Eviction Notice (30 page)

The feel of his lips on her skin sent unexpected waves of pleasure through Porsha and it became hard for her to think. “Wait a minute, let me get myself together.” She laid her hands on his chest with the intention of pushing him away, but her arms felt like noodles.

“You good.” He slipped his tongue into her mouth. Don B. kissed Porsha passionately, kneading her breast like pizza dough. She was barely able to stand on her own, let alone resist his advances. When Don B. had slipped the crushed pill into her drink he’d known it would hit her before long, but he’d had no idea it would hit her that hard.

“I don’t feel so good,” Porsha moaned as he slipped his fingers in and out of her.

“I’m about to make you feel great,” Don B. rasped in her ear, trying to get his dick out of his pants. He lifted her skirt and began fumbling with her panties. Porsha tried to push his hands away, but he ignored her weak attempts and kept at it. He was so hard that he almost scraped himself on his zipper trying to get it free.

When Porsha felt Don B. slip himself inside her, she gasped. His thick cock split her lips and tapped the deepest part of her walls. “Damn, I want you but not like this,” she said almost incoherently, moaning.

“When opportunity knocks, you gotta answer the door, ma.” Don B. reached over and cut out the light, still buried inside Porsha. She felt so good that he wanted to live inside her.

Porsha’s head continued to spin as Don B. stroked her on the bathroom counter. He thrust himself inside her so hard that she leaned over and threw up in the sink, but that didn’t stop his pumping. Porsha’s head knocked up against the mirror as he dug into her faster and faster. She heard the bathroom door click open again and the last thing she saw was someone else slip into the bathroom just before she passed out.

CHAPTER 45

King James had
been unusually quite that night. Sahara met him uptown and they went for a bite at Applebee’s before hitting Harlem Lanes for some bowling. It was supposed to be an intimate night with just he and Sahara until the big surprise, but to her disappointment he brought Dump along. He gave them a wide berth, not interfering with their date directly, but the fact that he was around irritated her. When Sahara asked King why Dump was there, he brushed her off, promising to tell her later. Something was going on with King but Sahara wasn’t sure what it was.

King had found himself reflecting on his confrontation with Shai for most of the day. He had gone through his plan a million times before actually stepping to Shai, but in the blink of an eye it all had gone to shit and he’d found himself with a potentially volatile situation on his hands. Until then he had had the advantage of knowing his opponent without Shai’s even realizing that he existed, but that was gone and the crime lord was well aware of King James and his position. Now the question remained as to what Shai would do with the information.

“It’s your turn, baby,” Sahara said, snaping him out of his daze.

“Sorry.” King got up and grabbed the bowling ball as it came out of the shoot. He tried to focus on the pin that was second left from the center, but his roll was totally off and the ball bounced into the gutter. “Fuck.”

“Damn, baby, your game is suspect tonight. What’s good with you?” Sahara asked.

“I got a lot of shit on my mind right now.” He picked up her vodka and cranberry and took a sip.

“Now I know something is up because I’ve hardly seen you drink and never clear liquor. What’s good, baby?”

“Nothing, babe.” King kissed her on the forehead. “Just stressing over some niggaz I got into it with last night.”

“King, what happened yesterday will still be there for you to dwell on tomorrow. It’s your birthday and I brought you out so you can have a good time, even if we do have a third wheel with us.” She looked over at Dump, who was leaning against the shoe-rental counter.

“You’re right,” he told her, but his mind was still firmly wrapped around the situation with Shai. “I’ll be back, I gotta take a leak.” He got up and started off to the bathroom. The bathroom was empty when he first walked in, but as he undid his pants over the urinal someone else walked in. He was a heavyset kid who had a very familiar face, but King couldn’t place him right off.

“What’s good?” the kid said to King as he took the urinal next to his.

King just nodded, as he had never been a fan of talking while he had his dick out. The whole time he pissed, he could feel the kid’s eyes on him. He was either gay or up to something, and the staring made King uncomfortable. He shook himself and walked over to the sink to wash his hands. The kid moved to the sink directly beside him. Through the mirror King could see the kid staring at him more openly now and his heart began to pound.

