Dead End Fix Page 4

  But somewhere past midnight his calculations let him down. What happened next would be a part of 97 legend for years to come. When Kashawn stood up to walk toward some girlie giving him the eye, he didn’t make it five steps before he dropped straight to the floor like his skeleton had suddenly gotten the notion to vacate the premises, leaving him nothing but a sorry-ass sack of skin kissing the rug.

  His brothers had taken care of him. Kashawn had woken up this morning in a quiet room. Sheets smelling like piss where he’d wet himself in the night. Big Cheeks came in a few minutes later, telling him never mind the mess. D’Loco got ladies who come in to clean stuff up. Told him to hit the shower. Get himself ready to work. A new set of gear was waiting in the bathroom for him. Price tags still on the clothes. Kashawn probably spent too long running his hands over the jeans and sweatshirt, but this was the first time he’d ever had the chance to put on straight-from-the-store, never-been-worn clothes. He wished he had a camera so he could take pictures. He liked the shoes the best. Kashawn knew those kicks cost two hundred, easy. But there they were, right size and everything. Like they were made for him. Like this whole life was cut and sized especially for Kashawn Meadows. He came downstairs a half hour later to the smell of bacon and biscuits. There was an open place at the table for him, next to where his brothers were drinking coffee and telling tales.

  Nobody looked twice when Kashawn reached for seconds.

  Yes, sir. His crew had his back. Kashawn’s head might be screaming in pain, and his eyes might be burning for sleep, but hot damn, yes. He was up for whatever D’Loco needed.

  “Pull over here,” D’Loco said.

  Kashawn knew the procedure for exiting any vehicle carrying D’Loco. The first time he’d seen it was ten years ago. Kashawn had been a scared and scrawny seven-year-old walking back from his third school in six months. In no particular hurry to get back to his current foster mother and her nasty older son. It had been a Cadillac Seville, he remembered. Black. Shiny. And to his young eyes the kind of car only a king could drive. Kashawn had watched it pull to the curb, where it sat for a long minute. Long enough for anyone walking by to stop and wonder what might happen next.

  Today it was another Cadillac. Still black and shiny, but this time an Escalade. They let folks get their eyeful. Then the front doors opened simultaneously, just like Kashawn remembered from a decade ago. Big Cheeks got out first. He surveyed the area, jacket open, hand resting on his hip, ready to draw his piece if things didn’t look right. J-Fox stayed behind the wheel, set to bust out of there if Big Cheeks caught so much as a whiff of trouble. Every 97 knew their number one job was to protect D’Loco. When Big Cheeks nodded the all clear, J-Fox was the next man out. He made one circle of the car, lending his own eyes to Big Cheeks’ continued monitoring.

  Once J-Fox and Big Cheeks were in position—one man on the driver’s side, the other opposite, both keeping their eyes away from the car, scanning the street, the buildings, the people, always assessing the threat—Kashawn knew it was his turn to get out. He arced around the rear of the Escalade, opened D’Loco’s door, and stepped aside. When his leader stretched out first one long leg, then the other and stood his full six-feet-five, 240-pound mountain of chiseled muscle, Kashawn fought the tears welling in his eyes.

  This was D’Loco. Owner of the streets. And Kashawn was his man now. He was Green K.

  D’Loco raised his chin and a man standing thirty feet away trotted over. Kashawn knew him as Turk, D’Loco’s rep for this six-block area. Turk hadn’t been part of Kashawn’s initiation last night, but he had been there afterward, at the party.

  The men shared fist bumps, shoulder hugs, and greetings. Kashawn pulled himself a little taller. He was the youngest crew member there by at least five years, as far as he could tell.

  “How goes?” D’Loco asked Turk.

  “ ’S all good.”

  Kashawn made Turk to be about his own height. Five eight. Kashawn worked hard to keep his own 160 pounds tight and strong, but Turk looked to be carrying twenty pounds more. All muscle. With shoulders wide enough to strain the leather jacket he wore. And Turk’s thighs suggested anyone planning to outrun him best think again.

  D’Loco laid a hand on Kashawn’s shoulder and squeezed. “Turk been working this zone two years now. Good man. Keep his customers happy.”

  Kashawn nodded his appreciation.

