White Lines (30 page)

The deejay was hiding behind one of the sofas. The ten or fifteen
guests still lingering were traumatized as well. But Dorian’s only concern was Sunny, and ensuring that she was unharmed by the hail of bullets.

Sunny was shaking and crying, and her tough-girl image was momentarily forgotten. She was vulnerable and scared, and Dorian comforted her, gently. “Shhh,” he told her as he held her in his arms. “Okay.” He consoled her, as the room remained otherwise silent.

“That bitch was trying to kill me,” Sunny cried.

“I’ll take care of it, Sunny. She was shooting straight up in the air, she wasn’t aiming at you—”

“Fuck that shit, Df”
Sunny stood, fists balled at her side, ready to fight. Her hair was tousled, her mascara was running, and her dress revealed more than it was supposed to. Sunny’s anger was obvious, as her voice echoed off the brownstone walls. “What are you, fuckin’ defending her?!” Sunny was outraged.

“I ain’t defending nobody, Sunny! I’m gonna handle it. She’s fuckin’ buggin’.” Dorian was obviously frustrated.

“That’s your damn fault! You never should have let her come here. The bitch tried to kill me!” Sunny yelled.

Dorian tried to embrace her, and she stepped away from him. Everyone in the room felt like they were witnessing a private moment that they shouldn’t be watching. But no one knew what to say or whether to get involved. Sunny was in tears. “I hate you!” she yelled, sobbing.

Born nudged Jada. “Take her upstairs to calm down.”

Dorian turned and looked at Jada, as if he thought this was a good idea, and Jada stepped forward.

Sunny held up her hand. “I don’t want to stay here. I want to get the fuck out of this house.”

Dorian shook his head. “Not yet. Listen to me—”

“Fuck that, Dorian!”

Jada stepped forward. “Sunny.” She looked into the frightened
eyes
of her newfound friend. “Come pull yourself together before you leave.”

Sunny began to cry once again, realizing that she must look like shit in front of all these people. That was a tragedy in and of itself, because Sunny made it a point to
always
look her very best. She couldn’t believe
that Raquel was crazy enough to shoot at her, and she was furious. She was embarrassed.

Jada took her hand, and led her reluctantly up the stairs. They went in to a large marble-tiled bathroom, and Sunny sat on the toilet and cried her eyes out. Jada comforted her from a distance, handing her tissues and telling her that she understood how shaken Sunny was. Jada waited until Sunny was calm enough to talk, after several minutes. Finally, Sunny began to make sense.

“The bitch hates me. She hates me because Dorian doesn’t want her. He made his choice. It’s not enough that she has the kid. She has to flaunt it in my face because she knows I can’t have any.” Sunny cried more as she said this, and Jada’s heart broke for the poor woman. She had no idea that Sunny was unable to have children.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “How many times did you try to have a baby?”

Sunny sniffled. “I’ve been pregnant twice, and both times I lost the baby in my fourth month. Both boys.” Sunny’s eyes welled up again. “I have trouble holding the pregnancy into the second trimester. And I want a baby. I want to have his baby so bad.” Sunny looked in the air, wistfully. “It would make everything perfect. But I can’t give him that. And she can.”

Jada listened sympathetically. “How old is his son?”

“He’s three. And he’s so adorable.” Sunny smiled at the thought of Dorian’s son, and her love for him was obvious. “I love D.J. But she rubs it in my face that he’s not my son. She reminds me every chance she gets. After I lost the second baby, she came over and brought me baby clothes. I had just come home from the hospital after having the miscarriage. The bitch came by our house and gave me clothes for the baby, telling me that she figured she’d give them to me anyway, in case I wanted to try again. I wanted to kill that bitch.”

Jada shook her head, finding it hard to imagine having to deal with a woman who could be so cruel and so crazy. “Well, she’s insane. She’s just jealous of you, and that’s the only thing she knows will hurt you. Don’t let her see you sweat.”

Sunny sighed. “I don’t want to let her have the satisfaction of knowing
that it bothers me so much. I try to act like it’s no big deal. But now she fuckin’ shot at me, and I’m supposed to just keep being with Dorian? What kind of shit is that for me to have to deal with?”

