“Damn, don’t these people ever stop wit’ the music?” Harlem complained.
The elevator came down to the lobby and both men stepped in. It reeked of urine and Harlem twisted his face from the smell. Crown pushed for floor number eight and soon they emerged from the elevator and stepped into the narrow hallway. Harlem had his hand near his weapon and looked out for any trouble they might stumble upon.
They reached the end of the hallway and found the apartment they were looking for. Harlem cocked his gun subtly. Both men were quiet as they stood outside the apartment as they didn’t know what was behind the door.
Crown knocked on the door politely. Harlem stood off to the side, trying to stay out of sight. They didn’t want to scare whoever was inside by having the occupants see two thugs outside the door.
Crown continued to knock, but no one answered and he was becoming upset.
“The bitch ain’t home,” Harlem said.
“She’s somewhere close. I know. I can feel that bitch,” Crown stated.
Crown knocked again, this time a bit harder in case the occupant didn’t hear the last couple of knocks. He turned to look at Harlem, who looked like the Angel of Death standing across from him.
“We’ll just come back,” Harlem said.
Crown was quiet. He hated to leave without knowing something more accurate about Chaos or YB. He wasn’t even sure that the address he had was their exact location. Bubbles did say to him that the letter was three years old. The Bronx was a big borough, but somehow Crown knew that Chaos was close by. It had been her home for so many years.
As they were about to leave, a young woman walked out of a neighboring apartment. Crown saw this as an opportunity to elicit viable information.
The young Puerto Rican girl looked as if she was in her late teens. She was dressed like she was about to go to the club in a short mini-skirt, high heels, a halter top under a butter-soft leather jacket and long, black hair falling gracefully down to her shoulders. She was beautiful. Crown admired her and thought that if he hadn’t been there looking for Chaos, he would have talked her into working a track.
Crown hurried to the young girl before she could disappear.
“Excuse me, beautiful. I need a minute of your time,” Crown said politely.
The girl turned and looked at Crown. She stopped in the middle of the hallway and waited for him to approach her.
“What you want?” she said with some attitude.
Crown smiled. “Nice tone of voice.”
“Nigga, I’m in a fuckin’ rush. I gotta cab waiting downstairs.”
“I’m not gonna take up too much of your time, but I need to know somethin’,” Crown said.
“Like what?”
“Who stays in that apartment right there?” Crown pointed to the apartment where he’d been knocking.
She sucked her teeth. “Why is it your business?”
Harlem was becoming fed up with the girl’s attitude and was ready to make her talk with a gun in her mouth and a fist across her face.
“Look, I’ll make it worth your time,” Crown said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a knot of hundred-dollar bills.
The young girl’s face lit up and suddenly her nasty attitude changed. Crown peeled off two C-notes but before he gave her any cash, he said, “You need to talk, first, before I pass this.”
The girl smiled . “Oh, that’s Wendy Joseph’s apartment.”
She wasn’t telling him shit. “And?” Crown asked. He needed more to go on.
“And look, if she ain’t home, then she’s probably at her shop, doin’ hair. And if she ain’t at her shop, then she’s probably at church ’cause that lady got more religion in her than Christ himself. And look, if she ain’t at church, then I don’t know what the fuck to tell you. ’Cause she ain’t gotta man and she always home if she ain’t workin’ or at church. You happy?”
“Nah, not yet,” Crown said. “I need more.”
“More? Nigga, I done told you everything about the bitch! What else do you want to know?” she snapped. She looked at her watch and added, “You know I gotta cab waiting downstairs.”