by Foye, K'wan
When King first went away, Fatima was a kid playing jump rope in the park, but when he came home, she was a young woman and had hung up her jump rope for grown folk’s games. If you had to describe Fatima in one word, it would be BAD. She was a young redbone piece who stood just a hair over five-five, with more curves than a roller coaster. More than a few people were waiting for Fatima to turn eighteen that year so they could officially make their bids for the beauty. She had offered herself to King and for as much as he wanted to hit it, he passed. He had known Fatima all her life and trusted her like a sister, so bringing sex into the equation would’ve complicated things.
“That ain’t nobody but Beans.” Fatima nodded at the addict standing outside the door holding two shopping bags. “He’s selling bottles of champagne half price,” she explained.
“I don’t care who is selling what. If he ain’t here to buy drugs, then get the fuck away from the door.” King slammed the door in Bean’s face. “Fatima, how many times do I have to tell your hardheaded ass not to open this door for nobody who ain’t a part of this team? That kinda stupid shit gets niggaz’ cribs ran up in.”
“A’ight, I heard you,” Fatima said with an attitude.
“If you heard me, then I wouldn’t have to repeat myself. Get ya shit together Fatima, or your ass is outta here, feel me?”
Fatima’s eyes narrowed to slits. She had always been King’s favorite, so for him to talk to her like that in front of the other workers threw her off. “You got it,” she said slyly and left the apartment, slamming the door on her way out.
“What good is having a team if you gotta do everything yourself? Word to mine, if y’all don’t get ya shit together, you will all be looking for somebody else’s operation to fuck up!” King shouted.
“Fuck is going on out here?” Lakim came rushing from one of the bedrooms with his gun at the ready and the flap of his dorag blowing behind him. Lakim was a short, stocky dude, with a slight overbite that he capped with gold teeth. He was King James’s right hand and best friend. “Damn, fuck is ya problem, God?” Lakim asked King.
“My problem is that we’re at war, and everybody around this bitch is acting like this is Sesame Street!”
Lakim saw the worry etched across King James’s face that no one else noticed. “Yo, give me this walk to the store right quick.”
“Nah, I gotta make sure the rest of this shit gets packaged up and outta here.”
“King, the soldiers got it. Take a walk with me.” Lakim undid the locks and held the door open for King. King was hesitant, but he eventually walked through the door and allowed Lakim to lead him outside the apartment.
The hall was empty save for a young boy named Biz, who hustled for King. Biz was leaning against a wall talking to a fiend, shuffling through the drugs in his hand to show her his wares. King’s nostrils flared, and he made hurried steps toward Biz. Biz smiled when he saw King coming his way, but that smile faded when King grabbed him roughly by the collar and shoved him against the wall. Lakim ushered the fiend out of the building and came to stand beside King.
“What are you doing?” King pressed Biz, who looked like he was about to piss his pants.
“I’m making a sale. What’s the problem?” Biz asked confused.
“The problem is y’all niggaz can’t follow directions. I told you that when you sling, make the sale outside! If you ain’t always violating the lobbies and stairwells, scaring the shit out of the old heads that live in the building, they’re less likely to call the police on you. We give respect to receive it, do you understand?” King released Biz and smoothed his clothes where he had wrinkled them when he grabbed him.
“Yeah, man, my fault,” Biz said sheepishly.
“Don’t worry about it, my nigga. Just be more tactful with how you get ya money, fam.” King patted him on the back letting him know all was well, then exited the lobby.
The minute King stepped out of the building he scoped the Direct TV truck. There was a Spanish dude sitting in the passenger’s seat watching King and Lakim, but acting like he was reading his clipboard. Instead of going to the store on the corner they decided to cut through the projects and hit Amsterdam. The block was just beginning to come back to life. It had been raining all morning, which kept most people indoors, and even though it had stopped by that point, everything outside was still damp. Meek hadn’t been lying about it being slow because there wasn’t a fiend in sight besides the one Lakim had chased out of the lobby.
“What up with you, God? It seems like any li’l thing is setting you off lately. Speak on it,” Lakim said.
