Capital City

  Yes! I’m playin’ it good. Now it’s his move.

  Butterman nods and rubs his clean-shaved chin.

  “What time we gon’ do this shit?”

  Yes, muthafucka!

  “We wait until the sun goes down. Get them niggas when’ney don’t expect it.”

  He smiles at me. “You must’a been readin’ my mind.”

  Yeah, I jus’ hope you ain’t readin’ mine. ’Cause the more time I give myself, the easier it is for me to get t’ Philly with Carlette.

  I set him up. “Aw’ight, yo. Drive me back t’ da crib. I’m gon’ call up some people I know from back Southeast. You round them other niggas up. And I’m gon’ beep you back at, like, seven thirty.”

  He grins at me while he turns the key to ignition. “Where you live at?”

  I smile at him to butter up my lie. “In Brookland Apartments in back of Super Trak. But maybe I can move out of that slummin’-ass crib now. Maybe I can move out to Maryland after we get dese niggas, Joe.”

  Butterman smiles and rides me to the dirty white apartment complexes on Rhode Island Avenue, down the street from the Super Trak auto store.

  I hop out with the bag of money and the Uzi in it. My .45 is back inside my belt. I turn back and stick my head through the window with all seriousness.

  “Yo, don’t’chu fuck around and try ta stop me t’night. ’Cause when I call these ma’fuckas from my old neighborhood, they ain’t goin’ out for kicks. And you bes’ think about countin’ some more money, too. ’Cause these niggas ain’t for free.”

  “I got’chu. Everything is taken care of.”

  “Aw’ight. I’ll beep you later.” I turn around and eye some boys that really do live up in here. I run up into the building, playing the shit off like I know them. I figure Butterman ain’t gon’ wait around in the midst of this shit. All I have to do now is lay low and pay some of these niggas off to let me chill for a few minutes if I have to. I still got my .45 with me in case any of these boys want to squabble while I’m up in here.

  I might have pulled my sting off! I don’t give a fuck about none of these niggas! I got fifteen thousand dollars and Butterman set up to think that I want more. I do. But I’ll just have to settle with this cake so I can get the hell out of D.C. without becoming a fugitive for killing people in this crew bullshit. I mean, the way I see it, I wasn’t really down with Butterman. I was just getting paid.

  * * *

  I’m back home packing my shit up like a crazy white woman in a horror movie. I’m about to get up out of this camp! Fuck what’cha heard!

  I’m throwing most of my best gear in a couple suitcases that I got from my mom. Most of this stuff I got ain’t gon’ make it though.

  I walk into my living room and look around at my entertainment center with TV, stereo, equalizer, big speakers, a JVC VCR, and movies. Then I got this smooth black furniture, a Persian rug, posters on my walls. Damn! What can I do about all this stuff?

  Fuck it! I’m taking all my tapes and as much of my shit as I can. I’m just gonna have to call Carlette and tell her to bring some of her suitcases. I’m gon’ take my satin sheets, all my sneakers, and—Damn! Yo, a lot of all this stuff is just gonna have to get left. I mean, with the fifteen grand that I got from Butterman and my own five grand, that shit makes twenty thousand fucking dollars. Most of this stuff bought was hot from Benny anyway. I can just buy better shit later on, that’s all.

  Yeah. That’s what I can do. I’ll leave Benny the key to this joint and let him and his boys rob it. I’ll catch up to him and get the money another time.

  I dial his number and he answers on the second ring. It’s only about one o’clock, so I knew this nigga would be home. Benny’s one of those strictly nighttime niggas.

  “Yo, man, it’s Shank.”

  “Who? Get da hell outta here, shawdy. I thought ya ass was dead or somethin’ by now. I mean, you ain’t talked to me in like three months.”

  “Yeah, I’m tryin’a stay livin’. That’s why I’m callin’ ya ass up now.”

  “Oh, yeah? Well, what’chu need a gun or somethin’?” He sounds real concerned and shit. But I got five guns now. And all the bullets for a street war.

  I frown. “Naw, man. I’m ’bout t’ break out. I was gon’ let you have ya shit back. So what I’m gon’ do, you’n, is leave this key somewhere and let you rob this shit. Then I’ll jus’ look ya ass up an’ get a cut off it another time.”

