Twisted (4 page)

Read Twisted Online

Authors: Tracy Brown

BOOK: Twisted
9.31Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
When KC was released from jail and came back to the hood, he was a man on a mission. All of his money had been spent, and throughout years of incarceration Tangela had abandoned him. No letters, no visits, and she had changed her phone number so that he couldn't call. To make matters worse, the word on the street was that she had moved on to another hustler and was living lavishly, flaunting her wealth and status while KC had to start over from scratch. It was more than he could bear. He waited for her outside of Aunt Mary's apartment building one day and sat perched on top of her car eager to confront her. Tangela had emerged from the building, spotted KC, and scowled at him in disgust.
She strolled over to her car and looked at him. “Excuse me,” she said. “Can you get off my car?”
KC smirked. “That nigga bought this for you?” he asked.
Tangela frowned and waved her hand, dismissing him. “Don't worry about all that. You didn't buy it.”
KC felt his blood boiling. “I must have bought you
something
with all that money you took from me.”
She laughed. “You gave me that money. Don't twist the shit around now to make yourself sound like a fucking victim.”
KC nodded. “Okay, okay,” he said. “So why couldn't you visit a nigga? Send a letter or a food package—something? Why'd you leave me out there by myself like that after everything I did for you?”
Tangela shrugged coldly. “Nobody told you to go to jail.
I'm not putting my life on hold for nobody.” She hit the alarm button on her key chain and unlocked her car. “Can you excuse me? I got shit to do.”
KC sat there and stared at her for a long while. He didn't budge. He was hurt and he couldn't believe that she was being so cold toward him after all that he had done for her.
Tangela was losing patience. “Okay, now you're acting like a fucking deaf mute!
Move off of my car
,
muthafucka!
It's over! You're broke, you lost your spot in the hood, and you're nobody now. Don't be mad at me!”
KC stood and towered over her. “I should kill your trifling ass right here,” he threatened.
She smirked at him. “And you
still
wouldn't be shit!” she hissed. She reasoned that with Biz and Ishmael having her back, KC would never have the balls to harm a hair on her head. She was wrong.
He pulled a Taurus nine-millimeter from his jacket and shot her in the face twice. Then he took her car keys, jumped into her Lexus, and sped away. Tangela died immediately and KC fled town, knowing that he was a wanted man. Ishmael was devastated. And so was Biz, since the autopsy uncovered the fact that Tangela had finally gotten pregnant with his child.
Ishmael had always taken it as his responsibility to look after his sister. In his heart he felt that he had failed miserably. He and his boys hunted for KC, eager to settle the score. But the authorities caught up with him first and arrested him in
Baltimore. They brought him back to New York to face murder charges as Ishmael buried his sister.
As he looked down at her grave now, he couldn't help feeling guilty. Not just because he had failed to protect Tangela from an untimely death, but also because a part of him didn't blame KC. Part of Ishmael understood why the man had done what he did. In Ishmael's heart, he was happy that the cops had caught up with KC before he did. KC was serving a life sentence without the possibility of parole. Ishmael was satisfied with that. Tangela had played KC and she had been remorseless. Ishmael did miss his sister, and it broke his heart that she had died such a horrible death. Still, the way that Tangela had treated KC, the way Aunt Mary used men to get what she wanted, these things changed Ishmael's perception of women. In his mind, most of them were manipulative and self-serving. He didn't trust most of them and got real joy out of toying with their emotions before they had the chance to toy with his.
He looked down at his sister's tombstone and smirked. Tangela had taught him valuable lessons about females. Today would have been her thirty-fifth birthday. Instead, she lay six feet beneath the surface. Again, he shook his head.
“Happy birthday, Sis.” He laid the flowers on her grave and coldly turned and walked away. Once he climbed behind the steering wheel of his SUV, Ishmael let out a deep sigh. He put his key in the ignition and prepared to head home but
was interrupted by his ringing cell phone. “Hello?” he answered.
“Where are you, Ish?” Nina asked.
Ishmael frowned, confused. “Why? Wassup?” He didn't feel like explaining his whereabouts to Nina. He hadn't shared
all
the details of his relationship with his sister, so Nina had no clue as to how profoundly Tangela's life—and her death—had affected Ishmael. He hadn't even bothered to tell Nina that today was his sister's birthday, let alone the fact that he was visiting her grave.
“What do you mean, ‘Wassup?'” Nina asked.