“You’re King James, right?” the kid asked.

“Yeah,” King said, already calculating the best counter for whatever came at him.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” The kid started to raise his hand and found himself in a bad way.

King caught him with a quick right hook and immediately grabbed the kid’s Adam’s apple between his index and middle knuckle, cutting off his air. The kid gasped frantically as King slammed him against the wall and then the mirror, shattering it. “Who sent you?” King snarled into his face.

“No … nobody.” The kid gasped.

King slammed him against the mirror again. “I seen how you was looking at me, God. Who the fuck are you and where you know me from?”

“Downstate,” the kid blurted out.

When he called the name of the prison it rung a bell in King’s head as one of the many fine establishments he had visited, so he released his grip a bit, but not enough to let the kid move. “What about Downstate?”

“It’s me, Sammy. We were in Downstate together in 2001. You left me all those books when they moved you. I was just trying to say what’s up. You don’t remember me?”

King studied his face, looking for signs that he was being deceived. He did recognize him! Sammy had put on about twenty pounds of muscle but his face was still the same. “Oh, shit, my bad, sun.” King released him. “I thought you were somebody else. When did you touch down?”

“A few weeks ago.” Sammy tried to catch his breath. He balanced himself on the sink and looked up at King fearfully. “I was only trying to say what’s up.”

“Sammy, I’m sorry about that, man.” King reached out to help him, but Sammy jumped back. “Hey, at least let me buy you a drink.”

“Nah, I’m straight. I got some people waiting on me.” Sammy skirted around King to the bathroom exit.

“Well, it was good seeing you, Sammy, holla at me,” King called after him but Sammy was already gone. He looked at himself in the cracked bathroom mirror and sighed. He was letting Shai turn him into a basket case and he still wasn’t sure if they even had a problem. To Shai, someone like King James was too insignificant to even put the energy into. “Fuck this,” he said, determined not to let Shai ruin his birthday. “We out,” King said to Sahara when he came out of the bathroom.

“Wait a second, we haven’t bowled all of our frames,” Sahara pointed out.

“Fuck that game, boo. This is my birthday and I’m ready to start getting it in. Let’s go hit a club or something and get crazy.”

“I know a nice place we can go,” Sahara offered.

*   *   *

Holiday sat behind
the wheel of the Honda Accord parked across the street from the bowling alley, right next to the State Building. He was dressed all in black with a pair of gloves tucked into the top pocket of his fatigue jacket. In the backseat were two young boys who were desperately trying to get down with Holiday. When Shai had given the word to handle King James, he’d decided to give them the opportunity to make their bones. What King had done wasn’t a major infraction, but Shai wanted him to serve as an example of his new
zero tolerance
policy.

Holiday watched King James, Sahara, and Dump come out of the front and get into a green Suburban that had been parked at the curb. He waited until they pulled through the light on 125th Street and Seventh Avenue before following.

*   *   *

Frankie checked the
pockets of her hoodie and realized that she had more money than product on her, which meant she had to take another trip to the crib. This would be the third trip she took that night. Once word had gotten out that Frankie had some bomb-ass work, the fiends had started coming steadily. In two nights of hustling she had managed to get up her end of the rent money, what she owed Cutty, and still have some bread left over for herself. If Scatter had never been right about anything else, he was right about how sweet drug money was. Frankie had promised herself that it would be a one-shot deal, but the more she trapped, the more she considered getting some more coke from Cutty.

After selling off the next few pieces she had on her, Frankie decided to go and re-up. On her way to the building she noticed that the block was quiet, which was unusual for a weekend. Frankie entered the building and rode the elevator to her floor. She was hungry and starting to get tired. She had made enough money to call it a night, but she figured, why quit when she was on a roll. After she moved another package she would grab something to eat and call it a night. The entire walk down the hall to her apartment she felt like she was being watched, but there was no one else around. She figured it was her next-door neighbor being nosey again, looking through her peephole, as she often did when she heard someone coming or going from their apartment. Frankie had just unlocked her door when the staircase door burst open and three masked men came charging at her.

