Promise Kept, page 26
“Fuck you,” Asher flipped Fangs off and marched directly up to Milk. “Holla at you for a minute, bruh?”
“All depends on what kind of conversation you trying to have. You running down on me all puffed up, I need to know how you coming?” Milk capped. He was talking greasy because he had an audience and was trying to show off in front of Fangs.
“I’m coming to you as a man trying to avoid getting into some nasty shit over a misunderstanding. Dirty gave you something that was supposed go to me,” Asher told him.
“To my understanding all drug proceeds made in this neighborhood go into the pot, which I have been charged to oversee. Or didn’t you get that memo?” This drew an instigating snicker from Fangs.
Everyone in attendance looked to Asher to see what his response would be. Milk was baiting him. A blind man could’ve seen that. Normally Asher wouldn’t have allowed himself to be drawn into such a petty conversation, but these weren’t normal circumstances. Asher had put in too much pain for his hood to be played with by Milk or anybody else. It was time to draw a line in the sand. “Dig this. Whatever dream Zul is selling you, I can’t subscribe to. My name was etched on this hood before you went to sleep, and it’ll still be etched there when you wake up. Gimmie my bread and let me go my way before we have an issue.”
“Shorty talking that talk, Milk. You going for that?” Fangs stoked the fire.
Milk sized Asher up. Milk had the money on him and could’ve just made things right with Asher, but that would’ve been too much like doing the right thing, and Milk’s ego wouldn’t allow that. At one time, Asher had been a dude he respected in the hood. But this was back when Milk was just a solider and Asher was seated at the table with made men. He had always lived in the shadows of better men like Asher, Ab, and even Cal, to an extent. As far as he was concerned, it was his turn to sit at the Big Boy table. Zul had put him in position, but Milk still lacked the respect that Asher carried in the hood. The sucker side of his brain told him the only way to build himself up was to tear Asher down. “A’ight, so check how we make this right.” Milk dug in his pocket and came up with a knot of money big enough to choke a horse. He counted off a few stacks and handed them to Asher.
Asher counted through the money and gave Milk a quizzical look. “This shit is light.”
Milk shrugged. “If Dirty told you he handed over your bread, I’m sure he told you about my new street tax. Nobody is exempt, including deposed princes. It’s a new day in the hood, little Ash.”
“Damn, that was some gangsta shit, Milk. Somebody needs to put that line in a movie!” Fangs doubled over laughing, causing the rest of the assembled men to join in.
Asher felt his blood begin to boil as the laughter rang in his ears. He had tried to exercise diplomacy in handling everything that was going on in his life. Tried to color within the lines. But at every turn, he was being tested like he was a punk or something. A film of red came down over his vision. He looked from the cackling thugs to Milk, who was grinning smugly. All Asher could think about was how bad he wanted to wipe the grin from Milk’s face, and before he could stop himself, he was in motion. When Asher’s fist connected with Milk’s jaw, it stunned him. The hook to the gut doubled him over. The cherry on top was the vicious punch to the back of Milk’s head. Asher hit him so hard he thought he heard something in his fist snap. He was too mad to care about the pain, or the fallout that would come from what he was doing to Milk. When he got him down, Asher started stomping him roughly in the head and face. “Trying to play me like I’m some fucking punk!” He dropped his sneaker on Milk’s face with so much force that several of his bottom teeth broke loose and scattered.
Asher was so focused on his dismantling of Milk that he didn’t see Fangs creeping up behind him. The knife in his hand glinted in the sun. He raised the blade intent on cutting Asher, but his arm was stayed mid-swing. Atilla bent Fang’s arm behind his back and forced his face against the side of the house this was taking place in front of. Fangs tried to pull his face away but could do nothing against Atilla’s grip. “Fuck is you doing?” Fangs questioned from the side of his mouth because the rest of his face was buried under Atilla’s massive palm.
“Picking a side,” Atilla told him.
