Girls From Da Hood 5

by Keisha Ervin

  “Nigga, I’m grown, with kids of my own. You don’t run me, I ain’t yo’ child.”

  “Then don’t act like you are. Stop sitting around this bitch waiting for me to take care of yo’ ass and do something for yourself,” he said, looking in her face.

  “I was fine before you and I’ll be fine after you,” she said staring back at him.

  “You was fine at yo’ momma house, with no car, no job, just getting assistance and fuckin’ niggas for dough? Bitch, please, if you don’t like how I do shit, leave with what you came with.”

  “This my shit, in my name,” she said.

  “But my money got it, don’t get it twisted. Just leave if you ain’t happy, anything more and they might find you floating in the lake out the way.” Those were the last words she heard before hearing the door shut. She wanted so much to show him she didn’t need him, but she did. Leaving just wasn’t an option. He provided everything for her. She wasn’t about to give it up and go back home and sleep in one room with both her kids, go back to scrambling for rides and giving herself to niggas so they would give up dough to find out most niggas already had a girl and they had no dough to provide. She sat there, beating herself up, until the ringing of the phone disturbed her.

  “It’s time, Lowe,” Nicey yelled. “They said they were going to induce in two days but I think its happening. I don’t know what to do.”

  “You gonna have your baby, girl. It’s time; they had you fucked up. You packed?” Lowe asked, grabbing her bag and keys.

  “Yeah!”

  “Breathe and relax, I’m there in five minutes,” she said, jumping into the car and taking off. When she arrived, the door was unlocked. Niecy was on the phone with Poppa. He was across the water in Hampton trying to make his way back to Norfolk.

  “Lowe here. I’m on my way, please hurry,” she said before hanging up. Lowe helped Niecy into the 1999 Grand Cherokee that Dundee had copped for her, and headed to Leigh Memorial Hospital.

  After six hours had passed, Lowe, Danyelle and Reece sat in the delivery room with Niecy as she waited to dilate. Between her contractions she cried, not from the pain of giving birth, but because she was alone. She didn’t fuck with her other family. She didn’t have a number for her brother, and Janelle and Poppa were nowhere to be found. Her mind was everywhere, she was hurting inside, she was sad, she cried real tears. She was truly fucked up as her baby made its way into this world.

  “Love you, baby. I’ll hit you later.”

  “Love you too. Be careful, Janelle. And lay low. Don’t be on that ra-ra shit, ma,” Choice said, hugging her as he leaned against the platinum CLK 500 drop.

  “Naw, nigga, you lay low. You been going hard, Choice. First it was here to Richmond and Hampton, now you fuckin’ with Baltimore and DC. Don’t get me wrong, son,” she said, smiling, “you and your team nice with y’all shit, but I”ve seen the best, the tightest cliques fall. I can’t lose you, Choice.”

  Choice smiled as he stared into her eyes, and she softened at his good looks. He had just gotten a cut by the Dominicans up on Broadway. His shit was razor sharp, along with his brown skin, straight white teeth, mustache so neatly trimmed. Her eyes fell, then her head. She shook her head noticing the Red Polo falling on the dark denim shorts, all complemented by the fresh white Up-towns. The iced out Breitling sparked her attention, as he lifted her head in his hands.

  “Janelle, I’m good, you know I’m always safe, baby. Don’t worry about me. You stay out of shit and low. Now get outta here and check on your sister.”

  “Yeah, push me off,” she said, getting on the Chinese bus leaving Manhattan. Choice watched her board the bus headed to Norfolk. It was a good way to ease back into town. He hopped into his Benz and hit Canal headed toward the Manhattan Bridge, when his phone rang.

  “I can tell if another bitch been sitting in my seat. Don’t get it twisted nigga, I know how niggas live when they getting paper. Don’t fuckin’ hurt me, Choice,” Janelle said in a whining voice.

  “Never that, ma. Never that.”

  “Be good! ’Bye.”

  “’Bye,” he said as he hit the BQE headed to Queens to catch up with his cousin, Jus. Jus’s family had moved from Thompkins Projects when he was twelve. They had just gotten into the art of robbing niggas, when they up and moved to South Jamaica. Now, along with the robbery game, Jus had a serious murder game. “Yo, Jus, what the deal, my dude?” Choice said when his cousin answered the phone.

