Animal (17 page)

Most would’ve called Animal crazy for hiding out in his double apartment, in a city where he was wanted for multiple counts of murder and a prison break, but there was always a method to Animal’s madness. Sometimes the best place to hide was in plain sight, and he was right under their noses. During his trial, the police had gotten warrants for the apartment he and Gucci shared in New York as well as their house in Texas, but the apartment had never been mentioned because the police didn’t know about it. When Animal had taken over the apartment from his aunt and uncle, he’d left all the paperwork in their names and gave them money every month to pay off household bills. At the time he’d done it that way because he was irresponsible and knew they’d make sure everything was up to date, but years later, the decision had proved to be one of the smartest he’d ever made. Since his name wasn’t on anything involving the apartment there was no paper trail back to him.

Animal stepped into his bathroom and flicked on the fluorescent light over the mirror. The reflection staring back at him was startling and frightening. His hair was more of a mess than usual as it hadn’t seen a comb in Lord knew how long. Heavy
bags hung under his eyes from sleepless nights, and the stress had stripped him of at least ten pounds. He was starting to resemble the shadow of death that he had been so long compared to. Between the drugs and the sleepless nights, Animal was putting a hell of a beating on his body, and it was starting to show in his appearance. Disgusted with the sight of himself Animal put his fist through the bathroom mirror in an attempt to destroy the monster staring back at him, but the monster simply multiplied in the broken shards of glass. In each split image he saw the faces of his victims laughing at him mockingly.

By the time he finished the Jack Daniels, Animal was halfway dressed. He pulled on a black thermal and a pair of black fatigue pants, stuffing a red bandana deep into the back-right pocket. He strapped on a lightweight bulletproof vest and pulled on a thick hoodie to conceal it. Animal stood in front of the mirror tugging at the straps of the vest. The Kevlar would help, but he would need to retrieve his armor before he was truly ready to do battle, and for that, he needed to pay a visit to an old friend.

Animal set out on his mission with visions of his enemies begging for their lives at the wrong end of his smoking guns, but little did he know, he wasn’t the only one with murder on his mind.

SIXTEEN

A
FTER MAKING SURE HE TOOK CARE OF
everybody he needed to see for the day, Ashanti was finally able to focus on the person most important to him . . . himself.

When he’d left the hospital Gucci was still heavy on his mind. He was used to her fussing and chasing after him about this or that, so seeing her still and silent stabbed him in his gut with guilt. Ashanti had singlehandedly turned the tide against Shai Clark’s assassins and managed to save everybody except the person he should’ve been protecting: Gucci. His wasn’t the bullet that had struck Gucci, but he felt responsible because he had initiated the shooting. Ashanti had replayed the night at the club over and over in his head, wondering if things could’ve been done differently, but he kept coming to the same conclusion. It was either stand by and say nothing or watch his homies die.

After some effort, he was able to push the tragic night out of his mind and turned his thoughts to what he would get into that night. Zo-Pound was off chasing pussy like he always did so that pretty much left Ashanti to his own devices. He figured he would
hit the liquor store, then roll through the hood to see who was out. With any luck he might be able to bump into one of the project rats and see about getting her to do something strange for a piece of change. Ashanti had become quite popular with the chicks in the hood since he started running with King James, which was something he wasn’t used to. He wasn’t a virgin, but his experience with women had been somewhat limited. The only person he had confided this in was Zo-Pound. He expected Zo to laugh, but instead, he gave him some words of wisdom. “You’re a young man, so you don’t have to rush and try to eat the whole meal at one time. Sample each dish and see which one appeals to your palate.”

When he’d first made the statement, Ashanti had been clueless of what he was talking about, but the more chicks he dealt with, the more sense it made. Ashanti was enjoying the spoils of being with a made crew, but no matter how many women he slept with, he still felt like something was missing. The chicks were cool to fuck and get high with, but after the bottle had been drained and his nut had been busted, he quickly lost interest. He didn’t see the same spark in his conquests that Animal saw in Gucci or Alonzo saw in Porsha when he was chasing her. There was one girl in the hood who he did enjoy talking to and wanted to push up on her, but he doubted that Fatima even knew he was alive. Chicks like her didn’t date the help; they dated the boss, and Ashanti wasn’t quite there yet.

