Chance smiled at the comment but assured her that he had no girlfriend. “It's just one thing …”
She smiled. “What, I have to put out?”
“No, Silver,” he said seriously. “I would never do nothing like that to you.” He looked down. “I don't have much at my place, you know. It's just me.”
“Is that all?”
He nodded. “That's it.”
Chance lived a good distance away from where he'd set up shop in Harlem. He owned a one bedroom co-op in the Fordham section of the Bronx. His mentor, A.O., had hipped him to the game of not shittin’ where you eat, and investing your money in real estate. So Chance had paid a lady from the neighborhood $5,000 to purchase the place for him when he was sixteen years old. He slipped the doorman a hundred dollars a month to keep his mouth shut and to give him a heads-up on any questioning outsiders. This would be the first time he'd ever had a guest in his apartment.
Chance actually owned two brownstones in Harlem that were worth almost fifty times the amount he'd paid A.O. for them. A.O. owned so much property in Harlem that he'd simply sold the two properties to Chance for the same amount that he had paid for them thirty years earlier.
Chance had listened to everything A.O. had told him over the years, and it all proved to be invaluable. Over his lifetime, A.O. had recruited and trained a number of great hustlers and killers into the underworld. Most of them were mere boys, usually in their early teens when he recruited them. Two of them had been Hollis and Chance. He had taken them under his wing and saved them from the streets or jail. He had taken a special interest in Chance because he had known his mother and father over good and bad years. He had seen how Chance, after his mother started spazzing on alcohol, had tried to hold it together for himself and his little sister. On the other hand, he had first seen Hollis when two local boys teased and harassed him because he was homeless, with dirt caked all over his skin. Hollis’ hair had been so coarse and dirty that parasites lived in it, causing blistered patches on his head. The two boys relentlessly harassed Hollis until one day one of the boys made the mistake of pulling a knife on him. Hollis pulled out a knife of his own, only bigger, and cut one of them with it. From then on, nobody bothered the homeless boy.
Both boys were loyal to A.O. until he died a natural death, which was a major feat being who he was and the things he'd been through. A.O. was a throwback gangster who was part of Bumpy Johnson's era. When he was ten years old, he and his older brother had been employed by Bumpy as spotters or point boys, someone who keeps an eye out for police or other gangsters plotting a hit or something. Bumpy had the bootleg whiskey game down to a science during Prohibition. When alcohol became legal again, he just switched to the numbers racket, which he co-owned throughout Harlem with a powerful member of the Mafia. Though the brothers never mentioned it, they were also the silent and most powerful partners of Nicky Barnes. A.O. would smile every time he heard someone mention that Nicky Barnes was the kingpin of Harlem.
While Nicky had met his demise in the game, A.O. remained untouched simply because he was untouchable, because he was smart. He stayed clean no matter what. Sure, the FBI knew his name, but they didn't know his face. No one even knew what the initials A.O. stood for, nor would he tell them. It was as if he didn't exist, because he didn't have a birth document or social security number. A.O. was less than five feet three inches tall and weighed about 125 pounds, but he was a person that gangsters throughout Harlem mortally feared— not because of what he could do to them, but what he would do to others, and that's what gave him the advantage. A.O. was the type of man who had a prerequisite before you worked for him or did business with him—he demanded the names and addresses of your entire family, including any who lived down south and even the school your kids went to. See, if you fucked over A.O., he would murder your entire family and let you live, which was worse than a thousand deaths. He mastered the art of psychological warfare and used it to his advantage.
The reason A.O. had remained on top all those years was because no one else had the heart or will that it took to do what he was willing to do. He learned this art from an old associate of his from Sicily, who proved to be an invaluable tool to offset traitors and snitches. It was said that A.O. was the only Negro ever allowed to sit in with all of the five families of New York. A.O. did it all, saw it all, and outlived them all.
