Eviction Notice (6 page)

CHAPTER 9

The room had
gone quiet. So quiet that you could hear the paper from the Dutch Master burning every time Frankie took a pull. The three girls sat around the living room coffee table, staring at the eviction notice like it was a Chinese arithmetic problem. No one could believe it or figure out where it had come from, but they knew they had to deal with it.

“I can’t believe this shit.” Frankie expelled a cloud of smoke. “Who the fuck gets evicted in 2011?”

“According to the letter,
us.
” Porsha snorted. She hated to laugh, but it was all she could do to keep from crying. She had seen some hard times in her day, but being homeless was something she couldn’t even fathom. No matter how close she cut it when it came to paying the rent when she was out on her own, it had never come down to her being tossed into the street.

Sahara ran her fingers through her hair, shaking her head when loose strands came away on her fingers. “This shit couldn’t have happened at a worse time. King’s surprise party is tomorrow and I got enough shit on my plate to deal with without this adding on to it.”

Frankie rolled her neck and looked at Sahara as if she had bumped her head. “We’re about to get kicked out on our asses and you’re worried about throwing a party for some nigga? Baby girl, you better prioritize and try to help us brainstorm to get this money up.”

“Get the money up.” Sahara leaned forward in the rickety brown rocking chair. “Why the fuck should I when I’ve been dropping my portion in the pot for I don’t know how long and it ain’t been getting to where it’s supposed to be? That letter says we’re over three months behind and I know for the last few months since I ain’t been working I’ve been giving my money to Porsha as I get it so I’m not tempted to spend it.” She glared at Porsha.

Porsha leaned back and eyeballed Sahara. “Don’t be looking at me all crazy like this shit is my fault. I’ve been working all night and sleeping all day, so getting the rent delivered can get complicated with me so I’ve been giving it to Frankie. And besides, she’s always the last one to kick up and we all agreed to the rule, right?” The girls had come to the agreement that whoever was responsible for the rent being late would be the one to drop it off and have to endure the bullshit lecture from the woman who was subleasing the apartment and none of them looked forward to that because Debbie could talk for hours about absolutely nothing.

Frankie flicked the blunt ashes in the ashtray and took in her roommates. “Okay, okay, I’ll take responsibility for coming through at the last minute with my portion of the rent, but don’t be looking at me like I stole the fucking money. I’ve been paying Debbie.”

“Nobody called you a thief, but I will call you a damn vacuum.” Sahara snatched the blunt from Frankie. “Nah, ain’t none of us gonna risk being homeless or back living with our parents”—she glanced at Porsha—“so this can only mean that Debbie did some funny shit with our rent money instead of paying Housing.”

Porsha shook her head. “Why am I not surprised? Had I heard some of the stories that have surfaced about her before I agreed to move in here, it wouldn’t have gone down.” Porsha recalled some of the stories she’d heard about Debbie and her exploits. “This bitch think she got more game than a little bit, but we about to show her that this shit is bigger than Nino Brown. Once we go into Housing court and show them the receipts from the money orders proving that we’ve been paying the rent. Frankie, go get the receipts so we can start getting our ducks in a row,” Porsha told her, feeling that it was an open-and-shut case. Frankie didn’t move. “Frankie, what’s good? You got the rent receipts, right?”

“Not exactly,” Frankie mumbled.

“What do you mean ‘not exactly’?” Sahara questioned. “Frankie, please don’t tell me that you gave Debbie the rent money in cash?”

Frankie looked at the worried faces of her roommates. “Only the last few times, but let me explain—” Frankie began, but was cut off.

“Aw hell nah, tell me you were smarter than that, Frankie.” Sahara began to pace and went back to running her fingers through her hair.

“I know I should’ve just gotten a money order like we normally do, but I’ve been making crazy moves. Debbie was in the hood a few times so I just hit her with straight bread because it was easier than going to cop money orders. I was just trying to cut a corner to make it easier on us.”

