G-Spot (14 page)

“Don’t believe it,” I told him. “Your father wants you to think he’s getting mad pussy, but don’t believe none of that shit cause I’m faking like a mother. That’s the only reason he got you sleeping in that room anyway, so he can make sure you hear me hollering. But don’t believe it, Gino, because G ain’t got nothing on you.”

Over the next few days I tried to lay low and play it cool at the Spot. They found Dicey’s body on a Monday, and G had the nerve to say a prayer for her and donate some money to give to her sister for the funeral. He even told the day staff they could take off a few hours to go to her service, and while a lot of them went, I sure as hell didn’t. The casket was gonna be closed, thank God, but the picture I still saw of Dicey in my mind was the last way I would always see her. It was a picture so foul that it made me cry every time I thought about it, but Dicey also made me stronger, too. That tongue in her hand reminded me to watch what I said around and about G to
everybody,
and that slit across her throat bore witness to just how far-reaching G’s hands really were.

They buried Dicey out at Heavenly Works, but of course I didn’t go to the cemetery. I still had flashbacks about falling into my mother’s grave, and not even Dicey could make me go back there.

Two weeks later G and Gino took a trip down to B-More. They’d only been gone for two days when I saw Jimmy packing himself a bag.

“Where you going?” I questioned him. I’d been mad at him ever since we got back from Hawaii because he didn’t believe me when I told him I thought G had got Dicey killed. I was so pissed off with his hardheaded self that it wasn’t funny. Jimmy knew how much Dicey had done for us over the years, and he loved her as much as I did. Why he couldn’t see that it was G who had her killed was beyond me.

He shrugged. “I’m heading upstate. Gotta make a run for G.”

“What kind of run?”

He kept stuffing things in his bag. “a business run, Juicy. You know business. The shit men like me and G take care of so you can live in a house like this and walk around styling gear that cost more money than Grandmother ever saw in her whole life. Business. Where you think all this change comes from?
A niggah gotta work for it.”

“Not you,” I said. “You ain’t gotta work for G’s business. Let him send some-fuckin-body else! Let him send—”

“Like who? Gino? You want him to send Gino out to handle this shit? Or you scared to let him be a man, too?”

I swallowed hard. “What are you talking about, Jimmy? Gino’s already out. He’s out in B-More with G right now. Why you trippin?”

“Ain’t nobody stupid around here, Juicy. Blind neither. Both of y’all are wrong. You better get your shit together and stop worrying about mine. Get your shit together before G wakes up and smells the fuckin coffee.”

“You know what?” I said, pointing at him. “G got your black ass brainwashed. You believe everything he tells you, don’t you. Since when you started trusting him more than you trust me? Huh? Loving G more than you love me?”

Jimmy picked up his bag and pushed past me on his way out the door. “It ain’t about loving him over you, Juicy. It’s about staying in the game and staying alive. Watch yourself, big sister. Your shit is wide open.”

“Fuck you!” I screamed, wondering if he was right and if G suspected something was going on between me and Gino. “Just fuck you, Jimmy!”

“I love you too, big sister,” he said, and slammed out the door.

Chapter Nineteen

A
bout a month later G called me into his office. By this time Jimmy was making regular trips both upstate and down to
A.C., and he had even taken a few trips to B-More with Gino. I wasn’t happy about none of it because I could see my brother sinking fast, getting deeper and deeper into the street life, but there wasn’t much I could do to stop it. He had stopped taking his medication and I was looking for signs of that crazy bug to come out of him again. Rita was working on busting G’s computer code as often as she could, and if I brought her around more frequently even the doormen were liable to get suspicious. So I chilled. I prayed for Jimmy and Gino, and kept my eyes and ears open.

“I need you to do something, Juicy,” G said. He was sitting behind his desk, and that picture of Gino’s mother was still there, turned facedown.

“Okay,” I said, stepping inside. With him gone up and down the road so much we had kinda settled back into our routine, and he hadn’t even threatened me since we came back from Hawaii. “What you need, G?”

“I need you to take a drive. I got something I need picked up and brought back here, and the driver has to be clean in case they get stopped.”

Shit sank in fast. G had made Pacho teach me how to drive over the summer, and now I knew why.

“But I don’t have no license, G.”

“That’s all right. You ain’t never been arrested before, and that’s the main thing.
Ain’t too many niggahs in here without a record, and you the only woman I trust not to cross me cause every other bitch in here is dirty.”

My heart hit my feet. What kind of shit was G talking about? He never even wanted me in his business before, and now he wanted me to make a pickup? That shit smelled foul from the jump, but I heard my voice come out of my mouth. “Okay, G. Okay.”

“Don’t tell nobody where you going, Juicy. Not even Jimmy.”

“Okay.”

For the rest of the day I walked around petro like a mother. I was scared G was sending me into a setup and I wanted to ask somebody to help me or to tell G to send somebody else to do his dirty shit, but I knew the next somebody he sent would be Jimmy, and I couldn’t have that on my heart.

