Seguidilla by Sarah Weinman
Pres des ramparts de Sev-i-i-lle, chez mon amie Lillas-
"Aaaah, will you knock that shit off already? It hurts my fucking ears," he said, and banged the power button on the CD player. "You asshole, that’s like my favorite aria in the whole fucking opera! It’s Carmen, why’d you have to turn it off?"
"You and your longhaired shit. Why can’t you listen to the good stuff, you know, 50 Cent, Ashanti, now there’s a fine piece of ass-"
I whacked his arm before the ode to her tits started.
"Ow, what’d you do that for? Now I’m gonna have a bruise for days!"
That’s my Eddie. To be honest, I’m still not sure why he’s "mine". A few too many tequila shots one night and I was sucking his dick in the bathroom. A couple of forgettable fucks later, I redecorated his one-bedroom because the mold on the ceiling was pissing me off.
I turned the CD back on. Leontyne Price, my idol, in the role I loved best in the whole wide world. I sang along, but Eddie bitched some more so I stopped, just in time for the high note at the end. Shit. Gave me goosebumps every time.
Another half an hour until we’d be at the park. The drop was simple; hand over a couple of kilos to Dragash in exchange for thirty grand. Usually, Dragash was the one selling, but a week ago I’d fucked some clueless dude into handing over his stash. I hadn’t realized just how much the blow was worth until I got home.
I noticed Eddie was turning left. "No, don’t do that! You have to go straight for another half a mile!"
He tried to but couldn’t, so he turned left and pulled into a driveway to turn around. Everything was fine until Eddie backed out too fast and clipped a minivan with a couple of kids in the back.
Fifteen minutes to go. I wasn’t sure how the deal would go down. We’d only dealt with Dragash a couple of times in the six months since Eddie and I had hooked up, but he hadn’t stiffed us yet. Still, I was edgy. Plans always had a way of getting fucked up.
We’d agreed to make the trade in Littlefield, a shithole farm town about forty-five minutes northwest of the South Bronx brownstone Eddie and I squatted at. We’d stick out, but at least if things went to shit we could take off fast.
Five minutes to go. I had to give Eddie credit. He wasn’t too bright, but we’d get there exactly on time. Not like the last guy I’d been with, who was always running late and nearly got his head capped after we showed up an hour after the customer did.
"Hey Lakisha, why so quiet?"
I shrugged. "Worried things won’t work out."
"Baby, it’ll be fine, and when we get the money, I’ll get you that DVD player you keep asking about."
I smiled. "That’s sweet, Eddie, but you know I don’t need that."
"Yeah, I know what you need," and he was about to put his hand on my crotch when I saw we’d hit the turnoff. "Hey, cut that shit out! Turn right."
He did, and after a half a mile, we were at Coral Springs Park. Seven A.M. and not a soul was in sight. Dragash was supposed to meet us in the middle of the park.
As parks go, Coral’s nothing special. A few trees, a swingset, that’s about it. Not only wasn’t it Central Park, it wasn’t even Lenox Hill, a park so small even a blind man couldn’t stay lost.
Eddie walked towards the swingset.
"No, asshole! It’s the other way! If you make us late I am so going to kick your ass when we get home."
We walked west three hundred yards, and before I saw Dragash, I saw his car- a ’Vette. I don’t know cars too well, but if it’s a Corvette, I’m in love.
"Over here," he called.
Dragash Murphy. I’d never understood why other women feared him, why most people thought he was dangerous. He’d always treated me right. But seeing the look in his eye now, my nerves came right back. I motioned Eddie to come with me.
"Ready to trade?" I asked Dragash.
He nodded. I handed over the drugs, and he made a show of weighing it in his hands.
"Stop frontin’," I said.
"Look, I have to check--"
"It’s two point two kilos."
Dragash put the stash down on the hood of the car.
"So where’s the money?" Eddie said.
Stupid little shit, he wasn’t sticking to the script. I was supposed to do all the talking.
"Hey, hey, Eddie," Dragash said, "Relax, all right? Just relax. I got it right here."
He reached into the bag he was carrying, pulled out a package, and handed it to me. I took it and started walking off.
"Hey, wait a minute!" Eddie yelled, "Aren’t you going to count it?
I spun around. There was Eddie, slouching forward in his way-too-low jeans, hooded sweatshirt, and shabby dreads. I turned to Dragash, standing tall in Dockers and a polo shirt. No contest.
"Come on, baby," I said in my best purr, stroking Eddie’s sleeve, "When has he ever scammed us? We can’t treat good people like that."
"But-"
"Look, if it makes you happy," I said, "I’ll count the fucking money."
When I was done, Eddie said, "All right, it’s cool, let’s get the fuck out of here."
I reached into the bag where the blow had been and pulled out my 9 mm S&W. I pointed it at Eddie’s chest. Stupid fucker. He didn’t even have the sense to look angry, just confused.
"What the fuck?"
"Sorry, baby," I said, "Did you actually think I was going to split the money with you?"
"But"
I shot him twice in the chest and a third time in the head. Dragash and I leaned in close to watch Eddie die.
After a while, Dragash broke the silence. "You sorry to see him go?"
"A little, but he was annoying the shit out of me. Can we get out of here already? I hate the smell of blood."
We grabbed our bags and took off in the Corvette. I had no idea where we were headed, as long as it was way out of New York State. Another thing Dragash and I had agreed on.
Five minutes into the drive, I collected on the last part of our deal. "You got that music I want?"
He looked at me and smiled. Oh shit, that smile did it to me every time. Without a word, he stuck in the CD, hit track 7.
‘L’amour est un oiseau rebelle que nulle me peut apprivoiser. . .’
I turned up the volume. Perfect.
© Sarah Weinman 2008 All Rights Reserved
