Keyshia and Clyde (12 page)

Chapter 20
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The grand total of the cash take from the Washington Heights job was eighty-seven thousand dollars, not including the drugs or the singles. After Clyde tested the product, it was determined that it was, in fact, cocaine—sixty-five pounds of pure uncut cocaine, to be exact, all finely wrapped in thick cellophane plastic wrap. Clyde sat up the rest of that night and kicked everything around in his head to see how he could uncomplicate the situation. It was bad enough that he was in debt to Black Sam and them, but to have the Dominicans after them also was bad!

Clyde knew he had to get the drugs out of the house. He had never associated himself with drugs because it was a dirty business, and he didn't feel comfortable with that amount of drugs around him. Second, and quite honestly, he didn't want the drugs around Keyshia because he knew that cocaine in particular was a cunning, insidious drug. He had seen many people change at rates unparalleled and do things so foul that it was as if they were no longer humans. He wasn't going to put Keyshia at risk like that in case she still wasn't strong enough to fight off the temptation. He thought about calling Sonny, then quickly ruled it out because Sonny wasn't a dealer and would only bring heat to them. So he made up his mind about where he could stash it at until he could find out what to do with it.

Clyde went to see Pops first thing the next morning as he was opening up the gate to the Ice House. As always, Pops was elated to see Clyde, and as always, Clyde didn't say a word, just took over the procedures of opening up the store, something he'd done for the last six years or so.

After everything was set up and ready for business, Clyde went over and retrieved the blue luggage bag. “Pops,” he said, “I need to ask a favor from you.” Pops chomped down on his cigar and looked at Clyde. Clyde turned away, unable to match his stare.

“What is it, Rocco?” asked Pops.

“I need something put away for me,” Clyde said apprehensively.

Pops watched him closely and stared at the bag he held in his hand. He told Clyde to pull up a chair and have a seat next to him.

“Rocco,” he said with a stern fatherly look, “many young boys worked for me right here in this shop. I seen 'em grow up before my eyes, plenty of 'em. Some of 'em went on to live a nice honest life.” Pops didn't skip a beat and said, “But most of 'em fell to these here streets.” He nodded over and over. “Some got into selling drugs, using drugs, turned into killers, in and out of jail, some never getting out again. But every time over the last forty years, I never got used to it when they family come tell me they done got themselves kilt.” Pops paused as he reflected and then pulled out a cigar box from behind the counter and handed it to Clyde. Clyde took the box but was hesitant to open it.

“Go 'head, open it.” Clyde opened it slowly, and inside it were plastic cards and funeral obituaries with pictures of young black males, some so old that they were turning yellow. Clyde could only stare at them, too afraid to ask who they were, knowing the answer. Pops didn't stop there but pulled out two more boxes and placed them on the table. Clyde was moved and kept his head down, fearing that Pops would see right through him.

“Rocco,” said Pops, “from the time you came walking through them doors and asked for a job, I saw something special about you. You had a clean heart. But it was something different in your eyes.” Clyde looked up momentarily as Pops continued, “A lot of pain. Pain that deep ain't suppose to wear on a young boy's eyes like yours, I thought. You hiding or fear something so deep, you afraid to face it, so you can't let go of it, boy. If you don't learn how to face it, you gon' change, and a lot of boys”—Pops pointed to the box—“changed, and you never know it, but they do. It's like you look up one day and they a brand-new person, like you never knew 'em. There's a saying, Rocco, and don't you never forget this: If you keep a cucumber marinating long enough, it will eventually turn into a pickle. The thing is, boy, you will never know when the change actually happens, you just look up one day and you just changed.” Pops stared at Clyde hard and long. “You just remember, once you turn into a pickle, you can never, ever, go back to a cucumber again.”

Clyde thought about what Pops said and thanked him. They talked for another hour or so and wound up laughing like the old days. Pops chose not to ask Clyde what was in the bag but told him that the bag would be safe and put away where nobody would be able to find it. Clyde thanked him and they parted with a big hug.

