The Good Life

by Dorian Sykes

  “What was J-Bo payin’ y’all a week?”

  “Seven hun’d,” said JT.

  Wink pulled back a smile. J-Bo was a stingy bastard. “Well, I’ma pay y’all a thousand dollars a week, and the more the spot picks up, the more money y’all gon’ get.” Wink waited for the teeth to show, as JT and Dilla high-fived each other. They had forgotten all about J-Bo.

  “Where’s the rocks he had y’all sellin’?”

  JT dug around the sofa and tossed Wink the remainder of what they hadn’t sold. Wink looked at the pebbles and tucked them in his pocket. He tossed JT his own sack of fat rocks. “That’s what we’re sellin’ from now on. Don’t open them, tamper with ’em, or nothin’. Give the fiends exactly what they comin’ for and the more they gon’ come. I catch y’all fucking with those rocks and it’ll be hell to pay. Y’all hear me?” snapped Wink as he was running down his house rules just like J-Bo did with them.

  “We got you,” said Dilla.

  Wink looked at Trey. “You got anything you wanna tell these li’l niggas?”

  “If they ain’t coppin’, no stoppin’. No trickin’ with the fiends or these hoes strolling ’round here,” said Trey.

  “Definitely no tricking. Let’s see. What else?” Wink’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps in the kitchen.

  Gator bent the corner, not looking his normal upbeat, ready-to-fast-talk a nigga self. The look in his eyes said that he knew what happened.

  Wink turned to Trey and said, “Why don’t you take Dilla and JT up to Cone Island and grab something to eat. I need to holla at Gator.”

  Trey nodded at JT and Dilla. They got up from the sofa and followed Trey out the front room. “I’ma need your keys,” Trey yelled from the stairs.

  “I’ll be right back. Have a seat,” said Wink. He dug in his pocket for his car keys. He whispered to Trey at the steps, “Give me your strap.”

  Trey pulled his 9 mm from his waist and whispered, “What you ’bout to do?”

  “Hopefully nothin’. Just stay gone for a couple hours just in case.”

  Trey nodded with fear in his eyes. He turned and walked down the stairs. Wink tucked the black Berretta in his waist, then locked the door up. He found Gator pacing the floor in the living room, mumbling something under his breath about J-Bo. He looked up at Wink and stopped.

  “Why’d you do it, baby boy? Why?” Gator had tears in his eyes. He had raised J-Bo in the game.

  “You know why, Gator. The same reason every other nigga gets killed. He was in the way,” said Wink.

  “But J-Bo had love for you. You may not had believed this.” Gator threw his hands up in the air, then let them fall to his side as he began his pacing.

  “Maybe this will help take your mind off of it. Here.” Wink tossed Gator the rocks he took off JT.

  “He’s gone. Ain’t nothin’ we can do about it now except live on,” said Wink.

  Gator wanted to grieve and hate Wink for what he did, but the rocks he clutched in his hand were calling his name.

  “G’on and clear ya mind, Gator. I’ll be out here when you get finished.” Wink put his arm around Gator’s shoulder and walked him toward the back of the house. He opened one of the bedroom doors, then patted Gator on his back. “It’s just you and me now, Gator. G’on and get straight. I’ll be out here.”

  Gator walked in the room, tearing at the plastic of one of the rocks. Wink closed the door. Gator was about to be on cloud nine, right where Wink wanted him so he wouldn’t have that far to go up.

  Wink walked in the living room and turned up the stereo to blast. He pulled the Berretta from his pants and walked back to the bedroom. When he opened the door, Gator didn’t even see it coming. He was on his knees, tweaking, looking around like he dropped a crumb of crack. Wink walked up behind him and shot him once, execution style. Boom!

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Two months had passed, and Wink, along with Trey and Willie, took over all of J-Bo’s crack spots and even opened a few new ones. Wink had mastered the art of setting up shop, following J-Bo’s blueprint and adding some of his own techniques. Wink would find abandoned houses throughout the city and pull a “kick door,” just taking over the property by vandalizing the interior of the house. Wink, Trey, Willie, and their workers would kick the door in to the house and bust all the light sockets out, bash holes in the walls and ceilings. They’d spray paint the outside of the house and garage. They’d do all this for two reasons: one, so no one would want to move in the house, and two, the landlord wouldn’t want to invest the needed money to repair the home. And if he/she did, they’d double back and fuck the house up again and again until the landlord got the picture that their property had been lost to the DOT (Department of Thugs). Wink started spray-painting DOT on the sides of his houses. His plan was working well. There just weren’t enough police to combat the shady tactics Wink and his crew had been putting down around the city.

