Eve (10 page)

“What up, Eve?” Rhonda asked in her squeaky voice.

“Nothing much.” Eve smiled, “just glad to be home.”

“I know that's right. I did time before and it wasn't nothing nice.”

“Bitch, please,” Cassidy said, putting the car in gear, “spending the weekened in jail does not count as doing time.”

“Two days or two years, it's all time,” Rhonda said, trying to add merit to her imprisonment.

“Anyway,” Cassidy said, rolling her eyes.

“You ready to get your swerve on, Eve?” Rhonda asked.

“I don't know about no swerving,” Eve said, looking out the window at the passing sights, “but I could use a good time.”

“You could use a good dick.” Cassidy snickered.

“Fuck you,” Eve said, sticking her middle finger up playfully. “I ain't no hoe, like you.”

“There you go, getting me confused. See,” Cassidy said, stopping for a red light, “I ain't no hoe. I'm a woman who enjoys life's simple pleasures. I gets mine, that's without a doubt, but its only because I believe in keeping my pussy from rusting. A bitch like you probably got cobwebs on ya shit.”

“You wish.” Eve chuckled.

“I know you, baby girl. Your pussy ain't never had a good workout. Then again, I might be wrong. I heard them bitches in jail get real freaky. One of them turn you out, boo?”

“I don't think so. I might be rough, but I ain't a vegetarian. Every girl needs a lil meat in her diet,” Eve said, giving Rhonda a high five.

“I should hope so,” Cassidy said, moving through the green light, “cause ya man is gonna be there tonight. You need to stop playing and give him some.”

“Here we go again.” Eve sighed. “First of all, Felon ain't my man. Second of all, I'll hold on to
my
virginity until
I'm
ready to let it go.”

“Eve, you're still a virgin?” Rhonda asked, covering her mouth in shock.

“You say it like it's a bad thing,” Eve said, turning to face Rhonda.

“I'm not saying that. It's just…strange,” Rhonda said, trying to clean it up.

“Eve is saving herself,” Cassidy added. “She's waiting for some square-ass nigga to come riding in on a white horse and sweep her off her feet. Yeah, right!”

“Cassidy, you always gotta amp some shit.” Eve rolled her eyes. “I didn't say all that. I'm just waiting.”

“For what?”

Eve didn't have an answer for the question. People would often tease her about not liking guys. Some would even go as far as speculating about her sexual orientation. Eve was totally heterosexual, but she wasn't as open about men as her friends were. For as hard as she was on the outside, she was totally sheepish when it came to the opposite sex. She was almost eighteen and could count on one hand how many times she had even kissed a guy. She just wasn't as caught up in them as most girls her age. Eve wasn't saving herself for marriage or anything like that, she was just waiting for the right guy to come along.

Felon sat in the booth, sipping a glass of Moet nectar. The club was slowly but surely filling up. Felon detested crowds. If you had more than five or six people in a room at one time, he was on edge. That's why he chose to stay in the booth. From where he was sitting, he could see the whole dance floor and the bar. He made it a point to never be in a position where someone could get the drop on him.

There were plenty of players from all over New York in the house. Some he was cool with, some he wasn't. He greeted his associates, and kept a watchful eye on his rivals. They noticed Felon sitting there, alone, but no one dared try anything. Even if they did, he wasn't worried about it. The .38 strapped to his ankle would've squashed any confrontation before it got out of hand.

A shadow loomed over Felon. “Buy a taste for an old project nigga?”

Felon had his pistol halfway drawn when he noticed who the voice belonged to. Bullet stood over him dressed in a black turtleneck and black jeans. His leather peacoat was totally buttoned, with the exception of the bottom three. This made it easier for him to draw whatever he was carrying, a trick that he had passed onto Felon early in the game.

Just seeing his elder brought back memories of days long gone. They had been cool for years. Felon was robbing cats before hooking up with Bullet, but he was the one who taught him how to do it the right way. Sitting in a staircase or a car, scoping out a vic. The stale smell of tobacco on Bullet's breath as he whispered for the youngster not to blow the element of surprise. They had pulled quite a few capers together.

“What's good, nigga? You almost got popped creeping on me like that,” Felon joked.

“Yeah, but all you would've done was knock the wind outta me wit that punk-ass thirty-eight,” Bullet tapped his knuckles against his Teflon breastplate.

“Sit your know-it-all ass down.” Felon used his foot and slid a chair out for Bullet. The robber baron oozed into the chair and angled it so he could see all around him. “I know you ain't in here plotting,” Felon continued.

“Nah, I just stepped out for a drink.” Bullet smiled.

“Bullshit. Bullet, Eve is out on parole. Don't start that shit with her up in here.”

“Come on, nigga. You know I love Eve same as you do. Well, maybe not the same.” Bullet raised an eyebrow. “Point is, I'm not in here casing the joint. On another note, how's the new gig treating you?”

“I can't complain.”

“I hear that. I see you shining and all,” Bullet motioned toward Felon's chain.

“I like to throw it on every now and again.” Felon adjusted the piece.

