Eviction Notice, page 18
“You know, come in my mouth.”
“Is that right? I feel very special,” he said sarcastically. “Listen, I know you got shit to do so I’m gonna call you a cab to take you where you gotta go.” He had busted his nut and was ready to be rid of Faye.
“A cab?” She was confused.
“Yes, unless you planned on walking to the Metro North station.”
“Oh yeah, thanks, Levi, I mean for everything.”
“Nah, thank you, ma. That was some of the meanest top I ever had.” He laughed.
“Shut up, Levi.” Faye blushed. “But seriously, I had a good time with you and I was thinking maybe we could get together again soon.”
“Sure thing,” he said, only half listening. He was too busy scrolling through his phone for a taxi number so he could get rid of Faye’s scheming ass. Levi told the cab where to come and ended the call. “Your cab should be downstairs in two minutes. Just hit the slam-lock on your way out.”
“Okay.” Faye continued to sit there like she had something else on her mind.
“What’s the matter, did I forget to give you your money or something?” Levi sat up on one elbow and adjusted his glasses.
“Nah, you took care of me already. I was just sitting here thinking, what if this gets out? I know how you move, Levi, and I don’t want my name to be mud in the hood.”
Levi sighed. It was just what he’d feared—that he would have to have an actual conversation with her before he got the bitch to leave. There was nothing Levi loathed more than talking after sex. He slid to the edge of the bed and took Faye’s hand in his. “Sweetie, I do what I do but I don’t put it out there. You never hear me running around talking about who I did what with, and trust me, I’ve got some stories on some of ya favorite Hollywood stars, but I ain’t on it like that. Any bitch you ever heard about me fucking is either lying, or trying to put me out there because she’s bitter. It’s the price of fame, baby.”
Faye leaned her forehead against his chest. “That’s why I fuck with you, Levi, you keep it gangsta.”
“Of course I do.” He patted Faye on the back of her head. “Now you better get going, you don’t want your cab to leave you.”
“Right.” Faye got up off the bed and headed for the door. “I’ll call you when I get to my sister’s.”
“You do that, sweetie.” Levi reclined on the bed like he was about to settle down and go to sleep. As soon as the door closed, Levi was at his window. When he saw Faye get into the taxi, he rushed to his computer and fired it up. Levi took off his glasses and removed a small plate from one of the arms. From inside one of the hidden compartments he removed a small SD card and put it in his computer. An image of Faye’s face in the throes of passion appeared on his screen. He had paid a grip to have his frames fitted with the spy-camera, but for the video quality they were worth every dime. He zoomed in on an image of him hitting her from the back and smiled. “The Internet is gonna love you, baby.”
CHAPTER 24
Instead of taking a taxi home from Cutty’s with her package, Frankie hopped on the train and rode the few stops back the hood. A taxi would’ve been more convenient and quicker, but it would’ve also been riskier. She had heard far too many horror stories about the police randomly stopping taxis and dudes getting caught with work, and she had no desire to be among that number.
Once she reached the safety of the projects she felt a little more at ease, but she still had a dilemma. Frankie didn’t know her ass from her elbow about drugs. She had been around enough hustlers to have a general idea of what she should sell the drugs for and knew how to package it once it was rocked up, but she had no idea how to turn it from cocaine to crack. There were a few dudes on the block whom she could’ve gone to for help, but didn’t want them in her business like that. With little other choice, she did the obvious and went to a crackhead for help.
Lulu was what you would call a throwback crackhead, someone who had started smoking in the eighties and had carried her oil burner over into the new millennium. Back in the days, she could be found in the company of some of Harlem’s most notorious ballers and gangsters living the high life until the high became her life. She started out like most of the others, sniffing coke recreationally, until they started cooking it. Once Lulu had taken her first blast from a glass pipe, it was a wrap for her. The higher Lulu got, the lower she sank, until she went from ghetto beauty to another nameless face on a quest for a high; but for as much of a wreck as Lulu had become, she was still one of the best chefs in the hood, which is what had Frankie sitting at her kitchen table watching Lulu huddled over the stove working her magic.
