As Cleo sat staring at the television, she had no idea about what was happening on the screen. Her mind was stuck on stupid. Actually stuck on C's, but since stupid and him went hand in hand, she'd had it right the first time.
Since the night before, when everything had jumped off, he'd barely said two muttering words to her, after pulling Ant, Angela, and her from that nasty ass shed. He didn't even come to bed. His brown behind chose to sleep on the couch instead. Really?!
Hell, he damned near filleted her ass when he knocked her over the coffee table. You'd think that would've been worth two words. I'm sorry. But no, she hadn't got that either, and by the time she awoke that morning, Pimpin' was already gone, along with Ant. Traitor! He should've had her back. She wasn't the only one that C's had gone Ike Turner on. Truth be sold, if it weren't for her trying to help him out, then she wouldn't even have stitches.
The studio audience laughter from the television set snapped her attention back. Her gaze drifted over Putt's living room until her eyes landed on Pep, stretched out asleep on the floor. She smacked her lips and stood. How the hell was he going to ask her to come chill, and he wasn't even awake to distract her with his craziness? The sound of running water in the kitchen tugged at the nosiness in her. Spinning away from the front door, she headed in the direction of the kitchen.
Cleo paused in the entrance way, when her gaze landed on Taz. He leaned against the counter, in a pair of black pajama bottoms with no shirt, reading a magazine that had Hustler scrolled across the front. A naked lady with huge breast, and no shame lay spread eagle on the cover.
Watching his face, as he watched the magazine and lounged in the kitchen half-dressed made her all warm and itchy under her clothes. Embarrassed, she wanted to back away, but her damn feet wouldn't move. What the hell? Before she could explore the loss of control over her legs any further, eyes black as night met hers and added to her paralysis.
"Que pasa, mami? Who let you outta the play pen?" He asked as the corner of his mouth quirked.
She folded her arms across her chest, and rolled her eyes. "What play pen?"
"Weren't you kickin' it with Pep in the living room, watching cartoons and shit?" He asked, having the nerve to cock an eyebrow at her.
"No," she said, straightening herself to her full height. "We were watching Sanford and Sons. While you're talking!"
He shrugged as he returned his eyes to the magazine. "Those aren't the details that matters."
"So what matters?" She asked, not sure why the hell she cared what Putt's cousin thought of her.
A nasty grin pushed at the corners of his mouth, but his gaze remained on the magazine. "What? C's haven't taught you already? Damn he slippin'," he murmured, with a hint of an accent.
Just then the timer on the microwave beeped. Dropping the magazine on the counter, Taz turned around to open the door. With a pot holder in hand he withdrew a huge white ceramic coffee cup. As he peered into the cup his eyebrows knitted together in concentration, with even more concentration than he had for his old nasty magazine. His interest piqued, her own, causing her to walk further into the kitchen, to have a peek at what was in the cup.
"What's that?" she asked, her voice barely breaking a whisper.
Staring up at her through long sooty lashes, he held the cup out for her to take a look. As she chewed her bottom lip, her eyes left his to gaze into the mug. The inside contained water with a greasy residue, which looked like melted butter, floating on the surface. One whiff of the contents and she knew what it was.
"You cooking dope in the microwave?" She asked, glancing back at him. "Won't you mess it up like that?"
"Not if you know what you're doing," He said, snatching a miniature egg beater off the countertop. "It comes back, just like stovetop." Flexing his wrist, he proceeded to beat the liquid cocaine. "Grab the milk outta the fridge for me."
"For what?" She asked, scrunching her face.
He stared at her with a soulless gaze, until she retrieved the milk from the refrigerator. Holding it out to him, he sat the cup down and took the carton from her outstretched hand. After he splashed a little of the solid white liquid into the mug, he snatched it back up, and then started whipping it again.
As he worked the contents of the cup, she allowed her eyes to work over him. The way the muscles in his stomach tightened, while he labored over the dope made her mouth dry. Not appreciating how the thin sheen of sweat on his chest provoked her to lick her lips, she forced herself to look away.
