’ll work this shit out ourselves,” Nike told Fletch directly.
Fletch felt like a loose cannon. Nike was on some gorilla shit and he wasn’t feeling it one bit.
Sand and Ty took that as their opportunity to bounce before anything major went down like they knew it would. Ty jetted for the car. Sand got in, pushed the gear into drive, and sped off, disappearing into the foggy night.
With both guns aimed in his direction, Fletch didn’t have to think like a rocket scientist to know what was about to jump off next. “So this what the fuck you been waiting on, nigga?” Fletch held out his hands, walking up to Nike. “A fucking jack move! You gon’ rob me now, nigga? All the cake I put you down with? All the money I put on you?” He pointed to the clothes Nike wore. “I’m the reason these bitches even look at you twice! I’m yo’ motherfuckin’ come-up, flake-ass nigga! So what? I’m supposed to be scared or some shit ’cause you got a gun in my face?”
Nike was quiet. Fletch should have known the drill by now. He hated to be the one to do it, but it was a fucked up circumstance. Fletch was his boy, but Nike was hurting for money, and all he needed was an opportunity like this to get him back on his feet. The money he made off jobs Fletch gave him wasn’t enough. He even tried to go legit at one point, but nobody wanted to hire a convict. So this is what it was and all that it was going to be—work.
“So you the man with the master plan!” Fletch said with fake enthusiasm. He started clapping. “Bravo motherfucka. Now you can buy that bitch of yours a bus pass.” Fletch faced Nike straight up. He wasn’t backing down from this ho-ass nigga and he wasn’t afraid of catching a bullet, again. So with that pistol waving back and forth in his face, he hoped for Nike’s sake that he planned on killing him with it.
Nike leveled the .45 between Fletch’s eyes, the shadow of death disguising the pain promised to come. “See ya when I see ya, my nigga.”
Fletch rushed him.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Fletch’s body dropped to the ground as an orchestra of gun shots rang out into the night. A gush of blood spewed from Fletch’s neck, chest, and stomach. There was no coming back as his life began to expire with every delayed breath he took. Finally, Fletch surrendered. He closed his eyes and slowly drifted off to an eternal sleep.
Nike waited until Fletch was no longer shaking and the white cloud of moisture coming from his mouth evaporated into thin air. He then snatched up the bag of money and jumped in the Hummer. He slammed on the accelerator, making a mad dash out of the parking lot and back on St. Augustine. He was trying to get to his girl’s house who didn’t live far from the murder scene. He made a right on Bruton Road, ran red lights and side-swiped the orange cones and white construction barrels in the middle of the road. He pulled out his cell and started dialing numbers. “Queesha, baby. Wake up. It’s me,” Nike said when she moaned in his ear.
Queesha was half asleep but she knew Nike’s voice from anywhere. “Where you been at, nigga? It’s eleven fucking o’clock,” she said, shooting her eyes up at the red numbers on the digital clock. “I thought you said you were coming right back? And that was what, two days ago!” she hollered into the phone. “You was with yo’ baby mama, weren’t you?” she accused, before giving him a chance to get a word in. When he didn’t respond quick enough, “I’m tired of your shit, Nike,” she yelled. “I can’t keep doing this shit! If you want that bitch, you can have her skank ass. I ain’t ‘bout to let you keep taking me through hoops.” She sat up as now she was wide awake.
“If you just listen to me and calm all that shit down, I’ll tell you where the fuck I been at, girl! Damn.” He chilled, waiting to see if she was going to shut her trap. “Yo’ nigga been out here hustling, making moves,” Nike bragged, proud of his recent accomplishment.
“Umm, hmm,” Queesha sighed, still not believing anything he had to say.
“For real doe. I just came up on some fat boy paper, baby.”
Queesha’s lips curled upward. “Motherfucka, quit lying!”
“A’ight. Don’t believe me then. I’m like two minutes from your crib, so be looking out for a nigga,” Nike told her. “Your mama woke?”
“Nah. She back there sleep.”
Nike got happy. For him, that meant playtime. “I want some bomb-ass head for this shit right here,” he told her. He crossed over Buckner and made the first right onto her street. Her porch lights were on and she was waiting for him at the door, peeking through the ripped screen.
Queesha swapped the telephone from one ear to the other. “Who Hummer you driving?” she asked out of curiosity the instant Nike flashed the headlights in her face.
“Don’t worry ’bout all dat. You just get ready to count this cheese yo’ nigga done made. And like I said,” he reaffirmed, “I want some killer head for this. Nah, scratch that. I want the works. Ass, titties and all.”
As Nike pulled into Queesha’s driveway, he hardly gave the car time to come to a complete stop before slamming it into park and snatching the keys out the ignition. He grabbed the bag alongside of him then walked across the frosted grass until he made his way to the three steps guiding the porch.
