Animal (28 page)

Pam quietly pulled her dress back on and collected her shoes and purse. On her way to the hotel room door, she had an afterthought and went back. She ruffled through Don B.’s pockets, relieving him of all his cash before doing the same to Young Dance. “Fair exchange ain’t no robbery,” she said to no one in particular before making her exit.

PART III

YOU AIN’T NEVER HAD A FRIEND LIKE ME

THIRTY

N
O MATTER HOW MANY TIMES
B
IZ TRIED
to reposition himself he couldn’t seem to get comfortable. At least if he was in a holding cell he would’ve been able to stretch out on a bench or the floor, but he had no such luck. For the last fifteen hours he was locked in a windowless room, sitting in a hard-ass steel chair, handcuffed to a desk. The air conditioner was on high, and he was so cold that his nose seemed to run like a faucet. He was tired, hungry, and felt like he was going to piss himself, but there wasn’t a soul who cared at that moment. He was fucked with a capital H and had only himself to blame for it.

All day long, King James had been on all their asses about being careful because the block was hot, but he didn’t take heed. They sold drugs, which was illegal, so technically, the block was hot every day that they opened up shop. He chalked King’s constant bitching up to him being stressed out over the beef with the Clarks. Biz didn’t care about street politics. There was money to be made, and he was determined to make it regardless
of the risks. He let his greed make him careless, and as a result, the police had caught him slipping.

Biz was lucky that he didn’t have a lot of drugs on him at the time of his arrest, but with his record, they had enough on him to at least get his probation revoked, which would mean jail time, which he wasn’t looking forward to but was prepared for it if it went that way. The most he could get was a one to three on the violation which wasn’t too bad. The thing that had Biz unnerved was the fact that he hadn’t been questioned yet. Ever since the night prior he had been alone in the little room with nothing but his imagination, and it was starting to play serious tricks on him.

The sound of a key being inserted in the lock turned Biz’s attention to the door. A uniformed officer held it open for two men who were obviously detectives, no matter how unlike detectives they tried to dress. The black one was wearing jeans and a blazer over a black T-shirt. The Hispanic detective wore a sweat suit with a gold chain that had his badge dangling from the end of it. Biz recognized them as two dickhead cops who were always in his neighborhood harassing the homies. They were the scourge of the hood and known to step outside the law to get their convictions. When the uniformed officer left Biz alone in the room with the two detectives his mouth suddenly became very dry.

“What it do, homie?” Detective Alvarez greeted Biz, pulling up a chair across the table from him. Biz just nodded. “The strong, silent type, huh? That’s cool, because at this point, all I really need you to do is listen.” He dropped a manila folder on the table in front of Biz. “Do you know what this is?”

Biz shrugged.

“This is me fucking you with no Vaseline,” Detective Alvarez
smirked. “You recognize this kid?” Alvarez flipped the folder and slid a picture toward Biz. It was a snapshot of a kid with his brains blown out. Biz recognized Meek and turned his head in disgust. “From your reaction, I can tell that you do. This poor bastard got slumped on the same block you guys get money on.”

“Man that ain’t got nothing to do with me. Niggaz get murdered in the hood every day. I thought that was y’all muthafuckas’ jobs to keep that from happening,” Biz said sarcastically.

“Kinda hard to do when little fucks like you are running around offing each other on a nightly basis,” Detective Brown spoke up. Unlike his partner, there wasn’t a shred of humor in his voice.

Biz pushed the picture away. “I didn’t kill that kid.”

“Tell us something we don’t already know, shit bird.” Detective Brown picked the picture up and flicked it in Biz’s face. “You ain’t nothing but a two-bit hustler who wouldn’t bust a grape in a fruit fight, so don’t flatter yourself into thinking we’d even suspect you for something like this, pussy.”

“A’ight, well, since you know all this, why are you in here talking to me about a murder instead of booking me for the drugs you caught me with and sending me through the system?”

“You’ll get your chance to play ass-tag soon enough, but how long you remain married to another man will depend on you,” Detective Alvarez told him. “See, we know you’re not behind this rash of killings that has broken out all over the city, but we also know that you can fill in the blanks about who is.”

