Dirty Little Angel

YB turned to look at Ray-Lo, who looked to be in his own deep thoughts. “Yo, don’t get off I-95. We goin’ to New York.”

“What? New York? You serious?” Ray-Lo questioned.

“I need to be in the Bronx right now. I need to be wit’ my shorty.”

“What about Harlem? He need to be got,” Ray-Lo said.

“We’ll hit that nigga in New York. I know he’s on his way out there now.”

“You sure?”

“Nigga, trust me. He knows where we at. So l

et him hunt us and we’ll be waiting for that nigga when he shows up.”

“A’ight, my nigga. I’m wit’ it,” Ray-Lo replied.

They continued on I-95 toward New York City with a car full of guns and ammunition. They were ready for war and eager to set a trap for Harlem and whoever he brought with him.

YB wanted to take his time when killing Harlem. He wanted to make that nigga suffer for a long time. It was the only way he saw to make things right. The only way he could be at peace was to kill the man who had done so much harm to his family. An eye for an eye, he thought.

47

The dark blue Yukon raced across the George Washington Bridge, doing sixty miles per hour. The sky was turning to dusk as the city lights became illuminated from a distance and the traffic on the G.W. Bridge was starting to thicken with cars and trucks.

Crown was reclined in the passenger seat as he looked at the city with a deadpan stare. Jamaica, Queens was his hometown and he hadn’t been back there since the early nineties. He still had enemies in the city, but that thought didn’t put fear in his heart.

It would be worth the trip just to see his bitch Chaos and YB one last time. He had so much he wanted to do with the loving couple that he didn’t even want his money back. It was now personal. Crown just wanted to hear the bitch scream while his hands were around her neck, squeezing the life out of her.

The Yukon was filled with guns and the men were ready to spill blood on the Bronx streets. It was Harlem’s first trip to the Big Apple and he wasn’t impressed.

“Fuck New York,” he uttered in a vile tone, as he cruised across the Cross Bronx Expressway.

Crown chuckled. “Bad experience?”

Harlem just gave Crown a “whatever” look.

The two made it into the Bronx that night, just as the city’s nightlife was about to jump off. The streets were buzzing with traffic and people and the city became electrified with lights and noise.

Crown looked at the address on the envelope and guided Harlem in the direction. They drove toward the Grand Concourse and looked for 181st street.

When they drove up the block, it was filled with people, mostly Hispanic, who were enjoying the balmy warm night. They lingered outside their buildings seated or standing and playing their reggaeton music or just talking to neighbors.

Harlem parked the car and looked around, taking in the layout of the crowded street. He prepared himself for anything. He was already irritated with New York with the heavy traffic and loud music. He turned to Crown and asked, “What now?”

“Now, we look for the place,” Crown said.

Both men crossed the one-way street. Some of the residents on the block took notice of them but minded their own business. They looked like they were from out of town—probably drug dealers or just here for trouble, neighbors whispered amongst themselves.

Harlem and Crown stood in front of the tall building and Crown compared the address with the one on the envelope. He nodded to Harlem.

“Yeah, this is it,” he said.

“Yo, I ain’t come here to sightsee,” Harlem said.

Crown walked off and Harlem followed. Crown always hated the Bronx. There were too many Puerto Ricans and Dominicans blasting music, crowding the streets, and speaking a language he didn’t understand. Back in the days when he had business that involved being in the Bronx, he was always in and out.

Both men entered the lobby and headed to the elevators. They could hear music blaring from behind an apartment door.