Goodfellas

by Carl Weber

  She began walking to the door, but Faye and Jayden stayed where they were.

  “All this time I had a sister,” Jayden said, staring into Faye’s eyes. “I’m so s—”

  “Don’t apologize for things that you had no control over,” Faye told him, shaking her head at the words that had almost come from his mouth. “Just please take me to the hospital. I’ve never been shot before, and this shit is painful.”

  He grinned again and winced, reminding him that he needed to go to the hospital too. But neither the pain in his shoulder nor the pain in her arm could stop the inevitable embrace. She clung to him, and she felt all of the love that she’d been missing since her mother was killed seep through him and into her. She opened her mouth to say something, but as she pulled back, she saw a movement behind Jayden’s back. While the two of them had been having their moment, Kayden had reached in his sock and pulled out a small firearm. He pointed it at the back center of Jayden’s head, and Faye’s reflexes reacted before her mind.

  “No!” she shouted and aimed the gun that she’d taken from him.

  She fired one time, and the power from the gun jerked her shoulder back, but she still hit her target. Right in the neck. He fell to the side with a shocked expression on his face, and his hands around his own throat that time. He choked and gurgled on his own blood. His last vision was of Jayden and Faye, watching his soul leave his body. He reached a hand out to them, but instead of helping him, Jayden took Fay’s good hand, and they turned their backs on their brother forever.

  When they reached the steel door, Lee Lee had come running frantically back down the hallway.

  “I heard a gunshot and . . .” She looked behind them at Kayden’s body. “Oh, he’s dead.”

  “It’s over,” Faye said. “It’s all finally over.”

  Lee Lee offered support to both of them as they made their way up the stairs. When they got outside, the bitter cold hit Faye in the face, but that time, she welcomed it. She realized that there was so much she’d taken for granted, especially while she was on her revenge binge. As they walked to Kayden’s Mercedes G-Wagen, since Jayden had driven it there, she let go of the rest of the malice eating away at her heart. That was not how Chrishelle had raised her to be, and it would not be how she remained.

  “So, what now?” Lee Lee asked her. “Are you going to go after Greyson?”

  “Yes,” Faye replied. “But not to kill him. For closure.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Jayden told her. “I can use this golden child shit for something good this time. Where’s your car at?”

  “In the front, but I don’t think I can drive it right now,” she told him motioning to her arm.

  “Are you good? You need me to carry you?”

  “I can’t feel it anymore. And you don’t look to be in good shape to be carrying anybody. Here, lean on my good side and I’ll help you walk to the car.”

  “It hit the top of my shoulder.” Jayden tried to downplay his pain. “I’ll be all right.”

  “I can tell y’all are related already!” Lee Lee said, looking back and forth between them. “Trying to act all tough knowing damn well that shit hurts! Y’all better hurry up and get to this damn car. I just had a gun to my head! I’m trying to go and get to my baby and love on him, but first, I’ma drop your look-alike asses off at the hospital. Come on!”

  Lee Lee took the keys from Jayden and went to open the doors. Jayden helped Faye into the passenger’s seat, and she touched his arm before he shut the door.

  “Thank you for saving us. Why did you do it?”

  “Because she got some bomb-ass pussy,” Jayden said, looking at Lee Lee, and then back to Faye. “And because you’re my sister. Maybe you were the sibling I was supposed to have.”

  “Only time will tell.”

  “We have nothing but that, and I know one thing is for sure.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You gon’ always have family.”

  He shut her door before he saw the smile spread on her face and hopped in the backseat. For the first time in a long time, despite the blood leaking from her arm and the fact that they had all almost been killed . . . Faye felt happiness. It was radiating through her like the blood in her veins, and that time when the tears fell from her eyes, they weren’t from being sad. The only thing left to do was face her biological father. That was inevitable, and the last step to mend her heart.