“You mean easier on you,” Sahara told her. “Frankie, you know damn well giving Debbie cash is the same as picking a snake up by its tail and not expecting it to bite you. The whole reason we go through the trouble of getting money orders to pay her is so she can’t hit us with her
Debbie
shit, because you know how she do.”

All Frankie could do was nod because she knew Sahara was right. Debbie was an older chick from the projects who had a Harvard education and a dope fiend’s mentality. Her knack for creative schemes made her somewhat of a legend in the projects, but it was her powers of manipulation that made her notorious. Debbie could piss on your head and tell you it was raining and you’d believe it, that’s just how good she was. Frankie had had a bad feeling about the offer to sublease Debbie’s apartment but she’d been desperate at the time so she’d gone along with it. Staring at the eviction notice on the coffee table, she wished she had taken her chances with the shelter.

“What are we gonna do?” Porsha asked, accepting the blunt Frankie passed her.

“I don’t know what y’all are gonna do, but I know what I’m gonna do.” She got up and stormed into the bedroom. Frankie came back out holding a pistol. “I’m gonna bust a cap in that slimy bitch.”

“Frankie, you can’t just go around killing people!” Sahara told her.

“Kill her? A dead bitch can’t pay no debts, I’m just gonna shoot her in the leg,” Frankie said.

“Frankie, would you stop playing with that gun, this is serious,” Porsha said.

Frankie glared at her. “Ain’t nobody playing. Yo, I’m out here stealing from sunup to sunup and still barely making ends meet and pay my portion of the rent for this raggedy-ass apartment and Debbie wanna be stealing? Fuck all that, I ain’t no punk bitch. She gotta get dealt with.”

“I agree, but shooting her isn’t gonna help, Frankie,” Porsha tried to reason with her. “Before we jump to conclusions, let’s give her the benefit of the doubt. For all we know, she didn’t steal the money and it was an accident on Housing’s part,” Porsha suggested. Frankie and Sahara gave her the same blank stare.

Frankie patted Porsha’s hand sadly. “Poor thing.” This got the girls to laugh for the first time since they’d gotten the notice. “Okay, I promise not to shoot the bitch unless she tries to pop fly when we step to her about the money.” Frankie slipped the gun into her shoulder bag, which was sitting on the couch next to her. “But as God is my witness, if Debbie tries to spin us I’m gonna go up top.”

“Fair enough,” Sahara said as she pulled her hair back into a ponytail. After grabbing her keys, she made her way to the door, with Frankie on her heels. “You coming?” Sahara asked Porsha from the doorway.

“Nah, y’all go ahead.” Porsha got off the couch. “I’ve got some shit I need to do.” She headed to the bedrooms.

“And what could you have to do that’s more important than going to holla at Debbie about this eviction?” Sahara asked with attitude.

“Trying to get the money up to keep it from happening,” Porsha said over her shoulder before slamming her bedroom door.

CHAPTER 10

The setting sun
cast a shadow onto the patio that cut down the middle of the marble chessboard on the table. The effect gave the black pieces, which occupied the shaded side, a more morbid appeal, while making the white pieces appear more brilliant. Shai hunched down over the table so far that the crucifix hanging from his neck grazed the board and almost toppled his bishop. He looked like a perplexed child trying to figure out the next move he would try against his cagey opponent. As a rule, Poppa Clark had made sure that all his children were skilled at the game of chess, so Shai considered himself quite experienced, but his opponent had been playing for longer than he.

Sol Lansky sat across from him in a high-backed chair, crossed-legged and completely at ease. Sol was a silver-haired grandfatherly-looking man, but his mind was still as sharp as it ever had been. He watched Shai carefully, anticipating his next move. Lansky had made his bones anticipating people’s moves and beating them to the punch. In his old age Sol Lansky was a retired businessman and antique dealer, but his life hadn’t always been so quiet. In the fifties and sixties Sol had been in deep with the Jewish syndicate, but as the conflicts with the Italians became more intense, Sol took his business to Harlem and learned to burn the candle from both ends. Sol had been a financial wizard as well as a good friend to both mafia dons and kingpins, including Shai’s late father, Poppa Clark. The death of his good friend Poppa Clark had turned Sol off to the game so he stayed away from it, choosing to focus more on his legitimate holdings, but from time to time he would council Poppa’s heir, Shai.

