The Fix 2 (11 page)

“Chilling.” Li'l Monk took the dirty hand without flinching. When Neighborhood leaned in to embrace him, Li'l Monk's nose was assaulted with the smell of funk and cigarettes, but he still gave Neighborhood the respect of a full hug. “How you be, old timer?”

Neighborhood shrugged. “Been better, been worse, but I'm still here to complain about it.” He looked to Droopy. “What ya know no good, Droopy? You got my medicine for the day?”

Droopy patted his pockets. “I'm dry. Li'l Monk took me off the work.”

Neighborhood gave Li'l Monk a look. “You nursing pups now?”

“Nah, it ain't like that. I'm just trying to stretch his life expectancy,” Li'l Monk told him.

Neighborhood nodded in approval. “Somebody has gotta teach the little ones that there's more to living than dying.” He turned to Charlie. “'Sup, junior? How ya mama and them doing?” he asked slyly.

Charlie's face suddenly became very serious. “My nigga, I keep telling you about ya funny shit. Stop playing with me like that, or I'm gonna have to lay hands on you.” His tone was sharp. Charlie couldn't stand Neighborhood and had never made a secret of it. Rumor had it that back in the days, Neighborhood had been sleeping with Charlie's mother and there was some speculation about his paternity.

Li'l Monk stood there, watching the exchange between Charlie and Neighborhood, trying his best not to bust out laughing. There exchanges were always epically funny. His eyes drifted up the block, toward the bodega Sophie had gone to for cigars and his smile suddenly melted away. Without saying a word to anyone, Li'l Monk started in the direction of the store.

 

 

“Grab me a Pepsi while you're back there,” Sophie called from the front of the store. Tasha was in the back rummaging through the freezers while Sophie was at the register.

“Hey, Sophie. Long time no see,” the older Hispanic man behind the counter greeted her. “Where you been?”

“School has been kicking my ass, so I haven't really had time for much of anything else, Juan,” Sophie told him.

“You're in school? That's great! You always were a smart girl, Sophie, and I'm glad to see you're out here doing something for yourself. More young women need to think like you.” He cast his eyes at Tasha, who had just come from the back, when he made the statement.

“Thanks, Juan. I can't wait for it to come, I gotta get out here and get it,” Sophie said proudly.

“Nothing sexier than an educated woman,” someone behind Sophie said.

She turned around and found herself confronted by a handsome light-skinned man, who rocked a curly fade. Two gold chains dangled from around his neck and he was wearing a gaudy pinky ring. His whole aura screamed “dope boy.” Sophie had seen him around before, but didn't know his name nor did she care to learn it. She smiled politely, before paying for her and Tasha's items and leaving the store. She was trying to ditch the young man, but he was persistent and followed her out.

“Damn, it's like that?” He was hot on Sophie's heels. The two gold chains around his neck clanked together as he walked.

“I got a man,” Sophie said over her shoulder, without bothering to turn around.

“That's okay with me, because I got a girl. I ain't looking for no commitment, just to be friends,” he said slyly.

From a half block away she could feel Li'l Monk's piercing gaze. She didn't have to look up to know that he was staring at her. Sophie knew exactly how things would play out if she didn't get rid of the young man. She stopped and gave him a serious look. “I think it's best that we end this conversation.”

“That's fucked up, ma. I'm trying to make you a contender and you out here acting like a chicken dinner.” He reached for her hand, but Sophie jerked away. “Relax, baby. I was just trying to shake your hand and introduce myself properly. I wasn't gonna bite you, unless, of course, you asked me to.” He smiled.

“Look, dude, I ain't trying to be a bitch about it, but ain't nothing popping. I got a man who I love, so with all due respect I'm not interested in nothing you talking about.” Sophie's tone was sharper than she'd meant it to be, but she was nervous.

The young man shook his head. “See, you Harlem broads kill me. Y'all run around screaming how you want a nigga to approach you with respect, but when one does you get to acting all stuck-up and shit!”

From the change in his demeanor he was obviously offended. The look on his face thought Sophie was being rude, but she was actually trying to save him from what was surely coming.

“Oh shit.” Tasha's eyes landed on something just behind Sophie.

It was too late.

The visit with Father Michael had left Persia with some food for thought. Twice already that day she had learned that her family secrets were not so secret and school wasn't even over yet. It was no big surprise that Mr. Thompson had known Face, as his family had been living in the neighborhood already when they first moved there. All of the neighbors had speculated on what Persia's father did for a living, but one person outside of Persia's family knew the truth: Marty's dad, Mr. Rizzo.