She tried to run into the apartment and close the door, but one of the masked men managed to wedge his foot into the doorway before she could. Frankie shoved as hard as she could, slamming the door on his foot and drawing a painful scream from him. The two other masked men reached the door and together they overpowered Frankie and forced their way into the apartment.

Frankie tried to make a mad dash for the bedroom but one of the gunmen grabbed her by the hair, sending waves of pain through her body. “Where the fuck you going.” He spun her around. Frankie socked him in the jaw, forcing him to lose his grip on her. The second masked man swung on her, but Frankie weaved it and caught him with a two piece to the face, dropping him. One thing they hadn’t counted on when they ran up in her crib was that Frankie was a skilled boxer.

Frankie tried for the bedroom again, but the masked man she’d dropped tripped her up and she fell to the floor. She found herself being yanked roughly to her feet and thrown against the wall. She was about to start swinging again, but the masked man froze her when he shoved a gun in her face.

“Where is it?” he demanded.

“Where’s what?” Frankie played dumb.

“That’s how you wanna do it, huh?” The man hit her in the face with a gun and opened up a gash on her cheek. “Now stop playing with me, bitch, and tell me where the drugs are.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Frankie said, sticking to her story. She was rewarded for her defiance by a crushing blow to the nose that sent her crashing to the living room floor. Tears welled in her eyes, clouding her vision. She knew even before she felt the blood gushing down her face that her nose was broken.

The masked man stood over Frankie with his gun aimed at her. “I’m gonna ask you one more time, where are the drugs?” Frankie remained silent. “Y’all two niggaz tear this place up. I’m gonna deal with this tough li’l bitch,” he ordered his crew. The two men went about the task of tearing up the apartment, looking for the money and stealing anything that appeared to be of value.

“Bingo,” one of the masked men said as he reentered the living room. In his hand he held the shoulder bag that had been hidden in the closet. The sight of the bag made Frankie’s heart sink. They had the drugs and the money.

“See, all you had to do was give it up, but you wanted to be a smart little bitch like your homegirl,” the man with the gun snapped.

“You got what you want, now get the fuck out!” Frankie screamed at him.

The man with the gun kicked her in the face viciously. “Who the fuck you screaming at, ho? I can see I gotta teach you some manners.” He kicked her in the ribs. The man with the gun punched and kicked Frankie violently in the face, ribs, and back. From the way he was whipping on her, she knew that she was going to die in that apartment. “Fucking whore.” He spat on her, out of breath from the beating.

Frankie lay there, bleeding and half conscious, while the man with the gun paused his beating to give last-minute instructions to his team. One eye was swollen shut and the other was caked with blood. The pain in her ribs was so intense that she could barely move, let alone breathe. Unconsciousness tried to claim her but she knew that if she went out it was over. Ignoring the pain, Frankie inched her hand under the cushion of the couch where she kept her gun stashed, and came up blasting.

She closed her eyes and kept pumping the trigger, firing off shot after shot. She could hear the men screaming and glass breaking but she didn’t dare open her eyes. The gun finally clicked empty and all was silent except for the sound of her heart pounding in her ears. Frankie forced her good eye open and surveyed the damage. One man lay bleeding by the front door, mouth opening and closing as he tried to gasp for air. Lying a few feet away from her was the man who had been beating her. There was a quarter-size hole in the center of his ski mask and blood pooling under his head. Frankie tried to reach for the phone to call the police but everything was going black. Her last thought before she passed out was that at least she had taken one of them with her.

CHAPTER 46

Sahara’s heart was
beating almost out of her chest with excitement as the club came into view. When she’d told King where she wanted to take him he had scoffed at it, saying that the club was too close to the hood and he wanted a change of scenery for his birthday. His stance on the issue had begun to soften when she’d started sucking him off in the backseat of the truck. Dump’s thirsty ass almost crashed twice, trying to watch the show through the rearview mirror.

