The Game Don't Change

by Mazaradi Fox

  Michelle walked into the kitchen with her boy shorts on to make his drink. “If you want, you can chill in my room until I come in there.”

  DeMarco got up and headed to her room. A few minutes later he heard someone calling her name. He hopped up off her queen-size bed and looked out the window, but didn’t see anyone.

  Someone started calling her name again. This time it sounded like they were inside the house. DeMarco pulled out an all-black seventeen shot Glock and peeked out of the room to find three dudes coming down the hallway. They were headed straight for the room he was in. He couldn’t help but think Michelle set him up, when he noticed that one of them was a nigga named Black, who was her brother. He had robbed him for money and work a while back when he was visiting his cousins one summer. As the dude pushed the door open, DeMarco let off two shots, hitting him in the shoulder and stomach. Black hit the floor as his homeboys started firing back. DeMarco ran toward the window to try to get out, but there was another nigga standing down below. He had no option but to keep shooting.

  “Let’s dance, muthafuckers!” DeMarco yelled before blasting.

  Across the street, Cash was chilling at Michelle’s homegirl’s crib.

  Cash heard the shots, looked out the window, immediately got up, and grabbed his gun. He ran into Michelle’s house, catching them from behind.

  After they were all laid out, DeMarco and Cash hurried out of the house.

  “You straight?” Cash asked as they made their way to the car.

  “Yeah, man, good looking. I owe you one,” DeMarco replied.

  “Man, DeMarco, that shit was nothing. Let’s get the fuck outta here!”

  As they turned the corner, DeMarco noticed Michelle coming out of a store. He pulled up, as calm as ever.

  “Wassup, ma?” he asked.

  “Where you goin? Why you ain’t in the house?” she asked.

  “Get in the car, I gotta make a quick run,” DeMarco said softly. “Let me borrow your phone, shorty.” He looked at the phone, put it on silent, stuck it in his pocket, then turned the stereo on: Mobb Deep—“Survival of the Fittest” was bumping though the speakers.

  “I like this song, this shit is hot,” Michelle said.

  DeMarco just nodded his head as Cash passed him a blunt. Taking a pull, DeMarco thought about his next move. He felt her phone vibrating over and over in his pocket as he passed her the blunt. DeMarco knew the streets were talking, so he decided to go see his cousin a few towns over. He also knew that sooner or later Michelle would start asking questions.

  Ten minutes later they pulled up to his cousin Jazz’s house. DeMarco had a special way he blew his horn to let his cuz know it was him.

  Jazz ran out of the house with his little brother, Rah.

  “Wassup, DeMarco?” Rah said. “Nigga, when you get down here? I hope you got the good-smelling shit for us, we tryna get high too.”

  From the look on DeMarco’s face, Jazz could tell something was wrong. “Come on in,” he said.

  The two men walked inside the house with Rah while Cash stayed in the car with Michelle.

  “Yo, cuzzo, what’s good?” Jazz asked.

  DeMarco started putting Jazz and Rah onto what had just happened.

  “So what’s good, yo? Talk to me, what you want us to do?” Rah asked.

  “I want you to hold this bitch here until I come back in a few days. But don’t let her outta your sight.”

  Rah seemed to get a kick out of shit like this.

  “Yo, come on in!” DeMarco yelled out the front door to Cash and Michelle.

  DeMarco took the woman straight to the bedroom, pulled her pants down, and she fucked the shit out of him. She sucked his dick for thirty minutes straight. After he was done with her, she fell asleep and he left her in the room stretched out on the bed. He gave his cousin the look, threw $2,000 on the table, and walked out.

  By morning, police were all over the place searching for DeMarco and Cash; Michelle had told one of her friends that DeMarco was coming over. Plus, the slut across the street who had been fucking Cash said she saw what happened.

  * * *

  DeMarco’s cell was ringing off the hook.

  “Where the hell you at?” his Aunt Bernice yelled into the phone. “Them people came to my house askin me where you was and somethin about you kidnappin a girl and shootin somebody! Boy, you betta not come down here wit that shit!”

  DeMarco hung up on her. He was furious! The nerve of these pussies. Through Uncle Bruh, he had two of the best lawyers, one in New York and one in North Carolina, so going to jail was the last thing on his mind. He decided to call his older shorty named India who was a bail bondsman he fucked with. He wanted to find out what she’d heard.

