Numbers (20 page)

“Don’t play stupid, Ketta. What’s going on with you and my man?” she asked sternly and unwavering.

“I don’t know what you’re getting at,” Waketta fibbed.
What’s this all about? Why is Rosa getting at me like this? Where’s all this coming from?

“Right before I got out of class I got a voice message that said, ‘
I bet you don’t know Numbers and Ketta are fucking each other, you dumb cunt.’
So I’m asking you again: Are you fucking my man?”

“No. Hell no! You can’t be serious, Rosa. Me and Numbers is cool—you know that!” Waketta started getting loud. For the first time she felt terrible for being with Numbers. She felt bad for lying to Rosa, but she couldn’t tell her the truth—it would devastate her. Even worse, she’d be betraying Numbers, which is something she absolutely wouldn’t do. Her loyalty was to him, so she lied. Now she wasn’t sure if she could tell Numbers her news—it was all too much. Her mind was racing.
Who the fuck would do some grimy shit like this?
She had an idea.

A horn honked from behind. The light was green and Waketta hadn’t noticed it. She got moving.

Rosa didn’t know what to believe. Why would someone leave her a voice message saying these foul, hurtful things? They turned onto North Portland Avenue, cruising slowly up the block, approaching her mother’s building. There was a lot of movement on the street on this June pre-summer night. Waketta pulled into an open space near the walkway to Rosa-Marie’s mother’s building.

Numbers rolled onto Lefferts Place looking for a parking spot near the building. He hated when there were too many people hanging out in front of Suki’s complex, like there were tonight. He wanted to run in, drop the keys off with Coney, and break out.

He put his pistol in his belt; the dark-tinted windows shielded him from prying eyes.

A dark-colored Chevy rolled down the block, two men inside. They spotted their target stopped on the right side of the road. The driver was Spank, the dude that PWH put it on by the park last winter for selling product on their turf. He was still smarting from that ass whipping, and he wanted payback. The guy in the passenger seat was Holiday, Crush’s little brother. He was always up for a murderous deed.

“You ready to do this, slouch?” Spank asked his partner.

“Born ready, nicca. Let’s scorch his ass with this heat.” Holiday laughed deviously.

They crept up slowly next to the parked ride, bumping Biggie’s “Somebody’s Gotta Die.” Holiday extended his Glock out the window and let off multiple rounds, shattering the back window, then the driver’s-side window. Screams echoed in the night and people ran for cover. The two assassins sped off down the street, not waiting to see if they’d hit their target. A police cruiser was just turning onto the block and it rammed the escaping Chevy. A gun battled ensued and when it was over Spank and Holiday lay fatally wounded in the crumpled vehicle.

Numbers’s pager was blowing up 911, 911, 911. He dropped the product off with Coney and went back to his ride. He just missed a call on his phone. He dialed that last 911 one call from his beeper. It was Broz.

“Numbers, you need to get to the PJs quick—they shot up your ride. Hurry!” Broz yelled frantically.

“Is Rosa all right? Is Waketta okay?” Numbers asked, his heartbeat becoming rapid.

“Hurry, Numbers. It’s bad. We by Rosa’s mom’s building.” Numbers heard cracking and pain in Broz’s voice. He threw down the phone and sped to the projects, running lights when he had to.

When he reached North Portland, the street was blocked, so he parked the silver Honda and sprinted down the block. The closer he got, the faster his heart raced. He didn’t know what to expect. He thought he was losing his mind. As he neared the crime scene, he saw his car taped off by police and his mother standing next to an ambulance crying. Then he saw Rosa sitting in the ambulance being looked at.
She’s okay.
He felt the pressure ease off his heart. He kept looking, searching
—Where is Waketta?
He got to his mother and hugged her tightly. She cried in his arms, and whispered, “I’m so sorry, baby.”

Why is she sorry?
“Where’s Ketta, Mommy?” She held him tightly, not wanting to let him go. He looked toward the driver’s seat of his car and saw her. Waketta was dead. They had snatched her from his life. He screamed in unimaginable agony, then collapsed.

