Eve (7 page)

Cassidy dropped Eve off in front of her building and instructed her to be ready by ten. Reluctantly, Eve agreed. She didn't really care for the party scene, but she had been down for a while. She walked up to the building she called home and shook her head in disgust. The shabby brown tenement looked as if it would collapse at any time. Nonetheless, this was where Eve was released to. Her uncle Bobby's apartment.

As Eve approached the building, she caught more than a few glances from the hustlers posted up. Some of them looked at her as fresh meat, while others tried to shoot her an intimidating glare. To their surprise, she returned each stare in kind.

“What's really hood?” asked a brown-skinned kid, taking the initiative. His hair was braided in a swirl with a long plat at the end. He wore a purple FUBU shirt with the matching purple Nikes. He came in Eve's direction with a confident swagger. “How you doing, ma?” he pressed.

“I'm good,” Eve said, trying to sidestep conversation.

“Damn, baby. It's like that?”

“Straight cheese,” Eve told him.

“Stuck-up bitch,” capped one of the other hustlers.

Eve stopped in her tracks and turned to face the group. “What happened?” she asked. “Repeat it. You got something you wanna say, nigga? Speak up!”

“Shorty got a lot of mouth,” the big-mouth hustler said. “You better watch that shit, yo.”

“Man, y'all got me fucked up,” Eve informed them. “I'm passing through and you're talking crazy. Is there a problem?”

“Yo, check this out, bitch—”

“Hold that down, B,” someone in the group said. “Is that Eve?”

“Who that?” Eve asked.

“Who you want it to be?” the older man asked, stepping forward. “It's me, young'n. Bullet.”

Eve's wheels spun for a minute trying to recognize the thirty-something cat talking to her. Bullet wasn't short, nor was he tall. He just was. His face bore scars of the many correctional facilities he had been a guest of. Bullet was an old-school gangsta. He was only in his early thirties, but he had served under some of the greatest street legends of the eighties and nineties. Bullet got his name from all the lead that he had taken over the years. He had taken a good amount, but he had issued out double. Bullet could've been one of the greats, but he chose to be among the soldiers. No one knew his logic for it, but that's just how he was. Bullet was both respected and feared in the tristate area.

“Bullet?” Eve said, with recognition finally setting in. “Get the fuck outta here!”

“What's up, baby girl?” he said, hugging her. “Been a long time, cousin.”

“I be knowing,” Eve said, blushing. “I'm home for good, though.”

“Shit, I'd like to think so, Eve. But you know how I've been doing over the years. I'll bust a nigga brain for a lil bit of change, know what I mean?”

“I know that's right,” Eve agreed. “So you still in the game, Bullet?”

“What else is there, Eve, baby? I got five kids, ma. I gotta eat and provide for them.”

“You still slinging dick wit ya lead, huh Bullet?”

“If I don't somebody else will. These niggaz.” Bullet grabbed the smart-mouthed hustler by the neck. “You gotta excuse ignorant-ass youngsters, Eve. These niggaz don't know no better. Say, lil nigga,” Bullet addressed his captive, “you know who the fuck this is?” The hustler shook his head dumbly. “Punk, this is Eve. She's the hardest young bitch on these streets. This lady will carve yo disrespectful tongue out yo muthafuck'n head, chump. Say you fucking sorry, nigga!”

“Sorry,” he squawked.

“Ignorant muthafucka.” Bullet tossed him to the ground. “Good to have you home, Eve. How you living these days?”

“Like a soldier,” she said. “Speaking of which, I need to ask you about something.” She stepped out of earshot of the group and Bullet followed.

“What's on ya mind, shorty?”

“I need a come-up,” she said seriously.

“Ain't this some shit.” He folded his muscular arms. “You ain't been home for a few hours and you're plotting.”

“Ya protégée is hurting right now, Bullet. The parole board is supposed to be hooking me up with a gig, but I really ain't trying to slave for thirty dollars a day.”

“I feel you, sis, but ain't nothing but trouble come with this lifestyle. You just did a bid and I'd hate to see you down again. If you're uptight, I can float you a few dollars till you get on ya feet.”

