Eve (8 page)

From where she was standing, Eve couldn't really see what was going on. All she could see was her mother's back and the intruder's face. A dot appeared on her back and quickly began to grow. The intruder wore a wicked grin as Shanice began to stagger from the impact. The pain in her chest was intense, but her paternal instincts wouldn't let her forget Evelyn. Her life had already been forfeited, but the child must survive.

Again, without fear for her own life, Shanice tried to defend her child. When the intruder raised his pistol in Evelyn's direction, Shanice threw her weight into him. Instead of pressing the attack, Shanice darted for the child. The killer let off three wild shots. One shot destroyed Grandma's clock, while the other struck a falling Shanice. The third hit Evelyn.

Shanice collapsed to her knees over the fallen child. Blood was splattered on the wall and edges of the refrigerator. Shanice covered her child as best she could while the intruder kept firing. When the smoke cleared, the intruder stood over the two prone woman and spat. As he was leaving the apartment, he paused to watch Dick Clark bring in the new year. He left the mother and child for dead, but he wasn't quite through enough.

A neighbor, who had been spying through her peephole, called the police. When they got there, the intruder was long gone, but they found a two dead people and a little girl, who was shot up and barely breathing. They rushed Eve to the hospital, where she was treated for gunshot wounds to the chest and leg.

When the police questioned young Evelyn, she told them honestly that she didn't know the man who killed her parents. She didn't know him, but she would never forget his face, his cold blue stare, or that wicked grin. They asked her a few more questions, then turned her over to the state. It was all downhill from there.

 

“Evelyn,” called a gruff voice from the rear of the house. “You gonna stand there gawking at them pictures or you gonna come in here so I can get a look at you?”

Eve sighed and placed the picture back on the wall. She kissed her fingertips and placed one on both of her parents' faces before continuing down the hall. As she drew closer to the living room, she caught sight of a Minicam that was mounted in the ceiling. Uncle Bobby had always been a strange one, but even this was a little extreme.

Eve entered the tiny living room and looked around nostalgically. Uncle Bobby still had the same living room furniture that he had when her parents were alive. It was even still covered in plastic. The tan carpet has crisscrossed tire marks on it. No doubt the work of Uncle Bobby. A writing table sat near the window, giving them a clear view of the avenue. Off to the right was Uncle Bobby's room. Eve took a deep breath and proceeded.

Uncle Bobby looked as wild as ever. He was still sporting the same Afro that he had when he and Joe were running partners, years ago. Only now it was sprinkled with flakes of grey. He was draped in his usual green army fatigues and flack vest. A bayonet was strapped to his ankle and a tiny gun turret was mounted on the arm of his chair. The glare from the half dozen video monitors behind Bobby illuminated his face in a sick blue light as he grinned at his sister's child.

“Come here, girl,” Bobby said, spreading his arms. “Give ya uncle some love.”

Eve half bent and embraced her uncle. At first she wasn't sure how he was going to react. Eve had snubbed him for her whole bid. It wasn't done out of malice, but she was going through something that she needed to handle alone. Bobby greeting her with love made her feel at ease. He was probably still gonna give her the lecture of her life, but that was his way. The important thing was that the both of them were back amongst family. All they had left was each other.

“Good to see you, Uncle Bobby,” she said genuinely. “Good to see you.”

“It's good to see you too,” he said holding her at arm's length. “You look good.”

She looked down. “Thanks. Cassidy brought me this stuff to come home in.”

“Cassidy came to pick you up? How's she been? I see her riding round with this one or that one from time to time, but she ain't been by since you went away.”

“She's chilling.”

“Umm hmm,” Bobby said suspiciously. “I see her fast-ass little sister is following right in her footsteps. I hear she be up in them strip clubs doing private dances. They say a few fellas been wit her.”

“Uncle Bobby, how is it that you never leave the house, but you know some of everything about what's going on in the streets?”

“Cause I was born wit my ear to the street and it's still there. You think about that when and if you thinking about cutting up. Hear?”

