Ghetto Girls Too

by Anthony Whyte

  “Damn, that’s twice in a row. I’m thoroughly in agreement.” Kowalski laughed as they walked out of the room. They could see Lil’ Long going back into general population. “I pray what he said had at least one ounce of truth.”

  “Do you really, Kowalski? Or as you like to say, ‘I just wanna bust this case wide open’.”

  FIFTY

  Lil’ Long slowly made his way back across the passage to his cellblock. On the way, he was bumped twice by two different inmates wearing red bandanas. He took offense at the third bump.

  “Hey, any one of y’all blood niggas can get it,” Lil’ Long said. One of the inmates who had bumped him walked right up to him.

  “You talking’ to me, sun?” he asked.

  Without answering, Lil’ Long slammed his fist hard into the face of the inmate then followed with another hard right, a left and another right. He felt himself restrained by some officers. Lil’ Long found himself face down on the floor.

  “Alright, break this up, now!” a correction officer yelled out. There were six of them now on scene. Chaos took a calm turn. “What happened here?” one CO snarled.

  “They jumped my man,” someone said. Lil’ Long turned to see who had spoken. The voice had a familiar ring. They must have believed him because they released him immediately. “All right, gentlemen, let’s not have anymore of this or everyone will be on lockdown.”

  “What’s good, nigga?” Lil’ Long said and exchanged pounds with the other inmate. “I know you from somewhere, right?” They drifted away from the area.

  “Nigga, you know me from around the way. Maybe because I got bigger and all. I’m Nesto, nigga,” the inmate said then hugged Lil’ Long.

  “Oh shit, that’s right. Nesto from da heights, right?”

  “No question, my nigga. Whatcha doing here, Lil’ Long?”

  “That’s da sixty-mothafucking-four dollar question. I have no clue. They trying to frame a nigga so a nigga can’t eat. You feel me?”

  “I hear you. How’s shit on the outside?” Nesto asked.

  Lil’ Long glanced around and noticed all the eyes on him and Nesto. “Shit’s crazy, man. Po-po got everything on lock. Mothafuckas wanted me out the game and all that so they put bullet holes in me.”

  “Yo, what happened to your man you used to run wit?”

  “Oh, they done killed my man. They ambushed him and tagged him with bullet holes.”

  “Get da fuck out. Who did that, sun?”

  “Evidently the same mothafuckas who set my ass up.”

  “Huh, that’s bad, bad news. Vulcha was a cool mo’fucka. He ain’t fuck wit no one.”

  “I’m saying, they made sure he was stiff on his back. I’m gonna get who did that shit, though.”

  “You know who did that?”

  “I got an idea but I ain’t gonna say right now.”

  “Mothafucking Lil’ Long,” Nesto said as they both walked. “Yo, I want you to meet some people who run things round here,” Nesto said as they made their way to another side of the jailhouse.

  “I remember your peeps from da heights, Carlos and Manny,” Lil’ Long said. “They seen how big you got, dogs?”

  “Hell yeah. Them niggas be here all the time visiting a nigga, you know. Nesto’s peeps ain’t desert him, you heard?”

  “I hear that but who these other peeps you dealin’ wit?”

  “Oh, these some big dogs. These mothafuckas run this place and when I say run, I mean run,” Nesto bragged.

  “Maybe they could take care o’ that big ass CO who keeps fucking wit my ass.”

  “Who? Torres? Wait until she sees this. She’ll be licking your balls soon.”

  “Stop playing, nigga.”

  “I’m a show you, sun. I’m dead-ass.”

  “Ahight, take me to meet these mothafuckas then.”

  “Say no more, Lil’ Long, we’ll be on our way in a minute,” Nesto said, reaching down underneath his bunk and unveiling an envelope filled with marijuana. Nesto quickly crushed the weed up and wrapped it neatly in a Philly blunt and lit it. “Light a cigarette,” he said as he inhaled. Lil’ Long watched in amused anticipation. “Go ahead, sit on down,” Nesto said pointing to a milk crate in the corner of the small cell. “Pull that seat up and hit this, nigga.”

