Animal (11 page)

The legal aid she had been assigned was an imbecile, and
Frankie was looking at quite a bit of time whether she took the plea bargain or not. Things were looking bleak for her when Cutty had thrown her a lifeline in the way of a high-powered lawyer and posting her bail. The lawyer had gotten the charges reduced to involuntary manslaughter, but they still wanted her to do time so they took it to trial. The lawyer had promised to drag the trial out for as long as possible, but to do so, he would need money, which she didn’t have. Cutty agreed to foot the bill for her legal expenses, but in return, she had to go to work for him. Granted, Frankie was making money in the streets with Cutty and doing better than she had been, but he never let her forget that he owned her until she could repay her debt.

“C’mon, I didn’t mean it like that.” His voice was softer now. “I’m just trying to keep you focused, ma. I like ya style, Frankie, and debt owed or not, I think we can win together. Even though you got a twat between your legs, you’ve got bigger balls than most niggaz out here. The stakes we’re about to be playing for are too high for mistakes, baby girl. One fuck up could mean the end of both of us, ya dig?”

“I hear you talking,” she rolled her eyes.

Cutty laughed. “There’s that funky-ass attitude. You know, sometimes you remind me of my daughter. She’s another young broad who’s got her ass on her shoulders and thinks that she’s got the world all figured out.”

“Fatima is seventeen; I’m grown,” Frankie pointed out.

“Don’t matter. The both of y’all still wet behind the ears when you measure it against what a vet like me knows.”

“You couldn’t have known that much or else your ass wouldn’t have winded up in prison for all those years,” Frankie rolled her eyes.

“Don’t get fucking cute, Frankie. I did what I did for the team, shorty. Loyalty above all else is how me, Rio, and Shamel lived, and I’m trying to see if some of your cousin’s blood actually flows through you or if all y’all share is a last name.”

“You know I’m built, Cutty, so you ain’t gotta question my character,” Frankie assured him.

“I ain’t questioning your character; I’m questioning what’s going on in your head. Your mind is supposed to be on money at all times and not whether I called my bitch or not to check in.”

Frankie’s eyes narrowed to slits. “See, that’s the bullshit with men. In one breath you claim to love us, and in the next breath, you’re calling us all kinds of bitches. How would you feel if somebody was always calling Fatima a bitch like you do Jada?”

“Nigga call my baby girl a bitch and I’m gonna put his fucking lights out,” Cutty said seriously.

“Exactly, because it’s disrespectful and you’d hurt a nigga who disrespected someone you love, so why does that make it okay for
you
to do it?”

“Damn, you going through all this because I didn’t call Jada to let her know I was staying out?” Cutty was confused. He knew Frankie could be a firecracker, but he’d never seen her that irritable.

“It ain’t just that; it’s a bunch of shit. Look, just forget it. It ain’t my business, and I shouldn’t have said anything,” Frankie said.

Cutty looked over at Frankie, who had her arms folded and was staring intently out the window. Her face was as hard and uncaring as it always was, but there was a wavering in her eyes that said something was going on with her. Cutty knew from his championship bouts with Jada that there was no wining an
argument against a stubborn woman so he offered a truce. “I’ll call Jada in a few if it will appease that woman code thing nagging at your conscious.”

“Thank you,” Frankie said sarcastically, then went back to looking out the window.

Cutty coasted through the Holland Tunnel, cutting across Canal Street, and eventually crossing the Manhattan Bridge into Brooklyn, where Frankie was currently resting her head. After getting evicted from the project apartment she and her roommates had been subleasing, Frankie found herself in quite a bind. In the beginning, she bounced around from place to place until she could think of what to do, and it was Cutty who came to her rescue . . . again. Cutty hooked her up with a Jewish cat he knew that owned a building in Bed-Stuy and was looking for a tenant to fill a recently vacated apartment. Because he owed Cutty a
favor,
the dude agreed to give it to Frankie for half the normal rent for the first three months. It was a small one bedroom, but it was perfect for Frankie. She was just happy to have a crib she could call her own without having to share it with roommates, at least not permanent ones.

Creeping up Marcus Garvey, Cutty drove past the Blood Orchid, which was a small social club and current mystery to the people from the neighborhood. Since it had been erected it had never been officially open for business, but you could catch people sliding in and out at all times of the night. There was plenty of speculation about what the real deal with Blood Orchid was, but only a select few knew for sure.

