Street Chronicles Girls in the Game (9 page)

“Maybe next time you should leave your cockiness at the door before you approach me,” I said, staring at the bulge in his sweatpants. If he had gotten any harder just from staring at me, he was going to be easier than I thought.

“I apologize. I was in my work zone. I forgot where I was for a moment. Let me start over.” He cleared his throat. “Hi, my name is Chris, Chris Hall. And you are?”

“Denise Anderson.” I paused, turning my lips up as I looked him over. “But you can call me Renée.”

From that point on, Chris and I became engrossed in city politics and discovered we had a lot in common. Neither of us got the chance to finish our workouts, because we spent so much time talkine. When I finally looked down at mv watch it was almost
nine o'clock p.m. Chris and I exchanged business cards and agreed to meet for dinner that Friday.

After leaving the gym, I headed to my studio apartment in an exclusive Tobacco Row apartment complex in Shockoe Bottom. Before I could even reach my bedroom to unwind, the phone rang. It was Chris. Since I hadn't checked in with Tank yet, I let the call go to voice mail. I felt like I needed to let Tank know that everything was moving on as planned. I turned to walk to my bedroom and realized that Tank was standing right behind me. His sudden presence scared me to death.

“Tank, what are you doing here?” I asked, startled.

“Came to see how everything went. Based on the time and the call you just got, everything must've gone really well. I'm proud of you, Boo,” he said. I could detect a bit of sarcasm in his voice.

“Listen, this was your idea. I can cut this short right now if it's going to be a problem for you.”

“No problem. Just hard for a nigga to imagine his girl with somebody else, that's all. But it's cool. We gotta do this for our future.” He kissed me on the forehead, then threw two stacks of money on the counter.

“I need you to put this in your account for me. I just made a big deposit in my business account, but I don't want it to look suspect.

“Tank, are you sure you're okay with this?” I said, going back to the original subject matter.

“Baby, I'm fine. Do your thing,” he said nonchalantly.

“You don't give me the impression that you're fine.”

“Well, I am. It's cool.”

I tried to find something in Tank's face to tell me that he really wanted me to change my mind and refuse to go along with the plan, but I didn't detect a thing.

“You going up top tonight?” I asked.

“Yeah, gotta pick up a few bricks.”

“I really don't want you going to New York, especially not by yourself, Tank. Not with the way things are going now,” I said worriedly. “The police might be—”

“Look,” he said, cutting me off, not wanting me to jinx him. “I can't trust nobody right now, so I have to go. I have to go solo.”

“You can't trust
nobody!”

“You know what I mean, them niggas. Look, I gotta head over to the restaurant and handle some business before I get on the road. Go ahead and call that nigga Chris back. Handle your business, Boo.” He kissed me on the lips this time, patted me on the ass, and left. No matter what he said, I got the feeling that Tank wasn't really up for this whole deal. On top of that, he left without putting one finger on me, which made me suspicious. There were only two things that kept Tank from sexing me up—my cycle and another woman. But we'd come too far to move back to those days again. Tank's life was on the line, and I was sure that he was thinking about everything he had at stake. The reality of me being with someone else had hit him hard, too. But just like a man, he would never admit he made a mistake.

As I pulled my SUV out of the underground parking garage below Renée's apartment, I was thinking I might have made a mistake asking her to get with of dude. She'd never been with another man, even when she went away to college. When she found out about the li'l tricks who tried to get at me, as well as those that I hit a few times, she still never stepped out on me. She was one hundred percent wifey material, and I planned to marry her one day, just not as soon as she would like it to be. I hadn't been as
good to her on the emotional end as she had been to me. But I tried to make up for it by buying her everything a girl could want—diamond tennis bracelets and solitaire earrings when her friends were still sportin’ gold, a Mercedes all kitted up, even had her in Gucci long before the Asian street vendors were imitating them. I had a certain image to uphold. Renée understood that, not that she agreed with it.

