Slipping Page 14

  “Nigga, who the fuck is you?” the short man screeched as he tried to free himself from Don's grip.

  “I'm Don-Don, nigga. Who the fuck is you?”

  “Shorty Rob, fool! Nigga, I don't even know you. Why the fuck you got yo nose in my fucking business?”

  Before Don answered, he took his first close look at the girl Shorty Rob had been slapping around. He thought she looked good from across the street, but up close, she looked like a beauty queen. She stopped crying and curiously looked her Samaritan up and down. Obviously she liked what she saw because she smiled at Don.

  That was all Don needed to see. Shorty Rob was just a minor obstacle in his path. As good as this girl looked, Don would slay Shorty Rob right here if need be.

  Don ignored Shorty Rob still struggling in his grasp. “Baby girl, what's yo name? And is this yo man?”

  “Yeah, that's my girl,” Shorty Rob answered.

  He received a chilling glance from Don.

  “My name is Rena,” the girl said. “And this sorry-ass nigga used to be my man. That is until I caught him giving my friend a rim job in my fucking house. Now he mad 'cause I don't want to fuck with him no more. Shit-breath nigga.”

  “So now the nigga want to come round and gorilla you, huh?” Don asked, looking at Shorty Rob.

  “Nall, it ain't like that,” Shorty Rob explained. “I just done invested a lot of time and money in this young bitch and now she trying to front on me.”

  Shorty Rob was playing for time. It had just dawned on him that the name Don-Don sounded familiar. This was the nigga everybody was trying to get their hands on. The East Side Apostles had a nice reward out for anybody that could help them find this boy. The police were also looking for him as a suspect in a multiple homicide. Now that Shorty Rob took a good look at the boy holding his arm, Don did have the eyes of a killer—cold, dark, and soulless. A glance at Don's waist let Rob know he was packing heat. Whatever Shorty Rob may have been, he wasn't a fool; he knew better than to tangle with a ghetto killer.

  Don was so preoccupied with Rena he almost forgot he was still holding Shorty Rob's wrist. All the fight seemed to be gone from the little man so he released his grip. If the little nigga wanted to walk away like a player that was cool, but if he wanted to act crazy Don had no qualms about hurting him.

  “So Rena, what's up, boo?” Don asked.

  “Fuck that nigga, Don-Don. I'm with you.”

  “You heard her, player, beat it,” Don said smoothly to Shorty Rob.

  Shorty Rob held his breath and kept his hands in clear view until he was behind the steering wheel of his car.

  Don watched the Monte Carlo until it turned the corner and was out of sight. He slid his arm around Rena's waist and let his hand rest on her ass.

  “You get right down to business, don't you?” Rena asked.

  “I ain't got no time to be bullshitting. Girl, you need a nigga that take care of his business, not some booty-licking-ass nigga. Rena, what you like to do?”

  “What you mean?”

  “I mean how you like to kick it? Or in other words, how can a nigga get them tight jeans off you?”

  Rena looked at Don with surprise on her face. He could tell she wasn't used to the straightforward approach, but she seemed to like it.

  “Well, I don't know if it will get my jeans off, but I do like to smoke me a little weed, drink some Erk & Jerk, and chill.”

  “Yo wish is my command. But you probably already know I ain't from around here so I don't know where to get the weed. I can get the E&J from the liquor store up on 39th, though.”

  “Don't worry about it. I'll send my girl to the store, but she gone want a beer.”

  “That's cool.”

  Rena walked into the building and knocked on an apartment door to the right of the staircase. A moment later a woman stuck her head out of the door. Rena explained the mission and the lady was dressed and had her hand out for the money in a minute and thirty seconds.

  They watched her walk away.

  “We gone stay down here so I can listen for her baby.”

  “That's cool,” Don said.

  They exchanged small talk while they waited for Rena's neighbor to return with the weed and alcohol. Ten minutes later, Rena's friend walked up, sat a paper bag on Rena's lap, slipped her beer out of the bag, and disappeared into her apartment.

  “C'mon,” Rena said.