Cutty turned onto Jefferson and pulled up in front of Frankie’s building. It was a nice day, so, of course, everybody was outside. In front of her building two grills were set up on
either side of the stoop and a card table was erected along the side of the building, where several familiar faces were engaged in a game of Spades. The front steps were occupied by two girls Frankie really didn’t rock with named Vashaun and Bess, who were smoking a blunt and speaking in hushed tones. From the way they kept cutting their eyes at Cutty’s truck Frankie figured they were probably talking about her, but that was nothing new. They were a messy pair so Frankie did her best to avoid them, but with all the time they spent on the block it was hard to miss them.

Working one of the grills was a thick chick named Monique, who Frankie didn’t know that well, but they spoke when they saw each other. Monique tipped the scales at two and some change easily, but she carried herself like she was one hundred and fifty pounds, always wearing revealing clothing. Monique was big, proud, and didn’t give a shit what anybody thought about it. She was real, and that was one of the main reasons why Frankie respected her gangster.

Working the other grill was Dena, a pretty brown-skinned chick with an around-the-way swagger and Harvard ambition. She was a few years younger than Frankie, but the things she had gone through weighed her down with an old soul, so hardships acted like a magnet bringing the two girls together. Dena was born and raised on that strip so everyone knew her and she knew everybody, but she had only recently moved into that building. Before that, she shared an apartment with her mother, siblings, nieces, and nephews up the block near Throop. When Frankie first moved in, she acted like sort of a welcoming committee, hipping Frankie to little things, like the easiest way to the train station, who had the best weed, and who was bad
news. Frankie always appreciated the jewels Dena dropped on her because living in Brooklyn was like living on Mars to her.

“These muthafuckas,” Frankie sighed, reaching for the door handle.

Cutty peered out the window and noticed the neighborhood dudes were clocking the whip. He reached in the center console and took out his gun which he placed on his lap. “You want me to get out with you?”

“Please, them niggaz are harmless, but it’s nice to know you care.” Frankie winked at Cutty before climbing out of the truck.

“I’m just protecting my investment,” he called after her.

The moment Frankie hit the curb all eyes turned to her. Her neighbors were used to seeing her dressed down in jeans or sweats, so to see her in the tight jumpsuit and heels were welcomed surprises, and their faces said as much. Their stares made Frankie a little uncomfortable, but she played it off and greeted them with a smile. “Hey, y’all,” she greeted Dena and Monique.

“Looking sharp, girl. Where you just coming from, a job interview?” Dena smiled, admiring Frankie’s outfit.

“Nah, had a li’l date,” Frankie said as if it was nothing.

Dena looked at her in surprise. “Not Ms. Antisocial?”

“Cut it out, Dena. I’m not antisocial,” Frankie protested.

“Could’ve fooled me. You don’t speak unless somebody speaks to you first,” Vashaun said, finger combing her nappy blond weave.

“That’s because I don’t rock with just anybody; that ain’t my style,” Frankie told her.

“Harlem to the heart, huh?” Bess said with a smirk. Her eyes narrowed to slits from the blunt pinched between her fingers.

“You better know it,” Frankie rolled her eyes. She didn’t care for Vashaun or Bess, but at least she could tolerate Vashaun’s simpleminded ass. Bess, on the other hand, made Frankie’s ass itch with her sneaky and meddling ways. She always had something slick to say.

“So who was the lucky guy?” Dena asked.

“Nobody special, just a dude I been talking to.” Frankie downplayed it.

“He must’ve been special enough for you to squeeze into that jumpsuit. Damn, I didn’t know you had ass like that, Frankie,” Monique teased her, reaching out as if she was gonna pinch Frankie’s butt.

“You know I don’t even play those games, ma.” Frankie warned. “What’s up with the mural?” Frankie nodded at the candles and empty liquor bottles sitting at the foot of the tree near the card table.

“This dude from the neighborhood got killed,” Dena told her.

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that,” Frankie said sincerely.

“That’s some sad shit; people always dying in the hood,” Vashaun shook her head. “They killed him right over there on Fulton in front of McDonald’s. I heard it was because he was wearing a blue coat in the wrong neighborhood. These li’l niggaz kill me with this gang shit.”

