Envy (14 page)

“Mizz Salida!!” Truth screamed as time seemed to go into slow-mode. Salida saw the speeding car just feet before it struck her. She froze for a second, and then turned with a look of horror on her face as she dove toward the safety of the BMW.

But she was too late.

The roaring dark slice of thunder struck her and spun her body around in a circle. It propelled her up in the air, and then sent her slamming down hard against the trunk of the BMW.

Truth screamed as his boss slid down the back bumper and hit the ground with a crunch, then rolled over like a lifeless doll in the middle of the sidewalk.

The sound of screeching tires was all he heard as he ran over to her and dropped down to his knees. He went to touch her, but her eyes were closed and blood was coming outta her nose. Scared shitless, Truth jumped up and ran over to the locked door of the G-Spot. Screaming for help, he pounded on that shit like somebody’s life depended on it.

$$$$$

“
I got her!
” the driver of the dark car hollered as his front end made contact with the beautiful woman crossing the sidewalk. “I hit her! I busted that bitch right on her ass!”

Peals of laughter erupted from the backseat of the car as Monique popped up from her hiding spot on the floor. She knelt on her knees and peered through the back window, giggling her ass off at the sight of Salida sliding off the back of G’s old whip and rolling onto the sidewalk like a broken-up mannequin.

“Yeah!” Monique screamed at the top of her lungs as Salida’s body lay outstretched on the hard concrete. “Bitch down! Bitch down! Bitch down! And that crazy bitch betta
stay
her ass down too!”

Bilal grinned. Anything that made Mo happy made him happy too. He floored the gas pedal as the Ford’s front wheels jumped the curb, and moments later the car left the coarse concrete of the sidewalk, rolled onto the smooth asphalt of the city street, and disappeared into the darkness of the night.

CHAPTER 24

Flex must have felt me getting swole, because two nights after we had it out he asked me to get dressed so he could take me out to a concert. If I had known Flex drove like a damn ten-year-old I woulda never gotten in the whip with him. Instead, I found myself holding on to the door handle in his candy-apple red Hummer as Flex recklessly drove me and his boy Dabu downtown to Brooklyn.

The concert was in Prospect Park, and some of the hottest rappers on the street scene were gonna be there. The streets of Park Slope were packed when we arrived. Traffic was on jam. It was wall-to-wall niggahs. Cops were on foot and in squad cars, and NYC’s mounted police rode high on horses as they stayed busy trying to direct the flow of it all.

Flex rolled into a handicap spot on Prospect Park West and told me and Dabu to hop out. He held my hand as we walked into the crowd of rap fans, and I had to admit I was excited. Following the huge herd, we strolled deep into the park, and found the band shell. We got as close as we could get, and stood in the middle of the crowd and rocked with everybody else.

I had always felt a lot older than Flex, but two years wasn’t really much of a difference. I was so glad to be outta that damn basement, and out of Harlem period, that I was actually having a good time.

Brooklyn was known for being rowdy, but people were real chill in the crowd, and I was surprised that didn’t no fights break out.

“Nah, man,” Flex said, blocking with his hand when his dude tried to pass me the sticky they were smoking. “Juicy don’t puff, niggah. She ain’t no jump-off. She’s a lady.”

We stayed in the park until the concert was over, then we followed the huge crowd across the grass and back outside to the streets. I acted like I didn’t notice when Flex grabbed my hand and threaded his fingers through mine. He swung our arms a little as we walked, and I knew he was trying to look big in front of his boy.

But when we got back to the area where he had parked the Hummer, another car was in his spot. This one had a handicapped tag hanging from the rearview mirror.

“Yo, where’s your shit?” Dabu said.

“I don’t know man. I thought I parked it right here.”

“You did,” I said. “It was right behind that beat-up Mustang. But this is a handicap zone.” I pointed up at the sign. “They probably towed your shit.”

Dabu started laughing and I felt Flex freeze up next to me.

“I can read that shit, Juicy,” he spit, letting go of my hand. “I saw the fuckin’ sign when I parked, a’ight?”

I shrugged. I had to pee and I was ready to go.

“So what are we gonna do now?” I asked him.

“What you mean, what we gonna do now?” he barked. “You see all these fuckin’ people out here, Juicy? What you think everybody else is doing? How you they getting back to they cribs?”

I hunched my shoulders and frowned.

“I don’t know. Probably the same way they got here.”

That niggah cuffed me.

Standing right there on the sidewalk with fifty thousand people all around us, that little mothafucka knocked the shit outta me.

“Yo, boss,” Dabu said, grabbing at Flex as I slumped against that dirty Mustang and went down to my knees. “There’s a lotta heat out here, man. You might wanna chill with all that until you get back to the crib.”

“I’m good,” Flex said, shrugging his boy off. “Yo, D. I’ma holla at you tomorrow, man. Same time as usual. A’ight?”

Dabu shrugged and started backing away.

“You sure? You straight?”

Flex nodded. “Yeah. We both straight, ak. For real. I’ll holla tomorrow.”

***

My whole face was numb as Flex led me down the steps of a subway station on 7th Avenue.

It had been a long time since I’d taken an ass-kicking from any man, and I wasn’t built for that type of shit no more.

There was no way in hell that I was going back to that funeral parlor with him. I knew if I did, Flex was gonna kill me down in that basement and double-stack my body in a secret compartment under somebody else’s casket.

We stood waiting on the train platform with a whole bunch of other people who were coming from the concert. It was crazy crowded, and a big Rasta-looking dude with long dreads was passing out flyers and postcards for after-parties left and right. I walked up to the edge of the platform to look for the train, but the tunnel was pitch black. I couldn’t wait for that iron-horse to come so I could get my ass back uptown and call Rita to come and get me.  

While I looking into the tunnel and praying to see some lights, Flex came up behind me and stood real close to me. I could feel him breathing on my neck.

“You know what?” he said, in a calm, scary voice.

I didn’t answer. I didn’t even turn around.

“Now I know why G used to fuck you up the way he did, Juicy. I was all wrong about you, ma. But G? G prolly always knew.”

I ignored his ass. Every few seconds I would lean forward and take another peek, looking desperately for the train.

“See, a bitch like you just ain’t ready. You ain’t ready for a niggah who can give you the whole world ’cause the only thing you can see is what’s right in front of you.”

Something told me to just walk away from this buggy young niggah and ask one of these big dudes standing around if I could use his phone and call Rita. I knew one of them would have let me, but I also knew Flex was strapped, and he was liable to go popping off with his pistol if I walk up on some other dude and got in his face.

Fuck it, I thought. I was gonna ask one of these females if I could use her phone. Sometimes a sistah could sense when a crazy niggah was riding you and be down to help you out.

I leaned forward and took one more peep into the tunnel, and then Flex was on my ass. He grabbed my shoulders and spun me around to face him.

“You know what that niggah Macaroni did to me that day when you left me outside in the hallway all by myself, Juicy?”

A chill ran through my bones and suddenly my feet felt like they were glued to the edge of the platform.

“You know why I pushed his ass off our roof?”

I felt a deep rumbling in my toes. The train was finally coming and a big wave of relief washed over me.

“Guess what that niggah did?” Flex demanded, leaning his body all up on me. He gripped my upper arms and squeezed hard enough to make me cringe. “Just guess what that junkie mothafucka did to me?”

“What?” I whispered. My voice came out so low I didn’t think he could even hear me over the roar of the approaching train.

“Nothing,” Flex laughed crazily and pressed his cheek right up against mine. “That niggah didn’t do
nothing
,” he repeated quietly in my ear.

And then he pushed me.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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