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  “My turn.” Zo pulled her down into the water and onto his lap. When his dick entered her, he felt like he would nut prematurely, but his ego wouldn’t let him. He hooked his arms under hers and gripped both shoulders, pulling her down on his dick. From the way her eyes were closed, he knew he was hitting her spot. “Look at me, Porsha,” he demanded.

  Porsha’s eyes opened to slits as she gazed at her lover. As usual, Zo’s face betrayed nothing, but the twinkling in his eyes said he loved her pussy. She pushed herself down on Zo’s dick as far as she could go and started swirling her hips like she was working a hula hoop. When she saw Zo’s lip curl, it made her smile. It was their game. Zo always tried to play the role of the stone-faced gangsta when they had sex, and Porsha made it her business to try to break the persona and bring the bitch up out of him.

  Every time Porsha bounced on Zo’s dick, he felt like it swelled a bit more, threatening to burst at any moment. Zo had slept with his fair share of women, but none was like Porsha. Her pussy was sweet, and not just in a metaphorical sense. It was almost as if he could taste the sugar on the back of his tongue every time they made love. Zo would never admit it, but inside Porsha’s pussy was the only place he ever felt safe. Within the tenderness of her walls, none of the burdens he carried in every day life could touch him.

  When Porsha felt Zo’s nails bite into her shoulder, she knew he was getting close. Leaning in, she wrapped her arms around his neck and began bouncing her ass on him harder. “Let me get that . . . let me get that,” she repeated over and over while licking his earlobe.

  Zo could feel his face twist into an ugly mask, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. He tried to grab Porsha to slow her bouncing, but her body was slick with warm water and bubbles. He tried to hold out, but his dick was fighting against him, so he was left with no choice but to go with the flow. Zo grabbed a fistful of Porsha’s hair and yanked her head back. Hungrily, he licked and sucked her neck, while feeling the geyser between his legs about to go off.

  “FUCK!” They yelled in unison as they came at the same time.

  Zo could feel his heart beating thunderously in his ears as he released himself inside Porsha. Her bucking had ceased, but she was still grinding her ass back and forth, pulling every last bit of semen from his cock. When both of them were completely spent, Porsha laid her head against Zo’s chest, with him still inside her.

  She breathed heavily in his ear. “Alonzo, word to everything I love, if you ever give this dick to any bitch but me, I’ll kill you.”

  Zo laughed. “Ma, my dick only rises for you.”

  “Don’t say it unless you mean it.” Porsha dragged her nails over his ribs, before dismounting him.

  • • •

  After their fuck session, Zo and Porsha took a quick shower together and retired to the bedroom. Porsha was out like a light within minutes of her head hitting the pillow. Zo looked at his sleeping beauty and smiled, knowing that he had fucked her into exhaustion. Their fuck sessions were always epic. Porsha could be the Whore of Babylon in the bedroom and the Queen of Sheba in the streets, and that’s why Zo fucked with her the way he did. She was a rider . . . his rider.

  He watched her sleeping form and marveled at how, even unconscious, with her mouth hanging open and snoring, Porsha was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. There was no doubt in his mind about it, and his certainty about this fact is what scared him.

  From the first time he’d ever seen Porsha come into that supermarket all those years ago, he knew that he wanted her. At first, it was just a physical thing, but as he got to know her and her story, he found himself becoming emotionally attached. Of course, he’d heard the rumors about her loose ways, but Zo was never one to put much stock in hearsay. He believed in judging people for who they were versus who the hood said they were. The courtship was a long and hard one, because they had been living in the same world but going in two different directions. Both of them fought against it, but eventually, the heart won out and they became a couple. Even if Zo wanted to lie about how much he loved Porsha, he couldn’t. He wore it on his sleeve like a button for all to see. Zo had never given his heart to a woman outside of Porsha, which is why he often worried about her breaking it and breaking him in the process.

  Unlike what it did to Porsha, sex didn’t make Zo sleepy, it only made him more wired. He figured he’d roll another blunt and smoke until he got sleepy, but when he went through his pockets, he realized he didn’t have any more cigars. Zo slipped on a sweat suit he’d left at Porsha’s apartment so he could run to the store. He grabbed his gun and his jacket and was about to slip out of the bedroom when Porsha’s groggy voice stopped him.