I tried to remove myself from her life. Once when I thought the feds were closing in on me and my freedom was in jeopardy, I broke it off with Renée. I didn't want her to become another “prison wife,” where the highlight of our relationship would be weekend visits and daily collect calls. I didn't want that for her. I promised myself if I was given another shot at freedom, I would work on going legit. Hustlin’ heroin and murderin’ might not have made me a bad guy in her eyes, but making her guilty by association would. I never felt bad for the things I did in the street. My pops always said,
As long as you don't become your own customer, you can survive in this game.
I always remembered that, even though he got burned back in 2000. After that he was doing twenty-five to life for two murders and conspiracy.

I just needed to make another two million dollars the wrong way, which would be enough to add to the stash, as well as front a car audio and detail store specializing in rims. The banks around here wouldn't give a brotha a break, so I had to go at it the hard way. Same as with the restaurant. I had to front all of the money to get the restaurant up and operational. I was only $200,000 short of my goal, and then I was done with this game for good. The only problem was trying to stay clean of that Li'l John murder. I been lucky to keep the po-po out my drug business. I realized they were trying to build a case against me on that, too, but I wouldn't dare tell Renée. I didn't have any other options, and so I was forced to get Renée to set this corny-ass nigga up and
push him in a corner like a roach so he couldn't get out unless he helped me.

I headed over to the restaurant, which is on East Broad Street, about a block up from where the old Ivory's nightclub used to be. My spot was hot, selling the best soul food in Richmond. Since opening, I'd given the Croaker's Spot restaurant a run for their money, but there were enough black folks in Richmond that loved to eat to keep both of our businesses running. The black-and-red neon sign above the door read,
KNAT'
S
SOUL FOOD RESTAURANT
(Knat is Tank spelled backward). My man Ron was at the door, making sure we didn't get the young crowd, especially from Virginia Commonwealth University, coming in here trying to buy drinks from the bar. Downstairs I had live jazz, tables set up for dining, and a bar. Upstairs the atmosphere was different. There was a deejay and a dance floor, and those who were twenty-five and older were up there getting their party on.

“What's up, Tank?” Ron asked, letting me in. All the tables were full and the waitresses were busy, which meant this would be another stellar night for business.

“Been like this all evening?” I asked Ron, looking over his shoulder, sweeping the room with my eyes.

“All night,” Ron confirmed.

“Where Chuck and them niggas at?”

“In your office upstairs.”

“Aight. Cool,” I said, giving him some dap as I walked away.

I made my way through the restaurant as bailers gave me props and their women gave me looks like they wanted to give me their panties. I got to the back of the restaurant and headed up the stairs when I noticed the shadow of someone behind me.

“Tank, I've been missing you, baby,” said Shelly, a pretty broad with thirty-eight DDs. Shelly was one of the bartenders at the restaurant who I could always run to for some ass when Renée was
out of town on business or attending pompous city affairs without me. Renée didn't know about Shelly and me, and very rarely did she even come to the restaurant, which was how I wanted to keep it, because when this was all over, Shelly was going to be a memory

Shelly walked up to me and ran her hand across my dick like she owned it. She was wearing a halter top that left nothing to the imagination, a miniskirt, and a pair of four-and-a-half-inch sandals. Even though red bones have never really been my style, Shelly was fine as hell.

“What's up, Shelly?” I said, knowing that if I wanted to, I could do her right here in the stairwell.

“You,” she said, licking her lips. “When am I gonna see you again?”

“You seeing me now,” I said, shrugging my shoulders.

“You know what I mean.” She came closer. “I miss you.”

I was feeling her energy, but I had to shake that shit off. “Actually, I got business tonight. Maybe we can get together when I get back.”

She grabbed my hand, put it between her legs, then put my finger in her mouth.

“Just a little reminder that this is also some business you could be handling,” she said, leaving me standing there, rock hard. I got myself together before making it to my office, where I found Chuck, D., and Bits. Chuck, my man from way back, was sitting behind my desk, while D. and Bits were standing. As soon as they saw me, they stopped what they were doing. Chuck got up and they all walked over to me.

“What up, Tank,” they said in unison.

“Nothin’ much. What you niggas up to?”

“Shorty, for real, police been ‘round here again today, asking questions about Li'l John,” Chuck said in a serious tone.
“They even had his picture, showing it to your employees and shit, asking if they'd ever seen him in here. What's up with that shit?”

