Laugh Now

by Rahiem Brooks

  “I’ll be glad when you heal up, so I can knock you out. Then my son will grow up and do the same to his women: knock them up and down.”

  “Your son will not be like you,” Kareem said.

  Be like me! What the fuck that was supposed to mean? Dre thought, but he already knew. “With these brown eyes like his dad, he’ll be pulling grown ass women in the pee-wee leagues.”

  Dre put Amare in his crib with a pacifier in his mouth, and then looked into a Timberland box where he kept his current stash of $47,000. He also had a safe in the event that someone dared to be foolish enough to break into the apartment. He planned to show them the dummy safe and then make every effort to kill them. Dre was reckless and had become a monster. At the post office, he had poked a co-worker in the head three times for bumping into him without saying anything along the lines of an apology. Luckily, Dre was not the flashy type, or he would either be broke or hustling harder, putting himself further into the danger zone of arrest and kissing Tasha and his son goodbye.

  Dre heard a knock at the door, and yelled, “I’ll get it,” before anyone else attempted to answer it. At the door, he asked who was there, and to his surprise the visitor claimed to be a Drug Enforcement Administration Agent.

  “May, I help you,” Dre asked cautiously. He opened the door and stepped out.

  “Yes, I am Drug Enforcement Agent Lucas McKenzey. I’d like to have a chat with you.”

  “I don’t chat with agents.”

  “Oh! We can chat at my office, which would be better for me. Your choice, though,” the agent said, wearing an expression of amusement on his face.

  Dre knew that the man was in charge, so he decided to step outside to keep everybody out of his business, especially Kareem. He had no desire to give Kareem any more ammunition.

  “So, how can I help you mister, huh...?”

  “You have not missed anything,” McKenzey said, contemptuously. “It’s Agent McKenzey. At any rate, what’s your involvement with Brent Gower? Your boy BG.”

  “There is no involvement.”

  “Sure there is, or was.”

  “Right. He was a former teammate that I won the state

  championship with,” Dre said matter-of-factly. It was as if, he did not have a care in the world.

  The agent knew better, though.

  “What’s your current involvement with his drug sales?” “Funny dude you are.”

  “There is an involvement, I know that. And I want to know

  who continues to supply BG with the cash to operate?” the agent asked. He pulled out a portable DVD player and showed Dre make his first pick-up at the mall parking lot. And his later phone call from the bank parking lot pay phone.

  Dre hid his amazement. “Arrest me, then. I ain’t talking.”

  “Don’t need to, I know. Just tell me who gives the kid money to stay afloat.”

  “I ain’t talking. Did you hear me?”

  “Somehow, I knew that you would not want to be interested in beating BG to the grand jury. He will be there, because he hates your kind, and won’t hesitate to fry you.”

  “Good. Am I under arrest?”

  “No.”

  “Have a nice one,” Dre said and spun back into the

  apartment.

  “Who was that?” Kareem asked.

  “It was a college scout,” Dre replied, and wished that

  Kareem was not there. He grabbed Tasha and told her, “I told 165 him that I have a wife and a son, and I don’t plan on going away.”

  Dre had to get up much earlier to fool Kareem, though. He did not know what the man was there for then, but he vowed to find out.

  ***

  Agent McKenzey hopped into his vehicle and smiled. He knew exactly who was providing BG with the cash to buy drugs. He just wanted to make sure that Dre had not known that it was him, Agent McKenzey all along McKenzey was pissed that Dre was no longer dealing with BG, which slowed down his corrupt profits. And for that, Andre Bezel would pay. That day was a warning shot.

  CHAPTER 29

  Kareem’s alarm clock blared, awakening him and his dorm mate. He had possession of the keys to his Upper Eastside digs, but he was strictly forbidden to live off campus for the summer session. Kareem was glad that he was awake because the nightmare that he had had frightened him. He could not believe that the man that visited Dre was the same man that had handed BG money to give to Dre moments before Dre arrived to the Sears parking lot. Kareem wished that Dre hadn’t taken the visitor outside, so that he could have heard the conversation. He popped the security video that he swiped from the mall security office into his VCR to be sure that the man at Dre’s apartment and the man in the video were the same, for the tenth time. He began to wonder was the man a cop? A co- conspirator? Or was he a complete fraud? Kareem knew precisely what to do to find out who the man was. He called, Ravonne Lemmelle, cousin and attorney at law.

