Eve (21 page)

Butter coasted down Lenox Avenue at about five miles an hour. He had a blunt hanging out of his mouth and Big Tymers' “1 Stunner” blasting from his speakers. He was smiling and waving like the president as people admired his new red CLK with the red and gold rims. It was one of the two new cars he had purchased since becoming the man. He was truly playing the roll of a ghetto star.

At 116th he cut over to 7th then made his way back up toward 118th. He double-parked the CLK in front the T-shirt spot and checked the clip of the P89 that rode in the passenger seat. After tucking the gun in his waistband, he hopped out of the ride and greeted his public.

A group of young men were posted up on the corner, watching Butter with envy. He knew that they were sizing him up, but he also knew that they were aware of who he was, so they wouldn't try him. The word had gotten out about his little phantom war and he was taking no prisoners.

Butter went into the store and purchased a 5X black T-shirt. He slipped the black T-shirt over the bulletproof vest that he had taken to wearing and looped his dinner plate–sized medallion back around his neck. It was hot as hell, and the vest had him sweating like a runaway slave, but he couldn't afford to take chances. It was like Teddy said, “Just because they missed once, doesn't mean they'll miss again.” If a nigga did come for him, they'd be in for the shock of their life. In addition to the P89 he carried, his trusty sawed-off was tucked in the backseat.

When Butter came out of the store, he noticed that a young lady had joined the group of dudes on the corner. She was dark skinned with an ass shaped like an apple. Just by her body language, he could tell that she was a hood bitch. Just like he liked them. The young men were trying to lay their mack game down, but they had nothing on Butter.

He stood in front of the store until he made eye contact with the girl. When he was sure he had her attention, he walked slowly to his ride. Even without looking back, he could still feel her eyes on him. Butter leaned against the car and gave her a seductive look. He paused momentarily, then motioned for the girl to come to him. Like a hypnosis patient, she did as he requested. The young men shot them angry looks and cursed under their breath, but they didn't want it with one of Harlem's new kings.

“What's up, baby?” he said, licking his lips.

“Chilling,” she said, looking from him to the car. “What's up wit you?”

“Trying to figure out what you're doing over there with them lil niggaz, instead of checking for the kid.”

“Oh, yeah? And who are you that I should be checking for?”

“I'm that nigga, baby. You ain't know?”

“Is that right?” she said, placing her hands on her hips.

“Indeed it is, boo. Listen, fuck the dumb shit. Why don't you hop in and go for a spin with me? We can get to know each other and shit,” he said, adjusting his crotch.

“I don't be hopping in niggaz' cars I don't know.”

“The name is Butter, baby, aka Butter soft, aka every woman's dream.”

She chuckled. “You're a funny guy.”

“You don't know the half.” He smiled. “Listen, boo. I'd love to stand out here kicking the shit with you, but time is money. Either you're rolling, or you ain't.” Butter didn't wait for an answer. He walked around to the driver's side and got behind the wheel. Before he could start the car, the girl had hopped in. By the time he made it to 135th, he had his dick buried in her throat. Yes, he truly was the number-one stunner.

It had been several days since the incident at Carlo's, but it was still on Eve's mind. Cassidy was upset about something, but she was closemouthed during the ride back to the hood. Eve brought it up a few more times, but Cassidy would always brush it off. She didn't want to pry. When her friend wanted to speak on it, she would.

“Come on, Monster,” Beast said, pulling a large pit bull behind him. Monster was a wreck of a beast. He had patchy gray fur and one eye. His head was easily as large as a ten-pound bowling ball, and the dog weighed at least eighty pounds. Beast had found Monster about a month or so after Eve got locked up. He had lost a fight and the owner had left him to die in a lot. Luckily for the dog, Beast found him and was able to save his life. They had been together ever since.

“That muthafucka's gonna bite you one day,” Eve teased him. She hiked through the grass beside him wearing a pair of blue denim shorts that were tight around the ass and thigh. Leaves crunched under her three-quarter Timberlands.

“Nah, ah. Monster is a good boy,” Beast assured her, patting him on the head.

They strolled through the park for a few more blocks and exited on 116th Street. When they stepped from the park, there was a group of girls sitting on the bench, smoking a blunt. Eve didn't know the girls, but she recognized Sheeka sitting with them.

“Sup, sis?” Eve said, walking over.

“What's good, Eve?” Sheeka responded between pulls.

“Chilling. What your lil ass doing, sitting on the parkside, getting high?”

“It's only weed,” Sheeka said, trying to justify it.

“The shit is still a drug. Let me holla at you for a second.” Eve motioned for Sheeka to follow her out of earshot. When they had gotten a few feet away, she said, “What's up wit Cas?”

“Damned if I know.” Sheeka shrugged. “I don't see that chick like that.”

“Don't y'all live in the same house?”