  “Damn, you just gonna hit it and slip out while I’m sleeping like I’m a jump-off?” Porsha asked.

  “Stop playing, Porsha. You know I’d never do that. I’m just jetting to the store right quick,” Zo told her.

  “The store is just on the corner, what you need your gun for?”

  “You know how it is out here, Porsha,” Zo told her, looking at the gun in his hand.

  “It’d be just your luck if you get stopped on some bullshit and the police find that gun on you. I know how shit is on the block, but nobody in this neighborhood even knows you like that. You don’t need to be strapped. Don’t invite trouble. Leave the gun here, baby.”

  “A’ight.” Zo reluctantly agreed and placed the gun on the nightstand. He didn’t feel comfortable rolling without a strap, but he knew Porsha would worry. He was only running to the corner and coming right back.

  When he passed the living room on the way to the front door, he saw Frankie lying on the couch and flipping through the channels. He could tell by the look on her face that she was still feeling some type of way about their discussion, but she’d get over it. She had no choice, because death was the one thing you couldn’t take back. What’s done was done.

  “You leaving?” Frankie asked him.

  “Nah, just running to the store. You need anything?” Zo asked.

  “I’m good,” Frankie said.

  “Cool.” Zo continued toward the door, but she stopped him.

  “Be careful out there, Zo-Pound.”

  Zo smiled. “Ain’t I always, Frankie Angels?” He winked and left.

  • • •

  The walk from Porsha’s building to the corner store was a short one. The doors were locked for the night, so he had to place his order through the Plexiglas window. While waiting for the man behind the window to come back with his purchases, Zo scanned the block. There were a few people coming and going, but for the most part, Porsha lived on a quiet street.

  Suddenly, the hairs on the back of Zo’s neck stood up. He cast his eyes to the right and saw a man coming in his direction. He was wearing a hoodie and looking at the ground, so Zo couldn’t see his face. The only people looking to conceal their faces at night were the ones up to no good. Keeping one eye on the man, Zo grabbed his purchases from the window and spun off.

  Zo could hear footsteps behind him. He glanced casually over his shoulder to find the man in the hoodie still following him. This time, he had his hand jammed into the pocket of the hoodie. Zo cursed himself for not bringing his gun. He added speed to his steps, and so did the man in the hoodie. I ain’t going out like this. Zo took off running.

  He dashed for Porsha’s building, hoping to lose the man there. He had almost reached the building when someone jumped out in his path, and Zo slammed into him. Reflexively, Zo swung, landing a right cross on the roadblock’s chin and dropping him. Zo didn’t even look to see who it was, he just kept moving.

  Before he could reach the door of the building, the man in the hoodie caught up with him and tackled him. Zo and the man tussled around on the floor, with Zo ending up on his back. Zo wrapped the hoodie around the man’s neck and pulled, choking him. The man struggled frantically, but Zo kept all his weight on him so he couldn’t move. Before Zo could put his lights out, he felt the cold press of steel at
the back of his skull.

  “Police, muthafucka! Move and I’m gonna blow your head off,” the man standing behind Zo informed him. Zo stopped his choking of the man in the hoodie. “Now, get up, and do it real slow.”

  Zo wisely complied. He turned around and was confronted by a tall Hispanic man, dressed in a leather jacket and blue jeans. His lip was bloody and his chin bruised, courtesy of Zo’s right cross.

  “Nice to see you again, Detective Alvarez,” Zo greeted him.

  “You little fucking punk.” Detective Brown picked himself up off the ground. His hoodie was stretched out from Zo choking him with it. “You like to swing on police, huh?” He punched Zo in the stomach, doubling him over.

  “Hold him up, and let me get some for what he did to my lip,” Alvarez said. Brown grabbed Zo in a full nelson and held him defenseless for his partner. Alvarez hit Zo with a two-piece to the face.

  “You know this is police brutality, right?” Zo spit blood on the ground.

