The Last Street Novel (18 page)

“Thank you, and I’ll just leave you alone to finish your dinner.”

As soon as the woman left and returned to her table, Shareef had an incoming call on his cell. He looked down and read the Miami area code and phone number of his mistress.

Should I answer this now or call her back?
he pondered. Then again, Jacqueline had the keys to his condo for the week, and there may have been an emergency that he needed to handle, or at least know about right away.

“Hello,” he answered.

She said, “You know I haven’t heard from you in more than twenty-four hours. I mean, you could have at least called me to say that you had made it to New York safely.”

“Or, you could have called me.”

“Well, I didn’t want to seem like I was bothering you, but still…”

“You know what? I love you, too,” he told her out of the blue. Be nice at all costs was on his mind. Cynthia had just taught him that less than an hour earlier.

Jacqueline said, “If you loved me that much, you would have taken me with you.”

“But that’s
why
I didn’t take you with me this time,” he told her. “I had to visit a damn prison this morning. I don’t want you around that. And tonight I’ll be around old thugs and street criminals. I’m even staying at a run-down hotel.”

He said, “I don’t want you coming to New York with me like that. I want you to have all the best when I bring you here. And I want to have time for you.”

Jacqueline paused and asked him the question that had been lingering on her mind since the moment he left for New York without her.

“Do you have a woman up there in Harlem?”

“What? Look, I’m not up here to do that. I’m up here to do research for a new book. In fact, when you asked me about Harlem that morning, you were the one who solidified the idea in my mind.”

“Yeah, and you also told me that you would take me there. Or were you just talking about the fucking part?”

Shareef had to pause for a moment.

He said real calmly, “I’m eating dinner right now, Jacqueline.”

“With who?”

Right as she asked him that, one of the waiters was walking past his table. Shareef reached out and tapped him on the arm to get his attention.

“Yeah, you need something?”

Shareef immediately handed him his cell phone.

“Could you tell the woman on the phone who I’m sitting with.”

The man in short dreads and a long white apron held the phone up to his ear and smiled.

He answered, “Hello.”

Shareef said, “Just tell her who I’m sitting with, man.”

“Actually, he’s dining alone.”

Then he listened.

“This is Sylvia’s Restaurant on Lenox.”

He listened again as Shareef waited.

“Yeah, I would say so. I love working here.”

He looked down at Shareef sitting in his chair and grinned. Shareef went right back to stuffing his mouth with his food.

The waiter said, “Yeah, he’s pretty cool.” Then he shook his head, “Nah, I’ll have to pass on that. But I have to get back to work now.”

He handed Shareef the phone back and whispered, “She asked me to blow you a kiss for her, but I don’t get down like that, brother.”

Shareef shook his head and mumbled, “I don’t either. But thanks, man. These women be trippin’ out here.”

“Hey, man, hold it down however you have to. That’s all we can all do.”

Shareef swallowed his food, got back on the phone, and asked Jacqueline, “Are you happy now?”

“You’re crazy,” she told him with a chuckle.

“And you asked him to blow me a kiss?”

“Well, if you’re gonna act crazy, then I’m gonna act crazy.”

“Oh, so if I jumped off a bridge, you’re gonna do that, too, right?”

“Only for you.”

She froze him with that answer. Shareef thought about how exotic Jacqueline was and how great it felt to be up inside her, and he started getting hard under the table.

“So, are you still wet for me?”

She laughed and said, “You know I am. But you’re all the way up in New York.”

He said, “Well, put it in the icebox for me. You know where that is, right? It’s inside the kitchen.”

She laughed again and said, “You know I’m gonna get you when you get back home. I’m gonna buy some tropical-flavored Popsicles, too.”

Shareef had food in his mouth when she said that and almost choked on it. He coughed and had to catch himself before his fish with hot sauce and yams went down the wrong pipe.

He mumbled, “Can you take something like that?”

“I’ll try it,” she told him.

