Eve (15 page)

“Nothing much. Just taking it light.”

“Joe-Joe, I ain't flew here, I grew here. I ain't never been no fool,” he told her. “You ain't been home forty-eight hours and you hardly been here.”

“Come on, Uncle Bobby. I'm just trying to readjust to society,” she whined.

“That's bullshit and you know it, girl. Evelyn, I might not have no legs, but my eyes and ears work just fine. When you got out of lockup, you didn't have a pot to piss in, now you're shopping and carrying on to all hours of the night. Don't let one of them slick-talking niggers get you into some shit you can't get out of.”

“You know me better than that,” she responded.

“Indeed I do. That's how I know you ain't up to no good out there.”

“Listen, a few of the home boys scraped some money up and gave it to me as a welcome-home present,” she half lied.

“I'll just bet,” he said, examining her. “And what did you have to do for that money?”

“Not a damn thing. I ain't no hoe,” she said defensively.

“You watch your mouth and I never said you was no hoe. I just know that something don't come for nothing. Whatever you're up to, don't be no fool.”

“Never that. I got too much up here,” she said, pointing at her head, “to go out like a sucker.”

“I sure hope so. Freedom is a precious thing, Evelyn. If your time away ain't taught you nothing else, it should've taught you that.”

Bobby and Eve talked for a while longer before he excused her to her room. Uncle Bobby might've been getting on in years, but he was still sharp as ever. She respected his concern for her, but really didn't have time for the sermons. It was a cold world, this she could testify to firsthand. People who waited around for it to come to them were destined to starve. Eve knew that if you wanted something in life, you had to go out and take it.

Carlo was a man who liked the finer things in life. Fine clothes, fine women, and fine furnishings. The luxurious apartment he owned on Central Park West was among the finest the city had to offer. The walls of the sunk-in living room were painted an eggshell white. The plush green carpet was so thick that you could pitch a quarter into it and have a hard time finding it. The four-piece sectional, imported straight from Palermo, was decorated in swirling green and gold patterns. Along shelves and on mantles were pictures of prestigious-looking Italians, and in the center, Carlo held court.

“Gentlemen, it's about to snow in Harlem.” Carlo smiled, letting the weed smoke seep out through his mouth and nose. With his blue eyes shining through the mist, Carlo looked almost demonic. He knew that the strange color of his eyes made men uncomfortable, and he played on that for effect. It was a tactic his father had taught him early in the game. Present with him were his two capos.

Tony was a short man who was shaped something like a soccer ball. He had wavy brown hair that he always wore slicked to his head like an old-world gangster. Franko and Tony's father had done business together back in the days, so the boys spent a lot of time together growing up. Carlo trusted him as if he was his own blood.

Salvatore actually was his blood. He was his first cousin, on his mother's side. Unlike Carlo, Sal had been born in Sicily. He had just finished high school and was allowed to finish his studies in America. Uncle Franko had promised to look after the boy, so he allowed Carlo to give him a job. He was eighteen and dangerous.

“You think them niggers are gonna pull it off, C?” Tony asked.

“That kid Felon has got a head for numbers. Then when you add that fucking pit bull he runs with,
minga!
They'll pull it off.”

“I don't get it,” Sal said in a heavy accent, “why you do business with these guys? In Sicily, they're servants, mistresses. Here, you do business with them?”

“This is the land of opportunity, cousin,” Carlo said with a casual smile. “You gotta see past the color lines to make the big bucks. These kids are from the streets, so this shit is already in em. We're just giving them something to work with. This thing goes off like we expect it to, we'll all be able to get a nice taste. Fuck these few blocks we're holding, we could take over the whole borough.”

“Why not the city?” Tony added.

“That's what I'm talking about.” Carlo patted him on the shoulder. “Wishful thinking. Trust me on this one, guys.” Carlo's phone ringing interrupted their conversation. He listened for a second, then covered the receiver. “Listen guys, I gotta take this. I'll get with you later on.”

 

“Thank you for the flowers,” Cassidy said, cradling her phone. “And the tennis bracelet was beautiful.”

