by Noire
“That’s our roof of regrets,” Trey said. He touched my shoulder and we both stopped and stood in place. “Every pane of glass we write on up there represents the loss of a Harlem kid to street violence. Guns, knives, drugs, beatings, it don’t matter. If they die on our watch we have their name, age, and date of death inscribed on a panel of glass. Eli is up there giving Princess her pane. She was only thirteen when she overdosed and died.”
He shrugged and stuck his hands down in his pockets. “As you can see we’re running outta room up there. Once the ceiling is filled up we’ll have to start writing names on the windows.”
“Wow,” I said softly. My eyes scanned the endless written-in squares. “If those kids up there were still alive there wouldn’t even be enough room in this gym to hold them all.”
“Exactly,” Trey said. He put his hand on my arm again, but this time he kept it there as we started walking toward the door again. “That’s why it’s important to give a visual representation so people can actually see how many kids we’re losing. Just hearing a number doesn’t do their deaths no justice. You actually gotta see it to believe it, and then some kinda way you gotta work to change it.”
I nodded.
“Look, Juicy,” Trey said as we continued to walk. “Chiney put me down on your situation. I know what’s up, and I know all the people who’ve been fuckin’ with you. The good thing is, they know me too.” He gave me a serious look. “I ain’t saying you don’t have to be careful, but I don’t want you stressing about nothing either, a’ight? I got my whole team standing guard for you. We roll real thick, and we hold it down. Don’t worry about that lil niggah Flex, and don’t worry about the G-Spot crew neither. I’m about to put the word out on the street, and that means you’ll be safe as long as you’re here with us, a’ight?”
I was more than grateful, and I couldn’t help but compare Trey to Flex as I waited while he went and got Chiney off the basketball court. Both Trey and Flex had killed somebody and done some time, but they were nothing alike.
Flex was just a dumb kid running a drug empire and trying to take over the world like a mad scientist, and Trey was a grown-ass man who had done some bad shit in his past, but had survived it and made something out of his life. As I walked out of The Crossover and stepped into the bright sunlight under the Talented Ten’s protection I was thankful that I wasn’t gonna have to deal with Flex and his madness no more. But as I would soon learn, just because I was done fucking with Flex, that didn’t mean his crazy ass was done fucking with me.
CHAPTER 21
The early fall sun was beaming down on Harlem as Flex rode down the street in his brand new Hummer. He’d bought it for cash the day after his other one got towed out of a parking spot in the BK. Instead of sporting the whip in candy-apple red again, this one was money green with 18-inch shoes, and it was even fresher than the last one had been.
Music was blaring from the speakers as he surveyed his drug territory. He nodded in satisfaction as he checked on his trap boys as they manned the corners and hustled that yay.
An occasional police sedan cruised down the street, but after a brief glance to see exactly who was conducting business they kept on cruising. They weren’t pressed about the drug trade on the streets of Harlem. Since they couldn’t possibly beat it, most of them simply turned a blind eye and profited from it.
“Ay!” Flex hollered from the passenger window as his boy Shorty stood posted up on the corner supervising his five-man crew. Shorty was one of Flex’s favorite aks, and he had been thinking about promoting him to Divine Nine capo status to fill the spot that Cee-Low had left empty.
Shorty flashed him a sign, then sauntered over to one of his sons to replenish his supply of tan goods.
Flex liked the way that gangsta Shorty worked. That niggah was all bizz all the time. He kept his little soldiers standing at attention and his take never came up short.
“Yo,” Flex turned to his boy Dre who was driving. “I think we should promote that niggah Shorty and bring him up, yo.”
“What?” Dre said. He eased up to a red light and turned the music down. “Run that by me again?”
“Shorty,” Flex said. “He’s a real dude. I think we should promote his ass. Give him Cee-Low’s crew. Nah’mean?”
Dre thought about it for a second, then nodded his head. “Yeah. That niggah’s chill. He’s certified and legit.”
“A’ight,” Flex replied, his spirits lifted. He turned his head and spit out the window. “We’ll put him to the gut test and see where his heart is.”
