Keyshia was stunned. “Damn, eleven!”
“Yeah, don’t fuck with his family. I’m surprised Sonny ain’t do nothing to Black Sam and them already, because he killed niggas for much less, I seen him.”
Keyshia pleaded, “Then let’s just take the money that we have left and move out of Harlem for good, at least we be safe.”
Clyde looked at Keyshia, who had a hopeful look on her face, and debated whether he should tell her everything. “Your aunt lives on a Hundred Twenty-second and Second Avenue, in the Wagner projects?”
Keyshia was surprised. “Yeah, how’d you know?”
Clyde looked her in the eye and said, “Black Sam’s people was waiting there for you for three days.”
Shocked, Keyshia sat down. Clyde quickly assured her, “Don’t worry, Sonny made sure they won’t come after you no more.”
“What about my aunt, and my li’l cousins?” she asked, panicked.
“They didn’t bother them, they just wanted you.” Keyshia was relieved. Clyde continued, “They also said if we don’t come up with the money, they . . .” He grew silent, then said, “They said they was gonna execute your entire family.” Seeing how distressed Keyshia was, Clyde said, “Don’t worry ’bout nothing. We gonna come up with the money and pay them off, and that will be that, trust me.”
Keyshia remained in a daze, and after a few moments she looked at Clyde with fire in her eyes. “Okay, okay, we just have to do this, baby. We just got to figure a way out of this shit.”
Clyde picked up the duffel bag and emptied it out on the bed, and about eight large-caliber handguns, a shotgun, and box after box of ammo fell out. Keyshia was in awe at all the guns and picked one up slowly and handled it as if it were a venomous snake. The weapon seemed longer than her entire arm as she aimed it and smiled at Clyde, then asked, “When do we get a chance to test these babies out?”
Clyde looked at her in amazement.
Keyshia and Clyde hopped out of a cab on 118th Street between Eighth and Manhattan that afternoon. Pops smiled as his young protégé exited the cab with a duffel bag dangling from his shoulder and a girl at his side.
“Hey, Pops!” yelled Clyde, genuinely happy to see him.
“What’s up, Rocco?” Pops said with a wide, toothless smile.
Clyde bent down to hug Pops. They pulled apart, and Pops turned his attention to the girl at Clyde’s side. “Pops, I want you to meet my girl, Keyshia,” Clyde said with a huge smile.
Pops turned on the charm and gripped her hand softly and kissed it. “Why, my, my, my, Rocco. What is this beautiful, charming young lady doing with an ugly big-headed boy like you?” He looked at Keyshia with a dirty old man stare and said, “Hey, beautiful, what do you say you toss this one aside and get with a handsome teenage boy like me?” Keyshia blushed, and Pops laughed so loud that he began to choke on his cigar. He patted Clyde on the back and said, “Come on in, come on in.”
Inside Pops offered them some sodas and hot peanuts. After they short talked for a while, Clyde and Pops went into the back to talk privately. Clyde said, “Listen, Pops, I got myself in some trouble and I need a favor.”
Pops frowned but listened in silence to every word that Clyde said as Clyde told him the whole story. After he’d finished, Pops asked, “So tell me, Rocco, what can I do to help you?”
Clyde smiled and said, “Well, I remember you telling me you used to go down into the basement and practice shooting your pistol in case a nigga ever got out of hand.”
Pops nodded proudly. “Still can shoot a peanut off a rat’s ass if I wanted to. This building was built in the 1800s; you can shoot an atom bomb down there and nobody would hear nothing on the outside.” He looked at Clyde suspiciously. “Why, you got a bomb in that bag or something?”
Clyde smiled. “Naa, nothing that big, but I got some shit for a nigga’s ass if they want it. I got to show old girl how to handle these big babies.”
Pops’s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree as he asked if he could see inside. Clyde opened up the bag, and Pops looked in and nodded. “Okay, okay, not bad, not bad.” He hobbled over to the wall and retrieved a key. “Take that stairway in the back to the basement. Be careful of them stairs, they old, okay?”
Clyde nodded, and before he walked off, Pops added in a whisper, “I don’t know where you meet that li’l girl at, but I can tell she love you and would fight tooth and nail for you, even kill for you.”
Clyde stared at Pops and wondered how he knew that. Seeing the questioning look in Clyde’s eyes, Pops said with a wink and a nod, “Body language, boy, I can see it in her eyes.”
