Eve (27 page)

“You see this shit?” Carlo asked, pointing to the headline about the off-duty officer who had surfaced in a lake outside Westchester. “Somebody whacked out Lapelsky.”

“Fucking-A,” Tony said, leaning over Carlo's shoulder to get a better look at the article. “Says they found him in Westchester County. Fuck was he doing up there?”

“Trying to find a detox,” Steve mumbled from his seat in the corner.

“What're you, a fucking comedian?” Carlo asked, facing Steve. “Your mouth has been pretty fucking smart lately.”

“Hey, I'd be pissed too if I worked for a prick like you,” Tony joked.

“This ain't no laughing matter.” Carlo turned to Tony. “Lapelsky worked for my father. Whadda ya think he's gonna say bout this?” The room went silent. “Exactly. Gentleman, we've gotta get a handle on this thing.”

“Why do you think he was killed?” Sal asked.

“Think it had something to do with that broad?” Tony asked. He started to elaborate further on the issue, but the look Carlo shot him stayed his tongue.

“The whole thing stinks to me,” Carlo said. “Andy Lapelsky was a dirtbag and he could've got whacked for a number of reasons. That still doesn't change the fact that he was one of ours. Gentleman, this doesn't look good on us. We've got to get a handle on things. I want you guys to see what you can find out about it. Get on the streets and see what turns up. Tell everyone that there's a twenty-grand reward for the information.”

“What're you gonna do?” Tony asked.

“Got a date,” Carlo said, straightening his tie. “Steve, go get the car.”

 

Cassidy's viewing and funeral were done on the same day. The family didn't want to drag the event out any longer than they had to. Dozens of floral arrangements crowded every free corner of the room. Because of the extensive damage to Cassidy's face and the time she had spent in a rodent-infested alley, the mahogany casket she rested in had to be closed.

Eve quietly occupied a seat in the back of the chapel. She could see the mourners in attendance as well as those coming and going. Quite a few people had turned out. Friends, relatives, even old boyfriends. Eve watched them all.

Felon sat across from Eve. He was dressed in a black suit and wore tinted glasses. Every now and again she would notice him looking at her, but he'd quickly turn away if their eyes threatened to meet. He tried to get her to sit with him, but she declined. Her pain was hers alone, and she didn't feel like sharing it. Teddy was at his side, but there was no sign of Butter. No one had seen him over the last few days.

From where Eve sat, she could see Cassidy's immediate family lining the benches in the front row. Liz sobbed uncontrollably, while Sheeka tried her best to console her. Eve wanted to go to her and try to offer words of encouragement, but what could you say to a mother who had just lost her daughter? Instead, she sat quietly and watched.

The funeral had almost come to an end when the real show started. Big Steve slipped through the door and scanned the sea of faces. Once he was sure that no one was going to jump up and attack, he held the door for his charge. Carlo came into the chapel dressed in a gray suit. His eyes swept the room, hidden by sunglasses, as he made his way down the aisle. Steve leaned against the wall near the door while his boss approached the casket.

Eve leaned forward and studied Carlo. His steps were slow and methodical, as if he were walking the green mile. When he got to the casket, he removed his glasses and dabbed his eyes with a silk handkerchief. He drew quite a few curious glances as he went through the motions of sobbing over his murdered lover.

“Oh, baby,” he sobbed, running his fingers over the picture of Cassidy that sat atop the casket.

She looked over at Felon and saw his jaw muscles tightening. Teddy made to get up, but his mentor's hand on his forearm held him steady. She looked back to see Steve twisting his face up as if he had just smelled something rancid. When he had seen enough, he turned and left the chapel. When Carlo was done with his performance, he made his way back up the aisle. On the way out, he mouthed something to Felon before making his exit.

 

Felon paused at the chapel exit to compose himself. When the assembled guests lined up to pay their last respects, he hung back. He knew Cassidy was dead, but it didn't really set in until the funeral. Poor Eve had cried through most of it. More than once he thought about trying to console her, but he didn't want to break down in front of her. Cassidy was one of them. They hung together, drank together, and fought together. It was hard for him to accept the fact that he would never hear her big-ass mouth again. She was another testament of how mortal they all were, and how dirty the world could play.