“You got some primo shit here, girlie.” Lulu ran her fingers along the edge of the coffeepot and smeared the excess coke on her gums. “Real high quality.”
“I should hope so, considering what I had to go through to get it.” Frankie fumbled with one of the loose baggies that were scattered on the table.
“Whatever you went through, it was worth it. This shit is gonna have the hood rocking,” Lulu assured her as she dropped a few ice cubes into the pot and swirled them around. Once the cookie at the bottom of the pot began to harden, she used a fork to scoop it out and set it on a glass saucer, which she placed on the table in front of Frankie. Frankie went to touch it but Lulu slid it out of reach. “Don’t fuck with it, it’s still gotta dry.”
“Lulu, I appreciate you looking out for me,” Frankie told her.
“Shit, I ain’t looking out for you, I’m looking out for me. This is a business arrangement, baby girl. You can move whatever you want outta my crib, as long as you hit me off, can you dig it?”
“Yeah, I can dig it. Lu, I’m kinda short on cash right now but as soon as I move a few of these pieces I’ll hit you with something.”
“Don’t worry about it, li’l ma. I know how it is when you’re first starting out, so I’m willing to work with you. How about you hit me with a li’l piece of one of them cookies as a show of good faith?” Lulu eyed the stack of crack cookies.
“That’ll work.” Frankie slid one of the already dried cookies to Lulu.
Using a kitchen knife, Lulu cut off a nice chunk of the cookie. Anybody hip to the crack trade would not have allowed her to help herself to such a large piece, but she knew Frankie was green and took advantage of that. She wrapped her piece in a napkin and stuffed it into her bra. “Frankie, for as long as I’ve known you you’ve been a thief; what made you wanna get caught up with this shit?”
Frankie shrugged her shoulders. “I’m trying to make a quick come-up.”
“Shit, you picked a hell of a way to go about it. This is a dangerous game you’ve decided to play.”
“Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do, Lu,” Frankie said honestly.
“I know that’s right. You just make sure you be careful handling this shit here, girl. I done seen muthafuckas do some real brazen shit in pursuit of this li’l demon here.” She nodded at one of the cookies. “It’s worse when you’re a female because a nigga is always gonna be looking to try you if you ain’t got a team behind you.”
“I’m good,” Frankie said, sounding more confident than she actually was. There was a knock on the door, which startled both of them. Frankie grabbed a newspaper and placed it over the cookies on the table.
“Let me see who the hell this is.” Lulu shuffled to the door. She looked through the peephole and, after confirming the identity, opened the door. In walked a kid named Mitch, who was one of Scar’s newest recruits.
“Yo, Lu, Scar sent me up here to get that thing from you,” Mitch told her.
“Okay, let me get it for you.” Lulu went into the bedroom.
Mitch walked into the living room and noticed Frankie sitting at the table with a nervous expression on her face. “Frankie, what you doing here?”
“Nothing, just had to come holla at Lu about something,” Frankie lied.
“You and me both,” Mitch said, looking around curiously. He noticed the stained coffeepots and baggies on the table, so it was obvious what Frankie was doing there, and from the amount of paraphernalia he deduced that Frankie was handling some type of weight. He didn’t question her further but he filed the information away.
“Here you go.” Lulu came out of the bedroom holding a shoe box, which she handed to Mitch.
“Them shells still in there too?” he asked, peeking inside the box to inspect the gun.
“You know I ain’t gonna tamper with nothing y’all leave me to hold unless it’s drugs,” Lulu said honestly.
“And that’s why we fuck with you,” Mitch said with a smirk and handed Lulu a twenty. “I’ll see you around, Frankie.” Mitch winked, leaving the apartment.
Frankie waited until she was sure Mitch was gone and immediately began gathering her drugs and paraphernalia. “A’ight, Ima see you later, Lu.”
“Why are you rushing off, the last cookie ain’t even dry yet?” Lulu asked. She wanted Frankie to stick around for a while so she could try to play her for another piece.
