Animal 2 Page 12

  “You cool, baby?” Fatima asked when the cab pulled to a stop on the corner.

  “Yeah, I’m straight,” Ashanti answered, but he didn’t turn to look at her. His eyes were locked on the playground in front of the building and all the people in it. It seemed like everybody in the hood was outside.

  Abel met them at the curb. He was wearing a black army jacket and black fitted cap, pulled low over his eyes. A scowl crossed his normally jovial face.

  Ashanti jumped out of the cab first. He extended his hand and helped Fatima out before giving Abel dap. Abel was about to say something, but Ashanti gave him the signal to hold on while he tended to his lady. “Baby, I’m about to hit the turf and see what’s going on out here.”

  “I already know,” Fatima said. “Listen, don’t bullshit around out here all night. I still wanna dip off.”

  “Let me just see what the situation is, then we’ll figure it out,” Ashanti told her.

  “Baby, whatever the situation is tonight, it’ll still be the same situation tomorrow. I wanna get out of the city, even if it’s just for the night.”

  “OK,” Ashanti said, agreeing in a less-than-sincere tone.

  Fatima grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him to her. She kissed his lips passionately, sucking on his tongue. “Come take care of this pussy tonight, and you can play with your friends tomorrow,” she whispered, grabbing his dick through his jeans.

  “You playing dirty.” Ashanti smiled.

  “You ain’t seen dirty until you see the outfit I’m going upstairs to get. Act like you know.” Fatima sauntered off. She waved to the few people she knew in the playground and disappeared into the building.

  Once Fatima was gone, Ashanti’s mind was back on business. “What’s popping?” he asked Abel.

  “Man, shit crazy out here. Some Jersey niggaz tried to push King. They saying Swann set it up.”

  “Then Swann is a dead man,” Ashanti said, heading toward the playground where everyone was congregating.

  Ashanti picked his way through the crowd, dapping those he knew personally and nodding to those he was only familiar with by face. It seemed like everybody was out, from the soldiers to the nosy-ass locals who were just trying to figure out what was going on. King James was a like a celebrity in the hood, so whenever something went on with him, it was big news.

  “Yo,” Ashanti heard someone call. He turned and saw Zo-Pound huddled in the shadows of the playground. Zo was almost invisible in a big black hoodie. All you could see was the cherry from the blunt he was smoking, burning within the dark folds of his hood.

  “What it do, Zo?” Ashanti went over and embraced him.

  “Quiet, but ’bout to turn up.” Zo exhaled the smoke. His red eyes passed over Cain and Abel. “Why don’t y’all give us a minute?”

  The twins looked at Ashanti. Only when he gave them the signal did they leave.

  “You got them two trained, huh?” Zo asked.

  Ashanti watched the twins as they walked off whispering to each other, before they disappeared into the flow of people. “Nah, they ain’t trained, they loyal.”

  “Never give a man that much credit until he proves it,” Zo told him. “But fuck that, what’s good with you? I heard one-time grabbed you up.”

  “Yeah, Brown and Alvarez ran down on us earlier. You know they stay on some ho shit,” Ashanti said, as if it wasn’t a big deal.

  “What did they want?” Zo asked.

  “Pressing me for a body,” Ashanti said.

  “Damn, them boys staying reaching. Who got dropped?”

  “Some lame-ass nigga named Rick Jenkins,” Ashanti said, watching Zo’s face for a reaction.

  “Who is that?” Zo faked asking as if he were clueless.

  “You remember the dude from the dice game. The one you kept asking about,” Ashanti reminded him.

  Zo cocked his head to one side as if he was trying to remember. “Oh, yeah, the dark-skinned nigga with the trick dice? That wasn’t about nothing. I thought he was somebody else, but as it turns out, he wasn’t. Them bitch-ass niggaz Brown and Alvarez must be really hard up if they’re trying to pin a random murder on you.”

  “It ain’t me they looking at for clipping old boy. It’s you,” Ashanti informed him.

  There was the telltale facial twitch. “I ain’t killed nobody,” Zo said, but he didn’t sound very convincing.

