Block Party

by Al-Saadiq Banks

  “I found out a long time ago but it just started having an effect on me the past couple of years,” he explains. “Bang Man, I’m a dead man walking. Do you know the worst part of it all?”

  “What’s that?”

  “I passed that shit to Desire’s momma.”

  “Yeah?” I ask. This is a shock to me.

  “Yeah man, that’s why she left me. She was too embarrassed. She didn’t want her friends to find out. I destroyed that woman’s life, man.”

  “Do you know where she’s at?” I ask.

  “Yeah, dead!” he shouts.

  “Dead?”

  “Yeah, she died four years ago. Desire don’t know that either,” he adds.

  “How do you know then?”

  “I ran into her brother sometime last year. He told me. He wanted to kill me. I had to beg for my life, man. He told me that after she left me, she moved with her aunt in Alabama, where she died.”

  “Damn Slim, when are you going to tell Desire?”

  “Bang Man, I want to but I’m scared.”

  “Scared of what?”

  “Scared that she’ll hate me. Big Time, she’s all I got. She hates her mother for leaving her. If I tell her why her mother left, I’m afraid she’ll hate me too.”

  “Slim, you have to tell her.”

  “I know,” he says as he slowly nods his head up and down.

  “How did you get it?”

  “I don’t know if it was them dirty needles or them dirty hoes. It was probably both,” he adds. “But I didn’t really share needles. I mean, I might have slipped up a few times, but them hoes, I had to have them. When I look back, I can’t figure it out. I had the baddest wife in this town, and I’m out tricking with them filthy hoes. The baddest wife,” he repeats. “Desire’s momma was something pretty. She was a model when I met her, but I begged her to stop modeling. I was so jealous; I didn’t want anybody else to look at her. I made her put her dream on hold. How selfish was that? I talked her into putting everything on hold just to be a housewife. Can you believe, as beautiful as she was, I barely slept with her? I was so busy tricking them filthy bitches, I had a beautiful young wife at home who wasn’t getting fucked. Sometimes I would go two months without fucking her. And when I did, it would only last about 30 seconds. I would only give her 30 seconds of this dirty, AIDS infested dick. Bang Man, I’m ready to die!” he shouts. “I want to die!” he screams even louder. “I want to die, so I can see Desire’s momma and beg and plead for her to forgive me. I ain’t happy here! I ain’t gonna be happy till I die! How can I still live with myself, after I have killed the only woman I ever loved? Big Time, I’m a murderer! A damn murderer,” Slim cries.

  He starts banging his head onto the dashboard. After about four times, he screams out, “I want to die! I want to die!”

  I’ve never seen Slim act like this. He’s crying loud with no shame, just like a baby. Snot runs from his nose. I don’t say a word. What can I say? I just continue to drive. I drive for about two hours before dropping him off.

  As we approach his house, my two boys are in front throwing a basketball against the garage. When they see me, they haul ass toward the curb. “Daddy! Daddy!”

  “What’s up ya’ll?” I ask.

  “Nothing,” they reply.

  “I was here earlier. Where were ya’ll?”

  “We left with Mommy and Ice,” Ahmir replies.

  “Ice? Who’s Ice?”

  “Mommy’s boyfriend!” Ahmad replies. “You know, the one with the black truck.”

  Damn, the thought of my boys chilling with this guy really crushes me. For a second, it feels like my sons crossed me.

  “Daddy, does that truck cost more than your car?” Ahmad asks.

  “Why Ahmad?”

  “Cause Ice said your car ain’t nothing!” he replies.

  “Yeah, he said it’s played out!” Ahmir adds.

  “He said that?”

  “Yeah, and he told me you ain’t nothing. You broke,” Ahmir states.

  “Daddy, are you broke?” Ahmad asks.

  I don’t answer. I just chuckle. I’m smiling on the outside, but my insides are raging. Those words cut like a knife. This nigga is trying to belittle me to my boys. I’m like a superhero to them, and he’s trying to make them think differently. I’m not going to let anyone come between me and my boys.

  “Get the ball and get in,” I demand trying to change the subject before I really get pissed.