  Niggas fell in line because word was getting around that Wink would bust his gun and put a nigga in the dirt about his. A few old heads wanted to try their hand just to test the waters and who knows what else. Old niggas were just stubborn like that. They’d make you kill their old asses. But Wink didn’t have to wage war, because he had what every nigga in the city needed—good coke at the best price.

  Mr. Fatts saw that Wink’s hand called for more work, and he didn’t hesitate to hit him off. Wink was coppin’ thirty bricks every week off Fatts, and sometimes he’d have to make a trip to the store in the middle of the week just to keep up with the demand. Wing got smart and formed allies with other hustlas without them really knowing it. He figured if he sold them weight at a decent price, in a time of war, they’d be more likely to aid and assist because they stood to take a loss if he lost.

  Willie was handling things down in Mississippi. He and his cousin Ball were working on expanding the operation in other cities and hick towns down south. Wink was no dummy, though. He kept everybody at an arm’s distance. He never let Willie and Ball know the game on how to mail the coke. Wink made sure he packaged every box, and he’d pay a crackhead to mail it off. He didn’t even put his main man, Trey, up on game because he couldn’t afford niggas trying to grow a brain, figuring they no longer needed him.

  When Wink was out working the streets, he preferred to park his El Dogg on the corner of his street in front of the old transmission shop. He’d be out there, sippin’ Henny with Trey and Willie, flodging on hood rats dying to take a ride in their Caddies.

  Wink chose that spot because that’s where he officially met J-Bo, the day when J-Bo told him that if he made it that far in the game, he would understand. Wink would look up at the sky and tell him how he understood and that he was willing to die for what he had.

  “Y’all know Krazy’s trial is next week,” Wink said, then took a long swallow from his cup of Henny.

  Trey shook his head while staring off into space. He still couldn’t believe Krazy was MIA. “You think he’s going to beat it?”

  “It’s a fifty-fifty chance. If them two rat-face mothafuckas show up, it’s cancel Christmas. But if they don’t show, he’ll walk. Well, that’s at least how his lawyer put it to me the other day when I spoke with him.”

  Wille poured himself another cup from the fifth, then set the bottle back on the hood of his burgundy El Dogg. He took a sip from his cup and tried to think of something meaningful to say. Every time somebody brought up Krazy, silence soon followed.

  “What if we get them two crackers missing?” Willie said.

  Wink shook his head. “Tried that. Can’t find ’em, though. I even told Krazy’s mouthpiece to go holla at their cracker dog ass and tell ’em I got fifty stacks for them to not show up.”

  “And what he say?”

  “Can’t find ’em. I don’t know where they’re at, but I got a feelin’ they’re somewhere with police at their side,” said Wink.

  “So, we just gon’ have to wait and see how shit pans out, huh?” Tre
y poured the last of the Henny into his cup, then chucked the bottle onto the roof of the building with the rest of their empty liquor bottles.

  The liquor was starting to talk for Willie. “I say we just wait for they cracker asses to show up for court and blaze all they ass. Police, news, whoever!”

  “If it were a life or death situation, then yeah. But Krazy’s got a shot. Let’s just hope all goes well and that next week this time, we’ll be throwing him a welcome home party,” said Wink.

  “Yeah, and I’ll be in charge of gettin’ all the bitches.” Trey smiled.

  “I don’t know, my nigga. Them hoes you had with you last night look like some down-bads. Where’d you find them at, Grand River?” Wink said.

  “Yeah, you do be having some bucketheads with you,” Willie said. They all laughed at their jokes.

  Gary pulled up in his Fleetwood and rolled the passenger window down.

  “Cool... daddy.” Trey laughed, making fun of Gary’s long white Caddy. “Superfly. Doom-doom. Superfly.”

