La Familia 2 (14 page)

Cat Head turned and looked at me deadpan. We locked eyes but he didn't say a word to me. He was trying to tend to his injuries but the nigga needed a hospital. I didn't know what he was thinking, but I had a clue; he probably blamed me and wanted to know everything about Tango. It wasn't about to end with them.

His two whores went back over to attend to their pimp's injuries, but once again he heatedly shoved them away and cursed at them. His pride had been bruised just like his face. I felt it was time for us to leave. Erica and I removed ourselves from the bar with Cat Head licking his wounds and trying to put his pride back together, shouting, “I'm gonna find that muthafucka. He's dead. He's fuckin' dead!” but not even a skilled surgeon could piece that back together. What was done was done.

As we exited the Juice Bar, Erica said to me, “You must be like the Helen of Troy, got these two beasts fighting over you.”

I wasn't amused by her statement. I was worried about Tango. I looked around for him outside but he was nowhere around.

Erica hailed a cab; I was also concerned about Cat Head storming out of the bar to confront me. I kept looking back at the entrance thinking the worst, this mean pimp taking his anger and frustration out on me. He definitely wasn't a stranger to putting his hands on women. I knew Erica and I weren't any different and we were vulnerable outside. It also only took one phone call for him to make and he could have his goons on the hunt. I had a daughter to go home to.

Thank God a gypsy cab stopped for us. Erica and I quickly climbed inside with me feeling like this was the chariot to heaven. I wanted to get home.

“We goin' to Edenwald, 233rd Street,” Erica told the driver.

He drove away with me gazing through the back window seeing if there was going to be any activity bursting out from the Juice Bar. But nothing; my view faded the farther he drove. I finally turned around and felt relieved. But this wasn't about to be over. I knew it deep in my heart. Tango assaulted a man who was known to shoot muthafuckas even though he was a pimp; he was a dangerous man. And I couldn't help but to think what was going to be the outcome with me and him when he saw me on the track at nights. I already had static with his bitches, but since Cat Head had a thing for me, the confrontations didn't get that serious. Would that now all change?

But still, I thought about Tango and couldn't help to be worried about him. He was on my mind, from the time he stormed out of the bar up until I climbed into bed and closed my eyes to get some sleep. It had been a hectic evening.

 

Two days later, I saw Tango lingering in my lobby. I walked out of the elevator and was startled to see him standing there. I was alone, heading toward the bodega to pick up a few snacks and some drinks for the night. It looked like he was waiting for me, but how did he know where I lived?

“Tango, what are you doing down here?” I asked him.

“I came to talk to you,” he replied.

“How did you know what building I lived in?”

“It wasn't hard. I got peoples who know you.”

I looked at him. He seemed cool, stoic. He wore a leather jacket and stood some distance from me. The look in his eyes appeared that he was upset about the other night. He had his hands in his coat pocket and fidgeted in front of me somewhat.

“I'm sorry 'bout the other night, Mouse. It shouldn't have gone down like that,” he said.

“You put that man in the hospital.”

“I just lost my temper. Seeing that nigga up on you like that, it made me snap.”

“But you put my life in danger too, Tango. Cat Head, he's not gonna forget about this. He's gonna come looking for revenge when he get out of the hospital. I know for a fact he got goons on standby,” I told him.

“I got ya back, Mouse. I can take care of you. I can protect you.”

“How?” I barked out. “How you gonna take care of me, Tango? You just came home. You don't have a job and you live at home wit' ya mother, if I'm correct.”

“I'm workin' on sumthin'.”

I sighed. It was good to hear a man say he was going to look out for me, but I had to come to my senses. Tango wasn't even in the position to take care of himself. He may have been the man back in the days, but now it was different; times had changed.

Tango stepped closer to me. He stared at me with his drunken eyes of passion and said, “I'm gonna make sumthin' happen, Mouse. I promise that you won't have to work the track any longer or worry 'bout Cat Head.”

“Why, you planning to do sumthin' to him?”

“Nah,” he drawled out.

“Then what?” I wanted to know.

“It's just sumthin' I'm tryin' to come up wit'.”

“You just came home, Tango. Don't do anything stupid to get locked up again,” I said.

