Streets of New York. Mark Anthony

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      The three weeks in Grams crib felt more like three years. I couldn’t remember the last time that I had been in one spot for so long. For the most part I was alone in Grams’ crib by myself. He would be out on the street hustlin’ for most of the day and only came back to his crib late to crash. Staying at his crib confirmed that I definitely didn’t want any parts of the prison system. Not that his crib felt locked up.

      It was just the isolation that I couldn’t take. I knew I would go absolutely crazy if my ass was caged up in some goddamn cell. I was tired of eating chicken wings and French fries from the Chinese restaurant. I was tired of all of the trash television shows and tired of the news reports that focused on the nationwide manhunt for me. And I was tired of wearing Grams gear.

      On the twenty-first day of hiding out, I decided to call Show and feel the nigga out. I called from Grams’ phone and I made sure to block the number before I dialed but each time I called Show’s numbers, both his cell and his home number would ring out to voicemail. I decided to take a chance and unblock Grams’ number before dialing Show. The same thing happened each time, goddamn voicemail!

      This went on for literally two days. For two straight days, I got nothing but the nigga’s voicemail. I decided to try something else to see if it would work. I called this chick that lived in a section of Queens called Rochdale Village. Her name was Candy and she had been on my dick since high school.

      Candy was the type of chick that if she was feeling you, she would let you have uncommitted sex and wouldn’t trip about a nigga having a girl or not spending enough time with her. She even spent money on a nigga and didn’t expect nothing in return. Candy wasn’t exactly a jump-off or anything like that. She was mad cool. She looked ahight and her body was tight. She had it going on! She had a good job with the Transit Authority, and she had her own apartment. But the bottom line was that she was feeling a nigga.

      I didn’t have Candy’s cellphone number but I had her home number memorized so I immediately dialed her to see what was up. The phone rang like six times and then her answering machine came on.

      “Damn!” I said to myself. I knew that I had to leave a message but I just didn’t feel too comfortable leaving her Grams’ number as a call back.

      I began speaking to the answering machine, “Yo Candy! What’s up, mama? This is Promise. I know that...”

      “Hello?” a voice on the other end said, while stopping the old school answering machine.

      “Candy?”

      “Promise, hey, what’s up, boo?” Candy asked. She was obviously glad to be speaking to me.

      “Candy, I know that I ain’t speak to you in a minute. I ain’t gonna even sit on this phone and front but I’m calling you because I need a favor from you.”

      “Okay, what’s up?”

      “I know you probably saw all of the shit on the news about how the cops is looking for me, right?”

      “Yeah, I know...”

      “Well, I’ve been laying low and I can’t really tell you what’s up just yet but I promise I’ll let you know...”

      “Promise, listen, you ain’t got to explain nothing. How long have we known each other? Come on now,” Candy replied.

      I laughed a little bit into the phone’s receiver.

      “So, what’s up? You need some place to stay for a few days?”

      I hadn’t actually considered staying with Candy but since she’d brought it up, I decided to capitalize on her offer.

      “Well, actually, if I could stay wit’ you for a few days, I’d be grateful.”

      Candy cut me off as she said, “Promise, you know I got your back. You remember where I live, right?”

      “Yeah, I do but I might not come through right this minute. I’m not sure when.”

      “Well, I gotta work the next few days but I’ll be home every night this week. If you come through just make sure that it’s after 8 at night.”

      “That’s what’s up!” I replied then added, “Candy, you remember Show, right?”

      “Of course.”

      “Ahight, listen, get a pen and take down his cellphone number. I want you to call him for me but I need you to three-way him. And check it, I don’t want you to let him know that I’m on the other end of the phone. Okay?”

      “Okay,” Candy replied, “What’s the number?”

      I proceeded to give Candy the number and then I instructed her that if Show asked her how she got his number, that she was to say that she had bumped into me on Flatbush Avenue a couple of weeks ago when I was leaving The Brooklyn Cafe and that I had given her his number and told her that I would be staying at Show’s crib. The reason that she was calling was because she hadn’t heard from me since that night.”

      “’Kay,” Candy replied.

      “Candy, are you sure you got what I said?” I asked.

      “Yeah, Promise.”

      “Okay, call him now and make sure that your phone number ain’t blocked when you call him. Just get into some small talk if you have to but make sure you don’t tell him that I’m on the phone.”

      “Okay,‘kay,‘kay, be quiet now, it’s ringing.”

      I put my phone on mute so that my breathing wouldn’t be heard. Show’s phone rang two times and the nigga picked right up.

      “Ain’t that a bitch?” I hissed to myself.

      “Hello? Who this?” Show asked.

      “What’s up, Show? This is Candy.”

      “Candy who?”

      “Come on now, Show! You know which Candy this is!”

      “Candy from Rochdale?”

      “Yes.”

      “Oh, what’s up, ma? I ain’t speak to you in a minute. Where you been at? How did you get my number?”

      “I got your number from Promise. He gave it to me the other night when he was leaving The Brooklyn Cafe. He said he was gonna be staying with you and if I needed to reach him I should call you.”

      “Oh word? I don’t know why da’ fuck he told you that! That nigga ain’t staying wit’ me. That nigga got too much heat surrounding his ass.”

      “Do you have a number where I can reach him СКАЧАТЬ