  “Time comes a man gotta move on,” D’Loco continued. “Move up. Turk’s time to do that now.”

  J-Fox and Big Cheeks murmured their approval. Kashawn figured he ought to do the same.

  “I’ma need a body fill Turk’s shoes.” D’Loco slapped Kashawn on the back. “You just tole me you up for anything. How ’bout this?”

  The air in Kashawn’s chest left him. His right leg wobbled. He forced himself to inhale.

  “Easy work,” D’Loco said. “This here be your zone. From Water Street to Clive east to west. Railroad tracks to the high school north and south. Small zone, I know. But they good customers. Loyal. Give ’em what they need. Don’t take no shit from nobody. Nice place to cut your teeth.”

  “And don’t take no credit,” Turk added. “Some these folks see new meat, they try to talk you into payin’ later. Ain’t how this shit works. Cash. No food stamps. No checks.”

  “ ’Cept the welfare checks,” D’Loco corrected. “Third of every month. I’ma give you extra bankroll those days. Some folks want you to cash they U.S. issues. You do them that service and pick up a 20 percent fee for the trouble.”

  Kashawn nodded like he understood. Doubt rolled in his belly, but he coughed it away.

  “Where I get the goods?” he asked.

  Turk pointed east, where a kid, no older than nine or ten, sat on the stoop of a boarded-up warehouse at the end of the block. He was all alone, spinning the wheels on a beat-up skateboard. “That’s Jerome. I call him Jay-Jay.”

  Turk then pointed west. Two boys, each looking to be the same age as Jay-Jay, dribbled a shared basketball on the cracked asphalt of an empty parking lot. “Them two be brothers. Twins. Shante and Duarte. Can’t nobody tell them apart. They answer to about anything you call ’em. Jay-Jay hold the weed. Twin One hold the pills. Twin Two hold the crack. Customer come up, tell you what they buyin’, you take their cash. No credit, you hear me?”

  Kashawn nodded.

  “Somebody need weed, you look to Jay-Jay and he come runnin’. Meet the customer halfway and hand off. Same with the twins. Pills you hold up one finger. Crack you hold up two. Customer walks away, twin meet ’em for the handoff, everybody happy.”

  “And you hold the money,” Kashawn said.

  “You got it. I hold the cheddar.” Turk looked Kashawn up and down. “This ain’t tough. End of the day you back at the house. Make your deposit, eat yourself some dinner, get yourself some jelly if the mood strikes. Next day you open shop all over again. Kids’ll meet you here ’round four. Folks know I like to close the store ’round midnight.”

  “Who supplies the kids?” Kashawn asked.

  “You let me worry ’bout that,” D’Loco said. “You do your part and we’ll be fine.”

  “What about the police?”

  “You let me worry ’bout that too.”

  Kashawn nodded.

  “Folks know you,” Kashawn said to Turk. “They gonna take to me?”

  “You and Turk run this zone together rest of this week. Few more days if need be,” D’Loco said. “Training camp. Turk teach you everything you need. Folks see you standing next to my man, they know you stand for me. Time will come you on your own. Turk’s making his payday someplace else.”

  “Sounds good,” Kashawn said. “You gonna show me what to do, some junkie knows I’m holding cash and decides to make a run? Or maybe they go after one of the kids? Grab hold of them and take their stash?”

  The four men—D’Loco, Turk, Big Cheeks, and J-Fox—stepped closer, forming a ring of muscle around Kashawn. They each scanned the area. The two heaping
piles of bacon Kashawn had had for breakfast threatened to climb his throat.

  D’Loco pulled a Glock semiautomatic from his jacket. Kashawn stifled a whimper.

  “Here.” D’Loco put the Glock in Kashawn’s hands. “Don’t worry about them kids. They fast. Somebody make a jump, they know how to move.”

  “And where to go,” Turk added.

  “You protect you. Somebody reach for your cash, you don’t need nobody schoolin’ you what to do.”

  Kashawn tucked the gun in the side pocket of his new Seattle Seahawks jacket. He might not actually be ready, but he needed to act like he was.

  The men stepped back. D’Loco walked toward the Escalade, his posse following.

  “Green K will meet you here tomorrow,” he called out to Turk. “Teach him everything.”