The conversation was momentarily paused when the waitress approached their table. From the wooden tray she was carrying she produced two shots of Henny. She placed one in front of Bullet and the other in front of Felon. She smiled briefly and sauntered back into the crowd. Felon looked at Bullet quizzically, but Bullet just winked.

“Can you still hold yak, or has that fancy living killed your taste for anything except champagne?” Bullet teased.

“A'int nothing changed but the decimal point.” Felon slid the glass closer to himself.

“Road to the riches and all that. I can dig it. I still get mine the old fashion way, knocking niggaz over the head. You ain't too far gone from the game to remember what that feels like, right?”

“Yeah, I remember. Hiding in corners, laying on a vic. Those was the days man, but they're giving out too much job for that snatch-and-grab shit. I'm good with that old thug-ass shit.”

“You need to hear yaself, kid,” Bullet chuckled. “You getting paper, and I ain't mad at you, but you've become the same kinda nigga we used to scheme on.”

Felon had never really thought about it like that. When he and Bullet were getting down, they made it a point never to rob civilians. Stores and gas stations didn't count, but when they were plotting on individuals, they were usually drug dealers and underworld players. They figured that they were doing the community a service by relieving the parasites of their goods. Not only that, they were more lucrative heists.

“So, what you trying to tell me? Because I'm holding a lil weight, I'm fair game?” asked Felon, keeping his eyes on Bullet. They had been friends once, but time and envy could be a corrupter.

“Easy, chief.” Bullet placed his hands on the table. “Anybody lift your goods, it won't be me. And if I catch em, I'll make em sorry they ever fucked with a friend of mine.”

“Glad to know I'm still considered a friend and not a turncoat.”

“Felon, I don't care what you do for your bread, we always gonna be cool. I can't say that I don't miss you at my side.”

“I wish I could say that I'm tempted by the offer, but you could always see through my lies.” Felon shrugged.

“Yeah, I guess everybody ain't meant to go down in history.”

“Fuck history, my dude. I'm trying to secure my future.” Felon laughed. “Man, fuck the dumb shit. Why don't you hang out for a minute? Eve and the girls should be here soon.”

“Nah, I got some people to see. I just wanted to have a drink wit my nigga and see how you been.”

“That's love, fam. Let's toast.” Felon raised his shot. “To friendship!”

“And long paper,” Bullet added.

The two men touched glasses and downed the liquid fire. Felon reiterated his invitation for Bullet to hang, but he declined a second time. After shaking hands and promising to stay in touch, Felon watched Bullet get up and blend into the crowd. He wondered who had been unlucky enough to garner the burglar's attention for the evening.

“What up, Felon?” a voice called out from his left. Felon glanced over casually as a Puerto Rican girl came into view. “Long time, huh?”

Felon gave her a half smile and nodded. He ran her face through his mental Rolodex and tried to pull up her file. Shorty “had that.” She was tall and shapely, with a rose tattooed over her left breast. He knew her face but couldn't remember her name. Her brown eyes drank him in as she invited herself to seat.

“You don't remember me, do you?” she asked seductively. Felon didn't respond; he just continued to stare. “Well, let me refresh your memory.” She slid her tongue out of her mouth and wagged it at him. When she fully extended it, it easily touched her chin.

“Oh, shit. What up, Carmen?” Felon said, remembering the wild night he had with her. Felon had met Carmen at an after-hours spot. Knowing who he was, she immediately jumped on his dick. Later that night, he took her to a hotel and gave her a shot. Her sex was all that, and her head game almost made him lose his cool. As she deep-throated him, she stretched her tongue under his balls and nearly to his ass. Shorty was a major freak.

“I should punch you,” she said playfully. “How you gonna forget my name?”

“I could never forget your name, ma,” he lied. “I'm just a lil high.”

“Umm hmm,” she said, suspiciously. “So, what you doing up in here? I thought you didn't do the club thing.”

“I don't. I just felt like stepping out tonight. Ain't about nothing.”

“You're looking good, baby,” she said, looking him up and down.

“You ain't looking too bad either,” he said, returning her stare.

“You in here by yourself?”

“Nah, me and Butter rolled together.”

“That's what's up,” she said, anticipating Felon inside her again. “I'm here with my girl, Cee-Cee. Maybe we can all get something to eat later.”

“Anything is possible.”

“What up, my nigga?” a feminine voice called. Felon knew who it was without even looking. Cassidy appeared from the crowd, with Rhonda and Eve in tow. When he looked up at Eve, he could've sworn he saw anger in her eyes. When she peeped him looking, she straightened her face. Interesting.

“What's up, ladies?” Felon said with an innocent smile.

“Chilling. Who's your friend?” Cassidy looked Carmen up and down.

“Oh,” Felon said, as if he had forgotten about his uninvited guest, “this is Carmen. Carmen, this is Cassidy, Rhonda, and Eve.”

“What's up?” Carmen said in a very uninterested tone. “Felon.” she turned her attention back to him. “I'm about to go find Cee-Cee. I'll see you later?”

“We'll see,” he said, cutting his eyes at Eve.