  “Yo, wassup, India baby? This your boy.”

  “Oh, wassup, Mr. Clint Eastwood shootin up houses and shit!” she yelled.

  “Man, fuck all that,” DeMarco countered. “What’s the word out there? I heard they was lookin for me.”

  “Yeah, something like that,” India replied with a little attitude; she knew DeMarco was fucking with another bitch.

  “What you mean? Find out what’s good and hit me back,” DeMarco said.

  “Okay, cool, I’ll hit you back. Be safe and lay low, daddy.”

  DeMarco had family all over the South, so laying low was easy. He called up one of his other shorties and told her to meet him at a Super 8 motel.

  He had to make a run before he got to the motel. As he reached his spot, he circled the block twice, moving slowly and looking at everything closely before he pulled up to his stash house. Hidden away in Piney Green, he had never taken anybody to this place that he only used when he was in town. DeMarco hit the code on the alarm, stepped inside, immediately opened the stash that he had in the floor, and counted out a quick $50,000. His ringing phone interrupted him.

  “Yo, yo, hello?”

  “Why haven’t you been answerin your phone? This my fourth time callin you,” India said.

  “Wassup, baby?” DeMarco said softly.

  “This is the deal: I’m not sayin you do or you don’t, but if you know where that girl is, you need someone to take her to your lawyer to sign an affidavit sayin you didn’t kidnap her. Also, quiet as kept, I heard you could beat the shoot-out in the house because they came in on you. One of the guys is talkin already though. He told the whole story. So don’t forget: if you can find that girl, get her to go to your lawyer. Oh, and tell her to say she left you in the house and she locked all the doors.”

  “Okay, cool. Thanks, baby,” DeMarco replied, then grabbed his two guns and his bulletproof vest. He had always felt that he’d rather get caught with it than without it.

  * * *

  “Where you been? Do you know how long I been out here? And why are you dressed like that?” she asked when he arrived at the Super 8.

  DeMarco kissed her on the cheek. “Take it easy, shorty.”

  “Where is my Gucci bag, playboy?” she asked, while holding her hand out.

  “Yo, take this $2,000 and this bag for me,” he replied.

  “Where are you goin?” she asked, with a frustrated look on face.

  “I gotta bust a quick move, but do me a favor—first thing in the mornin, take the bag to my Aunt Sheena.” One thing about his Aunt Sheena: she didn’t play when it came to DeMarco. For one, his mother had died when he was younger and she made sure her nephew was always in good hands. However you put it, she was on his side.

  “Word,” she replied.

  “Shorty, don’t forget.” He looked at her with a serious face, then kissed her goodbye and got into the car to head back to his cousin’s spot.

  * * *

  When he knocked on the door, Rah immediately opened it with concern and said,“Wassup, nigga, you good?”

  “Hell yeah, we good. Wassup with shorty?” DeMarco asked.

  “Oh, she good. She doesn’t even have a clue, my nigga. We kept her high off that fire you gave us. Come on, shorty, Cash, and
Jazz is in the backyard blazin up. You came just in time.”

  When Michelle saw DeMarco her face lit up. “Where you been?” she asked. “Do you have my phone?”

  “Oh, I had to make a quick run, but check this out, let me holla at you.” DeMarco gave her the rundown on what he needed her to do.

  Michelle just sat there, stuck like she was dreaming. She was at a loss for words, hoping her brother wasn’t hurt badly, but at the same time, she didn’t want DeMarco to think she’d set him up. She would do whatever he asked to prove that she was loyal: “Okay, no problem. I got you, baby,” she said in a sincere tone.

  * * *

  Later that night, DeMarco met with Cash at a motel to talk business. As they were talking, the phone rang and an unknown number showed on the screen of DeMarco’s phone.

  “Yo, who dis?”

  “Yo, nigga, this me—Jazz. We took care of that. Everything cool.”

  “A’ight, but whose number is dis?” DeMarco asked.

  “Come on, we was taught by the best. This a pay phone number. We got you,” Jazz replied.

  “A’ight, let me holla at shorty.”

  “Hello, daddy,” Michelle said with her country accent.

