Animal 2 (16 page)

“He tell you anything good?” King asked. He watched Ashanti closely to see how he would respond.

Ashanti thought about lying, but he felt like King's eyes were staring directly into his soul. “Yeah, but—”

“Yeah, that bitch nigga fed us a bunch of bullshit,” Cain said, cutting him off. “We're gonna follow up to see what's true and what's false. You know a nigga will say anything when he's been tortured, but who's to say how much stock you can put into it?”

“You're right, Cain. I need y'all lil' niggaz to get on that for me ASAP, though, feel me?”

“You got it, King,” Ashanti assured him.

“Yo, you need to promote me so I can help out.” Shorty
stepped up. The black hoodie he wore nearly swallowed his small frame.

“Shorty, go sit down somewhere. This is grown folks' business,” Zo-Pound told him.

“Zo, stop treating me like a kid. If I'm old enough to hold guns for y'all, I'm old enough to pop guns for y'all,” Shorty reasoned.

“He's got a point,” Lakim said.

“Don't fucking encourage him, La,” Zo said.

“Man, why y'all acting like that? Ashanti was about my age when he started putting in work,” Shorty pointed out.

“And look at me now,” Ashanti said. “Shorty, you my lil' nigga, but you ain't ready for this life. If your heart is really in it, the streets will swallow you up in due time, but for right now, focus on being a kid.”

“This is some bullshit.” Shorty kicked an empty beer can. He looked up to King James and his crew, and since he had started hanging around, it had been his dream to be a part of their inner circle.

“Shorty, you'll get your chance to prove yourself, but wait a while,” King told him. Shorty was still sulking, so he threw him a bone. “Dig, why don't you go across the street and pull my truck around to the front of the projects?” He tossed Shorty his keys.

“You gonna let me drive your truck?” Shorty beamed like he had just been handed the best Christmas gift ever.

“Yeah, but be careful. You scratch my whip, and I'm gonna fuck you up,” King warned.

“Don't worry, I won't,” Shorty said excitedly, and took off running across the street to where King had parked his truck.

“I have never seen a kid so eager to fuck his life up,” Ashanti
said, watching Shorty, who had stopped to talk to some little girls from the neighborhood.

“Have you looked in the mirror lately?” Zo asked jokingly. “Let me holla at you for a sec.” He led Ashanti off to the side. “Look, I know I ain't gotta tell you that we about to turn up out here.”

“Yeah, I know, Zo. You know when it pops, my gun is gonna be the first to bang.” Ashanti reached for his gun, then remembered he'd left it in the crib.

“See? You slipping already,” Zo teased.

“It won't happen again. I'm about to get a room for the night with Fatima, but before I come back to the block tomorrow, I'll stop by my crib to arm up,” Ashanti told him.

“You might wanna handle that before you leave,” Zo suggested.

“Nah, I don't feel like going all the way back home to get my strap. Fatima is already tripping about me not spending no time with her,” Ashanti told him.

Zo thought back to how he had promised Porsha he'd pick her up in an hour, three hours ago. “I know the feeling. Looks like we both need to take care of business tonight and resume the war effort tomorrow.”

As if on cue, Fatima came out of the building. She was carrying an overnight bag over her shoulder and some shopping bags in her hand. “I hope you're ready to go, because I sure as hell am.”

“Damn, that's an awful lot of bags for just one night.” Ashanti took some of the bags from her.

“It isn't all mine. I was out shopping earlier, and I picked you up a few things,” Fatima told him.

“A thoughtful woman is a rare find. If I were you, I'd hold on to her,” Zo told Ashanti.

“I intend to,” Ashanti said with a smile. “I'm out, my nigga.” He gave Zo dap.

“I'm about to get out of here, too,” Zo said. “Oh, before you go, hold this down.” He reached under his hoodie and handed Ashanti a big .357.

“I told you, I'm getting out of the city for the night. The only gun I'm gonna need is between my legs,” Ashanti said slyly.

“Better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it,” Zo said.

“You right.” Ashanti accepted the .357. “But if you give me your strap, won't you be out here naked?”

