Authors: Mike Sanders
Thirsty (15 page)
It was late in the evening. D.C. and I were sitting in my old school Ford Galaxy in Applebee’s parking lot on Independence Boulevard, getting lost in a cloud of Kush as we tried to analyze the chain of events that had taken place over the recent few days. I reached down and turned the volume of my sound system down a few levels so I could try to think. It was warm and the sun hadn’t sat yet, so I had the AC on full blast and we were enjoying the coolness. Originally, we had planned to go inside to eat, but suddenly I wasn’t hungry anymore.
I sighed deeply before responding. “Nah, I’m good. I was thinking about that shit at the hospital and it took a nigga’s appetite.”
I took off my fitted cap and rubbed my head for a moment.
“Fuck! Somebody beat that girl like, like…”
Words couldn’t even begin to describe what I’d witnessed a few days earlier in that hospital room.
I remembered what I was feeling when Justice had called me and told me to meet her at Carolina’s Medical Center because something had happened to Sapphire. My first reaction was anger because the way Justice was crying and bawling on the phone had already let me know that the situation was fucked up. But nothing could prepare me for what I’d seen when I had entered Phire’s hospital room. Her mother was standing to one side of her bed while my sister stood at the other side holding Sapphire’s limp hand. Both women were sobbing with trembling lips as Sapphire lay there motionless.
Sapphire’s mother and Justice both looked up with wet eyes when they’d heard me enter the room. I approached the bed slowly, not knowing what to expect. When I looked down at the unrecognizable figure lying in that bed it made my heart sank. Sapphire’s head had swollen up to the size of a pumpkin and her body was bandaged from her neck down. Whoever was responsible for beating her like that had undoubtedly intended for her to die. But God must have had other plans for her because she was still breathing. She was in a coma, but
alive
nonetheless.
Sapphire’s mailman had been the one to discover her while attempting to deliver her mail on the morning after the attack. He had seen dried up, bloody footprints on her front porch and also noticed that her front door was slightly ajar; splinters of wood were visible from where it had apparently been kicked in. The police were called immediately. When they had arrived and searched the house they found Phire on her bedroom floor in a puddle of blood, unconscious and barely clinging to life. It was Phire’s mother who had called Justice and in turn Justice had called me.
I thought back to Cross’s death and how it had given me a reality check but it hadn’t affected me that much because we hadn’t really been that close. Although it did make me more conscious of my surroundings and made me be even more on point. However, Sapphire had always been like a sister to me and to see her lying up in that hospital bed straddling the thin line between life and death really had a nigga fucked up.
“So what’s poppin’? Who you think did that shit?” D.C. questioned. He was referring to Sapphire. His eyes were tight and bloodshot red from the weed.
“I wish I knew,” I replied while exhaling a thick cloud of smoke.
I looked around the parking lot and saw a few patrons entering and exiting the restaurant as if they didn’t have a care in the world. I knew Sapphire’s unfortunate circumstance was a result of her involvement with Cross, but no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t seem to narrow down the possibilities of who these vengeful niggas could be. Like me and D.C., Cross had touched so many niggas and had so many enemies it would’ve been damn near impossible to narrow it down to just one person or one clique. I even thought about my own safety as well because I had robbed a nigga with Cross just before the Embassy Suites lick.
I asked D.C., “You remember that first lick we did wit’ Cross?”
“What of it?” D.C. responded nonchalantly as two thick-built redbones caught our eyes as they walked past my car and entered the restaurant.
“Damn, them hoes phat!” D.C. stated, referring to the two women as they strolled out of view.
I looked away from the girls and over at my partner. “You think them niggas know that was us? You think that’s what this shit is all about?”
“Fuck they gonna know it was us? We had masks on, remember?”
True enough, we had worn masks but what if someone still knew it had been us somehow? My mind reeled with unasked questions that I knew D.C. had no answer for. But then again, maybe the Kush just had a nigga paranoid.
“Quit trippin’, nigga. Them niggas ain’t know it was us. We woulda
been
heard somethin’ about that.”
D.C. tried to rationalize my paranoid thoughts. Maybe I was just trippin’, or maybe I was just reading too much into the situation. Either way, my concern would not waiver. I put my fitted back on and sat back in the bucket seat, lost in thought. When I couldn’t come to a feasible conclusion about the situation I decided to just let sleeping dogs lie. Just then, I saw the same two redbones exit the restaurant. They glanced our way and I smiled at them. The shorter of the two smiled back, giving me the green light so I waved her over to the car. She approached without hesitation while her girlfriend stayed grounded with her phone up to her ear, engaged in conversation.
“What up ma?” I spoke as I let my window down.
“Hey,” she spoke sweetly, then turned her nose up and fanned her face as soon as the cloud of weed invaded her nostrils. “Damn, y’all blazin’ up right here in the parking lot? Y’all
do
know that shit ain’t legal?”
She took a step back away from the car as if she was trying to avoid getting the smell in her hair and clothes.
“We got cataracts and shit. We just havin’ our daily medication, ya dig?” I responded with a chuckle.
“What’s up wit’ ya girl? She anti-social or something?” D.C. asked her.