  “No regrets,” she whispered as Lee Lee drove out of the alley and toward the nearest hospital. “Not now, not ever.”

  Love Seldom. Trust Never.

  by

  Ty Marshall

  Prologue

  On the last day of his life, Old Man Al relaxed on the deck of his yacht, enjoying the sunset. He was a true vet in the Miami drug game, if there ever was one. He had seen it all and done a lot more. Al was once the person you had to come see. The plug, the gatekeeper to the streets, and he controlled who was able to go through those gates. There was a time when if Al blessed you, you were on in a major way. That was before his gambling problems derailed him. He lost his connect due to short and late payments. Only because of years of doing good business with the cartel had they spared his life. They just cut him off, dried him out. That didn’t stop him from gambling, though. Al eventually swindled away most of his possessions. Except for the fifty-foot yacht that he used to cruise the waters of the Florida Keys. Al had a glass of cognac in one hand and a cigar in the other as he relaxed in a chair on the deck, enjoying the view.

  Miami really could give a person a false sense of security. The sunny weather, moderate temperatures, and clear blue water gave most people the feeling that they were safer than they really were. It was just an illusion, a beautiful distraction from the dangers that were always close by. Old Man Al knew that better than most. He had experienced both triumph and tragedy here. He loved living on the water and spent most of his time as close to it as possible. It was his tranquil place, but just like the rest of Miami, there were always a million things brewing right under its serene surface.

  He finished the drink in his glass and placed it down in front of him. Then he picked up the gun next to the empty glass and tears began to cloud his vision. The shame he felt was eating him alive and made him not want to go on living. His gambling addiction had made him a poor excuse for a man, and he decided that the world would be better off without him in it.

  Suddenly, the sound of a single gunshot pierced the air, disturbing the calm and peacefulness, causing a flock of seagulls to fly away. The chirping of birds overhead was immediately followed by the thud of the gun falling from Al’s dead hand.

  Chapter One

  The Early Years

  Li’l East stared at the open casket as he sat on the edge of the wooden church pew, his hands resting on his legs. He wore a white dress shirt that was buttoned uncomfortably tight around his neck, a black tie, and an oversized blazer that had been hand-me-downed from one of his older cousins. His slacks were high water, barely long enough to cover the thick pair of white sweat socks and cheap dress shoes he wore. Still, his eyes never strayed from the face of the man lying in the casket. Although he was only eleven years old, East had already been to several funerals at such an early age. Still, he had never seen a dead body up close until today. He had always managed to keep his distance from the front of the church; instead, allowing others to grieve over the dead bodies of their loved ones. But this was a body he couldn’t avoid. This time, he was required to sit on the front row, right beside his mother, in between her best friend who offered him comfort by continually rubbing the middle of his back. This time, the body wasn’t a family friend or some upstanding member of the community who required that respect be paid to them.

  The body in the casket belonged to his father.

  The church was crowded. Crying faces filling every row, most of them attractive women his father had been in some form of a relationship with. One woman sat in an adjacent pew, dressed in all-black, holdi
ng a small baby that East was sure belonged to his father, her eyes hidden behind dark shades to conceal her pain. The deceased man taking with him a piece of her heart.

  The walls of the church were lined with men dressed in dark clothes, their heads bowed, their talking restricted to muffled hisses; their eyes glued to the floor, unable to look up at the man many had known since childhood.

  East paid little attention to those around him. Instead, his eyes remained on the waxy glaze of his father’s face. The caked-on makeup gave him an artificial gleam. Strangers would always stop East and tell him how much they looked alike. He could never see what they saw. Maybe his hatred for the man wouldn’t allow him to. As the pastor began to read from the scripture, East’s thoughts were floating far from this place. He was no longer in some stale church with tidal waves of sadness all around him. His mind was in another place, which allowed his expression to be free of worry or emotion. That lasted for as long as it took for the pastor to finish his eulogy. Then East took a deep breath and rose to his feet.

