by Dorian Sykes
“Right now, I’d say a pawn,” said Wink.
“Not quite, but at least you didn’t say a king. I’d let you know when you’re a pawn,” said J-Bo. He turned to face Krazy, who was standing in front of the stereo system violently rocking back and forth to the new Dayton Family LP.
“What’s his name?”
“Krazy,” said Wink.
“Yo, Krazy, turn that down and take a seat.”
J-Bo stood up and started pacing the floor in front of the coffee table. He occasionally looked Wink and Krazy in the eye as he explained the breakdown. “Under no circumstances are you to give anyone credit. I don’t give a fuck if Jesus Christ co-sign the shit. Don’t do it. All shorts come out of y’all pay, not mine. No company. This is a place of business, not a chill house or hangout. If they’re not coppin’, no stoppin’.” J-Bo continued to pace while he jogged his brain. He wanted to make sure he covered everything, so there would be no excuses.
“Oh, yeah. Always separate mine’s from yours. I’m putting the work in your hand, Wink, and you’re responsible for it. I’ma pay y’all a thousand a week starting off, and the more we sell, the more you’ll start making. It’s on y’all how you split the grand up.”
“What about the police?” asked Wink.
“There’s a hole right here,” J-Bo said, walking over to the fireplace. He lifted the wooden panel and stepped aside for Wink and Krazy to see.
“If there’s a raid, just throw everything down this hole. All the money and dope. I’ll have Gator dig it out the chimney later.”
“What about if a nigga tries to rob us?” asked Krazy. “We need some heat.”
“Ain’t a nigga in his right mind gon’ rob none of my spots. Just remember, separate mine’s from yours. When one of y’all leave for the store or something, don’t be carrying mine’s with you.
“Nah,” said Wink. He and Krazy were too busy looking over their first sack.
“J-Bo, you up here?” asked Gator as he hit the door twice, then stepped inside.
J-Bo hid the sack behind one of the throw pillows on the sofa, then met Gator in the kitchen.
“I got some youngin’s I want you to meet,” said J-Bo as he walked Gator into the living room.
“This is Wink and Krazy. Y’all, this is Gator.”
“A’ight,” said Wink and Krazy. From one glance, they could tell how the old, dusty, skinny man standing before them got his handle. He had a mean overbite, which made it impossible to close his mouth. His side teeth hung over his bottom lip just like a real-life gator.
“Gator is going to be bringing a lot of customers through here. He’s my man, and this is his house, so respect him. But the no credit thing applies to him as well, no matter what he says,” said J-Bo.
“I’m not going to work the youngin’s,” Gator spat as he lied through gapped teeth.
“Yeah, that’s what you said about the last workers. Come on and walk me to my car. I got something for you.” J-Bo stopped and looked at Wink and Krazy.
“Y’all need anything? Y’all straight?” he asked.
“We good,” Wink answered for them both.
“A’ight, Gator got my number. Call me if something comes up. And remember everything I said.”
Wink and Krazy nodded and watched as J-Bo led Gator downstairs. Wink reached behind the pillow and poured the rocks onto the coffee table. He looked up at Krazy, then extended his hand with a smile.
“We on, my nigga.” He gave Krazy some dap then grabbed the house phone off the receiver. He couldn’t wait to call Trey and let him know J-Bo had put them down.
Chapter Three
Six days had passed since J-Bo put Wink and Krazy up in the spot. In that short time, money was coming in hand over fist. Gator was bringing all kinds of crackheads through the spot—white, black, whatever. Long as they had that green, Gator was bringing them.
Wink couldn’t believe that some of the people who were coming through the spot were really crackheads. A lot of them had recently been turned out by the likes of slick-talkin’ niggas like Gator. A lot of the turn-outs were young white women from the suburbs. Gator would gladly assist them in spending their checks, then smoking half of their shit with them. After they ran out of money, he’d figure something else out for them to do. Gator had the women turning tricks for ten or twenty dollars, enough so they could continue their crack binge. Wink and Krazy had become the women’s number one customers. Gator had tried every line in the book on them, trying to get some credit, but Wink wasn’t falling for it. But the power of pussy still ruled the nation. Gator sicced the women on the two youngin’s every chance he got, which had become the norm.
