Coca Kola - The Baddest Chick (28 page)

Apple straightened herself out and sluggishly stepped out her McLaren to stretch her legs. She looked around at the few cars on the block where she had parked. It had been two days since she was evicted from her home, and with nowhere to go and having less than fifty dollars to her name, each passing day was critical and hard.

She was washing up in public places, using the facilities at rest stop bathrooms, fast food restaurants, chain stores, and other public places to clean her face, wash her clothes in the sink, and brush her teeth. She would try to do these things early in the morning or late at night when there was less of a crowd to stare at her like she’d stepped off the freak bus, and to avoid some of the kids making fun of her or becoming frightened by the simple sight of her.

“Mommy, what happened to her face?” a four-year-old had asked his mother, pointing at Apple as she exited a public restroom early one morning.

Apple turned her head in embarrassment and rushed out the store, once again trying to hold back her tears.

Sometimes, Apple would sit in her car for hours clutching her pistol, wanting to commit suicide. But she always hesitated in doing the fatal action, thinking about her sister. Kola couldn’t win. She wouldn’t dare give her twin sister the satisfaction of killing herself, knowing she would spit on her grave and laugh. Besides, she had a score to settle. No matter how tempting it seemed and how rough it was getting for her, Apple’s pride wouldn’t allow her to take it that far. Still, every day it was one thing or the other.

She was constantly calling Chico and begging him to get her out of the situation she was in. Chico would assure her that things would get better and told her that he would be in New York within the week. Apple felt she wouldn’t last that long. He had promised to send her some money via Western Union, and when the money came, it gave her little comfort. But she was able to afford to stay in a motel for the week.

Apple checked into a seedy, dilapidated motel in the outskirts of Hackensack, New Jersey, a popular hangout spot for punks, penny-pinchers, and pimps. It was such a step down from where Apple was staying before. The dirty room reminded her of the home in Harlem she once shared with her sisters and mother.

A sullen cashier behind bulletproof glass in the vestibule turned over the key to Apple in exchange for cash, no questions asked. Apple walked into the 10’x10’ room that was dimly lit by a single bulb in the ceiling fixture, and smelling heavily of sweat. A small mattress rested on a chipped particle board bed frame. The blanket was stained, the bedspread torn, and the filthy brown carpet on the floor was littered with cigarette burns. There was an old television set with a broken antenna and a non-working remote, and the windows were so dirty, they blocked out the midday sun.

Apple sighed heavily while staring at the two towels on a small dresser. Her temporary home for a week was an ugly, destitute place, and with her McLaren parked right outside underneath the room’s window, she felt an uneasiness inside of her that traveled to the bottom of her feet.

She walked farther into the room and twisted her face. “Hurry up, Chico,” she said under her breath.

Apple was a little nervous about going out into the streets, but she was from the hood, and with her scarred face, it made her blend right in with the undesirables that frequented the seedy motel, although her car was a magnet for attention.

She still couldn’t shake the feeling of somebody watching her. Therefore, she stayed in the room and only came out when she needed food. She could only afford to buy a few things to hold her over, though, like potato chips, cookies, cakes, juices, and cups of noodles.

***

Two days went by slowly for Apple. Time for her felt like it had stood still. The TV and a newspaper became her only source of entertainment, and her mind was heavily on Chico. The nights were lonely like a castaway’s stranded at sea, and her days were long and drawn out with nothing much to do. Apple barely got any sleep, and when she did, it was only in intervals.

As day number three in the motel slowly approached, Apple woke up from her sleep in a chilling sweat. She was having the same recurring nightmare—there was an entity chasing her and slowly tearing her apart. It was wicked, and it was fast. Apple could feel her flesh being torn from her, and her burns coming alive on her face—taunting her, digging into her skin and spreading. She was becoming uglier and uglier, and she couldn’t stop it. Whenever she felt overwhelmed by the entity engulfing her, she would jump up from her sleep screaming, only to see it was just a nightmare. But she would be shaking and looking around the room with paranoia.

“It’s a dream. It’s only a dream,” Apple told herself, trying to find some reassurance and calm her breathing.

She needed someone to hold onto, but Chico wasn’t there.

It was one in the morning, and the room felt too still. It was dark. The television was off. She could hear a few pimps chatting outside her window. They lingered around in and outside of the motel while their hoes worked the track until sunup.

Apple then had a sudden urge to go to the window and look out. She had a bad feeling about something. She drew back the blinds and peered outside. That’s when she noticed an empty parking space where her car was once parked was. Her eyes grew big with the realization that her car was gone. It was stolen.

“No, they didn’t!” she screamed out.

She hurried to put some clothes on, rushed out of the lobby, and ran to where she had last parked the McLaren. She was hysterical. Her head was spinning in every direction, hoping to get a glimpse of the car somewhere, but the only thing around her were barren streets and working girls.

One of the young pimps sauntered up to Apple. He was clad in sagging blue jeans and an Atlanta Falcons throwback jersey, his braids showing underneath the baseball cap he wore backward. He looked only a few years older than Apple.

Smoking a cigarette, he looked at Apple for a moment. “Yo, shortie, that was ya car, right?” he asked.

“Yes!”

“That shit got towed like an hour ago, shortie. I think it was the repo man or somethin’. Shit, it was either that, or them stickup boys were gonna snatch that shit from you eventually.”

Apple stood there looking despondent.

The young pimp stood there focused on watching his girls walk the track. He was used to seeing her disfigured face, so the burns meant nothing to him. In fact, he even had a sick thought about trying to put her to work on the track. The pimp knew of a few tricks that would even pay to be with her, having some kind of sick, twisted fantasy about sexing a freak with a tight, succulent body. She was damaged goods, but he looked at her with a gleam in his eyes.

