by Keon Smith
“Because like you said, I’m the only one that be out this muthafucka from morning to morning, feel me? I’m telling you, the bul was dressed in all black wit’ a Phantom mask on.”
“I know what you talkin’ ’bout,” Razor said, going along with his homie. “That’s the same cat that rocked the old-head in front of the swimming pool. Everybody out there seen that. You can’t tell me bul don’t exist.”
“Man, that was Mike who had somebody rock old-head in front of the pool,” Taliban said after sucking his teeth. “That was just a power play to take over the hood. Tell ’em, Black.”
“They already know what’s going on. They got eyes. They know shit real. How you think Mike got the name Million-Dollar? Last I checked, it wasn’t no Phantom on payroll.”
“What’s the Phantom?” one of the girls in tight booty shorts and a tank top asked.
As Razor told the females the stories that were spreading throughout Summerville, Black interrupted him. “Man, enough of that campfire bullshit. Ain’t no such thing as no Phantom. You buls need to stop spreading rumors. By the way, I forgot to tell you, your homies came through here lookin’ for you.”
“What homies?” Montega asked.
“Some bul name Rider or something like that,” J-Black replied.
Montega knew exactly who J-Black was referring to—J-Rider. He was Montega’s homie from the Blumberg projects in North Philadelphia. He and his cousin Killa moved to Philly from California after J-Rider lost his mom. Both J-Rider and Killa were part of Montega’s circle known as the Blood Money Mafia, which recently graduated to the Silent Kings. It was a circle that consisted of seven other members, including Razor. Montega knew they were up to no good.
He remembered years ago, having to be rescued by them from some kidnapping broads who liked to torture people. J-Rider and Killer were the first to respond with Razor. Only when they moved out, Killa had to bring his ten-month old son with him. They got into a shootout and even almost got pulled over by the police. Not to mention, they liked to burglarize homes. He really wasn’t up to another failed burglary with his boys. Every time they broke into a house, it seemed like they would always come out with no money and a homicide.
As he got up and walked outside of the gate to call Mike to see what was keeping him, a white Mazda pulled up and parked just outside the playground. Montega paid the car no mind and scrolled down the list of numbers in his Blackberry phone. As he glanced over to where the car had stopped, his eyes got hijacked by nothing but hips, ass, and titties. Out of the driver’s side emerged a new source of eye candy. Shorty was graham-cracker complexioned and pretty in the face, with curvy hips, titties, and an ass so big and round that all conversation came to an end. She had no stomach and a slim waist. Half her face was hidden behind big sunglasses.
The closer he got, the more majestic she became, sending off signals of sexual availability from the shift of her wide hips. She had soft, straight, mahogany Indian hair framing doll-like cheekbones and Asian eyes. She wore big, round, gold earrings with the name ‘Breezy’ cutting across the middle, encrusted in diamonds. Her T-shirt hugged her upper frame like a corset. Her Dolce & Gabbana shorts cuffed her ass cheeks and exposed her thick thighs and bow legs. She wore gold, thong-strap sandals by Versace exposing her pretty, black painted toes. Montega stood there with his mouth wide open until he saw her companion step out of the passenger’s side. This one was blessed with an almond skin complexion, but she looked like a feminine version of his younger brother, Taliban. Her soft, shiny, shoulder-length hair and alluring figure rivaled her girlfriend, Breezy, who stood with her two cousins, Jasmine and Gi-Gi.
Kia, Montega mumbled as his sexual transmutation began to fade.
He changed his expression as his older sister approached him. “Me and you need to talk. Now,” she said, grabbing him by the wrist and pulling him over to a large tree near the pavement.
Kia and her girlfriends rarely came around Summerville. They were a different breed of women who enjoyed the finer things in life. Although her mother lived in Summerville, Kia had her own apartment in the North East of Philadelphia. Ever since she moved, Montega rarely got the chance to see her because he never left the block.
“What’s up, sis? What I do now?” he asked with sarcasm, tilting his head to the side to steal a quick glance at her girlfriend.
“You know what you did,” she responded abruptly. “What happened with KK, Kenny?”