  Releasing his mother’s hand, he walked slowly toward the casket. He could feel the church grow quieter behind him, then go completely silent. Truthfully, he would have preferred to be alone. Allowed to spend time with his father in private without all the crying and screaming of strangers. He wanted to speak words only meant for his father’s ears. It was something he had never had the chance to do while he was alive, and now he would forever be denied the opportunity to do so. The man lying in front of him had been mostly absent from his life since the time he was born. All East had was neighborhood stories, street tales, but he had so many questions that only his father could answer. Now he was forced to say his final good-byes to a man he knew very little about.

  The heavy odor of the undertaker’s fluids and powders made East’s nostrils burn as he stood over the casket, studying his father. For a moment, he allowed himself to see their resemblance. His father was a handsome man. The dark suit he wore did little to hide his muscular build. However, it did cover the bullet holes that had sapped the life from his body. Six shots fired from a gun by a person who would never be arrested. Even at his young age, East understood the world he lived in. It was a world a child his age should have feared; yet, he was strangely drawn to it. Both consciously and subconsciously, he learned that murder was a natural by-product of the streets. The “kill or be killed” mindset was as intricate a part of Miami as the beaches and palm trees. Shootings were not unusual in his neighborhood, which was one of the poorest. Neither were the people who looked the other way, and the secrets that were kept for decades. In ghettos like Liberty City, Overtown, Opa-Locka, Little River, and Carol City, those who ran their mouths received a harsh and brutal punishment. East didn’t know why his father had been killed, but like everyone else, he had heard the rumors.

  For most of his life, East hated the mere thought of his father, but now he found himself with a bunch of what-ifs. A lump began to form in his throat. The thought of an unfulfilled relationship between the two of them the cause. At that moment, East didn’t know who he felt more sorrow for, himself or his father. He lowered his head, closing his eyelids tight, refusing to let a tear fall from his watery eyes. He felt confused by the sudden surge of emotions. He was used to burying his feelings deep inside. He had to be tough. That’s what his mother always preached. “You’re a young black boy from the ghetto of Miami. Nobody in this world is gonna feel sorry for you, boy,” she would say. He was all his mother had, and vice versa. They were each other’s protector. Although they didn’t have a lot, they always had each other.

  So where is this compassion for my father coming from? Why do I feel an ounce of love for a man who never showed me any? he questioned himself, but his young mind had no answer, only more confusion.

  East pulled a folded note from his pocket, then leaned closer and slid it into the inside pocket of his father’s suit. He had written the note the night before. It was filled with all the things he had ever wanted to say to him—good and bad. He made a silent vow that all the ill feelings he felt toward his father would go in the ground with him on that day, but that was easier said than done. East patted the note in place, looked at his father in the casket one last time, then turned and walked out of the church.

  “Are you okay?” his mother, Ebony, asked after the funeral as people filled the community center in the projects for the repast. She was a devoted mother. Although money was always tight, she made sure to spoil her child with attention, teaching him about love, respect, and loyalty. She was grooming a young, black man and knew those life lessons were important for him to have. In a way, she had grown up with him.

  Allen Iverson Eastwood was the only child of his young mother. Twenty-five-year-old Ebony Jones was a very attractive woman. She had the kind of alluring features that drew attention to her wherever she went. She was a short redbone with green eyes and perfectly proportioned curves. Her hair was dyed honey-blond and flowed down to her shoulders. Not only was she blessed with looks, she had a heart of gold and loved her son with all of it.

  At the tender age of fourteen, she had hooked up with a handsome, smooth-talking hustler named Derek Eastwood. Six years older than her and much wiser to the ways of the world, his charm proven irresistible. It didn’t take long before he became the first man she had sex with.