“Come on, Uncle Bobby, why you gotta cut right in? Ain't you happy to see me?”

“Hell yeah, and I'm trying to keep you around. Them streets ain't nothing nice, girl.”

“This ain't the sixties,” she said.

“Shit,” he spat. “You ain't gotta tell me. We was real gangstas in the sixties. Not like these rap babies out here,” he said, nodding out the window. “We had codes back then. Rules. Everybody ate, cause we respected the rules. If you got out of line, you got put down. Simple as that.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” she said, heading for her bedroom.

“You better learn to listen to somebody, Eve,” he called after her. “There's nothing out there but trouble. If you know like I know, you'll try to get a job or go to school and get yo yellow tail up out this. You see what happened to Big Joe.”

Eve froze. She felt her body tense up as once again the memories were dredged up. “My father was murdered in his home,” she said with her voice dripping venom. “He was murdered by the same guinea muthafuckas that y'all worked for, remember?”

“Do I remember?” he asked, returning her cold glare. “Damn right I remember. It was them same muthafuckas who put me in this here sports coupe,” he said pounding on the wheelchair. “Dealing with Franko and his people was just as good as signing a deal with the devil, but we was too young and dumb to see it. Course, it probably wouldn't have made a difference if we had. Thought we was somebody cause they said so. Red and Black was what they called us.” Uncle Bobby had to compose himself before speaking again. “I'm sorry, Eve. I know you're still hurting from it. The worst part is, it'll always feel like my fault.”

“Your fault,” she said, softening her voice from earlier. “Wasn't nothing you could've done.”

“I should've done something,” he said, unsheathing his bayonet and waving it at no one in particular. “I came for em though, Eve. They took my only sister and my only friend, so I went for em. Again and again, I went for em. When they whipped my ass, I came back. When they shot me, I came back. Again and again, taking it to them crackers, baby. I killed a good amount of em. Never did get who I wanted. The last time I went back, they sent me home in this thing,” he said, patting the chair. “Poked me full of holes and tossed me off a bridge.” He chuckled, as if getting tossed off a bridge was funny. “Thought they'd killed, me. Cocksuckers. Broke my back, but I'm still here. I'll get em one day.”

“Don't worry about it,” she said, stroking his face. “We'll get them one day.”

Eve left her uncle sitting there, holding his bayonet, looking at his monitors, waiting for a war that never seemed to come. Eve felt kind of bad about the way she had spoken to her uncle Bobby. Out of everybody, he probably took her parents' murders the hardest. He was overseas on his last tour when they were killed. He never even got a chance to say good-bye. Eve would have to go back and apologize to her uncle, but that would wait. She had to reacquaint herself with the streets.

Spooky stood inside of Jimmy Jazz on 125th Street, looking over their selection of jeans. He had a pocket full of money and decided to buy himself a new fit. He had already brought a new chain and matching bracelet the week before and now he was ready to bust out with it. But one couldn't wear new jewels without a new fit. Which is what brought him to the store.

“Spooky,” called a voice to his rear. “What up, nigga?”

Spooky turned around to see Sean standing behind him. “What's good?” he said, giving Sean a pound. “Fuck you doing over here?”

“Same as you, dawg. Trying to get something to wear for the weekend. I hear they had the sale going on today. I see you heard about it, though.”

“Nah, I ain't come to bargain shop,” he said arrogantly flashing a knot of money. “I came to get right.”

“Whooo weee,” Sean said. “You holding, kid. I guess ya lil scheme came off?”

“What it look like? I told you Felon and them was some salad-ass niggaz. They ain't bout shit.”

“Scared of you, kid.” Sean smirked. “Where you headed after this?”

“I'm going to the liquor store and hit the block.”

“I was bout to do the same thing,” Sean lied. “You wanna ride with me?”

“Oh, you pushing?”

“Nah, my man drove me up. We got room for you, dick.”

“Say no more.”

