On the Run with Love (7 page)

Detective Wilson couldn't help but think, as he looked around Freddie's apartment, about the line from his favorite movie,
Heat
, that Robert De Niro had quoted. As soon as they'd identified the prints, they swooped down on his spot like a hoard of badged vultures, certified to pick the carcass. Wilson and several officers searched the apartment top to bottom, and from what they could see, their man had definitely left in a hurry. Big-screen TV, DVD, stereo with stacks of CDs were all intact. In fact, besides the few drawers that were pulled out and a few hangers that were strewn about, most of the clothes were still there.

“So, see, she went with him,” Wilson commented to himself, but Crawford had walked in behind him.

“Who? The Jackson woman?”

“Who else,” Wilson stated rhetorically, strolling around the room and stopping at the dresser. The only drawer open was full of Freddie's boxers. “He must've called and told her to meet him because she did the packing.”

“How do you know?”

“The two loaded pistols we found in the hall closet. If it was him, he wouldn't have left those.” Wilson turned to Crawford. “Andre, are you familiar with women's clothing?” He smiled.

“What do you mean ‘familiar'?” Crawford asked, ready to take offense because the older man had a sick sense of humor.

“I'm not askin' you if you got a thong on, kid. You're young and hip, I suppose. Do you know the styles?” Wilson shook his head and ran his fingers through his dirty blond and gray hair.

“I guess. I never really thought—”

“Step over here.”

They both walked over to the closet and looked at Simone's dresses, outfits, and shoes. “Look closely and tell me what's missing: summer clothing, winter clothes, what?”

Crawford surveyed the Prada, DKNY, Gucci, Chanel, BAPE, and Baby Phat hanging in a rainbow of colors, fabrics, and styles.

Wilson continued, “Chances are, he headed down South. I don't know a black man in New Jersey who doesn't have family down South. But where? Atlanta, South Carolina, North Carolina? We call it fugitive country.” Wilson winked. “Every cat on the run usually ends up in one of those three places.”

“Why not Baltimore or DC? That's predominantly African Americans down there in them parts,” Crawford inquired.

Wilson shook it off. “Migration patterns. You'd be surprised how much like birds we are. We fly south in the winter.” He smiled. “And a man usually runs to a comfort zone.”

Wilson closed the closet. “Keep a close eye on the Jackson woman's credit cards. From the looks of that wardrobe, she's definitely a power shopper. Chances are they won't use 'em, if he's smart. But everybody slips up sooner or later, even the smart ones,” Wilson ended as he jotted a note to himself on his handheld notepad.

After spending a few days in the motel in Greensboro, Freddie came out to see Slug leaning against the bowling ball–painted Caddy, sparkling. When they got in, Simone sat in the back seat. She was unused to the bearings. She looked at the TV screen in the rear and her eyes opened wide. She blushed when she saw that a porno was playing. She nudged Freddie's knee with hers and motioned to the screen.

Freddie looked up and saw the screen. “Yo, Slug. Fuck you into, dog?”

Slug looked into the rearview mirror to see what Freddie was talking about and chuckled. “My bad, dog. Long night.” He switched off the TV, pumped 'Pac, and began the three-hour trek to Goldsboro.

Goldsboro hadn't changed much since the last time Freddie saw it. It was still a small, sleepy town, despite the new businesses and buildings. They rode into town in Slug's tricked-out Cadillac Brougham, and it was definitely that. It was a navy blue '85 model, sporting twenty-six-inch hundred-spike Daytons. Slug had the back doors modified to open like suicide doors. He had also taken the back seat and reset it, facing it toward the rear of the car. It gave the inside a limo feel. The TV was mounted in the middle of the back of the car. The system was ear splitting, and he pumped nothing but 'Pac.

“You in the dirty Dirty, cuz,” Slug drawled. “We don't push Acs, we push Yacks, nigga,” he boasted.

Once they arrived, Slug explained, “Yo, cuz, I had to move on short notice, so I did the best I could on the apartment.”