“Wish I could help you gentlemen, but I can’t,” Biz said trying to sound sincere.

“So that’s how you wanna play it, huh?” Detective Brown
asked him.

Biz spread his empty hands. “Sorry.”

Detective Brown reached across the table and grabbed Biz by the back of his neck. He slammed his head roughly against the table twice before punching him square in the chest, sending him flying back into the chair. The detective grabbed Biz by the front of his shirt and shook him violently. “You little scumbag fuck, you think people dying in the streets is a game?”

“Man, get yo’ partner,” Biz begged Detective Alvarez.

“What was that? You want me to go get you a soda? No problem. I’ll be right back.” He got up and left the room, leaving Detective Brown and Biz alone.

“Just me and you now, cupcake.” Detective Brown smiled menacingly and stalked toward Biz.

“Why don’t you cool the fuck out?” Biz tried to scramble away, but the chain that bound his right wrist to the table made sure he didn’t get too far.

The detective grabbed Biz by his nuts and snatched him to his feet. “I’ll cool out when you stop playing and tell me what I need to know.”

“I keep telling you I don’t know shit!” Biz’s voice went up two octaves.

Detective Brown glared at Biz as if he wanted to kill him. “Okay.” He released Biz and allowed him to fall back into the chair. “I see that’s your story and you’re sticking to it. I can respect the G-code. Let’s see how much good that code does you when the judge hits your dumb ass with a football number.”

Biz tried to hold his game face but couldn’t help the nervous twitch in his eye. “You bluffing, duke. Y’all caught me with
scraps. The most you can push for is a probation violation and maybe a li’l time on top of that.”

Detective Brown laughed. It was a hearty laugh, and he slapped the table top for emphasis. “You simple bastard, you think I’m talking about drugs? Fuck them drugs. I’m trying to hang a few of these murders on you. Hell, I might even hang ’em
all
on you if we can get them to stick.”

Biz felt his bowels shift. He looked at the detective to see if he was just trying to spook him, but the man’s eyes said he was dead serious. “I didn’t kill anybody. You said so yourself,” he protested.

“I sure did,” Detective Brown agreed, “but I ain’t gotta prove you did it, Biz. All I gotta prove is that you had knowledge of it. If you have knowledge of a crime and do nothing to stop it or report it, that makes you coconspirator.”

“Co-what?” Biz was confused.

Detective Brown shook his head at the man’s ignorance. “It means that I can charge you with conspiracy and tie you into all this bullshit.”

“You can’t do that,” Biz said nervously. For as many years as he had been on the streets hustling, he had the same Achilles heel that most young hustlers suffered from. They were unclear of the law and their rights.

“I can do whatever the fuck I want. Would you like to know why?” Detective Brown reached across the table and slapped fire out of Biz. “Because I’m the
po-lice,
and you ain’t shit but a case number at the back of somebody’s filing cabinet.”

Biz looked at the detective with sad eyes. “You dirty, man. Stone dirty.”

“Nah, I ain’t dirty, but let me paint a picture of dirty for you,
buddy. I can promise you that you’ll get at least a dime with the violation of probation and the conspiracy charge, but I’m gonna whisper in the DA’s ear and see if I can get it knocked down to five or so. Then I’m gonna get in the streets and start raising questions about how a piece of shit like you managed to get such a sweet deal. Word is already out that you got pinched with product on you, so you can bet your sweet ass that there’s somebody having a conversation about whether you’ll stand tall on this charge and what to do if you don’t, so this will be an easy sell, Biz. You’re fucked either way, and I’m offering you a way to make it consensual instead of rape.” He leaned in to whisper to Biz. “You can either sing,” he slid him a sheet of paper and a pencil, “or swing.” He slid him the manila folder with the pictures in it. “Pick your poison.”

“I can’t believe you gonna do me like this over some drugs, man,” Biz said in a defeated tone.