“Well, shit, I can’t wait to get back home either then. But let me finish my dinner, because I haven’t eaten anything all day.”

“Okay, well, I love you, too, Poppi.”

Shareef grinned and said, “Now you know I love when you call me that.”

She giggled. “That’s why I don’t say it too much. I don’t want to ever wear it out. I feel like it’s a woman’s job to keep things fresh, you know.”

He nodded, in full agreement with her. “Yeah. I know exactly what you mean. And that’s exactly how I want it. Fresh.”

When he finished the call with his mistress, after just hanging up with his wife, Shareef thought,
There’s no way in the world I’m going back to Jennifer with girls like Jacqueline around. Unless they don’t want me no more.

T
HE YOUNG
H
ARLEMITE
known as Baby G sat absent-mindedly in the passenger side of his squad’s black Mercedes CLK convertible. It was parked on the sidewalk at 122nd Street beside Marcus Garvey Park. He and his bodyguard/ driver were simply enjoying the summertime. And while he appeared lost in thought, Baby G actually knew everything that was going on around him, like a super villain with super senses. So as he felt his street soldier approaching the car from behind, he casually looked into the sideview mirror to confirm it.

“What, you trying to assassinate me, man? Fuck you sneaking up beside the car for?”

His beefy bodyguard/driver reached for his pistol tucked deep under his seat.

Baby G looked at him said, “Man, I would have been dead already if I waited that long to tell you. Fuck you reaching for this late? Put that shit back down and be ready next time. You need more practice pulling that shit out quickly anyway.”

He looked back at his soldier, who was standing at attention outside the door of the car and said, “What’s up, man? What you got to tell me?”

The boy couldn’t have been more than eighteen, but he was loyal. Loyalty was written all over his stern, young face. He loved being part of a unit. And when he could speak to the young general, Baby G, in person, with valuable information, it made him feel valuable. He felt like a Green Beret with a special mission to bring back information from the enemy’s front line.

He said, “They finally found that body today, son. I saw like thirty five-ohs and detectives all up in there.”

Baby G nodded to him and took the information in calmly.

He asked, “Don’t nobody know shit, right?”

His soldier shook his head, “No, sir. We don’t know nothin’.”

“We don’t have nothing to worry about then. Just keep ya’ cool.”

Baby G then dug into his roll of green cheese and pulled out a hundred-dollar bill.

He said, “You doin’ all right today?”

His young soldier saw the money and answered, “I’m good. I don’t need that from you. It’s just love for the team.”

Baby G paused and looked his young soldier in the eyes.

He said, “That’s the right answer. It’s always about love for the team. And why is that?”

“Love for the team is the only way we win,” his soldier answered.

“That’s right. Now take this money and know that I’m good to you.”

The soldier remained hesitant.

Baby G said, “Look, man, don’t make my motherfuckin’ arm fall off. Take the money.”

His soldier finally cracked a grin and took the hundred-dollar bill.

Baby G told him, “That’s ya’ bonus for good work. When you work hard, you should be paid for it. But if you don’t, then don’t expect shit back. Does that sound fair to you?”

The young soldier nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. You dismissed now. Go on back out there and do some more work.”

“Aw’ight, son,” the soldier commented and started to move.

“Ay,” Baby G called him back.

The soldier hustled right back over to the car and stood at attention again.

The general told him, “You still young, man, but I like you. So here’s what I’ma do. I’ma give you something extra. A little bit of wisdom on ya’ dome.”

He said, “All that little money you get from me. It’s nothin’. And when you spend it fast, it get even smaller. So what you do, right, is keep that shit. And you let it stack up. Then you start looking at setting bigger goals for yourself.
Always
have goals. ’Cause if you out here spendin’ up money with no goals, then it’s like sand blowing out your fuckin’ hand in the wind. You dig me?”

The soldier nodded his head to him.

Baby G continued. He said, “You got a big advantage while you still young. You don’t have no babies, do you?”

The soldier shook his head and frowned. “Naw.”

