West End Girls (16 page)

Malcolm grinned. His mood had lifted in the last few minutes, and Sinclair was happier now too. Sure, she wanted Finest, but being with Malcolm always felt good. They used to always have fun together, but since trying to become a thug, he'd gotten downright grouchy. Maybe he needed a girlfriend.

“You got a girl, Malcolm?”

Malcolm looked at her crazy and smacked his full lips. “Yeah, I got one.”

Sinclair felt instantly jealous. What a strange sensation it was. She looked at him, waiting for him to laugh or say he was kidding, but he said nothing. Nothing! She glared at him and all but stopped walking. She'd been seeing him every day for a week now, and short of a couple of times he'd made a quick run to the store, she didn't see no girl.

“You do?”

“You asked me. What did you expect the answer to be?”

“I dunno.”

“I'm not a boy, Sinclair. I'm a man. That's the problem with people. Nobody realizes that. Nobody knows how to move forward.”

“I do. I know things move forward, and I'm moving onward and upward myself.”

“You ain't going nowhere. All you've done is exchange one hood for another. You thinking the
W.E.
is moving up?”

“I didn't say that. I said—”

“I heard what you said and what you didn't say. Look, this is the last year we gonna be the same. After this summer I'ma be different, and you are gonna be different, okay.”

“What choo mean, Malcolm? We're always gonna be friends.”

Malcolm spat into the street as if the word
friends
brought a bitter taste up. “After this summer, things gon' change between us, and if we still pawdnas in the end, fine, but if not, then cool too.”

Sinclair stopped walking. This conversation was getting way too serious, and she was uncomfortable with it. A bit confused, she needed to know what he was thinking or implying. Was he trying to say they should do something together? Why? Didn't he have a girlfriend?

“Malcolm, what choo tryin' to say?”

“You just don't get it, do you? I'm robbing a bank and going to Mexico.”

Malcolm seemed to be formulating his plan right there on the spot.

“Yeah, I'm going to Mexico, and you can come, or you can stay and keep fucking around with men like Finest. Me, I'm out.” At that Malcolm walked on quickly, leaving her trailing behind. Crazy as it sounded, he was serious about robbing the bank.

Sinclair thought about what it could all mean. Malcolm could be killed, or worse, he could really leave for Mexico and she'd never see him again. She shook her head at her convoluted reasoning. If she went with him, she would be giving up on every dream she or her mother ever had for her. What about the house? What about her sisters and Debonair? If she helped him . . . Wait, he hadn't even asked her for help.

“Malcolm, stop! I want to help you. I want to go with you.”

“You can't go with me. I'm a walk-alone man.”

“What about your girl?”

Malcolm turned and walked backwards a few steps as she hustled to catch up. He smiled wickedly and shook his head, turning back and continuing on in the hot sun. If they were planning to walk all the way back to the
P
, they had a long way to go.

Finally they came up on the bus stop that would take them back to the
P
. Sinclair was relieved that Malcolm wanted to take the bus. She knew she did.

“Look, I told you I would handle Deb, didn't I?” Finest said, pointing his gun directly in Gold Mouth's face.

“All right, all right! Yeah! Shit!” Gold Mouth threw up his hands. “I didn't know he was your folks. I was just expediting the shit.”

“That's what I thought, punk-ass bitch! Throwing a fuckin' grenade. You ain't nothin' but a straight-up punk.” Finest snatched Gold Mouth off his seat and threw him on the ground. “I told you I was on my way to handle shit that day, but no, you went ahead of me, trying to put yo' shit all up in it when it didn't belong there.”

“Army surplus store, nigga!” Floyd kicked Gold Mouth in the ribs. “You think you got it like that, rollin' up in my hood like that, tryin' to intimidate my folks?” Floyd kicked him again and again.

Finest finally held out his hand.

“Deb owed me money,” Gold Mouth groaned. “It had nothing to do with that other thang.” He spat blood.

“And I told you I would handle it personally, both matters. You up here trying to run thangs just because you fuckin' Deb, which I told y'all was gonna cause problems from jump. Now look,” Finest said, a sneer coming to his lips, “Deb locked up and you out blowing up shit. I oughta let the cops take your ass to jail too, so you and Deb both can have a damn faggot party up in dat mutha.”

“No, no, I can't go to jail!” Gold Mouth begged.

