Harlem Girl Lost Read online

  Still rather nervous, Jesse stared at the bloodied boy beneath Chubbs. “I'm all right, Chubby … but what's going on with you?” Out of habit, whenever Chubbs had to explain himself, he nervously swayed his head and rocked his body to the side while looking away. He had had this habit since he was a child and turned into a perpetual liar because he got into so much trouble. Stuffing his weapon in his belt, he kept a tight grip on the man's Afro, as if he didn't have a single care in the world.

  “Ain't shit. You know my style—work hard, live long, and takin’ care of bidness.”

  Jesse walked a little closer. “I hear you, Chubby, but, um … shit don't look too good back here.”

  He frowned and surveyed the garbage in the alley, took a slight whiff, and nodded. “Yeah, you right, shit is nasty back here … and it stinks, too.”

  “Chubbs, man!” Jesse said in exasperation. “I ain't talking about the garbage, I'm talking about Dupree. He's bleeding pretty bad.”

  Brows lifted in surprise, Chubbs pointed to Dupree. “You talkin’ bout this nig?” He grabbed Dupree even tighter. “Oh, you ain't got to worry about this lil’ nig, dis nigga a'ight. I got this!”

  Suddenly, Chubbs unleashed a vicious slap across the boy's face with the butt of the weapon, cracking his facial bones. “Chubby, what tha fuck!” Jesse yelled, cringing.

  Barely eighteen, Dupree was an undercover crackhead who owed Chubbs some money, which was a no-no in Harlem. A drug dealer didn't give a fuck how much a nigger owed—ten dollars or ten thousand dollars, shit didn't matter. All that mattered to these cats was the fact that you tried to fuck them, and they would surely kill you.

  This was the perfect opportunity for Dupree to make a plea for his life.

  “Yo, Chubbs, man,” he pleaded, “I was gonna pay you but—”

  Whap! Whap! Chubbs slapped the boy senseless across his head with the butt of his .44 long, and looked at him with his fierce black eyes.

  “Nig, I'll fuck you up if you interrupt us grown folks again!”

  Cringing again, Jesse asked in disbelief, “Chubby, damn, what the hell did he do to you to make you beat him like that?”

  Chubbs paused as he tried to recall. Finally he appeared to remember. “Oh, yeah. This punk tried ta duck a nig and take advantage of nig kindness … talkin’ shit in the streets, sayin’ he ain't gonna pay Chubbs his money. Ain't that right, Dupree?” Chubbs lifted him by his collar and stuck the cannon deep inside his mouth. “Talk that shit now, lil’ fucka … talk it now!”

  Dupree's bowels bubbled loudly as the foul odor from his shit filled the alleyway. Chubbs frowned and immediately tossed him to the ground like garbage.

  “Look at that shit, Jesse. It's niggas like that,” he said, staring at Dupree with disgust, “that be givin’ Harlem niggas a bad name. They be walkin’ around talkin’ mad shit like they some muthafuckin’ mobsters … Now look at ‘im.” Chubbs spat on him. “He shits his muthafuckin’ pants when he run into a muthafuckin’ monster!”

  Chubbs cocked the hammer. “Yo, Jess,” he said, “you better step now. You don't want to be part of this shit.”

  Jesse wasn't sure what he meant. “Chubbs, you not gonna … damn, Chubby, you gonna kill him?” Chubbs rocked nervously and could not answer, but Jesse knew the deal. “Shit, Chubby, how much he fuckin’ owe you?”

  Chubbs looked down at Dupree and asked, “How much you jerk me for, lil’ fucka?”

  Dupree looked up at Chubbs and answered softly, “Five dollars.”

  Jesse looked at Chubbs in disbelief as he started rocking faster. “Shit, Chubby,” she said, “here's fuckin’ twenty dollars if that's the case.”

  He shook his head. “Naw, girl. You know it ain't about the money. It's the fuckin’ principle, yo.”

  Jesse threw him a sarcastic, knowing look. Shifting his weight from one leg to the other, he avoided eye contact with her until, after a few uncomfortable seconds, he relented.

  “All right, Jesse, damn! I ain't got no principles. I just like doing this shit!”

  She grabbed his black army jacket and black hoodie. “Then do this favor for me, Chubby. Just this one time, let him go.” She extended the money toward him, but he waved her off.