“How the fuck am I supposed to kn—”
“Stop bullshittin’ me, boy. I know you like an open book. You might think you have all these people fooled, but I still got spies who are my eyes and ears. Remember Tammy? Well, she said she saw you that morning out in the playground with KK. Next thing she knows, he’s dead in Smoke’s house. You so stupid, boy. That’s your problem. You never leave the block. Plus, you and KK didn’t even like each other anyway, so don’t insult me. Now, what happened?”
Montega looked away from his sister’s beautiful brown eyes as he took in some fresh air and exhaled. “Well, if you know me so well, you already know the answer to your own question.” His voice was cold, his eyes heavy, his energy dark and challenging.
Kia took in all this and shook her head and asked, “Why would you do that?”
Montega shoved his hands in his pockets and spat on the ground before saying, “A few months ago, Razor got into it with KK’s people and ended up rockin’ one of ’em. Word on the street was that KK was plottin’ on my man. He was plannin’ on takin’ me out the same time he got Smoke outta the picture for Mike. I found this out from Rom before I got him out the way,” he said nonchalantly. “It’s a dog-eat-dog world, sis, and I’m nobody’s next meal… Neither are my homies—or my family for that matter. You should know that by now.”
Kia shook her head and frowned, wondering where it had all gone wrong with her brother. She knew he was distraught about his mother’s death, but the way he lived his life was scary.
“Kenny, you need to stop this shit before you end up in jail or dead like Daddy. Do you think you can continue to kill and not get caught? Newsflash, dummy, there is no limit on a murder. All they need is probable cause, and your ass is gone. You are twenty-four years old and still doing hand-and-hand hustling on the corner. When are you going to see that this ain’t it? I expect shit like this from Rafeek but not you. Do you like your choices, Kenny?”
“Dead, maybe, but in jail? I don’t think so. Before they put me in a jail cell, they’ll see me in hell,” Montega boasted.
Kia rolled her eyes disapprovingly. “See, that’s what I’m talking about right there. You talk about trying to get rich, but from the looks of it, all you’re looking to do is get booked like every other wanna-be gangster in Philadelphia. Breezy’s father will tell you. The jails are overcrowded with stupid fools like you. Killing people doesn’t put money in your pockets; it just puts money in the pockets of those greedy lawyers down at CJC, or if you’re not lucky, it could put money on that hard head of yours. When are you going to see that?” she asked while peering into his cold, beautiful eyes.
Before Montega could answer, Gi-Gi interrupted, sizing him up seductively. “Why you ain’t come to my birthday party, handsome? I know you got my invitation because your friend Razor was there.”
Because I don’t know you like that, he thought.
All of Kia’s girlfriends admired Montega’s swag. Truth be told, he could have them all except for Breezy, who was too into her boo, Kev from South Philly, to notice his potential. Montega slowly sized her up from her toes to her head. He admired Gi-Gi’s mocha shade. She was thicker than her cousin Breezy, but like everyone else on her mother’s side, chinky eyes and fat asses were their signature.
“I don’t do parties,” Montega admitted. “For one, my money funny, and two, I’m just barely makin’ it. I don’t want to be in there frontin’ like J-Black, looking like I got it when I don’t.”
Gi-Gi put her hands on her hips and said, “Now, Kenny
, you know you don’t need no money to get a bitch. All you have to do is smile, with your handsome self.”
Montega blushed unwillingly just as a car horn honked. He looked to see a champagne-colored Mercedes Benz double parked in the street. Reek stepped out of the car and got into his own. Mike signaled for Montega to join him, which caused Kia to suck her teeth and shake her head.
“I see your boss is home,” she said sarcastically.
“Yo, watch your mouth, sis. Bosses give orders. Ironically, the only orders I take is from the man in the mirror,” Montega said sharply as he turned to walk off.
“Yeah, well, I can’t tell,” Kia fired back with attitude. “It seems to me everyone uptown jumps to Mike’s orders. When is he going to start jumping for you?”
