Eve Read online

  11.

  Cassidy leaned against Butter’s Lexus, cleaning her nails. She had been waiting for him for a whole five minutes and was beginning to get impatient. He could be insensitive at times. Cassidy had things she needed to do. Her hair appointment was at twelve, then she had to go all the way down to Ninety-sixth Street to get her feet done up. After all this was done, she had to check on her girls to see what was going on that night.

  Butter came bopping out of the building, wearing sky blue jeans and a pair of blue and white Jordans. His wife beater was slightly visible beneath his crispy white T. He smiled broadly at Cassidy, but she turned her head.

  “Why you acting like that, ma?” Butter asked, hopping down the last two steps of the stoop.

  “You had me out here all morning.” She snaked her neck.

  “You need to stop lying.” He sucked his teeth. “You only been out here a few minutes. I’m doing you a favor, so you need to cool out wit yo stank ass!”

  “Nigga, don’t come out here acting like I need them lil ones you setting out. If you feel like that, I can get the money from somewhere else,” Cassidy challenged.

  “Cassidy, you need to get off that shit. I keep telling you, I’m all you need, baby. Why you keep fucking wit them sucka-ass niggaz like that?”

  “Butter.” She looked him up and down, “I ain’t ya girl.”

  “That’s my point. Cassidy, I’m trying to make an honest woman out of you.”

  “Honest?” She folded her arms. “Nigga, please. You wouldn’t know honest if it slapped you in the face. Butter, you always talking about wife’n somebody. Let me ask you this; how you gonna wife me, wit all the little chicken-head bitches you deal with?”

  “Cassidy, them girls don’t mean nothing to me. I mean, they’re fun, but it doesn’t really get deeper than that. I want somebody I can grow with. I want you, ma.”

  Cassidy tried her hardest to hide her smile from Butter. He was so cute when he was pleading. She didn’t put him through the motions because she was mean. She was just showing him what it felt like to walk in a woman’s shoes. She couldn’t even count how many of her girls swooned and acted crazy over some dick. This wasn’t just limited to her click, but women all over the world. Cassidy wanted to show Butter just how powerful the pussy was.

  “Butter.” She smiled warmly, “you’re a sweetheart, really. But you know how I feel about my freedom. I ain’t ready for no man just yet. But when I am, you’ll be the first to know.”

  Butter just looked at her. He was good enough to keep her pockets stuffed and let her ride around in his whip, but he couldn’t get Cassidy to commit. He had dozens of women throwing themselves at him, but his nose was open for Cassidy. It was times like those when he wondered why he even bothered.

  “Come on, boo,” she said, running her hand from his chest to his crotch, “don’t feel funny about it. I’m just trying to focus on me right now.”

  As Cassidy massaged his crotch, he remembered just why he bothered with her. Butter’s heart melted under Cassidy’s touch. He reached into his pocket and broke her off, just like he knew he would. No sooner had he laid the money in her palm than Felon came walking out of the building.

  “Trick-ass nigga,” Felon remarked, passing the couple.

  “Don’t hate,” Cassidy said, kissing Butter on the cheek.

  “Whatever,” Felon said, scanning the block. His gaze stopped on a white Benz coasting up the block. Felon’s hand immediately went to the Glock that he had tucked in his belt. He looked to see if Butter was on point, but his partner was already moving to his side with his gun drawn. As the car got closer, they both breathed a sigh of relief.

  The Benz pulled up to the curb where the duo was standing. A Black man, appearing to be in his late twenties to early thirties, climbed out of the driver’s side. He nodded to Felon, then to Butter. They knew the man as Big Steve. Steve was about six-five, with a massive chest and a stone jaw. He was loyal to his employer and merciless to his enemies. Steve walked to the rear of the car and held the door open for Carlo.

  Carlo stepped out of the car, wearing a powder-blue linen suit. The shirt was unbuttoned at the top, exposing a platinum choker. He ran a bony hand over his smooth jaw and sized the two men up. Butter hated when Carlo glared at them. Carlo’s pale blue eyes always gave him the chills. The man stepped to the curb and nodded to Felon.

  Felon nodded. “Carlo, what da deal?”