All Fangs could do was watch while Asher beat the brakes off Milk. Asher would’ve probably killed him had all the blunts and Black & Milds he smoked not caught up with him and stolen his wind. Asher paused his stomping, his breathing heavy and toe hurting from the repeated kicks. “I don’t give a fuck whose product is being sold out here. This will always be my hood.” He spat on the ground for emphasis.
It wasn’t until Atilla was certain that they had the situation handled that he let Fangs loose. Zul’s number-two jerked away from him clutching his sore wrist. His hateful eyes went from Asher to the few guys that were gathered with him. “What y’all niggas just standing around for? He violated. Handle that!”
The goons looked between each other awkwardly, as if they were uncertain as to how they should’ve responded to the order. One of them, a boy Asher knew as Brick, stepped forward. Asher balled his fists, ready to fight to the death if that was what it would come to, but it wouldn’t. “You might be tapped into the plug,” Brick addressed Fangs, “but Asher is one of us.” Brick threw up their set. “It was a fair fight. Let this shit be done.”
Hearing his response made Asher smile inwardly. Zul might’ve been the man who supplied the hood, but Asher was from the hood, and it made him hopeful that his name still meant something. If he was lucky, he might still come out of this alive. Brick and the others departed, leaving Fangs and Milk to whatever fate might’ve awaited them.
“Traitorous muthafuckas!” Fangs spat. “You niggas is dead, Asher. Zul gonna send everything he got at you for laying your hands on me.”
“And when they come, we’ll be waiting,” Atilla said, before knocking Fangs out and leaving him slumped next to Milk.
“Thanks for that back there,” Asher told Atilla once they were away from the scene.
“Fuck them off-brand niggas. I can’t stand them crabs from up the way, anyhow. If I had a pistol on me, I’d have smoked him on the strength of them even thinking they can come through our hood talking tough,” Atilla spat.
“Zul ain’t gonna be happy about this. Now they’re probably gonna come looking for you, too,” Asher said, thinking about how he had dragged yet another one of his comrades into his bullshit.
“I hope so. All they’re gonna find is a beautiful death,” Atilla said proudly, anticipating the coming battle. “You know, saving your ass has become a regular thing since we hooked back up. This is the second time I had to save you from getting your shit split.”
The joke stung, but only because of the truth in it. The night at Dirty Wine when they were out looking for Saud, Atilla had rescued Asher from a potentially bad situation. Seeing Promise again after fearing he had lost her forever had Asher floating on a cloud. He was so lost in his plans for her that he had been caught completely off guard when the shooting started. Asher moved more off instincts than thought when he hit the ground and rolled behind a parked car. He covered his head to protect it from falling glass as the windows were shot out. At first Asher thought that he had been the intended target and maybe Saud had lined him and got the drop. But the shooters weren’t Saud or any of his boys; instead, there had been another outside that night who was the target.
Target or not, the bullets had no preference as to where they flew, and a few of them had struck close enough to Asher for him to think that he might die that night. He was caught in the crossfire of some shit that had nothing to do with him, and he was without a gun. He promised himself that, if he made it out of the situation alive, he would never go anywhere without a strap again. A shadow draped over his hiding spot, followed by a gruff voice. “Up!” the voice barked before Asher felt himself being yanked to his feet. Much to his surprise and relief, it was Atilla, and he wasn’t alone. In his hand was the gun Asher had said to leave in the car. Atilla had disobeyed a direct order, and Asher wasn’t even mad. Atilla placed Asher behind him like he was the president and cleared a path back to their car. Asher didn’t even balk when Atilla shoved him into the passenger’s seat and jumped behind the wheel of the Benz. With skills born from years of stealing cars, Atilla had them out of the Bronx and crossing through the Holland tunnel in record time.
It was after that incident that Asher came to the realization that he had misjudged Atilla and his value to Asher’s cause. Cal and those in Asher’s inner circle were all solid, but none of them brought to the table what Atilla did. He had proven himself to be more than just a soldier to be marched out into the field of battle. In Atilla, Asher now had what he’d been missing during his reign, a wall willing to stand between him and harm’s way.
“I can’t front, you’ve proven your worth twice over since we been running, and I promise, once I get this shit sorted with Zul, you’ll be rewarded for your loyalty,” Asher said.
