He hugged me and kissed my cheek. “What’s up, baby? I hear your man left you to rot in jail.”

  “That’s not how it happened.”

  “Ain’t what I heard. So you dealing with these silly muthafuckas too?”

  “Don’t got much choice. You?”

  “That’s enough of the Good Times reunion bullshit,” Jeff said. “Sit down, Anton. You both know what both of you is here for, so somebody start talking. We took care of the hard part, getting you out here.”

  “Fuck it,” Anton said. “Get my lawyer here and we got a deal.”

  “No time for lawyers. We need something on record right now or the deal’s off.”

  Anton looked at me, and I, now wondering if any of this was a good idea at all, stared back at him. I didn’t want to jeopardize Mack’s freedom because of some shit I said. Then sitting here looking at this bitch, Anton, about to tell everything he knew about everybody was bananas. He quickly signed his name on the paper and began squealing.

  “When, Anton? Where, Anton? Why, Anton?” were some of the questions posed to him by Detective Jeff.

  “I can show you where three bodies is at right now. See, Coke got this—“

  Jeff held up his hand. “Who the fuck is Coke?” he said, putting a tape recorder on pause.

  “Cocaine.”

  “Then say his name. Go on.”

  “He got this Beretta with these special hollow-tip bullets, right, and h-h-he got his initials put around the waist of each one. So, like when the bodies is found, niggaz know who made it happen.”

  I was plain disgusted with his ass. And even more so when he began mentioning Mack’s name. He wasn’t even asked about him.

  “Then his right-hand man Mack . . . yeah, I hear he running the show now while Coke, I mean Cocaine, out of town on some business.”

  “Yeah, that muthafucka is going down real soon,” Jeff said with fire in his eyes.

  “Go on.” Bobby sat on the edge of the desk.

  “Mack killed Stan.”

  Bobby stood up and looked at Jeff. Then they both looked at me.

  Jeff asked, “How do you know that?”

  “Because I was there,” Anton told him.

  Jeff looked at me. “What about you, Sade? Were you there?”

  “You can just send me back to jail. I ain’t no bitch-ass snitch,” I said, beaming Anton.

  Bobby cuffed us both to rings bolted inside the table and opened the door for him and Jeff. “We’ll be right back.” He laughed. “Don’t you two go anywhere now.”

  Soon as the door closed, I slapped Anton’s face with my free hand. “I can’t believe you,” I said. “Mack’s your friend.”

  “Mack ain’t nobody’s friend. Think he care about anybody? Not me. Not you. Not even Coke. He just skating along fooling everybody.”

  “I swear to God, you been a hater since day one.”

  “You think so? Hate on this then. Mack replaced your spot on the bed with another bitch. She’s cute, young, thorough. You know how he like ‘em. Why you think he ain’t been to see you, huh? So you need to be thinking about that while you trying to protect him. He wouldn’t do it for you. He’s a user, Sade.”

  “Don’t say that,” I cried, my faith in him slowly slipping away.

  “You know in your heart it’s true, ma. He’s a bitch, and I say we need to let that bitch-ass nigga and Cocaine fall. I know everything.”

  I turned to look in the mirror on the wall and realized it was a two-way mirror. I could’ve sworn I saw Detective Jeff point his gun at Anton then blow imaginary smoke from the tip of it.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  MACK

  Me and Gordy had gathered all the girls together at the end of the night. One of them had been coming up short for the past couple of weeks. Even with the extra money these tricks was making there was a thief amongst us. We always told the girls to never come into work with their own money. This way we could account for everything that went on. By the end of the night no bitch was supposed to have any money on them ’less I gave it to them. And it was no wonder why Trisha, the girl Coke had to always yell at for being late, was doing a whole lot of fidgeting. It didn’t matter if she was only twenty-four with five kids. If you want them lil’ bastards fed, you have that ass to work on time.

  I began talking to the girls, “You know, I thought once everybody started getting more paper y’all would be happy. I was wrong.” I slowly walked past all eight girls. “I mean, tell me if I’m wrong somebody. Nobody can say nothing? That’s because y’all all know who stealing. Tell ya what, though—there’s a bunch of bitches just like you standing on line to be in your position, so if anybody want to still be working here in the next three seconds you better start pointing out the thief.”