“You don't have to thank me, Cassidy. Someone like you should always be surrounded by beautiful things.” Carlo was always slick with his words. “You really wanna thank me, then accept my dinner invitation.”

“I don't really know you to be alone with you,” she said, toying. “I mean, for all I know you could be some kind of sicko.”

“Cut it out, Cassidy. You know I ain't no kind of monster. I'll tell you what, we can do it at a restaurant of your choosing. That way they'll be plenty of people around.”

“Sounds fair, I guess.”

“So, I'll come through your block at about…seven-thirty. How's that?”

“No, don't come through here,” she blurted out a little too quickly. “I'll meet you somewhere.”

“What, your man gonna spot us?” Carlo asked suspiciously.

“Nah, I told you I ain't got no man,” Cassidy insisted, going back to her “in control” tone, “I just don't want these niggaz around here all in my business. I'll meet you in front of White Castle on a Hundred and Twenty-fifth. You know where that is?”

“Of course I do.”

“Good. How's Amy Ruth's sound to you?”

“I've never been there,” he admitted.

“All right, then that's where we'll go. I'll see you later, Cassidy.”

“Later, Carlo.” Cassidy disconnected the call and immediately headed for her closet. She had chosen Amy Ruth's because it was reasonably priced. Not that she gave a damn about what he had to come out of his pocket with; it was all just a part of her G. She would have Carlo believing that she was a humble girl just out to find a good man to take care of her. He'd fall for it and she'd be getting hit with paper from time to time. This was all just a preliminary to the big show.

 

Keisha lay flat on her stomach, propped up on her elbows. The full length gray fur was hiked up just a little bit in the back, exposing a small amount of cheek. She rolled over to her side and began to suck on her fingers. She took her free hand and slid it down across her round breast and began to massage her clit. Paul watched the show and tried not to slobber all over himself.

Slowly she beckoned for him to join her, which he did all too happily. Starting with his head and ending with his penis, Keisha kissed him softly. When she took him into her mouth, Paul almost came. He had never felt something that warm and tender. A few times, he had to look down to make sure she hadn't slipped him into her raw.

When she felt his penis swelling like he wanted to cum, she stopped. Paul tried to push her head down, but she pushed him away. Instead of continuing with her head job, she just brushed her nail against the shaft. Precum began to leak from the head and run down the sides. She figured he was about ready.

Keisha reached under the pillow and pulled out a ribbed condom. She popped it in her mouth and applied it to Paul's penis. When the condom was in place, Keisha climbed on his wood and went for what she knew. She leaned over to one side so she could get a better grip on the edge of the bed and began to buck wildly. Both of them made animal-like grunts as they explored each other. Paul made a series of ugly faces, then sighed as if someone had let all the air out of him.

Keisha looked at Paul in disgust. He always came before she got into her groove. Even though he spent paper, she expected to at least get a nut once in a while. Paul had most definitely outlived his usefulness.

“Daddy,” she sang, “you're the best.”

“You know I do what I can, when I can,” Paul said, breathing hard.

“I'm in a good mood now. Baby, we still going out tonight?” When Paul looked like he was going to flake, she added. “I feel like shaking my ass tonight.” She saw the light go on in his eyes immediately. He seemed to like watching her dance almost as much as fucking her.

“I guess we can still go,” he said. “I don't really fuck with The Lab like that, but there's supposed to be a big party in there tonight.”

She clapped excitedly. “Yeah, let's get pretty and stunt tonight.”

Paul felt nothing but joy in his life when he looked at Keisha. From the moment he met her, he was smitten. She was fine as hell and her head game was choice. Paul had started neglecting the shorties he already had and had cut others loose. Since he had been with her, it had been about Keisha and only Keisha.

“Listen, baby,” he said, pulling her down to the bed, “these last couple of days have been the best. I never met nobody like you, ma. We need to stop bullshitting and see where we can go with this. Word.”

“You mean that?” she asked with glassy eyes.

“For real. I mean, I ain't say I wanna get married or nothing, but I'm trying to fuck with you like that. Be my girl, Keisha?”

