I was too scared to pull over and ask somebody on the streets how to get back to the turnpike, so I waited until I saw a gas station where an Indian man with a big turban on his head was pumping gas and asked him.

By the time I got back on the turnpike my foot was heavy and my mind was steady on driving north. But as scared as I was, curiosity was burning in me, too. I wanted to know. I wrestled with myself until I got to exit 8, then turned off at a gas station and parked on the side of the road. Looking around, I made sure nobody was anywhere near me, then punched the trunk release and jumped out of the car.

I stood there looking into the little ass trunk, getting mad as hell. It was empty. Wasn’t shit in there. Either the connect in the Bronx had taken something out, or the one in Camden was supposed to put something in. Either way, I was going home. Back to Harlem, and if G ever asked me to make another drop we was gonna have a showdown right then and there. This kind of cloak-and-dagger shit wasn’t happening for me no more, I didn’t care what G said. Let him send Punanee or Honey Dew, or one of them other bitches who were always up in his face next time, ’cause it sure as hell wasn’t going to be me.

Chapter Twenty

It was Ladies’ Night at the G-Spot, but I had my period and the cramps were kicking me like a mother. All day long I moped around the apartment, holding my stomach, dragging my feet, and plain old looking pitiful as hell. G caught the hint and allowed me to stay home from the Spot for the night. He even told Jimmy to make me a cup of tea before they left so I could feel better.

Pacho came to pick them up, and as soon as the door closed I tore off my nightgown and put on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. I ran into the kitchen and popped two Midols, then watched out the window until I saw Rita’s SUV pull up out front.

Minutes later Rita’s fingers were on G’s keyboard, working their magic.

I’d had her come by every chance we could get. After that bogus drop G sent me on in Camden, I was more determined than ever to get my hands on some papers and get me and Jimmy out of Harlem. Rita kept a book of computer codes she’d already used on G’s system, and today she was pulling some fresh ammo out of her bag of tricks.

“I don’t know, Juicy,” she said, her eyes staring at the screen in concentration. She looked in her book and started typing again. “G got this system locked down tight. Every damn trick I try has something protecting it. He’s gotta have something to hide. Burying a password in all this-”

Rita almost jumped out the chair.

“Bingo, motherfucker!” she yelled. “We’re in, Juicy. We’re in!”

I was jumping up and down and screaming, too. Glad Rita had worked her magic and hoping we’d finally find out where G had stashed his bank.

An hour later Rita had picked G’s computer clean, but not one damn bank account had come up. No account numbers, no stocks, no stash. Yeah, we’d busted into a hidden file and printed out the names of all of G’s connects and the dirty-ass cops in Harlem and low-level government people who were in his pocket or who he’d had dealings with over the years, but that was almost the same information we had copied out of his binder and there wasn’t even a mention of how G paid the rent on this phat apartment or how he financed his building leases or paid his taxes. I figured the Spot was just a front that he washed his money through. There was also a list of other businesses that he owned, some that I had known about and others that I didn’t, but that knowledge didn’t help me at all. I needed to find his money if I was gonna get Jimmy someplace safe, but my hope was dying as Rita read through the last of G’s files.

“Damn, Juicy,” Rita said shaking her head. “That motherfucker must have him another hiding place. The only thing left on here is a grave certificate registered to Orleatha Mae Stanfield.”

Grandmother. I looked over Rita’s shoulder, and sure enough there was a file from Woodlawn Cemetery with Grandmother’s name on it and the section where she was buried.

“Print that out for me,” I told Rita, but I didn’t really know why. The only time I planned to visit a cemetery was when it was time for my own burial, and even then I wouldn’t know anything about it.

As much as I hated to admit it, I was facing a brick wall. I didn’t know where else to turn, and I was still broke. Gino had told me he was cutting out after six months, and in the back of my mind I wondered if he was still going, if he could just leave me like that.

He didn’t owe me anything of course, and I couldn’t roll with him even if I wanted to. I had Jimmy to think about, and unlike my mother I wasn’t about to put a man above my own blood. I was back to feeling stuck and mad, and when Rita left I stashed the paper with Grandmother’s gravesite on it in between the pages of the Juicy Journal, then put my nightgown back on and climbed into the bed to cry myself to sleep.

The following Tuesday was slow at the Spot. There was a playa’s ball going on in Philly, and G and a lot of the old heads and other pimps had gone out there earlier in the day. I’d called my girl Brittany from school and we agreed to meet downtown on 42nd Street to go to the movies. I wanted to see Barbershop 2, and Brittany did, too.

Gino had slipped me some money and I wanted to treat Brittany since she was always so generous toward me and I was hardly ever able to give her anything in return except a couple of outfits and an occasional free night at the Spot.

We got to the theater early and I bought both of us some buttered popcorn and a box of Bon Bons. Brittany wanted some strawberry Twizzlers, but just the sight of them got me to thinking about Dicey and I convinced Brittany to get some Mike and Ikes instead, telling her the Twizzlers looked sticky and stale.

The theater was small and already crowded. The lights were still on and we sat toward the back where all the young rowdy people were. As usual, I felt free whenever I got the chance to hang out with my friends. Me and Brittany sat there throwing popcorn up in the air and trying to catch it in our mouths, laughing and spilling shit everywhere and not giving a damn.

At first I wasn’t sure I was seeing right, but then Brittany nudged me and said, “Hey Juicy. Ain’t that your friend? You know, the dude you grew up with who hangs out over in Taft?”

Sure enough, it was Flex with his little peanut head walking down the aisle and looking for a seat. But I was even more surprised to see who was with him. It was Cooter, walking right behind Flex and obviously there with him.

There must not have been any good seats down front, or maybe they couldn’t find two side by side, because the next thing I knew they had turned around and were heading back up the aisle, directly toward us.

“Shit!” I said, dropping the box of Bon Bons I had just opened. I scooched down in my seat and bent down like I was trying to pick up those little balls of chocolate-covered ice cream off that nasty theater floor.

“Where are they?” I whispered up at Brittany.

“Sitting up there. Four rows up.”

“Did they see me?”

She laughed. “Shit, how could they as fast as you fell out that chair!”

I eased myself back into my seat and took a deep breath. The lights were going down and the previews were beginning to roll, and I told myself to chill and get ready to enjoy the movie.

But something wasn’t right about Flex and Cooter seeing a movie together. I didn’t know they hung like that. I’d never even seen them two talking or even acting like the other one existed. As the movie played and we laughed and hooted, cracking up and falling out at the jokes taking place on screen, I couldn’t help but keep one eye on Flex and Cooter.