Guard the Throne Page 10

  “Yo, where y’all wanna go?” Dante asked.

  “Shit, a bitch is fuckin’ hungry,” Dana said.

  “Word,” Booboo added.

  “So, what, y’all wanna head to the chicken spot on Liberty?” Dante asked.

  “Yeah, that will do. I can go for a three-piece right now,” Citi said.

  “Fuck a three-piece. I need a whole fuckin’ hen right now,” Dana joked.

  Dante started the ignition and peeled out of the parking spot to show off for the girls. He whipped the car down the block doing sixty and made a hairpin turn at the next corner, tires screeching.

  Citi and Dana laughed.

  Dante pulled into the parking lot of Kennedy Fried Chicken. He pulled on a blunt and passed it to Citi. Rick Ross blared throught the speakers, and the thunderous bass rattled the vehicle. The streets were quiet, and the parking lot was empty of cars. The chicken spot was twenty-four hours, so it was the place to go right after a night of clubbing.

  Dante stepped out of the Maxima first, his stomach growling. He had a taste for some chicken and biscuits. Citi climbed out and strutted toward him with a smile, her eyes red from the weed.

  Dante took one last pull from the burning haze and passed it to her for the last time. She took it and inhaled like a thorough weedhead.

  “Yo, y’all comin’ in?” Dante asked Dana and Booboo. The two were nestled together in the backseat like a vine and kissing intensely.

  Booboo took a second to pull himself from Dana’s sweet grace. “Nah, y’all go ahead.”

  “What you want then, nigga?” Dante asked. “A three-piece meal or somethin’?”

  “Nigga, fuck a three-piece. Bring back a fuckin’ bucket of chicken or somethin’,” replied Booboo. “I’m hungry like a muthafucka.”

  Dante shook his head. “Nigga, you gonna starve fuckin’ around wit’ some pussy.”

  “I ain’t gonna let my baby starve. I got somethin’ for him to eat right here,” Dana said, gesturing between her thick legs.

  Dante laughed. “Y’all crazy.”

  “Ya know it,” Booboo said.

  Dante threw his arm around Citi, and the two walked into the empty Kennedy Fried Chicken spot, with the thick partition separating the workers from the customers. Citi remained snuggled closely against her boo as he ordered twenty dollars of chicken and biscuits.

  Dante pulled out a wad of twenties and tens to pay for the order. “So, what’s up wit’ you, ma?” he asked.

  “What you mean?”

  “I mean, ya pops ain’t gonna mind me having his daughter out all night? ’Cuz I ain’t tryin’ to have any problems wit’ the nigga.”

  Citi sucked her teeth. “Please, nigga. I’m fuckin’ grown.”

  Dante smiled. He took Citi by her hand and twirled her around in a 360, focused on her thick backside. “Shit, I can definitely see that. And ya growin’ in all the right places too.”

  Citi chuckled. “Shut up. You so silly.”

  “I know, right? But, real talk, I don’t need any trouble wit’ ya pops and definitely not Maino.”

  “There ain’t gonna be any trouble. Whatever happens tonight is just between you and me. And I know Dana ain’t gonna say shit, and Booboo ain’t no snitch, right?”

  “Nah, that nigga cool. He a ride-or-die nigga fo’ real.”

  “He must be, ’cuz Dana is lovin’ ya boy.”

  “And what about you?” Dante asked her.

  “And what about me?”

  “You lovin’ the kid?” He smiled.

  Citi pressed herself against him a little more tightly and brushed her hand against his crotch. “It depends.”

  “It depends on what?”

  She could feel the butt of his gun tucked into his waistband poking against her slightly.

  “Depends on how good you continue to treat me tonight.” Her hand squeezed the bulge in his jeans, and she was impressed.

  “Shit, I plan on treatin’ you better than ya pops do,” Dante said convincingly.

  Citi laughed. “I don’t know about that. My daddy treats me very, very well.” She lifted her wrist to show off her sparkly diamond tennis bracelet. It was last year’s birthday gift from Curtis.

  “Damn, that shit is nice.”