He stepped out into the warm sunshine. The air outside stank, but it was a welcome change from the death-tainted chapel. Carlo was standing near his car with his back to Felon, talking to a young girl. He laughed and flirted with her while someone he was supposed to have cared about was being put to rest. Felon's skin began to crawl as he approached.

Carlo noticed Steve staring at something over his shoulder and turned to see Felon approaching. He knew how the scene must've appeared, so he tried to look as if he wasn't being a bastard. He greeted Felon with a smile, but the gesture wasn't returned.

“Shorty, beat it,” Felon addressed the girl. Knowing how to take a hint, she did. “Why don't you show some fucking respect?” he hissed at Carlo.

“Felon, it wasn't what it looked like.”

“Carlo, you know how that shit would've looked if that girl's family had seen you out here playing R. Kelly?”

“Take it easy,” Carlo said, trying to sound authoratative. “I said it wasn't like that.”

“You know what? I don't even care, man. You said you wanted to talk, so talk.”

“Geez, what is it with all this antisocial behavior? Forget it. What do you know about that cop they found up in Westchester?”

“You called me out here to ask about some fuck-ass cop that got killed in Westchester?” Felon asked angrily.

“That fuck-ass cop worked for my father,” Carlo told him.

“Then let your father conduct the investigation. I'm a drug dealer, not a detective.”

“Don't get cute,” Carlo warned. “The only reason I'm asking you is because Andy Lapelsky was a regular uptown. On and off-duty. I hear he had a drug problem and if I remember correctly, nobody gets high in Harlem unless they buy from one of your spots.”

“Carlo, I ain't heard nothing about that cop other than what they ran on the news and in the paper. I cant keep track of every fuck-up trying to get a blast.”

“What kind of king doesn't know what's going on in his kingdom?” Carlo asked, glaring at Felon.

Felon tensed up. “What you trying to say?”

“What I'm trying to say is, my father is gonna throw a fucking shit fit about this. Our guys down at the precinct say that he was killed somewhere else and the body was dumped up there. It's not gonna look good if this trail leads back to any of our doorsteps.”

“I'll see what I can find out,” Felon said, turning to walk back to the church.

“Say, Felon,” Carlo called after him. “Where's your pal?”

“What?”

“Butter. Where is he? Knowing how he felt about Cas, it's just a little strange that he wouldn't be here.”

“Guess it was too much for him to deal with.” Felon's expression didn't change.

“I'll bet,” Carlo smiled wickedly. “Why don't you see if he's heard anything?”

“I'll do that, if I see him.”

“If? Don't you mean when?”

“You know what I mean, Carlo. If I find anything out, you'll be the first to know.”

“You make sure, buddy.”

 

Felon's wheels were spinning on the walk back to the church. When he got word of Butter's fuck-up, he knew it would be trouble. If Franko suspected they were involved in the death of his man, it would fall on Felon as their leader. In his mind, he had a vision of Big Steve running up on him and putting a bullet in the back of his head. He had to force himself not to look over his shoulder.

Butter's temper could've very possibly fucked them all. Carlo was enough of a pain in the ass, but the thought of Franko riding down on his crew didn't sit well with him. Killing a cop would carry a life sentence, if Butter even survived to see trial. Killing a cop who was connected to the mob was surely a death sentence.

One by one, Cassidy's closest friends and family approached the casket to pay their last respects. Eve stood between Cassidy's next-door neighbor, Mrs. Childs, who would fall out every fifth step, and an older man who kept trying to rub against her. The closer she got to the box, the weaker she felt. It was as if her legs had suddenly become rubber. She thought that she would fall out before she got her turn.

After two of Cassidy's uncles managed to hoist Mrs. Childs off the floor and out of the way, Eve had her turn to say good-bye. Her heart was beating out of her chest, but she tried not to appear shaken. The varnished casket seemed much longer than she remembered Cassidy being. Running her finger along the top of it, she reflected on all the good times she and Cassidy had had over the years.

There was no way she could really be gone! She looked over her shoulder, expecting Cassidy to come in and expect everyone to laugh at her tasteless joke, but it never happened. Suddenly the room began to spin, and pain gripped her about the chest. The lump that welled in her throat threatened to suffocate her. Feeling the first tears trying to force their way to the surface, Eve took rushed steps to the church exit.

