B-More Careful

by Shannon Holmes

  Meanwhile, Mimi seemed to be doing good by all appearances. Physically, she still looked fine as ever, but after a few short weeks of sniffing dope, she had a habit. Dope was like a miracle drug. She could use it to ease her pain. The empty feelings of rejection throughout her life and in the streets had led her down the wrong path. The Pussy Pound found her distant, short-tempered and moody. They began to shy away from her and vice versa. Eventually, everybody lost track of Mimi, except the streets. They had her for sure.

  She spent all her time with hustlers from all over the city. Whoever was willing to get her high or get high with her was who she was kickin’ it with. Mimi developed an insatiable appetite for dope. Too much was never enough While under the influence, she turned into a nymphomaniac and the word spread quickly amongst hustlers about her dope and sexual practices. Hustlers were lining up to take advantage of her. Dudes she normally wouldn’t have given the time of day to now got her high and ran trains on her. Passing Mimi around from friend to friend was like a plate of food they could eat from. She was videotaped unknowingly, however, willingly participating in a threesome involving another female and a male. The streets were talking, and they were saying that Mimi was a dope whore. The videotape only proved it.

  “What?” Black yelled into his cell phone. He was talking to Sonny from New York City.

  “I just took care of Ty. You ready so soon?” Sonny asked.

  In his mind, Black wondered how many other times Sonny had taken care of Ty and not mentioned it.

  “Yeah, ya man Ty was just up here a couple days ago. I took care of him. I thought it was a little light from what you usually cop, but I took care of him.”

  No sooner than the words left his mouth, Sonny knew he had made a terrible mistake. It was too late. The cat was out of the bag.

  “Y’all still working together, right?” Sonny asked, puzzled, trying to clear up any confusion.

  Working together, that bitch ass nigga works for me! Black didn’t say what he was thinking. He was too busy trying to maintain his composure.

  “Yeah, I’ll see you in a few days, yo. I’ll put what I want in your beeper. So have that shit ready for me, yo,” Black said, ending the call.

  It was customary for him to call Sonny and let him know how much weight he wanted ahead of time to ensure that he could get as much as he needed at once. Black didn’t like having to make a bunch of trips to the Turnpike. New Jersey was ridiculous. Past that, he still hated New York and wasn’t trying to have to make but one trip, not two and not three. Sonny would have him out there like that at times.

  Hanging up the phone, Black realized that something unexpected had come out of his brief conversation with Sonny, Ty’s underhandedness. How long this nigga been stabbing me in the back, he thought, thinking all kinds of craziness.

  “Hello?”

  “What’s this shit I hear, yo. You been to New York and was coppin’ from Sonny. You bitch ass nigga. What you think, I wouldn’t find out, huh? Thought you was slick didn’t you? How long you been pumpin’ ya dope out of my spots, yo?” Black questioned.

  “Naw, yo, I wouldn’t do no shit like that. Listen, Black, I was gonna tell you, yo, but you know it’s hard to catch up with you,” Ty said, weakly trying to explain.

  “Nigga, it ain’t that hard to catch me motherfucker. I ain’t tryin’ to hear that shit, nigga. You crossed me. So, this is the thanks I get for puttin’ ya bum ass on, right?”

  “Black, it ain’t like that, yo. You getting all the money. I need more money than I’m seein’…”

  “You need more money! Nigga, you was going hand to hand selling nickel vials of coke on the corner, wearing bootleg shit, remember. Remember who the fuck rescued you, yo. You ain’t ever had it this good, yo. Remember when ya peoples was getting evicted? Who took care of that? Who motherfucker?” Black demanded to know, growling. “Me, Ty! Me, that’s the fuck who, nigga. You work for me or nobody motherfucker.”

  Scared to death, Ty had never seen him or heard him this mad before. Not since his Uncle Briscoe got killed and never once was Black’s rage directed toward him.

  “See, what I’m say, yo , is…”

  It was too late. Ty had no more chances to speak any more words. Black hung up the phone, leaving a dial tone ringing in his ear. He had no more rap for Ty. Black was gonna let his guns to the talking.