Since Persia, Sarah, and Marty were best friends they spent a lot of time together and this led to their fathers developing relationships. Sarah's dad, Mr. Thompson, had always been a bit of an odd nut, so Face kept it casual with him. They would attend barbecues at the Thompsons' or invite them over to their house, but neighborly affection was as far as it went with them. Mr. Rizzo was a different story. From the time they'd met, the two men became as thick as thieves.

Marty's dad was an older Italian man, who had become a father late in life, but only looked half his true age. Whenever you saw Mr. Rizzo he was always immaculately dressed and never had a hair out of place. He prided himself on being well groomed at all times, and it was a trait that rubbed off on his wife and daughter. Marty's mother looked and dressed like a fashion model. She was a socialite who spent more time partying than she did at home, which would often leave Marty to spend nights or days with Persia's family. The Rizzos owned a modest car service, but they lived in one of the biggest houses in the neighborhood. Like Persia's father, not all of Mr. Rizzo's income was legitimate. That's probably why the two of them connected.

Father Michael was the wild card. She had no idea that the priest knew her father, let alone from the streets. Until Persia got to St. Mary's she had never heard either of her parents ever mention Father Michael. Even when she would speak to her father on the phone from prison, and she was telling him about her days in school and stories of the strict Father Michael her father never mentioned knowing him. Why would he keep it a secret? Persia figured that if Father Michel knew her father from the streets, he had his reasons for not mentioning it and it was probably for her own good. She realized that the older she got and thought she had her father figured out, the more she realized she was still clueless of who or what he really was before he went to prison.

Thinking of her father made Persia sad. She hadn't seen him, other than through pictures, in years. He had long ago stopped letting Michelle bring Persia to visit him in prison. Face didn't want to subject his baby girl to the potential scars that could come with a young girl getting used to visiting men in prison. That was a character trait he would not expose her to, no matter who was behind the wall. Their interaction was limited to phone calls, letters, and exchanging pictures. Persia had promised herself that when she turned eighteen she would make the trip on her own to see her father. She had intended to keep that promise until her life got complicated.

Persia had been so busy trying to put the pieces of her life back together that she hadn't had the chance to even write her father back, let alone visit him. Part of her was embarrassed to go and see her father. From the letters he wrote her, she could tell her mother hadn't told him about the things that had happened to her over the past few months. When she asked her why she hadn't told him, Michelle replied, “It's not my story to tell.” She would leave that to Persia. Persia knew that he had a right to know, but she couldn't find the words to tell him that the daughter he had sacrificed everything for grew up to be nothing more than a lovesick crackhead. She didn't have the strength, but she knew that she would have to find it. Her visit to see her father in the flesh for the first time in thirteen years was long overdue.

 

 

The break in Persia's regularly scheduled school day was both a gift and a curse. It was a gift because by the time she was done with Father Michael, Sister Francine's class was over so she didn't have to see her anymore that day, but it was a curse because her next class was physical education. Persia hated gym, especially in the middle of the day. She always ended up sweating, and left with a choice between showering with the rest of the girls in the stalls, or staying funky until she went home at the end of the day.

When Persia walked into the gymnasium, the first person she saw was Vickie. As usual, she looked a hot mess wearing an oversized T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that had been washed so many times that you could barely see the school logo anymore. Poorly bleached hair was pulled back into a ponytail, showing off her black roots and the acne marks on the side of her face. Vickie and her sister Jean were two
Jerry Springer
rejects whose mother had been fortunate enough to hit the lotto and move them from a double wide to a two-story house in a middle-class section of Queens. Watching them trying to fit in with the upper-class kids at St. Mary's was like watching a bull try to tiptoe through a china shop. Up to that point, Persia didn't like or dislike Vickie or her sister Jean. The two tramps had never really been on her radar, but that all changed when she found out what they had done to Sarah. She might be getting kicked out of school because of them and they had to answer for it.

When Vickie spotted Persia, she did a double take. The look on her face said that she knew what Persia was thinking. Vickie made hurried steps over to her sister, and began whispering in her ear. Jean was the older sister, but no less trashy. She wore her hair in a shaved blond mullet. She wore a cutoff T-shirt, showing off her meaty biceps. In the proper light, you could've easily mistaken Jean for a man.

Persia also noticed a third girl with her, a black girl named Asia. She had flawless skin that was such a deep shade of black it could've passed for blue. Her hair was done in micro-braids, and pulled into two buns on either side of her head. With high cheekbones and sharp eyes that were the color of Hersey's Kisses, she was a uniquely beautiful girl.

