Dynasty

by Dutch

  “I got you.” Ty replied.

  “I know you ain’t get at Guy yet on that. Just stay in touch, Fam. Peace.”

  Vee hopped out of the cab in front of an apartment complex in north Raleigh. He intended on walking the last three blocks to his condo. Vee never took a cab all the way home, because he vowed never to be caught slipping. All it would take for a thirsty cat to do was see him jump in a cab then lay on that cab driver to find out where he took him. Vee was the type of predator that always covered his tracks.

  When he got to the crib, he entered through the back door, as always. He placed his keys on the table then yelled, “Yo, Cat! I’m home!” He stuck his head in the fridge and pulled out a container of Sunny Delight, drinking straight from the jug. His girl Cat walked in and shushed him violently.

  “Stop yellin’ so loud wit’ yo’ ghetto ass! ‘Cause if you wake Tata, you stayin’ up wit’ him.”

  One look at her and you knew why they called her Cat—even though her real name was Kionna. Her chestnut brown eyes slanted like a feline’s. She had a slightly puffy dark brown skin face that gave her a Lisa Raye type quality.

  Vee walked up and wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her on her Kewpie Doll nose. “I missed you too, baby girl.”

  “Hm-mmm,” she replied with her mouth twisted up even though she loved when he called her baby girl.

  “Where my lil’ man?” he asked.

  “Asleep in his room.”

  Vee took the stairs two at a time until he got to his son’s room. He was only six months old, but he already had all the toys he could think of. He even had a 48-inch plasma TV on his wall that stayed on the Baby Network. Vee looked down at his sleeping son and couldn’t resist picking him up. As he did, Cat appeared in the door.

  “Victor, please don’t wake him up, ‘cause I’m tired,” she pleaded.

  “I ain’t gonna wake nobody up,” he replied, looking at his son. “Taheem, what up boy? You gonna be a gangsta like yo’ daddy.”

  “Shit, ain’t no gangstas gettin’ raised up in here,” Cat toned firmly.

  “I’m just playin’,” Vee replied, putting Taheem back down.

  Very few people saw this side of Victor Murphy—the side that could love. Cat and Taheem were his world, and that’s why he kept them out of his life. He thought about his dead homies and the war that had been declared. He turned to Cat, all smiles gone and told her, “Y’all gotta leave town for awhile.”

  Cat looked at him confusedly. Leave town? Why? When? Where are we goin’?”

  He walked her into their bedroom and began to explain. “Some major shit went down tonight, and I don’t want you anywhere around when the shit hits the fan.”

  “Then why you ain’t goin’ too?” Cat wanted to know.

  “ ‘Cause it’s my beef and I’ma take care of it,” he answered, turning to walk out like the subject was over.

  “Oh hell, naw!” Cat protested, going around him to close the door then leaning against it with her arms folded. “You ain’t goin’ nowhere until you tell me mo’ than pack yo’ shit, Cat. Uproot your life, Cat. What about school?”

  “Transfer your credits… I don’t know, but you and Taheem outta here tomorrow,” Vee announced firmly.

  “Victor, why are you actin’ like this? Don’t I have a right to know what’s goin’ on with you… with us? Why don’t you trust me?” Cat asked, teary-eyed.

  “It ain’t got nothin’ to do with trust.”

  “Then what happened?”

  Vee took a deep sigh. “Pappy dead. Rico dead. The same day his son was born he got kilt! Right outside the hospital,” Vee said, emotions raging but he willed himself to calm down. “But that’s the game, but this… us, it ain’t no game, so I’m making you go. Do you understand now?”

  Cat wrapped her arms around his neck and sobbed in his chest. She cried for Pappy. She cried for Rico, Pam and their newborn son. But mostly she cried out of fear for Vee. She was terrified for him.

  As Vee embraced her, he thought of the old root the lady Ms. Sadie had given him lying in his black pouch and worked the root that made him virtually untouchable. “I can give you everything you want but the price will be everything you love,” she had told him.

  He thought about how at the tender age of 17 he had nobody. No family…no one to love or be loved by him. He didn’t even think he’d make it to 21. Now, here he is, three months into his 21st year and he had someone to love and be loved by him. The thought made him shudder. He didn’t mind risking his life, but there was no way he’d risk his heart.

