Keyshia and Clyde (11 page)

Chapter 18
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Keyshia and Clyde sat in a stolen Buick on the corner of 112th Street and Seventh Avenue. Clyde got the word that some young boys were pulling in major paper pumping crack 24/7 in front of the hotel on the corner. He favored sticking up the young ones because they weren't as organized as the older cats in the drug game. You could always catch them slippin' because they were more interested in talking to girls than they were in making money. From what Clyde saw, there were two major players who oversaw two other workers who did the actual hand-to-hand sells. They also had two workers who stood on the corner and watched the traffic flow and alerted them whenever they saw police coming through. After they finished work about six-thirty, the two bosses hit off the workers and drove off with the money to the East Side, where they apparently lived. This was Keyshia and Clyde's second night watching and following them. Just like always, they finished work and hit off each worker, and then the two bosses, who were no older than nineteen, drove off in their black Expedition. Following them uptown, Clyde made sure that he stayed behind them at least a block away so they wouldn't detect them. When they got to 137th Street, they made an unexpected U-turn, causing Clyde to curse in fear of them suspecting that they were being followed. Clyde held his breath and continued driving past them without looking in their direction. When he drove two blocks up, he made a quick U-turn, afraid that he had lost them altogether. But when they passed 135th Street, they spotted the shiny black SUV parked in front of an IHOP. Clyde parked a block away and waited.

“You think they in there eating?” asked Keyshia.

“I don't know. Maybe,” said Clyde as he looked through the rearview mirror. “Let's just chill for a minute and see what happens.” Keyshia turned and looked out the back window and nodded. After about ten minutes of waiting, Clyde said, “All right, here's what we gonna do.” He looked at Keyshia. “Go in there and look around, order some food if you have to, and find out what they doing and come back out so I can know what's up.”

Keyshia smiled and gave him a kiss and said, “Yes, daddy.”

Clyde returned her smile and said, “Oh, I'm no longer a boy, huh?”

Keyshia smiled slyly. “Yes, you still a boy, but I got to switch up on you sometimes, and keep you on point.”

Clyde loved whenever he saw the twinkle in Keyshia's eyes. “Yo,” he said before she closed the door, “be careful and put on your glasses, just in case.” She nodded and pulled them over her eyes and headed toward the IHOP.

As Keyshia approached the restaurant, she could see the two sitting at a table, chatting and joking. She walked inside the store and decided to get a better look, maybe get a little information on their next plan. She saw two police officers sitting in the corner, drinking coffee while they appeared to be waiting on some food they ordered.

“Welcome to IHOP, ma'am. Seating for how many?”

Keyshia was a little startled by the unexpected cheerful greeting of the hostess. “Uh, no,” she responded. “Can I have a take-out menu?” The girl smiled and pulled out a menu from behind the counter and handed it to Keyshia. Keyshia smiled and thanked her. She edged closer to the dining area where the men sat to get a better view and realized she recognized the faces of the men, but she hadn't known where from—then suddenly, as if a ton of bricks hit her, she realized it was two of the four guys who'd raped her at her aunt's house. Keyshia was suddenly overtaken by fear and had to get out of the restaurant. When she turned to exit the store, she bumped directly into a man's chest.

“Damn, baby, where the fire at?” said the man she'd bumped into. She was preparing to apologize when she looked into his face and saw that he was none other than Omar. Air seemed removed from her lungs as she simply stood frozen, unable to move, unable to think.

“You all right, sweetheart?” asked her rapist, not recognizing her while looking her over. “Or do you want to sit at my table with my mans and 'em so we can break bread and get to know each other?”

Keyshia put her head down and found the strength to walk around him and head for the door.

When she'd made it outside, she used the wall for support to keep her balance. She closed her eyes and breathed fresh air and then staggered uneasily toward the car. Clyde must have seen her the moment she exited the restaurant because he was already out of the car and at her side.

“Keyshia!” he hollered. “What happened?” Keyshia was still unable to get a grip on things and continued to gasp for air. “Baby, what's wrong? Somebody touch you?” asked Clyde with flames in his eyes.