“Now you got Malcolm all riled up. He gonna be out here trying to find your ass, so he can prove he gots balls for his girl. I can't have that. Shit is getting complicated.”

“I ain't gonna let my brother go to the pen for fuckin' yo ass up.”

“What choo want me to do?” Gold Mouth said now. “What you want me to tell my boys to do? Just squash it? I mean, we can squash it.”

“Your boys? You ain't got no boys. Your little homo thugs dance to my tune, Calvin,” Finest said, calling Gold Mouth by his real name. “Ain't nobody got choo back . . . ever. So get up.”

Floyd hoisted Gold Mouth to his feet.

“Clean yo' shit up.” Finest pointed at his own face, urging Gold Mouth to use his handkerchief to wipe his mouth. “I'ma tell you something about a woman. Blowing up her house is not the way to get money out of her. But you wouldn't know nothing about getting nothing outta woman.” Finest snickered wickedly. “See, I'm already getting paid back, easy and painlessly, and may even get the nook in the process. That's how a man rolls, okay? He don't draw attention to everybody by blowing up the house and shit.”

“Ain't nobody gonna connect you with me,” Gold Mouth answered. “That was personal what I did,” he admitted.

Finest smiled before raising the gun eye level to Gold Mouth. “And this is not personal at all.” He fired once, killing Gold Mouth instantly.

“Why you kill him, man?” Floyd yelped, jumping back from the dead body.

“You want me to do it, or Malcolm?” Finest tucked his gun away. “Besides, he blew up the damn house. What sense did that make? But in a way it helped me. Now I can get to Deb through Sinclair. It all works out.”

“How you gonna do that with Malcolm all in the way?”

“Foo ain't never been in my way.”

“Don't hurt my brother.”

“I ain't gonna touch your brother.”

Floyd shook his head and smacked his lips. He glanced back at Gold Mouth and wrinkled his nose. “Well, we need to get outta here before he starts to shit everywhere.”

“You and your shittin' stories. Damn! Ain't nobody gonna shit after they dead,” Finest fussed, and the two of them left the barn the same way the three of them came in, without anybody noticing them.

Unique watched Cammie eating. Why it made her so unhappy to watch Cammie enjoy her food, she didn't know, but watching her eat nearly made her ill. Cammie was silent in her pleasure; she was even eating neatly today, slowly and carefully. She wasn't bothering anybody. But, still, with each bite Unique wanted to snatch the food from her hand and slap her face. Unique remembered her mother and how she would yell at her, calling her names and such, when she did simple things, but she was pregnant all the time.

Maybe that was it; Cammie was round and looked pregnant. Maybe that was what she hated about her child—the resemblance. Unique shook the harsh thought from her mind. Cammie was only nine and not even menstruating yet, thank God
.

Gina on the other hand was a fast one; she was barely seven and was already pretending to be a woman. Unique would catch her, in the mirror, pretending to be one of those girls from the videos, shaking her ass and tooting out her flat chest. Yeah, Gina was the one to watch. That girl was trouble. But then again, Gina was so pretty—soft brown skin and pretty hair. Cammie was dark, her hair nappy, and her eyes big and round. Unique realized Cammie looked just like her.

Just then Cammie noticed her mother staring and put down her spoon. It was as if she read her mother's mind and lost her appetite. Sliding her chair back from the table, she said softly, “I'm done.”

“But you didn't eat it all,” Unique said.

“It's okay. I don't want it all. I've had enough,” she explained. “You can give the rest to Apple,” she said, pushing her chair in and heading into the bathroom. “I miss Curtis,” Cammie mumbled under her breath, sounding sad and lonely.

Unique felt her eyes burn but shook it off. She sighed heavily before taking the bowl of ice cream and putting what was left in the freezer. She missed Curtis too. Curtis and all the other men in her life.

She picked up the phone to call Curtis. Her pride was in the toilet, and hearing his voice didn't help. She all but begged for him to come over. He refused twice before finally agreeing. She knew she would beg him to stay and wondered how that would work out with Sinclair and Tanqueray both there now. But, then again, she didn't even want to know where Sinclair and Tanqueray had been all morning.

Just then, Sinclair and Tanqueray both came in, their arms full of expensive-looking clothes. Chuckling, they unloaded their bundles, and Tanqueray started sorting the booty from most valuable to least, from what she wanted to keep to what she was willing to sell.

