“Yo, can you speed that process up a lil’ bit? My daughter gotta use the bathroom.” Mox said.
The attendant stared at Mox from behind the glass. He picked his fork up, dug in his plate and ate a mouthful of food. After wiping the side of his mouth with a napkin, he said. “ID”
“Gimme your ID, Priscilla.”
“I don’t have my ID, Mox… I don’t have anything. We left everything back there… and I asked you where’d you get that money.”
“Shit!” Mox was heated. “Do it matter where I got the money from Priscilla, huh? This is it… this is all the fuckin’ money we got right here. This one, one hundred dollar bill.” He shook his head and paced the tight area. “I can’t believe this shit.”
“ID please. No ID, no room.” The attendant said.
Mox approached the glass again. “Look man…” he said. “I’m in a fucked up situation as you can see. I really need this room. How ‘bout I throw a extra $25 on it and you jus’ pass me those keys?”
The attendant didn’t say a word he just looked at Mox with a grin on his face. Seconds later, a set of keys fell through the hole in the glass.
“Thank you.” Mox said, grabbing the keys. “C’mon Priscilla.”
“No traffic! And no smoking!” the attendant yelled as they walked out.
Mox went to get their belongings from the car, while Priscilla took Brandi to the room. As soon as they made it to the room, Brandi rushed into the bathroom to handle her business. Mox returned to the room a minute later and took a seat in the chair next to the window, while Priscilla sat on the bed. “Please tell me you didn’t leave those Ki’s in that house.”
Priscilla sighed and shook her head. “What do you think, Mox? You rushed me. I left everything. What part of that don’t you understand?”
Mox stood up from the chair and paced the floor. “How the fuck you leave ten kilos in that house, Priscilla?”
“First of all… lower your voice and stop fuckin’ cursing at me!” Priscilla shouted.
Mox sat back in the chair and squeezed his temples. It couldn’t get any worse than this. They were on the run, broke, and the work they thought they had was gone. Out of nowhere, a sharp pain stung the entire right side of Mox’s body. He grabbed the back of his head and bent down between his legs in excruciating pain. Priscilla didn’t realize what was going in until he collapsed to the floor, holding his head.
“Mox… what’s wrong? Mox! Mox!” She screamed, rushing to his side, trying to lift him off the floor.
“I’m good… I’m good…” He said, holding onto the bed to stand up. “What the fuck jus’ happened?” he asked.
The toilet flushed and they both looked towards the bathroom as Brandi walked out.
“Brandi, you alright?” Priscilla asked.
“Yes,” she answered.
Mox fixed himself and went into the bathroom to splash some water on his face. As he gazed into the cloudy mirror, his thoughts went back to the shooting.
Cleo had the pistol clutched tightly in his hand. It was pointed directly at Mox’s head. He cringed when the shot went off, and it seemed as if it were happening all over again. The sharp pain resurfaced and Mox almost fell into the tub. Luckily, he caught hold of the shower curtain and somehow got back to his feet.
What the fuck is wrong with me? He kept asking himself.
And then he remembered. Before he was released from the hospital, the doctors told him he would suffer sporadic pains throughout his body, but he never thought they would feel the way they did. He ran the cold water from the faucet, splashed a handful on his face, and dried off with a towel that was on the rack. By the time he stepped out from the bathroom, Brandi was knocked out, laid across the bed.
“Damn… she was tired,” he said. “How you feelin’?”
Priscilla didn’t answer, she just rolled her eyes. “You still mad, Priscilla?” Mox walked to the end of the bed where Priscilla sat. “I know you hear me talkin’ to you.” He bent down and gazed into her eyes. “Gimme a kiss.”
“Move Mox. Don’t touch me.” Priscilla pushed him out of her face.
“I can’t have a kiss?”
“No. Go kiss your other bitch.”
Mox looked over at Brandi to make sure she was asleep. “My other bitch, what are you talkin’ about, Priscilla?”
“Mox, don’t fuckin’ play stupid wit’ me… you know the bitch I’m talkin’ about.”
“Priscilla…” Mox went to grab her arm, and she stood up and slapped the left side of his face.
“I said don’t fuckin’ touch me!” she yelled.