“Ain’t shit, man. I’m just dealing with a lot right now,” King told him.
“You stressing over shit with sun and them talking to them people? I told you I already put the wheels in motion, and that faggot will be dust before the sun sets,” Lakim assured him.
King saw the look on Lakim’s face and immediately began to question his decision to let Lakim handle it at his discretion. Recently they had found out a youngster that King had handpicked had betrayed them. Apparently his eyes had gotten bigger than his belly, and he was stealing work from King James and selling it in the Bronx. The punch line was that he was doing it with the blessings of the police. The kid was a confidential informant who had helped the police take down the same cats he was selling the drugs to. This kept his furry rat pockets stuffed with money, and the police were able to make their quotas every week. To their knowledge, he had never given up any of King’s people, but they weren’t about to sit around and wait for it to happen, so they laid a trap for the rat.
“These niggaz confuse me, La,” King began. “It seems like no matter how much you give them freely they still want to take more.”
Lakim shrugged. “They’re criminals, what the fuck you expect?”
King laughed. “True indeed.” When the laugh had faded King’s face became serious. “I was thinking about sun, but that ain’t what’s weighing heaviest on me. I’m still tripping off this nigga, Shai.”
Lakim sucked his gold teeth. “You still off that shit?”
“Shouldn’t I be?” King asked honestly. “All I was trying to do was get a sit-down with the kid and look where we’re at with it now.” King patted his chest, and you could hear the heavy thud of the bulletproof vest under his track jacket.
“I feel you, but some shit just can’t be avoided. You came at sun like a man, but the nigga Shai is arrogant, so he felt like he had to make a movie, and now it’s on and popping.” Lakim raised his shirt and showed King the butt of his gun.
“True indeed, God. You know I’m ’bout my business from the womb to the tomb, but Shai is the boss of bosses with an army behind him, so the deck is stacked against us off the muscle.”
Lakim sucked his teeth. “Let me break something down to you, B. I respect all that Shai is, a boss with his li’l army and all that, but we still holding the best hand.”
“How you figure?”
“Simple. They got it all, and we ain’t got shit, so we ain’t got no problem dying in the streets for what we believe in. Why the fuck should we? I mean, who’s gonna miss us when we’re gone besides us? Shai’s people got families they wanna go home to, and the millisecond they hesitate while they’re thinking about those families is all the time I need to blow one of their faces the fuck off!”
King nodded, reflecting on what had brought them to that point. In the beginning, the plan had been to simply try to set up a meeting with Shai to talk business. King James, being the new hustler in town, thought it would be looked on as a sign of respect by approaching Shai with tact and grace, but it didn’t go down like that. Alcohol, egos, and the tempers of their entourages turned it into something else. Any chance of reconciliation went out the window when Shai sent his young boys to try to murder King. The die had been cast, and it was game on.
“Yo, how ya shoulder, kid?” Lakim changed the subject, seeing King didn’t really wanna talk about the beef with Shai.
“Ain’t about shit.” King rotated his shoulder in a half circle, wincing a bit. “The bullet took a nasty chunk outta my arm, but it didn’t stick around. I’m probably gonna have a scar for life though.”
“Better a chunk outta ya arm than a chunk outta ya head,” Lakim quipped. “While I’m thinking about it, I dropped that bread off to Dump’s BM.”
This made King perk up a bit. “Yeah? How’s the god doing?”
“You know that nigga is tougher than leather. They patched his ass up at Bellevue Hospital, and soon as he’s up to it they’re gonna arraign him. I asked the nigga did he need anything, and he told me to bring him two strippers and a Viagra pill!”
King laughed. “Same old Dump.”
Dump had been the muscle of their crew. When it went down in the club with Shai’s people, his hammer had definitely barked. Unfortunately for Dump, he got hit with a bullet and a charge. He was currently in the hospital recovering from the surgery and awaiting transport to Rikers Island. Dump was already on parole and now looking at two bodies, and being that he was found at the scene of the crime, shot, it didn’t look good for him. Word on the street was that they offered to let Dump skate on a three to six if he rolled over on his people, but Dump told them to eat a dick, as King James knew he would. King had hired the best team of lawyers crack money could buy to defend his friend, and if, God forbid, Dump had to do time, King would take care of him for the rest of his days. Dump was one of the few dudes who understood the rules of the game, and he played it accordingly.