Still unable to speak, Keyshia grabbed him for support and managed to say, “Get me to the car.”

Clyde grabbed hold of her arm and got her to the car and sat her inside gently. He waited until she'd cleared her head and then asked her again, “Baby, what happened?”

Keyshia closed her eyes, breathed easier, and said, “Those are the guys that raped me.”

“What, who!” Clyde stuttered angrily.

“The two guys we followed and the two guys that entered after them! Omar! I bumped right into him!”

Clyde reached under the seat and grabbed his pistol and scowled. “Which one of them was Omar?”

Keyshia cried, “No, Clyde, not like this!”

Clyde flew into a rage. “Fuck that, Keyshia, just tell me which one of them was Omar.”

Keyshia had to throw her arms around him to prevent him from exiting the car. “Please, Clyde, don't do it, baby, not like this. The police is in there and everything, this is not the time.”

It took every ounce of strength Clyde had to fight off the urge to go into the restaurant and start blasting away. He could taste his own blood in his mouth from biting down on his tongue. He began to think rationally, though, remembering the police precinct, which was just around the corner.

“Aaaahh!” he yelled, and hit the steering wheel, still reeling from not being able to act on his impulse. As Keyshia rubbed his face, he began to grow calm. She looked into his eyes and saw tears in them. “But they hurt you, baby. I just can't take them hurting you like that. I want to get them. I want to get them back for hurting you,” Clyde cried softly.

“I know, baby, it's okay, it's okay, but not like this . . . we gon' get them. We'll get them in time, ” Keyshia said, and laid his head on her chest.

Clyde shook his head and realized she was right, it wasn't the right time. They would get them back in time. “You right,” he said as he wiped his eyes. “You right, this is not the way to do it.” He looked at Keyshia and said, “I'm good now, baby, thanks.”

Keyshia stared into his eyes and once again realized just how much he loved her. “Clyde, I love you . . . I love you!” They kissed and hugged each other, not wanting to let go.

“I love you, too, Keyshia.” When they pulled apart, Clyde stared out the rear window and thought for a second. “Listen, you said the same four guys was all in there?”

Keyshia nodded. “I never gonna forget they face!”

“Do you remember what Omar was wearing?” Keyshia was a little apprehensive about telling him, but Clyde assured her that he was okay and handed her his gun to prove it. “No, I'm good now. I just thought about something and I'm just gonna watch and listen to him. I want to read his body language.” Keyshia frowned and he said, “I gonna look for his weakness, his gestures, and what he sound like so I can use it against him one of these days.” Keyshia still wasn't getting what he meant, so he simply said, “I'll explain to you later. What was he wearing?”

Clyde sat in the booth two tables away from the loud, unruly boys and watched them all the while. He paid specific attention to the one who wore a blue Yankees jacket and a blue Yankees cap with pants sagging so low, he looked like he had shit on himself. They were having discussions on everything from who was the best rapper to who had the most women and what kind of car they would be buying next. Clyde took particular interest in the apparent leader of the crew and absorbed everything that he said and how he said it. He was watching and listening to everything, knowing that it would come in very handy real soon!

Chapter 19
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Tonight Keyshia was dressed like any junior high school teen in the city. Her hair was done in box braids by the Africans on 125th Street, and she'd had her nails done by the Koreans. Clyde wore brand-new Evisu jeans, sparkling white Uptowns, and a big-ass Rocawear belt buckle. To supplement the desired look of the evening, he wore the jewelry that he'd taken off T the other night, and instantly he looked like any other dope dealer. Keyshia also shopped purposefully that day at Dr. Jays and bought the latest street gear, giving her the perfect bubble-gum appeal. Clyde wanted them to play the perfect role for the company she would be keeping in apartment 4b in Washington Heights. The drug spot was just one of many on the block that sold cocaine by weight. They sold only eight grams or better; anything else was not worth their time. The Dominicans were very finicky about who they fucked with or served and didn't trust anybody but their God. And they were very deadly, too, and would kill you in a second if they even suspected that you were police or up to no good. On the surface they seemed like the perfect drug-dealing machine, but as with all, even the strongest have their weaknesses—and theirs happened to be pussy—the younger the better!