“Nah.” Zo lifted his hoodie and showed Ashanti the butt of an identical .357, only that one was scuffed and worn. “I always got a spare.” The gun Zo kept with him was the same gun he had used for the motel hit. Normally, he didn't keep guns after he'd killed someone, but he hadn't had a spare moment to get rid of it. He figured it couldn't hurt to hold it for one more day until Ashanti returned the other one.

“Say that.” Ashanti dapped him one last time, then left with Fatima and got into the waiting cab.

Zo walked over and rejoined Lakim, King, and Dee. “Yo, I'm getting outta here, unless y'all still need me tonight?”

“Nah, you good. Go take care of that fine-ass woman you got waiting on you,” King said with a smile. He was like an oracle and seemed to know everything.

“Pussy-whipped-ass nigga,” Lakim teased him.

“Dry-dick-ass nigga,” Zo shot back.

“Let's get outta here. I'm starving and wanna get something to eat before we hit the Bronx. What we waiting for?” Dee asked.

“Waiting for that slow-ass nigga Shorty,” Lakim said. He
spotted Shorty still talking to the girls across the street. “Yo, Shorty, hurry the fuck up!” he called to him.

Shorty gave him the thumbs-up and hopped behind the wheel of the truck. The first sign that something was wrong was when the truck wouldn't immediately start. The next sign was when it began to smoke.

“Something isn't right,” Zo said, and took off running toward the truck. “Shorty, get out of the truck! Get the fuck out!” he was shouting as he ran. He could see Shorty trying to open the doors, but they wouldn't open.

“Somebody help me!” Shorty pleaded while futilely trying to free himself. Those would be his last words before the truck exploded, raining both car parts and body parts all over 124th Street.

•  •  •

“Fire Bug make the trap go BOOM!” the youngest of the Savage boys sang while dancing in the passenger seat of the Yukon he was in. He watched with childlike amusement as the truck went up in flames. On his lap was the remote detonator for the explosives he had planted in King James's truck an hour ago. It was wired to alert him the moment the engine was started, so he could trigger it from a safe distance.

“That's a mighty fine piece of work you done there, Bug,” Big Money Savage said from behind the wheel. They called him Big Money, but he never seemed to have much of it. He was Bug's first cousin, but he wasn't a killer like the rest of them. Still, he was a Savage, and they wouldn't leave him out in the cold. He was the odd-jobs man of the family.

“Fucking right it was. I'm a damn perfectionist,” Bug told him.

“Well, this one didn't go so perfect, seeing how you killed the wrong person,” Big Money told him, and pointed a few feet to the left of the burning truck. He saw Lakim and Zo holding a distraught King James back to keep him from charging into the wreckage.

“That lucky muthafucka!” Bug raged. He pulled his gun out from between the seats. “Big Money, pull up on this nigga so I can blow his brains out. The Savages ain't never fucked up a hit, and we ain't gonna start now.”

“Save it for another day, Bug. After an explosion like that, the police and everybody else are gonna be crawling over the block in a few ticks,” Big Money said.

“I can take him,” Bug insisted.

“Bug, if you wanna go to prison, you can do it on your own time. Ain't no way I'm gonna be the one to tell Ma that you got knocked over some dumb shit.” He started the engine. They slowly pulled out into traffic.

The Yukon slow-rolled past the burning truck. King James dropped to his knees and began sobbing. Seeing the self-proclaimed king of Harlem on his knees gave Bug a cheap thrill. It took the combined efforts of two of the other men to get King James back on his feet. Whoever had died in that truck must've been close to him, so Bug felt a little better about the situation. As the Yukon passed the grieving soldiers, Bug and King James made eye contact. Not being able to resist the temptation of kicking a dog when he was down, Bug blew King a kiss before the Yukon peeled through the light and disappeared.

“D
AMN, WHAT WAS THAT?”
F
ATIMA
was startled by the loud noise.

“Probably kids playing with guns. Welcome to the jungle, young lady,” the cab driver said, as if it was nothing.

“We from the jungle, and that don't sound like no gun I've ever heard. And if it was a gun, I pray I'm never on the wrong end of that big muthafucka,” Ashanti said. His hand drifted to the .357 in his pants.

“Baby, try to relax. When we get to Yonkers, I'm going to drain all that tension up out of you. Bet that.” Fatima played with his ear. Ashanti loved when she did that.

