by Foye, K'wan
“One of your properties?” Ashanti asked surprised.
“Yeah, little brother. I own like six properties back home, and I just opened a second bed and breakfast. I make a killing off the hospitality business during tourist season,” Nine-Five said proudly.
Ashanti looked dumbstruck. “My nigga, if you got all that going on in Africa, then why the hell are you over here driving a cab?”
“Because I’m a hustler,” Nine-Five boasted. “Driving this cab is one of many things I do to get money. I take what I make here, send it home, and quadruple it.”
“If I was caking like that, I’d just kick back,” Ashanti said.
“That’s because you are an American,” Nine-Five shot back. “Let me tell you something, little brother. Y’all Americans are lazy, and I mean that with no disrespect. The people out here in the United States have everything so they appreciate nothing. In my country, we are born into nothing and don’t even have the lands we are entitled to by birth, so we have to work five times as hard for what little we have. My family gave everything they had so I could come to America and have a shot at a better life, and I would not dishonor their memories by wasting the opportunity I have been given. From the first time I saw the bright lights of Manhattan, the seeds were planted in my mind that I would become wealthy one day and be able to take my little brothers and sisters out of squalor.”
“Good luck with that,” Ashanti said sincerely.
“You don’t need luck when you have ambition, little brother,” Nine-Five told him. Before Ashanti could press him further, Nine-Five’s cell phone ringing stole his attention away. He turned the music up slightly and began speaking to whoever was on the other end in a language that Ashanti didn’t understand.
Fifteen minutes later, Nine-Five was pulling up across the street from the projects, in front of the liquor store on Broadway. “Good looking.” Ashanti slipped Nine-Five a twenty. The ride didn’t cost that much, but Ashanti liked to tip the driver.
“No problem, li’l brother. I’ma catch you later.” Nine-Five gave Ashanti dap before he slid from the truck.
Nine-Five was about to pull off, but Ashanti stopped him with a question. “So where are your brothers and sisters now?” Ashanti asked curiously.
Nine-Five smiled. “My oldest sister is my partner in Harlem Cab. The one behind her is in her third year at Howard, and my two youngest brothers attend a private school in North Carolina where they play on the basketball team.”
“Damn!” Ashanti was impressed.
“Ambition, little brother.” Nine-Five winked and pulled off with his music blasting.
Ashanti was impressed by Nine-Five’s story, and it gave him plenty of food for thought. If a poor boy from the slums of Senegal could make something of himself, why couldn’t a poor boy that was born here?
Still reflecting on Nine-Five’s words, Ashanti went into the liquor store. Tapping on the counter to get the old man’s attention, he requested a fifth of Hennessey and some plastic cups. The old man gave the young boy a suspicious look, but gave him the liquor anyhow. Anyone with eyes could see that Ashanti was hardly twenty-one, but he was connected, and when you were connected, you were denied nothing in your hood.
Ashanti was barely out of the store when he cracked the bottle and took a long sip. The fire that spread through his body empowered him and burned away all his worries. With a confident stride, he crossed the street and headed to the projects. Biz getting locked up the night before had slowed the traffic, but it didn’t stop it. Fiends still shuffled through the projects looking for a blast, and the little dealers were out to make sure they got it.
At the same time Ashanti arrived at the ramp entrance that led to the front of 3150, a gray Mercedes was slow-creeping through the block. The windows were heavily tinted, but rolled down partially so although Ashanti couldn’t see who was in the car, he knew there was more than one of them. Immediately he felt his heart start racing, sending a numbing chill through the tips of his fingers. Before Ashanti was even conscious of what he was doing, he had drawn his weapon and had it dangling at his side. He tilted his head and gave the Mercedes an inviting nod. He was ready to bang. Fortunately, the occupants of the Mercedes weren’t, and they wisely pulled off. Ashanti stood there, watching the car until it turned the corner and was out of sight before he continued toward the building.