  “Chilling,” Carlo responded. “Just came through to see how you boys were doing. Been a while since I’ve seen you.”

  “Everything is everything. Just holding down the block, kid.”

  “I’ll never understand you guys.” Carlo smirked. “All the money you pull in and you can’t seem to steer clear of these corners.”

  “This is where the action is,” Butter said. “Gotta be in the streets to know what’s going on.”

  Carlo glanced at Butter, then turned his attention back to Felon. “This guy.” Carlo chuckled. “You need to help your boy broaden his horizons.”

  “Butter is fine the way he is,” Felon said, keeping his tone even but his glare cold.

  “If you say so. And who is this?” Carlo asked, looking at Cassidy.

  “She was just leaving,” Butter said, blocking Carlo’s view.

  Carlo eyed the shapely girl and licked his lips. Even though he was Italian, he had a serious thing for Black girls. He undressed Cassidy with his eyes and she did the same to him. She allowed Butter to escort her back to the car, but not before giving Carlo one last look. She knew money when she smelled it.

  “Walk with me,” Carlo said, walking down the block. Felon looked over at Butter, then took up a pace next to Carlo. “What’s new in the streets?”

  “Shit is shit.” Felon shrugged. “Money is rolling in, same as always.”

  “Heard through the grapevine that you guys had a little problem up here? Somebody’s sticking their hand in the cookie jar?”

  “Where’d you hear that, Carlo?”

  “Hey, people talk and I listen.”

  “Well, you’ve been misinformed,” Felon lied. “No problems here.”

  “See that it stays that way,” Carlo said in a commanding tone.

  Felon looked at the thin man standing next to him and all he could do was chuckle. Carlo was a smug little bastard. He thought because his grandfather had a seat on the commission he had a right to talk to people like shit. He usually didn’t mean anything by it. He was just an asshole by nature. Felon hardly took Carlo seriously, but Butter couldn’t stand him. He often fantasized about killing Carlo, but Felon wouldn’t let him. For one thing, it would bring mob heat down on them. For another, they were getting major paper through Carlo’s people. Felon liked things the way they were. Profitable.

  “Got some new shit coming in,” Carlo said, lighting his Marlboro. “High-grade shit. You guys think you can handle it?”

  Felon chuckled. “Carlo, that’s a dumb-ass question. We can sell anything you put in the hood. When and where?”

  “First shipment comes in tomorrow night. They’ll be some people there waiting for you. You go in, switch cars, and leave. I’m gonna have Steve and one of my people ride with you.”

  “Why the extra security?” Felon asked. “Me and Butter usually do the pickups on our own.”

  “This ain’t a regular pickup, pal. This is the real deal. We just got a hookup with these guys in Colombia. This shit has never been sold in the states.”

  “That sounds like some serious shit,” Felon said, calculating the money they would make. “Is it that good?”

  “Is it good?” Carlo asked, as if he couldn’t believe Felon was questioning him on it. “Let me tell you a story. About a week ago, we get a key of this shit to sample. The guy we used gets a free high and a few dollars in his pocket, but he got greedy. Decides he wants to skim a little for himself. The thing is, this guy doesn’t know what he’s lifting is a hundred percent pure. To make a long story short, we found him
three days later. We had one of our doctors check him out. Seems his brain had swollen up and started bleeding.”

  “Damn,” Felon sighed.

  “Now you see why we don’t want anything to go wrong. Felon, once we put this on the streets, we’re gonna lock shit down. We can all get rich off this!”

  Felon nodded his approval. The shit they had out was good, but it was only a few steps above what the competition was doing. They were holding the block down, but they needed to step their game up if they wanted to really get it popping. Felon looked at Carlo, who was smiling devilishly. It was as if those cold-ass eyes could read his mind.

  “Fuck that nigga talking about?” Butter asked, watching the tail-lights of the Benz fade away.

  “My nigga,” Felon said, smiling at Butter, “that cracker is about to make us rich.”

  “Fuck is you talking about, fam?”

  “Let him tell it, we’ve got some shit coming in that’s gonna shut the rest of the muthafuckas down.”

