A LaLa Land Addiction (10 page)

“I love you so much,” he groaned in her ear, but instead of the words warming her, they sent a frigid shiver down her spine. Bleu could differentiate truth from lies and nothing he told her anymore resonated genuinely with her. Not anymore. He had told a lie so damaging that it made her question everything that came out of his mouth afterward. She wanted to believe him, but she couldn't. No matter how good he made her feel, he had chosen someone else. He left her spent. Every part of her body was sensitive to the touch. She was naked as a newborn baby, but it wasn't her body that she wished she could cover. It was her soul. She wished she could rewind time and erase him from her life. If she had never allowed him access to her, he would have never been able to disappoint her. Her expectation of him had exceeded the reality of him. She sat up and Iman stood between her legs as she leaned her head into his chest.

“Look at me, ma,” he said.

She did and he was disheartened by the change he saw in her eyes. “I love you,” Iman stated. She was grateful for the sound of his ringing cell phone. She didn't know how to respond to his declarations of the heart. She hated him, but she loved him enough to want to stay here, knowing she wasn't a priority. It didn't make sense. She didn't even begin to know how to explain these things to him. So as he picked his phone out of the pocket of his pants she was grateful for the interruption. He looked at the screen and then silenced it.

“It's her, isn't it?” Bleu asked, crushed.

“You can stay here,” Iman said, ignoring her question.

“But you have to go,” Bleu finished for him. “Right?”

“I'll be back for you. Just stay here. I'll set you up. You can furnish it, decorate however you want.”

“What about money?” Bleu asked, and he froze. He couldn't hit her off with a pocketful of cash. It would be too hard for her. It would be temptation at its finest and Iman feared that she would fall back into the trenches of her addiction. She noticed his hesitation. “I'm not going to get high. I have to eat. I need clothes.”

He sighed, unsure of how to play this. Iman wasn't naïve. He couldn't trust Bleu. Just a week ago he had barely made it in time to stop her from smoking a straight shooter. He knew what would happen if he put cold, hard cash in her hand. She would try hard to stay clean, but eventually she would give in to the devil's smoke. Iman finished dressing and then pulled an American Express card out of his wallet. “Whatever you need, just charge it on my account. I'll call and have you added to it.”

Bleu drew her lips into a flat smile, but she took the card, knowing she would need it. “Fine,” she said.

Iman twisted the key off his ring and placed it in her palm. He balled up her fist and kissed it. “I'll check in with you later, a'ight?”

Bleu nodded as she watched him walk out of the door. She shook her head as she realized what she had just agreed to. She had become Iman's mistress and the sad part was that she would rather accept that than lose him altogether.

 

9

Noah rode through the city, his city, sitting safely behind the tint of his luxury truck as he headed to meet Messiah. He didn't know much about him. Only that he got money on the city's south side. The fact that Khadafi had vouched for him gave Noah reassurance, but trust was earned. It would take more than the words of a third party for Noah to feel at ease. Time and consistent loyalty would prove whether or not Khadafi was right about Messiah. Too many niggas claimed friendships too quickly nowadays. Yeah, Messiah had let his cannon bark in the club on Noah's behalf, but Noah wasn't naïve. Messiah would have to prove loyalty to gain Noah's trust before knocking off his mark as well. Real men moved in silence and Noah didn't want to be caught lacking by calling Messiah a friend too quickly. He pulled into the car wash that Messiah owned and rolled down his window. It was a known hangout spot for made men around the city. When the wife was on your neck at home, you came to the wash. When you wanted to politic with other players in the city, you came to the wash. When you wanted to find out information, you came to the wash. Even if you wanted to dabble in a new flavor of pussy, you came to the wash. It was low-key and the hangout spot when the sun was sitting pretty, burning up the sky. With the pretty girls in their tiny shorts and bikini tops it was a black man's Hooters. All the O.G.'s in the city hung out there.

A pretty girl with short hair and even shorter shorts opened his door for him. “Hi, handsome. What can I get for you?”

Before he could respond Messiah came walking out of the office. “His money is no good here. Hook him up. Detail the inside and out,” Messiah instructed as he slapped hands with Noah.

