Ray took one look at Dutch and read his mind.
“Ahhh, naw, youngun, don’t tell me you thinkin’ like that. You thinkin’ Sugar Ray done gave the rabbit the gun, huh? Come
on, lil’ nigga, even if I did, do you think Kazami would invite you to his house to dead you? Hell no, he’da been here waitin’
on you when you got here, or better, he woulda gunned you down in the street like the rest of them muhfuckas.”
Dutch looked at Ray. He was right. Craze looked around the apartment waiting for someone to jump out on him. That place could
have easily been a death trap, and he could tell Dutch was thinking the same thing. When Ray saw they understood his point,
he continued.
“Now, back to this installation shit. Man, this nigga been hit on twice, so he paranoid. Muhfuckin’ Jehovah’s Witness can’t
even get too close to this nigga with too many Bibles in they hand, so we lucky the bitch wanted satellite television.”
“Yeah, you got a point, but going in this cat’s house unarmed, dependin’ on his chick to gun us?” Dutch just shook his head.
Ray leaned back in his chair, kicked his feet up, and said, “It’s the only way. Shit, you think I want to go up in this crazy
nigga’s house without no gun? Hell no, but the broad wide open. She’s gonna do what I tell her. You can take that to the bank
wit’ cha, youngun.”
“What you think?” Dutch turned to Craze.
“I’m sayin’, Ray right, ain’t no way we gonna hit him this lovely nowhere else. Like you told me in Roberto’s van that night,
ain’t no turning back now, ’cause we ain’t got nowhere to go,” Craze concluded.
“Set it up,” he said to Ray.
A week later, they pulled up to the door of Kazami’s house in an all-white stolen van. The house wasn’t large, but it was
definitely in good taste and extremely expensive. It sat back in a low-key section of Roselle Park, an area made up of mostly
retired white folk. Craze drove with Dutch in the passenger seat and Ray in the back.
“There it is.” Sugar Ray pointed.
Dutch didn’t say a word, just glanced over at Craze, grabbed the toolbox, slid open the back door, and got out. He turned
to Craze, who sat in the driver’s seat with his nine-millimeter on his lap.
“You got ten minutes. After that, I’m comin’ in.” Then he held up his gun and looked at his watch.
Dutch smiled and winked at him, then turned and walked away.
“Let me handle the door, i-ight?” Ray demanded more than asked.
Dutch eyed Ray closely, then slowly nodded.
“Don’t worry, youngun, I done talked us this far, right?”
Dutch didn’t answer him. They climbed the stairs and Ray rang the doorbell. Dutch glanced around to survey the scenery. A
black Lincoln sat in the driveway along with a silver convertible Jaguar. Up the block an elderly white man was watering his
lawn. Dutch looked back at the van and saw no sign of Craze, who had reclined in the passenger seat out of sight.
After a few moments, the door opened and a large black man silently filled the door frame and stood there. Ray looked at the
clipboard he had under his arm, then looked up at the huge black man.
“Umm, Mr. Carter?” asked Ray.
“Who you?” the big African replied.
“Look, evidently you ain’t Mr. Carter, ’cause if you was, you’d know I’m from Universal Installations. Mr. Carter ordered
a satellite,” Ray said, feigning annoyance and nodding to the satellite box.
The African looked at Dutch, then at Ray, then at the satellite box.
“Open it,” he ordered.
“Huh?”
“I said open it! Open the box!” he said, then made a move as if he were going to open it himself.
“Hold up, big man. I don’t mean no harm, but until I know if you’re Mr. Carter or not, that there don’t belong to you, i-ight.”
The large African man just eyed Ray, hard. “Wait here,” he said, then slammed the door and relocked it. Dutch looked at Ray,
who winked at him. A few short seconds later, the African returned with the most beautiful woman Dutch had ever seen.
Simone.
His heart skipped beats as his eyes traveled along every curve and contour of the ebony princess. He knew right away why Kazami
had such a weakness for this beautiful creature, and he decided right there never to let a woman get as close to him as Simone
was to Kazami.
She looked at Dutch and smiled knowingly at his open admiration for her, then turned to Ray. Recognition flashed in her eyes
and her pupils dilated at the sight of Sugar Ray, her coconspirator.
“Now, I know you aren’t Mr. Carter,” Ray smoothly remarked.
“No, not quite. I’m his wife. I ordered the satellite.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Ray said.