  Butter sucked his teeth. “You believe that shit?”

  “He hasn’t steered us wrong so far.”

  “Felon, I don’t know why you be acting like that honkey is so fucking cool. You know he don’t give a fuck about us.”

  “Yeah, but we’re making good money together,” Felon pointed out. “Fuck him,” Butter spat. “We don’t need that muthafucka. Acting all high and mighty cause his peoples is in the mob. Fuck all them dago muthafuckas. Let that white boy fuck around and old granddad might get an anonymous phone call. Shit, if they knew he was slinging drugs they’d probably kill him for me.”

  “What are you, fucking stupid?” Felon glared at him. “Butter, if them Sicilians get wind that we’re helping him move this shit, they’re gonna clip us all. You need to watch what you say outta your mouth.”

  “What you acting all paranoid for? It’s just me and you talking.”

  “Butter, I don’t even want you thinking that shit. You’ll fuck around and get drunk and say it in front of the wrong niggaz. Shit, let me see a few million first before someone puts a bullet in my head. You hear what I’m saying to you, partner?”

  “Yeah,” Butter grunted, “I hear you. Look, all I’m saying is that nigga ain’t got as much say-so as he thinks. He ain’t really doing shit that we can’t do ourselves.”

  “True, but he serves his purpose. Just like he uses us, we use him. Fair exchange isn’t robbery. Shit, did you forget who helped us take over in the first place?”

  Felon had a point. Before them, Carlo had been doing business with Macho. Macho had made quite a bit of money for Carlo, but the Dominican became lax. Carlo caught wind of Butter and Felon’s little scheme before they could pull the caper off, but instead of turning them in, he decided it would be more profitable to aid them. The night Macho was murdered, Macho had been sitting in McDonald’s parking lot waiting for Carlo. Carlo never showed up, but Butter and Felon did. They killed Macho, his bodyguard, and the young women who were with them. Leave no stone unturned.

  “That’s old shit,” Butter said. “We them niggaz now. Fuck Carlo!”

  “Easy,” Felon said, placing a hand on Butter’s shoulder. “It’s in our best interest to keep him with us. When and if that changes, you can do what you want.”

  Butter nodded, but he still didn’t agree with Felon. To him, Carlo was a spoiled rich kid, living in his father’s shadow. He didn’t answer to anyone, and that included Carlo. Whether Felon agreed or not, Butter planned to kill Carlo as soon as he gave him a reason to.

  “I don’t like that nigga.” Steve said, peering at the shrinking forms of Butter and Felon in the rearview. “He’s always poking his chest out.”

  “I ain’t got a lot of love for the psychotic prick either. Butter is a headache.” Carlo lit his cigarette.

  “Carlo, why don’t you let me get rid of that chump? Felon is the real brains behind the shit anyway. We don’t need both of them.”

  “I had thought about that too. The thing is, Felon won’t cut him off. He’s stuck on this loyalty shit. As long as Felon keeps him under control, I’ll tolerate him.”

  “Carlo, he’s gonna be a problem. I can tell by those funny-ass looks he keeps giving us. One of these days he’s gonna feel lucky and cause a real problem.”

  “Get the fuck outta here.” Carlo waved him off. “He’s crazy, but hardly stupid. Besides, I got more pressing issues.”

  “What’s up?” Steve asked, looking at Carlo through the rearview.

  “I got it on good authority that a cube truck filled with some prime shit is scheduled to disappear off the George Washington Bridge,” Carlo leaned in to whisper to Steve. “Give you one guess where it’s supposed to end up.”

  “Staten Island?”

  “You got it. That half a fag, Jimmy V, is gonna make a killing off that shit!”

  “Yeah, he’s a lucky shit. Those guys in SI get all the perks, while we take what we can. But that falls under Jimmy and his crew’s jurisdiction. We can’t hit it.”

  “Six weeks ago, a couple of goons knock over a UPS truck. From this truck they stole a shitload of blank credit cards. Cards that were supposed to be distributed by me. I lost out on some big money when I couldn’t make good on those orders.” Carlo cringed, thinking about the hit to his bankroll. “I know it was Jimmy’s people, but I couldn’t prove it, so Dad said I had to let it ride. I say fuck that.”

