Animal (29 page)

Meek’s mother sat behind the dining-room table, surrounded by some of her relatives. She was a known smoker in the hood, but that day she looked surprisingly sober. She was dressed only in a housecoat wearing a head scarf and a pair of furry slippers. A cigarette burned in the ashtray amid dozens of pictures that were spread out across the table. They were photos of Meek at different points in his short life. She looked up from her reminiscing and her red-rimmed eyes landed on King. She continued to glare at him until Dee came and placed a hand on her shoulder. He kissed her cheek and whispered something in her ear that made her eye twitch. After some prodding by Dee, Meek’s mother got up and came to stand before King.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry for your loss,” King began in a sincere tone. “Meek was like my little brother, so you don’t have to worry about anything, I’m going to take care of whatever the funeral expenses are.”

Instead of thanking him, Meek’s mother hauled off and slapped fire out of King. “There is no amount of money that you could offer me that would compensate for what you took from me.”

“Chill, sis, you bugging.” Lakim stepped forward and was immediately met by Rodney. In his hand was a long black gun.

“Back the fuck up,” Rodney barked, standing between Meek’s mother and King’s crew.

Meek’s mother patted Rodney’s arm, letting him know everything was okay, then moved to stand before King James. “James,” she addressed him by his government name, “I’ve known your family since y’all was kids. Your mother was one of the sweetest people I’ve ever met, so I could never figure out
how her kids turned out so rotten. I thought when they took you off to prison it would scare you into making something of your life, but all it did was steal what little bit of good you had left in you. The worst part about it is that now you’re out here corrupting other people’s kids with that bullshit.”

King had finally had enough of her insults. “Sis, I’m sorry for your loss . . . I truly am, but don’t stand on your soapbox wagging your finger at me when you spend as much time as anyone in the streets.”

His words stung, and it was clear in her eyes.

“You’re right. If I had spent as much time being a mother as I have being a crackhead, then Meek might still be here. I’ll wear that,
King
James, but that don’t excuse you from being the reason my son is dead.”

“I didn’t kill Meek,” he pointed out.

“You may not have shot him, but you put him on that corner. They say the worst pain in the world is a mother laying their child to rest, and I would like to thank you, King James, for letting me know just what that feels like.” She broke down.

“Maybe we should go,” Alonzo suggested.

“I think that would be best,” Meek’s mother agreed. She walked back over to the table and allowed Rodney help her back into her chair. “And Dee,” she addressed the other young man, “if you ever bring him here again, then you will no longer be welcomed either, do you understand?”

Dee lowered his head. “Yes, ma’am.”

“You heard her, nigga. Get the fuck out!” Rodney shouted.

King felt his fists instinctively tighten. He caught himself in time to keep from knocking all Rodney’s teeth down his throat. There was a time and a place for everything, and this was neither
the time nor the place. “Again, you have my condolences.” He tossed a brick of money on the table and left the apartment.

King pushed open the lobby doors and welcomed the rush of warm air that washed over his face. Though he would never admit it, Meek’s mother’s accusations had cut him terribly deep. Every member of King’s crew came into the fold of their own free will. He didn’t force any of them to hustle or break the law, but he showed them how to do it and not get caught. He showed his team love by letting them get money with him, but his love was also putting them in harm’s way. He would have to wear Meek’s death, that went without saying, but he vowed that he wouldn’t be the only one with a heavy heart that night. With this in mind he addressed his crew in the courtyard.

“Peace, peace, peace,” King greeted his soldiers. “Y’all already know what it is so we gonna keep it short and to the point. Niggaz came through last night and laid the homie Meek out so now it’s time to make that right. Word to me, niggaz is gonna feel it behind this one. Yo, Dee,” he called the young man forward. “You sure about what you told me, as far as who the shooter was?”

“Yeah, man. I told you that I was so why you keep asking me?” Dee said with attitude.

King grabbed Dee by the shoulders and turned him around to face him. “Because I need to be one thousand percent before I make this move. Once we cross that line, we can’t come back.”

“He ain’t bullshitting.” Ashanti stepped up in Dee’s defense. “It was Shai’s boy Holiday. I saw him with my own eyes. I tried to tear his head off, but the bitch-ass nigga ran.”

King believed Dee when he first told him, but hearing it out
of Ashanti’s mouth sealed the deal. An icy ball formed in his stomach as he thought about the corner he had been painted into. “That’s what it is then.” King nodded. “Blood will prevail where words failed. I want Holiday dead by the end of the week. Anybody else gets clipped in the process is a bonus.”

“You know this will be considered an act of war, right?” Alonzo asked him.

King James looked at the young man who he had known since he was in Pampers, and his glare was as if they were meeting for the first time. “That still don’t change what I said. Holiday dies. Period. I got fifty stacks for the nigga who brings me his kufi.”

“I could use that bread.” Lakim rubbed his hands together greedily.

“This ain’t for you, God. Yo, Ashanti,” King called out. Ashanti stepped up and looked King James in the eyes. King searched for traces of fear but found none. “You ready to earn ya stripes, li’l nigga?”

THIRTY-TWO

A
S EXPECTED
, H
OLIDAY’S BIRTHDAY BASH WAS SOMETHING
like a gangsta party. Hustlers from all over the city came out to help him celebrate his born day. The location he picked was a strip club in the Bronx called Sin City, where he was a regular. All the managers knew Holiday was a big spender and would attract more ballers, so they pretty much gave him the run of the club. There was food, drinks, and plenty of strippers to entertain Holiday and his guests.