Sean led Spooky from the store and out to the street. Sean felt kind of bad about what was about to go down, but he figured Spooky had brought it on himself. Maybe an ass-whipping was what he needed. Either way, it didn't matter to him. Butter had promised him a few dollars plus Spooky's corner for his services. Spooky would get over it.

“Right over here,” Sean said, opening the door to a tented Taurus. “Let's get up outta here.”

Spooky tossed his bags into the backseat and climbed in. He relaxed himself on the plush leather seats and admired the car. It was a simple but well-kept automobile. When Spooky looked up to see Butter behind the wheel, he almost soiled the very seats that he had been admiring. Butter looked over his shoulder and smiled at Spooky. Spooky thought about making a run for it, but when Felon slid onto the seat beside him, he knew he was cornered.

“What up, Spook?” Felon asked calmly.

Spooky measured Felon's approach and noted that he kept his hand in the pocket of his jacket. Things were beginning to look worse and worse. He reasoned that if he played it cool, he might get out of this one. For all he knew, they probably didn't even know that he had been stealing. When he noticed Butter kept cutting his eyes at him from the rearview, his chances slimmed a bit.

“Damn, Sean. You ain't tell me you was rolling with the homeys,” Spooky said sarcastically. Sean just turned around in the front seat and looked out the window. Spooky vowed that if he made it out of this shit he was going to kill Sean's ass.

“What's really good with you?” Felon asked, rephrasing his initial question.

“Chilling, y'all,” Spooky said, trying to sound cool when he was really shook. “Which liquor store we going to?”

“Gotta make a lil stop first,” Butter said from the front seat. “Won't take long. Right over the bridge, in the Bronx.”

“The Bronx? Why we going all the way up there, Butter?”

“Cause I said so. Now shut the fuck up and stop being a backseat driver.”

No sympathy there.

“What's been up with you, Felon?” Spooky asked, trying another angle.

“I'm good,” Felon responded, still with his hand in his pocket.

“Ain't seen y'all in a minute. Don't come through the block too much no more.”

“That's because y'all doing such a good job out there,” Felon said.

Felon spoke in an even tone. Spooky tried to read his face, but it was useless. The fact that Felon had no anger in his tone gave Spooky hope. Then things got worse.

“How's ya mom, yo?” Butter asked from the front seat.

The threat had been made. There was no edge to Butter's words, but Spooky knew it was a threat. Had Felon asked about his mother, it would've been nothing. But Butter never got personal like that with him. Spooky wanted to break down and cry, but he held his composure. He decided to use Butter's question to strengthen his sympathy plea.

“She ain't been doing so good,” Spooky lied. “She's been back and forth to the hospital about her heart.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Felon said sincerely.

“Yeah, that shit is fucked up,” Butter cut in. “I know how expensive hospital bills can be. Shit, I done put quite a few muthafuckas in St. Luke's, myself. You need to hold something to help out with the bills?”

“Nah, I'm good.” Spooky said, beginning to sweat.

“You sure?” Butter pressed. “It wouldn't be nothing to throw you a few dollars. Matter of fact, you can even take it out of the pack money.”

Spooky didn't miss the curveball that Butter threw, nor did he miss the look that Felon shot him. It was a pretty good bet that they were on to him. Spooky felt the weight of the .25 in his waist and thought about going for it. When he saw Felon's jaw clenching and unclenching he decided it against it. There were no illusions in Spooky's mind as to what Felon was holding in his pocket.

For the remainder of the ride, there was an uncomfortable silence. Spooky tried to strike up small talk, but the occupants of the car were nonreceptive. Felon just looked silently out the window, while Butter smirked behind the wheel. Spooky wondered if he could choke Sean before either Felon or Butter put a slug in him.

Butter exited on Webster Avenue. After getting off the highway they pulled in behind an auto-repair shop. It was after hours so the little spot was closed. Spooky looked around his final resting place and wished for the umpteenth time that he hadn't been so damn greedy.

“Come on,” Butter said, stepping out of the car.

