I LUV L.C.

Camy and I laughed and talked for well over an hour. The other people in the cafe were either typing away on their laptops or eating stale honey buns, acting as if there weren’t two obnoxious people laughing across the room.

“That’s the thing with you,” Camy said. “You haven’t changed.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You haven’t changed, Terrance. After all the shit we’ve been through, you’re still that quiet guy who keeps to himself. I like that.”

She took another sip of her coffee.

“Most people in this town can’t mind their own business.”

“I just do my own thing,” I said as I checked the time on my phone. “Speaking of doing my thing."

Camy reached into the bag sitting on the floor next to her chair and laid a box on the table between us. Then, we just sat there and looked at each other. I really wanted to just come out and ask, “What’s in the box!”

“Go give Moma some love in Schottler.” She said. “Drop it off and leave.”

“You got it.” As I stood up to leave, she leaned in.

“I know you don’t usually hang out with people in odd parts of town, but don’t fuck around with her.” She said. “Drop it off...and leave.”

Even though she tried to hide it, it wasn’t hard for someone to figure out that Camile “Camy” Valvona was the daughter of Maria Valvona, of the Valvona crime family. She could speak with a tone that would make a Sargent stand at attention and make a mafia thug stutter.

The word around town was that she was a party in bed, but sleeping with the mafia is one of the worst things a young black guy like me could ever do. I think I’m the only person who has turned down every chance to sleep with her, and I think that makes her want to screw me even more.

“Terrance!” She snapped me out of my daydream. “You’re zoning out on me. You good?”

“Yeah,” I said. “My bad.”

“I’ll call you when you’re done.” She laughed.

Schottler, an old name with a new face. Before my time, the Liberty City Development Association wanted to come through this part of town with something called, gentrification, but the single moms and welfare kids said, “Fuck off!” to the white man. At least, that’s what my father used to say.

Liberty City’s finest drove by with lights flashing as I took an old fire escape up to the sixth floor of the apartment complex, crawling through a window that is always left open and stepping into a forsaken hallway. A nice, welcoming smell of mold and weed tickled my nose.

I don’t miss the projects. I thought to myself.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK-KNOCK!

That was the knock that the narcs could never learn, that the crackheads were too strung out to remember, and would bring the old hag in room 612 to the door.

“What you want, child?” Asked the beaded eyes behind the sliding door hole. “You babylon?”

“Babylon?” I answered. “Do I look like the cops? I got a gift from Candy Girl, Moma. Come on.”

This woman was crazier than a rugrat eating a dry bag of Fruit Loops, so I held up the box to show that I was being serious.

“Why didn’t you say that then, child?” The voice said. When the door opened, I could tell that Mary Jane was definitely staying in her place. “Come in, boy. There vampires out there.”

I swear, all of the weed in the city was in this woman’s apartment, bagged up in her walls, couch cushions, pillows and closets. If the Mexican cartels were ever short on supply, they'd probably call her. My phone buzzed.

U there yet? - CAMY 6:42 PM

Yeah - Lamar 6:42 PM

LEAVE - CAMY 6:42 PM

“What’d ya bring Moma this time.” She asked.

“Now, you know I don’t know what I bring,” I answered. “I’m supposed to drop it off and leave.”

While she usually turns up the Reggae on her 80s boombox every time I say that, she actually took the box and threw it on her ratchet looking couch, turning around to offer me a blunt.

“Breathe, boy.” She said.

“No thanks,” I told her. “I gotta go.”

“Ya’ too wound up. Unwind ya’ self”

“I’ll try.”

As I showed myself out, she yelled, “Tell Candy girl watch herself! Bitches be put back in they place!”

I ignored her and continued down the fire escape. Moma always says shit about the people she does business with, but that sounded legit.

The hell was that about?

A pizza guy on a moped that was barely big enough for his sweaty back started swearing at me when I crossed the street. The bastard was on a damn moped. All he had to do was switch lanes. I just stuck him a finger, a Liberty City hello.

BOOM!

“What the hell?” I shouted.

My eyes went wide as the sixth floor of the apartment building-the floor I was just on- went up in smoke. Glass, wallpaper and fake plants showered down on me and the other people walking by. The pizza guy floored it through the intersection.

“Fuck!” My phone vibrated again. It was Camy.

“Thank goodness, you answered.” She said through the earpiece. "I thought the old bitch would have held you up or something."

“Wait, did you do this?” I asked. “Why?”

“That Jamaican talked too much and mentioned my name to the Feds.”

“Shit, Camy! She wasn’t the only one living there. You know that right?”

“The only people living in that shit were her dealers and bodyguards. I’m sure the rest of her gang got the message. Don’t fuck with a Valvona.”

Camy, as sweet as she could be, was also a psycho. But, I never thought she’d blow up an entire apartment complex. I felt bad for Moma. The old Jamaican didn’t deserve that.

“Well, you don’t have to tell me twice,” I told her.

“Meet me at Dukes Park.” She said. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

Before I could say anything, she hung up. Guess I'll ask the rest of my questions in person. It didn't long for the city's finest to show up in two squad cars. There's definitely more of them on the way, so I needed to leave.

“Hey! Hey!” I stopped a cab and hopped in. “How fast can you get me to Dukes Park?”

“Uh...,” He replied. I handed him forty bucks. “...faster than a cop gets to a donut shop.”

Everyone's a character.

“Did you see that building? Was that crazy or what?”

“Yeah,” I answered. An entire precinct of cops zoomed past us. “Liberty fuckin' City."