Animal (21 page)

“Where I’ve been is a long story; why I’m back is a shorter one.”

Kastro shrugged. “I ain’t got nowhere to be. Come on in the back. I’ll pour us a drink while you bring me up to speed. I gotta hear this one.”

TWENTY-ONE

T
WO DRINKS AND A BLUNT OF
K
USH
later, Animal had recounted the events of his life from his disappearance to the moment he showed up on Kastro’s doorstep. Kastro listened intently and watched with saddened eyes as Animal fought to keep from breaking down when he spoke of Gucci and what had befallen her. It pained her to see someone she had always known to be so strong seem so vulnerable, but she knew Animal well enough to know that it was only the calm before the storm.

“Damn, baby boy. You been through some shit these last few years, huh?” she said, pouring him another shot of cognac.

“Indeed.” He accepted the shot and downed it without flinching. “But as they say, what does not kill me will kill them.”

“I don’t think that’s quite how the saying goes,” she said.

“I know, but that’s how it’s gonna play out. The gauntlet has been laid, and I’ve already picked it up.”

Kastro studied his face. “So, you mean to say you’ve gone through all this, only to throw your life away in a battle that you don’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of winning?”

Animal pondered her question. “At this point, it ain’t about winning or losing with me, Kastro. It’s about settling the score. If I’m to die righting a wrong for someone I love, then so be it. Let the chips fall where they may. As long as I can drag a few of their souls to hell with me, it’ll be worth it. I know you of all people can understand what it feels like to have someone you love stumble into harm’s way and be powerless to do anything about it.”

The statement took Kastro to a dark place in her mind, the day she had lost her niece Mimi. Kastro had never been blessed with children of her own, but she had helped her sister raise little Mimi as if she were her own. Even when Justice came into the picture and helped her sister with some of the parental burdens, Kastro remained a fixture in Mimi’s life. Kastro was a street person and had always tried her best to steer Mimi down a different path, but the blood that pumped through the young girl’s veins drove her to the streets and footsteps of her aunts and uncles. When Kastro saw that she couldn’t sway Mimi from the streets, she figured she could at least instill the survival skills Mimi would need to have a shot at winning the game she chose to play. Mimi was a natural and quickly went from hustling under her aunt Kastro to hustling with her.

Mimi became the darling of the hood because of her unyielding loyalty and resourcefulness when it came to getting money. Mimi was a jack-of-all-trades and excelled at being a criminal. The young girl was on track to becoming a ghetto star, but fate had double-crossed her into an early grave instead. They had come for Animal, but the bullets found Mimi, and she traded her life for his. The men responsible had only lived sixty seconds longer than Mimi, but it did nothing to lift the yoke of
guilt that had been placed around Animal’s neck when Mimi closed her eyes. It was one of the darkest days in Animal’s life, and the relationship between him and Kastro had never been the same.

“You know I hated you for a long time after Mimi was killed,” Kastro admitted.

“I know,” Animal said softly, “and I can’t say that I blame you. Mimi should’ve never been there, and I should’ve died that night.”

“Mimi
shouldn’t
have been there and
wouldn’t
have been there if I had been there for her like I was supposed to. I didn’t turn her onto the streets, but I turned her out to them. It takes a village to raise a child; instead, we helped put her in the ground. The damned are we . . .”

“. . . for we are the damned and will never know peace,” Animal finished the quote. It was from the story of a fantasy author Animal had introduced Kastro to, named Kris Greene. Animal had always been big on supernatural books and eventually turned a few of his friends onto them too. “Ironic how true that rings in the real world, huh?”

“You ain’t never lied. So what now?” Kastro asked.

“I keep trying to right the wrongs I’ve caused,” Animal said standing up. He had a mean buzz going and was borderline tipsy, but it was nothing some fresh air wouldn’t clear up.

“Once The Animal has been sent for you, he doesn’t stop until he gets you.”

Kastro shook her head sadly, knowing there was no deterring her friend from the suicide mission.

“Ain’t nothing changed with me, Kastro.”

“So I see. Fuck it; if you’re gonna go on this ride to hell I
might as well keep you company.” Kastro drew her pistol. “You might’ve beat me to the punch with killing the men who murdered Mimi, but at least I can blast on a few muthafuckas in her name.”