“Is that all you need hooked up?” the girl asked flirtatiously as she bit her perfectly painted bottom lip. She wore red, the devil's color, and the look in her eyes let Noah know she was game for anything.

He scoffed. Thirsty women weren't his type, so he declined. “I'm good.” He pulled a knotful of hundred-dollar bills out of his pocket and handed one to her. “Go buy yourself some class, shorty.”

The girl sucked her teeth and snatched the money from his hands before taking his car to be cleaned.

“You selling pussy now, my g?” Noah asked with a chuckle as he followed Messiah into the office.

Messiah laughed. “These hoes in here selling themselves, man. I just hire the pretty faces with the fat asses. What they do on the side is their business,” he said honestly.

“I've got some news for you, though, fam. The nigga I laid flat in the club last night was from the south side. You know a nigga named Keon?” Messiah asked.

The name registered with Noah. He would never forget the name of the first man he had killed. Bleu's face popped into his mind. He had done it all for her and would do it again in a heartbeat. “Yeah, I blew the nigga head off,” Noah said frankly as he stared Messiah in the eyes without apology. Noah wanted Messiah to know that he would put his murder game down whenever necessary.

Messiah smirked. “We about to be legends in these streets, my g,” Messiah said. “Follow me.”

He unlocked a steel door that led to the basement and Noah followed him down the stairs. A single lightbulb barely lit up the underground space, but Noah saw the outline of a body hanging from the ceiling.

“My man that I left slumped in the club was Keon's cousin. Apparently his people got a beef with you. I don't know how they know it was you behind the trigger, but it's a problem. Homeboy here is Keon's little brother,” Messiah said. “I thought you would want to have a talk with him.”

“Who saw him come down?” Noah asked.

“Not a soul. He been down here since last night,” Messiah said smugly. “The basement is soundproof.”

Noah pulled the tape from the boy's mouth. “What's your name, little nigga?”

“DeMario,” the boy replied.

“How old are you?” Noah questioned.

“Fourteen.”

Noah could tell the kid was trying to be tough, but his voice betrayed him. It shook at the thought of death. Messiah had already gone to work on the kid. He was bloodied and beaten. Noah could smell the scent of piss in the air from where the kid had emptied himself. Fourteen years on the streets of Flint were different from the life a normal kid lived. Noah knew that this type of warfare came with the game. It was the mentality that crippled his city. A life for a life. Age didn't beget sympathy in the hood because there was no finger too young to pull a trigger.

He turned to Messiah. “Close the car wash. Clear this bitch out,” Noah said.

Messiah nodded and then headed up the steps.

“Please, man, don't kill me,” the kid said. There was fear in his eyes. Noah knew that it was necessary for the streets to fear him, but the look of dread in this boy's eyes made Noah feel like a monster.

“You know who I am?” Noah asked.

The kid nodded his head. “You killed my brother.”

“Who told you that?” Noah asked.

“Keon's baby mom,” the kid said. “Keon told her he was meeting up with you. Next thing you know he ends up dead and his stash was gone—Man, I don't got no beef with you. Please, man, I swear I won't say shit, man.”

“Who tried to clip me in the club last night?” Noah asked. His voice was stoic.

“I don't know. I'm not in the streets, man. I just hoop. I play ball at Southwestern. I don't be on the block like that. That's my brother, man. I don't have nothing to do with that!” the boy shouted. He was crying now, like the kid he was; he was terrified.

“Your brother who?” Noah asked.

The kid's lip trembled as he stifled his cries. “It's my brother, man,” he said, pleading because he realized he was being asked to sell his own flesh and blood out.

“Your brother sent somebody to blow my head off last night. I'ma off that nigga on switch. You can die quickly or I got all day. Choice is yours, kid. Now I'ma ask you again. Who is your brother?” Noah asked.

With tears streaming down his face the kid broke down. He was blubbering, but it was clear that he wouldn't tell on his family. Noah respected it, but he didn't show it. If the kid wanted to let his pride lead him to the grave then who was Noah to stop him? Noah looked at the torturous instruments that Messiah had already laid out for him. He picked up the hunters knife and walked over to the boy and placed it against his pinky finger. “His name or your finger, which one it gone be, lil' nigga?” Noah asked.

