“Chump, you halfway to death’s door and you still want to play me?” Drama turned to the thugs behind him. “Get him up on his feet.”
And the truth hit Super Blast like a cement block falling from the sky. “Lyle! You stole that bag! When I passed out, you came and took the duffel. And you took the bullets outta my gun!”
“Get your story straight, Blast! First, you says you dropped a duffel bag when you were on the run. Then you say it’s under the couch. Now you saying I got it? Player, it looks like your run is over. A gangsta who can’t keep his alibis straight — I don’t know what’s to be said for you.”
“Let’s go,” Drama ordered. “I see we gonna have to torture your ass to get my money back.”
The goons scooped up Super Blast by his armpits; he was too weak to fight.
“Lyle, don’t do this to me! Tell this man something.”
“I don’t know what I can tell, Blast. But I can tell you like you told me: The streets don’t love nobody.”
Drama wrapped Super Blast’s mouth with duct tape, then pulled a ski mask over his head so he couldn’t be recognized.
Before they left, Drama said, “You done good, Lyle. Letting me know this fool was still here when I hit you on the cell. Otherwise he and his deadbeat mama might’ve got out of town. Come see me at the spot tomorrow — I’ll hit you off somethin’ proper, just like I promised.” Drama was known to be a man of his word, and generous to boot.
Super Blast twisted his head back, his eyes begging. As he was led out, he saw his protégé smile and say, “Have a lovely evening, gentlemen.”
Bulletproof
by Carolyn Alexander
McClymonds
Lisa and Leon didn’t know each other, but they both felt the same way.
Lisa knew she was alive because she was hurting. Once again she had caused her own pain. Nothing could staunch the greedy and needy monster inside her who begged for more attention, more words of affirmation, more acts of affection, more, more, more. Her boyfriend finally peered down the bottomless pit of her need and he too ran off, to save his own life.
Leon had always felt he had to buy love, starting with his parents. His brother was an athlete, Leon was only an A student — commendable, but there was no glory in it, no trophies. His brother attracted girls. Leon earned them with gifts and begging. He was actually better looking than his older brother, taller and with dimples. But girls took Leon for granted, got bored, and eventually hooked up with some bad boy who screwed them over and left them, who they could never get over. Yet they would never take Leon back.
Lisa walked out the back of McClymonds High School, past her car in the parking lot, and out the gates, wandering aimlessly down 28th Street. When she crossed Myrtle she entered into the ho stroll of working girls. Even on the sunniest days this block was in shadow. One skinny, saggy-tittied prostitute, smoking a cigarette, eyed her. Lisa was too sad to fear for her own safety. The prostitute wore resignation like the mask of death. A car slowed, the driver leaning over the passenger side and scrutinizing Lisa, but when he didn’t hear the question, Are you looking for a date? he moved on to the other woman on the block, didn’t like what he saw, and sped off. The prostitute took the cigarette out of her mouth, peered at Lisa with pure venom, then settled in against the wall of the storage mart.
Sturdy brown legs under a white skirt skipped by, the trudging steps of her mother right behind, smiling absentmindedly. There was joy in West Oakland, even in the dark shadow of the ho stroll. Lisa always felt sorry for herself after love went bad. It was time to rewrite the script. She reminded her students that most papers could be saved, in fact were not complete without a good and thorough edit. But like her students, she didn’t have what it took to do it, at least as far as her life was concerned.
She assessed herself. Five foot nine (too tall), caramel skin, size 12/13 (too big). Thick black hair that was prone to getting poufy in this curly weave world, round face, big eyes, negroid nose, and full lips, wearing a black pencil skirt and a fitted white blouse. Not exactly bad-girl attire.
Leon turned his ride at the corner of 28th Street and saw Lisa standing there. She was a different type of prostitute, one for the guys who wanted to take down a businesswoman, a proper girl. Maybe he could pay up front and have exactly what he wanted.
In her sad, suicidal mood, Lisa decided if he slowed she would get into the car. He looked harmless enough. A voice in her head whispered, This ain’t Black Pretty Woman, you know. She ignored the voice and got in. There was something about his face, something about him that made her feel it was okay. Leon drove off. He didn’t speak and neither did she. He turned right onto Market Street. The light caught him on 27th Street. Lisa opened the door just to see if she could, in case she needed to get out in a hurry.
“What’s the matter?” Leon asked. He would be relieved if she got out, but he was also relieved that she stayed. Her energy felt good, it was electrifying.
“Nothing.”
Leon looked at her. “How does this work?”
“How do you want it to work?” Lisa didn’t even know where that came from.
“Uh, I don’t know.” Leon’s cell phone rang and he reluctantly answered it. “Where...? Yeah, I’m just getting off work but I have someone with me... Maybe I don’t want to bring them along... All right! I’ll pick you up.” He stole a glance at Lisa. “A slight detour, I need to pick someone up.”
“Okay,” Lisa whispered. She thought, Is this the setup for a gang rape?
He sensed her fear and instinctively reached for her hand. But he caught himself; this was no date. What the hell was this anyway? Lisa pulled her hand away at his first furtive movement. Maybe he was trying to hold her so she couldn’t jump out.
What type of prostitute is she? Leon wondered. She seemed too shy to be a whore, but if she wasn’t, why would she get in his car? Why didn’t she talk about price up front? Maybe it was an act to fleece him at the end of the evening. The bitch!
“I would say a penny for your thoughts but I know that wouldn’t be nearly enough.”
“Thoughts? Thoughts are free. I was just thinking it’s good to be with a gentleman.” She was hoping.
“A gentleman?” Leon snorted. “You find many of those cruising 28th Street?” He turned right on 7th Street.
Lisa didn’t answer. They both were thinking, What the fuck have I got myself into?
Leon pulled into the West Oakland BART station. A tall, thin, nut-brown guy with a pile of nappy hair approached. Lisa jumped out of the car and Leon’s heart lurched with the same feeling of relieved if she does, relieved if she doesn’t. Lisa opened the rear door and got in the back. Nobody would slip a garrote around her neck.
Leon frowned at her. Lisa managed, “We can talk later,” before his friend got in, his shock of hair scraping against the ceiling of the car. “Take care of your friend first.”