Montega flagged her and said over his shoulder, “I’m a Silent King, pretty girl. I may not wear a crown, but I’m regal enough. Besides, you know what they say; success never happens when you want it to, but it will surprise you when you least expect it.”
Kia watched as her brother got into the car and closed the door. She realized it was pointless to reason with him; he was just too far gone. She just hoped he didn’t have to learn the hard way, because sometimes, the hard way ended up being a dead end.
Crash Dummy
CRUISING UPTOWN…
“I liked you better when you was broke…”
MILLION-DOLLAR MIKE
“Young! It’s the life… Once again, it’s the life… Yes! I don’t know why I’m… so high on… so high on… so high… high off of life…
Montega sat comfortably in the passenger seat of the S550, zoning out to the old Jay-Z Black Album, while Mike cruised through each hood to be seen.
Summerville had never been known for a dull moment. It was a section in East Germantown broken up in four parts. Homicide Summerville extended from Wister Street to Marshall State’s playground. Most of the blocks were connected to the main strip—a wide, two-way street of Chinese stores, motorcycle bars, pizza shops, and bootleg stores. Many of the row houses were rundown or abandoned. Others were broken down into slumlord efficiencies.
Then there was East Side SV, an area that extended to Martin Luther King High School. The heart of Eastside was decorated with a maze of row houses bunched tightly from one block to the next. A single Puerto Rican bodega rested in the eye of the neighborhood where most outsiders wouldn’t dare set foot.
Bottom side SV was more of a darker area with a corner bar across the street from the projects. Row houses snaked up a block called Church Lane, and drug dealers took advantage of the zombie-looking crackheads that raced from the shadows to get high.
Montega was from Topside. It was a section planted in the heart of the ’Ville and shaped like a dagger, starting from the large playground, recreation center, and swimming pool. The blocks were long and full of row houses and intricate alleyways. They seemed to extend from Ardleigh to Wister Street, Matthew to Wister, and Blakemore to Wister. A one-way street called Woodlawn cut into those blocks and trailed up to the other side of Chew Avenue. Chelten and Wister Streets were the dagger’s tip.
Looking over his shoulder at the up-and-coming wolf riding shotgun, Mike said, “Reek told me that y’all still movin’ the same two ounces and a quarter that he been frontin’ y’all from day one.”
“He ain’t frontin’ me nothing. And to be honest, Reek need to be around when it’s time to re-up. Bol be havin’ us waitin’ for like three to four days. What he expect us to do? Freeze time and not take care of our responsibilities? It’s hard out here, and everything costs. The way he running things, you might as well call it slow money instead of fast money. It’s like we working from paycheck to paycheck,” Montega replied abruptly.
“I don’t know about all that, but I want you to understand this; come next week, I’m givin’ out nothin’ but bundles if you ain’t copping a point. Y’all wanna buy clothes and sneakers to impress these nothin’ ass hoes out here, then that’s on y’all.”
“C’mon, man.” Montega frowned.
“I’m serious. If y’all wanna act like young buls, then I’ll treat y’all like young buls.”
“Bundles, though?” Montega asked. “You serious?”
“Yeah, bundles. Fuck, you deaf? Unless y’all grabbin’ four and a half, that’s what y’all gonna be gettin’ from now on. I ain’t got time to be holdin’ nobody’s hand out here. Y’all too old to be hustling with the same amount of work. It’s dudes buying half a joint right now. I’m getting too much work as it is, and I don’t need nobody in my car that ain’t trying to get rich with me. So if y’all want to be broke, this car pullin’ off next week. If you ain’t got thirty-five hundred to cop, you gettin’ bundles, so tell all them dudes what I said!” Mike barked as Montega looked out the window.
“Where we goin’ anyway, man?” He sighed with frustration.
“Reek told me that some dude name Money from up Locust Avenue been cuttin’ sales around one of my spots. I need you to go holla at him for me. Let him know that if I catch his ass out on my block again, he might as well go casket shoppin’,” Mike explained.
Montega twisted up his face. He was already pissed about the bundles; now he was being told to do something that he didn’t want to do like he was some crash dummy. He knew who Money was and the reputation he had, but Mike didn’t.