I was starting to care about him. I really wanted something to happen between us, but in the back of my mind, I doubted that a relationship could actually work with him. He was an ex-con, and from my experiences with ex-cons, they always find a way to get sent back to prison and leave their woman alone, probably pregnant. I already had one baby daddy inside. I wasn't about to make the same mistake again.

“Trust me, Mouse; I have a friend who's lookin' out for me. He's trying to get me this job in construction. It pays thirteen an hour, and after six months of probation, I can jump on their benefits. Once I get put on, you get put on. I'll find us a place and take care of home. I'm tryin' to do it right this time. I need to do it right. I can't go back inside. I did ten years and I'm gettin' too old for the same ol' shit,” he proclaimed.

I smiled. It sounded nice. He sounded genuine about the job. I could see Tango doing construction. He had the build for it. He always seemed like he could be a hardworking man. We both wanted a way out of the hell we lived in, and if Tango was the man for me, then I would follow him wherever.

“When do you go for the job?” I asked.

“Next week.”

“Good luck.”

He smiled. “Thanks, 'cause I'm gonna need it.”

“You'll get it.”

“You think?”

“I know you will,” I said with conviction.

He gazed at me. Once again, the way this man looked at me, it was every woman's dream. He stared at me like I was his queen and the most beautiful and wonderful woman on the planet. He came closer and pulled me into his arms. Tango hugged me lovingly; his firm arms were wrapped around me like a blanket. He was strong, but always gentle with me. Next thing I knew, we were kissing each other passionately and I found myself not wanting to be let go from his arms.

Was it possible that I was actually falling in love with him so quickly? I didn't know what it was, but I didn't want it to ever end. I wanted to be taking care of and treated right. God knows that my last relationship ended up in chaos and regret. Rico did me so dirty and foul, that I swore off men forever. But Tango, he felt different. He didn't have much right now, but he felt so real and bold.

I kissed him and found myself drifting into this utopia. I had my eyes closed and daydreamed about the suburbs, living like the Cosbys and finally leaving the ghetto for good. Did I believe Tango could actually make it happen for me? I didn't know. I wanted to believe it. I needed to believe in something. Every night that I was on that track degrading myself for little cash, allowing strange men to ravage my body, it took something away from me, piece by piece.

We finally stopped kissing each other and I exhaled. Tango still held me in his arms and I wondered when this started to happen: a relationship. But it crept up on me. He didn't care about my past, or my ways; he cared about me and my daughter. I couldn't push him away. I couldn't be scared of the uncertain. I just had to go with it and believe this one was going to work out.

Tango took a few pulls from the cigarette between his lips and exhaled. It was a quiet and cool night as he heard his friend Mike say, “You know she used to be Rico's girl.”

Tango didn't know Rico, but he heard niggas inside speak his name. Rico was supposed to be the new heavyweight on the street before his untimely incarceration on numerous RICO charges.

“Rico?”

“He used to hustle for Red back in the days, came up under the Bronx Nation Crew,” Mike explained.

Tango didn't care for the man or his reputation. He had his own hardcore reputation, one probably fiercer than Rico's. His only concern was his future with Mouse. He thought about her a lot and wanted to be with her in so many ways. It was bad that Mouse had to witness the ugly side of him, but when he saw the pimp making moves on the woman he was crushing on, it made him snap with rage. He hated to be a jealous man, but he was, undeniably.

But Tango had other issues on his mind. He didn't get the construction job. They turned him away like a bad habit. He didn't have the courage to tell Mouse the bad news, so he stayed away from her for a day or two and needed to think about other alternatives to make some money. She needed help, an escape from her hell, and he was determined to give her that.

Tango and Mike lingered on the building rooftop with the view of the sprawling projects looking ghetto and picturesque in the night. The projects were quiet tonight, no gunshots and no police sirens crackling in the dark. The two men had their privacy to talk. Mike looked swallowed up by the puffy winter coat he had on. His style and jewelry were an indication of his wealth. He was a heavy hitter in the streets, well known and high ranking with Bronx Mafia Boys.