A silent stillness settled in. Mox grabbed his cheek and shook his head. It took everything he had in him not to react, but one slight glance at his sleeping beauty on the bed and his mind was made up. “I’m goin’ out.” He said, snatching the car keys off the table.
Priscilla didn’t ask where he was going, she just listened as he walked out and slammed the door. Her hands began to shake, and tears welled up in her eyes as she sat at the edge of the bed, jumbled and lost in her thoughts. Was this a test of their loyalty? How strong was their love? She asked herself a thousand questions, and finally concluded that Mox was the only man she ever loved and the only man she wanted to be with—the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.
CHAPTER THREE
Mox slowed to a stop when the traffic light turned red at Watson & Leland Avenue. He glanced down at the gas gauge and noticed it was almost on empty. He thought about how much money he had in his pocket. “Fuck!” he banged the steering wheel with a closed fist. When he looked up, the light was changing to green. He pressed the gas pedal and cruised by two bystanders that were on the corner. As he slowly passed, he recognized one of the men and pulled to the curb. “Yo, Bing!” he called out.
“Who the fuck is that?” one of the men mumbled. He was wearing a grey hooded sweatshirt, jeans and ACG boots. He tapped his partner, took a step back, and reached into the front pocket of his sweatshirt.
“Who you?” the other man asked.
Mox cut the car off and started to get out.
“That’s Mox?”
“Yeah nigga… wassup?”
The chubby Spanish kid with braids looked back at his partner and gestured for him to put his weapon away. “Everything good,” he said, approaching Mox. “How you, what the fuck happened?” He was staring at the patch on Mox’s eye.
“Shit got real. Nigga shot me in my face… tried to dead me.”
“Yeah, I see… goddamn.” They shook hands and Botta Bing introduced his homeboy. “Yo, Mox, this my nigga, Luck. Luck, this Mox. We was in the joint together for a minute… so what’s good, fuck you doin’ over here?”
Mox looked around. The streets were barely alive and the only movement was a passing taxicab every few minutes. “You busy? Come take a ride wit’ me.”
Botta Bing peered up the block. “Shit kinda slow out here anyway.” He walked around to the passenger side and opened the door. “Yo Luck, hold this shit down. I’ll be right back.” Mox pulled away from the curb and kept straight on Watson Avenue. The quiet Audi engine purred and the music played at a moderate level.
“So, what’s good?” Bing asked. He saw the annoyance on Mox’s face as he handled the steering wheel. “I see you got somethin’ on your mind, huh?”
Mox shook his head and kept one hand on the steering wheel. “Honestly, I got a bunch a’ shit on my mind. Kinda fucked up, Bing… I need a come up.”
Botta Bing watched as the traffic passed. “A come up like what?”
“A few hunit thousand… sumptin’ light.”
“Shiiid… the only way you gettin’ that is if you take it.”
“Show me where it’s at.”
“You serious, huh?”
Mox looked over to Botta Bing and then pulled the car to the curb and parked. “Look at me, my nigga,” he said. “This is it. This all I got. If I gotta go upside a nigga head to get mines… then so be it. But one th
ing for sure… ain’t no way I can live like this.”
Bing sensed the urgency in Mox’s voice and paid close attention to his body language. He could tell if a person was being honest or not, just by the way they maneuvered. He knew Mox’s words were truthful and he was willing to help him out. “So what you workin’ wit’?”
Mox turned and stared. “I told you…” he ran his hand over the steering wheel. “This is it. This everything I got right here.”
Botta Bing pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed a number. After a brief conversation, he told Mox to pull off and directed him to their next destination. Fifteen minutes later, he pointed to a garage they were coming up on and told Mox to pull into it.
Mox eased off the gas and made the right turn into the cluttered garage. He turned the lights off and snatched the key out of the ignition. “Fuck is this shit?” he asked, looking around the dark, dampened space.
“Chop shop nigga… gon’ see what my man can give you for this joint.” Bing said.
Mox looked around Priscilla’s car. He knew she would have a fit once she found out he got rid of it. It was only thing she had—it was the only thing they had.
“How much you think I can get for it?”
