“Really.”
She looked down, then back up at me again. “Oh well.” Her lips split into a smile. “Guess I better make the best of it now, then.”
Paris
11
“What are we supposed to do, Paris? I can’t believe you brought me to a ghetto place like this!”
Trevor’s girly reaction was starting to piss me off more than the fact that there was a robbery happening right outside the bathroom door. I couldn’t take it anymore; I went off on him. “What? You punk-ass motherfucker. You weren’t complaining about this joint when you was fucking me in that stall a few minutes ago. Now, man the fuck up and get us outta here.”
Suddenly, we heard three loud shots and plenty of screaming.
I was scared about our situation, but Trevor looked terrified, and there was no doubt in my mind that he was holding back tears. “Look,” he said, “maybe we should just go out there. If they catch us in here, they might kill us.”
“Fuck that. I ain’t going out there.” I reached inside my bag and pulled out the little semiautomatic .22 Junior had given me a few years back. I pulled back the hammer and let a bullet slide into the chamber.
Trevor was staring at me with more fear than he had for the men outside committing the robbery.
“What?” I snarled.
“You have a gun?”
“Ah, yeah,” I said sarcastically. “This is New York City we live in, not Disneyland. My sister was almost raped ten years ago. I don’t go anywhere unless I’m strapped.”
Bang! Bang! Bang! Three more shots. Poor Trevor started shaking so bad, I thought he was about to have a nervous breakdown.
“Oh God, they’re gonna kill us,” he whispered. “They are going to kill us.”
With my free hand I reached into my bag for my cell phone and started dialing.
“Who you calling? The police?” He looked relieved, but that didn’t stop his tears from falling.
“Hell no. You can call the police. I’m calling my brother.” Sure, I talked a lot of shit about Orlando leading the family, but when the chips were down, he was the one who always got my ass out of the fire. I just hoped he could get me out of this.
The phone rang six times and then was answered by Orlando’s voice mail. I didn’t even give it time to finish playing the full message before I hung up and dialed Junior’s number. I probably should have called my father, but the last thing I wanted him to know was that I was out at a club and had gotten myself into a situation I couldn’t handle.
“Hello.”
“Junior, I’m in trouble. Big trouble.”
“What do you mean, you’re in trouble?”
“I’m at that spot on Sterling Place, the Nightlife Café, and some dudes just busted in the club and are robbing the place. Me and Trevor are in the bathroom, but it’s not gonna be long before one of them figures out that we’re in here.”
I could hear him sigh, but then he flipped on me. “Didn’t Orlando tell you to keep your ass out of Brooklyn?” he yelled.
“Yeah, Junior, but Orlando ain’t my—” I stopped myself, remembering what my father had told me about thinking things through before I spoke. Now was not the time to be starting a fight with my brother when I needed his help. “Yeah,” I started again with a more respectful tone. “He did, and I should have listened, but that ain’t gonna help me right now. I need you to tell me what to do.”
He sighed again. “You on the first floor or second floor?”
“First floor.”
“Is there a window?”
I looked around. “Yeah, but it’s small.”
“See if it will open, and then get your asses outta there.”
Damn, with everything happening so fast, I didn’t even think about looking for a window, and obviously neither did Trevor.
I pulled the phone from my ear and turned to Trevor, who’d just ended a call. “Trevor, see if that window will open.”