“Where …
are … you?”
Nina pronounced each word slowly and loudly for emphasis.
Ishmael pulled his cell phone away from his ear and looked at it as if it were foreign. He was sick of Nina's desire to know his every move. It was becoming more apparent to him that even though they had been together for years, Nina didn't completely trust him. Ishmael remained a very private person. He had always been that way, a man of many secrets. Very few people knew the details of his past. So whenever Nina got pushy like this he resisted. “I'm out handling business. What's the deal?”
Nina sucked her teeth. “What's with all the secrecy, Ishmael? I'm only asking where you are because I wanted you to come and pick me up. But if you're far away, I can get home on my own.”
Ishmael could hear the irritation in Nina's voice and he
wasn't in the mood for it. Not today. “I'm not in Brooklyn,” he lied. “So I guess you can get home on your own.”
“Fine, then,” Nina reluctantly agreed. She wanted to protest, but Ishmael hurriedly hung up the phone. He decided that he would head to downtown Brooklyn. Might as well do some retail therapy to get his mind off of his dead sister and his nagging girlfriend. He was feeling restless. For years Ishmael had been faithful to Nina. Well … as faithful as he was willing to be. He had not been seen with or spoken of another female besides Nina since they moved in together. He had others, of course. In other boroughs and with discretion, Ishmael kept company with several sexy ladies of various shades and shapes and sizes. Today, instead of going straight home, Ishmael was going to prowl. Plus, a shopping spree would give him an alibi for his whereabouts when Nina inevitably interrogated him later on.
Ishmael drove to downtown Brooklyn and parked his truck. He stopped in Dr Jays and picked up some jeans and a few T-shirts. Then he strolled past Lawrence Street and glanced over at where Celeste's salon had once been. Ish had had a lot of fun at Dime Piece. Each of the stylists had kept him entertained at some point in time. But Celeste was special. From the moment Rah-lo introduced them, Ishmael had felt more for her than he should have. She was Rah-lo's shorty. Ishmael wasn't supposed to be watching her ass whenever she walked past. But he was, from the very beginning. As he grew to know her, he only felt more affection for her. Ishmael liked
the way she thought. She wanted more than the average chick and she wasn't scared to put in work to get it. In Ishmael's eyes, Rah-lo didn't deserve her. Ishmael thought about her a lot and he really couldn't believe that she hadn't bothered to call him over time. Looking at where Celeste's shop had been, now the site of a Dominican hair salon, Ishmael headed up the block to pick up a pair of kicks.
As he walked inside Foot Locker, he was surprised to see Nina's old coworker Robin Hunter emerging with her son in tow. Ishmael hadn't seen Robin in a very long time and he smiled at her, pleased with what he saw. Robin had gained a little weight in all the right places. He observed her wide hips and thick thighs, her small waist and perky breasts. He was mesmerized by the transformation. The last time he had seen her, she had looked pretty and simple, nothing to write home about. But now she looked like she could go on that VH1 show
Flavor of Love
and outshine all those bitches.
“Hi,” he said, sizing her up. “Long time no see.”
Robin smiled, noticing him taking in her newly voluptuous physique. “Hey, Ish. How you been?”
He nodded. “I'm doing all right.” He looked down at Robin's son. “Hey, little man.”
“Hi,” Hezekiah said simply, wondering who this man was who was talking to his mom.
Robin couldn't help noticing how good Ishmael still looked. He looked like he had been working out and his muscles bulged through his button-up. He looked sexier
than ever. “How's Nina?” Robin asked, hoping that he'd tell her that their relationship was over.
Ishmael unconsciously rolled his eyes slightly, much to Robin's amusement. “Nina's doing good,” he said dryly.
“I knew you couldn't stand being locked down with one woman for too long,” Robin said with a chuckle. “Nina got you bored already?”
Ishmael hated that he had been so obvious about his frustration with Nina. He did love her. But lately she had been nagging him about settling down, getting married, having kids, and the whole thing. He didn't want that—not yet—and Nina was losing patience. She was a wonderful woman—pretty, intelligent, a talented artist, devoted girlfriend. But she was not enough to get a player like Ish to commit to marriage or kids. The last thing he wanted was to feel like a woman was trying to force his hand. He didn't want to feel bullied or manipulated into commitment—the way he had watched Tangela bully and manipulate men for most of her life. He wanted a woman who was the opposite of his aunt and his sister. Lately, Nina had begun to remind him of them more and more. “I'm not bored,” he lied.