Jada didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want to bad-mouth Dorian, yet she knew that if a bitch was shooting at her over a man, she would be gone. It sounded to Jada as if Dorian was having his way with both women. But she didn’t say that. Instead she said, “You know he loves you. He obviously doesn’t love her. Keep your head, and go home with Dorian so he can handle this. He has to take care of it, because he told you he would. Just wait and see what he does.”

Jada handed Sunny a wet paper towel, and Sunny pulled herself to her feet and wiped the makeup off her face. Looking at their reflections in the mirror, Sunny smiled at Jada. “Thank you. I owe you for this.”

“Nah. You don’t owe me nothing. That’s what friends are for.” Jada smiled, and the two of them headed downstairs.

Dorian waited at the bottom of the stairs trying to read the expression on Sunny’s face. Jada, meanwhile, made eye contact with Born, and her eyes looked sad. He watched her make her descent, wondering if she had been able to calm Sunny down. Dorian took Sunny by the hand and pulled her toward him gently. She didn’t resist, and he kissed her lightly.

“She won’t get away with this, Sunny. I promise, okay? Trust me.” Dorian looked for Sunny’s acknowledgment, but none came as she stared back at him blankly.

Born took Jada by the hand, and they quietly made their exit, anxious to get home after what had been a night they wouldn’t forget.

Summer 1996

Dorian and Born did big business together, and their cash flow increased steadily as time went by. Born started his takeover of Shaolin’s slums, as well as of its cul-de-sacs. He made deliveries all over the borough, and he had smoke houses set up in three sections of the island as well.

His childhood crew began to crumble into even smaller pieces. Martin was arrested for attempted murder after a robbery went wrong. His victim survived four gunshot wounds, and was prepared to testify. Martin copped a plea, rather than take it to trial unnecessarily. It broke Born’s heart to learn that his boy was forced to serve a sentence of eight to ten years in prison. But Martin had lived his life with recklessness, and he was paying a heavy penalty. Born made sure he sent his boy money every chance he got, and wrote him letters to keep his spirits up. He knew that Martin was sick about being so far from home.

Born, meanwhile, was getting money like never before, and he was still unafraid of stepping on other people’s toes. He had a spot in Staple-ton, and that was lucrative for him. But Born wanted work in Park Hill as well. He went to see what was what, and he rode through there in his Benz one Friday night. He wasn’t disappointed. All of Targee Street was lined with young workers grinding, trying to make a dollar out of fifteen cents.

Born pulled up at the gas station, and went inside the PLO store, an establishment nicknamed as such because it was run by Palestinian men. Born got a bottled water and came back outside. He noticed a young high-school-age kid standing nearby, and surmised that he was working for somebody. He came to this conclusion by sizing up the young man’s sneakers, his lack of jewelry, and the late hour at which he stood alone on the block. Born had done his homework about Park Hill’s drug scene, so he had an idea of who was getting money with whom. Born sipped his water and walked closer to the kid.

“A, yo,” Born called out. The kid turned in his direction. “How much you getting standing out here for niggas?”

“What?” The young stranger looked at Born like he was crazy. “Yo, I don’t know you.” Born shrugged. “I just asked you a question,” he said. “I already know you probably working for either Roy or Wizz. I know who’s getting money in the hill.” Born could tell by the look on the kid’s face that he was on the right track, so he continued. “Anyway, what they giving you? Thirty off a hundred?”

Knowing this wasn’t a bad deal that he was getting, the kid confidently nodded his head. “Yup. You can’t beat that shit.”

Born smirked. “Yes, I can. Fuck with me, instead, and I’ll give you forty off every hundred. Plus, I can make sure you get more custys dealing with me. It’s dead as a muthafucka out here tonight. And it’s too cold to be standing out here for nothing.”

Born saw the look on the young man’s face, and he waited for his response. “What’s your name?” the kid asked.

“Born.” He handed the light-skinned kid a piece of paper with his cell phone number on it. “Call me when you’re ready to start getting paid.”

“Aiight.” The kid took the number, looking around to make sure that Wizz wasn’t lurking anywhere. He was definitely going to call this guy to see if he was serious. He’d seen Born before, at parties in the borough. Staten Island was so small that parties were like minireunions. You saw the same faces, the same people. And Born’s face was one that this kid had seen before. He tucked the number in his pocket, and watched Born turn to walk back to his Benz.