Carmen didn't miss the look. It pissed her off, but she didn't comment on it. She looked at Eve and walked off. Had it been anyone else, Carmen might've popped a little shit, but she knew better. Though she wasn't from Harlem, she knew what was up with Twenty-Gang.

“Felon,” Cassidy said, sliding into the booth on his right side, “I don't know why you fuck with these lil nasty bitches.”

“Cassidy, you don't even know her. How do you know she's nasty?” he protested.

“She just looks nasty.” Eve tried to slide into the booth next to Cassidy, but she stopped her short. “Hold up, Eve. Rhonda, come sit by me, so we can smoke this blunt. Eve, you sit on the other side of Felon.”

Eve shot Cassidy a look and reluctantly went to sit on the other side. She slid into the booth, but didn't acknowledge him. She thought about him with the freaked-out Puerto Rican and gritted her teeth. Eve didn't know if she was tight because Felon had been all up in the girl's face, or the fact that she was even letting it bother her. She had to shake it off and stay focused. There was too much to be done for her to be stunting who Felon was fucking.

“What y'all drinking?” Felon asked, in a lazy tone.

“You know I'm a classy chick, so don't order me nothing hard,” Cassidy warned. “I'll take a glass of white zinf, for the moment.”

“I'll take a whiskey sour,” Rhonda added.

“You can get me—,” Eve began.

“Nah.” He cut her off. “Just come with me. I can't carry everything by myself.”

Eve slid out of the booth and stepped to the side to wait for Felon. He eased out behind her, still holding his glass of Mo. Eve took in the measure of his mode for the evening. She nodded her head in silent approval of his outfit. She had never really seen Felon dressed up. Back when they used to hit local spots, his idea of dressed was a sweater and some jeans. Things had changed some since she went away.

Felon didn't catch Eve's appraisal, but Cassidy did. She peeped her girl giving the new money man the once-over. She winked at Eve when they made eye contact. Eve stuck her tongue out and mouthed
nosy bitch.
Felon turned up his flute and drained the last corner of champagne. His placed the glass down and licked the remainder from his lips. Eve peeped that too.

 

Butter shook the dice in his right fist while his money flailed in his left. There were about four or five other men huddled around him. Weed smoke engulfed the bathroom, largely in part to the blunt of Sour Diesel that hung from the side of his lips. The bracelet that dangled from his wrist looked like a string of tears when the dim light bounced off it. Butter had come in the bathroom to take a leak when he discovered the dice game. Being that he was a nigga constantly chasing paper, he saw it as a come-up.

“Five to you, fam and I got ya man covered for his light-ass two,” Butter said, eyes sweeping every player. “Hold that!” Butter shot the dice across the dingy tile, skipping once before they hit the wall. The dice did their wicked dance while everyone looked on in awe. Duce was the point. “Shit!” Butter cursed. A seven-thousand-dollar two. Butter had only come into the club with about eight or nine thousand. It was still early and he hadn't even begun to do it up.

“Oh, shit!” someone shouted.

“Five hundred he duce or less,” Teddy added in. He was one of the young boys Felon had recruited. He was sixteen years old, and didn't give a fuck about too much of anything. Teddy had no home or family to speak of. All he knew was the street. Felon put him on, and he had proven a valuable asset. He was wild as hell, but Felon felt like he could help mold the youngster.

“I'll take that bet,” Spanish Carlos said, lighting a Newport.

The roller picked up the dice and went into his spiel. “You about to loose ya money, lil nigga,” Dre said, adjusting his crotch with his free hand. Dre was an old head who still fashioned himself to be hip. He was easily forty-five but tried to carry himself like he was twenty-five. He had on a pair of olive slacks and some knockoff Gucci loafers. Some of his teeth were missing, while others were rotting. Most he just covered up with gold. When he moved, his three gold chains clanged together, sounding like a ghost's rattling.

“Shoot the dice,” someone said.

Dre went into his two-step and tossed the dice with a funny twist. They danced around, like nobles at some regal event, before they finally stopped and announced the winner.

“One-hundred and twenty-third Street!”

“Fuck!” Dre shouted.

“Ante up, fellas,” Butter said, holding out his palms. Dre's partner put two thousand in his left palm and walked away, broke and sucking his teeth. Dre dropped some bills in Butter's right palm, but it felt off. After a quick scan through the bills, it only counted out to be thirty-five hundred. Butter looked at Dre as if he had asked him a strange question.

“Hey, Butter, baby. You know, I'm good for it.” Dre smiled. “I'll come through the hood tomorrow and drop the difference.”

“You didn't ace tomorrow. You aced just now,” Butter said in an easy tone. Some of the spectators had backed up a step or two, knowing Butter's reputation for violence.

“Hold on, Butter.” Dre lowered his voice a bit. “I know you ain't stunting that short change.”

“Dre.” Butter shrugged. “You lost. If I would've lost, I'd have paid you. Can I get mine?”

“Butter…man, I got my lady here wit me and…”

“I ain't tell yo to blow ya cash, fam,” Butter said, hooking his thumbs into the loop of his pants. With his jacket pushed back, the butt of a pistol was visible. “Now, I ain't got nothing to do with what got on between you and ya shorty. You play, you pay. Why we gotta do it like this?”