Dope Girl 3

by Sa'id Salaam

“Say shawty, fall through the trap,” the spokesman said as he led the crew out of the room.

  “Check.” Trigga agreed as he and Sharika stared at each other. Sharika broke the silence and spoke first.

  “You mad at me?” She pouted poking out a glossy bottom lip.

  “Yeah,” Trigga admitted honestly. He wasn’t just mad at her though. The streets always preached death before dishonor but it seemed like he was the only one who lived by it. His brother let him do a bid for his dope then fucked his baby momma while he was gone. What part of death before dishonor was that? Go on, I’ll wait….

  “Want me to suck yo dick?” she offered since she had nothing else to offer. With no education, morals or class, you better have a mean head game, and she did.

  Sharika didn’t wait for a reply before dropping to her knees in front of him. It’s not like he was going to say no anyway. Who said no to a blow job? Go on, I’ll wait. She didn’t even remove her gum instead she rolled it into a ball and used it like women use tongue rings.

  “Shit!” Trigga grunted when the head of his dick reached her tonsils. She had half his dick in her mouth and stroked the thick shaft with her hand.

  That did the trick and Trigga came so hard it’s a wonder she wasn’t paralyzed. The dick sucking vet swallowed in big gulps until the spasms subsided. She stood up smiling proudly and popping her gum as he put his wood away. The second the zipper reached the top, the bedroom door swung open.

  “Sup my nigga!” Keith exclaimed running over and scooping his little brother into the air.

  Keith and Trigga had the same momma but different daddies. Like his father, Keith was a pretty black boy with bright gold teeth. Like his father, he was an untrustworthy slimy piece of shit. He was destined to get murdered in the streets just like his father.

  “Sup bruh?” Trigga replied squirming out of the embrace.

  “Chillin’ shawty, I’m ‘skrate. You know what I’m saying,” Keith shot back then turned to Sharika. “You told him?”

  Sharika lowered her head in what would be shame amongst most people but she didn’t have any. She just hated being confronted by her own bullshit.

  “Yeah, she told me. We cool,” Trigga replied for her.

  Keith smiled and stuck his tongue in Sharika’s mouth. They wrestled for a few seconds until he came up with her gum. Karma caused Trigga to smile as Sharika shook her head.

  “I’m finna go,” Sharika announced and left. Not before Keith smacked her ass for his brother’s benefit.

  “Shawty, you kept it real as fuck!” Keith shouted. It was his way of saying thank you for doing his time. “I’m ‘bout to take you to the mall and get you ‘skrate, feel me?”

  “I feel you but I’m cool. I don’t want shit from no one. I’m finna get me some work and grind,” Trigga announced. He didn’t want any charity or hand-outs. He would claim the throne on his own. He planned ongoing non-stop, same clothes, no sleep until he came up. That’s how dope boys did it.

  Chapter 5

  “Yes! Yes! Yes!” Killa cheered in a whisper and silently pumped his fist when his son Rico finally drifted off to sleep.

  Little X had fallen asleep on the sofa playing video games, and both kids asleep at the same time meant one thing. “I’m ‘bout to get some pussy!! I’m ‘bout to get some pussy!!” Killa sang as he skipped towards the bedroom.

  Sincerity had promised him some ass if he could put the boys to sleep. He did and now it was time to pay up. She didn’t doubt he could do it and lay naked waiting for his return.

  “They sleep!” Killa announced triumphantly as he came into the room.

  “A deal is a deal,” she said and spread her legs. Her man dove head-first between her legs for an appetizer. The second his tongue touched her vagina, a phone rang.

  “Shit!” They both fumed as Killa jumped up from the vagina, which as any man would tell you, is a lot easier said than done.

  It wasn’t the house phone or either of their cell phones that rang. It was the emergency satellite phone that only grandma and cousin Killer Cam called. Either way, there was gonna be some song singing and flower bringing once that phone began ringing.

  “Grandma?” Killa answered as Sincerity frowned sadly watching his penis deflate. “What? When? Who?....I’m on my way!”

  “What’s wrong baby?” Sincerity moaned and sat up.

  “Somebody shot up my grandmother’s cab.” Killa growled and cocked a glock.

