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  Cane drove with a smile on his face. He couldn’t help but to glance at the sparkly Rolex around his wrist every passing minute. “Damn! Wait till muthafuckas see me wearing this shit,” he said. “And Chris—”

  Citi quickly blurted out, “You can’t tell Chris, or Daddy.”

  “Huh?”

  “We can’t let them see none of this shit we bought today, Cane, especially me. How we gonna explain where we got the money for all this? Yeah, you workin’ for Pops, but I’m not. And he ain’t payin’ you enough to buy fuckin’ Rolexes and all this other shit. Daddy already gonna know what’s up. And, Chris, he gotta be kept in the dark too.”

  “Yeah, you right, sis.”

  “We just gotta keep all this extra stuff hidden until the right time.”

  Cane nodded.

  “Just wear the shit in the streets, but when we get home, everything that we bought gotta come off. If Daddy sees any of it, or Chris, then they gonna start questioning us.”

  Cane looked at his little sister and smiled. “Let me find out, sis.”

  “Let you find out what?”

  “That you know how to scheme like the best of them.”

  “My last name is Byrne, right?” She smiled.

  “Yeah, it is, yo. This shit? It’s in our blood,” Cane said. “I love this street shit!”

  At first, Citi felt guilty about stealing from her father. He was always good to her. Whatever she wanted, she didn’t have to ask twice for it. Curtis gave her everything. But the taste of taking something—even if it was from her own father—excited her. And walking around with forty thousand dollars was an exhilarating feeling.

  11

  Maino stopped his truck on the corner of Sutphin and Foch Boulevards. When the local knuckleheads lingering on the corner in front of the bodega saw his Yukon pull up abruptly, they immediately became alert and nervous. He jumped out of his ride with his sagging jeans, swinging chain, and leather coat. He approached the corner with his mean-mug and his pistol concealed in his waistband.

  Business had been slow since Alonzo’s murder, and that meant money wasn’t coming in fast enough. It angered Maino. Profits on the streets had dropped greatly, and knowing that he hadn’t found Alonzo’s killer or killers yet made him edgy.

  He walked up to C.C., a young seventeen-year-old slinging crack cocaine out of his mother’s basement. C.C. fixed his posture and looked at Maino nervously. The money in his pocket was for Maino, but it was $1,500 short. He knew Maino didn’t accept any excuses when it came to his cash.

  “C.C., what you got for me?” Maino asked.

  C.C.’s crew diverted their attention from Maino. They all knew how quickly he could snap, and not one of them wanted to be on the receiving end.

  C.C. reached into his pocket and pulled out the small wad of cash he had to give up. He passed it to Maino and tried to remain calm. Maino snatched the cash from his hand and at once started to count the profits. C.C. stood apprehensively near Maino, his frail body no match for Maino’s burly frame.

  “C.C., what the fuck! You short, nigga,” Maino barked. “Really fuckin’ short, nigga. This is a fuckin’ joke?”

  “Maino, shit is dry out here right now.”

  “I don’t give a fuck. You fuckin’ wit’ my money, C.C.?”

  “C’mon, Maino, you think I’m crazy enough to rob you? Nah, it’s just been dry out here lately. That package you gave us, it ain’t worth shit. These fiends ain’t happy wit’ it, yo.”

  Maino glared at C.C. He wanted to punch the teenager in the face, but his cold, black stare already had C.C. ready to piss in his jeans. Maino knew C.C. was right. The ki he had was weak. No matter how many times his peoples stepped on it, it was poor quality. Alonzo’s death was hurting his pockets. Emanuel was the new connect, but Emanuel had to go underground for a moment, fleeing the States to lay low from the feds. The murders in Harlem had made his organization hot and put his crew on the feds’ radar. Maino needed a new connect, and he needed one fast.

  “I’m sayin’ though, what’s up wit’ you and Curtis?” C.C. asked. “Y’all ain’t fuckin’ wit’ each other anymore?”

  “What the fuck you talkin’ about?”

  “Why he movin’ the good shit all around Long Island and Jersey, and we gettin’ this bogus package?”

  “What?”

