Hard White

by Shannon Holmes

  “Shut da fuck up! I ain’t even thinking about my pops. And what he don’t fuckin’ know ain’t gonna fuckin hurt him!”

  “Alright, stop frontin’ and smoke that shit,” a smiling teen prompted Jose.

  Jose stared at the blunt. Finally, putting it to his lips he inhaled too hard. Too much smoke, too fast, too soon, left him coughing and clutching his throat. Jose was coughing so hard, his face got redder and his eyes became inflamed. It appeared he was about to pop a few blood vessels. The teens burst into uncontrollable laughter. Caving in under peer pressure, Jose became the brunt of their jokes.

  “Gimme that shit ‘fore you bust a blood vessel and bleed to death,” one of the teens said, laughing.

  “Yeah take that form that novice before he kill himself,” another teen laughed.

  “Here, you can have this shit! I don’t want anymore,” Jose said, coughing and holding the blunt like it was a time-bomb.

  His head exploded even after Jose gave up the blunt he continued gagging, choking, and was totally disorientated from the weed. Doubled over, saliva was drooling from Jose’s mouth. Another teen walked over, and started patting him on the back. The others were puffing, and their laughter rang loud in the lobby.

  “Damn, Jose sound like he gettin’ ready ta die over there,” one of the teen observed, laughing.

  “This nigga’s a new jack. I can tell by the way he coughing,” a teen said, trying to sum it up.

  They continued the cipher, smoking and getting high without Jose. He was chewing on a piece of candy offered by someone.

  “Let’s go check out some girls,” one teen suggested.

  “Yeah, let’s go over to the center,” another said.

  “I’m about to go upstairs and play Madden, my niggas.” another joined in.

  They were surprised when the building door suddenly swung open. Melquan and Mike Copeland walked into the lobby. The teens held their collective breaths, when Mike Copeland instinctively reached for his nine millimeter under his NY Yankee warm-up jacket.

  Fear swept through the crowded hallway. Both Melquan and Mike Copeland quietly surveyed each of their faces. Jose Jr. attempted to straighten up. The gun in Mike Copeland’s grip held the teens in check. Melquan sniffed the air.

  “I know y’all lil’ niggas ain’t up in my buildin’ smokin’ no weed, now?” Melquan shouted. “I better not catch any a y’all violatin’ like this, ever. Don’t none of y’all even live in this building.” Melquan looked at all their faces before saying, “Get fuck up outta here!”

  Jose tried to run off with the rest of the crew, but started in a coughing fit and was unable to flee the scene. Melquan approached Jose with a look of concern.

  “Hold on Mike,” Melquan said, walking to Jose. “You a’ight, shorty…?”

  “Yeah, I’m good,” Jose said.

  “Fuck is all that coughing about then?”

  “I guess some smoke went down the wrong way,” Jose said, trying not cough.

  “How about this…? Maybe your young ass shouldn’t be smoking.”

  “Yeah, I guess you right…”

  Melquan stare caused Jose top straighten up. Embarrassment crossed his face when he saw the wrinkle of a smile on Melquan’s face. He looked away, keeping his head straight ahead.

  “Yo, what’s ya name?”

  “Um… Jose.”

  “Jose, you seem like a smart kid right? So what the fuck you doin’ hangin’ out here with these knuckleheads in this buildin’?”

  “I live around here. They’re my friends. I’m from da projects too. Just like you,” Jose said, nodding his head.

  “Hmm really…?”

  “Yeah, those kids are my friends. I used to go to school with them, and grew up in the same building with some of them.”

  Melquan stared at the now relaxed youngster and was able to see his face. He recognized him immediately.

  “Oh…yeah, now that you said that, you do look familiar. Don’t you be with this lil’ girl all the time…?”

  “Yeah, that’s my sister—”

  “Yo Mel, we ain’t got time to be playin’ social worker gettin’ familiar with everybody in homies family… My nig, I’m dirty. Let’s get da fuck up outta da lobby,” Mike Copeland said, moving closer to Melquan.

  “You’re right. Jose, do me a favor and leave ’em knuckleheads alone. They’re goin’ nowhere fast. Believe that! Now go on home.”

