by BlaQue
G Street Chronicles Presents
DIRTY DNA
by
BlaQue
Copyright 2012 BlaQue
Smashwords Edition
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G Street Chronicles
P.O. Box 1822
Jonesboro, GA 30237-1822
www.gstreetchronicles.com
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This is a work of fiction. It is not meant to depict, portray or represent any particular real person. All the characters, incidents, and dialogues are the products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any references or similarities to actual events, entities, real people, living or dead, or to real locales are intended to give the novel a sense of reality. Any similarity in other names, characters, entities, places, and incidents is entirely coincidental.
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Prologue
YaSheema, known to the streets simply as YaYa, sat thinking to herself, Who said pimpin’ ain’t easy?
Shit, I wasn’t doing half bad for a black woman living in the mean streets of DC with a growing empire. Sex, drugs, money and power could all be mine with the roll of the dice. I was taught good game, and sex appeal was all I ever needed to get by in this fucked up world!
I was the bomb! I faced the mirror that was attached to the vanity that stood in the far corner of my lavish room. I admired myself. I was a dime by anyone’s standards and no one could tell me I wasn’t either. I stood a proud 5’7” with eyes the color of the heavens after a storm. Stormy grey is what I liked to call ‘em. My mocha chocolate skin was the kind bitches would pay big money for. My ass was phat and my thighs were thick. I got that fire a nigga could easily fall in love with. I rocked only the hottest shit money could buy.
My father taught me that I was worth only the best. That was what made me run my shit flawlessly. I wasn’t what people would stereotype as a “Boss.” Your everyday average nigga had no idea I was street royalty. They just looked at me like I was a stuck up bitch. They probably thought I was tricking with niggas to buy my diamonds and furs. I am sure they thought I was fucking to be privileged enough to travel to the exotic places of the world.
Most niggas wouldn’t wanna believe a bitch like me was on the come up and that I did it on my own. Well, not all on my own, I did have the wisdom and teachings of the trillest niggas in the game, my Daddy. He taught me how to make shit happen. He taught me at all costs to win the game – not just finish the game – but to come in first place and devour all those who tried to take me down in the process.
Chapter 1
Rock Creek Park
NW Washington, DC
My father told me at an early age that having good game would get me anywhere. My father was my hero. There was nothing that my daddy didn’t have; cars, money, women, and the world could be his for the right price. My father was the king of his streets. He was all my brother, Neko, and I knew.
My mother, Christa Reynolds, was just one of the endless one-night affairs my father had to pass the time away. He never trusted women enough to keep them around longer than a month or two. He used them and threw them away like tissue. He tried to dispose of my mother but she wasn’t having it! She held on, even though Darnell wanted no parts of her except for what she had between her legs. He used her so good she would do anything to keep him around, which didn’t exclude tricking and an endless list of other whorish acts. She had heard all kinds of stories about Darnell’s infidelities and sexual escapades. There was even talk about him fucking with Momma’s baby sister; but that didn’t stop my mother’s money-hungry ass. When she found out she was pregnant with me she just knew she had hit pay dirt. My father had other plans for her.
Christa was a beautiful woman. She was what you would call exotic. She stood a proud 5'8”; an olive-toned beauty with long thick legs and an ass to make a nigga cry. She had also been born with alluring grey eyes. She had a sharp short hair cut and would rock the finest shit she could boost from the stores. Darnell knew she was a gold diggin’ bitch. Daddy really could not stand her; but the bitch was bad, and she had some killer pussy.
Darnell wasn’t bad him damn self. He cleared an even six feet and was the color of ebony. He had the most beautiful smile and would make the panties of women drop with one look. He rarely smiled though, because his jaw was clinched and he always looked as if he were in deep thought. He was always on the grind, and money was his first and only love; next to me of course.
When Christa told him she was pregnant he thought he would strangle her on the spot. He came close to drugging her junkie ass and getting rid of the evidence, but he thought of his baby. He thought of the small piece of him that he could share his world with. He didn’t care if it was a girl or boy; as long as his heir was healthy, he wasn’t concerned about the sex of the child.
“So, what are you going to do about this Dee?” Christa asked in a confident tone while tapping her foot against the floor. She figured if she came at him hardcore, he would have no choice but to accept her.
“What do you mean what am I going to do about it? Christa, you know what it is. I’ll take care of my business, which is my child.” He walked out of the room emotionless, with nothing more to say.
Just like that, Christa Reynolds knew she wouldn’t have to boost anymore, or fuck any of those disgusting hustlers to keep up with the lifestyle she was accustomed too. She immediately went to her rundown project home in SE, DC and packed her belongings; telling her mother she wasn’t ever coming back. Well, at least not if she could help it.
