Get Some (11 page)

T
rudy's mother, Joan, finished ironing Mr. Hall's pants. She brushed them again with a lint brush. She watched the crowd forming a line outside Dee's.

“Crabs in a barrel,” Joan hissed under her breath. Joan preferred to do her drinking alone. She watched the activity at Dee's from her big picture window and the velvet-drape safety of home. Those were lowlifes. They were not in her class. She wouldn't be seen in that rinky-dink bar. But the reality was Joan never went anywhere at all. She was afraid she'd miss Mr. Hall's call.

Mr. Hall sat and smoked in the dark living room corner. He examined the pants carefully before putting them back on. One by one he slowly buttoned the front of his shirt. He quietly strapped on his watch.

“What time are you coming back?” Joan mildly asked him. She trained her voice to not sound desperate or controlled.

Mr. Hall crushed his cigar back down in the ashtray.

Joan had long since given up on pushing to get an answer to that question. She'd see Hall whenever he got good and ready.

Mr. Hall took his coat. He checked the contents of his wallet. He shoved it in his pocket and gently put on his hat.

“What the hell's over there that you've got to get to so bad?” Joan's sullen face made her look at least fifteen years older. “All I see is some cheap government cheese–eating roaches. How can you be seen with those crows?”

Mr. Hall almost smiled. He took out his keys. He picked up his Bible and opened the door. He left a giant bottle of scotch on the dining room table and walked out toward Dee's neon sign.

“Well, go on,” she said loudly once he got out of earshot. “Go and be with those cheap, low-class wenches. All of those spooks make me sick.” What really sickened Joan was the new crop of women. Young women. Young women with flawless, fresh skin. Women with hard butts and breasts and fresh, glistening hair. Women with bodies so firm they looked made out of rubber, like if you squeezed them they'd pop right back out. And the men, men her own age didn't glance her way now. They all wanted young bodies, wanted to touch those young spines. All of this rattled Joan to no end.

“Why can't these tramps stay with men their own age?” Joan yanked her drapes closed. She poured the scotch Mr. Hall had brought her. Once he left, she spent half the day waiting like this, wondering if Hall would come back.

As the crowd outside grew louder, the voices eased into her den. Curiosity made Joan pull the drapes open once more. The line outside Dee's swelled into the lot. She saw pink halter-topped women in black fishnet stockings. Their spiked heels looked like ice picks. Joan lit her smoke and exhaled slowly.
Yeah
, she thought to herself once again. Hall had his eye on one of them wenches. It was only a matter of time before one of them snagged him. Just like she'd done a long time ago.

Joan was about to close the drapes when something caught her eye. She put her whole face on the wide plate-glass frame. She saw Hall standing in line, but pushing her way through the pack was some scantily clad heifer. Her dress was half on and the men jeered as she passed. Joan followed the girl's backside, squeezing her eyes tight. It looked like Hall was following the girl too. He worked through the pack and almost touched the girl's arm. As the girl turned, part of her breast leaked from her dress just as she passed through Dee's door. Joan's eyes rose above the girl's neck and she sucked in her breath as she stared right into Trudy's young face.

“Slut!” Joan savagely snatched the drapes shut. “A whore for a daughter, that's all I got.” Joan caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She scrutinized the lines in her neck and her forehead. Her eyes frowned at her tight bun and dropped down to her feet. They were warped from large, engorged bunions.

She flung what was left of her drink at the mirror. She grabbed all of Mr. Hall's clothes from the closet and violently ripped them to shreds.

T
he telephone ringing was what woke Tony up.

He heard Pearl's shrill voice on his answering machine. “Where you at, man? I can't hold these folks back. They all want to place down their bets on this fight!”

Groggily, he got dressed and rode back to the club. The parking lot was almost packed. He knew he was late but had no regrets. He sucked his bottom lip thinking of Flo. No Tony didn't regret being late at all. His baby was finally back and tonight was the fight. He was going to make a killing tonight.

When he pulled up, some folks were already inside and more were outside standing in line. They couldn't wait to throw their money on Liston or Jones. The sports betting was a big chunk of Tony's income. Most of these folks didn't have cable. Shoot, cable lines didn't even come in some areas. But he had the hookup. Got all his stuff free—HBO, Showtime, all the pay-per-view he wanted, and plenty of slick nudey movies. And now with Miss Flo back in his life, all he had to do now was make money.