Keyshia knocked on the sturdy brown door, and before too long she heard the heavy squeaking of the floorboards as someone approached. She chewed her gum loudly, trying to remain as calm as possible. She heard the peephole latch raise and squared her face to it. After a few moments, a thick-accented voice asked, “Yeah, who dat?”

Keyshia said, “Yeah, I'm looking for Miguel. He told me to meet him here.” She heard the person yell something in Spanish in the background.

More footsteps approached, and the eye latch closed and opened again. “Yeah, who you want?”

With her best sass, Keyshia responded, “I'm here for Miguel, and he told me to meet him at this door.”

A second later, the door opened and an eye peered through the crack. After the man behind the door scanned the steps and saw that nobody else was with her, he opened the door and addressed her: “Who you looking for?”

Keyshia said with frustration, “I said I was here for Miguel. He told me to meet him here.” The man suddenly noticed how young and pretty the girl was and began to look her up and down with lust in his eyes. “Well,” said Keyshia, “is he in or what? This is the address that he gave me.” She handed him the card with the address handwritten on it, and he read it.

Both men looked at the card until one of them said, “Oh, mami, you got the wrong address. You suppose to be at a Hundred Forty-second Street, this is a Hundred Forty-first.” He handed her back the card and stated, “You got the right building address, just the wrong block.”

Keyshia rolled her eyes and pouted like a child. One of the men whispered to the other, and he nodded and said, “But you might be wasting your time going to see him.” Keyshia gave him a confused look. “I know Miguel,” the man lied. “De police come and arrest him last night, he gone.” Keyshia just stared at them until the other man agreed, “He right, dey got him last night, dey go deport him, he not come back.”

Keyshia sucked her teeth and cried, “Aw, man!”

“What wrong, he was yo' friend?” Keyshia nodded sadly. The other man said, “Don't be cry, we could be yo' friends now. My name Tony, dis my brother Alito.”

Keyshia simply nodded, and they let her in. Clyde was on the upstairs stairwell all the while, listening to every word that was said.

Keyshia sat comfortably on the couch, looking like a thirteen-year-old, as both men smiled and offered her something to drink. “You want a cola or something cold to drink?” Keyshia declined and kept looking around the apartment shyly. She listened very closely toward the back room to hear if anyone was back there. She heard nothing.

Both men made small talk with Keyshia, all the while watching her thin, sleek legs cross each other. “Where you meet Miguel at?”

Keyshia continued her young, dumb act as she popped her gum loudly. “On my way to school. He stopped me and say I look nice and gave me his address. He said he was gonna take me shopping.” Both men smiled, because this was how many Dominican dealers came on to young girls.

“What school you go to?” the same man asked.

“I go to high school, on a Hundred and Thirty-fifth Street and Edgecombe.”

“What grade you in?” the other man said excitedly.

“Ninth grade,” she answered.

The girl's youth excited them. Both men could no longer contain themselves as one stood up on instinct. They lowered their guard, and one of them asked her, “Do you get high?”

Keyshia looked up and smiled like she was guilty. “I smoke weed one time with this boy,” she confessed.

Both men smiled gleefully, because they never would mess with a girl who smoked crack. They thought women who smoked crack were the absolute worst and could not be trusted or respected.

It was a wrap, and they no longer hid their motives anymore but got real open with her as one of them approached her and sat next to her on the arm of the couch.

“Listen, mami, do you know what me and my brother do?”

Keyshia innocently shook her head and looked confused.

He smiled and continued, “Me and my brother here are businessmen, and we do business with a lot of people and make lots of money.” Keyshia's eyes lit up and she smiled. He smiled in return and said, “Come here, I want to show you something.”

