Eve (18 page)

“Come on, fat boy,” Bullet said impatiently. He had now opened the door to the cabin.

“Okay, take it easy.” Butch inched toward Bullet.

“Hurry up!” Eve shouted from the driver's side.

“Be easy!” Bullet shot back. The split second his attention was drawn was enough time for Butch to make his move. The larger man swiftly trained the gat on Bullet. Seeing what was about to go down, Bullet tried to throw himself from the doorway. Butch let off two frantic shots. One hit Bullet in his upper chest, laying him out.

 

Eve saw the flash and was frozen in place. Her mentor flew from the doorway, landing hard on the pavement. The truck driver crawled across the front seat and made for the open door. In the blink of an eye, the whole thing had gone sour. Eve looked from her fallen mentor to the fleeing vic and decided she had to do something. She squeezed the trigger of the tech and the gun rattled off in her hand.

Having never fired one, she misjudged the kick. The bullets struck the front of the grill and busted a window, but missed the driver. When she rounded the front of the truck, the driver was climbing down from the cabin, still holding the pistol. He spotted Eve and opened fire. She managed to dodge the bullets, but fumbled her grip on the tech. By the time she got the gun back under control, the vic was jogging down the side of the truck.

Instinctively she raised the gun and fired. The bullets ricocheted off the side of the truck, sparking where they struck. She had let off almost seven shots before she hit him. One bullet pierced his lung while the other cut through his calf. Butch limped and hit the ground face first. Eve ran to Bullet's side to examine him.

“Bullet!” she shook him. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” He swatted her off. “I'll be better if you stop shaking me,” Bullet ripped his sweat shirt and examined the slug that was stuck to his vest. “Nigga tried to get me.”

“You had me worried. Next time…” Her statement was cut off when Bullet's arm shot out snake quick. He snatched the tech from her before she even realized he was moving. Bullet fired the gun one-handed, cutting into Butch, who had been trying to get a bead on Eve.

“Next time you gotta put a nigga down, take him out the game. Understand?” He looked at her seriously. She nodded, still shocked at how effortlessly he killed. “Good. Now, help me into the truck so we can get the fuck outta here and get paid.”

Steve stood back and shook his head in disbelief as Bullet steered the truck into the garage in Flatbush. He and Tony had placed a wager on whether Bullet would be able to pull it off or not. The Italians figured Bullet to be a nigger stickup kid who wouldn't be able to pull off something of that magnitude. The slightly banged up but very full truck steaming in front of them made Tony the loser.

No one knew better than Carlo's crew how important this shipment was. Not only was it a slap in Jimmy V's face, but it would strengthen their team. Bullet didn't know it, but he had earned Steve a great deal of favor with the De Nardi organization.

“I don't believe he pulled it off,” Tony chuckled.

“I told Carlo Bullet was good.” Steve smiled. “Jimmy V is gonna shit his pants.” He waved for the men to empty the truck and Bullet to join him.

Steve had expected a crew of hardened gunslingers to climb from the truck, wearing screw faces, but there were only two occupants. The stickup man emerged from the battered truck, favoring his left arm, followed by a young man dressed in fatigues. The passenger had his hat pulled low, so Steve couldn't really see his features. He did, however, notice that the man seemed to be overly concerned about Bullet's ailing shoulder. Steve wondered if his old associate had developed a taste for little boys.

“You pulled it off.” Steve shook Bullet's hand enthusiastically.

“Was there any doubt?” Bullet replied.

“Nah,” Steve cut his eyes at Tony. “I told my people you were good. I just never expected to work with just the two of you.” He let his gaze linger on Eve, as if waiting for an introduction.

“Oh,” Bullet caught on, “this is—”

“E.” She cut him off in a deep voice.

“Yeah.” He nodded in understanding. “This is E. He schooled under me a few years back.”

Steve sized up Eve, but she made it a point to avoid direct eye contact. Steve could tell Bullet's protégée was young from his smooth face. His hands weren't hard or callused, so he guessed he wasn't a fighter. The grip on the tech suggested a trigger man. Outside of what he deduced on the physical, Steve couldn't deduce much about the boy named E, but if Bullet vouched for him, then he was good.

“Well, you and your teacher are some top-notch thieves.” Steve smiled. One of the men unloading the truck carried a crate over to Steve and laid it at his feet. Steve pried the lid off and extracted a handgun from the straw padding. It had a squared frame and an extended barrel.

“Muthafucka,” Bullet said in surprise. “Nigga, you said we was stealing CD players?”

