Animal 2 (28 page)

Porsha pulled on her robe and stepped outside her bedroom. When she touched the hallway, the aroma of bacon and eggs staggered her. It wasn't until she smelled the food that she realized she hadn't eaten since the day before and was starving. Following her nose and her stomach, Porsha made her way to the living room, where she found Frankie sitting on the sofa, hunched over the coffee table, stuffing her face.

“There's a plate for you on the stove,” Frankie told her, without bothering to look up from her food. She was dressed in a pair of tight blue jeans, a graphic T-shirt, and a pair of white Nikes.

Porsha went into the kitchen to retrieve her plate, then returned to the living room and sat in the La-Z-Boy chair with her food. “You're up and dressed early,” she said, taking a forkful of fluffy cheese eggs.

“Gotta run some errands,” Frankie told her. “What're you doing out of bed before noon on your day off?”

“Ain't no such thing as days off when you're on your grind. I don't have to work today, but I have a photo shoot.”

“Where's Zo?” Frankie asked. The last thing she remembered was him leaving to go to the store before she fell asleep.

“Fuck Zo-Pound,” Porsha said with an attitude. She went on to tell Frankie about him disappearing and then calling with a lame excuse. “What kinda nigga creeps off in the middle of the night unless he's up to no good? He's probably got some hood rat bitch tucked away somewhere in the projects.”

“Nah, I don't think Zo is creeping on you. He isn't the type,” Frankie said.

“Any nigga with a dick is the type,” Porsha countered. “And what makes you such an authority on Alonzo these days?”

Frankie put her fork down and looked at Porsha. “I overlooked it the first few times you said some slick shit, but I'm starting to feel disrespected. What the fuck is your problem?”

“I'm sorry, Frankie. I'm just stressed the fuck out, that's all. My life is hectic, and sometimes I hate it, but the one bright spot in all this craziness is Alonzo. Look, I'm not slow. I know what it is Zo does in the streets. I don't necessarily agree with it, but I don't knock him for it. I put up with the strange hours, not seeing him for days sometimes, and bitches throwing shade . . . all this, and I still feel like I'm number two in his life. That funny shit he pulled last night feels like the last straw.”

“Porsha,” Frankie began, “I may not be an authority on Alonzo, as you put it, but I know enough about him to know that his heart is in the right place when it comes to you. He's in love with your black ass, and anybody with eyes can see it. Granted, that was strange of him to slip out to the store and not come back, but there had to be a reason. Maybe it was an emergency? Something could've gone down on the streets.”

“It couldn't have been that serious, because he left his gun,” Porsha said.

“Zo hit the streets without his gun?” Frankie was shocked. “This definitely doesn't make sense. Dig, when I go out, I'm gonna hit the hood and see if I can track him down.” Frankie threw her paper plate into the trash and headed for the door. She grabbed her Yankees fitted and pulled it down over her head, letting her hair hang out.

“Maybe I should go with you,” Porsha suggested.

“Nah, you go to your photo shoot and get that money. I'll hit you if I find anything out,” Frankie assured her, and left.

Porsha tried to finish her food, but she'd lost her appetite. She thought on how she had made Zo leave his pistol in the house and wondered if that had been a blessing or a curse. She thought about trying to call him again, but if he didn't answer, it was only going to make her nerves worse. After sticking the plate in the fridge for later, Porsha showered and dressed for her photo shoot, trying her best not to think about Zo-Pound and what he might be up to.

•  •  •

Frankie opted to take the subway to the projects instead of a taxi. She needed time to think, and the ride would give her just that. She was calm and collected in front of Porsha, but she was really terrified. All she could think about was Rick Jenkins and Alonzo possibly having thrown his life away for her bullshit. She couldn't rest until she made sure Zo was out of harm's way, and that's what brought her to the projects.

Frankie strolled up the block, tugging at the black bandanna around her neck like a designer scarf. It was irritating her scar. She scanned the faces of the young men on the avenue. None of them was Zo-Pound, but one came frighteningly close. Lakim was leaning against a black iron gate, talking to King James, while a few younger dudes milled around them like sentries. Frankie angled toward them, making sure to keep her hands in plain sight as she approached. One of the young dudes noticed her and came to stand between her and the group. He couldn't have been more than a teenager, with long braids and a scar on the right side of his face.