“The nigga asked me to tell you to come hoffa at him when he touch the island,” Lakim continued.
King’s brow furrowed. “I’ll write him, but I don’t know if I’m gonna make that trip just yet. I’m hot with them people because of the thing with Shai, so I don’t need them crackers playing connect the dots by having me on Dump’s visiting list. Give the homie my love the next time you’re up though.”
Lakim’s cell going off took them off the subject of Dump and his bid. “Peace,” Lakim said into the phone. He listened for a few seconds and nodded. “True,” he said, then hung up.
“Who was that?” King asked.
Lakim smirked. “Let’s just say you got one less headache to deal with.”
SIX
OF ALL THE PLACES ALONZO COULD BE at that moment, standing in front of the Root Spot on 123rd and Seventh wasn’t one of them. He was tired, musty, and wanted nothing more than to go home and take it down, but he needed money more than he needed rest, which is what brought him to the Root Spot.
Alonzo had been young and wild in the days when he was known as Zo-Pound. They called him this because of his fetishes for .45s and .357s. Five was his lucky number, so he stuck to it. From a young age, Zo-Pound was on the fast track to becoming a hood legend until a state bid gave him some time to reflect on his life. When he was released, his attitude was different so he finally managed to put Zo-Pound to bed and began to be comfortable being Alonzo again. With a nice job as an assistant manager at a supermarket and a girl in his sights, all was right in Alonzo’s world. This all changed the night he agreed to take a ride with his brother Lakim. Alonzo found his life changed dramatically in the blink of an eye. A series of events had cost him his job, the girl he loved, and almost his sanity. He’d slipped and let Zo-Pound out and was now having trouble getting him back in the box.
After what seemed like forever, the green Acura he had been waiting for finally pulled up. Alonzo slipped back inside the doorway of the Root Spot and waited. The driver of the Acura got out and made his way to the entrance of the Root Spot. He was a short kid with a big head that he wore cut low. His name was Sean, and he had been a low-level street dealer until King James put him on and gave him status. Up until recently, he had been a good and reliable worker who King James spoke very highly of, but somewhere along the line, things had changed so Zo-Pound was sent to pay a call on him.
When Sean reached for the door, Alonzo stepped out and they collided. Sean looked up, ready to bark, but his face softened when he saw a familiar face. “Oh shit, what’s good, my G?” He gave Alonzo dap. He only knew Alonzo as a cat from the hood who worked at the supermarket so he was at ease around him.
“Not too much, just stopped through to get a shot.” Alonzo raised the bag he had purchased an hour before.
“Yeah? I fuck with those root-shots heavy! A shot and a good blunt will have you hit,” Sean said.
“That’s what I’m about to do now, hit these shots and burn an L. You know I got that fire on deck, right?” Alonzo said in a hushed tone. He showed Sean the bag of pretty green Kush he had palmed.
“You selling weed now, Alonzo? I thought you was on some working shit?” Sean frowned.
“Nah, I’m still working my gig. This is my li’l side hustle, ya dig? This weed been leaving niggaz stretched all over the projects, kid,” Alonzo told him.
Sean faked disbelief. “Say word?”
“Word!” Alonzo insisted. “Check it out. Let’s get in the whip and blow one down, and if you like it, you spend something with me. If you don’t like it, then fuck it; you just got high on me.”
Sean, being the moocher he was, saw the opportunity for a free buzz. “A’ight, that’s a bet. Let me just grab my shots and let’s spin.”
Sean got his shots, then he and Alonzo got in the whip and spun off. They rode around Harlem, shooting the breeze while Alonzo twisted two blunts. After smoking the first one, Sean was so high that he suggested that they pull over and burn the last blunt. They found a secluded block on Ninety-something Street and parked the Acura and sparked the weed.