The girl looked back at her friend and yelled, “Sabrina! Come ’ere!”
She was waving for her friend to come join us but her friend didn’t budge right away. She put a finger up as if to say, “Wait a minute.”
I commenced to kick it with this chick for a few minutes while her girl wrapped up her call.
I asked, “Why y’all ain’t eat? I just saw y’all go in and come right back out.”
“The waiting list was a little too long for my taste. We goin’ to T.G.I. Fridays.”
I casually leaned out the window to get a closer look at her. She was wearing a pair of capris that hugged her wide hips and it looked like she needed a wedge to get out of those joints. Her toes were peeking out of her sandals, looking enticing and inviting a nigga to take a lick.
“Y’all want some company?” I asked while observing her luscious lips, which were shining from a thick coat of gloss.
“Hell yeah, if y’all payin’,” she replied as her girl finally walked over.
D.C. waved the girl around to his side of the car and my eyes unconsciously followed her shapely ass cheeks as she walked past the front of the car. After a few minutes of exchanging pleasantries and lies we were on the road following Sabrina’s X5 to Fridays. I looked at her custom plate as we stopped for a red light. I read the plate aloud, “Queen B”.
I thought for a second, then told D.C., “That bitch Sabrina look
real
familiar.” I was trying to remember where I’d seen her before but I couldn’t place her in my memory bank.
“Nah, I’on’ think I ever seen her before. Besides, a bitch that fine, how the hell could a nigga forget?” D.C. was in the process of rolling another blunt as he spoke.
I brushed it off and thought nothing more of it as the light changed. Moments later, we were pulling into T.G.I. Fridays parking lot. We told the girls to go in and get a table while we sat and sparked some more weed. The weed had brought my appetite back with a vengeance. I had the munchies like crazy.
When we finally entered the restaurant, we spotted the girls seated in a corner booth looking at menus. We joined them and ordered drinks while the girls pondered over what they wanted to eat. When our drinks arrived, I ordered enough food for three people while the girls were still undecided. The waiter looked at me and smirked because I was sure he could smell the weed in my clothes and he knew I had the munchies.
The girls and D.C. finally ordered. When the food was brought out, me and D.C. attacked it like starving vultures. We had elbows on the table, smacking our lips and licking our fingers. The girls didn’t give a damn about our lack of mannerisms, they were just happy to be enjoying a free meal. During the meal I found out why Sabrina’s face was so familiar-looking. She had mentioned that she knew my sister and had seen me and D.C. on a few occasions.
Toward the end of the meal Sabrina excused herself to make a phone call. “I gotta call my babysitter,” she said as she licked her fingers, then wiped her hands with a wet-nap before sliding out of the booth.
Sabrina’s friend, whose name turned out to be Sophia, excused herself as well. I watched as they sashayed their way toward the exit, both holding their cell phones to their ears. Every man in the restaurant did a double take as the girls glided through the room like supermodels. They both had that “nasty walk”; the kind of walk that causes an instant erection when she walks by. That walk when a woman struts like her pussy is dripping platinum.
D.C. and I finished our meals and ordered another round of drinks as we waited for Sabrina and Sophia to return.
D.C. looked across the booth at me and asked, “You thought anymore about who might be behind that shit with Cross and Sapphire?”
“I can’t
stop
thinking about that shit. Phire’s like a sister to me and seeing her laid up in that bed like that brought tears to a gangsta’s eyes. I’ma clap somebody behind that shit. Watch and see.”
“I can dig it. I’m wit’ cha my nigga,” D.C. reached across the table and gave me a pound.
After about ten minutes with no signs of the girls, I begin to wonder what could be keeping them.
I looked towards the entrance and blurted out, “Where them hoes at?”
It was a statement more so than a question because I knew D.C. was just as clueless as I was.
“I’on’ know,” D.C. responded while wrinkling up his eyebrows as if he’d just noticed that they hadn’t yet returned. He sat his drink on the table and slid out of the booth. “Lemme go see where these bitches at.”
I continued to drink while D.C. exited the booth and walked out of restaurant in search of the girls. My stomach was full and I felt totally relaxed. A lit Newport was between my lips as I settled back into the booth with my right leg stretched out along the seat and my back was against the wall.
Three minutes later, D.C. was reentering the restaurant with an ill look on his face. He walked back over to the booth and smiled.
“Them bitches dipped. Them triflin’ hoes played a nigga for a free meal. Damn, I thought I was beatin’ that up later. Thirsty ass bitches!”
He was laughing as he sat back down.
“Straight up?” I said in disbelief.
But at the same time I was somewhat amused. I looked around the table and tried to find any signs that may have indicated a possible return for them. There weren’t any. They hadn’t even brought their purses in with them. They’d played us! All we had were two names, which were probably bogus, a vehicle description, and that name plate Queen B. If my sister knew them, I’d be sure to see their asses again somewhere and I was going to make it my duty to embarrass their asses.
D.C. and I both laughed at the thought of getting played for some steaks. Money? I could see that happening, but food? Now that was low!
My bladder began to expand a little so I told D.C., “Tell ole boy to bring the check. I gotta go piss.”