She burst through the doors and took greedy breaths. Had it not been for the wall, she would surely collapse. Tears flowed freely down her face as she mouthed Cassidy's name. Her best friend was truly gone. She needed to be away from that place so she could get her thoughts together.

As she was making her way up the block, she spotted Felon and Carlo. They seemed to be locked in some kind of heated debate. Felon appeared to be barking at Carlo about something. A young girl, who Eve knew only by face, strode past her, giving up a nod. Eve tried to piece the situation together, but her mind was in a million places at once. The two men were so engrossed in their conversation that they never even noticed her pass them.

Carlo sat on the sofa in his father's study, flanked by Sal and Tony. Neither of his companions looked happy to be dragged into the meeting between father and son. Franko had summoned him to the house but hadn't disclosed the reason why. Carlo tried to keep a casual air about him, but he was really on edge. He had been a busy man over the last few weeks, and wondered if his father had gotten hold of something he wasn't supposed to.

Franko came into the study, wearing a red velvet smoking jacket. He chewed a cigar, but it wasn't lit. Cold eyes swept the men on the couch, causing them all to avert their eyes. The mob captain took his time as he crossed the room to his mammoth oak desk. He lowered himself into the antique chair and glared at the trio. After several uncomfortable moments, Franko spoke.

“So, how are my three little stooges?” he asked in his gravely tone.

“Everything is peaches, Dad,” Carlo responded for the group.

“Peaches, eh? So tell me, little peach, how is our little experiment going?”

“The stuff is moving like hotcakes. Right now, we've secured about eighty-five percent of the trade in Harlem and a good cut of the Bronx. We don't really touch Brooklyn, on account of the other families might get wise to what we're doing. Things have slowed down a little, but we're still not in the red. Felon is making it happen, just like I told you he would.”

“I see,” Franko said, striking a match. “The new king of Harlem is maintaining his court. So, what do you think about this Lapelsky thing?”

“Crying fucking shame, Pop. He had a wife and kids for Christ's sake.”

“Horseshit,” Franko croaked. “Andy Lapelsky was a degenerate and an adulterer. Whoever whacked him out did his wife a favor. At least she's gonna get a check every month. That's more than that guy ever did for her in life. As much of a bastard as he was, Andy had his uses. More to the point, a murdered policeman causes quite a stink.”

“Yeah, those guys in Westchester are gonna have some sleepless nights over this one.”

Franko placed his knuckles on the desk and pushed himself up. He strode around it to stand in front of the three men. Sal and Tony stiffened in the presence of the looming killer, but Carlo only mirrored his father's blue-eyed gaze. In one swift motion, Franko snatched him to his feet.

“You sneaky sack of shit! Now you told me that you were clean on the Jimmy V job and I took your lying word for it, but don't insult my fucking intelligence. Lapelsky's body was found in Westchester, but our boys downtown got somebody fingering Harlem as the crime scene!” Franko rained spittle in Carlo's face.

Carlo could feel the color drain from his face. He knew what his father was capable of doing with his hands, and wondered if they'd be brought into play that evening. Luckily for him, Franko stopped shaking him long enough for Carlo's mind to put together a response.

“I didn't know,” Carlo blurted out.

“Carlo, do you know how bad this is?” Franko slammed him back down to the couch. “These pigs are screaming bloody murder. They're up my ass to hang somebody for this shit. You and these fucking spades you hang around with are supposed to have a handle on this kinda shit, and they let one of ours get murdered like a dog! I provided you with a means to become a fucking millionaire, and you can't control a few square miles? Jesus, I didn't raise you to be a fucking shmuck!”

“Dad, on my eyes, I knew nothing about this.” Carlo straightened his tie. “If he was hit in Harlem, it'll get handled. The cops will get their killer.”

“You better fucking hope so. If the heat comes down for it, it's your ass that's gonna burn!” Franko warned. “Now get the fuck outta my office!”

The three men got up and quickly filed out of the door. Carlo brought up the rear, but he hesitated in the doorway. He looked back at his father and thought about trying to make some added reassurances, but figured it would be pointless. Harlem was his domain, and by association, it made Franko responsible for whatever went down. A cop being murdered was something not even money could fix. The police wanted a killer, and to save his own ass, Carlo would give them one.