  Jose walked out the building and looked back just before the door slammed shut. He saw Melquan standing there steadfastly looking at him. It was as if he knew Jose would look back, Melquan was waiting to stare him down. Something about this kid told Melquan this wouldn’t be the last time their paths would cross.

  Chapter Ten

  Armed and Dangerous

  Although things were simmering down in the projects, Melquan and Mike Copeland were actively stepping up their recruitment for their drug organization. Each guy that they knew of that returned home from prison they made a pitch to each individual to run with them. To sway their decisions they often took these guys shopping for clothing or whatever they might need. In certain cases, they also armed these dudes giving them handguns that they had either taken from rivals or bought on the streets.

  Routinely they made it a point to check up on dudes and see how they were doing. They gave them weekly monetary allowances until they got on their feet. By doing little things like this their numbers began to swell.

  Melquan and Mike Copeland’s drug operation was expanding along with the duo’s reputation for violence. Everyday they would deliberately move from building to building, from North side to South side, and all points in-between. Once they got wind of Nashawn returning home from a brief stint on Riker’s Island, they immediately paid him a visit.

  Rolling two deep, Melquan and Mike Copeland were able to move through the projects virtually unnoticed. They quietly slipped into Nashawn’s building and quietly lay for him either entering or exiting, it really didn’t matter.

  When Nashawn suddenly walked downstairs into their trap, Melquan couldn’t be happier. Upon hearing his voice and the sound of footsteps descending Melquan and Mike Copeland suddenly appeared from their hiding space beneath the stairs. Mike Copeland was ready with his weapon already drawn.

  “Oh shit!” Nashawn exclaimed, raising his arms shoulder height.

  “Long time no see,” Melquan greeted. “What’s crackin’? Put you guns down and lemme holla at you real quick, Nashawn.”

  “What da fuck y’all doin in my buildin’?” Nashawn summoned the courage to ask. He took a few steps backward.

  “Don’t even think about turnin’‘round, nigga. I’ll put a bullet in ya fuckin’ back!” Mike Copeland warned.

  Nashawn, like everone else was well aware of Mike Copeland trigger happy reputation. Out of fear of being gunned down in his building, Nashawn dared not move a muscle. At this moment, Melquan and Mike Copeland had the upper hand, he conceded that much.

  “Look fam, I know you been away for a second, but more than likely you got the word about what was happening around here. I’m a make a long story short. You either git down wit us, selling work for us, or buyin’ weight from us, it don’t matter. Those are the only two choices you have. If you got a problem wit what I just said let it be known right here, right now…” Melquan said, interrupting Mike Copeland harder approach.

  Nashawn was never the one to fight when the odds were against him. He didn’t stand a chance going up against a loaded gun. For a moment Nashawn remained silently scheming while staring a Melquan’s smirk. He grimaced looking down the barrel of Mike’s gun.

  “So what its gon’ be?”

  “Mel, fuck this shit, man! Let’s just smoke this nigga right now and git it over with,” Mike Copeland fiercely suggested. “We don’t need this nigga!”

  The loud sound of a squeaky apartment door momentarily distracted all parties. Their eyes gazed upstairs at the source of the sound. An old woman suddenly appeared. Ging
erly, she slowly took each stair, one at a time. Mike Copeland lowered his gun slightly, to the side of his leg.

  A wicked smile suddenly spread across Nashawn face. He knew that the woman was his ticket out of this predicament.

  “Nigga, who the fuck you think you are…? The mob…? You and Mike Copeland is a joke, man. Fuck you and your meetin’!”

  “What?” Mike Copeland shouted, raising his gun slightly. “You faggot ass nigga!”

  “What you gon’ do? Shoot me?” Nashawn said, wanting to be overheard.

  The old woman by now had come into sight. She could see the tension escalating between the parties, not to mention what she just heard.

  “Nigga you pull that trigger, you better kill me!” Nashawn announced at full volume.

  He was acting bold because he knew Mike Copeland’s smirk was not enough to harm him. Mike watched him silently shaking his head.

  “Fuck you, Melquan and the rest of your weak-ass team! I’d never join y’all bunch o’ pussies! I’m my own man. I’m gonna sell my shit whenever and wherever I damn well please!”

  “Then you’re gonna have a problem with my team,” Melquan said, wearing a cynical smile.