Waketta’s body was laid to rest on June 21, 1998, the first day of summer. The day started out with overcast skies but cleared up when the family tossed the first handful of soil onto the casket. It was a beautiful ceremony.

Right afterward, Waketta’s mother, Ms. Dixie, pulled Numbers aside. “Numbers, can I speak with you a minute?” Grief was engraved on her face. She looked like she would never smile again.

“Yes, Ms. Dixie.” Numbers couldn’t look in her eyes.

“Baby, I know how much you cared about my daughter. She told me how you always looked out for her.” She paused, wiping a tear from her eye. “You know Ketta had a great sense of humor.” She was able to form a smile. “And she was
also very secretive. I want to ask you if you knew who she was dating.”

“Dating, Ms. Dixie? No I don’t,” he lied, surprised the conversation was going in this direction. “May I ask why you’re asking?”

“Well, according to the medical examiner, she was ten weeks pregnant.” Ms. Dixie’s head dropped and tears poured out of her eyes.

Numbers was floored. He knew it was his baby. He became light-headed and dizzy with guilt. It was his fault Waketta and their unborn child were dead, but he couldn’t tell that to Ms. Dixie. This was the darkest day of his life.

Numbers became so depressed that he could barely eat or focus. He stopped hustling. He stayed in the house and spent most of his time with his son. He didn’t answer his pager or his phone. Almost a month had passed since Waketta died, and he hadn’t spoken to Jarvis, Broz, or Coney since the funeral. Rosa thought she was losing him. She didn’t know how to get through to him.

One morning Numbers was at his mother’s apartment attempting to eat breakfast. Jenny looked at her son with a mother’s concern. She could tell his heart was heavy and he was still laboring over the loss of his childhood friend.

“I spoke to your Aunt Camille. She asked how you were doing. She suggested you come down and spend some time with her and the boys.”

Numbers looked up from his plate, calculating. “I ain’t been down there in as much as fifteen years or so.” Jenny’s next-to-oldest sister lived in Norfolk, Virginia, on a navy base with her two sons, who were around Numbers’s age. Numbers thought the visit might be just what he needed. He decided it was time to take a road trip, get his family out of the city for a while.

He entered his apartment. Rosa was on the sofa watching TV. R.C. was in his playpen. His name was Reginald Carlton, after
Numbers and Crispy Carl. Numbers picked him up and kissed him on his round plump cheeks. “Rosa, I think we should go away for a little while.”

“Where?”

“My mom’s sister lives in Norfolk, Virginia. We should go down there and kick back. What you think?”

“What about school?”

“Oh, yeah, forgot about school,” he said, his face becoming solemn. “Rosa, I hope you understand, but I need to get out of here or I’ma murder somebody.” This was the first time Numbers said what he was feeling out loud. He knew who was responsible for Waketta’s murder, and he swore to himself that person would pay.

Rosa looked at her man’s face and saw the desperation. She knew he wasn’t lying. She loved him. She would follow him to the ends of the earth.

“Okay, Papi. When we leaving?”

Numbers held his baby boy above his head. “What up, R.C.? Are you ready for a road trip?” Speaking to his son, he sounded more upbeat than he’d been in a month. His son smiled, laughed, and cooed down at him as if giving affirmation to his daddy.

Numbers had saved up a good little nest egg, accumulating more than $39,000 in the last five months. He’d wanted to get out of the game when he reached $100,000 but the loss of one of his best friends and his lover hastened his desire to retire. The city was closing in on him, making him feel like a claustrophobic locked in a broom closet. He needed to get away.

Numbers and his family left in the middle of the night. He didn’t want anyone to know he was going out of town. Leaving the projects without someone seeing was a task in itself. He told his mother not to tell anyone, including Jarvis, where he was going.

It was 1:40
A.M.
when he got through the Holland Tunnel and
gassed up. The baby was already asleep in his car seat in the back. Rosa sat in the passenger seat looking as beautiful as ever, but she was troubled.

“Numbers, baby, can we talk?” She initiated the conversation reluctantly.