  “Zo, you’ve been in my corner through thick and thin. You’re more than just a homie, you’re family. Family rides for family, right or wrong, so you know I got your back, but I need you to keep it one hundred with me about this, so I can know what we’re up against.”

  Zo was silent for a few long moments. When he looked at Ashanti, there was a coldness to his eyes that Ashanti had only seen once before, and that was when he and Zo-Pound had murdered the boy Sean near the park.

  “Talk to me, Zo,” Ashanti urged him.

  “Ashanti, let me tell you a story . . .” Zo began. “I was watching a movie once. I think it was a biopic about Harriet Tubman. There was this scene when she was about to lead the slaves north, and all their loved ones came to see them off. There was an old woman among them wearing a blindfold. When they asked her why she was wearing the blindfold, she replied it was so that if she was ever implicated in it, even under the threat of torture or death, she could say in all honesty that she hadn’t laid eyes on them and didn’t have to die with a lie on her tongue.”

  Ashanti was about to press the issue when King James walked up. He was with Lakim, Dee, and a neighborhood kid they all called Shorty. Shorty was from the neighborhood but wasn’t a part of their crew. He was barely into his teens, so King didn’t allow him to touch drugs. Instead, they helped him keep money in his pocket through odd jobs, like going to the store or delivering messages that couldn’t be spoken on telephones. Ashanti had always like Shorty because he reminded him of himself when he was that age: young, dumb, and far too willing.

  “What up, my nigga? I heard you got bagged. Glad to see you back on the streets.” King James embraced Ashanti.

  “Yeah, that shit wasn’t about nothing. Those dicks, Alvarez and Brown, were just busting my balls,” Ashanti told him.

  “I think being questioned about a murder is a little more than busting your balls,” King said.

  Ashanti seemed surprised that King knew what had gone on and he hadn’t told him yet, but his face revealed nothing. “That shit didn’t have nothing to do with me.”

  “What did you tell them?” Lakim asked.

  “What the fuck do you mean, what did I tell them? I didn’t tell them shit,” Ashanti said with an attitude.

  “Don’t get your panties in a bunch, lil’ nigga. I was just asking. Can’t be too careful with snitching being at an all-time high,” Lakim said, half-jokingly.

  Ashanti’s face became serious. “Dig this, my nigga, you ever mention me and snitching in the same breath, and I’m gonna need that fade from you.”

  “I’m just fucking with you.” Lakim slapped Ashanti on the back. He was laughing, but Ashanti wasn’t.

  “You know my nigga is built Ford tough,” Zo said, speaking up in his partner’s defense.

  “Word, life. Ashanti is the last of a dying breed.” King James gave him dap. “But in the future, if the pigs ever run down on you, call that lawyer I plugged you with. You ain’t gotta say shit, just let him handle it, ya heard?”

  “No doubt,” Ashanti agreed.

  “So I hear y’all went and handled that lil’ business with Percy,” King said.

  Ashanti shot Abel a look, because he knew he’d been the one who spilled the beans. Cain was locked up with him, and they were the only three who knew about it. “Yeah, Percy is no longer with us.”

  “He tell you anything good?” King asked. He watched Ashanti closely to see how he would respond.

  Ashanti thought about lying, but he felt like King’s eyes were staring directly into his soul. “Yeah, but—”

  “Yeah, that bi
tch nigga fed us a bunch of bullshit,” Cain said, cutting him off. “We’re gonna follow up to see what’s true and what’s false. You know a nigga will say anything when he’s been tortured, but who’s to say how much stock you can put into it?”

  “You’re right, Cain. I need y’all lil’ niggaz to get on that for me ASAP, though, feel me?”

  “You got it, King,” Ashanti assured him.

  “Yo, you need to promote me so I can help out.” Shorty stepped up. The black hoodie he wore nearly swallowed his small frame.

  “Shorty, go sit down somewhere. This is grown folks’ business,” Zo-Pound told him.

  “Zo, stop treating me like a kid. If I’m old enough to hold guns for y’all, I’m old enough to pop guns for y’all,” Shorty reasoned.

  “He’s got a point,” Lakim said.

  “Don’t fucking encourage him, La,” Zo said.

  “Man, why y’all acting like that? Ashanti was about my age when he started putting in work,” Shorty pointed out.