  Don followed her up the stairs and into her apartment. Inside the apartment Don took a seat on the couch and looked around; it was a cozy, clean, little place. The gun in his waistband was uncomfortable in a sitting position. Don took the hand cannon out and set it on the end table. Rena didn't flinch when she saw the pistol.

  He looked over at her. “Girl, don't be acting all shy. Roll you some weed up and pour yourself a drink.”

  Don took a swig of the E&J brandy. “Who live here with you?”

  She sat on the couch and took the brandy and poured herself a drink. “Nobody. Just me all by my lonesome. I split my mama's lease with the housing authority to get my own apartment. I been on my own for about nine months. I just started being able to keep my brothers and sisters out of here. Well, really they stopped coming down here 'cause they hated Shorty Rob.”

  “What was up with that nigga? He was sprung over you wadn't he?”

  Rena began rolling up her weed. “Shorty Rob full of shit. I already didn't mind that he had a woman. An old, ugly woman at that. He spent a few dollars on me buying clothes and furniture and think he own me. I didn't ask him for a thing. He went out and spent his money trying to impress me. Then I come home early from work one day because I wasn't feeling good and he had my girl up in here.”

  Don took another sip of the brandy, letting it burn its way to his stomach. “He was really up in here giving yo girl a rim job.”

  “Tossing her salad like he had a license. I couldn't believe that shit. I wasn't even mad at her—well, I was, but only because she was up in my house. She's always been a ho so she wasn't out of character. He was totally bogus, though. Up in my house, uhhh.”

  Rena shivered as she completed her joint.

  Don handed her the E&J. “You sound like you need another shot. Yeah, I bet dude is messed up in the head 'bout losing a fine-looking girl like you to me.”

  “To you?” Rena asked. “I ain't said that I was yours.”

  “You ain't have to. I could tell that you was gone be mine the minute I saw you.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. I mean we can take it slow, but it's gonna happen anyway so who are we to stand in the way of destiny?”

  Rena laughed as she lit the weed. “Boy, you crazy. I like you, Don-Don. You ain't from around here, are you?”

  “If I say no, is that a good thing or bad thing?”

  “Definitely a good thing. I don't mess with boys from the hood. I grew up with a lot of them, and besides that, when you hit them off with a little something in the bedroom, they like to run around and put your business in the street.”

  “Well, I'm from over east,” Don lied. “I needed a change of scenery from my hood and I was looking for you.”

  “You was looking for me?” Rena asked as she kicked off her shoes and leaned her head on the back of the couch. She let the weed smoke curl around her head. “How was you looking for me and you just met me?”

  “Well, I knew that I was looking for someone that was pretty, cool, and might need my help, and you fit the bill.” “You got game, Don-Don. Look at me, I'm being greedy. You want to hit this?”

  “Nall, I don't smoke weed. I smoke crack,” Don said. Rena choked on the weed smoke. “What you say?”

  “I smoke crack,” Don said plainly. “Is that a problem?”

  Rena thought about it a moment. “Not really. I just ain't going to smoke any. It ain't like I ain't never been around it. It's all through here. It seem like everybody use something around here. Either it's coke, dope, weed, or alcohol. Who am I to judge anyway? If that's how
you get down, then get down then. Just like I said, though, I don't want any.”

  They continued to chat as Rena smoked her weed and Don took hits off the pipe.

  “Please tell me you got some music over there,” Don said, pointing his crackpipe at Rena's small sound system sitting on a bookshelf.

  “I got jams, boy,” Rena boasted as she walked over to the radio and pushed the power button. “What you want to hear?”

  “You got some Tupac, MC Breed, or Ice Cube?”

  “Got all that. Well, whatever didn't manage to find its way into my little brother's pockets.”

  Soon the sounds of Tupac Shakur played softly in the background. When Rena rejoined him on the couch, Don pulled her onto his lap.

  “Shorty, I kinda like yo style,” Don said.

  Rena giggled. “I like your style, too.”

  Don leaned forward to kiss her and she didn't resist. After a long, passionate kiss, Rena stood up and took Don by the hand. She led him to her bedroom.