  “You’s a nut, my nigga.” Willie was holding his side, laughing so hard at Gary’s ass.

  “Y’all chill out,” said Wink, grinning.

  “Superfly... a goldie,” shouted Trey.

  Wink walked around the car and leaned in the window. “What’s up?”

  “Hop in and take a ride with me. I need to show you something,” said Gary. He had this li’l smirk on his face, which meant good news. Wink had known the man all his life, and the only time he smiled, smirked, or laughed was when some good news had come his way.

  Wink looked over the roof at Trey and Willie, who were still clowning Gary. “Ay, y’all. I’ma take a few laps with my old head. If y’all leave, lock my car up for me.”

  “What, you gon’ leave us to go hang with Ron O’Neal? Jive turkey.” Trey and Willie laughed.

  “I don’t know why you hang with them simple-ass niggas,” said Gary. He pulled away and into traffic.

  “They’re cool, just a little buzzed.” Wink laid his seat back and flipped down his visor. His buzz was nice too.

  Gary pulled back a wide, teeth-bearing smile as he dug in his coat pocket. He pulled up a little black box and handed it to Wink. It was a ring box from Tiffany’s.

  Wink’s stomach did a back flip, then rested near his ass. He nearly lost his eyesight when he opened the box. The five-carat ring bling-glowed in the sun.

  “I’m gon’ ask your mom to marry me tonight at dinner. I think we’re finally ready to do it. Time has healed our differences, and to be honest, I never did stop lovin’ her.”

  Wink hadn’t heard a word past mom to marry me. He was having mixed emotions about the shit. He shut the box and handed it back to Gary while looking out his window. “What you think?” Gary was smiling from ear to ear.

  Wink took a deep breath and thought about his mom. She was getting up there in age, and he wouldn’t always be around to take care of her. Hell, he was already now deep in the game. And besides, she deserved to be happy.

  Wink turned to Gary and smiled. “I think y’all should do it.”

  “Thanks, Wink. You don’t know how good that feels to have your blessin’ on this. I’ma go all out for the wedding, maybe have it down in the Bahamas.” Gary leaned over and stuck his hand out, real cool-like. “I’d like for you to be my best man, Wink. It’ll really be an honor.” Gary said this as if it were a question. He held his hand steady until Wink grabbed it and shook it.

  “My man, or should I say son?”

  The only thing Wink could think about was his dad. Here it was Wink had given Gary his blessing to marry his mom, and his father was somewhere doing life in federal prison. Wink decided he was going to find Wayne, Sr., and more importantly, he was going to go see him for the first time in his life. It was time.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  The courtroom was scarce, with the exception of a few news reporters, uniformed Davenport police officers, the stubby redneck prosecutor, and the racist white supremacist judge perched high on his throne. Through the entire proceedings, Judge “Hang-em” Gault gripped his gavel in his wrinkled white hand like he was ready to skip all the bullshit and just go ahead with sentencing.

  Wink, Trey, and Willie sat behind Krazy at the defense table. They were his only supporters. Not even his lawyer seemed to be on his team. All he kept saying was that maybe Krazy should consider taking a plea.

  “A plea. Bitch mothafucka, my people paid you to fight, not to sell me out.” Krazy had to lightweight collar his pink-faced attorney up at the start of the trial.

  “Okay, I’ll do my best.”

  Krazy slowly released the man’s tie and dusted his suit jacket. “Your best betta be me walkin’ outta here today.”

  Things weren’t looking up for Krazy. His supposed-to-be lawyer faked a fight, while the prosecutor painted his case like he was Picasso himself. The victim, Robert, took the stand and pointed Krazy out as the man who shot him, as did his wife, Mandy. Krazy wanted his lawyer to raise the question of her being a crack addict and that she was the cause of the ordeal. Krazy’s defense was that Robert attacked him, and so he did as any other red-blooded man would’ve done, he defended himself. Just so happened it was with a gun.

  Krazy’s sell-out attorney raised no such argument. He kept whispering to Krazy at the defense table that he had it under control, but closing arguments opened and closed with no certainty that Krazy would walk. His lawyer had thrown him under the bus.

