YNs

1996

When pavements got hot in the summer time, that called for drivers to drop tops and crank up AC units in their four wheeled stallions. Twenty-four-year-old Gregorian Vault leaned back in his seat into the “ghost position.” If you rolled up beside him, it would appear as if no one drove the car with his seat reclined at such an extreme angle. He looked lanky and light skinned. He sported three hundred and sixty degree waves.

He parked his car at his luxury apartment. He entered his space with the smell of oxtails on the stove. He walked up to his woman at the stove.

“Don’t burn them up, now,” he kissed her jet-black neck.

“If you leave me alone, we won’t have to worry about that now, will we?” twenty-eight-year-old Berlina Century kissed his mouth.

“Ooh, look it’s browning too fast!” Vault exclaimed. He flashed a wicked little grin like a child poking wet paint.

“You better stop!” Her laugh seemed light and free.

Vault ventured to the bedroom. He immediately found his Nike shoe box and his beeper. On the dresser, a triple beam scale sat. On the other side of the room, a money counter sat on a table. He took the contents from another Nike box which contained dollar bills in it as well, and put it through the machine. Once it dinged, he knew he had earned exactly $123,000 from hustling in two days. The money saw its home in the Nike shoe box once more.

He had caught a brick from his connect for $40,000 and he had flipped it. He could have done a cartwheel. He was so excited about it. He kept his bearings. Vault looked outside of his window. People with dogs strolled by. Little kids laughed. In particular, a tire swing attached to an oak tree provided merriment for the children.

In the time it took for him to count his money, he had known that Berlina would be calling him soon, but he had to make a phone call. He had a chunky black cell phone with a green screen and flat buttons. It was a burner phone, so he could just toss it whenever he finished a call. He memorized at least ninety individual phone numbers and could dial anyone within seconds. The call, however, came to him. Even though he spoke into a burner, he still watched for the language.

“Greg! We have birds flying in off the highway,” Fredro Martinez spoke into his own burner.

“Great. We can move those without a problem,” Vault fired back.

“It’s going to be one of those cold summers with all this snow,” Martinez quipped.

“Yeah, man. I’ll pick up the delivery tomorrow.”

“Alright. Bet.”

Vault took the phone and smashed it, first removing the battery and then destroying the face and all the components. He thought he heard the door open and shut.

“Dinner, Greg!” Berlina announced.

“Alright. One moment.”

He opened the door to the bedroom and noticed three masked men standing in his dining room. Vault carried a twenty-two caliber pistol in his shoe. The sensation of the gun against his heel felt like a scalding hot iron ready to press a dress shirt. Berlina’s face seemed straight. The smell of the oxtails had intensified as she had not turned off the stove. Vault walked with his hands in the air, his palms sweating slightly.

“Okay. I’ve got bread in the other room. It’s under the bed on the side where the triple beam and the phone and alarm clock rest. It’s yours.” One of the masked men walked past him with a nine millimeter pistol pointed at Vault. The robber then followed instructions and retrieved the money that had just been counted. Guns still remained in the air and trained on Berlina. She thought. Vault closed the bedroom door and locked it.

“I’ve got to turn the food, or it’s going to burn,” Berlina choked out the words.

“Yeah, We’re about to sit up and munch before we get out of here,” one of the masked men imparted.

Berlina had attached a .38 special above the fan that hung over the stove.

“No trickery or the blickey squirts, ma’am,” the thief breathed. Inside Berlina’s chest, a little imp thundered a hammer against her heart. Vault stood still, the fire under his foot cooling slightly. He stood still and remained cool despite his sweaty palms.

Berlina walked over to the stove in a provocative manner, suggesting sex with every step. The robber lost focus and laid eyes on her ample bosom and posterior. Once she grabbed the spoon, she stirred the contents of the pan and switched off the stove. After about four seconds she detached the pistol from the overhead fan and aimed it right at the robber interested in her bust and waistline. She fired one shot to his head and he dropped quickly.

With quickness, Vault turned to the second robber with the money in the box and used him as a human shield. He lightly laid down the cash. The third robber had moved to the dining room and trained his weapon on Berlina. She aimed back at him.

“Hey! If you value your friend’s life, you’ll take your gun off of my girl!” Vault commanded.

“She just killed my guy!” He never removed his aim off of Berlina.

“I don’t give a goddamn! Lower your pistol or your ‘guy’ gets dropped.” he pulled out his piece from his shoe.

The third robber lowered his gun. Berlina moved closer to him and disarmed him and pointed his nine millimeter at his head.

“Alright. One down. We can keep it this way. We can sit up and eat some oxtails together. Like the Lord says, ‘He preparedth a table in the presence of my enemies.’ I can’t say much for your friend, but you two can get comfortable, because we’re going to dine together. You can start by removing those ski masks.”

The two robbers abided as Vault moved closer to the stove and fixed four plates of food. Berlina kept her weapons trained on them. She never wavered in her dedication to protect her man as the two men sat at the table. One started crying. Vault snatched off the masks and looked close at both of them.