A.O. supplied the entire heroin trade in black and Spanish Harlem, and distributed to major players in certain areas of the Bronx and Brooklyn. The way the operation worked was that they had designated pickup and dropoff points for drugs and money. The dropoff for the money would always be the same, inside a rented apartment in a tenement building that only he had a key to. But the pickup point would be a different place every time. At the drop-off apartment, a dealer would leave the money and take the envelope with the location of the shipment sealed inside. That was it—nice, safe, and clean. Which is why A.O. survived so long in that business, because he never made contact with the other party.
He trusted Chance enough to make him the pickup and dropoff man, trusting him with millions of dollars. When A.O. died, Chance thought that the life and operation that he had come to know so well would end, but it didn't, and Chance assumed sole responsibility. Chance had money, but you would never know it by the way he lived so modestly. He never propagandized his wealth. That was just one of the many pieces of advice A.O. passed down to Chance. It wasn't that A.O. didn't trust Hollis; it was that Hollis didn't have that measure of intelligence that Chance had, which was imperative in this trade. However, A.O. was impressed with Hollis’ primary skill— murder. He told Chance once that never in his sixty years in the business had he seen a person with Hollis’ ruthless passion for death and carnage. He was a born killer, and that was why A.O. had allowed him to form a contract-killing ring that Hollis had run since the tender age of sixteen.
Inside his building, Chance stood at his door with Silver, about to enter his apartment. He took a deep breath and opened the door. “Well, this is it.”
Silver walked in, looked around the large, unfurnished apartment, and smiled. “How long did you say you've been living here?”
He shrugged. “About three years.”
The living room was as empty as the day he'd moved in, with not so much a chair or table.
“Oh, I didn't have a chance to furnish the place yet.” He smiled sheepishly. “I just ain't have a need to. The bedroom is hooked up, though.”
He showed her to the bedroom, which was nearly as big as the living room. It contained a bed, a table with a lamp on it, and a dresser topped with a dusty nineteen-inch color television set that looked like it hadn't been used in years. The room was also filled with books, stacks and stacks of them. On the walls Silver saw dozens of drawn images that looked like her. She turned to Chance. “Chance, is that … ?” He looked at the drawings and nodded. “Yeah.” Silver was dumbfounded that Chance still felt the same way about her as she did about him, even after all those years.
“Silver, I never forgot you. I thought about you every single day.”
She looked up at him. “I thought about you every day, too, Chance. I prayed that this day would come.” They gazed into each other's eyes and kissed as if they would never see each other again.
Settled in Chance's apartment, Silver felt safe and secure for the first time in months. Chance was a real gentleman, too, and had the entire apartment remodeled. In addition to living room and bedroom sets, he ordered cable, a VCR, and two sixty-inch television sets to keep Silver from being bored. Silver said he shouldn't have done it, but he just said he had ordered them before she arrived. The once empty kitchen and refrigerator were now filled to the max. Chance took care of his business by day and came home by night. Silver would surprise him with a home-cooked meal, and then they would spend the entire night talking. Chance, whose favorite pastime was reading famous American writers such as Baldwin, Faulkner, and Angelou, kept Silver up late at night reading to her. Silver
was mesmerized and enthralled by his powerful readings and vast knowledge of subjects. Though Silver's grades had been in the ninetieth percentile in the city, she knew that she was not even close to Chance's league. He had extensive knowledge in astronomical science, philosophy, literature, world history, and economics. She was baffled, but then, she always had been when it came to Chance.
Silver and Missy hooked back up, and Silver updated her friend on the new developments. When Missy finally saw Chance face-to-face again, she couldn't believe her eyes. She joked that Silver had better give his fine ass some pussy before she let him get away, but as usual, Silver told her to mind her business. Silver had already thought this through in her mind, and didn't want to lose Chance ever again. With Missy's freak ass pushing her every day to do it, it became hard for her to resist.
