Invincible: A Novel Page 3

  While Reggie was talking Jake noticed there were a lot of people walking toward where he and Jake were standing. Jake clenched both fists—prepared to rock—as the group approached. Reggie peeped the tension in Jake and told him to chill, but Jake wasn’t feeling the situation.

  It was a group of Northside Boys, wanting to know why the Money Boys was minding their business. They also wanted to meet the nigga who single-handedly broke up two of their top soldiers. Leading the group were two kids who went by the names Lil Red and Dollar Bill, kids who just happened to be blood brothers. Lil Red, the short stocky one, spoke first. “Listen, Regg, we cool but you can’t try to hold this one down. That nigga went into a Northside house and caused trouble. We can’t afford to tolerate that type of activity. Next thing you know we got all kinds of niggaz trying to pull the same shit because they done got gassed by the fact that we let this nigga off.”

  Reggie told Lil Red that Jake was his people and that Jake wasn’t aware of their gang, he was only trying to get to the bottom of a death-threat letter he’d received. “He wasn’t trying to play anyone,” Reggie tried to assure them.

  Being the diplomatic leader of the two, Dollar interrupted, “Your man just sent two of my top earners to the nurse leaving me with no one to collect my shit. How do you suppose we’re going to fix that, Regg?” In the back of his mind Jake knew he should be quiet but there was something about the whole play that was bothering him deep in his heart. He was a cool, humble guy who didn’t want any problems, but something in his brain clicked and told him there was a possibility he could do a lot of years and could be here for a while … and if that was the case then he couldn’t tolerate shit like this from niggaz like Dollar, Lil Red, and even niggaz like his homie Reggie. So Jake spoke up.

  “What would you have done if I killed them two faggots?”

  The yard got silent, even Reggie was shocked by the outburst. But Jake didn’t stop there. “You should act like they’re dead anyway ’cause if I get in my house and they front again I’ll kill both them faggots.” Before Reggie could cut in, Jake thanked him for all he was trying to do and continued to berate the brothers, saying things like if they hadn’t walked over with so many niggaz he would have fucked them up, too … and that both of them could get a fair one whenever they wanted. He turned to Reggie again. “I don’t want you getting in the middle of this shit, it’s my beef,” then added, “plus them Northside niggaz pussy.” As the words were being spit out his mouth, Northside dudes swarmed in on him.

  Somebody yelled out, “Chill!” It was Dollar Bill that had spoken and his crew listened. He walked up to Jake with an extended hand and a smile. Jake left it hanging. “You got balls as big as an elephant’s,” Dollar complimented. “I respect any man that has that much courage.” Lil Red didn’t take his brother’s position too well, but he didn’t want to disagree with Dollar in front of soldiers and outsiders. So he remained silent, and the Northside niggaz turned and walked away.

  Reggie turned to his gung ho friend and said, “That wasn’t the smartest move but it worked.” Jake knew that it actually hadn’t worked … the plan was to get one or both of the brothers to commit to a fair fight. He felt he was getting to Lil Red but it seemed Dollar was much too smart for his little ploy. Odd that Dollar was the one that backed up, he thought. With his tall and wide frame he appeared to be the physical one, but Jake would find out soon enough that it was really Lil Red who loved contact the most.

  Rec time was over and the COs were yelling for them to get off the yard. As Reggie and Jake walked back to the building, Reggie shared a few things with his friend to help keep him on point. He didn’t like how he handled his business in the yard but what was done was done. “Keep your eyes open because Dollar is not one to be trusted, and Lil Red might be just plain old loose and stupid, but together they’re a deadly team.”

  “I’m going to get bailed out in a few,” Jake replied. “I can lay low until then, but seriously, you have your own shit going on. You don’t need to get caught up in mine.”

  “Stopping tripping, nigga, that’s the least I can do. I never forget a favor.” When they were in high school, Jake held him down a couple of times when dudes wanted to give Reggie a beat down … and one time Jake actually stood up and fought a nigga for him. Reggie gave his old friend a dap. “Don’t worry but be careful.”