  Turk walked back down the block to where two customers were waiting. Kashawn watched him slip the money the women gave him into his pocket. Turk put his hand behind his back and held up two fingers. The women walked toward the parking lot. Twin Two ran toward them. Anyone watching would have sworn the kid trotted right on past, chasing his basketball. But Kashawn saw the quick handoff of a small plastic bag.

  I can do this. I can.

  He climbed into the backseat, taking his place beside D’Loco. J-Fox turned the key in the ignition and pulled away from the curb.

  “You like that room back at the house?” D’Loco asked Kashawn.

  “You mean the one I woke up in?”

  “Yeah.” D’Loco’s voice rumbled with power.

  “It’s a piece. Own bathroom and all. That wasn’t your room, was it?”

  D’Loco laughed. “No. I live someplace else. That house for meetings. And brothers not yet ready to fly solo. How ’bout that be your crib for a time?”

  Kashawn wished he’d been alert enough to remember details about the room. There was a bed, he knew that. He wouldn’t have to share it with anybody. The only way into that bathroom was through his room. He’d never seen anything like that before. He thought there was a dresser. Maybe even a chair. He wondered what he would do with all that space, just for him.

  Then he thought of LaTonya. Maybe he could fix it up nice and ask her to come visit. Show her how he was moving on up in the world.

  “Thank you, D’Loco. Thank you.” Kashawn made a silent vow never to piss in the bed again.

  “You come home every night,” D’Loco warned him. “You deposit every dollar you collect. Nothing gets stuck in your pockets. You don’t lose one penny in the seats of your car. Every dollar comes home. I’ma pay you 15 percent what you deposit end of each week. You make me smile, could be a bonus now and then.”

  Kashawn thought about his room. First thing he’d buy was a sick sound system. Maybe a flat-screen to mount on the wall. He’d get himself a desk where LaTonya could put her books and do her studying.

  “How I make you smile?”

  D’Loco stared at him in that way Kashawn could never figure out.

  “Like you say, Green K. It’s all about the Bens. Bring me the money. Make sure there no trouble in your zone. You have me smiling so much you be seeing my grill in your sleep.”

  They drove back to the house without speaking. Kashawn ignored the pounding bass of hip-hop blasting from the Escalade’s speakers. For the first time in a long time he let himself think about his mother. A social worker had let slip a couple of years ago that his mother’s name was Ettie and that she was fourteen when he was born. Said she probably had a chance to hold him a time or two in the hospital before they took her back to juvenile hall.

  Did you kiss me, Ettie? Maybe put a blessing on me that I’d find my way?

  J-Fox parked the Escalade in front of the clubhouse. D’Loco told him and Big Cheeks to head on in.

  “I need a time with Green K,” he said.

  Is this it? Kashawn wondered. Does he know I didn’t have nothing to do with killing that Pico?

  D’Loco waited until the men were in the house. Then he reached into his jacket, pulled out a white grocery bag, and handed it to Kashawn.

  “That’s twenty large.”

  Kashawn’s eyes strained in their sockets when he peeled the plastic open and saw the two-inch stack of hundred-dollar bills.

  “Get yourself a car,” D’Loco said. “Nothin’ flashy. Good engine. That what you need now. Spend around nine on it. You drop ten thousand cash, car man’s got to report it. You drive that car a couple of months. Then you take that car, trade it in, and add another nine. Get yourself somethin’ better. You keep doing that. Always stayin’ under that ten-G limit. This time next year you driving a ride any piece of jelly love to climb up in.”

  I’ma ask J-Fox to teach me to drive as soon as I get into the house.

  “What’s the other ten for?”

  “For you.” D’Loco opened the car door and stepped out. “You made me smile today.”

  Kashawn sat alone in the cavernous backseat of the Cadillac and watched his god enter the house.

  Watch me, Ettie. Your baby boy on his way.

  Chapter 7

  Virgin Gorda, British Virgin Islands

  “Let’s go to the beach and see those starfish again.” Hadley Grant stirred blueberries into her yogurt. “I never saw a pink one before. But I bet you have, right, Aunt Allie? I bet you saw everything there is to see in this whole big wide world.”

  The love radiating from those seven-year-old blue eyes was strong enough to melt gold.