“I got something I need to do, so I gotta make moves,” Frankie lied. Mitch’s popping up like that had made her uneasy and she wanted to get her drugs out of Lulu’s spot as soon as possible.
“Okay, baby girl. And remember, if you need to work outta here, it’s all good as long as I eat,” Lulu reminded her.
“Thanks, but I’m good. I think I’m gonna take it to the streets,” Frankie told her and left the apartment.
* * *
Scar was sitting on the bench, smoking and checking the time on his phone impatiently. Earlier that day he had exchanged words with some kids from the other side of the projects, and though it might or might not lead to more than words, he didn’t want to be caught slipping, which is why he had sent Mitch upstairs to get the hammer from Lulu’s crib. He’d just decided to go and see what was keeping Mitch when Boots came out of the building.
“Boots, what’s good?” Scar greeted her.
“Shit, about to go to the store right quick to get a Dutch,” she told him.
“Put it in the air, I got something to puff on too.”
“Nah, me and Bernie gonna blow this down after we put the kids to bed.”
“Oh, y’all playing house tonight, huh?” Scar asked sarcastically. Boots responded by giving him the finger. “Stop acting like that, you know I’m just playing with you, Boots. Yo, I seen Bernie coming in the building a li’l while ago with a liquor-store bag so I know that nigga is gonna be sleep soon. You trying to get up later on?”
“I ain’t fucking with you, Scar,” Boots told him, already peeping Scar’s game. He was cracking for some ass, in not so many words.
“I don’t know why you fronting like you don’t like when I’m up in them guts.”
Boots sucked her teeth. “Ya cock game is alright, but you got too many hangups for my taste.”
“What do you mean by that?” Scar frowned.
“Scar, you know what the fuck I’m talking about. For one thing, you’re cheap as hell, and for another, ya peeps got big-ass mouths. I don’t need my business in the streets and y’all can’t keep secrets.” A few years back, Boots had made the mistake of letting Scar and his man Lloyd run a train on her and one of them had let it leak out. Thankfully, she’d been able to convince Bernie that it was a lie.
“Boots, you know that wasn’t on me, I don’t kiss and tell,” Scar lied.
“Whatever, I ain’t beat for the shit, homie, so save it.” She started walking off.
Boots had some of the best head in the hood and Scar wasn’t about to let her slide that easily. “Hold on.” He caught up with her. “Yo, I was gonna go to the spot and spend some bread with one of the girls, but I’d rather spend it with you.” Scar held up a hundred-dollar bill.
Boots hesitated. After what had happened in the staircase with Happy, she didn’t want to be bothered, and Bernie was upstairs waiting for her, but there were quite a few things she could do with that hundred dollars. Besides, she knew from past experience that Scar always came quick, so it would be easy money.
“A’ight, fuck it,” she agreed, “but I’m telling you now that I want my money up front and if you take longer than ten minutes to come then you’re just assed out.”
“Fair enough, Boots. Let’s go upstairs to my crib.”
* * *
Eight and a half minutes later, Scar came out of his building grinning. Thirty seconds later, Boots emerged and made hurried steps up the block to the store. Boots was as trifling as whores came, but she was among the best when it came to sex. He knew he could’ve gotten her to fuck him for less than a hundred dollars, but the bill saved him the trouble of having to go through the motions of haggling with her. Some may have said that he had overpaid, but the money Scar had given her was nothing.
“Yo, Scar,” Mitch called him from down the block. He had been so caught up with Boots that he’d almost forgotten about him.
“Damn, for as long as you took, a nigga could’ve came and blew my fucking head off,” Scar barked at Mitch.
“Be easy, them niggaz ain’t killing nothing and letting nothing die.” Mitch downplayed it.
“And how the fuck would you know? Anyway, what took you so fucking long?”
“I was upstairs, chopping it up with Frankie,” Mitch told him.
“Frankie? What the fuck was she doing in a rock house?”
Mitch laughed. “Dawg, you ain’t gonna believe this shit.” Mitch proceeded to tell Scar what he had seen in the crib. Scar, being a predator, immediately began thinking of a way to turn Frankie’s good fortune into his own.