“You're bored,” Robin insisted, with a giggle. “I can tell.” She thought about how good their sex had been the one time they had been together. She would give almost anything for another episode with Ishmael. “Come and find me when you need some excitement.” Robin smiled and walked away, leaving Ishmael to watch her ass as she strolled out of the store.
Ishmael browsed the sneaker store briefly and didn't see much that he liked. He drove home with visions of Robin on his mind. Nina was in her usual withdrawn and slightly irritated mood. She wasn't saying much. Ishmael welcomed the silence, but he was still annoyed that Nina seemed to be wallowing in negativity these days. He wondered what she had to be stressed about. She had her own shop. Nappy Nina's did good business and she had no major problems on the surface. But something seemed to be tormenting Nina. In the beginning, Ishmael had wondered what it was. But over time he began not to care. Here she was, beautiful and talented, and all she could do was sulk around, wondering if her man was ever gonna give his love to another woman. It drove her crazy, and it drove him away. Ishmael watched her mope around the kitchen for about an hour before he went to bed. He was physically tired and emotionally drained. It was his sister's birthday, and thinking about her made his heart heavy. He went to bed, making every effort to block Nina's foul mood and Tangela's mistakes out of his mind.
 
 
Time for a Change
T
he next day, Rah-lo sat in his car in the parking lot of the United Artists movie theater on Staten Island. He watched as Ishmael's truck pulled up close by and he climbed out. Ishmael got into the passenger side of Rah-lo's Benz.
“What up?” Ishmael and Rah-lo greeted each other with a handshake.
Rah-lo puffed on the blunt he held in his hand and passed it to Ishmael. “Shit,” he said. Rah-lo leaned his head back against the headrest and gazed off into space.
Ishmael waited for Rah-lo to say what was on his mind, but Rah-lo seemed lost in thought. Ishmael puffed on the blunt, wondering how long he'd have to wait for his friend to tell him what had him so entranced. He had known Rah-lo
for many years. The two of them had grown up together in Brooklyn, and when Rah-lo's mother had moved her family to Staten Island, Ishmael had kept in touch with his friend. They had been through a lot of things together, and made a ton of money together also. Ishmael knew Rah-lo well enough to tell that something was troubling him now.
Rah-lo took the blunt back from Ishmael and shot him a sidelong glance. “I got some shit on my mind,” he said, and he sighed. “I been thinking a lot about the old days. Thinking about J-Shawn and how they killed him, how Pappy got killed, and how Harry's doing twenty-five years.” Rah-lo took another puff.
“What you thinking about all that for?” Ishmael was surprised at Rah-lo. He was usually so stoic, so fearless and at times ruthless. Rah-lo had always been the stone-faced one who led them into battle. But their crew had suffered severe blows in the past few years. Rah-lo's friend J-Shawn had been slain after being kidnapped by a rival crew. Pappy, the dust head of the crew, was killed with a gunshot wound to the head. His body had been found on the roof of a building in a Brooklyn housing project. Pappy had gotten dusted and shot his stepfather. The man had survived, and some suspected that Pappy was murdered in retaliation. With all the enemies that he had, it was tough to pinpoint who might have actually killed him. For both the police and Rah-lo's crew, Pappy's murder remained unsolved. Harry, the hothead
of their crew, was serving a twenty-five-year sentence for having an arsenal in his home that rivaled that of an army platoon. He had been the stickup kid, the troublemaker, and the one with all the connections. While he was away, Rah-lo had managed to hold the crew together, with Ishmael's help of course. But it would be a lie to say that things were easy with just the two of them getting money.
The game wasn't the same for Rah-lo anymore. The money was slower, the risks were greater, and the allure was fading. Back in the day, he and his crew had been a force to reckon with. They had all gotten money together, came up together. Then it all went wrong so suddenly. Five childhood friends had dwindled down to two. Rah-lo was tired of worrying about who was out to get him or whether or not the police were on to him. He wanted out so badly, yet he didn't want to come out looking like a quitter to Ishmael. That's what Rah-lo really wanted to say to his friend.
Instead he said, “I been thinking about a lot of things.” He shrugged his shoulders. “You ever get tired of this shit?”
