by K'wan Foye
The world seemed to stop momentarily. The crowd of people who had gathered to watch the fight held their collective breathes to see where the shot had gone. Harlem and Mane continued to struggle, both their hands smeared with blood, then reality kicked in and so did the pain.
“Ahhh…you shot me in the dick!” Mane shrieked as he fell to the ground clutching his bloody crotch.
Harlem bent over, hands braced on his knees, gasping for air and thanking the higher power that he hadn’t been the one shot. His moment of thanks was interrupted when the Mystic bottle shattered against the side of his head and dazed him. When he cleared the glass and fruit juice from his eyes he glimpsed Fego charging him with the broken bottle. Harlem bounced off the parked car and came back with the cocaine stained razor that was in his pants pocket from earlier. The blade gobbled the side of Fego’s face but he still held the bottle. Harlem was about to hit him again when Mane stuck his leg out and tripped him. As he fell Fego lunged forward and jabbed the broken bottle at Harlem’s side. It was a lancing strike and Harlem countered by swinging the razor sloppily at Fego’s cheek as he fell. Harlem composed himself just in time to see Fego descending on him with the broken bottle and murder in his eyes. Harlem was so spent that there was nothing he could do to stop what was coming, but fate smiled on him yet again when a lead pipe crashed into the side of Fego’s head.
Pie viciously tore into Fego with the pipe until he lay on the ground twitching. On the sidelines Lamar was firing his gun into the air dispersing the crowd. With an evil sneer across his face Lamar turned the gun on Mane’s writhing form, but Pie stopped the execution by grabbing him in a bear hug.
“Get the fuck off me and let me do what I do, Harlem,” Lamar struggled.
“Not like this and not out here,” Harlem held fast.
“Bobby!” someone screamed in the distance.
“We out,” Pie tugged the back of both their jackets. Harlem held on to Lamar for a time longer until the fire in his eyes had died down enough to where he was sure he wouldn’t do anything stupid.
“I’m gonna get you Harlem. This shit is far from over.” Mane ranted, still lying on the ground holding his crotch.
“Nah,” Harlem stood over him, “this is only the beginning,” he raised his foot and stomped Mane in his already mangled dick.
4
By Monday morning all traces of the rain had gone and the sun was now shining on the projects again. People had come out from the confines of their dry homes and enjoy the warmth and see what they had missed for the forty-eight hours it had been raining. Two days wasn’t a long time, but in the hood things went down in the blink of an eye. The long expression Harlem wore was a testament to that.
Harlem sat on the bench in front of 865 watching everything at once. Ever since the accidental shooting of Mane he had been on high alert, making sure that he had a gun on him at all times or within arms reach. Sha-Money and his crew weren’t known killers but anyone with access to a gun had the potential to commit murder. The whole hood was buzzing with rumors of what had happened, some even speculating that Mane had died, but Harlem knew better. A chick he fucked with in Wagner was an RN at Harlem hospital so he knew that Mane was alive, and plotting. Pie had suggested that they close shop until the heat died down, but Harlem wouldn’t hear of it. Beef with Sha-Money, or anyone else for that matter, wouldn’t keep Harlem from clocking his cheese and he made sure the whole hood knew it. It was either trap or die and Harlem was trapping at a million miles per minute, regardless of the threat that loomed over all their heads because of him and his ego.
As instructed Sol had given Lil Man the package and instructed him to set up shop in the park as he had been doing. Sure enough a couple of Sha-Money’s goons had rolled on him and beaten the kid to within an inch of his life, which is what kicked off the beef. Instead of calculating their next move Lamar jumped out the window and took matters into his own hands in the form of a .45. Drunk off Hennessey he went over to the other side of the projects and shot of the lobby of Sha-Money’s building. Nobody got hit, but he had successfully escalated the beef to the next level which is what prompted Mane to try and run down on Harlem, which ended up being a painful mistake on his part and another headache for Harlem to deal with, as if he didn’t have enough problems on his hands already. A civil war in the projects was something that neither side needed but what’s done was done and there was nothing Harlem could do at that point but handle it accordingly.
