Animal (20 page)

Ashanti seemed to appear from nowhere, like some ghetto-avenging angel who was determined to drag Holiday directly to hell. Holiday had barely escaped with his life, but he knew that luck would only get him so far when dealing with a character like Ashanti. He would keep coming until one of them was dead. Holiday would have to take Ashanti out sooner than later, but first he needed to deal with the matter at hand.

He gave Marisol directions to an underground parking garage off the West Side Highway, where they would abandon that car and pick up another one before going back through the hood. Marisol was so nervous that Holiday prayed she didn’t crash the car on the way down. When they got inside the garage he gave her a G-pack for her troubles and her nerves immediately calmed. All that was left was for him to compensate his accomplices, and they would all go their separate ways.

“You mind if I get right real quick?” Marisol asked when they had parked the Benz. She was rubbing her hands up and down the thighs of her jeans nervously.

“Damn, you can’t wait to do that shit on your own time?” Holiday barked.

“I’m sorry, baby, but my nerves are bad. That shit you did fucked me up, that’s all.”

“Listen, don’t worry about that, ma. Anybody that could’ve identified us is dead. You know I wouldn’t put you in harm’s way.” Holiday tried to ease her fears.

“I know, I know . . . it’s just that . . .” Between her craving and her fear Marisol was having difficulty putting her words together.

The chick was starting to come unraveled, and Holiday
had to regain control of the situation by any means necessary. “Marisol, go ahead and take a blast while I settle up with your brother. Just roll the fucking window down.”

“For what? We ain’t even got a window in the back,” Jesus laughed.

“Shut up. Get right, Marisol,” Holiday told her.

“Thanks, Holiday, thank you so much,” Marisol said as if he had just given her a presidential pardon. She reached into her purse and pulled out her Demo, which she proceeded to pack with one of the chunky white rocks Holiday had given her. The moment the flame touched the rock the car was immediately filled with the smell of burning plastic. Marisol took a deep hit and lolled her head back against the headrest of the Benz with a dreamy smile on her face.

“Let me take care of y’all muthafuckas so I can get outta this bitch before my clothes start stinking,” Holiday fanned the smoke. “Jesus,” he turned to the backseat, “you know I can’t hit you with those five stacks since technically you didn’t do what I hired you to do.”

“C’mon, my G, I would’ve laid that kid if this funky-ass gun didn’t jam. Don’t do me like that,” Jesus almost pleaded. He had that same yearning in his voice that his sister had, and it would only be a matter of time before he walked a mile in her shoes.

“A’ight, because I’ma fair nigga, I’m gonna break you off something for your troubles.” Holiday counted out a bunch of bills and handed them over his shoulder to Jesus.

Jesus quickly counted the money. It was one thousand dollars. He had plans for the five thousand he had been promised and had considered trying to rob Holiday but decided against
it, after remembering how he had remorselessly laid the kid out in front of the bodega. “Good looking out.”

“Don’t worry about it, fam. I know it wasn’t ya fault that the gun jammed. Them TECs ain’t good for shit,” Holiday said in disgust.

“Word up, my nigga. The only reason I brought this was because it was the only thing I could get my hands on right away.” Jesus hoisted the TEC for Holiday to see.

“Let me check that piece of shit out.” Holiday reached for the TEC.

When Jesus went to hand it to him, Holiday closed his hand around Jesus’, locking his finger on the trigger. The two struggled while Holiday turned the TEC toward Marisol. She came out of her nod just as Holiday squeezed Jesus’ finger and discharged the TEC. Her entire face came off, taking part of the driver’s window with it. With his free hand, Holiday brought his 9 mm around and fired two shots into Jesus’ chest, knocking him into the backseat. He was twisted but still alive. Holiday then placed the 9 mm in Marisol’s dead hand and held it up so that it was level with Jesus’ face. Jesus let out a gurgled plea for his life, but it was drowned out by the bang of the 9 mm.

Holiday didn’t bother to wipe anything down because he’d been wearing gloves the whole time he was in the car with Marisol and Jesus. Had they not been so blinded by their greed, then they might’ve noticed that he was wearing gloves in the summer and suspected that they would never make it back from the fool’s errand. Marisol and Jesus had been doomed from the moment they got into that car with Holiday. When the police found them in the car with the money and the drugs they would chalk it up to a deal gone wrong.