  “Yolo?” She shrieked in stark terror. “Is she ok?”

  “I doubt it,” he said hopefully. News reports for the Long Island Massacre hadn’t mentioned her. He knew he’d shot her in the head but where was her body? “The driver got killed but grandma and my niece are fine.”

  “Meisha’s here?” Sincerity cheered eager to see her little buddy.

  “I guess so,” he responded and rushed from the apartment. Sincerity took advantage of the quiet time and used her finger to finish what her man had started.

  Killa crossed the courtyard quickly with the gun in plain sight. It wasn’t like anyone would actually call the cops on him. Hell, even if they did call the police wouldn’t come, and even if they did come, once they saw who it was they would’ve left him alone. Killa only killed bad guys and wasn’t nothing wrong with that, besides, most of the police had wives and children they didn’t want to leave behind.

  Killa used his key and entered the apartment. He rushed in and inspected his grandmother for harm. “Are you ok?”

  “Yes, but that sweet man who drove us…,” Deidra said shaking her head to finish the statement. Cameisha stood up and the two killers sized each other up like killers usually do.

  Grandma cracked a smile watching them look each other over. “Xavier, this is Cameisha, Cameisha say hello to your uncle.”

  “Hello,” Meisha quipped stoically. She didn’t want him there and it showed. Grandma was about to check her for being rude until she spoke again and explained, “I can take care of this myself.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure but I got this. This is what I do.” Killa laughed. Her cute murda mami scowl amused him immensely. “Who was it?”

  Cameisha crossed her arms defiantly and clenched her lips tightly. She had no intention on telling him anything. First chance she got she planned on marching over to 164th and shooting E-man in his head. No way was she going to let her uncle have all the fun, and yes…..killing someone who tried to kill you was fun, a real thrill ride fuck Six Flags.

  “Tell him,” Deidra demanded and received another pout. “Tell him!”

  “E-man,” she said stomping her foot like a child, “From over on 164th.”

  “That bi…eh……him? Shooting at people?” Killa frowned. He and E-man grew up together and he remembered him as being a bitch. “Why would he be shooting at you two?”

  “Meisha!” Grandma urged when Cameisha attempted to ignore the question. “Tell him what you told me.”

  “Cuz we whooped his ass and stole his weed but we really ain’t steal it cuz he robbed my girls first then beat them up so we just got him back and he tried to flex on me with some fake weed and he tried to make me suck his thang and he grabbed my booty and…,” Meisha rambled on in one long run-on sentence.

  Killa fought the urge to laugh as she laid it all out. Grandma lost the battle and snickered into her handkerchief. Now he sounded more like the bitch-ass-E-man he remembered, a pretty nigga who used his good looks the same way a woman would. By the end of the story, It culminated in his grandmother almost getting shot. E-man had earned himself a closed casket.

  “A’ight, I’m on it,” he said. Killa kissed his grandmother and traded another once over with Cameisha. They turned their noses up at each other before he turned and left.

  “Ooh! I need to go see the baby,” Cameisha announced suddenly and ran out of the apartment. Ran so fast she caught up with her uncle in the stairwell. Most people would have gotten shot for running up behind him like that but he knew who it was and knew what she wanted. />
  “No!”Killa barked when she reached him, “I work alone.”

  “Come on Unc, pleeeease!” Meisha pleaded,

  “No!”

  “Please. I lost my father and my grandfather, please,” she said and broke down into sobs, deep, gut wrenching, heartfelt bawling. Killa didn’t buy it for a second.

  “Get the fuck outta here!” He laughed at the display. Just as quickly the water works stopped.

  “This is my beef yo, let me handle it,” she demanded. The killer paused to think so she pressed on. “Come on Unc. I was taught by the best! Let me murk this nigga.”

  “A-yo you better not tell grandma,” Killa relented, “Now come on and see the baby.”

  ****

  “Ooh he is so cute ain’t him.” Cameisha cooed at the baby. “Dang he looks like my uncle!”

  “Act like him too.” Sincerity laughed. “Lil’ man won’t even cry. He just makes a mad face when he’s hungry or wet.”

  “That face?” Meisha asked as Rico’s little face got serious.

  “That’s the one.” The mother laughed and took her child to change his diaper.