  Kareem wrapped up his call and decided that he needed to get out and play a while. All summer he had been stuck on campus and bound by a 2 a.m. curfew. It had been hectic, but he would make up for the lost time during the two week break coming up. He would also move out of the dorm and, against his better judgment, take Toi with him to co-habitate.

  The rules of the dorm had an advantage, though. He worked on opening his clothing store, and launching his clothing line. He sketched quite a few pieces to present, Bjorn Prodigy to the world, and make it a household name in a decade. He even had developed the company’s motto: Many men are born. Few are Bjorn Prodigy.

  His debut men’s wear line would take high-fashion street wear to a whole new level.

  After he showered, he left the dorm room and hailed a taxi. He was eager to get to GQ. Each year the magazine honored the “Woman of the Year” and that year it was Donatella Versace, for her edgy new gothic “DV” line. In the taxi, he called his brother, and when the phone was picked up, he heard Amare screaming.

  “Why is he screaming like that? Does he want to be breast fed? You two better not be torturing my nephew. Where’s Dre?” He asked laughing.

  Dre had already picked up the other phone, and said, “What’s good?” He was chuckling, but said, “Don’t mention breast to my girl. Her titties are sore.”

  “From you, or the baby? Better not be forcing him to watch you fuck her, either. Listen, I am going to the Victoria Secret’s yearly fashion show tonight. You have to come up now, if you wanna go.

  “Damn, I’m busy tonight. I gotta pass.”

  Kareem knew what kind of business that Dre had to handle and he wanted to tell his brother to get out of the game, but he knew that Dre was stuck. He told him, “I have tickets to a Tyra after party. You can’t pass up on that.”

  “Naw, I can’t, homey. Wish that I could.” “You’re a lame.” Kareem barked and hung up.

  ***

  Kareem stared at a huge work load when he had the receptionist put Toi through.

  “Kareem, I know you are busy...”

  “That’s why my cell is off.”

  “And that is why I have the office number.” She snapped back. “The contractors called and wanted to know what color you want the kitchen. Apparently, they are just getting around to handling the jobs that you requested, because they procrastinated since they knew you had to live on campus.”

  “Tell them very light green.”

  “Light green will be sexy with a paisley print of green, black, and silver.”

  “Sounds cool. I have to go, though.”

  “O...Kay,” she said, softly. She hated when she was second to his job. GQ was not even a job, it was an internship for crying out loud, she thought. Something that he could quit as far as she was concerned. “I love you.”

  “Ditto!”

  “Ditto, my ass. I love you.” “I love you, too, Toi.” Without a reply she hung up.

  CHAPTER 30

  Later that night, Dre arrived at the Palmer Social Club. And despite the long line, he was whisked to the VIP door a
nd carted off to the elite section. Allen Iverson sat across from him, as well as Lloyd Banks, who promoted his new CD. Dre became bored quickly with the fake-ass celebrities, so he headed to the “regular” club hoppers bar area, because he was regular no matter how much money he had in the tuck.

  At the bar, he ordered a Thug Passion—a drink mix of Red Passion Alize and Hennessy—to mellow him out. Dre gave the bar maid a Benjamin and told her to run him a tab. After several drinks and several chicken heads trying to get his attention, he eyed a caramel model-esque woman with her hair in a short wrap.

  Courvoisier in one hand, shot glass in the other, Dre walked to the woman who bounced her head to the music. He prepared to lay his game down on her, so that later that night, he could lay his pipe down on her. He wondered where BG was, so that he could get out of there.

  After five songs on the dance floor, four shots, no sign of BG, and Dre and Leah telling a bunch of lies to each other, they left the club to head to the Marriott Hotel on the corner of 13th and Market Streets.