“Of course,” she said, letting a tear run down her cheek. “I'll be your girl!”

They both hugged and let tears flow freely. Paul was crying because he was happy, she was crying because she hadn't expected him to be such an easy mark. Paul was cool, but there was no way she could be his girl. After Eve plucked him clean, there was no way he'd be able to afford her.

 

Dre sat behind the wheel of his '88 Regal, watching the comings and goings of the hood. He inhaled deeply on his Newport in silent contemplation of his task. A member of Felon's crew, named Vinny, passed right by his car and never spared Dre a second look. He watched the young man meet up with two of his friends and pile into a late-model truck. He thought about following him to see what he might learn, but decided against it. He would wait on bigger prey.

About forty-five minutes after the boys departed, Dre peeped Butter come out of the building. He could hear his heart pounding in his chest as he relived the night the youngster had punked him. Butter had showed his ass and made Dre look like a fool, but he would pay for it.

“That him?” asked a voice from the backseat.

“Yeah,” Dre croaked, “that's him.”

Johnny Black leaned forward so he could get a better look at his intended target. In the dimly lit car, all you could see of Johnny was his teeth and the whites of his eyes. His pupils were pitch black and devoid of any kind of shine. He wasn't even old enough to drink, but he knew how to make a man lie down. The Outlaw, as he was called, would take nearly any job.

“A'ight.” Johnny nodded. “I'll take care of it. Like I told your man, half up front.”

“Damn, y'all young niggaz is so impatient. Always in a rush for some shit. I got paper, nigga, so don't play me like a fraud. I ain't gonna jerk you,” Dre said, directing his anger for Butter at Johnny.

“Oh, I know that, Dre,” Johnny said coldly, but never taking his eyes off Butter, “cause we both know how much I enjoy my work.” Dre looked at Johnny, but the youngster never turned to meet his gaze.

Eve and Bullet walked up to the address Keisha had given them and looked around. It was a quiet block in Flatbush that was lined with small houses and trees. It was a good thing that they had parked the van a block away, because it would've probably looked suspicious sitting in the driveway.

“Pretty nice joint,” Bullet said, sizing up the residence, “but I ain't impressed.”

“It's not what's on the outside, it's what the vic could be hiding on the inside. You taught me that,” she reminded him, slipping on a pair of rubber gloves.

The duo made their way around to the back door and set to work on the lock. Eve was skeptical about bringing someone else in on the job, but she knew she would need help. Bullet was the perfect man for the job. He picked the lock with the skill of someone who had over a decade of breaking and entering under his belt. Within minutes they were stalking through Paul's house.

The place was decorated in simple blacks and whites. The living room boasted a fifty-five-inch color television, equipped with a surround-sound system. The TV could stay, but the system was definitely getting lifted. Kiesha had told Eve exactly where the good shit was and said anything else she carted out was hers.

“Damn, I thought you said this cat had some paper” Bullet whispered.

“Be easy. The good shit is upstairs.” Eve led Bullet upstairs to a tastefully decorated bedroom. A twenty-inch plasma TV was mounted to the wall, but a wooden canopy bed dominated most of the bedroom. With some help from Bullet, Eve moved the bed and examined the floorboards. The floor was polished to a shine except in one spot where the colors didn't quite match. To the untrained eye it wouldn't have seemed unusual, but Eve knew just what she was looking for.

She gave the spot a good stomp and the floor caved in. The stacks of money that were once piled neatly in the floor were yanked out and thrown into a pillowcase. Inside the dresser drawer, Paul had watches and other accessories lying out in plain sight. This was definitely a kid who wasn't used to money. Within an hour, Eve and Bullet had taken nearly everything that wasn't nailed down and stacked it neatly next to the front door. There were CD players, the TVs that were small enough to carry, and some more odds and ends. A very nice haul, but the real kicker was when Eve went into the deep freezer. There were at least four and a half kilos stacked next to some ice cream.

“Whoo-weee!” Bullet squealed and rubbed his hands together greedily.

