Arnessa’s heart dropped.

Tears rolled down Cenise’s face. “Then he stuck his hand up my skirt. Nessa, he put his fingers inside of me!” Cenise sobbed.

Vomit tickled the bottom of Arnessa’s throat. She swallowed hard to keep it down. She tried hard not to cry, but the tears flowed uncontrollably. Arnessa grabbed Cenise, hugging her tightly, and they cried together. “That’s all he did, right?” Arnessa asked, holding out hope that he hadn’t raped her.

Cenise nodded “But …”

“But what?” Arnessa pulled back and looked at her.

“He told me to tell you—”

“Tell me what?”

“Suef said to give up the blocks or he would be back to see me again.”

Burning anger replaced the hurt that Arnessa had initially felt. This wasn’t a random act, this was a message. The worst part about it, they’d used the only person whom she loved to deliver it. On the inside, Arnessa was raging, she had to take deep breaths to keep from exploding in front of Cenise. Calmly, she told her, “Baby girl, it’s going to be okay. I want you to take a shower. I’m going to take care of this.” She hugged Cenise one more time and left the room.

I can’t believe this muthafuckin’ coward drug my baby sister into this. Arnessa’s hand shook nervously as she dialed Butta’s number.

It rang a few times before he answered, “What up?”

“Can you come by crib?”

Arnessa’s voice didn’t sound right to him, “Is everything aight?”

Unable to mask it, she answered, “Nah.”

Not wanting to walk into any type of trap, he questioned her a little further. “What’s going on?”

“Ole boy from the East Side sent some nigga at my little sister.”

“Say no more. I’m on my way.”

Fifteen minutes later Butta arrived with his boys Shawn and Mannie. They all stood in the kitchen listening to Arnessa as she repeated what Cenise had told her.

“You think your sister would recognize him if she saw him?” Shawn asked.

“I’ll ask her.” Arnessa walked out of the room.

Shawn, an average-looking dark-skinned dude, stood about five feet nine. For the most part he was pleasant looking, proving the old adage that looks can be deceiving, because he was a straight murderer. “Suef and them niggas still be at that fake barbershop every day. Let’s ride by, see if she see the dude. I know it’s one of them faggots, if not Suef himself, that stepped to her.”

“Yeah.” Mannie nodded in agreement. Like Butta he too was Dominican, although he was often mistaken for Puerto Rican, with his fair skin and black wavy hair that he kept in two long braids that hung below his shoulders. “Them dick-head niggas still be down at that barbershop, the one on the East Side.”

Arnessa came back into the kitchen. “She said she’d know ’im if she saw him.”

Butta pulled Arnessa out into the hallway. “Pack whatever you need for you and your sister. Give your bags and car keys to Mannie.”