Prison Throne

by T. Styles

  “I can’t believe you fucking up that nigga’s bottle,” Brooklyn said witnessing the ignorance.

  “I ain’t fucking it up,” Rasim glowered. “It’s in here.” He raised the soda bottle.

  “Yeah, but you got soda remnants mixed with his sauce and shit. You fucking up the flavor.”

  Rasim waved him off and tossed the cup away.

  “Alright, but when Donald cave your chest cavity in, don’t come crying to me.”

  The friends headed back to the pumping area and Rasim handed Donald the soda dressed in a Hennessey bottle just as Phantom’s black Mercedes caressed the block.

  Whenever he arrived, everybody, if they were fucking around, stopped. Everyone fell in line, along with Donald, Phantom was Rasim’s other idol. When he parked he rolled down the window and looked at Donald. His five o’clock shadow sparkled like black diamonds. And the gold chain he donned fell against his black sweater.

  He motioned with his head for Donald to come and Donald moved without hesitation.

  Donald slipped inside of the Benz and melted into the black leather seat. And from the half rolled down window, Rasim and the fellas could see it all. It was as if they were watching an episode of The Sopranos.

  As Donald got comfortable, Phantom observed the young hustler before saying a word. Although he was certain that Donald had enough gall, confidence and spirit necessary to run the block, he wanted to steal a few more moments to make sure he hadn’t missed a thing. After he swept over him with prying eyes and was certain his decision to promote him was solid, he leaned back in his seat and the leather moaned. “What’s in the bag?”

  Donald pointed at it and said, “Oh this? The brown.”

  “You not gonna offer me a cup?”

  Donald grinned and said, “Phantom, you can have anything you want. That’s on my life.”

  Luckily for Donald, Phantom wasn’t into niggas because he’d likely be on all fours with an ass full of dick after that declaration.

  As Rasim stole peeks into the Benz in lieu of straight gawking he noticed how giddy Donald appeared. Around the crew, he was always serious and dark. What was different now? He guessed in the presence of a God he was fumbling. Rasim wanted the type of power that Phantom possessed for himself.

  Prepared for everything, Phantom dipped into his oversize armrest and released two plastic cups.

  That’s when Rasim wanted to shit himself, knowing full well that he had the real Hennessey in the soda bottle in his hand.

  “I’ve been observing you and decided to elevate your status,” Phantom announced. “You’re a hard worker and you’re always on the block and I like that about you.”

  Neither had taken a sip of the soda yet and Rasim was grateful.

  “But I’m gonna be watching how you operate too. It’s one thing to lead your flock when you’re on the same level. It’s an entirely different thing to rule on high.”

  “I’m up for it,” Donald said looking directly into his eyes. His right leg shook rapidly because he wanted this so badly his dick was beginning to stiffen. “You can count on me, Phantom. I’m as hard as they come.”

  Donald appreciated his vigor. “To prosperity,” Phantom said as he raised his cup in the air in preparation for a toast.

  “To prosperity,” Donald responded in kind.

  Their cups knocked together and the moment Phantom took a gulp he winced and spit into the cup. Then he rolled the window down further and tossed the cup out. “You gotta start drinking better shit, man.”

  Donald took a sip too and tasted the drink. He tasted the sweetness of the soda. He immediately peered over at Rasim who was covered in guilt. “Yeah, you’re right,” Donald said under his breath.

  “Aight, well let me collect this money. You do what you do. I’ll have Paul hit you up later with that pack.” Phantom dapped him up and Donald slipped out of the car.

  As Phantom’s car vanished into thin air, Rasim was already preparing to cop a plea. “I’m sorry, man,” Rasim said shaking his head as Donald approached. “I didn’t know you were gonna share your shit with the boss.”

  “I told you this nigga play too much,” Chance responded stuffing his hands in his jacket and shaking his head.

  Instead of breaking his jaw like the old Donald would’ve, he embraced him and grabbed his other boys too. The four of them acted like excited football players who won the Super Bowl as opposed to the drug mongers they really were. They slapped each other on the backs and Donald even took to smooching Chance and Brooklyn’s heads. Donald didn’t have time to be mad. It was a celebration because he was essentially a made man.

