I Can Touch the Bottom (4 page)

Tangy eased her way toward the rear of the building and into the back office. The door squeaked loudly as she pushed it opened, stepping inside, but since she and the cook were the only ones working, it didn't matter. Like he'd ignore the uproar in the dining area, he didn't care what Tangy did either. The sign hanging on the door which read Managers Only in bold letters meant nothing to the ghetto princess-in-training. She was on a mission and was not going to allow a piece of paper with a handwritten order hinder her task. There were stacks and stacks of old receipts for food and dairy products, a small apartment-size refrigerator the owner kept his special meals in, and, of course, a desktop computer attached to several monitors. Having had several attempted robberies in the past, the Middle Eastern-descent owner was required by his insurance company to have them installed.

Peeking back out the door before heading to handle her business, Tangy saw the coast was clear. Closing it back as quietly as she could, she raced over to the computer. Looking up at the monitors, Tangy saw the parking lot in clear view. Not having to wonder about all the commotion that was going on, she knew it was one of the assholes that tried to go for bad with Stackz laid out. She and the cook were smart enough to duck and take cover when they heard the thunderous sound of the barrage of bullets ricochet off the building. Sure, the owner said the glass they were working behind could withstand the force of bullets; however, they were smart enough not to take the chance to see. No way did they want to run the risk of being struck by a stray bullet, so they made sure to stay put until they knew it had ceased.

Tangy looked for the eject button for the USB flash drive storage. Finding it, she then pressed the button, stuck it in her pocket, and smiled. Hitting a few more keys, she pulled up the recorded footage of Stackz giving the three clowns the business inside and outside of the restaurant. Watching Mickey get hit, then Rank followed Devin, taking a gunshot to the side of his head, Tangy knew the heinous, but valuable-to-some video had to go. Delete, Delete, Delete, she pressed with a smile on her face. After deleting the footage in every place she could think of in the system, Tangy was mindful to empty the recycle bin. Trying to bring the deadly events up again, she was content knowing she'd successfully erased all traces of the lethal altercation.

Opening the desk drawer, she rambled through it until she found one of the unmarked flash drives to replace the one she had just taken out. Pleased with herself, she wiped the computer down with an old, dirty-looking, grease-filled rag the day shift manager kept hanging in the office. She also wiped anything else she thought she may have touched. Before leaving, Tangy opened a bottle of water that was amongst many stored by the side of the door. To give herself extra insurance that the system would be tripping, she poured water across the keyboard and directly into the back of the computer. Leaving the bottle tipped over on the system as if the midnight manager had accidentally spilled it, Tangy exited the office.

Swiftly returning to the front, she cautiously came from behind the bulletproof glass. Glad that no more customers had come in, she had time to creep over to the window. Turning up her nose at what used to be a part of Devin's brains sliding down the window, she could only shake her head how Stackz had flipped the script on not one, but three dummies who wanted to go for bad.

“Yo, Sam. Go make some hot bleach water so you can mop up this crap,” Tangy yelled back over her shoulder. Taking a quick survey, she saw a motionless Devin sprawled out near the doorway, Mickey still hiding by the Dumpster, as well as Rank, wide-eyed, seemingly in shock. Tangy knew the police would be coming at any time now because an injured Mickey was yelling into his cell phone for help; no doubt, 911. Unlike Devin, who at least went out like a real street player, and Rank, who couldn't manage to speak, believing the head wound he was suffering from was far worse than it truly was, Mickey was crying like a real little pussy. Tangy knew right then and there Rank might boss up and handle shit in the streets. Mickey, on the other hand, would be the weak link when it came down to it; code name: snitch bitch.

* * *

T. L. turned his kitted Charger up into the restaurant parking lot. Smooth enough to have never been caught up or directly linked with any of the drama he'd brought to residents of Metro Detroit and the surrounding areas, T. L. had his CPL. Carrying his firearm, legal or not, T. L. was like Stackz and Gee; he feared no man. So rolling down his window, T. L. had no problem worrying who might have been lurking, attempting to try him like they had his manz, or even the police showing up, wanting to frisk him for just being black. He was ready and legal for whatever. Surveying the scene, he couldn't help but to be elated at his fam's handiwork.