  “I know,” she returned smugly.

  Dante adjusted the pistol in his waistband and then banged on the partition. He shouted, “Yo, what the fuck is takin’ so fuckin’ long back there?”

  “Five more minutes,” the worker quickly replied. “We’re making fresh chicken right now.”

  “Well, hurry the fuck up. A nigga is fuckin’ hungry in this bitch. Y’all shoulda been had that chicken ready.” Dante turned his attention back to Citi. “You good?”

  Citi nodded. She glanced down at his waist. “Why you got that on you right now? You should have left it in the car. You in some beef right now?”

  Citi was well aware that the police constantly patrolled the area at night because of past shootings, harassing every black male within proximity. She didn’t want to get into any trouble, and she wasn’t in any mood to spend the night in Central Booking. She was too cute to be in jail.

  “You ain’t know? Niggas is on edge right now, ma. Shit has been hectic on these streets since Alonzo got bodied.”

  The news of Alonzo’s death hit Citi like a brick to the face.

  “What?”

  “Niggas is warring in Harlem over that shit, and some of that beef uptown is trickling into our hood. I’m keepin’ my gat close. I ain’t tryin’ to get caught slippin’ out here.”

  Hearing about Alonzo’s death had Citi tripping a little. She knew he was a significant figure in her father’s life. She’d met Alonzo a handful of times, and always thought he was cool and very handsome. But he had always been a mystery to Citi. His death had to be bothering her father. His behavior during the past two weeks was strange. He wasn’t home mostly and he had become withdrawn from his family in some way, but now it was making sense.

  “Yeah, everybody out here is on alert right now,” Dante added. “Nigga Alonzo was like Tony Montana out here. But I’m sure you already knew that, being who your father is.”

  Their food was pushed through the revolving window slot.

  Dante snatched it up. “About fuckin’ time!”

  As Dante walked back to his car with his arm around Citi, her mind was on the news she had just heard. She wondered why her father would keep such important news from her. She wondered if her brothers knew too. Citi hated being kept in the dark when it came to her father’s world. She understood he only wanted to shelter her from any danger, but she wasn’t a little girl anymore.

  When they made it back to the Maxima, the windows were fogged up, and there was a steady rocking coming from the backseat.

  “Look at this shit!” Dante said. He opened the door, and there was Dana, naked from the waist down, straddling Booboo, riding his dick like a joystick inside of her.

  “Damn, nigga, give us like five more minutes,” Booboo said.

  “I thought y’all were hungry,” Dante said.

  “Yeah. Shit, y’all were taking too long.” Booboo laughed.

  “Damn, Dana, you couldn’t wait? Get a room,” Citi said for a laugh.

  “We will.”

  Citi and Dante jumped into the front seat, while Dana continued fucking Booboo in the backseat. They had no shame getting down in front of company.

  “Aaaahhh,” Dana moaned.

  “Don’t be leaving any stains in my backseat.” Dante whipped his Maxima out of the parking lot just as a police cruiser turned the corner and stopped in front of the chicken spot.

  Citi had become quiet. Her mind was on her father and speculating about Alonzo’s murder. Dante had planted a seed of wo
rry in her head. What if the people who were responsible for murdering Alonzo came after her father too? The thought of losing him truly troubled her.

  She remained quiet as Dante cruised down Guy R. Brewer, her eyes gazing past the dilapidated bodegas, shabby storefronts, local residents wandering about, and the boulevard traffic. Dana getting fucked like a porn star behind her suddenly became irrelevant to her. She drowned out her friend’s moaning by thinking about whether her family was in any danger.

  “Why you so quiet?” Dante asked.

  “I was just thinkin’ about somethin’, that’s all.”

  “Thinkin’ about what? You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m okay,” she replied halfheartedly.

  “Yo, Citi, don’t worry about that bullshit I told you in the chicken spot earlier.”

  “I’m not worried about it. I know my father and brothers can handle themselves. If there’s any danger, my father is able to handle it.”

  Dante nodded. “Ya pops is a warrior.”

  “He never loses,” Citi uttered, remembering what her father had once said to her.

