Hoodlum

by K'wan

  After finishing the joint, Shai stepped into the hot water. Theheat felt good coursing through his body. He hadn’t really stopped to take a breath since his return home.

  Shai reluctantly pulled himself out of the shower. It was now a quarter to twelve so Shai had to put some pep in his step. He stepped into his boxers and slid into a pair of silk socks. By the time he got his pants on, his bedroom door flew open again. Shai was about to catch an attitude until he saw who it was. A teenage girl came barging into the room. Shai smiled as his little sister flopped onto his bed. He knew it wouldn’t be long before Hope made a grand appearance.

  “What up, chicken head?” Hope joked.

  “What's good, two-piece?” Shai replied. He was about four years her senior, but they were still close.

  Unlike the brothers, Hope favored their mother. She was a smooth chocolate color, with medium-length hair. Her high cheekbones and cat-like eyes made her look like one of those pretty African models. She had large firm breasts that stood up under her white Donna Karan blouse. Her chunky bottom almost burst the seams on her cream-colored skirt. Hope was one of those girls that had developed way before her time.

  “Why you ain’t come say hi when you got in?” Hope asked.

  “I had to handle something,” Shai said. “Business, ya know?”

  “Yeah, I know your kinda business, Shai.”

  “Get outta here, girl. You don’t know what you talking about.”

  “Yeah, I do. Shai, you ain’t nothing but a whore.”

  “Hey,” he said, faking anger. “Where’d you get that dirty word from?”

  “Please, look it up. But I know about you, Shai. The girls talk.”

  “Yeah, what they say?”

  “They say how you be doing ‘em. Shai, Shai, Shai,” she sang. “Like you God's gift. You remember when you came up for Christmas break last year?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Weil, you told Poppa that you was going out with Swan, butyou really went off to see Minister Brown's daughter. After Poppa told you to leave her alone, you still went off and slid with her.”

  “Your story got a point, Hope?”

  “Sure does. The way I got it is y’all went back to the minister's house. You knew he was hosting bingo at the church. Yeah, Shai, I heard. She did all kinda nasty stuff for you. Put it in her mouth and all,” she said, giggling.

  “What?” Shai asked, surprised. “Where you getting your information from, girl?”

  “You forgot that she go to my school? She told all the girls at Saint Mary's how Shai Clark does it.”

  “You don’t go listening to everything you hear, Hope. Females talk for the sake of hearing themselves talk. I can’t help it if I’m young and pretty,” Shai said, slipping on his shirt. “You need to be glad we got the same genes.”

  “Forget you, Shai. I can’t help being a diva,” she joked.

  Hope was a miracle baby. She, like the rest of them, had the same mother and father. It was Poppa's last attempt at reforming their mother. This was back when she had first got caught up. She was doing her thing with whoever was holding weight, all in the name of her monkey. Poppa had reached out to her in a last attempt at salvation. He managed to get her straight and bring her back to the dime that she used to be. Their mother stayed clean long enough to get pregnant for the third time.

  Poppa thought that he would be able to save June before her addiction took complete control. Over time the call of the streets became too strong for her. Poppa was so caught up in his business that he didn’t know June was getting high again.

  June went into labor prematurely in the fall of 1988. Hope Elise Clark came sliding out of their mother's ass at 6:15 A.M. She weighed a whole pound and a few ounces. The doctors said that she wouldn’t live through the week. Poppa was beside himself with grief. He felt that it was his responsibility to keep June clean. If not for herself, then for the little girl that she carried. The first month was the hardest, but after about seven weeks Hope was ready to gohome. That's how she got the name Hope. Poppa's baby girl beat the odds.

  Poppa was overjoyed to have his baby girl home, but he had come to the end of his rope with June. Poppa laid his hands on June for the first time. It was Hope's second day home from the hospital. One of Poppa's men had spotted June copping from a local dealer. Poppa had the dealer put to death, but for June there was only one penalty: exile.

  After giving June a verbal and physical lashing, Poppa stripped June of all her valuables. Credit cards, jewels. All of it gone. He cast June from the mountain and down with the sodomites. Poppa decreed that if June was content to live as the savages did, then it was only fitting that she live among them.

