Jose stood speechless. He was addicted to videogames in fact he would rather give up his laptop than that. He dragged his feet too long, moving too slow for his father.
“You better put some pep in ’em step! Boy, I’m tellin’ you, you ain’t gonna like it if I have to go get it.”
Chapter Four
A Drug Dealer’s Dream
Mike Copeland was Melquan’s right hand man. He was holed up inside a small, decrepit, two-bedroom apartment on the project’s North side. In this despicable working condition, Mike was cooking up crack cocaine on the stove. The sink was filled with dirty dishes that smelled like they hadn’t been washed in weeks. Cockroaches were in plain view, from the walls to the floor. Every so often, Mike would see a mice or two darting around the kitchen. None of this mattered to him. Mike’s sole focus was on the transparent, nonstick, light brown Pirex pot that was slowly simmering. He watched his product intently, stirring every so often to help the transformation of cocaine into crack.
“Hey, Mike is that thing ready yet?”
He heard the voice and without even glancing around, Mike Copeland knew who it belonged to. Slowly he lifted his eyes from the pot and stared maliciously at Tess. She was dark skin, tall with short nappy hair and the resident crack-head. The apartment belonged to her.
Tess was known to have a foul smell and a nasty attitude. Her poor hygiene and bad habits had contributed to the poor living conditions inside her home. Tess didn’t care about much of nothing accept getting high off crack.
“Bitch, do it look like it’s ready yet!” Mike spat. “Stop sweatin’ me. Fuck outta here!”
Tess gave Mike a dirty stare, not liking his tone of voice. It burned her up to think that somebody was disrespecting her in her own house. She opened her mouth to say something, but thought better. Now was not the time. She didn’t want to blow the get high she had coming by arguing with the help. Tess ignored Mike and walked back to her bedroom.
She didn’t want to tangle with Mike Copeland and his bad boy swagger. Not only did he talk tough he was about his business. At five-seven, the muscular Mike weighed about one-hundred and sixty pounds. His heart and not his physical attributes were his strong suit. Although he wasn’t physically imposing, Mike Copeland was menacing just the same.
Tess was banished to her room and Mike concentrated on the task at hand. Seeing that the cocaine was beginning to take that gel-like form, he picked up the pot with one hand and turned the coldwater faucet on with the other. The scalding hot and ice cold water mixed causing steam to rise.
Mike Copeland administered liberal doses of cold water until the gel started hardening. Two hundred and fifty grams of powder cocaine had been successfully transformed to crack.
“Oh, baby! You still got it.” Mike Copeland said, admiring his handiwork. “Chef Boyardi ain’t got nothin’ on me!”
Mike Copeland was about to drain the remaining water from the pot and dry the work. He heard the knock at the door. Mike Copeland reached for the government issued nickel-plated .45 automatic, from his waistband and went to the door. He clutched the gun in one hand and the pot in another. Mike Copeland didn’t trust Tess as far as he could throw her. He wasn’t about to leave his prized possession unprotected.
“Who dat…?” He barked.
“Melquan…”
Mike Copeland immediately put away the gun and turned the lock cylinders. Melquan walked inside the place. Once Melquan crossed the apartment’s threshold, he turned and locked the door securing the apartment.
“What’s good, Mel?” Mike Copeland greeted, giving Melquan a pound.
“Ain’t nothing, Mike. Another day another dollar,” Melquan fired back. “So let’s get it.”
He entered the kitchen and watched Mike Copeland continued the process of preparing crack for packaging.
“Look, my dude. Ain’t that shit pretty? And I ain’t loss a gram.”
“Yeah, Mike that shit look like a buttery beige. Heads gonna be lovin’ this.”
“Mel, pass me that fan behind you.”
Melquan handed Mike Copeland the fan. He placed the mound of crack on a stack of paper towels and turned the fan on high to accelerate drying process. Melquan and Mike Copeland were about to engage in conversation, there was a sudden knock on the door.
“It better be Precious, Mel. Shop’s closed. I’m not letting none of Tess crack-head friends up in this joint. Not while we doin’ this. I don’t give a fuck if it is her house or not,” Mike Copeland warned.