“Biz, I could care less about the drugs. I wanna stop these murders. We know there’s a war going on between the Clarks and a new player on the chessboard. Now, we’ve got an idea of who the new player is but we just need somebody to connect the dots. All I need is a name and you can walk outta here tonight like none of this ever happened.”

Biz looked back and forth between the folder and the blank sheet of paper. The more he thought about it the more he began to understand how dire his situation was. He could chuck it up and take his chances with the charges, but he figured, why gamble if he didn’t have to. “King James,” Biz blurted out before he could change his mind.

THIRTY-ONE

T
HE MOMENT
K
ING
J
AMES STEPPED OUT OF
the taxi in front of the projects he felt the butterflies in his stomach. It was the same queasy feeling he’d gotten when he first came home from his bid and laid eyes on the tall brown buildings for the first time after so many years. Those butterflies were stirred by joy, but these were stirred by guilt.

Standing in the walkway were Ashanti and Fatima. She was clearly upset and Ashanti consoled her as best he could. King felt a tinge of jealously watching Ashanti brush the tears from Fatima’s cheeks gently. It wasn’t that Ashanti was stepping on toes because King and Fatima weren’t an item; it was just that he was used to her always fawning over him so to see her giving her attentions to one of his underlings bruised his ego. Ashanti nodded when he saw King approaching, but Fatima’s mood only seemed to darken at the sight of him. She said something to Ashanti before walking off toward the building, leaving him standing there with a bewildered expression on his face. King knew she was still tight over the argument, but the things going
on in the organization at the time were bigger than their argument. She would either get over it or get gone. He didn’t have time to worry about it.

As instructed, the most trusted members of King James’s crew gathered in the courtyard for the emergency meeting he had called. Their eyes lit up when they saw him, and he could see expressions of grief and anger painted on their faces. He would address them soon enough, but there was someone else he needed to speak with first. Moving up the walkway he could see Lakim standing near the entrance to the park speaking in hushed tones with Zo-Pound and Dee. All of the men’s faces were solemn, but they tried to look alive when they saw King James.

“Peace to the God.” Lakim embraced his friend.

“Peace Allah,” King replied. He gave Alonzo dap, then turned his attention to Dee, who looked an emotional wreck. “How you?”

Dee shrugged. “I’m alive, so I can’t complain too much, which is more than I can say for Meek.”

“This shit is twisted.” King ran his hand over his beard and sighed.

“Word-life, my nigga. I can’t believe they laid Meek to rest,” Lakim said. “That’s a’ight, though, cuz we about to roll on them niggaz like Tonka trucks. As soon as you give the word, niggaz is dead!”

“We’ll speak of retaliation later,” he told Lakim. “She home, Dee?”

“Yeah, she up there, but she ain’t doing too good. You sure you wanna do this now?” Dee asked.

“Stalling ain’t gonna make it no easier. Might as well get
it out of the way now,” King told him and walked toward the building. Lakim, Alonzo, and Dee fell in step behind him.

There was a small crowd gathered in front of the building and everyone looked sad. In the corner was a homemade mural that sat inside a cardboard box to protect it from the weather. People from the neighborhood were huddled around the mural, speaking of what had happened the night before and what would surely come of it. When they saw the quartet approach, they moved out of the way so they could pass. King stopped briefly and looked at the picture of Meek that sat among the candles in the mural. His heart always felt heavy when he lost a member of the team, but losing Meek hit him especially hard because he was so young.

“Rest easy, my nigga,” King whispered to the picture before disappearing inside the building.

When King and his team got off the elevator on the third floor they were greeted by a sea of faces, some familiar and some not. King, Lakim, and Zo played the background and let Dee lead the way through the crowd to the apartment down the hall. The door was open, but Dee knocked anyway. A rough-looking dude wearing a white T-shirt and baggy jeans snatched the door open. It was an uncle of Meek’s named Rodney, who had recently come home from a bid. Rodney scowled at King and the rest, but his face softened when he noticed Dee. The two men embraced each other, and Dee whispered something to him. Rodney was animatedly opposed to what Dee was proposing, but after some convincing he stepped aside and allowed Dee and his friends to enter.