  “Carlo, I already know what you’re thinking.” Steve shook his massive head. “If we hit Jimmy’s shipment and someone fingers us, it’s gonna raise a hell of a stink.”

  “I know. That’s why we gotta get somebody else to pull it off. Somebody who can’t be traced back to us.”

  Steve’s wheels began to spin as he went through his roster of underworld associates to find someone capable of pulling the job off. “I got it!” He snapped his fingers. “I know a guy, real hard cat. Use to run a crew in Manhattan. These jokers would steal the collar off a priest if they thought it could bring in a few dollars.”

  “Do you think you can get him for this?” Carlo asked excitedly.

  “I should be able to track him down.”

  “Make it happen, Steve. Tell him it’s paying top dollar. If his crew can pull it off, maybe we got some more work for them.”

  “I’ll get right on it, chief.” Steve pulled out his cell and began to make some phone calls. Carlo sat back and chuckled as he imagined the look on Jimmy V’s face when he got word that his hijack had been hijacked.

  As Steve was disappearing out the door, Carlo had a thought. “Steve. As long as we’re at it, might as well kill two birds with one stone.”

  “What else you need?” asked Steve.

  “Contact that spade. Josey Whales or whatever he calls himself.”

  “The Outlaw? What do you want with Johnny Black?”

  Carlo’s eyes flickered. “What do you think? I want somebody clipped.”

  12.

  The meeting with her parole officer came and went smoothly. The fifty-something woman alternated between staring at Eve over her wire-rimmed glasses and scribbling on her note tablet. Since Eve didn’t have any immediate employment plans, her parole officer said she’d get her into a job-development program. Eve liked to call them plantations. They worked you like a dog, and barely paid you enough to buy a Metrocard.

  Everything else the PO said sounded like gibberish. She asked some routine questions, took her urine, and let her go. Now she had the rest of the day to kill. A wise man once said, “Too much time is a dangerous thing.” So she decided to do something with hers. She had taken care of her legal issues; now it was time to get down to survival.

  She needed a hammer, and knew the easiest person to get one from was Bullet. She could’ve gone to Felon or Butter, but she didn’t feel like answering the questions that would come with it. Besides, she wanted to establish her independence outside her big brother’s shadow.

  Bullet’s movements were so routine that they could’ve been detrimental t
o his health if he wasn’t so notoriously vicious. He was posted up near the Metro North station, the same place you could always find him around that time. Bullet preyed on the passengers who rode the line. He appeared to be moving in on a middle-aged white man in search of a taxi when Eve approached.

  “Taxi, mister?” Bullet smiled at the man.

  “Ah, I’ll just catch a yellow,” the man said suspiciously as he looked Bullet up and down.

  “You don’t wanna do that, mister. Those guys are always trying to rip tourists off. They rig the meters so you’re charged an arm and a leg.”

  “And I suppose you Gypsy cab drivers are much more reasonable?” The man arched an eyebrow.

  “Oh, I ain’t no taxi, sir. I’m just down on my luck for gas money right now, and I could use the extra bread. Tell you what, if you’re going to a destination in Manhattan, I’ll only charge you ten bucks.”

  At the mention of the discounted rate, the man began to weigh his options. The ride to West Forty-first Street was sure to run him between twenty and twenty-five dollars, depending on traffic. It was unlike him to accept rides from strangers, but the thought of saving fifteen dollars made him ponder it. Besides, if the young man tried anything he’d be shocked to find himself staring down the barrel of the nickel-plated .22 that he always carried when taking the train. Just as he was about to accept the offer, Eve intervened.

  “Sorry, mister,” she said, taking Bullet by the arm, “this taxi’s taken.”

  “See here, young lady. I was here first,” he protested.

  “Yeah, he was here first.” Bullet nudged her.

  “I know, but my sister’s water just broke and I gotta get to the hospital right away. There’s another cab right over there that can take you wherever you’re going.”

  “Well, seeing how it’s a medical emergency, I guess you should take it. Tell your sister congratulations on the new addition:” The man picked up his bags and waved farewell as he went off to catch another cab.