  MAN DOWN

  Once again Jake was approached by CO Frazier when he got back to his dorm. Frazier’s voice was more animated than when they had spoken earlier. “Are you fucking crazy?” he asked as if it was a legitimate question.

  “Maybe,” Jake said, “but I know I don’t want you to move me.”

  “The only reason I’m not going to move you is because shit might get worse for you in another house. I heard you was willing to bang heads with the mighty Dollar and his brother Lil Red.” Frazier shook his head. “Listen, I definitely got respect for you, Mr. Billings. I know you ain’t the PC type, but be careful … very careful.”

  “Yeah, I got you,” Jake said. On that note he strolled back to his bunk and was soon approached by a small white man.

  “Billings, I have something for you.”

  Jake stared the little white man down before asking what.

  “I never look in anything; I just deliver it,” he said, handing Jake a newspaper. The paper was heavier than it should have been; something was inside. As Jake slowly opened the paper, two things fell out onto his lap: a knife and an envelope. Jake put the knife under his pillow for the moment, then he examined the outside of the envelope and opened it.

  It read:

  Dear J.B. today must have been a hell of a day for you. I guess that bitch gave you bad news on your visit. The little TV trick was nice and I give you credit on the way you handled the big niggaz. Also, that stunt you pulled in the yard was classic shit but it was stupid. Now you have beef with too many people for no reason but they won’t get to you before I do, and I hope you’re not trying to get help from your man downstairs ’cause ain’t shit he can do for you. By the way I sent you a knife so you don’t have to go around searching for one. I’m looking forward to taking you out later, hope you have some energy left because I’m going to carve you like a turkey!!!!

  Truly yours,

  Real Nigga, Same Dorm

  This bullshit letter writing was getting on Jake’s nerves but he couldn’t let it show. He took a deep breath to regain his composure, and with a big smile on his face he got the knife from under his pillow and placed it nicely back in the newspaper along with the envelope and letter, then threw it all in the hallway garbage. Okay, Mister Letter Writer, you got me out of character once but it won’t happen again.

  Moments later a loud agonizing scream echoed off the walls of the block; it originated somewhere to Jake’s left. He looked around to find the source of the scream, but he didn’t see anything at first. Then there it was: The little white guy, who had not long ago delivered him the goods, was laying in a fetal position clutching what was left of his face. From the looks of the wounds someone had splashed him with some kind of boiling liquid; probably baby oil. It didn’t look good for him at all—his face was melting in his hands. This left Jake feeling bad for two reasons: He felt genuinely sorry for how the little guy would look and feel after that day, and because he wouldn’t be able to ask Melted Face who sent him any time soon.

  This melting face incident put Jake in a whole different mind-frame—he was more anxious than normal, than ever before. He could tell by all the events that had happened that death was very much in the air. He started to think that maybe it was his turn to go. He had definitely done more than his share of dirt … The letter writer was right: What comes around goes around. Well, he would soon find out. Then the turtles came. Jake chuckled to himself because he knew how pissed off CO Fraze had to be about this one. There was definitely going to be some report writing and talking to the captain over some shit like this.

  The turtles practically fucked the
whole dorm up for nothing. Tossing inmates, flipping their bunks, and emptying their bins. All they had was a victim; there was no one to blame it on. So they did the next best thing they figured they could do: searched for drugs and weapons. While they were doing that, any man who acted like they had a problem got fucked up in the process. Jake was glad he’d thrown that knife out; that was the last thing he needed to get caught with. That would have been another charge and Lord knows he didn’t need that.

  A CO yelled, “Oh yeah, we got ’em.” The COs were standing by Ike’s bunk with a big Ziploc bag filled with weed. From where Jake was it looked to be at least a quarter of a pound. Then he pulled out a smaller Ziploc filled with pills alongside about two ounces of base.

