Always Unique Read online

  This alone made Drop-Top a step behind the prey.

  Then Bone told him, “But not to worry”—as always, for precautionary measures, he’d had one of his boys with an eye on the building before and after the sting. The lookout had followed Fat Tee to an off-brand hotel a block off of Atlantic Avenue in Crown Heights.

  Drop-Top pulled into the parking deck of the same hotel.

  After finding a suitable parking space he turned on the hazard lights. Pushed the cigarette lighter in. Then, with his right foot, he tapped the brake pedal, twice. He heard the mechanical hum from the hydraulic system as the previously concealed compartment behind the dashboard opened, revealing its hardware. Of the three handguns inside, Drop-Top chose the 16-shot blue-steel Smith & Wesson. For three reasons: it was lightweight, easy to handle, and fitted with a machine-threaded silencer. The nine was as quiet as a bashful lover whenever he decided to bust off.

  Less than ten minutes later, two crisp big-face Ben Franklins and a smile for the chick at the desk got Drop-Top the room number he was in search of and two more big-faces bought him the keycards for the doors.

  Gotta love Brooklyn. Four hundred dollars is about to bring me forty thousand cash from Kennard and this don’t even add in what I get from this nigga in the process. He reminded himself that he knew better than to count his eggs before they hatched. But how couldn’t he? This was going to be like taking candy from a baby.

  According to Shorty Girl working the front desk, the man matching Fat Tee’s description copped a couple of rooms on the eleventh floor—1116 and 1118. Drop-Top used the stairs. There was no need involving any more potential witnesses than necessary. Besides, these days most hotel elevators had digital eyes in the ceiling monitoring who came and went.

  The cement block stairwell was hot and narrow—absent the smell of urine. It reminded Drop-Top of the ones in the project tenement where he grew up in the Fort Greene projects. His thoughts momentarily drifted back to when he was twelve years old, the first time Kennard had ever come to his house to visit.

  Drop-Top—well, everyone still called him Tyrek back then—and Kennard were in his bedroom playing Galaxy on Tyrek’s new Saga Genesis when they heard a loud thump, then a crashing sound. They both jumped up to investigate the noise. Both were surprised when they saw Tyrek’s mother, Betty, lying on the small kitchen floor, holding her face.

  Her boyfriend was standing over top of her. “Why the fuck you ain’t fix me nothing to eat?” His words were slurred. “I bet the hard-head-ass little knucklehead motherfucker of yours done had something to eat. Haven’t he?” Betty was a small, petite woman. Compared to her boyfriend’s six-foot frame she appeared childlike herself.

  Back then, another year or two before Tyrek would hit his growth spurt, on a good day, he stood only at five feet. Kennard had already passed him in height by at least five inches but none of that even mattered. Without a second thought Tyrek picked up a plate from the sink and slammed it against his mother’s boyfriend’s head. It caught him solid, breaking right across his dome. But Betty’s boyfriend shook off the blow and backhanded Tyrek, so hard that Tyrek slid across until the wall stopped his momentum.

  That’s when without hesitation Kennard intervened.

  His hands were so fast it was hard to keep up with what they were doing. A flurry of quick, short punches to the dude’s kidneys bent him over to size.

  Kennard’s father, a professional boxing trainer, had taught Kennard the craft young. Early on he could tell that his son had the natural-born talent to be a champion one day. Power, speed, and smarts—Kennard had it all. And Kennard unleashed it all on Betty’s drunk, abusive boyfriend. A twelve-year-old kid pummeling a grown man into submission; it was a sight to see. It was a display of boxing artistry worthy of a Pay-Per-View slot.

  Kennard and Tyrek, being in the same class, were already mad cool, but from that day forward they became brothers.

  Three years later, a kid from uptown snatched Kennard’s mother’s pocketbook. Tyrek got word of who’d done it and with an old Maxima and a .380, Tyrek returned the favor. He caught the dude in front of a trap spot, slipping. The poor purse snatcher had no idea that a kid he’d never met was about to introduce himself. Tyrek said “hello” by way of two quick shots from the automatic handgun, flipping the pocketbook thief’s head back and earning the name Drop-Top at the same time.