“Where you find her at?” asked Krazy as he leaned his head back against the back of the sofa. He was referring to the fine young white thang lying across his lap, giving him the best head job of his life.
Gator stood in front of the coffee table with this dumb grin pulled back across his face. He looked from right to left at Krazy, then Wink, who were both getting their little dicks sucked by two turn-outs, courtesy of Gator.
“That’s right, baby. Turn they young asses out,” said Gator. He turned toward the TV and picked up his pipe. He packed it with one of the dime rocks Wink just gave him for the head job, then sparked his lighter.
“That’s enough,” Wink said, lifting the white girl’s face from his lap. He couldn’t even bust a nut because the smell of burning crack made his stomach do a back flip. Wink got up and buckled his pants, all the while watching Gator beam up.
“Why you always smokin’ that shit in the living room? That shit stank,” Wink said as he walked around the table and stood next to Gator.
Gator was on cloud nine. He hadn’t heard a single word Wink said. His eyes were bugged like a bullfrog, and his jaws were puffed out as he tried to contain the crack smog as long as possible.
“Let me hit it, baby,” said Amy, the girl who’d been sucking Wink’s dick. She took the pipe from Gator’s death grip, then sparked the lighter.
Wink shook his head as he watched her join Gator on cloud nine. Wink grabbed Amy’s car keys off the coffee table and set two more dime rocks on the table.
“I’ma shoot to the crib and take a shower. You need me to grab you anything?” Wink asked Krazy.
“Nah, I’m good,” said Krazy. He was too lost in Kristy’s mouthpiece.
“A’ight, well, you got the sack. I’ll be back in about an hour.” Wink grabbed EPMD’s “Strictly Business” LP off the stereo and was out the door. He stepped outside into the beaming summer sun. Those six days of sitting in the spot felt like six days of being on lockdown. He hadn’t washed his ass, brushed his teeth, or changed his clothes. To say the least, Wink was musty as a mothafucka.
He power-walked across the street to Amy’s white Escort. In the six days he and Krazy had been over on Linwood, every crackhead within a ten-mile radius knew Wink’s name. It made him smile as all the fiends shouted his name on the way to the car. They were all putting in bids for a lookout rock or some credit.
“Look out for me, baby boy,” said Dennis as he stopped Wink at the car door. “Come on, baby boy. You know my word is good. I’ll have yo’ money by the time you get back,” Dennis said, running his game down.
But Wink wasn’t going for it. Instead, he spun Dennis. “Tell Krazy I said to hook you up. He’s upstairs,” said Wink. He hurried up and climbed behind the wheel and started the engine before Betty could cross the street. She was always begging but ain’t never spent no money.
Wink skirted away from the curb, damn near blowing the clutch, as he was late coming out of first gear. The no-credit thing was about the only thing Wink had listened to from J-Bo’s lecture on the game. He and Krazy had tricked off a bunch of money fucking with them crackhead bitches, and Wink wasn’t doing like J-Bo said by separating his money from theirs. He wasn’t even supposed to be leaving the spot unless it was to get something to eat. Even then, J-Bo felt like that’s what Gator was there fo
r.
But Wink not only wanted to go home so he could wash up; he wanted to ride down on Trey and Willie. Wink turned down Charest Street and leaned his seat back, trying to look cool. Nobody paid him any attention, though. Wink attributed that to him being in an Escort.
Just wait until I pull up in a Porsche, he thought.
Wink was glad to see his driveway empty. His mom’s Pontiac Lemans wasn’t in its spot, so he knew she wasn’t home. The last thing Wink wanted to hear was his mother’s bitching about where he’d been for the past six days.
He parked across the street and got out. Wink stood on the front porch, fiddling with his house keys when the front door swung open. He looked up like a deer caught in headlights. It was his mom, and she had her murda mask on.
“Ma, I thought you were—”
“What, that I was at work? Nah, I knew if I parked in the garage, ya ass would turn up!” snapped Hope.