  “Naw, Jesse, fuck dat … you keep yo’ dough. You know I'll do anything for you. Shit, you my maafuckin’ peeps.”

  Relieved, Jesse let out a big sigh.

  “But,” said Chubbs, grabbing his crotch, “there is something you can do for me!”

  Frowning, Jesse gave him a wary look and put her hand on her hip. “What is it, Chubby?”

  He gave her a knowing look “You know goddamn well what I want. I want a big-ass pot of lima beans, that's what the hell I want, just like you use to do it back in the day.”

  Jesse smiled. “Deal!”

  “With pig tails and smoked neck bone too,” he added quickly.

  “Okay, you got it,” Jesse assured him.

  Chubbs grimaced at Dupree and barked, “Get the fuck outta here, lil’ fucka.”

  Dupree blazed the fuck out of the alley without looking behind, while Chubbs yelled at his retreating back, “And don't let me see ya bitch ass on the humble, nig!”

  Jesse hugged Chubbs by the waist as they walked out of the alleyway. “Silver asks about you all the time.”

  He smiled and folded his arms. “You don't say? How's my goddaughter doing academically this year in school?”

  “Actually, she's doing extremely well. She got skipped to the seventh grade and is still at the top of her class. She said she's gonna be a doctor.”

  Chubbs shook his head as his smile broadened. “My goddaughter, a doctor … whoa!”

  Jesse gave him a big hug and a kiss. “Thanks, Chubby. Make sure you tell Vonda I said hi.”

  “You make sure you give my goddaughter a kiss for me,” Chubbs said, opening the door to his black Pathfinder.

  As an afterthought, Jesse turned around. “Yo, Chubby, were you really gonna kill that boy for five dollars?”

  With the same devilish smile he'd had since he was a kid, Chubbs looked away and started rocking back and forth.

  Jesse sighed. “Forget I asked,” she said, knowing what the answer was.

  Chapter 3

  AUNTIE BIRDIE

  As Jesse climbed the three flights of stairs of the decrepit, dimly lit tenement that she called home, Birdie, her roommate and Silver's “auntie,” greeted her at the door. Birdie was like a mother hen when it came to Jesse and Silver. He was always overly protective, and detested it when Jesse gave people in the neighborhood money all the time.

  He stood waiting by the door filing his nails, wearing a green satin robe, huge pink curlers in his hair. “How much of your money you gave away today?”

  Jesse only smiled as Birdie read her face.

  “I fuckin’ knew it!” Birdie said knowingly. “Why you always giving these no-good niggas your cash, Jesse?”

  Jesse entered the apartment. “Because they're my people, and they need it.” She plopped down on the couch.

  Birdie slammed the door shut and folded his bulky arms over his broad chest. “Yeah well, I wouldn't give them niggas shit! If anything …” Birdie paused and then said defiantly, “I would ve made their asses earn those dollars, if you know what I'm saying, child?”

  Jesse gasped in shock. “Stop it, girl. Are you serious?” She knew very well that Birdie wasn't joking.

  “I'm nasty,” Birdie said, snapping his fingers for emphasis, “but times are too hard to be just giving away ya hard-earned cash, ‘cause a buck is a buck and a fuck is a fuck, child, and I ain't getting too much of either these days.”

  Looking toward the bedroom door, Jesse hushed him. “Shh, girl, Silver might hear you.”

  Birdie waved her off. “Oh, child, please, she's sound asleep.” He walked to the kitchen. “Do you want any coffee?”

  Jesse kicked off her boots with a weary sigh. “No thanks, girl. I gonna walk Silver to school so we can catch up, and then come back and
take a hot bath and get some sleep.”

  “Rough night?” Birdie inquired.

  Jesse shrugged. “You know, same old same old. Damn tricks wanting something for nothing.” She sat upright as if she had an epiphany. “Oh yeah, I almost forgot, it was this one trick last night—and girl, you won't believe this shit!”

  Birdie rushed over with his coffee and sat down beside her. “Now don't spare me any of the details. What happened, girl?” he asked, nearly breathless with excitement.

  Since Birdie had retired from hooking, his life consisted of General Hospital, As the World Turns, and babysitting Silver while Jesse worked at night. So when Jesse came home with tidbits of hoe stroll, he savored it and lived it through Jesse's eyes.