  Kennard’s enemy was his enemy. If Kennard hurt, so did Drop-Top. Whoever Kennard liked, Drop-Top had affection for, and this included Unique. She was not only Kennard’s woman, she was considered Drop-Top’s sister, and nobody violated anybody he cared about.

  When Drop-Top reached a metal door with the number 11 stenciled with red paint on the front, his focus returned to the moment. Hinges screamed out like they hadn’t seen a drop of lubricant in a century as the door opened.

  The hallway was empty.

  Around twelve, maybe thirteen rooms were on each side.

  The dull brass plate on the first wooden door to his right read 1102; across the hall, catty-corner to refrain nosy guest from peeping in their neighbor’s rooms when the doors were open, was 1101.

  Stoically, not too slow or too fast, Drop continued down the hallway as if he belonged there and owned the place.

  1104 …

  1106 …

  1108 …

  1110 …

  1112 …

  1114 …

  At 1116, he stopped.

  Fat Tee was either in this room or the one next door. Drop-Top sighed. It was fifty-fifty. A pistol gripped in his right palm, a keycard in his left, Drop-Top put his ear to the door. He didn’t hear anything that would change the odds as they stood. Not even a television going. Damn. He shook his head.

  Slowly, he slid the keycard into the slot, knowing he could easily be walking into a trap, but willing to risk it. The light on the lock changed from red to green.

  Hoping that the door’s hinges wasn’t as dry as the ones on the stairwell, he pushed open the door to room 1116.

  “Maintenance,” he said out loud, at that moment hoping that his Dickie’s khakis could pass him off as such.

  Inside was an average-sized hotel room with a bed, a nightstand, a dresser, a closet, and a bathroom, everything that was supposed to be there … but no signs of Fat Tee. The bed looked as if it hadn’t even been slept in. With his pistol leading the way, Drop-Top checked the bathroom just to be sure. Satisfied that the room was empty, he walked out as quietly as he’d entered.

  1118.

  Ear to the door; he didn’t hear any sounds coming from this one, either. He was hopeful that he’d caught the dude asleep. Drop-Top slipped the card into the lock the same as he’d done next door, making virtually no noise.

  With the silencer of the nine taking the lead, he stepped in, primed and ready.

  Fat Tee was lying underneath the cover. Apparently the dude was a late sleeper. Where you’re going, Drop-top thought, you’ll be able to sleep as long as you want.

  Index finger caressing the trigger, Drop-Top squeezed. Twice.

  Phssst! Phssst!

  The pair of hollow-points barely made a sound as they flew from the barrel of the nine, slamming into the body of Fat Tee.

  To be sure that the job was complete and Fat Tee wasn’t still sucking in oxygen, Drop-Top walked up to the bed with a smile cut across his face and pulled back the covers. What should’ve been a corpse were three fucking pillows.

  A handwritten note was laying on the one where the head should’ve been, a bullet hole in its center.

  Fuck you! Try again! You bitch-ass New York niggas …

  “Those VA cats weren’t as dumb as they looked,” Drop-Top said to himself as he left the room. “But we’ll see who gets the last laugh, VA—we’ll see!”

  KARMA IS A MOTHER …

  Since the big confession, Kennard hadn’t said much to Unique, who had been tiptoeing around the house, trying to give him space to figure out what he wanted to do with their relationship
. The energy in their home had been off since she had poured out her heart to him about her past. Even on the chilliest New York night, it had never been that cold between the two of them.

  She couldn’t really blame him and took it as if he was just trying to digest everything that she had told him the night before. She didn’t like it but what could she do? She was grateful that he hadn’t asked her to leave yet. In fact, she was thinking about going to stay at her friend Tyeedah’s house until his head was clear.

  This wasn’t the way she had planned it, but she was willing to accept the consequences of her actions.

  She was in the den, watching Lifetime, preparing herself because she was certain that her life was about to play out like a movie. She could hear him on the phone, and she had decided that when the flick was over she was to get up and get dinner going. Though she knew he was talking to someone, she couldn’t make out the words because she wasn’t ear hustling—she didn’t want to get in his way by any means.