Later that evening, while Keyshia and Clyde were lying in bed, Clyde was silent for the better part of the night, thinking about everything that he and Pops had discussed that morning. “I spoke to Pops today,” he said as he stared up at the ceiling. “He said something like, if a person don't face they fears, they would be stuck for the rest of their life.”

Keyshia didn't know where all this was coming from. “What do you mean?”

Clyde thought for a moment. “You see how you act when you saw Omar and them niggas that did that shit to you?” He sat up and continued, “That was fear, baby. You could hardly breathe. You was walking around all these years with pain that you didn't even know existed, and when you saw them it all came out.”

Keyshia nodded.

“Think about it. You told me yourself that after all that shit happened you changed, and Pops told me you never know when you change from a cucumber to a pickle, and once you a pickle, you could never go back to being a cucumber.”

“So you saying that I'm scarred for life and that I'm a pickle now?” asked Keyshia.

“No, I'm saying that if you stay carrying the fear and not address it, it's a pretty good chance that you will turn into a pickle.” Keyshia lay back in silence.

Suddenly Clyde turned toward her and asked, “Baby, can I ask you a question?”

Keyshia turned to face him and said, “Yeah, maybe.”

He moved closer. “For real, yo, you got to be dead honest.”

Keyshia knew he was serious and answered, “Yeah, but only if you answer the same question.” He nodded.

Clyde paused as if he were thinking of a way to form the question. “What is the biggest fear that you have and are afraid to confront, and what would you do when you finally faced it?”

Keyshia was blown away by the depth of the question and took a moment to think about it. Suddenly, she looked at Clyde and asked with a sneer on her lips, “Do you really want to know?”

Clyde sat up and nodded. Keyshia stared at the wall and spoke slowly and measuredly. “I'd go down south and see the man who raped me and took my baby. I'd wait and hunt him down, and at the right moment I'd go to his house, the same place he used to carry me, ring the doorbell, and wait for him to answer.” Keyshia's jaw began to grind. “Then I'd look him right in the eye until he remembered who I was, and when he do I's gonna shoot his fuckin' dick off!”

Clyde asked, “You serious?”

Without blinking, Keyshia said, “As a heart attack!”

Clyde lay back down, put his hands behind his head, and stared at the ceiling.

“What about you?” Keyshia asked.

“I ain't got none,” Clyde answered casually.

“Come on, Clyde, that's not fair. I told you one, now you got to tell me,” Keyshia pleaded, and than flipped it on him. “Clyde, did you see how you reacted when I told you that those was the guys that raped me?” Clyde just stared at her. “The shit that went down with Sugar, you put a shotgun up his ass, Clyde.” Clyde put his head down. “It's like you unable to see somebody who's weak get taken advantage of, it's a reason for that. It's a reason why you feel you have to rescue somebody. Could it be that you trying to make up for somebody you couldn't save, Clyde?”

Clyde was stunned. He turned his back and paused before he started speaking.

“Over the years, whenever I went to see my mother in the hospital, I would get so depressed. She just sits there and stares like she saw something so horrible that she can't snap out of it.” Keyshia slid over to him and slowly rubbed his shoulder. “Every time I go, I just wish I would walk in and she is cured, show a smile, say something, anything. But like clockwork she's sitting in the same old chair, staring at a wall or something.” He turned and looked at Keyshia and said, “I leave out of that hospital each and every time angry at the world and want to hurt something.” He fought the wells of tears in his eyes. “I don't even know how it feels to be comforted by my own mother.” He turned toward Keyshia and lost the battle of holding back his tears. “All I want her to do is hug me and tell me everything gonna be all right now.”

Keyshia instantly felt her man's pain and said, “Oh, Clyde,” and hugged him and kissed his tears gently.

