by Noire
Boog had attracted mad attention, and all eyes were on him as he lay naked in the street. He balled up into a knot and shrank inside himself as a bootleg taxi sped past and clipped his shoulder. He jumped to his feet and tried to cover his dick and balls as he darted toward the curb with everybody laughing and pointing at his loose, ashy ass.
With blood running from his mouth and dripping down his chin, Boog ran up to the first young cat he saw and collared him with one hand.
“Gimme ya fuckin’ pants!” he demanded hysterically as the crowd of people stared at his flabby bare ass. “Give ’em up goddamn it, or I’ll shoot ya ass!”
Dude looked him up and down and stiff-armed the shit outta him.
“Shoot me with what, homey? Ya flabby, stretch-marky dick?” He raised his knee and put his foot in Boog’s stomach, pushing him off. “Get ya jiggly ass the fuck outta here!”
With the sound of laughter tormenting his ears, Boog stumbled backwards with embarrassment leaking from every pore on his exposed body. Once again he was the ugly fat kid, and his worst nightmare had suddenly come true. He glanced around and saw a wino leaning against a light pole and sipping from a bottle of cheap drank. Dude had on a faded trench coat that was so grimy and caked with dirt that it looked stiff. He rushed over and slapped the bottle from the old man’s hands, then jerked the coat down his back and tried to tear it off his body.
Desperately, Boog tried to stick his arm through the coat sleeve, but he quickly realized that he was way too fat. With tears of rage forming in his eyes, he gave up and wrapped the coat around his waist as best he could, and then he took off running down the block.
$$$$$
Daydreaming about her growing romance with Slick Sallie and deep in economic scheme mode, Money-Making Monique was walking toward the avenue when a naked dude ran past her and damn near knocked her down.
“Damn, niggah!” she stumbled and hollered at the sight of his fat ass jiggling down the street while he tried to cover the front of his body with a trench coat. “Watch where the hell you going, dude!”
Shaking her bomb booty in a five-hundred dollar designer skirt, Monique kept on tipping down the street as she tried to figure out exactly what to do about her little issue. Life was really looking up for her now that she had a paid white boy eating outta her ass, and if Sallie’s shit was as legit as she thought it was, then she damn sure wouldn’t be slumming around Harlem much longer.
But before she left the Big Apple there was some unfinished business that Monique needed to attend to, and no matter how sweet the road ahead was looking for her and her new boo, there was no way in hell she was gonna leave Harlem without paying that snake-eyed bitch Salida back for all the conniving, double-crossing, and humiliating shit she had done to her.
Just thinking about Salida made Monique’s face get hot as she waited at a corner for the light to change so she could cross the street. She had tussled, fussed, and scuffled with a whole lotta bitches in her day, but she had never hated a chick as much as she hated Salida.
All that fake love the bitch had shown her. The lies about them being partners for life. The empty promises to hook her up with some big-time cash. Monique didn’t even wanna think about the way Salida had pulled a gat on her and mushed her forehead in. Or about how she had been forced to stand up at the stove after Bilal ran over the old bitch, and cook Salida’s meals morning, noon, and night.
Speaking of cooking, a small idea began forming in Monique’s brain as she crossed the busy intersection, and by the time she was on the other side of the street a sly smile was playing on her lips. Yeah, Salida liked it when people waited on her and cooked for her, and slaved over her like she was some type of queen. It didn’t matter how much you did for the bitch, or how nice you were to her, her greedy ass sucked up your kindness and then demanded more.
Monique was giggling under her breath now. She could barely hold her laughter in. She was gonna wait on Salida’s ass, alright. She would give that throwed-off bitch something that would make her feel real special. Something that had been made especially for her.
“Yeah!” Monique pumped her fist and shouted out loud, ignoring the curious looks she got from people on the sidewalk. She had something for that crusty old heffah. Something that was gonna blow her rotten-ass mind!