“Vashaun, you sound stupid right now. That kid didn’t get killed over no gang beef. He robbed a muthafucka last week, and the boy he robbed caught him slipping,” Bess corrected her.

“Well, it’s still somebody dying over something stupid!” Vashaun snapped.

“Listen to Mother Theresa,” Bess laughed, showing off the
gold crowns on her two front teeth. “This is coming from the same chick that told a lie and almost got an innocent man killed because he fucked her and didn’t call back!”

“That was different,” Vashaun rolled her eyes.

“Different how? Somebody got shot in both scenarios,” Bess retorted.

“Why don’t both of y’all be easy? The front porch ain’t really the place to be airing your dirty laundry, especially when the streets are always watching,” Dena said, cutting her eyes at one of the dudes by the card table who had been eavesdropping on their conversation.

“You’re one hundred percent right, D,” Bess said, “but my thing is, keep it one hundred. This shit is fucked up, and we all contribute to it in one way or another, and I accept that, but I get tight when people do foul shit, then boo-hoo about shit like they don’t know what’s up out here.”

“Fuck you, Bess,” Vashaun spat.

“Maybe after I’ve had a few, but not right now,” Bess said with a sly grin.

“Y’all are a trip,” Frankie laughed, trying to ease the tension. She peered over at the coolers laid out next to the grills that were packed with meats and drinks. “Damn, look like y’all ready to kick off a block party with all that shit.”

Dena wiped her hands on her apron and retrieved two Coronas from the cooler. She cracked one for herself and handed the other to Frankie. “Vashaun got her stamps so we was just gonna throw a li’l something-something together, but you know how niggaz is when they smell barbecue,” she nodded to the dudes at the table. “Everybody kicked in a li’l something so we gonna do it how we do it until all the food is gone.”

“At this rate, we gonna be out here all night,” Monique said, placing some more chicken on the grill.

“Oh, while I’m thinking about it, did you ever look into that
thing
for me?” Dena asked Frankie.

“You know I did. I got it the other day but haven’t had a chance to holla at you. That shit is gonna look
right
on you, Dena,” Frankie assured her.

“See, that’s the bullshit in your life, Frankie. You never get nothing for us shapely chicks. Big girls like to get fly too!” Monique complained.

“All you gotta do is hit me with your measurements and it’s a done deal, ma,” Frankie winked and walked into the building.

“I might as well take care of that now.” Dena took off her apron and hung it on the rail of the stoop. “Mo, I’ll be back in a sec,” she told her friend and followed Frankie into the building.

ELEVEN

F
RANKIE TURNED THE KEY AND STEPPED INTO
the place she now called home. The apartment was cute and cozy but boasted high ceilings and railroad apartment style long hallways. The small living room was decorated simply with a couch, coffee table, and small entertainment system that held a 32 inch flat and stereo system. Off to the right was the kitchen which was sectioned off by a counter. It wasn’t much, but it was hers, and Frankie loved it.

“Park yourself on the couch. I gotta grab your stuff outta the back,” Frankie told Dena, tossing her keys on the counter and disappearing into the bedroom. She came back a few minutes later to find that Dena had made herself comfortable. A half bottle of Mascato that Frankie had in the cut was now on the coffee table flanked by two glasses. On the couch, Dena was just putting the finishing touches on a blunt she was rolling. “Make yourself at home,” Frankie said sarcastically.

Dena looked up at her and rolled her eyes. “Girl, please. You looked like you could use a stress reliever.”

“I’m that transparent, huh?” Frankie took a seat on the couch beside Dena and traded the bag of goods for the blunt.

“Yup, as transparent as glass. I know that look because I’ve worn it more often than not, and trust me when I say I know what comes with it. Take my advice and stop letting that nigga drag you down.”

Frankie took a deep pull of the blunt and released the smoke through her nose. “Listen to you trying to sound like you know what’s going on in my life.”

“I know enough to know if you keep going at this rate, it ain’t gonna be too much of a life to reflect on by the time you turn thirty. Frankie, I don’t know what your ties are to ol’ boy, but I do know you always seem more stressed when you’re around him than when you’re not. The dick can’t be that good, ma,” Dena pointed out.