When the girl at the door saw King approaching, her face lit up. “Happy birthday.” She draped her arms around him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Sahara didn’t like the way the girl was hanging on King but she let it slide so as not to ruin the night by arguing.

“Thanks, baby,” he said and walked into the club. Sahara looked the girl up and down and rolled her eyes before falling in step behind King. “Damn, it seems like the whole world knows it’s my birthday.”

“You know Harlem loves you.” Sahara kissed him on the cheek and looped his arm in hers to let the girl at the door, and anyone else who might’ve been watching, know that she was claiming King.

The dining area was empty at that hour of the night, but it sounded like the club was in full swing downstairs. Dump led the way, giving dap to the few heads he knew who were loitering on the stairs. It was darker than usual in the club area, but they could still see that it was packed. King saw some dudes he knew from Queens posted up by the bar, drinking and having a good time. He knew those dudes didn’t stray too far from their hood, so to see them uptown meant something was afoot. He was just about to point it out to Dump when suddenly the lights of the club flicked on and King was greeted by everyone yelling,
“Surprise!”

*   *   *

After a few
hours of doing shots with Ashanti, Alonzo was more feeling groovy and on his way to becoming shit-faced drunk. He had never been much of a drinker, so letting Ashanti goad him into the shots probably wasn’t a good idea, but it took his mind off his problems for a time.

When King had arrived, the party officially kicked off. Everybody had turned out for the event, from friends to family to associates; they were all in the building. Bottles were popped, blunts were fired, and people crowded around to wish King the best on his born-day.

Lakim and Ashanti were on the dance floor, getting it popping in a circle of chicks who cheered them on. They were both drunk and having a blast. Lakim seemed especially attached to a thick chick in a black dress whom Alonzo didn’t know. She had
sack chaser
written all over her, but his brother seemed smitten. Watching her made Alonzo think back to Brick House and how she had tried to set him up, so he made a note to himself to warn his brother to watch his back.

King sat at the table that had been reserved for his party, sipping champagne and greeting his guests. It was the most at ease Alonzo had seen him in a long time and he was glad to see his homie having fun. King had been through more at his age than some people who had been around twice as long. He’d come home from jail to nothing, but through grinding and sticking to the script, he was carving out a nice slice of the pie. He made sure everyone around him ate too, which was one of the things Alonzo admired most about King.

When the song was over, the girl Lakim had been dancing with excused herself to go chop it up with her partner in the green dress. Alonzo had had his eyes on the honey in the green since she’d walked into the joint. He could tell that she was a hood chick, but there was something about the way she carried herself that made her stand out among the rest. The two girls talked for a few, then the one in the black led the one in the green over to where Lakim and the others were chilling to make introductions. Alonzo figured that now would be as good a time as any to introduce himself to the girl and try to put his bid in before the rest of the vultures swooped in on her.

Alonzo gave himself the once-over in the bar mirror to make sure he looked okay, then checked his breath before heading to the table. There were so many people packed in the club that he had to squeeze and bump his way through the crowd. Everywhere he looked, people were having a good time and smiling … almost everyone. On the far side of the room his eyes picked up three dudes who were screw facing and acting like they were drinking. At first he thought they were just some partygoers who weren’t having a good time, but there was something about the way they were dressed that bothered him. Who wore army fatigues to a club?

The shortest of the three men was familiar to Alonzo. Not familiar like he knew him, but familiar like he had seen him around before. He said something to his boys and then began making his way through the crowd, his eyes fixed on something on the other side of the room. Alonzo followed his line of vision and saw that he was staring at King James. King was so preoccupied by his guests that he never saw the three men or the guns they produced from the insides of their fatigue jackets.

*   *   *

Gucci was having
the time of her life. She had heard through the grapevine that Marlene was a bitch, but she was actually a pretty cool chick and even knew some of the same people that Gucci did in Harlem. Marlene was smart, funny, and inspirational, which was more than Gucci could say for the other lawyers who showed up from the office. One of them got drunk and kept trying to sing to Gucci, which annoyed her to no end. Thankfully, a young attorney she had been introduced to earlier named Franklin came to her rescue. He didn’t work for Marlene’s firm; he was a criminal attorney who had come to the party with one of the other lawyers. Franklin was tall, dark, handsome, caked up, and interested in Gucci. He had been watching her all night, but she’d pretended not to notice.