  After he separated from the herd, Donald looked at Rasim and jokingly said, “Now give me my drink before I really do break your jaw.”

  Rasim handed him the drink and tried to hide his excitement. He wondered how Donald felt now that he was in charge and he wanted nothing more than to be in his shoes.

  The fellas were just coming down off of their high when trouble stepped on the block in the form of Levi, Terry and Wayne. They were knuckleheads from a rival project up the block and Donald hated them niggas. The most ironic part was that they were on foot when they could’ve been killed on the spot. Their fearless act was to display their bravery, not their foolishness.

  Levi’s story was straightforward. He used to own the very blocks Donald and his crew were pumping on but when he got locked up for a week, Donald swooped in and planted his flag and Levi had been salty ever since. That’s one of the reasons Phantom fucked with him. He admired how he roughed his real estate.

  When Donald saw them getting closer, he knew what time it was. “Brooklyn, give me the dragon,” he said referring to his .45 tucked in the large bush a few feet over from where his crew rocked out.

  Brooklyn quickly obeyed and Donald cocked it. Brooklyn grabbed his 9mm and handed Chance a revolver.

  Now that the men were strapped, Donald looked back and saw Rasim who was hanging around frightened and unarmed. “Get out of here, Rasim! We’ll get up with you later.”

  “You sure?” Rasim asked trying to sound noble.

  “Bounce, nigga,” Donald roared. “This shit ain’t for you!”

  Rasim was the funny man and neither Donald nor his other friends looked at him as anything different. Still, he felt bad leaving his boys but he also knew they were right. He was not a gangster so he left his soldiers on the battlefield and drove home.

  ****

  Rasim was standing in the middle of the floor pacing in circles. After he spoke to Donald and found out that the niggas who came on the block didn’t want the heat and left without drama, he thought he would rest easy, go home and fuck Snow.

  He was wrong.

  His hand trembled as he held the phone to his ear. “Please help me,” he said in a robust voice. “My life is on the line!”

  “But I don’t know where she is, Rasim,” Maureen said truthfully. “The only thing she told me was that she had to get away.”

  “Did she leave a new number at least?” he asked with raised eyebrows. “Because she’s not answering the phone.”

  “We are her parents, Rasim. Of course she gave us a way to contact her but I’m not at liberty to give it to you.”

  “Please, Mrs. Bradshaw,” he begged with his voice hitting soprano notes. Before he came home, he had to piss but now his body had forgotten all about it. “I made a mistake but I don’t deserve to have my girl taken over this shit. Please, I’m on my knees!”

  “Son, I hear you and I know you love my daughter,” she said with more compassion than she originally felt when he first called, “but Snow is a fragile angel. She’s not meant for this world. She’s meant for a man who can protect her and keep her heart safe and you failed. Which is sad because she always referred to you as Superman. I guess it was all a lie. Goodbye, Rasim. Be well.”

  Stupid old bitch!

  Rasim threw his phone against the wall and it crashed and scattered to the floor. He dropped down, squatte
d and placed his hands over his face. His gut rolled and he felt like he was on the verge of throwing up.

  There’s nothing worse than losing somebody you thought would always be there and now Rasim understood true pain.

  When he was fucking around with them bitches, he honestly thought that Snow would never depart. If he believed that she would, he would have never overplayed his hand.

  When he arrived home fully expecting to see her beautiful face, what he found was the empty side of her closet instead. After he kissed her kitty for hours straight the night before, he was certain that he’d done enough to reel her back in. Besides, she loved that shit. But Snow came to the conclusion that he wasn’t a good guardian of her heart, so she took the key back and bounced.

  The first day turned into a week. The weeks turned into a month and Rasim was still hopeful that Snow would return. He even visited her school only to learn that she withdrew.

