Snapped (14 page)

“Hello, Toya.” Russell smiled in an attempt to garner the same from her. He had no such luck. Her expression remained as icy as ever. “Sorry if I’m disturbing you.”

Toya’s Pomeranian, Ginger, was growling at the unwelcome stranger, and Toya didn’t bother to try and calm her. She was tempted to sic the dog on this beast.

Russell cleared his throat. “Anyway, today is my birthday.
I’m having a little get-together at my house, and I was hoping that you would stop by. I’m not having a lot of people over. Just a few of my boys and—”

“I’m busy.” Toya cut him off and offered no further explanation. She didn’t owe him anything, she reasoned. And he had a lot of nerve even thinking that she would be bothered with the likes of him.

Russell’s disappointment was visible on his face. He let out a long sigh. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “Can I ask you a question?”

Toya shrugged her shoulders. This dude had about ninety seconds left before she slammed the door in his face.

“Are you seeing anybody? I mean . . . you got a man? Last time we talked I told you that I noticed that you were single. But that was kind of presumptuous. I never asked you if you’re already spoken for.” He was wondering if another man was to blame for the fact that she was dismissing him constantly.

“That’s really none of your business.”

“I don’t mean to get in your business. It’s just that I see you coming and going on the regular. But I don’t really see you with anybody, and I was just wondering if you’re single.”

“Let me ask
you
a question,” Toya said, folding her arms across her chest. “How do you have so much time to watch me? And why are you checking to see who’s coming and going and what the fuck I’m doing with my life in my house?”

Russell was caught off guard, but managed to recover quickly. “I’m not stalking you or nothing like that—”

“That’s what it sounds like.”

“Well, that’s not what it is at all. I like you, Toya.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I’m trying to change that. I just want the chance to take
you out and get to know you. I’m not asking for a miracle. But I like what I see so far and I was hoping you’d give me a shot.” His smile was slowly fading and his hopes were diminishing the longer he stood there explaining himself.

Toya was thoroughly entertained watching Russell squirm. “I already told you that I’m busy.”

Russell nodded. “Okay. Maybe some other time?”

Toya scooped her dog up into her arms, aware that Ginger was still growling. Once she was face-to-face with Russell, Ginger began to bark aggressively. “I gotta go.” Without another word, she stepped back and shut the door right in Russell’s face. Stroking her dog gently, she said, “I know, Ginger. He’s so ugly that he scared you!” She chuckled to herself as she carried Ginger back upstairs to her bedroom, where she’d been watching Puffy’s latest reality show.

Russell was disappointed and embarrassed. What Toya hadn’t known was that his boys—friends of his who had grown up with him back in Jamaica, Queens—were watching from across the street. From the moment he laid eyes on her, he thought she was sexy as hell. But he wasn’t the handsomest man, and his boys had suggested that she was out of his league. Still, he was persistent, hoping that he could persuade her to come over to his place for his birthday gathering. His friends had bet him that a guy like him could never get with a woman like that. And Toya had just proved them right. Russell sulked back across the street with his tail between his legs. She hadn’t even bothered to say “happy birthday.”

Frankie rang the doorbell and waited with his hands in his pockets. It was mid-October and he could feel a chill in the air already. He looked up and down the quiet block and was tempted to sell his own beautiful house in exchange for a home like this one in Kearny, New Jersey. The house was big, and the land surrounding it was vast. The grounds were perfectly manicured and he could hear the faint sound of birds singing in the otherwise silent autumn air. Finally, Baron came to the door and ushered Frankie inside. Stepping into the open foyer, Frankie greeted his host with a hood handshake before following him into the living room.

It seemed as if Baron had been lounging around on the sofa all day, evidenced by the rumpled blanket and pillow lying across it. His T-shirt was wrinkled and his basketball shorts hung low. Baron’s size 13 Nike sandals sat empty beneath the coffee table, while he shuffled around on the sparkling hardwood floors barefoot except for a pair of black ankle socks. He was unshaven and looked sleepy, but he still went to the refrigerator and retrieved a Corona.

“Want one?” he asked.

Frankie declined, shaking his head and taking a seat on the recliner. “I thought you were leaving for Vegas later on today,” he said, confused. “Don’t look like you packed anything.”