Spooky looked at Felon for a sign, but found none. Reluctantly he got out of the car, with Felon following closely behind him. Sean timidly brought up the rear. Spooky looked at his former friend and again thoughts of murder ran through his head.

“Come on,” Butter said, leading the quartet farther into the recesses of the garage. “My uncle left something for me back here. I'm gonna snatch it up and we out.”

Spooky walked behind Butter, and Sean followed hesitantly. To his surprise, Felon hung back. When he looked back at his other boss, Felon stared right back at him, his eyes cold. Spooky's feet suddenly began to feel like lead. He thought about running, but he was in the middle of nowhere and sure to be cut down before he could reach any kind of cover. His only hope was to catch Butter slipping when they got behind the garage. He knew Sean's punk ass would be light work.

“It's right in here,” Butter said, nodding toward a leaning shed in the rear of the garage. “Spooky, get the door while I try to find a light or something.”

Spooky looked at Sean, who had his eyes glued to the ground, and proceeded in the direction of the shed. As he passed Butter, he saw the shorter man reaching into his waistband. It was now or never. Spooky swung with all of his might and clocked Butter on the chin. Butter staggered from the blow but kept his feet. He spat blood on the floor and smiled at a terrified Spooky.

“You got more heart than I gave you credit for,” Butter hissed, drawing his nine. “Never let it be said I was a stingy nigga. Take these shits wit you, faggot!”

Spooky tried to reach, but the first bullet had already shattered his collar bone. The young man hit the ground and howled in pain. When he tried to get up, Butter stepped over him and put one in his gut. As Spooky lay on the ground, bleeding out, he could see Butter trying to hand the gun off to Sean. The young man looked at the pistol but didn't reach for it. Murder wasn't part of the plan.

“Put one in this nigga!” Butter ordered. Sean began to tremble but still didn't reach for the gun. “Won't be no weak links on this team,” Butter growled, “or muthafucking witnesses to this murder.”

Sean knew what time it was with Butter. If he didn't pop Spooky, he would probably wind up dead too. Survival was the code of the streets, so he took the pistol. He took one look at his pleading friend and popped him in the head. At least he didn't have to suffer.

“I was beginning to worry about you,” Butter joked as he took the gun from Sean's shaking hand. “Help me with this shit,” Butter said, clearing out a pile of old car parts in the corner. When they had moved the rubble, there were two six-foot holes dug in the dirt.

“Why two holes?” Sean asked, not knowing if he really wanted the answer.

“In case you didn't pull the trigger,” Butter said seriously.

Sean just watched quietly Butter tossed Spooky into the hole. His greed had gotten him in way deeper than he ever meant to be. He belonged to Butter and Felon now and there was nothing he could do about it.

 

Felon stood in the front of the garage, smoking a cigarette and thinking about Eve. His lovely Evelyn. Seeing her that afternoon had been shocking enough, but seeing the transformation she had undergone was an unexpected pleasure indeed. She was the same hard-ass Eve, but she had grown up quite a bit.

The sounds of a scuffle, then gunfire, told Felon that the job had been done. He tried to tell himself that he felt bad about having Spooky clipped, but it wasn't a very convincing lie. He had known the boy and his family for years, but this was business. Spooky was wrong and had to be dealt with. Had they let him slide, everyone would've tried to put their hand in the cookie jar. It was better to nip it in the bud early.

After about fifteen minutes of waiting, Butter came from behind the garage, followed by Sean. Everything seemed fine at first, but then Felon noticed the look on Sean's face. The boy looked as if he had just seen a ghost. It didn't take a rocket scientist to know what his problem was. Felon had asked Butter not to mark Sean. He was only there to help lure Spooky in, then assist with getting rid of the body. Butter must've missed that part. He thought that making a man kill made him stronger. In some cases it did, but in other cases it had a reverse effect. The murderer could wind up traumatized by the experience. Felon would have to keep a close eye on Sean for the next few weeks and he would definitely have to check Butter.