I Can Touch the Bottom (10 page)

T. L. sat in his rental car at the corner of Rank's block, watching his house like a hawk. Some of his boys had put him up on where Rank and Mickey were posted at most days. Wanting to be as thorough as he could when putting in work, he studied their every move. If they went to the corner store, McDonald's, or even the gas station for a swisher, he followed. When Mickey visited his grandfather in the nursing home, T. L. was there. When Rank thought he was sneaking around the block to get some late-night pussy from the next bitch, T. L. was there posted as well. T. L. smoked a blunt and listened to his music to get his mind right. He'd paid good money for these fools' address, and from the looks of things, he was getting his money's worth.

He'd been on post watching them come and go all day and half the night. Seeing them together, one with an arm sling, the other with a bandage on his head, T. L. laughed, flashing back to seeing them on the video bloodied, defeated, and running for their lives. It took everything in him not to flick the fully auto switch on the Mac 90 that was in his lap and shut the block down. And when they went into the house, T. L. fought not to just walk up to the front door and knock on it, and when they opened the door, force his way in and lay everybody in the house facedown. At this point, Rank and Mickey were living off pure luck because all Stackz had to do was give T. L. the green light, and they'd be toast.

T. L. called Stackz, telling him exactly where he was at. After talking for a brief moment or two, Stackz praised him for finding the location of the soon-to-be-dead cohorts of Devin. Suggesting to T. L. to not make a move, but instead, continue to keep a keen eye on them, T. L. was low-key disturbed he wouldn't be putting in any real work on them, but kept his true feelings to himself. He knew Stackz was the leader and trusted him to do just that—lead.

T. L. slid down slowly in the driver's seat as he talked on the phone to Stackz. He seethed with fury as he gave him play-by-play of what he was seeing. The police detectives had just showed up at Rank's house and appeared to be asking Rank and Mickey questions. As they stood outside in the front yard, T. L. watched each person's hand gestures and body movements. He couldn't hear what was being said, if it was good or bad. However, regardless, being seen even talking to the police or saying good morning to their crooked asses ain't ever been a good look in the law book of the streets.

Stackz and T. L. went back and forth over whether he thought Rank and Mickey were standing strong keeping their mouths shut like real niggas in the streets were supposed to do in the face of trouble, or were they being full-blown rat pussies doing the homicide detectives' job for them. Not knowing for sure what the conversation was, selling the idea to Stackz that they had to be bagged and toe tagged to ensure his continued freedom was not an automatic go. Stackz told T. L. to use his head not his gun all the time. He explained that if Mickey and Rank had any intentions of telling what they knew about Devin's necessary death and their being shot, the damage was already done. If not, just fall back. Their time to die would be coming soon enough.

T. L. agreed with Stackz as he cracked his car window a little bit more seeing some sort of commotion starting to pop off. Leaning over toward the window as much as possible, the detectives could be heard raising their voices at Rank and Mickey.

“Okay, it's fine with me if you two don't mind taking up space in the already overpacked city morgue. When you lying on that cold-ass steel table, you'll wish you would've talked then so we can get this monster off the streets,” one detective smartly remarked as he turned walking away toward their car.

Not to be outdone, his partner chimed in, cosigning on what they knew Mickey and Rank's near future more than likely held. “Yeah, let's go, Bob. We'll be back to either arrest these clowns for murder or notify their people where they need to go to identify their bodies. Fuck these assholes and all that no-snitch bullshit they adhere to!”

T. L. watched the police skirt off, livid they'd have to actually do some real detective work themselves to earn their paychecks. It was clear at that point in time neither Rank nor Mickey was giving the cops information on who killed their boy. The cops pushed it to them that by doing so, they were causing enormous medical bills to rack up that neither would be able to pay; least not in this lifetime.

T. L. put his mentor up on the theatrics that had just taken place and what was said by the cops. Stackz praised T. L. once again for being a true soldier. He then advised him to keep tabs on Rank and Mickey as best he could, but first and foremost, take care of his own business getting that bread and keeping the ticket straight.

* * *

Inside of Rank's mother's house, he sat at the dining-room table all fucked up; his head bandaged, eye swollen, and stitches in his face. His pride chewed up, spit out, and stomped on. Mickey fared no better, his arm in a sling from a bullet hole in his shoulder the size of a half dollar, and every time he breathed in or out, he was in pain. On top of all that, every time he blinked his eyes, he could see Devin's face turn into blood and bones. Since hiding behind that Dumpster, Mickey had nightmares of being shot at by Stackz repeatedly. He wanted revenge, hoping some type of “get back” would stop the torment he was going through in his mind.