  “Yo, you da real, you hear me? You da real mothafuckin’ man, Nesto. That’s how my ghetto soldier was. Real, you feel me?” Lil’ Long said as he smoked. Nesto took the cigarette and puffed.

  “You’re talking ‘bout Vulcha?”

  “Yeah, dogs, he was my soldier, my right hand.”

  “His end kinda came quick.”

  “Yeah and that made my target list grow longer. Feel me? Two months after I met the nigga, the streets were mine. You know wha’ I’m saying?”

  “That’s fucked up, sun. That nigga should be living.”

  “Yeah but its saddle and boots time. Ride or die time. I don’t care where these mothafuckas be at. If they dead, I’m killing myself to go after them. Where ever they be at, I’m going hunting for they asses and kill ’em one by one. You heard?” Lil’ Long said as he passed the blunt to Nesto. They stole a smoke and Lil’ Long felt the connection to Nesto, not only for being from the block but for being ballsy with the weed.

  “Lemme know if I can help you, sun,” Nesto said as he put the smoke out.

  “Yo, that’s real. You’re ahight wit me. You know you my man and all that,” Lil’ Long said as he glad-handed with Nesto. They walked out of the cell and down the corridor to the other side of the jailhouse.

  “Come with me, Lil’ Long. I’ll introduce you to the peeps that run the whole joint,” Nesto said as he walked ahead.

  FIFTY-ONE

  Eric Ascot smiled when the salesman revealed the price. He glanced at the Porsche Cayenne and shook his head. Nice, he thought, but too busy and a little too large for her. He stood inside the Porsche dealership contemplating which model to buy the girl of his dreams. Sophia would love this roadster. She was a racing enthusiast and could appreciate the style and grace of a Boxter S. At his wits ends, he wondered as he slowly sipped the champagne and explored the possibilities.

  There were more important questions. Such as whether Sophia would buy his philanthropic behavior as one of the spur of the moment variety or would it be seen as another attempt to get on her good side. Eric sipped the champagne and scrutinized the cars. It should be the Boxter S, he decided. On cue, the salesman wandered back over.

  “Enjoying the view, Eric?” he asked.

  “Sure am. I want the Boxter S, fully loaded. Clarion speaker system and all the trimmings,” Eric said.

  “That’s an excellent choice. For a while, I thought it would be the Cayenne but you fooled me. You said you want it in silver and just cause you’re you, I’m throwing in the Anniversary Edition package. Now, is this where you want it delivered? You said Sophia Sullivan and I’ve got the address right here. Oh, and I’ll throw in the DVD player free of cost.”

  “It’s not really free though. I’m sure it’s neatly wrapped in a hidden cost somewhere.”

  “No, absolutely not the truth. Everything is set so we just need to set up a delivery time. How’re you paying for this?” Eric threw down his American Express Black card and the discussion ceased. “We’ll have it prepped and ready for delivery later today. She’s a very lucky woman,” the salesman said with a grin.

  “You can say that again,” Eric said and shook the salesman’s outstretched hand.

  “So nice to have done business with you, sir. Goodbye and don’t you worry. Everything will be taken care of down to the red bow around it, sir. You’ll be pleased,” he said, practically eating out of Eric’s palm.

  Eric Ascot strolled through the Porsche dealership admiring the new cars. The 911 Turbo looked good but he was confident that he had made the right choice. He jumped into his Range Rover and rolled out of the parking lot thinking that he had done the right thing. He had just set himself back over fifty thousand dollars
trying to get back in favor of the woman he loved.

  Would’ve been cheaper to tell her the truth, he thought as he drove along with the afternoon traffic. Suffice it to say, Sophia had definitely been impressed by his altruism so far but would it blow up in his face? As he pulled to a stop, Eric felt confident that he was doing the right thing. Judging from the way they spooned as they slept last night, he felt Sophia’s resistance was wearing down. Even though she didn’t eat the food or drink the wine, she did take the pasta salad for lunch. That fact made him smile as he walked into the studio.

  FIFTY-TWO

  “You saw that? The sonofabitch just bought a hot car for his fiancée. Just wait until we send her our little package,” Kowalski said looking over at his partner. “He’s gonna freak out.” Both detectives laughed as they hurried across the street to the Porsche dealership. Flashing his badge, Kowalski asked to see the manager.

