Promise Kept, page 6
“Feel free to pour up,” Unique said in half-jest.
“I’m sorry.” Promise covered her mouth in embarrassment. That was so out of character for her. It seemed like the longer she was in New York living with Mouse’s cousins, the more their brash ways were rubbing off on her. They were a pack of wild ghetto broads who never needed an invitation to help themselves to whatever they wanted.
“Nah, you good, Jersey,” Sin assured her while pouring her another shot and then one for himself. He hoisted his cup, suggesting that they toast.
Promise didn’t want to, but she did. The second shot didn’t burn as much as the first one. She normally didn’t drink while she was on the clock, and especially not Hennessey. The last time she had gone out and gotten drunk, a man had ended up dead and her life upended.
“You better slow down on that yak, Jersey,” Bone said, pulling the bottle back before Sin could pour her another one. One thing he hated was a thirsty bitch, and the pale-skinned girl seemed to be just that.
“I’m good,” Promise said, feeling sweat beads pop on her forehead. “And would y’all please stop calling me that? I hate that shit.”
“That ain’t your name?” Sin asked curiously. He had heard Larry refer to her by that name and had been addressing her as such all night.
“No, my name is . . .” she paused. She thought about giving him some lame stage name like the other girls did but decided to just be straight up. “Promise . . . My name is Promise.”
“I guess that’s a better stripper name than Jersey.” Unique shrugged.
“I told you I don’t strip. That’s the name my mother gave me,” Promise told him.
“Why would she name you something like that?” Sin was curious.
Promise shrugged. “Probably because she was psychic and knew that life would play the same dirty tricks on both of us. Ain’t neither of us ever met a man who made a promise that he was willing to keep.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Servicing Sin and his bunch hadn’t turned out anything like Promise had assumed it would. In the beginning she had been intimidated, especially considering their rocky start. Her introduction had been nearly getting stomped and fired, but her luck had since turned around. The guys didn’t keep her too busy. She fetched them refills when they needed them, made sure that the table had enough water, and that their ice was cold. Every time Promise would have to get something for them, Sin made sure she got a tip, much to the ire of his baby brother who seemed to have something to say every time Sin handed her money. Bone hadn’t kicked her like he had threatened, but he made it no secret that he didn’t care for the clumsy waitress.
With Bone being the exception, everyone else at Sin’s table was pretty cool. Sin, forever the charmer, continued to try and flirt with Promise, and she pretended not to notice. It wasn’t that she wasn’t into him, but playing with a cat like Sin was like trying to handle a tiger. They were cute enough but could still maul you without meaning to. Admittedly, he had game, but so did she. He just didn’t know it yet. Promise was able to see all of them clearly for what they were, except Unique. He didn’t talk much. He kept his responses to one or two words, and anything that required more than a whole sentence was whispered into Sin’s ear. He’d hardly even said anything to the girls, and it wasn’t for their lack of trying. The dancers popped it, shook it, dropped and busted it wide open for him but never got more than a few dollars thrown at them or the occasional slap on the ass, and even that felt like just an effort to be polite. Promise heard one of the girls whisper to another, asking if Unique was gay. The question made Promise laugh. There wasn’t anything gay about Unique. He had the look of a man with deep focus. She couldn’t be sure what that focus was on, but she guessed it wasn’t pussy.
Bone, on the other hand, was all in. He helped himself to girls, liquor, and weed in abundance. Throughout the night, he never had anything less than two girls on his wide lap. He was showering them with singles, but Promise peeped that, for every one he threw, he stole two, which he would recycle. He was a straight grease ball. From the way random girls kept making their way over to the table, word had obviously gotten out that there were tricks in the building. Sincere didn’t seem to care for all the attention his brother was drawing, and this was obvious by the looks he kept cutting at him. Bone either didn’t notice or didn’t care because he kept the party going. There was something brewing between them, and Promise made a note to keep an eye on the situation. One thing that she had learned since working the New York underground was the value of information, and plenty of it passed through Dirty Wine on a regular basis. Promise had seen girls come up off overhearing the right conversations, so she made it her business to keep her eyes and ears open, but her mouth shut.