With a floral-designed hijab covering her head, Rank's Muslim mother sat at the table, Quran in hand. Trying to convince her son Raakin, or Rank, as he was known in the streets, and Mickey, to tell the police what they needed to know to catch the person who killed Devin, she prayed. She'd known Devin since he was a young child and knew he'd been trouble since back then. She never wanted her son to hang with Devin, but Rank was grown and had other ideas about how he was going to live his life. Asking them if somebody killed them, wouldn't they want somebody to be brave enough to speak up? With no filter, they each got disrespectful with their response.

“Damn, Ma, you need to stay out of our business. Fuck the police. They don't really give a damn about us. They glad Devin's dead 'cause he's one less nigga they gotta deal with out here. You think they really care if they find whoever did that? Hell naw! They don't, but I do, and ole boy that hit me gonna pay with his life!”

“Yeah, Mrs. Muhammad, you want us to be labeled rats out in these street and miss our chance to be real niggas? I don't think so. I'm not going out like that.”

Rank and Mickey looked at each other in agreement. They made a pact that as soon as they were healed, they'd hunt Devin's killer down and make him pay with his own life.

Ashamed and horrified they would speak to her like that, Rank's mother shook her head and put her hands over her face. She knew all she could do was pray for them and put it in Allah's hands.

Two weeks had passed since the shooting took place, and all was going smooth for Stackz and Ava. They talked on the phone and texted each other just about every day. Business was always on the top of Stackz's list, and school and her job consumed most of Ava's time. They had finally agreed to hook up and go hang out over the weekend. It would be their first time alone together since Stackz had her held up naked in the hallway. Each of them looked forward to spending time with the other.

* * *

The weekend had finally arrived. Stackz had been going hard in the mud getting money so he was feeling himself. He'd gone shopping and bought new gear to throw on, and like always, from the crispy fitted Detroit baseball cap down to his fresh out-of-the-box Tims, Stackz was in full hood star mode. Ready to stunt, he even broke out his Versace iced-out chain and bracelet with the pinky ring to match.

He'd told Ava he would pick her up about nine o'clock. It was only eight thirty, so Stackz sat in his living room with the Detroit Pistons game playing on the big flat-screen TV on mute. He had a thousand-dollar bet with his boy that the Pistons would beat the Lakers by at least six points and was starting to second-guess his wager.

Placing a call to his boy, Maestro, the head bouncer at Detroit Live, Stackz chopped it up, letting him know he'd be falling through tonight and for him to hook up a VIP booth with black bottles on deck. Maestro assured him he'd have him together, like always, whenever Stackz stepped through the door.

Letting his brother know where he was gonna turn up at tonight, Gee agreed to meet him there and have T. L. and the young boys on deck, in case any madness popped off. Stackz looked at his watch, seeing it was time to roll out. He shut everything off except the front-room lamp and headed out to pick Ava up. Having got it detailed earlier, Stackz was driving his Range Rover just to hurt his haters' feelings tonight. Backing out of his driveway, he was feeling good and eager to chill with Ava. Since meeting her, she's played at his mental and his manhood. In other words, Stackz wanted to show Ava why he's talked about amongst more than a few bitches in Detroit.

Many women called Stackz a womanizer, even whorish, but yearned to be his bottom chick. However, to him, that coveted spot had to be earned, not sucked up or fucked up on. Stackz wanted a woman that could mentally connect with him. Of course, he hoped Ava was that one.

* * *

Stackz pulled up at Ava's house. Taught never to blow your horn for a woman, he wanted to get out and knock on the door, but knew somethings in some hoods weren't safe; especially if there were full-blown beefs jumping off. Opting to call her, he let Ava know he was outside. Being asked to give her at least five or six more minutes, Stackz placed a few more calls, checking on some traps he'd set the earlier part of the week.

Ava was almost ready. Nervous about her first actual date with Stackz, she darted from the living room to the bathroom to the bedroom doing what most women do when they were rushing. Knowing that Stackz was parked outside waiting, she picked up the pace trying to get out the door. Dressed in a short but respectable white form-fitting dress, she wanted to look her best for the man her chatterbox friend Bridget had boasted about. Agreeing to get a room with Stackz for the night was straight out of character for Ava, yet taking in consideration the way in which they met, nothing they did or said to each other would be unconventional for the couple.