Tango looked nonchalant. He gazed at the Bronx glimmering with lights that stretched for blocks and seemed endless. Literally, it felt like he was on top of the world again, peering down at the cold Bronx street with admiration for his hood. He reminisced about his past for a moment and shared a cool conversation with a good friend.

“I don't give a fuck 'bout any Rico; nigga name don't ring bells around me,” Tango replied.

“Well he did wit' Mouse. That used to be her boo. The nigga got her and her best friend pregnant at the same time, and that's her baby father now and when that nigga had it, she had it. You feel me?” Mike said. “He spoiled her, gave her whatever she wanted.”

Tango didn't respond, he continued smoking the Newport and listened to his friend for over twenty years drill in his head about Mouse being used to having the finer things in life. He had to open his eyes to his realization: he was an ex-con on parole, no job, no cash, and probably an uncertain future; and he liked a woman who was used to having the best. So he thought.

“And her pops was straight loco, Hector was a straight lunatic out in these streets back in the days.”

“Yeah, I remember that nigga. He used to run wit' Latin Kings back in the day,” Tango said.

“Yeah, you know 'bout the nigga, and a shorty like that you know the only way to hold her down is having that bank nigga,” said Mike.

“I'm on parole, Mike, fo' a minute; and I gotta get my paperwork up, something to show my PO. A nigga need a fuckin' job, my nigga. You know what I'm sayin'. I'm used to always havin' money in my pocket and this struggling shit, I can't get wit' it,” Tango proclaimed.

“What type of work you lookin' for?”

“Anything, my nigga. I just need some real bread in my hand,” Tango replied.

“I mean, I got some shit fo' you, my nigga, if you ready to put in that serious work.”

“What kind of work?”

Mike didn't reply right at that moment. He took a few pulls from his cigarette too and gazed at the lively borough. He kept his look away from Tango and said, “You hungry right?”

“Nigga, I'm fuckin' starving right now. So what kinda work you talkin' 'bout?”

“A few 187 needs done,” Mike replied coolly, like he was talking about mechanic work on a car.

Tango didn't say anything for a minute. He took one final pull from the cigarette and flicked it off the rooftop. He blew smoke out his mouth and nostrils and looked pensive. He turned to look at Mike and asked, “How much?”

“Five thousand a head.”

“Y'all banking like that?”

Mike reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a wad of hundred dollar bills. He showed it to Tango and said, “It's a new day, Tango, and ya lethal-ass could get this money out here. You was no joke back in the day, and we could use a hitter like you in the crew.”

“Y'all beefin' wit' YGC, right?”

“Man, fuck them
putas.
”

Tango was indecisive. He just came home, and ten years was a long time to be away from home. But times were hard. He felt lost. He wanted a change but society still labeled him a menace to society. It felt easy to pull up his old roots and plant what he knew what was going to grow best for him: putting in that work on the streets.

Tango locked eyes with his old friend and had to ask again, “Five thousand a head, huh?”

“Five stacks, my nigga. It's easy money to be made for easy work, especially for a killer wit' ya skills.”

“Yeah, it's easy work until a nigga get caught.”

“Tango, you too smooth and skilled to get caught,” Mike replied.

“Then explain the ten years I just did.”

“Nigga, we all pay our dues in this game, just chalk it up as the cost of doin' business out there,” Mike replied.

Tango chuckled. “The cost of doin' business huh?”

“Hells yeah.”

“Then business is gettin' pretty expensive out this muthafucka,” said Tango.

“Nigga, who you tellin'?”

Tango felt reluctant in taking the job, but hard times were crushing down on him and he had a beautiful woman and her daughter to take care of.

“You do this for us and we got you, my nigga. You ain't gonna have to worry 'bout a dime ever,” Mike assured him.

Tango sighed heavily. His mind was telling him no, but hard times was pushing him to say yes. “Who y'all want got?”

Mike smiled. “This
puta
named Dodo.”

“I want half right now and another half after the job is done. And I do it on my terms,” said Tango.

Mike nodded, approving to the stipulations to the deal. “Whatever you need, Tango. Welcome back.”

Tango didn't respond; instead he lit another cigarette and looked aloof. He had to do what he had to do, even if it meant shaking hands with the devil again. A man had to survive somehow and support the ones he loved.