  On the other end of the line, Ty was afraid and confused. He decided to go ahead with his plans of going solo, especially after that conversation. He realized it would be in his better interest to lay low for a little while. At least until Black calmed down.

  Just as Black was trying to fade away from the game and just as he was beginning to look forward to the future, marrying Netta, having kids, going legit, this situation with Ty had to pop up. Never one to walk away from a challenge, Black had to meet this thing head on and let the chips fall where they may.

  It was an unseasonably cold rainy spring morning as Black was making his way across town to pay for Netta’s wedding gown. There, out of nowhere, he saw Ty’s white Mercedes Benz station wagon double parked in front of the Yellow Bowl, a local greasy spoon on Greenmount Avenue.

  Out early getting ready to open up his new shop and hungry as hell, Ty stopped to grab a bite to eat. Although he was wearing a bulletproof vest, he’d forgotten his gun in the car.

  Parking a half block away, Black walked swiftly back up the street to the restaurant. He was hoping Ty would be at the counter with his back to the door. He was hoping he’d catch him sleeping. This was war and there was no playing fair. Wearing black army fatigues, Black entered the restaurant with his hand jammed in his army coat. Head down, he peeped from underneath the bill of his hat to see what Ty was doing. Ty had his back turned to him and Black could see he was paying for his food.

  If not for the horrified look that spread across the cashier’s face, Ty would have never noticed him. Black was creeping up behind him, gun in hand. As Ty turned around, he looked at the sinister figure coming at him. They stared at each other for what seemed to be an eternity but was only a split second. They were like two gunslingers from the Wild West who were about to draw. This was do or die. Ty flinched first, reaching for a gun that wasn’t there and realizing he’d left it in the car. Black already had his 12-gauge sawed off shotgun with a pistol grip pulled out. The restaurant erupted with gunfire. The first shot slammed Ty up against the wall, hitting him in his chest as his vest absorbed the blow.

  Why is this nigga still standing, and why ain’t he bleeding?

  Black realized he was wearing a bulletproof vest. From then on, it was curtains as Black aimed for his face. His next shot killed Ty on impact. That wasn’t enough though; he kept firing, nearly decapitating Ty.

  A restaurant employee was in the back calling 911. The old black woman gave the police an accurate description of Black. As soon as he finished emptying his gun, he turned around, flew out the door and hit the streets.

  “Freeze, motherfucker! Drop your weapon and get on the ground!” A cop yelled at Black as he took cover behind his patrol car.

  Black thought about his options. Trying them wasn’t one of them; he was out of ammunition. He didn’t want to go out in a hail of bullets becoming another young black male slain by the Baltimore Police Department. This wasn’t the blaze and glory he wanted to die in. Black was forced to surrender.

  “Drop the gun slow!” another cop screamed as he took a deadly aim at Black’s head. This was his last warning, he’d get no more. They were preparing to gun him down.

  Black willingly complied, tossing aside his weapon. He slowly dropped to the pavement, lying face down, and spread eagle as dozens of armed police officers cautiously approached him. He was arrested without any further incident.

  The news of Ty’s death and Black’s arrest spread throughout the streets like wildfire. Netta got the news from Black’s mother via phone. Later Black called her himself from the station.

  “Hey, baby. You all right?” she ask
ed, sounding concerned.

  “Yeah, I’m cool. I guess you heard by now what happened. I can’t really talk so don’t ask me nothing crazy, just listen.” Black paused to collect his thoughts. He knew he was in trouble. Now, he needed Netta to come through for him. “I need you to go the block and see Stizan for me. You know who I’m talking about, don’t say his name. Tell him to give you everything he got for me, everything!”

  Of course Netta knew who Black was talking about, Stan. She made it her business to know all his business. She knew all his lieutenants personally. This information would serve her well now that Black wanted her to collect all his money off the street. He wanted this done immediately before anybody got any funny ideas. He would have gotten his family to handle this but as a rule he never involved his peoples in the game.

  “Okay, I’ll take care of it. What you want me to do with it when I get it?” she asked.