“Some things are on the need-to-know basis.” Steve handed Bullet a pistol and took another one out for Eve. “From our friends in Germany. Sorry we kept you guys in the dark about it, but the boss felt it was for the best. Don't worry about it, though. With the job you guys pulled off, I think I can convince the boss to put you on payroll.”

Eve looked from the smiling giant to the pistol in her hand. So this is why they were willing to pay so much for the job. They had just lifted a small arsenal for the De Nardi family. And if they decided to retain her services, what would it mean for her life?

 

Johnny sat cross-legged on a stack of pillows, watching. The apartment had been padlocked by the sheriff's department, but it was nothing for The Outlaw to pick it. It was one of many talents. The windows were mostly boarded up, which suited him fine since he only needed one. Before setting up, he had loosened one of the boards just enough to see the avenue but not to run the risk of being spotted. Mounted in front of the window was a tripod, supporting a thirty-caliber assault rifle. He toggled the crosshairs on the sight to get a better look at his target.

Butter stood on the avenue with some of the locals, talking to a man who Johnny recognized from his notes as Vinny. They were carelessly joking and lounging, not even realizing that death loomed mere yards away. Johnny zoomed in on Butter, focusing on his broad chest. He could almost see the man's heart beating through the powerful monocle. He slowly moved the crosshairs from his chest to his head.

Johnny leveled the cross with Butter's eye and fingered the trigger. Sweat dripped into his eye, but he didn't allow himself to blink. He grinned menacingly as he fantasized Butter's head exploding when the shell split it. His penis began to rise against his jeans, causing a print in the denim. Butter said his good-byes and left his crew. “Another time,” Johnny whispered, toggling the crosshairs, sighting another target.

 

Vinny gave Butter dap and watched him until he was safely in the car. After his boss departed, he went back to join his crew in front of the bodega. They were in the middle of a discussion about the latest rap group when Vinny felt something slam into his chest. He winced at the stinging and looked down to see a pool of red forming. At first he thought he was shot, but there was no pain. Vinny touched his fingers to the spot and examined them. “Paint?”

As the weather got warmer, Eve's life took a turn for the better. Just as Steve had indicated, the De Nardis put Eve and Bullet on the payroll. They commissioned them from time to time to do jobs that they didn't want to dirty their hands with. It was mostly shakedowns and burglarizing establishments that didn't want to play ball with the family. The jobs only came every so often, but they paid handsomely.

She had stopped reporting to the job developer and found work at a temp agency. Eve would work in different office buildings a few days a week, just to tell her PO she was gainfully employed and have a reportable source of income. This also allowed her schedule to be flexible. Her main source of income was still jacking.

With the money she was making from the Italians, Eve was finally able to start improving her quality of life. She had tossed out her old clothes and went shopping for a whole new wardrobe. She bought a lot of jeans, sneakers, and boots, and some designer pieces that covered outfits for stepping out as well as seduction. She tried to ignore the fact that she was thinking of Felon when she bought the sexier outfits.

One was a dress that she had ordered from Marshall Field's, via a catalog. It was a form-fitting black dress with a V-cut back. She stood in the full-length mirror admiring how the dress fit her body. It hugged her about the hips, showing off her hourglass figure. She fixed her hair into different styles, imagining what it would be like to step out in the piece with some handsome chocolate Adonis (preferably Felon), making their grand entrance at some social event. They would turn every head as they glided across the threshold.
Yeah, if Felon ever
…She smoothed her hands over the dress, sighed, wiggled out of it, and hung it in the closet. She shook her head.

Felon and Butter were on the come-up. Slowly but surely they were outclassing the competition. Word had it they had some new product that was causing everyone else to close up shop. Butter was still playing the block, flossing and acting a fool. Felon was a different case. Aside from an occasional cameo, he really didn't come through the block that often.

Eve missed spending time with him, but she wasn't totally against the separation. Whenever he was around him her heart raced and her thoughts became incoherent. She felt like some chickenhead swooning over an unrealistic crush. She managed to keep her cool more often than she didn't, but there was no denying the fire than burned within her.

She had feelings for Felon, and she knew that he felt something for her, but was it right? Though Felon never meant for her to go to jail, he still abandoned her. Who was to say that he wouldn't do the same with her heart? She knew that he felt something for her, but she also knew that he'd never admit it, and she probably wouldn't either. They shared a special friendship that most people would never experience in this lifetime. If they went the extra step, things would change. She tried to shake it off and focus on something else, but she couldn't. Eve had never honestly been in love, but she knew that what she felt for Felon went beyond a schoolgirl's crush.