  At first there was hesitation. Then almost simultaneously eight fingers all pointed to Trisha. One of the workers said, “Sorry, girl, but my kids gotta eat to. I need this job.”

  Some of the girls bowed their heads in shame, and the rest looked at her like, Whatever.

  “Oh, that’s some fucked-up shit, y’all. Y’all just going to dime me out like that,” Trisha said in disbelief.

  “The shit don’t matter none. You stole. You know the rules.”

  Gordy locked the front door.

  I walked around the living room for a while then faced her as she trembled. “Why you shaking?” I asked her.

  Gordy walked over to her and snatched her purse off her shoulder. She fell off-balance as the strap snapped off the end. “That’s mine,” she said, regaining her composure.

  “You’re not going to need it,” I said, looking into her eyes.

  Gordy dumped out the contents of her purse and only came up with a gram of soda. He shook his head back and forth. “It’s empty.”

  “Where’s it at, Trish?” I asked.

  “What are you talking about? The purse empty, dude.”

  “Take off your shirt and pants.”

  She stripped down to her bare minimums and stared at me as if she’d just proven a point. “See,” she said, removing her bra and panties, “nothing.” She rubbed her hand across her heart-shaped bush.

  “Turn around and bend over,” Gordy demanded.

  “For what? I’m standing here naked. Mack, you see I ain’t got shit.” She reached down for her panties and bra.

  “Trish, do what you was just told,” I said.

  “Naw. Y’all niggaz is crazy. I quit.”

  I snapped my fingers, and four of the other girls grabbed her up. Two grabbed her arms, while the other two grabbed hold of her legs.

  I walked around to her back and gave Gordy the word. He caved in her stomach, and she forcibly bent over, revealing crisp hundred-dollar bills neatly folded up in the crack of her ass.

  “I never thought I’d say this, but, sweetie, you is completely assed-out. Fuck her up right now, y’all, or you next,” I told them.

  Gordy cracked her jaw with an uppercut, and the girls made her wish she was rolling through the hood just to say, “What’s up,” but she wasn’t. She was just rolling on the floor, trying to get her ass up. Every once in a while she’d catch wreck, but with two men in the house adding to the melee, all she could do was play like that Maybelline bitch and cover up.

  As we parked in a White Castle parking lot in Hempstead, Long Island, Gordy bragged, “Did you see how that bitch crumbled when I snuffed her?” He kissed his fist. “That bitch dropped like a fly.”

  “She deserved it.”

  “Damn, man,” Gordy said as he stepped out of my truck, “it’s like fo’ in the morning and look at all them young boys up in there, son.”

  “I just wasn’t trying to do the drive-thru thang. We getting our food and bouncing. Five minutes.”

  “A’ight, man.”

  We entered the dirty little castle and waited on line. The late-teenage and twenty-something-year-old boys threw food back and forth across the table at each other and made as much noise as they could. We paid absolutely no attention to them, until a fish sandwich with extra tartar sauce sliding out its ends and meant for one of the boys running by Gordy hit his three-hundred-dollar denim outfit.

  Everything got quiet.

  Gordy slowly turned around and pulled the tartar off his sleeve.

  I grabbed the bags from the counter. “A’ight, Gord, we got the food. Let’s be out.” I knew how Gordy was. If I’d given him a second longer to react, it wasn’t gonna be pretty. You can always tell when niggaz is dumb, though, because you never know who be packing when you talk shit.

  One of the assholes said, “Yeah, better keep walking, bitch!”

  Gordy wasn’t going to let that shit fly.

  I dropped the bags and followed him as he rushed back inside.

  He pulled out his gun. “A’ight, I’m not gonna even play the who-said-it game. I’m popping who I think said it.”

  When he cocked the jammie, they started arguing amongst each other about who said it, until the instigator was pushed to the front line.