Queesha wrapped her arms around Nike the moment he stepped in the door, surrendering a dry kiss to his mouth. She sniffed out his collar and his neck for just a hint of another bitch’s scent. But all she got was a nose full of weed.
Nike laughed. “You won’t take a nigga word for shit, will you?” Nike shook his head. “Wanna smell him too?” he laughed, leaning back a little bit so that his hard-on could get some play.
“Fuck you, Nike. Your ass gon’ slip up one day.”
“Kill all that noise, girl. Huh,” Nike handed the heavy bag to Queesha while he walked right past her and straight toward her back room. He threw himself across the triple stacked mattresses that Queesha claimed for a bed, and stretche
d out like he paid rent there. He waited for her to pour out all his hard work. The blood on his white tee, pants, and shoes, didn’t matter right now.
Queesha unzipped the bag, only to pull out a blanket, and several marble orbs and miniature statues. She wanted to kick the shit out of Nike. She threw the bag at him as hard as she could. “Motherfucka! You woke me up out my sleep for this shit?” she asked with one of the orbs in her hand.
Nike jumped up. He flipped the bag over but nothing else came out. His head felt tight and he could feel a strong pressure rise in his chest, strangling him.
“Bitches!” he cursed out loud.
It wasn’t a second after he spit the word out that he could hear the wail of sirens in the distance. He stood in a trance as the piercing sound got closer and closer. Suddenly, there were pounding knocks at the front door. Everybody in the house, including Queesha’s mom, jumped out of bed and ran toward the front to see what was going on.
“Dallas police! Open up!”
Queesha eased the door open and a swarm of policemen, all dressed in black, barged inside. “He’s back there!” Queesha yelled out, moving out of the way. She was just as afraid as the others.
Minutes later, Nike was being read his Miranda rights and escorted out of the house and into the first of the three waiting police cars. All he could say was, “It wasn’t me. You got the wrong nigga. Queesha, call my lawyer!”
Queesha and her mom just stood in awe as the officers hauled Nike away.
17
Illusion started to get restless as she and Trent waited in the car for nearly two hours in hopes of spotting one of Chyna’s girls. As her eyes moved up and down the polluted strip, she witnessed the exchange of goods and services, all in the name of making a quick dollar. It was nobody’s secret what went on inside of the vehicles that lined the industrious boulevard so late in the hour, but it was almost always business. Illusion checked the time again. It was thirteen past eleven and still no luck.
“Are you sure this is where my sister hangs out?” Trent asked, now a little on the impatient side.
Illusion looked around again. “I’m positive.” She could tell Trent was getting ready to blow. “Look, if we don’t see nobody in the next ten minutes we can leave, but this is the post,” she said.
Trent tried to keep cool. After all, this was his baby sister they were looking for. But the whole idea of Ty on the streets and selling herself didn’t sit well with him. Of all things, he would have never guessed she’d be involved in something this extreme. He partly blamed himself, convinced that he never should have left her and went off to the military.
“Back there. Go over there,” Illusion pointed.
Trent started the car and made a full u-turn in the middle of the street. He pulled up closer to the curb, lowering Illusion’s side of the window.
“Peaches!” Illusion called out, waving her in their direction.
Peaches spun around on her heels, trying to make out the female that was screaming her name. She walked quickly in her rusty gold skin-tight dress, toward the woman’s voice. She pulled several of the tiny micro braids that fell in her face behind her ear, and popped her eyes wider when she recognized who the woman was. She sprinted toward the car. “Illusion?” she asked in disbelief.
Illusion removed Trent’s shades from her eyes and placed them in her lap. She watched Peaches’ mouth drop and her face unfold as if she was staring at a ghost.
“Hey, ho,” Illusion joked, giving Peaches an eyeful. Like always, Peaches’ double D cleavage was pushed up in a bra that intentionally exposed the upper half of her tattoo with Chyna’s name in a green scripted font. Through Peaches’ tight, necktie dress, you could see impressions of both her nipple rings. “I’m looking for Ty. Have you seen her?” Illusion asked. She knew that if anybody had the low-down, it was Peaches.
Peaches leaned her entire body inside the car and threw her arms around Illusion tightly.
“Hey, girly. What’s up? What’s the matter?” Illusion asked, nearly suffocating from Peaches’ strong embrace.
When Peaches finally let up, she asked, “What the fuck is going on?” waving her purse with every word.
“What do you mean what’s going on?” Illusion asked dumbfounded.
Trent sat quiet, staring ahead but with his ears tuned in to their conversation.
“Chyna told us you got did in. That you were dead!” Peaches exclaimed.
“What! Why the fuck would she make up some bullshit like that?” Illusion asked with her face drawn up.