But moments later, as they rode past a popular community youth center called The Crossover, Flex peeped something that immediately fucked his head up and dogged his mood.
“Yo!” he said, sitting straight up in his seat. “Pull over, niggah! I know that ain’t who the fuck it look like it is! I know that silly bitch didn’t bring her ass back to Harlem!”
Dre pulled up next to a fire hydrant and put the whip in park. He took one glance out of his boss’s window and clammed right the fuck up.
“I’on’t know, man,” he said like he had amnesia. “I’on’t know who the fuck that broad is.”
“Niggah, you ain’t blind! You know that’s Juicy!” Flex said, shock and amazement making his voice squeak. “And that’s that niggah Trey Jackson flossing wit’ her too!”
Dre bucked and threw his hands up in the air. “Goddamn, muh’fucka!” he blasted on Flex. “The last time somebody recognized ya girl you shot his fuckin’ ass! I don’t know who the fuck that chick is!”
Flex clenched his jaw and breathed hot rage through his nose.
“It’s her, man,” he said as he eyed the fine bitch with the gangsta booty. She was standing there with another chick Flex recognized as his man Cooter’s little sister, Chiney.
Flex fumed as he watched Juicy climb in the front seat of Trey’s whip and Chiney get in the back. Him and Cooter had been mad tight. In fact, they had started out as partners in a bold quest to pull a takedown on the G-Spot crew for control of Harlem’s drug trade. But a series of unforeseen and tragic events had unfolded that tossed a big rock in their game. They’d been forced to accelerate their agenda when G got popped, but the framework wasn’t firmly enough in place yet and their timing was off. Flex had gotten gut shot, and Cooter ended up taking a street beat-down that cost him his life.
Flex eyed that niggah Trey with big disdain.
Trey was Cooter’s younger brother, but there had never been any love between him and Flex. Where Cooter was of the streets and deeply vested in the game, Trey had gone to the joint and came out damn-near sanctified. He had opened up a bunch of barbershops and started mentoring young boys, and him and Flex inevitably bumped heads because they were constantly trying to draw talent from the same limited pool. Trey recruited the youngstas in the community to cut hair out of his shop, and Flex recruited those same youngstas to sell ooo-wee on his corners.
Flex eyeballed that niggah warily. Trey had a way of flossin’ that made him wanna bust that niggah one. He was one of them big, handsome niggahs who used to ball back in the day, and all him and his Talented Ten posse wanted to do besides cut hair and sell bean pies was work to put a niggah like Flex out of business.
Trey got in the car with Juicy and Chiney. Flex stared at all three of them, grinding his teeth. He couldn’t believe Juicy was rubbing up against that niggah and riding around Harlem in his cheap car.
He thought about the jump-off he had fucked just two nights ago as he fantasized about Juicy. He’d chosen her because she had a body type that was similar to Juicy’s, but the bitch ended up being a beast in the face and a skank in the sheets. She was one of those ruff project bitches, and with all that thick and musty underarm hair she was sporting, the girl had thrown his fantasy totally off and it hadn’t felt like he was fucking Juicy at all.
“That scandalous bitch!” Flex spit, breathing hard.
Dre shrugged and waved his boy off.
“You know C
hiney’s a dyke, man. She be out here fuckin’ bitches without a dick.”
“Not her,” Flex growled, his eyes never leaving the scene. “Juicy.”
He sucked his breath in sharply as he saw Trey throw his arm over the back of Juicy’s seat and pull out into traffic. That grimy muh’fucka…Flex thought, and then an idea popped into his head.
“Yo!” he punched Dre in the arm. “Ain’t them niggahs down at the G-Spot still looking for Juicy? They got some money on her neck, don’t they? A cash reward for that booty, right?”
Dre nodded. “Yeah. As far as I know they still want her.”
Flex grinned like a little kid. “Good. Send that niggah Pluto a text message for me,” he said and laughed real loud. “Tell him I got some juicy info I wanna drop on him.”
Flex was still grinning when another idea popped into his head. This one was a grand opportunity for him to play one camp against the other and cancel both of his rivals out.
