by Azarel
“Bitch, what’da hell you been doin’? Liftin’ weights and shit? Look at you, all toned and shit. You still a lil’ petite bitch, though. And you still killin’ em with dat ass,” she said.
She grabbed my arm and twirled me around, studying me like I was gonna be sold on the block. “Damn, Candice, yo shape look good enough to eat, but where the hell are yo shoes, and what happened to yo clothes? And what’s that white shit on the side of your mouth? You must‘ve been sleepin’ like hell on the train.”
I wanted to ask her where the hell her original set of teeth were, because she was laced with four gold teeth shining brightly in the front of her mouth. Instead, I replied, “Long story. Can we get outta here?”
I started leading the way, like I knew where I was going. For some reason, now that I was around Tracey, I felt even more embarrassed than before at my appearance. Tracey had always known me to be real serious about my clothes back when I had money. Whatever was hot, I rocked. And if I was five minutes late on it, Rich would already have it waiting for me. That was the life I used to live, and Tracey knew it.
She walked behind me in her black freak’um dress and three inch green heels staring at my outfit, probably wondering how I’d gone from riches to rags. She didn’t say much more, just shook her head until we got outside the station.
“Where’s your car?” I asked, looking around.
“Car? That’s funny. Bitch, I barely make enough loot to keep a roof ova’ my head. I catch rides with my flava of the month, or rely on pit and pat.” She smacked her lips together.
“Who is that?”
“My feet, bitch.” She laughed wildly. For some reason, Tracey had that kind of laugh that made other people want to laugh too…Even if you didn’t think it was funny. She started walking down Eighth Avenue, but kept talking. “But you can’t do that, cuz. We gotta get yo ass some shoes before we do anything else.”
I shook my head and followed. We stopped at some off-brand store to get me some shoes and a jacket, compliments of Tracey. It wasn’t what I wanted, but served the purpose.
After that, it took us another thirty minutes to make it to Tracey’s apartment on West 127th Street. We didn’t talk much on the way there, because she’d been on the phone with someone named Luke the whole time, the guy she called her flava of the month. They talked in codes mostly, with uh hum’s and ah umm’s. I felt kinda strange, so once we approached her apartment, and she hung up the phone, I asked her if she’d been talking about me. Tracey was my cousin, but I had serious trust issues.
She put her hands on her hips and hesitated before responding. “Damn, girl, you still nosey. But if you must know, yes. I called my friend Luke, ‘cause I want him to meet you. He’s a playa and knows big people in big places,” she smacked, in between words.
I gave her a funny look and crossed my arms. I knew game when it was being dealt. “What is he, a pimp?” I asked. “‘Cause I ain’t no hoe.”
“Shit, you used to be drug dealer, what’s the difference,” Tracey fired back. At first she had this nonchalant look on her face, until she noticed the sadness in my eyes. “Look, lil’ cuz, I’m just an outta shape stripper. I ain’t got yo shapely bod, lil’ waistline, and big tits,” she said with resentment, grabbing one of my nipples at the same time. “I think you got what it takes to make some serious money in this town. I got somethin’ better in mind for you.”
Damn, those were the exact same words that came from the conductor on the train.
I snatched my breast from Tracey’s grip, and followed her into the apartment. Either my vision was fucked up, or her place was some trash. A real shit hole, I thought. I couldn’t believe my eyes. As I entered, I stepped on shit like old magazines and dirty panties right at the door.
What the fuck?
It smelled like a damn dog had pissed all over the place, but there were no pets in sight. I took a few steps forward, trying to find some floor space so I wouldn’t fall and bust my ass, when I noticed the unspeakable. This nasty heffa had a dirty sanitary napkin sitting on the edge of the couch. That was it for me. I knew I had to find another place real soon.
Tracey grabbed the pad like it had a right to be there. Then she bent over and picked up a few dirty plates from the floor, as if that little spot cleaning was all she needed to make the place presentable. I thought to myself, you’ll need Neicy Nash and the Clean House crew up in this spot. I was so stunned. I found comfort near the wall. I waited for her to say something comforting like, make yourself at home.
Instead she said, “Bitch, why you standin’ there lookin’ retarded? Move that stuff off the couch and sit down. Don’t worry, bitch, this the fun house!”
I folded my arms like I always did when in uncomfortable situations, and plopped down in the raggedy cloth chair. My eyes darted to the end of the hall, letting me know Tracey’s place was small. There were only two doors to the back of the apartment, which meant a bedroom and a bathroom. Damn, she really is doing bad.
Tracey was never the type to hide her feelings, so she started talking about my mother, and the rest of the family who had gotten locked up with us. She wanted to know how it all happened, and why I was the only one who got out. She’d heard the rumors that spread throughout the family, but wanted to hear it straight from me.
I held nothing back. It was actually therapeutic. We talked for hours, while I gave a detailed account of how things got started, who was doing what, and how much money my mother was really making. Before long, Tracey looked at her watch, and jumped up like she was late for work or missing something really important.