  10

  The apartment was quiet. Curtis was gone as usual, and Chris and Cane were in the streets handling their business and partying. Citi was left alone in the stillness of home. But the solitude made her relax in the confines of luxury. Clad in her boy shorts and a T-shirt, she rolled up a joint, turned on the large flat-screen, and glued her eyes to music videos. She got high and sat slouched in the leather sofa, sinking into it like she was caught in quicksand. She took a few strong pulls of the burning weed and exhaled. Her eyes drifted into a daze as the R&B from the TV blared throughout the room.

  Citi nodded to Mary J. Blige. Her eyes then turned to gaze at her father’s bedroom door. Numerous thoughts from possible encroaching trouble to her birthday gifts began spinning around in her head. She wanted to be nosy. She always kept out of her father’s room when he wasn’t home. He liked his privacy and didn’t like anyone snooping into his business.

  Citi took another pull from the kush and placed the remnants of her blunt into the ashtray. She stood up, but stumbled slightly, catching her balance against the couch. She walked over to her father’s bedroom door and twisted the doorknob. It was locked, as expected. But the locked door was only a minor obstacle.

  Knowing how to pick locks since she was nine years old, she went into her room and got a hairpin. She went to the door, crouched down, and pushed the hairpin into the center of the lock. She continued pushing until she felt the lock give.

  She pushed the door open and walked inside her father’s room. She looked around, scanning how neat and meticulous things were in the room. His king-size bed was always made. His footwear was lined up precisely near the closet door. His jewelry was spread out on the stylish black dresser like a display in Macy’s. The blinds were closed. Everything was in place.

  Citi opened the closet door first. She moved a few articles of his clothing out the way and searched through his closet. She didn’t have an idea what she was looking for. She just wanted to inspect his world. She didn’t want to be in the dark. At the bottom of the closet, she found a black duffel bag pushed against the back wall. She squatted down, pulled out the bag, looked at it for a moment, and knew there was something illegal inside. She slowly unzipped it and found over a dozen handguns inside. She removed one—a black 9mm.

  She stood up with the gun in her hand. It wasn’t an unfamiliar tool to her. Guns were a part of her world. She walked toward the dresser mirror. She aimed the gun at her reflection. She knew how to use it. Her father taught her how to shoot a gun when she was ten years old. She remembered when they used to drive out to the woods in New Jersey and shoot at beer cans and other items. Curtis had taught his daughter how to hold the weapon and aim, using the sights and aiming center mass. She’d learned how to load a clip and cock it back.

  Curtis had trained his daughter not to be defenseless. Even though he protected her from the violence of his world, his children needed to know how to defend themselves. They needed to have street smarts.

  Citi continued to grip the deadly steel in the soft palms of her hands. The safety was on. It was a loaded gun. She’d already checked the clip. Hollow tips—the most dangerous bullets. Her father only dealt with the deadliest weapons that killed reliably and efficiently. She stared at her image in the mirror and wondered if she were put in the predicament, if she would be able to shoot and kill someone. She’d heard stories about her father—even heard about Cane letting off shots at his enemies—but she had never been tested in the streets herself.

  Citi lowered the gun from the mirror and sighed. She turned on her heels and placed the 9mm back into the duffel bag. She zipped it back up and pushed it back against the wall the way she found it. Curtis was very observant. He knew when something in his room was messed with or moved. She had to be careful not to rearrange anything.

  Citi shut the closet door. She continued to snoop around the bedroom, but nothing was new or strange in her eyes. She dropped to her knees and peeked under the bed. There she saw a counting machine and two more black duffel bags. The bags caught her interest. She crawled under the bed and reached for one of the bags. It was somewhat heavy. She wondered if it was more guns.

  She unzipped the duffel bag, and her eyes lit up like a kid’s on Christmas Day. “Ohmygod!” she uttered in disbelief.

  Citi reached for the cash wide-eyed. She held up two ten-thousand-dollar stacks—all hundreds, crisp bills. She pulled out more and more cash and placed it on the bed. She had never seen so much money. She estimated that there was over six hundred thousand dollars in cash there. Citi knew it had to be drug money. She knew her father was rich, but she had never seen so much cash all in one room.

