An Angel's Vice

Chapter 8 - I Don't Need You

"People hear Miami and they think Vice City. Big titty bitches in bikinis, spring break, yachts, mansions, the bright colours of the buildings, clean streets, chillin' en la fucking playa. Pero come to the three-oh-five and see how fast shit gets real. Come here to the brown subs, see what's up. Come to the pork'n beans projects, to RobinHood, or even further down to West Perrine of South Miami Heights. Go ahead and see if you'll walk out breathing. Police gon' come an hour later and act like they don't know nothin'. Y'all people in Kendall, Coral Gables, and Miami Beach don't know nothing about these parts neither. Shit's sweet up there, it's worse down here."

Randy rants as he sits on the sofa in the living room of his mom's 800 sq-ft concrete block of a house with Lauren, Ariel, a friend of his from the neighbourhood, and Chopper quietly gathered around him.

"You was up in that nice mansion growing up, Lo. Don't talk to me about the hood. You was born with a golden spoon in your mouth. You never really had to struggle a day in your life without money like the rest of us. You always had that shit. You may not be richer than that bitch who just tried taking you out an hour ago, than EC, or that other bitch you been fucking since two-thousand-six, but you still comfortable, and it's a lot more than we can say for ourselves. Kendall wasn't the hood 'til you made it so. Coral Gables wasn't the hood 'til Estrabao made it so. But you not hard like the motherfuckers I grew up with."

"But I'm still alive. They're not. So really, how hard were they?" says Lauren, leaning against the wall opposite of the couch, arms folded. It's obvious he struck a nerve, and she doesn't hide it in the looks on her face.

"That's why when Ariel spoke to me about you I decided to follow you anyway. I heard about the bodies you got and all the ways you got 'em. I heard about how much money you make and the paydays your crew used to get blessed with. So I figured...why not? I had my doubts about you, though...up until what just happened today. If a bitch like Sugar wants somebody dead, they'd be dead. But here you are. You know how to cheat death, I respect that," Randy admits then looks around at the others who quietly watch them interact. "But you still need the respect of the hoods you tryna occupy. You not from around here. You not the boss of no gang  no more. And it don't matter who you are, you're not about to hideout here all comfortably and shit without paying your dues to 'em."

Lauren chomps on the inside of her cheek. She rubs the tension in her knees before getting up and shuffling around. "Pay my dues," she repeats, enraged by the audacity. "Like I gotta fucking bend over for some favours I've been doing for these fucking people for years now. Where's the fucking heart?"

"Shit, if it was here, it'd be a much better place. Don't know what you thought this was, but love ain't a priority."

"What's the move, Lo? You need soldiers and you need 'em now. It ain't enough to ride off Candy's crew, she needs them for her own shit. Girl's got a lot of enemies," says Ariel, reclining with his eyes glued to the tiny screen on his flip phone while his thumb pushed the numbers to type a text message.

"That's the fucking problem. Enemies, enemies, enemies—there's too many fucking enemies and she doesn't know when to quit adding to the list. Sugar being at the top concerns me because I know her. And if y'all knew her too, the way I do, NO ONE would be worried about shit except taking the bitch down. My cred speaks for itself, I'm not about to prove myself to nobody," Lauren rants passionately, the veins popping out in her neck. "So you either tell your peoples what's up, or I'll bounce, but I won't forget this."

"So you mean it, then? You ready to be a gangster again? You not running away no more?" Chopper leans forward with his hands clasped, the light returning in his eye just as it left Lauren's.

Lauren's breath hitches in her throat as she is tortured with the return of flashbacks to January in South Beach. Every fibre of her being screams at her to say no, cut her losses and run for the hills, be bold enough to begin a new life and do it right this time rather than be bold in the ways that'd only result in more loss, more death, more tears. She should have killed Sugar sooner. She should have done her time given to her and toughed it out without any special privileges. Aleesia probably would have found somebody else and gave up waiting for her, but at least she would still be alive. She wouldn't have owed shit to Sugar, and she wouldn't have ended up in this position she's in. But is it inevitable to end up in bed (metaphorical or literal) with someone crazy—someone who could tear your whole world apart without flinching, and walk away without remorse?