“See, and that’s part of what I can’t figure about you, Ash. How did you end up under the thumb of a man who was branded an enemy of this hood? Zul couldn’t come within spitting distance of Washington Street without one of these young nuts trying to peel his wig when B-Stone was still alive. It was green light on sight. Even when I was away, I would hear the stories about the little war between B-Stone and that crab nigga Zul. This is why I can’t understand how every one of you ended up eating off his plate?”
Asher thought very carefully about how to respond. Atilla was a wrecking ball of violence, but he was also no fool. He was already growing suspicious of Asher’s true intentions, and if Asher hoped to fully sway him to his cause, he would have to properly motivate him. “Because that’s how Ab wanted it.” The lie rolled effortlessly off his tongue.
Atilla couldn’t hide the look of shock on his face. “Bullshit! Ab hated Zul, too.”
“No, B-Stone hated Zul, and Ab did what was required of him as a loyal solider,” Asher clarified. “You know, just like I do, that Ab was more about a dollar than he was the drama, and that thing between B-Stone and Zul was personal, not about money. When B-Stone died, so did the beef. The fact that Zul opened up that dope pipeline he’d been sitting on to Ab made it a little more acceptable to bury old grievances. Ab having access to Zul’s plug made him a king.”
“And when Ab fell, you picked up the crown.” Atilla started to put the pieces together. “Asher, you’re either the luckiest son of a bitch I know or one hell of a chess player.”
“Does it matter if we all end up rich for our troubles?” Asher asked.
“No, I don’t suppose it does.” Atilla shrugged. “One thing that you ain’t factored into this is, if Zul sends his people after us, we ain’t gonna live long enough to spend this newfound wealth you keep promising me. Zul has got the soldiers and the reach, so this little war of yours I’ve chosen to fight is one we’re likely going to lose.”
“Unless we can end it before the first shot is fired.” Asher tapped his chin in thought.
“You just said yourself that he’s gonna come for the both of us behind what just happened. How you plan on calling that dog off?”
Asher smiled devilishly. “By throwing it a bone.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
This was Todd Richardson’s second time bending that corner. At least, by his count. It could’ve easily been his third or fourth. There was really no way to be sure, considering that his brain had been on autopilot since the GPS announced that he had arrived at his destination. The more he surveyed the area, the harder it was for him to believe how low he’d taken to stooping to feed his fetish.
He pulled into the parking lot of a sketchy-looking motel that sat on the lip of the Lincoln tunnel, in the shadow of a billboard whose lights kept winking on and off. Todd slow-spun the lot, suspicious of every face and place he encountered. He could’ve parked in any one of the multiple open spaces that sat near the stairs leading up to the motel rooms; instead, he opted to park around the side of the building near where the office was. Hanging from the side of the building was a low-end Walmart camera. It hung on by two out of its four intended screws. Todd slipped out of the car and pulled up the collar of his overcoat to obscure his face from the camera, which probably didn’t work anyway, before locking his car up and forcing himself to go through with something that he wasn’t entirely sure about to begin with.
Near the stairs that led to the second level of the motel, a man leaned against a vending machine smoking something that didn’t smell like tobacco or weed. He was speaking in a hushed tone to a thin white girl with stringy blond hair. Two sets of eyes landed on Todd, and he felt his stomach rumble. “Hey, handsome, you looking for some company?” the blond asked in a hoarse voice. Todd didn’t reply. He kept his head down and picked up the pace heading up the stairs. “Well, fuck you then, peckerwood!” she cursed after him.
Todd ignored her. The brash whore was yet another reminder as to why he had left the Rotten Apple and now took in his sunsets out west. Todd’s primary residence was in the 92008, Carlsbad, but he often found himself having to spend periods of time back east. He’d never stayed longer than he had to. It was always in and out, as the circumstances under which he left weren’t the best, and every time he touched eastern soil, he was reminded of that. He was supposed to be in and out within twenty-four hours, but weather had delayed his flight, and he had an extra day to kill.