The general said, “Me either. So while you don’t have no kids, no bills, no car, no credit, that’s the best time for you to stack ya’ cake. And
please
don’t let your family know you got no money. They the last people you want to know. ’Cause all of a sudden, they sick on the job and shit, and lookin’ at you for health benefits. You know what I’m talkin’ ’bout?”

He said, “They start coming up with all kinds of emergencies and shit. And they be needin’ exactly how much you got in your pocket. So if you got four hundred dollars in your pocket, ya’ sister’ll need three hundred and ninety. And if you got a thousand, your mom’ll be late for rent and need groceries. But you know you can’t turn your mom dukes down. So you gotta get in a habit of saying you broke.”

The young soldier started laughing, but Baby G wasn’t finished with him yet.

He said, “Let me hear you say it.”

“I’m broke,” the young soldier told him.

The general looked at him and frowned. “Nah, man, you gotta say it like you mean it. I wouldn’t believe you with that shit. You gotta say it like, ‘I’m
broke,
man, I ain’t got it.’ And then you raise up your hands like Jesus, and pull at your pockets. Let me see you do it.”

The young soldier did a better job of it. He said, “I’m
broke,
man, I ain’t got it.” He raised up his empty palms, pulled at his pockets and everything.

Baby G smiled and said, “That’s more like it, B. That’s why I don’t like my family now. I wish somebody taught me this shit when I was your age. Now I feel like I’m everybody’s daddy. And shit, my name ain’t Puffy.”

The young soldier started laughing again. But he was taking every word of it to heart. The general was spending extra time with him. That was special in itself. So he planned on heeding the wisdom.

Baby G asked him, “You hear me on this, man?”

“Yes, sir.”

They looked each other in the eyes before the general nodded him off.

“Aw’ight, you can go now.”

“Are you sure?” the soldier asked him.

Baby G said, “Yeah, I’m sure, man. Now get on out of here.”

The soldier chuckled. “Yes, sir, thanks for schoolin’ me.”

When he walked off on his way toward 123rd Street and beyond, Baby G stared at the boy’s back for a minute.

He looked over at his bodyguard/driver and said, “You see how he looked at me, man?”

His beefy driver nodded. He said, “Yeah. He was taking you to heart.”

“That’s the way it should be. But everybody don’t take it like that, man. But that boy right there, I’ma call him The Truth from now on. T for short. And I’ma see if he live by what I just told him.”

His bodyguard said, “He will. I can see it in him.”

Right then, Baby G’s cell phone went off. He looked down at the screen and noticed the undisclosed number.

“Hello,” he answered.

The caller said, “I read the Harlem newspapers today. Did you get a chance to read them?”

Baby G asked him, “Was it something about a month ago?”

“Yeah, that’s what it was. And I don’t like that shit. But it’s done now. But I’m a tell you what…I don’t wanna read no more shit like that. You hear me? Let me write that shit my way.”

Baby G smiled at it. He said, “I got you. Thanks for the call. It’s always good to hear from you.”

The caller responded, “Ditto,” and that was the end of the conversation.

Baby G closed his cell phone and asked his driver, “So, what’s poppin’ off tonight?”

“Anything you want. This is your world,” his bodyguard/driver told him.

“Well, we gon’ need that bigger car then.”

“The Chrysler three hundred?”

“Yeah, ’cause I wanna pick up some more girls tonight.”

“Aw’ight, let’s go get it.”

The driver started up the Mercedes engine, backed up, turned the wheel, and pulled out into the street.

As soon as they made it to the first traffic light, another phone call came in. The second call was from a regular Manhattan street phone with a 212 area code.

Baby G answered, “Hello.”

“Yo, I got news for you, B,” the caller announced.

“Is it old news?”

“Yup.”

“Well, you late already. I already got that news a month ago. So, bring me something new.”

The caller paused. “Aw’ight,” he responded dejectedly.