Now that she had a little money put up, she wore her trademark cornrows a little less. When she wasn't on a job, she would go to the Dominicans and let them style her hair. When she first started going, her hairdresser thought she was Spanish and would try to converse with her in the native tongue. When Eve explained her heritage, the dresser laughed and told her she didn't look like a white girl.

Eve was always a pretty girl, but since her wardrobe upgrade, she turned plenty of heads. Catcalls and compliments followed her like a shadow. It took some getting used to, but she learned to accept the attention.

When Eve wasn't stealing or working at the temp agency, she occupied herself with movies. She was always spending large sums of money on DVDs or taking in flicks. She didn't know if it was the solitude, or living vicariously through the characters on the screen, but watching movies soothed her. She didn't always undertake the task alone. Eve had even gone on dates. Guys from various boroughs were checking for the pretty redhead. Some of the guys she met were real cool, but it never went beyond one date. Her heart was elsewhere.

Twenty-Gang was still Twenty-Gang, but they were seeing less and less of Cassidy. Since she had started seeing Carlo, she had been less active in the affairs of the streets. In a way it was a good thing. Cassidy needed someone to keep her ass off the streets and out of different men's beds. Eve had reluctantly accepted her relationship with Carlo. If her friend was happy, then she was happy for her. She still didn't agree with the move, though.

 

Cassidy was curled up on Carlo's king-sized bed, reading a copy of
Road Dawgz.
She wasn't really a reader, but she loved this particular author's work. He was one of the more powerful voices in the game. Things had been good since she hooked up with Carlo. He stayed true to his word and treated her like a queen.

Cassidy had gear before, but Carlo stepped up her game. She had pieces from every designer and more shoes that she knew what to do with. In addition to keeping her fly, Carlo got her mobile. Cassidy was now the owner of a Honda Civic. It was three years old, but it was hers. She didn't even care that she hadn't met his parents. Carlo told her that his parents had “old world” values. They knew he dabbled in dark meat, but they'd shit a brick if he ever brought one home. It didn't matter as long as she was taken care of.

Carlo slid into the bed behind her and started nibbling on her neck. She knew what he wanted. She reached behind her and started massaging his penis. When it was good and hard, she slipped him inside her. Carlo started off slow until he found his rhythm. Cassidy threw it back at him, letting out a soft moan. They spooned for a while, then Carlo flipped her over and started hitting it from the back.

Cassidy bit her bottom lip and hissed as Carlo slid in and out of her. He gripped her small waist and began to hammer into her harder and harder. Cassidy clawed at the sheets and begged for him to keep going. Carlo worked his hands up her back and let them come to rest on her neck. She arched her back and threw her head back in ecstasy He rubbed her delicate tendons and gradually began to apply pressure.

It felt good to Cassidy at first, but the pressure got more and more intense. She tried to motion for him to loosen up, but he didn't seem to notice. The deeper he pumped, the tighter his grip became. Cassidy could feel him cutting off her wind and began to panic. She tried to thrash and even managed to let out a muffled shriek, but he still didn't let up. Carlo was lost in the moment. Harder and tighter, Carlo went to work. Just as Cassidy was about to pass out, Carlo exploded. His hands came away from her neck and he collapsed on his side.

“Goddamn, Carlo!” she rasped and scrambled from the bed. “You almost fucking choked me to death.”

“Chill, baby. It was just getting good, that's all,” he managed to say between deep breaths.

“Carlo, I like to get a little kinky too, but you almost choked me out. This shit is wack.” Cassidy began gathering her clothes from the floor, deciding that she had had enough of Carlo's shit. Carlo's kind of sex was beginning to get too painful for her. First, he had damn near ripped a bald spot in her head. Then there was the time he bit her until he drew blood. Now it was affixiation.

“Come on, baby,” he said, sliding his arm around her waist, “I didn't mean to get so rough with you. Your stuff is just so good that I got caught up. Don't be like that.”

“I don't like this rough shit, Carlo,” she told him.

“Cassidy, all I can say is I'm sorry and try to make it up to you. Tell you what.” He managed to get her to sit on the edge of the bed. “How bout I give you some spending money and you go out and have yourself a good time?”

“How much?” she asked, trying not to let her greed shine through.

Carlo smiled, knowing her weakness. He reached under the bed and pulled out a Nike box. He double-checked the contents and handed it to Cassidy. “Knock yaself out.”