They said that idle time was a tool of the devil, and Todd didn’t disagree. This is why he hated the downtime during these trips. It allowed him the space to explore some of his less quiet proclivities. One of the few things Todd loved almost as much as making money was pussy. He made good money in his profession and was well-respected among his peers. Getting pussy had never been a problem for Todd, but he had an acquired taste for a certain type of pussy . . . young Black pussy. Whenever Todd was in the public eye, you’d likely find a beautiful, statuesque blond on his arm, but behind closed doors, he craved the darker things, both literally and figuratively. Generally, he kept a few regulars in each city that he visited. Women who would entertain his fetishes in exchange for cash and their silence. His latest trip to the tristate had been short notice, so he hadn’t had time to set anything up. Finding himself horny and bored, Todd did something that he probably wouldn’t have if he’d thought it through. He turned to the internet to feed the sex-starved gorilla clawing at his back. This is what led him to the New Jersey motel in search of a happy ending.
Todd scanned the numbers on the motel room doors until he found the one he had been instructed to go to. He stood outside it for a few minutes and contemplated calling the whole thing off. The only thing that stopped him was that he was more nervous about crossing paths with the couple at the bottom of the stairs again than he was about facing what was waiting for him on the other side of the door. He had come too far to turn back now. Taking a deep breath, he knocked and waited.
It was only a few seconds before he heard the locks being undone on the other side, but it felt like a lifetime. When the door was pulled open, Todd was greeted by a thin black girl sporting a long black wig. She was wearing a simple terry cloth bathrobe and socks that looked like they had once been white before she’d taken a few laps around the dingy motel carpet. Her brown face was heavily made up, but you could tell that she was young. Young and tender. Just how Todd liked them. The name on her profile was Betty, but she didn’t look like a Betty.
“You gonna stand there gawking at me? Or do you plan on coming in?” Betty asked.
Todd looked back the way he had come, and he could see the couple he had passed looking up at him. In was definitely better than out, so he crossed the threshold. “Sorry it took me so long. I got stuck in traffic,” he lied, once he was inside the room.
“No worries, baby. It gave me some extra time to make sure I was nice and fresh for you. Come on out your coat and get comfortable.” Betty motioned toward the motel bed and leaned against the dresser with the television, watching as he did as he was instructed. He tossed his coat on the armchair and sat on the bed, looking nervous. “Relax, I ain’t gonna bite you,” she said. “Unless you’re into that kind of thing?”
“Sorry, it’s just that I . . . um . . .” Todd searched for the words.
“Never paid for pussy?” Betty finished his sentence. “Don’t worry about it. I ain’t some common whore selling ass out of back alleys. I’m an escort. There’s a difference. Now, you got that for me?”
Her so-called assessment wasn’t even close to what Todd had been about to say, but he went along with it. He pulled out the five hundred in cash that he had in his wallet and counted off three, which he attempted to hand to Betty, but she refused the money. “You said three hundred, right?” He didn’t understand her hesitation.
“Yeah, but you can just lay it on the dresser. That way we never made a direct exchange. You can’t never be too careful,” she told him.
“I’m not a cop,” Todd assured her.
“It wouldn’t matter to me if you were. Cops are some of my biggest tippers.” She winked. “Don’t worry. Betty is going to take real good care of you. Let me fix us a taste, and maybe it’ll help you to relax.”
Todd watched Betty as she moved to the dresser to fill two plastic hotel cups with Hennessey. Her back was to him, so this gave him a chance to check her out, at least what he could see through the robe. A few things stuck out to him about his afternoon appointment. She was thinner than she had appeared in the picture of the site he found her on. It was one that several guys he did business with used when they wanted some out-of-town thrills. Also he noticed that her nails weren’t done, and she had probably applied her makeup herself or had one of her friends do it. Todd had dealt with enough whores to spy that Betty was either new to the business or a hustler trying to make a few dollars off what God gave her. She was decent enough looking, but Betty landed several rungs down from the types of women he was used to buying pussy from. He was tempted to call it off and chalk the $300 up as a loss. What was a few hundred to a man with pockets as deep as his? What happened next, though, would change his mind.