Wink opened the screen and tried to walk inside the house, but his mom stood firm, blocking his path.
“You not gon’ let me in?” asked Wink.
“Ya ass don’t live here no more,” said Hope, folding her arms.
“Ma, why are you trippin’?”
“I’m not the one trippin’. You stay gone for six days and don’t even have the decency to call and say ‘I’m okay. I’m alive.’ You can go live with what’s-his-name, J-Bo.”
Wink’s eyes got wide.
“Don’t try and tell me no lies, boy. I already know he’s got you selling that shit all these fools running around here losing their minds over. But ya ass won’t be selling it under my roof.”
Wink could hear the hurt in his mom’s voice. Her eyes were glossy as if tears were just a blink away. Wink felt sorry for hurting his mom. All she wanted was the best for him.
“Can we talk about this inside?” asked Wink.
Hope pushed two trash bags in front of her with her foot. Wink looked down at the bags and knew it was real. His mom was really kicking him out. He looked up at Hope, and she had tears streaming down both cheeks.
“I can’t watch you destroy yourself, Wayne. You don’t want to get a job or go to school. All you want is what you see. Nothing,” said Hope.
Wink was about to say something to try to calm his mom’s nerves, but the figure standing behind her made his blood boil. It was Gary’s dusty ass, Hope’s on-and-off-again boyfriend. Wink hated Gary with all his might. Gary was a bum nigga who didn’t work, hustle, or nothing. All he did was live off Hope, and Wink hated him for it. He felt like the nigga was using his mom.
“Yeah, Wayne. You gonna get yourself jammed up in some serious trouble messin’ around out here in these streets,” said Gary.
“Ain’t nobody ask you nothin’,” said Wink.
“You show him his respect,” snapped Hope.
“Nigga ain’t my daddy. You tellin’ me to get a job when you need to be on his ass ’bout gettin’ one.”
Hope slapped the shit out of Wink. “You don’t tell me what I should be doing. This is my house, and my man!” yelled Hope.
Wink staggered back, holding the side of his face. He pulled back a smile and stared at his mom. “And y’all two deserve each other,” he said, then turned and headed down the stairs.
“Let him go,” Wink heard Gary say, as he crossed the street.
Hope cried her eyes out into Gary’s shoulder. She didn’t really want to let Wink go because he was all she had.
Wink grimed Gary hard as he shifted the stick into first. The Escort jerked violently, then skirted away from the curb. Wink was furious that his mom would side with Gary. She always did, and Wink hated it because he felt like Gary was coming between them. Wink’s hate for Gary only fueled his thirst to become the man in the game.
“Fuck that nigga. If she wants to be with him, then fuck it. I’ma do me,” Wink said, trying to shake the thought of what just took place.
EPMD rattled loudly from the cheap factory speakers in the Escort. Wink crossed Outer Drive onto Gallagher Street. He could see Trey and Willie leaning against Trey’s momma’s Honda, talking to some hood rats. Wink parked across the street. He thought to himself that the first thing he’d buy would be a car. That was the second time he had pulled up and no one noticed him.
“What up, doe,” Wink said, jumping out of the Escort. He crossed the street and gave Willie and Trey some dap.
“Ain’t shit. Where that fool Krazy, and when can we get down?” asked Willie.
“Soon, my nigga. And Krazy’s still at the spot,” said Wink.
“I don’t know why y’all keep talkin’ this we shit. What we need to do is get our own shit,” said Trey.
“Fuck what he talkin’ ’bout. Put me in the game,” said Willie.
“I got you.”
“Hey, Wink,” Cynthia and Martina said in unison.
“That’s your car?” asked Martina.
“Nah, a rental.”
“You gon’ take me for a ride later?”
“We can do that,” said Wink. He put his arm around Trey and pulled him away from the bunch. “Let me holla at you.”
“Damn, you musty,” said Trey, pulling Wink’s arm from around his shoulder.
“That’s what I need to holla at you about,” Wink said, walking up Trey’s sidewalk to the side door.
“What’s up?” Trey asked, opening the door. He led the way down into the basement.