  She marveled at the sight of so much money. Shopping sprees and beauty spas were all Citi could think about doing with the cash. The spoiled girl couldn’t resist. She hesitated for only a moment, and then peeled off $40,000 in cash. She assumed her father wouldn’t miss it. He was already swimming in money. So she considered it to be an early birthday gift to herself.

  Citi dumped the rest of the money back into the bag and zipped it tight. As she was about to push the bag underneath the bed, she heard the front door open. Nervousness whirled inside of her. She thought it might be her father coming home. He would be highly upset if he caught her creeping around in his bedroom.

  She hurried to push the duffel bag underneath the bed and wanted to run out. She clutched the four ten-thousand-dollar stacks, but fumbled with them.

  Before she could make her quick exit, Cane appeared. “What the fuck you doin’ in Pops’ bedroom?” he exclaimed.

  Citi stood frozen. She tried to hide the cash behind her back. Cane was blocking the doorway.

  “Citi, you picked the lock? You crazy. Pops gonna have your ass when he finds out you was snooping in his room. Yeah, see if you get that car for your birthday now.”

  “You gonna snitch on me, Cane?”

  “You ain’t got no right to be in his bedroom. You know how he don’t like that shit. What you lookin’ for anyway?”

  “Nothin’.”

  “You lying.”

  “Why don’t you mind your business, Cane?”

  “You sneaky, Citi.”

  Citi sighed. She didn’t know if Cane was bluffing or not, but she wasn’t ready to take that chance. She didn’t want to be chastised by her father, and she wanted to keep the money—even if it meant sharing it with her brother.

  “Cane,” she called out.

  Cane turned around. He looked at Citi and waited for her to say something. “What?”

  Citi revealed the cash she had hidden behind her back.

  “Whoa! Where the fuck you get that from?”

  Citi didn’t answer him.

  “How much?” Cane asked.
r />   “Forty thousand.”

  “From where?”

  Citi nodded toward the bedroom.

  “You crazy, Citi!”

  “He won’t miss it. I found damn near six hundred thousand in a duffel bag. I mean, it’s only forty thousand, Cane. Think what we can do wit’ the money.”

  “Where did all that cash come from anyway? I never knew Pops to keep that much cash in the apartment.”

  “Well, it’s here now,” Citi said.

  Citi had him thinking. He needed the extra cash.

  “It’ll just be between us. We don’t even have to tell Chris about it.”

  Cane smiled. “Fuck it!”

  “So you’re driving, right?”

  “Driving to where?”

  “To the mall.”

  “You a fuckin’ a trip, Citi. But let’s go.”

  Citi smiled. She hurried into her room to get dressed. She couldn’t wait to hit the stores to spend some of Daddy’s money.

  ****

  The price tag on the diamond-bezeled Rolex watch was $3,000. Citi and Cane purchased two of them. The diamond earrings cost $1,500, the diamond-encrusted pinky ring, $2,000, and the platinum chain with the TEC-9 pendant, $5,000. In total, the two spent fifteen thousand dollars on jewelry and clothing.

  They went into high-end stores in Roosevelt Field and flaunted money like the spoiled teenagers they were. When they stepped into the jewelry store, the employees didn’t take the teenagers seriously at first.

  Citi asked to see the costly earrings in the glass case, and the Caucasian female employee smirked and wanted to ignore them, waving them off like they were a joke. But when Citi pulled out a wad of hundreds and displayed it across the countertop, the lady had a sudden difference in opinion.

  “Do your job, bitch!” Citi barked at her. “We tryin’ to shop.”

  Cane laughed.

  The trunk and backseat of Cane’s Benz was filled with shopping bags—Gucci, Sean Jean, Prada, Fendi. It was all worth it. Citi was in the passenger seat admiring the bracelet she had just bought. She couldn’t wait to show it off to her friends and flaunt it in school. It was one of a kind. The siblings were content with the day’s events, and they still had plenty of money left.