It was a Saturday night and the Spot was live. I made sure my switchblade was in my purse, then I motioned to Gino to meet me in the coatroom, and while I kissed him and told him how much I loved him, I didn’t tell him where I was going or what his father had asked me to do. The way I saw it, I was damned if I did and damned if I didn’t, but if Gino found out about it and confronted G, we were all damned for sure.

“I miss you, baby.” He held me in that coatroom and slid his tongue past my lips and I tried to suck it down my throat.
As scared as I was, my pussy got wet. Damn, I wanted him. Wanted to feel his hard dick stroking me until I lost my mind and there was no room for G or his fuckin Spot in my head, but G wanted me on the road by midnight, so I had to be satisfied with a kiss.

“I miss you too,” I told him, wishing I could stay right there in his arms forever.

Pluto brought the Z4 around to the front of the Spot at eleven-thirty. He was smiling all stupid when he opened the door and handed me the keys.

“Here you go, you stuck-up bitch. If you blow a tire or the engine falls out, walk your simple ass on back.”

I went off. “You know what? I’m tired of you! If G knew half the shit you done tried with me, he’d fuck you up! Matter fact,” I said, slamming the car door closed and heading back inside the Spot, “I’ma go let him know what kinda motherfucker Moonie got down on his staff. I’ma let G know just how bad you want a piece of his pussy!”

Pluto just smiled some more. “I don’t know why all you bitches think what you got between your legs is better than gold. I’d die for G, and he knows that. He ain’t gonna hold your stupid ass up over me.
Ain’t you figured it out yet? Pussy comes and pussy goes. Loyal motherfuckers like me will be around forever.”

Fuck Pluto. I was telling! I pushed through the Spot and ran back to G’s office. I didn’t see him, but I heard the water running in his private bathroom.

“G!” I yelled. “G, it’s me, Juicy.”

“Hold on. I’ll be right out.”

I stood at his desk mad as hell, drumming my fingers on the cherry wood. I glanced at that facedown picture frame again, and something made me pick it up and take another look. I almost hollered. The picture I’d expected to see of Gino’s mother was gone. The girl smiling up at me was even more familiar. She had a Hawaiian lei around her neck and looked like she was on vacation.

She was me.

I
dropped the picture and tried to play it off when G walked out the bathroom.

“What?” he said. “What you hollering about when you supposed to be getting on the road?”

“I-I-I just wanted to come tell you good-bye.”

G came around the desk and patted my back twice. “Well, bye then. You got the directions, right?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Remember,” he warned. “Do exactly like I told you and don’t stop for nobody on them roads.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

G straightened his jacket, then put his hand on my back and led me out the door. “Later,” he said, then closed the door in my face.

As I stood there shaking and trembling I understood my situation as clear as day. The only choice I had was to take my little ass back outside, jump in the whip, and get ready to roll.

T
he Z drove like a dream, but I still stayed at least five miles under the speed limit, hogging the right lane all the way. To say I was scared wouldn’t come close to explaining it. I was shaking so bad that every now and then my foot would jerk on the gas pedal and the car would lurch forward, whipping my neck.

G had told me to drive up to the Bronx first and park on the corner of 167th and Jerome, killing my headlights but keeping the engine running once I stopped the car. He said for me to keep all the doors locked, and when I heard somebody tap three times on the tiny trunk I was supposed to pop the trunk release without turning around, and when I heard it slam shut again, I should drive off without looking back.

I followed his instructions to a tee. I wouldn’t even let my eyes go near that rearview mirror as I sat there scared as hell. Fuck turning around. It just wasn’t going to happen. Still, I almost hit the gas when I heard the three taps on the trunk, and I jabbed the trunk release so hard I broke one of my nails.

As soon as I heard the trunk slam closed I pulled off and headed toward the George Washington Bridge, just like G had said. Traffic was light this time of night, but I still stayed in the right lane and drove slightly under the speed limit.

I got to the New Jersey Turnpike and almost had a fit when the
toll collector wouldn’t take my money. G had E-ZPass for the Z, but he told me not to use it. He’d given me a ten-dollar bill to pay for the tolls and told me to go through the cash-only lane.
And here this chick with thirty gold teeth and ten-inch nails was waving my money away and telling me to keep it moving.

“Why?” I shouted, about to panic. This wasn’t going according to
the plan. G had said not to use the damn E-ZPass. What part of that didn’t this wench understand?

“Your E-ZPass already picked it up,” she said, waving those damn nails at me.

“But this is cash only. I don’t even have that E-ZPass thing on the windshield.”

She had the nerve to suck on all that slum in her mouth. “Then
maybe it’s in the glove box or in the trunk or under your seat. All I know is I
can’t take your money, miss. E-ZPass already charged you.”

I was steaming as I drove on, heading south toward exit 4. I was so scared my mouth was dry and I felt like I had to pee, even though I had gone to the bathroom not an hour earlier. My eyes were on autopilot as I drove, darting from mirror to mirror, checking for the police car I just knew was gonna pull me over and take my black ass straight to jail.