Being around him, had thrown her body into automatic response. At this point she had more control over the damn weather, than she did her own body. No wonder why boys from around the way never brought their girls around him. They wanted to keep them! Taz was a threat to all females alike, young and old.
"I see you lookin'," he said, his attention still focused on the cup, while his expression brooked boredom. "What's on your mind?"
Oh hell no! She'd be damned if she opened that door. Her—buck wild—man would kill them, and leave both of their asses in a ditch. So instead of telling him the thoughts really dominating her brain, she chose to share the notions dancing at the corners of her mind. "Can you teach me how to cook it up in the microwave too?"
Her question snaked his concentration from the cup. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," she said, hopping on one of the bar-stools placed at the islander. "I mean half the time of the process is waiting for it to boil." Shrugging, she nodded toward the mug. "It'll be a game changer if the microwave can cut cooking time in half."
"If you really wanna learn, then c'mere and I'll show you," he said. His offer sounded almost like a dare.
Accepting the challenge, she slid off of the bar-stool, and met him in the center of the kitchen. A full smirk, touched his lips as he handed her the cup.
"Do you know how to make it come back the regular way?" He asked, dangling the mini egg beater in front of her face.
Cleo snatched it from his loose grasp. "What you think?"
"Who knows," he said, "with C's there's no fucking telling. You can either jump two bricks in a few hours or your pussy is that snappa."
"My stuff is none of your damn business," she snapped as she began to take her frustrations out on the cup. "And as for jumping two keys in a couple of hours, forget Nike. You dig that chick so much, you fuck her."
"I wish, sheeit. Isn't like I haven't tried," he said, laughing as he hopped up to perch on the edge of the countertop. "But C's got her nose open and thangs. Chica, won't give my ass the time of damn day. It's cool though. Too many bitches in the world to worry about just one."
Pissed from six days to Sunday, Cleo whipped the dope until her wrist popped and her fingers tingled. Hearing Nike's name reminded her of all C's previous fuck ups and lies. In fact she was still dealing with those issues. So listening to Taz go on about Nike like she was Rosie Perez or somebody, made her want to bash him in the head with the damn coffee mug.
He must've sensed her building rage, because he switched lanes on the conversation. "Heard about the shit that popped around here last night. Maldonado bringin' his people through to lay the damn block down. Now why do you think that was?"
Sitting the cup down on the counter, she placed her fist on her hips, and then cut an eye at him. "Who the hell is Maldonado? And when the hell did he come around here?" Is that why C's had them hiding in the shed for damn near an hour the night before?
"Do you know anything about vato other than his name?" Taz asked, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his thighs. "Ignorance will get your ass killed around here, mami. You need to start drilling ya boy with the right questions. Like what really happened to Juan, and why the head of a major cartel, felt the need to pay him a visit?"
Those were some good damn questions. Hell, questions she hadn't even thought about asking. She was so worried about C's being laid up with the next chick, she hadn't stopped to think about all the other things that went on in his day to day. Like why in the world wasn't she more scared the night before? Homeboy had hidden them all in his stash spot and the only emotion his actions had prompted from her was anger.
If that mess would've went down with anyone else, she would've been shaking like a damn stripper for a dollar, instead of sitting around in the dark wondering why he hadn't called. "What do you think happened to Juan?"
Taz shook his head. "Couldn't tell you. He wouldn't let me roll with 'em that night. If I had to guess though, I'd say they pulled a move. Shit got crossed when the medics rushed Juan to the hospital, and then he fucked around and died. Something like that," he said as he leaned back to peer in the cup, "there's no excuse for. This one's about ready to float. Grab the scale and weigh out another seventeen grams."
Cleo wanted to continue with the conversation at hand, but Taz's expression said, don't push him. So she let the topic ride, filing away the questions for a later time, preferably when she had the Puerto Rican in question in front of her. "Why seventeen and not twenty-eight?"