  “So yo, what happened to Mrs. Buglar next door to my grandma?”

  “Yolo is what happened! That bitch is crazy yo. She threatened to cook my baby. Cook him! Who does that?” Sincerity replied fearfully. She may sleep with the most dangerous man on the planet but that chick scared her.

  “A-yo, where she at?” Meisha demanded full of bravado. “Ain’t nobody gonna cook my lil’ nephew, ain’t that right Rico?”

  “Well good thing is, yo grandmother insisted on coming home which means my man is sticking around for a minute.”

  Chapter 6

  “Hey cutie pie,” Cameisha sang sweetly, almost flirtatiously to a Mac-10 from granddad’s cache of weapons. She used gloves to load 30 rounds of nine millimeter bullets in two clips. She ignored the silencer that went to the gun because she wanted to make a scene. After checking to make sure grandma was asleep, she slipped on her disguise and slipped out of the apartment.

  “A bag lady, huh,” Killa laughed when Cameisha arrived for their murderous rendezvous.

  “Works, trust me or you can dig Tovia up and ask her!” Meisha snapped.

  “Aight, what you bring?” he asked.

  “A Mac,” she said opening the bag to show him.

  “Good choice, fully auto?”

  “Nah, semi. It’s personal. I wanna feel every round.” She grinned wickedly.

  “Wait on University and I’ll flush him over to you,” Killa advised.

  “Flush ‘em out? How you gonna do that?” Meisha frowned.

  “Trust me, I got this, just be ready cuz they will be running,” he replied and turned to leave.

  Once Killa reached Ogden Ave from 166th street, he pulled his gun and took a right. A police cruiser was cruising up the block as he crossed 165th street. The police spotted him at the same time he spotted them. They took one look at the huge desert eagle and turned their heads.

  “Thought so,” Killa laughed. The cops weren’t crazy. Call them once the shooting stopped.

  “Killa is coming!” a terrified man screamed as he ran into the pizza parlor. Most of the crowd dropped their food and ran instantly. Not E-man though, he wanted to play hard, but that’s all he was doing, playing.

  “Killa who? Fuck Killa! Ain’t nobody scared of no Killa! He come in here I’ma slap a spark out his ass.” E-man let the tough hang in the air for a few seconds before standing to leave.

  “Good thing I was ‘bout to leave anyway,” he said rushing for the door.

  As soon as he came out on the sidewalk, he came face-to-face with Killa. It was a classic speak-of-the-devil moment but instead of slapping a spark out of him or saying fuck him to his face, he took off running. When the boss took off running, his flunkies took off behind him.

  Just like expected, E-man ran past his building towards University. Killa watched proudly as the bag lady sitting on the curb stood, cans rattled loudly as she dug into the shopping bag and came up with the sub-machine gun.

  Cameisha waited until he was right up on her before letting him have it. He frowned, as if to ask why when six shots tore into his torso. The gunmen with him came to a skidding stop and ran back the other way. The bullets were fatal but not just yet. E-man dropped to his knees so Meisha paused to have a word with him; say bye-bye before he went bye-bye.

  “Your fault ya know,” she told his pleading eyes. His tattered lungs couldn’t produce enough air for speech so he begged with his eyes in a rapid series of blinks. The pleas fell on deaf ears and she pumped six more shots into his face. Closed casket, just like planned.

  “Wrong way,” Killa announced as E-man’s cronies ran dead at him. Dead at him is right because up came the cannon spitting flames. Each man competed in doing back flips and somersaults when the 50 caliber slugs slammed into them. “See, this is why you gotta watch the company you keep.”

  Killa and Cameisha took separate ways to the same place and met in the project courtyard. Killa nodded approvingly as Meisha approached smiling proudly.

  “See!” She cheered and waited for accolades.

  “Amateur.” Her uncle laughed and walked off.

  ****

  Cameisha laid low for a few days after the shooting. It was just like old times when she waited until Deidra went to sleep and hit the kitchen. The same baby food jars she learned to cook coke in were in the same place on the top shelf. Just like old times, she measured an ounce by eye and mixed in the baking soda. A little water, heat, stir and she ended up with a nice cookie of the glass; that straight drop, fiyah, that good shit.

