Get Some (8 page)

Lil Steve walked between a blue BMW and a gun-metal Benz. He stopped at a '71 Bug and got in.

“Don't go home,” Reggie said over the Bug's noisy engine.

Reggie took a long drag off his spliff. He watched Lil Steve slowly back out of the lot.

“Don't go home,” Reggie said again.

R
ay Ray decided not to drive home either. He went to Lil Steve's car. He waited across the street for more than two hours but homeboy never did show.

Damn, Ray Ray thought. Something must have went wrong. That fool never should have snatched that Lexus like that. He smashed out his Newport, pulled the gear from Park and glided the Lincoln down 10th.

Where could he go? Where should he hide? Ray Ray drove with the Lincoln's seat tilted so far back you only saw his neck in the car.

He suddenly thought of Charles. He was just down the street. Maybe he could go and just chill for a minute. He could get a cold beer, throw some water on his face and try to get straight before heading to the club. Ray Ray parked the car around the corner, between Edgehill and 11th, in front of a jacked California craftsman. He pulled the blue vinyl B of A bag from under the seat and stuck it inside his shirt. He dashed across quickly with his head slightly down and ran up to Charles's porch.

“Hey, Charles,” he said, banging his car keys against the screen. “Hey, Charles! Man, are you home?”

Charles was home. He peeked at Ray Ray from the shade. “Fuck!” he said under his breath. “What's he doing here?”

Charles started to tiptoe away but then heard Ray Ray say, “Man, don't try and hide. I see your shadow through the shade.”

Charles was barefoot and still wore his blue postal pants. His white tank was damp from the heat.

“Open up, man! Shit, I ain't got all day.” Ray Ray looked toward the street hoping he wasn't seen. He banged hard against Charles's window again. The pounding shook the whole door.

Charles was just about to twist the knob when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He was still wearing the fake beard and mustache. Charles peeled it off and shoved the disguise in his pocket. A fan blew against the sheer drapes.

“Wait a minute,” Charles said, rubbing his eyes, like he was sleepy. He opened the door but he was too petrified to breathe. He didn't even unlock the screen.

“You know Flo don't want no bullshit over here, man.” He hoped Ray Ray would take the hint and go.

“Sorry, man, my bad, but I thought you was the man up in here,” Ray Ray said with a big, flippant grin. “Come on, nigga, stop trippin'. Let me in.” Ray Ray turned around and looked over his shoulder. “This is serious business, dog. I got to talk right now!”

Charles slowly unhooked the top latch and let Ray Ray inside.

“So what's the rush, man? Why you so eager?” Charles tried to sound cool. He didn't know what Ray Ray saw. And even though inside he felt like he'd been sideswiped, outside he remained extremely low-key.

“It's Lil Steve, dog.” With that Ray Ray crossed the floor and peeked out the front drapes. “You seen him today?”

“Naw, dog. I just got up. I haven't seen shit. Anyway, it ain't like that fool gonna drop by my spot. You know we don't hang. That's yo' homie, man. Me and him barely speak.” Lil Steve had sold Flo a vacuum cleaner once. That piece of shit had worked once, then quit.

“Man, I need a drink.” Ray Ray stood at the kitchen sink and doused his face with cold water. He wiped it off with a paper towel and laid his black gun on the counter.

Charles glanced at the gun. “I drank the last beer an hour ago.” Charles didn't want to offer Ray Ray nothing to make him stay. What was he doing here now? Did homeboy know something? Charles glanced at the black gun again.

“You got a shot? I know you got some of that Johnnie Walker Black in the back room. Let me get some of that, man.” Ray Ray wiped the sweat from his neck with the paper towel. “Shit, it's hot as a muthafucka out there, man!”

“Hey, let me use the phone right quick.”

Ray Ray picked up Charles's phone and started to dial Lil Steve's cell.

“Shit, man. You want a drink, you want the phone. You gonna want my woman next.” Charles came back with a bottle and one glass.

“Naw, man. Flo got that evil eye poppin'. I don't want none of yo' shit, dog.” Ray Ray got up and looked out the drapes.

Charles walked to the side window. He peeled back the shade. He put his hand in his pocket and fingered the fake beard and mustache. He watched the lady across the street water her burnt grass. Sweat raced down the side of Charles's face. He couldn't believe Ray Ray. Why the fuck was he here? Any minute Trudy would be at his door. She'd already called to say she was on her way. He had to act cool and get Ray Ray to leave.

