something like you.”
Apple could smell the alcohol on Chico’s breath. She didn’t have a reply. She discarded his comment and focused on business.
“I’m ready to pick another name.”
“Well, you might have another to add,” Chico said.
“Who?”
“Ayesha’s older brother. Before we tossed Mesha off the roof, his name came up.”
“Memo?”
“That’s the name.”
“Kill him too then.”
“It’s already been arranged. I got people looking for him already.”
Apple turned and walked back up the stairs, while Chico stood at the bottom of the staircase watching her. He felt bad about what he had said to her, but he wasn’t going to apologize for it. He truly loved her and was showing it by the bodies he was dropping in the streets of Harlem, in her name.
Chapter 11
T he East Side of Harlem was becoming a tense place. With the crime rate rising and the corner hustlers on high alert, the police were on constant patrol. Chico and Dante were becoming a known entity in the hood. A few gun battles had broken out with Cross and his men.
Mesha’s death was the talk of the town. The people were furious over her murder, and although there weren’t any witnesses to her death, word was circulating that Apple was involved.
It was on a clear, cold night that Chico and Dante sat parked across the street from the Blue Note, a hole-in-the-wall lounge on St. Nicholas Avenue with a back-alley doorway that was tucked away in the dark like a dirty little secret.
Chico took a few pulls from his cigarette, while Dante played with the radio. They were hunting for Memo. An informant had told them that the Blue Note was one of Memo’s favorite places to hang out and get drunk. Both men weren’t about to let the opportunity slip away from them, so they went to the lounge immediately after they got the news.
Dante took a drag from Chico’s cigarette, nodding to 50 Cent rapping, admiring the gangster’s lyrics and his reputation.
“What’s on ya mind, Dante?”
Dante answered immediately, like it was urgent. “Why we doin’ this, man?”
“What you mean?”
“We on the wrong hunt, Chico. We should be going after niggas that matter, not some off-brand muthafucka gettin’ drunk in a bar. This is news that came from a bitch’s mouth just to save her own ass from being thrown off a roof.”
“It matters to me.”
“What should matter to you is goin’ after what’s yours—these streets. Cross and his niggas . . . I want them, cuzzo.”
“And we will, but this shit here is personal, Dante.”
“I don’t like that bitch!” Dante spat.
“Why not?”
“’Cause she ain’t right for you. I know you say she reminds you of Nikki, but she ain’t Nikki, Chico. Far from it. You still riding on this guilt trip about what happened to her. Yeah, it’s fucked up, but that was years ago. You tryin’ to make up for her death by doin’ this shit, carrying out hard revenge for this broad?”
“Niggas need to understand not to fuck with what’s mines.”
“And they will. But the more time we waste doin’ this shit, Cross is getting stronger, making money out there, him and his bitch. I don’t like it.”
Chico took a long pull from the burning cancer stick. He turned his stare away from Dante and looked over at the bar, observing a few patrons that stood outside. He didn’t want to hear what his cousin was saying to him.
“I’m just saying, cuzzo,” Dante continued, “business is business. I could spend my time on the hunt for the come-up instead of doing this shit. We find this muthafucka, Memo, and I’m ready to kill him for you. But this shit is eating up too much of our time. You know Cross and Kola moved in on a few of your customers. Yeah, they hitting them with that better quality, and niggas is biting at their bait. Here you are selling ya shit at a stack less, but niggas is still biting for what Cross is throwing out there.”
“Nigga, I don’t wanna hear about no muthafuckin’
Apple could smell the alcohol on Chico’s breath. She didn’t have a reply. She discarded his comment and focused on business.
“I’m ready to pick another name.”
“Well, you might have another to add,” Chico said.
“Who?”
“Ayesha’s older brother. Before we tossed Mesha off the roof, his name came up.”
“Memo?”
“That’s the name.”
“Kill him too then.”
“It’s already been arranged. I got people looking for him already.”
Apple turned and walked back up the stairs, while Chico stood at the bottom of the staircase watching her. He felt bad about what he had said to her, but he wasn’t going to apologize for it. He truly loved her and was showing it by the bodies he was dropping in the streets of Harlem, in her name.
Chapter 11
T he East Side of Harlem was becoming a tense place. With the crime rate rising and the corner hustlers on high alert, the police were on constant patrol. Chico and Dante were becoming a known entity in the hood. A few gun battles had broken out with Cross and his men.
Mesha’s death was the talk of the town. The people were furious over her murder, and although there weren’t any witnesses to her death, word was circulating that Apple was involved.
It was on a clear, cold night that Chico and Dante sat parked across the street from the Blue Note, a hole-in-the-wall lounge on St. Nicholas Avenue with a back-alley doorway that was tucked away in the dark like a dirty little secret.
Chico took a few pulls from his cigarette, while Dante played with the radio. They were hunting for Memo. An informant had told them that the Blue Note was one of Memo’s favorite places to hang out and get drunk. Both men weren’t about to let the opportunity slip away from them, so they went to the lounge immediately after they got the news.
Dante took a drag from Chico’s cigarette, nodding to 50 Cent rapping, admiring the gangster’s lyrics and his reputation.
“What’s on ya mind, Dante?”
Dante answered immediately, like it was urgent. “Why we doin’ this, man?”
“What you mean?”
“We on the wrong hunt, Chico. We should be going after niggas that matter, not some off-brand muthafucka gettin’ drunk in a bar. This is news that came from a bitch’s mouth just to save her own ass from being thrown off a roof.”
“It matters to me.”
“What should matter to you is goin’ after what’s yours—these streets. Cross and his niggas . . . I want them, cuzzo.”
“And we will, but this shit here is personal, Dante.”
“I don’t like that bitch!” Dante spat.
“Why not?”
“’Cause she ain’t right for you. I know you say she reminds you of Nikki, but she ain’t Nikki, Chico. Far from it. You still riding on this guilt trip about what happened to her. Yeah, it’s fucked up, but that was years ago. You tryin’ to make up for her death by doin’ this shit, carrying out hard revenge for this broad?”
“Niggas need to understand not to fuck with what’s mines.”
“And they will. But the more time we waste doin’ this shit, Cross is getting stronger, making money out there, him and his bitch. I don’t like it.”
Chico took a long pull from the burning cancer stick. He turned his stare away from Dante and looked over at the bar, observing a few patrons that stood outside. He didn’t want to hear what his cousin was saying to him.
“I’m just saying, cuzzo,” Dante continued, “business is business. I could spend my time on the hunt for the come-up instead of doing this shit. We find this muthafucka, Memo, and I’m ready to kill him for you. But this shit is eating up too much of our time. You know Cross and Kola moved in on a few of your customers. Yeah, they hitting them with that better quality, and niggas is biting at their bait. Here you are selling ya shit at a stack less, but niggas is still biting for what Cross is throwing out there.”
“Nigga, I don’t wanna hear about no muthafuckin’
Similar Books