Simone stood aside to let Sugar Ray and Dutch pass into the foyer. Ray picked up the satellite box, then he and Dutch crossed
the threshold, past the point of no return. Dutch knew it was do or die.
They made it no farther than the foyer when the African repeated his earlier order.
“Now, open it.”
Ray opened the box to reveal the satellite and its control unit. “Happy?”
“And the toolbox,” the man said to Dutch.
“Man, what is with you?” Ray asked as the African just glanced at Ray as he checked out the toolbox.
After that, he reached for Ray to frisk him down, but Ray stepped back, “Hol’ up, partna. I don’t know what you into, but
we ain’t no toolbox,” Ray said, looking at Simone questioningly.
“It’s just formality. My husband is a very important man. So this is just routine for everyone.”
Ray sighed loudly then turned his back to the man and raised his arms. After Ray, he frisked Dutch, then nodded to Simone.
“Come on, I’ll show you where I want it at.”
Ray could tell by her tone she wasn’t talking about the satellite. He picked up the box, and he and Dutch followed Simone
while the bodyguard followed them. They walked down a short hall then made a left into a large living room. On the couch was
another bodyguard, shorter and bulkier than the first. Next to him, bent over, was the man they had come to see, sniffing
lines of coke off a small mirror.
Kazami.
Dutch had never seen him this close before. He was silked from head to toe, with the diamond in his ear reflecting a spectrum
of bluish light. His hands wore only two rings, but around his neck was the biggest piece Dutch had ever seen. Two intertwining
full-body dragons with rubies for eyes and diamonds for fangs hung from a cablelike, nuggeted gold rope. His eyes were glued
to the chain until Kazami raised his head. He wiped the powder from the tip of his nose and looked up, annoyed.
“Who the fuck is this?” he asked belligerently, in a Nigerian accent.
“They’re here to put in the satellite, baby,” Simone said, her voice dripping with honey. To Dutch, however, her words seemed
dipped in poison.
“Yeah, well, hurry the hell up,” Kazami grumbled, then turned his attention back to his mirror.
“Where do you want this, ma’am?” Ray asked after he cleared his throat.
“Right over here,” she told them.
“You see I’m busy, damn. Put that shit in the bedroom or somethin’,” Kazami said as he raised his head.
“ ’Cause I don’t want it in the bedroom. I want it in here. They ain’t gonna be but a minute. Why you can’t take that shit
upstairs anyway? First you say I can get it, now you act li—”
“I-ight, i-ight, goddamn. Just hurry the fuck up,” Kazami said, cutting her off, tired of her nagging, which was blowing his
high. He got up and left the room with his bodyguard right behind him.
“I’m sorry about that. That’s the TV right there I want it hooked to,” she said, referring to the big-screen TV in the corner.
Ray opened the satellite box, took out the control unit, and carried it over to the TV. Dutch followed him carrying the toolbox.
When they got to the TV, Ray looked behind it and saw a .45 automatic and a snub-nosed .38. He smiled up at Simone.
“Right here?”
“Yup, there,” she said, smiling seductively at the guns lying on the floor.
“Partna, come take a look at this,” said Sugar Ray, acting like he was working. “I ain’t gonna show you how to hook this thing
up no more. And grab that toolbox.”
Dutch just looked at him, approaching with the toolbox in hand. Then he saw the guns and had to fight back the rush of adrenaline
that hit him. Ray slid in farther behind the TV and began to unplug the wires from the VCR, arbitrarily. He put the .45 in
the toolbox and took out a screwdriver, closing the box.
“Now, once you’ve hooked up the auxiliary cable to the transmitter…” Ray explained, using phrases at random, not knowing what
the fuck he was talking about.
“You take this blue wire, which is the ground wire, and hook it to the C output.” He acted like he was doing something and
plugged a wire from the VCR into the control unit. “Now, you go outside and set the satellite up like I showed you on the
last installation.”
Dutch nodded, grabbed the toolbox, and lifted the satellite box.
“I’ll walk you out,” Simone offered.
The bodyguard watched Simone and Dutch walk out of the living room.
“You got it?” Simone asked as they turned the corner.
Dutch pulled the .45 out of the toolbox and checked the clip.
“Yeah.” He smiled.
“He’s upstairs,” she whispered, looking over her shoulder furtively.
“Go unlock the front door and leave it open,” he said. She nodded, and he watched her hurry to the door, almost regretting
the fate her treachery had bought her.