Sin was different from the rest of his team. Not that he wasn’t a street cat, because his whole swag reeked of somebody’s projects or avenue. He carried the taint, the same as the rest of them, but in a different way. Whereas his brother Bone was boisterous, wanting to be seen, and his friend Unique was low-key, almost invisible, Sin fell somewhere in the middle. He smiled a lot and was a generous tipper. He even threw money at the girls he didn’t touch, just to keep his brother entertained. This is the part that irritated Promise a bit. In her mind, she felt like Sin’s section was her lick, and she wasn’t keen on the idea of splitting money with random strippers that could’ve gone into her pocket. It was a hard pill that Promise would have to swallow. For as long as she stood on her principle of only serving drinks, and the other girls were willing to cross lines that she wouldn’t, Promise would always have to split the baby with thirsty hos.
Sin proved to be a perfect gentleman. In fact, he never so much as tried to touch Promise inappropriately, though she was sure he wanted to. Still, Promise wouldn’t allow herself to get so roped into what he appeared to be that she lost sight of what he was. She felt herself slip a few times. Mostly when she looked into those dreamy eyes of his. My God, she could get lost in them. Behind those orbs Promise saw such passion, but she also saw something else. Something sinister. Despite Sin’s good looks, slick mouth, and charms that he wielded like a wizard casting a powerful spell, Promise knew that he was a man capable of evil. Sincere was a hot boy, and Promise was a young girl who loved to play with fire. Her experiences, as a result of pursuing Asher, had proved as much. It was easy to get lost in those eyes, but much harder to find her way out. Knowing this and remembering Donna’s early warning was what kept her from falling down the rabbit hole that Sin was surely trying to bait her into.
While Promise was watching Sin, he was making observations of his own. When he’d first made the play to save Promise’s job, it had been because he felt sorry for her, but as he got to know her, something had changed. He could tell she was obviously a fish out of water and had no business in a place like Dirty Wine, so the fact that she was working there spoke to her desperation. He reasoned that she was probably pressed for cash. He knew the signs because he had been there more than a few times himself, doing something that he hated to keep from going hungry. His original plan had been to trick off a few dollars and call his good deed done for the night, but as he watched her, an idea began to form in his head. Promise was not a favorite among the other girls working in the club. Some of them just seemed to downright dislike her for whatever reason, but the same couldn’t be said for the men. Promise had been receiving quite a bit of acknowledgment from some of the regulars. She’d been greeted by at least a half-dozen men that Sin had counted since she had been at their table. The greetings didn’t feel sexual, but he doubted they were completely innocent either. Promise was stacked but didn’t have a lot of sex appeal. She gave off a good girl vibe with a sultry edge. It was like your play-sister from the neighborhood. You always felt like you needed to look out for her, but the dirty parts of your mind were somewhere else. Promise was like forbidden fruit in a room full of apples, and totally oblivious to how tempting she was. Sin started to see some promise in Promise, and his wheels were already spinning about how best to cut into her.
“Damn, am I that boring?” Sin finally broke the lingering silence between them. Promise was leaning against the table, lost in a daydream.
“Huh?” she answered, confused.
“You just been sitting there looking off into space the last few minutes,” Sin explained.
“Sorry.” She blushed, realizing how dumb she must’ve looked. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
“I imagine it must be hard carrying all that around?” Sin’s eyes drifted to her ass. She bashfully adjusted her position so that her back was to the edge of the booth. “I meant your thoughts. I imagine they’re pretty heavy?”
“You have no idea.” Promise let out a breath.
“You’d be surprised. I know a little bit about feeling like the weight of the world is on your shoulders,” Sin said honestly.
“And what makes you think my shit is that deep?” she questioned.