“Yeah, but Cassidy is hardly home. She pops up once and a while, but she always with that Carlo cat. What's his story, Eve?”

“Bad news,” Eve said flatly. “You notice anything strange from the few times she does come around?”

“Not that I could tell. Something going on?”

“I don't know, Sheeka. That's what I'm trying to find out.”

“That nigga better not be fucking with my sister!” Sheeka said, heatedly.

“Calm down, sis. I didn't say anything was going on, Sheeka. I'm just making sure Cassidy is good. Just keep your eyes and your ears open for me.”

“I got you, Eve.”

Eve and Sheeka returned to the girls on the bench. Sheeka resumed her session, and Eve left with Beast. She told herself that she was just being overly protective of Cassidy, but something in her gut told her that something was up with Carlo. Fuck it. Cassidy was a grown woman and totally capable of handling herself. Carlo might've been caked up, but he was hardly stupid.

Felon sat at a back table inside of One Fish Two Fish, picking over a lobster tail. Every time he came to the restaurant he ordered the same thing. Steak with a lobster tail. He savored the rich taste of the Maine lobster, smothered with butter and a twist of lemon. As he took another mouthful of the shellfish, he reflected on the days when he couldn't afford to eat lobster. That was a long time ago. Ever since they had started moving the new product, Felon could afford to eat whatever he wanted.

Carlo had stayed true to his word and they were seeing long paper. Felon and his family would be moving into their new house at the end of the month. Life was good. But for all the riches he was gaining, he still felt empty. The game was good to him, but he was still alone. He was never shy of company, cause every chick wanted to see the man who was holding the bag. But they were just jump-offs. What he lacked was someone to share his accomplishments with.

These were the times when he thought of Eve. She had grown up and filled out quite nicely. Over the last few weeks he had made it a point to avoid her. It seemed as if when he was around her, the beast in him screamed to come out. Many a night he envisioned what it might be like to be inside her. The other night at the club, every fiber of him said to go home and give her the fucking of her life. He felt almost ashamed to think about her like that, but he was a man and she was a woman. It was the natural law of things.

There was so much he needed to say to her, but he couldn't find the words. There were times that he would post up in the hood and just watch her move. The man in him said to approach her and express himself, but the coward in him made him watch from a distance.

He had considered just taking her off to the side and letting her know what time it was, but then what? What if she reciprocated the feelings and they took it a step beyond friendship? Felon already had an idea how that would end up. He'd fuck her, then when he got bored, he'd cast her to the side. He told himself that he loved her and it would be different, but the sad fact was that he didn't know how to be any other way.

Felon's meal was interrupted when he spotted Carlo's Benz pull up. This was the reason he chose to sit facing the window. He could see anyone approaching the restaurant. He sat tapping his fork as Big Steve held the door for his boss. Carlo didn't even look around when he came in. He nodded to the hostess and made his way to Felon's table. Without waiting for an invitation, Carlo sat in the chair opposite Felon.

“What's up, buddy?” Carlo smiled.

“How'd you know I was here?” Felon asked.

“Man, we're like the feds. We know everything, pissan. What you got there?” Carlo asked, looking at Felon's plate.

“Carlo,” Felon began, putting his fork down, “no disrespect, but is there a reason you're here?”

“Isn't there always a reason?” Carlo smiled. “I need to talk to you about your boy.”

“Butter? What about him?”

“I hear he's been pretty busy?”

“Business ain't gonna handle itself,” Felon replied flatly.

“Yeah, I know, but when does handling business become excess?”

“Carlo, what are you getting at?” Felon asked, beginning to get an idea of where the conversation was going.

“I'm talking about all the attention he's drawing to himself and us.”

“Really?” Felon asked, playing dumb.

“Come on, Felon,” Carlo said, helping himself to a potato on Felon's plate. “You an I both know what I'm talking about. This guy acts like he's the mayor or something. He's riding up and down Eighth Avenue doing doughnuts in a seventy-five thousand dollar automobile. What the fuck, Felon? People downtown are gonna start asking questions about him sooner or later. Questions that my people might not wanna answer. You know what I'm saying?”

“Come on, Carlo. You know Butter is excessive. He just high-balls a bit.”

“If he wanted to high-ball, he should've stayed on the corner,” Carlo spat. “Not only is he flashing, his name got attached to a murder on a Hundred and Twenty-fifth. What kind of shit is that? We're not doing some small numbers anymore, pal. We play this right and we'll all be rich. I don't need some cowboy who ain't used to nothing fucking that up!”

“I'll talk to Butter,” Felon said, sipping his water.

“If you say so,” Carlo said, standing, “but this shit is still bad for business. We can't have Butter running like he doesn't have any home training. It doesn't look good on my family or yours. You better talk some sense into him before it's out of your hands.”

“I said I'll talk to him.”