 

Felon and Teddy rode in the back of the Harlem cab in silence. Each man was engrossed in his own thoughts. Felon had a very nasty situation on his hands. A cop being murdered did not go over well on the streets. The police were riding down on everyone, demanding the murderer be handed over. Spots all over the city were being raided. Felon himself had lost three spots to their fury.

There were speculations about someone from Felon's team being behind it, but no one had any solid proof. Needless to say, the remaining drug czars didn't take it very well. It was bad enough that Felon's product was making it hard to eat, but the extra police attention added to the lean on their pockets. There was already animosity toward his crew for being on the come-up, and this just gave the haters a reason to try something stupid. Butter's beef was hurting their profits.

The cab turned off at the Gun Hill Road exit, east. Once they were past the train station, the vehicle pulled over near the projects. Felon paid the driver and told him to wait. He and Teddy drew some stares from the locals as they entered the building, because they were new faces. No one did more than stare, though. Teddy let his jacket hang open, exposing the twin .45s he carried in the shoulder holsters.

They exited the elevator on the fifth floor, where Teddy led Felon down the hall to a corner apartment. Felon hadn't seen Butter since before the shooting, but this was where he was said to be laying low. Purple Haze could be smelled though the door. Definitely a sign that Butter was somewhere within.

They knocked on the door and waited for a few seconds. Teddy had the key, but neither of them wanted to risk startling the fugitive and getting shot by accident. After a few seconds, light came through the peephole. Several locks and chains were removed before the door actually came open. When Felon saw Butter standing there, he almost didn't recognize him.

Butter was sporting a nappy Afro and his face hadn't seen a razor in quite some time. His tank top was yellowing under the arms from the combination of sweat and the holster that held Butter's magnums. In addition to the two guns dangling from under his arms, his trusty shotgun sat by the front door.

“What's good?” Felon asked, stepping into the apartment and giving his friend dap. Butter smelled like he could use a shower, but Felon still embraced him tightly.

“Maintaining,” Butter replied, hugging Felon back. Teddy locked the door behind them and the three men walked into the living room.

The living room was bare, except for a couch and a dining room table tucked in the corner. A wooden chair was facing the window, giving Butter a clear view of anyone coming in or out of the building. He retook his post, leaving Felon and Teddy to occupy the couch. As soon as they were seated, Butter began to speak.

“Sorry I missed the funeral,” Butter said, turning his gaze to the children running through the playground. “How was it?”

“It was nice,” Felon said. “As far as funerals go. Carlo came through to holla at me about this shit with Lapelsky.”

“I know I fucked up,” Butter said, never taking his eyes from the window. “Everything happened kinda fast, ya know? I know you're pissed off at me right now, but I didn't mean to get you caught up in this, Felon. Man, he was talking shit about Cassidy and I just lost it.” Butter wiped the tear from his eye and tried to compose himself.

“This shit is real ugly,” Felon said in a low tone. “Police is running all over the place shutting shit down, and the mob is in our asses for a killer.”

“Fucking dagos,” Butter chuckled, reaching for a cigarette. “I'll bet Carlo is loving this shit. He was just looking for a way to get me out of the picture, so he could get closer to you. Probably telling you to throw me to the wolves. You here to give me an ultimatum?” When Butter asked the question, he made sure to look Felon in the eye.

“Picture that,” Felon said, looking at Butter as if he had lost his mind. “You did some real dumb shit that's probably gonna get both of us killed, but that don't change the fact that I love you. From the cradle to the grave, son. You know how we do.”

“You always was my favorite nigga.” Butter lit his cigarette, “You'd never turn your back on a friend.”

“Butter, I'd give my life for you,” Felon said sincerely, “but you've still fucked us. To say that I'm mad would be an understatement. If you were anyone else, I would've sent Teddy up here to put a bullet in your head. Because of your fucking temper, we could all be living on borrowed time. Carlo thinks you had something to do with it, but he isn't sure. The police want a killer, or they're gonna shut us down.”

“They can't shut us down. We built this shit!” Butter said angrily.