Holiday got out of the Benz and hobbled four cars down in the lot, where Angelo was waiting for him in a white Escalade. Holiday jumped in the passenger side, and they exited the garage as if nothing had happened.

“I trust all went well?” Angelo asked when they had made it a few blocks from the parking garage.

“Yeah, I slumped that nigga something proper,” Holiday said proudly.

Angelo gave Holiday an angry look. “The plan was for you to
pay
somebody to do it.”

“Sometimes plans change, fam. In the end, I ended up saving us four stacks on the job,” Holiday pointed out.

Angelo just shook his head. “Anyway, do you think we made our point?”

“Absolutely,” Holiday said with pride. “After this shit, ain’t nobody in they right minds gonna come at Shai’s neck.”

TWENTY

A
NIMAL MADE THE TRIP FROM
H
ARLEM TO
Brooklyn in less than twenty minutes. Traffic was light on the FDR so before he knew it he was sailing across the Brooklyn Bridge and into downtown Brooklyn. Taking Atlantic Avenue would’ve saved him some time, but he didn’t want to run the risk of getting pulled over on the busy street so he took Park Avenue into Bed-Stuy.

He crept slowly through the seedy Brooklyn blocks in his rental, drawing the occasional stare but otherwise going unnoticed. Passing the grim brown buildings of Marcy Projects, Animal was taken back to his youth when he and Tech used to put in work for a local cat named Shine. Shine had been a good dude who always took care of the people in the neighborhood, but he was also a beast who many feared. They feared him so much, in fact, that some cats gunned him down in front of his girlfriend and infant child. When Shine died, he took a piece of Animal with him, because they had become very close. The police never found his killers, and they never would because
Animal and Tech had burned their bodies and scattered the ashes to the four winds after they tortured them to death.

Animal took Tompkins Avenue deeper into Bed-Stuy and made a left on Jefferson, where the landscape changed from project buildings to renovated tenements and brownstones with freshly paved driveways. To the unsuspecting, the strip looked like a nice block to raise your kids in, but Animal knew the truth behind the new construction and skyrocketing property rates. For as nice as Bed-Stuy might’ve looked on the outside, the bowels of it were still defiled with killers and miscreants, and these were the people who really controlled everything that moved in the hood.

When he crossed Throop he turned his eyes to the corner bodega, and it tugged at his memory. Tech had always told him stories about a thorough young soldier named Spooky who had met his end on that corner. The exploits of Spooky and Jah were the gospel Tech always preached when Animal was coming up, and it was the deadly duo who he and Tech had always aspired to be like. Tech wanted them to walk a mile in their shoes, and in a sense they had since Jah, Spooky, and Tech had all died violently. Animal had often wondered what his end would be like, or if he would even care when it happened.

Across the street a group of young men glared at the rental as it passed, trying to see who was behind the wheel. Animal sank a little lower in his seat and slipped his burner on his lap. He kept his eyes on the kids but didn’t mug them to force a confrontation. One of the kids brazenly threw up the gang sign for his hood, and Animal simply nodded and kept it moving. They couldn’t have been more than teenagers with mischief written across their faces, but these days, the killers
were getting younger and younger, and Animal was living proof of that.

The parking gods were kind, and Animal was able to find a spot on Jefferson between Marcus Garvey and Lewis so he wouldn’t have far to walk to his destination. Slipping his burner back into his pants, he got out of the car and headed up the street. Passing a building near the corner he noticed a group of young girls on the stoop. All eyes were on him. Animal heard one of the girls hiss at him, trying to get his attention, but he ignored her, watching her friend out of his peripheral. She was brown skinned, wearing a powder blue sweater dress and white boots with matching white earrings. She was a very attractive girl, but Animal was watching her because he thought he knew her. Her face was familiar, though he couldn’t think where he’d seen it. The look that she was giving him said that she recognized him from somewhere too. Remembering the incident with the maid in North Carolina recognizing him, he pulled his hoodie up tighter over his head and sped up. As he was turning the corner he heard one of the girls say, “He looks like that rapper.”