Persia didn't know too much about Asia personally, but she knew what she'd heard around school. Asia's family was from somewhere in Africa. Her mother, Nya, was a popular European model and her father, Mobi, had been a man of great wealth and influence before his untimely death. After her husband's death, Nya took Asia and moved to Germany, where she continued her modeling career until age, and the birth of two more children had forced her into retirement as a model, cofounder of an up-and-coming modeling agency, with Asia as one of its young clients. When the agency decided to open a US location, Nya and her daughter moved to New York and bought a house a few blocks from where Persia's family lived.

Asia's notoriety as an up-and-coming model made her somewhat of a celebrity at St. Mary's. All the girls wanted to be her friend, but Asia was very particular about who she kept around her, handpicking a select few of the girls from the most elite families as her entourage and this is what made her friendship with Vickie and Jean so peculiar. They had nothing in common, expect the fact that they went to the same school, yet the three of them seemed to have forged some type of bond. Persia's beef was with Vickie and Jean, not Asia, but if she felt like she needed to involve herself, she could get it too.

Sister Barbra, the gym teacher, had them line up into teams for volleyball. Persia hated volleyball days. The sport was popular at the school, because they had a pretty good team, but Persia didn't care for it. As a kid, Persia played volleyball every summer at camp, primarily because her mother forced her to. She wanted Persia to fit in with their new class of neighbors, so she made her do whatever the other kids were doing. She actually got pretty good at it, but over time she had lost interest in it. Now that she was older Persia wasn't into it or anything else that involved sweating, unless it was sex. Still, she had to participate because she needed the credit she'd get from the class to receive her diploma.

Vickie and Jean hung close to Asia to make sure they ended up on the same team, while Persia just kind of floated, until Sister Barbara forced her on to a team, which happened to be the one opposite the other girls. Persia played the background, while the first girl on their team took her turn serving. They would each have a turn, and Persia couldn't wait for hers. She grilled Vickie from the other side of the fence. She was trying to get into her head and it was working. Vickie missed two easy balls that had come her way, drawing flack from Asia and her other teammates.

Finally, it was Persia's turn to serve the ball. She ignored the girl who was lined up directly opposite and kept her eyes on Vickie, while she took her spot, rolling the ball over in her hand. Vickie tried to return her stare, but her heart wasn't in it. When Sister Barbara signaled for them to begin, Persia tossed the ball into the air. When she leapt to meet it, she was as graceful as a gazelle, but the force of her serve was like a gorilla. Persia's fist struck the ball and sent it streaking directly toward Vickie. It happened so quickly that she didn't even have a chance to cover her face as the ball made impact with her nose. Vickie went down in a heap, crying and bleeding all over the gymnasium floor. Persia smirked, thinking about how all those summers of being forced to play volleyball had finally come in handy.

“My nose, she broke my nose,” Vickie sobbed, holding her hand over her nose, trying to stop the bleeding.

“Are you okay?” Sister Barbara knelt beside Vickie. “Somebody get some towels!” Two girls ran off to get some towels while Sister Barbara attended to Vickie.

“Oh my God, I'm so sorry,” Persia said, sounding less than sincere.

“You did that on purpose, bitch!” Vickie snapped.

“Nonsense, it was an accident. I always tell you girls to stay alert when we're on the court, and things like this are the reason why.” Sister Barbara helped Vickie to her feet. “Go down to the nurse and get some ice on that nose before it swells.”

Sister Barbara had one of the girls who had gone to get the towels help Vickie to the nurse's office.

Persia stood there, watching Vickie drip a trail of blood in her wake as she was escorted out of the gymnasium. “That's for Sarah, bitch,” Persia mumbled. She looked to the other side of the volleyball net, where Asia and Jean were standing. Jean was furious to the point where she took a step toward Persia, but Asia held her back. She whispered something in Jean's ear that seemed to calm her down, but the girl still looked furious.

The accident put an end to the volleyball game and Sister Barbara had the girls run laps for the rest of the period. Persia didn't mind. It was a small price to pay for being able to pay Vickie back for what she had done to Sarah. As they did their laps, Persia noticed Asia speaking in hushed tones to a girl named Claire, who was a notorious gossip. Every so often they would look back at her then return to their whispering. Persia knew there would be retaliation for what she had done to Vickie, but she was more than ready for it. She had been having a rough day and needed to relieve some stress. Whipping a bitch's ass seemed like the perfect way to do it.