  “Y’all still peoples, Maino? I mean, word is that Curtis is the man to go to with that good shit. You ain’t heard?”

  Maino stepped closer to C.C., violating his private space. His fiery eyes locked into C.C., and he shouted, “Nigga, fuckin’ talk!”

  C.C. took a deep breath, holding his gaze down to the floor, and said, “I’m just sayin’, I got peoples in Hempstead, and—”

  “C.C., if you don’t tell me what’s up, I swear, muthafucka, I’ma shove my fuckin’ pistol down your fuckin’ throat and shoot out ya fuckin’ heart!”

  C.C. sighed heavily. “I heard your boy Curtis hooked Shot up wit’ some bricks and they killin’ it out there.”

  Maino was confused. “What the fuck you tryin’ to say?”

  C.C. was always known to have information, and quality information. He had family everywhere—cousins and uncles in the game in every borough. Somehow, word of other people’s business and activity always got back to him, and he would use it to save his own skin every time.

  Maino didn’t understand it. It was the first time he’d heard this information. How was Curtis moving product when, since Alonzo’s death, the streets were somewhat dry? It bewildered him.

  “You lying about this, nigga?” Maino asked.

  “Yo, Maino, I ain’t stupid enough to lie to you. Everybody in these streets knows how you get down.”

  “You better not be, C.C. If you are, I’ll fuckin’ kill you.”

  C.C. swallowed hard.

  Maino stuffed the wad of cash into his coat pocket and walked away. He got into his truck with a troubling thought. Had Curtis been stepping out on him, conducting business without him knowing?

  ****

  The following evening, Maino called Curtis on his cell phone. His first call went straight to voice mail, and so did his second. It took Maino calling for a fifth time to reach Curtis.

  When Maino heard his friend’s voice, he barked, “Nigga, why the fuck you don’t pick up ya phone?”

  “I was busy,” Curtis replied coolly.

  “Busy doin’ what? Damn! What if a nigga needed help? Shit, a nigga done been gotten stuck up and already dead by the time you answer ya fuckin’ call.”

  “Nigga, I was wit’ a bitch.”

  “Always in some pussy. You and your bitches, nigga.”

  “What you want?”

  “We need to link up and talk,” Maino said.

  “When and where?”

  “Tonight. It’s urgent.”

  “A’ight. Baisley Park in an hour. I’m not too far from there,” Curtis said.

  “Cool.”

  Maino sighed heavily. He wanted to meet with Curtis face to face and talk to him. He wanted to look Curtis in his eyes when he asked about the disloyalty he’d heard from C.C.

  ****

  Two hours before midnight, Curtis drove his Benz into the empty parking lot of Baisley Park. The streets were sparse with traffic. The winter wind blew steadily, as Curtis stepped out of his ride to smoke a cigarette wearing a stylish pea coat and a wool hat. He took a pull from the Newport and looked around.

  He had moved the thirteen kilos with little trouble, and so far, things had been quiet. Emanuel was laying low in Panama until things settled down in the States. The homicides in Harlem were catching worldwide news. Alonzo’s murder had stirred up a hornets’ nest, and they were stinging hard.

  Curtis leaned against his car, wondering what was so imp
ortant that Maino had to meet with him. He’d left a warm piece of pussy to wait in the cold for his friend.

  A short while later, Maino’s Yukon slowly turned into the parking lot, rap music blaring from the truck. The Yukon parked two spaces away from Curtis’ Benz.

  Curtis took one final pull from the Newport and flicked his cigarette into the weeds. He blew smoke from his mouth and turned to greet Maino. He noticed two silhouettes in the truck, and wondered why Maino didn’t come alone.

  Maino stepped out his truck and walked up to Curtis.

  Curtis didn’t see anything threatening about him. He went to greet his childhood friend with a pound and a hug. “What’s good, Maino? Everything cool? What you call me out here in the cold so late for?”

  “I just needed to talk.”

  “So talk.”

  “You got another cigarette?”

  Curtis reached into his coat pocket and removed his pack of Newports. He pulled one out and handed it to Maino, who quickly lit it, took a much-needed drag, and exhaled.