  “Take half to my mother and the other half I want you to use as a retainer for a good lawyer,” Black replied.

  What about me? Who’s gonna take care of me now that you’re gone? Greed began to consume her. She began making other plans for that money.

  “….Netta, you listening?” Black asked, snapping Netta out of her scheme.

  “I’m listening, boo,” she said, but her mind was on that money.

  “Netta, I want to know is you gonna ride this thing wit’ me or what? ‘Cause if you ain’t, now is the time to let me know. I don’t want to be thinking one thing when it’s something else, yo. Anybody can be with me during the good times, but it takes someone special to hang in here when the chips are down, yo,” Black said gently.

  “Boo, I’m here for you,” Netta stated in complete contradiction to what she was feeling and thinking. “No matter what happens, I’ll always be here for you. You don’t have to worry about nothing on this end.”

  “That’s what I hoped you’d say, yo. I’m gonna beat this case, watch!” Black boldly predicted. It was a relief for him to know that Netta had his back and loved him enough to wait for him. Maybe we can still get married over at City Jail, Black thought.

  “Netta, I got to go. The police is sweatin’ me to get off the phone. I’ll call you after I see the Judge and get over to City Jail. Don’t forget to take care of that for me,” he said before hanging up.

  Netta clicked her phone to make sure the line was clear, then she dialed Central Booking posing as a bail bondsman.

  “Hello, Central Booking?” A deep husky voice of the desk sergeant said on the other line.

  “Hello, this is Erica Shaw from Slick Rick Bails Bonds. I would like to know the criminal charges against my client, DeShaun Williams and also his bail.”

  “Hold on for a minute, Miss,” the desk sergeant said as he punched Black’s name in the computer. “Uhh, Ma’am, you have a very bad man on your hands. His charges are murder in the first degree, reckless endangerment, unlawful possession of a firearm and discharging a firearm within city limits. How does that grab you? I could go on forever, but I don’t have all day. And, by the way, there’s no bail for murder one defendants anymore in the state of Maryland. You people should know that. So, Billy the Kidd will have to wait for his day in court.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Netta said.

  This meant the money was all hers, all of it. All she had to do was collect it, which wasn’t a problem. Unlike most cases when a hustler goes to jail, and the other parties on the street refuse to pay, this situation was not Black’s. Stan and the rest of Black’s lieutenants gave up every last dime owed. The fear factor weighed heavily in their minds. They didn’t know for sure if Black would be found guilty. Either way, they certainly weren’t trying to feel the wrath of Black, should he ever come home.

  On the other hand, Netta was naïve when it came to the legal system. She thought Black was history. She just knew he’d be tried, convicted and sentenced to forever. Black ain’t never getting out, she convinced herself. Acting on that ignorant feeling, she went ahead with her scheme, beating Black out of a little over $250,000. Then she placed a block on her phone, so she couldn’t receive collect calls. Believing Black wouldn’t be home no time soon, she went jewelry shopping with a portion of his money and stashing the rest.

  In Baltimore City Jail Annex, Black went ballistic when he found out Netta robbed him. The money was a small thing; he had plenty of paper. It was the principle. He couldn’t believe she had the heart to steal from him. Didn’t Netta know he was a stone-cold killer? Didn’t she know what he’d do to her? Black was heartbroken. Slowly, it began to sink in that the only woman he’d ever loved didn’t love him. That was a cold realization arousing a hatred in him like he’d never known. He never felt hate for a person like he felt hate for Netta. Black swore he’d get her back one day. In jail or out of jail, he’d get her back.

  Part III

  The Future

  Chapter 18

  It was a typical hot summer’s day in Baltimore. The dog days of summer were in full swing. The sweltering heat and humidity turned row homes and apartments into saunas. Everybody and their mother was out on the stoops, porches, corners and streets trying to catch a cool breeze.

  Tone and his cousin Mann were out collecting money from various workers and places around the city. Tone was real popular in Baltimore even though he was from the Bronx.