“Thanks,” Gucci told Franklin after he had persuaded the singing lawyer to find someone else to pester.

“No problem. I know how Jerry can be when he’s had too much to drink, and he would’ve been over here doing his best Bobby Brown imitation all night. Personally, I would’ve gone with Al B. Sure,” he joked, causing Gucci to smile. “You know, I’ve been watching that smile from across the room all night.”

“Then how come you’re just coming over here?”

Franklin shrugged. “I dunno, shy I guess.”

“I find that hard to believe with the way you’ve been charming these ladies in here all night.”

“Nah, I wasn’t trying to charm them. I was just making small talk.”

Gucci chuckled. “So is that what you’re doing over here, making small talk?”

“No, you I’m actually trying to charm.” He winked.

“Well, it’ll take more than a pretty face to charm me.”

“But you do admit I’m handsome, right?”

“You’re okay, I guess,” Gucci said, downplaying it.

“Bullshit, I’m sexy and you know it.” He smiled.

“I see there’s no shortage of confidence with you.”

Tionna staggered over with a drink in her hand and a dreamy look in her eyes. “Girl, this party is off the chain!”

“Your ass is off the chain. How many drinks have you had, T?”

“Just a few.” She hiccuped. “Stop being such a killjoy, it’s a party!”

“Girl, you’re too funny.” Gucci tried to laugh it off to hide her embarrassment at the spectacle Tionna was making of herself in front of Franklin.

“And I’m just getting warmed up. Gucci, come over here for a minute with me, I want to introduce you to Lakim and his boys.” Tionna grabbed her by the hand and tried to pull her out of her chair.

“Tionna, be easy. Don’t you see me talking?” Gucci was clearly annoyed.

“Girl, he’ll still be here when you come back and it’ll only take a second. You don’t mind do you, chocolate?”

Franklin shrugged. “Do your thing, chicken wing.”

“I’ll be back in a second,” Gucci said, excusing herself.

“And I’ll be here waiting when you do,” Franklin assured her.

“Your timing couldn’t have been worse,” Gucci told Tionna when they were out of earshot of Franklin.

“Fuck that square, I’m trying to introduce you to some real niggaz.”

“Weren’t you the one just saying how I needed to get some culture in my life and that I needed to stay away from thugs?” Gucci reminded her.

“These ain’t thugs, these are gangstas. There’s a difference. Now shut up and be cute,” Tionna told her, pulling Gucci through the crowd of King’s adoring public. “Hey, did you miss me?” She approached Lakim.

“Of course I did, ma,” Lakim said coolly, exhaling weed smoke into the air. “Tionna, this is my nigga King, the birthday boy.”

“Nice to meet you, King.” Tionna shook his hand.

“Likewise,” King told her, looking past Tionna at Gucci. “Who’s your friend?”

“Oh, this is my girl, Gucci.” Tionna almost shoved Gucci into King’s lap.

King admired her openly and Sahara picked up on it. He had been staring at her since she walked up and Sahara didn’t like it. She knew right then and there that she would have to get rid of the pretty brown-skinned girl before King’s nose got too open. “And I’m Sahara,” she cut in.

King gave Sahara a look that said she was approaching crossing the line, then turned his attention back to Gucci. “Pardon me for staring, but you look so familiar. Are you from Harlem?”

“Born and raised,” Gucci said.

“Then that’s probably where I’ve seen you at. We probably know some of the same people.”

“You do, she was my homie Animal’s old lady,” Ashanti spoke up from the chair where he was sitting. He had been so quiet that Gucci hadn’t even noticed him. The look on his face said he wasn’t pleased about what was going on.

King picked up on it and fell back. “I’m sorry for your loss. Animal was a good dude and a friend of mine. Anyhow, you ladies are more than welcome to join us. We’ve got bottles and weed and your money is no good here.”