  “And look at me now,” Ashanti said. “Shorty, you my lil’ nigga, but you ain’t ready for this life. If your heart is really in it, the streets will swallow you up in due time, but for right now, focus on being a kid.”

  “This is some bullshit.” Shorty kicked an empty beer can. He looked up to King James and his crew, and since he had started hanging around, it had been his dream to be a part of their inner circle.

  “Shorty, you’ll get your chance to prove yourself, but wait a while,” King told him. Shorty was still sulking, so he threw him a bone. “Dig, why don’t you go across the street and pull my truck around to the front of the projects?” He tossed Shorty his keys.

  “You gonna let me drive your truck?” Shorty beamed like he had just been handed the best Christmas gift ever.

  “Yeah, but be careful. You scratch my whip, and I’m gonna fuck you up,” King warned.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t,” Shorty said excitedly, and took off running across the street to where King had parked his truck.

  “I have never seen a kid so eager to fuck his life up,” Ashanti said, watching Shorty, who had stopped to talk to some little girls from the neighborhood.

  “Have you looked in the mirror lately?” Zo asked jokingly. “Let me holla at you for a sec.” He led Ashanti off to the side. “Look, I know I ain’t gotta tell you that we about to turn up out here.”

  “Yeah, I know, Zo. You know when it pops, my gun is gonna be the first to bang.” Ashanti reached for his gun, then remembered he’d left it in the crib.

  “See? You slipping already,” Zo teased.

  “It won’t happen again. I’m about to get a room for the night with Fatima, but before I come back to the block tomorrow, I’ll stop by my crib to arm up,” Ashanti told him.

  “You might wanna handle that before you leave,” Zo suggested.

  “Nah, I don’t feel like going all the way back home to get my strap. Fatima is already tripping about me not spending no time with her,” Ashanti told him.

  Zo thought back to how he had promised Porsha he’d pick her up in an hour, three hours ago. “I know the feeling. Looks like we both need to take care of business tonight and resume the war effort tomorrow.”

  As if on cue, Fatima came out of the building. She was carrying an overnight bag over her shoulder and some shopping bags in her hand. “I hope you’re ready to go, because I sure as hell am.”

  “Damn, that’s an awful lot of bags for just one night.” Ashanti took some of the bags from her.

  “It isn’t all mine. I was out shopping earlier, and I picked you up a few things,” Fatima told him.

  “A thoughtful woman is a rare find. If I were you, I’d hold on to her,” Zo told Ashanti.

  “I intend to,” Ashanti said with a smile. “I’m out, my nigga.” He gave Zo dap.

  “I’m about to get out of here, too,” Zo said. “Oh, before you go, hold this down.” He reached under his hoodie and handed Ashanti a big .357.

  “I told you, I’m getting out of the city for the night. The only gun I’m gonna need is between my legs,” Ashanti said slyly.

  “Better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it,” Zo said.

  “You right.” Ashanti accepted the .357. “But if you give me your strap, won’t you be out here naked?”

  “Nah.” Zo lifted his hoodie and showed Ashanti the butt of an identical .357, only that one was scuffed and worn. “I always got a spare.” The gun Zo kept with him was the same gun he had used for the motel hit. Normally, he didn’t keep guns after he’d killed someone, but he hadn’t had a spare moment to get rid of it. He figured it couldn’t hurt to hold it for one more day until Ashanti returned the other one.

  “Say that.” Ashanti dapped him one last time, then left with Fatima and got into the waiting cab.

  Zo walked over and rejoined Lakim, King, and Dee. “Yo, I’m getting outta here, unless y’all still need me tonight?”

  “Nah, you good. Go take care of that fine-ass woman you got waiting on you,” King said with a smile. He was like an oracle and seemed to know everything.

  “Pussy-whipped-ass nigga,” Lakim teased him.

  “Dry-dick-ass nigga,” Zo shot back.

  “Let’s get outta here. I’m starving and wanna get something to eat before we hit the Bronx. What we waiting for?” Dee asked.

  “Waiting for that slow-ass nigga Shorty,” Lakim said. He spotted Shorty still talking to the girls across the street. “Yo, Shorty, hurry the fuck up!” he called to him.