* * *
Boots was only supposed to be going to get a Dutch Master, but in light of her newfound wealth she decided to get herself something from the liquor store. She ordered a bottle of Moët and a pint of Hennessy. She knew Bernie was gonna beef about her taking so long, but once she got nice and laid her pussy on him he’d be okay.
“Fifty-two fifty,” the man behind the glass told her as he bagged her bottles. Boots slipped him the hundred-dollar bill, which he proceeded to test with a special marker. He held the bill up to the light and frowned. “This is no good.”
“What the fuck do you mean it’s no good?” Boots looked at him as if he was trying to play her.
“Your money, it’s no good. This bill is fake, miss, see for yourself.” He slid the bill back to her.
Boots snatched the bill and held it up to the light. Sure enough, it was missing the watermarks embedded in real bills. “Fucking Scar!” Boots yelled when she realized she had been beat.
Part III
SEX, MONEY, MURDER
CHAPTER 25
Brick City, the newest strip club in Newark, New Jersey, was quickly building a name for itself for having some of the most premium ladies in the Garden State. It was located in Raymond Plaza, a quiet little strip mall off Raymond Boulevard, which had boasted a party-supply store as its biggest attraction before Brick City came along. Normally the Essex County zoning commission would’ve never allowed a strip club in the area, but the owner’s father was connected to some very important people so they let it slide, provided that they kept the violence to a minimum. To ensure this, the owner had hired off-duty cops to work the door and the main area, but to handle the real headaches he employed some of Newark’s most notorious gangsters. After the first two troublemakers were made examples of in the back alley of Brick City, word had gotten around that this was one spot you didn’t want to come in and try to clown.
Ever since Brick City had opened two months prior, they had always been able to draw a decent crowd, but that night the parking lot was filled to capacity with people still trying to squeeze in. That night was supposed to be the official clap-off between New York and New Jersey—a dozen oiled and primed asses would be smacking together in competition for the ten-stacks that had been offered up for the contest. The event had drawn so much attention that a bunch of women’s rights groups had banned together to try to shut it down, stating that it was morally appalling and painted a horrible picture of women. They were right, but at the end of the day it was all about supply and demand; the people demanded flesh and Brick City supplied it.
The clap-off was the main course, but the appetizers were no less exciting. Several rap and R&B acts would be performing that night but the big draw was a local kid who called himself Lord Scientific. The Newark native had been ripping shows left and right all winter and killing the Internet with his videos and free-style sessions. F.E.D.S. magazine had done a small write-up on him and the journalist was quoted as saying, “Lord Scientific has the energy and delivery of Method Man with the lyrical swiftness that Nas showed us on ‘Halftime.’ Hip-Hop … you have a problem!” The women had brought the ballers out, but it was Lord Scientific whom the goons came to see.
In addition to bringing out celebrities, the event had also attracted a slew of gangstas and underworld figures, most notably the infamous Shai Clark, boss of all bosses. The bulletproof town car carrying Poppa Clark’s youngest son and his entourage pulled into the strip mall and was immediately guided by security to the front of the club, where the owner and several of his personal security staff stood waiting.
“Damn, look at this shit.” Angelo peered out the window of the car at the crowd. He was dressed in a tailored gray suit and black tie.
“Yeah, this joint is packed, and I heard some of the most primo bitches from two cities are supposed to be on deck tonight,” Swann told them. His hair was neatly braided into plats tied off by red rubber bands. Swann was Shai’s best friend and second-in-command of his organization.
“You better not let Marisol hear you say that,” Shai teased him. He was tastefully dressed in a blazer, jeans, and a white T-shirt. Shai had put on a few pounds and sprouted some facial hair, but for the most part he still looked like the little boy who had come home from college to fill his father’s shoes several years prior.
“Well, my baby mama ain’t here and neither is your fiancée, so all bets are off, homie. What happens in Brick City stays in Brick City.” Swann gave Shai dap.