  “You know what it is, son. Niggas trying to earth me, son. You know! I’m just trying to get paid.”

  “I’m on the Van Wyck now. Where you at? I need to hollah. On some real money shit. But it’s down South, my dude,” Choice said.

  “Where, son? Don’t say Virginia, son, I ain’t fucking with VA. Niggas done told me, son,” Jus said, meaning every word.

  “Where you at, Jus?”

  “I’m on the Avenue, son. But I got these hoes on the track now, son. We ain’t talk in like a year, son. I got, like, four hoes, son.”

  Choice started laughing. “Damn, nigga, you doing it. I’ll check you out in a second. One.” The phones went dead. Choice met Jus in the mall section of 165th Street just off Jamaica Avenue. He had parked and come through the Coliseum. When Jus saw Choice, they greeted each other with open arms, then walked to grab a beef pattie. Choice ran down the last two years of his life to Jus in five minutes. He informed him of the bodies he’d caught, how he’d come up and needed his blood, the only nigga in the world who ran, thought, and moved like him, but had that murder game that only Southside niggas were known for. He was still all Brooklyn; wylin’ out, beat yo’ ass, fuck you and everybody out this bitch–type nigga. Not murdering cats, but he needed somebody outside of his team, who he could depend on to be there.

  “I need you with me Thursday in Richmond,” Choice said.

  “Two days? Naw, son. Too quick. I got kids and business. If I’m rolling and you established like that. Ten thousand dollars for each body!”

  “Done.”

  “Five thousand dollars a week straight.”

  “Three and you gonna put in some work.”

  “Done, I’m still a hustler, baby.” Jus smiled.

  “Thursday still too soon, cuz?”

  “Ain’t no cuz here, Blood!”

  “My bad, cousin, real cousin,” Choice joked.

  They reached Choice’s car, and Jus acted like he choked on his food. “Oh, shit, son got the 500 drop, new shit for the summer. Naw, son, I need five thousand.”

  “Fuck you, deal is done,” Choice said. He reached into the car and opened the glove box, pulling out three grand to hand to Jus.

  “That’s what it is, son,” Jus said, giving his cousin a pound.

  “Thursday at ten, my dude. Need you, Jus.” Choice said, staring seriously at his cousin.

  “Got me, fam, you got me,” Jus said, walking off and gripping the three grand. That’s how you talk to a nigga, Jus thought. It was come up time.

  Janelle arrived at the bus stop on Newtown Road. She caught a Beach Taxi to her condo off Witchduck, got her keys, jumped in her truck, and was out. It was 1:30, and her nephew or niece had been born thirteen hours ago. She walked into Leigh Memorial and straight to the maternity ward. When she walked in, Danyelle was sitting on the couch reading the classic street novel, My Time To Shine. When their eyes met, they hugged the breath out of each other, then turned their attention to Niecy, who was sound asleep. Janelle walked over to her sister and grabbed her hand. Niecy opened her eyes and cleared her vision, only to let it be blurred again by instant tears. She opened her arms and Janelle fell into them, and they both cried like babies. In each other’s arms they felt a sense of real unconditional love and security.

  “Where’s the new Brickhouse?” Janelle asked, going to the other side of the bed where the baby lay. The first thing she did was check the wristband for the last name. She smiled. “There’s my little Brickhouse,” she said in a baby-talk. Niecy watched as J
anelle and Danyelle held the baby and talked.

  “You can have it,” Niecy yelled. “I don’t want it, get it away from me. Aaah! Aaah! Where the fuck you come from?” Niecy said in a lower voice. “What is that? Huh!” she yelled.

  Janelle and Danyelle moved closer to the door with the baby. They were escorted out of the room as members of the medical staff rushed in. A nurse took the baby to the nursery as the girls sat quietly in the waiting room.

  “Where Poppa?” Janelle asked.

  “I don’t know. He didn’t seem like a bullshit nigga, but I guess he is. Sorry motherfucker,” Danyelle fussed.

  “Naw, something happened, dude was real. Seemed like he was past the games.”

  “Right! You keep saying it, you might believe yourself.”

  “Fuck him. That nigga got his own kids. He probably want Niecy to momma them.”

  “Niecy can’t momma nobody, not herself, not even the one she just had,” Janelle said sadly.