Ashanti contemplated walking back to the hood from the hospital because it was a nice night, but he didn’t feel like it. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts so he called a Harlem cab and requested a driver he was cool with to come scoop him up. Fifteen minutes later, a big white Suburban pulled up in front of his building. Ashanti jumped in the back and greeted the driver,
who he called Nine-Five, which was his cab number. Nine-Five was a young Senegalese cat who Ashanti had met through Brasco.

“What’s good, little brother?” Nine-Five bumped Ashanti’s fist. He was rocking a Yankee fitted, pulled low on his head, and an iced out cross dangling from his neck on the end of a chain. Nine-Five had only been living in the States for just a little over ten years, but from the way he spoke and dressed, you would’ve thought he was born in America.

“Chilling, Nine-Five. What’s good with you? I called the base a couple of times for you but you weren’t working,” Ashanti told him.

“Yeah, I had to go home and check on some shit,” Nine-Five replied, referring to his native Senegal.

“Everything good?” Ashanti asked, recalling some of the horror stories Nine-Five had mentioned of his childhood growing up in Africa.

“Yeah, man. Had to oversee some work on one of my properties on the coast,” Nine-Five explained.

“One of your properties?” Ashanti asked surprised.

“Yeah, little brother. I own like six properties back home, and I just opened a second bed and breakfast. I make a killing off the hospitality business during tourist season,” Nine-Five said proudly.

Ashanti looked dumbstruck. “My nigga, if you got all that going on in Africa, then why the hell are you over here driving a cab?”

“Because I’m a hustler,” Nine-Five boasted. “Driving this cab is one of many things I do to get money. I take what I make here, send it home, and quadruple it.”

“If I was caking like that, I’d just kick back,” Ashanti said.

“That’s because you are an American,” Nine-Five shot back.
“Let me tell you something, little brother. Y’all Americans are lazy, and I mean that with no disrespect. The people out here in the United States have everything so they appreciate nothing. In my country, we are born into nothing and don’t even have the lands we are entitled to by birth, so we have to work five times as hard for what little we have. My family gave everything they had so I could come to America and have a shot at a better life, and I would not dishonor their memories by wasting the opportunity I have been given. From the first time I saw the bright lights of Manhattan, the seeds were planted in my mind that I would become wealthy one day and be able to take my little brothers and sisters out of squalor.”

“Good luck with that,” Ashanti said sincerely.

“You don’t need luck when you have ambition, little brother,” Nine-Five told him. Before Ashanti could press him further, Nine-Five’s cell phone ringing stole his attention away. He turned the music up slightly and began speaking to whoever was on the other end in a language that Ashanti didn’t understand.

Fifteen minutes later, Nine-Five was pulling up across the street from the projects, in front of the liquor store on Broadway. “Good looking.” Ashanti slipped Nine-Five a twenty. The ride didn’t cost that much, but Ashanti liked to tip the driver.

“No problem, li’l brother. I’ma catch you later.” Nine-Five gave Ashanti dap before he slid from the truck.

Nine-Five was about to pull off, but Ashanti stopped him with a question. “So where are your brothers and sisters now?” Ashanti asked curiously.

Nine-Five smiled. “My oldest sister is my partner in Harlem Cab. The one behind her is in her third year at Howard, and
my two youngest brothers attend a private school in North Carolina where they play on the basketball team.”

“Damn!” Ashanti was impressed.

“Ambition, little brother.” Nine-Five winked and pulled off with his music blasting.

Ashanti was impressed by Nine-Five’s story, and it gave him plenty of food for thought. If a poor boy from the slums of Senegal could make something of himself, why couldn’t a poor boy that was born here?

Still reflecting on Nine-Five’s words, Ashanti went into the liquor store. Tapping on the counter to get the old man’s attention, he requested a fifth of Hennessey and some plastic cups. The old man gave the young boy a suspicious look, but gave him the liquor anyhow. Anyone with eyes could see that Ashanti was hardly twenty-one, but he was connected, and when you were connected, you were denied nothing in your hood.

