Harlem Girl Lost

by Treasure E. Blue

  Birdie spoke next. “Silver, I did you wrong once, and I never forgave myself. Whatever you ask me to do, I'm ready!”

  Silver smiled. “Thank you, Auntie.” Chubbs and Beasley looked at Birdie strangely when Silver called him “auntie,” while Beasley nodded in agreement.

  They turned toward Diego. “So what do you say, Diego?” Missy asked. “Are you down or what?”

  Diego, sat still and silent, his head bowed. After several moments, he raised his head, his lips curved in a knowing smile. “This guy, Hollis, he didn't happen to have rob my momma, did he?”

  Silver and Missy were the only ones who got the joke, and they laughed. The rest of the evening was spent going over the plan and their prospective roles in it.

  El Flaco was the major drug overlord for Washington Heights. His cartel sold 80 percent of the cocaine on the eastern seaboard. He also happened to be Diego's uncle, his father's younger brother. Diego's father had been killed sixteen years ago, when he was the overlord. He had been murdered by a rival drug cartel. After his death, Flaco came to the United States and picked up with a vengeance where his brother had left off, killing everyone even remotely affiliated with his brother's death, including their families.

  Silver, Missy, and Diego arrived at 165th and Broadway early Saturday morning. Just about the only thing Diego knew about his uncle was that he owned most of the supermarkets throughout Washington Heights. As they exited the car, everyone stared at them as if they were strangers from another planet. As they began walking around, a peculiar thing happened. People began making the sign of the cross. The locals began to crowd them, and some even began falling to their knees and chanting in Spanish.

  “Yo, Diego man,” Missy said nervously, “what the fuck is going on? What are they saying?”

  Diego replied, just as shaken, “I don't know. They saying something like, ‘O mighty God, you brought him back to us,’ something about a resurrection.”

  The crowd grew larger, and soon they were surrounded, halting traffic. Suddenly, three men pushed through the frenzied crowd to find out what the commotion was all about. Scared and unable to run, Missy, Silver, and Diego grabbed one another tightly to not get separated. When the men finally reached them, their eyes widened, and they fell to their knees directly in front of Diego and began kissing his feet.

  Silver and Missy looked at Diego, not knowing what to say. The three men then rose to their feet and escorted them through the crowd and into a nearby supermarket. Taken to an office in the rear, they sat silently and impatiently, unsure what would happen next. Suddenly, a door swung open and an older Spanish man entered. When he spotted Diego, he was visibly shaken. He slowly approached Diego.

  “What is your mother's name?”

  Diego frowned. “What?”

  With a stern look, the man asked once again. “What is your mother's name?”

  Diego looked at Silver, who nodded for him to answer. “María … María Asencio.”

  Overwhelmed with tears, the man placed both hands on Diego's shoulders, kissed him on both cheeks, and then affectionately hugged him. “I am your father's brother, and you are my nephew!”

  El Flaco summoned his employees to get something out of the next room, and when they returned, they carried a large, framed picture of a man who was the spitting image of Diego. It was his father.

  El Flaco told them the entire story. Diego's father had been a legend in Washington Heights before he died. He'd taken care of the entire neighborhood and everybody loved him and called him “El Mayimbe,” which meant “the king” or “the best.” He was like a modern-day Robin Hood to the people in his neighborhood. This was why so many people had surrounded them outside, because they had thought it was some kind of miracle from God that El Mayimbe had come back to walk the earth.

  Silver knew that for many years Diego had believed that his father abandoned him and his mother, but El Flaco explained to him that his father had never done such a thing.

  “While giving birth to you,” El Flaco explained, “your mother almost died. She was in a coma for three weeks. When she came to, she said that God came to her while she was in her coma and told her that if she cleansed herself from sin, he would let her enjoy her life with her only son. So she made God a vow that she would dedicate her life to him from then on. The first thing she did was give your papa a choice: either follow that same path with her or find another path without her, because she didn't want you to be mixed up in his business.” He paused and lowered his head. “When your father didn't change quick enough for your mama, true to her words, she packed up and vanished, taking you with her. Your papa searched for years to find you but never did. We thought that she'd left New York, but your father never gave up hope of finding you, even till the day he died!”