Armed, Mike Copeland exited the kitchen and entered the hallway. Tess suddenly appeared in at her bedroom doorway. She glared evilly at him, watching closely to see who was at the door. Satisfied that the person at the door wasn’t for her Tess retreated back into her room.
“It sure took you long enough,” Mike Copeland said. “Fuck was you doing? Huh? Washing that nasty, stinkin’ ass…?”
“Shut da fuck up, Mike!” Precious replied. “Where’s Melquan?”
“That’s all you fuckin’ worry about. Melquan this, Melquan that, Melquan! Melquan! Gimme a fuckin’ break...! Why don’t you let dat nigger’s balls hang? The nigga’s in da fuckin’ kitchen. Goddamn!”
“Fuck you, Mike! You just mad cause ain’t no bitches on your lil’ dick.”
“Bitch, ha, ha, ya muthafuckin’ liar! A’ight! I got soo many ho’s in all area codes. Cause ya bird-ass don’t see ‘em, don’t mean they ain’t around. I don’t be lettin’ people in my BI… Ain’t you ever heard this from the old folks, ‘You keep tellin’ yo bizness you ain’t gone have no bizness.’”
Mike Copeland and Precious had a friendly rivalry between them. There was no harm meant and all gloves were off in this friendly bickering. At the end of the day it was all love, crew love. They had each other’s back one hundred and ten percent. Still they traded insults wherever and whenever possible.
“A yo, Precious, can you get the fuck in here and close that muthafuckin’ door?” Melquan shouted.
Precious did as she was told, pushing past Mike Copeland to enter the apartment. She walked into the kitchen to find Melquan seated at the small wooden raggedy kitchen table. Three badly soiled dinner plates were placed in front of the three chair, along with dozens of tiny packages of clear glassine bags and Gem star razorblades. Every inch of the kitchen table was covered with crack cocaine and drug paraphernalia.
“Hey Melquan…”
“Yeah, what up…?” He coolly replied.
Precious knew there would no affectionate response coming from Melquan. It was as if last night never happened and their relationship didn’t exist. Melquan had a tendency to downplay the depth of there relationship all the time, especially in front of Mike. He wanted to maintain the respect of his lieutenant, first and foremost. Melquan had an image to uphold.
“Wow,” Precious smiled sarcastically. “How soon we forget.”
“Forget about what?” Melquan sternly asked.
“Nothin’ Melquan… Whatever!”
“Mike check on that work. Maybe it’s all dry by now. We really need to bag it up and put it on the streets.”
Mike Copeland went over to the mound of crack and lifting it up and breaking it into two, he inspected it. After the careful examination, he gave Melquan the go ahead to start bagging it up. Precious, Melquan and Mike Copeland tackled the task. Mike Copeland precisely weighed the crack before doing anything. They quickly formed an assembly line with each person performing a specific task. Mike busted the boulder of crack into dimes. Precious opened all the glassine bags, and Melquan stuff the bags full with crack. Silently they went about bagging up the crack for street distribution.
“Oh, I almost forgot, Mel what the fuck is this I hear about you bussin’ ya gun? You know I feel some kinda way about that. That’s my specialty,” Mike Copeland said, interrupting the flow.
“Yeah, some niggas in the shoe jumped on a crackhead. They was about ta body him. I had to do sumthin before shit got out of hand.”
“Y
eah, I heard you handled ya biz though. I heard a couple niggas salty behind that too.”
“Fuck all ‘em niggas!”
“Yeah, that’s what I’ve been sayin’.”
“Anyway, who told you that…? Precious…?”
Precious rolled her eyes and sucked her teeth at the mention of her name. She stared at the other two before speaking.
“Why my name gotta be mentioned in everything? Huh? You makin’ me sound like some kinda snitch or something. And I feel some kinda way about that shit, Melquan.”
“You’ll get over it. That’s why they call ‘em feelings, cause they come and go,” Melquan replied.
“Mel, you got it twisted. Precious ain’t tell me shit!” Mike Copeland added. “You know the streets watching. Plus you already know where we at. This da fuckin’ projects… Somebody always seeing or hearing sumthin and nigga’s was blowin’ up my phone before the shell even hit the ground.”
“Wow!” Melquan replied. “Fuck it! I did what I had to do. I don’t even wanna talk about that shit no more. That ain’t about nothing. Not to change the subject, I do wanna speak to y’all about something else.”