  17

  SHORTY ROB SAT ON A RICKETY BAR STOOL WITH HIS feet barely touching the floor. The two double shots of Jack Daniels he'd gulped had helped to steady his trembling hands. He considered himself lucky to be alive after his run-in with Don-Don. He needed the whiskey to give him the liquid courage to face the East Side Apostles.

  Twenty minutes and two more double shots later, Shorty Rob climbed down from the bar stool. His legs threatened to give way, but he steadied himself by placing his hand on the bar. As soon as the room stopped spinning he made his way to the door.

  The brisk Chicago night breeze sobered him up a little— enough to find his car key and climb behind the wheel of his Monte Carlo. The engine choked to life when he turned the key in the ignition. He misjudged the distance between his car and the cars parked in front and the rear of him, bumping them both as he pulled from the parking space. He swerved into traffic and narrowly missed sideswiping a Dodge Intrepid. The man driving the Intrepid honked his horn furiously to get Shorty Rob's attention, displayed an aluminum bat, and sped off.

  After the close call with the Dodge, Shorty Rob paid closer attention to his driving. With both hands on the steering wheel he drove like an old woman as he headed for the Nest, an Apostles’ hangout. Though he dreaded it, Shorty Rob had to talk to Domino. The thought of pocketing the $10,000 reward wouldn't allow him to chicken out. That and the notion of Rena begging at his feet for him to take her back after they finished with Don made this trip well worth it. He would see how much she wanted to front when he got his hands on that ten gees.

  Shorty Rob was so caught up in his grandiose dreams he almost missed his turn. He came back to reality just in time to swerve around the corner where the Nest loomed larger than life.

  The Apostles owned and operated the Nest. It was an infamous gathering place for the ghetto's privileged underworld. They also supplied the security and the police were paid to give the place a wide berth.

  Shorty Rob found a parking spot and left his car. At the door of the Nest he paid the ten-dollar cover charge and entered the club.

  No expense had been spared to furbish the space. The lounge had been decorated to look like a tropical island. Lifelike palm trees with stuffed exotic birds perched on the branches were scattered throughout. The bar itself was a conversation piece—every square inch of its sides and front were covered with the plumage of exotic birds. Sharks and stingrays swam in a thousand-gallon aquarium behind the bar.

  Weed fumes hung heavy in the air. The DJ showed a masterful touch as he kept the dance floor packed with willing steppers. As was their custom, the head Apostle sat in a large, plush area behind the dance floor.

  Shorty Rob threaded his way through the partygoers to the bar where he ordered a shot of Jack Daniels. When he received his drink he turned his back to the bar and watched the festivities. A pretty girl in a short Coogi dress pressed her chest to the bar next to him. Underneath a pile of weave hair, the girl was more than noticeably attractive, but Shorty Rob tried to remind himself that he was here on business. Under any other circumstances he would have done his best to get her to leave with him.

  Turning to her, Shorty Rob asked, “You seen Domino?”

  The girl gave him a quick once-over with her red-tinged eyes. She must have decided he wasn't even worth a response because she simply pointed to the area behind the dance floor. He tried to get her name and number for use at a later time, but as he started to lay the groundwork for his mack game, she raised her hand to cut him off. Drink in hand, she retreated and began whispering to her girlfriend. They both looked at Shorty Rob and broke out in laughter.

  Shorty Rob was salty—he knew women like her treated poor niggas like that, but he wouldn't be poor for much longer. Mumbling under his breath, Shorty Rob headed in the direction she had shown him. The dance floor was packed. Men and women of all shapes and sizes swayed to a reggae cut. Shorty Rob had to push his way through the crowd to get to the area designated for the Apostles. He received several threatening glares from a few of the dancers he jostled, but he kept moving. Finally he made it to the rear of the club. The atmosphere there was more relaxed. The gang members and their associates sat quietly, smoking blunts, sipping drinks, and talking to women.

  Shorty Rob spotted Domino and tried to walk over to the young gangster's booth. Before he knew what was happening, he was facedown on the floor with a pistol behind his ear. Shorty Rob's only response was a whooshing sound from the wind being knocked out of him. One of the gang's security pinned him to the floor with his arm trapped in an excruciating lock. The other held the gun.

  “Nigga, who the fuck is you?” the gun-toting security snarled.