T. L. could clearly see inside the restaurant through the huge, and what appeared to be, blood-splattered window. His homegirl Tangy stood behind the counter casually filing her fingernails as if her workplace was not a bloody mess and the slow-moving response time, short-staffed cops were not on their way. As if she sensed him outside, Tangy looked up from what she was doing and easily recognized T. L.'s car. With a quickness, she perked up, fixing her hair and knocking off any crumbs that were possibly on her T-shirt and apron.

Unlocking the otherwise secured door once more, Tangy then headed back out in the dining area. Careful not to step on the mess on the floor she was about to have the cook mop up, she yelled to her coworker, “I'll be right back! And dang, yo, come clean this bullshit up before the police come they asses in here asking us all types of unnecessary garbage about shit you or me don't wanna be a part of.”

Exiting the dining area in a hurry, Tangy ran outside. Stepping over Devin as if he wasn't even there, head held high, she grinned, thinking it's all fun and games with these lames until a real-life gangster falls through and up that gun.

T. L. was smooth as always. Licking his lips, he smoked Tangy over as she slow strolled, approaching his ride.

Crazy as ever, she was, of course, all smiles, acting as if she hadn't just stepped over a dead body in the middle of the parking lot. “Man, where you been hiding at? I tried to get at you, but I ain't got your number. You change that mug every few minutes.”

T. L. didn't know what her nonchalant deal was where the slumped body was concerned and didn't have time to investigate. He had to get what he came to get and get the hell out of Dodge. “Girl, you know what it is. I'm out of here in these streets. You either keep up or catch up with a nigga; you feel me? But on another note, I need you to do me a solid.”

Tangy stared him directly in the eyes with her hands planted firmly on her hips. “Tell me I got the best pussy in the world.”

“Huh? Say
what
, now?” T. L. was completely thrown off by her wild and out-of-the-blue question.

“You heard me. I said, tell me I was the best pussy you ever had in life. Tell me I'm the shit!”

Once again, T. L. had a flashback to why he stopped fooling with her. Tangy was a 100 percent plum Negro nuts. Knowing he had to play her game to ensure he could quickly get what he needed from her, he did just that. “Come on now, Tangy, you know how we used to do what we do when we did what we did.” He reached his arm outside of his car, tugging at the upper rim of her leggings, bringing her body toward him. “Now, seriously, I need you to hurry up and do something for me.”

“Hey, love, I'm already on it.” Seductively, she pulled out the flash drive of the made-for-TV shootout from her bra. Making sure T. L. got a good look at her double Ds, she leaned over inside the vehicle.

Not blind, he definitely got a good long look as he licked his lips, mimicking LL Cool J. Feeling a hard-on developing, he grabbed down at his dick. “Damn, baby, you a rider, for real!”

Tangy, not only crazy but a true freak to her heart, immediately got a glimpse of his bulging dick and wanted to taste it once more, just for old time's sake. “Listen, love, you know I always got your best interest at heart. I knew when I seen your people come in the restaurant, it was gonna be my lucky night. I got to finally catch up with your big dick having ass. So, what's up for when a bitch get off? We fucking or what? What's the deal?”

Taking the flash drive out her hand, he had to laugh as he spoke. “You see, that's why I fucks with you! You a real stand-up bitch! Down for whatever, and a nigga ain't gotta tell you what to do or how to do it. You stay on point.”

“Yeah, fuck them busters! They had that shit coming. Especially fat boy lying over there with all the mouth! Coming all out here like he superbad! He should of just stay down when he got laid down; dummy!”

T. L. licked his lips once more. “Damn, I dig your gangster ass! You keeps it real, fo'sho!”

“Okay,
that's
what I'm talking about, daddy. So what you got for me? When I'm getting some more of that hard pipe you be laying down?”