  He decided to pay Mute Candy a visit and of course it didn’t end well. In her usual manner, she cursed him out but felt bad hours later when she remembered how hysterical he was. To repent, she went to his house and prepared enough food for Rasim to last a week and left. But her loyalty lay with Snow so that would be the extent of her help. She would not have done that but Snow took care of that man for over six years and she felt he needed a fair start.

  Rasim couldn’t accept how much time had passed without holding Snow and making love to her. He always said she was his heart but now he understood it physically.

  Before long, two months turned into seven and Rasim lost so much weight he was almost unrecognizable. Since he was already slim, Rod from uptown accused Rasim of hitting the pipe. The trouble was word got back to Donald and he repaid Rod for the slight with two shiny black eyes.

  Although broken, Rasim would appear on the block every day but do nothing but bring his homies down. It’s a good thing Donald was in charge because he made certain that the crew picked up his slack. Nobody minded much. They all loved Rasim like a brother and they hated the pain he was in…again.

  To make matters worse, he hadn’t spoken to his father, who also refused to let him see his mother. He was really alone. So he wrote him a letter apologizing for not being the son he wanted him to be and begged him once more to not involve himself with Al-Qaeda. He also begged him to reach out to him. Kamran never responded.

  It was seven o’clock a.m. on a Tuesday morning when his cell phone rang. His home phone was turned off so he didn’t receive calls there. He reached for this phone, which was on the table next to the bed. “Hello,” he said in a low voice.

  “Hey, sexy. It’s me. Selena.”

  Rasim frowned. “Choke on a bag of dicks, bitch,” he said so calmly Selena wasn’t sure she heard him correctly.

  She wouldn’t get a chance to ask either because he ended the call and tossed the bitch to the bed. Selena had single handedly caused him to lose Snow and he couldn’t stand the sound of her name or her voice any longer.

  As he lay in bed, he focused on the ceiling. One hand rested on his thin chest and the other behind his head. After so much time, he finally came to the realization that Snow was gone.

  Possibly forever.

  He had to pull himself together and move on with his life or else he would fall deeper into despair. Although he would never forget Snow, his heart told him that if they were meant to be, she would come back but only if the time was right.

  Rasim eased out of bed, stepped over his clothes and the dirty dishes that littered the floor. He made plans to come back later that night and clean up his room and life.

  When he was done he showered, slipped on his clothes and hopped in his car. As he drove down the road, he was amazed at the sapphire colored sky. Not a cloud was present and in a way it matched his mood…peaceful, relaxed and calm.

  When he parked on the block, Rasim sidled out of his car and dapped Donald, Brooklyn and Chance before sitting on the step.

  “This for you, man.” Chance handed Rasim a cup of hot coffee.

  Brooklyn tossed a white bag in Rasim’s lap. “That’s a glazed donut. We bought extras in case you wanted one and shit.”

  Rasim nodded in appreciation of his amigos and they noticed something different. His features were softer and not as distressed and it was obvious that he had gone through the worst stage of the storm.

  Donald placed a firm hand on his shoulder and said, “Welcome back, homie.”

  With the sentiments of the heart out of the way, Donald decided to take the attention off his friend. “So Kelly was mad at me again today,” he said referring to his wife.

  “What you do this time?” Rasim asked, contributing to the conversation. It was the first time he uttered a word outside of I need Snow in months.

  “You know how women are. I wasn’t feeling good so she wanted to stay home from work to take care of me. I told her to go ‘head because sick or not, I was hitting the block.”

  Brooklyn crossed his arms over his chest and jammed his hands under his armpits. “Hold up, you sick and you just shared a blunt with me a minute ago in the car?” he questioned, pointing at him.

  “You ain’t gonna die, nigga. You can’t catch what I got anyway.”

  “You said that shit the last time and I had the flu for a month,” Brooklyn continued. “It’s real foul that I eat right but I still get sick fucking with you nasty ass niggas.”

  Rasim shook his head and peered up at Donald. He did seem ill but in his lovesick haze he never noticed before. “Do you know what’s wrong, slim?”