  Gordy smacked his face and made him strip. He cried as he took off his clothes. Nobody was laughing when Gordy made him run through traffic to the other side of the street. I made his friends lay on their stomachs, with my gun on them.

  “I should shoot one of you clown-ass niggaz for tryin’-a play me. I’m a grown man. Know who you fucking with—It’s Gordy from Queens, niggaz.” He let off a few shots in the air.

  “Come on, man.” I grabbed his arm. “We gotta go.”

  Gordy gave one of the boys a kick to the head before jumping in the ride with the dude’s clothes from the castle. Then he yelled out to the boy across the street, “Get home to y’all’s momma!”

  When the restaurant was no longer in the rearview, Gordy threw his clothes out the window. He laughed out of control. “Now I ain’t had that much fun in a long time.”

  “Fun, nigga? Intimidating kids is fun for you? Nigga, we both on video in the store, both of us, all because of you and your temper.”

  “Yo, what the fuck is wrong with you? You just gonna let some kids throw food at you and walk away? So one day when I’m walking down the street I see that same muthafucka and he thinking, There go that bitch I threw a fish sandwich at, and he didn’t say shit. Let’s see what he’ll do if I throw some bullets at him. That’s how these niggaz be thinking. I thought you was coming along, dude, but you really making me start to question your character again.”

  “Question my character? Ain’t I been making shit happen? We all got more money, bigger houses. What else you want from me?”

  “A real and official initiation.”

  “Fuck an initiation. I don’t wanna hear no more shit about that. Me and your brother worked that out a long time ago.”

  He responded with a devious smirk, “Yeah, that’s what I keep hearing.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  MACK

  An early morning knock on my front door unravelled Joi’s pretzel-like twist from around my neck. “Mmm-wa,” Joi said, pecking my lips. “You want me to get that?”

  I sat up off to the side of the bed and planted my feet down into the root of my Christian Elijah sandals. “That probably ain’t nobody but Gordy. I had to give his black ass a serious tongue-lashing last night.”

  “Yeah? What he done did now?”

  “It’s not important.” I pulled up my boxers then walked to the front door.

  “Mack,” the voice called after tapping the door. “Eric Williams.”

  “Baby, who is it?” Joi yelled from the back. “Tell Gordy’s black ass to come back later. We sleeping.”

  “Yeah. What’s up?” I said through the peephole.

  Detective Jeff tapped on the hole. “It’s the muthafucking po-po, Mack.”

  “The fuck are you doing here, man?”

  “We need to talk. Trust me, when I tell ya, it’ll be beneficial to your health.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, man. You got a warrant for my arrest or something? Because if you don’t, then get your ass off my property.”

  “No problem,” Jeff said. “Say, Mack, did you mean to shoot the phone inside Stan’s house the night he was killed?”

  I began unlatching the locks on the door and opened it. Joi walked out from the back wearing some sweats and a wife-beater on top of a black sports bra. Jeff and Bobby walked inside and stood by the door as I closed it. “Who’s Stan?” I asked, playing dumb.

  “Can you believe this guy?” Jeff said. “You let us in your house then ask who’s Stan? I see you didn’t waste any time finding a new girlfriend.” He looked at Joi.

  “You know how I do—One dead bee don’t stop the hive from making honey.”

  “What the fuck kinda bullshit was that?” Jeff laughed. “You hear this guy, Bob. Well, look here, Eric, I know some snazzy pimp talk too. See if you can follow this—Your ass is grass,” he said with a straight face. “There are people coming all out the woodwork with your name smack dab in the middle of trouble.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just help run a club out in Rockaway, that’s it. All this stuff about killing some cat named Stan is crazy. I work every night. I’m legitimate.”

  “Let’s cut to the chase,” Bobby said, taking over. “We spoke with Sade.”

  “Sade?”

  “Yes, Sade. You do remember her, right?”

  “Yeah, it does seem to ring a bell.”

  “Anyway, if you want to save your own ass, we suggest you start talking. Can we sit?”

  “No, y’all can’t sit,” Joi told him. “You got a warrant? Do he got his lawyer present? I don’t think so. So how about y’all sit this one out on the other side of the door.” She opened the door.