  “Mel, please lemme kill this piece of shit! Let’s settle this shit right here!”

  “Melquan…?” The older woman asked, straining her eyes to see his facial features. “Is that you?

  “Yes, Miss Butler,” he said. “How you doing…? He quickly added.

  “I thought that was you,” she said.

  “Damn!” Melquan uttered under his breath.

  He silently cursed himself for the calamity he was in. This woman knew his entire family. There was no way now he could allow gunfire to erupt. He stepped in front of Mike Copeland while simultaneously grabbing his arm that he used to clutch the gun. Not only did he shield the weapon from the old woman’s eyes, Melquan also signaled him to be easy. The situation was still a volatile one.

  “How’s Miss Tina doing? Tell her she could come see me sometimes. You know I’m still here… Right in apartment 2D…” She continued.

  “Oh alright,” Melquan said, his eyes riveted on Nashawn.

  “What you doin’ in my building, anyway…?” She smiled, wondering.

  “I’m just visitin’ my real good friend here, Miss Butler,” he said.

  When Melquan spoke, Nashawn glanced at him sideways. All of a sudden Nashawn turned and walked out the building unharmed.

  “Peace out, friend. I’ll see you suckas later,” Nashawn said with his middle finger held high.

  The sound of a car horn distracted Ms Butler’s and grabbed her attention. Nashawn had already disappeared into the still night.

  “Oh, excuse me, baby. That must be my ride. Be sure to tell your mother what I said,” she said before hobbling off.

  “You got it, I’ll tell her, Miss Butler. Goodnight,” Melquan said, holding the door.

  “Goddamn!” Mike Copeland cursed. “I don’t believe this shit. We had that nigga right where we wanted him. Ol’ bitch showed up and fuck shit up!”

  “Calm down. We’ll settle this another day. I don’t want no innocent bystanders caught up when bullets start flyin’. Besides that, I known her since I was mad young,” Melquan said.

  Mike Copeland swallowed hard and shook his head before he spoke. They were both looking outside on the project’s night sky.

  “That nigga real lucky, I was about to body that mufuckin-runnin’-mouth nigga,” Mike Copeland said, tucking his gun back into his waistband.

  Old friends and business associates, Melquan and Mike Copeland kept talking. They walked out the building.

  “I’d a let him feel the heat. Mel, I’d just hit da nigga twice, one for you and one for me. Nah, make it three times. The third slug be for his direspectfulness.”

  “I know. I saw you were ready to give that moron the bizness. Don’t worry, we gon’ see da nigga again. Believe that,” Melquan said, assuring him.

  “I don’t know what da fuck you were thinkin’, Mel? Why did we even bother to come at dis nigga talkin’? You already know what type of nigga he is. According to the plan, we was supposed to smash this fool early.”

  “No question.”

  “To a nigga, like Nashawn, we look like we came here to cop a plea. Da nigga gon’ be feelin’ himself way too much now, ya heard me?”

  Silently, they slipped inside the building where Precious resided. Her apartment was used for stashing their weapons. Melquan was contemplating the events that just transpired. He could hear Charlie Rock’s voice in his head saying, ‘Man didn’t I teach you better than that. We only pull out guns for a reason, not for the season. A true hustla only uses gunplay as a last resort. Life or death…’

  When they reached Precious’ door Mike stared at Melquan. They knew the job was not complete until they were completely rid of Nashawn.

  “When you come at a killa, you can’t come talkin’ they don’t understand that language. Now we really got watch our backs, Melquan. I ain’t scared of Nashawn, but I know he’s gon’ be a problem,” Mike Copeland said, pounding his fist.

  Precious opened the door and smiled when she saw Melquan and Mike Copeland standing in the hallway. They walked in and silently secured the weapons. Precious followed them around like a pesky child. She was dying to find out the 411.

  “So what happened with Nashawn?” Precious asked. “I know y’all handled that lame, right?”

  Her eyes were wide open, darting from Melquan’s to Mike Copeland’s face then back agan. She anxiously awaited a response, but never got one.