Darnell treated her like gold until June 4, 1986; that’s the day I was born. From that day on, my father pretended my mother didn’t exist. Christa hoped that Darnell would warm up to her after the birth of their little girl YaSheema. Instead YaYa, as Darnell liked to call her, was his pride and joy. She was the one who he adorned in the latest fashions. She was the one who was shown off to everyone, and Christa was left alone to do whatever she pleased as long as it didn’t mean bothering Darnell.
Christa was determined to make him hers though. She tried to make him want her. She even resorted to fucking his best friend to make Darnell notice she was even alive. He hadn’t touched her in God only knew how long, and if he had his way, he never would again. He knew of her deceit and betrayal. He knew Christa was a straight rolla’ and she would stop at nothing to get what she wanted.
After years of being ignored, Christa started to hate the fact that she had a child. She knew that YaYa was not the r
eal source behind why she felt the way she felt on the inside. She realized that the child was just being used as a pawn to get her out of the way gracefully. Christa didn’t know what to think of YaYa since the majority of her time was spent chasing after Darnell, and the other part was spent getting high. Christa barely even knew she had a child to care for. She would take the money Darnell gave her and stash it away to get herself a fix. Life as an addict was all Christa gave a fuck about.
For years, that was the way things went in my home. I never really noticed the beef between my parents because my father always took the time to spoil me rotten. He made sure I didn’t have to want for anything and that included wanting my mother to act as such. The storm was sure to come. It was only a matter of time before my mother’s borrowed lifestyle would come to a screeching halt like “new shoes” on an Escalade truck.
Chapter 2
CFE Night Club
Marlboro Pike
Forestville, MD
“Christa!” Darnell growled, “Get the fuck down here now!”
Christa had become accustomed to the verbal abuse. To tune it out she just got high. When he threatened to toss her out on the streets, she got high. Hell, she got high just because. She didn’t even need a reason these days; it had turned from a recreational thing into a serious habit.
“Look bitch, it is time for you to move on!” Darnell snarled between clenched teeth. He had had enough of her. He had just got word from one of his men that Christa was out fucking a rival Kingpin. It was time for her to go! She was causing too many problems and she just wasn’t worth it anymore.
At the time I witnessed this confrontation, I was six years old, and my father had done all he could to keep his family unit together. Actually, my father didn’t give a fuck about a family unit; all he cared about was me. And that was all that mattered because Momma acted as though she didn’t want me around.
“You’re a worthless, money hungry, crack head whore. Get the fuck out of my house!” Darnell fumed. He was so angry that you could see the hatred in his eyes for what his baby mother had become.
“What am I supposed to do? Where the fuck am I supposed to go?” Christa said between her sobs.
Darnell could no longer keep his composure. “I don’t give a fuck what you do or where you go, but a car will be here in two hours to get you and your shit out of my house! I am thinking you would want to hurry up and get your things packed because anything you can’t take with you, you won’t be coming back to get!”
You could almost see the venom my father was spitting. At that moment, I knew my father was a force to be reckoned with. With that, my father grabbed my hand and tried to lead me away from a scene that was likely to escalate. My mother grabbed for my other hand and yanked me violently in the other direction. “If I go, she goes too!” She wept. She knew I was her only ticket into the sweet life and I resented her for always trying to use me to get ahead.
“Daddy, I don’t want to go with her.” I whined.
“Oh no, there is no way I am leaving my YaYa with a junkie bitch like you. And since when did you become a parent?” Darnell seethed.
My mother couldn’t believe the words that were piercing her very soul. She released the grip she had on my wrist and started back up the staircase mumbling under her breath. Momma wasn’t crazy; she wasn’t going to make too much fuss too loud. She knew the consequences could have been deadly. That was the last I saw of my Momma until several years later.
Christa had no idea where she went wrong. All her life was spent chasing after a man. It didn’t matter which man, or who he belonged to. Married with children…it didn’t matter as long as she had something to gain by being with him. Dee was the only person she ever loved, and he threw her out on the streets. This is where she tried to pick up the pieces and salvage whatever she had left. After Dee threw her out she had nowhere to go. She ended up becoming a prostitute doing whatever she could to stay high to numb the pain. She hated who she had become, but she was so wrapped up in the game with a pimp who would rather use her as a punching bag than put her out on the stroll.
Chapter 3
The Meeting Place
17th and L Street
NW Washington, DC
Daddy, Oscar and I had just started to gather our things to leave Fort DuPont Park. We frequented the park often to take in the sounds of the artists who performed in the Jazz in the Park venue. I really didn’t care for the music, but Daddy said I should always try to experience new things; besides he was making me go.