The basement was old, dark, and dank. If it weren’t for Clyde guiding Keyshia down and through it, she would never have made it. Clyde had to turn on each lightbulb individually as they hung precariously throughout the basement. When they finally made it to the rear of the long basement, Clyde turned on a final lightbulb and Keyshia saw hundreds of green sandbags stacked to the ceiling against the far wall. Clyde brought a sawdust-ridden table over to Keyshia. He found an old piece of cloth and began wiping dust off the table. After he’d finished, he picked up the duffel bag and pulled out each and every weapon and laid them all out on the table. He pulled out three boxes of ammunition and took the cover off each one.
“Okay, you ready to get down?”
Keyshia chuckled, a little overwhelmed as she stared at all the black and deadly weapons laid out before her. “Yeah, I, I, guess so.”
Clyde lifted up one of them and pulled out the clip. “This here is a Glock nine-millimeter. It holds seventeen bullets in the clip and one in the chamber.” He held up the clip in front of her and slid back the chamber. Then he put the clip back in the weapon and showed her the safety.
“This here is called the safety. Now this is very important to remember.” Putting it close to her face, he continued, “If you switch it to the red dot, that means it’s ready to fire. If it’s on the blue dot, it’s on safety. You got it?”
Keyshia nodded and repeated, “Red, fire, blue, safe.”
Clyde nodded and smiled at her. “All right,” he said, “just put it in your hand to feel the weight for now and pull the trigger.”
He handed it to Keyshia, who was amazed at the lightness of the huge gun and said, “Oh, shoot,” holding it with both hands and waving it around.
Clyde immediately said with a smile, “Rule number one: Never point the weapon at your partner!”
Keyshia let out a goofy laugh and said innocently, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, baby, you learning,” Clyde said reassuringly. Keyshia pointed the weapon unsteadily at the sandbags and aimed. Clyde wrapped his arms around her, steadied the weapon in her hands, and said, “Always aim low or at the center of the body.” She followed his instructions. “That’s right, baby, never aim at the head, always low and centered to their body. That way you have a better chance of hitting something.” Keyshia aimed at her target, and “click.” They both smiled.
“All right,” Clyde said. “It’s time for the real thing.” He pulled out bullet after bullet and placed them inside the long clip. He showed her how to load her clip until she could fill her own.
“Always respect your weapon and it will respect you,” Clyde preached. “Never take for granted that your gun is empty.” Keyshia hung on every word he was saying. “That’s how most shooting accidents happen, someone assumes that the gun is empty. Always clear your weapon by cocking it several times like this.” He then gripped the upper rear part of the weapon and pulled back several times and said, “See, it’s all clear.” She nodded. She looked at Clyde the way a kindergartner looks toward her teacher for guidance.
“All right,” Clyde asked, “are you ready?” Excitement in her eyes, she nodded. He nodded back and said, “Okay, its gonna be loud and have a nice little jolt to it, so be prepared, okay?” She nodded again.
“I’ll go first.” Clyde lifted his arm and aimed at the wall of sandbags and fired ten steady bursts
from the weapon. When he finished he looked at Keyshia, who was clearly eager.
“What you think?” he asked.
“Loud,” she answered.
“Yeah, you ready?” She nodded, more excited now. “Get down, then,” Clyde said as he moved behind her. Keyshia raised the weapon and closed her eyes and pulled the trigger. Nothing. She opened her eyes and Clyde said simply, “Safety switch?”
Keyshia smiled and switched the safety and said, “Red, fire, blue, safe.”
Once again, Clyde stepped behind her and said, “Remember, keep squeezing the trigger.” He showed her with his finger. “Bap, bap, bap! Okay, get down, baby.” Keyshia flipped off the safety, raised the weapon, and pulled the trigger. Bap, bap, bap, bap, bap, bap . . . Clyde watched the sandbags twist and turn as sand leaked rapidly out of the bags. Keyshia continued to squeeze the trigger until the gun was empty and smoking!
“Goddizam!” Clyde exclaimed as he stared at Keyshia with utter surprise. “I thought you said you never shot a gun before?”
Equally amazed, Keyshia finally opened her eyes and watched the smoke rise from the gun, then saw the leakage of the sandbags, then smelled the acrid gunpowder. She suddenly felt invincible.