  As they run to get the ball, I pick up my car phone to call Desire. “Yo, the boys leaving with me.”

  “Whatever!” she replies sarcastically.

  Stinking bitch! How can she allow this motherfucker to play me in front of my boys? “Let me tell you something bitch!”

  “Your mother is a bitch!” she replies.

  “You better tell that young motherfucker to keep my name out his mouth,” I shout.

  “You tell him!” she shouts.

  “Listen bitch, if you love him, you better tell him before I put his ass to sleep.”

  “You ain’t gonna do shit!” Desire shouts. “He ain’t scared of you!”

  “He should be!”

  “Cash, you ain’t nobody! You still living off that old shit! Nobody ain’t worried about you. Jake and Ab ain’t here no more.”

  “What you just say, bitch?”

  “You heard me!” she replies.

  After hearing that, I’m at a loss for words. She has just totally disrespected me, like I’m nobody. Just to think, this is how she really sees me. She doesn’t see me as a stand- up nigga. She sees me as a punk who needs Jake and Ab to handle my problems.

  “Desire, you heard what I said! You better tell him to watch his mouth before I get at him! You dumb ass bitch!” I hang up. That bitch just made me furious, acting as if I’m some punk motherfucker who won’t finish that little nigga. Not only am I mad, I’m hurt. She hurt my pride. I have to straighten my face; my boys are on their way to the car.

  I take them to the park to give them some pointers on basketball. I can barely concentrate. That shit Desire said to me keeps sounding off in my head over and over. After about an hour of shooting around, I finally manage to put Desire in the back of my head. Watching my boys bounce that ball up and down the court helps me take my mind off of her. To my surprise, Ahmir, my older boy, his game is serious. He can handle that ball, and he can shoot from anywhere. Come to find out he’s been playing on small- fry teams ever since he was four years old. I didn’t even know. I’ve been away for too long.

  CHAPTER 3

  It’s Saturday morning, Labor Day weekend, the last weekend of the summer. I think today is the hottest day of the summer. It’s 98 degrees, hot and muggy.

  I’m on my way to the car wash. I have to get the car cleaned. It’s filthy. Today me and Love are going to spend the day together. We’re going to New York to do a little shopping, eat, and maybe catch a movie.

  As I’m in the bathroom washing up, I raise the window to let in some fresh air. “Block Party! Block Party!” is all I can hear. I’m so tired of hearing that. I hear that first thing in the morning, and then I hear it before I go to sleep and anytime in between that I happen to be around here.

  When I pull out of the alleyway and drive to the corner, I notice that the streets are blocked off with orange cones. As I get out to move the cone so I can get past, a black Mercedes Benz pulls up. It’s sparkling clean. The interior is lighter than mine. It’s more like a bone white. The rims are so shiny the glare almost blinds me. The car has a temporary license plate on the front windshield. I can’t see the driver because the temp tag is blocking my view.

  While sliding the cone over, I cut my eye at the car. I don’t want the driver to see me looking; he might think I’m sweating his car. As I glance, the only thing I can see are these big platinum earrings. “Cash!” It’s Junebug. And here comes the Intrepid right behind him. His goons are in that. I can tell because the driver has the window down, blasting Tupac. �
��Do you want to ride or die?”

  “What up Junebug?”

  “Mayor!” he corrects, with a cold face.

  “Yeah all right, stop playing with me boy,” I holler jokingly.

  “Nah, I’m serious. My name is the Mayor. I would never disrespect you by calling you Donald. You go by Cash; that’s what I call you. Right or wrong?”

  I don’t respond. He’s right, but I’ll be damned if I call him Mayor. I’ll call him anything but that.

  “I see you got a new whip, huh?” I ask.

  “Yeah, I saved up all the money you paid me for going to the store for you when I was a kid!” he says sarcastically with a smile on his face. Him saying that reminded me of the times his mother would bring him to the corner store, where I was posted up. His mother would slap his face every time they came to the store. He would make her wait while he shook hands with everybody who stood on the corner. He just wanted to be down with the big boys; he couldn’t have been older than six at the time. I used to watch him as his mom dragged him by his arm. The look in his eyes told me that one day he was sure to play the game. He used to watch all of us in admiration. He would look each of us up and down as he shook our hands.