For the next hour she allowed Taz to show her how to cook dope in the microwave, by the time she crossed the street back to C's house, the Chevy was parked in the driveway, and her nerves moved like worms between her intestines. C's was home. With a stable mind frame, she hoped.
The wild crazy, which burned in his eyes the night before had pressed pause on the way she usually handled him. Homicidal rage and impossible circumstances had snatched comfort and ease clean out the back of their relationship. Now instead of gliding through his zone, he had her on eggshells, tiptoeing around that joint.
When she entered the house, Ant sat reclined on the sofa in front of the big screen television. He barely spared her a glance as she crossed the living room to the stairs. Before climbing them, she lingered at the bottom staring reluctantly at the top. She knew C's and her needed to talk, but what the hell would she say to him?
There were so many issues and misconceptions stacked between them, she didn't know what to jump on and ride first. Unsure of her next move, she cut her eyes at Ant, but was surprised when she found him already watching her with an empty expression.
"What's up with him?" She asked, glancing back upstairs. "Is he still spinnin' out, like last night?"
"He's stressed," he said, gaze returning back to the television. "Don't go up there bothering him with your usual bullshit. He already has enough shit on his mind. Don't need you adding to it."
Her head snapped back and her eyebrows rose to collide with her hair line. "Are you crazy? Last night he had you pinned to the front door by your neck. Hell, your feet barely even touched the ground. Now what? Y'all put a couple blunts in the air, and now you ready to move back under his nut sack?"
"Heard what the fuck I said," he replied, this time without the benefit of a glance. "If you goin' up to argue with him over dumb shit, then fall back. It's the last thing he needs right about now."
"And how the hell would you know what he needs?" She asked as fresh aggravation eclipsed the jittery sensation of her nerves. "Did he tell you, or are you doin' what you do best? Assuming and shit."
In response, Ant raised the volume on the TV. Too mad to remember why she'd hesitated before, Cleo ascended the stairs, quickly and one after the other. At his door her hesitancy reemerged. She raised her fist, and then dropped it back at her side. She didn't know whether to knock, or go in. Reaching for the doorknob, she chose to enter without knocking.
Inside the room, C's lay on the bed with his hands behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling. The tension in his flawless features were visible. She knew that look. He was plotting. She could only hope that his time out was not for her benefit.
When the door clicked closed his chocolate brown gaze found hers. Without a word he held out his hand to her. A weight she hadn't known she carried lifted as her feet propelled her across the room into his open arms. Once she was tucked into his side like a missing puzzle piece her relief manifested in a sigh. The thoughts tumbling around in her head in a tangled jumble reshuffled and stacked themselves neatly in a corner of her mind.
His fingertips grazed the edge of the gauze on her arm. "I'm sorry, bae. Didn't mean for that to happen. Things just got so fuckin' crazy last night. I got crazy, handling you and Ant like that."
"What happened last night, C's?" She asked, angling her face to stare up at him. "Who were those people? Why they show up here wide open like that?" His hand slid to her waist and caressed the bared skin at her side. As always his touch was distracting, but this time her curiosity flat out refused to be distracted. She propped herself on an elbow to stare down at him. "Come on. Talk to me, babe."
"A motherfuckin' problem. That's who they are," he answered, taking her off guard. "And they're the reason why you can't stay. You have to go back to the Ninth until I call, bae. Shit falling around here. The last thing I need is for you to get hit with a hollow point meant for me."
Her eyes flared. "Is it that serious?"
"Stroke level," he said, tugging the scrunchie from her hair. "You can't be around me while my shit is raggedy like this. What went down with you last night is nothing compared to all the could of's floating around this bitch." Pressing his lips together, he shook his head. "I'm not having it. You gotta go."
"You know," she said, placing her hand on his chest for the purpose of calming him down before he got crunk. "Ever since your birthday, you've been pushing me away. What's changed? What really happened that night after you left your party?"