Pearl was rummaging through an old cigar box in the kitchen when Tony strolled into the room. Pearl dropped the box and pretended to be putting on her makeup when Tony walked up to the counter.

“I hope that extra cook in there is ready for the crowd we got tonight. And there's plenty more lining up outside.”

Pearl rolled her eyes and kept painting her mascara. She wanted him to leave so she could keep looking through the box's contents.

“Can I take a bet for you this evening?” Tony said, leering over Pearl's bustline.

“Thanks, but no thanks. I keeps mines in the bank,” Pearl said.

“No use letting it sit there and grow mold.” Tony said it like he wasn't talking about bet money at all. He left the kitchen and lit a Winston in the hallway.

Heifer worked a man's nerves, Tony said to himself. But tonight was the big fight and Flo had come back. The cigarette glow revealed a smile inching out his mouth. Even Pearl couldn't mess with him now.

He walked into the restaurant to make sure everything was ready. He saw Charles and Ray Ray together.

“Hey, man, I need to talk to you,” Ray Ray said.

“I'm right here. What's up?” Tony said, grinning at the tight crowd.

“Not here, man,” Ray Ray said, looking around.

Tony looked at Ray Ray, who was nervously moving his weight from foot to foot.

“Well, let's go into my office, then, son.” There was a small line waiting outside the gate now as people eagerly waited to bet. Tony unlocked the gate and walked up the stairs to the office and pulled the drawstring over the desk. Charles and Ray Ray both followed Tony's back and took seats in the two folding chairs. Percy came up too, wearing a long black leather coat. He waited outside the small door.

“So what's up? You guys finally got some betting money this time? Must be something.” Tony grinned. He flicked off his ash. “ 'Cause Ray Ray looks like he might piss any minute.”

“You seen Lil Steve in here yet?” Ray Ray asked.

“Naw, man, I ain't seen him. But believe you fucking me. If I ever catch that skinny nigga cheatin' in here again, his ass is gon' be barred for life.” Tony looked hard at Charles, like he was talking to him too. “So y'all ready to put some money on the table instead of talking shit this time?” Tony took a long drag and looked at Ray Ray. He brought one big leg over his desk.

Ray Ray started to pull out the blue vinyl bag.

“Wait a minute, Ray Ray. Let me go first,” Charles blurted. He knew if Ray Ray unzipped that blue vinyl pouch he'd see he only had newspaper scraps.

“Look here, Tony. I know I been owing you. But I'm ready to settle up now.” Charles pulled out an old envelope. It was stuffed full of money. Ray Ray's eyes widened but he kept his jaw tight.

Suddenly Pearl burst into the small room. “I knew I'd find you out. All I did was keep looking.” Her narrowed eyes squinted at Tony like she'd caught him. She held a crumpled piece of paper in her fist. She glanced at Charles holding a big wad of money. Tony had his hand on his gun.

“Get out!” Tony said.

“But I—”

“I said get out!” Tony slammed his fist on the desk.

But Pearl smiled to herself as she walked back downstairs. She smoothed out the crumpled piece of paper in her hand. “The shit's done hit the fan now.”

Tony scowled. He hadn't planned for Charles to pay him back. He wanted his debt to get way out of hand so he could have Big Percy break his back.

“Naw, man, it's okay. Go 'head and play. We'll square everything up next week.”

But Charles had already counted out four thousand dollars. Tony's eyes bulged at the bag Charles was holding. The four G's only skimmed the top.

Ray Ray studied Charles and the money for a while. What was homeboy doing? Where'd he get all this cash? But Ray Ray knew better than to open his mouth. He stared at the money and stayed mute. Rubbing the burn scar with the palm of his hand, Ray Ray wanted to light his smoke but didn't dare move. He started to pull out his blue bag too, but Charles held his wrist back and stopped him.

“Wait, man,” Charles said, nervously.

“Whatchu doin'?” Ray Ray said.

“Here,” Charles said quickly. “This is what I owe you, too.” Charles reached in and pulled out five neat stacks of hundreds. He handed the bundles to Ray Ray.

Charles leveled his eyes on Ray Ray. “Now we straight, right?”

Tony's eyes glowed big in the broom closet room. What were these two fools doing with all this dough?

Ray Ray knew Charles didn't owe him shit but he folded a grand and dug it into his sock. He took the money Charles gave him and gave it to Tony. “I'ma put the rest here on Liston.” Ray Ray didn't even bother opening his bag. Where did Charles get his money? Ray Ray looked at him hard but decided it was best to stay quiet. Shoot, his bet was placed without him having to touch any of his own money. Everything should be gravy, but Ray Ray felt worried. Something was definitely wrong.