“I know, and I appreciate the gesture, but you know that ain't how Eve do. I gotta grind for mine, I don't believe in handouts.”

“Determined as ever, just like back in the day.”

“You know how it is, Bullet. I'm gonna do me whether you put me on a lick or not.”

“Very true.” He chuckled. “Tell you what, if I catch wind of something, I'll think about putting you down.”

“Fair enough.” She smiled.

“You bout to go up and see Uncle Bobby?” he motioned towards the building.

“That's where the bulls can find me,” she joked. “You know how it be when you down.”

“I do. You know that been my winter home since a shorty,” he reminisced. “But that was a long time ago. I was running around with you and Felon like I didn't have any sense.”

“I see Felon is still on a grind.”

“Shit, counting money ain't no grind. That boy got his wings. Felon is still my nigga, but he don't deal with this here. Everybody knows that ya man ain't slinging iron no more. He's slinging birds now. We hold this,” Bullet spread his arms, “by the law of the land. Do or die. You know what it is round here, Eve.”

“I know that's right, but I'm trying to see my piece of the pie too. You better get up on it.” She punched him in the arm.

“Whatever, Eve. You know where to find me, right?”

“Indeed.” She nodded. Eve shot the loudmouth hustler a glance, followed by a mocking chuckle. Dap was issued to the soldiers who saluted her, and she dismissed those who hit her with the screw face. She had no idea what the odds were of her winning the conflict with the young hustler, but she knew that she had never been a sucka and she didn't intend on becoming one.

 

Eve climbed the last landing of the five-story walk-up, breathing heavily. Her new habit seemed to be having an effect on her body. Quitting was an option that she would definitely keep open, but it would wait til another time. Eve had issues, and in her mind the cigarettes helped.

She stood in front of her uncle's apartment and hesitated before knocking. It had been her home since she was young, but now the place felt alien to her. Her uncle had written from time to time, but he never got a response either. Eve ducked him out of shame. She was ashamed that as smart as she was, she ended up catching a charge for a stupid-ass reason. She examined the chipping brown paint in the door and saw the spot where she had carved her name. Eve traced the carving with her index finger. Memories.

Deciding that she was beginning to feel stupid, Eve knocked on the door. She tapped three times, causing paint chips to shake loose and float to the ground. At first there was nothing, then a lock clicked. A bolt could be heard sliding loose, followed by another lock. After the strange clicking orchestra came to a cease, the door sprung open. No one stood to take responsibility for opening the portal, but it was an invitation nonetheless.

Eve cautiously stepped through the doorway and closed it behind her. She found herself standing at the end of a long hallway that she remembered all too well. Eve still had the scar on her forehead from when she hit it on the closet door. Her uncle would always tell her about running back and forth but she never listened. The results were a permanent mark.

Different pictures lined the walls of the long hallways. There were pictures of family members, whom she hadn't seen in a while and probably never would again. There were also pictures of her Uncle Bobby from his days in the service. He looked young and regal standing among his fellow soldiers. They were all smiling and brandishing weapons. He still kept in contact with some of the guys from his unit. They even managed to get together every year or so. She remembered the grand old stories that he told about the war and his part in it. She also remembered the nights when he would wake up screaming from nightmares brought on by the conflict.

There was one picture in particular that gave Eve pause. She ran her fingers across the frame, wiping away the dust that had settled on the protective glass. It was of a couple and a little girl. The man in the picture had smooth tan skin and wavy auburn hair. A thin mustache lined his upper lip and curved downward at the ends. The woman had a caramel complexion, with long black hair, a round face, and attractive full lips. She smiled lovingly at the man in the picture and her hazel eyes held the sparkle of happiness. In the center of the picture was a little girl wearing two pigtails. A lone tear ran down Eve's face as she remembered the tragedy that had befallen her parents.

She couldn't have been more than nine or so at the time, but the memories were still fresh in her mind. It was New Years Eve as she huddled with her parents in front of the television, waiting for Dick Clark to count down to the new year. Her parents weren't rich, but they weren't hurting either. Eve was provided with all of the comforts and love that a little girl should have. These were happy times for her. The calm before the storm.