Animal ignored the girls and walked across the street to a spot called Blood Orchid. The sign on the front gate of the basement stairs said closed, but that was only for nonmembers, and Animal was a member. Fishing a key from his pocket, he undid the front door lock and stepped inside. The place was empty, or so it seemed. Animal made his way across the room, past the wooden tables that looked like they had seen better days. The horseshoe bar was abandoned, but a half-empty glass sat on the glass top. Behind the bar was a door marked private, which Animal pushed through and descended the dark stairs.

At the bottom of the stairwell was another door, this one was thick and had no visible locks. Animal stood in front of the door and looked up at the right corner of the hinge. There was a round bolt securing the corner of the door that doubled as a camera. He looked into the lens, flashed his gold-toothed smile, and waited. After a few seconds, there was a click and the door came open a crack. Animal could immediately smell the weed seeping from the room and hear music playing in the background. He stepped through the doorway and into a cloud of thick weed smoke. Behind him he heard two familiar clicks; one being the door locking after he entered and the other being the sound of a bullet being chambered. Animal made to turn his head, but a threatening voice gave him pause.

“You move that pretty little head one more inch and I promise you I’m gonna fuck up that perm of yours,” a voice said in a raspy whisper. “Who you be and why you here?”

“Came to holla at a loved one,” Animal said, still with his back to the woman.

“Impossible. Love don’t live in this place and ain’t lived here in a long time. Come better than that or prepare to read your own thoughts on that wall,” she told him.

“If you got designs on killing me, then at least give me a soldier’s death,” he said.

The words staggered her.
Death before dishonor, and when I die give me a soldier’s death so I can look into the eyes of my killer
. Her mind ticked off the words they had all spoken on that drunken night after one of the homie’s wakes many years ago. Very few had taken the oath and fewer still were alive to recite it.

“Turn around and do it slowly,” she ordered. Her voice was shaky.

Slowly, Animal turned, keeping his hands in sight and his palms out. Under the dim light of the basement he faced his adversary. She looked a bit older than he had expected, but still held her youthful glow. Her hair was now black with red streaks and woven into tight boxed braids that were pulled back into a tight ponytail that drew attention to her weed-slanted eyes. She was slim, with a pecan complexion, rocking tight jeans that hugged her slight curves and Timberlands that she wore untied. A red bandana was tied neatly around her neck like a choker to hide the scar beneath. A blunt dangled from her Mac chocolate lips, taking the smoke in on one side and expelling it on the other. She stood wide legged not three feet away from Animal holding a big .45 level with his head. When the light of recognition went off in her head she loosened her grip on the gun and her eyes began to mist up.

“What’s up, Kastro?” Animal smirked, flashing the diamonds on his teeth.

Kastro backpedaled until she was pressed firmly against the door and as far away from Animal as possible. He made to take a step toward her, but she quickly raised the gun and pointed it at his heart. “I seen a lot in my life, but I ain’t never seen the dead walk. If you’re Satan, then I’ll leave it to you and this four-five to negotiate the terms of the deal.”

“Baby girl, this ain’t no figment of your imagination. It’s me, Tayshawn, live in the flesh, ma.” Animal patted his chest. Carefully he moved toward her with his hand out. Keeping his eyes locked with hers, he slowly reached for the gun. Kastro tensed, but she eventually let him move the gun harmlessly away. Animal’s other hand took Kastro about the wrist and placed her hand on his chest. “It’s me.”

Kastro ran her hands up his chest, over the groves in the breast plate of the bulletproof vest. Her fingers traced a line from his chin up to the temples of his head and tangled themselves in his mane of curly hair. She buried her face in his chest and at that moment, the floodgate that had been holding Kastro’s tears back burst and she broke down.

Kastro spent all of ninety seconds as an emotional wreck before she was back in G-mode, scowling and angry. “You dirty muthafucka! You had everybody thinking you were dead and buried.” She punched him in the arm.

Animal shrugged. “The circumstances were beyond my control.”

Kastro folded her arms and glared at him. “God, you were the centerpiece in one of the biggest hood stories since Larry Davis, then you pop up almost three years later talking about
circumstances
? This is me, so you know you gotta come better than that.”