Animal 2 (9 page)

Ashanti gave Cain a disapproving look for opening his mouth. “I told you, it was nothing,” he said to Fatima. “They wanted to ask me about a murder, but when do they not want to ask me about murders? These niggaz act like every time somebody dies, it's my fault.”

“Ashanti, I hope you ain't tied up in no crazy shit. We've barely made it through one storm, so let's not dive into another one if we don't have to. You know I don't get in your business, but you hot on these streets, so you need to take a step back. You don't see Zo out here like that, so maybe you should chill, too.”

“Speaking of Zo, I need to holla at my dude. You seen him today?” Ashanti asked.

“Ashanti, Zo and that bullshit on the block can wait. You hot, baby,” Fatima told him. “Dig, me and you are about to dip off to Yonkers and get a room for a few days. You need to be off the block, and I need to be fucked, so let's make this happen. And don't worry about the costs. I got it.”

Ashanti pulled Fatima to him and kissed her on the forehead, then the lips. Moments like these made Ashanti wonder if he loved Fatima. He had never loved a woman, so he wasn't sure what it felt like, but he imagined it'd feel like what they had. “That sounds like a plan, but I still need to holla at Zo before I do anything, and it's not a conversation we can have on a telephone. Where was the last place you saw him?”

A
LONZO, A.K.A.
Z
O-
P
OUND, SAT ON
the bench in front of Building 3150 of the General Grant Houses, sipping a cup of coffee and reading a newspaper that was spread across his lap. The temperature had dipped, so he was huddled in a camouflage army jacket with the matching cap, which he wore pulled low over his eyes. Zo was a handsome young man, with cocoa skin and a near-perfect smile. He could've easily been a male model, but instead, he walked the path of a dope boy. He was a lieutenant in King James's army.

A few yards away, a young cat served the occasional fiend who wanted to get a morning blast. Normally, there would've been a constant flow of addicts creeping back and forth to buy drugs, but in light of recent events, it was slow motion. As the saying went, the block was hot.

Two years before, if you'd told Zo that he'd be back on the streets, in the thick of the bullshit, he'd have called you a liar. After his first prison bid, he came back into society a changed man. He hustled his way up to an assistant manager position at
the supermarket he was working at and successfully put his old life behind him. He was done with the streets, but the streets weren't done with him. What was supposed to be a fun night at the strip club with his older brother, Lakim, ended in tragedy and placed Zo in the passenger seat of a long and dangerous ride. And with every dirty deed, he was pulled a little farther away from his goal of being a better man and back into old habits. He toed the line of good and evil but remained hopeful that one day, he'd be able to turn it around, but everything changed the night he agreed to help a friend who was in a jam.

Ashanti was his friend and surrogate little brother. The two were thick as thieves. Zo was a few years older than him, but Ashanti was very mature for his age. He had been through a lot. Growing up, he ran with a notorious crew of bandits led by a kid they called Animal, who was a legend in the hood. Years ago, Animal had vanished during what some speculated was an assassination attempt, so Zo was beyond shocked when he resurfaced and enlisted him and Ashanti in his cause. In the end, Animal was taken out, for the final time, and Zo and Ashanti found themselves at the top of Shai Clark's shit list, which dashed any hopes Zo had of going back to the life of a square. He was in it now, and there was no getting out.

“Break yo self!” Zo heard someone shout to his left. Zo looked up and saw his brother Lakim ambling toward him, wearing an oversized green Champion hoodie pulled over his head. While Zo was tall and handsome, Lakim was short and had a hard face. His whole swag screamed
goon
, which is the word that best described Lakim. He walked with a diddy-bop that said he was the hardest dude in the world, and in his mind, he was. Lakim had a quick temper, and it didn't take much to
get him to pop off. He was a throwback street cat, with the mentality of the hustlers who had come before him in the eighties and nineties. In addition to being a beast on the streets, he was King James's second in command.

“You play too much, La,” Zo told him, and went back to thumbing through the newspaper.

“I ain't playing, I'm trying to keep you on point, baby bro.
There's a war going on outside no man is safe from
,” Lakim said, quoting Mobb Deep's lyrics.

