Eve (26 page)

Just as suddenly as the madness had come, it faded from Beast's eyes. He gave Felon a brief squeeze for good measure, then set him down. Felon glared at Beast with murder in his eyes, but the sorrowful look Eve gave him took away some of the anger. Keeping his eyes on the giant, he returned to his seat beside Eve.

“I saw you with her,” she said, barely above a whisper. “You and that girl.”

“Marcy?” he asked, surprised. “Baby, she was taking Eric some weed. He's on the Island.”

“Felon, you don't have to lie. I'm not your
girl.
”

“Evelyn Panelli. Let me put you up on something. I might be a lot of things, but I'm no liar. If I'm fucking a bitch, I'm gonna say I'm fucking her. I don't make excuses for anything I do. Eve, I know you got issues, but who doesn't? I wanna be there for you, but you gotta let me in, ma.”

She looked at him but said nothing.

Felon reached out to touch Eve, and when Beast didn't object, he pulled her close to him. Eve broke down on Felon's chest while he held her as if she would fly away. He could feel the pain flow from her and into him, and he gladly accepted it. He would accept a thousand times worse if it would take away his Evelyn's suffering.

Felon stood in the kitchen of his West Harlem apartment, sipping coffee and squinting into the morning sun. He had sat up with Eve until the birds started to chirp. He tried to get her to let him walk her home, but she didn't want to be alone. Being the gentleman he was, Felon invited her back to his place. Beast protested but went along with it when Felon told him he could come too. It was only a one-bedroom, so Beast had to sleep on the couch while Felon and Eve occupied the bedroom.

They had lain in each other's arms for a long while without saying a word. Felon cradled her like a newborn and planted soft kisses on her lips and forehead. He was hesitant when she urged him to make love to her. She was vulnerable and he didn't want to take advantage of her condition. She planted soft kisses on his neck and chest, making him a slave.

She pushed him down on his back and straddled him. Felon watched in amazement as the sunlight that invaded their privacy played tricks with her eyes. They flickered from blue to green and looked at him sorrowfully. She removed her shirt, then undid her pants. She ran her tongue from his navel and circled each nipple. She repeated this process while massaging his genitals. When Felon was fully erect, Eve wiggled out of her tight jeans.

This time she was the aggressor. She straddled him, then reaching back, rubbed his penis against her vagina until it was moist. Slowly she inserted him, first the head, then part of the shaft. It still hurt, but Eve needed the pain to take her mind elsewhere. When she built up the courage, she took it all. The lovemaking wasn't wild and impulsive like the first time. This was slow and calculated. When she came, she dismounted and curled into a ball on the far side of the bed.

It didn't take long before Eve finally dropped off to sleep. She was tired, physically and mentally. To be so young, she had gone through so much and was still here. You had to admire her strength. Even with her face swollen the way it was, she was still a vision. Felon watched her for a while before going into the kitchen.

Cassidy's murder had rocked everyone who knew her, but it nearly destroyed Eve. She and Cassidy had been tight since they were young. They argued most of the time, but they still loved each other like sisters. Wherever you saw one, you saw the other. Now her other half was gone.

Butter was another issue altogether. He proved to be damn near inconsolable after Felon had delivered the news. The only things that stopped his rampage were liquor and exhaustion. When Felon left him, he had passed out on his bed. He would have a terrible hangover when he woke up, but at least Felon didn't have to worry about him for a few hours.

Felon had already called Teddy and gave him the four-one-one. He also instructed him to have someone keep an eye on Eve's apartment building for suspicious activity. God forbid something happened to her, he would surely fall to pieces. Cassidy's murder had hit too close to home for him. You hear about this kind of thing every day, but it never really registers until it lands in your backyard.

Felon sat on one of his breakfast stools and lit a cigarette. In his mind he examined everything that had happened. Someone had singled Cassidy out; the question was why? Maybe a scorned lover? Cassidy was a good chick, but she had scandalous ways. She was one of those chicks who played on the emotions of men or their insecurities in order to get what she wanted. You couldn't live your life fucking people over and not expect it to come back, but not like that.