Clyde sneered as he talked about his father. “That mother-fucka took everything from me, and I hate him for it. You hear me: I hate him.” He wiped the remaining tears from his eyes and said, “Yeah, I have a fear. A fear of what I'm gonna do to him when I see him. I just want to look him in the eye and ask that heartless bastard why, why would he do that to my innocent mother?” He looked at Keyshia. “Why would he do that to her, Keysh? Why would he want to do that?” he repeated over and over.

Keyshia embraced him and said, “I don't know, baby. I don't know, but it gonna be all right, you'll see.”

Clyde pulled out of her arms and said with a weak smile, “Yeah, it's gonna be all right, 'cause I been thinking over the years of paying this nigga a visit, right, and just look him in his eyes, then asking the bastard, Why? Why he do it?” Clyde shook his head and continued, “Then, then I'm gonna give him a choice to make things right.” He nodded again. “I'm gonna sneak in a cyanide pill and slip it to him without saying a word and tell him either he could die now or wait until he get out and die later at the hand of his own son.” Keyshia stared at Clyde; she realized that his pain was much deeper than she had known. Flames were in his eyes when he looked at Keyshia. “You right, I got to own up to this fear, baby; we both do.”

Keyshia nodded and said, “You wanna?”

Clyde nodded back. “Let's do this shit, baby. Let's go down south and handle yo' business and come with me to handle mine!”

They both began to smile, and Keyshia said, “No pickles here!”

Clyde smiled back and agreed, “No pickles here, either. After we take care of everything with Black Sam, we head out of town to do our thing, bet!” he said with an extended fist.

Keyshia smiled and looked at his fist, tapped it, and said, “Bet!”

Chapter 21
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Keyshia and Clyde were on day six and seemingly on target for obtaining all of Black Sam's money. They had one hundred and twenty-seven thousand dollars and were feeling pretty good about how things were going. Not one shot had been fired, and most important, no one—including themselves—got hurt. But Clyde still didn't know what to do about the sixty pounds of drugs or the situation with Omar and his crew. He deliberately dropped Omar's name during the drug heist, but he wanted the other three in Omar's crew as well. He began to speed up the process so he and Keyshia could head out of town.

Clyde retrieved the package from Pops and then went uptown to the bodegas in Washington Heights to purchase thousands of bottles and caps, which are traditionally used to seal up drugs. Clyde bought the large quantities to ensure the word got out.

Packing the powdered cocaine inside all the bottles wasn't an easy task. It took them nearly six hours. When they finished, well after midnight, they packed up the product and headed to Harlem. When they pulled up to 116th Street and Eighth, the fiends were out lurking and hustling, trying to find the means for their next hit.

Clyde parked on the downtown side between 117th and 116th and said to Keyshia, “Just chill here and I be back in a second.”

Keyshia nodded and said, “Be careful.” Clyde nodded and removed a black plastic bag and left.

As soon as he got to the corner, several fiends pitched at him, “What's homey, I know where that butter shit is at.”

“Yo, they got them fat nickels around the corner.”

Clyde said smoothly, “Naw, I'm good, but check this out, I got some samples I'm giving out, and I want you to spread the word.”

The two fiends stood there salivating, not believing their ears. “You giving out samples, bro?” Clyde reached in the bag and pulled out a handful. The men's eyes bulged at the size of the bottles, and they instantly had their hands out.

Clyde said, “Now what I want you two to do is hand these out. I'm gonna be standing right here watching you, and tell everybody this . . . this is Omar's shit from a Hundred and Twelfth in front of the hotel.” The men nodded rapidly. “You got that? Omar from a Hundred and Twelfth will be selling these as dimes of powder.” Clyde lifted one up and they stared at the size of it as sweat formed on their foreheads. He reached in the bag and gave a fistful to each man.

“When y'all two finish, I'll give y'all twenty bottles apiece.” They nodded. “Now hand them out and come back to me when you run out. Remember, Omar from a Hundred and Twelfth Street.” They nodded and went right to work. In a matter of seconds a crowd so large had formed that Clyde had to hire more fiends to keep them from causing a riot. “Samples, y'all. Omar samples from a Hundred and Twelfth in front of the hotel, y'all!” screamed the distributors.