“Where y'all get all this stuff?”

“I was gonna use this for something else, but here's this.” Tanqueray handed Unique two crisp hundreds. She kept talking. “Nigga owes me a lot more, but this was all I could get.”

“If the cops show up, you don't know us,” Sinclair said, sounding giddy and almost drunk.

“Shut up, crazy! Ain't nobody coming here for us.” Tanqueray laughed loudly. “Here.” She handed Sinclair two hundreds from the folded envelope she pulled from the front of her pants.

“Who you jack fo' dis?” Unique asked nervously. She wasn't about to tuck no blood money away or money that had strings attached.

“Nobody,” Tanqueray answered.

“Omar!”

Sinclair ran into Unique's room and came back empty-handed. She had made a stash in there that Unique hadn't even thought to look for, but she was gonna have to move it, because Curtis was on his way over, and Unique was determined to keep him there for a while. Now with a little extra money on the scene, it might be easy to keep him around, but she didn't want him finding anything that belonged to Sinclair.

When Sinclair came from the room, she headed for the door. “I'm late for work fo' sho now, but I'll just take the bus. See y'all later,” she said, grinning wide.

Unique heard the elevator doors close. They were loud and always alerted people when someone was using them to come up or go down. However the stairs were very quiet, and if someone took the stairs, they could sneak right on up on you.

“Where did you get this?”

“I told you,” Tanqueray answered. “Omar's.”

“Well, you didn't tell me, but whatever. And what does that mean? He gave you this stuff and all that money or—”

Tanqueray smacked her lips. “Riiight, like that would happen. Girl, I jacked that nigga and that bitch Shantel. I snatched my shit right off her neck. Held that gun.”

“Gun? You could go to jail for dat! Why you had to use a gun? Damn! Why so much violence all the time?”

Tanquerary put her hands on her hip and stared intensely at her. “Girl, you must be living in a dream world if you don't realize that sometimes people have to act to get what they want.”

Tanqueray spoke with more seriousness than Unique had heard from her in a long time.

“People sometimes need to get knocked upside the head to realize things.” She fanned her hand, giving an invisible person a conk on the head. “And sometimes, like today”—Tanqueray's eyes widened wildly—“Omar needed a gun in his stupid-ass face. By the way, I wonder where Sinclair put that gun.”

Unique lowered her voice so that the girls didn't hear her from the other room. “The gun is here?”

“Well, we took it, I think.” Tanqueray placed her baby finger in her mouth coquettishly, as if thinking back, her face breaking into a wicked smile. “I wish Sinclair had a phone. I need to find that gun.” She began to look under the piles of fancy dresses on the sofa.

Just as Unique headed into her bedroom to tear it apart, to look for Sinclair's stash, Curtis walked in. He must have taken the stairs, because there was no warning of his arrival.

“Hey, Tang,” he said, sounding familiar, as if he'd spent a lot of time in Tanqueray's company, which he hadn't.

Tanqueray eyed him up and down. It was clear she didn't like him much.

Unique appeared in the doorway. “Curtis!” she squealed, all but jumping into his chest.

Sinclair lay across Malcolm's bed and watched him play with the gun Finest had given him. He'd unloaded it. Sinclair saw so many changes in Malcolm suddenly. It was as if the gun had made him a man. At least that's how it would appear. He seemed too confident now.

Sinclair shook her head clear of her growing thoughts about Malcolm and his manhood. “So you really want to rob a bank?”

Malcolm shoved the gun deep into the front of his pants, as if posing with it.

“Psssht!
Palease
.” She guffawed. Sinclair felt more experienced, having held a gun on Omar just that morning. She was even prepared to shoot to kill him too. Well, maybe not kill him, but shoot him for sure if he'd even thought about hurting Tanqueray. Yeah, she would have shot him for sure then. But Malcolm looked pretty intense when Gold Mouth showed up too.

“Were you serious about Gold Mouth?”

“I told you that. And I'm serious about robbing the bank. Are you really gonna help me?” Malcolm whipped the gun out and then tossed it from one hand to the other like they do on TV.

Sinclair chuckled. “Shit, nah. You crazy.” She pulled one of his car magazines from off his nightstand and looked through it. She sat now, Indian-style, with the magazine propped between her folded legs, before noticing Malcolm staring at her. The intensity of his stare tickled her stomach, making her giggle.