  “Who’s the salesman that just handled the customer that just left?” he asked when the man appeared.

  “Which customer?” the manager asked.

  “Eric Ascot,” Kowalski replied.

  “Mr. Ascot was tended to by Ernie Fryer. What seems to be the problem, detectives? Maybe I could be of some help to you? I’m always doing what I can to help out the law.”

  “The car he bought, which is it and who is it being delivered to?” Hall asked.

  The manager scanned the sales log and looked at the detective. “Mr. Ascot bought a Boxter S. It is being primed to be delivered to his fiancé, a Ms. Sophia Sullivan,” the manager said. “We checked out his card and everything was cleared with his credit card company. I mean, we did everything on the level, detectives. I’m afraid...”

  “Here’s what we need you to do,” interrupted Kowalski. He gave the manager a big brown envelope with detailed instructions. Before they walked away, Kowalski added, “Make sure that it is done before the car is delivered. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir, I do. A very minor thing for a citizen to do, detectives. Good day,” the manager said as they left the office.

  “I’m quite sure his lawyer girlfriend is gonna want some kind of explanation to go along with that video and snapshots of her man with his two dancing girls,” laughed Kowalski once they got back outside.

  “It really tickles your funny bone, huh?” Hall sarcastically asked.

  “Whenever uppity black guys get too big for their britches, I just want you to know that old Kowalski here is ready to put their no good black asses back in place and if that means sending them to jail, it makes me sleep oh so much better.”

  “I’m sure it does,” Hall said as he glared at his snickering partner. How did this guy get on the job? He’s such a bigot, Hall thought as they drove to the station house. “Do me a favor,” Hall said.

  “Sure, anything, partner,” Kowalski answered.

  “Stay the fuck off my desk. Don’t let me have to repeat myself.”

  “I gotcha back, bro. I’ll stay off your desk.” Kowalski reached out to shake his hand but Hall walked past him and into the stationhouse. No sooner had he sat down when he heard the chief hollering his name.

  “Hall, get in my office right now and bring that crazy partner of yours with you,” the chief said. Hall immediately detected a lot of anger in the chief’s tone. He knew he was about to be rimmed. He called for Kowalski, who was busy chatting up a secretary a few desks down.

  “Kowalski, get your narrow ass over here right now. The chief wants to see us. Now, Kowalski,” Hall yelled when he saw Kowalski not budging. Finally, he walked over to where Kowalski stood and yanked him by the arm.

  “I must go, hon. Until later. I’ll see ya around nine, ya hear,” Kowalski said as Hall pulled on his sleeve. “Can’t you see I’m making moves? You know, getting my groove on.”

  “You need to groove into the chief’s office, lover boy. I can’t believe you’re trying to run game on a black woman,” Hall said just before they walked into the office where the chief of detectives sat looking at reports and photos.

  “Baby got back,” Kowalski said as he entered the office.

  “Shut the door. Shut yer yaps and siddown because I don’t wanna be saying what I’m about to say twice. This case needs to be wrapped up immediately, gentlemen. Everyone’s looking for answers. There were officers gunned down, politicians are talking, and when they talk, we better be listening. I want suspects brought in. I want to shake this thing up. Bring people in, knock on doors. I’m giving you two a couple more days to wrap up this investigation and indict someone. Geez, what else do we need? We got the smoking guns and we got positive ID’s from the boys at the lab. Do we have any corroboration? Do we have motives?”

  “Chief, we’re onto something that could blow the case wide open.”

  “Yeah, that’s right, chief, we’re onto a strong lead.”

  “I don’t wanna hear that kind of dribble out of either of you. Feed the press all that verbiage. Bring some closure to this damn case and don’t drag it out too long. We can hardly spare the manpower around here. Now, get outta my office and go arrest someone for these murders.”

  “Yes, sir,” they both replied and left the office with great haste. They had laid the bait for Eric and knew he would take it once the delivery was made along with the car. Both detectives knew that somehow they would have to get either Eric or Lil’ Long to cooperate totally. They figured it would be Eric Ascot.