  Chapter 3

  It was the rainy days that always did it. Guy laid back on a small bed in a crammed, roach infested rooming house in Harlem. His hands were clasped behind his head and his eyes focused on the raindrops that streaked the window. The pitter patter of the rain and the boom of the thunder started a spiral into the past eighteen months.

  It was almost as if he was still in Vietnam. Even wide awake he could hear the swish-swash of the bush as his Army fatigues brushed past it. The brutal boom of the thunder made him jump as if fired by the Viet Cong.

  Then came the voices, the unintelligible gibberish of the Vietnamese, the hiss and squawk of the walkie talkies, the screaming, the wailing, the killing…. He had to sit up and cover his ears with his hands.

  Guy grabbed for the fifth of cheap wine off the rickety night-stand and threw his head back until the alcohol burned in his throat and brought tears to his eyes. Then he lit up a Kool, inhaling in the rare moment of serenity. The twelve months he had spent in Vietnam were unlike anything he had ever experienced. He had gone in as a starry-eyed boy and come out a grown ass man. He was 6’1”, 190 pounds of muscle, frustration and depression.

  Vietnam had totally changed him and changed everyone he knew that went in. They never came out the same. Killing does something to a man’s soul, and surviving Hell meant you had to come out burned, or at least singed.

  Guy did his twelve-month tour and it seemed like ten years. He went in fighting for his country, but ended up simply fighting for his life, and killing was the only option. Before he had a chance to digest the first kill, they were followed by several more, until he was desensitized by it all. Men he ate with, laughed with and played cards with, one by one fell all around him. He anticipated being next; almost hoped for it so he could finally be at peace. But only by the grace of God did he make it to the end of his tour.

  Upon returning to the States, he realized he wasn’t ready to go home. Guy had changed and he needed a new environment to complement that change. One of his Army buddies, Blue, was from Harlem. He awed Guy night after night with eight million stories.

  “If a man can make it in Harlem, he can make it any-where,” Blue had told him.

  He even turned him on to his cousin, Eddie Bell. Blue told Guy how a guy named Nicky Barnes had Harlem on lock and his cousin Eddie was a major player in this organization.

  “When we get out this hellhole, Big Country, I’ma take you back home wit’ me. Show you the prettiest women you ever seen and mo’ money than you ever laid eyes on,” Blue had bragged, but Blue never made it home.

  Guy decided to give Harlem a try. Once he reached the famous city, he was awed by the bright lights and the hugeness of it all. It was Goldsboro times hundreds! But he quickly realized, making an honest living in Harlem meant breaking yo’ back for nickels and dimes. It was the pimps, number runners and dope dealers that lived the sporting life in Harlem.

  Slowly but surely he was drawn to that life. The life his father had wanted to give him, the life he refused. He could almost hear his father saying “I told you so,” as he made his way to Bell’s Bar and Grill. The place owned by Blue’s cousin Eddie.

  It was midday when he got there, so there weren’t many people there; a guy at the bar and two Harlem females at a table. They were well dressed with their hair done up in that style he saw so many Harlem women wear. He could tell they were out of his league, just by the jew
els and the minks draped over their shoulders—the kind that didn’t pay a working man like him any mind. To Guy, they were all whores or some gangster’s girl, so he didn’t even acknowledge the brown skin vixen’s inviting smile when he walked in.

  “Who you here to see?” she asked, because he looked like a man on a mission. She gave him the once over and was instantly attracted to the stranger.

  “I’m looking for Eddie,” Guy replied without even looking in her direction.

  The young woman wasn’t used to being ignored. Once most men laid eyes on her, they’d be falling all over themselves to get with her. But he wasn’t most men she could see and that angered her and intrigued her at the same time.

  “Well we don’t need no janitors,” she quipped, looking him up and down and making her girlfriend giggle. “And all deliveries we take thru the back.”

  Guy wasn’t fazed by her sarcasm... He sighed and said, “Look, is Eddie here? I got business to speak with him about.”

  “Business??” she echoed, “What kind of business could yo’ broke ass have wit’ Eddie? Humph, you need to get some business about yo’self and find some decent shoes. This is 1974 not 1954!”