“But you said you would. See?”

“What?” She looked at the magazine, to avoid his eyes.

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

Sinclair mindlessly flipped the pages to avoiding looking up at him. Suddenly the bright cars in the magazine had her attention. She liked nice cars and one day planned to buy one. Maybe when she left for college she'd get one. What a fantasy now! The cars, the money, even college, it was all a fantasy.

She tossed the magazine aside and looked up, only to find Malcolm poised over her, his eyes dark and daring, almost menacing. Menacing? How could that be? Malcolm was too sweet to be a menace, right? He was too nice to be mean or scary, but what did he want, all up on her this way?

“Get off of me, boy,” she said, pushing him back.

Finest walked in the room. He paused for a moment, but said nothing. He smacked his lips, his face reddening a little in his irritation, or embarrassment. Who knew with him?

“I'm not paying you two to be up in here fucking all day . . .”

Sinclair gasped. “Finest, that's not true.” That was the last thing she wanted Finest to think about Malcolm and her.

“This is my room. I can fuck in here if I want to,” Malcolm mumbled.

Sinclair realized Malcolm wanted to plant false seeds.

“You can't fuck without balls.” Finest laughed wickedly, while flipping through the movies, taking a few, and then walking toward the door.

Finest was losing his power, Sinclair could tell. She'd expected Malcolm to grab his crotch in a taunting fashion, but he didn't. He just rolled his eyes and smacked his pretty lips. Sinclair shook her head.

“Why y'all leave? Had me lookin' all over everywhere. Anyway, we ain't going out again tonight. Cops are out too heavy in the
W.E.
”

“Why we worried about some cops in the
W.E.
? Us here up in da
P
,” Malcolm joked. “Besides, cops always rolling heavy in da
W.E
.”

“We've only been out once, Finest,” Sinclair said. “What's really going on? Did I do okay?”

“I'm just busy tonight. Got thangs to do.” Finest glanced in the mirror and ran his hands over his soft curls. He was wearing a fresh outfit, having changed from earlier.
He was so fione!

“Yo' girl got you all turnt out, taking up yo' time?” Sinclair asked, catching herself too late.

Finest glared at her. “I said we ain't going out today! And, look here, you can stay out of my business too, li'l bit.”

Malcolm jumped in. “Don't talk to her like that. She just asked you a question. Don't climb down her throat.”

“Look, nigga, I'm not in a fuckin' mood to slap the shit outta you right now, so don't push me. I'm tired, and we ain't going out. Matter a fact”—Finest glared at Sinclair “get your shit together. I'ma take your ass home when I get back. I gotta make a quick run to da stow.”

“I'm not ready to go home!”

“Fine den. You can walk! I got work to do anyway.”

Finest stormed out of the room, slamming the door in his wake.

Sinclair looked at Malcolm, who waited for a moment before throwing a couple of the movies at the wall. She quickly went over to him and hugged him. It felt good to hold her friend, comfort him.

“I hate this,” Malcolm said in her ear.

Sinclair wanted to help Malcolm. He was ready to make a move, and she wanted to make it with him. He was standing up to Finest and proving his manhood, and she had to stand by him, so he could continue to grow. She believed that in her heart.

“I'll help you rob that bank, Malcolm. I know you gots balls. You're a real man. We'll rob that bank and get the hella outta here.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Malcolm bust into laughter and pushed her back on the bed. His mood switched like a light going on. “We, no, you ain't gonna get involved in nothing like that.”

“Yes, I am. I'm getting out of the
P
.”

“You already out.” Malcolm twisted his face into an ugly mask that Sinclair didn't recognize. “You been out a long time, going to that school and hanging out with white folks. Shit! You all but not even black anymore.” He sucked his teeth.

Sinclair had no idea what had Malcolm so angry. Why was he talking about the people she went to school with? That life had nothing to do with the life and moment they were in right now. “Malcolm, what are you talking about?”

Malcolm shook his head.

As his eyes drifted toward the window, Sinclair's followed. Malcolm jumped up from the bed and ran from the room. Sinclair watched discreetly from the window.

On the curb stood a skinny chickenhead—in Sinclair's opinion. Surely, this couldn't be Malcolm's girl.

Sure enough, Malcolm kissed her as soon as he reached the curb. Sinclair felt her stomach tighten.
Damn
!