  He took some keys out of his pocket and opened a wall safe. He pulled out an envelope and handed it to Diego with a smile. “Those are the deeds and letters of ownership to a couple of homes and businesses in the Dominican Republic that he left to you.”

  Diego appeared happy and relieved. After catching up on a few things, Diego explained to his uncle their dilemma. His uncle became apprehensive about the two negra suda women that he'd come with. Diego, seeing his uneasiness, challenged him.

  “Tio,” Diego explained, “these two girls I know my entire life. They were the only friends I had throughout school, and they never ask nothing of me until now.” He lowered his head in shame. “Since I didn't have no one to teach me how to fight when I was little, I use to get the shit kicked out of me and robbed every day by the boys in my school.” Flaco's eyes began to water. “These two negra sucias, as you call them, and the guy in jail were the only ones who came to my defense and fought them bullies for me when I didn't know how to fight for myself. They were the ones who had my back and gave me the courage when I had none. They were my big sisters, my big brothers, my father and …” Diego paused. “And yes, they were my uncles when I had none. Without them, I don't think—no, I'm sure that I would not be here today.”

  Flaco gave Diego a searching look, then slowly rose to his feet. He walked over to Silver and Missy and hugged them both, expressing his deep and earnest appreciation and telling them that they were now familia and could have anything they needed.

  With that, Silver, Missy, and Diego put the wheels in motion. The first request they asked of El Flaco was to stop selling weight to his connections in Harlem, the Bronx, Brooklyn, Staten Island, and Queens. They assured him that this would not last too long—only long enough to cause frenzy on the streets. The other request was to sell them two hundred kilos for two hundred thousand dollars, with one kilo up front. El Flaco agreed without hesitation, and even though he didn't know the full extent of their plans, he knew that it was about more than money, just as it had been with his brother.

  The drug shortage in the city was felt almost immediately, and the small amount of product left on the street was garbage, full of speed, acetone, and baking powder. Even the well-connected Papone had a hard time obtaining quality coke. But even though he was a full partner with Hollis on the crack tip, his heroin business was unaffected. Silver and her crew waited patiently until the right moment, and when it came, Missy played her role beautifully.

  The Underground was an after-hours strip joint that was a haven for ballers and drug dealers to gamble or meet young tramps willing to perform unspeakable sexual acts. It held two full bars inside, one in the front and one in the back, and most importantly, two gambling tables—cee-lo only. The elite thing about this spot was that they let you ride in with weapons. They figured it wasn't necessary to sweat a nigger over his joint because that way everybody knew they could get got. It was a big balance of respect for each man to be cool.

  Missy arrived at the club early that Friday night to ensure her plan would work without incident. Even though it was two o'clock in the morning, it was still early for the spot. The real niggers usually fell up in there about four. Missy cursed under her breath when
she got to the bar and noticed that Butterfly Ty was already there talking to a girl she was very familiar with from the club scene, none other than Slim Goody. Missy didn't want to seem too obvious, so she headed straight toward the back of the club, where she'd have a clear view of the bathroom and the couple at the bar. As she sat in a booth, she fished through her purse, pulled out some bills, and started counting them. Satisfied, she sat back and waited.

  Exactly thirty-five minutes later, the easy girl stood up from the bar, slung her purse over her shoulder, and rubbed Butterfly Ty's cock before she left. Missy waited until Slim disappeared inside the bathroom before entering behind her. As she entered the bathroom, she noticed that Slim was already inside one of the stalls, so she pulled out her eyeliner and started doing her eyes in the mirror. Hearing the toilet flush, she watched in the mirror as Slim exited the stall. Slim recognized her.

  “Hey, girl, what the hell you doing down here slumming with these broke-ass niggers?” Slim asked, soaping and rinsing her hands.

  “You know me, girl—I take it how I can get it.”

  “I hear you. I'm sitting with this one buster and he ain't buy me but one drink and we been here about an hour.”