“It's cool. It's cool,” I said. “I got somebody lookin’ into that for me. In the meantime, can y'all get somebody to pay a visit to that nigga Skeet?”

“No doubt,” Chuck quickly answered. “It's taken care of, Tank. You know I got you. So what's up? You need me to roll out with you tonight or what?”

Chuck got mad respect from me, and he had never given me any indication that he couldn't be trusted, but right now I couldn't take any chances.

“I'm not sure what time I'm rolling out,” I said. “As a matter of fact, I may go next weekend. Might do a weekend trip with the old lady. I'll let you know.” I knew good and well that I was rolling out early in the morning.

“A'ight, that's cool. Anything else?” Chuck asked.

“Nope. Just keep your eyes and ears open. Call me on my cell if some crazy shit comes up. Anything out of the ordinary, you call me, got it?” I said sternly. They all nodded.

Chuck was like the official spokesperson of the Three Stooges. The other two, D. and Bits, didn't ever do much talking. They were scared I might snap on them or something. They definitely knew their place with me, though.

The three men made their way out of the office, giving me some privacy. I decided to call Renée just to see if she was talking to that nigga Chris.

“Hello?” Renée's voice said through the phone receiver.

“Hey, it's me. What's up?” I said.

“Talking to Mr. Hall on the other line.”

“That nigga got you callin’ him Mr. Hall?” I said, turning up my mug.

“No, Tank. I mean, how else do you want me to refer to the man?

“Call the nigga Chris. That's sufficient. Nigga don't deserve that kinda respect.”

“Okay, I'm talking to Chris,” she said with a sigh. “Baby, are you sure you're okay with this?”

“Renée, will you stop asking me that? I told you, handle your business. You go ahead and talk to that nigga. I'll call you when I get on the road tomorrow.”

“Okay. I love you,” she said.

“Me too.” I hung up. I then dialed Shelly's cell phone number, hoping she had it on vibrate, because I knew she wouldn't hear it over the music in the restaurant.

“Hello?” Shelly answered.

“Yo, come up here for a minute,” I ordered her in a sensual tone.

“Just one minute?”

“Take a break.”

“I'm on my way.”

It had been four months since I met Renée, and she had my nose wide open. With both of our busy schedules, we still managed to spend an enormous amount of time together. We even attended a formal fund-raising gala last month. She was perfect for me— intelligent, beautiful, spunky, and she was the first black woman I'd known who gave good head without all the fuss. We enjoyed the same music, both loved seafood, and the thing that really blew my mind was how we both drank VSOP on the rocks with Coke. I had never met a woman like her before, never. I truly believed
that everything in my life was falling in place. My career was where it needed to be, so it was time to put the ball in motion for my future wife.

As I sat outside Renée's apartment, India. Arie was blaring through the speakers of my specially ordered 2006 midnight blue Chrysler 300. This was the final test. I was taking Renée to meet Grandma Lucy. I figured today would be perfect, since it was Thanksgiving and a few of my other family members would be there. Renée would pass with flying colors, but Grandma Lucy's approval would make me feel better about my decision to ask Renée to marry me. Of course, four months wasn't long enough to get to know a person completely, but Renée and I were on the same path. I wanted to get to know her better for the rest of my life. She said that she was ready to settle down and have children, and so was I. A few nights earlier I even told her I loved her, and she reciprocated.

Renée came out of her apartment building wearing a long black skirt, boots, and one of those sweaters that hang off the shoulders. She was trying to put on her coat while walking to the car. I jumped out of the car and ran to help her with her coat. She kissed me on the lips, which sent jolts through my spine. Then I opened the passenger door for her. The November air was quite nippy, even though it was sunny. We both got into the car quickly to warm up.

“You look nice, as always,” I said, leaning in to kiss her.

“Don't look so bad yourself,” she said, checking out my gray wool pants and black-and-gray A/X sweater. She leaned in slightly to kiss me back.

“Don't I know it,” I said, smiling. Before I could pull off from in front of the apartment building, my cell phone rang.