  “I'm Shorty Rob,” he managed to gasp.

  “You ain't no Apostle, nigga—we don't know yo ass. What the fuck you want back here?”

  “I wanna holla at Domino. Tell him it's about Don-Don.”

  At the mention of Don's name the man with the pistol stepped over to Domino's booth and whispered in his ear. Domino whispered something back and the security returned and helped Shorty Rob to his feet.

  “Domino wanna holla at you,” was the only explanation the gun bearer offered as he pushed Shorty Rob through a set of doors to their left. In what had to be a storeroom for the bar, the Apostle instructed him to have a seat on some cases of liquor and he did the same. From his pocket he pulled a blunt and lit it. With a nod of his head he offered Shorty Rob a hit.

  Shorty Rob declined his offer. He also noticed the man never put his gun away; though he wasn't so rigid with it, the business end was still pointed at Shorty Rob's stomach. The door opened and two more Apostles entered the room. Like their comrade, they all took seats on the boxes. They passed the blunt around.

  There was a knock at the door and one of the men answered it. Shorty Rob hoped it was Domino so he could hurry up and get this shit over with before he lost his nerve. It was only another Apostle bringing the three men some cold drinks. Five more minutes passed before Domino finally entered the storeroom.

  Heavily jeweled, sporting a dress shirt, slacks, and alligator shoes, Domino perched on a few cases of liquor.

  One of the men waved Shorty Rob silent when he tried to speak.

  Domino accepted the blunt. “Alright, little nigga, before you say anything I want you to listen. When my cousin first got killed and I offered a reward for this nigga Don-Don, a million motherfuckas knew where he was at. We followed up on all the tips and we didn't see hide nor hair of this dude. Now, since my time is money, and everybody that sent me on a blank mission wasted my time, that means they also wasted my money. I don't think I got to tell you that pisses me the fuck off. So before you say one word, ask yo'self. Are you telling me the real? And do you want to know what the fuck I'm gone do to you if you not?”

  “I seen him,” Shorty Rob blurted out. “I seen him in the Wells with a bitch. I talked to the nigga face-to-face. Shit, I was about to kill the nigga myself, but I knew you wouldn'ta liked that. I know it's
the same stud because two homicide dicks was showing the nigga picture all over the place. He at this bitch named Rena crib in the Wells. I'll take you to the motherfucka.”

  Shorty Rob fell silent. He knew he'd captured Domino's attention. A smug look veiled his small, round face. It was said in the streets that pussy was a nigga's quickest downfall and it would prove to be Don-Don's. The nigga shouldn't have tried to steal his girl.

  “Awight, Shorty Rob,” Domino said, “we gone check this shit out. I hope you ain't lying, little nigga. Breo and Clay, y'all going with me. Clay, go get my truck and bring it round back.”

  Clay left the storeroom to carry out Domino's order while Breo retrieved two handguns from a mop closet. With the blunt in the corner of his mouth, Breo gave the pistols a quick once-over. He handed Domino a .40 caliber. Outside they heard Clay give a short blow of the truck's horn.

  Domino grabbed Shorty Rob by the collar and rudely ushered him out of the door.

  The ride to the Wells was a terrifying one for Shorty Rob. He knew the Apostles were used to riding around with heat, but he wasn't. When the nose of Domino's SUV turned into the boundaries of the Wells, Shorty Rob breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Where this bitch live?” Clay growled from behind the steering wheel.

  “You follow Vincennes to 37th Place, then make a left.”

  Clay followed the instructions.

  “Pull over right here,” Shorty Rob ordered meekly.

  Noiselessly the 4Runner glided into a parking space a few doors away from Rena's stoop. Domino looked across the backseat at Shorty Rob. “Which one is the bitch crib?”

  “Second floor with the yellow curtains.”

  Domino looked up at Rena's window through the tinted window of his SUV. “Clay, take yo stupid ass around to the back door. Me, Breo, and this nigga going in the front. I'm gone give you three minutes, then I'm going in.”

  “Hey,” Shorty Rob protested. “You ain't say nothing about me going in with y'all. Hell nall. Fuck that!”