  “Yo, Stew, you got that?” Tone yelled out the window of his customized black Mazda MPV. His minivan was equipped with DVDs, video games and four small color televisions in the dashboard and headrests. He had the loudest car stereo that money could buy, and his chrome 20-inch five-star rims sparkled under the streetlights. As he came to a complete stop near a group of young men on the corner of North Ave. and Castle Street, heads turned and admired his car. Baltimore didn’t need to see the New York license plate tag; the way the car sat, you knew the nigga was from somewhere else.

  One of the guys standing in the group on the corner broke away from the pack and headed over to the MPV. It was Stew, his girlfriend’s cousin. He was also a constant fuck-up. Over the years, he had beaten Tone or short changed him out of so much money and packages, it was even funny.

  “Yeah, how may you want, yo?” Stew asked playfully, yet in a serious tone, as he approached the minivan with a few vials of coke in hand like he was serving a customer.

  Tone had anticipated Stew’s prankish mood and countered it with a joke of his own. He tapped his cousin Mann on the leg as if to say watch this. As soon as Stew stuck his head through the car window, he put a gun under his chin.

  “Yo, son, what the fuck I tell you about playin’ wit’ me like that? Now where the fuck is my money motherfucker?” Tone said lowly through clenched teeth.

  Stunned, Stew looked directly in his eyes for a sign that would tell him Tone was playing. He saw none. This nigga is having a bad day. He must be tired of my shit, Stew thought.

  “Tone, what the fuck is you doing? Why are you playin’ with that gun, yo? I swear to God, a soon as I finish knockin’ off this pack, you got that. I swear, yo. I ain’t never gonna play wit’ ya money again. I’ma bring you straight paper…” he continued on, real shook with a barrel pressed against his chin.

  Tone was enjoying chumping Stew. This was one of the few times he was able to turn the tables on him. Unable to control his laughter any longer, Tone removed the water gun from underneath his chin and squirted him in the face.’

  “Ah, ha!” he burst out laughing, pointing his finger at Stew.

  Stew didn’t like being put on the spot. However, knowing how much paper he was indebted to Tone for, he let that shit slide. He used his T-shirt to wipe the water off his face.

  “I knew the gun was fake, yo. I was just playin’ around wit you. Tone, you ain’t crazy enough to pull a gun out on me. I laugh and joke nigga, but I don’t play.”

  “You don’t pay neither, nigga,” said Tone still laughing, banging on the steering wheel. “Sho you right! Stew, I always knew you was a pussy. This only proved it,
son. I wish you could have seen your face. Now you talkin’ that killer shit. Nigga you ain’t gone kill nothin’ or see nothin’ die.”

  Tone continued mocking him in a girlish voice, adding, “I swear to God, I’ma pay you this time. Please don’t kill me.”

  “I ain’t say it like that, yo. Remember where you at, Tone. This is B-More where you see more, nigga, you better be more careful. I could have got you slumped for that shit, yo. My peeps is right down there, and you know they strapped. Ain’t nothing happenin’ to me on this block,” Stew said.

  “Whatever, nigga. You still sounded like a bitch.”

  Tone really liked Stew because he was naturally funny, and anybody that made him laugh he could tolerate, no matter what the shortcomings were. Stew’s weakness was he liked to hustle and get high. Like oil and water, those two things don’t mix. Most times getting high got the best of him, causing him to mess up money.

  Shifting gears, Tone spoke up, “On the real, though, when you gonna break me off with my dough? I know you got some money. You been out here all day.”

  Stew reached in his pockets and handed him a knot of money, which was a lot less than it appeared to be. It was $200 in singles. Tone quickly filed through the money, counting it up in his head.

  “What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?” he asked.

  “It’s money, ain’t it, yo. Give it to one of them strippers you fuckin’ down at Eldorado’s. Better yet, give it back. I’ll show you what to do with it.”

  Once again, Stew got over. The joke was really on Tone. Stew knew how much he hated singles. Tone looked at him like he was crazy, then pulled off, leaving Stew standing in the middle of the street. When he reached the next block, he hopped out his car and handed the singles to the first group of kids he saw. They would have ice pops and ice cream on him today.