She watched all emotion drain from his eyes. The dead man expression he used on people who wasn't his peoples fell firmly in place. "Told you, already. We hit a club in Ft. Walton."
"Yeah," she moved her palm to cover his heart. The beat was steady. "Which club?"
"Man what's this shit about? You still think I was laid up with a puta don't ya?" He asked as irritation crept back in to his expression, while his hand stroked the curve of her ass.
The caress triggered her to press her lower half into his hip. He cocked a brow in question as a smirk twisted his lips. She rolled her eyes and shook her head. The last thing she was in the mood for was one of their play sessions. Not when there were unsolved problems between them.
"Which club?" She asked again.
"Cashes, why?" C's snapped, dropping his arms from around her to fold them behind his head.
She smacked his chest. "You're lyin, C's. Tech was there and he didn't see you."
"Tech!" He growled through gritted teeth. "Fuck I told you about being in that refugee's face?"
Oh lord. Why the hell did she bring Tech into this? C's saw nothing but red when it came to him. "Don't change the subject. He just wanted to make sure I was alright after Liberty's crazy ass whooped me."
"She put her fuckin' hands on you?" He sat straight up. "The fuck for?"
"What you think?" She waved his question back at him, aggravated he kept finding shit to grab unto. "For lyin' on her about your gun. She was pissed when, Angela called her. And you know she can't stand yo' mama. But later for all that. Let's get back to talkin' about you not being in the club like you claimed."
"So what? I wasn't in the club 'cause your Haitian didn't see me?" C's asked, propping his back against the head board. "Well I didn't see him either, maybe his ass wasn't in the club. You know his bitch ass never strays far from the Ninth. Why you placing his word over mine, huh? You feeling him or something? Sheeit. Is there something I need to know?"
"Aw here you go with this bull," she said, scooting away from him to put distance between them. "You always do this switch around shit when you're two feet behind keeping it real. Can't stand when you try and play me like I'm a radio."
"What you mean, switch around shit?" He asked, shooting her a unit. "You act like I brought Tech wishin' ass up. So what? I'm not supposed to react? Man girl you dumb as shit, if you think I'ma lay up here while you talk about the next vato. You must be smokin' Liberty's stash."
Cleo locked her fingers together to prevent herself from firing on his disrespectful ass. She needed to hurry and get to where she was going with that conversation before him and her fell the hell out.
Taking a deep breath, she exhaled slow, determined not to be provoked by his little tech run. "Look, C's. I don't know what you've got yourself into, but I'm here. So let me in. It's my job to hold you down, babe. We've been kickin' it long enough for me to know when something is seriously messing with your head. Do you really think I wanna sit around and do nothing? Please, babe! Talk to me."
He looked away, flicking the side of his nose with his thumb. Something he always did when he wanted to put his feelings in check. Those were the times he liked to refer to as bitch made moments. For the longest he sat staring at the bathroom door without saying anything. Just when she'd given up on him giving her the lick, he spoke.
"Bae, I've fucked myself good this time. Took a gamble and now I'm one card flip away from losing everything. Including you, if you're around when they come for me," he said, while his gaze devoured her face. "I can handle a lot of shit, even goin' back and forth with the Cartel. One thing I can't handle though, is losing you because of my dirt. I know you wanna help, but you have to stay the fuck outta my zone, at least until I clean up my mess. You wanna know how to hold me down?" He cradled her face in his hands, and then pressed a kiss to her lips before pulling away. "That's how you hold me down. By letting me take care of you."
"Don't worry about me, C's," she said, moving to straddle his lap. "I can deal with whatever as long as we're together. They come for you, then they'll get us, because a world without you, is one without me."
"Don't fuckin say that shit, bae," he said, trying to push her away, but that only made her hold him tighter. "If something happens to me you think I want you to follow me to hell?"
"Might as well, because if something happens to you, then my life will be hell," she said, burying her face in the crook of his neck. "I love you too, babe. Ride and die 24/7. You and me." And she meant every word. She needed him to breathe, and if they were coming for him, then they were coming for them.