Animal smiled. “Kastro, I’ll take your wild ass into a firefight before any ten dudes I know, but not this time. I gotta take this ride on my own, ma.”

“You would deny me a chance at glory?” Kastro’s jaw tightened. She lowered her head sadly.

Animal tenderly lifted her chin and looked her in the eyes. “I ain’t denying you glory. I’m giving you your life.”

“I know, but I just feel so helpless. I can’t sit on my hands and do nothing, not again.”

“I got a-plenty for you to do to help the war effort without getting your head blown off, baby, and you can start by giving me what I came for so I can do what I gotta do.”

“It’s like that?” Kastro surprised.

“Straight like that. Go grab my armor, ma, so I can ride on these niggaz properly.”

Kastro disappeared into a room in the back. A few minutes later she came back carrying a wooden box which she placed on the table in front of Animal. It had been several years since he’d given it to her, and his heart beat with anticipation as she undid the clamps and slid the box across the table for him to open.

Animal peeled the lid back and smiled at the contents, which were resting on a bed of soft velvet. There were two rose-tinted chrome Glocks with red grips that Animal had gotten as a birthday gift one year. He called them his Pretty Bitches and loved them dearly. He had only fired them once, and that
was when he had tracked and murdered the stepfather who had abused him and his mother when he was a kid. The next round he was saving for when he finally bumped heads with the biological father who had abandoned him without so much as a look back, but his turn on the receiving end of the Pretty Bitches would have to wait until the immediate business was handled.

The last item in the box stole Animal’s breath when he touched it. It was a link chain with a jeweled figurine hanging from the end of it. It was his namesake and favorite character, Animal. The fourteen karat gold and diamond piece was the first custom chain he’d ever bought himself. When he got his weight up he retired the smaller chain for the gaudy Animal bust that had become his calling card, but he had always kept the original chain. It represented an era in his life when he was young, hungry, and dangerous, and it was about time he got back to that.

“Ain’t you gonna try it on?” Kastro snapped him out of his zone.

Animal lifted the chain and hesitated. Staring at the little Muppet swinging back and forth taunted him to take the next step. Animal slipped the chain around his neck and a chill swept through him when its coolness touched his skin. It was heavier than he remembered, but then again, so were the burdens he was carrying. He smoothed the chain out over his chest, and for a few fleeting seconds, all was right with the world.

Kastro smiled. “Now,
that’s
the Animal I know.”

“Feels good.” Animal adjusted the chain. “Real good. They niggaz ain’t gonna see me coming.”

“They will unless you do something about this.” Kastro ran
her fingers through his tangled hair. “Baby boy, it’s a crying shame how you’re letting this beautiful hair go to shit.”

“I ain’t had too much time for grooming, Kastro.”

“Obviously,” she snickered. “Grab them scissors, comb, and hair grease off that cabinet over there.” She nodded toward a rickety dresser in the corner.

“Kastro, you’re outta your rabid-ass mind if you think I’m cutting my hair.” Like Samson, he believed his strength came from his hair.

“Tayshawn, I would never disrespect you like that. Just bring me the stuff and let me take care of this,” Kastro ordered him.

She gave Animal’s hair a good washing before greasing and combing it. When she was done, it was a bit shorter because she had to cut out some of the knots, but when it was done, she had restored it to the rich, beautiful black mop that had made all the ladies fall in love with Animal, including her. With a proud smile, she handed Animal a mirror to admire her handiwork.

“Ain’t seen that dude in a while.” Animal spoke of his reflection in the mirror.

Kastro stood behind him, placing her chin on his shoulder. She looked at their cheek to cheek reflection and smiled. “Glad to have you back.” She kissed him on the cheek. Then Kastro turned Animal around to face her. She zipped up his hoodie for him as if he were a child and brushed his shoulders off. As a parting gift, she kissed Animal on his forehead. “Go out into those streets and remind them who you are, Animal. Show them that real niggaz don’t die.”