“What Mel?” Mike interrupted. “Speak on it, my dude.”
Suddenly the incessant sound of razor blades slicing through crack rock and hitting ceramic plates halted. Melquan had everyone’s undivided attention.
“Member a while back, on the way home from City Island, when I was chopping it up with you about taking over the projects?”
“Yeah,” Mike Copeland answered.
“Mike, you said then the time wasn’t right. And I went with that.”
“That was then this is now, big homie. It’s time to do the damn thing.”
Mike Copeland couldn’t contain his excitement. He leaped out of his chair, damn- near spilling the contents of the table on the floor.
“Mike be easy!” Precious rudely suggested. “Nigga you almost knocked all this shit over. You and your crazy-ass self...”
“Now, this is what the fuck I been waiting for! You know me I’m into disciplin’ muthafuckers by any means necessary. With the hands, knife work or the gunplay, it don’t matter.”
“Slow ya roll, Mike. We gon’ do this my way, a’ight?” Melquan warned.
“Are you kidding me? There’s only one way you can do this and that’s by force. You think niggas just gon’ lay down, and let you have shit. We gotta straight smash these niggas and take all this fuckin’ money. You think big, you get big!”
“A yo, Mike, be easy. I still got my doubts about whether we can pull this shit off.
“What?” Mike Copeland uttered in disbelief. “Mel, we can do anything we fuckin’ want! Who gonna stop us? Tell me, who? Once we put our thing down niggas gon’ fall the fuck in line. You feel me?”
“I hear you,” Melquan began. “But it ain’t that easy. We can’t take on the world and win. We gon’ need more people… We gonna need an army to pull this shit off.”
“My dude, we ain’t gon’ need no fuckin’ army,” Mike Copeland assured him. “All we need is me!”
Melquan paused and looked over at his longtime friend, Mike Copeland. He studied his face for any signs of insincerity, and saw none. Melquan saw the same bold, brash guy that he had known since they were kids. Mike’s bravado and his heart was what always endeared him to Melquan. Mike had a one track mind when it came to handling beef. He always went through the problem, never around it. Mike didn’t back down to no one.
“Mel, I never doubted you on this coke shit. When you tell me we gonna flip these oz’s to a certain amount. I believe you. So, why you doubting me…? Lemme do what I do best, and that’s put in that work,” Mike said, placing his gun on the table.
“Melquan, Mike is right,” Precious said, interjecting on Mike’s behalf. Melquan stared at her as she continued. “He’s a shooter. The only reason he’s not wildin’ out is because of you. But if you just give him the word then these niggas will be history. Let Mike clear the lane so we all can eat.”
The idea for a takeover belonged to Melquan. He took a minute reflecting on everything that had been said. All the while he kept packaging the crack. In his mind, Melquan weighed the pros and cons of their course of action. It didn’t take long for him to render his decision. Melquan knew that their window of opportunity would not be open forever. If they didn’t make their move now, someone else would. That was for certain.
“Okay, let’s do it,” he exclaimed, rubbing his chin. “But let’s talk this thing out thoroughly. Because if we fail to plan, we just planning to fail… So dig this, Mike. Here’s what I want you to do for me…”
Melquan singlehandedly put the plan together. They knew it would take all hands on deck to pull this off, and roles had to be rehearsed until everyone knew exactly what was expected of them. New people had to be recruited. Melquan would have to strengthen some of his old ties, and get trusted people to buy into the grand scheme. It was a bold and ambitious plan. Edenwald projects never experienced the likes of in a very long time. If the plan was successfully executed, the dynamics of the drug game in the projects would be change for the foreseeable future.
The trio was in the midst of their discussion when Tess reappeared from her bedroom. Clad in a raggedy robe, rundown Nike slippers and a black scarf tied around her head, she looked a mess. The dark rings around her eyes were evidence of her lack of sleep. Melquan spotted her and signaled for silence. He knew what she came for. Tess’ insatiable crack habit demanded to be fed.
For years Tess had been having difficulties breaking free of the stranglehold crack had on her. Her task was impossible when she got fed a steady diet of crack from hustlers who bagged up in her apartment on any given day.
“Melquan, can I get paid now?” Tess asked, skipping the formalities.