Ishmael pondered Rah-lo's question, thinking about his own recent developments. Ishmael had been laid off from his legitimate job in a local law firm. His job in the mailroom at the firm had never been his primary source of income. He had kept the job for the benefits and for the illusion of being a workingman. It kept him off the police's radar and made him appear to be harmless to his neighbors. The hustle had
always been his main career, and he loved it more than any nine-to-five. When he was laid off from his day job, Ishmael hadn't seen it coming. They'd explained that they were downsizing and had given him a benefits package to soften the blow. Since then, he had turned up the heat. He was going harder than ever. Getting money was his number one priority, and he was ready to really grind. To his surprise, Rah-lo was talking about being tired of the life they led. Ishmael was far from tired. He was intoxicated by the game—in love with the grind. Nina had been encouraging Ishmael to get another job, to give her a ring and a baby. That wasn't the life that Ishmael wanted. He was already married to his hustle.
“Sometimes I get tired,” he said. “But I think about how I like to live, the way I like to eat, the clothes I like to wear. And I get refocused.” Ishmael looked at Rah-lo. “Why?
You
getting tired of it?”
Rah-lo thought he detected a hint of condescension in Ishmael's tone. He wasn't sure, though. “Nah,” he said, shaking his head. “I think I'm just getting tired of my wife.” They laughed, but both of them knew that he was serious. “She just don't make me happy anymore.”
Ishmael nodded. “So, what? You got all them other broads you fuck with to keep your mind off shit like that.”
Rah-lo shrugged. “Yeah, I do. Still,” he said. He did have several women he dealt with outside of his marriage to keep his mind off of Asia's shortcomings. But none of them compared to the love affair he had once had—with Celeste.
“So why don't you just leave her? People get divorced every day.”
“I would have divorced her years ago if it was that simple. I just worry about my baby girls. I don't want them to have to deal with Asia's bullshit without me being there to keep her under control.”
Ishmael shook his head. “That's why I don't want no kids. I don't want to get stuck with a girl just because we have a child together.”
Rah-lo lit a Newport. “Nina's not the one?”
Ishmael, a true player for real, didn't answer the question. Instead, he sucked his teeth and looked away.
Rah-lo laughed. “All right. Let's get down to business.” Rah-lo sat up in the driver's seat. “This is yours.” He handed Ishmael his part of the profits from the work they had on the streets. The two of them were responsible for dealing with their connect, getting the work to their street soldiers—young dudes eager for sneaker and clothes money—and picking up the proceeds. They split these duties, rotating so that neither of them was doing the same thing constantly. This time it was Rah-lo's turn to divvy up the proceeds. The envelope felt a little light to Ishmael and he frowned.
“Bad week?” he asked, holding the envelope aloft to demonstrate its lightness.
Rah-lo nodded but didn't look at his friend. “Yeah,” was all he said.
Ishmael sat there and looked at Rah-lo for several silent moments before realizing that he had no intention of elaborating. Ishmael's sixth sense bugged him. He had a nagging feeling that Rah-lo was holding out on him. He hated to think that way about his friend. Ishmael cleared his throat.
Rah-lo turned to face Ishmael and shook his head. “You know how it is. Some weeks are better than others. It'll be better.” He lit another cigarette, exhaled the smoke.
Ishmael looked out the window. “What are you doing tomorrow?” he asked, changing the subject.
The two friends made small talk for a few minutes longer before they parted ways. Once out of the parking lot, the two went in opposite directions.
Ishmael headed for Harlem. As much as he loved Rah-lo, this was no time for money to slow up. Ishmael had bills to pay, moves to make, and he wasn't going to sit idly by and let the game get the best of him. For years he had been in Rah-lo's shadow as his foot soldier, even his errand boy. He was tired of that role and now he wanted more.
The cash that Rah-lo had given to Ishmael seemed significantly less than what he was used to. Rah-lo's refusal to explain the “bad week” they'd had only bolstered Ishmael's determination to succeed on his own merit. He had to do his own thing. There were no friends when it came to business. So he went uptown and cut a side deal with Cito—their connect—to get some product for himself without
including Rah-lo in the deal. Ishmael had to take care of himself and make sure that the success he deserved would be his. He was tired of playing second fiddle, and Rah-lo was going soft on him.

Other books

Blood Trail by Box, C.J.
One Perfect Rose by Mary Jo Putney
Deception Creek by Persun, Terry
Weaver of Dreams by Sparks, Brenda
Strumpet City by James Plunkett
The Baby by Lisa Drakeford