“I don’t know,” Botta Bing knocked on the hidden steel door at the rear of the garage. It was covered with a Wu Tang Clan poster. “We ʼbout to see though.” he said, as they waited.
Less than a minute passed and someone on the other side of the door answered. “Who dat?” his voice was deep and he had a heavy Jamaican accent.
“Bing!” Seconds later the door came open and Mox followed behind Botta Bing as they entered the hidden area. It was a dimly lit space that had a cool breeze flowing through. Mox noticed the several parked cars to the far left and the faint aroma of marijuana.
“Wha gwaan bredren?” A tall, slinky Jamaican with a shiny bald head, crooked teeth, and a matching suit greeted.
“Every ting cool,” Bing answered. He switched his accent to mimic the Jamaican. “Mi have a nice toy fa ya’ Ras.”
The Jamaican scratched his chin and sucked his teeth. “Um hmm…” he pointed to the door and the three of them walked out. “Two tousand eleven Audi…” He said, opening the front door. He sat down in the passenger seat. “She ot?”
“Huh?” Mox didn’t understand him.
“I said, is she ot?”
Mox looked over to Botta Bing.
“Nah… she good Ras,” Bing replied. “It’s paid for right, Mox?”
“Oh… yeah, yeah… paid in full. Everything’s legit.” Mox assured.
The Jamaican continued to inspect the car. He popped the trunk and walked around to the back of the vehicle where Mox and Bing were standing. “Mi give ya’ twelve tousand cash.”
“Twelve stacks? Nigga, we look like crackheads to you?” Bing was insulted.
Ras sucked his teeth even harder. “Mi nah call ya’ crackhead bredren.”
“We need twenty-five.” Bing said.
“Blooood claaaatt… mi nah give ya’ twenty-five bredren. Twenty-five too high.”
“Twenty-five or nothin’” Bing’s negotiating skills were superb. Always go with the high number was his motto. He looked Ras dead in his eyes without blinking.
“Eighteen bredren…”
“Fuck outta here.” Bing tapped Mox on his shoulder and turned to leave. “C’mon son, we blowin’ this joint, I’ma take you to my man in Queens… he gon’ treat you right.” He said. His voice was low, but loud enough for Ras to hear him.
“Hol’ on, hol’ on…” Ras sucked his teeth once more and cut his eye at Mox. “Twenty-two?” he said.
Bing looked at Mox and Mox slightly nodded.
“Twenty-two might do.” Botta Bing said. He really wanted to crack a cheese smile from ear to ear, because he knew Mox was going to look out for him after this deal. “How long before you gon’ have it?” he asked.
“Mi have it now bredren, tree minutes ya’ gimme.” Ras said. He walked back into the garage area and returned in less time than he predicted. When he came back, he was holding a small black bag that he tossed to Mox. “Count it.”
After Mox counted the money, they left out and Botta Bing flagged down a taxi cab. “Take us to Harlem.” He announced to the driver who had tan skin, short black hair and a pointy nose. “And roll the windows down. I can smell ya’ hot ass breath all the way back here.”
“What’s in Harlem at one o clock in the mornin’?” Mox inquired as he slid into the backseat of the Town Car.
“We gon’ go see my man Snap. He got some shit. This the city that never sleeps kid, get used to it.” Bing tapped the back of the driver’s seat. “Yo, I asked you to roll the windows down man. It fuckin’ stink back here.” the driver ignored him and kept his eyes on the road, so Bing tapped the back of his seat a little harder the second time. “Yo, Habibi roll-the-fucking-windows-down, please?”
The driver finally looked into the rearview mirror. “My name is not Habibi.” he said.
“I don’t care what the fuck ya’ name is… jus’ roll the windows down.”
For the first time, the driver turned in his seat to see the face of the man who was cursing at him. His eyes met Botta Bing’s and then he looked at Mox—the windows slowly came down. He was aware of the recent area shootings and figured he keep his mouth shut tonight, even though he hadn’t had the best day himself.
“Fuckin’ Arabs…” Bing mumbled. He relaxed in his seat and stared out the window. It took them approximately 22 minutes to reach 131st street and Adam Clayton Powell Jr. Blvd. in Harlem.