  “Yeah, I saw you two going at it at the bar when I walked in.” As she watched Slim grab a paper towel, Missy decided to work it. “I heard about that fucked-up shit Hollis did to you in the club that night. I'm sorry it happened.”

  Slim wiped her hands harder. “Thanks, girl,” she said with a sneer. “But that's okay, ‘cause I'm gonna make that black motherfucker pay for that shit one day, that's for sure!”

  Missy smiled. “Do you really mean that?” She flashed the two hundred dollars and made her a proposition.

  Missy left the bathroom and headed over to the bar where Butterfly sat. Being the dog that he was, he'd totally forgotten about Slim Goody, who had slipped past him and out of the club without him even noticing.

  “Yo, ma, what's poppin’ with you tonight?” Butterfly said.

  Missy ignored him as she ordered a 7-Up on ice. Licking his lips, he looked her up and down in her tight-fitting jeans. He pulled out a knot from his pocket and peeled off a hundred-dollar bill, then spoke with all the enthusiasm of a true player.

  “Bartender, bring her four of those with cherries on top.”

  Missy gave him a slight smile and turned away, purposely giving him a look at her perfectly shaped fat ass. He stared, just as she knew he would.

  “Yo, ma, forgive my rudeness, but damn, I just want to know what time those jeans get off, ‘cause that ass of yours is working!”

  Missy laughed openly at the dude's game.

  “Ain't your name Missy?”

  Missy acted lightly surprised. “Where you know me from?”

  Butterfly felt himself and grinned. “I'm from the streets, luv. That's my job to know what's poppin!” He eyed her. “I didn't think you fuck with black niggas because all those Spanish cats I be seeing you around with.”

  She turned it around on him. “Well, you know what they say: A girl loves it when a man make love to them, but every now and then, a girl don't want to be loved.” She edged closer and spoke with the nastiest voice she could conjure. “She wants to be fucked!” This blew his fucking spot, and she noticed his dick was getting harder than Chinese arithmetic.

  “Check!” he yelled to the bartender.

  Missy knew he was only half joking, and asked him what he was pushing. Sipping on his Thug Passion, he reached inside his pocket and pulled out a set of keys.

  “An all-black Escalade, and my seat is just like my name— Butters, baby. Can you feel that shit?”

  “Only thing I'm tryna feel tonight is something hard and thick!”

  He smoothly stood up. “Let's bounce,” he said, tossing the bartender a fifty-dollar tip.

  At Missy's apartment, Butterfly couldn't believe his luck. Not only did he have a bad-ass freak, the bitch even had her own apartment. She made the nigger feel mad at ease, and offered to fix him any kind of drink he wanted.

  “Yeah, fix me a Hennessy with some Alizé if you got it.”

  Missy smiled at him. “You got it, baby!”

  Butterfly felt like the motherfuckin’ man, the fuckin’ king! To top this shit off, he didn't even have to worry about hittin’ this bitch off with some real ends. No, he reasoned, all she wanted was to get long-dicked.

  She brought him his drink. “I don't know if you fuck around, but if you want some blow, I got some.”

  He took a swallow of his drink. “Coke?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “But I don't fuck around; I just pull it out when I have company.”

  Wide-eyed, Butterfly nodded. “Hell fuckin’ yeah, I get down!”

  Missy stepped into her bedroom and brought out a mirror topped with a large mound of cocaine. She set it down in front of him and Butterfly grinned when he saw the amount of coke in front of him. “Goddamn, all that shit is coke?”

  Missy nodded. “That's what they say.”

  Butterfly had no reason to doubt her, because he knew Missy hung out with nothing but connected people, but he had to test it anyway. He wet his pinky finger with his tongue, put it into the coke, and lifted it to his mouth to taste. In a matter of seconds, his mouth grew numb. He quickly tore off a match-book cover, scooped up a hefty amount, and sniffed it loudly and quickly, then took another hit in his other nostril. The drug made him paranoid, so he jumped to his feet and went straight to the windows, closing them. Then he went back to the coke and sniffed some more. He looked up at Missy and tried to speak, but his mouth was unable to get the words out—he was stuck.