  Birdie's real name was Benjamin Alton. When he was sixteen, thirty years ago, he'd run away from Alabama to New York after he no longer could take the repeated rapes by his stepfather. Soon after arriving in New York, he'd fallen on hard times and begun sleeping on trains at night and spending his days at the Port Authority bus terminal. One day when Birdie was cold and hungry, an old white man had offered him twenty dollars for a blow job. He'd accepted it, and he'd been on the hustle ever since.

  “Well,” Jesse continued, “I'm working Twelfth Avenue last night, out there by the water, when this big, shiny black limousine with tinted windows and everything is cruising around peeping out us hoes. Everybody knew this nigga is hunting for some pussy ‘cause he done circled the block three times. I'm thinking he's just trying to make up his mind which one of us he wanted to get with.” She paused to catch her breath. “And you should have seen all them bitches posing and profiling and shit, breakin’ their damn necks to get his attention, ‘cause you know that trick was good for at least a hundred dollars.”

  “I know that's right, child,” Birdie agreed.

  “Anyway, all of a sudden he starts slowing down and the motherfucker stops right in front of me.”

  “Then what?” Birdie asked, brows lifted in anticipation.

  “Then the passenger-side window starts to roll down and I walk over and look inside and this black dude is driving. He's wearing one of them black chauffeur outfits, and he says, ‘My boss in the back would like to know if you're interested in a date.’ I said, ‘Why can't your boss tell me himself?’ ‘Cause you know I ain't getting in no ride if I don't see how a motherfucker looks.”

  Birdie nodded in agreement. “You got that right, girl, ‘cause they still ain't catch that motherfucker that been killing all them girls. You got to be careful! I just heard on the news that he struck again and cut this girl up so bad her head was damn near off her body.”

  For nearly a year, a serial killer had been killing women in the metropolitan area—primarily women of the night. The deranged killer's modus operandi was horrid. After he butchered them, he drained the blood from their bodies and thoroughly bathed them. Then he dressed them in a wedding gown and made love to them. The newspapers dubbed him “the Butcher of Broadway” and “the Groom of Frankenstein.”

  Waving her hand, Jesse dismissed his comment. “Please, girl, he ain't doing nothing but killing up them white girls. He ain't interested in no dark meat.”

  “Still, Jesse, that motherfucker is a sick bastard, so you just be careful. Now go ‘head and finish telling me what happened.”

  “So anyway,” Jesse continued, “I ask him why can't his boss tell me himself. That's when the back window starts rolling down, and I look inside and I say to myself, ‘I be damned’!”

  Birdie grew impatient with anticipation. “Come on, girl, what was it? A celebrity? Ooh, a celebrity with a big-ass dick?”

  Jesse frowned. “You are fuckin’ nasty. All you worry about is dicks, hoe!”

  Birdie paid the comment no mind. “Yeah, I'm a hoe, but don't forget my evil twin, and her name is Moe! Now tell me what you saw.”

  Shaking her head at the outrageous comment, Jesse continued. “I look inside once again to see if I'm seeing thangs, but goddamn it, there it was again …” She enjoyed keeping Birdie in suspense, and purposely paused again to build him up till he was ready to burst.

  Birdie shouted, “What, bitch? What was it?”

  Moving closer, Jesse looked him straight in the eyes. “A midget!”

  Birdie frowned in disappointment. “A midget?”

  “Yes, girl, a midget … I look over at the driver and he has this ‘What can I do?’ look on his face. I turn and look back at this lil’ white Gary Coleman, and he has this big-ass Kool-Aid smile on his big-ass face.”

  “Then what you do?”

  “Fuck it, a trick is a trick, right? So long as he got money— and trust me, this little motherfucker ain't gonna be out here in no limousine without no paper. I tell him, ‘Yeah, but it's gonna cost ya two hundred.’ He says, ‘Get in!’ I get in and look around, trying to act like it ain't no thang, right? But it's hard ‘cause this bitch is laid the fuck out! Plush seats, TV's, champagne, and any kind of liquor you want. Then he peels off two crisp one-hundred-dollar bills. I take it and put it inside my bra, then I tell him to tell the driver the directions to the motel, and the lil’ motherfucker says he wants to take care of business right there in the limo while we ride around.”