  They exited the club, arms locked, as they walked toward Dre’s car. Dre wondered why BG didn’t meet him as planned to discuss a proposed blockbuster deal. BG had him down that corny-ass club knowing that he was not going to show. Dre was furious. Had he not grabbed a piece of ass for the night, Dre may have gone and blew up BG’s spot. Dre had become increasingly short-tempered over the past year.

  Dre opened the passenger door to let Leah in and an unknown thug poked Dre in the head with a gun, and mumbled, “Run that shit in, before I blow you and the bitch top!”

  Dre used his streetwise acuity and pushed Leah hard to the ground, as he quickly spun around and grabbed the potential bandit’s arm. They wrestled for the gun, and Leah crawled to her car that was parked in the cul-de-sac.

  Leah managed to get her car key into her door despite her delirium. She was a little bruised from the force that Dre used to protect her. Just as she closed her car door, she heard a loud sound resembling a textbook hitting the floor at ten miles per hour. She quickly locked her car door and watched incredulously.

  Another tall guy with a Desert Eagle had slapped Dre in his head. Dre immediately let go of the goon that he struggled with. A third thug held Dre at gunpoint with a gun so big, it was described as made for TV. The first bandit Dre had wrestled with pushed him against his car, splattering his blood all over the front passenger window. Another took Dre’s gun from his waistband.

  Dre was angry. Through all the wrestling, he never had the opportunity to retrieve his own gun. A goon backhand-slapped Dre like a hoe on her knees giving bad head. And then another dude searched Dre’s pockets, and then his car for cash or valuables.

  Upset that the car was empty, the attacker aggressively asked, “Where the fuck is the shit at,” while he gripped Dre by the collar.

  “What shit?” Dre answered the farcical question dumbfounded. He could not believe those lame-ass project dwellers from behind the club tried to rob him. Dre was smart enough not to bring any drugs or money to the club, even though, BG expected him to bring cash. They had to settle for the $200 play money that he had left over after drinks and shit. In an instant, Dre had received another blow to the head.

  “You want to play fucking games, Dre,” the thug seethed.

  Dre’s head rang loudly, and he could not believe the dude knew his name.

  The man then ordered another thug to, “Flatten his fucking tires!”

  Dre sat silent and watched his tires slashed by some sort of jackknife. The hiss was loud, and Dre was surrounded by snakes in the grass.

  The thugs all jumped into an all too familiar Dodge Charger, and left Dre with a searing insult.

  ***

  Dre grabbed his cell phone and called Tasha. After the phone rang four times, the answering machine picked up. Dre dialed right back. He was worried that the men had been to his apartment, or was on their way there.

  “Hello,” Tasha said with a soft voice, trying to disguise her I-was-sleep-voice.

  Dre on the other hand was hyped. “Tasha get up, and take Amare to my grand mom Jean-Mary’s now!”

  “Boy, what are you...”

  “Tasha!! He barked. “Get the fuck up, and do the fuck what I just said. Get yourself up and my boy, and go to my G mom’s now!” He hollered into the phone. He sounded draconian, but that was what Tasha asked for.

  He hung up and Leah pulled next to him. He hopped into her car, and they hastily drove to Hahnemann University Hospital at Broad and Vine Streets.

  ***

  Bob McNeil had sat in his car and used binoculars to watch Dre be handled. He laughed hysterically, as he watched the assault on the black man unfold as he planned it to. He had rap music—Tupac—blasting in the background, as he sipped an Old English from the bottle.

  He loved to see his orders carried out. After all, it was his money invested there. Bob had no intention of letting Dre or BG get over on him. He could not have that. A kid out witting him, never! He was smarter than both of them. More importantly, he was Drug Enforcement Agent Lucas McKenzey, and his puppet BG didn’t even know it.

  CHAPTER 31

  Dre received stitches in two separate areas of his head. He had a lot on his mind. In the last year, or so, his life he had gone from a high school student, to a father, a drug dealer, and a postal worker. Now, he had to add murderer to his credentials.

  Outside of the emergency room doors, Dre tapped Leah on her shoulder to awake her. They then walked out to her Chrysler 300C, and Dre stood in front of her.