I handed the picnic basket from our lunch to Oscar. He was my father’s most trusted employee. Needless to say, Oscar was Daddy’s best friend. He was also the deadliest, and you would never catch me or my father out anywhere without Oscar in tow. He was always sporting twin Desert Eagles on his hips and he wasn’t afraid to make them clap. Oscar didn’t look like he was a killer which pleased him because it always made it easy for his opponent to underestimate him.
“Oscar, why does Daddy make me come to this bamma Jazz stuff? I would rather be at a go-go. All my friends are partying with Chuck Brown and listening to Backyard. Why do I have to be the only one of my friends who has to suffer through this weekly visit to Jazz in the Park?”
“YaYa, one day you will have the pleasure of taking over “The Family Business” and you will have to entertain other types of people. My sweet niece, you will be a great leader of the DC streets, and you will have to know how to dance with the devil. You will have to be cultured in many things.” Oscar said.
Oscar called anyone that wasn’t a nigga, the devil. He also liked to call my father’s ring of terror, drugs, pimpin’, and violence, “The Family Business” which they had been telling me was my destiny since I was two. Just as I was handing Oscar the other end of the blanket we had used to sit in the cool grass, my father pulled up in his brand new armored Hummer. We started to pack up the truck when a frail woman with a teenage looking dude approached us.
Oscar – who trusted no one – instinctively reached for the heat on his hip, exposing the butt of the gun on his right side. After a second glance, I could see that the walking stick figure that was approaching us was once my mother, Christa. She was dirty and looked as though she hadn’t had a bath in weeks. Her clothes were ratchet, and her hair was a shitty mess. She reached out for me, but Oscar grabbed Christa before she could touch me.
“Oscar, don’t touch me!” she scowled.
Oscar released her, not because he was sure she was safe, but because he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. My father couldn’t believe his eyes either. He was seeing the mother of his daughter looking worse than he could have ever imagined. The dude who had walked up on us with Christa stepped up like he could protect her from anything that might pop off. He looked as though a bath tub hadn’t seen him in quite some time and that he had missed one too many meals. There was something about him though that gave off that, “Don’t fuck with me” vibe.
“Funny seeing you here! You were always so predictable.” Christa said as she walked up on my father who was standing with a look of guilt in his eyes. “Darnell how about you and I talk for a while? Maybe we could try and get that old thing back.” Christa cackled.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing coming from the mouth of the woman who once was my mother. She had the nerve to be trying to hit on my Dad as if he were going to jump at the chance to fuck her.
“Dee, I want you to meet someone. Neko, this is Dee and that lil’ black bitch is your sister, YaSheema. She is the reason we have no home son. She is the reason we ain’t got nothing. That lil’ whore stole everything from me, including my man!” She screamed pointing at me. She was staring at me through drug-riddled eyes that were evil little slits.
Darnell had had enough. “Christa, if you don’t leave YaYa out of this and tell me what it is you are doing here, I swear they are gonna’ find your ass in the Potomac by morning!” He barked.
“I don’t want shit from you or that tramp
YaYa.” She scowled. “Look, I have decided to get myself cleaned up. I need some help Dee. I am fucked up. I dunno’ what else to do. I have nowhere to go.” She sobbed.
“I’m no good to Neko like this. I can’t help him until I can help myself.” Her tears flowed freely. There was no doubt in my mind this was an award-winning performance. The young man with her, who eerily resembled me, rolled his familiar grey eyes.
“Look Christa, you and the boy just get in the truck because I ain’t gonna’ have you putting on a show for the whole damn city to see!” Darnell said.
Christa lifted her head and thanked my father for being so gracious. She tried to look as if she was wiping away tears. Then she looked at me and winked her eye. I knew right then Momma had some shit with her and I was determined to find out what the deal was.
“I see you moved out of the hood Dee.” Christa said as we walked into our home on Dumbarton Street, in the heart of historical Georgetown, DC.
Georgetown is a beautiful area in upper Northwest Washington, DC. It used to be exclusively for colored folks back in the day and then white folks ran the blacks out during the 50’s and 60’s. Now it’s nothing but uppity white folks living in their million-dollar homes. Black folks in this part of DC were far and few between.
“Yeah, Georgetown was a better area to raise YaYa in. She could go to a better school, but we didn’t have to move out of the actual city. I like it. I can sleep better knowing YaYa is safe here.” Darnell said.
My Dad and Christa were making small talk and I didn’t want to hear my mother’s fake shit anymore. “Christa why are you here?” I said with my hands on my perfectly rounded twenty-six year old hips. “You gotta’ have a reason. You must want something.” I stated.
Christa whirled around and stated boldly, “I am your mother and you will respect me little girl!”