She walked over to a tiny hall closet, threw me a worn towel and washcloth, and pointed to the bathroom. “I’ll get you a t-shirt and some shorts. Clean yo’self up before Luke gets here.”
“I’m not really up to meeting Luke tonight. I need some sleep,” I said.
“Look, there’s some bologna in the frig. Make yo’self a sandwich and wash yo ass. I’ma be back. I’ma bring Luke,” she said, with her hands clutching her flabby hips.
“I don’t eat bologna,” I said to her backside.
“Well, eat a damn mayo sandwich.”
Suddenly, back to back loud knocks banged on Tracey's door. At first I was okay with the loud knocks until I glanced at Tracey. She always played Billy Bad-Ass, but her side-ways funky look made me think she was unsure about who knocked uncontrollably on the other side.
"Who the fuck is it?" she yelled nervously, moving toward her front door. "You ain't let nobody follow you, did you?" she whispered.
I looked crazily wanting to choke her ass. I shook my head back and forth rapidly like a mute. Words weren't important- my life was. If the person on the other side of that door wanted me, I damn sure wasn't gonna let'em hear my voice.
The knocks got louder and Tracey yelled again. "Who is it?"
Still no response.
Tracey backed up slowly as the banging sounds increased. It sounded like somebody was using a pole to punch at the door. "Open the fuckin' door!" a voice yelled.
My body froze, but my eyes remained glued to the door. I hopped up, charged to the left, and did a flip over the back of the couch. Contemplating my next action, my body shook like a vibrating dildo. Whoever was on the other side of the door was serious about getting in. My heart pounded as I thought back to my New Jersey attack. These people really wanted me.
"Tracey, let me the fuck in," another voice shouted.
Next thing I knew, Tracey let a smile slip through her mouth and headed for the door. When she opened it, a young boy looking like he hadn't reached puberty yet walked briskly in the door.
"Winky, I'ma fuck yo ass up?" Tracey belted.
"Why? You shoulda opened the damn door."
"You out there knocking like the damn police."
"I got it like that…remember, I paid the rent up in this mufucka last month."
"Get yo high- ass outta here."
I stood all the way up figuring things were okay. When
I looked Winky in his eye, I could tell he had been smoking. He smelled like a truck load of weed, and walked real jittery all over the apartment.
"Look, I gotta go," Tracey announced. "Whatchu got for me?"
"A lil' somethin', somethin'."
"Somethin' what? You ain't gettin' no ass."
"Who want your stale- ass pussy? The whole neighborhood had it all ready.”
Winky laughed, then asked me if I wanted to smoke a blunt with him. I just shook my head.
Tracey grabbed Winky's weed smelling ass to the front door. "I'll be back," she said to me. "Winky take yo simple ass home," she ended.
The front door slammed hard when they left. Tracey never even turned back to look me in my face. Some hospitality, I thought, bringing all these simple ass niggas in her house. And Luke, he can forget about me.
I felt like I was being pimped, but knew I wasn’t gonna work the streets or live in a run down spot like Tracey’s. I was determined to make a way for myself, even if I had to resort to getting in touch with Agent Barnes. Without a dime to my name, I showered, fixed my hair, and made room to lie on the wobbly cloth couch, waiting for Tracey to come back.
By the time she came in, I had one eye open, praying it wasn’t another ambush. My eyes opened wide when a fairly thin guy stumbled past me. His face couldn’t be made in the darkness, but the smell of Hennessey reeking from his pores filled the air. Between knocking down pictures and bumping into the furniture, Tracey guided his way, cursing him out in the process. I expected her to come back out and introduce us after he made it to the room.
Instead, twenty minutes later, she peeped out from her door in a freaky laced outfit, and turned off the hall light. The moment her door closed, I shut my look-out eye, and drifted into a light sleep.
Chapter Five
The next morning, a crunching sound woke me up early. A shabbily dressed guy, who resembled Terrance Howard from the movie Hustle and Flow stared me in the face. He sat in an oversized bean bag, peeling an apple with a sharp looking knife. My eyes damn near busted through my head.
“This Luke,” Tracey said, walking up behind him. “Luke, this my cuz, Candice. Didn’t I tell you she was a dime piece, real fineeeeeeeee,” she bragged.
I looked at Tracey like I wanted to kill her, not just because she had a wannabe hustler in front of me, but also because I hated the way she dragged her words sometimes, and always ended with a smack.
Luke never took his eyes off of me. He just kept mumbling, “Umph…umph…umph…oh, yeah, we gotta winner.”
I stretched, and wiped the crust from my eyes. I’d obviously slept all night, and good too. My nervousness slowly went away, but his demeanor still made me feel a little uncomfortable. I wasn’t sure why, ‘cause he wasn’t the type of guy I would normally be fearful of. As a matter of fact, his Louisiana twang didn’t make me think he was harmful at all.
“She might work,” he told Tracey.
“Might? Hell, my cuz is pretty as shit,” she responded.
“I heard you were a snitch,” Luke blurted out, while taking another bite of his apple.
I sat up straight, and gave Tracey the evil eye. My arms were folded across one another and clenched tightly.
