Invincible: A Novel (11 page)

The fucking nerve of her to call me and ask me anything. That bitch is lucky I don’t know where she is or she might have gotten erased off this fucking earth, fucking cunt. I ain’t heard from her stupid ass in two years and she calls me with this shit
. Phil was still very bitter toward Mary-beth for calling it off with him like she did. She told him that she was leaving the life; she couldn’t go on dealing with drug dealers, lawyers, judges, killers, whores, pimps, and every other motherfucker who
needed her services. She was about to have a child. The thing that had Phil tight was that he knew the child wasn’t his. Even though he and Mary-beth had never had a real relationship as far as marriage or an engagement, he considered her to be his—but he knew she didn’t love him. She never tried to deceive him by saying that she did. In fact, if you let Phil tell it, he didn’t love her, either. Their relationship was cool the way it was: They both knew the other fucked around with other people. But what was really eating Phil deep down inside was that he suspected Mary-beth had really fallen in love with Jake, a fucking weed guy, some corner thug. Out of all the guys in the world, why him? Why would she want a common hoodlum when she could have someone that was rich? And to make shit even more complicated, this was the same motherfucker who had saved him from that perverted killer, Phat Murphy; this fact ate at him from the inside out.
How could all this shit happen to me
, he wondered. His motto was: “Once Phil Rosenberg lays down with a bitch, she’s his, until he tells her she’s not.”

———

Mary-beth was thinking up a master plan of her own; their daughter, Jocelyn, was almost two years old, and if Mary-beth had anything to do with it, her child’s father was going to live.

Even though she’d put her old lifestyle behind her, Mary-beth still had love for Jake. Every time she looked at her daughter’s eyes and smile, she thought of him. Many nights she missed her child’s father, the coolest man in the world, the man who had once saved her in the nick of time—her hero.

What she did for a living before she left the life was a little of everything. If you were a lawyer or a judge and you needed female
attention and wanted to get high, Legs was the lady to call. She could find you just the kind of woman you were looking for. If you were a drug dealer and needed a connect on weight, no matter what drug it was, she could find you a plug. If you were a thief and needed a place cased out or wanted the blueprints to somewhere, she could get that done for you. If you were a shooter, Legs would let you know who needed guns for hire. She was like a one-person agency for the underworld: good guys and bad guys alike.

When she found out she was pregnant, she just up and bounced from the life she was living. She wanted to start over with a clean slate. Money wasn’t a problem. She had more than enough paper to be straight for life. But now things were different; this wasn’t about money. This was about love.

Mary-beth called her sister Joyce and asked her to hold down her daughter until she got back from what she called her “business trip.” “It’s one that’s going to keep me away for a few weeks,” she told her. She knew Joyce would say yes because every day when they spoke on the phone, Joyce would ask, “When are you gonna bring that li’l angel over?”

Well, the li’l angel is coming because Mommy has to turn back into the she-devil
, Legs thought as she got on her way.
Mommy is going to find her man
.

———

Mitch was sitting on the phone with the airlines setting up a flight for Nine-One and another flight for Dr. Nebbie, one of his old-school friends who was a natural healer and dealt with alternative medicine. Mitch knew that good ole Neb would
want the money and he could get Jake back to good health and movement. He also knew that Jake wasn’t with going back to the hospital so the deal would work out just fine for everybody. Mitch wanted Nine-One there because he needed to get back to town in order to try and get some answers to their many questions. And while he was gone Jake would need someone that he could rely on. Mitch had sensed that he wasn’t exactly trusting Kim; with Nine-One there Jake might feel a little more secure.

Mitch told Jake the first thing he was going to do when he got back to the city was find out all the information he could about the dudes who were arrested for shooting at his nephew and the police. This would be easy for an old fox like Mitch, all he had to do was keep his ears open while motherfuckers spoke about everything they saw, heard, and thought about as they frequented his gambling spot. It would be especially easy to get the history on the jokers who shot at the police because that type of shit was held in high regard in the hood, sort of looked up to. What Mitch didn’t know was that he wouldn’t even need to keep his ears on alert because his man Monster already had the whole scoop.

Once Nine-One and Nebbie arrived at the hotel where Jake and Kim were hiding, Mitch prepared to leave. “Kim, it’s probably going to be best if I take your car with me. Whoever is looking to kill Jake probably knows what he was riding in when he left the hospital.” Kim didn’t have a problem with the arrangements. Mitch left his car behind so Nine-One would have something to drive J.B. and Nebbie around in. Mitch hated to part with his Eldorado but it was mandatory for his nephew’s sake. Mitch decided he would park Kim’s car at the
airport in long-term parking and get himself a first-class flight back home. Kim’s Beamer was nice but it wasn’t his style. Besides that, the back window was shattered and the rear bumper was scratched up, and Mitch wasn’t into driving around looking hot or fucked up so he was on the next flight smoking.

FLYING BULLETS

April 2010

Mitch’s flight arrived right on time and Monster was waiting for him when he got off the aircraft. “You a’ight, OG?” Monster asked as they walked to where he parked the car he was driving. “Where’s the Eldorado?”

“Yeah, shit is a’ight. I had to leave the Eldorado with my people: They needed it more than me.”

Back in the car Monster lit up a freshly rolled blunt and passed Mitch an unopened pint of Henny. “Take a swig of this yak.”

Mitch put the bottle to his mouth and took a good swallow. The potent cognac slid down his throat. “Whew, she biting.” Monster passed him the blunt.

“OG, I got some info that you need to know.”

Mitch took two long pulls of the blunt and stared at his protégé. “What is it?”