  June tried to fight him in court, but she didn’t have any type of leverage. Poppa was a modest businessman with connections, while June was an uneducated drug addict. She wasn’t allowed to see her children or interact with them unsupervised. June stayed high so much that after a while, the supervised visits stopped. Poppa played the role of both parents for all three children.

  “Why aren’t you dressed yet?” Hope asked.

  “I’m trying,” he said. “It takes time to look good, shorty. Now get yo’ ass up outta here.” Shai popped Hope on the butt with his belt as she scooted out the door. He’d have to keep an eye on her. There were too many thirsty niggaz in the world to let her run wild. He knew because he was one of them.

  Honey was awakened by her phone ringing. She sucked her teeth and put the pillow over her head. To her disappointment, it didn’t help. She tried to ignore it, but the phone kept ringing. After about the sixth ring, Honey snatched the cordless off the charger.

  “Hello!” she barked, not bothering to hide her irritation.

  “Hello, Melissa,” a proper voice said.

  “Who is this?”

  “This is Mrs. Johnson, from the library. Did I wake you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good,” the woman said smugly. “What's up with you? I had you scheduled to take your GED practice test today, but you never showed up.”

  “Oh, I had to take care of something,” Honey lied.

  “Melissa, this is the second time you’ve missed it. Is everything all right?”

  “Listen, I got a lot going on in my life right now,” Honey said with an attitude.

  “Well, apparently education isn’t one of them,” Mrs. Johnson said. “Listen, Melissa. I’m gonna be frank with you. You need to figure out what you want to do with your life. You’re a young and intelligent girl. Don’t throw your life away. Set an example for your daughter.”

  “Hold on, you don’t even know me,” Honey snapped.

  “But I know plenty of girls like you though. Baby girl, the clock is ticking. You might be pretty and dress real nice, but what good is that gonna do you when you’re forty and have nothing to show for it? The odds are against us already, just being black women, but being an uneducated black woman makes those odds damn near insurmountable. You need to think about what I’m saying to you.”

  “Look,” Honey said, feeling the sting of the truth, “I don’t have time for this right now. I’ll come down during the week and schedule myself for another test. Good-bye.” Honey hit the switch and put her head back under the pillow.

  Legs sat in front of the big-screen television tapping away at the Xbox joystick. The five or six homies assembled in the basement apartment were laughing their assess off as Legs used an aging Emmitt Smith to run for an eighty-yard touchdown. He was whipping Amine's ass in a game of Madden football. The win would be sweet, but the hundred dollars that Amine would be coughing up was sweeter.

  “That nigga is serving you,” joked a tall kid named Harry.

  “Fuck you,” Amine shot back. “Why don’t you just suck Legs off and get it over with? Can’t stand a dick-riding mutha fucka.”

  Amine reached for the bottle of Cristal that was sitting next to him. He looked at the bottle and frowned at the comer that was left. “Damn, son, Niggaz ain’t got no
more drink?”

  “Nah,” said Harry. “That's the last of it there. I think we got some beers in the fridge.”

  “Beers?” Amine asked with a frown, “Nah, son,” Amine fished around in his pocket and took out a wad of bills. Everyone eyed the money as Amine peeled off three one hundred dollar bills. “Go get some more Cristal and a bottle of Henney.”

  “You rolling like that, huh?” Harry asked.

  “Straight cheese,” Amine replied. “Tommy takes care of his own, duke.”

  “Fuck outta here,” Marshall said, speaking for the first time. “I work for Tommy too, but my pockets ain’t looking like that. What the deal, son?”

  “What can I say, dawg? I’m eating.”

  “So why we ain’t eating like that?” Harry asked.

  “ ‘Cause,” Amine responded, sounding like he was talking to a group of children, “you niggaz is just corner boys. Me and my man Legs is putting in major work. Now take ya ass to the store and quit asking questions, fool.”

  Harry made eye contact with the other soldiers in the room before taking the money. Legs caught the look that was going around and didn’t like it. He was cool with all the soldiers on hand, but there was no telling the lengths that jealousy could make a person go to.