“You lost, baby?” Cain asked. His tone was pleasant and even, but his presence radiated menace.

“Nah, I'm not lost,” Frankie told Cain, and tried to step around him, only to have Abel block her path.

“Says who? Says you? You must be lost, crossing this block with that bandanna around your neck. You need a pass to fly any color but the correct one on this block.” Abel fanned the red silk scarf that was looped around his belt. “If you wanna walk through here, I'm gonna need you to drop that flag.”

“I'm not into gang-banging, so that don't apply to me,” Frankie told him. She let her hand drift to her shoulder bag, where she had her .380 tucked.

“I wonder what she's got in the bag?” Cain asked, letting his eyes roam to the purse.

“Maybe we should take it and see,” Abel suggested. They were toying with Frankie.

Lightning-quick, Frankie's hand dipped into her purse. She didn't draw the gun, but she had it clutched firmly in her hand, ready to fire it through the bag at a moment's notice. “You reach for this bag, and you ain't gonna have to wonder what's in it, because I'm gonna show you.”

“So pretty lady wants to play . . .” Cain began.

“. . . We like games,” Abel finished.

“Yo, stop harassing that girl and let her through!” King's voice boomed. The twins parted like the Red Sea, allowing Frankie to pass.

“Maybe later on, I can get you to show me what's in the bag,” Cain whispered to her.

Frankie stopped and looked over her shoulder. “If that's your version of being flirtatious, you have a lot to learn.”

“I'm a quick study
under
the right teacher. We can ride that course all the way to an A plus.” Cain smirked.

Frankie looked Cain up and down. He wasn't the prettiest thing she'd ever seen, but his swag was cute. “Come see me in about two or three years, shorty,” she capped, and kept walking.

Cain stood there smiling dumbly until Abel punched him in the arm and pulled him out of his moment.

“Close your mouth. You're drooling,” Abel teased him.

“Fuck you, you're just mad she was feeling me,” Cain said.

“She wasn't feeling you. Look at how she's dressed, she probably don't even like dick,” Abel shot back. He wasn't used to girls picking Cain over him, and it stung.

“Frankie Angels, what brings you to the slums?” King embraced her. He and Frankie knew each other through a girl named Sahara whom King had dated a while back. It had been King who bailed them out of jail when they got locked up for fighting a girl named Debbie whom they were subleasing an apartment from.

“Not much, just looking for a friend of mine. Y'all seen Zo today?” Frankie asked.

“What you want with my brother?” Lakim asked in a less-than-friendly tone. He also knew Frankie but in a different way. Back in the days when Frankie had been running with a crew of girls who called themselves the Twenty-Gang, they had robbed Lakim. Frankie couldn't have been more than a teenager at the time, but even back then, she was playing grown folks' games. The beef was years old and had long been squashed, but Lakim always paid extra-special attention to her, because he knew what she was capable of.

“His girl, who happens to be my best friend, is worried
about him. Zo slid out the crib last night to go to the store and never came back,” Frankie told him. From the look that flashed across Lakim's face, she knew that he knew something, but he didn't seem to be willing to tell it.

“Zo got himself into a pinch last night,” King told her.

“What kind of pinch? Is he OK?” Frankie asked in a concerned tone.

“He got knocked last night, but I got my lawyer on the case. The charge is bullshit, fabricated by two thirsty-ass cops,” King informed her.

“I hate a cocksucking-ass pig. They know Zo ain't killed nobody,” Frankie said heatedly.

“How did you know they picked him up for murder?” Lakim asked with a raised eyebrow.

Frankie hesitated before answering. “Oh, because King just said—”

“I only said he got locked up. I never said what for,” King said, cutting her off. “Something you wanna tell me, Frankie Angels?”