  “Not bad, now let’s see what you whip like,” she told the coke with a head nod.

  This time she doubled the amount of baking soda and applied the ship technique taught by her dope boy daddy. To her delight, she ended up with almost two ounces of mediocre dope. She would start with the glass then see what the addicts thought about the whipped coke. It wouldn’t matter if the rocks were the size of Gibraltar if it was some bullshit.

  “Only one way to find out,” Meisha shrugged and went to get dressed. Instead of getting cute, she dressed down to go into the trenches. A pair of baggy jeans concealed her round ass in the back and plastic polymer pistol up front. That's a glock if you don't know.

  She pulled a long sleeve t-shirt on and laced her sneakers tightly before pulling on a fitted cap to complete the ensemble. After listening to grandma snore lightly from her doorway, she eased down the hallway and outside.

  There were several dealers out peddling rocks to a steady flow of rock stars. They were renegades who claimed the projects since the natives were dead or in jail. It wasn’t New Jack City type of flow but business was brisk, enough for everybody unless somebody got greedy. She took a seat on the crew’s old bench and set up shop. Bad memories of crystalline and Zaria tried to invade her thoughts but a smoker ambled by and stole her attention.

  “Got ‘dem jums yo,” Cameisha said in the trap lingo of the boogie down Bronx. The battered woman looked her over before deciding to see what she was working with.

  “Let me see a twenty,” she said skeptically. She would much rather deal with a male dealer to keep her late night options open. Once the inevitable happens and she runs out of cash, she could always suck a dick. Girls didn’t have dicks so that option was dead, and besides her mouth had seen more men cum and go than the NFL and NBA combined.

  Cameisha smugly produced one of the large twenties she cut off the ounce. Dealers could usually cut two thousand dollars from an ounce but she went for $1,500. What competition? Half gram twenties, who was gonna fuck with that! Having Samantha’s synthetic coke was about to change the game. It was time to turn up.

  “Is this real?” the junky asked in a, what you talkin bout Willis face that Cameisha couldn’t help but to laugh at.

  “Course it is! That’s that glass ma,” she replied between giggles. She said nothing as the woman chipped
off a corner and loaded it onto her shooter.

  Cameisha watched in a mix of curiosity, shock, and disgust when the addict put a long orange flame from a cheap blue lighter to the crack pipe. The drug sizzled loudly causing crack heads within a mile radius to turn in that direction. A thin stream of smoke sped from the tip of the pipe into her soul, making her eyes grow wide. Beads of sweat popped on her forehead as her feet did the happy crack dance beneath.

  “Yo…this….is…..that shit,” the junky exclaimed between sips of air.

  “Told ya,” Meisha nodded and held out her empty palm to be filled. The woman gladly pressed a well-worn twenty dollar bill into it.

  Statistics say money in other ethnic communities will circulate seven times before leaving but only once in black communities. The statistics are a damn lie too because this particular twenty had arrived in the Bronx via cab as change from a Harlem drug deal. It was used at the bodega to buy blunts and beer, from there it was used and changed for a hundred on party night. It spent the evening holding cocaine and snorted out of. Saturday morning the weed man got it for two dime bags. He used it to get his dick sucked by a junky who gave it to Cameisha. See, our money circulates too.

  That junky rushed off spreading the word that the girl had fat rocks of good coke. Soon all traffic flowed in her direction and that was going to be a problem.

  “A-yo who da fuck is ‘dat bitch short-stopping all the sales?” Munch demanded once he figured out why no one was shopping with his crew. He and a few others from 170th street took over the projects since Killa killed most of the native dealers.

  “Uh oh, hey babe, I think you better step outside and help your niece,” Sincerity announced as she watched the drama unfold from her window. One thing about the projects is that it’s entertaining if nothing else. A slow night on TV could be made up from the antics going on outside.

  “Help?” Killa asked rushing over to peep the situation. “Shit them niggas the ones who need help, trust me.”

  “Oh here come the fuck shit,” Meisha groaned to herself when she saw the movement. All the other dealers huddled around Munch who was pointing at her. That meant whatever was to come, came from him, which meant he was about to get shot. Sure enough, he stuck his chest out and led the march to come run her off.