  “Nah, this is excessive force to subdue a murder suspect who resisted arrest.” Alvarez hit him again. After he felt vindicated, he threw Zo roughly to the ground and handcuffed him. The detectives searched Zo but didn’t find anything on him except some broken cigars.

  “Y’all got the wrong dude,” Zo said, as they yanked him to his feet.

  “Bullshit. We found your calling card, Zo-Pound.” Detective Brown held up one of the .357 shell casings from the crime scene at the motel.

  “I ain’t never seen that before in my life.” Zo laughed.

  “Let’s see what forensics says when we match your prints to them slugs, buddy.” Brown ushered him toward the police car.

  “Ain’t y’all gonna at least read me my rights?” Zo asked.

  Brown slammed his head into the car door. “Fuck yo rights, nigga. The only right you got is the right to pray you make it out of this car alive.” He shoved Zo inside.

  NINETEEN

  ASHANTI AND FATIMA MOVED AS quietly as they could through the abandoned aisles of the warehouse. Some of the shelves still held old drums containing only God knew what, but the drums provided excellent cover. He had retrieved the gun from Fatima. She had proved she would let it fly if she had to, but Ashanti was a much better shot, and they were low on bullets.

  “Fatima, this three-fifty-seven ain’t gonna keep us for very long, so we gotta escape. I want you to creep to the back of the warehouse and see if there’s another exit. I’m gonna distract them to give you time to dip,” Ashanti whispered.

  “I’m not leaving you, Ashanti,” Fatima said.

  “Fatima, I’m combat trained, and these dudes are just thugs. I’m better than them, and I can make it out, but I won’t be at my best if I’m worried about you, too.”

  “But Ashanti—”

  “Don’t argue with me, just go.” Ashanti shoved her. Reluctantly, Fatima slunk off into the darkness to try to find an exit. Once she was out of harm’s way, he was ready to go to war. “Let’s do this.” He gripped on the .357 and got low.

  • • •

  Animal trolled the streets, trying to get a line on Ashanti. He drew more than a few stares, riding on Kahllah’s pink and black motorcycle, but he was in no position to be choosy about his methods of transportation. He just wished he hadn’t been so hasty when he’d left the helmet. Around every corner he turned, he was afraid that he would bump into someone who recognized him. He needed to find Ashanti and get off the streets.

  Thanks to Kahllah, locating Ashanti wasn’t as hard as Animal thought it would be. Her motorcycle was fitted with a portable police scanner. He knew that when the killers came for Ashanti, he wasn’t going down without a fight, and someone was going to report it. Sure enough, the radio call came through over the scanner.

  “Reports of possible machine-gun fire in the Hunt’s Point area . . .”

  “Ashanti!” Animal said. It had to be. Who else would be involved in a machine-gun fight in the middle of the Bronx?

  Animal pushed the bike to the limit, trying to make it to the scene of the crime before the police did. When he spotted the remains of the bullet-riddled cab and the abandoned church van along the side of the road, he knew he was going in the right direction. He scanned the night, watching and listening. He drowned out the passing cars and sirens and focused on the sounds that didn’t belong. That’s when he heard the gunshots.

  “No,” Animal said, fearing the worst. The thought of his lil’ homie stretched out somewhere made him nauseated. “You won’t take any more of my family.” He revved the bike and whipped it at top speed in the direction of the shots.

  • • •

  The detectives rode around with Zo in the car for about a half hour without saying a word. Whenever he would ask them what he was being arrested for, they simply ignored him. He knew the tactic. They were trying to make him sweat, but it wouldn’t work. The fact that they had run down on him alone instead of in force meant they were acting on a hunch and not with the blessings of the NYPD, so he still had a chance.

  “I hear you been real busy, Zo-Pound,” Detective Brown said over his shoulder. He was in the passenger seat of their notorious Buick.

  “I keep telling y’all, I don’t know what you talking about. Stop speaking in riddles and shoot straight with me,” Zo said.

  “OK, how’s this for shooting straight? We know you killed Rick Jenkins, and we’re going to make sure you fry for it,” Detective Alvarez said from behind the wheel.

  “Who?” Zo asked, as if he had no idea who they were talking about.

