Coca Kola - The Baddest Chick (24 page)

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Fuck you mean, don’t worry about it? They put their muthafuckin’ hands on my bitch, and they think that shit’s gonna slide like that? Apple, this is my fuckin’ reputation. I need to worry about it.”

“If I’m that important to you, then you need to bring ya ass back up here and come take care of ya business and me.”

“And I will!”

There was brief silence over the phone. Chico was fuming. His mind was telling him to just get on the interstate to New York and murder everyone. But with the drought going on, Chico saw an opening he could take full advantage of.

“Baby, just let me come down there wit’ you,” Apple suggested.

“Nah, now’s not a good time.”

“Why not? I can’t be up here anymore.”

“It just ain’t a good time, Apple. Trust me. I’m not gonna be down here fo’ too long. I’m workin’ on somethin’ now. Just trust me, baby.”

“Fuck you, Chico!” Apple ended the call.

Chapter 21

T
he streets of New York were starting to become a very cold place for Apple. Spring weather would be breaking soon, but there wasn’t anything warm stirring inside of her heart. Her mind was spinning. It felt like the walls were coming down around her. Apple’s heart was becoming disfigured like the damaged side of her face. She was a bitter bitch. The streets were cold to her. Her loan-sharking business was no longer profitable or respected. She had over twenty-five thousand dollars owed to her.

But what bothered Apple the most was her sister Kola, who was ahead of the game. Kola was winning. The streets still had respect for her, while Apple was slowly withering away in the city’s gutter.

Apple sat in the dark and still bedroom. The shades were drawn tightly, so there was no sun in the room. She carried a deadpan look. It was mid-afternoon, and the door was shut. The room was untidy. There was no more money. There was no Chico. No respect. The only thing she had left to feed on was her bitterness and animosity.

She had tried to collect money from the people who owed her, but it was the same thing like Peon. They stared at Apple like she was a child, and then a monster.

One individual spat on her the minute she showed her face in his barbershop.

***

The man that owned the barbershop on Morningside Avenue was kin to Ayesha, and they were close. There was speculation on the streets that Apple was behind the murder, but Apple was at the peak of her power when the speculation was traveling from ear to ear. Sony had cried for a long time over his cousin’s death. He used to like Apple, but when Ayesha was killed and he heard the rumors through the grapevine about who was probably behind it, his dislike for Apple started to boil over like an overflowing pot.

One day, he had to set aside his anger and pride to borrow five thousand dollars from her. The IRS had run an audit on him, and agents went through all of his books thoroughly and found out that he hadn’t paid taxes in three years and was hiding money, including winnings from Atlantic City. In total, he owed Uncle Sam eight thousand dollars. He didn’t have that much money on him. So he reached out to Apple. She had given him the loan with the stipulation that he had to pay her more than five hundred dollars per week in interest on his initial five-thousand-dollar loan and other subsequent loans. Sony knew it was highway robbery, but he was in a bind with the IRS and reluctantly agreed to the terms.

***

When Apple had walked into his Harlem barbershop to collect, Sony had exploded on her. He had rushed up to her face and spit on her, while his customers and employees all looked on. No one said anything or got in the way. Everyone just minded their business and felt that Apple had gotten what she deserved. However, a few were still scared of her, knowing that Chico was still around.

There was heckling and laughter at Apple. She had worn the mask, and everyone stared at her like she was some freak show. They were seeing with their own eyes that the rumors about her were true.

“You put ya fuckin’ hand on me again, Sony, and I’ll cut it off,” Apple said through clenched teeth.

“You fuckin’ monstrous bitch, get the fuck out my shop! I don’t owe you shit in here!” he yelled. Sony’s voice was breaking, and he was becoming emotional. Seeing Apple again reminded him of his cousin’s violent death. He wanted to kill Apple himself. Shoot her in the back of her head like she had someone do to his cousin, but he didn’t have the heart. The only thing Sony had for Apple that day when she came to collect was resentment and cruel words.

Apple stormed out of the shop, vowing she would be back, and quickly jumped into her McLaren, unaware she was being watched closely by three sets of eyes from a short distance. She had made enemies in Harlem, and she was drawing unwanted attention to herself, driving around in a half-a-million-dollar car.

Apple started the ignition and was ready to pull out the parking spot, but she was suddenly blocked in by a dark blue Chevy. She turned her head swiftly to look and felt it was a hit.

She was ready to reach for her pistol and protect herself. Until she noticed that the man exiting from the driver’s side wasn’t a threat. She quickly recognized him. He was a cop. Detective Rice. She relaxed and sighed with relief.

The detective walked over and tapped on her window, indicating he wanted her to roll down the window so they could talk. Apple did so.

Detective Rice stared at her face. He didn’t mean to stare so hard, but it was a shock to him to see how much her features had changed. Apple’s face was framed by dark shoulder-length hair, and her clear mask was highly visible. Detective Rice was mute for a short moment. He remembered how beautiful she was once, and looking at Apple now, he felt sorry for her.

Detective Rice peered at Apple with a deadpan expression. “You remember me?” he asked.

Apple nodded.

“Why don’t you shut the car off so we can talk?”

“I’m not going anywhere. You have me blocked in, Detective.”

Detective Rice turned and glanced at his car. He then focused his attention back on Apple. “Nice car. It definitely stands out around here. How much does something this flashy go for?”

“Look, Detective, what do you want with me? I’m a busy girl.”

“Well, first, I’m sorry for what happened to you. I know it’s a tragedy. And then with your sister, we’re still—”

“Look, Detective, er . . . ”

“Rice,” he reminded her.

“Detective Rice, am I under arrest?”

“No, not right now.”

“So what’s this about? Because I got somewhere to be.”