When Freddie saw his new layup, he understood Slug's explanation. It was a two-story apartment building, diagonally across from the Piggly Wiggly supermarket on Leslie Street. It sat in the heart of Webbtown, the black ghetto of the Boro. Freddie remembered the building because it had been many things over the years. It had been a liquor house, a crack house, and a ho house several times over. Now, it was owned by a closet smoker who didn't ask questions, especially of Slug, and who wanted his money in cash only, under the table. Perfect for Freddie, Slug explained. But, looking at it, that didn't make him feel any better.

It was run-down and rusty on the outside, and dingy and roach-infested inside. It looked like the previous occupants had moved out as quickly as Freddie had left his apartment. Most of their broken-down furniture remained, including a dirty-ass brown couch that was sunk to the floor, a three-legged kitchen table, and several soiled mattresses in each of the two bedrooms. The only good thing was that the apartment was definitely spacious with cathedral ceilings. Years earlier, it had been a prestigious office building. But as the area became more and more ghetto, the building did too.

Simone was taken aback by the apartment as well, but she looked at it with a woman's eye. With a good house cleaning and delousing, the place had potential. The hardwood floors were covered with drug-related debris and soot, but she imagined them shined up and waxed. It wasn't the best, but it was all they had.

“Ay, yo, we'll get some heads to get all this shit out, then we'll go on and lace this shit out,” Slug proposed.

“Lace?” Freddie echoed. “A nigga ain't holding no lace paper, yo.”

Slug smiled. “Nigga, gimme a G and I'll bring you all the luxuries of home, plus a muhfuckin' computer,” Slug told him.

Freddie was sold. He gave him the money.

“A'ight, yo. I'll be back wit' the heads,” Slug told him and left.

An hour later, Slug was commanding a small army of several heads: lift this, pull that, bring this, drop that, scrub, nigga, scrub. By nightfall, they had the joint cleared out and as clean as they could get it. When crackheads worked, they did work. Slug paid them and they left.

“What up wit' the furniture?” Freddie asked.

“Tomorrow, no later than five.” Slug grinned mischievously. “But tonight, it's my turn to show you around, nigga.”

Freddie looked at Simone. “You wit' it?”

“In this?” she answered, referring to her soiled outfit. She had already worn everything she had brought and they hadn't been to a Laundromat.

“Naw, boo, I'm takin' you shoppin'. Matter of fact, we goin' shoppin',” Freddie offered, taking her by the waist.

“Freddie,” she whined cautiously, as if to say, “we're on a budget.”

“Nothin' major, yo. Just a little sumptin' to let niggas know how Freddie do and how he got the baddest chocolate
mami
in town.” He smiled and she couldn't resist.

Freddie then turned to Slug and smiled. “Let's go to the mall.” He tossed his arm around his cousin's neck.

* * *

They didn't stay long at the mall, but the time they were there put a dent in their kitty. Freddie was used to the best, and giving Simone the best also was no exception. No matter how much it cost him. As they say, old habits are hard to break.

They went back to Slug's apartment in Jefferson Court to get dressed. Freddie looked at himself in Slug's full-length mirror. He had copped a few pairs of Coogi and Red Monkey jeans. He threw on a black pair of jeans, a pair of black on white and red Jordan 9s, an Ed Hardy hoodie, and a solid black Yankees fitted. He smoothed his curls and inspected the trim up Slug had given him very closely. Freddie was picky about who cut his hair, but he couldn't front; Slug had done a good job with just a razor and a comb.

“Razors give you a sharper line than clippers, nigga. Just chill. I got this,” Slug assured him.

Simone came out of the bathroom looking irresistibly delicious in a pair of curve-hugging Seven blue jeans and a multicolored blouse that fastened at her belly button with two metallic Zs, exposing her cleavage in a dagger-like V.

“Boo, look at this, yo,” Freddie said, pointing to his goatee. “Does it look even to you?” he asked his lady.

