Authors: Silhouettes
Street Soldier 2 (5 page)
I unlocked the door, opening it so we could walk out together. Poetry didn't move. She tapped her foot on the floor and glared at me.
“What is it?” I said, somewhat irritated. I was ready to go chill, and was in no mood to be catching attitude from a chick who didn't seem to have nothing else better to do with her time than harass me.
“What's with you, Prince? Why you all funny acting and didn't I apologize for calling you a thief? Then, I was nice enough to give your money back, and not once did you thank me for doing that. I gave you my number so we could be friends, and when I saw you on the news today, I came down here to see if we could squash what happened and start fresh. Now, if you ain't down with that, say so.”
I looked her over, still unsatisfied with her comment and attitude. I pushed the door open, and gestured for her to walk out. “No, I'm not down with us bein' friends. But if you want a quickie or some sex, I'm always down with that. Friends and relationships, sorry, not for me.”
“Umph. Too bad because I don't have sex with assholes. I am still interested in a job, though, and just so you know, I don't give up too easily when I feel as though something is within my reach.”
“An asshole would apply to me, so don't waste your time. Now, good night.”
She rolled her eyes to the top of her head, then made her way out the door. Saying nothing else to me, she walked down the street and got into her car, which was the last one parked on the street.
After she sped off, I locked the front door and made my way upstairs to my apartment. The last thing I needed right now was a chick with hassles. My history with women wasn't that great. Never again would I get attached to any chick, and as fine as Poetry was, her looks weren't enough to move me. She didn't seem like the kind of gal who would be interested in becoming one of my fuck buddies, so getting with her on any other level was a wrap. I couldn't see the purpose, but maybe I wasn't looking for it.
Chapter Four
Wake Up, Before It's Too Late ...
I crawled out of bed, still feeling beat as ever. Maybe because I stayed up nearly all night playing Xbox Live and lifting weights. Should've been out clubbing, but after all that had happened in my life, I was doing my best to keep things low-key. The streets wasn't nothing to play with, and I had learned some valuable lessons along the way. Sometimes I felt as if my life was boring, then I was grateful that I wasn't either dead or in jail. I had definitely been on that path, but something pulled me back. I was afraid that retaliation would be ordered for killing three niggas in a lounge that day, or the police would come looking for me. It hadn't happened as of yet, and to be honest, I was living day by day. Each day, though, I was trying to get focused. If I made it through that mess, and was still alive, I had to consider it a blessing. There was no other way to look at it. And as worried as I was about what would happen to me, so were many others. Mama kept saying that she was having dreams about me dying, and my half sister, Patrice, used to call every day to check on me. Once things calmed down, she packed her bags and jetted to California. I didn't think her leaving had much to do with her worries for me, though, and I figured that as soon as her mother died, Patrice would leave St. Louis. She did, and I hadn't heard from her since.
I showered, put on my Nike basketball shorts and a white loose T-shirt. While looking in the mirror, I brushed my waves and put some Vaseline on my dry lips. After I put on my socks, I slid my feet into my Nike sandals. I hurried downstairs to open the laundromat, then got on my way to Mama's house so I could take her the cigarettes and beer she'd asked for. It was only seven o'clock in the morning, but the sun was baking my body in the car like it was an oven. I couldn't wait for the air to crank up and I had it on full blast. Drake was spilling his lyrics through my speakers and I zoomed down Natural Bridge Boulevard feeling upbeat.
When I arrived at Mama's house, I saw Raylo's car parked in the driveway. I knew it was too early for either of them to be awake, so instead of knocking on the door, I used my key to go inside. As soon as I opened the door, I saw Raylo lying on the living room couch with a sheet covering him. The TV was loud and a bottle of Jack Daniels was on the coffee table. He was snoring so loudly that he didn't hear me come in. I crept into the kitchen, putting the bag on the table and leaving it there so Mama could see it. I figured she was asleep in her room, so I headed back to the front door so I could leave.
“Wait a minute,” Raylo said, clearing his throat and slowly sitting up on the couch. “Don't leave yet, Prince. I need to get at you 'bout somethin'.”
I moved closer to the couch and folded my arms. “What's up?”
Raylo cleared his throat again, then cracked the bottle of Jack Daniels to help whatever was in his throat go down. “Ahhhh,” he said, slamming the bottle back on the table. “Better.”
I looked at my watch, as Raylo seemed to be stalling and I didn't have time. I had to get back to the laundromat to remove my change from the machines, before it got too crowded.
“I wanted to know if I could get a loan,” Raylo said. “Things gettin' kind of tight around here. Me and yo' mama ain't got it like we used to.”