  “Wassup, girl? What you doin?”

  “Shit, I’m ready to see you again. I wanted to ask you if I could bring two of my friends with me.”

  DeMarco got quiet for a minute, but he knew Michelle was trying to show him her loyalty and he was thinking that dick was power.

  “So who are these girls?” DeMarco asked.

  “Oh, it’s two of my best friends, Tia and Kee-Kee.”

  “Okay, Michelle, check this out. Don’t call ’em though, just go to they house and pick ’em up,” he said.

  “Okay, cool,” Michelle said with a big smile on her face. “I love you, daddy.”

  “Yeah, right, you love this dick! Now don’t forget what I said,” DeMarco replied.

  “I know, I got you, daddy.”

  “A’ight, put Jazz on the phone.”

  “Yo, wassup, boy?” Jazz said.

  “Yeah, she talkin about bringin her homegirls wit y’all to meet up with me. I told her it was cool.”

  “Yeah, a’ight. I hope you can trust her,” Jazz said.

  “If this bitch try anything, she outta here,” DeMarco said and hung up the phone. “Come on, my nigga, we outta here. We gotta get some new rooms.” He grabbed a towel and started wiping everything down. He didn’t want to leave any evidence of being there.

  “Fuck you doin?” Cash asked.

  “See, that’s the problem wit you niggas. Y’all don’t think about fingerprints and shit. Well I do!”

  “Come on, we out then,” Cash said, shaking his head.

  After DeMarco was satisfied that the room was free of fingerprints, they exited.

  “Man, I need a drink or somethin,” Cash said.

  “Shit, me too, yo,” DeMarco replied. “I got a lil’ spot on the low that I used to go down to where a lot of classic old heads be at.”

  “A’ight, let’s get it then.” They hopped in the car and made their way over to the bar, which was crowded. Most of the patrons were older, with a few young people scattered throughout.

  “May I help you guys?” The fine-ass blond waitress smirked while looking them up and down.

  “You can start by givin me your number,” DeMarco replied.

  “You so crazy!” she said with a giggle. “What can I get you to drink?”

  “Can I have two White Russians with no ice, and some buffalo wings with french fries? Also, let me get a Sprite with lemon,” DeMarco said.

  “What can I get for you, young man?” she asked Cash.

  “Oh, I’ll have the same thing he ordered.”

  “Okay, give me a few and I’ll be back with your drinks,” she said before walking away.

  “Shorty got the Pamela Anderson look,” Cash said.

  “Shit, you ain’t lyin. I need that on the team. By the way, have you been checkin on things?” DeMarco didn’t play when it came to money.

  “Yeah, everything is cool. But I forgot to tell you, your man Killer C from up top called last night.”

  “Word? Why the hell you ain’t tell me?”

  “Shit, my nigga, it was mad late. It slipped my mind.”

  “Yo, you got a clean phone on you?” DeMarco asked.

  “You know I do.” Cash reached in his pocket and passed the phone to DeMarco, who immediately got up from the table and walked outside to call Killer C.

  “Wassup?” DeMarco said.

  “You know me. I’m up here makin it do what it do, my nigga. When you comin back up this way? I need you soon. Plus, your man Skip keep askin about you.”

  “Word? That nigga home? My nigga, get his number for me,” DeMarco said. “But let me put you onto what’s been goin on down here.”

  Killer C just stayed quiet while DeMarco filled him in as much as he could in code since they were on the phone; Killer C couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He was on fire like a heat wave or a bomb waiting to explode. After his uncle got locked up, DeMarco and Killer C had developed a bond that no one could ever break.

  “Yo, DeMarco, I told you to let me come down there with you! Yo, I would’ve turned that whole town upside down!” Killer C yelled through the phone.

  “Nah, my nigga. Everything is good. I got this, plus I need you to keep shit tight up there for me. Trust, I got this.”

  “Let me know your shooters on deck.”

  “A’ight, bet, and don’t forget to get Skip’s number for me and tell Bizzy to get at me. I heard he just came home too,” DeMarco said.

  “A’ight, I got you, my nigga, be safe out there.”

  “Next time, no questions asked, I’m there. So I’m about to be out,” DeMarco said.

  “When you comin back up?”

  “Come on, yo. You know I don’t kiss and tell,” DeMarco replied.