Malcolm seemed to be explaining something to her, probably lying about why they couldn't kick it right then. But by the smile she had on her face, and the way her body moved seductively, he had promised her a later tryst fo' sho.

As Malcolm headed back toward the house, his eyes caught Sinclair's through the window. She ducked back out of sight.

When he came in, she was on the bed as if she hadn't moved. “So what's up?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“Umhmm.” She curled her lip and pretended to be interested in the hip-hop magazine again.

“I'ma make a run in a little bit, so you can just fix yo'self something to eat and knock out when you get ready. Or, if you're walking home, you can just lock the door. My mama is doing a double tonight and won't be home till tomorrow.”

Sinclair slammed the magazine on the bed. “You gonna be out all night? Then I'm gonna just go home.”

“Why you gonna do that? I said you could stay. I'll be back before my mama gets home.”

“You don't tell me what I can do. Now you actin' like Finest, always telling me what I can do and what I can't. You ain't my damn daddy!” Sinclair stood and tugged at her hoodie, zipping it up fast. She was in a hurry to get out of there now.

“I said you could stay over!” he said, raising his voice.

“I'm not tryin' to stay here!” she screamed.

“I said I'd be back. Stop trippin'!”

“I'm not staying here by myself wit' choo out fuckin' some . . .”

Malcolm's eyes widened. “What?”

“I'm not dumb! I know what's going on with you and that nasty bitch out there.”

“Why Mercedes gotta be nasty? Why you hatin'? What? You thought I was just gonna be a punk, sit up here and let Finest do whatever, and you do whatever. Nah, it ain't like that. I'm just tolerating Finest before I make my move. And about you and me . . .”

“What?” Sinclair stood on her toes to meet Malcolm face to face. The heat between them was deep and thick. “What about you and me?”

Malcolm reached in his sweat and pulled out his thick member.

“What about you and me?” Sinclair's eyes followed Malcolm's hands as they grabbed at his member.

Malcolm put himself away as quickly as he had shown himself to her, licking his full lips and giving his tight crotch one more grab.

Sinclair audibly gulped.

“That's what I thought. Nothing. Like you said, baby, I'm a real man. Not like you know what that is, running your ass behind Finest.”

Sinclair's eyes were wide, and her face was on fire. When he backed away from her, she let out a copious sigh, releasing all the heat built up inside of her. Sinclair was wet as a river between her legs. Her reaction to Malcolm felt odd to her. He had turned her smooth on. Kitty was purring so loud, she was guessing he could hear it.

With a confident swagger Malcolm moved over to his computer. Opening up a game, he was biting his lip, ignoring her. He knew he was bugging the hell out of her right now. Malcolm always knew how to get her irritated.

He always acted so innocent after pissing her off, but this time he had pushed a new button. But what he didn't know was how much she wanted to see his dick again. Maybe even touch it.

“Who was she, Malcolm?”

“Why you wanna know?”

“Is she your girl? You said you had a girl. She's yo' girl.” Sinclair started for the door. “I bet if I went out there and jumped on her, she'd—”

Malcolm got up quickly, slamming the door and grabbing her wrist.

Her face pinned to the door, Sinclair could feel his hardness pressing against her backside. Her heart was pounding in her chest. Wriggling around, she faced him.

Again they were caught up in a moment unfamiliar to them. He looked down at her, his hot breath on her face. She could feel his hardness now against her belly.

“She's a client,” he said in a low voice.

“Client?” she whispered.

“Yeah, client. I been selling movies on the side for extra money. When that asshole Finest left, pissed me off, I threw her movies.” He pointed at the broken DVDs. “They all messed up now. I told her I'd bring them by later. I'ma have to re-burn them.”

Sinclair searched his eyes for a lie but saw none. And so what if she did see one? Malcolm wasn't her man, right? But even lies between friends was wrong, right? Her belly quivered a little as her kitty purred and hummed, begging to be petted.

“But, but you kissed her?”

Malcolm's lips came very close to Sinclair's without touching them. “Mercedes ain't my girl. I was just messing with you because I knew you would be watching me through the window.”

“I don't care,” Sinclair lied, turning her head away, wishing she could move her body from his. But he had her penned in.

“Riiight,” he said, moving back finally, cooling off ‘the southern region.' “That's what I thought.”