  In his passenger seat sits one of the prettiest Chinese chicks you could ever see. They look like two movie stars sitting in there. They have on matching Cartier wood-frame shades. The wood from their eyeglasses complements the wood grain all over the interior of the car. If I didn’t know him, I would have sworn he was a rapper or a ball player or something.

  “Yo, if you ain’t doing nothing later, come through! I’m having a Block Party out here, celebrating my 19th birthday,” he says.

  “Yeah?” I ask, as if I’m really concerned.

  “Yeah, that’s why I bought this car,” he claims.

  “Happy born day!”

  “Thanks! So are you going to stop by or what?” he asks. “It’s going to be real nice. I got a lot of big time rappers coming through to rock the M.I.C. Plus I got some cats from my label rocking. You know I got my own label right?”

  Another motherfucker in the music business. Every young nigga thinks he can rap. “Nah, I didn’t know,” I reply.

  “Yeah, I had it for a while now. My goon squad, they’ll be on the microphone. They all right; you need to check them out!”

  “Nah, I won’t be able to. I’m taking my wife out today. I’m on my way to the car wash now.”

  “Are you taking your wife out in that car?” he asks sarcastically. “Stop playing!” he shouts. “Don’t make your wife suffer like that. She held you down all these years and this is how you’re going to repay her? You’re going to make her ride around in that old ass Benz. As a matter of fact, you don’t call that a Benz. You call that old motherfucker a Mercedes. You riding around here looking like an old school rapper,” he jokes. “Throw your hands in the air and wave them like you just don’t care!” he sings as he waves his hands in the air from side to side. The driver of the Intrepid is laughing loud and hard. The Chinese girl is looking shocked as if she can’t believe he’s talking to me like this. Right now I’m furious. He’s going on and on. “Here, take my car! I’ll drive the Intrepid,” he urges.

  “Nah, I’m good.”

  “Here let’s switch,” he insists.

  “Nah!”.

  “You better not leave that old motherfucker with me; I’ll run that big raggedy boat into a wall.”

  Now I’m enraged. It feels as if the whole world is laughing at me. I have to get him back. I have to say something slick.

  “Listen Junebug!” That catches his attention. Everyone stops laughing and gets quiet. His face turns red. “The shit you doing, I already done it. The places you thinking about going, I already been there. I’m Cashmere, a legend and an icon. You consider yourself the Mayor of this little ass town. I’m well respected here, New York, Indiana, Wyoming, Florida, and Nebraska. That’s right, federal prison!” I shout. “Not Annandale, not Bordentown, Federal Prison! I’ve been federal material for a long time. You’ve just become! You’re a rookie; I’m a veteran! Welcome to the Big League! I hope you’re worthy. Any fool can make money, but it take a real nigga to hold onto it. I’m not impressed by how you ball out when shit rolling. I need to see how you ball when shit slow down. I’ve been away for almost ten years. You hear me? Shit been slow for me almost ten years now and I bet you I can still match you dollar for dollar. Stay in your lane little boy!”

  I walk back to my car and exhale. That was a mouthful. “Later Mayor!” I yell sarcastically. I then stare into the eyes of the driver of the Intrepid. Little ugly motherfucker, I think out loud.

  As I pass the car, I look at the numbers on the back. They read S500. It’s the new version of mine. It costs about $85,000. I can’t hate. That young boy is definitely going hard.

  On my way to the car wash, I can’t help but think about what he said about making my wife suffer. I wonder if she feels like that? Although she’s never been one to care about materialistic shit, we’re due for an upgrade. I mean I don’t care who you are, everybody likes nice shit. Nah, I can’t think like that. I can’t let that young boy make me lose focus. I did that already. I’m on some new shit. I want get out the game money, so I can retire comfortably to my legitimate businesses. Fuck a car. I’m not about to compete with him. I’ll get back in the game when I’m ready to get back in the game- not a minute before.