  Deliberate and skillfully, Derek made passionate love to her that first night, educating young Ebony about her virgin body, exploring parts of her that she never knew existed. His ability to please her sexually was unlike anything she had ever felt and better than she could have ever imagined. The sex between them was so enjoyable that she found herself becoming addicted to it. Every time exceeded the last time. With every orgasm, she cried tears of pleasure and pain, both with pure satisfaction. And she always needed more. Derek unleashed the sexual beast within her. She wanted as much sex as he could give her. She craved the kind of lovemaking only he could give to her. Ebony wasn’t sure if it was love, lust, or just some misguided teenager obsession that made it all so mind-blowing. There was only one thing she was sure of; she wanted the feeling to last forever. But forever is a mighty long time and apparently, it was too long for Derek. After a tearful phone call in which Ebony explained that she had missed her period for the second straight month, it would be four long years before she saw or heard from him again. By then, their son was walking, talking, and looking just like him. Derek would be in but mostly out of East’s life until the day he died, leaving Ebony with the sole responsibility of raising their son.

  “I love you, baby,” her voice cracked and lips trembled as she looked at her son.

  East looked into her eyes and noticed that they were becoming moist. He watched as the tears formed and slowly fell on her cheeks. He hated to see his mother cry. Sometimes he wondered if he was the reason that she was always so sad and stressed. Maybe it was his fault that she struggled to make ends meet. Maybe he was the cause of her pain.

  The ugly truth was that she was struggling to keep it together. What East didn’t know was that it had nothing to do with him or the funeral. It had everything to do with the fact that she hadn’t been able to pop a pill all day. Ebony had been diagnosed with depression and anxiety and had a growing dependence on her prescription medication. She had started to overuse them, especially during stressful times in her life. This was one of those times. The need of the magic little pill to take the edge off was slowly getting the best of her. The only problem was . . . She didn’t have any left.

  “Please, don’t cry, Ma. I love you too,” East embraced her tightly. He already stood as tall as her, something he had inherited from his father’s side.

  Ebony felt his hand delicately wipe the tears from her cheek. She forged a smile, and they stood quietly staring at each other for a moment. When she looked in his face, she saw a smaller version of the man that lay dead in the casket back at the church. After all these years, Ebony had never loved another man the way she had loved Derek. The g
ood and the bad—no other man would ever compare to him. Ebony attempted to break eye contact by looking away, but East grabbed her hand, his expression becoming very serious.

  “What’s wrong, baby?” she asked.

  East took a long breath and sighed, “Ma, you still loved my father, didn’t you?”

  Ebony was caught off guard for a second. It was like he had read her mind. She thought about how to explain something so complex as love to an eleven-year-old. She reached out and grabbed both of his hands. “Yes. Yes, I did. I loved your father very much,” she answered honestly. She could tell East wasn’t pleased with her reply.

  “Why? He ain’t never did nothing for us. Ever,” he declared, his anger much more apparent now. He treasured the ground Ebony walked on. It had been a struggle for her raising him alone. As a teenage dropout in the projects, on welfare, with nothing but a tenth-grade education, she was doing the best she could. She busted her ass to get her GED and completed ten months of courses at Everest Institute to become a medical assistant. East never saw her flaws when he looked at her, only her triumphs and her strength. She was godly in his eyes. He vowed to always do whatever was necessary to protect her and change their poor living conditions.

  Ebony smiled. She was amazed at how much East had grown. He was quickly becoming a young man. It made her proud.

  “Baby, I’ll always love him because he gave me you,” she confessed, caressing the side of his face and looking in his eyes. “I want you to remember what I’m about to tell you. You were made out of love. And despite what you might hear, your daddy was a good man. I want you to always know and believe that. You hear me?” she said.

  East admired her attempt to cast his father in a good light, but he knew better. He would forever see him as a man more concerned with chasing pretty women and money than anything else. East chose not to respond to his mother. He kissed her on the cheek again and offered a halfhearted smile before walking out of the front door of the community center. He was content to avoid the flood of visitors bearing food, sympathy, and fake well wishes.