  He looked her square in her eyes and thanked her for sticking around. “I truly apologize for tonight’s bullshit.” He was sincere.

  “What was that all about?” Leah asked. She was curious.

  He put an index finger to her lips. “Let’s not worry about that. That’s all behind us as of right now. Deal?”

  Leah nodded, and Dre continued. “Let’s exchange numbers and I’ll treat you to dinner.” He removed his finger and Leah was starry eyed as if she had met her knight. After all, she felt like he had saved her from any abuse from the thugs.

  “Dinner sounds great. As long as there isn’t any shooting,” she said and smiled, looking him deep into his eyes, twirling her hair with her finger.

  “Sounds good,” he said. “I should let you go; you’ve been up long enough. Drive safely.”

  “You don’t need a ride home?” Leah asked. She sounded like she wanted Dre’s company for the night.

  “No, I’ll be fine. Thanks,” Dre said and turned to walk away, but he was stopped.

  “Wait! You forgot my number.” Leah yelled out.

  She had stroked his ego. That was a little trick, he had learned from his dad. Dre turned around and wrapped his arms around Lisa and accompanied her home.

  ***

  Dre arrived at Leah’s apartment and wondered what she did for a living. Her home was luxurious.

  She went to the kitchen and poured Dre a drink. When she returned, Dre was on her sofa with his eyes shut, shaking his leg uncontrollably. Leah sat the glass of water on a coaster on the end table and lustfully stared at Dre. She went into her storage closet, grabbed an expensive quilt and wrapped Dre in it. She then went into her bedroom understanding that he needed to be left alone to think.

  When Dre heard Leah close her bedroom door, he opened his eyes and thought, damn. He had a bad bitch that stayed by him just a few feet away as the drama unfolded. And yet, he had no desire to have sex with her. His blood was boiling and he could not think straight. He would fall back that night and get her another time. The good thing was, he would smoothly tell her how much he respected her not to have sex with her on the first night. He smiled at the charming analysis. He liked that she was sensitive to his situation and didn’t leave him for dead, or call the police. It was best that the police did not arrive. He adored her for that, because he planned to get the clowns that fucked with him.

  Dre lay for a few minutes, but he could not sleep. The anger consu
med him. He thought of a masterful plan to return the favor to Brent Gower and the sorry King of Prussia gang that he headed. After he wreaked his brain for two hours, he finally nodded off.

  ***

  That morning at about 7:30, Dre crept out of Leah’s apartment, and left a note on her refrigerator. He walked to Broad Street and hailed a taxi to take him to meet the tow man at his car.

  After the tow man changed all of his tires, Dre sped up I-95 and headed to his pad. He found his apartment ransacked and knew who was responsible. He was glad that Tasha had listened to him and he did not find her and their son harmed, or worse dead. Tasha was a tough woman, though. She was trained to fend off an attacker with the pistol that Dre had bought her.

  He assessed the situation, and then he called Chino to control the damage.

  Chino answered, and Dre said, “I need you at my crib tonight. I’ll tell you why when you get here.”

  “No doubt, I’m there,” Chino said. He had detected violence and wanted parts.

  Dre hung up and then called BG, who answered the phone with a surprised tone. Dre did not know if it was because he was shocked that he was not dead, or astonished that Dre had the balls to call him.

  In a condescending state, Dre used his most placid tone to mask his anger. “Listen, BG, I totally apologize for crossing you. That won’t happen again. I know you had a lot of respect for me and you lost that, maybe, but, you know that I rely heavily on your drug runs to maintain my lifestyle.” He lied. “So, with that apology out the way, I’d like to still meet you tonight to handle business,”

  BG was not surprised at how submissive Dre had suddenly become after the beat down. Bob McNeil had told BG that the attack would humble Dre and he would stop stepping on his toes. Bob was right. BG felt gratified that he had Dre right where he wanted him.

  ***

  Right on schedule, Dre was in the AMC theater parking lot at the Neshaminy Mall. Dre and Chino waited in Dre’s car, and Dre was glad that this was the last time that he would meet up with BG. Dre always knew that his drug career had to end, but he planned to get out after he sparked that clown.