With no car to get around, things were hopeless. Apple jumped on the phone to quickly call Chico. She was so upset, her voice was shaky, and she began to tremble with the phone in her hand.

The pimp was playing her closely. He saw some potential in the girl. Apple didn’t pay him any mind, though.

The phone rang in her ear as she waited for Chico to pick up.

“Hello?” he finally answered.

“They took my fuckin’ car, Chico!” she yelled into the phone, sounding hysterical.

“What?”

“They took my fuckin’ car! I’m fucked, Chico! What am I supposed to do now, huh?”

“Apple, listen, it’s just a car. We’ll get you a new one.”

“It was your gift to me, and now I don’t have shit!”

“You still at that motel in Jersey? I’ll be there in two days.”

“You know what, Chico? Fuck you! You ain’t shit! I don’t give a fuck about ya fuckin’ promises. Keep ya fuckin’ promises. You supposed to be a man! You ain’t a fuckin’ man! You a bitch-ass nigga for lettin’ all this shit happen!”

“Ya blaming me?”

“I just don’t give a fuck anymore! Fuck you and go to hell!” Apple screamed out.

Apple smashed her phone on the pavement and stormed back into the room.

The young pimp watched her with a smirk, taking a pull from his cigarette and nodding. He said to himself, “Yeah, I could work wit’ that. She ain’t that bad. Body fuckin’ tight though.”

Apple stormed into her room and slammed the door so hard behind her that it echoed throughout the hallway. She fell backwards, leaning against the door, and abruptly broke down in tears. She slowly slid down to the floor with her back pressed against the door. She couldn’t move. She didn’t want to move. She pulled her knees into her chest, hunched herself over, and wrapped her arms around her shins with her face lowered between her knees as she continued to let the tears fall. It was hell on earth.

She heard an unexpected noise in the room and looked up. She wasn’t alone. Someone was inside with her. Her eyes scanned the place in the dark, but it was hard to see. She slowly stood up, and as she got to her feet, a large shadow lunged at her from out of nowhere. It was fast.

Apple tried to fight it off, and there was a quick tussle, but she quickly succumbed when a handkerchief soaked in chloroform was put over her mouth. The vapors depressed her central nervous system, and she quickly passed out into the arms of her attacker.

***

Chico arrived at the motel in Hackensack two days later, his heart filled with worry. He had been calling Apple’s phone repeatedly, and was only getting voice mail.

When he drove up to the sleazy motel on the barren New Jersey block, it was mid-afternoon, and the place looked like a ghost town. He rushed out of his car and hurried into the lobby, where he saw a young girl sitting at the front desk reading a magazine. The lobby was empty.

The girl was standoffish when Chico approached her and started asking questions. He wanted the keys to Apple’s room, but she told him she wasn’t allowed to do it. Chico slipped a hundred-dollar bill under the glass for her to take, and she didn’t hesitate snatching up the money and pocketing it. She then took a set of room keys from off the hook behind her and handed them to him.

Chico hurried up to the second floor, opened the door, and went inside. The room was empty. He noticed all her things were in the room, but she wasn’t around. He figured she probably went for a walk to cool off. He decided to wait around. He continued to call her cell phone frantically, but there wasn’t any answer. Her phone was going straight to voice mail.

***

Chico waited around the motel for Apple for several days, questioning people, looking around, hoping she would show up. He knew something had to have happened to her. Keeping his emotions contained, he got into his BMW and raced toward Harlem.

Chico crossed the George Washington Bridge and was in Harlem late in the evening. Lincoln Projects was quiet. Spring was in the air, the leaves were blossoming, and the warm air was soothing. He was parked across the street from the projects. It had been over a month since he was in Harlem.

Looking at Apple’s old building, he reached under his seat, removed a pistol, and stuffed it into his pants. He still had enemies in the hood despite his short absence.

Chico stepped out of the car and proceeded toward the building. He was cautious, though, keeping his hand close to his gun and alert with every step he took.

He walked into the lobby and decided to take the stairs instead of the elevator. He knew Denise’s apartment and knocked on the door roughly. He could hear H-town’s “Knockin’ Da Boots” playing from behind the door. He knocked again, steadily looking over his shoulders.

The locks began to turn, and the door opened with Denise in her robe, exposing a glimpse of her nakedness underneath.

She tied her robe. Glaring at him, she barked, “What the fuck you doin’ at my door, Chico?”

“I’m looking for your daughter, Apple. You seen her around?”

“What the fuck you comin’ here for asking about that bitch? I ain’t stressin’ that bitch!”

“She ain’t been around.”

“If the bitch doesn’t wanna be found, then that’s because she don’t wanna be found. Why the fuck you comin’ to my door wit’ this bullshit and disturbing me from tryin’ to get my fuck on?” Denise slammed the door in Chico’s face.

Chico was ready to put holes in her door for being so disrespectful, but he didn’t want to draw too much attention on himself. He casually walked away, exited the building, and jumped back into his car. But he didn’t start the ignition right away. Chico sat in the car with his pistol clutched in his hand and steadily looked around. He had no idea where Apple was, nor did he know if she was safe or in any danger.

Chico took out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket, removed one, and lit it. He took a much-needed drag and exhaled. Apple had him concerned, but he couldn’t stress about her anymore. He had done what he could for her. He still loved her, and wherever she was, he was just hoping she’d come back safe.

He looked around Harlem. He had to get back to business and focus on his return. This time, Harlem would feel his wrath. He was angry, and the only thing on his mind was payback and making money.

Chapter 25

A
pple slowly opened her eyes and found herself in a strange place. She had no recollection of her surroundings. She was still drowsy and disoriented from being unconscious for such a long time. She felt weak. She couldn’t remember what had happened. The last thing she remembered was crying and yelling at Chico. Then things around her went completely black.