Part of the game,
he thought to himself as he saw Craze tiptoe in the door, gun in hand. Dutch pointed upstairs, then jerked his head for Craze
to follow. They tiptoed down the hall, back to the living room door. Dutch peeped around the corner into the living room to
see where the bodyguard was. Ray had him squatting next to him by the TV talking about satellite installation, even though
Ray himself didn’t know what he was doing.
Dutch and Craze hurried by, then slowly headed up the stairs. Nearing the top, they heard voices. They traveled down a long
hallway, peering in each open door they passed. They heard the sound of a toilet flushing, and Dutch nodded to Craze to go
ahead of him.
Dutch looked into the next room and saw Kazami standing with his back to him bending over a baby’s playpen. Dutch looked down
the hall at Craze up against the wall. He pointed to himself then turned the corner into the baby’s room.
“Kazami,” Dutch articulated slowly, savoring each syllable.
Kazami spun around quickly at the unfamiliar voice. His eyes widened at the sight of Dutch and the .45 barrel pointed at him.
“Don’t scream, don’t yell, don’t even fuckin’ breathe, or I’ll send your son where his grandfather went,” Dutch stated firmly.
“Wh-what do you want?” Kazami stammered.
“You, but if you cooperate, I’ll settle for the money.” Dutch gave Kazami his trademark smile.
“Who sent you?”
Dutch was impressed with how quickly Kazami regained his composure. But he knew Kazami was a thoroughbred too, and Dutch imagined
himself reacting the same way if he were in the same predicament.
“That’s not important, but steppin’ away from the crib is,” Dutch ordered.
Kazami backed away, watching as Dutch picked up his small child. Dutch never took his eyes or the gun off Kazami. When the
child was safely in his arms, Dutch arrogantly lowered the gun to the baby’s side while cradling the child in comfort.
“Please, please, man, please don’t hurt my son,” Kazami begged. But because of his cold heart, Dutch didn’t see a caring father…
only a weak man.
“Of course not. I mean, why should I when his father is so cooperative?” Dutch responded as he kissed the child.
Just then, Dutch heard a muffled thump. Craze appeared at the door with the bodyguard down on all fours and a gun to his head.
“I got his dog on a leash,” Craze whispered as he saw Dutch. “Who’s the baby?” Craze asked, knowing his best friend too well.
“Let’s go downstairs. You and your dog first,” Dutch told Kazami. The bodyguard stood up slowly, and he and Kazami descended
the stairs with Craze and Dutch, still holding the baby, behind them. Simone saw them as they entered the living room, and
Kazami could see by the look in her eyes that she was the one who had brought all this about.
In a rage, he forgot about the danger he was in and rushed Simone, smacking her to the floor. “Fuckin’ bitch! You did this!
You!”
The bodyguard with Ray turned around in surprise. But before he could react, Craze stepped forward and fired twice into his
chest, dropping him as Kazami, Simone, and the entire room fell silent.
“Hold up, Craze. Let’s everybody be cool, i-ight,” Dutch said, looking at Kazami as he snuggled his son.
Simone slowly stood up, catching her balance, holding her bruised and swollen face, while Kazami glared at her with death
in his eyes.
“Everybody get down on the floor!” Dutch suddenly announced, waving his gun around as they all kneeled down. The bodyguard
Craze had shot moaned out his last breath. Ray pulled out the other .38 and stood up with Craze and Dutch.
“Now we gonna keep this real simple. Niggas here for the money, all of it. If you try and hold back as much as a fuckin’ wooden
nickel, I’ll turn this baby into Swiss cheese,” Dutch said, emphasizing his point by putting the gun to the child’s head.
“What are you talkin’ about? What the hell are you doing?” Simone questioned, jumping up to aid her baby, who was in danger.
“Ray, stop him, tell him to give me my baby!” Simone cried.
“Don’t worry, sugar, ain’t nothin’ changed. Let’s just go get the money and get this here over wit’. Dutch… he ain’t gonna
hurt your son,” Ray assured her. But he glanced at Dutch nervously, because he knew what the man was capable of.
“Listen to him, baby girl. Go ’head and get that,” Dutch said to Simone as he turned to Craze, “Go wit’ ’em.”
Craze looked at the faces of Kazami and the other bodyguard, seeing the motors in their minds spinning at breakneck speed,
waiting for an opportunity to turn the tables.
“You straight in here with them two?” Craze asked.