Simone inspected the trim and gave her approval. “Yeah, baby, Slug did a good job.”

“You sure?” Freddie asked with skepticism in his tone. He had never been cut with a razor, let alone by an unlicensed barber. Even on the run, he was still conscious of his physical appearance.

“Yeah, she sure, ol' pretty-ass nigga.” Slug chuckled.

“Fuck you, cuz!” Freddie shot back. “Babe, seriously, how it look?” he asked Simone again.

“Baby, it's fine, I'm positive,” she reassured him. “But what I'm not so sure about is spending all this money. You sure you don't think we should take some of this stuff back?”

Freddie took her by the hands to reassure her. “Dig, boo, regardless of our situation, we ain't gonna stop livin', you hear me? I want you to be happy, and I want you to look good bein' happy, so whatever I gotta do, it's done, feel me?”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, “You make me happy, Freddie. I understand what you're sayin' and I appreciate it, really. But, boo, I'll wear Payless shoes and eat beans out of a can if that's what it'll take to stay together.”

She touched Freddie down deep with her words, and all he could do was kiss her as a reply. “I love you, girl.” He added a hug. “Now let's forget about everything except havin' a good time. Bada boom?”

“Bada bing!” She smiled, completing their way of saying, “Understand? Understood.”

Simone turned to walk out the door. Freddie couldn't help but admire her perfectly heart-shaped ass. “Damn, boo, you gonna make me hurt one of these country niggas behind them jeans.”

“Shut up, boy.” She blushed. “It's yours.”

“Yeah? Well, walk nasty like it's mine.” He slid behind her and gripped both cheeks with the palms of his hands. “Matter fact, save mine for later.” He kissed her on the back of her neck, then spun her around. “I'm glad you decided to come with me. I won't make you regret it.” He then planted his lips against hers and delivered a deep kiss.

Simone pulled back, breaking their lip lock. “So am I.” She flashed him a smile. “And”—she paused and inhaled—“I hope not.” She exhaled as she stared into his eyes.

Slug watched the scene. It was something straight out of a Lifetime movie, he thought.
This nicca pussy whipped to the tenth power.
He chuckled to himself. “Cuz, sorry to break this up but we gotta make moves,” Slug reminded him.

Freddie looked over Simone's shoulder and nodded. “Babe, gotta make some runs with Slug to learn the lay of the land.”

It was Simone who now nodded. “Okay, be careful, baby.”

Freddie could see her eyes misting up. “Hey.” He cupped her chin. “Don't I always?”

Simone grimaced. She tried not to roll her eyes but a half of a roll managed to escape.

As soon as he said it, the words had tasted like shit coming out of his mouth. Up until now, he had been careful, but that had changed. And because it had, they were now in the South in unfamiliar territory, hiding. “I will,” Freddie retracted, giving Simone one last kiss before he followed Slug out the door.

“Kiki, come get this li'l muhfucka 'fore I kill 'im!” Slug yelled, sitting on the couch.

Slug had come to pick up Kiki from her apartment in Green Acres. Kiki was his girl, his love-hate ghetto relationship. Her three-year-old son was kicking Slug in the leg, and Slug was fed up with it.

“You better leave my baby alone!” Kiki screamed back from the bedroom. “Chris! Come here, boy!”

“No!” the little brat yelled.

“I'ma kick yo' ass,” Slug told him, really wishing he could.

“I'ma kick yo' ass,” Chris replied, and kicked Slug again.

Slug shoved him, not hard but hard enough, and Chris screamed, “Mama, he hit me! I'ma tell my daddy!” He ran to his mother for safety because he could tell Slug was mad.

“Fuck yo' punk-ass daddy! Tell that nigga suck my dick!” Slug yelled back.

Kiki came into the living room carrying Chris on a curvaceous hip. She was dressed like the average hood rat: tight spandex dress and open-toed heels from the Shoe Barn, extension braids dyed at the tips and pinned up in a bun. But she was still a real cutie. She was a redbone with light brown eyes and was bowlegged as hell. Her only flaw was a chipped tooth that she got while fighting, which she loved to do, especially with Slug.