Two young knuckleheads named Dee and Meek were in front of the building, making it hot as usual. Dee was the opportunist, and Meek was the good soldier, so they worked well as a team. Handling the direct sales was an older cat named No-Good. He’d come aboard to replace Biz who was in the slammer. No-Good was well into his thirties and still tried to carry himself like he was in his early twenties. Every time you turned around he was planting greasy ideas into the heads of the young and impressionable. Ashanti never understood why King let the troublemaker get money with the team, but it wasn’t his place to question the decision. Ashanti tolerated No-Good, but he didn’t like him.
Ashanti was about to salute the homies from deep and make a detour to avoid interacting with No-Good when Fatima, coming out of the lobby, gave him pause. She had on a white blouse that she wore slightly unbuttoned at the top. Freshly painted toes peeked out from the fronts of her sandals, with a nice-sized heel that accented her well-defined calves beneath the black leggings. The homies were on her like flies on shit, but No-Good was extra aggressive in his approach. It was clear that Fatima wasn’t feeling his advances, but No-Good didn’t seem to be taking rejection well. When Ashanti saw No-Good grab Fatima by the arm, he knew it was about to get ugly. The rational side of Ashanti told him to leave it alone because it wasn’t his problem, but the Hennessey told him to step to his business.
SEVENTEEN
DEE POSTED UP IN FRONT OF 3150, leaning against the building like he was posing for a GQ spread. With him were his best friend Meek and a cat named No-Good, who was making hand-to-hand sales a few feet away. Dee was anxious for No-Good to finish up so he and Meek could get with the night’s entertainment. The entertainment was two sisters from the neighboring projects, Manhattanville, who Meek and Dee had been trying to freak off with for over a week. After seeing the way Dee and Meek were handling the complex drug operation that night, it was looking like their efforts would pay off. Everyone loved a boss, and they were no different.
“Baby, how much longer we gotta be out here?” Keisha toyed with the gold chain hanging around Dee’s neck. She was the oldest of the two sisters and the thickest, with plump breasts and a shapely ass.
Dee coolly exhaled the smoke from the L. “As soon as my homie is finished.” He nodded at the dude on the bench who had just served a fiend. “You know it’s business before pleasure.”
“A’ight, but the drinks are gone, and I’m getting hungry,” Keisha told him.
“Me too,” Karen chimed in. She was the younger of the two and slightly prettier than Keisha. They were both dark skinned, but Karen’s skin was smooth and tender while Keisha’s was splotched and bore faint signs of her many street fights over the years.
Meek picked up on the fact that the girls looked like they were ready to bounce so he tried to speed up the process. “What we looking like, homie?” he called out to No-Good.
“We looking like new money.” No-Good bopped from the playground to the front of the building where everybody else was standing.
“You been at it for a minute. That G-pack ain’t gone yet?” Dee asked. Meek had the situation under control, but Dee wanted to flex his muscle.
“Slow motion beats no motion. I got this, baby boy,” No-Good told him with a slight attitude. He resented the fact that he was under the supervision of a cat that was younger than he.
The door to the lobby opened up when Fatima and Pam stepped out, bringing the debate to an abrupt end as all eyes went to them. Pam was stunning in a tight-fitting black dress and a pair of sling-back shoes, with heels so high it was amazing that she was even able to walk in them. Fatima had aged f
ive years with a flawlessly made up face and laced hairdo. The black stretch pants she wore looked painted on, and if you looked close enough, you could see that she wasn’t wearing any panties. All of the young men in front of the building ogled her, but it was No-Good who went the extra mile.
“Damn, Fatima, you thicker than a Snicker!” No-Good invaded her personal space.
Pam stepped between them. “Back up, R. Kelly. Ain’t you like thirty-six?”
“Age ain’t nothing but a number,” No-Good shot back. “Where y’all going all dolled up?”
“Out,” Pam said flatly.
“Don’t hurt ’em too bad.” Meek gave Fatima dap.
“You know how I do,” Fatima smiled. She and Meek were cooler than the rest of the youngsters because he wasn’t always trying to sleep with her.
“Anybody with eyes can see how you do, redbone,” No-Good added. “Fatima, when you gonna stop treating me like a stepchild and give a nigga some time?”
“When hell freezes over.” Fatima rolled her eyes.
This drew a laugh from the two sisters who were with Dee and Meek and No-Good didn’t like to be laughed at. “I don’t know what the fuck y’all smuts is laughing at, when all you’re waiting around for is a meal and some stiff dick,” he said venomously.