  CHAPTER 4

  It’s Monday morning. I picked up Slim bright and early. He asked me to take him over to the spot so he can get off E. As we pull up, I notice that the block is crowded as usual. Before I can pull up to the alleyway where they’re pitching (dealing) from, Slim jumps out. He doesn’t even wait for me to stop. He jumps out while the car is still moving.

  Slim is about the twentieth person in line, but the line is moving rapidly. When he gets to the front of the line, a tall, dirty dope fiend hands him the dope and he disappears into the alleyway, just like he always does.

  As I’m sitting here, I see the Intrepid pull up on the opposite side of the street. The driver jumps out first and quickly glances over the entire block. Then he nods his head for the passengers to follow. The passengers jump out simultaneously. The smallest of the passengers dashes across the street like a track star. He’s holding a big shopping bag in his hand. He runs right through the alleyway where they’re hustling from. The driver stands on the curb.

  The little kid comes back out in about two minutes flat with no shopping bag in his hand. The shopping bag must have been filled with dope.

  The kid then walks over to the driver and they start conversing. The whole time they’re standing there, me and the driver continuously take long stares at each other.

  After about five minutes, Slim finally limps out of the alleyway. As he gets close to the curb, he stops. He then bends over, lifts his pants leg up, and begins scratching his leg. The scratching looks more like he’s digging right through his skin. Something about heroin makes the user itch. The scratching session lasts about a good 30 seconds.

  The driver looks over at Slim. He does a double take. Then he immediately runs over to Slim. By now Slim is stepping off the curb. I know the kid is about to do something. I can tell by the devilish look in his eyes.

  I open the door and get out, but it’s already too late. Slim is already in the air. The kid scoops him up and earth slams him onto the concrete. Slim lands on his back. Everyone stops and watches in amazement. It seems like it’s taking me forever to get over there.

  When I finally get there, the kid is standing over Slim. He’s about to stomp him. His foot is in midair. Slim is laying there helplessly. His high has faded out, and fear has taken over. I push the kid before he can stomp Slim.

  “Yo motherfucker!” I shout. Slim quickly gets to his feet. The kid pushes me. “Nigga, don’t put your hands on me, I’ll kill you!” he shouts. I push him again. Now all the goons have surrounded us.

  “What the fuck did you slam him for?” I ask.


  “Mind your business before I slam you!” he shouts back.

  “Go ahead and slam me!” I challenge. “I bet you, you can’t slam me!” I further challenge. He starts to come at me, and then he stops and shakes his head.

  “Slim, you better give me my fucking money you owe me!” the kid shouts. “I ain’t bullshitting with you! If I don’t get my money, I’m going to fuck your old ass up and nobody ain’t going to be able to stop me. I don’t care who you go get,” he adds.

  Slim doesn’t respond he just stands there looking pitiful. One thing I do notice is that Slim already has his straight razor opened. The kid can run up on him if he wants to, but it would be a bloody sight.

  “Slim, you owe this motherfucker some money?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” he answers slowly.

  “Mind your business man!” the kid screams.

  “Nigga, don’t tell me what to do,” I shout back.

  “Alright, you can’t say I didn’t warn you,” he whispers.

  “Don’t warn me! Just make your move,” I shout. By this time, out of the corner of my eye I see a dope fiend walk over and slide another kid a shiny chrome banger (gun). I don’t let them know I saw the transaction.

  Right now they have the upper hand on me. I take my tone down a notch- not too much, just a little bit. I don’t want them to think I’m backing down. That’s all they need to see is a sign of fear and they’ll really try to take advantage of the situation. But on the same token, I don’t want to get them pissed off at me either.

  “How much do you owe him?” I ask in a low tone.

  Slim hesitated before answering.

  “Four hundred and fifty dollars,” he mumbles.

  I then reach into my pocket and pull out my money. I have $500 even in my pocket. I peel the $50 bill off the top and hand the kid the rest. He snatches it out of my hand and starts to count it. Somehow the kid with the gun has eased behind us.

  As we start to walk away, I glance over at the gunman just to make sure he’s not making a move. He looks me straight in the eyes without blinking. “So that debt over with, right?” I ask the kid.