“So,” Ray Ray said, “you gonna call the dude, or what?” Ray Ray stepped closer to Tony.

Tony smiled at the money and, for the first time, at Ray Ray.

“Don't have to. The man's on his way. I just hung up a few minutes ago,” Tony lied. “I'll hold on to this till he gets here.”

“Naw, dog. I wanna talk to him myself.”

“Sorry, brotha, but we don't work it like that. If you want to place a bet it goes through me and I get mine. The man takes his twenty and you get eighty if your hit pays.”

“Don't I get a receipt or nothing?” Ray Ray asked Tony.

Tony's smile broadened. “This ain't no grocery sto', Negro. Just sit tight, relax. Get something to drink; it's on me. Wait a minute.” Tony opened a drawer and pulled out a bottle and removed the flask he kept in his jacket. “Here, I got something to hold you.” Tony filled the flask with sticky peach brandy. “Go ahead and knock yourself out.”

Two other customers waiting to place their bets came into the room and Tony motioned for Charles and Ray Ray to leave, slamming the door right in Ray Ray's worried face. Ray Ray stood there a moment before going back downstairs. He unzipped his bag and peered deep inside. On top were real bills covering each stack, but the rest was all
L.A. Times.

“What the fuck?” Ray Ray said. He wanted to stand there and think, but Percy nudged him to go back downstairs.

Ray Ray didn't know what to do. Where the fuck was all the money? Had Lil Steve crossed him when he tossed him the bag? Had this been a scam the whole fuckin' time? Where the hell was the red nigga at? Ray Ray was mad. He rushed down the stairs. He studied Charles's back as they hustled back down. And what about Charles? What was this fool doing with cash? Last time they talked, Charles was singing the blues about owing Tony some money.

“Hey, homes?” Ray Ray stopped Charles by the arm. “Where the fuck did you get all that cheddar?” Ray Ray stood in his face. He saw the lines in Charles's eyes. Charles sputtered and started to choke.

His brain was anxiously thinking of something to say.

“Where'd you get it, huh?” Ray Ray asked him again. “What's-a matter, cat got your tongue?”

The club felt so hot. Charles loosened his collar. The pre-fight was on. Two men were boxing. Their muscular brown bodies were glistening wet. One had a smashed, bloody face.

Ray Ray's face was so close, Charles felt his breath on his nose.

“Huh? I'm talking to you, man,” Ray Ray asked him point-blank.

Charles fidgeted against the wall. One of the fighters fell down. A small Cuban guy knocked down a big pale Russian. Half the crowd in Dee's Parlor lurched up and screamed. Charles panicked. What the hell could he say? Where in the hell could he have gotten fifteen grand? But suddenly it hit. The lie floated through his teeth.

“I sold that bitch's new car.”

A
hot breeze blew a pack of Kools into the gutter off Western. Lil Steve scratched his neck and leaned against the cracked vinyl of the Bug.

“Damn, it's hot,” he said, wiping his face with his sleeve.

He checked the Rolex on his wrist again. It was 7:55. Across town the Lexus had already been stripped down. The parts were shipped to Long Beach by now. He looked at the bag of cocaine. He had to hide this bag before Johnny Law saw him and pulled his card.

But Lil Steve had a jones or two of his own. He was real low-key. He didn't let it show. See, nobody knew he smoked coke. There were baby rocks he got off the street from time to time but he always went to the east side to cop. He only bought rocks off the
Cholos
in MacArthur Park or the
Eses
along Alvarado. None of the brothers knew he did blow. He smoked rocks by himself, all alone in the car. He never shared. He avoided all those crackheads around Dee's. He didn't want none of them fools to label him a “head.” Once it gets known you base, you in a whole other league. People start to watch you around all their shit. He couldn't have that. He needed folks' trust. His whole game was confidence and macking. He wasn't about to fuck that up. That was out of the question. So whenever he did lines or smoked some cocaine, it was always late at night by himself.

Lil Steve looked at the trash and liquor bottles in the street. He peered down inside the bag. The last time he saw this much stuff was right before the battering ram busted Flash's door and hauled everybody down to County.

Lil Steve stuck a pen and made a small hole. He licked his finger and dunked it inside the powder, rubbing the white substance over his top gum and teeth. The low life was over. It was all gravy now. Lil Steve sucked the tip of his finger. He wasn't even worried about Ray Ray with the money. With this giant bag of coke, there was no telling how much he could make on the street.