Since Omar and his partners had two spots, one on 112th and one on 129th and Lenox, Keyshia and Clyde drove over and did the same thing on 127th and Lenox Avenue, handed out bags and bags of cocaine there also. “Samples, samples, y'all!” screamed the fiends. “This is Omar shit from a Hundred and Twenty-ninth, y'all!” They screamed this over and over until the word spread throughout Harlem that a dude named Omar would be selling pure cocaine the size of Now and Laters for only ten dollars.

Just like usual, Omar and his crew knocked off at six-thirty and headed over to the IHOP on 135th Street to have breakfast and discuss business. Keyshia and Clyde watched both cars pull up minutes apart and the crew enter the restaurant. Clyde and Keyshia made their move with the Slim Jim, black gloves, and opportunity to make things right. Keyshia and Clyde hadn't had time to sleep and went into the next phase to ensure everything worked according to plan.

It was three-thirty, and kids were coming home from school when Clyde stepped out of the car in front of the Grant projects on 125th Street and Amsterdam Avenue with a black plastic bag in his hand. He surveyed the area and reached in the bag and yelled at the top of his lungs, “Free money!” and tossed a handful of single dollar bills high in the air. He immediately caused a frenzy as children and old people alike were on their knees scrambling for the money. “Compliments of Omar!” Clyde repeated over and over again as he emptied the shopping bag.

He went to several other projects in Harlem and did the same thing. Then he and Keyshia sat back and waited to see what that cat would bring in.

Word around Harlem about a dude named Omar spread fast. It spread even faster in Washington Heights as word got back to two brothers, Tony and Alito, that a young Negrito by the name of Omar was selling pure coca in his neighborhood dirt cheap and that he brought Christmas early to people in the projects by giving away money—his money—like it was going out of style. They knew what had to be done and called up several of their associates to rally up a hit squad. Someone had to answer for the robbery, and all would be settled that night!

When Omar's people showed up on 112th Street, they saw a mob of fiends lurking around as if they were expecting government cheese or something. And when one of them spotted the boys' SUV, they all began to rush toward it.

“Yo, what the fuck is going on?” asked one of the boys.

Frowning, the other said, “Fuck if I know. It looks like they all waiting for us to set up.”

“Goddamn, yo, they must be a shortage or some shit. Park this motherfucka and let's get this money, nigga.”

When they got out of the truck, they were swamped by hundreds of fiends pulling at them and holding out money in their hand.

“Yo, calm the fuck down!” screamed one of the dealers. “Y'all niggas are gonna get served, so make a line! Make a fuckin' line!” When he served the first man in line, he asked, “How many?”

“Gimme two.” The boy handed him two dimes of crack, and the fiend protested, “Naw, I want the powder.”

The boy sneered at him and said, “We don't sell powder, only cook-up.”

“No,” said the fiend, “I want that shit y'all was giving out last night!”

Growing agitated, the young dealer said, “Get the fuck out of here, man, this the same shit from last night.”

The fiends in the back began to protest also. “Bullshit, your man Omar was giving out samples last night on a Hundred and Sixteenth and said that's what y'all be selling from now on.”

“Yo, I don't know what the fuck you talking 'bout, so either fuck with these dimes or step the fuck off.” The fiends began to grumble and walked off. Both teens watched them walk away cursing under their breath.

“Yo, give Omar a call and tell him 'bout this shit.” The boy pulled out his cell phone and dialed Omar.

After a couple of rings, Omar picked up. “Yo?”

“Yo, O, this Rodney, yo. Some of these fiends is saying you gave out some samples of those things last night and came for that shit today.”

“Yo,” said Omar, “the same shit is happening 'round here. Mad niggas rushed me talking 'bout some powder shit.”

“So, what's up? What you gonna do?”

Omar scratched his head and said, “I don't know. Shit don't sound right.” He paused and looked at his man arguing with the fiends and said, “Yo, pack that shit in for the night and meet up at the spot on one three five.”