“I'm straight out here,” Zo said.

“How you straight and you out here reading shit instead of being on point? What you woulda done if I had been one of Shai's goonies?” Lakim asked.

“I would've shot you.” Zo raised the newspaper and showed Lakim the .357 hiding on his lap—.357s and .45s were his calling cards. He preferred to only use guns with the number five in them, which is where the word
pound
came in with his nickname.

“That's what the fuck I'm talking about,” Lakim said proudly, and gave his little brother dap. “Word is bond, kid. Niggaz gotta be on point out here. Cats getting stunk left and right, know what I mean?”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. What's good with you, though?” Zo asked.

“Ain't nothing, B. Just coming through to make sure everything good. I should be asking you the same thing. I told you it ain't smart to be just sitting around on the block like a sitting duck. You like prime meat to the enemy or for po-po if they decide to run up in the Ps again.”

“I'm good, La. I ain't on shit. I just came out to get some air, and I'm waiting on somebody,” Zo said, checking his watch.

“What, you got some pussy coming through or something? Damn, ain't you too old to be still fucking bitches in fiends' cribs? Get a hotel or something,” Lakim teased him.

“Man, the only ones still knocking bitches off in rock houses are you and that damn fool Ashanti,” Zo shot back.

“Speaking of Ashanti, where the fuck is that lil' nigga at?” Lakim asked.

“Last time I seen him, he was with Cain and Abel. They said they were going to the movies,” Zo said.

Lakim gave him a disbelieving look. “Fuck outta here. You know them niggaz don't spend no dough on flicks. They'd rather get the bootleg joints. Them lil' niggaz probably up to no good.”

“Nah, I don't think so. Ashanti's calmed down some since that thing that happened with Animal,” Zo said.

Lakim shook his head sadly. “Yo, that was some tragic shit, God. Animal was a good nigga, a solid solider. He fucked around and let his heart be his undoing. I keep telling y'all, getting caught up with these broads ain't no good when you out here playing for the stakes we playing for. A bitch will have your head screwed on backward.”

“I'd expect somebody who ain't got a girl to say that. Go ahead with that antirelationship shit,” Zo told him.

“Nah, I ain't on no antirelationship shit, bro. I'm dead-ass. Think about it, if Animal hadn't been out here chasing behind Gucci, he might still be alive now. Word life, that nigga had it made. He beat the system, and instead of staying low, he comes back and gets his wig split. What the fuck would make him put it all on the line like that?”

“Love,” Zo said simply.

Lakim gave him a disapproving look. “Man, ain't no pussy good enough to get my head blown off over.”

“See, this is why I can't talk to you, La. Love ain't about pussy, it's about finding someone you want to spend the rest of your life with and doing anything and everything you can to keep them safe.”

“Whatever, God. It all sounds like some sucka shit to me,” Lakim said. “He did all that and still got pushed and took his bitch along for the ride.”

“Damn, ain't you got no respect for the dead?” Zo asked.

“I got plenty of respect for the dead, B. How many of our niggaz have returned to the essence? I don't mean it like that. All I'm saying is that Animal shoulda came and fucked with us, and we coulda rode on that nigga Shai as a team. Every nigga needs a team.”

“Nah, La. Not every nigga needs a team,” Zo told him. He could tell by the expression on his brother's face that he was going to ask him to elaborate, but a booger-green Audi pulling to the curb on the other side of the short gate drew his attention.

Lakim squinted to try to see through the heavy tints. “Yo, son, that's the same whip you just bought.”

“It sure is,” Zo said, getting up off the bench. He shoved the .357 down the front of his pants and started walking toward the car.

•  •  •

The Audi drew more than a few stares when it pulled into the bus stop in front of the projects. The curious stares turned into full-out ogling when the driver stepped out. She was a short chick, with flawless dark skin and wearing a pair of expensive-looking sunglasses.
When she stepped from around the car onto the curb, it gave the onlookers a better view of her outfit. She was rocking a short cropped leather jacket, with skin-tight blue jeans and black thigh-high boots.