“This is what I'm talking about,” she said, hefting one of the birds. “See, Bullet, I told you this would be a sweet run!”

“You sure did,” he said, picking her up and spinning around. “Eve, I could kiss you.”

“You do and I'm gonna knock your ass out,” she warned. “Quit playing and put me down. We got stealing to do. Go get the van, while I get the stuff ready.”

Bullet went for the van, while Eve prepared their haul for transport. In less than a minute Bullet was pulling the Rent-A-Center van they borrowed in the driveway. As they were loading their items, some of the neighbors watched as Paul had a good amount of his furnishings repossessed.

 

Eve beamed like a girl after her prom night as she thumbed through the bills again. “This was a big score.”

“It's a'ight,” Bullet said casually, steering with one hand and lighting a dangling cigarette with the other.

“A'ight?” She raised her eyebrow. “Nigga, we caked off!”

“We caught a good lick, Eve, but once this shit gets split up the take'll be mediocre.”

“I don't believe you.” She sat up. “This shit was like taking candy from a baby, but you're throwing jabs at it. Oh, I suppose you would've cleared more preying on tourists by the Metro North station?” she asked, her tone challenging.

“That's small change, Eve. I'm talking about hitting a big score. Bigger than the few thousand we're gonna pull in for this stuff.” He nodded toward the cargo compartment.

“If you got something on your mind, I'm listening.”

“Eve, what I'm about to run down to you is for your ears only. Understand?”

She nodded.

“I know a guy who's tied in with some guineas downtown. They need a caper done, and they commissioned me for the job. It's paying big bucks, baby. Bucks that I'd split down the middle with you. Now, I got a bunch of lil niggaz that I could call on and they would help me pull the job off for next to nothing…”

“So why are
we
having this conversation?” she asked suspiciously.

“I was getting to that, speed racer. Like I was saying, I got a bunch of youngsters that'd come along for the ride, but they ain't dependable. They lil niggaz smoke too much damn weed. The last thing I need is for some high-ass joker to fuck the situation up. You don't smoke weed and you hardly drink. You're one of the sharpest people I know, and more importantly,
I
trained you.”

“Okay.” She nodded. “What's the score?”

“A truck is supposed to be coming into the city carrying portable CD players,” he began. “Not them cheap shits. I'm talking about high quality. I don't know how much these mobsters are pulling off em and I really don't care. What I do know is that the job pays close to six figures.”

“For some damn CD players?” she asked.

“Like I said, not my concern. All I'm worried about is what we'll be walking away with. Look, I didn't even want to bring you into this at first. We won't be the only people trying to swipe this truck. There might even be some gunplay involved. I know you ain't got no plans on being a career criminal, but this might be my shot at the big time. I need someone that I can trust with my life to pull this off.”

“And that would be little old me?”

“Baby girl, I'd bet on you to win any day.”

Eve thought about it momentarily. She had robbed people and establishments, but never a moving object. She knew that the Italians were relentless about things like hijacking. Whereas the Blacks and browns made most of their illegal cream by hustling or other such vices, the mobsters were thieves. Most of them would rather steal till the end of their days rather than taint themselves or their families with drug affiliation. Then she recalled what he said about possible gunplay. Who else wanted the truck badly enough to shed blood for it? Rival crews? Another mob family? There were too many variables for her to decide right away.

“Give me some time to think on it,” she finally said. “I got something else I gotta take care of tonight, but you'll have my answer soon.”

“Sure, Eve. But don't think too long. I gotta take this, with or without you, baby.”

A few hours after the robbery, Eve found herself making yet another quick change. Seemed as if she was doing that a lot as of late. The constant switch between Evelyn and Eve could be dizzying at times, but it was necessary. The way she had chosen to live her life made it so.

She touched a delicate finger to one of the bags forming under her eyes and frowned when she noticed her nails. They were chipped. She doubted that anyone else had noticed, except maybe Cassidy. Her friend was always concerned about appearance and material possessions, but they weren't as high on her priority list.