“My mom done found out I’m fuckin’ with J-Bo.”
“So, what she say?”
“She put me out.”
“Word?”
“Yeah, she ’round there with that bitch-made nigga Gary. He all in my business,” Wink said, pacing the floor.
“What you need me to do?”
“I need some clothes. I left all my shit over there. I don’t want her to think I need shit.”
“Why don’t you just try to talk to yo’ mom. You know she ain’t gon’ kick you to the curb for real.”
“I don’t know, my nigga. I ain’t never seen my mom cry before. I think she’s dead-ass serious.”
“I got you, my nigga. You know where everything’s at.” Trey nodded to his dresser and closet.
“I don’t need but two outfits. I’ma hit the mall up tomorrow when J-Bo pays us.”
“Y’all making money like that over there?”
Wink stopped digging through the drawers and dug in both his pockets. He tossed Trey two bricks of money that had rubber bands wrapped around them. Trey caught one of the stacks. The other one hit the floor like a brick. Wink pretended to be focusing strictly on the clothes, but he couldn’t help but see the amazement on Trey’s face as he looked the stacks over. Trey fanned through the bills, seeing mostly twenties and some tens.
“You ready now?” asked Wink.
Trey tossed the stacks back to Wink and tried to play it off. He wanted to know how much it was. “I told you, Wink. I’m with it, but I’m not with workin’ for no nigga. We can do our own thing.”
“I feel you. But we need money to buy the coke. That shit ain’t free. And we gotta have some-for-where to sell it. All I’m doin’ right now is learning and stackin’. I’m not ’bout to be workin’ for J-Bo for no long time, but I need you on my side. We can get this money together,” Wink said, raising the two bricks of money.
“When?” asked Trey.
Wink pulled back a wide smile. He was happy that his best friend would be joining him.
“I’ma holla at J-Bo and see what’s up.”
“Just until we can get our own shit.”
“We gon’ be on top in no time,” Wink said, extending his hand for Trey’s. He pulled him in for an embrace.
“A’ight, now go wash yo’ ass. You smell like hot baby shit,” Trey snapped, ending their half-hug embrace.
“You got jokes, huh?” laughed Wink. He grabbed up the clean clothes and headed for the bathroom. He purposely left the stacks of money on Trey’s dresser for him to finger-fuck and drool over. All Wink wanted fo
r his crew was to be in the game and getting money. Now that Trey was down, it was officially on. They were about to come up!
Chapter Four
Wink finished showering and changed into some fresh clothes. He found Willie and Trey outside, still entertaining Cynthia and Martina.
“I’ma get up with y’all tomorrow,” Wink said, giving Willie and Trey a pound.
“Don’t forget to holla at ole boy for us. I’m try’na get down as soon as shit’s ready,” said Willie.
“I’ma say something to him. Tomorrow,” said Trey.
“You still gon’ take me for that ride?” asked Martina’s hood-rat ass.
“Maybe later. I gotta handle something,” said Wink as he crossed the street and jumped behind the wheel of the Escort.
He pumped up the sounds, then peeled away from the curb. Things were looking good in Wink’s eyes. Tomorrow, he and Krazy would split a thousand dollars after grinding one long week out in the spot. Wink was already making plans for his half. He was gon’ hit the mall up and cop the new Jordans, and the rest he was gon’ save so he could buy his own work when the time came.
Wink’s pleasant thoughts vanished as he crossed Outer Drive back onto his street. Hate and some more shit ran through his veins as he passed by his mom’s house.
“I’ma show they ass,” he said, shifting the stick into third gear. Within minutes, Wink was coming up on the Chrysler Expressway on Linwood. He rode past the spot, and everything seemed to be normal, so he kept going. He knew it would be a long day and night in the spot, so he thought it best to get as much air as possible before going in.
He pulled into the parking lot of Hank’s liquor store on Grand River and parked beside a fresh-to-death IROC Camaro. Four niggas, each sporting Jehri curls and thick gold rope chains, decorated the hood of the IROC. They were drinking forty-ounce Old English and just shootin’ the shit when Wink got out the car.