  Chapter Eleven

  Real Niggas Do Real Things

  He had a strong craving for Jamaican food. This hunger led Melquan to 225th Street and Laconia Ave. Melquan wasn’t about to let his ongoing drug turf disputes keep him from satisfying his hunger. The .380 tucked in his waistband was strictly for defensive purposes. He donned a hoodie to help camouflage his identity. Melquan walked to the restaurant like normal people do.

  On entering the Jamaican restaurant, Melquan removed his hoodie and immediately chilled in a far corner of the restaurant next to the Snapple machine. In this strategic position he retained the element of surprise. He was able to see whoever entered the restaurant after him. He patiently waited to place his order.

  “So what ya wan…? Curry goat, peas, and rice? What size… small… medium or large?” the cook asked in thick Jamaican accent.

  Prior to his beef, Melquan used to frequent the restaurant so much the cook knew his face, and his favorite order.

  “Yes sir,” Melquan nodded.

  The cook grinned, grabbed a Styrofoam food tray, and hurried filling Melquan’s order.

  Unexpectedly, Nashawn suddenly entered the business establishment. He didn’t even see Melquan laying in the cut. Nashawn walked to the counter, glancing around.

  “Yo bombo-claat, Ras, where you at…?” Nashawn shouted. “Where you at my man…? I ain’t got all fuckin’ day. Come hit me off now, Jah!”

  Nashawn could feel someone watching him and immediately scanned the surrounding. He jumped back when he spotted Melquan in the cut.

  There were no words exchanged between the drug adversaries. Melquan stared menacingly at Nashawn. When the shock wore off, Nashawn did the same.

  Melquan gripped the gun he kept in his waistband. Nashawn saw the outline of a gun and knew Melquan had the advantage. From his vantage point, Melquan could drop Nashawn if he wanted.

  “Can I help you?” the cook’s sudden request broke the impasse.

  “Matter fact, I’m good.” Nashawn said without taking his eye off Melquan.

  Nashawn backpedaled out the store with his eyes peeled on the man in black hoodie, standing next to the Snapple machine. Once across the street, Nashawn was in the wind. He quickly disappeared into the projects.

  “Me nah like dat blood claat yout’… Ya hear me. Your order is eight-fifty,” the cook abruptly announced.

  “Me either!” Melquan chu
ckled and nodded his head.

  Nashawn’s presence had made him uneasy. Even though he had the advantage, Melquan felt like a sitting duck. He paid for his food and quickly left, vowing not to take a chance like that again. The next time he wanted anything from the store, he would send someone to get it for him. On the way back to his building, Melquan called Mike Copeland’s cellphone.

  “Yo, guess what?” he immediately said. “I just seen faggot-ass,” he continued without waiting for an answer.

  “Nashawn… Where…?” Mike Copeland replied.

  “At the Jamaican restaurant on the Ave...”

  “Please tell me he still there…? I’m on my way right fuckin’ now.”

  “Nah, that nigga bounced soon as he saw me. He ain’t even order or nothin’.”

  “Damn, I wish you would a called me earlier. We coulda finished his punk-ass off.”

  “Yo, I was thinkin’ from what I saw that nigga ain’t no threat. Truth be told, that nigga ain’t even worth it. If we hit ‘em up and he don’t die, da nigga’s the type that might tell on us… Shit’s startin’ to go good right now. I don’t wanna fuck shit up over that dumb ass nigga.”

  The brief silence on the phone was long enough to let Melquan know that Mike Copeland wasn’t particularly feeling his idea for a ceasefire.

  “Yo, I don’t agree with you on that one. I say we smoke him. Save ourselves the trouble of having to do it later…”

  “We good I’m tellin’ you. He’ll be no problem, he don’t want beef.”

  “So da nigga just gon’ back down like that…?”

  “I’m tellin’ you, he don’t want it.”

  “A’ight, if you say so then...” Mike Copeland spat, like the end of a eulogy. “And so we lay it to rest…”

  Early evening and Melquan jumped from the cab, heading to a neighborhood sneaker store in Bay Plaza. His on again, off again relationship with India was sinking into jeopardy. Melquan thought of buying India and Zach couple pairs of sneakers. He hoped gifts would smooth things over with her. India liked when he bought things for Zach and spend time with him. The boy’s father was currently not giving his kid the time of day and file custody papers for the boy out of spite.