“Yo!” he said abruptly. “Forget what I said about bringing that niggah Shorty up.”
“Huh?”
“Cancel all that shit I just said about Shorty! That fool is gone have to wait on that promotion.”
“Cool. Whattup doe?” Dre asked. “You got somebody else in mind?”
Flex nodded. “Yeah.” Trey wanted to fuck around with his property? Cool. He’d stick it to that big niggah by corrupting his son.
“Go find me that niggah, Maleek. Tell him he’s next up in the Divine Nine queue. Put him out there to make his daylight hit, then bring him to the crib so I can give him the gut test and let him press the six-shooter to his head.”
“A’ight,” Dre nodded. He checked his side mirror then pulled back into traffic. “You got anybody special you want Maleek to smash?”
Flex thought for a few moments and then smiled. “Yeah,” he chuckled at his own brilliance. “Tell him to hit one of them G-Spot niggahs. Let him pick one. I don’t give a fuck which one he burns. Just as long as he gets it in.”
Dre stared at his boss with an impressed, knowing look, and Flex put his head back and laughed like a mothafucka. He’d found himself an opportunity to aggravate two birds with one stone. He’d let the G-Spot niggahs take care of smashing that bitch Juicy, and let Maleek stick a knife in the hearts of the G-Spot crew. Either way, Trey Jackson was gonna learn some real fuckin’ lessons and suffer some real fuckin’ pain.
CHAPTER 22
Trey drove me and Chiney down a narrow block that was lined with brownstones. It was one of those Harlem streets where the homes had been remodeled and white people had started moving in. He got my small bag out of his trunk and the three of us walked up the stairs to the small stoop.
“Make yourself comfortable, Juicy,” Trey said quietly as he unlocked the door and I followed him inside. He handed me my bag and walked through the doorway of a nice-sized kitchen. “Chiney can show you where your room is.”
I could tell from the jump what kind of energy Trey was packing. It was a black man’s crib and it was laid out. It was decorated in masculine colors of mocha brown, rust, black, and off-white. The air was cool and the scent of African candles met my nose.
There was abstract black art on the walls, the kind they sold on 125th Street, and a lot of African statues and masks and stuff like that displayed on shelves.
“C’mon,” Chiney said, scooting past me. “All the bedrooms are back here.
We walked down a long, narrow hall and she told me there were four bedrooms and two bathrooms on the main floor.
“There’s another bedroom with a bathroom downstairs that Trey uses as his office and,” she pointed and looked up, “we’ve got two more rooms upstairs. Trey is an exercise freak, so one of the rooms up there is his work-out room, and I don’t know what the hell is in the other one because he keeps that shit locked and ain’t nobody allowed to go in there.”
There were four bedrooms lined up in a row on the right side of the house, and Chiney explained that the first bedroom was Trey’s and the last one was hers.
“This is his shit,” she said and touched his closed door. “I wanted this room ’cause there’s a real nice bathroom in there, but Trey wasn’t having it. My brother is real protective, Juicy. His has gotta be the first room in the house. Just in case some shit pops off. A fiend would have to get past Trey’s room before they could get to me in mine, you know?”
I nodded. I could see Trey being that kind of dude.
“This room is yours,” Chiney said, stepping just one door down from Trey’s room and twisting the door knob. “It’s cool in here. You’ll like it.”
I peered into the room and took a deep breath. It was simple, but really nice. There was a queen-sized bed with a rose-colored chenille bedspread, and a mix of cream and rose-colored throw pillows were displayed at the head of the bed. The floor was made of a dark, shiny hardwood, and there were cream and rose drapes up at the windows. I stepped inside and got a whiff of the candle-scent that was circulating through the house, and immediately I loved the flow of energy that surrounded me.
“There’s a television and a DVD player over there,” Chiney said and pointed across the room. A flat screen TV sat on a beautiful table display, and somebody had put a vase of fresh flowers right next to it. “And the bathroom is right down the hall next to my room.”