In fact, at one point, Montega was fucking Money’s baby mom until Money found out about it and beat her ass. The only reason he didn’t come after Montega was the rumors of some dude called the Phantom, who was supposedly affiliated with the Silent Kings. This was most certainly not going to settle well with him—this, Montega knew.
“Yo, man, why Black can’t handle this?” Montega complained.
“’Cause I asked you. Fuck, you scared or something?” Mike shot back. “If you scared, I can drop you off and get Black.”
“I ain’t scared, big homie. Scared is asking someone to do a job that they can do themselves. That’s scared,” he said, glaring at Mike.
“You got a lot of mouth for someone who still ain’t copping a point. I liked you better when you was flat broke.” Mike turned the steering wheel right while mumbling, “Sometimes, I wonder why you ain’t dead yet.”
Montega snorted out a weak chuckle, drowning out Mike’s comment with sarcasm. Mike shook his head, already knowing the reply. I’m hard to kill.
It was what Montega told everyone who asked that question. Really it was just an early invitation to the grave and a challenge for all looking to make a name for themselves.
Although Mike didn’t see eye-to-eye with this ambitious hustler, he respected the man’s ghost. Montega lived life like every day was his last with only one goal: to get rich or die trying.
When Mike pulled up to the block where Money hung out, he and Montega saw him seated on the steps of an abandoned house with his team and a few chicks from around the neighborhood. Mike pulled up in front of the crib, and Montega got out. At that moment, all eyes were on him. It was no secret how Montega rolled. Everyone who kept their ears to the streets heard about the Blood Money Mafia, who changed their name to the Silent Kings, mainly from the stories about J-Rider and Killa, who shot at the police task force from the high rises in the projects and got away. There was also Lil’ Man, who rode on a Yamaha Banshee with an AK-47 assault rifle slung over his back. But the most recognition was given to the mastermind.
“Aye, Money, let me holla at you for a sec,” Montega said, stepping onto the pavement.
Money puffed up with pride. “You can holla at me right here.”
Montega looked at Money’s entourage of would-be thugs and fake hustlers, shook his head, and replied, “Aye, Money, we ain’t gonna do it like this, yo. You really want me to put your business out in front of all these people? Now we can talk like men, or you can dress up for a storm. Either way makes no difference to me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Money challenged.
“There’s a black clo
ud in this city, and it ain’t that Chinese gang. You already know it. Anybody can get rained on, and you damn sure ain’t untouchable. You can get caught slippin’ while you’re walkin’ outta Patrice’s crib in the a.m. Take heed to the forecast, and come with me.”
Money looked at his boys who had his back if anything went down then got up to meet Montega. “What’s up,” he asked as they began to walk up the block.
“Look, homie, do yourself a favor and stay off Blakemore Street unless you got a death wish.”
“What?” Money asked in a hostile tone while stopping midstride in the middle of the block.
“Relax, yo. I’m trying to save a life here,” Montega said calmly, gesturing with his hands. “I ain’t come here to rumble, and I ain’t come here to shoot you. I came here to warn you. Dudes been seeing you directing sales from the top of Locust Street. What did you think was gonna happen? You thought we were gonna just sit around and not say anything?”
“Y’all act like we ain’t from the same hood. We apart of the ’Ville too,” Money said.
Montega’s face tightened. “Man, y’all motherfuckas ain’t never loved us, so let’s be for-real here. You act like me and your BM ain’t used to talk. She got a big mouth, dog. She told me how you and your homies be talking shit about us. I’m cool with that though. You got a right to speak freely in your own crib. And every man’s crib is his castle. You got the right to act as if you didn’t just throw a fucking rock at a giant, knowing you a little nigga and always will be.” Montega spat to the ground to calm himself. It was slowly becoming a habit for him. He then said, “But when you step out of your comfort zone and wander… now, that’s when you got a problem.” He tapped Money on the arm. “Like I said, I ain’t come here to fight with you. I just want you to think about what I said.” Montega began to walk away mumbling, “The graveyards are packed as it is.”