One day Silver received word from Missy that the manager from Wendy's had called and left a message for her to come in to work. Chance told Silver there was no need for her to work if she didn't want to because he would give her all the money she needed. Silver felt it was morally wrong to accept money from him, knowing where it came from. He understood, so Silver began working the three-to-eleven shift in midtown Manhattan. Chance was there every night to drive her home so she didn't have to ride the train home late at night. With her first check, for $113.18, she gave Chance $50.00 for rent. He declined, but she assured him that she would rather pay her own way, that she would feel much better for doing so. Reluctantly, and even though he surely didn't need it, he took it.
Friday was her day off, and one Friday she made up her mind: tonight was the night she was going to seduce Chance. She went to Macy's, where she purchased some inexpensive lacy lingerie and some perfume. To top things off, she bought some candles for a romantic dinner.
When Chance arrived home, the place smelled of delicious baked chicken, stuffing, and broccoli with cheese sauce. He was impressed, but after dinner she knew he would be even more so. Silver really went all out; she even filled the tub with apple-scented bubble bath and had his slippers ready. When Chance finished taking a bath, he entered a candlelit bedroom with some Luther coming from the speakers.
Silver lay seductively across the king-sized bed wearing a red lace sexy baby doll and thong. Chance stared at her until she felt the heat of a blush warm her face. He finally seemed to gather the nerve to approach. She reached for him and pulled him next to her, gazing into his eyes, while the flickering candles maximized the romantic ambience. Her heart was beating fast as their lips met. Silver's nipples hardened as she felt Chance's butter-soft lips touch her own, then his hot tongue entered her mouth. A strong yearning overwhelmed Silver as his gentle hands explored her body, causing millions of tingly sensations to invade every inch of her. Never before had someone touched her in a manner that felt so soft, so right, and as she lay back and closed her eyes, she felt like she was in heaven. Never in her life would she have imagined that such feelings were possible.
“Silver,” Chance whispered, “I … I've never made love before.”
Eyes closed, Silver smiled. “Me neither, Chance.” She turned and urged him to lie on his back and began to sensuously kiss his chest and neck. Soon he was unable to take it anymore, and he flipped her on her back and returned the favor by softly nibbling on her ears, her lips, and then down to her neck, all the while expertly moving his hands all over her body. Breathing rapidly and about to burst, Silver cried out, “Put it in … put it in!”
Moments later, she felt Chance's hot manhood slowly enter her, causing her to gasp. Seeking refuge from the pain, she squeezed his hands tighter and tighter as they found their rhythm. Chance slowly filled her with every inch of himself as a stream of her juices burst freely. As the pain ebbed, she gradually widened her legs with each thrust, inviting more and more of Chance inside of her. Tears began to fall from her eyes as the pain turned into erotic, euphoric pleasure. A new world opened for them both as they became a perfect combination in an imperfect world. What a feeling, to love somebody who loved you back as much.
During the weeks that followed, Silver and Chance were inseparable, redefining the meaning of real love and affection, which had eluded them both for so many years. So much so that Silver made a silent commitment never to lose Chance again, because with him she felt complete, and without him she would be incomplete. When you're totally alone in this big old world, by yourself with no family to lean on, it makes you hold on to the one true person that you have.
Silver and Chance spent many nights talking about their future, but there was one problem they couldn't resolve: Chance's business. Silver was morally opposed to anything that had to do with drugs, and she tried to convince Chance that there were other ways of making a living, because he was extremely intelligent. She even encouraged him to pursue his education. Reluctantly, Chance explained to her that it was not that simple to walk away from his business because he was in bed with the Italians, and to do so would mean a sure death. Over the next few weeks, Silver nevertheless steadily tried to convince Chance to give up his lifestyle.
“Silver, why do we got to keep going over the same thing?”
“ ‘Cause what you doing is wrong, baby. You, better than anyone, should know how it destroys families.”
“I ain't ruining nobody's life. I ain't putting no gun to nobody's head, forcing them to shoot that shit in their veins!”