There's got to be someplace I can do some of this.
Suddenly he thought of Vernita.

He smiled to himself. Yeah, Vernita was cool. All them other skeezers he knew couldn't hold water. They'd drop a dime on him in no time.

He turned down Adams and headed toward 10th Avenue. He stopped at Johnnie Pastrami and got a couple of sandwiches. He saw the bright lights from her shop.

Vernita had one more customer in there. She was doing a short woman's hair. She hadn't gotten to the blow-drying stage, so Lil Steve just sat there and waited. He stared long and hard at the bag on the floor. A few palm trees swayed in the cool evening moon. The liquor store across Adams kept the grass littered with empties. Bent cigarette boxes licked the curb.

Lil Steve picked up the bag and brought it up to his lap. He carefully opened the case and looked out of his rearviews to see if anybody was coming. The black Bug had illegally dark tinted windows, so Lil Steve wasn't worried about anybody seeing him inside, but he didn't want any surprises. He carefully pulled back the duct tape that held the package shut. He took his car keys and used his knife to cut open the plastic bag, making an incision along the top so nothing would spill. Then Lil Steve closed the knife back in, pulled out the screwdriver tool and used the flat tip to dip inside the bag. He got a small portion of the white powder on the tip, brought it to his nose and inhaled deep. This was the first time he had him some serious powder. Everybody around there only did rocks.

He watched Vernita bring the curling iron toward the woman's scalp.

Lil Steve dipped the screwdriver in again.

He noticed the smooth movements of Vernita's hands. The way they worked and pulled the hair in strong, artful strokes.

He inhaled the powder real slow.

Vernita spun the chair around so she could do the woman's left side. Lil Steve lifted the wide-tip screwdriver back to his nose. He inhaled eight more times and saved some in the seat before folding the duct tape back over the small hole he'd made. He popped his pocketknife with his teeth and sawed along the cushion of the passenger seat. Pulling the vinyl seat back and removing some of the foam, he firmly pushed the plastic bag inside and folded the vinyl back down.

Lil Steve didn't realize how keyed up he was. He pulled the handle up and let the seat fall. He lay back so he could relax. Though his head barely rose above the window to see, he watched Vernita work in the large salon window. His heart began beating with speed.

He took a cigarette and pulled some of the tobacco from the top and put the cocaine that he'd saved in the cigarette tip. He noticed his hand started trembling a bit. His head felt like he'd sucked on a helium balloon.

He had the music up and was puffing the end of a Salem Light when the short woman finally emerged from the shop. She came right to the car parked in front of him, a beautiful burgundy Jag. Vernita sure did hair good. Had that plain woman looking Hollywood in no time. Waxy locks framed her soft, round face. Gold dolphin earrings screamed against her reddish-brown skin. The woman had a real pep in her step when she walked out of Vernita's shop door.

As soon as the woman pulled away, Lil Steve grabbed the pastrami sandwiches. He put a Raiders cap on and some wraparound sunglasses. He left his suit jacket on the seat.

“Hey, baby,” he said, coming in and closing the door. “I got you something to eat.”

Vernita was sweeping. She had her back to the door. She hadn't seen or heard Lil Steve come in and almost jumped when she saw his cocky smile in her door. Oh shit! What was he doing here? She planned to meet Trudy here at the shop. She didn't want them rough fools looking sideways at her. She spied the blond wig she'd worn laying in a chair and gently dropped a silk scarf on top.

“What do you want, boy? Didn't I take care of your hair? I know you ain't ready to be tightened again.” Vernita tried to be glib.
Be cool,
she told herself.
Don't act nervous or he'll suspect something.

Lil Steve pulled down the shades and clicked off the huge light that illuminated the shop. Only the lamp with the sixty-watt burned. Vernita picked up the broom and started sweeping again.

“Is that how you greet a man who came all the way up here to bring you some food?” Lil Steve yanked the shades on the other side of the room. “Besides,” he said slowly, “I been missin' you, baby. Come here and give Lil Steve a kiss.” He put a lot of sugar in that last line.

“Boy, please.” Vernita eyed Lil Steve. He seemed more animated than his usually cool icetray self. Vernita felt something was wrong.

Lil Steve walked across the room and pulled the other shades down. The shop immediately grew dim.

“Why you got all these windows open in here all the time, girl? Ain'tchu supposed to be closed?”