CHAPTER 17
It was a real sweet plan if Flex had to say so himself. Tapping Maleek as his ninth man was a slick, bold move, and it had definitely gotten the attention he had intended it to get. Right about now, that community-organizing niggah Trey was all over Flex’s dick hoping he could pull Maleek outta the game.
Trey had sent him a message earlier saying they needed to have a face-to-face, and Flex was on his way to meet with him right now. They were gonna hold court at a Chinese restaurant down near South Street Seaport, and although Flex had used the spot for business transactions many times before, he still made sure to get there much earlier than he had to. His chief of security had checked the place out thoroughly, then posted his team in strategic spots that covered their boss from every angle.
Trey was part of a known click. The Talented Ten were businessmen first, but they were gutter all the same. They held down their side of the street and were known to pounce when they needed to.
Flex had expected Trey to post up in the joint at least ten deep. Instead, the muscled-up ex-baller slid in alone, which made Flex respect him way more than he wanted to. He watched as Trey took his time following Dre to the table he was sitting at in the far back corner of the room. In a way, Trey was almost family. Next to crazy Jimmy Stanfield, Trey’s brother Cooter had been the best dawg Flex had ever had.
But Trey was nothing like his brother. Cooter was older and grimier, and he had been deeply entrenched in the street life. That niggah was so loyal to the game that he had stayed on G’s team even after G had his sister Charlene bumped off in an alley and discarded in a Dumpster.
Trey was built real different. He had set his sights on playing professional ball, and when he ran into that lil trouble over his manz Mayhem and got sent upstate to do him a lil bid, he had come back to Harlem on some kinda “Ungowa” Black Power trip.
Flex was all about blacks being in power, and the only real beef he had with Cooter’s brother was the fact that they always seemed to be going after the same thing at the same time. They both wanted the cream of the crop. The best and brightest and most beautiful that Harlem had to offer, and whether it came down to having Juicy, or controlling the dun duns on the street, only one of them could come out a winner and take home the prize.
These were the thoughts on Flex’s mind as Trey sat down in the chair across from him. Killer vs. Killer, they stared into each other’s eyes. Trey made the first move. His big hands hit the table with a thud as he got right down to it.
“I thought I told you Maleek was off the table, yo?”
“I thought I told you not to be in my bizzness, ay?” Flex shot right back.
Trey leaned forward and grilled him for a few cold seconds.
“Leek is just a kid, man.” He chuckled and then shook his head and went in hard. “Yo, your ass is just a kid too, son!”
Flex felt his face turn to stone. Trey was Cooter’s blood, but that wouldn’t stop him from peeling this muh’fucka’s wig back. The cool steel of his burner pressed into his side and made his skin tingle. Flex took a deep break and tried to get himself under control. This niggah had one more time to try to son him. It was dead disrespectful.
“Maleek is a soldier,” Flex said finally. “Soldiers go to war.”
“Soldiers take orders too,” Trey barked. “So order him to sit the fuck down.”
Flex shrugged. He knew how bad Trey wanted the kid off the streets. “Now why would I do some shit like that, man? Maleek is one of my most fearless, most reliable troops.”
“Yo, I heard about what happened to that kid Truth,” Trey said quietly, coming outta the blue. “He got popped on a busy street in broad daylight. Right outside
the G-Spot. Maleek wouldn’t have nothing to do with that, would he?”
Flex shrugged again, lookin’ like he could give less than a fuck about what Trey was saying. “Maleek is a soldier,” he repeated. “Sometimes soldiers go to war.”
“Cut him loose, Flex,” Trey said point-blank. “Maleek is talented. He could make it outta here. Cut him loose.”
“Oh you right about that,” Flex agreed as he mentally assessed how strong his bargaining power was. Maleek was highly valuable. Give him an order and he would jump right on it. Leap all over that shit. Without the slightest regard or concern for his personal safety or anybody else’s. “Maleek’s got a whole lot of talent, that’s word.”
The men stared at each other like they were playing a game of chess. They were like two wild dogs with their dicks hard and their tails sticking straight up in the air. Neither was willing to give up an inch of their square.
“I tell you what,” Flex relented with a grin. “How about we come up with a little compromise?”