T. L. saw that Tangy was being relentless about them hooking up again and didn't wanna run the risk of offending her before the cops got there and she scornfully ratted Stackz out. “Dig this, my baby. I got something for you better than this dick!”

“Better than your dick, nigga? What in the entire world could be better than your dick?” She stood up, shifting all her weight on her right hip.

T. L. was appreciative of the compliment paid to his python, and under any other normal circumstances, he might have broken Tangy off some dick, but here and now, he had to be out and meet up with Stackz. “You right, ain't shit better than this motherfucker right here, but this might come in a close second.” Reaching under his seat, T. L. pulled out a small wad of cash wrapped in red and beige-colored rubber bands. “Here, this is for you. A little something something for being my rider and having my people's back.”

Tangy practically snatched the dough out of his hands before he could change his mind. “For real, for me?”

“Yeah; for you. And, hey, make sure dude good in there too that's moping. I know he needs to be looked out for.”

“Don't worry about him, love. I'll take care of him personally, even if I got to throw him some of this cheese or put this fat pussy on his face.”

T. L. peered through the restaurant window and turned his attitude back on grim. “Okay, now, bae! 'Cause you know, I don't mind putting that motherfucking sand nigga's ten toes up.”

“Boy, you know, I know, you don't give two rotten shits about putting work. I ain't just meet your crazy ass. That's why we need to be together!”

“Aye, girl, before I bounce, put my number in your phone.”

Smiling hard, Tangy quickly pulled out her MetroPCS from her back pocket. Making sure she wasn't making any mistakes, she then began punching the digits in her cell as T. L. called off his number. He told her to call him and keep him posted on any developments. Hearing sirens off in the far distance, Tangy knew them boys were on their way and stepped back away from T. L.'s whip as he put it in gear to pull off. Driving by the building, he looked over at the mayhem left behind by Stackz one more time.

“Amped up!” he said with certainty as he reached for his cell. “Now
that's
how you leave lames; that's on some ho shit,” he laughed out loud hitting the gas, skirting out of the parking lot and onto the main road.

* * *

As T. L. sped through the dark, burned-out, once-vibrant city blocks of Detroit, he held his cell phone in one hand. Hitting speed dial, Stackz's cell phone was connecting to his. On the third ring he answered.

“Speak! Like only bosses can do.”

T. L. spoke one word. “Done!”

“You got it? We good?” Stackz anxiously inquired.

“No doubt, I got it,” T. L. confidently replied proud of himself for handling what was needed of him. “I got the footage and dig this! Homegirl lifted the shit and deleted all traces of that minidisaster you laid down. She put another drive in to cover her tracks. Nigga, you a straight ghost!”

“Oh yeah,” Stackz nodded, glad it had worked out in his favor.

“Plus, I gave her a few of them big faces. Bitch said if the cook doesn't play right she'll dead his ass herself, personally. I even told her to keep me updated. So you good, bro-bro. I ain't never gonna let down the hand that blessed me.”

T. L. loved to hear the O.G. spit that boss shit. It made him feel like their entire crew was untouchable. “In real life, fam, that's real talk. Blood in, blood out; you know how we do. Say no more. Well, keep that in a safe place, and we'll meet up tomorrow. I straight appreciate you, T.”

“Well, hit me up later when you get situated. And be careful out here in these Detroit streets, boss. You already know these thirsty niggas on the come up don't give a fuck about nobody.”

“No doubt.” Stackz hated he was riding without his favorite pistol, but knew he had to leave it where he did. “But you best believe I'm about to handle a few more things and call it a night.”

“All right then, Stackz, I'm about to pull up at my crib. A nigga left one of my hoes up in my shit playing like she was sleep. And you know how nosey bitches get when they by themselves too long in a dude's spot; they get to rambling; playing detective and shit.”

“Hell, yeah, I already know how these jump offs get down,” Stackz laughed, agreeing with his boy.

“Little momma fine as hell, but I'd hate to have to put a plastic bag over her fucking head.”