Cassidy shook the shoebox near her ear and smiled. She planted a kiss on his forehead and went into the bathroom without uttering a word of thanks. Carlo just lay back on the bed and smiled. Money couldn't buy love, but it could make a woman put up with a lot of shit. Cassidy was proof of that. Carlo lit a cigarette and let his thoughts roam to who he would bed down and fuck bloody after Cassidy left.

 

“Mac…I move rocks and pounds, taking over small blocks and towns!” Butter sang into his Mac 11 machine gun while Bennie Segal killed the truck. Teddy sat behind the steering wheel and shook his head.

“That's why I fuck wit you, son.” Teddy passed the blunt off. “You about the only nigga I know that's crazier than me.”

“You gotta be crazy out this bitch, Ted. The hood only respects gangstas,” Butter said.

“And who's more gangsta than us?”

“Not a muthafucka walking on two legs. We puts in nuff work, kid.”

“Speaking of work, what's up with Felon?” Teddy asked, turning off Morningside and onto 125th.

“Got his head stuck in the sand some damn where.” Butter passed the blunt back.

“Been a while since he rolled through the block. He ain't got no love for the hood?” Teddy half joked.

“You know Felon ain't like that, lil nigga,” Butter said, defending his homey. “He love the hood, but he don't like to be in it if he ain't gotta be. See, niggaz like us love to be in the mix. We get off on this kinda shit, but that ain't where Felon's head is at. He on his ‘trying to plan for a rainy day' shit.”

“Fuck that. A nigga could be dead tomorrow. I'm trying to do me, now!” Teddy declared. Butter nodded but didn't discuss Felon further with Teddy. “Yo, what's up with Cassidy?”

“Man, fuck her.” Butter sucked his teeth. “She act like she ain't got time for a nigga no more. Probably found somebody else to scratch her fucking itch.”

“Bitches is like that, yo.” Teddy said.

“Watch ya mouth, lil nigga. I'm the only one that can talk about that bitch like that.” Butter laughed at his own twisted humor.

Seventh Avenue was packed. The nice weather had brought out Harlem's finest, stunting with whips or standing around trying to bag girls. Butter lowered the driver's side window of the Escalade and let his arm dangle out the window. The yellow diamond on his pinky caught the attention of a quite a few ladies on the strip and two young men.

 

“That's that nigga right there,” Johnny said to Knowledge.

“That big-head nigga?” Knowledge asked, pointing at the red truck.

“Yeah. Make it clean, son.”

“I got you, Black,” Knowledge said, adjusting the belt of his pants. The Beretta tucked in his waist kept pulling them down. After giving a brief look-around, Knowledge went in the direction of the truck.

Johnny leaned against the wall and watched. Big Steve, by way of Dre, had paid him to kill Butter, but he wasn't a stupid man. He had done his homework on the kid and found out that he could be quite a headache. Johnny was hardly afraid of going head to head with Butter, but he needed to know what he was up against. If Knowledge succeeded in killing Butter, that would be cool, but if he didn't, Johnny would know how to approach, based on Knowledge's sacrifice.

 

A girl and her friends were trying to get Butter's attention and were doing a pretty good job of it. They were all dressed in too-short shorts and Air Maxes. Butter could see the nipples of the light-skinned one poking through her wife beater. He licked his lips hungrily and decided he would have one, if not all, of the girls that evening.

“Stop the car, son,” Butter said, already hopping out of the car.

Teddy shook his head and proceeded double-park on the corner. He wanted a shot of the young love box too, but he had class about his shit. He figured that he was that nigga, and a bitch should be chasing him down. He was leaning over to put his gun on the passenger seat when he caught a motion in the rearview mirror. The kid was just walking down the block, so Teddy almost brushed him off. The thing that caught his attention, though, was the fact that he was staring at Butter.

Butter had his back to Knowledge, so he never saw him coming. He was stunting for the girls, letting them touch his chain and flashing cash, when Knowledge crept on him. The only thing that made him aware of something being wrong was the look of horror on the girl's faces. Butter turned around and found himself staring down the barrel of the Beretta. Knowledge placed his finger on the trigger and all hell broke loose.

Felon sat in front of his television watching
Carlito's Way.
No matter how many times he watched that movie, the irony in it never ceased to amaze him. Carlito wanted to get out of the game and live happily ever after. Yeah, right.

Felon poured himself another glass of Henny and lit a blunt. He watched the smoke seep from his nose and dissipate into the air. “Getting out.” That was something that crept into Felon's brain every so often. What would he do if he got out? Maybe get a job? Not likely. In the streets, he was a star. In the working world, who would he be other than another nigga living from check to check?