  Guy turned his stoney gaze on her stopping the giggle dead in her throat.

  “Maybe my shoe’ll look better when it’s dead in yo’ ass,” he growled, tired of playing games.

  At that moment, Eddie had stepped out of the back. He heard the stranger ask for him and he watched him closely, sizing him up. As soon as the woman saw Eddie she got bold and stood to her feet.

  “Nigguh, who you think you talkin’ to?! Eddie, you hear this muhfucka talkin’ ‘bout puttin’ his foot in my ass?!” she huffed.

  Eddie stifled a chuckle, thinking to himself, “Somebody need to”. Instead he said, “Yeah, Gloria, I heard him, and I also heard you talkin’ to a grown ass man like he a child.”

  Gloria sucked her teeth then sat down to sulk.

  Eddie turned to Guy. “And dig, bruh, that’s my sister you talkin’ to, so I’d appreciate it if you’d do so wit’ respect,” Eddie stated firmly.

  Guy nodded subtly, thinking to himself, so this is Eddie Bell. Right away he knew he was dealing with heavy paper because he looked like a million dollars.

  Eddie was bone skinny and sported an afro. He was pressed in a purple silk suit with matching ‘gator boots. Even his nails were manicured.

  “Harlem nigguhs,” Guy chuckled to himself.

  “So,” Eddie began, leaning on the bar, “what business you got wit’ me?”

  “I was in the Army with your cousin Blue, and he told me if I was ever in Harlem, you were the man to see,” Guy explained.

  Eddie’s face lit up like 42nd Street. “My man Blue! Now that’s a down stud. How he doin’? He out yet?”

  Guy dropped his head then looked back up to meet Eddie’s eyes. “Naw. Blue got killed…. He’s gone.”

  The light went out of Eddie’s eyes and he grabbed his temples. “Man, damn, not Blue…I told that nigguh not to go.” He shook his head then had the bartender fix him a drink, offering Guy one as well. “Goddamn, Blue,” Eddie cursed, throwing the shot back. “I grew up wit’ that nigguh. 122nd and Lenox. We wasn’t really cousins, but we wasn’t just friends, you know what I mean?”

  Guy nodded, taking back the shot. The bartender refilled both glasses.

  “You two musta really cut into one another if he told you to look me up,” Eddie commented, thinking Guy had to be a solid cat for Blue to hook him up with him.

  Eddie looked Guy over, assessing the situation. It was obvious that the brother was doing bad. His bloodshot eyes showed Eddie he had already been drinking, and his baggy clothes said he had lost weight, which also showed in the sallow way his skin sagged. He could clearly see that Guy was down on his luck, but Eddie wasn’t about taking in stragglers.

  “So,” Eddie said, lighting a Kool and pausing to light Guy’s up, “what can I do you for?”

  Guy took a long drag then thunked the ashes in the ashtray. “I need a job.”

  “Yeah? Harlem’s a big place, why’d you come to me?”

  “Blue said you were the man to see.”

  “He musta told you I run an employment agency, huh?” Eddie quipped.

  Gloria and her girlfriend giggled. When Guy glanced over in their direction, Gloria gave him a look like “Well?”

  Guy turned back to Eddie. “I can get any kind of job, but I ain’t any kinda nigguh,” he replied smoothly, looking Eddie in the eye.

  “Yeah?” Eddie smirked, blowing out smoke towards the ceiling. “What kind of nigguh are you?”

  “Loyal. I’m a jack of all trades, so I do everything well except kiss ass. I ain’t never bent over for nothing, not even to pull my pants up,” Guy responded.

  The comment made Gloria smile subtly. She could see the stranger was one of a kind.

  “Yeah? So how you pull up your pants?” Eddie chuckled.

  “I just leeean back,” Guy answered smoothly in his southern drawl.

  Eddie busted out laughing and so did Gloria’s girlfriend. Gloria even had to chuckle.

  “I like that, playa. Just leeean back, huh? Where you from…,” Eddie asked, letting his question trail so Guy could fill in the blank.

  “Guy. Guy Simmons. I’m from North Carolina.”

  “What part?”

  “Goldsboro.”

  Eddie smiled. “Yeah, I hear tell y’all have some mean skin games down there? You skin?”