  Shorty gave him the thumbs-up and hopped behind the wheel of the truck. The first sign that something was wrong was when the truck wouldn’t immediately start. The next sign was when it began to smoke.

  “Something isn’t right,” Zo said, and took off running toward the truck. “Shorty, get out of the truck! Get the fuck out!” he was shouting as he ran. He could see Shorty trying to open the doors, but they wouldn’t open.

  “Somebody help me!” Shorty pleaded while futilely trying to free himself. Those would be his last words before the truck exploded, raining both car parts and body parts all over 124th Street.

  • • •

  “Fire Bug make the trap go BOOM!” the youngest of the Savage boys sang while dancing in the passenger seat of the Yukon he was in. He watched with childlike amusement as the truck went up in flames. On his lap was the remote detonator for the explosives he had planted in King James’s truck an hour ago. It was wired to alert him the moment the engine was started, so he could trigger it from a safe distance.

  “That’s a mighty fine piece of work you done there, Bug,” Big Money Savage said from behind the wheel. They called him Big Money, but he never seemed to have much of it. He was Bug’s first cousin, but he wasn’t a killer like the rest of them. Still, he was a Savage, and they wouldn’t leave him out in the cold. He was the odd-jobs man of the family.

  “Fucking right it was. I’m a damn perfectionist,” Bug told him.

  “Well, this one didn’t go so perfect, seeing how you killed the wrong person,” Big Money told him, and pointed a few feet to the left of the burning truck. He saw Lakim and Zo holding a distraught King James back to keep him from charging into the wreckage.

  “That lucky muthafucka!” Bug raged. He pulled his gun out from between the seats. “Big Money, pull up on this nigga so I can blow his brains out. The Savages ain’t never fucked up a hit, and we ain’t gonna start now.”

  “Save it for another day, Bug. After an explosion like that, the police and everybody else are gonna be crawling over the block in a few ticks,” Big Money said.

  “I can take him,” Bug insisted.

  “Bug, if you wanna go to prison, you can do it on your own time. Ain’t no way I’m gonna be the one to tell Ma that you got knocked over some dumb shit.” He started the engine. They slowly pulled out into traffic.

  The Yukon slow-rolled past the burning truck. King James dropped to his knees and began sobbing. Seeing the self-procla
imed king of Harlem on his knees gave Bug a cheap thrill. It took the combined efforts of two of the other men to get King James back on his feet. Whoever had died in that truck must’ve been close to him, so Bug felt a little better about the situation. As the Yukon passed the grieving soldiers, Bug and King James made eye contact. Not being able to resist the temptation of kicking a dog when he was down, Bug blew King a kiss before the Yukon peeled through the light and disappeared.

  SIXTEEN

  “DAMN, WHAT WAS THAT?” FATIMA was startled by the loud noise.

  “Probably kids playing with guns. Welcome to the jungle, young lady,” the cab driver said, as if it was nothing.

  “We from the jungle, and that don’t sound like no gun I’ve ever heard. And if it was a gun, I pray I’m never on the wrong end of that big muthafucka,” Ashanti said. His hand drifted to the .357 in his pants.

  “Baby, try to relax. When we get to Yonkers, I’m going to drain all that tension up out of you. Bet that.” Fatima played with his ear. Ashanti loved when she did that.

  “Don’t start nothing you can’t finish,” he told her.

  “Let me show you how good of a finisher I am,” Fatima whispered in his ear. She ran her hand down Ashanti’s stomach, en route to his dick, but was stopped by the big gun. Fatima plucked it from his pants.

  “Be careful with that,” Ashanti warned.

  “I got this.” Fatima placed the gun on the floor of the cab. She undid his belt and pulled out his dick. Ashanti was hard as a rock. “That’s what I’m talking about.” She gave his dick a tug and caused Ashanti to moan. Fatima spared a glance at the cab driver, who was trying to act like he wasn’t watching through the rearview mirror.

  “Keep your eyes on the fucking road,” Ashanti snapped at the driver.

  “No trouble, buddy, no trouble,” the driver said, and wisely turned his attention back to the street.