“I know you will, Felon. Just hope he listens.” Carlo nodded and headed for the door. Felon sat there wondering what Butter might've gotten himself into, and what kind of position it put him in. He dropped some money on the table and left the restaurant.

 

Cassidy stood at the counter in Macy's paying for her purchase. After the incident with Carlo, she had refused to see him for a few days. She wouldn't take his calls or see him. Carlo had tried sending her gifts, but she sent them back. The only reason she accepted this gift was because Carlo had finally started speaking a language she understood. Cash.

Cassidy's cell rang off, causing her to put her bags down to answer it. She hoped it wasn't Carlo checking in on her, cause she really didn't feel like talking to him just yet. She had people to see and plans to make. Without checking the caller ID, she answered the phone with an attitude.

“Yeah, who is this?”

“Hold on, ma,” Butter said. “It's me.”

“Oh, sorry, Butter,” she said, feeling a little silly.

“Everything cool with you?” he asked, concerned.

“Yeah, just some hood shit. What made you decide to dial my number?”

“Just wanted to see what was up with you. What, that nigga so far up your ass he screening your calls?” he joked.

“Not even. I'm still me, nigga.”

“I hear that. Yo, I wanted to see if you was coming through the spot tomorrow night.”

“What's going down tomorrow?” she asked, switching hands between the bag and her cell.

“How you gonna forget Felon's birthday?”

“Damn, I forgot he had a birthday coming up. But it ain't til like next week, right?”

“Yeah, it's in a few days. We decided to do something a little early, though. You know Twenty-Gang gotta come out.”

“All day,” she agreed. “I'll holla at the girls and we'll swing through. Butter, how did you get that stiff-ass nigga to agree to a party?”

“Cause he doesn't know it's a party. He think we going out for drinks, on some niggaz, shit.”

“You know he's gonna be mad.”

“Fuck it. We gotta do it up for son. Make sure you bring Eve.”

Cassidy laughed. “There you go.”

“For real. She need to quit fronting and give my man some pussy. Why don't you holla at her?”

“Please, boy. I ain't got no control over Joe-Joe's pussy.”

“Just make sure you bring her, and wear that dress that I like to see you in.”

“Don't start that. But look, I gotta go. Hit me tomorrow with the details and I'll make sure the home girls show out.”

“A'ight, ma. One.”

Cassidy ended the call with Butter and smiled. It was nice to hear from him. She gave him grief when she was with him, but she kind of missed what they had. At least Butter showered her with attention. She decided that she would wear that dress for him. Carlo could show his ass all he wanted, cause Cassidy knew that none of the other bitches he was dealing with had anything on her.

 

No sooner had Butter hung up with Cassidy than someone was ringing his doorbell. He grabbed his sawed-off from the coffee table and eased to the door. Careful not to put his body in the line of fire if someone should shoot through door, Butter leaned over to the peephole. When he saw who it was, he lowered the shotgun and opened the door.

“What da deal, B?” Butter asked as Felon brushed past him.

“Maintaining,” Felon said, crossing the living room and hitting the bar. “I hear you been a busy man.”

“You know how I do,” Butter said modestly.

“Ghetto superstar.” Felon smiled and sipped his drink.

“I can't help it if the hood loves me.” Butter popped his collar.

“Butter, it's okay to have love in the hood, but don't you think you might be overdoing it a bit?”

“Fuck that.” Butter waved him off. “I'm enjoying my life. I'm getting money!”

“Just because you're getting money doesn't mean you have to tell the world. We gotta keep a low profile with our shit.”

“Low profile? Nigga, is you crazy? Do you hear Jay-Z telling Dame Dash to keep a low profile? Hell, no. Them niggaz is balling out of control. They earned their paper, and they're flossing it.”

“Butter, they also have legal holdings to account for their balling,” Felon pointed out. “You ain't got shit to account for this here,” his arms swept the plush apartment. “You want the Feds breathing down your neck?”

“Fuck the Feds! If they wanna come, let em come. I'll tell you this much. By the time they catch up with me, I'll have lived one hell of a life.”

Felon massaged his temples in frustration. Talking to Butter was like talking to a brick wall. He understood where his man came from, so it was only right for him to wanna enjoy his money. But his behavior could potentially bring heat that neither of them needed. Felon had too much invested in their move to let Butter's wild-ass ways fuck it up.

“Fuck this shit.” Butter patted him on the back. “If it'll get you to stop bitching, I'll be easy with my profiling. You done crying now?”

“Fuck you,” Felon shot back. “I'm trying to keep you free long enough to enjoy this paper, kid.”

“I ain't going nowhere, Felon. I'm gonna handle my end and we gonna see paper.”

“A'ight,” Felon sighed, giving him dap. “I'll holla at you later.” Felon walked from Butter's apartment, hoping that was the last warning he'd have to issue, but knowing it wasn't.