Trey tilted his chair back on two legs.
Flex leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. He spread the fingers on both his hands, then pressed the tips together. He rested his chin on his middle fingers like he was deep in thought.
“How about I give you Maleek,” he offered slowly. “And you give me something I want in return.”
Trey chuckled mirthlessly. “Yo what the fuck is up with that you’ll “give” me Maleek shit?”
“That’s what I said, niggah. I’ll give him to you. I’ll toss his ass off. He won’t be down with my crew no more, and he won’t handle no more of my product. I’ll cut him off. That niggah won’t even be allowed to walk on my side of the street ever again.”
Trey frowned, but the fact that he was still listening told Flex he was interested. Straddling his seat, Trey leaned forward until the front legs of his chair were once again on the floor. “And what would I have to give you in return?”
“A name,” Flex said simply. “Just a name.”
Trey looked suspicious. “All you want is a name? Niggah, who’s name you looking for?”
“The name of a connect. G McKay’s main connect.”
Trey stiffened deep inside. This was the second time he’d heard this request made. Keeping his cool, he remained perfectly calm and unfazed on the outside as he said, “Man, you must got me confused with my brother Cooter. G was Cooter’s pizo. Not mine. How the fuck I’m supposed to know who them slimes did their business with?”
“I ain’t sayin’ you know who the man is personally,” Flex conceded. “But I bet your ass knows how to find out.”
Trey made a cold, disrespectful sound in the back of his throat.
“Muh’fucka if you know what the fuck I know then why can’t you find out ya damn self?”
“Because your fuckin’ brother wouldn’t tell me, that’s why!” Flex shot back. He sat up straight, fuming as beads of sweat dotted his forehead. He had known this fuckin’ question was coming and he should have been better prepared to answer it. It wasn’t like he hadn’t tried to find out who G’s main manz was on his own. He had. But the only niggah left in Harlem who knew the answer to that question had refused to give it up. No matter how hard Flex’s boys had kicked Cooter’s face in on that crowded street that day, that stuttering fuck had refused to give up the name.
A small smile spread over Trey’s handsome face. He had kept his head and Flex had clearly lost his. Round one was under his belt.
“So,” Trey said, pushing past the cloud of anger that now surrounded the baby-faced killer sitting across from him.
“Let’s get this straight. You think I’m the man sitting next to the man, who’s sitting next to the man?”
Flex nodded once. “That’s right.”
Trey stared at him.
“So who you really looking for, Flex?” he asked, knowing he already knew the answer.
“Moonie,” Flex barked out the exact name Trey had expected to hear. “I’m looking for Moonie, ak. Hook me up with that niggah real quick and Maleek is all yours.”
Before Trey could respond, Flex’s dun dun Dre came over and spit something in his ear. Like the stupid kid he really was, Flex looked puzzled for a second, and then that niggah bust out laughing.
“They put ’em out there naked?” he asked his boy, unable to contain his glee and surprise. “Butt-ass naked?”
Dre nodded and went back to Flex’s ear. But now the laughter on Flex’s lips dried up and his eyes were filled with a look of cold rage. “Fuck you mean they got my drop bags, niggah?” he growled in a deep, deadly voice.
Dre backed off like he felt an ass whoopin’ coming on, and Flex jumped to his feet like he was ready to wild out. He glared at Trey as he knocked his chair over and it fell to the floor with a loud clang.
“It’s time to dip my niggah. So now you know what I want, and I know what the fuck you need. I’ma hafta holla at you later though ’cause I got some bizz to take care of.”
I bet you do, niggah, Trey muttered under his breath as he leaned back in his chair and watched Flex and his flunkie jet toward the door. A robbery for a robbery, he thought with cold amusement. Fuck with a niggah’s pockets and it would get his feet moving every time. Damn right you gotta get going, niggah. I bet the fuck you do.
CHAPTER 18
I was polishing my toenails in a real nice shade of baby blue when Trey walked up and stood in the doorway to my room. He wasn’t even dressed up but he still looked good as shit. Like he could have been one of those fine-ass male models in a photo spread. He didn’t say anything for a few seconds, he just stared at me with an easy expression in his eyes.