  As she watched the last scene of the movie, tears started to form in her eyes and that’s when Kennard poked his head in the room. “Yo, throw on your sweats and sneakers and come on.”

  She perked up quickly. “Where we going?” She was glad to go anywhere with him—or glad he wanted her to go somewhere with him.

  “We’re going to deal with that nigga, Fat Tee’s bitch ass,” he said in a nonchalant way, but she knew it was about to get serious.

  Kennard had put the word out on the street looking for Fat Tee and had gotten an inside tip from a desk clerk that he was laying low at a hotel in the Bronx.

  “Awww, baby.” She was so happy that Kennard still cared. Unique could not believe that Kennard was going to roll out for her like this. This made her love him more and though she, more than anybody, wanted Fat Tee to get what he had coming to him, she didn’t want Kennard to get in any kind of trouble. “Thank you so much but I don’t want you to get caught up in this bullshit.”

  “When that nigga had the balls to enter my house and rape not just any woman but my woman, then had the gall to put his hands on you, that motherfucker made his own death wish.”

  “But he ain’t worth you getting involved.”

  “Baby, him making you lose my baby … Look, I understand that you have been through enough with this nigga so if you wanna stay here while I go deal with this problem, then I understand. But it might be the best therapy for you to see firsthand this motherfucker get his and hear him beg you for his shitty-ass, worthless, two-bit life!” Kennard emphasized every word he said but he wanted to see them wheel Fat Tee’s lifeless body out of the hotel under the white sheet.

  “Oh no, baby! If you go, baby, I go!”

  Unique tied her sneakers up and was on the way out of the door when the TV bolted to the wall caught her attention. She had turned to the evening news. They were broadcasting a story about stolen diamonds. The story stopped Unique in her tracks and led her to pick up the remote from the table beside the bed and turn up the sound.

  “Babe, babe,” Unique screamed out for Kennard at the top of his lungs, “come quick.”

  Kennard came rushing into the bedroom. “What’s wrong, babe?” He heard the volume of the television up loud and saw the stunned look on her face that was focused on the tube, which prompted him to immediately give his attention to the news’ breaking story as well.

  They both stood and listened to the newscaster’s report.

  “Thirty-one-year-old Mr. Terrell Gump, from Richmond, Virginia, was apprehended by TSA at LaGuardia Airport yesterday after a body scanner revealed that he had an unusual-shaped mass lodged in his anus.” She seemed to be fighting the urge to laugh as she read the teleprompter. “After a perfunctory cavity search,” she continued, besting her emotions, “the object turned out to be an estimated 1.2 million dollars’ worth of stolen diamonds.”

  The producers cut to a still frame of the hot ice lying on a table. The shiny gems glistened under the camera’s light.

  With a WTF expression on her face, Unique looked on with Kennard. The temperature of her blood going from warm to white hot, both nervous and shocked, her mouth opened, forming the shape of doughnut.

  The screen switched back to the anchor, Pamela Pitchford.

  “Sergeant McDaniel of the NYPD said that Mr. Gump had allegedly been trying to sell the stolen diamonds—one at a time—to various underground jewelers. The problem, which Mr. Gump obviously wasn’t aware, was that the diamonds were registered, making each diamond identifiable. There was also a tracking device in the bag in which they were originally stolen, which for some reason Mr. Gump kept.”

  They showed a mug shot of the suspect: a dark-skin dude with a mouth full of silver teeth.

  The two worst-looking pictures in the world always seemed to be DMV’s and a mug shot and his mug shot didn’t do Fat Tee one bit of justice.

  “If convicted, Mr. Gump could get up to life in prison,” Pamela Pitchford pointed out.

  Her co-anchor chimed in: “That’s a long time to serve for trying to dodge a luggage fee.… In other news…”

  “Yo, that shit is crazy.”

  “It is!”

  “Better that the spooks get him than me, I guess,” Kennard said, disappointed, but there was still a devilish grin plastered all over his face.