Monster picked up the cognac and took a swig. “I got the word on who tried to kill your peeps—J.B.—and they some serious characters, real foul dudes. They don’t have regards for nothing—women, children—none of that don’t mean shit to them. Motherfuckas so grimy they even do the family pets greasy. They call themselves the 300 Crew. How ever you want to go at them though, I’m riding with you one hundred percent.”

“That’s peace.” Mitch thanked Monster for his alliance and then said, “I heard of the 300. I thought they were a bunch of young boys who started a little gang; when did they become so notorious?”

“When they started getting money out the ass and laying mu’fuckaz down like rugs and floor mats. Nobody even knows the real identities of these niggaz. Some say it’s ten niggaz who can’t be touched that run the gang. Some say it’s three quiet dudes who each hustled up a few mil and came to the conclusion that if they got together they could run the city. Some mu’fuckaz say it’s a cop that’s running the shit. Some say it’s a bitch … Truth is no one really knows who call the shots for them niggaz, or how many there are. Niggaz just know their name and their trademark, which is killing shit and supplying weight and committing all types of white-collar crimes.”

“What the fuck has the streets come to … a bunch of mystery killers and dealers? You know what?” Mitch said in a serious tone. “I think about quitting the business; maybe it’s time for me to move on. When all the smoke clears I might not even be around, know what I’m saying youngblood?”

“I feel ya, OG.” Monster got in the right lane to exit the highway then asked, “Where are we headed: home or what?”

“Nah, I got work to do. I have to get to the bottom of who these 300 motherfuckers are.”

“Where do we get started?” Monster asked.

“First,” Mitch said, “we need to round up a little team of our own.”

“So you want me to get hold of some live-ass niggaz that be bussin’ them hammers?”

“Not at all, youngblood, not at all. What we gonna do is send a few chicks around to survey the land.” Monster sat back and listened as his OG gave him game. “We gon’ send our team of girls out to find out which bitches are buying the most Gucci, Louie, and Prada; who goes to the most expensive beauticians, drives foreign cars, and lives in nice cribs—and tries to stay off the radar at the same time. When we get that info we move on to the next step, young gee.” Mitch had a smile on his face like he had it all figured out. “I betcha I figure out who these 300 motherfuckas are. I never heard of these motherfuckers running shit and no one knows them … some secret society gangsta shit. I ain’t buying it—not on these streets—something gotta give.”

———

Dr. Nebbie was a miracle worker, Nine-One was a lifesaver, and Kim was an angel. After three months, Jake felt like things were looking a little better for him, but it still was eating him up that somebody wanted him dead and he didn’t know who or why.

The last thing Jake heard from Mitch was that the word on the streets was dudes who tried to kill him when he left the
hospital were from a gang called the 300 Crew, which made no sense to Jake. As far as he could remember he got put in a coma because of the Northside Boys or, at worst, T.M.B. The reason that the whole situation spiraled out of control in the first place was because of the life-threatening letter he received. Why would so many people want him dead? He had been off the streets and running his little store for a minute. He didn’t even own a car; he used Nine-One’s car service. He lived a quiet life with his girl, Kim, in a modest condo. He could think of nothing in his day-to-day life that was a good reason for someone to want to kill him. Who in the hell had written that letter was all that was on his mind when ole Neb interrupted his thoughts.

“It’s time to exercise,” Nebbie said, handing him a cup of tea made from the nastiest herbs and spices Jake had ever tasted. This was the beginning of Jake’s daily regimen, which consisted of drinking nasty drinks, having ole Neb stretch his body out for about an hour, then doing specific exercises that consisted of focusing on one muscle or joint at a time until Neb felt it was stimulated enough to move on. They were doing at least five different body parts a day.

Jake told Nebbie what the doctor at the hospital had said about his arm—how it would never work again. Nebbie laughed at the diagnosis and said, “We’ll see.” Then he started mumbling to himself real low in a language Jake had never heard before.

Jake was a lot more at ease with Kim than he was when they first left the hospital. For starters, she had explained the whole money thing to him. “Only about fifty thousand of the money is mine; the five hundred fifty thou belongs to you,” she said. “I always kept it stashed for you, and I brought it right away because
I didn’t want you to think I was a thief. I would have dropped it off at your mom’s house but there would have been too many complications.” Jake kind of knew some of what she was talking about. His memory was far from great but some things were coming to him. He knew Kim no longer fucked with her mom real tough for personal reasons, but their moms always hung out with each other; it was nearly impossible to see one without the other. Kim continued to fill in some blank spots. “I been taking care of our parents’ bills and pocket money for the past couple of years, but I kept receipts”—which were in the bag with the money—“for everything I spent. The only major purchase I made on myself was for the Beamer.” She also said, “We have a joint account that I started with like forty grand in it, and if my memory serves me correctly you have about two hundred grand tied up in real estate somewhere.” She didn’t know the details on that, though, because when Jake made those transactions they weren’t on the best of terms. Jake respected Kim keeping it one hundred.

And Kim was proud of herself for keeping her own income a secret, even when she was having a soft moment for Jake.

Nine-One asked Jake if he wanted to go for a ride, but Jake declined. “Not right now,” he said.

“Come on,” Nine-One coerced. “You need the air and I need the company. I can’t ride with Nebbie—I can never understand what the fuck he’s talking about.” Jake and Kim cracked up when he said that. Nebbie even let out a chuckle followed by a stubby middle finger.

“Okay,” Jake agreed, “I’ll go, but I don’t want to hear no stories about your country and all that shit you always talking to me about, you fake-ass foreigner.”

Nine-One smiled because he knew Jake was getting healthy and his mind was starting to remember the past. This was the first time since Nine-One had arrived that Jake had mentioned one of their debates. He thought Jake had forgotten about them, along with a couple of other things.