  “Who in the truck wit’ you?” Curtis asked.

  “Donny.”

  “Fuck you doin’ riding wit’ that nigga?”

  “We just riding.”

  “You know I ain’t never trust that nigga, Maino.”

  “Yeah, trust is a fragile thing right about now,” Maino replied matter-of-factly.

  “What you mean by that, Maino?” Curtis asked with a raised eyebrow.

  Maino took another drag from the Newport. He glanced at his truck and then turned his attention back to Curtis. “I don’t know what to think right now. Alonzo’s death got a nigga trippin’, and it got a nigga thinkin’. I mean, I’m turning this fuckin’ city upside down to find these niggas, and it ain’t adding up. Whoever hit Alonzo came off good, both with drugs and cash. You know word is, niggas probably came off with over four hundred thousand dollars in cash and damn near thirteen ki’s of coke. That ain’t shit to sneeze over, yo.”

  “And what you gettin’ at?” Curtis asked.

  “Yo, that bitch Juliette, if she did the shit, why she ain’t just leave town with whoever? Why the fuck she stuck around?”

  “Now you ask these questions—after you put a bullet in her head?”

  “I ain’t got no regrets killin’ that bitch. I ain’t never liked her anyway.”

  “Well, too late for those kind of questions.”

  “You think? I’m just sayin’, shit ain’t feeling right. I’m thinkin’ this shit is deeper. Yo, we need a new connect right now, Emanuel overseas, and these streets is drying up, but I’m hearing about niggas in Long Island and Jersey getting laced wit’ some quality ki’s. So I’m thinkin’, whoever is hittin’ these niggas out there is probably the ones that got Alonzo.”

  “You got a name?” Curtis asked coolly, keeping his composure.

  “Nah, I’m still on the hunt. I mean, what you been hearing out there?”

  Curtis shook his head. “Nothing lately.”

  “Yeah, it’s like these niggas just fuckin’ vanished. Killed Alonzo and now they in the fuckin’ wind. I don’t get it. When I hunt for niggas, I find muthafuckas. And I always get to the fuckin’ truth, but this shit here? Nah, it’s more than meets the eye.”

  Curtis remained silent. Maino’s personal investigation was making him itchy. He felt the walls closing in around him. Maybe the bubble was about to burst, but he was ready to contain the trouble around him for as long as he needed to. He had his family to think about.

  Curtis stood tall and said, “Yo, just go home and get some sleep.”

  “Nigga, fuck sleep. I’m hearin’ shit.”

  “What you hearing?”

  “Yo, how long we been friends, Curtis?” Maino asked with a sharp stare at his friend. “I mean, we ain’t never hid shit from each other, right?”

  “Yo, what the fuck you tryin’ to say, Maino?” Curtis exploded with a fierce gaze at Maino. “What the fuck you assuming?”

  “Nigga, I ain’t tryin’ to assume shit. I’m just talkin’.”

  “Talking? Right now, I don’t like the way you talking.”

  “What you so concerned about, Curtis? You makin’ extra money on the streets without me?” Maino boldly asked.

  “You think I had something to do with it?”

  “Did you?”

  “Nigga, who the fuck you think ya talkin’ to? Remember who the fuck I am!” Curtis shouted, stepping closer to Maino.

  “And remember who the fuck I am!” Maino shouted back. He stood his ground when Curtis closed in on him.

  “I loved Alonzo. We were brothers.”

  “Yeah, we were, but things change. Shit is different.”

  “Maino, don’t go there wit’ me. We knew each other for too damn long. Yo, you’re the godfather to my daughter. We’re supposed to trust each other in these streets. I ain’t the one for you to point your fuckin’ finger at,” Curtis barked through clenched teeth.

  “I’m just tryin’ to make sense of the situation, Curtis. Yo, if it was you dead, I would be goin’ just as hard in these streets to find your killers.”

  “That’s understandable.” Curtis took a deep breath. He calmed himself and added, “Look, let’s cool our heads. Come by the crib tomorrow so we can really talk, okay?”

  Maino took his final drag from the cigarette and tossed it. “A’ight.”