“You gonna gawk at the board all day or make a move?” Sol asked in his gravelly voice.

Shai threw his hands in the air. “See, you keep trying to rush me and throw off my concentration.”

“What’s to concentrate, there’s only five moves you can make without me putting you in checkmate.”

“I got this.” Shai ran his fingers down his goatee and continued studying the board.

Sol laughed.

“What?” Shai looked up.

“It’s nothing, it’s just that it still tickles me to see you with facial hair. I remember when you were a snot-nosed punk running around dribbling a basketball.”

“Everybody has to grow up sometime, Sol.” Shai moved his bishop to take Sol’s rook. Shai folded his arms and smiled triumphantly.

“Shai, you may have your dad’s good looks but you don’t have his skill for games of strategy.” Sol moved his queen into the spot that the bishop had vacated. “Checkmate, youngster.”

Shai was dumbfounded. “How the hell did you…”

“Simple, I anticipated your next move. I put the rook out there because I knew you’d be tempted, which you were, and it left your king exposed.” Sol picked up Shai’s white king. “The king must always be protected.”

“Damn, I didn’t even realize I would leave myself open like that.” Shai studied the board.

“Because you think more in the here and now than the future and that’s always been your Achilles’ heel. If you don’t remember anything else I’ve told you, remember this: before you do something, always think of every possible scenario so that way your ass is covered, especially when dealing with people. Know what the other guy is thinking and counteract that move even before he makes it. You stick to that kinda thinking and you’ll never get caught with your pants down, you hear me, kid?”

“Sol, you know whenever you speak I’m all ears. You been around for a long time so I know you ain’t gonna tell me nothing wrong.”

“Of course not, Shai, and if you stick to the script, as you guys say, you’ll be around for a long time too,” Sol told him.

“You guys still going at it?” Honey stepped out onto the patio. Her golden locks were pulled back into a ponytail, showing off her beautiful caramel face. She was wearing spandex pants, running sneakers, and one of Shai’s old S.C. sweatshirts. The shirt nearly swallowed her, but you could still see the baby bump in the front. She and Shai were expecting their first child.

“Nah, he kicked my ass again.” Shai laughed.

“We’ll, you’re still a winner in my book, baby.” She leaned in and kissed him. “You’re gonna stop coming over here bullying my fiancé,” she teased Sol.

“Hey, I’m from the school that an ass whipping is the easiest way to teach a kid.” Sol laughed.

“Where are you off to, dressed like Jackie Joyner?” Shai pinched her thigh.

“To the gym—you know it takes good to look this good.” Honey struck a pose.

Shai pulled her down onto his lap. “No the hell you’re not while you’re carrying my li’l man. The doctor said no working out.”

“She said no strenuous workouts,” Honey corrected him. “I’m gonna do some light work on the bike and some curls, nothing major. When are you gonna stop acting like I’m made of glass?”

“The day you push my son into the world.”

“And what make you so sure it’s gonna be a boy, Shai?” she asked.

“Because he’s a Clark, and we don’t make nothing but warriors,” Shai boasted.

“So what do you call Hope?” she asked, referring to Shai’s little sister.

“A fucking headache.” Shai burst out laughing as if it were the funniest joke in the world.

“You’re such a dick.” She mushed him and got off his lap. “If it will make you feel better, then I’ll only work out for an hour.”

“Twenty minutes,” he countered.

“A half hour and that’s as low as I’m going so deal with it.” She flipped her ponytail and walked back through the glass doors just as Swann was coming out. “Move, punk.” She bumped him playfully.

“You need to watch where you’re going, pudgy,” he teased her.