“I don’t know. But what I do know is that your ass better disappear before somebody sees you.” Peaches began looking around her cautiously.
For a moment Illusion was quiet, trying to put her finger on why Chyna would lay out something like that on her.
“Bitch, you are wanted. Since you’re alive that means Chyna, Fletch, and no telling who else is out here looking for yo’ ass.” Peaches met eyes with the guy in the driver’s seat but didn’t bother asking who he was. She really didn’t care either because just by looking at him, she sensed that he was a trick that Illusion stumbled upon and was possibly shopping for another female to join their party.
Illusion leaned more into Peaches. “All right, look. You never saw me tonight, okay?” Peaches was nodding her head up and down before Illusion could even get all the words out. “Oh, one other thing,” she said, remembering the purpose for being on the strip. “Where is Ty dancing at tonight or does Chyna have her working a party?”
“Ty? Humph, I don’t know where that bitch at, but I can tell you this,” Peaches volunteered quickly, “she got her ass whooped somethin’ serious last night. That ho probably on house arrest.”
Trent raised forward in his seat. “Where can we find her?” he interrupted.
Peaches looked over Illusion’s shoulders. Before she could say anything out of line, Illusion did the honors. “Peaches, this is Trent, Ty’s brother.”
Peaches pulled her neck back and took another look. “Okay, am I missing something?” She stared Trent up and down. He was fine as hell with chocolate skin, but related to Ty’s yellow ass. Peaches just didn’t see the resemblance.
“Look, I’m just trying to find Tylesha,” Trent informed this woman.
Peaches frowned sourly at Ty’s government name. “Tylesha?”
“Yes, Tylesha. Now where might I do that?” he asked, adjusting his disposition.
Peaches looked around again. “Look, I’m not down with that, all right! You might wanna keep riding up the strip,” she said loudly.
Illusion could read in between the lines. Peaches began making strange gestures with her eyes. When Illusion looked behind them, she spotted two of Chyna’s girls stepping out of a stretched limo. They began walking toward Peaches.
Illusion slipped the shades back over her face.
“Peaches!” one of the voices called out.
Peaches backed away from the Infiniti, mouthing to Illusion to catch up to her later. She turned around and headed toward the duo. “What’s up?”
“We been looking for you,” one of them said. The girls followed the car with their eyes. “Damn, was that a trick and his woman?”
Peaches relaxed, realizing they hadn’t spotted Illusion. It was a close call. “Yeah, he wanted me to fuck his wife while he watched,” she lied.
“Well ho, why you still standing here?” the two joked, highfiving each other. “That’s double pay,” one calculated.
Peaches dropped her head. “It’s personal.” She walked away and left them standing not far from the curb.
“You think they saw you?” Trent asked Illusion, who was fidgeting in her seat. She kept looking behind her, on the side of her, and behind again.
Illusion wasn’t sure if they spotted her, and she sure as hell wasn’t about to go back to find out. “Look, Trent. I can’t do this. I mean, I’m wanted right now. My life is on the line here.”
Trent pulled the car into an empty parking lot. �
��Illeshia, I’m not trying to get sidetracked right now. I have to find my sister. Now if you want out, I understand. But I really could use your help on this.”
As the quiet moment won Illusion over, she asked him, “And where does that leave me Trent, huh? I help you, everybody’s happy. Everybody gets to fucking sleep. But where does that leave me?” she asked him again. “Dead? Laid up in a freezer until somebody comes to identify me? I mean, shit. Ty got her own self in this mess! You think you can just appear out of nowhere and make demands. You don’t know this woman. Ty sold herself the day she got involved with Chyna. Now she has to be bought out.” The picture she painted of Chyna was a vivid one. She didn’t cut any corners and she refused to spare him the truth. Those resentful tears she fought back betrayed her and began marching down her face. “Ty chose this life and now she has to find her own way out.”
Trent found it hard to discern if Illusion was still speaking of Ty, or if maybe she was speaking through Ty. He took it as her telling him why it was that she felt trapped and why she saw no way out. He wrapped his arm around her. “It’s okay,” he said. “I’m here.” He began rubbing her back. “I’m right here.”
Illusion laid her head on his shoulder. She allowed the tears that wet her face to drip on his shirt. She took two of her fingers and slid them under her eyes, not believing that she was actually sitting there dropping tears in front of a man she hadn’t even known twenty-four hours. She got herself together and straightened in her seat.
“Look here.” Trent held Illusion’s chin in his hand. “Do you believe in fate or do you think it was just some weird-ass coincidence the way we met today?”
Illusion was taken by surprise at his question. She nodded her head slowly. “I guess I believe in fate,” she answered softly. His warm touch enveloped her and made her feel whole.