  Donald kicked at nothing on the ground. “The doctor trying to say it’s cancer and shit but he can suck my dick.”

  Rasim, Chance and Brooklyn surveyed him with wide eyes. Donald acted as if he had a cold and now they discovered it was something fatal.

  Concerned, Rasim sat his coffee and bag on the ground and approached him. “When were you gonna tell us that shit?”

  Donald waved it off. “I’m telling ya’ll now,” he responded as he looked over their heads at more of nothing. He was trying to stall and get off of the subject. “And please don’t start with me. I heard enough from my wife.” Donald wiped his hand from his forehead to the back of his scalp. His hands dropped down and he decided to keep shit genuine. “I just keep thinking about my girls, you know?” He looked at Rasim and then the fellas. “If I die, what’s gonna happen to them?”

  “On my dick, your kids gonna be straight,” Brooklyn said shooting from the heart. He could’ve worded it a bit differently but they were hood niggas who loved deep.

  “I feel the same,” Chance responded. “You’ll never have to worry about shit in the way of them girls. Believe that.”

  Rasim stared directly into Donald’s eyes. “You already know my heart. As long as I got breath in my body, your girls gonna be raised like they mine.”

  “Oh my God,” Trina from across the street yelled, crashing the somber mood. “We under attack!”

  Now, Trina was known to be a little over the top at times but something told Rasim that this situation was different. So he jogged across the street and put his hands softly on her shoulders as he gaped at her. “What’s wrong with you?”

  Trina’s red face was sweaty and she appeared to be hyperventilating as she looked up at the icy blue sky. “Bombs just hit the World Trade Center in New York! We under attack!”

  Suddenly a few older busybodies rushed outside of the building too. This was odd because they never emptied their apartments until it was time to unload a cheap bottle of vodka and discuss the latest scandal on the front step.

  Yet there they were, embracing each other as they muttered what Trina had just said. That the United States was under attack.

  When Rasim looked behind him he saw Donald, Chance and Brooklyn trot toward the elderly ladies. Rasim felt as if things were moving in slow motion and he couldn’t hear a sound until Trina wiggled out of his grasp. He forgot that he was even holding her.

  Rasim watched as the women
said something to Donald to cause his face to distort. Whatever was communicated forced him backwards as he crashed to the ground like he missed his chair. Never down for long, he hopped up and sprinted toward his silver Infiniti, slid over the hood and jumped into the driver’s seat.

  Rasim rushed over to Brooklyn and Chance to get the word but both of them were holding their heads while their mouths hung open.

  “What’s wrong with Donald?” Rasim yelled.

  Chance’s eyes flapped a few times as if he were trying to wake up from a horrible dream. When Rasim rocked him roughly, Chance finally said, “The World Trade Center towers were hit by two planes. And the Pentagon too.”

  “So what’s wrong with Donald?” Rasim asked, unable to follow how Donald was directly related. If they were at war, everyone was in trouble not just him.

  “His wife works at the Pentagon, man,” Brooklyn whispered.

  Now it was clear.

  Rasim whipped his head in the direction Donald moved. There was no way he was letting him drive alone in the frantic condition he was in. So he bolted across the street just as a DC Cab was speeding his way. Angry, Rasim slapped the hood once when it stopped, before he dipped toward the passenger seat of Donald’s car.

  Rasim slipped inside and at first Donald’s eyes rolled around and he glared at him but Rasim didn’t care. He was going with him whether he wanted to or not. “I’m riding, man,” Rasim said as he watched tears roll down Donald’s face. “I can’t let you be out here by yourself.”

  Donald, who was always the big bad bear, broke down in tears as he jerked his car into traffic. He recited repeatedly that he couldn’t lose his wife. That he would die without his family and be on some serial killer shit. Although Rasim was not married to Snow, he knew the pain of losing the one you loved.

  When Rasim’s keys fell to the floor and he bent down to retrieve them, Donald stopped suddenly and held Rasim’s head down with a firm grip to the back of his neck. Rasim saw his life flash before his eyes.