Even though she and Leela weren't on the best of terms, her older sister volunteered to help Ava with her hair. Spending time assisting her to pick out the perfect pair of shoes to wear, loaning her a small clutch purse she'd shoplifted some time back, and even advising Ava on what bra and panty set she thought would drive any man nuts, Leela was going beyond the call of duty.

Something she never did if it didn't benefit her.

With Leela, there was always an ulterior motive involved in her day-to-day tumultuous life. For every action, whether big or small, Leela had a reaction; most times, an overreaction. This night was no different as her blood boiled. Secretly, she was livid having not been invited to join her sister clubbing. Of course, she hated Stackz, but loved being out in the streets having a good time more. Leela knew Gee would be there, along with their other crew members, spending money, flossing popping bottles, and turning up. It wasn't fair. She wanted to turn up too. Leela didn't care if she was knocked up. She'd partied when pregnant with all her other babies, and they turned out okay.

While Ava put her makeup on, Leela snuck downstairs calling Gee. Right off rip, she cut off into him, bitching about not taking her out with them. Gee couldn't believe she had the nerve to call him like that. He'd never risk tainting his boss status reputation actually being seen out in public with the city-known slut bucket. She was an in-house hit; nothing more, nothing less. After letting Leela have her say, Gee proceeded to dog her out, telling her she was his Tuesday late-night, dick-sucking bitch and today was Friday. Leela hung up the phone on him as he laughed with his homeboys that were in the background, cheering him on.

Returning upstairs under the pretense of continuing to help her baby sister get ready, Leela stood in the bathroom doorway making casual conversation, asking Ava where the turnup was for the night. Thinking nothing of it, she told Leela that Stackz had said Detroit Live on the riverfront, or something like that.

Leela walked Ava to the door, telling her to be careful out in these Detroit streets as she got in Stackz's truck. She had a wicked half-cracked smile on her face as she stood on the porch watching the truck's taillights drive out of sight. Taking her cell out of her back pocket, Leela was done playing with both Gee and Stackz. She was going to put her plan in full motion to see them both fall . . . hard.

* * *

Leela closed the door, then plopped down on the sofa. With sinister thoughts, she dialed Rank's phone number. When she got through to him, she asked him to hold on while she got Mickey on the line as well. After making the three-way connection, Leela started making some life-changing confessions that would affect all three of them. Without leaving anything out, she ran down everything that had happened with her since that night Devin got killed in the parking lot.

Revealing she knew the man that had murdered Devin and pushed it to both of them, Leela heard nothing but dead silence on the line as she spilled her guts. She ran down almost minute-by-minute the chain of events that followed the second she and Ava ran out the doors of the restaurant that awful night up until a few seconds ago when Stackz pulled off from the curb. Leela lastly announced that she was pregnant with Devin's baby and was going to keep it, so they'd both better get ready to stand up and look out for their boy's seed since he wasn't here to do it himself.

Leela claimed she wanted to say something sooner but was worried about her sister getting caught up because she's been dealing with Devin's killer. “Yeah, I'm not gonna front, I was confused as hell and scared. But, fuck that nigga. He killed my baby daddy, so, yup, fuck him! If y'all wanna holler at Stackz tonight, I'll tell you where he gonna be at and what type of ride he in; that is, if y'all trying to have a real gangsta moment in memory of Devin!”

“Good looking out, Leela. We going down there tonight and lay on that nigga. See what's really good with him.” Rank had paced the floor throughout the entire call. “So, Mickey, get ready. I'll be there to get up in a few.”

“Hey, y'all, don't hurt my sister when y'all do what y'all do. I told you she riding with that asshole.” Leela pretended as if she truly cared one way or the other if Ava caught a few.

Rank and Mickey assured her that her sister would be good, even though they thought it was foul Ava was running with the dude that'd killed they homeboy and father of her sister's baby. Leela ended the call with them and went into the kitchen craving ice cream. Taking a big bucket of Butter Pecan ice cream out of the freezer, she went back to the couch. Opening the lid, Leela calmly stuck her spoon in deep and went to work like all hell was not about to break loose.
Oh well
,
it is what it is. Let the bullshit begin!