Chapter Thirty
Ladelle was up bright and early for work. Lydia was still in bed, so he made a bowl of Apple Jacks and a glass of orange juice. He knew she’d be home all day and he wanted to come in early so that they could go to a movie. He went into the bedroom and bent down and kissed her on the forehead. ”I’ll see you when I get in tonight,” he said before walking out the door.
Ladelle didn’t wait for the elevator; instead he took the stairs down, two steps at a time. He passed by some chick on a lower floor taking a hit, blowing the smoke down the stairwell. ”Get the fuck outta this building with that shit!” he barked at her.
Ladelle walked through the lobby, exited the building and went to a newsstand. He grabbed the Daily News and a pack of gum. He took out the keys to his Escalade and stopped dead in his tracks before hitting the alarm on the key ring. He dropped the newspaper and walked over to where his ride was parked. ”What the fuck happened?” he asked out loud. It was obvious what had happened; somebody had trashed his ride.
Ladelle couldn’t believe his eyes. All of his windows were smashed out, someone had slashed his tires with an ice pick and there was spray paint all over the sides of the truck. The seats, dashboard and roof were all cut up, and there was more spray paint throughout the interior.
Ladelle was tight. There was no way this was his ride. He called 9-1-1 from his cell phone and then he called Lydia upstairs.
The police arrived and Ladelle gave them a full report of what had happened to his truck. Lydia had come downstairs by the time he was done. Ladelle called his insurance company and then he called AAA. When they arrived, Ladelle filled out the necessary paperwork and showed his title and registration, along with his license to prove ownership of the truck. They surveyed the damage and towed the Escalade away. It was a good thing he had full coverage or he’d be fucked.
Ladelle walked Lydia back to their building and caught a cab to midtown. He was already late, and he knew that traffic would be a monster now. Better late than never, he thought.
Lydia got upstairs and made some tea with milk and honey. She was worried about Ladelle. She wondered if maybe she’d made a mistake in marrying him. Now someone had taken their anger out on his Escalade. Somebody was definitely sending him a message. But she knew it came from his dealings with Petie. Lydia wanted Petie out of Ladelle’s life once and for all. All he did was bring trouble to people. He destroyed lives and she didn’t want Ladelle to have anything to do with him anymore.
Lydia called her girlfriend, Janine, and told her that she was coming over. She didn’t want to be in the house alone, and she needed someone to talk to.
Kalif was having breakfast at Pan Pan’s on 135th. He called Will to find out how Share was doing. Will told him she was all right and would be home from the hospital next week. He was going to stop in at the McDonald’s restaurant on Fordham Road for a couple of hours before going to see her.
Kalif and Will talked about BJ and his fight with the dogs and the foul shit Annette did. Kalif told Will he used to fuck with Annette and that she was mad grimy.
They ended their call, and Kalif went back to Lincoln and rolled up a blunt. He called Carlito, his Latino dust connect, and made arrangements to see him on 141st and Seventh at Drew Hamilton Projects. No sense in having the trees without the dust. That would be like having chicken without any seasoning or pancakes without the syrup as far as he was concerned.
The weather was good, so Kalif jumped on his mountain bike and rode to Drew Hamilton. He stopped on the way and hollered at a chick standing in front of a corner store. He told her to watch his bike, and he went inside the store and bought two more blunts and a pack of Certs; her breath smelled like a sour mop. Kalif came out of the store and gave her the pack of Certs. ”Here, ma. Suck on them real slow, okay? After you freshen up, I’ll holla at you,” he said.
”Fuck you, nigga! You ain’t all that!” she said as Kalif got back on his bike.
”Yeah, aiight, but at least my breath don’t smell like a hallway,” Kalif replied. He rode his bike in traffic until he got to Drew Hamilton. He saw Carlito—a Puerto Rican kid—and got two bags of dust from him. Kalif wondered where this nigga copped from. Every time he asked, Carlito acted liked it was some ancient Chinese secret, so he just stopped asking.
Carlito had some Dominican chick with him. Kalif winked his eye at her. She smiled and winked back. No good bitch, he thought. Here she is with this cuchifrito and winking at me. He thought about hitting her doggy style. Shit, if he did that she’d tell him where all the stash spots were. And by the time he was done with her, she’d be bringing him bricks that she had stolen—anything for the anaconda.
Kalif wondered what her tonsils felt like. She looked like she had a deep throat. He got back on the bike and before pulling off, he beckoned her to him. She moved closer to the bike, smiling and licking her lips. Kalif turned and farted, and then he took off. She was one of those now & later bitches: I’ll hit you now and dis you later.
Kalif got back to Lincoln and grabbed his blunt. He dropped one of the bags of dust in it and fired it up. He took a few pulls and began to feel lifted. He walked to the kitchen and opened a beer before returning to the living room to watch rap videos on BET. When Kalif went back to the kitchen to get another beer, he saw somebody standing in the hallway. He blinked his eyes and looked again, and he saw a male figure standing there laughing at him. Kalif walked toward it, but it disappeared. He went to his bedroom to look for the figure. He looked under the bed and in the closet...there it was, still laughing at him. Kalif went to grab at it, but it went through the wall into the bathroom. What the fuck is happening? he thought. Kalif ran into the bathroom and didn’t see anybody. He was totally tripping. He opened the medicine cabinet and closed it back. Then he turned on the sink faucet and leaned forward to splash water on his face. After drying off his face he looked in the mirror and saw someone standing behind him. Kalif turned around and saw no one. When he looked back in the mirror he saw his reflection melting. He tried to grab at his skin to keep it from slipping off his face, but it continued to melt. His face was falling apart. ”Oh, God, what the fuck is happening?!” he yelled at his reflection after seeing his nose fall off and his eyelids slide down the drain.
Kalif ran out of the bathroom and stood in the living room with his back to the wall. His skin started to crawl and his head began to itch. Oh, no, he thought. Ants are on me. He looked down at his feet and saw about a million ants beginning to crawl up his body. Kalif got the broom and started swatting at them. They were all over him now, including his hair. He shook his legs frantically and beat himself in the head, trying to get the ants out of his hair. They wouldn’t budge.
Kalif ran back into the bathroom, turned on the shower and got in the tub fully clothed. He let the water pound down on him and finally washed away the invisible ants.
Kalif got out of the tub and took off his clothes. He dropped them in a pile on the floor and stood in the bathroom butt naked. He didn’t want to look in the mirror; he didn’t know what he’d find there looking back at him. His earlier reflection had scared him to death.
He went to his room and got in the bed underneath the covers. He grabbed the gun that was under his pillow in case the figure reappeared. He would shoot it if it did. Kalif lay there in bed naked for hours, waiting for the figure to return. He saw nothing, but he did hear something—the voice of Rasheed, his brother who was taken away from him by knuckleheads. He missed him so much and his heart was in pain.
Kalif knew what he had to do to let Rasheed rest. He had to bury the niggas who had killed him. They wanted beef, well, they were gonna get it.