“Fuck you, old thirsty nigga.” Keisha snaked her neck.
“Better an old thirsty nigga than a young dumb bitch,” No-Good snickered.
“Ya mouth is off the fucking hook,” Fatima said. She had a low tolerance for disrespectful guys, and No-Good was about as disrespectful as they came.
“Shorty, my mouth is good for a whole lot more than talking slick. Why don’t we hook up later, and I might be able to teach you a few things.” No-Good took Fatima by the wrist.
“Nigga, if you don’t get off me I’m gonna teach you how to sell crack with one hand when I cut this cruddy muthafucka off,” Fatima said seriously.
“Yo, why don’t you stop acting like your pussy is made outta gold?” He applied pressure to her wrist.
Fatima winced in pain as No-Good’s grip began to cut off her circulation. “Ow, get off me!”
“Let her go, No-Good.” Pam grabbed at his arm, but he pushed her away.
“Mind your fucking business,” No-Good snarled. “This li’l bitch is always running around like she’s better than everybody else, but she ain’t nothing but another hood rat.”
“Get off!” Pam grabbed for him again, but No-Good’s grip held fast. “Y’all ain’t gonna check this nigga?” she addressed Dee and Meek who both looked like they were confused about what to do.
“Homie, why don’t you be easy?” Ashanti appeared seemingly out of thin air. His eyes were glassy, and there was a scowl plastered across his face. The block seemed to grow deathly quiet. Among the youngsters Ashanti was something of a folk hero for his legendary exploits in the streets. He had been like them, a kid from the bottom, and had successfully clawed his way up the ladder into a position of power in King James’s organization.
“What’s good, Ashanti?” Meek extended his hand to give Ashanti dap. Ashanti ignored him and kept his eyes on No-Good.
“You hear me talking to you?” Ashanti asked No-Good, noticing that he was still holding onto Fatima.
“Fall back, my nigga. Ain’t nobody trying to hear that captain-save-a-ho shit you kicking,” No-Good barked.
“Ho? I don’t see ya mama out here,” Fatima said defiantly.
No-Good turned his attention to her with rage in his eyes. “I got something to close that smart-ass mouth of yours.” He drew his hand back to slap her, but his arm was stopped midswing.
“I said, be easy,” Ashanti warned, holding No-Good’s arm.
No-Good shoved Fatima roughly and gave Ashanti his undivided attention. “Shorty, what the fuck is good with you? You looking for a problem?”
“No, but I got one for you if you want it, Blood,” Ashanti told him.
“I ain’t your muthafucking blood, nigga, so miss me with that five-star shit. Y’all know what I rep,” No-Good boasted. Word on the streets was that he had joined the Crips for protection during his last prison visit.
“Yeah, I know what you rep, and you know how I give it up,” Ashanti said coldly. The tone of his voice made everyone except No-Good take a cautionary step back.
No-Good laughed in Ashanti’s face. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean to me? You got these li’l cats spooked of you, but I know what it is. The only reason you ever got respect in the hood was because of Animal and Brasco, but now both them niggaz is out the box.”
“Why don’t you cut that shit out?” Dee suggested to No-Good. He saw the look on Ashanti’s face. It made him nervous. Unlike the rest of them, he’d seen firsthand what Ashanti was capable of.
No-Good spun on Dee. “Fuck you mean cut it out? Dee, I know you ain’t scared of this li’l pint-sized criminal too?” He shook his head. “I gotta speak to King about bumping me up to management because y’all ain’t built. This li’l pussy,” he thumbed Ashanti, “ain’t killing nothing and ain’t letting nothing die. Fuck him and the bitch who pushed him outta her rank-ass pussy!” No-Good laughed.
Ashanti stood there glaring at No-Good. His ears were filled with No-Good’s mocking laughter. In his mind he was transported back to when his mother would let her boyfriends humiliate him, then they would sit back and laugh at Ashanti while he cried in the corner, wishing for God to put him out of his misery. The slow-burning fuse that had been lit inside him from the moment No-Good laid hands on Fatima ate up the last bit of the wick and Ashanti exploded.