  Curtis reached for Maino and pulled him into his arms. They hugged each other. It was a brotherly hug. Curtis then said, “I love you, man.”

  “I love you too.”

  “We brothers, right?”

  “Brothers.” Maino pulled himself away from Curtis’ brotherly embrace. He turned and walked back to his truck.

  Curtis stood near his Benz and watched Maino climb into his ride and drive away. He felt tension building. If push came to shove and Maino tried to leap, then Curtis was ready to put his dog down. It was a hard decision to make, but in his mind, his family’s safety came first.

  12

  Citi strutted into her high school like she was a ghetto celebrity, her new jewelry gleaming. The earrings, the bracelet, the watch, and the pricey trinkets turned heads as she walked the hallways. She felt picture-ready for the red carpet in a pair of Seven jeans with pink stitching to match her baby pink Benetton shirt with her crème and pink Prada sneakers.

  Citi was only in school to show off. She sat in the classrooms playing around with her smartphone and admiring her jewelry for everyone to notice. Some of the girls showed contempt for Citi the way she pranced around the hallways like she was untouchable, but her status in the hood and around the school made the girls think otherwise about robbing or confronting her. With a father like Curtis and a crazy brother like Cane, she had the muscle to do whatever she wanted.

  Citi sat in the cafeteria among the popular girls in the school. The girls took hints in fashion from her since she came to school in items that celebrities were seen wearing on TV. The boys steady eyed her, ready to lick her like she was a special flavor of ice cream. She was the queen bee bitch at the lunch table.

  “Damn, them joints is nice, Citi,” Lola said with vigor, her eyes fixated on Citi’s diamond hoop earrings. “I need those in my life.”

  Citi smiled. “They are right. I paid enough for them.”

  “Where you get those from? I need to go snatch me a pair.”

  “I got these from Long Island, over in Roosevelt Field Mall.”

  “How’s security in that mall?” Lola asked.

  “I don’t know. They be around. Bitch, I know what ya thinkin’. You tryin’ to boost you a pair, huh?”

  “Shit. How else I’m gonna get them?” Lola replied with a mischievous grin. “My pockets ain’t deep like yours.”

  “You crazy, Lola. They gonna lock
your ass up.”

  “Bitch, they gotta catch me first. And I’m too nice at it, and I’ve been doin’ this for a long time. I know all the tricks, so fuck their security.”

  Citi had nothing but respect for Lola. They had come up in the same building, but had different backgrounds. Lola was a foster child who never knew her biological parents. She was entrusted to Ms. Terry’s care. Ms. Terry had three other kids she’d adopted from the system, and Lola was the eldest foster child. Ms. Terry didn’t have the income to provide Lola with the luxuries and designer clothing she craved, so Lola always wore hand-me-downs. Tired of the run-down look, she took to shoplifting and boosting, and over the years, she became better at it. She knew how to bypass certain security systems, what stores were the easiest to steal from, and how to remove the security tags from clothing and not set off the alarm. In time, ninety percent of her clothing, amongst other things, came from stealing. Ms. Terry, an elderly woman, couldn’t keep up with or discipline Lola, so she got away with a lot of mischief.

  Lola had been drawn to Citi since she was twelve. She loved Citi’s style of dress and how she carried herself. She noticed the outfits Citi would be wearing, and a week later, she would boost the same thing.

  “Lola, if you steal these earrings and get them for free after I paid like five hundred for them, I’m gonna be pissed,” Citi said.

  “Bitch, I told you to come to me first. I don’t know why you be paying all that money for stuff when all you gotta do is put me on to the store, and I’m in there and back out with them shits. Easy like one, two, three.” Lola smiled.

  Citi shook her head. “Well, I ain’t telling you the store.”

  “Fine, be like that. I’ll find me a pair that’s much better than yours, and come to school and have you hating.”

  “Then do that.”

  “Whatever, bitch.”

  Citi continued to sit at the lunch table and eat her lunch, while the other girls marveled at her iced-up wrists, ears, and neck. The young thugs would come over, trying to get the ladies’ attention with jokes and stories.