“I guess I am now,” Vernita mumbled to herself. “How come you're so worried about how I run my business?” Vernita tried to keep the conversation light.

“I'm trying to help you, girl.” Lil Steve smiled. “You never know when someone might come in and jack you.” Lil Steve looked dead into her eyes.

Vernita was sweeping more feverishly now. When she accidentally knocked the silk scarf to the ground, the blond wig drifted down to the floor. Vernita's heart skipped. She stood still as the moon. Lil Steve moved close to her knee. He picked up the wig. He looked at Vernita a real long time, fingering the platinum hair in his hand.

“Why don't you put this on for me, baby?” Lil Steve held it out for her to take.

“Listen, I don't play blondie for nobody, okay? You want a blonde, go to Huntington Beach.” Vernita started quickly sweeping again. She put the last bits of hair in the trash.

“What's wrong with you, huh? Why you acting so mean? You weren't like this this morning.”

Lil Steve peeked out from the shade and then closed it again. He narrowed his eyes on Vernita.

“I'm not acting like shit.” Vernita tried to sound casual. “You the one coming in here trippin'.”

Lil Steve loved the rush the cocaine brought on. Though his nerves felt like millions of ants on his skin, inside his skull sizzled and glowed. “Come on! Put it on!” He shoved the wig toward her, but Vernita brushed his stiff hand away.

Lil Steve rushed up on her. The wig dangled from his fist. His face was all twisted with hate. He tried to put the wig over Vernita's cropped head.

“Stop it!” she said. “I don't want to wear it!” Vernita tried to pull free, but Lil Steve held her arm.

“Why not?” he screamed. “Come on. Put it on!” His voice was loud but he didn't know why. He was taking fast, rapid-fire breaths. The coke crept up on him. It was tickling his brain. He held Vernita down hard but didn't know why. He didn't realize how keyed-up he was when he pointed his gun toward her head.

“Put the fucking wig on.” Lil Steve was surprised at his own actions. Why in the world was he was talking like this? He knew he should chill but he couldn't stop himself. He didn't even know he'd cocked back the gun.

Vernita looked stunned as the gun shook in his hand. She pulled the blond wig on top of her head. In her nervous haste she put the wig on backward. Long blond strands hung over her face.

“Now see,” he said. “Wasn't that easy? All a brother wants is a little variety now and then. Men are visual, baby. We like seeing new shit. We want something fresh from our women.” Lil Steve grinned as the gun trembled in his right hand. He eased into a beauty salon chair.

Vernita stayed quiet, clocking his movements. She inched her left hand way behind her back, reaching for the large can of hairspray.

“Girl, I been driving around all day trying to figure out what's wrong, what's been missing in my life.” Lil Steve stared into Vernita's light, concerned eyes.

“I've been thinking about you and me all damn day long. As soon as you left me this morning I knew.” What the fuck was he saying? He never thought of her once. But his pimp side was recklessly now in full bloom. As he lied through his teeth, his lungs strained for air. The coke had messed him up bad. He recklessly dangled the gun in his hand. He pulled Vernita's body inside the salon chair, holding her flat against his quivering chest.

Vernita let one arm hang from the chair. She was holding the hairspray in the palm of her hand.

“There now, see? You made me come all the way over here and say it. All this time you done got a nigga sprung.” He pulled on her neck, bringing her mouth close to his. He pulled the chair's lever until they were both lying prone. Her small body lay completely over his. Vernita watched his gun. She felt his frantic, quaking lungs. They vibrated like a helicopter hovering close to a house.

Vernita was trapped. Lil Steve held her tight. But she still had one hand dangling from the chair. She slowly moved her finger over the spray can's small nozzle.

Lil Steve kissed her mouth. The wig's hair fell in his eyes. He snatched off the wig, throwing it over his shoulder. He held Vernita's neck. “I want you,” he said, holding the gun on her cheek. She could feel the cold steel resting right against her jaw. Vernita wouldn't kiss him. She moved her mouth from his lips but she smiled and ran her fingertip over his teeth. They were as smooth as a row of strung pearls. Lil Steve seized her body, gently nibbling her pointer finger. He licked her two fingers as she played with his tongue. Her fingers inched toward the deep grooves of his back molars. With his eyes rolling up and his mouth opened wide, Vernita sprayed the can deep in his throat. A gunshot blast blew the huge mirror into shards. A large fragment busted the overhead light, and the whole room went totally black.