A flicker of movement in the corner of his eye sent Harlem into motion. In less than three seconds he was off the bench and clutching the Glock-40 that was stashed in the garbage can next to him. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that it was only Sol. The youngster was dressed in a pair of baggy jeans that hung off his ass and an oversized hockey jersey. It was a little warm for the long sleeves but the hockey jersey was the only thing he could find that concealed t he Mac 11 he had tucked. Unlike Pie who wanted to keep a low profile, Sol was ready and willing to engage in gunplay.
“What’s good, my G?” Sol gave Harlem dap.
“This paper is what’s good, how we looking?”
Sol rubbed his hands together greedily. “We rocking and popping. I knocked off five G-packs since I came on shift this morning.”
“That’s what I’m talking about. We on this money, son, and ain’t nothing gonna stop this.”
“You already know how I’m built Harlem, I ain’t stunting them old ass niggaz from Amsterdam. What you need to do is let me take this lil bitch here,” he patted the machine gun under his shirt, “and go start knocking on some doors.”
“Be easy, my nigga. If it comes down to that we got killers on deck. You just worry about the money coming back straight.”
Sol sucked his teeth. “Harlem, when are y’all gonna stop treating me like my gun don’t go off?”
“Sol, I know you’d be the first nigga to let off in a situation but I ain’t trying to have you on the front line. You’re young and anxious, but this here is grown folks business.”
“My nigga, I became grown the first day I walked in the house and stacked my mom’s refrigerator with groceries.” Sol said seriously. “You’ve been looking out for me for years and its time you let me return the favor.”
“That’s love,” Harlem pounded his fist.
“Bobby!” someone shouted from across the court yard and a split second later a patrol car and an unmarked sedan screeched to a halt between 875 and 865 Sol didn’t think twice before he bolted down the stairs, but Harlem remained where he was.
“Don’t make me chase you, mutha fucka!” a pale cop wearing an Alex Rodriguez Yankee jersey ran up on Harlem.
“Does it look like I’m going anywhere?” Harlem asked casually.
“Don’t get cute, nigger. Just grabbed the bench and shut those big ass lips,” the D.T. snatched Harlem to his feet and shoved him against the bench. “Where’s the stash at?”
Harlem looked over his shoulder at the cop comically and chuckled. “If you’re expecting to find drugs on me then you must be new to the hood.”
The D.T. slapped Harlem in the back of his head. “I told you not to get cute with me.”
“You put that hand on me again and you’re gonna lose it mutha fucka.” Harlem growled at the D.T. The D.T. slammed Harlem into the bench then turned him around to face him.
“Who the fuck do you think you are, Nino Brown or some shit?” The D.T. barked.
“Nah, I’m a fortune teller and my crystal ball tells me that y’all about to be one car short,” Harlem smirked and looked over the D.T.’s shoulder. The D.T. turned around in time to see the per-teen boy squeezing the last of a can of lighter fluid into the open patrol car window.
“Hey, what the hell are you doing?” The D.T. shouted.
“Eat a dick, pig!” the kid screamed before tossing a match into the car and running off. Within seconds the car was filled with smoke as the flames devoured the cheap front seats and were making their way up the side
s of the car.
“Come here you little bastard!” the cop abandoned Harlem and went in pursuit of the arsonist. He stood little to no chance of catching the kid but it gave Harlem a much needed laugh and distracted the D.T. long enough for him to make his own getaway.
Harlem strolled down Manhattan Avenue laughing to himself about the D.T. and the police cruiser, temporarily forgetting about his troubles. He decided that he was gonna grab a couple of Dutch’s and give Fatima a shout to see what she was doing. It was high time she stopped playing with him and came up off the pussy.