  “A’ight, whatever, man. I’ll holla at you later,” Killer C said.

  “Do that.” DeMarco ended the call and walked back to the table where Cash was waiting impatiently.

  “Damn, nigga. What, you got lost or somethin?” Cash said as soon as DeMarco sat back down. “Shit, it’s old school in here for real—donkeys all over the place.”

  “I told you, this my spot. My sister put me onto this joint. This spot is the shit.” DeMarco watched the waitress making her way over to the table.

  “Here are your drinks,” she said.

  Cracking joke after joke, DeMarco and Cash sat laughing and eating. But the whole time DeMarco was saying to himself, I don’t know what it is, but it’s somethin about this nigga. He felt his waistband to make sure his nine was ready.

  “Yo, I’m tryna get me one of these old head joints,” Cash said as he sipped on his drink. “They say those are the ones to have.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I heard,” DeMarco muttered back.

  The waitress returned with the check and slipped DeMarco her number. He left her five one hundred–dollar bills and walked away from the table.

  “Yo, DeMarco, I think this is Jazz and them calling me,” Cash said as they were leaving.

  “Oh, word? So pick it up.”

  Cash did as instructed.

  “Yo, this Jazz. Where y’all niggas at?”

  “Hold on, my nigga.” Cash passed the phone to DeMarco.

  “Wassup, Jazz?”

  “You tell me what you want us to do.”

  “Meet us by the Fairfield Inn hotel,” DeMarco said.

  “A’ight, bet,” Jazz replied.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “Cash, go inside and get two rooms, but make sure they attached in case these chicks try to pull some funny shit,” DeMarco said.

  “A’ight, cool.”

  “Wassup, ladies?” DeMarco said as Jazz and Rah arrived with Michelle, Kee-Kee, and Tia. The girls were clearly excited to be around DeMarco, as if they could see dollar signs.

  “Yo, DeMar
co, let me holla at you,” Rah said.

  “Yo, what’s good, Rah?”

  “Nah, everything good, but just to let you know, these chicks are ready. You know I play stupid, but I keep my ears open. I overheard them say they would do anything to be around you,” Rah said. “And that’s beautiful, because we just don’t want any kind of bitches around us, fat asses or not. Yo, a nigga tired, but I got to go find somethin to eat, plus Jazz is tryna find some bitches for the night.”

  “What’s wrong wit Tia and Kee-Kee?” DeMarco asked.

  “Shit, I tried to holla at them, but they both said they wanted you.”

  “Wow, gonna see about that.”

  “Jazz, let’s go get something to eat,” Rah said.

  “Fuck that, I’m goin too,” Cash said, as he followed Jazz and Rah out the door.

  DeMarco stayed at the hotel with the ladies.

  “Damn, daddy, you don’t have nothin to smoke?” Michelle asked.

  “Shit, are The Fat Boys fat?” DeMarco said with a laugh. “Open the bottom drawer, I got all types of good ass bud in there.”

  The women were staring at DeMarco as if he were a bite to eat.

  “Turn on the TV or somethin. Y’all acting like he’s gonna bite y’all or some shit,” Michelle said.

  Kee-Kee opened her Louis Vuitton suitcase and pulled out two big-ass bottles of Hennessy. Michelle took both of the girls into the bathroom and started schooling them.

  “Listen, bitches, we gonna party like rock stars and don’t be asking a lot of questions,” she said.

  “Girl, we know that,” Kee-Kee replied.

  “A’ight, on the count of three: one, two, three . . . We in dis bitch!”

  DeMarco was sitting on the chair like a don watching the women.

  “Damn, daddy, give me some of your blunt,” Michelle said.

  “Shit, if you know like I know, you better roll up your own blunt. Matter of fact, all y’all need to roll up your own shit,” DeMarco said. He wanted to make sure everybody was high.

  “Daddy, we’re gonna take a quick shower, so we can get nice and fresh for you.”

  “Shit, ain’t nothin wrong with that. Make yourself at home.”

  “Kee-Kee, can you pass me my panties out of my bag?” Tia called out.

  “You don’t need any panties, don’t you know who we wit? This is New York’s Finest himself,” Michelle said as she headed to the bathroom with her glass of Henny.