“How you doin’?” he finally asked quietly.
I shrugged. “I’m good. You?”
He nodded and pushed his hands down into his pockets. “Chillin’.”
I nodded back. I hated that the air was all thick and awkward between us. Ever since I’d talked to Pluto and asked Trey to help me Nooni out of the G-Spot, it seemed like our love thang had cooled off.
“You hungry?”
I shook my head. “Nah. Chiney brought me a slice of pizza earlier. But thanks.”
He lifted his chin, then nodded real slow.
“Yo, check it out, Juicy. I wanna apologize to you, okay?”
I shrugged. “It’s cool. I understand how it is between you and Maleek.
Trey shook his head. “Nah, I’m not talking about that. I’m handlin’ Maleek. I’m talking about how I behaved when we came home after the D.I.V.A. Day at the center. I pushed up on you in a way that made you uncomfortable, and I shouldn’t have done that. I apologize. I shoulda had more control.”
I stared into his deep brown eyes, and shook my head quickly.
“Uh-uh, Trey. That wasn’t your fault. It was late and we both got carried away, that’s all. It’s okay. I’m good with it. For real.”
“Nah, it’s not okay, Juicy. Not for a woman like you. You already been through enough and I ain’t tryna put you through nothing else. Trust me, it won’t happen like that again.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. Of course I had wanted him to fuck my brains out that night and I couldn’t hardly even look at his ass without my pussy getting wet.
But I had also confided in Trey a little bit about me and Gino. About how we’d both gotten shot on our wedding day, and how hard it was for me when I ended up losing him. Of course I had left out some parts of the story, especially the ones that had anything to do with G’s crazy ass, but this was Harlem. It was Trey’s town. He probably already knew a whole lot more about me than I had told him.
Since I couldn’t just come right out and tell this man how bad I wanted to fuck him, I just nodded and accepted his apology. I couldn’t hardly get no sleep for laying in the bed and fantasizing about Trey right there on the other side of the wall. I wanted to ride his dick, suck him off, and spread my legs so he could eat the shit out of my pussy, and here he was feeling bad about pus
hing up on me.
Men, I thought as I dipped the brush back into the small jar of polish and started putting another coat on my toenails. Dudes could be a real trip sometimes.
$$$$$
Trey had made a bogus deal with Flex to exchange Moonie for Maleek, but when it all played out neither one of the Harlem killers was gonna hold true to his word.
“You still wanna go see Moonie?’ Trey asked Juicy the next morning as he chugged back some orange juice and plotted his next move. The smack-down that he had put on Maleek just stayed fuckin’ with him. And not because he felt bad for manhandling the boy, but because he was afraid he hadn’t fucked him up good enough.
Juicy nodded. “Yeah, I still wanna go. Cause if we don’t give Moonie up then I don’t see no other way of getting Nooni outta the G-Spot. Do you?”
Trey shrugged. He cared about Nooni and no matter what Juicy thought, he really was down for getting her back, but right now it was Maleek’s fate that weighed heavily on his mind. Trey knew these streets. He knew their paths and their pathology. Even if Flex stood tall on his word and tossed Maleek off, it would only be a matter of time before the boy worked his way back into the click and was back out on the corners starting trouble and wrecking shit again.
Trey had been crushed by what Maleek did to Taleah, and he’d come real close to cutting him off for good. But then he remembered the promise he had made to Mayhem. And the one he had made to himself. As bad as he wanted to make Maleek suffer for his sins, he had decided to give the boy one more chance. One last chance.
And that’s why he needed to find Moonie. Not so his manz could give up G’s connect and flood the streets of Harlem with more illegal drugs. But so him and Moonie could come up with some intellectual trickery that would shut Flex, and maybe even the G-Spot too, down for good. Because if Trey had even the slightest chance of saving Maleek’s life, that’s what it was gonna take, and that’s what he was gonna have to do.