Halfway to the store on 100 street Harlem noticed a black Hummer sitting on twenty-eights coming down the strip. The windows were too heavily tented for him to see who was driving it, but he knew he had never seen the truck in the hood before. The trucked slowed and kept a steady pace beside Harlem as if the driver was stalking him. Harlem’s hand casually dipped to his waist and it was just then that he remembered he’d left the Glock in the trashcan up the block. He was just about to hang a hard right and run through the parking lot when the passenger window rolled down and Blake was smiling out at him. Behind the wheel was his pet guard dog, Hugo.
“What up, I didn’t scare you did I?” Blake joked.
“Dawg, you play too much,” Harlem told him while trying to get his heart to slow down.
“My fault, I ain’t mean to spook you. I was just rolling through the hood to show off my new toy. What do you think?”
“This shit is mean,” Harlem looked the truck over and let his eyes linger on the shiny black rims, “real mean.”
“Hop in, my nigga. I wanna talk to you about something anyway,” Blake waved him over.
Harlem hesitated. He looked over at Hugo, who at nearly three hundred pounds was a monster of a man whose name had been attached to several murders over the last few years. Harlem knew Blake well enough to know that he only rolled with Hugo like that when he was feeling threatened by something or someone so his antennas were already up. Harlem had known Blake since he was a kid, but the playing field had changed when he stepped into the arena and so had the relationship. Harlem could think of at least five cats that had gotten crossed by someone close to them and he was in no rush to become number six.
“Come on, it ain’t gonna take but a second.” Blake pressed him.
“A’ight,” Harlem said and reluctantly popped the back door to climb into the back of the truck. When the dome light came on and he saw Sha-Money already in the whip he knew the fix was in. “What the fuck?” Harlem backpedaled.
“Harlem chill the fuck out; you know me better than that. If I wanted you dead you certainly wouldn’t have seen it coming.” Blake said in a twisted attempt to reassure him. “I just need to holla at y’all niggaz about that business you got going on.” Harlem was still hesitant. “My dude, please don’t make me have to ask you again.” Blake phrased it like a request but it was really an order.
“What’s good with this shit, B?” Harlem asked when he finally got into the truck. Sha-Money was on the far side mugging him like he wanted to do something.
“Ain’t nothing good wit it, which is why I got y’all two niggaz in here now,” Blake began. “I’ve known both of you too long to sugarcoat this shit so I’m just gonna come out and say it; this little dance y’all got going on is whack and you need to dead it…NOW.”
“Blake it was these niggaz who kicked it off but fucking wit our money and we just reacted.” Harlem said simply.
“Your money? Lil nigga I was trapping in these projects since before you was even getting ya little dick wet. I started this gangsta shit.” She-Money spat.
“And I perfected it.” Harlem shot back. “You niggaz is just mad because your times have come and gone and we’re the ones rocking Douglass now.”
“Okay, okay, I can see both your points, but Harlem that shit you pulled last night was a little extreme. Fego needed ten stitches for that little love bite you gave him and Mane ain’t never gonna be able to have kids.” Blake informed him.
“Man fuck them niggaz, they tried to body me!” Harlem spat.
“If I had been out there I would’ve bodied you.” Sha-Money added.
Harlem gave him a disbelieving look. “Sha stop acting like you don’t know where I be.”
“A’ight, I’ve had about enough of this bullshit,” Blake cut in. “Bloodshed ain’t gonna do nothing to help nobody’s pockets and I’m about a dollar. Harlem, I know there ain’t been much popping on the Amsterdam side but me and my nigga Sha-Money are about to change that. You know me and Sha go back like two flats so when he came to me and asked for a hand up so he could get back on his feet you know I was all in.”
“That’s what’s up, but what has that got to do with me?” Harlem asked.
“It ain’t got shit to do with you, but it has everything to do with me squeezing an extra few dollars outta this hood. Sha-Money and his crew are under me now, Harlem. I ain’t trying to cut in on your action, but I do need you to give my man some room to stretch his legs, feel me?”
“I don’t have a problem with that, Blake. You know I ain’t a ball buster. I just need to know that we ain’t gonna have no more problems because if they bring it we’re gonna bring it.”
“Nah, I don’t think we’re gonna have no problems, will we Sha?” Blake looked at Sha-Money.