  Unique was kind of relieved because she really didn’t want Kennard getting his hands dirty on that trash Fat Tee.

  But Kennard now had a puzzled look on his face.

  “What’s wrong?” Unique asked.

  “I just hope this bitch-ass nigga don’t start talking when he gets to the pen, that’s all.”

  Unique knew that what he was saying was true and was most likely going to happen. Fat Tee hated her guts and there was no reason he wouldn’t tell on her. It’s not like he even lived by the morals and principles of the streets. That’s why they were in the situation to start with: Fat Tee didn’t pay Took when Took went to jail because he had no regard for the rules of the dope game, which then caused Took to want revenge and his money. This then prompted Took to go to extreme measures to get what he felt like he was owed and to make a point that nobody does that kind of shit to him.

  Fat Tee indeed got a huge dose of his own medicine and then Unique not only played a big part in hitting him where it hurt—his pockets—but she hurt his feelings and made him the laughingstock of the hood.

  All these things confirmed any thoughts that Unique had, and tears formed in her eyes. “I’m pretty sure that Fat Tee is going to tell on me. As soon as he gets there he’s going to start singing like a songbird in a chorus line. That you can bet.”

  “Don’t worry your pretty face, I will take care of it.”

  “Easier said than done.”

  “Trust me!”

  And she did … that’s all she could do. She had learned the hard way what could happen when she took things into her own hands.

  RIKERS

  Someone great once said, “The ultimate measure of man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.”

  Fat Tee had no idea why that damn quote kept popping into his head.

  Sitting at one of the metal tables in the dayroom, Fat Tee kept trying to remember where he had heard it before. He thought it had been MLK, Jr. He wanted to quote it in the letter to his attorney. He decided to move on to his next letter, and tried to focus on blocking everything out. He wanted to take his time to pen this letter, to be sure and give the details to his partner back home in Virginia of everything that had transpired with Unique and the diamonds. Though he might have to do a little time, best believe her ass was going to pay in more ways than one. The latter made him smile to himself. She was going to get hers.

  The noise was so loud that he couldn’t concentrate. Dudes in his pod were playing cards, watching the game, talking on the phone, and plotting against each other—he could barely hear himself think. If his cellie hadn’t asked for “p
rivate time,” Fat Tee could have written his letters in there—he would at least have been able to hear himself think.

  Fat Tee had been in the infamous Rikers Island jail for seven days now, and in that time he’d been in two fights and gotten his butt kicked both times but at least he fought back. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to do his bid like this. Rikers was tough enough as it was, but not being from New York put him at a major disadvantage—a foreigner in a foreign land didn’t usually fare well in prison. Shit, he might as well have gotten arrested in Mexico or Thailand.

  He touched the flattened piece of cold steel that was concealed under his shirt between the waistband of his pants and his side to make sure it was still there. He’d bought the knife off a Puerto Rican for fifty dollars, which he sold his sneakers to get. The knife gave him some comfort, but not much. The new kid always had to prove that he wasn’t a chump before someone else proved that he was. That was the way the machine worked. And Fat Tee knew, in his heart, he wasn’t built for this shit.

  He was counting down the days until Friday, when Fat Tee’s lawyer had promised to get him a face-to-face with the DA. If Fat Tee gave up the people he claimed he’d gotten the diamonds from, and it all panned out, they could make a deal.

  Fat Tee had absolutely no problem giving up Unique’s ass. Better her than him. The only thing he was upset about was that he didn’t know the name of that tight-ass bitch that was with her. But in the end it didn’t matter. He had no intention of taking the rap. FUCK THAT!

  Fat Tee dropped the letter in the mail to his partner and then went back to his cell to get the address for his lawyer. Cats were giving him the screw face. Nothing new. These up-north niggas thought that they were all that, he thought, that’s why we send them back in body bags when they tried to hustle in Richmond.

  He hoped his cellie was finish beating his dick, or whatever it was he needed to be alone for. Their cell was on the upper floor. To get up the steps he had to walk through a maze of mean-mugging convicts.