“It’s about you, Apple. I know you’re angry. A lot has happened to you within the year, but these murders going on around here point back to you.”

“Can you prove it?”

Detective Rice was quiet. Apple had her answer.

“How long do you think you’ll last out here? You’re still a little girl, Apple. People are out here to kill you. Is this the way you want to carry out the memory of your little sister, through sheer bloodshed and revenge? You’re just eighteen.”

Apple quickly snatched the mask from her face to give the detective a closer look at her wounds. “Do I look like a little girl to you right now?” she shouted. “Huh, nigga? And you think I give a fuck? Look at what the fuck they did to me! To my fuckin’ face! You see it, detective? This is my fuckin’ reality!” She angled herself closer to him so he could get a better look at the burns entrenched into her skin.

He didn’t cringe though. He had seen worse. Apple held his stare. Detective Rice knew it wouldn’t be long before the morgue was scraping her body off the pavement, or charges would be pending against her.

“What happened to you?” he asked.

Apple smirked and replied, “Harlem.”

“Here’s my card.”

Apple took his card and tossed it out the window. “Fuck ya card!”

“It doesn’t have to be like this. You need help.”

Apple put her mask back on, adjusted the straps, then turned to the detective and asked, “Can I fuckin’ go now? I ain’t got time to play this cat-and-mouse wit’ you.” She revved the engine, indicating her impatience.

Detective Rice slowly stepped away from the pricey vehicle, his eyes still on Apple. He shook his head knowing that he wasn’t going to get anywhere with the girl. She was too badly damaged, inside and out.

***

Meanwhile, a burgundy Tahoe parked across the street from the barbershop with keen eyes fixated on Apple and her high-end car. The three men in the truck were about to make their move on her when the detective suddenly pulled up. They were forced to hesitate on their plan to carjack Apple. They wanted her McLaren with a hard-on.

“This muthafuckin cop! Ooooh, this fuckin’ cop is in the way right now,” Hayden exclaimed. “I want that shit, yo. That bitch needs to come out that fuckin’ car.”

“Yo, we on it, Hayden. We definitely on it,” Mann said.

Hayden was a twenty-four-year-old ruffian who stood six feet even with a bald head and narrowing eyes that were always scheming on something or someone. He’d never known his parents, and the only thing he knew how to do well was steal and fight. Hayden had his eye on Apple’s McLaren for the longest. He had a wild crew under his wing that did stickups and stole cars, sometimes with the driver still behind the wheel. It didn’t matter to his crew if it was broad daylight or in the shadows of the night. If they wanted something, they took it brazenly.

Hayden had the .45 gripped in his hand and was waiting for the detective to leave. His attention was only on the McLaren. He knew the retail on the car would make his payday. He also knew about Apple and her sudden reputation in Harlem. He had already said to himself, if he had to shoot the bitch to get the car, he was ready to do so.

After Detective Rice pulled off in the Chevy, Hayden had made his exit from the truck and rushed over to do the deed, but Apple had sped out the parking spot before he could even get close to the car.

“Fuck!” he shouted. He ran back to his car and tried to cut a sharp U-turn in the street, but before he could complete it, an oncoming car approaching in the opposite direction abruptly cut off the Tahoe, halting Hayden’s chance to follow behind the McLaren.

Hayden had cursed, but he knew it wouldn’t be long before he would see Apple again. He was going to take that car away from her by any means necessary.

***

Apple heard the hard knocking at her front door. It boomed throughout the house like loud thunder, but she chose to ignore it. She already knew who was waiting for her outside. It was early morning. The nightmare had finally arrived. After countless letters and warnings about their mortgage and the lagging behind in payments, the bank finally decided to make their move and carry out an eviction. They were taking her home away from her. They had come to embarrass her. She no longer had any sanctuary in her home. It was being ripped away from her, just like everything else.

Apple had peered out her bedroom window and saw the sheriff and marshals standing outside with a team of men ready to barge into the house.

“This is the sheriff! Open up!” the voice roared with conviction. “We will come in!”

She didn’t want to believe it. The tears of anguish stained her face, and many worries were playing constantly in her head. Everything she owned was there, and even though she hadn’t been in the house long, it was her home. It was away from Harlem, and it gave her comfort.

The marshals continued to shout and bang at the front door.

Apple continued to ignore them. She wanted to take a pistol and shoot them dead, or put the pistol in her own mouth and squeeze, since it felt like she had nothing to live for. They were violating her. It looked like there was a drug raid at her home, with all the uniforms and commotion happening.

Apple sat in her bedroom butt naked, staring at the walls in the dark. She wanted to be consumed by it—the darkness. It was the story of her life. The mask was off and lying on the dresser. She wanted the marshals to see the scars on her face and the core of her skin.

The bedroom looked like it had been hit by a whirlwind. Her clothes were scattered everywhere. The plasma TV was smashed to the ground. The closet doors were kicked in and hanging from their hinges. The walls had holes the size of basketballs in them. The bedroom showed it had clearly been vandalized. It was a straight “fuck you” from Apple to the bank and the people forcing her out.

The knocking intensified, but Apple wasn’t getting up to let men trying to evict her into her home. If they wanted in, it would have to be by force. She wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction.

The front door was forced open with a thump, and the men came rushing into her home. They searched the house looking for her. It didn’t take them long to find Apple in the bedroom. The bedroom door was forced open, and four men clad in flight vests and windbreakers that read U.S. Marshal and Sheriff came rushing in. They were quickly shocked by what they saw. Apple was seated Indian-style on her bed. She didn’t even acknowledge that they were in the room. She carried her deadpan demeanor and continued to sit there.

“Ma’am, you gotta get dressed and leave this residence immediately.”