“Don't start nothing you can't finish,” he told her.

“Let me show you how good of a finisher I am,” Fatima whispered in his ear. She ran her hand down Ashanti's stomach, en route to his dick, but was stopped by the big gun. Fatima plucked it from his pants.

“Be careful with that,” Ashanti warned.

“I got this.” Fatima placed the gun on the floor of the cab.
She undid his belt and pulled out his dick. Ashanti was hard as a rock. “That's what I'm talking about.” She gave his dick a tug and caused Ashanti to moan. Fatima spared a glance at the cab driver, who was trying to act like he wasn't watching through the rearview mirror.

“Keep your eyes on the fucking road,” Ashanti snapped at the driver.

“No trouble, buddy, no trouble,” the driver said, and wisely turned his attention back to the street.

“Now, where was I?” Fatima dipped her head down in his lap.

When Fatima took Ashanti into her mouth, he felt his toes curl in his boots. He wanted to tell her to stop for fear that someone would see what she was doing, but he couldn't find the words. For as experienced as Ashanti was at war, he was a novice at love. She played with the head of his dick with her tongue for a few seconds before closing her lips around it. Ashanti closed his eyes and put his head back while Fatima handled her business.

Ashanti was in his own little world while Fatima serviced him. The biggest grin was plastered across his face as he thought about what he was going to do to her. In the middle of his pleasure trip, Ashanti was suddenly overcome with an eerie feeling. His eyes snapped open, and he took stock of his surroundings. They were in the Hunt's Point section of the Bronx.

“Dude, what the fuck are you doing? Why didn't you just take the highway?” Ashanti asked the cab driver, who was chatting away on his cell phone in a language that Ashanti couldn't understand. It sounded like French.

“The highway coming up through Manhattan is too crowded
at about this time. I'm taking a shortcut through the Bronx, and I'll jump on Eighty-Seven a little further up so we can beat some of the congestion. No worries, my friend,” the driver assured him, and he closed the plastic partition between the front of the cab and the back. He then went back to talking on his phone.

Ashanti tried to relax and go back to enjoying his oral pleasure, but he couldn't. Something didn't feel right in his gut. One thing Animal had always taught him was to trust his gut. The cab stopped at a red light in a desolated area. A van pulled up alongside them. On the side of the van was painted “First Church of Jesus Christ,” but the cat in the passenger's seat of the van didn't look like he'd ever seen the inside of a church. He glanced over at Ashanti but didn't let his eyes linger. Something about the kid seemed familiar, but Ashanti couldn't place him. Before he could twirl the mystery any further in his mind, the side door of the van slid open, and all hell broke loose.

•  •  •

Ty sat behind the wheel of the long van, drumming his gloved fingers on the steering wheel. The van was so beat to hell he was surprised he was able to get it to start. It was a clunker that he'd stolen from the parking lot of a church. It wasn't much to look at, but it was big enough to carry his cargo: five shooters armed to the teeth with automatic weapons. He wasn't hunting some street punk; Ashanti was a certified killer, and he wasn't taking any unnecessary chances.

“There that nigga go right there,” No-Good said. He was an older cat who used to get money with King James, until the night Ashanti whipped him out over Fatima and banished him from the hood. Since then, he had been working for Ty and his crew in Brooklyn.

“You sure?” Ty asked, watching the young man milling around with King James's soldiers. A pretty light-skinned girl came out of the building and handed him some of the bags she was carrying. He had never actually seen Ashanti, but from his reputation, he'd expected him to be bigger.

“Hell, yeah, I'm sure. I'll never forget that face,” No-Good said, thinking back on his ass-whipping. The fact that he was going to be able to pay Ashanti and Fatima back at the same time made him so excited he could hardly contain himself.

“Well, if you remember his face, then nine times outta ten, he remembers yours, too. Get your ass in the back, and let one of the other niggaz ride shotgun,” Ty ordered.

“A'ight, but don't forget to let me get mine off when it's time to kill him,” No-Good said, and he climbed into the back of the van, letting one of the shooters take the passenger's seat. Ty watched Ashanti and Fatima get into the taxi and pull off, before setting out behind them.