  No man has ever looked at me with such adoration. So pure. So essential. Allie reached across the small glass table and let a lock of Hadley’s pale blond hair curl around her finger.

  “I have seen many things. And I want to show them all to you. How does that sound?”

  Hadley licked a spoonful of berries and grinned. “Do you mean maybe I could see a castle? Maybe the exact one Rapunzel lived in?”

  “I know one that could be the place. It’s in Austria. The castle sits high on a hill, overlooking a beautiful river.”

  “Like we’re high here. This is our castle.” Hadley pointed past the wall of their penthouse terrace. “But that’s the ocean, right? Teacher says a river is like a road. You can travel on it, she says. Maybe the castle is on a beautiful river because a beautiful prince has to travel on it to come and rescue beautiful Rapunzel. Then they can eat beautiful cake together. Every day until forever. Now that’s what I call beautiful.”

  Allie wondered if there ever had been a time when the promise of pastry could make her as happy as it did Hadley.

  “Shall we go tomorrow? Shall we go find that castle?”

  Hadley’s nose wrinkled in contemplation. “How far away is Austra?”

  “Aus-tri-a,” Allie corrected. “Austria is a country on the continent of Europe.”

  “I know. It’s where the kangaroos live.”

  “You’re thinking of Aus-tra-lia. The kangaroos are in Australia and Australia is a continent all its own. The castle is in Austria. Which shall we visit first? The castle or the kangaroos?”

  “I want to go to the beach. I want to see the starfish.” Hadley focused her attention on her breakfast. The little beauty didn’t like being corrected. Allie knew if she didn’t change the subject, her niece would dig herself into a pit of stubborn insistence.

  “Starfish can grow a new arm if one is cut off. Did you know that?”

  Hadley dipped another berry into her yogurt.

  “Sometimes they escape whatever was going to eat them, leaving an arm behind. Or maybe one gets cut off when a motorboat goes by. Doesn’t matter. A whole new arm grows in the place where the old one was.”

  Hadley chewed and stared off toward the azure sea.

  “Wouldn’t it be nice if we could do that? If whatever part of us we lost could simply grow back again?” Allie let out an exaggerated sigh.

  A few moments of silence passed.

  “What about hair?” Hadley asked.

  “What about it?”

  “If your hair
gets cut, it grows back.” Hadley tugged on her blond curls with both hands. “You could cut it right down to nothing and it would grow right back. There’s a girl in my school. Her mom got a sickness last year and all her hair fell out. You could look at her any time of the day or night and see her wearing a pink hat. But when school started this year I saw her. Without her hat. She had hair again. Short and spiky.”

  Allie let her eyes grow wide. “Why, you’re right. You’re such a clever girl.”

  Hadley turned toward her with a smile. “Or what about fingernails? You cut them and they grow right back. I know a boy who chews his nails down to the stubs.” Her nose wrinkled again, this time in disgust. “And then he eats them. Boys are so gross.”

  “They certainly can be. Why not finish your breakfast? Then you can hop in the bathtub. I’ll pick out an outfit for you. Then we’ll go to the beach in search of the elusive pink starfish.”

  “Can Constance come?”

  Allie’s spine stiffened at the reminder of the necessary disposal of a servant. She’d given the girl one instruction. Keep Hadley out of sight while she met with Fyodor Ratchikov. But the girl had failed. Ratchikov now knew she had a ward. And in Allie’s world, a person was only as vulnerable as what they loved.

  “Constance doesn’t work for us anymore.” Allie widened her smile. “We don’t need her, do we? We have each other and that’s going to be enough.”

  Hadley’s nod was less than enthusiastic.

  “Surely you don’t miss Constance. You knew her only a few days.”

  Hadley pushed herself off the chair. “I’m done. I’ll go take my bath now.”

  Allie swallowed a flash of irritation. “We can get you another nanny, Hadley. Would that make you happy?”

  The little girl looked down at her feet.

  “We talk to each other, Hadley. Remember? You and I discuss what’s bothering us.”

  Hadley raised her head, revealing sorrowful eyes. Allie reached out and pulled her close.

  “What is it, my sweet?”

  Hadley’s words were barely discernible as she whispered them into the soft folds of Allie’s cashmere robe.