Rodney nodded. “Awright, I see you there in fifteen minutes.” Rodney nodded to his partner and headed toward the SUV and drove off. Minutes later, Omar hopped into his truck and headed toward their meet-up spot also. Unknown to both parties, they were being watched closely and followed. Both trucks pulled up curbside and parked illegally right in front of the IHOP.

Tony, Alito, and the two other men inside the car watched the four men exit their trucks. When they spotted Omar, who had his pants sagging to the ground, their eyes lit up and they pointed quickly.

“
Mira,
that him, that him!” said Tony. Alito nodded. “Yeah, that's that motherfucka!”

They all watched as the four young black boys gave one another five and entered the restaurant. Tony asked his brother, “So what we gonna do, wait till they come out or hit them now?”

Alito stared at all the parked police vehicles in the block and said, “No, not here, de precinct is right in de block. We wait.” He nodded. “Call Paco, and tell him where to park in case both cars split up again.” Tony got on the phone and called his cousin, who was parked directly behind them.

Keyshia and Clyde were parked one block away and watched as their plans unfolded before their eyes.

While the four boys discussed the events that had happened earlier, one of the boys noticed that a squad car had pulled up in back of their illegally parked vehicles.

“Yo, police is giving us a ticket.” Rodney and his partner jumped up and were heading out to the truck to move it before they got a ticket.

“Yo,” Omar yelled to them, “y'all dirty?” Both men nodded no. “What about the inside?”

Rodney said, “Naw, we left everything in the mailbox in the building.” Omar nodded and they ran outside to catch the police before they wrote the ticket.

Omar looked at his partner and said, “Here.” He tossed him the keys to the truck and said, “I ain't got my license on me, drive it around the corner and I'll order the food.” The boy nodded and left.

Omar watched his boys argue with the police, who still, despite the boys getting there before they wrote the ticket, continued writing, not giving them a break. He watched Rodney, who he knew despised police, continue to argue with them.

Tony and Alito watched another police car pull up behind the boy's truck, and Tony asked, “What the hell is going on?”

Alito shook his head. “I don't know.”

“What the fuck is wrong with this nigga, just take the ticket,” Omar said to himself.

Seconds later, he watched another police car roll up and get out and assist the two officers, and before he knew it, he watched his boys be ordered to put their hands on the car as their names and driver's licenses were run for warrants. Omar closed his eyes and shook his head. When he saw the officers who checked their names in the computer order the other officers to handcuff them, he knew that he would have to be down in court for the rest of the night bailing them out. The police pulled stacks and stacks of money out of each man's pocket and laid them on top of the patrol car.

Moments later, Omar watched as another police car came by and stopped—it was the K-9 unit.

“No,” Clyde said excitedly as he watched the dog hop out of the patrol car. “This can't be happening, it's too perfect.”

Keyshia assured him, “Yes, it is!”

Omar watched as the dog sniffed inside the vehicle. Omar wasn't worried that they would find anything because they never rode around with drugs in the vehicle. But then the dog started barking loudly and the police opened the rear door of the vehicle and stripped everything out of the trunk. Omar's jaw nearly hit the floor as he watched the officers pull out a thick cellophane-wrapped product that looked like bundles of cocaine.

Alito took off his glasses and strained his eyes, unable to believe what was happening. “What the . . .”

Tony gritted his teeth and said, “They had our coca right in the fucking trunk!”

Omar watched them go to the trunk of the second vehicle and pull out several more bundles of dope from his vehicle. Omar panicked, looked for the back exit, and ran through the kitchen and out the back door.

Alito was too livid to watch any further. “Let's get the fuck out of here!”

Tony quickly said, “But this Omar is still in de store.”

Alito took a deep breath and asked, “Do you see him at the table anymore? He fucking took off out de back exit or something.” He took a hit of coke up his nose, sniffed loudly, and said, “We catch Omar, soon. Real soon.”