  “I’m trying to tell y’all, niggaz,” Amine continued, “you gotta step ya game up if you ever plan on seeing cheese. Salad-ass niggaz is running around waiting on a handout, that ain’t what's up. You gotta prove yo'self, dick. I don’t give a fuck what I gotta do to move up. Tommy gives the order to kill, then it's on. I’m trying to get my stripes. Yo Legs, remember that nigga Heath? Yo, that shit was—”

  Legs, who had become disgusted with his friend's antics, cut him off in midsentence. “Yo, dawg,” Legs said, tapping Amtne's leg. “Let me holla at you for a minute.” Legs didn’t even wait for a response.He just walked out the front door and hoped his friend would have the good sense to follow. Amine threw out a few more choice insults to the soldiers before joining his partner outside.

  When Legs spoke, he did so in a hushed tone. “Fuck is wrong with you?”

  “What you talking about, kid?” Amine asked.

  “All that stunting shit. Nigga, is you crazy?”

  “Come on, dawg. I’m just having a lil’ fun. Why don’t you chill?”

  “Because, dumb ass,” Legs said heatedly, “your fucking mouth is either gonna get us knocked or robbed.”

  “Nah, Legs. You got it all fucked up, dick. Those is our peoples in there, kid.”

  “Amine, you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. Niggaz talk, same as bitches. Then you in there styling on peeps like you better than them or something.”

  “I was just playing with them, b. My niggaz know it's love.”

  “Ya niggaz? Amine, you don’t know them niggaz like that. You just met ‘em when Tommy put you on. You don’t know what the fuck is going on inside their skulls. How does that look, we’re all working for the same cat, yet me and you are the only ones sitting on some change? That shit is looking real suspect.”

  “Whatever, Legs. You supposed to be a killer, nigga. Act like it. You acting like you shook or something.”

  “Hold on,” Legs said, putting on his most serious face. “Nigga, I put you down with this, son. Never forget that. Fear don’t live nowhere in this heart.” He beat on his chest for emphasis. “It ain’t about being scared. It's about being smart. All you gonna do is bring the heat on us. If the police don’t catch wind of your wild-ass stories then Tommy might.”

  “I ain’t wetting that shit, man.” Amine waved him off. “I’m keeping it funky.”

  “I guess there just ain’t no talking to you,” Legs said, shaking his head. “You’re grown, partner, I can’t speak for you, but I’mgonna cake the money and do just what the fuck Tommy told me to do: get low.”

  “You do what the fuck you want, but I ain’t hardly going underground for killing a piece of shit like Heath. I’m gonna have some fun with this bread.”

  Legs watched his partner turn and walk back into the basement apartment. If Amine wanted to put himself on front street, then so be it. Legs, on the other hand, wasn’t talking any chances. He didn’t like the idea of ending up in prison or on anyone's hit list. Legs flagged down a cab and headed for Penn Station.

  Tommy sat in the back room of Shakers going over paperwork. Shakers was one of the businesses that Poppa owned. It was a gentlemen's club where you could come have drinks and watch the stage show. Shakers also had a back room where regulars could come and gamble. !t was one of the first spots that he opened when he began legitimizing his assets. Poppa had since moved onto bigger and more lucrative investments, but he held on to Shakers for sentimental reasons.

  Tommy's thoughts were broken up by a knock on the office door. “Come in,” Tommy said, without looking up. Here stuck his huge head inside the office door. “What is it, Here?”

  “This clown is here to see you, Tommy,” Here said, annoyed.

  “Who?”

  “That skinny wop. What's his name? Freddy Delupa or something?”

  “Oh, you mean Freddy Deluca? You can send him back here.” Here went off to get Tommy's guest while Tommy got ready to receive him. He made sure that all of the paperwork was put away and the .32 that he kept inside the desk drawer was within arm's reach.

  Freddy Deluca was a messenger boy for Fat Mike. Tommy hadn’t gotten around to telling them that they would no longer be lying down with the Cissarros. They would hear about it sooner orlater if they hadn’t already. They could either accept it or not. Tommy was ready to give it to them however they wanted it.