“Goddamn!” she cried as adrenaline coursed through her body. She looked at Clyde and asked, “Can I do it again?”
Clyde nodded, and they both rushed to the other guns, loaded them, and began blazing and bucking off rounds for the next hour. All the guns were broken in except for the massive shotgun left on the table. Keyshia looked at Clyde mischievously.
“Oh hell, no. Don’t even think about it!” Clyde said with a smile. “That shit there ain’t for no li’l girl.”
Keyshia continued to approach, staring into his eyes all the while. “I ain’t no li’l girl no more. I want to shoot it!” she said as she locked him in a corner.
“Hell no, Keysh, that shit will knock you on your ass!” Clyde’s back was now against the wall. “You don’t need to fuck with that bitch, you already—” Keyshia started kissing Clyde’s neck. “No, don’t do that, baby!” he began to plead.
“Let me shoot,” Keyshia said in a low, sexy tone.
“You might get hurt,” said Clyde as his voice became weak.
“I’ll hurt you, then. Give me some!”
They started kissing and hugging when Clyde suddenly broke free and relented, “Okay!”
Keyshia smiled.
Clyde wondered if he would ever be able to tell her no. Keyshia watched carefully as Clyde filled up the shotgun casing with rounds. He looked at her and said seriously, “This bitch here ain’t nothing like the nines, this shit got kick to it.” He pumped the shotgun and said, “Hold your ears,” and then the shotgun roared, Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Clyde’s whole body jerked violently from each pull of the trigger. After he finished he yelled at the weapon in his hand, “Goddizam! Fuck!” He admired the powerful weapon for a few moments longer and then looked at Keyshia. “You sure you ready for this shit?”
A little intimidated, but still willing, she nodded. Clyde gave her the shotgun, and she was shocked by the weight of it. She looked at Clyde, who was still amped up, and he nodded.
“You can do it, baby, plant your legs firm, hold it real tight between your arms, and pull that shit!”
Keyshia nodded quickly and took a deep, deep breath. Adrenaline started flooding her bloodstream, then suddenly she gave a bloodcurdling yell and pulled the trigger, and, BOOM! roared the mighty weapon, nearly causing her to fly into the wall.
“Goddizam!” she repeated as she stared at the shotgun in her hand.
She looked at Clyde, who was smiling wickedly. He said, “Squeeze that shit, baby, squeeze that shit!”
Keyshia obliged as she took aim and squeezed off round after round and didn’t stop till she was out of ammo. Her mouth was open as if she had just run a hundred-yard dash.
Clyde was elated and hugged Keyshia, who was still in a zone, and he said, “Oh, shit, my baby look like Rambo in this piece! Yo, you ain’t no fuckin’ joke!” Keyshia, equally excited, hugged him for joy. They kissed and Clyde said, “Yo, let’s start cleaning this place up to get ready for tomorrow.” He began picking up each and every round, talking all the while.
“I ain’t got no doubts now, we gonna handle our business, naa mean, baby?”
When Keyshia didn’t answer, he turned and looked at her. She had unbuttoned her shirt, and her firm breasts and nipples were hardened. Clyde paused as he stood up with an instant erection. Keyshia walked over to him and said in a husky voice, “Make love to me, boy!”
Chapter 16
_______________
The sun was just going down when Keyshia and Clyde got home.
“Keyshia,” Clyde said while he was packing the weapons, “do you love me?”
The question was so out of the blue that she frowned. “Yeah, Clyde, you know I do,” she answered.
Clyde paused as he searched for the right words to say. “Well, I love you, too.” He looked toward the far wall as if he were straining for the right words.
Keyshia began to grow worried. She walked over to him and grabbed his hand and said, “What’s wrong, baby? Tell me.”
Clyde looked deep into her eyes. “I . . . I just can’t let you go through this with me . . . I just can’t.” Keyshia saw the seriousness and dread in his eyes.
“I just don’t know what I would do if you get hurt, I just can’t.”
Keyshia put her head down. She’d known this moment would come.
“I never felt like this about another person, never knew this feeling existed. But I do now. If you love something that much, how could you ever put it in harm’s way?” Keyshia searched his pleading eyes.
“I can do this shit by myself, yo, and afterwards we could get out of Harlem and live together somewhere where there’s no drama, and be suckers and get jobs.” He stood and continued, “We . . . we could travel down south and visit your family, who you ain’t see in years. We can leave all this shit behind, make some change in our life for the better.” Clyde began smiling as he imagined that it could all really come true. “We could one day find out what we are meant to be, like you always say.