Charles took the bottle and downed a quick shot, then walked to the kitchen holding the neck in his fist. And even though this was the last of his very good scotch he drained the rest of the bottle in the sink. Maybe Ray Ray'd leave since the liquor was gone. Charles tried to steer him away. “Man, I'm tired. I got to get me some sleep.”

“Straight up?” Ray Ray said, barely listening to Charles. He had already swallowed his Jack and was twirling the wet, empty glass.

“I want to get some rest before Flo gets home, man. She's been tripping big time lately.”

Ray Ray got up and peered again out the drapes. He came back and shook the last drops from the bottle. “Damn, man, is that all you got?”

“I was fixing to go get a drink at the club. Besides, I got my eye on a honey up there.”

“I ain't never seen no honeys at Dee's, man,” Ray Ray said, looking at Charles. “Most of 'em just want someone to keep buying 'em shots and lighting the tips of their Virginia Slims.” Ray Ray went to the kitchen and picked up his gun. “None of 'em got any heart.”

Charles watched him put the gun inside a holster. “Whatchu know about heart?” Charles smiled at his friend. “You as ice pick as they come.”

Ray Ray didn't even look up. He noticed a pack of gum on the dining room table. He handed a piece to Charles, folded a stick inside his mouth and then put the whole Juicy Fruit pack in his slacks.

Ray Ray massaged the bulge in his stomach. He wanted to go count the money. The blue vinyl bag itched inside his shirt. “Man, let me use your bathroom a minute.”

Charles looked up, nervous. You had to go through the bedroom to get to the bathroom. His canvas mail carrier's bag with the money inside was laying on top of the bed.

But it was too late. Ray Ray stood up. He went to the bathroom and bolted the door. “Let me ride to the club with you tonight, dog,” Ray Ray yelled out through the crack.

“Ride with me?” Charles sat chewing his gum fast and nervous. “What's wrong with yo' shit?” He had to get Ray Ray out. Trudy would be there any minute!

Suddenly there was a sharp rap at the door.

Charles sat paralyzed. He didn't dare move. Ray Ray seized up. He zipped up his pants. He took the gun out from his holster again. He hadn't unzipped the blue envelope yet. He peeked from the bathroom door and stared through the crack.

Lord
, he said, rubbing the flat metal cross,
please don't send me back to the pen.
He cocked his black gun and peeked through the crack.

“What's wrong witchu, man? Ain't this yo' house? Go ahead and answer the door,” Ray Ray whispered loudly.

Ray Ray opened the bathroom door wider. He clicked off the light. He stood in the shadowy black.

Charles twisted the front door handle slowly and the heavy door creaked as it opened.

Flo stood there holding two bags of groceries.

Fuck! Charles said to himself. What was Flo doing here now? She was supposed to be at work. All hell would bust loose if Flo saw Trudy at their house.

“Hey, Miss Flo,” Ray Ray said relieved. He walked into the room. “Whatchu know good?” Ray Ray smiled, revealing a row of rough teeth; his gun was back under his arm.

Flo silently carried the bags to the kitchen. Lazy asses, Flo thought to herself. Neither one of them would think to offer her some help. She glanced at Charles quickly and then looked away. She was struggling with the big, heavy bags.

“See what I mean, man?” Charles said in a low tone. “I don't need that attitude up in my own place.” He looked toward the door and raised his voice slightly. “People think they a queen 'cause they got a new car.” Charles looked over and whispered to Ray Ray. “Let that bitch carry that shit in herself.”

Flo poked her head back in. “I don't see your name on nobody's lease. Let the doorknob hit ya where the good Lord split ya.” She let the kitchen door swing back shut.

“Shit, man,” Ray Ray said, looking at the closed door. “If I had a nice woman coming home with groceries, my ass would stay home every day.”

Charles grabbed his coat and a bottle of cologne. His keys jingled in his deep pocket.

Ray Ray nervously eyed Charles. He didn't want to drive his own car. He was afraid to go out in his Lincoln again. The police might be looking for it now.

“Hey, Charles, ol' Bessie been acting up lately.” Ray Ray hadn't called his Lincoln Bessie in ages. “Mind if I ride with you?”

Charles didn't comment. He went to the bedroom. Charles wasn't worried about who drove or not. He had more important things on his mind. He shook the mail bag and the blue vinyl bag landed on the pillows. He wrapped it up inside his jacket. “No problem,” Charles called from the door. “I'll be out in a minute.” He watched Ray Ray walk to the front door and pause. “Go 'head, man. I'll be right there.” Ray Ray peeked from the window and then stepped to the porch.