  FIFTY-THREE

  Eric wandered easily through the yard. From the front, the house was huge and as he reached the front door, he realized that it was actually a mansion. Security seemed lax. There were men standing around seemingly doing nothing but talking about baseball. A closer look revealed that they were wore heavy artillery and bullet proof vests under their sweaters. He was directed into the main hall of the mansion and remained surprised at the many guests inside. He took a glass of champagne along with cashews and sipped as he walked around. He overheard the whining of what he thought was a child, but when he turned, he saw a well developed beautiful brunette.

  “Did you record the episode of Montel?” she asked the young man next to her.

  “Yes, I know he’s your fav so I did. How was your trip from Martha’s Vineyard?”

  “Much too long. My ass is still sore from the plane ride.”

  “Excuse me, I’m trying to locate Mr. Maruichi. Do you know where I can find him?” Eric asked politely. They both stopped and stared for a minute. The brunette looked him up and down. Finally, the guy spoke.

  “That line over there leads right to him. I guess there are about...oh, lets see, hmm, about twelve people in front of you. You’d better hurry over because most of the folks are really here to see dad,” he said. They turned away and continued with their conversation.

  “Thank you. Oh, by the way, why the celebration?” Eric asked before they walked away. Both kids gave him an incredulous stare after which the girl smiled and replied.

  “It’s my brother’s seventeenth birthday and dad thought he would throw him a party. Okay, Mr. Whoever you are? You were obviously invited. Otherwise, you would not have been able to put your foot through the front door. My dad’s in his study. Please excuse us,” she said easily.

  “Well, happy birthday,” Eric started to say apologetically but the kids had enough of him and were ready to party.

  Eric walked around slowly and watched them as they danced around with other kids. Obviously Maruichi’s kids, he thought as he reached the area and saw some of the familiar faces from his first visit with Maruichi. Eric took another sip of champagne and wondered why the man had invited him here. He paced, anxious to see the shock on Sophia’s face when that Porsche was delivered to her apartment. He tried to reach her cell phone but the phone just rang through to her voicemail. Eric tried to contain his excitement when he spoke. “Give me a call when you can,” he said and closed his cellular.

  That’s a nice gift, Eric thought as he watched the bustle of the place. There were a lot of
people, mostly Sicilian looking. Wine was flowing freely and people danced around singing. Eric remembered when Mariuchi had first invited him. There was no mention of a celebration. The invitation was more along the lines of business, not his son’s seventeenth birthday party. Eric continued to pace as he monitored his cell phone in anticipation of Sophia’s call.

  FIFTY-FOUR

  She was clearly surprised. Flabbergasted even after walking around the car several times, crying in disbelief. “Oh my, oh my,” Sophia sang as the doorman joined her.

  “That’s a very classy car. Fits you very well. What the hell, it’s a perfect fit for you, Ms. Sullivan. The person who sent you this must really think you’re very special. It’s gotta be love.”

  “It is love,” Sophia crooned and danced around the silver car with the big red bow. The top was down and it was the perfect evening for a ride. She swooned and hugged herself as she looked at the car. “Oh my, I love that man,” she whispered slightly into the wind. The doorman moved closer and offered to help her remove the bow. “I don’t know, Paul. I wanted to wait until Eric gets here.”

  Deedee walked up to the entrance and saw Sophia swooning over the car. “Uncle E has lost his mind,” she whispered as she ran toward the car. “That’s for you, Sophia? Oh God, I love it. It’s a Porsche. A real Porsche,” Deedee chanted as she hugged Sophia and they danced in the street. Paul stood back and enjoyed the view. Deedee was wearing a mini skirt that easily raised up to reveal her panties as she danced around merrily. He used the occasion to show off his knowledge of cars.

  “Yes, it is a Porsche,” he said getting the ladies’ attention. “Built from the 550, the Spyder was the first Porsche designed for racing. This,” the doorman said, “is the Boxter S. Anniversary edition at that.”

  “Oh really? Let me find out,” Deedee said smiling at Paul. “Let me know you’re moonlighting as a car salesman on your time off.”

  “No, it’s a fantasy I’ve had ever since I can remember.”