“Your eyes. They look so . . . sad.” Sin reached up to touch her face, and she recoiled as if he had moved to strike her. “Take it easy, baby.” He plucked a loose piece of glitter from her cheek and held it up on his finger for her to see. It must’ve come off one of the girl’s costumes. “Why are you so jumpy?”
“I’m not jumpy, just cautious of strangers,” Promise told him.
“Well, we’ve been shooting the shit for almost two hours. I’d think that you’d be able to tell by now that I’m harmless.” Sin smiled and exposed the palms of his hands in a submissive gesture. Promise wasn’t moved. “Damn, you’re a tough nut to crack, huh?”
“Uncrackable.” She rolled her eyes.
“I haven’t met a safe I couldn’t crack or a lock I couldn’t pick,” Sin capped.
“That’s probably because they were poorly built,” Promise countered. “Listen, Sin, you’ve been straight up with me all night, so I’m gonna return the favor. I ain’t off that. So, if that’s the reason you’re throwing big tips and talking all nice, we can save you some money and me some grief by killing it right here.” The way she came at him was cold but necessary. She had seen this movie before, and she knew better than to stay until the credits rolled.
“No disrespect, but you’re giving yourself a little too much credit. You’re cute and all, but what makes you think you’re my type?” Sin asked. He continued before she could respond. “You fine as hell and got cake for days, but contrary to popular belief, it takes more than some light skin and good hair to move me to action. I need a little more to get in that particular bag, and I ain’t sure you check all the boxes.”
“Oh, so because I ain’t trying to fuck-for-a-buck, I’m ugly now?” Promise asked harshly. It was all she could do to hide the hurt in her voice. Rejection was something she could smell from a mile away. She was used to being too fat, too pale, or just plain uninteresting enough to be a boy’s first choice. She was used to it by then, but that still didn’t stop it from stinging. Every last rejection always felt like the first one, but the ones that packed more punch than the others were the rejections that came when she had convinced herself that she had even a puncher’s chance at getting something she wanted. It had been that way with Asher, and now with Sin. Promise was over this shit. “I ain’t for this shit,” she said before turning and storming off, leaving Sin sitting there flustered.
“Good riddance. The bitch talks too much,” Bone said, glad to finally be rid of the chatty waitress. Outside of the fact that she had ruined his sweat suit, Promise represented a distraction. Sin hadn’t done much but stare at her for half the night.
“Shut up, Bone!” Sin snapped at his little brother before rising from the table and starting in after her.
“Sin, where the fuck you going? Leave that bitch! It’s a thousand other hos in here! You hear me? Sin!” Bone called after his brother, but he was gone.
CHAPTER SIX
“Incoming call . . . incoming call . . .” Asher’s Bluetooth announced. Once again, he rejected the call.
“That’s the second time since I’ve been in the car that I’ve seen you dub that 862 number. Who that? One of your bitches?” Cal asked.
“Something like that,” Asher said, but offered nothing else.
He navigated the Benz through the run-down blocks they had to pass on the way to the weed spot. They had decided to make a stop before. They could’ve gotten the weed in their hood, but all the young dudes had out their way was Sour, Gorilla Glue, and a few Indica strands. Asher was cool with those, but Cal had a taste for something different. Cal was in the mood for some Haze. Normally, they would’ve driven across the George Washington into Washington Heights, as they seemed to be some of the last few players in the game who still had good Haze. However, there had recently been some chatter about these Spanish kids in Newark that had it now too. They pumped it out of a grocery store off Grove Street, so this was where they headed.
Asher pulled into an empty spot four car spaces from the front of the store. He never parked in front of drug spots, even when he wasn’t driving his Benz. This even went for his own drug blocks. It was a lesson he had learned when a buddy of his got photographed some place that he shouldn’t have been. The cops managed to tie him into an investigation they had going trying to bust some coke dealers. Asher’s buddy was only buying a few grams at a time from them for personal use, but the police had photographed his car at the spot enough times to twist him up into a conspiracy charge. He was eventually able to beat it, but it cost him time and money.