Who knew what kind of shit G had me walking into. It could have been a test. It could have been a setup, too, but for my brother’s sake I had to see it through. I kept wondering, did somebody stick some dope or some money in the trunk when I made that stop in the Boogey-Down, or did they take something out? What was gonna happen when I got to the house in Jersey that G was sending me to? Damn! Plenty of stupid bitches were locked up in the joint for transporting dope for they man. G had put my picture facedown on his desk. Was he setting me up to take a bid, or would I just disappear like Salida did?

My head was buzzing as I followed G’s directions off the turnpike and into a neighborhood that made Brooklyn look clean and Harlem look glamorous. This was Camden, New Jersey, the murder capital of the nation, and the hard-looking faces I passed on the streets made me check to make sure my doors were locked. Shit, I ain’t fronting. I was scared. True, I came straight from the ghetto and was proud of it, but at least I knew the thugs who roamed my streets. These Camden people were strangers to me, and for all I knew I was carrying something they wanted in my trunk.

It took me about thirty minutes to find the street I was looking for. I had messed around and took a wrong turn, and then couldn’t make a left to double back until I found one of those stupid jug-handles that Jersey is famous for. I finally found the right street and as soon as I turned in to it I knew shit was flaky.

Most of the streetlights were out and there were niggahs everywhere like it was two in the afternoon instead of two in the morning. Lounging on the stoops, sitting on cars, shooting cee-low on the curb, and hanging off fire escapes.
Every one of them turned to stare into the Z and check out the rims as I drove down looking for the right house number, and one or two of them had the balls to step up to my window and motion for me to stop, like I was stupid enough to do it and my damn head screwed off and on.

Even with my windows up I could hear the music blasting outside, the bass making my windshield vibrate. I got really scared when I drove in further and realized that the street was a dead end. That meant I would have to drive out again, right back past the same niggahs I had almost run over coming in.

The house I was looking for was at the bottom of the street, right at the dead end. G had told me just to do whatever the connect told me to, so I had no idea what to expect. I saw a buffed-up brother with a wild afro sitting on a crate with a whole crew of niggahs, and as soon as I stopped the car he jumped up and came over to me.

He had on jail clothes. A big-ass white T-shirt and some baggy pants.
A thick silver cross was hanging around his neck and I could see he was strapped.

He tapped twice on the window. “Roll it down,” he ordered.

I hit the button just enough to drop the window about an inch.

“What?”

I had my finger next to the trunk release button, ready to pop that bad boy open and let him get his package of whatever was back there.

“Nothing,” he said. “We changed the plan. You can go on back now.”

“What?” I gave him a dirty look. I wasn’t riding all the way back to Harlem with no hot package in my trunk. “Nah, G sent me—”

“I know who sent you. Now take your ass on back.”

“But I got stuff—”

He slapped my window so hard I covered my face, expecting the glass to shatter. When it didn’t, I put it up in a hurry, scared he’d somehow get his hand through that tiny crack and get to me.

“You got too much fuckin mouth! That’s what the fuck you got. Now get your ass up outta here.” He nodded up the street. “Before I get them niggers up there to strip this little toy car and then start on you.”

I know damn well I left some tires on that pavement. I put the Z in reverse, then whipped around so fast I hit two garbage cans and almost hit a parked car, too. I came up out of that dead end so hasty them niggers at the top of the street weren’t brave enough to run out at me this time. I didn’t even stop at the corner, instead I took my chances with a glance, then turned right into traffic not knowing if I was going in the right direction or not.

I was mad enough to kick G’s ass. Bad enough I drove all the way to Jersey in a drug dealer’s car with no damn license. He had me riding around with who knows what in the trunk, swearing the cops were gonna stop me and take me to jail, and in a strange city where I didn’t know nobody and the only thing I had for protection was my knife.

I was too scared to pull over and ask somebody on the streets how to get back to the turnpike, so I waited until I saw a gas station where an Indian man with a big turban on his head was pumping gas and asked him.

By the time I got back on the turnpike my foot was heavy and my mind was steady on driving north. But as scared as I was, curiosity was burning in me, too. I wanted to know. I wrestled with myself until I got to exit 8, then turned off at a gas station and parked on the side of the road. Looking around, I made sure nobody was anywhere near me, then punched the trunk release and jumped out of the car.

I stood there looking into the little ass trunk, getting mad as hell. It was empty. Wasn’t shit in there.
Either the connect in the Bronx had taken something out, or the one in Camden was supposed to put something in.
Either way, I was going home. Back to Harlem, and if G ever asked me to make another drop we was gonna have a showdown right then and there. This kind of cloak-and-dagger shit wasn’t happening for me no more, I didn’t care what G said. Let him send Punanee or Honey Dew, or one of them other bitches who were always up in his face next time, ’cause it sure as hell wasn’t going to be me.