Zo-Pound came strutting up the block, hands shoved into the pockets of his army jacket and eyes locked on the female who had hopped out of the car. He gave her his Billy Dee Williams smirk, and she responded by twisting her lips and rolling her eyes behind the sunglasses. Zo, being Zo, wouldn't be denied, so he approached her. A few of the homies on the block who were watching the exchange made smart remarks and laughed. They just knew Zo-Pound was going to get shot down by the pretty girl. All the laughter stopped when Zo slipped his arm around the girl's waist and kissed her on the lips.

“Did you miss me?” Porsha asked, using her thumb to wipe a smudge of lipstick off Zo's upper lip.

“You know I did,” Zo replied. “I see you brought my baby back in one piece.” He nodded at the car.

“Stop playing, you know I know how to drive,” Porsha told him. “Thanks for letting me use your car to run my errands.” She handed him the key.

“All good, baby. I hope you put some gas in it, and not that cheap shit, either,” Zo said.

“Yeah, I put gas in it. That reminds me, you owe me fifty dollars.”

Zo was confused. “How the hell do I owe you fifty dollars?”

“Because I only had thirty in my gas budget, and it was eighty to fill this muthafucka up. Since when did gas become so high?”

“When the American government started the oil wars in
the Middle East,” Zo joked. “Don't worry about the money you spent. I'll kick it back to you, ma.”

“I know you will.”

“Where's Frankie? I thought y'all were rolling together,” Zo asked.

“We were together earlier. I dropped her off at my place after we finished shopping,” Porsha told him. “By the way, she said to tell you thanks. She wouldn't say what for, but she said you'd understand.”

“No doubt,” Zo said, with a smirk that made Porsha uncomfortable.

“You got something you wanna tell me?” Porsha asked with an attitude.

“Cut it out, ma. You know I ain't even that kinda nigga.” Zo threw his arms around Porsha and pulled her close. “My heart only beats for you.”

“So what's the big secret you and Frankie are keeping?”

“It ain't my story to tell, Porsha. When Frankie is ready, she'll tell you,” Zo said. “I was kinda hoping she came, though, so we could've all hung out, like we used to. I was gonna spring for a bottle and some trees.”

“You know Frankie, Zo. Ever since she got out of the hospital, she ain't been playing the block like that. Physically, she's healing, but mentally, I think she's still kinda fucked up over what happened,” Porsha said.

Frankie Angels was one of Porsha's closest friends and a former roommate. While coming out of her building one day, she got jumped by some hating-ass chicks from her block and the dudes they hung out with. It wasn't enough that they beat Frankie up, but for good measure, they slit her throat. Frankie
lived, but the incident had changed her. She was no longer the outgoing, fun chick. These days, she was more withdrawn.

Zo shook his head sadly. “They ever find the ones who done it?”

“Not yet. Frankie wouldn't cooperate, so by the time the police got a lead, them bum bitches were long gone.”

“That's crazy. Even when she's wronged, Frankie Angels stays true to the code.” Zo said.

“Well, it's a dumb-ass code, if you ask me.” Porsha snaked her neck. “If it had been me that got carved up like that and I knew who did it, I'm telling the police. You can call me a snitch all you want, but you'll be calling me a snitch from behind somebody's prison bars.”

“A nigga touch you, getting locked up is the last thing they'd have to worry about,” Zo said seriously. “Well, if them broads know like I know, they better hope the police catch them before the streets do. A lot of
real
niggaz have love for Frankie out here.”

“Yeah, then that crazy shit with Dena didn't help the situation,” Porsha said.

“Damn, I almost forgot about her. Didn't she turn out to be some weird stalker chick?” Zo asked.

Dena had been a confused young girl who had fallen in love with Frankie. They had started out as friends, as Dena lived in the same building, but the friendship eventually grew into a romance. The only problem was, for Frankie, it had been a fling, but to Dena, they were soul mates. When Dena got clingy, Frankie cut her off. Still, Dena stalked Frankie in hopes that they would reconcile. Ironically, it had been Dena's stalking that saved Frankie's life. She was the one who found Frankie on
the stoop with her throat cut. Had Dena not thought quickly and kept the bleeding in check until the ambulance arrived, Frankie would've died.