People never really knew what to make of Eve. Even as a little girl, she'd rather play cops and robbers with the boys than jump rope with the girls. She felt that men were simpler and easier to figure out than their complicated opposites. Women were always so fickle and conflictive. That was the reason why she was referred to as hard. She always figured it was easier to embrace the rough nature of her larcenous comrades than try to adapt to the femininity of her sisters. It was hard for a little girl to really understand what it was to become a young lady without anyone to teach her. From the time her mother died, there was never an elder woman for Eve to confide in or learn from. All Eve had around her were men.

As Eve got older, she noticed something within her began to change. With the development of her body and mind came the development of certain feelings. She felt somehow different since her return home. She had tried to explain it to Cassidy, in hopes of getting some type of insight, but her best friend simply laughed it off and told her, “You're finally discovering the bitch, trapped under all that nigga.” Eve had mixed emotions about the half joke, but she let it go.

She pushed the trivial thought from her mind and focused on business. She pulled a stocking cap over her braids, which were beginning to fuzz up, and put a fitted one over that. Checking her scowl once more in the mirror to see if it was passable, she dubbed herself ready. It was time for phase two of the plan.

Cassidy sat and watched Carlo gobble down his second piece of cobbler. He had attacked his entrée as if ribs and collard greens were something totally alien to him. For the better part of the night they had been feeling each other out. Cassidy told him about her mother and fast-ass sister, and Carlo talked about life growing up in a Sicilian household. He didn't talk too much about his family, and whenever it came to his father, he changed the subject.

“So, Cassidy, how come you hang around with Butter if he isn't your man?” Carlo asked out of the clear blue.

“I don't hang around,” Cassidy corrected him. “Butter and I are see each other sometimes.”

“What's the difference?”

“The difference is, he and I aren't exclusive. Why, does the fact that I was seeing someone bother you?”

“Nah.” He wiped his mouth. “You're grown. See who you want. I just got a problem with you seeing someone that I'm doing business with.”

“Well, I don't see either of your names on this pussy,” she whispered to him.

“Really? And how would I go about getting my name on it?” he asked.

“Play your cards right and time might tell,” she teased. “It takes a certain kind of man to handle me.”

“Baby, cut the game. I got money and power.”

“So?”

“So, that makes me the best man for the job.”

“Let you tell it,” she shot back.

“Cassidy, cut it out. I'm working with some long dough and you know it. Anything that Butter's ever given you, I can buy four of em. Money talks and bullshit runs a marathon.”

“Let's get something straight,” Cassidy said, sitting up straight, “I ain't no hoe. True, I like nice shit and I like to be papered, but that doesn't mean I'm gonna let any nigga waving some cash taste this. It ain't that kind of party, boo.”

“Whoa, don't take it like that. I didn't mean no disrespect,” he said, trying to recover. “All I'm saying is, you're a dime, Cassidy. A girl like you needs a guy that can take care of her. I'm not talking about letting you hold a car or spending a little dough on you. I'm talking about letting you see how the other half lives.”

“You talk a good one,” she said, relaxing again.

“Yeah, but I can back it up. Come on, baby, don't act like you don't know what I'm about.”

Cassidy and Carlo talked for a little while longer, then called for the check. After they ate, he took her to a nice lounge in the village for drinks. She was turned on by the kind of attention they got. Everywhere they went people treated Carlo like he was a VIP. Nothing was too much for Franko De Nardi's kid. Cassidy had decided that maybe she had finally hooked the big fish with Carlo. If he kept moving the way he did, his name would be etched on her pussy sooner than she thought.

 

The line of people waiting to get into The Lab was ridiculous. People were staked out from the entrance all the way to Throop. A rapper from the neighborhood, who had managed to make it big, was taking the stage. The jam was going to be the place to be for the evening.

The line being so long was something Eve hadn't counted on. If she waited, her vic would be gone by the time she got inside. Not bothering to try her luck, Eve made her way over to the VIP line. The bouncers were checking credentials, waving in the somebodys and sending the nobodys to the regular line. The hundred-dollar bill she palmed and handed to the bouncer made her somebody that night.