“?ο,” the kid called after him, just as he got to his car door and opened it. Born turned around.

“My name is Tommy.”

Born nodded, and climbed inside his ride. Tommy called him a week later, and he was working for Born from then on. Things seemed to be going well, and Born was glad to be tapping into a whole new set of customers in the hill. Months went by, and he had a nice thing going with his small empire. He saw a familiar number on his pager one day, and he called it back. This call wasn’t at all what he expected.

“Somebody paged me from this number,” Born said.

“Yo, who this?” the caller asked.

Born laughed. “Who did you page?” The nerve of this nigga, whoever he was, to be asking who he was.

“Okay. I see you got your tough-guy stance right now. No problem, I’ll get right to the point. I don’t like niggas stealing food off my plate, Born. I wanna talk to you, next time you come to Park Hill.”

“Who is this?” Born asked, intrigued that someone would be bold enough to call him like this.

“This that nigga Wizz. You know who I am. I wanna holla at you about your hiring practices.”

Born smirked. “Okay. So where you want me to come check you at?”

The caller chuckled. “I’ll come to you. Don’t worry.”

The line went dead, and Born found himself laughing at the audacity of Wizz to approach him like this. He wasn’t worried about it, though. Wizz was a mean-faced bully from Park Hill who felt like no one should be allowed to get money out there except him. Born wasn’t the type to let anyone tell him where he could get money. So he hung up the phone and didn’t change one thing that he was doing. He kept his operation running, kept Jada smiling, and he stayed on his job. But when he went to Park Hill on a Friday night to see Tommy, things took a dramatic turn. As soon as he arrived, he saw Tommy. He pulled up alongside him, and Tommy looked at Born, blankly.

“Yo, Born, Wizz wanna talk to you.” He stood with his hands in his pockets, and Born could tell that Tommy was shaken.

Born smirked, slightly, and scanned the block with his eyes. This character Wizz had the nerve to send for him. Who did this guy think he was? “Where he at?”

Tommy nodded toward the building he was standing in front of. “Upstairs at Nicole’s house.”

“Aiight.” Born double-parked his car, and headed to the apartment inside of building number 185. Tommy stayed there on the third floor with his sister, Nicole. Born knocked on the apartment door, and waited for her to answer it. He was no stranger to this apartment, since he always went there to collect his dough after the cash rolled in around the first and fifteenth of every month. But when Tommy’s sister came to the door on this day, Born should have been able to tell by the look on her face that something was amiss. The young lady looked visibly nervous, and she didn’t look him directly in the eyes. She told Born that Wizz was in the kitchen, and Born went toward where she pointed.

When he entered the kitchen, he saw Wizz seated at the table with Roy and three other goons. There was a shotgun placed precariously on the table, and Wizz sat, his eyes focused on Born with a deadly stare. His eyes were narrowed, and his expression was no-nonsense. Instinctively, Born reached for his gun on his hip.

“Unh, unh, unh,” Wizz warned. “Don’t do that. I just wanna talk to you.” He put his hands up to show that they were empty, and he held Born’s gaze.

Born stood there, knowing that he could get to his gun if he went for it. But he was outnumbered, and he stood his ground waiting to see what would happen. He appreciated the intimidation factors they tried to utilize, and laughed on the inside.

“Come on, Born.” Wizz had a sinister smile on his face. “You know you can’t get no money out here. This is me and Roy out here. You can’t come stealing our workers and thinking everything is okay.” He shook his head. “You must really want war. You coming out here, snatching up our customers with cheaper prices than ours, stealing our employees with better percentages. That shit ain’t right. That’s not good for business. We
don’t come out to where you live and set up shop, steal your workers. Show us the same respect.”

Born stood with the slightest grin on his face. He was nervous, quiet as he kept it. Wizz had him cornered, and Born was alone. But he stood defiantly, saying nothing.

“I hope you understand this shit ain’t personal. It’s not that we don’t like you, knawmean? Not that we don’t admire what you’re trying to do. We see you making big moves, locking shit down. But not out here. This here is ours. And I’m only gonna tell you this once.”

The shotgun still lay menacingly in front of him, so Born bit his tongue. “Aiight.”

Wizz nodded. “Good. I knew you seemed like a smart guy. Now get on outta here. Thanks for coming by.”