  “I got one over here,” another one of the armor-clad COs yelled. Now they were standing by Cory’s bunk. This one pulled out ten bundles of heroin, what seemed to be about a hundred loose bags of dust, and a Rambo knife.

  Looking at the knife Jake was glad they didn’t try to use it on him, but he figured the only reason they hadn’t brought it to the fight was because they assumed the two of them could pound him out without a weapon. They would have tried the knife later. Jake had a hunch: Being that Ike and Cory weren’t there to stash their shit before the turtles came through—they were still in medical tending to their wounds—the Northside Boys were going to blame him for their losses. Oh shit, he said to himself as he ran down the day’s events in his mind: the letter, bumping into Regg, Kim flipping on him during the visit, the fight in the dorm, the almost big showdown in the yard with the Northside Boys, the talks with CO Frazier, the delivery from the small white man, the small white man getting his shit burnt up, and the raid on the house. This shit can’t be real. Jake knew he couldn’t afford to go to sleep tonight because if he did that could very well be his last sleep. He decided to pull up a chair by the TV where he hoped no one would be bold enough to set it off because the CO in the bubble kept a constant watch on that area. He could get a couple of z’s there—with one eye open of course. But before he did he was going to make a collect call that could solve all his problems.

  Jake was owed a favor by a very powerful person or rather a person close to a powerful person. Her name was Mary-beth Jenkins. Her friends called her Legs and most of her clients called her M.B. Jake went to the phone and dialed the ten-digit number with the zero in front; he stated his name for the operator. Jake waited for the ring and the whole collect-call-from-a-correctional-facility song and dance, then he heard the voice he was waitng for.

  “Hello, Jake. How are you? Long time no hear.”

  In a cool tone, as if he was under no stress, Jake replied back, “Cut the bullshit M.B. I need a favor from you and I need it fast.” Then, “I need you to hire one of your clients for me and you know exactly who I’m talking about. Tell him I don’t need him for the whole case, I just need him to represent me for a bail hearing. Once I’m out I will get someone else, but I don’t have court for a few days and I’m caught up in some shit up in here that’s life threatening.” Not letting her get a word in till he finished, he continued, “Now I know for a fact you two might be reluctant to help me due to the circumstances, but let’s not forget fair is fair.”

  “You’re a cold son of a bitch,” Mary-beth scolded. “I would have thought you knew me better than that by now. I know fair is fair and before you called I was already on top of the situation. If you would have gotten to know me better you wouldn’t have had to approach me on that cold-as-ice shit like you do everybody else.” Jake was relieved by what he heard. “There will be someone in the courthouse representing you tomorrow, and after your bail is set I’ll make sure you get out. Is that okay with you Mr. Ice?”

  “If you make this happen consider us even across the board, but please don’t ever run that get-to-know-you-better shit on me again. The reason I come at you the way I do is because I know you. So don’t think because we slept together, again, that I’m thinking with my dick and not my brain, a’ight.” She barely got a chance to respond before Jake hung up and went back to his spot to catch some one-eye-open z’s.

  Jake had met Mary-beth one day while he was trying to do some shopping for Kim. He did a lot of things that day that were totally out of his character. For starters he took five gees out of his stash and decided to go to Mitch’s gambling spot. He wasn’t a real risk taker usually but ended up leaving with twenty-two gees. He took his seventeen gees profit to Neiman Marcus and walked straight to the women’s section—he was having one of his soft moments. Being that he had on his hood uniform—Carhartt hoody, hard blue denim jeans, and his Chukkas—none of the salespeople were fucking with him. They probably thought he was coming to steal or just window-shop. Not really knowing what he wanted, Jake starting surveying the room. He looked to his left: nothing, then to his right: still nothing, then he turned and looked behind him and spotted what he was looking for—a dime piece with a freshly did hairdo. She had a pretty brown complexion, not short but not too tall, fully dipped in the flyest gear: nice bag, nice shoes, and if he had to bet she was probably driving a pretty little coupe like a C-Class or 3 Series Beamer or something.