He helped her off the couch and took her into the bedroom. He cut on the light and Keyshia looked around the huge empty room. Inside was a large bed, larger than anything she'd ever seen. He gestured to her to have a seat, and she did. He smiled and went to the closet and pulled out a suitcase. He smiled at her again and threw the bag on the bed and began to unzip it. When he did, Keyshia's heart skipped a beat because inside it was nothing but stacks and stacks of cash. The man stood over the money proudly, sure that this little girl would give them anything they wanted now that she saw they were in the big leagues.

Just then, there was a knock on the door, and the moneybag man closed the luggage instantly. He looked over his shoulder to his brother and nodded that it was okay. He put the bag back into the closet, escorted Keyshia back to the couch, and cut off the light.

“Who is it?” Tony asked as he looked through the peephole.

Clyde stood on the other side of the door with a stylish pair of sunglasses on, counting a wad of money. “It's me, my dude. Omar. Open up.”

Tony opened the door, and in came Clyde, smiling. “Oh, shit, what up, Alito?”

He frowned and said, “I'm Tony.”

Clyde continued counting his money and quickly said, “Oh, my bad, I always getting y'all niggas mixed up.”

Tony locked the door and showed Clyde into the living room. When Tony saw how the young boy's pants sagged nearly down to the ground, he shook his head and wondered how these Americans could adopt such a foolish clownish look and think it looked fashionable. To him, they all looked the same. He dealt with hundreds of his kind on a daily basis and couldn't stand these types because they were so arrogant, but he tolerated them for business.

When Clyde reached the living room, he greeted the man standing at the table. Although he didn't know them from Adam, he greeted the man like he'd known him for a hundred years. “Oh, shit! What's up, Alito?” Clyde gave him a dap and a silly smile. He looked around and saw Keyshia, who quickly threw up two fingers, signaling to him that there were only two of them in the house. He turned back to Alito and continued to smile like a country boy who had a mouth full of gold teeth and shuffled the money around in his hand.

“Yo, nigga, business has been good, been good to a nigga. Nigga, yo, nigga Omar is out there clocking twenty-four seven on them niggas. Omar don't give a fuck about sleep, sleeping is for suckers. I'm tryna get this Diddy money, naa mean? And the bitches! Oh, my God, I got so many on reserve I'm gonna hafta get my own team. I'm 'bout this money, yo.” Clyde busted a rhyme:
“ ‘I useta stand on the block, selling cooked-up rocks. . . .'
That's that Kool G Rap shit, papi! He one of my top five rappers dead or alive. Biggie, number one, of course, that nigga Scarface, Ice Cube . . . but the old Cube, naa mean, my nigga G Rap, and . . . oh, shit, my nigga DMX! That nigga is gutter like me, kid. I like that old-school shit, when shit was real, naa mean? Jay-Z, my nigga Nas, holla!”

Tired of the young'un's voice and clowning, Alito cut him off. “Okay, okay, enough of dat shit. How much you need?”

Clyde faked like he was taken aback and frowned. “Damn, what the do, baby? Omar just tryna show y'all niggas some love.”

Alito frowned again, tired of hearing his bullshit, and said, “Either tell me what the fuck you want or get the fuck out.”

Keyshia watched his brother feel for the gun that he had in his back and slowly approach Clyde. Clyde looked at them and said seriously, “All right, man, let me get two ounces of powder. How's that?” Alito nodded to his brother, who went into the back room and closed the door behind him. They waited for what seemed like an eternity, and then Tony came out with a plastic bag full of white powder and handed it to his brother. Alito put it on the scale as Clyde watched it carefully until the scale registered the weight.

“Okay, two thousand dollars, papi.”

Clyde looked at him as if he were insane. “Two thousand? Come on, man, an ounce is going for eight. How you gonna sell it to me at a grand an ounce?”

Alito handed the bag back to his brother and said, “Then go buy it for eight from somebody else!”