I took a deep breath and looked at her, then sighed. “Chiney, I just don’t know about all this…”
“All what? It’s just a room, Juicy, damn! Relax girl, and just accept the love, okay? This is how friends do each other, right?”
“I know,” I sighed. “I just don’t feel good about staying here and living off your brother, you know what I mean? I don’t have anything to give up for rent and food and all that…”
Chiney gave me a crazy look. “Damn, Juicy. Is it that fuckin’ hard to admit you need help? You turning down a bed when your ass was just in jail a minute ago, and you slept in a homeless shelter last night. You need to check ya ego and let go of some of that pride, my sistah. I want you to stay here. And Trey wants you here too. So chill, baby. If you feel like you need to contribute something then ask Trey if you can help him out at the center. They got mad young girls dropping by The Crossover every day. Those chicks are surviving on nothing but their tits and their wits. Maybe you can holler at some of them and make a difference in their lives.”
$$$$$
Flex mighta had a lesson planned for Trey, but there were lessons to be learned everywhere. And later on that night while Trey was sleeping he experienced a lesson that his waking mind had been trying real damn hard to deny him.
He was in a strange place but for some reason the girl he was making love to had a real familiar feel. He was riding her from behind, and the further he thrust into her, the deeper something stirred in his heart.
They moved like they were one, their rhythm dynamic perfection as she rotated her hips and he pounded his groin against her ass. Her hair was soft and thick as she pushed it over her head and exposed the back of her neck. He nibbled behind her ear and sucked that tender spot right at the base of her shoulder, sending sparks of electricity surging back and forth between their damp bodies.
Trey reached around and cupped her breasts and her nipples stiffened and throbbed against his palms. She moaned and he sniffed her hair, then licked her neck and pumped inside her even deeper.
The heat between them was getting intense. Trey withdrew his dick until only the head remained lodged between her pussy lips, and then he dove back in as far as he could go, the last few inches of him still outside of her. She screamed and inched up slightly on her knees, opening herself wider to him, her body adjusting to accommodate him as she panted and urged him to bury his whole rod inside her.
Trey deep-dicked her and made her happy. Her insides gripped him like a perfect glove as she shuddered and came, and if he could have he woulda kept his throbbing wood buried inside her wetness forever.
But then she rolled her ass like she was tossi
ng a hula hoop, and Trey almost lost it. Sucking the back of her neck, he bore down on her three times real hard, and her walls swallowed him. She clenched her insides around his thickness and milked his dick until he felt his nut rising.
Trey was just about to bust when his eyes flew open. Gasping, he reached for his dick and found it rocked up like a piece of iron. He inhaled deeply and the sweet smell of pussy teased his nose. Trey rolled over and groaned. This type of shit hadn’t happened to him in a real long time. Not since his days in the joint. He was embarrassed by his dream but he hated to let that shit go too.
He sighed with disappointment. He couldn’t believe it. She had been in his arms. Right there in his bed. He’d never gotten a look at her face, but he sure as hell had recognized that body.
She was beautiful. A stunna. A straight-up, bona fide brickhouse.
She was Juicy.
$$$$$
I had been staying at Trey’s house for less than a week and already that cold sexy niggah was driving me wild. I had taken Chiney’s advice and asked him if I could hang out at The Crossover and help out with some of the kids, and he had surprised me and said he actually thought that was a good idea.
“The word is out deep on the streets, Juicy,” he assured me. “Those fools at the G-Spot know not to fuck with you, but you know how it can be out here sometimes. All it takes is one wild cowboy to act up and cause major problems. My crib is pretty safe, but I don’t really want you staying there by yourself if you don’t have to.”
As much as I hated to admit it, I loved hearing those words come out of Trey’s mouth. He was so big and strong and he gave off an aura filled with so much power, swagger, and confidence that being around him made me feel safe and protected like I had never felt before.
So I started leaving the house with him in the mornings. With Chiney sleeping in her room knocked out cold, me and Trey would ride out to his barbershops so he could open them up and get his staff ready for the day, and then we usually ended up at The Crossover by ten o’clock or so.