No one seemed to have any idea who killed Cassidy or why. The ripple effect cut Felon to the quick. Two people he cared a great deal for were hurting because of it. Butter would be the biggest issue. With Butter being in such an emotional state there was no telling how it would affect his decision making. He needed his partner to be on point. If his head wasn't in the game, it could get sour real fast. Felon liked the turn his life had taken and couldn't see it backsliding.

 

Eve waited until Felon had gone off to take his shower before sliding from his bed. She woke Beast and together they left the apartment. She would've told him she was leaving, but she didn't want him trying to convince her otherwise. The way she felt, it wouldn't have taken much convincing for her to climb back into Felon's bed and make love to him for the rest of the day. She appreciated his being there for her in her time of grief, but she needed to be alone with her thoughts.

Beast walked her to her building before going his own way. She climbed the broken-up stairs and let herself into the apartment. Uncle Bobby was sitting in front of the living room television watching something on CNN about the situation in Iraq. He gave Eve a nod but didn't turn from his television program. On his lap sat his trusty bayonet, which he was cleaning with an old rag. Eve looked like she wanted to say something to him, but instead she walked to her bedroom.

When he heard her door close, Bobby turned his attention from the television. He felt for his niece. He had lost many friends over the years, so he knew just how bad it could hurt. A few moments later, she came back out of the bedroom and headed for the front door. He thought about going to her, but was all but certain that she would reject the advance. She was bull-headed, like her mother and father. He decided to bide his time. When she needed him, he would be there.

 

Eve stood outside the apartment door, staring at her Air Maxes. Her hand lifted the iron knocker but hesitated. A lump formed in her throat as she took in the familiarity of the doormat. The brown and green mallard duck print had faded slightly, but it was still as Eve remembered it. The knocker connecting with the door boomed like a blacksmith's hammer in Eve's ears. The lady's speed stick began to melt from under her arms with the rapid beating of her heart. The locks clicked and Eve looked up, expecting to see Cassidy standing on the other side of the door and laughing at her for falling for the prank. Instead, Sheeka opened it and invited her in.

Eve stepped across the threshold and followed Sheeka into the living room. Sitting by the window was Cassidy's mother. Even sitting down you could tell where Cassidy got her height. Liz's hair partially covered her face, but her sad eyes were visible. She just stared out at the horizon.

“She's been like that ever since,” Sheeka whispered.

Eve moved closer to Liz but made sure she didn't invade her space. Her eyes were swollen and tear-streaked, but she maintained her vigil over the city. She turned to Eve with a faint smile and went back to her gazing. Eve thought about trying to strike up a conversation, but decided it wasn't the time. Liz was clearly somewhere else, so Eve decided not to deny her that.

She walked up the hall, following Sheeka, who had moved to the bedroom. Pictures of Cassidy and a toothless Sheeka hung from the wall. It took all of five seconds before the warmth of tears began to tickle the rims of Eve's eyes. She faced the floor and took a seat on Cassidy's bed.

“How you holding up?” Eve asked, trying not to let her eyes go back to the picture.

“I'm good.” Sheeka sighed. “Gotta stay strong for Mom, ya know?”

“Right.” Eve nodded. “Anything new from the police?”

“That's a joke, right?” Sheeka asked with a sarcastic chuckle. “They don't give a shit about who killed my sister. Just another prostitute who got caught out there. This shit will probably go down as another unsolved murder.” The tears Sheeka had been fighting back began to escape down her face.

“Don't cry, sis. It'll be all right,” Eve assured her, leaning over and placing a hand on Sheeka's knee.

“Bullshit!” Sheeka hopped up. “You saw the pictures, Eve. This ain't never gonna be all right. The police ain't gonna do a god-damned thing outside of roust a few pimps, who they know ain't got nothing to do with it anyway. My sister is dead and we can't do shit about it! The muthafucka that killed Cassidy is a bastard. He didn't have to do it like that, Eve. Not like that. I want him dead! Just like my sister.”