Clyde quickly backed down. “All right, man, I'll take it.” Tony handed the bag back to his brother, and Clyde started counting out the money and put some on the table. “That's sixteen hundred.” He reached in his back pocket and pulled out some more bills and laid them down, and then finally he reached in his jacket pocket and produced a gun. Tony's eyes lit up and he frantically reached for his, but he was too late.

Keyshia was already behind him with the gun to his head and said with an eerie wickedness, “If you move one motherfuckin' inch, I'm gonna blow your fuckin' brains out all over your brother! Now get that ass on the floor.”

Tony spread his arms and instantly complied with her order. Clyde put his man down and pulled out the handcuffs and rope and cuffed their arms behind their back and tied both their legs together hog-style. He assured the men, “If any one of you motherfuckas even look like you gonna move, I'm gonna shoot the other one in the face before your eyes, you understand?” Both men nodded. Clyde quickly slapped them both and said, “Didn't I just tell y'all niggas not to move?”

Keyshia yelled to Clyde, “I'm going to get the money!” He nodded and kept a close eye on the men on the floor. Keyshia quickly turned on the lights and ran to the closet and pulled the suitcase into the living room and went back and searched the closet again. She saw two other bags and pulled them into the living room. She thought about going back again but remembered what Clyde had taught her—“Never be greedy”—and told Clyde it all was good. Clyde scooped up his buy money off the table and grabbed two of the suitcases. Keyshia took the third and they were out the door.

In the hallway, they kissed and went separate ways: Clyde up to the roof and Keyshia down the stairs. This was something they'd planned for safety purposes—they never knew who was watching traffic from an adjacent building.

When they met back at their designated rendezvous spot, Starbucks on 125th Street and Lenox, Keyshia was surprised to see that Clyde was already there, smiling as he watched her through the window. They sat together for half an hour, drinking coffee and laughing about the event that had just transpired. They took separate cabs and got home shortly after ten o'clock that evening. They couldn't wait to see how much loot they came off with. They threw each bag on the bed and smiled at the amount of pressure it took them to hoist it to the bed. Not a word was said. Keyshia stood frozen, palms sweating, when she looked up to Clyde, who nodded for her to have the honor of opening up the first bag. She reached for the zipper and unzipped it slowly. When she opened the flap, she gasped at the sight of all the money; there were thick stacks of cash. Their hands trembled as each reached inside and pulled out stacks of well-worn tens, twenties, and fifties. Keyshia jumped for joy and into Clyde's arms as he swung her around and kissed her on her lips. They regained their composure, realizing that they had two more bags to open, and again, Clyde gestured to Keyshia to open the other one. Just like the first, it had thick wads of cash, only this time it was all one-dollar bills. Finally, Clyde decided to open the last piece of luggage. He turned it toward him and looked at Keyshia, who was biting her nails. He slowly unzipped the heaviest of the three bags. When he flipped back the cover and revealed the contents, a large lump formed in both their throats.

“Oh shit!” was the only thing Clyde managed to say as he stared down at the drugs that had been stored in the luggage.

Wide-eyed, Keyshia stared at the pounds of wrapped-up drugs and muttered, “Clyde, is that what I think it is?”

Clyde didn't know what to say. He knew exactly what it was and wished that it weren't. Dazed and confused, he managed to say, “I think so.” They both had the urge to sit down. Each went to a corner, sat, and simply stared at the bag in silence.

Out of all the drug spots they had to hit in Washington Heights, Clyde thought, they had to hit one of the safe houses. A safe house was one consolidated location that kept the drugs and money that is to be picked up or distributed to other locations in the neighborhood. The dealer could have over twenty locations, and all twenty would drop off money at the safe location and also pick up bundles of drugs to resell. That much money or drugs is usually not stored in the safe house for more than twenty-four hours at a time, so for whatever ungodly reason, and as fate had it, Keyshia and Clyde's timing was perfect. But under these circumstances, it could possibly turn around to haunt them, because this amount of money and drugs cannot just go down as missing or unnoticed. No, someone or some
two
would eventually have to answer for it.