“I thought I recognized your voices. I know you two, You’re Maximo’s men. Goddamn, Maximo. You do this? In front of my lady.” He put the plates in front of the two men. “Eat up, this may be your Last Supper. But I might let you live. I can’t say the same for Berlina here.” She kept her focus on them. Vault walked over to her and grabbed her guns. “Get your plate, ‘Lina. I’ve got these two together. Let me bless the food. ‘Dear Lord, let this be a lesson to these two numbskulls to never cross Gregorian Vault and his people. Let them please learn that the fate of their friend could be theirs as well…but it doesn’t have to be. Not if they’re smart. Amen.”

They had the nerve to say amen but did not touch their food.

“Martise Hipson. What are you about eighteen, nineteen? Shouldn’t you be in school? And you, Tyqeer “Queer” Mapleson. You’re thirty. What are you doing busting in people’s living spaces?”

Tyqeer remained silent, his head cocked up slightly. Martise continued to weep.

“Now, what we’re going to do is clean up this mess after Berlina finishes her meal and then we’re going to get rid of….” He gave the pistols back to Berlina as she put down her fork. He walked over to the corpse slumped against his kitchen wall. He removed the last mask. “...Cavendish. Rydly Cavendish. All three of y’all had some gall, huh? Well, we’re going to wait ‘till it gets darker and then we’re going to dispose of Mr. Rydly here down by the dumpster.”

Tyqeer picked up his fork and took a few bites that felt like acid on his tongue. Once he moved to pick up his napkin he reached for his waist and Vault put two shots in his chest. And he slumped, too.

“Two down, one to go,” Vault ascertained. Martise turned into a puddle of tears. He looked like a mass of wet tissues all wet and crumpled up.

“Look, I’m sorry about all of this….I can front you like two hundred kilos from Max. He’s going to be pissed that we botched this job.” He blubbered.

“Is that right?” Vault asked, his voice lilting a bit at the end.

“I’ll do anything. Just don’t do me like you did them,” he muttered. His lightskinned face looked like a Gala apple with globular tears streaming down it.

“It’s alright. I will talk you through this,” Vault avowed. “Three bodies are going to be extra heavy for my lady and me to carry.” The chirp of a police vehicle then sounded as blue and red flashing lights reflected off of the building. Vault walked over to the window.

“Now Babylon has arrived. You want a good story or a bad story?” Vault asked. Berlina finished her plate and displayed the guns Vault and she fired. “A what?”

“Do you want me to tell the people that you were just an accessory to the crimes of forced entry, attempted grand larceny, and robbery. You’ll get fifteen years. You’ll be out on good behavior and if you snitch on one of your homies laying here, what they did. You’ll probably get out in seven. That’s the good news. The bad news is Berlina shoots you dead right here and now because she thought you all were going to rape her. It’s your choice.”

Martise looked at him. “Just kill me. I’m not going to prison. I’m too young and pretty to be locked up. Put a bullet in me. Max would kill me any damn way.”

“No. I like the good news. ”

A pounding at the door sounded. “Police, please open up,” a male voice announced. Vault took the opportunity to take the shoe box full of money back to his room and lock the door behind him. He spun the key on his ring.

“Ah, a change to my original plans.”

Two officers entered the condo. The first immediately reached for her weapon as she saw Cavendish’s body against the wall with a streak of red.

The second radioed in the code for a possible homicide. They then discovered the other body.

“Alright let’s see hands. What happened here?”

“A simple home invasion, Officer…Tallus. Good evening, Officer Noonan. Yes, my lady and I prepared for a meal when three of these men surprised us with a bit of an unplanned party. In our defense,” he pointed to the nine millimeter, the .38 special, and the .22 caliber pistols all laid out on the table, “we used force to protect ourselves. All we have is this specimen of urban decay still breathing. You want to say hi, Martise Hipson, nineteen-years-of-age?” He shook his head, completely in shock of what events just took place. He could have easily given up Vault’s standing in the street but his mind turned from molasses to the line of a weed trimmer fully engaged.

The two police officers carted Martise out of the apartment and called for a van to clean up the place. They didn’t suspect anything else and Vault remained confident because he had no kilos in the apartment at the time.

“If you need any further assistance, never hesitate to call my personal number,” Officer Noonan gave the card to Berlina.

“Thank you officer.”

“They’ll be a team to clean up all the blood and bone and brain fragments. Why don’t you both take a drive until everything is all ship-shape,” Officer Tallus suggested.

“I just bought that ‘97 Lex Bubble. We’ll be cruising around these streets,” Vault replied, excited to explore Wilmington, Delaware with his woman.

“That sounds like a good idea. Make sure you keep the AC on, though. You could get heat stroke,” Noonan reminded.

“Of course, officer.” A flash from a camera indicated that the forensics team had arrived.

“Darling, let’s get out of these good folks' way. I’d love to get in the passenger seat of that off-white Lexus. What a fine automobile,” Berlina played up the whole affair.

They drove from North Wilmington to South Bridge to see if their couriers handed out product to clients.

“Now, you know we are going to view hand-to-hand transactions. Remember when I was out here, a straight up young bul’?”

“That’s right. And you didn’t even flinch tonight. That’s why I call you my man. You’re with the business.”