Eviction Notice, page 16
“Sometimes I wanna slap that nigga’s face off,” King mumbled as he rejoined the group.
“He does have a nasty-ass attitude. I don’t like the way he was trying to talk to us back at the precinct.” Sahara folded her arms.
“Shorty, you need to be glad that muthafucka bothered to talk to you at all, let alone get your simple ass outta jail. Do you know how much I’m gonna have to pay that nigga to take care of this shit?”
“I’m sorry, King. We didn’t go over there to get into a fight, but the bitch tried to pop off and we had to handle our business,” Sahara explained.
“Whatever, Sahara. I got too much going on tonight to be bothered with this petty shit. I gotta go home and get right so me and Lakim can head OT.”
“OT?” Sahara gasped. “King, you promised that we would hang out tomorrow night.” She was afraid that he was about to ruin the plans by pulling a no-show at his own surprise party.
“Why don’t you calm the fuck down. I never said how long I was gonna be gone. I got some shit I need to take care of across the water so I’ll be back in time.”
“Okay, baby, because you know I wanna make sure I show you a good time on your birthday.” Sahara draped her arms around King and planted kisses on his cheek.
“Chill, ma, I don’t wanna get none of my jail funk on you.” King gently pushed her away. Sahara’s breath was on fire but he didn’t want to hurt her feelings by telling her. “But on the real, Sahara, you gotta curb some of this chicken-head shit you’re out here doing. You can’t be a part of the King’s court and you out here getting locked up on crackhead-ass charges, feel me?”
“Yeah, and I’m sorry, King. Trust me, this is the first and last time you’ll have to rescue me from jail. Isn’t that right, Frankie?”
“Yeah,” Frankie said, but she was only half paying attention. Her mind was still on how to keep them from getting evicted.
“Shorty, don’t I know you?” Lakim sized Frankie up. He had been staring at her the whole time, trying to place her face.
“I don’t think so,” Frankie said in a less-than-interested tone. Lakim did look familiar, but Frankie had too much on her mind to dwell on it.
Lakim continued staring and flipping through his mental Rolodex. He knew Frankie’s face but just couldn’t think where. Then it hit him. “Yeah, I know you, shorty. You used to roll with Twenty-Gang!” Twenty-Gang was a group of all-girl criminals from Harlem, made famous by Evelyn Panelli, aka Eve, when she wiped out an entire group of dealers from the West Side and got away with it.
“Yeah, I used to fuck with them a li’l something, why?” Frankie asked with an attitude.
Lakim closed the distance between him and Frankie and looked her in the eyes. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
“No, should I?” Frankie took a defensive step back. She had done some wild shit when she was a young girl dancing in the shadow of Eve and Twenty-Gang, so there was no telling how Lakim was going to come at her.
“A few years ago a couple of chicks from Twenty-Gang caught me slipping and got me for some change. I remember you because it was your little ass who clocked me in the back of the head with the hammer. Small world, ain’t it?”
Looking at Lakim, Frankie did remember his face. Big Kiki, who was one of the OGs of Twenty-Gang, had taken her out to bust her cherry on what was to be her first lick, and they rode down on a chubby young dealer from the projects and robbed him for some work and some money. Lakim had shed the baby fat and grown facial hair but she remembered his dark eyes and the murderous look he had given her, which was similar to the one he was giving her at that moment.
Frankie rocked back on her heels and threw her hands up defensively. “My dude, I don’t want no problems with you over something that I did when I was young and dumb, but if you’re looking for a problem then I got one, because I’m not really in the mood to play games.” Frankie spat, which only made Lakim smile. She knew the brolic little man would tear her apart in a fistfight but she wasn’t about to back down.
“Be easy, La.” King placed a calming hand on his friend’s shoulder.
The tension in Lakim’s face drained away and he gave Frankie an amused look. “Shorty, I ain’t got no problem with you over that shit. If I had caught you when it was fresh, I’d have tore ya fucking head off, but I’m over it. If anything, you taught me one of the most valuable lessons I could’ve ever learned in this game.”