Shai, Angelo, and Swann decided not to attend, but the rest of the team came out. Even Baby Doc, who was underage, was up in the spot making it rain on the girls. Swann and Angelo tried to get Holiday to cancel the party because of everything that was going on in the streets, but he wasn’t trying to hear it. He had been planning the party for months and nothing was going to stop his fun, even an impending war. Holiday couldn’t understand the thinking of Shai and his inner circle. They were the most powerful crew in the city, but at the first signs of trouble, everyone went to ground like gophers, but not Holiday.
He reasoned that everyone bled the same and any man could be killed, so long as he saw his enemies before they saw him he would always have the upper hand.

“What’s up, li’l nigga? You having a good time or what?” Holiday pulled up a seat next to Baby Doc, who was sitting in front of the stage with his eyes transfixed on a girl’s gyrating crotch. A half-empty bottle of Moët was clutched in his hand.

“Hell, yeah, I’m having a blast,” Baby Doc said excitedly, never taking his eyes off the girl.

“See, I tried to tell Swann and them to come out, but them niggaz was fronting like they scared,” Holiday said, slightly slurring his words. He was borderline drunk and trying his best to get all the way there.

“I don’t think it’s about being scared. I think it’s more about them wanting to maintain low profiles with all this stuff going on with King James. I heard somebody killed one of their young boys the other night and them cats are screaming for blood,” Baby Doc told him. He had no idea that Holiday had been the one who killed one of King James’s soldiers.

Holiday laughed. “Yeah, somebody pushed their young boy’s shit back pretty damn good.” He recalled the look of fear in Meek’s eyes before he put a bullet between them. “Man, fuck all that low-profile shit. A nigga would have to be out of his mind to get at a member of the Clark family. We’re untouchable, B.”

“My dad always told me that nobody is untouchable and to assume so could get you killed,” Baby Doc repeated one of the lessons his father Big Doc had taught him.

“Big Doc is a wise old dude, but he still thinks this is 1988. Him, Shai, and the rest of the old heads need to step into the
millennium. This is a new age we live in, and strong crews can’t be maintained with outdated rules,” Holiday said.

“I dunno, Holiday. Those rules were put in place for a reason. Shai says—”

“Shai says, Shai says,” Holiday cut him off. “That’s all Shai ever does is say. We out here in the streets getting it in while he’s safe in his big house giving orders. Shai is the boss of this thing in name, but it’s the niggaz who are in the streets who really run shit. Niggaz like me and you.”

“Me?” Baby Doc asked curiously.

“Yes, you. Baby Doc, you still young, but you my li’l man and one of the few niggaz who I trust completely. You’re the voice of reason when I be off my dumb shit.”

“I never knew that, Holiday. Most times you treat me like a kid and act like you don’t wanna be bothered,” Baby Doc admitted.

“Nah, dawg. That’s just me giving you a hard time so you’ll be tough enough to handle it when it’s your turn to start calling shots,” Holiday told him.

“I can’t see myself calling no shots. My dad says he wants me to finish school and live a normal life.”

“That’s what he says, but if he really meant it, why would he have you around us so much?” Holiday asked. “Big Doc ain’t gonna come out and tell you to take it to the streets. He wants you to be man enough to choose your own destiny.”

“You think so?” Baby Doc weighed Holiday’s words.

“I know so. This life is in your blood, and when it’s your turn to step up, there’s no doubt in my mind that you’re gonna be a solid capo, maybe even more solid than Swann.”

“That means a lot coming from you, Holiday.” Baby Doc
blushed. He looked up to Holiday, so hearing him sing his praises filled his heart with pride.

“I’m only keeping it one hundred with you, my G.” Holiday took a long swig from the bottle and handed it to Baby Doc. Baby Doc took an awkward swing, spilling some of the champagne on his shirt. “Don’t hurt yourself, li’l fella,” Holiday teased him.

“That shit is like juice, you know. Yak is my thing,” Baby Doc boasted.

Holiday laughed. “Li’l nigga, the last time we gave you some yak you threw up all in the back of Swann’s truck.”

Baby Doc laughed too. “I remember. He was mad as hell!”

The stripper who Baby Doc had been watching strutted over to the end of the stage he was sitting at. She was a pretty light-skinned chick with nice boobs but not much ass to speak of. She leaned over and shook her breasts in Baby Doc’s face while he peeled off singles and timidly shoved them into her bikini top.

“You like her, do ya?” Holiday asked Baby Doc of the girl.

“Yeah, shorty bad than a muthafucka,” Baby Doc replied.

Holiday stood up and waved the girl over to him. When she bent down he whispered something in her ear and handed her a stack of singles. The girl looked over at Baby Doc, smiled, and nodded. The next thing Baby Doc knew, the girl had climbed off the stage and was pulling him by the hand from his seat.

“What’s going on?” Baby Doc looked back and forth from the girl to Holiday nervously.

“Don’t ask obvious questions, youngster. Just go with her. She’s gonna take care of you. And don’t worry, it’s on me,” Holiday told him. He smiled as the girl led Baby Doc to a dark
corner of the club to give the young man a cheap thrill. Holiday had the waitress bring him another bottle of champagne while he enjoyed the stage show. Halfway through the bottle, he found himself drunk and in dire need to relieve himself. Telling one of the homies to watch his bottle, he got up and went to the bathroom. On his way, he never noticed the two sets of eyes watching him from two different sides of the club.