  “Nor the other one, don’t act like I don’t know. You gonna have to be here, Janelle.”

  “I got a life, D, and I ain’t got no babies, and fuck what you heard.” The doctor came out to speak with Janelle. She was told that Niecy was diabetic and her sugar had dropped real low, which caused her to lose her memory and act out. They had gotten it back up and she seemed to be doing better, but was resting. They needed to come back tomorrow.

  They were going to the car when Lowe and Reece pulled up; Danyelle had called them during all the commotion. They stood in front of Leigh Memorial for an hour talking about good times, and forgetting the bad for just a minute. A while later, they all went their separate ways, promising to get together soon for a night out. Janelle walked Reece to her car. “What’s this, girl?” Janelle asked, referring to Reece’s new white Camry.

  “Time to come up, girl, and handle my shit,” Reece said. “I been running around partying, clubbing, fucking with mad niggas just having fun, and I’m tired, Janelle. Tired of being used and feeling fucked up, and these niggas don’t give a fuck about nothing but a nut. I want my own like you, like Danyelle, but her nigga is ideal. Get money and cater to her. Never leaving her alone.” Reece sighed as if she were reading a heartfelt card.

  “Girl, what nigga done gas your ass up?”

  “This me, I don’t need a nigga to want more,” Reece said.

  “Reece, please.”

  “I been talking to Mansio,” Reece said.

  “Mansio, Mansio . . .” Janelle tried to place the name.

  “161st and St. Nick.”

  “That real dark-skinned dude with the thin line beard, driving the Bentley coupe?”

  “Yeah, that’s how I got word to you that your sister was in labor. I told him, ‘I don’t know your business, but if you know Choice and can reach him, tell him his sister-in-law is in labor.’ He said ‘I don’t know any Choice,’ but you got the message.”

  “Choice never said who told him. He just said I heard your sister in labor. I heard that.”

  “So he brought you a car?” Janelle asked in a leading tone.

  “Brought me a car, came here for a week and got me a rental with the option on a townhouse with a garage out Chesapeake. I moved in a week later, he came back down and paid everything to get in and laid it out. He stayed another week and raised the bar for all niggas. I will never in my life accept anything less.”

  “Them New York niggas are serious, they about money and take life seriously. These niggas in Norfolk wanna play ’til they forty and don’t commit to shit.”

  They laughed. “Shit, I can’t say shit. That day we spent with all them, they were all respectful, nice, and you could tell they had money. Choice was comfortable and relaxed so things must have been good.”

  “He’s mad cool and this nigga got my closet tight. I went to MacArthur Mall and killed BCBG, BeBe, Coach, Macy’s, and Nordstrom shoes. He catered to me and I catered to him every night he was here.”

  “You better, nigga giving you all that attention,” Janelle said. She never thought of Reece being on her level, but Mansio seemed like he was gonna upgrade her. Janelle felt a little intimidated but she smiled it off, said her good-byes, and made it home.

  Three months passed pretty quickly and Niecy was in full swing. She had tortured herself for two months. She hadn’t lost a bit of the weight from her pregnancy. She set up in her living room, nodding off from the heroin she sniffed and the drink in her hand. The system blasted Mary J.’s “Life” into her ears as her baby lay in the crib hollering. “I bet he don’t call me,” she said to herself. “He already called me,” she said, again to herself.

  “Who called you already?” the dude she’d invited home said.

  “What, you still here? What did you do to me?” Niecy stood up. Her skirt was wrapped around her waist, and she didn’t have panties on. Her bra was twisted and her breasts were hanging out. “Did you fuck me?” she asked, reaching between her legs, feeling wet with cum.

  “Girl, you was with it all night, don’t get crazy now, you invited me here,” the dude said.

  “You raped me, oh! My God, you raped me,” she yelled reaching for the phone.

  “I’m out, shorty. You left your car at Mystique, you were kinda nice and I drove you here. We came in, you got to snorting and we freaked and fucked and I fell in love. Now you don’t remember.” Niecy stood, staring at him. She couldn’t remember anything since 11:00 last night when she left to catch a club. Now here it was, four in the morning, she was staring at a nigga she didn’t know, and he’d had her any way he could think of.