The kid played tough until Noah began to apply pressure to one of his digits. The first sign of blood made him yell out, “Demarcus, man! His name is Demarcus!”

Noah placed the tape back over the kid's mouth. He didn't want to hear the screams to come. The kid broke down. He was crying like a newborn baby as he realized the Grim Reaper was standing in front of him. Bile filled the back of Noah's throat and his stomach felt hollow because he knew that he was about to do one more thing that moved him further away from God. Murder wasn't something he could take back. He knew that with each life he took his soul darkened more and more. It was the price to pay for street fame. On the rise to the top, the bodies of his enemies would be left in his wake.

Messiah came down the stairs with plastic tarp and duct tape in hand.

“We don't need that,” Noah said.

“Fuck you mean?” Messiah asked.

“Sometimes you got to fight hate with love,” Noah said.

“Love? You gone show love to this nigga family? These the same mu'fuckas that tried to murk you. You've got to make the city fear you, my G.”

“Nah, I got to make the city love. A scared nigga will kill you, but a nigga who got love for you will kill over you,” Noah said, hoping he wasn't making the mistake that would cost him his life.

*   *   *

“You sure about this?” Messiah asked as he pulled up to the small one-story house on the south side of Flint.

“We playing by new rules. No women, no kids, no innocents. I'm with the gangster shit, but it's time to end the nonsense. This little nigga ain't in the game. You snatched him off the hoop court. If he not a part of this life he shouldn't die behind this life,” Noah said sincerely.

“That's some real shit,” Messiah said as he palmed the gun that sat in plain view on his lap. “It's your move. I got the back. I got the goons behind us in case his people want a problem.”

Noah climbed out of the car and pulled his chrome 9mm from his waist before popping the trunk. He looked behind him and saw the two cars that parked behind him. All it took was a head nod for bullets to fly. With Messiah as his right hand, he acquired an army by default. He was a street king with an army of killers.

He pulled the kid from the trunk and walked him toward the porch. The kid tripped up the steps he was so nervous.

“Relax, homie,” Noah said. He knocked on the door hard, and a short fair-skinned woman with silver hair answered.

“Oh my Lord,” the woman said with a gasp as she covered her mouth.

“I have something that belongs to you,” Noah said as he pushed the kid toward her.

She opened the screen door and hurriedly ushered him inside. “I mean no disrespect by coming here, ma'am, but I've got a message for your grandson Demarcus. You tell him that I don't want no smoke.”

The woman's eyes watered as she nodded her head in understanding before she slammed the door closed in haste.

Noah turned around and headed back to the truck as Messiah followed. They got inside and pulled off with a caravan of shooters trailing behind them.

“Fuck was that, bruh? You know we got to find this nigga now,” Messiah said.

“It's already taken care of,” Noah replied knowingly. “I got somebody on it as we speak.”

“I'm lost, fam; I can't even lie. It would have been easier to put two in that little nigga head you just let go. Send a message to anybody else out here thinking shit sweet,” Messiah said.

“That message would have cost me my freedom. I've been on the inside. I ain't trying to go back. You kill a fourteen-year-old hoop star the police gone be on us. He go missing for too long and Granny back there calls the cops. The kid is innocent. He don't got nothing to do with this. I dropped him off and declared peace so when his brother turns up missing no fingers will be pointed my way. The next relative I send home will be in a coroner's bag, but we got to do it right,” Noah said. “Snatching homie in broad day light isn't how I play. No slipups, no mistakes, no witnesses. It's being taken care of as we speak.”

*   *   *

“Penny for your thoughts?” Naomi asked as she slid onto the barstool next to a man who sat, head lowered over the glass of cognac he swirled in his hands.

“No thoughts. I'm just chilling,” the guy said as he lifted the glass to his weed-darkened lips, finishing the liquid. He motioned for the bartender and said, “Another one.” He turned to Naomi. “And whatever she's drinking.”