“And what’s that?” Frankie was still standing there with her guard up.
“Never trust a bitch!” Lakim laughed. “On some real shit, though, that was a dumb-ass stunt but it took balls to try and pull off, especially for some females.”
“Sometimes you gotta go all in and get it how you live,” Frankie said seriously.
“And how you getting it now?” Lakim asked.
“Any way I know how.”
“Well, considering the fact that you’re out here getting locked up over dumb shit, it’s obvious that you don’t know much.” Lakim laughed. “You got heart and I respect that about you, shorty. When you’re ready to get with some real niggaz and see some real paper, you need to come holla at me.”
“And what can you do for me that I can’t do for myself?” Frankie asked defiantly.
“Upgrade ya life,” Lakim said seriously. “But as ya girl Sahara can tell you, me and my niggaz ain’t about a whole lot of talking, we let our actions speak for us, so make ya next move ya best move and see about me.”
“Listen to you on ya Goldie shit,” Sahara teased Lakim.
“Ma, you know I keep it G all day. Holla at ya girl and let her know what the business is,” Lakim told Sahara while keeping his eyes glued to Frankie.
“I don’t need nobody to tell me something I can see for myself,” Frankie shot back.
“Lakim, if you’re done with your recruiting session, we’ve got business to handle, remember? Sahara, we gonna put y’all in a cab and bust a move,” King said.
“That’ll work, we about to make moves back to the projects,” Sahara told him. “You ready, Frankie?”
“Nah, you go ahead, Sahara. I got something I need to do right quick and I’ll meet you back at the crib,” Frankie told her and started out up the street.
“Frankie, where the hell are you going?” Sahara called after her.
“I gotta go see a man about a dog,” Frankie called over her shoulder and disappeared around the corner.
CHAPTER 22
After all that Frankie had been through that day, she wanted nothing more than to go home and crawl under the covers, but she knew that she couldn’t while the clock was still ticking on their pending eviction. Their trip to see Debbie had not only been pointless, but it put them further in the hole with the fines they were going to have to pay because of the altercation. Frankie couldn’t believe that for as crooked as Debbie was, she’d actually had the nerve to try to press charges on them. She wished she’d followed her first instinct and run up in her crib with the hammer instead of listening to Sahara and trying to handle the situation diplomatically. Snakes like Debbie didn’t understand diplomacy and it was a mistake Frankie wouldn’t make twice.
Frankie wandered through the streets of Harlem, thinking of a master plan. There were a few heads she could’ve gotten at to try to get up a few dollars to put toward the rent, but the majority of them weren’t about to give up something for nothing and Frankie hadn’t reached that point of desperation. That was the problem when running with thieves—there was no honor among them. She needed to get some quick cash and boosting wasn’t going to cut it. She needed a lick, and as she looked up at the street sign and realized where she was, she knew just whom she could holla at about it.
She didn’t get through on the first call or even the second, but Frankie was persistent. When she finally got through, she had to spend ten minutes explaining how she’d gotten the cell phone number in the first place before being granted a meeting and given the address to come to. It didn’t take long for Frankie to reach her new destination. It was a quiet building on 133rd and Seventh Avenue. She tapped the intercom with the coded combination she’d been given and after a few ticks the lobby door buzzed open.
Frankie could’ve taken the elevator but she decided to jog up the six flights so she could see what she was walking into. She and the person she’d called knew each other through a friend of a friend so neither really knew how far they could trust the other. Quietly, she slipped from the stairwell and made her way to the apartment door, where she knocked and waited. A few seconds passed, then the peephole moved, followed by the sound of locks coming undone. When the door opened, Frankie was greeted by a beautiful body, attached to a more beautiful face.
She was five-nine or somewhere around there. The black stiletto heels she was wearing made it hard to tell. She wore a short-cut silk robe, but it did little to hide her undergarments. The black lace lingerie she wore had clearly cost a few dollars, but with a body like hers, only the best could drape it. She had the legs of a track star, leading the path to her curvaceous hips. Her breasts were just fuller than a handful, with rich brown nipples peeking out from behind her transparent bra. From the faint stretch marks and small pouch around her stomach you could tell she’d had kids, but other than that her body was a well-oiled machine. Her face was made up almost flawlessly, but Frankie could still see the bruising around her cheek that she was trying to cover. Even with the blemish she was still fine.