I was sliding out of the booth as I spoke. My .40 cal dug into my ribs as I scooted out of the tight area, so I had to discreetly slide it out of my waistband and slip it into my back pocket once I was onto my feet. I walked through the crowded restaurant and entered the bathroom. All the stalls were empty so I walked over to the nearest one and emptied my aching bladder. I stood there for a second relishing in the after waves that always comes at the end of a long-needed piss.
After washing and drying my hands I stood before the mirror, staring at my reflection. My eyes looked like tiny slits and they were red as hell. I was definitely fucked up. But what happened next undoubtedly blew my high!
“What da fuck!?”
I instinctively took cover behind the door. Then as soon as the initial shock had worn off, impulse had me snatching my ratchet from my back pocket. Beads of sweat popped up on my forehead and my adrenaline began pumping hard as shit. I was thinking that I’d gotten caught up in some terrorist shit or some Virginia Tech massacre type situation! I didn’t know whether to stay where I was at or if I should’ve gone to check on my man. I knew D.C. had his pistol and I was wondering if he was out there blasting also.
I was still clutching my pistol and pressing my back against the wall near the door so I could blast on the first thing that sat foot inside that restroom. As I stood there my mind reverted back to the image of that blood-splattered taxi that had become Cross’s burial box. And right then I’d decided I would rather be a moving target than a sitting duck. So I moved!
As I eased the restroom door open with caution I heard screams and more automatic gunfire coming from the dining area. After a few short minutes the shots finally stopped and the screams got louder. I cautiously exited the restroom and entered the dining area with my pistol in my hand, ready to squeeze.
“OH SHIT!” I muttered in disbelief as I saw two niggas dressed in black wearing Halloween masks, clutching AK-47s. They were retreating from the booth where I had been seated only minutes earlier and heading for the exit. The two gunmen were jumping over crying, petrified patrons who had apparently thrown themselves to the floor in an attempt to shun the gunfire.
For a split second, I looked towards our booth where D.C. once sat and saw him slumped over in the seat. My nigga had been hit! My vision blurred with shades of red as I raised my pistol and started busting off shots at the two assassins as they exited the restaurant. I ran towards the exit, following them out into the night while still busting shots. Just as I made it to the parking lot I saw a green Ford Excursion screeching off. I squeezed my .40 at the truck and let it blow hot kisses until I ran out of bullets.
“FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!” I spat as I watched the truck speed up the Avenue while running red lights and swerving around other cars.
My breathing was heavy and my adrenaline was still pumping like crazy as I started to go back inside the restaurant to check on my nigga. Just as I turned to head back inside, I looked across the street from the restaurant and saw a familiar looking 600 S-class slowly pulling out of the Circle K’s parking lot. The driver’s side window slowly lowered and the driver and I locked eyes for a brief moment. Then I saw that nigga smile at me with a knowing look plastered on his face. At that instance, everything started to fall into place like a Tetris game. It all started to make sense. My mind whirled as I dashed back towards the entrance of the restaurant.
A few patrons screamed and dove back to the floor when they saw me reenter the restaurant brandishing my empty pistol. I had fire in my eyes and my heart burned with pain as I neared the booth in which my partner lay motionless. When I reached the booth, the first thing I noticed were the nickel-sized holes in the wall behind the booth where apparently a few stray bullets had apparently gotten lodged. When I saw D.C.’s body I almost vomited. I had to hold my stomach because its contents tried to come rushing out of my mouth.
The top half of D.C.’s torso was almost severed from the lower portion of his body and internal organs were exposed. He was clutching his pistol in his right hand and his eyes were open. Just then, the realization of why AKs were called “choppers” hit me like a bolt of lightening, because those niggas had all but chopped my partner’s body in half with those assault rifles.
I knew the only thing I could do was bail up out of there and try to put as much distance between myself and the restaurant as I could before the police arrived. So I grabbed D.C.’s gun and emptied his blood soaked pockets before heading to my hooptie out in the parking lot. I hopped inside my ride and tossed my empty gun on to the passenger’s seat while holding D.C.’s pistol tightly in my grasp as I fled the scene. I continuously peeped into my rearview as I sped down the avenue.
So many visions and scenarios cycloned through my head as I sped away from the restaurant. But the most vivid and most disturbing image was that of Carlos and the sinister smile he had on his face as we’d locked eyes when he was pulling out of the Circle K. I thought back to when Sabrina and Sophia had gone outside and supposedly had called babysitters and whatnot. It dawned on me that those two snake bitches had called Carlos instead. Those two hoes had been the ones that were responsible for my nigga’s death. I thought back to when we were at Applebee’s and how Sabrina kept looking at me and D.C. when she was on the phone while I was talking to Sophia. It was my guess that she had probably called those niggas right then and was setting a nigga up the entire time. Now I had even more of a reason to want to find those trifling bitches!
Now there was
no
doubt as to whom was behind everything. Cross, Sapphire, and D.C.? Fuck that! If it’s war them muthafuckas wanted, it was war they was going to get. I lost all rationality because I knew that hit was intended for me as well. Now it was no holds barred! It was time to step the game all the way up.