  “Slow down, baby,” Missy said. “That ain't none of that garbage that you're used too. That shit is pure.” She bent down, removed the coke, and took it back to her room, leaving him there stuck on stupid from the powerful drug. After she relaxed him by sucking his dick, the powerful effect of the coke wore off, and he came back down to normal. After he busted his nut, Missy handed him a washcloth.

  “Yo, ma, check this out. Where you say you got that shit from?”

  She rose. “Now you know I don't mix business with pleasure, baby.”

  Butterfly grabbed her hand. “Fuck that other shit we did,” he snarled. “I'm about business first, and got the paper to back that shit up.” Releasing her hand, he stood. “You ever heard of the Young Guns?”

  Missy snickered. “Who haven't?”

  “So you know how we get down. I'm a lieutenant, and if you can get us your connect …” He shrugged. “Shit, you can make yourself mad loot for simply playin’ connect the dots!” Missy stared at him for a moment, then sat down to hear him out.

  The meeting was set for a week later in a midtown hotel, so the players had to be perfect if they were to convince Hollis they were real drug kingpins. Being that Hollis didn't trust anyone but his own guns, he kept everyone else at arm's length at all times. If you slipped up or said one wrong thing, you were as good as dead. Diego, the mommy's boy, had to be convincing enough to play his role, and they needed an expert to teach him how to be ruthless. Only one person was capable of teaching him the thug life, and that person was Chubbs.

  It took Diego nearly a week to lose his white-boy accent and demeanor. Chubbs worked on Diego hard, teaching him how to walk, how to talk street shit, what to do if this happened, what not to do if that happened. He even made him spend time with some hoochie mommas to learn how to talk to them. And then finally, he taught him everything there was to know about cocaine: how to cut it, cook it, weigh it, bag it, everything.

  The day had finally arrived. Diego was nervous but ready. They had needed to rent luxurious cars and buy fine, expensive clothing to play the role. Silver looked at her watch. They would be there in fifteen minutes. She cringed when she thought how she would act when she came face-to-face with the man who had set her man up and nearly killed him. She knew she had to be cool for Chance's sake. Even though she had seen Hollis only in passing, she decided to wear expensive Gu
cci sunglasses in his presence so he would be less likely to recognize her. She felt sorry for Birdie, who had been biting his nails till his fingers bled. He wore an expensive all-black designer suit with a Dobbs Fifty hat slanted gangster style over his eyes. Birdie looked the part of a no-nonsense bodyguard. Silver wondered why he was so nervous, because he didn't have to speak, only follow Diego closely and stare like an eagle at the enemy. Then again, she thought, he had every reason to worry, because they were about to meet with a notorious murderer.

  So there they were, Silver, Diego, Birdie, and Missy, sitting around in the hotel room, silent with their own thoughts while waiting for the chips to fall. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door causing all of them to snap out of their thoughts. It was now or never, and no turning back. Missy and Diego scrambled into the bedroom as Birdie and Silver took their positions. Silver walked toward the door and took a deep breath before she opened it. As she opened the door, she found herself up and close and personal with the man himself—Hollis. She nodded and gestured to him and Butterfly Ty to come inside.

  She escorted them to their seats and offered them a drink. Hollis declined, but Butter asked for some Hennessy Silver nodded and went to the bar to fix the drink while Birdie stared at them without blinking. After handing Butter his drink, Silver spoke.

  “Mr. Santos will be with you in a moment.”

  After nearly thirty minutes, it was obvious that Hollis and Butterfly were growing bored and restless. This was done on purpose, because Chubbs said this showed prospective buyers who were in charge, and that the visitors were there on their time. It couldn't have worked more perfectly, because as soon as the bedroom doorknob turned, the two jumped to their feet, just like Chubbs had said they would do. Birdie did what he'd been told to do. He immediately pulled out his cannon and aimed it at both men while Diego walked out with a king's swagger, Missy hanging on to his arm.