“I already gave Mama some money. If you need some, why don't you just ask her?”
“Because she ain't here right now. She left yesterday and told me she would be back later. I'm sure she'll be back later today or tomorrow, but even when she does come back, she don't have the kind of money I need right now. If you let me hold 'bout ten Gs, I'll be sure to get it back to you as soon as I can.”
I hesitated, only because Raylo had never done much for me. He'd been in my life since I was eleven years old, and all I ever saw him do was drink, smoke weed, cheat on my mother, and kick her ass. I knew Mama loved him, though, but I didn't feel right giving his ass no money. I also knew that if Mama needed it, she would ask. She never had any problems asking me for anything, and if the ten Gs weren't going to benefit her, then my answer was a big fat no.
“Man, things kind of tight, and I ain't got that kind of money right now. If you would have said a couple of hundred, maybe. But ten Gs is a lot for me to give up.”
Raylo's face twisted, just that fast. “Nigga, you know you got it. I said I'd give it back. I got myself in a li'l jam that I need to get out of. I thought we were like family and I really ain't got no other place to turn right now.”
I stretched, then yawned. “I repeat; I ain't got it right now. And even if I did, I'm not sure if I'd want to help you with your so-called jam. Tryin' to save my dollars, and if I keep on givin' when I ain't got, then I'll be without. Tell Mama to hit me up later. I gotta go.”
“You's a stingy-ass motherfucka, Prince. I've taken care of you since you were ten or eleven and when yo' whack-ass daddy didn't want shit to do with you, I stepped in. I have never asked your punk ass for nothin' and now that you keepin' a li'l change in yo' pockets, you actin' all high and mighty like you can't help a nigga who paved the way for you. That's some cold shit, bruh, but I'm not gon' kiss yo' ass. Just remember that you may need me one day. I'm gon' turn my back on you, like you just did me.”
My eyes shot daggers at Raylo, because he was a damn liar, claiming he paved the way for me. How? I wanted to cuss his ass out, but realized he wasn't worth my time. Just like my deadbeat father, Raylo wasn't nothing to me. If anything, taking his path would have led me straight to hell. I wasn't trying to go there. Instead of saying all of that, I snickered and shook my head before walking away. Raylo hated when people didn't stoop to his level, and ignoring him was always the wrong route to take. Before my hand touched the doorknob, he already had the back of my shirt gripped in his hand. He shoved me toward the living room so hard that I almost fell. Weighing every bit of 180 pounds, I could never go toe-to-toe with Raylo, who was nearly twice my size. My Glock could but, unfortunately for me, it was in my car.
“Man, I'm not goin' here with you today,” I said, shaking off my anger and taking a few steps toward the door.
He shoved me back again, then pointed his finger at me. “Don't you walk away from me when I'm speakin' to you, nigga! You ain't that damn grown, and who in the hell do you think you are, talkin' to me like I ain't shit? I will kick yo' ass, boy, then call the police to tell them you broke into my house! And when I tell them you were the one who killedâ”
Threatening to snitch on me was not the direction to take. My forehead swelled with wrinkles and my teeth gritted. “You do what you have to do, punk! But remember, yo' rap sheet is much longer than mine. I got mega shit on you, too, so you'd better think twice about what you're sayin'. Now, I got work to do. Somethin' you haven't known about in years. Get the fuck out of my way, and if a fight is what you're lookin' for this mornin', I ain't got time for it!”
I stepped forward again, and Raylo took his fist, slamming it into my gut. Pain rushed through my midsection, causing me to double over before staggering and dropping to one knee. I held my stomach, unable to regroup after such a hard blow. I tightened my eyes, wondering how in the hell Mama could bear his punches after so many years.
“If you rush up, it better be to make yo' way to the door. If you move in my direction, this will be the last time you will ever see light,” he threatened.
I didn't doubt Raylo's words one bit. And even when I tried to move, my stomach was so sore that all I could do was continue to soothe it with my hand. Staying in the same position with my head down, I wasn't about to challenge Raylo. I knew I couldn't take him with my bare hands, and my strength was nowhere near what it used to be. He stood for a second, waiting for me to make my move. When I didn't, he headed toward the back. Doing the norm, he went into Mama's bedroom and slammed the door. That's when I slowly eased up.