  He laughs like shit. “What is this, an early Christmas present?”

  “Whatever, black. Call it what’chu want.”

  I tell Benny where I’m hiding the key and call up Carlette. Shit! She ain’t even home. I have to leave a message this time.

  “Carlette, this is Nell. I need you t’day, baby. This shit is code red. And bring, like, two of your suitcases and drive over here as soon as you get this message. Code red, baby! I’m in a hurry like a muthafucka, so hurry ya pretty ass up!”

  I hang up and call up my Aunt Pam in Jersey, to talk to my cousin Cal.

  “Darnell, honey, Calvin went to stay in New York this weekend. But he should be back by tomorrow night. He’s made real good friends with some artists up there. And you know the Bruce family in New York that we Halls never really got along with?”

  Damn! I don’t really feel up to being all friendly right now. I’m ready to get the hell out of here. My nerves are running a mile a minute like the Six Million Dollar Man.

  “Yeah,” I answer her.

  “Well, Cal’s made good contact with a cousin Lewis from Queens. He’s twenty-one, but his last name is Davis.” She stops and laughs. “All these short last names we have. But he’s still related to us.”

  Yeah, yeah, Aunt Pam. But I gotta go now. I mean, shit, my nerves are all fucked up!

  “Aunt Pam, I got a ’mergency down here and I might need you to find me a temporary place to stay up in Jersey.”

  My aunt gets quiet. She always thought I was good because I’ve never gotten locked up or nothing. But maybe she’s thinking differently now.

  “You know your cousin Peanut came down here talkin’ about some guys were after him from Newark. He supposedly was hanging out with the wrong group of friends from East Orange, and they ended up having a feud or something. And you know that damn Ozzie went out here—just a week ago—and got himself arrested for trying ta stick up some white man in Atlantic City.”

  Fuck it! I ain’t got time for this shit. I’m cutting her ass off.

  “Aunt Pam, now you know I ain’t never been in no trouble, but things are gettin’ hot down here in D.C. too. And I’m trying to stay away from it. That’s why I need ya help.”

  She sits on the phone, speechless. My heart is pumping like shit. I can’t help it. This shit is hectic. My nerves are running in a million different directions. I feel like throwing the hell up, and I didn’t even eat today!

  She sighs. “Okay, boy, you know I always loved you.”

  Whew! Shit!

  “Thanks, Aunt Pam.”

  “Uh-huh. So when you comin’?”

  I know this won’t sound good either, but it’s the truth. “Tonight.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Yeah.”

  She pauses again. “Okay. Lord help me.”

  I say my good-byes and all and hang up, excited like hell. All I have to do now is wait for Carlette to get over here and I’m off like a rocket. I’m outta this shit! The streets ain’t gettin’ this black nigga!

  I calm down with as much of my stuff packed up as I can get without Carlette’s bags to put some more shit in. I feel good as hell. I ain’t felt this free in a long-ass time.

  I take deep breaths and sit here watching this Saturday afternoon cowboy movie, waiting for Carlette. As soon as she gets here, I’m gonna call the phone people and have this line cut off.

  Feet don’t fail me now!

  I’m laughing like shit, sitting here lunchin’. I’m about to get out and I’m never getting trapped in nothing like thi
s again. Never! Life is too short for this dumb shit.

  * * *

  Yo!

  Huh?

  What da fuck are you doin’, Shank? You punkin’na fuck out now, nigga, or what?

  Naw, Joe, I’m just trying to live my life, man.

  That’s right! Fuck dat tough-guy shit, Nell. Life is more precious than dat dumb ego shit. You smarter than dat, Nell. You smarter than dat.

  Yeah, I know I am, you’n. You right. I know I am.

  No, da fuck you not. You goin’ out like a bitch, nigga, runnin’ from punk-ass Butterman. You should kill his ass and take the rest of his fuckin’ money.

  Yeah, that’s right. Butterman do got more money. I mean, fifteen grand ain’t nothing compared to what he’s making.

  Darnell Hall. Don’t listen t’ dat psychopathic bullshit. Fuck that! You’ll make much more than Butterman with your hype-ass rhymes. All you need is to start makin’ fat-ass tapes and get ’cha name out there.