  Here came back, followed by Freddy and a weasel-faced man he didn’t know. Freddy was draped in a white suit and matching shoes. His curly locks sat up on his head in an Afro-like fashion. He greeted Tommy with a warm smile, but Poppa's eldest boy wasn’t so easily duped. He had learned a long time ago to look deeper under the surface of what a person showed you.

  “Tommy,” Freddy said, smiling. “How ya doing, paisan?”

  “I’m good, Freddy. So what brings you down to the gutter? You slumming?”

  “Tommy, why do you say such hurtful things? Can’t a guy come down to visit with his ace boon coo—”

  “Watch ya fucking mouth.” Tommy cut him off. “I don’t play word games, mutha fucka. What do you want?”

  “Sorry, Tommy. I didn’t mean no disrespect. Got a little business I wanted to talk with you.”

  “So, talk.”

  “Okay, T. We got this stuff that's coming in about two weeks from now. High-powered shit, Tommy. Thing is, the shipment is hot. As in burning. We need to dump this shit, like fast. The hows and the whys ain’t important. We just need to get rid of it.”

  “I don’t know about this, Freddy,” Tommy said, casually lighting a cigarette. “I’m still trying to move the last shit y’all hit me with. The potency was weak. I tried to put a three on it and it turned to shit.”

  “We know, Tommy. We got burned on a deal and it filtered down to youz guys. You know how it is?”

  “Nah, Freddy. I can’t understand that. I didn’t give you no funny money, so why I gotta get funny product? I got a rep to protect, same as y’all, Freddy. How does that look on me?”

  “Whatever, Tommy. Let the past be the past. I’m here to talk to you about the present. Can you do this thing for us?”

  “I dunno, Freddy,” Tommy said smugly. “Let me get back to you on it.”

  “Tommy, Mike says that he would consider this a personal favor.”

  “Like I said, I’ll get back to you.”

  Freddy looked at his partner and shook his head. He said something to the man in Sicilian and the man nodded. Tommy didn’t know what they were saying, but he didn’t like it. His hand dipped to his lap and fingered the pistol he retrieved from the drawer. Using his foot, he tapped on a yellow switch that was hidden beneath the desk. This would activate yellow lights that were situated throughout the club, letti
ng Here or anyone on staff know that something was about to go down in the spot. Here saw the light and took his position outside the office door with a shotgun at the ready. Had Tommy tapped the red light switch, Here would’ve come in blasting.

  “Fuck is that shit all about?” Tommy asked. “You mutha fuckas speak English around me.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Freddy said, moving toward the door. “You’ve said your piece. We’ll be in touch.”

  “What you mean by that, Freddy?” Tommy asked, getting hostile.

  “You know, I thought we were friends, Tommy? Friends don’t turn their backs on friends in a bind.”

  “Ain’t turning my back on you, Freddy. I’m just telling you what I know. We moving major weight over here, baby. Can’t get overstocked.”

  “Major weight,” Freddy muttered. “Some people forget their places in the scheme of things.”

  “And what's that supposed to mean?”

  “You know what the fuck it means, Tommy. We put you and Poppa on the map.”

  “You must be crazy,” Tommy snapped. “We do our own thing, chump. With or without the Italians, we eat. All y’all do is try to funnel that bunk-ass dope through us. Without the Clarks, y’all spaghetti-eating mutha fuckas wouldn’t see a dime in the black hoods. Fuck, we don’t really need you.” Tommy folded his arms.

  “Bullshit,” Freddy shot back. “Ain’t no way that them bigwigs downtown would’ve given you shines the time of day. We brought you in.”

  “What’d you call us?” Tommy asked, standing up.

  “You heard,” Freddy said, poking his chest out. “A shine. You know, shoesbineV

  Here caught the ass end of the conversation and burst into the office. He moved to stop what he knew was coming, but he was too late. Tommy was already going. He cracked Freddy in the jaw with the butt of the pistol, sending him crashing into the wall. The weasel-faced man tried to draw his weapon, but Here had him. He landed a gut shot that knocked the man's wind out.