“Yeah, what’s going on?” He reached over to the dashboard to turn the volume down on the Kenwood system.

“It’s about Ketta and the day she died.” She looked at Numbers, and his face grew tense. “Well, the day she came to pick me up, I received a voice mail from a guy.”

“What guy? Who?” Numbers responded jealously.

“That’s just it. I don’t know who it was, but, well …”

“I’m listening,” he said, wishing she would get to the point.

“Well, the message said that you and Ketta were sleeping together.” She was finally able to get it out. “I asked Ketta about it that day.”

Numbers was caught totally off guard. “Me and Ketta? That shit’s crazy. We were like brother and sister,” he lied, hoping his facial expression didn’t betray him.

“That’s kinda what she said, but why would somebody leave me a message like that?” Rosa wanted to believe her man.

“I don’t know, all this shit is crazy. I don’t know why this shit went down the way it went down.” He wasn’t being entirely honest with her—after all, this was a cutthroat business he was in.

“Baby, it was bothering me. I had to ask and get it off my chest. I hope you understand.” She leaned across the seat and kissed him on the cheek. Then she leaned back and rested her eyes, seeming content.

She drifted off to sleep, and Numbers had hours to think. He couldn’t remember the last time he could relax and think. It was three-thirty in the morning by the time they got to exit 1 on the New Jersey Turnpike. It was drizzling as they rode over the bridge into Delaware, and it turned into rain as he drove down 95 South.
Numbers’s mind began to work as rapidly as the raindrops hitting the ’91 Nissan Maxima’s burgundy paint job. He thought about all that had transpired over the last year or so. He thought about what Rosa had just told him. Only a few people knew he was messing with Waketta on that level. Beyond Jarvis, Broz, and maybe Coney, everyone else could only speculate.
Was there any truth to what Jarvis was saying about Waketta messing with Crush, and if so, was it his baby she was carrying? And what about Waketta asking if he and Jarvis were still the best of friends and questioning his loyalty? Was her pregnancy the news Ketta wanted to tell me?
He wondered how Crush knew they wouldn’t be working their track the day they had to go to the park and check his soldiers.
Somebody had to give me up to Crush the day Ketta was killed. How did they know what time I’d be there? Was it Coney? I did tell Coney I was going to be late getting to him because I had to pick up Rosa. Plus, Coney wasn’t there when I arrived. If I would’ve been driving that night, I would be dead.
He thought about Coney’s greedy, trifling ass.
Yeah, it had to be him. Who else could it be? Or maybe it was more than one person?
Then his thoughts bounced quickly to his trip. This excursion was exactly what he needed to clear his mental. He hadn’t seen it before, but someone really had it in for him.
Who?

It was close to 9
A.M.
when Numbers pulled up in the driveway of 16 Garvin Street. Camille lived in a four-bedroom, one-level house. Her husband, Charles, a navy man, spent most of his time out at sea. He was stationed on the Gulf Coast.

“Numbers, honey, I’m so glad you came to visit,” Aunt Camille said as she came bounding out the front door.

“Hi, Aunt Camille,” Numbers said as they embraced.

“You remember Rosa-Marie?”

Aunt Camille gave Rosa a hug and kiss. “Of course! How could I forget such a beautiful girl?”

“Thank you!” Rosa said, feeling the sincere warmth from her man’s aunt. It was the same way Ms. Jenny made her feel.

“Now, where’s my great-nephew?” Aunt Camille was bursting with excitement over seeing R.C.

Rosa reached in the backseat, unfastened her son, and presented him to his great-aunt. At first he began to cry, but Camille was able to make him feel right at home against her big bosoms.

Numbers left all the bags except for the baby’s in the ride until later. Camille had prepared them a big down-south breakfast.

Matthew and Melvin were the youngest of Camille’s four children and, at the ages of twenty-three and twenty-two, the only two who still lived at home. They were sizable young men; although they were about the same height as Numbers, they were built like running backs. They rarely got up this early. Melvin dragged himself out of his bedroom, and Matt emerged from the bathroom to greet his cousin and family.