  Krazy turned in his chair and tried to flash his crew a I’m all right smile, but they knew him too well. The look in his eyes said, I won’t see y’all for a long time. Don’t forget about me.

  When the jury re-entered the court room, Krazy’s lawyer strategically positioned himself on the side of the podium away from Krazy. The white woman serving as the lead juror stood with an envelope in her hand, which contained Krazy’s fate.

  “Has the jury reached a verdict in the matter?” asked the judge.

  “We have, Your Honor.” The woman tore the seal on the envelope and unfolded the piece of paper.

  “And how do you find the defendant?”

  “They jury finds the defendant guilty of attempted murder and guilty of possession of a firearm.”

  Krazy went crazy. He leaped from his set at the reading of the verdict. He chased his bitch-ass lawyer around the podium until he caught him. Krazy grabbed that cracker by the back of his suit jacket and tripped him. Krazy jumped on the man’s back and commenced to beating the sleeves off his ass. He had nothing to lose. What were they going to do, give him some more time? Krazy already had his mind made up that if he lost at trial, his lawyer had to wear it. And boy, was he wearing that ass-whooping Krazy was putting down.

  The judge banged on his gavel relentlessly, but Krazy wasn’t stopping. He punched, kicked, and bit the four officers as they attempted to pry him off the lawyer’s ass. They had to mace Krazy to get him up off the man.

  More police rushed into the courtroom and stood between Trey, Wink, and Willie as they tried helping Krazy. The police drew their weapons and backed them out of the courtroom. Wink was left with the haunting image of Krazy being hog-tied and dragged out.

  The whole ride back to Detroit, nobody spoke a word. Wink pushed his El Dogg down the interstate. Trey and Willie passed each other joints, trying to take the pain away and block their mind from thinking about Krazy. Guilty was the only thing that kept playing through Trey’s mind. All of them felt guilty for Krazy sitting back there on his way to do at least twenty-five years. And knowing Krazy, he was bound to run his number up with all that time. Twenty-five years was like a lifetime, and his crew was starting to realize that they might not ever see him walk the streets again.

  It’s funny what a few months can change when you’re out there running in the game. They went from B-boys to D-boys in what seemed like overnight. The stress of the streets was already starting to show on their young faces, Wink’s especially. He was starting to be more withdrawn
every day. All he wanted when they first started hustling was the glitz and glam you see when you’re on the sidelines watching playas and hustlas alike do their numbers. Wink knew that niggas got killed and some went to jail, but it didn’t stop him from wanting a taste because he’d never personally had to kill anyone, and besides his father, no one else close to him had gone to jail.

  Wink looked at the sign on I-94, which read: DETROIT NEXT EXIT. He sighed and thought, Why didn’t I just go to that picnic? Krazy would be right home with them if he had. Wink just needed something other than himself to blame. He had no intention of leaving the game, and besides, Krazy needed them now more than ever. Wink told himself that he was going to personally find the best appeals attorney and hire him to take Krazy’s case, no matter how much it cost. Krazy was going to know that he was gone but not forgotten, and that his crew was out there going hard for him.

  Wink parked across the street from Ms. Shelton’s house and two cribs down. He wasn’t in the mood to hear her bitching, ’cause he just might nut the fuck up and snap on her old ass. Wink killed the engine, then reached under his seat for a fresh bottle of Henny. He held the bottom of the bottle up for Trey and Willie. They both slapped the ass of the fifth, then Wink cracked the seal and pulled the cork out. They ain’t have no cups. Today they were hittin’ it straight from the neck. Wink took a long gulp and passed it to Trey.

  “What y’all ’bout to get into?” asked Wink.

  “Get ready for this trip in the morning,” said Trey.

  “You taking Willie with you?”

  “You know it,” Willie said with a little rhythm. He sat up from the back seat and grabbed the Henny, trading Trey for a joint he just lit.

  “I wish you’d come with us. I hear them Texas chicks are all thick as a mothafucka. And Sue says she got a few friends,” said Trey.

  “Maybe next time. I got something that I gotta handle. I been putting it off for too long.”

  “A’ight, well, I’m ’bout to go in here and try to get some sleep.” Trey reached over and gave Wink a play.