“You're right,” Felon said, lighting a blunt clip that was in the ashtray. “We built this shit, but your stupidity might play a part in its destruction. Not only is the mob tight, but the streets are looking at us funny. A dead cop in Harlem fucks up everyone's pockets.”

“We can fix this shit,” Butter rocked, “just like we always do. You got a plan in mind?”

“Shit, I wish. We gotta do something, but I need time to get it together. Just stay low and let me figure something out.”

“Fo sho.” Butter smiled. “Imma keep outta sight. When I come through the block, won't nobody know I'm there.”

“Are you fucking crazy?” Felon asked. “If you show your face on the block, someone is liable to put a bullet in it. I don't know what the police know yet, but I do know that Carlo is looking for an excuse to whack your stupid ass. Just chill and let me try to think of something,” Felon massaged his temples and tried to devise a plan to save his best friend's life.

 

Eve sat in the passenger's side of Bullet's Cutlass, chain-smoking cigarettes. The car was positioned so that they could see everything that went on in the block. The same block where Cassidy was murdered. It was hard for Eve to be there, but she had to. The police were looking into Cassidy's murder, but Eve was conducting her own investigation.

For the past two nights, she had been having Bullet drive her up to Hunts Point. There was more to Cassidy's murder than just some random act of violence. There was a definite motive behind it, but she wasn't sure what. The homeless man who found Cassidy's body had given the police his story, but it really didn't hold the clues she was looking for. She knew that the best people to ask were the prostitutes who worked the area.

They were sure to know something. The only problem was there were too many working girls to question them all. Eve decided that it would be best to stake the block out and see which girls worked the area regularly. One of them was sure to have seen something. Bullet tried to convince her that the plan wouldn't work, and Eve was beginning to get discouraged. Just as they were about to call it a night, Eve spotted a familiar face.

The girl was slim and appeared to be in her early twenties. She was one of the few girls whom Eve had noticed working the block on a consistent basis. There were one or two other girls, but Eve has pegged her because of the way she moved. She seemed to know all of the crackheads on the block, and made it a point to disappear a few seconds before the police would make their sweeps through the block. She was definitely someone who knew what was going down in the area.

Eve tapped Bullet. “Check shorty.”

“The lil brown-skinned bitch?” he asked.

“Yeah, you disrespectful muthafucka. That's the chick I was telling you about.”

“You wanna run up on her?”

“Yeah. I wanna holla at her, but I don't wanna scare her off. Check it, I'll hop out and walk around the block. You pull up on her like you want a date and I'll do the rest.”

“I ain't down for no fucking kidnapping, Eve,” Bullet warned.

“Be easy,” she said, opening the car door, “I just wanna talk to her.” Before he could protest further, she disappeared around the corner.

Bullet fired up the engine and coasted the car up the block. A few of the other streetwalkers tried to get his attention, but he ignored them and coasted to a stop in front of the girl Eve had pointed out. She kept her distance from the car, trying to decipher friend from foe. A working girl had to beware of predators on the track. If the police weren't trying to entrap you, the various pimps in the area were trying to make you choose.

“What's going on, baby girl?” Bullet shouted.

“The rent,” she replied.

“I'm trying to have a good time. Get in.”

“How do I know you ain't no cop, or a pimp?” she asked.

“Get in the car,” a voice said from behind the prostitute. She wheeled around and found herself staring down the barrel of Eve's berretta. She thought about trying to run, but she doubted she could top the bullet's speed. Eve directed her into the backseat while she climbed in beside Bullet.

The trio rode in silence as Bullet bent the corner. The prostitute looked from the scar-faced driver to the female with the pistol and wondered if she was going to die. She had heard horror stories about prostitutes encountering demented tricks, but until then she hadn't had the misfortune. She could try and fight, but that would most likely lead to an ass-whipping or a bullet in the ass. Her abductors didn't seem to be crazy, so she tried to reason her way out of it.

“Listen, the jewelry is fake, but y'all can have everything I made for the night,” she pleaded.

“Bitch, we ain't after no paper,” Bullet snapped.

“Chill,” Eve touched his arm. “Baby girl, ain't nobody gonna hurt you. All we need is some information,” she assured her.

“I don't see how I can help you. I don't know nothing about nothing,” the prostitute said.

“A girl was murdered up here a few nights ago,” Eve said, looking out the window.