  “Please get your shit and leave,” she said, shaken at the thought of him not using a condom. Did she catch something? Or worse, she could have gotten pregnant.

  “Naquel, I’ll hollah,” the dude said, headed out the door.

  Naquel? she thought. Why would he say that? She locked the door then ran to the shower. When she returned, she heard her baby. After a clean diaper and a bottle, she was back in the crib and Niecy was back on the couch, balled up in her robe. She reached over and lit a Newport.

  “Who am I? Where the fuck am I going? What’s going to happen to me? Lord, I’m talking to you. God, I’m talking to you. I don’t like myself, I don’t like me,” she cried. “I don’t want to be here no more,” she said softly. “God, please take care of me, I don’t want to hurt Naquela,” Niecy said in a different but familiar voice.

  She got up and turned off everything, lay back down on the couch, balled up and stared off into a daze. She wasn’t crying, but tears ran from her eyes. Inside she felt disgusting, sickening, and worthless. Getting high eased her pain, just like when she got the call that Poppa was locked up. He got locked up speeding from Hampton to get to her. Driving on a suspended license and reckless driving got him a violation of his parole. They gave Poppa six months and he was gone in a moment. Then the day she got the papers saying Jeezy was not the father, she almost overdosed trying to deaden the pain. Not knowing who her baby’s daddy was ate at her soul and sickened her insides. She knew a woman couldn’t get any lower than that. And she had to tell Poppa when he came home. She closed her eyes and began to pray, “Now I lay me down to sleep, ahh, ahh . . . I pray to You my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake . . . God, that would truly be okay.”

  It was Saturday evening and Janelle had decided to have a dinner party that would lead them to the club.

  Things had gotten back to normal since she found out that nobody talked about who shot Nitty and who killed Jah. It was just that nobody knew where Dundee stood at this point. Nobody knew what he was gonna do, but he allowed Lowe to do her thing.

  “So what are we celebrating?” Lowe asked.

  “Being here, alive and happy,” Reece said, dancing to Lyfe’s CD. She was winding to the joint with Wyclef.

  “Sit your ass down, Reece,” Danyelle said, getting her champagne glass.

  “What the hell is that gold shit?” Lowe asked.

  “This is Armand de Brign
ac, $300 a bottle,” she said, popping the gold bottle with an ace of spades embedded on the side.

  “This shit good. Taste elegant,” Janelle said, smiling.

  “Shit all right,” Danyelle said, setting down her glass to get some fresh fruit that Janelle had prepared at Farm Fresh.

  “You need to get $250 back. Go back to Farm Fresh and get a bottle of Moët for fifty dollars. Buy some weed and pocket the rest,” Lowe said seriously. Everybody laughed except Janelle.

  “Take that $250 and buy some boots.” The other girls agreed.

  “Y’all bitches ungrateful. Guess what. I brought $300 champagne and still got money to buy $300 shoes, boots, or whatever tomorrow,” Janelle said, defending herself.

  “You ain’t got to go there, Janelle, this ain’t about dough.”

  “Fuck that, y’all talking shit,” Janelle added. The daiquiris they’d had while sitting around talking before they popped the champagne had them feeling nice.

  “I know you ain’t talking to me, because I shit on yo’ money. My man got shit locked from Virginia Beach to the Miami bitch.” Danyelle said, going to her Coach bag. She pulled out $3,000 in hundreds and fifties, and laid it on the table. “Play money,” she added.

  “Excuse me,” Janelle said, reaching into her back pocket and pulling out a stack of hundreds that equaled about five grand. “Newport News, Richmond, DC, Baltimore, and Brooklyn. My nigga stay getting, ma!” Janelle smiled.

  “And my man run New York. What you wanna do?” Reece asked, pulling out $2,000 of the $10,000 she had of Mansio’s money.

  “Bank $2,000,” she said, shaking the dice.

  “Fuck it, I got $100,” Janelle said, throwing it down.

  “Fifty,” Danyelle added.

  “I got twenty dollars,” Lowe said. “I got something.”

  “You said you wanted him out your life.”

  “I know and I do, but it’s hard out this bitch,” Lowe said, shaking her head.

  “You’ll be all right. You don’t need a nigga beating yo’ ass,” Danyelle said. “Here’s a hundred to help you out, baby,” Danyelle added, holding out the money.