  It was Guy’s turn to smile. Willie had taught him every card game that ever earned a dollar. “Somethin’ like that.”

  Eddie truly cut into Guy that day. It wasn’t just his quick wit’ or no-nonsense demeanor, it was his eyes. That look of hungry determination and the coldness of a man that had looked at death in the face and stared it down. Eddie would take it slow but he knew in Guy, he would have a true soldier.

  After that day, Guy never looked back.

  Chapter 4

  Ty pulled his black Cadillac CTS up to the Rib Shack. The name had always amused him because they didn’t sell ribs. Guy had once explained to him that it was a popular soul food restaurant back in the day, owned by an old hustler named Long Pockets. When Long Pockets died, another old gambler named Hawk Bill had bought it and turned it into a bar. Since everyone knew it as the Rib Shack, Hawk never changed the name.

  Ty used to love to come here as a child because Hawk Bill always had all kinds of candy for him. But today wasn’t about nostalgia, it was about the present. Ty wanted answers. The Rib Shack was the bar his father got shot outside of.

  It was already well into the evening when Ty got there, so as usual there was a nice crowd inside. The place was a frequent for the older players that got together to reminisce about their days gone by. When Ty walked in, he was greeted warmly with hugs and condolences on the situation with his father. He knew many of the well wishers had larceny in their heart, because many of these men Guy had roughed up at one time or another or straight ran out of business. Guy was feared just as much as he was respected.

  Ty took it all in stride heading for the bar. Hawk Bill was behind the bar watching champion boxer Bernard Hopkins fight Jermaine Taylor.

  “Left, B Hop! Left! Teach that young nigguh a lesson!” Hawk Bill yelled at the screen.

  Ty eyed Hawk Bill. He remembered when Hawk Bill was in his prime. He was always a little pudgy but everybody knew Hawk wasn’t to be fucked with. He carried a curved rug cutter that was called a Hawk Bill, which is how he got his name.

  “Ay, Hawk!” Ty called out over the blare of the T.V.

  “Hold up!” Hawk answered impatiently, not bothering to look around to see who it was.

  When the bell sounded the end of the round, Hawk turned around. When he saw it was Ty, his cold eyes warmed. “Get the fuck outta here!” Hawk Bill laughed, coming around the bar, “My man, Tyquan!”

  Hawk Bill was only 5’6 but he bear-hugged Ty with all his 250 pounds, lifting him off the floor. T
y chuckled, allowing the man who was like an uncle have his moment.

  As soon as Hawk put him down, he looked Ty in the eye. “How’s your father?”

  “Still in a coma, but it’s only been three days,” Ty replied.

  Hawk nodded solemnly. He could tell Ty had something on his mind. “Come on in the back, young blood.”

  Ty followed Hawk into his office. It was a cramped little office/storage space, but it had a small desk in the corner. They both sat on crates while Hawk poured himself a shot of Henny. He offered Ty a drink but he declined.

  “Yo, Hawk, I’m comin’ to you… not because Pops got hit right outside yo’ spot. I’m comin’ to you because I know he trust you like a brother,” Ty explained, resting his elbows on his knees. “What happened?”

  “Youngblood, I wasn’t out front when the shots got fired. I was behind the bar. My old lady was here, you wanna ask—”

  Ty held up his hand with a slight smirk. “Unk,” he began purposely with the term of endearment short for uncle, “I know your love for my father and your loyalty to our family. I would never think to question that because the thought alone would break my heart!”

  “Your father is like a brother to me,” Hawk said, relieved to hear his name was in the clear. He may have known Ty since he was a baby, but he was a grown man now. He knew, even though Ty was only 23, that he had several bodies under his belt. So with the situation so serious, he knew to tread lightly.

  “I feel you, Unk. Just tell me what you know?”

  Hawk downed his drink then said, “Guy came in like he usually did, with a couple of his guys and a bad ass young girl.”

  “How young?”

  “I don’t know, maybe mid to late twenties.”

  Ty hadn’t heard about any chick being shot. “Did she leave with him?” Ty probed.

  “Of course.”

  Ty knotted his brow. “Describe her.”

  “I don’t know, Youngblood, you know Guy likes ‘em dark and built like a stallion.”