“Whatever.” He grumbled.
“See, now everybody’s happy!” Blake said sarcastically.
“Peachy, I’m outta here.” Harlem reached for the door but Blake hit the automatic locks.
“There’s just one more little piece of business.” Blake informed him. There was something about Blake’s tone that made Harlem uneasy. “Yo, you know with the precinct being on that side it kinda limits the territory making the flow between Columbus and Amsterdam lopsided, but Sha-Money has come up with a solution. He’s gonna let his peoples rock on 104 from Amsterdam all the way to Manhattan Ave., this way we can kind of make up the difference from the bread the precinct is cutting off.”
Harlem looked at Blake and Sha-Money as if they had both lost their minds. “Now that ain’t gonna work. Blake, you and Sha-Money both knows that that’s our strip, we can’t let niggaz from the other side set up shop like that.”
“It ain’t no different than what y’all did sending shorty to pump outta the park.” Blake pointed it out.
“Blake that was one cat catching a few wayward sales on the opposite side of the street, shorty never set foot on Housing property when he was bubbling. What you’re trying to do will put the wolves at our door. It starts with the strip then the next thing you know they’re gonna be in the buildings trying to make sales.”
“What’s the matter, you don’t think you can hold on to your buildings?” Sha-Money challenged.
“We’ve been holding them for thirteen months straight.” Harlem fired back.
“Come on Harlem, let’s be reasonable about this. I’ve never tried to stop you from eating, have I?” Blake asked. “If it’ll make you feel better then Sha-Money will even kick you something for the courtesy.”
“I ain’t kicking nobody shit outta my ice cream shop.” Sha-Money protested.
“It’s my ice cream shop and you’ll do whatever the fuck you gotta do to keep the peace.” Blake told him. “Harlem, just roll with me on this one and we can all get some paper.”
“Blake, me and you have been down for a long time and I love you like family, but you’re asking something of me that I can’t do.” Harlem said with a shrug.
“Harlem don’t draw a line in the sand that nobody really wants to cross over some short paper.” Blake urged him.
“It ain’t the paper, it’s the principal. If I let Sha-Money and his people get it on our side of the projects after what happened it’s gonna make me look weak and I can’t have that.”
“So what’re you saying Harlem?” Blake asked, watching him intently for a reply.
Harlem chose his words very carefully when he spoke. “Blake you�
��ve always been like a mentor to me, so I don’t want no problems with you. Sha-Money can do as he likes on the Amsterdam side, but Columbus is mine.” Harlem said finally.
Blake and Harlem stared at each other for nearly an eternity with neither man blinking the whole time. On one had he admired Harlem for standing his ground, but on the other he felt like the upstart was getting too big for himself. “A’ight then Harlem,” Blake popped the automatic locks. Harlem opened the door and slid out of the truck but Blake had some parting words for him. “I guess you’re too big for my counsel now, huh?”
“I’m never too big to listen to a seasoned cat like you Blake, but at the same time I gotta have my own mind.” Harlem told him and disappeared into the projects.
“You see what the fuck I’m talking about, Blake? These little niggaz are too big for their britches.” Sha-Money said once they were back in traffic.
“Harlem always has been stubborn like that. Let me work on him for a few days, he’ll come around.” Blake said.
“Fuck that come around shit, Blake. You and I both know he ain’t gonna change his mind so why kid ourselves? I say if he don’t wanna give us a little then we take it all. I got some cats on deck right now that’ll push Harlem’s wig back just for shits and giggles, all you gotta do is give the word, Blake.”
Blake rubbed his chin contemplating the problem. He made good money with Harlem, but Harlem still maintained his independence so the peace of the pie he got wasn’t as big as it would be by setting Sha-Money up in the hood. “Check it,” Blake began, “I ain’t telling you to move on Harlem, but if you were to go at him I’d advise you to lay him down permanently. I’d hate for this shit to come back on you if by chance you happened to make move. I ain’t co-signing I’m just saying, feel me?”