“So what do you say, Keysh? I can do this shit solo, ma!”
She looked down and began rubbing his strong hands and said softly, “Boy, looka here, I’s love ya and I’s loves ya bad. All my life I been by myself and alone because nobody care much fo’ me. My whole life they calls me ugly and calls me dumb ’cause I don’t know much. They tells me I was a bald-headed, skinny, big-lip, big-nose, black bitch. They tells me I’s was trash ’cause I was tampered with as a child and that nobody ain’t gonna want me. My mammy gives me up and leave me to my aunt, who slapped me ’round so much I couldn’t do nothin’ but to accept it. After whiles, after so many beatin’s and all the name callin’, you can’t help but feel like shit inside. Then being forced on so many times by grown men and boys and ta be blame for it, does sumtin’ ta ya mind, to ya soul. I guess I’s didn’t want to feel no more so I get to the point I don’t care no more ’bout me or my body. I use to travel ’round them department stores imagining I was somebody special, somebody important, like them white folks I use to see with they family, doing and buying what they want. Then I met you however that ways we did in a motel room between a man legs. Even though you saw me hows you did and smokin’ them crack, you tells me I’s was better than them drugs and you still look after me and never treat me like no ho. Then you up and tells me I’s was beautiful.”
Keyshia paused as she shook her head and thought back to that moment. “Me . . . you call beautiful.” She looked at Clyde seriously and asked, “Did you know that was the first time I was ever called beautiful by somebody? Did you know how that made me feel? But you know what, that ain’t even the sad part, the sad part is I’s believed them when they told me I was ugly and wouldn’t amount to nothin’. But when you told me I’s was beautiful that day, and treat me like you do, and mean i
t, I looked at yo’ face and looked in yo’ eyes and I knew you was telling the truth! I’s fell for you right then and there and knew I ain’t never want to be with nobody but you fo’ the rest of my life. I ain’t got nothing going fo’ me but you, and I ain’t lettin’ you go nowhere, boy. Now, I’s done tells you once before and look into my eyes when I say this: If things gotta go down, we gon’ go down together, that’s fo’ sho’. Now I’s know you love me back the same and you can try to explain all you want after what I say, but remember this, and never forget, if I can’t have you by my side, it ain’t gon’ be worth living, so either I’s with you or I’m ready to die for you, boy!”
Clyde stared at her, expressionless, until he finally said, “Yeah, now for what you were meant to do with your life.” Keyshia stared at him, perplexed.
“A lawyer.”
Keyshia smiled and said, “You think so?”
Clyde nodded. “Hell, yeah, you convinced me. Every time I try to say no to you for something, you convince me otherwise. Think about it—the first time we met at Marshall’s, you convinced three grown-ass men I wasn’t stealing and caught red-handed with the shit hanging out my pants. The way you got them people in Macy’s to respect you by knowing the right words to say. And don’t forget the way you convinced me to give you half the loot on the robbery—half the take! That’s the same thing them big-time lawyers do because they know the right thing to say and when to say it. I heard somewhere that the best lawyers are ten percent actors and ninety percent liars.”
Keyshia frowned and threw a piece of tissue at him. “You saying I’m a liar?”
“What I’m saying is that you could convince the devil himself that he made a mistake of bringing you to hell if you wanted to. Shit, I would want you as my lawyer if I ever was in a fucked-up position anytime, that’s fo’ sho’!”
For the entire evening they spent their time plotting and scheming. Clyde taught her everything in regards to robbery, including where she should be positioned, what to look for during an actual robbery, and the three kinds of victims that can be a potential threat to a perfect jump-off. The first is the hero. Clyde warned her that in every bunch there is always one potential hero who can turn a simple robbery into a nightmare and that you have to make an example of these. For whatever reason, human nature tells one of these knuckleheads that they are duty bound to be a crusader and that they can really match the quickness of a loaded weapon. But, as many find out, right after they secure a hot searing bullet in their flesh, or hear the sound of the cracking of their jawbone when a weapon hits their faces, they are not comic book superheroes. These types you have to be able to spot immediately because you don’t want to catch a body on a simple robbery. They are the ones who are constantly looking around with their head and their eyes, searching for a weak spot in their assaulter.
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