Mike Copeland smirked when he heard her request. He thought Tess was trying to go over his head and perceived this to be disrespectful.
“Why don’t you go somewhere and sit the fuck down? You drivin’ us crazy! All that walkin’ ain’t gonna get you no crack any faster, bitch,” Mike said.
“Nigga, this my muthafuckin’ apartment,” Tess snapped back at him. “I do as I please in my muthafuckin crib, nigga. I’ll be damned if I let any muthafuckin’ nigga tell me what the fuck to do up in here!”
“Bitch, you ain’t paid no bill since you been livin’ up in here,” Mike Copeland laughed. “Who da fuck you think you kiddin’? Welfare pay all these bills round here.”
“Look muthafucka, I don’t care who pay these fuckin’ bills. They gets paid one way or another. I don’t care if I gotta suck a thousand dicks, me and my baby boy ain’t gonna be homeless… You know what Mike? I liked you a whole lot better when you were younger. This drug game be changing young, simple-ass niggas like you. Nigga you startin’ to think you all that… I got news for you, you ain’t no Scarface! Nigga you ain’t nobody!”
Tess was a tall, frail woman who talked tough but who wasn’t. Mike Copeland had offended her time and time again. She wanted to draw a line and defend herself.
Mike Copeland quickly stood up. Tess verbal barrage hit him in a weak spot. Clearly heated, he was ready to explode on her.
“Bitch, I don’t know who da fuck you think you talkin’ to, but one more word out your mouth, and I will seriously hurt you up in here. I don’t give a damn if this your crib or not. You’ll die up in this piece… Tess, your fuckin mouth is gonna get you in trouble one day… I’m tellin’ you. This the last time I’m saying this. No more muthafuckin’ warnings! You hear me, bitch?”
Tess wasn’t the least bit scared of Mike Copeland. She knew that nothing was going to happen to her, as long as Melquan was around. There was an intense but brief staredown between the two. Tess took another shot at Mike Copeland.
“Whateva nigga,” she said rolling her eyes. “Fuck you!”
Mike Copeland was infuriated by Tess’ smart mouth response, and jumped at her. Melquan quickly intervened before the situa
tion became a physical altercation. Anger boiled his blood and Mike Copeland struggled to free himself from Melquan’s firm grip. A brief tussle ensured, causing some of the product and material to spill on the floor.
“C’mon Mike, chill, man. It’s not even that serious. Don’t be feedin’ into that bullshit. Let’s finish handling our BI and bounce,” Melquan said, holding his man back from getting at Tess.
Unable to free himself from Melquan’s grip, Mike Copeland glared angrily at him. If this had been a stranger surely Mike Copeland would had attacked him with all his might. It was his man and cooler heads prevailed.
“Mike, you’re overreacting, fall back,” Melquan advised.
“A’ight, I’m good,” Mike Copeland said, sitting down. “Mel, you better give da bitch some coke so she can get da fuck outta my face. I don’t wanna see da bitch no more today. And that’s my word.”
“Precious, handle that for me. Hit Tess off,” Melquan ordered.
“Why…?” Precious asked, perplexed by Melquan’s kindness.
“Cuz I asked you that’s why,” Melquan said, sounding agitated.
“She’s out of control. Let Tess wait. She’s just trying to extort y’all just because we here bagging up in her crib. We could do this shit in my crib. Fuck her! She’s not doing us no favor,” Precious sighed.
“Precious, please not now. Let that shit go. We here to do what we do, and bounce. A’ight…?”
“But that bitch is—”
“Just do as I fuckin’ say, Precious!” Melquan said.
“Fuck that Bitch why you bein’ so nice to her.”
“Yeah, you call it bein’ nice. I call it playin’ fair. So just hit her off, and we can get on ‘bout our bizness.”
“Whateva Melquan, it’s your shit.”
“Thanks for the reminder. Now go do what I ask you to do, a’ight?”
Precious made no attempt whatsoever to hide her great dislike of Tess. She walked over to Tess and slammed the large pieces of crack cocaine into her dirty outstretched palm.
Tess licked her lips when she spotted the sizable piece of crack cocaine Precious gave to her. She roughly calculated it be the weight of an eight ball. Tess’ eyes lit up and she raced out of the kitchen.
Hard White Page 4