  Jake decided to approach her and get straight to the point. “Um, excuse me, miss, are you with someone?”

  “Why?” she asked.

  Jake liked her spunk. “Because I would like to ask for some help if you’re not,” he told her.

  “Is that always how you come on to women? With the you-need-help line?”

  Jake laughed. “Nah, I usually just say ‘What up, ma? You look good—what’s your math?’”

  “Does that work?” she asked.

  “Eighty percent of the time,” he admitted before adding, “Besides, I didn’t say I needed your help, I said I was going to ask for it.” When she asked him his name he said: “J.B., what’s yours?”

  When she answered “M.B.,” they both shared a small laugh. M.B. interrupted the jovial moment with, “What do you need help with?”

  “Well,” he said, “being that you so stylish and well put together I was going to ask your advice on the latest women’s shoes and bags. You know, put a brotha up on what’s popping! I need to know what the women want these days.”

  “Stick with Chanel or Lou V.; you can’t lose with those.” Then she smiled and said, “I’ll show you a pair of shoes and a bag practically every woman would nearly die over.” She showed him a nice Lou bag that cost twenty-five hundred and some Chanel shoes that ran twelve hundred.

  Jake liked the two pieces that she’d showed him and knew that Kim would, too. He was holding the bag in his hand when he said, “One more thing, ma.”

  “You want my number,” she said with a straight face.

  “Well, actually I was going to ask you to show me a good bottle of perfume.” She suggested a bottle of CREED. He walked over to the perfume counter, got the big gold bottle of CREED that ran about five hundred and some change, then gave it to Mary-beth after he purchased it.

  Mary-beth said it was sweet of him to buy the perfume but he didn’t have to—he was cool and it was her pleasure to help him. “And I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful.” She could feel a connection to this guy; he made her feel comfortable—comfortable enough to ask if he knew where she could get some good weed from.

  Jake gave a light chuckle. “What, are you police?”

  She paused for a second. The look on her face had Jake believing she was keeping it one hundred with him.

  “Let me find out somebody like you smokes.”

  “You’d be surprised what a girl like me does.”

  He liked that. “Yeah, well, I can take care of that for you, how much you need? I got a few bags in the car.” She said “Cool,” and after Jake bought the bag and shoes, they both headed toward the parking lot.

  Both of them chose to stay quiet as they walked toward the car. It was silent but it wasn’t uncomfortable—both of them thinking how interesting the other was. Jake stopped at a brand-new Cadillac tr
uck. It was nice; nothing special about it. He opened the passenger’s-side back door and hopped in. The driver said, “Damn, that was quick,” and raised the back of the driver’s seat out of its reclining position. “I barely shut my eyes,” he added.

  “Sleep when you’re dead, homie, we got moves to make,” Jake told his friend Nine-One. Nine-One was Jake’s favorite driver. He always held him down and put him before all his other customers. Jake reached into a bag in the back, grabbed two dubs, and handed them to Mary-beth. Then he wrote his number on a piece of paper and told her to hit him up if she want some more—that’s all he had on him right now.

  She thanked him and said it was a pleasure to meet him and she definitely would give him a call.

  ———

  Just as Jake was reminiscing, something told him to be alert. When he looked, two dudes were approaching him. He guessed they could read his body language because one of them said, “Nah, gee, it ain’t like that, we T.M.B.” One said his name was Clips and the other said his name was Frankie. “Regg is our peoples,” the one called Clips said. “He told us to hold you down, fam.”

  “That’s good looking,” Jake told the two men, “but I told Regg I was a’ight.”

  Frankie said, “I hear you, fam, and I seen you scrap so I know you can hold it down, but this is a nasty house and them boys you fucked up don’t play fair. There’re going to be a lot more niggaz coming for you, we just here to make sure it’s an even fight, you know.”