  “Do you really want us to leave?” Jeff asked her.

  “The door is open.”

  “I think you better reconsider,” he said walking past her and stopping. “I don’t think you’re ready for life in the big house. Joi”—He smiled as her name escaped his lips—“Surprised I know your name? Don’t be. It comes with the job. Can we come back in?”

  “A’ight, talk,” I said, holding Joi around her waist.

  “Better get comfortable. This could take a while.” Bobby sat on the couch.

  After they left, I watched out the window until they drove off.

  “They bluffing,” Joi said. “If they knew something we’d both be in jail already.”

  “What if they do though? I hear Anton already bargaining for his freedom. And what you think he bargaining with? Stan’s murder, and the old bitch in the house.”

  “You act like you did it or something. Relax, baby. It’s going to be all right.”

  “Naw, I don’t think shit’s going to be a’ight. There’s something shaky about them two dudes, especially that Detective Jeff.”

  “Something shaky? They’re New York City detectives. All they got is hearsay, so fuck Sade, and fuck Anton too. It’s all bullshit. I feel like spending some of our money today. I’m-a wake Cakes up and we going shopping. If you’re a good boy today, maybe I’ll get you something nice.”

  As Joi stepped into the bathroom to shower, Cakes walked out the guest bedroom, her tight ass fitting snug in her custom jeans and her hips swinging with rhythm.

  “You must’ve heard Joi talking,” I said, scratching my balls. “She’s going shopping.”

  “Damn, you are just too rude.”

  “What? I can’t scratch my balls if they itch?

  “You wouldn’t have to, if you’d clean them.” She looked back at the bathroom door, then at me. She stepped over to me, pushed her hand down my boxers, and tickled my testicles. “Is that better?” She kissed my bottom lip.

  “What you doing?” I said, rebuking her advance.

  “Why you always fronting on me? Everybody looking at me but you.”

  “You my man’s wife . . . property—whatever the fuck y’all two got going.”

  “So you ditch one ho, move another in and make her wifey, then turn down some live-in pussy? You got a lot going on, playa.”

  “Cakes, man, I thought you had more class than that.”

  “More class than what? What class? You think it’s classy earning my living by sleeping with niggaz I don’t know?”

  “Naw. I just always thought you carried yourself in a way where you wasn’t ashamed of it, but you acting real crazy right now.”

  “So what now? You gonna tell your father on me? You gonna say, ‘Cakes was throwing pussy at me, but I kept ducking’?”

  “Shhh.” I held my finger up to my lips. “I think the water stopped running,” I said and fast-paced it to the bedroom.

  I quietly closed the door. Joi walked in seconds later with a white towel wrapped around her naked body.

  “Baby, I know it’s kind of soon and you said to not make a big deal out of your birthday next Friday, but I want to do something real nice for you. Something I know you’ll like. Is that cool?”

  “Whatever, man. Just remember the boys is throwing me a party that night.”

  “I got you, daddy,” she said, pulling off the towel.

  She laid it out across the hardwood floor flat on her back, her Armor-All black titties glistening with droplets of water. Her freshly shaven jungle hair proudly presented her pink passage of pornography. Above her passage hung a lone beacon throbbing fervently with pulsating signals of S.O.S.

  When I got down on my hands and knees and wrapped my lips around her Hershey’s Kiss, which melted in my mouth like M&Ms under candlelight, and gave new life to her Milky Way, her stomach quivered, and she slowly turned her head from side to side, gripping both ends of the towel.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  COCAINE

  After my short little vacation handling business, I went to pay my cousin Glen a visit in Virginia, where he was locked up for being an accessory to murder. I had some more business after that in Washington. I wasn’t much for visiting niggaz in the joint, but he was family. I hadn’t seen him in years. Not since he’d shacked up with some bitch with a kid. If he’d learned anything from me, it was make sure if you gonna settle down, always let it be with a fat bitch, or one with more than two kids. They’ll take care of you when no one else will, because nobody wants the extra baggage.