“Man, you wasn’t lying about this weed being good, bro.” Sean smirked goofily. His eyes were glassy, and his speech was beginning to slow.
“I told you.” Alonzo took two tokes and blew them back out without inhaling. “I been making some decent money off this weed thing because the job market is slow. Shit, I got bills and a new a baby on the way, so I gotta make it happen any way I can. It’s crunch time for me, my nigga,” Alonzo said, his tone sincere.
Sean’s brain began to whirl. From what he knew of Alonzo, he had always been a good and loyal cat. With the way some of the circles he was moving in he could use a soldier like Alonzo to watch his back. Knowing that money was the root and salvation of most problems, that’s how he came at him.
“Check it out, my dude,” Sean began. “I been seeing ya li’l movements around the hood, man. I can respect your grind.”
“Thanks, Sean. That means a lot coming from a cat who’s where you’re at with it.” Alonzo stroked his ego.
“All good, my nigga. I’m just calling it like I see it. But, yo, you know I’m making some moves, power moves of my own, right?”
Alonzo nodded. “I see you out here getting it.”
“Yeah, I’m getting it, but I’m trying to share it too, feel me? Yo, if you ever feel like you tired of nickel and diming, you need to come holla at me.”
“That’s love, Sean, real talk. But, yo, don’t you work for that dude King James?” Alonzo asked.
Sean made a dismissive gesture. “I don’t work for nobody, nigga! I work with King James and that’s a temporary arrangement.” Sean took another hit of the blunt and his eyes dipped a little lower. The weed had him feeling arrogant, and he wanted to impress Alonzo. “I got it on good authority that King’s reign on the top is gonna be shorter than leprechauns.”
Alonzo twisted his lips. “Nah, the way I hear it is, King James got the streets in a headlock that ain’t nobody been able to break. None of the crews want it with that cat.”
“That’s because they crews ain’t big enough.” Sean laughed at his own inside joke.
“What you mean by that?”
Sean thought on it for a minute. “Let’s just say that the biggest gang in the world is about to knock the King off his throne, and as soon as that happens, I’m gonna snatch it!”
“Wow, that’s crazy. But I thought you and King were close.”
&
nbsp; Sean frowned. “Fuck him; that nigga ain’t good to nobody but himself. I can’t wait on no man to feed me. I gotta get it how I get it, feel me?”
“Nah, I don’t feel you,” someone said from the driver-side window. Sean turned and saw a kid perched on a mountain bike, wearing a black hoodie and black shorts. A red bandana was tied around his face, but you could see his eyes. They were the eyes of someone who had lost all faith in the world. “In fact, you sound like a bitch-ass nigga to me.” He pulled a long silver gun.
Sean opened his mouth to say something, but the kid shoved the barrel of the gun into his mouth, breaking two of Sean’s teeth on its way to his throat. “This will teach you to keep your big-ass mouth closed.” He pulled the trigger. Alonzo barely had time to jump out of the passenger’s side before the back of Sean’s head sprayed all over the inside of the Acura.
“Why the fuck didn’t you let me get out of the car before you shot him?” Alonzo barked, getting to his feet. He had scraped his hands and knees while diving out of the car.
Ashanti pulled the mask down so that Alonzo could see his grinning teenage face. “Sorry, dawg, I guess I just got caught up in the moment.”
“You be on some bullshit,” Alonzo said, climbing on the back of the bike.
“Shut up and handle your business so we can dip,” Ashanti said, passing Alonzo the gun.
Alonzo looked in the car at the mess that had once been Sean. His throat and the back of his head were sitting in the cup holder, and there was smoke still coming out of what was left of his mouth. King James had been good to Sean, and Sean snaked him. He was a traitor and a rat who had been feeding the police information. That offense was unforgivable, and the sentence was death.
Alonzo shook his head, saddened by what the game had been reduced to. “Alpo-ass nigga,” he said and fired two shots into Sean.
Ashanti and Alonzo peddled from the scene and left it to God to sort out the rest of Sean’s affairs.