Charles was nervous. His stomach felt jumpy. He was worried about carrying around all that money. He wished he could leave some of it here. Not take it all to Dee's. He picked up a green glass bottle of Brut, spraying the cologne along his throat just to stall. Where could he put some? Where could he hide it? He grabbed the fat blue envelope and his coat and walked straight out the front door. But when he got to the curb he turned around and jogged back down the long driveway.

“Wait a second, man.” Charles hollered at Ray Ray. “I forgot something. I'll be right back.” Charles ran all the way back into his yard. He looked around quickly to see if anyone was watching. But he didn't have to worry. The upstairs people had moved out. Charles glanced around the yard. There was nothing but dirt. A worn-out sheet blew from the line. In the corner stood a falling-down garage. Charles pulled hard to get the old garage door open, knocking down the thick cobwebs with a stick. The old garage was stuffed with all sorts of junk. Broken-down furniture, bags of old soiled clothes and a whole lot of rat-chewed boxes. The kind of stuff people bagged up and shoved against a wall and never came back for again.

Charles eyes skimmed the dim, cobwebbed room. A wooden plank was brimming with paint cans. Using a pocket knife, Charles worked around the lid of the can and then pried off the stubborn round top. He dumped what was left in the can on the grass. Gray, gunky paint oozed over the lawn. He sprayed the inside of the can with a hose. Luckily the money was still wrapped in plastic. He jammed most of the cash inside the old gallon can. He took fifteen thousand and put it in the envelope in his pocket, shoving the paint can behind some others in the back and ran back down the long driveway.

“What's that?” Ray Ray asked, noticing the paint on his hands. “You planning on painting a house?”

Charles didn't respond. He wiped his hands on a napkin. He pressed on the gas, racing the car down toward Dee's Parlor.

Flo walked to the front window and peeked from the drapes. She watched Ray Ray and Charles drive away from the house, but as soon as their tires cleared away from the curb, Trudy passed by slowly in front of their driveway.

“Oh, I know this 'ho don't think she can roll over when she wants.” Flo grabbed the egg carton from the plastic grocery bag. She raced from the house. “He ain't over here, slut!” She sped down the steps and straight toward Trudy's car.

“Get the hell off my street 'fore I kick your cheap ass!” Flo tossed a fresh egg at Trudy's car and missed, but the other one smashed on and in her halfway rolled window.

Flo grabbed her door handle and tried to pry it open, but Trudy skidded off toward the corner.

“Oh, it's on now!” Flo said to herself. She fanned her hot face once she got in the house. So Charles and Trudy were trying to be slick. Having Ray Ray show up was obviously a decoy. Flo kicked the grocery bag across the floor in the kitchen. She picked up a box of Wheat Thins and the phone and dialed Tony. She sure hated to call Tony but she needed his help. This shit was getting dealt with tonight.

“That you, Flo? Flo Washington calling me? Must be my day. What's up, baby? That nigga showing his color at last?”

“Tony, can I come over for a minute?”

“Hell, yeah, 'cause I'm sure not coming to your house and getting my ass shot by your postal-working husband.”

“We're not married, Tony.”

“Might as well be. Y'all been shackin' forever.”

“I just want to come over for a second, okay?”

“If you come, it ain't for no minute and you know this.” Tony laughed a wild, evil, drunken wheeze, like he'd just told the funniest joke.

Flo didn't say a thing.

“What's wrong witcha, girl? Cat got yo' tongue?”

“I'll tell you when I get there.” Flo hung up and plugged in the hot rollers and quickly got into the shower. She oiled her legs and combed out her hair until it flowed big and black against her shoulders.

She didn't want Tony. Hell, naw. Flo didn't want nothing to do with his nasty ass and foul habits. But Tony had something that Flo really wanted. See, Tony had a thing for guns. Had a whole arsenal over there. Had .350 Magnums and derringers too, snub .45's you could fit in your purse and old rifles you strapped on your back. You were supposed to surrender your weapons after 'Nam but Tony and his brothers had kept some. She remembered how Tony would sit in the living room for hours. He'd spread the newspaper out over their wooden coffee table and carefully oil each one. He'd check all the triggers, gut and clean out the shaft. Then he'd twirl the barrel fast, watching it spin, until it sounded like those big roulette wheels in Vegas.