The bodega sat on the corner of the block, right at the intersection. On the outside, it didn’t appear to be much different than any of the other four stores it shared space with in a two-block radius, with their tattered awnings and plexiglass windows painted with advertisements of sandwiches and cold beer. One could’ve easily driven past the spot and not given it a second look, had it not been for the flow. The door of the small grocery store flapped open and closed with the frequency of a project pigeon trying to evade an alley cat who had gotten the drop on him. The fact that hardly anybody was coming out of the store with shopping bags sent a clear message that this was not your average bodega to everyone, including the police. The best part was that they couldn’t do too much about it. More accurately? They chose to look the other way. When Murphy legalized weed, it changed the playing field of cities throughout the Garden State. It still wasn’t cool to sell it over the counter of your establishment unless you were licensed, but sometimes the low man got a play too. Newark PD had their hands full enough with the bodies dropping around the city due to the influx of gang activity, so sometimes you’d get lucky, and cops in certain districts would figure that turning the occasional blind eye to the unlicensed pounds being moved through spots like the bodega was less hassle than doing the paperwork. So long as you kept things orderly, you could get money. But the minute you jumped out of pocket, Essex County would sic its most hostile peacekeepers on you. From the outset, the Spanish cats who owned the bodega knew this already.
Cal got out and went into the bodega to get the weed, while Asher stayed with the car. He didn’t like to go into weed spots. This probably would seem odd to most, considering the fact that he spent most of his days going in and out of trap houses. His phobia stemmed from an incident where he’d almost gotten picked up as a part of a raid several years prior. The only thing that had stopped him from being booked was the fact that the police van was built to sit twelve and he was number thirteen in the sweep. Thirteen, by the way, was also his lucky number and the number he wore on all his jerseys during his days of playing ball. What also helped was that nobody answered the door when he went inside the spot, so when the police picked him up coming out, he didn’t have any weed on him. Since then, Asher never went into weed spots if he could avoid it. He either got it brought to him or sent someone else.
While Cal was inside buying the weed, Asher was leaning against his car busying himself with his phone. He had a missed call and a few text messages from his new plug suggesting that he get back with him. Asher had an idea of what he wanted, but he just didn’t have the energy right then and there. Dealing with his eccentric drug connect could be taxing, and Asher just didn’t feel like dealing at the moment. His connect had the misconception that, because he had played such a major role in taking over, it meant Asher would jump every time he called, but Asher had other ideas. It’s not that he wasn’t grateful for the opportunity, but Asher was his own man. He kept the peace for the sake of being able to flood his hood with good drugs, but if things continued the way they had, he might have to find himself a new plug. It wasn’t something that he was looking forward to having to do, but it was something he might need to prepare for.
Asher was just about to respond to the text and set up a meet time with his connect for the following day, when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand. A feeling came over him. It was the same feeling one would have right before something bad went down. He turned in time to see a red Honda pull to a stop and double park next to his car, boxing him in. “Enemies!” the word exploded in Asher’s head. He snatched his gun from the hidden compartment and was about to get it shaking when the passenger window of the Honda rolled down. The face he saw inside the car wasn’t that of an enemy, but one that left an equally bitter taste in his mouth.
“Sup wit it, blood?” Starla’s thug ass greeted him from the open window. She was wearing a baggy black sweatshirt, and she had a bandana tied around her head.
“Big Star, what’s shaking?” Asher replied. Starla was a home girl from the set. She was probably one of the hardest broads that Asher had ever met in his life. He remembered one time when a girl Starla was beefing with tried to hit her with a car. Starla rode the hood of the car for over a block, trying to stab through the girl’s windshield with a kitchen knife, before finally falling off into the street. Starla was a straight-up gangster and someone you didn’t want to fuck with.
