Streets of New York. Mark AnthonyЧитать онлайн книгу.
along.”
“Why don’t you meet him at the club? He’s there sometimes…”
“We tried there. Not happening,” the fat man smiled. “Sit down and chill out in your nice apartment. Let’s get to know each other, maybe I’ll let you live.”
Lindsay was shuddering so hard she glanced down to make sure that the floor wasn’t wet from her urinating. This was crazy. Someone had turned the radio up.
How did these four guys get up in her apartment? Her wits slowly returned and she made a connection. The super was the only other person with copies of her keys and he was Spanish. She’d heard something about Spanish people sticking together. It would be that much easier for them to bribe him and get in. A tremendous feeling of discomfort encircled Lindsay as she realized that she was imprisoned in her apartment.
“No one, nobody is gonna get hurt right. All y’all want to do is talk. And settle some business, right?” Lindsay tried to sound as positive as possible. They all smiled and nodded. She noticed that the teenager from outside, Malik’s cousin had left. That made her feel that the guys sitting in her apartment had other plans. There were three remaining, maybe she could get into the kitchen and get the gun. It was in the utensil drawer. Then what would she do? Lindsay wondered. “Just point it away from your body, take the safety off and pow.” Squeeze had told her.
“Anyone care for ah…drinks? A beer?” Lindsay asked. They all stared at her then nodded. This is it, Lindsay thought as she walked quickly into the kitchen. Someone followed her but didn’t really pay her no mind after she opened the refrigerator. Lindsay pulled out three bottles of beer and searched in the drawer for the bottle opener. She put her hand on the gun and slowly pulled it out. She made sure she took the safety off, then she bit her lips and pointed it away from her body. “All right! Y’all get your motherfucking asses outta here ‘fore I start shooting!” Lindsay commanded. They all acted surprised. One even went as far as immediately throwing his hands in the air. Then they all laughed. “I’m not playing around. Put your hands down.” Lindsay yelled out above the music. She glanced at the gun and then stared at them with an evil grill. “If there’s some reason that y’all didn’t understand me, then I’m gonna say it again: If y’all don’t get out right now, I’m gonna…Y’all give me no choice but to bust this shit on someone!” Lindsay shouted above the music. No one budged. They all waited to see what would happen next. Lindsay remembered hearing Squeeze voice in the back of her mind saying: “If you pull your gun, use it.”
Lindsay had made the decision to pull the gun out. She had them now. They were all seated waiting for beer speaking their Spanish lingo making her afraid. Now she had the upper hand she pointed the gun on them. “For the last time, please get y’all Spanish asses outta here!” She screamed.
“Or what?” The fat guy nonchalantly asked. “You’re not being a nice hostess.” He said wagging his fat index finger. The others nodded in agreement.
“I don’t care. Please get your fat ass out my sofa and take your friends with you. Now!” Lindsay said as she took deadly aim at the intruders. They must not have taken her serious because the one who had his hands raised called her bluff.
“Go ahead shoot us.” He yelled at her walking towards her with his hands opened and then he jumped at her. Lindsay had no choice but to pull the trigger. Click.
Nothing happened. All she heard was the spray of guttural laughter. “But you’re gonna need this.” He held a metal case. She didn’t understand at first until he said: “This fits on the bottom of your gun. It’s the magazine. Mira, this is where the bullets go.” Lindsay looked even more confused. “This is where the bullets for the gun go.” He repeated.
They all laughed some more. Fear gripped her tighter. She now realized that they had searched her place and left the empty gun for her to retrieve. Now they were certainly gonna hurt her, she thought.
Lindsay saw the notebook that Pooh had treasured. The one she’d kept after he was killed. She knew it was dear to her brother and looked at the pages littered across the kitchen floor. Lindsay instinctively bent down and started to retrieve all the pages. She was packing all the pages neatly as her unwanted guests drank beers. The tears finally started to flow.
How was this going to end? She wondered. What were they waiting for. They probably just wanted to torture her. One of them saw how neatly she’d packed the notebook and just before she bound it all together, he shouted to her when he saw the picture of her brother on the front page.
“Is that your man?” He asked as she stared down at the picture on the cover.
“No, that’s…He’s my brother. He was killed last year.” She said with finality.
“He’s your brother, hmm you don’t say? Your brother?” The fat man asked in disbelief. “What a small world.” He said to her then turned to his friends and started talking. “He is the Moreno we killed. The one who robbed Julissa.”
“You gotta be shitting me,” one of them said.
“Get the fuck out,” the other said.
Then they all looked at Lindsay. Their stare made her nervous. She knew immediately that whatever they were thinking couldn’t be anything good. They all converged on the notebook and each took it in hand and further examined it.
“Read a little sump’n, sump’n, let me see if homey had talents.” The jovial fat man said. Lindsay picked up the note book and leafed through it with tears clouding her eyes she started to read too low at first. “Ah you don’t have to be scared of us. I told you we don’t wanna hurt you. Go ahead read.”
Lindsay silently cursed the day she’d kept the notebook. She cleared her throat and began to read as requested.
MARRIED TO THEZ STREETZ
I’m walking blakwardz through parkz of knowledge with no iz to my rear. No fearz. Thoughts like vinyl recordz keepz on spinnin inside my head. All dayz paranoira spreadz like poverty bottled juz for the hood. No one getz in or getz out. No medizine, no remedeez I treadz on the edge of the future and traze the path through a maze called life. Trying to figga like a humble solja on what to do next until I met deztiny. Me n my manz scrambling like kidz all from memory, shit we learnz uzi make uz top notch hustlaz. Now I guez I must have mad time to chill, recollecting how it izz and how it wuzz and how thingz use to be… way, way back whenz. Thiz Pooh hard riding don’t even try bringing your girlz round me cuz if she don’t fall for theze sexy iz then she falling for my blingz and thingz. Riding in a benz or ezzkaping in a ezzcalaid or rolln on a Range, lifted on dubz. None out there can shut uz downz. Weze bout da dollaz them scrillaz are ourz theze gunz aint borrowed we changingz hoodz like changing houzewives cuz we married to them streetz wit no namez they got our facez on the cornaz our own big facez on them. Blood running outta you iz murder only a nigga with a cut knowz how much it hurtin ya. I’m hip to thiz and for y’all hataz feelz the shellz bounz off your domez running when I blaz my ninez.
Lindsay paused at the end of the page and checked her listeners’ expressions. The fat man smiled and he seemed impressed. Lindsay all the time was thinking that the longer she kept them entertained then the greater her chances of escaping or planning a good escape. Her mind was spinning real fast and she had to do everything to prevent it from going into orbit. Lindsay heard as the fat man addressed her.
“Your brother was a poet and only you knew it,” the fat man laughed.
Lindsay smiled nervously and laid the loose leaf journal now held together by red strings down on the coffee table. The fat man picked up the remote and pointed it. He lowered the volume on the spit from JayZ’s Roc exit The Black Album.
Can I get an encore do you want more? … Hova, Hova,
Hova…
The anthem diminished from dance club volume to a favorable living room