  No bullshit, you’n! I got much skills.

  And when you get to New York, wit’cha cool-ass cousin Cal, you gon’ go for yours, right?

  You damn right I am, Joe! I’m gon’ get much damn props.

  Come, on! I mean, get da fuck outta here, nigga. It’s a million muthafuckas travelin’ all da way up t’ New York every fuckin’ year jus’ t’ get their stupid-ass feelings hurt. And ya rhymes ain’t no different from any other niggas’. That Mad Man shit already been done, Joe. So get off Redman’s and Mr. Scarface’s dick.

  Yo, Fuck that, Nell! You still got skills, you’n. Write some other hype-ass rhymes. That gangster shit ain’t the only thing you know. Remember what Wes told you? You would punk out if you didn’t go for yours. And you don’t back down t’ nobody, right? So don’t let nothin’ stop you from goin’ for yours, Joe! Do ya fuckin’ thing!

  That’s right! That’s right! That’s right! Yeah, fuck everybody that don’t believe in me! Fuck all you punk-ass niggas! I’m getting the fuck out of here! And fuck Butterman and his bitch! I mean, you know, if somebody shot Carlette, I would be the one who would want to kill them. But them Northeast niggas didn’t even kill Butterman’s girl. It seem like his girl was meant to die. That’s his problem! I got in this shit for the money. Now I got some. So fuck everything else!

  * * *

  I jump up from my couch and pace back and forth, taking peeks out my peephole for Carlette. My VCR clock reads 3:39.

  “Damn, Carlette! Come on, girl! Come the hell on!” My cordless phone rings and scares the shit out of me.

  Please be Carlette, God, I think. This waitin’ shit is killin’ me.

  “Hello.”

  “Everything is ready, man. I’m gon’ pick you up at Super Trak at, like, six.”

  Shit! It’s Butterman. This muthafucka!

  “Aw’ight, you’n.” I ain’t got nothing else to say to him. But I have to say something to let him think I’m still down. “Yo, this damn Uzi ain’t no joke, you’n. We gon’ get ’em niggas.”

  He says, “Yeah. Show ’em who dey fuckin’ wit’, right?”

  “Damn straight. But aw’ight, yo, let me call these Southeast niggas back and tell them when to meet us.”

  “Cool I’ll see you later on then.”

  I hang up, thinking, Where da fuck are you at, Carlette?

  Goddammit! But I ain’t ask Butterman about the money again. That was good. He’s probably thinking he gon’ get us to do it before he pays us. That’s just the way I want it.

  Little do that nigga know he gonna be waiting for a ghost at six o’clock. But where the hell is Carlette?

  I walk back and forth through my house, all packed and ready to go. And you know what? I ain’t talked to my mom in a long-ass time. Not even my little sister.

  I call them up and my little sister answers the phone on the first ring. “Hello.”

  “Remember me?”

  She giggles. “Nope, you’n. Who you?”

  I laugh with her. “Yo, how you been?”

  “Aw’ight.”

  “Any boys been tryin’a get’chu?”

  She giggles again. “Unh-uh, Joe. Nobody mess wit’ me like dat.”

  Good. “Well, do you ’member what’cha big brother looks like?” I’m just trying to pass the time. The clock says 4:23 and counting. And I won’t feel as nervous if I keep talking to somebody.

  My sister sucks her teeth, probably smiling like Carlette. Maybe she’ll look for a jet-black nigga like me when she gets older, too, with her light-skinned ass.

  “Yeah I ’member what’chu look like,” she says with a smart mouth. “I mean, Mom got’cha graduation picture all up on top of the TV. You can’t even miss that joint when you walk in here, you’n. Dag.”

  “What? Stop playin’. Mom got my graduation picture on’na TV?”

  “Yeah, she do.”

  Get da hell outta here! I mean, she didn’t have my picture up like that when I left. Now I’m nervous again at the shit I’m about to ask.

  “Umm . . . is she home?”

  I can tell my sister’s smiling. She’s just like Carlette. “You wan’ speak to her, don’t’cha?”

  I suck my teeth. “Shut up, girl, and get her on’na phone.”

  She laughs and screams in my ear, “Mom, somebody wants to speak to you!”