“That isn’t funny, Swann. Don’t you know it’s rude to tease a pregnant woman about her weight?”

“You know we ain’t got no class in the hood.” He threw his hands up in surrender. Honey just shook her head and went to start her workout. “Boss dog, what it is?” He gave Shai dap.

“I can’t call it, might spoil it.”

“How’s it going, Swann?” Sol asked from his corner.

“Mr. Lansky.” Swann nodded. “Ay, Shai, I need to holla at you for a minute.”

“It must be important if you made a house call instead of hitting me on the jack.” Shai picked up on Swann’s vibe. They had been down so long that they could reach each other’s body languages.

“Hood politics,” Swann said simply.

“That’s my cue to leave.” Sol got up from his chair.

“Sorry, Sol. We’ll go another round next week.” Shai shook his hand and patted him on the back. “Let me walk you out.”

“Don’t bother Shai, I know the way. You guys go ahead and take care of your hood politics.” Sol laughed. “I swear, I need a dictionary to talk to some of you kids these days. Take care fellas, and Shai, make sure you work on that game.” Sol disappeared through the glass doors.

“It went down last night…” Swann began, but Shai cut him off.

“Chill, let’s take a walk.” He motioned for him to follow and stepped off the porch into the backyard. Swann fell in step with Shai and the two of them walked the expansive yard. “A’ight, run it down.”

“It’s like I was telling you, some shit popped off uptown with one of them li’l hoppers from the East Side.”

“How ugly?” Shai wasn’t sure if he wanted to know.

“Not super ugly, but ugly enough. Holiday rides down on these kids about moving a package other than what comes from the Clarks and, long story short, Holiday sent him to the emergency room to get a bullet removed from his leg.”

“Fucking Holiday and those guns.” Shai shook his head. “Who was the kid working for?”

“From what Holiday said, he was handling for some kid named King James or some shit like that.” Swann relayed the story as Holiday had told it to him.

“Who the fuck is King James?” The name wasn’t familiar to Shai.

“The hell if I know,” Swann admitted. “I asked around about him on the street and the info is sketchy. He supposed to be some kind of jailhouse goon from Grant, but other than that nobody really knows too much about him.”

Shai shook his head in disappointment. “Just what we need, another knucklehead who’s seen
Scarface
too many times trying to make a name for himself. And that fucking Holiday shooting people left and right doesn’t help either.”

“You know how it is with the young ones, Shai. They’re constantly trying to prove that they can walk a mile in our shoes. Remember how we were?”

Indeed Shai did. He and Swann were constantly into something when they were kids. They would see the kinds of things the older guys who worked for Poppa Clark would do and try to emulate them to get Poppa or Tommy’s attention. Of course, Shai proved to be a horrible criminal back then, but Tommy took a liking to Swann and took him under his wing. While Shai went off to college, Swann was in the trap with Tommy Gunz.

“Shai, I was thinking that maybe we should skip the event at Brick City tonight and keep you local until we find out exactly what’s up with this situation,” Swann suggested.

Shai smiled at his old friend. “You sound like Tommy:
stay off those corners, Shai,
” he said, imitating his brother’s voice.

“You know we only wanted to keep you out of the game,” Swann said sincerely.

“Well, considering I’m elbow deep in it, I guess you guys made some piss-poor teachers.” Shai laughed. “But on the real, I appreciate your concern, Swann, but it wouldn’t look good on our part if we didn’t show up. Paulie’s turning a nice buck for us and his father is connected, so I wanna keep things kosher between us so we can keep eating with them.”

“You got that, Shai. But do you think we should take a few extra guys with us tonight?”

“Maybe.” He stroked his goatee. “Call Angelo and tell him to come through, and bring that li’l ignorant muthafucka Holiday, too, I need to holla at him. As far as that King James thing, don’t stress too much about it. It’s a street beef, so nine times outta ten it’s gonna stay there, but make sure Holiday has his people tighten the fuck up.”