“Why thank you.” Tionna squeezed in next to Lakim and helped herself to a drink. “Don’t just stand there, G, sit down.”

Reluctantly, Gucci took a seat. She really wasn’t feeling King and his crowd, but didn’t want to be rude, especially since Tionna had put her on the spot. She helped herself to a glass of champagne and tried to look like she was having a good time.

*   *   *

Ashanti’s mood darkened
when Gucci and Tionna came over, and he didn’t try to hide it. It sickened him to watch King fawn over Gucci and her soak it all up. Even though Animal was dead and gone, he felt like she was disrespecting his memory by being all up in King’s face.

“I’m about to go take a leak.” Ashanti got up to keep himself from saying something he might regret later. He spotted Alonzo bulldozing his way toward them, screaming and flailing his arms. He couldn’t hear what he was saying over the music so he raised his hands, asking what was good. Alonzo pointed frantically at something to the left of him and when Ashanti turned his head he saw the men step through the crowd with guns raised. “It’s on,” Ashanti shouted, diving out of the way and drawing his pistol at the same time as the men started firing.

Dump was the first to react. He pushed the girl he had been talking to out of the way and drew his hammer. The cannon thundered in the club, causing everyone to scatter and duck for cover. A patron, who had made the mistake of stepping into the line of fire, caught a bullet in the back and dropped. Dump tried to shove the frantic people out of the way so he could get a clear shot, but panic had set in and the club had turned into a madhouse. A bullet ripped through his chest, knocking him back, but the big man stayed on his feet and fired back. A second bullet whizzed through the air, slamming him in the gut and sending him down.

King James managed to flip the table over just as the bullets meant for him slammed into it. He had left his gun in the house, which was turning out to be a mistake that might cost him his life. Sahara, who was frantic, tried to grab on to him for safety, but he shoved her off roughly while he tried to get out of the way of the shooters. He tried to run, but one of the bullets caught him in the shoulder and sent him crashing to the floor face-first. He rolled over onto his back and saw the faces of one of the shooters and Holiday standing over him.

“You ain’t so tough now, are you?” Holiday snickered, raising his gun to finish King off. Just then a battle cry rang out over the screams of the frightened club goers.

“Die, pussies.” Ashanti was charging them with his gun spitting. The shooter who had been standing next to Holiday caught one in the head, raining pieces of skull and brain on Holiday. The next bullet struck Holiday in his leg, dropping him to the floor a few feet away from King. The third shooter who had been with Holiday came out of the crowd, trying to get the drop on Ashanti, but all he ended up getting was a bullet to the face. When he fell, Ashanti put two more in his chest for good measure. He turned back to Holiday to finish him off, but he had slipped away in the confusion.

Lakim rushed to King James’s side, gun in hand and ready to claim his pint of blood. Alonzo was hot on his heels. “How bad is it, God?” Lakim asked.

“Nigga caught me in the shoulder.” King grunted as Lakim and Alonzo helped him to his feet. “How’s Dump?”

“He’s hit up pretty bad, but still alive. I tried to move him, but he’s too heavy,” Alonzo said.

“I seen the shooter, it was that nigga Holiday. Word is bond, I’m laying all them Clark niggaz down,” Lakim said angrily.

“We won’t be laying shit down if we’re all locked up. Let’s get up outta here before the police come,” King told them.

“What about Dump?” Alonzo asked.

“We gotta leave him. I’ll get my lawyer on the case as soon as we’re clear of here,” King said. He hobbled over to Ashanti and placed his hand on his shoulder. “You did good kid, real good. I ain’t gonna forget this.”

“Thank me later. Let’s just get you outta here, big homie.”

A bloodcurdling scream caused Ashanti to jump, gun raised and ready to start shooting again. He looked for the source the scream and saw Tionna leaning over Gucci’s prone body. The front of her green dress was soaked with blood. “No.” Tears sprang to Ashanti’s eyes. He tried to go to her, but King stopped him.