  “No, he didn't!” Birdie said, astonished.

  “Hell, yeah, girl, so I give him this leery-ass look and he begins to peel off another two hundred and holds it up in front of me.”

  “What did you do?” Birdie asked.

  “Bitch, what you think? I took that motherfucker!”

  “No, you didn't, girl.” Birdie giggled.

  “Yes, I did … shit, for four hundred dollars I would have fucked his lil’ ass in Macy's window during rush hour!”

  “And you call me nasty,” Birdie said. They both laughed. “Then what?”

  “Girl, that little motherfucker went straight to eatin’ the coochie!”

  “Stop!” Birdie said, edging closer as the story got meatier.

  Jesse nodded proudly. “Yep, like Pac-Man. And the lil’ motherfucker was fierce, too! Girl, he licked me from my asshole to my elbow and from the rooter to the tooter.”

  Birdie placed both hands on his chest. “Stop!”

  “Hell, yes, girl! I ain't never got my pussy ate like that before! Shit, that big-headed motherfucker was so good that I came about sixteen times.”

  Hands over his mouth, Birdie's eyes widened. “Sixteen? Stop!”

  “No shit! Sixteen … had my toes curling and everything. Hell, I should have paid his ass.”

  “So what about the fuck? Did he fuck you? How big was his little-ass dick?” Birdie shouted, unable to contain himself any longer. “Come on, girl, tell me!”

  Before she could finish the rest of the story, Silver walked into the living room.

  “Good morning, baby!” Jesse said.

  Silver smiled and ran into her arms. “Mommy!”

  “Did you sleep well, baby?”

  “No, I had another bad dream, Mommy. It was about you again,” Silver said, hugging her mother tighter.

  “Aw … everything's okay, baby. You don't have to worry about Mommy,” Jesse said softly rubbing her back. She looked up at Birdie. “Anyway, girl, I'm going to change and get Silver ready for school so me and my baby can catch up on things.” She reached inside her bra, pulled out a thick wad of cash, peeled off a hundred-dollar bill, and handed it to Birdie. Birdie stared at the roll of bills.

  “Damn, child,” Birdie whispered, “I might have to come out of retirement and show y'all bitches what a real lady can do! And none of you hoes would make any money.”

  “What happened to waiting for your tall, dark, and handsome?” Jesse teased.

  Birdie chuckled. “I'll settle for short, white, and big-headed…. Ooh, by the way, did you happen to get Gary Coleman's number?”

  Chapter 4

  THE RULES

  Jesse chose to walk uptown to Silver's school rather than take the bus because she was giving Silver the first portion of her daily
education—the streets. The core of central Harlem had many decaying yet still-beautiful brownstones that were now abandoned or served as flophouses, occupied by horror-flickish addicts seeking temporary refuge to get off a quick hit or nod. As they turned the corner onto Lenox Avenue, they watched the addicts milling about, engaging in desultory conversation, while waiting for their daily methadone dose from their program. Many of these addicts were there for business purposes also. When they got their orally ingested medicine, they sometimes refrained from swallowing it, so they could sell it on the street in what they called “spit-back”

  With each corner they turned, or each block they walked down, there was always something that she could teach or show her daughter. As they walked to school, it seemed everyone stopped to greet Silver and Jesse. They ran into Stickbroom Johnny, and Jesse handed him some money. Stickbroom stuck out his wrinkled, midnight-black hands.

  “I sho’ tank ya, Miz Jesse,” he said, and gave her one of his famous “good Negro” shuck-and-jives.

  “No problem, Stickbroom.”

  Stickbroom looked at Silver. “So how ya doin’, Miz Silva?” he asked, displaying a wide, gummy smile.

  “I'm fine, Stickbroom,” she answered. As they continued on, she asked, “Mommy, why did you give Stickbroom all that money when the newspaper only cost a quarter?”

  “Because some people are not as fortunate as others. So as human beings, we have to help those people out because you never know when they will help you. Do you remember when I taught you about the the laws of the universe?” Silver shook her head. “Well, it is quite clear and never fails. In order for you to receive, you must first give.”

  Silver pondered her mother's words. “Is that the reason why you give Mitts money all the time? ‘Cause he need it?” she asked at last.