“Boy, I know you ain't put your hands on my baby! He ain't none of your chile!” Kiki said, rolling her neck.

“I know he ain't,” Slug said, cracking the top on a bottle of E&J. “Dat's why I'ma beat his ass he keep fuckin' wit' me.”

Kiki rolled her eyes at Slug and kissed Chris. “Don't worry, boo. He just mean,” she said. She shot Slug a look.

“I'ma tell my daddy.” Chris played the moment through crocodile tears.

“No, no, don't tell your daddy,” Kiki quickly stated. Neither she nor Slug wanted to see her baby daddy fucked up behind something so petty.

“Shit, let him tell him. I'll tell his bitch ass,” Slug boasted, serious as a heart attack. “Girl, just bring yo' ass on 'fore I leave you.”

“Let me take Chris next door and I'll be ready, ol' mannish ass,” Kiki huffed and left to take Chris to her mother's.

Slug shook his head. It was a damn shame when daughter, mother, and grandmother all lived in the projects. It was like blacks were trapped in a game they didn't know was being played. He stood up and left, locking the door behind him.

“Okay, Ma, damn, I heard you!” Kiki said as she slammed the door angrily. Slug was already outside. “You ready?” she snapped and stormed past him to the car. “Bitch make me sick. But let it be the third and she got her nose all up my ass,” she mumbled to herself.

Slug chuckled.

“Fuck you laughin' at, Slug? It ain't funny!”

“Man, shut yo' ass up and get in the damn car,” Slug replied smoothly.

Freddie and Simone sat in the back seat giggling to themselves, listening to the lovers' quarrel. Kiki opened the front door and the inside light came on. Then she ducked her head down because she damn near drooled. But it happened so quick, no one noticed except Simone. She had just nutted on herself at the sight of Freddie.

“Hey,” she said, surprised.

Slug closed his door. “That's my cousin, Freddie, and his wifey, Simone. Y'all, this Kiki.”

“Hello,” Simone said politely.

Kiki flashed a forced smile.

“What da deal, ma?” Freddie greeted her. His accent tickled Kiki's ears.

“So where we goin'?” Kiki asked, cutting her eye at Freddie in the dark car.

“Pop Bogan's,” Slug replied.

Pop Bogan's was the ghetto hangout for the ballers in the Boro. It was a club/ restaurant / pool hall. Only the livest came through because the wannabes got clowned, and Slug was definitely among the live crew of his city.

The spot was flooded when they arrived, as he had expected. “I'm about to show you how we do it down here, cuzzo.” He flung his arm around Freddie's neck as a bouncer ushered them inside.

Freddie cut his eyes over at his cousin. “Whatever you say, cuz.” He really didn't care one way or another; his mind was elsewhere. For him, it was no vacation or party mode. Had it not been for the altercation he had gotten sucked into back home, he knew he wouldn't even be in the South at all. He looked back at Simone, who walked along side Kiki, trailing behind him and Slug.

“You good?” he mouthed.

Simone read his lips. She smiled and nodded. That put Freddie a little at ease.

“Girl, bring yo' slow ass on.” Slug stopped abruptly and turned, directing his words to his shorty.

“Don't rush me!” Kiki rolled her eyes. “And don't be trying to play me out here either,” she added as she looked around. She saw a few haters in the long-ass line snicker while waiting to get in. “You gon' fuck around and get one of these bitches fucked up out here thinkin' they can talk to me like,” she spat, never taking her eyes off of the three girls.

“Man, just come on. Fuck dem hoes.” Slug hooked her by the arm.

His words made her smile as she now rolled her eyes at the hoes Slug was referring to.

Freddie followed suit and drew Simone closer to him, as the two joined in a light laughter.

Although he had been in the state when he was a young buck, he knew it was going to take some getting used to the South again, especially since he had Simone with him. He figured tonight would be as good a time as any.