He swung with so much force that when his fist connected with No-Good’s jaw, it sent a painful shockwave up his arm. No-Good stumbled backward and bounced off the building. He tried to get his wits about him, but before he could, Ashanti was on his ass again, raining rights and lefts to his head and face. No-Good managed to retrieve the razor that was stashed in his pocket, but by the time he brought the blade out, Ashanti had already drawn his gun.
“Never bring a knife to a gunfight, Blood,” Ashanti taunted him.
“Be easy, fam,” No-Good urged. Seeing the big gun stole all of his bravado.
Ashanti slapped fire out of No-Good with the gun. “You wasn’t talking all that easy shit when you called yaself playing me like a sucka. Who the li’l nigga now, homie?”
“You got it,” No-Good said, barely above a whisper.
“What? I didn’t hear you, muthafucka.” Ashanti shoved him against the building.
“I said you got it,” No-Good repeated.
Ashanti cocked the gun and pointed it at No-Good’s forehead. “Ain’t no surrender in war, Blood. Night-night, nigga.”
“Ashanti, don’t!” Fatima rushed over.
“Back up, Fatima. I don’t want ol’ boy’s brains getting on your pretty shoes,” Ashanti told her.
Fatima leaned in and whispered so that only Ashanti could hear her. “And if you blast him in front of all these people, how long do you think it’ll be before somebody sends the police to your doorstep? Let it go, Ashanti.” She tugged at his arm. Reluctantly, Ashanti let Fatima pull him away from No-Good, who was leaning against the building staring daggers at them.
A taxi had just pulled up on the avenue and beeped its horn.
“Fatima, our ride is here. Let’s go,” Pam told her.
Fatima looked at Ashanti who looked like he could still snap at any second. “Nah, go ahead. I’ll meet you down there.”
Pam sucked her teeth. “Fatima, I know you didn’t get all dressed up for nothing. Don’t pull this shit on me.”
“I said I’ll meet you down there,” Fatima repeated.
“I can’t believe this shit. You’re gonna get enough of this block and the bullshit that comes with it.” Pam flipped her hair and sashayed to the waiting taxi.
“Go ahead with your friend, ma. I’m good.” Ashanti was talking to Fatima but still staring at No-Good, trying to decide if he would kill him anyway.
“Nah, she’ll be okay. You need to cool off. Take a walk with me,” Fatima held out her hand.
Ashanti stared at her hand for a few seconds like he was trying to figure out if it was a trick or not. Finally, he took her hand and allowed her to lead him deeper into the projects and away from No-Good. Only when the young killer was out of sight did everyone breathe a collective sigh of relief. Things were quiet again, but little did any of them know, this was only the calm before the storm.
EIGHTEEN
THE GRAY BENZ WENT UP AMSTERDAM AND made a left on LaSalle, then crept slowly up the block. Holiday sat on the passenger side, watching the heavy drug traffic moving in and out of the projects and shook his head. There had always been money in Grant, but what Holiday saw that night impressed him. Fiends went in and out like zombies, all wearing the same dumbfounded expressions on their faces. Grant was a gold mine, but Shai wasn’t being given his taste of the proceeds from the new outlaws who had set up shop on the Westside, which is why Holiday had come to pay a call on them.
“Papi, how many times are we gonna drive around this block?” Marisol asked from behind wheel. She was an older Spanish chick who was still cute enough to get a second look, but her secret crack habit had decimated the picture of perfection she used to be.
“We gonna keep driving around until I say otherwise. That was that nigga Ashanti we rode past earlier. If I murder that cat, Shai is sure to give me a promotion. Now stop asking so many fucking questions and drive.” Holiday lit his cigarette. He had kept Marisol out all day driving him around while he took care of business and hadn’t let her take a blast in hours, so he knew she was jonesing, which is how he had planned it. The more desperate Marisol became to get high the more of a slave to Holiday she would be because she knew he was the man holding the bag. He could’ve set her on fire, and she probably wouldn’t have cared as long as she burned up with a pipe between her lips. The thirstier she was, the more susceptible she would be to go along with the crazy shit he had planned.