Frankie felt like every eye in the hood turned to her, waiting to see how she would answer the question. She considered lying, but something about the way King was looking at her made her hesitant. Frankie Angels could stare down most men without flinching, but his gaze made her cringe. She felt like if her words weren't chosen very carefully, they could very well be her last.

“Look,” she began, “when Zo came by last night, he told me that his name was on the wire over this kid who got clapped. Outside of that, I really don't know the details.” What she said wasn't completely true, but it wasn't a lie, either.

“If Zo was in trouble, why the fuck would he come to you before coming to me, and I'm his brother?” Lakim asked suspiciously.

“How the hell should I know? When he came by Porsha's house last night, he told me what was up, but he didn't seem too concerned, so I left it alone,” Frankie lied.

Lakim shook his head. “I keep telling that nigga these bitches ain't no good.”

“That bitch, as you call her, is my best friend, so I'd appreciate it if you watched your mouth when you speak about her in front of me,” Frankie told Lakim.

“Put ya fangs away, shorty. It ain't that serious,” King interjected. “The immediate situation is getting Zo out of the slammer. Did he tell you anything else?”

“Not really, you know how Zo is,” Frankie said.

King nodded. “Indeed, he always plays his hand to his chest.”

“This is some bullshit! My brother is about that action, but he ain't no killer. He ain't like us, King,” Lakim said emotionally. The thought of his baby brother spending the rest of his life in a cage made him weak.

“What is or isn't in that man's heart isn't for us to say, and it ain't what's important. Zo-Pound is family, and we look out for family, you hear me?” King asked Lakim.

“I hear you, God, but thinking about baby bro laying up in the system is fucking with me,” Lakim told him.

“La, Zo ain't no stranger to time. Zo did a nickel and never asked a nigga for a crumb, so I'm sure he'll keep for a few days until we can get him out,” King said.

“I know bro can handle it, but that ain't stopping me from
feeling helpless. We getting money, so the rules shouldn't apply to us,” Lakim reasoned.

“That's where you're wrong, La. When it comes to murder, the same rules apply to rich niggaz and poor niggaz,” King told him. “On the legal side, I'll wait until I hear back from the lawyer, but on some G shit, I'm gonna launch my own investigation. Nine times outta ten, the police are reaching by sweating Alonzo for the body. I know Zo-Pound, and if he put a nigga to sleep, he damn sure didn't leave any evidence behind. He's too careful for that, so there has to be a leak in the pipes somewhere. We gonna find that leak and plug it.” He patted his waist, where he had the big Desert Eagle tucked.

Frankie felt like a look passed between her and King when he made the gesture. “If there's anything I can do, just hit me up,” Frankie told him. She was anxious to get up out of there, because the more they spoke, the worse she felt.

“Yeah, we'll definitely be in touch,” King assured her. There was something about the way he looked at Frankie that made her uneasy.

Frankie gave a rushed good-bye, then hot-footed it out of the projects as fast as she could. Lakim's eyes stayed glued to her until she had disappeared from sight.

•  •  •

Frankie couldn't get away from the projects fast enough. The whole time she'd been talking to King, she feared that he'd see through her half-truth and tear her head off. He never came out and said it, but Frankie had a feeling that he knew she wasn't being totally honest, and the question remained, why he didn't expose her for it? Whatever his reasons were for toying with Frankie, she couldn't be sure, but that wasn't the
immediate issue. She had to get Zo out of the jam he'd gotten himself into.

She didn't have the money to drop on a high-powered lawyer to help him, but that didn't mean she was totally without resources. Frankie ducked into the corner bodega and purchased a long-distance calling card, then began the tedious process of trying to find a pay phone. The fossils had become nearly extinct since the invention of cellular phones, but after walking about eight or nine blocks, she was able to find one. She could've made the call on her cell phone, but wireless lines weren't secure, and she couldn't risk the call being traced.

Frankie followed the directions on the back of the calling card and punched in an overseas number she had committed to memory many years ago. When it was given to her, she was instructed to only use it under the direst of circumstances, and helping Zo qualified as just such circumstances. She listened intently, praying that the number still worked. On the fourth ring, her prayers were answered, and someone picked up, but they didn't speak.