“Shit,” I said, as my stomach hurt even more when I stood straight up. I surely thought about going to my car to get my gun, but the last thing I wanted was for the police to be on the scene. Instead, I slowly walked to my car and dropped back on the seat for a while. I was sure Raylo would tell Mama what happened, and I awaited her call to ask me what I had done to him. Then again, lately she'd been siding with me. But even if I thought this was enough to make her throw him out on his ass, I was positive that wouldn't happen. After all of the beatings, why not? I couldn't help but to sit and think about the many times I'd seen him go upside her head, and what I'd seen him do about a month ago to a woman who was standing on Newstead Avenue. He didn't see me, but I parked my car and rolled down my window to hear what was up that day.
Raylo had the frail redbone chick who looked to be in her thirties by the back of her hair. His grip was so tight that tears were pouring down her face and her eyes were squeezed together. She kept begging him to let go.
“Baby, please,” she said, trying to laugh it off, but appeared to be in so much pain. “I won't do it again. I promise. Ju ... just give me another chance, Sugar Bear.”
I guessed she thought that calling him a pet name would help ease her pain, but she must not have known Raylo like I did. “You slutty bitch,” he said, then pushed her down where she skinned her knees. They were bloody as ever, and he picked her up, again, dragging her to the side of a building like a ragdoll. He lifted his hand that had four thick gold rings on each finger, slapping her so hard her head snapped to the side, as if she were in a heavyweight fight getting her ass beat by Mike Tyson. Raylo spat in her face as he spoke, then squeezed her nose, trying to break it away from her face. Blood ran from her nose and dripped over her lips to her shaky chin. The woman's ear-ringing screams could have woken up the whole neighborhood but, unfortunately, no one stopped to help, including myself.
His fist tore into her stomach that day, just as it had done mine. It sickened me to watch what he had done to that woman, and she was in the same predicament as Mama. Raylo would apologize for his abuse, and all would be good, until he was ready for some more gangsta shit again. Knowing so, I drove off, thinking what a gotdamn shame this truly was.
I arrived at the laundromat a little after eight. There were already several people inside, but I started to remove the quarters from the machine. My face was still scrunched up, thinking about Raylo putting his hands on me and getting away with it. There was a time I would never allow something like that to happen, but trouble was the last thing I needed. Whenever I felt like I wanted to do something that would bring trouble my way, all I had to do was sit down and read some of the letters I'd gotten from my partner Romeo who was in jail. His letters were so damn depressing. All he wanted was out. He'd been thrown in the hole for fighting, stabbed, and he and the guards didn't get along. I wished like hell that I could help him, but there wasn't a damn thing I could do with him being behind bars for the next thirty-something years. All I could do was send him encouraging words and keep the money flowing.
Once I emptied the coins from each machine, I went back to my office to put the change in coin holders so I could take them to the bank. The laundromat business was a good business to get into, and more than anything, it kept me doing something positive. My liquor store made double ... triple the money the laundromat did, and with Nate being friendly to my customers, that always kept them coming back to support. I still had some work to do with my attitude, but the thing was, people had to wash clothes and couldn't care less about who I was or what I was doing here. As far as they knew, I was working for a white man who was paying me to run his business. And if ever asked, that's exactly what I would say because, for whatever dumbass reason, many black people supported white businesses before they did a black business.
I had stacks of quarters on my desk and was taking my time as I put them in the coin holders. “My Beats” by Dr. Dre headphones were on my ears, drowning out the ladies conversing and laughing with each other while washing. I couldn't hear a thing, but when I looked up, Poetry was standing on the other side of the door. She had the same shorts on that she had on last night but with a different top. I really wasn't up for her mouth today, but I was sure the blank expression on my face meant nothing to her. I removed the headphones from my ears, placing them on my desk.
“Sorry to bother you,” she said. “But, do you have a minute or two to spare?”
I shrugged, not saying if I did or didn't.
“First, I wanted to apologize to you, again, for coming off like I did. It's just that that man made me mad for putting his hands on that woman, and I really felt as if you should have done something. A part of me was madder at you than I was at him, and I was wrong for going off on you like I did. I tried to make peace with the situation by offering you my number, but you know what happened with that. Yesterday, I tried again, but my attempts have failed. This is my last time coming to you like this, and I'm not going to keep making a fool of myself for someone who acts like they really don't care.”
I shrugged. “I'm still not giving you a job, and the truth is, I really don't care, Poetry. I don't know what you want from me, and what's done is done. You gave me back my hundred dollars, so what's the big deal? I don't get this, ma, and if I say that your apology is accepted, don't keep sweatin' me, all right? That's unless you want somethin' else from me. If so, you need to tell me what it is, because I'm confused as hell about you showin' up here all the time. I get a feelin' that it's to harass me, but like I said last night, you're wastin' your time.”
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