Her father, who was a mixture of Italian and Irish, was a soldier in a local mob family. Because of his mixed heritage, he could never be officially inducted into the secret society, but he was still a respected man on the streets. Everyone loved Joe-Joe Panelli, but there were also those who were jealous of him. Some people figured that a half-breed wop with a nigger for a wife didn't deserve the kind of respect and attention that Joe had earned.

Her mother was one of the fairest women in Harlem. Shanice Jones was a college student who moonlighted as a lounge waitress in order to finance her education. She had met Joe through her brother Bobby, and the attraction was instant. Even with the threat of being disowned by his family, he pledged his love to Shanice and asked the beautiful Black woman to be his wife. Shanice accepted his offer and they had been together ever since.

“Mommy,” asked a young Evelyn. “Could I get some ice cream while we wait for the ball to drop?”

“Evelyn, you know eating ice cream at this hour is gonna give you nightmares,” Shanice scolded. “Wait until tomorrow.”

“Come on, baby,” Joe said in his deep voice. “It's New Years. I don't think it would hurt much if we gave Eve some ice cream.”

Eve tried to keep from squealing with joy as she listened to her father work his magic. She knew that whenever her mother told her something, she could always look to her father to be on her side. He was Eve's hero.

“You two kill me,” Shanice joked as she got up from the couch and headed for the kitchen. “Always trying to double-team somebody.”

Joe looked over at Eve and winked. She smiled back at him and flashed the “okay” sign. As usual, her father had come through for her. She was as close to him as any daughter can get to a father. Even though his skin was different, Eve never saw him as black or white. To her, he was just daddy.

Eve followed her mother to the kitchen and watched in anticipation as her mother scooped the Heath Bar ice cream into a little glass bowl. From the kitchen doorway, Eve heard a knock at the door. She thought that it might be Uncle Bobby or one of her father's friends who had come to bring in the new year with them. When Joe opened the door and she saw the expression on his face, her young mind told her that something was wrong.

Shanice, who was still unaware of the visitor, continued to prepare Eve's snack while the little girl watched the exchange. The intruder was a young white man wearing a grey suit under his black overcoat. His jet black hair was slicked down and combed back, giving him an old-school mobster look. He flashed a wicked grin, like he knew something no one else did. His eyes had to be his most defining feature. They were the coldest blue that Evelyn had ever seen, even on a white man. He stepped through the doorway without being invited and began speaking to Joe. Eve had never seen the man before, but something about him didn't sit right with her.

The man said something that caused him to turn beet red. Joe began to growl something in retort, but Eve's Italian was scratchy at best. Whatever the exchange of words was, they weren't pleasant. The two men became more animated as the argument went on. The visitor said something and nodded in Eve's direction. When Joe turned around and noticed his daughter watching, the visitor made his move.

He removed a small pistol with a silencer from the pocket of his overcoat and raised it to an unsuspecting Joe's face. When Joe noticed the fear etched across his little girl's face, he spun around to the intruder. The last thing he saw was the muzzle flashes as the intruder squeezed the trigger. Joe's forehead exploded and he collapsed. He was dead before he hit the carpet.

A split second before Joe was sent to the next life, Shanice came to see what had distracted Eve. When she saw her husband killed, she dropped the glass bowl, shattering it on the kitchen tiles. Hearing the sound of the bowl breaking brought the intruder's attention to the two females in the kitchen. He stepped over Joe's body and came in their direction.

Shanice saw his intentions written all over his face. She ushered Evelyn into the farthest corner of the kitchen and armed herself with the largest knife she could find. When the intruder came into the kitchen, he was greeted by a mother who sought to save the life of her child at any cost, even if it meant sacrificing her own life.

The knife bit deeply into the intruder's arm, causing him to bellow out in pain. She tried to come back for another slice, but he was ready. Using his slashed arm to block the blow, he came around with the other hand and clocked Shanice with the gun. She stumbled, but managed to keep her wits long enough to launch another attack. That was when Eve heard the chirp.