Eve sat there watching Sheeka as she ranted. The stress of losing her sibling had seemed to add years to her once-youthful face. She knew there was plenty of truth in Sheeka's words. The police were convinced that Cassidy was a streetwalker, so there wouldn't be much effort behind their investigation. As she replayed the vision of Cassidy's battered face, pure hate crept into every fiber of her being. They might've been victims in this, but they were far from helpless.

“Look at me, Sheeka,” Eve said in low tone. Sheeka stopped her pacing and focused on Eve. Her eyes flashed rage, but her face was now completely blank. “Cassidy was my heart. I couldn't face myself every day if I let this ride.”

“Whatever you got in mind, I'm with you, Eve,” Sheeka said seriously.

Eve wanted to tell her no, but Cassidy was Sheeka's blood. Just like when they were kids, the two women huddled on the bed together and whispered of plots and vendettas to be loosed when the time came.

 

Andy leaned against his banged-up Nova and waited for the runner to come back with his product. He was dressed in brown slacks and a yellow jacket. Any smart cop wouldn't be caught dead buying his own drugs, but Andy was too cheap to pay someone to do it for him. While he waited, he made small talk with Mike, one of the lookouts.

“I can't see how you guys can sling this shit out in the open like that. Ain't you worried about the police running up on you?” Andy asked.

“Police ain't gonna do shit. You got Black women being killed in the streets and they ain't doing shit about it,” Mike informed him.

“What, you mean that broad in the Bronx?” Andy showed his knowledge of current events. “She was a working girl.”

“You better watch your mouth,” Butter said, coming out of the building. A light beard covered his squared jaw, and his clothes were wrinkled. His bloodshot eyes shot daggers at the man bold enough to disrespect Cassidy's memory within earshot of him. “I don't think you know what you're talking about.”

“What do ya mean? Buddy, it was all over the paper. Anybody with eyes knows what happened. She was working and somebody off 'd her,” Andy said.

“Honkey, get the fuck off my block!” Butter shouted.

“Hey, be cool,” Andy shouted back. “You don't know who you're talking to.”

“I don't give a fuck who I'm talking to.” Butter took a step forward. “I said get the fuck off my block, talking shit you don't know nothing about.”

“You listen to me, you fucking street punk,” Andy pointed, “I don't know who you think you're talking to, but I ain't some prick who came down to the hood to get a quick high. I'm connected, ass wipe. Now, why don't you call that little runner of yours to get my shit before I start kicking assess around here!” Andy poked his chest out, challenging the stocky youth.

Butter was a blur when he moved. He whipped the cubed pistol from his pocket and drew a bead on Andy's chest. Mike barely had time to move before the first bullet whipped past him. Andy took one to the chest and fell back. The Nova broke his fall, but a bullet to his shoulder shook him. Someone shouted something, but the fatal shot being fired drowned it out. Andy's face splattered on the passenger's side window of the car.

“What the fuck!” Teddy screamed, as he burst from the building with his gun drawn.

Butter remained silent for a moment. He hadn't intended to shoot the loudmouthed white guy, but his temper moved quicker than his reasoning. “Help Mike get this nigga in the car,” Butter said over his shoulder.

Teddy stood there frozen, taking in the scene. A white man, with a chunk of his cheek missing, was stretched out next to an old car. Butter was tucking a pistol in his pants and looking up and down the block. Knowing that they had to get the body off the block, Teddy moved to help them clear the scene. After helping Mike get Andy into the backseat, Teddy searched the glove compartment for some sort of identification. When he saw the badge and gun, he almost shit his pants.

“Fuck!” he shouted.

“What's the matter?” Butter asked, moving to see what was wrong with Teddy. He cursed at the top of his lungs, but it still didn't change the fact that he had fucked up. “We gotta get rid of this nigga.”

Teddy slid into the driver's seat and turned on the ignition. Before the engine could completely start, he had the car in gear. Mike almost got dragged, trying to climb in the backseat with Andy's body.

Butter's mind raced, trying to think what to do. He was panicking, but he had to maintain a calm façade in front of his crew. They had to get rid of a body, so that meant a trip out of town. Most likely, they'd hop on 80 West and bury him on the side of the road somewhere. Felon was gonna be pissed when he caught wind of it. But that was something Butter would just have to deal with when the time came.