Ashanti was barely out of the store when he cracked the bottle and took a long sip. The fire that spread through his body empowered him and burned away all his worries. With a confident stride, he crossed the street and headed to the projects. Biz getting locked up the night before had slowed the traffic, but it didn’t stop it. Fiends still shuffled through the projects looking for a blast, and the little dealers were out to make sure they got it.

At the same time Ashanti arrived at the ramp entrance that led to the front of 3150, a gray Mercedes was slow-creeping through the block. The windows were heavily tinted, but rolled down partially so although Ashanti couldn’t see who was in the car, he knew there was more than one of them. Immediately he felt his heart start racing, sending a numbing chill through the tips of his fingers. Before Ashanti was even conscious of what
he was doing, he had drawn his weapon and had it dangling at his side. He tilted his head and gave the Mercedes an inviting nod. He was ready to bang. Fortunately, the occupants of the Mercedes weren’t, and they wisely pulled off. Ashanti stood there, watching the car until it turned the corner and was out of sight before he continued toward the building.

Two young knuckleheads named Dee and Meek were in front of the building, making it hot as usual. Dee was the opportunist, and Meek was the good soldier, so they worked well as a team. Handling the direct sales was an older cat named No-Good. He’d come aboard to replace Biz who was in the slammer. No-Good was well into his thirties and still tried to carry himself like he was in his early twenties. Every time you turned around he was planting greasy ideas into the heads of the young and impressionable. Ashanti never understood why King let the troublemaker get money with the team, but it wasn’t his place to question the decision. Ashanti tolerated No-Good, but he didn’t like him.

Ashanti was about to salute the homies from deep and make a detour to avoid interacting with No-Good when Fatima, coming out of the lobby, gave him pause. She had on a white blouse that she wore slightly unbuttoned at the top. Freshly painted toes peeked out from the fronts of her sandals, with a nice-sized heel that accented her well-defined calves beneath the black leggings. The homies were on her like flies on shit, but No-Good was extra aggressive in his approach. It was clear that Fatima wasn’t feeling his advances, but No-Good didn’t seem to be taking rejection well. When Ashanti saw No-Good grab Fatima by the arm, he knew it was about to get ugly. The rational side of Ashanti told him to leave it alone because it wasn’t his problem, but the Hennessey told him to step to his business.

SEVENTEEN

D
EE POSTED UP IN FRONT OF
3150, leaning against the building like he was posing for a
GQ
spread. With him were his best friend Meek and a cat named No-Good, who was making hand-to-hand sales a few feet away. Dee was anxious for No-Good to finish up so he and Meek could get with the night’s entertainment. The entertainment was two sisters from the neighboring projects, Manhattanville, who Meek and Dee had been trying to freak off with for over a week. After seeing the way Dee and Meek were handling the complex drug operation that night, it was looking like their efforts would pay off. Everyone loved a boss, and they were no different.

“Baby, how much longer we gotta be out here?” Keisha toyed with the gold chain hanging around Dee’s neck. She was the oldest of the two sisters and the thickest, with plump breasts and a shapely ass.

Dee coolly exhaled the smoke from the L. “As soon as my homie is finished.” He nodded at the dude on the bench who had just served a fiend. “You know it’s business before pleasure.”

“A’ight, but the drinks are gone, and I’m getting hungry,” Keisha told him.

“Me too,” Karen chimed in. She was the younger of the two and slightly prettier than Keisha. They were both dark skinned, but Karen’s skin was smooth and tender while Keisha’s was splotched and bore faint signs of her many street fights over the years.

Meek picked up on the fact that the girls looked like they were ready to bounce so he tried to speed up the process. “What we looking like, homie?” he called out to No-Good.

“We looking like new money.” No-Good bopped from the playground to the front of the building where everybody else was standing.

“You been at it for a minute. That G-pack ain’t gone yet?” Dee asked. Meek had the situation under control, but Dee wanted to flex his muscle.

“Slow motion beats no motion. I got this, baby boy,” No-Good told him with a slight attitude. He resented the fact that he was under the supervision of a cat that was younger than he.