TWENTY-TWO

“
Real Niggaz Don’t Die,
”
PUMPED FROM THE
iPod mounted on the pink dock in Frankie’s bathroom while she mouthed the words without missing a beat. She loved N.W.A., and the song was one of her favorites to bump when she was
feeling herself,
and that night she was in rare form. Her last few nights on the town had been about business, but this night it would be just her and her girls having a good time.

Frankie was just applying the finishing touches to her hair when she heard a knock at her door. She removed the towel that she had wrapped around her shoulders to keep from getting makeup on her white shirt and used it to wipe the excess oil sheen off her hands before heading for the door. It seemed like the closer she got to the door the more intense the knocking grew.

“Hold on, damn it!” Frankie shouted down the hall. She crossed the living room fuming as the knocking increased. She snatched the door open, lips pursed to go off, and saw Dena on the other side. Though Frankie was now holding the door open, Dena was still knocking on it, smiling mischievously.

“You’re such an ass,” Frankie laughed, and stepped back for Dena to enter.

“Takes one to know one,” Dena capped as she passed her.

“Somebody is stepping out ready to play.” Frankie admired Dena’s outfit. She was wearing a blue sweater dress with white Go-Go boots and big plastic white earrings. She’d even ratted her hair to a high puff to kick off the retro look.

“This ain’t about nothing. I’ve had this outfit for a while, but I just haven’t had a reason to wear it.” Dena tugged at the dress. “I see you ain’t pulling a lot of punches tonight either.” She checked out Frankie’s outfit, consisting of a fitted white blouse, skintight black jeans, and a cute purple peep-toe heel. She had done her eyes in shades of purple and white to match the blazer she’d laid across the couch to go with the outfit.

“Porsha is my girl, but we ain’t seen each other in a hot minute. I can’t show up having her think I fell off,” Frankie explained.

“Wow, this Porsha chick must be something else if Ms. I-don’t-give-a-fuck is going out of her way to get all dolled up to see her,” Dena said sarcastically.

“Stop it, five.” Frankie raised her hand. “It ain’t even that type of party with me and Porsha. We like sisters; that’s my dawg.” Frankie patted her chest for emphasis.

“Damn, I was just playing with you, Frankie. Let me find out.” Dena looked at her suspiciously.

“Whatever, heifer.” Frankie rolled her eyes. “Why don’t you twist something up while I finish getting ready?”

“And who says I’m holding?” Dena asked.

“I say, that’s who. I saw you when you met Rasta on the corner.” Frankie laughed.

“Nosey bitch,” Dena said, pulling a bag of weed from her purse and a Dutch. “But on some G shit, what’s up with ya peoples that we about to get up with? You know I’m funny about allowing new people in my circle, Frankie, especially them stuck-up Harlem bitches, no offense.”

“
Harlem on the rise and you don’t want no problems with us guys,
” Frankie sang. “Nah, but on the real, Porsha is good peoples. You know I wouldn’t have you around anybody that wasn’t good peoples.”

“And how do I know that when this will be my first time ever meeting anybody from your past?” Dena questioned.

Frankie looked at Dena and frowned. “You say it like you’re the new thing about to get introduced to the new boo. It ain’t that serious, ma.”

“
Us
or
this
?” Dena shot back.

“Neither, Dena. We’re having a girls’ night out with an old friend. It ain’t too much more to it,” Frankie said coolly.

“If you say so,” Dena said.

Frankie didn’t like the way Dena said it. She had noticed that since they had been kicking it a little more frequently Dena had showed signs of possessiveness. Frankie enjoyed her romps with Dena because she gave her something she was hard-pressed to find in guys, compassion, but that was about as deep as the rabbit hole went. Frankie dabbled in pussy soup, but she wouldn’t have called herself a lesbian. More like lost in translation and trying to make sense of it all. Dena had designs on what she wanted to do with her future, which was commendable, but Frankie wasn’t thinking that far ahead. She was just worried about getting through one day to the next and letting everything else fall into place.

“So where are we going to hang out,
Harlem
?” Dena asked with a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

“Actually, Porsha is coming to
Brooklyn
. We’re meeting downtown at BBQ’s, smart-ass.” Frankie checked her. Finally tiring of Dena’s shit she decided to check her. “Yo, you’ve been talking real sideways since you walked in here. What’s good with you tonight?”