  “You think you’re fucking cute, huh?” Brown turned around in his seat and tried to stare Zo down.

  Zo blew him a kiss.

  “Fucking little punk.” Brown leaned over the seat and started hitting Zo in the ribs with a blackjack.

  “Cool the fuck out before you make me crash.” Alvarez kept one hand on the wheel and tried to pull his partner off Zo with the other one.

  “You just keep talking slick, and you ain’t gonna have to worry about a trial, because we gonna hold court in the streets.” Brown gave Zo another whack with the blackjack before returning to his seat.

  “Zo, you don’t have to play tough. Big brother Lakim isn’t here to see you, so you don’t have to keep up the front,” Alvarez told him. “Look, we know you, Zo. You’re a gangsta, but you ain’t no cold-blooded killer. That’s Lakim’s MO. You’re a working dude who’s just having a hard time, and it’s forced you to make some poor decisions. We get that. The way we figure it, if you put Rick Jenkins to sleep, you had to be in a position where you didn’t have a choice. So what really happened in that motel room?”

  “I keep telling you that I don’t know anybody named Rick Jenkins, and I haven’t been to any motels,” Zo said.

  “Well, we’ve got a witness that says different,” Brown said. “Picked up a chick for boosting, and she traded a bit of info for a get-out-of-jail-free card. Seems she was in the motel room with Rick that night when a guy of about your height and build kicked in the motel-room door, armed with a three-fifty-seven.”

  Zo’s mind went back to the girl he’d spared, and he wished that he’d killed her, too. “No loose ends,” he said to himself.

  “What was that?” Brown asked.

  “I said I don’t know what you’re talking about. That could’ve been anybody,” Zo said.

  “Right, it could’ve been, but I doubt it,” Alvarez said. “Most of these little shitheads do their dirty work with automatics. There are very few who are still running around shooting revolvers like it’s the Old West. The jig is up, Zo. If you come clean, I’ll talk to the DA and see what I can do. Maybe we can get it reduced to self-defense. You do a dime, and you’re back on the streets in no time.”

  Zo laughed. “Man, you want me to hang myself? Now, that’s a new one. I’ll tell you like this. Fuck you and the nigga sitting next to you. Y’all wanna hang a murder conviction on me, you gonna have to earn it.”

  “OK, Buster Bad Ass,” Bro
wn said smugly. “We’ll do it your way. We’re gonna take you to the precinct and put you in a lineup while we’re waiting for your prints to come back off those shell casings. If the witness can’t convict you, I’m willing to bet modern science can.”

  “Whatever, nigga,” Zo said, and tried to get as comfortable as he could in the backseat with his hands cuffed. Outwardly, he didn’t have a care in the world, but inside, his heart was racing. He was almost sure that he’d been wearing gloves the night he loaded up to go out, but he wasn’t one-hundred-percent sure. There was no telling what would come back once they ran his prints, and it had him spooked. He just hoped they’d let him get his mandatory phone call so he could contact King James’s lawyer. He had to get out of there before the prints came back.

  The police radio squawked as a transmission came through from the dispatch. “Reports of possible machine-gun fire in the Hunt’s Point area of the Bronx . . .”

  “Who the fuck could be shooting machine guns in the Bronx?” Brown thought out loud.

  “If I had to guess, I’d say it was one of his homies.” Alvarez nodded toward Zo-Pound, who looked nervous. “I say we go and check it out.”

  “What about this idiot?” Brown asked. He wanted to get Zo back to the precinct and booked so he could question him further.

  “Fuck it, let’s take him along for the ride,” Alvarez said.

  “You think that’s a good idea?” Brown asked.

  “Where the fuck is he gonna go? We’ll leave him handcuffed and locked in the car while we investigate. Unless his last name is Houdini, he’ll keep until we get back.”

  “It’s your call, partner,” Brown said, grabbing the handset off the dashboard. “This is car one-eighty-seven, show us responding.”

  • • •

  Once inside, the three shooters fanned out. Dave took the right, Will the left, and Chess down the middle. The plan was to drive Ashanti out into the center and overwhelm him.