  Goddamn! My heart feels hot like shit. This’ll be the first time I said anything to my mom since she threw me out in October.

  “Who is it, girl?” she asks my sister before she answers.

  Damn! Sound like da same mean-ass Mom t’ me.

  She answers like she’s irritated. “Hello?”

  My chest is rising up and down for air, like somebody has a gun to my head. “Yo, what’s up?”

  She doesn’t say anything. Then, “Where you at, boy?”

  “In my apartment.”

  “How come you ain’t called me ’til now?”

  “I been busy.”

  “Mm-hmm, busy gettin’ in a bunch a damn trouble.”

  I shake my head, not believing this shit. She’s still fucking evil!

  “Yo, what’chu don’t like me or somethin’?” My damn voice is cracking like a bitch. Maybe I am getting soft.

  My mom doesn’t answer me.

  “I mean, all my life, Mom, all you did is talk shit and fuck wit’ me.”

  “Who you think you talkin’—”

  “I’m talkin’na you! I mean, you don’t act like nobody’s fuckin’ mother, you’n! What da hell is wrong wit’—”

  “I did the best I could, boy! Ya li’l ass was always fed and—”

  “So da hell what? I ain’t never felt like I was worth nothin’!”

  “Well, well . . .” She’s sniffing now as though she’s crying. “You don’t have no damn kids, boy.”

  My heart is beating uncontrollably. I feel real hot around my chest. And my body is shaking like I’m about to have a damn seizure. All because of my damn mom. “How you know what I got? You never asked me shit. How da hell you know shit about me?”

  Her voice is cracked too now. “’Cause you my damn son, boy. You my only damn son.”

  Tears are starting to run out of my eyes while my chest heaves. I can’t even stop the shit. Them motherfuckers just keep coming. I just sit on the phone in silence while they wet my face. Ain’t no sense in trying to stop them. Fuck it. It ain’t nobody here but me and my mom. And she can’t even see me crying.

  “Yo . . . why you got that Maya Angelou book?” I ask her. I still haven’t figured that out.

  “Your Aunt Pam gave it to me. She said it was a good book for me ta read.”

  “Did’ju ever read it?”

  “Ain’t never had time.”

  “Make time. I mean, ’cause, I don’t know what all you been through in life, but I figure if Maya Angelou can go through all the things she did and end up being famous, then we all need to read that book.”

  My mom giggles, still sniffing. Her laugh is choked because of her tears. And this is the f
irst-ass time she got me smiling in I don’t know when.

  “So when you comin’na see ya mother, boy?”

  “Never,” I tease her.

  She gets quiet on me like she’s taking it seriously. “You hate me that much?”

  “Do you hate me?”

  She pauses. “I ain’t never hate you, boy.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ll write you a letter, ’cause I’m goin’ back to Jersey and then to New York to live. I ain’t never wanna come to D.C. anyway.”

  “Hmm. I’m sorry ’bout that, boy. You know, love is a funny thing.”

  Yeah, she’s talking about her love for that motherfucking Julius.

  I hear a knock on my door. I walk over and peep out the peephole. Carlette is standing out in the hallway with two big, light blue suitcases in her hands.

  “Come on, Darnell, these things are heavy,” she says through the door.

  I wipe my eyes and face real good with my shirt before I let her in.

  “Who’s that?” my mom asks me.

  I smile at Carlette while I answer. “Mom, she wants to marry me.”

  “She, who?”

  “I’ll tell you in’na letter. But I’m ’bout to break out now.”

  “Mm-hmm. Whatever, boy,” my mom says.

  I can tell she’s smiling though. I hang up and start grabbing my stuff. My VCR clock says 5:03.

  I tell Carlette in a hurry, “Yo, let’s get busy and get da hell out of here for Philly.”

  And yo, my mother likes me an’ shit. She likes me!

  * * *

  I’m too relaxed to say anything while me and Carlette ride up I-95 to Philadelphia. She’s been kind of quiet herself. And this Sade Love Deluxe tape she has in is so damn smooth that it’s not doing too good to spark any conversation. It just makes you want to lay back and chill.

  I pick up the cassette cover and look to Carlette. She smiles straight ahead, looking out into the busy traffic. We’re doing about sixty-five.