Mox passed Bing a twenty-dollar bill. He paid the driver and they stepped out of the vehicle.
Mox surveyed his surroundings as soon as the door shut, and the cab pulled off. Harlem was unfamiliar territory. He barely knew Botta Bing, but here he was, standing in the middle of the street with over twenty thousand cash in his pocket and not a weapon within arm’s reach to defend himself if need be. But he moved on instinct and went with his gut feeling. As far as he was concerned, Botta Bing was a stand up dude. He looked out for Mox when he really didn’t have to, so on the strength of that alone, Mox had respect. Although the streets were a different playground, he knew how to play his cards and Mox knew not to overstep his boundaries.
They crossed the street and headed into the Saint Nicholas Housing Projects, but Mox stopped short. “You got me in a nigga projects at one in the mornin’? I ain’t feelin’ this, my nigga,” he said, watching a car cruise down the block.
Botta Bing let out a sigh and shook his head. “My nigga…” he reached in the waistline of his pants, pulled out a black handgun and cocked it, placing a round in the chamber. “Ain’t nothin’ gon’ happen to you. I got you, my nigga… that’s my word.” He cautiously looked around and then stuffed the gun back into his pants.
Seeing the gun eased Mox’s nerves. He felt better about the situation, so they continued their walk into the building. Upon entering, a few muffled voices could be heard in the staircase around the corner and the sour, potent smell of marijuana lingered in the air. Bing and Mox kept their eyes and ears open, but didn’t pay too much attention to the chatter a few hundred feet away. They took the elevator up four flights and approached apartment 4D.
Botta Bing knocked on the door. “When we get in here, jus’ let me do all the talkin’.” he said.
They heard footsteps coming towards the door and then the lock clicked. “Come in, Bing.” Someone behind the door said. “Lock it behind you.”
Bing and Mox entered the apartment. It was hot and it smelled like someone was cooking something. The short hallway leading to the living room area was pitch-black and Mox could barely see in front of himself; he almost bumped into Botta Bing. As they walked further into the living room, a shaded lamp that sat atop an end table in the left corner provided minimal light—just enough to see the person’s face you were talking to.
Snap pulled a cigarette from his pack, lit it and
took a seat in his favorite lounge chair. “So, what’s good, Bing. What can I do for you today?” he asked, taking a hard drag off the cigarette. He was short, dark skinned, overweight, and trying to hold on to what little bit of hair he had left on his head. But deep in his heart, he knew he needed to cut it.
“I need a few pieces.” Bing said, pushing some clothes on the couch aside so he could sit down.
Snap turned to Mox and exhaled the smoke through his nostrils. “You ain’t gon’ introduce your friend?”
Bing stood back up. “Oh, yeah… my fault. But the last time I bought somebody through you told me you didn’t wanna meet ʼem.”
“This ain’t last time,” Snap replied. “And this guy looks interesting.”
“That’s my boy, Mox.” Bing said.
“Mox?” Snap took another long pull of the cigarette and blew the smoke in Mox’s direction. “What happened to your eye?”
“I got shot.” Mox answered.
“Damn… you gotta be a strong muthafucka to get shot in head and live to tell about it. I guess God was on your side huh?” Snap plucked the ashes in a plastic cup that was sitting on the coffee table in front of him. “You a cop?”
“C’mon Snap, you kno—”
“Shut up Bing.” Snap sat up in his seat. “I’m talkin’ to Mox right now. I asked you if you was a cop?” he questioned again.
“Nah, I ain’t no cop.” Mox could see he was easing his right hand down into the cushion of his chair, more than likely reaching for a gun. He must have blinked his eye, because before he could even think about what to do, a pistol was pointed at his head.
“Oh. Alright…” Snap clutched the black and chrome weapon with the confidence of a sharp shooter. “Because I don’t mind shootin’ a couple of dem muthafuckas.” he let the clip drop from the bottom of the gun, caught it, pulled the barrel back and then dumped the bullet that was in the chamber onto the carpet. He smiled at Mox and tossed the gun to Botta Bing.
“How much?” Bing asked, looking over the shiny, brand new weapon.
The Union III Page 2