“You might as well. You push it, and that's the same thing.”
“I don't make them do shit they don't want to. Shit, they grown!”
Silver shook her head in disappointment. “You know what, Chance? It is so easy for us to look at these addicts and not have compassion for them and write them off by saying they're grown, but what about the ones you don't see, Chance? Do you remember? The ones like you and me … your little sister. Do you remember? If you can't relate to the grown ones, you can at least know what's it like for the children to suffer. Is that what you want?”
Chance angrily shook his head. “No, that's not what I want, but that's just how fucked up this world is. The same fucking world that breaks up your family. The same world that puts you in the home of a rapist who does things to you that you still can't get out of your head. The same fucking world that throws you in jail where a pack of fuckin’ bastards fuck you so bad that you have to get your fucking asshole stitched up! Then, just when you finally heal, you have to get stitched up again ‘cause they ripped you open again.”
Before she could speak, he continued. “Then, after a while, you get smart and learn you got two options—either fight or you get fucked. Well, guess what? I got tired of getting fucked, so I fought. No, strike that—I fuckin’ killed their asses! All of them, one by one!”
Silver watched mutely while Chance relived the horrors of juvenile hall.
“One night, I decided to get them before they got me. So I smuggled in a spoon, sharpened that bitch up nice and good, and went from bunk to bunk and stabbed each one of them motherfuckers in their throat—five of them—until they choked on their own blood! The courts wanted to put me away for life, but since they saw the pictures from the infirmary with my asshole hanging out, they figured I was the victim, that it was self-defense. I wasn't charged, but they don't just let a nigger off that easy. They threw me in a psychiatric ward and filled me with so much fucking medicine that I didn't even know my fuckin’ name or what fucking year it was, and then they wondered why I was crazy! Fuck that! Nobody gave a shit, so I don't give a shit either! It's sink or swim, and I'm tired of drowning!”
Silver was taken aback by his revelations but remained strong for his sake. “But Chance, don't you see? You had no control. You are not responsible for your past, but you're definitely responsible for your future … and you have choices.”
“Choices? What choices?” Chance said, exasperated.
“The choice to be who you were destined to become!” She took Chance by the hand. “And it's definitely not the purveyor of death and destruction to families!”
THE DIS
The summer seemed to go by swiftly, and Silver forgot about her scholarship. Silver had just dropped Missy off at her building after a day of shopping, and was heading over to get the train back to the Bronx. Silver and Chance were actually going out that night on a formal date for the first time—Chance was going to take Silver to the best soul food restaurant in Harlem, Amy Ruth's on 116th Street, just off Lenox—and she wanted to look nice for the occasion. Chance had offered to give Silver a thousand dollars to go shopping, but like always, she refused to accept his money. She had no problem spending the paychecks she received from Wendy's, even though they were barely over $150.00.
Suddenly Silver heard Missy shrieking her name, and she turned to see Missy running through the basketball courts outside her building with a big Kool-Aid smile on her face.
“What's wrong with you?” Silver asked. “You look like you're about to go mad.”
“I'm not going anywhere,” Missy said with a sly smile. “But you are, bitch.”
Silver frowned in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
Missy pulled a letter from behind her back. “I'm talking about this letter from Spelman College. You're in!”
Silver's mouth dropped open before she regained her composure. “Did you read it?”
Missy shook her head. “No, I just know that you're in,” she said proudly. Missy shoved the envelope toward Silver. “Well, open the shit already!”
Silver slowly opened the envelope and read the letter.
“Silver, what does it say?” Missy said.
“I got it … I got a full scholarship to Spelman.”
Jumping for joy, Missy didn't notice Silver was not as elated as she was. Spelman College was in Atlanta, Georgia. Since she and Chance had been together, she had forgotten about the scholarship, but suddenly the reality of having to leave him again intruded. She knew that Chance would put her future ahead of his feelings, even if it meant that he would suffer a thousand days before he would let her suffer one.
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