Baron plopped down on the sofa in the same spot he’d been lying in before Frankie’s arrival. His long legs stretched out before him, he sipped his beer and sighed. “I ain’t going. I’m tired, son. Every weekend for like three months straight I’ve been traveling, partying, driving, flying, drinking, smoking . . . that shit took its toll on me, for real. I’m staying home this weekend. Sitting right here on this couch like this.” Baron gestured with the remote in his hand and his posture completely relaxed. “I got all this house and I’m never home to live in it.”

Frankie looked around and nodded. It was true. Baron was a workaholic and a professional party animal, just like his father had been in his youth. This huge house often sat empty, with Baron traveling most of the time or lying up at the home of some random chick. There was always something occupying Baron’s time and making him the center of attention. It was as if he couldn’t sit still for long or he’d die of boredom. Lately, he had taken more trips, made more money, and taken bigger risks than ever before.

“That’s true,” Frankie observed, still nodding. “These days, you should be keeping a lower profile anyway.”

Baron glanced at him. “Yeah?” he asked, taking a swig of his beer. “You think so, huh?”

Frankie didn’t miss the tone in Baron’s voice and knew that he had touched a nerve. Baron hated being told what to do, even when it was clear that he should heed the unwanted advice. He looked at his friend, his voice and gaze unwavering. “Yeah. I think so.”

Baron smirked. “Why’s that?”

Frankie chose his words carefully as he answered. “Well,” he sighed. “You said yourself that you’re tired. You’re doing too much. Besides, you know there’s a situation right now. It would be smart to keep a low profile.”

“So I should hide ’cuz of Jojo, Frankie?” Baron’s face was twisted into a grimace as he asked him.

Frankie shook his head. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“That’s exactly what you’re saying.”

“No, it’s not. Hiding is one thing. I would never tell you to run and take cover like a bitch over some shit you started.” Frankie took the gloves off now.

“Some shit I started, huh?” Baron laughed at Frankie’s audacity in placing all the blame on him.

“Yeah.” Frankie frowned as if there was no question as to whose fault the beef with Jojo was. “That shit with you and Dusty is what started everything, and now he’s dead. His family is looking for him, his mother is crying in the street, all of Brooklyn wants payback. Jojo’s out there talking all his shit and he got his heart set on killing you. Shit is real right now, but I’m not telling you to hide. Keeping a lower profile is different. It’s not about being scared. It’s about being smart, and recognizing that Jojo’s not the most dangerous nigga alive, but he’s mad right now. His brother is missing. And I understand his fury ’cuz it would be the same way if it was you that was missing instead of Dusty.” Frankie looked at Baron. “If it was my brother, I would want war, too.”

The tension in Baron’s jaw slackened slightly. Although he didn’t agree with everything that Frankie was saying, he appreciated the fact that Frankie loved him like a brother. After all, the two of them had been practically raised together under Doug Nobles’s tutelage. He knew that Frankie
wasn’t just criticizing him for the hell of it. He was family. “I can’t keep too low of a profile,” Baron said. He took a sip of his beer. “I got work out there that needs to be taken care of. So I can’t lay low, son. That’s not an option.”

Frankie looked around at the mess in the living room. Baron had recently ended an engagement to a woman he had dated for close to four years. She couldn’t adapt to his jet-set lifestyle, no matter how hard she tried. This big house, in which he’d grown up, was supposed to be the home where he would start his family. But now that he was a bachelor again, the place was a mess. Clothes hung over the stairway banister, and an empty takeout food container sat open on the coffee table. Doritos rested beside a half-empty bottle of orange Fanta.

“Get the maid in here, B.” Frankie picked up the Styrofoam container and tossed it back on the table for emphasis. “Maria don’t come no more?”

“Magdalena, son. And nah, she don’t come no more. She got deported.”

Frankie shook his head and looked at his friend sympathetically. “That’s why you should apologize to Angie.”

“Fuck Angie.” Baron took a swig of his beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Frankie sat back and got comfortable. “That’s what you say, but you know you love that girl.”

Baron didn’t respond right away. He seemed to ponder Frankie’s last statement. He knew that most women were enticed by his good looks, his lifestyle, his money, and his power. But Baron had found something deeper than that with Angie—until he fucked it all up.