Baby G heard the disappointment in his voice. He said, “You did good, son. You just a little late with the info. So, you stay on your grind and keep your eyes and ears open. You don’t need no hearing aid or glasses, do you?”

The caller chuckled and said, “Nah, I’m good.”

“Well, keep up your exercise and stay healthy. That’s all you need to do,” the young general advised him.

When he ended this call, Baby G told his bodyguard/driver, “A hustler’s job never ends, B. You always on ya’ toes.”

His beefy driver nodded from behind the wheel.

He said, “Donald Trump’s job ain’t never done, either. Nor is that Martha Stewart chick’s. She even ran her shit from jail.”

Baby G got excited and said, “Yeah, she did, didn’t she? Martha Stewart went to jail, started making quilts and ponchos, came right back out on TV, and sold that shit.”

He said, “Now that’s a fuckin’ hustler, B. Word up.”

B
Y NINE O
’
CLOCK THAT NIGHT
, Polo and Spoonie had scooped Shareef up from his hotel. They were more prepared to run that night.

Shareef asked them from the front passenger seat, “Where’s Trap?”

“He had some other shit to do tonight,” Polo answered, wearing an oversized blue velvet cool cap. He said, “But you know how that nigga is. He get on his own little missions and he don’t talk to nobody about it. He always been that way.”

Polo thought about it for minute. He said, “Matter of fact, you again get like that yourself sometimes, Shareef. You did that shit to us last night.”

“Yeah, but you knew where I was goin’,” Shareef responded with a grin. His friend had read his mission correctly the night before.

Polo told him, “You damn right I knew. But it wasn’t like you was trying to volunteer the information to us.”

Spoonie was in the backseat checking messages on his BlackBerry.

Shareef asked him, “Why you so quiet back there, man?”

Spoonie didn’t answer. He was that much into his messages.

Polo glanced to the back and said, “He back there on that BlackBerry.”

Spoonie continued not to respond.

Shareef said, “Modern technology is something else, ain’t it? It won’t be long before we’re talking to each other face-to-face on like, mirror phones. You just dial a number, hold the shit in front of your face, and talk right into it.”

Spoonie said, “Yeah, then I can show a broad how hard my dick is on those late-night booty calls. I’ll tell her ass, ‘Look, my dick don’t get much harder than this.’”

Polo laughed and said, “Oh, he heard that shit, hunh? Perverted ass nigga.”

“That ain’t perverted. It’s just personal porno,” Spoonie responded.

Shareef grinned and said, “Aw’ight, so where we headed to first tonight?”

“We just wanna show you all the different little spots up here now. Some of ’em you already know, but others are like new hangouts,” Polo told him.

They pulled up first outside The Lounge on Adam Clayton Powell.

“This place still open?” Shareef asked them. “I remember the old-timers used to swing up in here when we were still too young to use the bathroom.”

“Well, we the old-timers now,” Spoonie told him as they climbed out of the Bronco.

Shareef said, “Shit, we ain’t that damn old. They were listening to disco up in here.”

Polo said, “Yeah, that’s what they listened to in the seventies. But they were in their twenties and thirties back then, just like we are now.”

“Yeah, I guess your right,” Shareef conceded as they walked in.

The old establishment was lit with neon blue light and had silver wall panels. A mix of new wave jazz and funk was pumping out of the stereo system, while customers in their thirties, forties, and fifties drank at the bar, shot pool, and talked shit to one another. A few of them even utilized the small dance floor to twist hips, dip shoulders, and vibe to the music.

“If you ain’t drinkin’, you can get the hell out,” one of the bartenders snapped from behind the counter. She was a tall, heavyset woman in her early fifties, with short, honey-blond hair.

Polo chuckled and looked at Shareef. Shareef smiled back at him.

“Ain’t nobody playing up in here,” the bartender continued. “I’m at this bar ready to take your drink orders right now. So what are you drinking?”

Spoonie made it over to the counter first, “Give me a rum and Coke.”

“Now that’s what I’m talking about. I like you already,” she told him. She went right to work on his drink order.