“How you doing, is—” Frankie began but was cut off by a roll of the girl’s eyes.
“He’s waiting for you in the living room.” The girl stepped back for Frankie to enter. After replacing all the locks, she led Frankie into a carpeted living room. There was a nice-size television mounted on the wall over a surround-sound system that connected to several speakers through the living room. The small dining-room table in the corner was freshly wiped down and decorated with fake flowers and ornate mats. On the living room floor, a few toys were scattered from where the kids had neglected to pick them up. To anyone visiting, the apartment looked like it belonged to an average couple who might have had a few kids, but the hardened gangster sitting on the couch wearing a bathrobe and puffing an L said otherwise.
“Cutty, I wanna thank you for agreeing to see me.” Frankie made to step forward but froze in her tracks. Cutty had produced the biggest machine gun she had ever seen and had it pointed at her face.
“Bitch, skip the pleasantries and tell me why you’re really here,” Cutty demanded. All Frankie could do was swallow.
It was the second time that night she had been caught without her gun, and from the looks of things, this was the time she wished most that she had it. If every drop of liquid in her body hadn’t been frozen with fear, Frankie would’ve surely pissed her pants, looking down the barrel of that chopper. Cutty was known on the streets as a cold killer who was quick to violence. Back in the days he had been running partners with Frankie’s cousin, but she and Cutty didn’t really know each other, which made her coming to see him risky and borderline stupid, but she was desperate and knew that he was the man holding the bag that could potentially help her out of her situation.
“Little girl, I asked you a question.” Cutty chambered a round in the machine gun.
“I—it’s like I told you on the phone—I need a hookup,” Frankie stuttered. Her lips were so numb that it felt like she was mumbling when she spoke.
“Hookup? What the fuck is a hookup? This ain’t the phone company,” Cutty barked.
The girl who had answered the door cut between Cutty and Frankie and moved the gun. “Why don’t you stop playing before you scare this li’l girl to death? Sit down,” she told Frankie, motioning toward the love seat while she sat on the couch next to Cutty. “Little girl, you must either be very stupid or very desperate to come up in here to ask Cutty for anything, so which one is it?”
“I guess a li’l bit of both,” Frankie said honestly. “I kinda got myself into a li’l situation and need a quick come-up and I figured you could help me out, which is why I came looking for you when I heard you were home from prison.”
“My reputation must precede me these days,” Cutty said sarcastically, laughing. “And how did you manage to come across my contact information? I’m pretty sure I never fucked you because you’re kinda on the young side, though you do have a phat ass.” He looked her up and down. “So why don’t you tell me who put you on my trail so I can pay them a social call after I’m done with you.”
Frankie gulped. “I got your number from my aunt Eta. You told her to reach out if the family needed anything.”
Cutty leaned forward and studied Frankie. “You one of Mel’s li’l cousins?”
Frankie nodded. “I’m Frankie. Shamel used to bring you and Rio to my mom’s barbecues at our crib in the Bronx back in the days.”
At the mention of his old crime partner’s name, Cutty immediately softened and placed the machine gun on the floor. “Oh shit, li’l Francine? Damn, girl, I almost shot you for nothing. Why didn’t you say you was fam?”
“I tried,” Frankie said weakly.
“Ah, man, this changes everything! Jada, go get me and cuzo something to drink while we talk.” Jada mumbled something under her breath, which brought Cutty’s scowls. “Did you say something?” He placed his hand on her thigh and squeezed tight enough to make her wince.
When Cutty finally released his grip, Jada sprang to her feet, rubbing her thigh. “I asked if y’all wanted light liquor or dark?” she grunted.
