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It nearly looked like Chanel was going to kill her sister. “He raped me!” she continued to scream.
Bacardi was about to flip out, seeing that everyone was in her family’s business, but she stood by. Charlie was getting what she deserved—a proper beatdown.
“I fuckin’ hate you!” Chanel shouted.
During the melee between the sisters, Charlie’s gun spilled from her jacket, and she was left completely defenseless. Seeing the pistol on the floor, Pyro snatched it up. If there weren’t so many witnesses around, he would have killed Charlie with her own gun. But he kept his composure and allowed Chanel to do her thing. He didn’t know she had it in her.
Chanel clearly won the fight. She proved that she was no longer going to be anyone’s victim. When Bacardi finally pulled Chanel off Charlie, it looked like Charlie had fought a bear. Her nose was bloody, her eye was black and blue, and her hair was in disarray. She had a hard time catching her breath as streams of sweat rolled off her body. She smelled like a wet puppy. Charlie, who was once worshiped and feared around the projects, was humiliated.
“That’s what I’m talking about, Chanel! You fucked that bitch up,” someone said with amusement.
***
Inside the apartment, Chanel paced back and forth in the living room, cursing and amped up. She needed to calm down. Tears trickled from her eyes. Her chest heaved up and down. It looked like she was going to have a panic attack.
“Fuck that bitch, right!” she exclaimed with extreme emotion.
On the one hand, she felt elated that she had the courage to fight Charlie and she actually won. On the other, Charlie was her older sister and it hurt Chanel deeply that she played a part in what had happened to her and Mateo. Whatever possessed her to stoop so low, Chanel would never know.
“Calm down, Chanel. You did good. You did what you needed to do,” Pyro reassured her. “You finally put that bitch in her place.”
Butch and Bacardi agreed.
Still, Chanel didn’t want to be the bad guy. She didn’t want her anger to control her. Yes, Charlie did her dirty, but she wanted to be better than the tragedy.
Meanwhile, Bacardi’s tenant stood in the background in silence, not knowing what to expect next. She was new to the apartment, and seeing mother and daughter and then two sisters fight each other like they were in the UFC was mind-boggling to her.
Chanel finally noticed the stranger inside the apartment. Her frown transitioned into a warm smile toward the girl. She went over and said, “Ohmygod, I’m so sorry that you had to see that. I apologize. My name is Chanel.”
She extended her hand for a handshake.
“I’m Jacqueline,” the young woman replied.
The two shook hands. Chanel had become a different person for Jacqueline. Actually, she became her old self—friendly and warmhearted.
In Chanel’s eyes, Jacqueline seemed nice and pleasant. She was a part-time legal assistant, and she went to NYC Technical College at night. She used to live with her mother in the Linden Houses, but it was a rocky environment for her, with her mother being strung out on drugs and continuously smoking up the rent money and stealing from her. Jacqueline decided it was time for her to leave.
Chanel noticed that the apartment was clean, the fridge was stocked with food, and Butch was still sober. It was an entirely different place. Where was this place a few years ago? Chanel thought.
Butch was delighted to see his youngest daughter again, as was Bacardi. The days of treating her like trash were over. Oddly, Butch hugged her and proclaimed how deeply he missed her, and Chanel was taken aback by the action.
In no rush to leave, despite what had happened earlier, Chanel and Pyro took a seat in the living and chitchatted with everyone. Chanel lied to her parents and told them that she had been staying at Mecca’s place. She didn’t want Bacardi to get the wrong impression of her moving in with Pyro, even though it was temporary and they were friends. She also filled them in on Mateo’s progress.
“He’s doing so good,” Chanel mentioned.
“I’m glad to hear that,” Bacardi said.
When Bacardi brought out refreshments for them, Chanel needed to pinch herself. Whoa—what the heck has this place turned into? she thought. Bacardi was doing everything in her power to make the two of them feel at home.
“Look, it’s getting late. Chanel and I need to go,” Pyro said, standing up from the couch.
Butch and Bacardi stood too. Bacardi shot her daughter an inquisitive look that Chanel averted. Before his exit, Pyro reached into his pocket and removed a large wad of bills. He peeled away five hundred dollars and handed it to Bacardi.
“That’s for you,” he said.
She was pleased. Receiving money for doing nothing was her forte. “Thank you.”
“I know Mateo would have done it,” he said.