He genuinely loved Angie. But things had taken an ugly turn in their relationship toward the end. Baron had a problem
with his hands, and found himself taking out his frustrations on Angie when things didn’t go his way in the streets. He had beaten her with increasing intensity over the years, leaving her with bruises, black eyes, busted lips, and even a broken wrist once. She had urged him to seek help, but Baron refused to admit that he had a problem. When Angie walked away at last, Baron had only reluctantly let her go. While he was out of town on a trip to Miami, Angie had moved her things out of the New Jersey mansion they’d shared for years. When Baron returned, he searched high and low until he found her seeking refuge at the home of her best friend. Demanding that she come home, he had tried to intimidate her into coming back. She threatened to tell his family about the abuse she had suffered in silence if he continued to pursue her. The last thing Baron wanted was for his parents to know the demons that lurked behind the facade he showed them daily. He feared that his father might strip him of his power as a result, and he knew that his mother—a woman who exuded an air of royalty—would have never forgiven him. As much as he hated to relinquish control over Angie, he had.

Finally, he said, “No doubt. I’m always gonna love her. But I don’t love arguing all the time, attitudes and tension. I don’t miss that shit. And I’m not gonna apologize for the life I live. This is me. It ain’t changing. Angie can’t deal with it. So fuck it. I’d rather be by myself.”

“You said yourself that you’re tired of partying, drinking, and all that. Face it, son, you’re getting old just like the rest of us. Time to settle down. Find that one good woman.”

Baron laughed. He knew better than anybody that Frankie didn’t think married life was all that. “For what? So she could sit around all day spending up the money I make? No good.”

Frankie felt sucker punched, but Baron didn’t notice. He was too busy turning to a rerun of
Law & Order
. Frankie thought about Camille sitting at home all day looking like Kimora in a Baby Phat ad, just for being his wife. Meanwhile, a woman like Gillian was itching to get in the game with the big boys and make her own moves. He had to admit that Baron had a point.

“Like my pops and Gillian’s moms,” Baron explained. “He did all that work to get established in the game. Robbed hustlers, killed ’em, lied, cheated. He clawed his way to the top, paid all his dues. And all she had to do was marry him and she got the keys to the kingdom. I don’t want no female getting ahold of what I work hard for unless she truly deserves it.” He watched the scene on TV until it went to commercial, then picked the conversation back up where he’d left off. “You’re right, though.” Baron licked his lips, dry from a long night of drinking and weed smoking. “I am getting old. I’m tired as hell, Frankie. I used to do this all night and still be on point all day.” Baron held up the beer bottle for emphasis. “I need to start taking vitamins or something. Get in the gym.”

Frankie shook his head. “What you need to do is to take a break and enjoy what you work hard for. Then you can get back at it with your head on straight. Reevaluate everything.”

Baron stared at Frankie. Swigged his beer again. “Why? So you can take my place?”

Frankie laughed. “You know damn well that I don’t want your spot.” Frankie looked at Baron to see if he was serious. He was glad to see that Baron had a smirk on his face. But years in the streets had taught him that a smirk could mask a thousand emotions. “If I wanted your spot, I’d have it already,” he said.

Baron’s smirk spread into a smile. “Always talking that shit.” He knew that Frankie meant what he said. Still, he also knew that Frankie had his back, if only on the strength of his father. Baron shook his head and stared off blankly. “I know I got us into a lot of trouble with that Dusty shit.”

Frankie nodded. “You sure did. Now you gotta worry about Jojo getting at you. It’s time to lay low, I’m telling you.”

Baron’s jaw clenched. “Ain’t nobody fuckin’ scared of Jojo! Let him come and get me. I’ll bury him right next to his fuckin’ brother.”

“See? That’s what I’m talking about, son. That shit has to stop. That’s not the way to deal with everybody all the time.”

“Why not?”

Frankie shook his head. Today, he didn’t have the energy to go down this road again with his friend. “Bottom line is, the last time Dusty was seen, he was beefing with us. That was weeks ago; nobody has heard from him since. Jojo wants blood, and he’s making that known. Just watch your back. I’m damn sure watching mine.” Frankie saw Baron think about it. He let him soak up the severity of the situation before saying, “You need to step out of the spotlight for a minute. Take a break, Baron.”