“Surprise us, just as long as you do it quick.” Cutty smacked her on the ass way harder than he needed to. Jada gave him a murderous look before stalking off to the kitchen to do as she was told. She came back a few seconds later and placed two glasses of Hennessy in front of them. “That’s more like it.” Cutty sipped his drink. “Now you can go in the back and finished chopping up them cookies.”
Jada rolled her eyes. “C’mon, Cutty, I been cutting up work for four hours. I’ve got razor cuts on my fingertips, my hands are cramping, and I’m gonna have to soak my nails for a week to get all this shit from under them.” Jada raised her hands for Cutty to inspect.
Cutty took Jada’s hand in his and kissed her fingertips lovingly. “My baby’s fingers tired?” Without warning, Cutty bent Jada’s fingers and brought her to her knees. “Do I strike you as someone who gives a fuck about your sticky-ass fingers getting tired? You should’ve thought about that before you tried to piss on my head and tell me it was raining when I was in prison, bitch!”
“Listen, if this is a bad time I could come back.” Frankie attempted to get up but Cutty’s voice froze her.
“You keep your li’l ass glued to that seat. This will only take a second.” Cutty got up and hauled Jada off to the bedroom.
Frankie sat there nervous as hell, not really sure what to do. She hadn’t made the connection when she’d first seen the girl that she was the notorious Jada Butler, the mother of Cutty’s son Miles. Rumor had it that while Cutty was away, Jada had blown his stash partying and tricking off around Harlem. Jada and everyone else expected Cutty to be gone for a very long time but two years ago he had popped back up on the scene and had been none too pleased with Jada for how she had tried to shit on him, and he had vowed to get even. Seeing firsthand how Cutty treated someone whom he was supposed to love who ran afoul of him, Frankie had no illusions about what would happen to her if things went to the left. She had just made her mind up to forget the whole thing when Cutty reappeared.
“Fucking baby mamas.” Cutty sat back on the couch, shaking his head. “You ain’t nobody’s baby mama, is you, Frankie?”
“Nah, I ain’t got no kids and don’t want no kids,” Frankie said.
“That’s a good thing, because when you have a kid with a muthafucka you’re bound to them. No matter how fucking trifling they turn out to be, you’re tied to them for the life of that kid, or at least until they’re old enough to find out how much of a fucked-up individual the other parent is.” He cut his eyes toward the bedroom. “Now let’s deal with your little problem. How much work did you need and how much bread you got to drop up-front?”
Frankie didn’t have an immediate answer, as it was the one thing she hadn’t thought about when she’d come up with the plan. She was a thief and not a drug dealer, so she really didn’t know what she was doing. She shrugged and said, “The thing is, I don’t have any money, which is why I came to see you. I was hoping that we could work something out to where I hit you back after I flip it.”
Cutty frowned and shook his head. “You kids kill me; you always want something for nothing, and use the name of a dead man to try and soften my heart. Normally I’d run your green ass outta here and give you a good slap for wasting my time, but on the strength of my man, I’m gonna give you enough rope to hang yaself.” Cutty dug into the pocket of his robe and produced a baggie wrapped in a rubber band, which he unwrapped and held out for Frankie to inspect. It was only half full, hardly what she’d expected, but she didn’t want to insult Cutty by saying so, so she just nodded like it was exactly what she’d expected.
“Let me save you the trouble of trying to bust your brain like you really know how to eyeball coke,” Cutty continued. “That’s eleven grams of some shit that ain’t been stepped on, so you can do what you do and still get some change back.”
“Good looking out, Cutty, that’s love.” Frankie reached for the baggie, but he pulled it back.
Cutty’s eyes suddenly became dark and very serious. “Love ain’t got nothing to do with this, baby girl. This here is a business arrangement. You take these drugs and the clock starts ticking on the payback and it’s my money or your ass. Do we understand each other?”
Frankie’s rational mind told her to tell Cutty to keep his drugs and get up outta there, but she desperately needed the money, so she took the devil’s bargain. “I got you,” she assured Cutty and stuffed the drugs into her pocket. Frankie got up to leave but Cutty stopped her when she reached the door.