“Nah..uhhhhh,” Tracey said, in my defense. She pushed his shoulder. “I told you she got locked up for nothin’, right along with my aunt, uncles, two cousins, and her man. It wasn’t her fault. They had the drug ring goin’. She just lived wit’em and got caught up.”
“Yeah, well, where I’m from, that’s called snitchin’, if they all still in and you out.” He cut another slice of his apple, gobbled it down, and stared right back into my face. “The people I’m tryin’ to hook her up wit’, they lookin’ for loyal broads. Broads who ain’t bringin’ no trouble, and no police either.” Luke looked at me as if to ask, if I was bringing trouble.
“Look, I’m not on trial! And I didn’t ask you to come here!” I shouted. I looked at Tracey for some help. She looked back at Luke, giving him the eye to stop.
“Bet…your loss. Tracey told me you needed a good job one better than hers. She said you had the look.” He got up, threw his tye-dyed hoodie on over his wife-beater, and walked toward the kitchen. He looked back for another quick look at me. “You do got the look though,” he added. “You could make a lot of cash, and live good too. You get to live at the spot while on payroll. I’m talkin’ ‘bout a mini-mansion in a suburban neighborhood and shit.”
I turned and looked at Luke with a lil’ interest. I liked the sound of that, ‘cause I definitely didn’t want to stay at Tracey’s spot too long. It was loud, and in the heart of everything. “What I gotta do?” I asked, with an attitude. “Long as it ain’t no prostitute shit.”
“Nah...it’s like an escort service. You gotta be the dates of high profile people; you know senators, politicians, musicians and shit.” Luke moved closer to me, and rubbed his thumb from the top of my face down to the side of my cheek. “Your smooth cocoa skin and long hair will have ‘em goin’ crazy. Not to mention that bad ass body you got. It’s my manz spot. He’ll look out for you. Just make you some money and roll,” he suggested.
Luke had a point. It couldn’t have been too much worse than when I worked for my mother. I thought back to how Big V ran her business. It was a tight ship; but it was all about family. Between me, my uncles Ray and Cedric, and my man Rich, we sold most of the coke in the Brooklyn and Queens area. Big V never touched any product. She met the connec’, and then her brother, Kenny, was responsible for cooking up all the coke and distributing it in the streets. That’s where I came in.
I remember wearing many hats. Some days, I’d have to meet drug dealers, sell them the shit, and collect the money. Other times, I’d have to take a drive with the money to pay off what we’d been fronted. So many times, I thought about driving off with thousands of Big V’s money, never to show my face again.
One time, I even drove two kilo’s of raw coke to Big V’s favorite client. It was the night I was supposed to go out with Rich on Valentine’s Day. She screamed like crazy, telling me to get my fuckin’ ass in that car and drive that shit to meet her boy, some Jamaican dude. I remember feeling like a whipped puppy, ‘cause there was no talking back to Big V. Especially when she said that’s what the hell she bought me my convertible CLK for... to drive her shit around.
Back then there were no tears, just unhappiness. On the outside, I was getting money, and had the best looking guy in town. But nobody understood that I was locked up already, mentally that is.
“You a’ ight?” Luke interrupted. “No time for day dreamin’ and shit. Get up, get ready, and slap on some good smells.”
“I didn’t say I was going!”
“What? You gon’ stay here with Tracey? C’mon, man, you know better.”
I frowned, knowing he was right. I just didn’t want to be led by a hoodlum, who couldn’t even keep his pants up on his waist. “Okay…I’ll go,” I finally agreed. “But not for long. Just until I make enough money to move away and be on my own.”
“Bet. I just gotta spring for an outfit before you start. You make a nigga look bad, goin’ over there lookin’ broke down.”
I stretched my neck, wanting to ask him if he’d looked in the mirror lately. It looked like he had slapped a bunch of gel in his two-inch strands dressed like a starved thug.
“Let’s move it then,” Luke ordered, with an instant grin.
He moved his hands back and forth, motioning me to move faster. I took my time getting dressed, and questioned Tracey like crazy about her strange flavor of the month.
Before long, we were on 125th Street, and had hit up one of Luke’s thieving friends for a new outfit just for me. He had all kinds of stuff, ranging from Baby Phat to Apple Bottoms, to no name sweatsuits and athletic gear. I wanted more, but Luke said he was doing me a favor just to get me in the door. He said first impressions were long lasting. I laughed inside, wondering what catalog Tracey had gotten this clown from.
/> We made several stops in the city before heading out to meet Luke’s connection with the job opening. The ride to Long Island gave me time to really think. In between Luke’s ranting and raving about his friend Duece, I mapped out my plan. I’d decided that I would only stay at
Duece’s house for a few months, just enough time to make some money and move to L.A., or maybe even Vegas, just somewhere far away. Until then, maybe this new spot would be incognito.
From what Luke said, it didn’t seem like nobody from the streets would be coming anywhere near his place. Luke said Duece was from the streets, and had a notorious rep from back in the day, but was now all about business. He only rubbed shoulders with the elite, and kept the low lives far away from his establishment.
Luke slammed on breaks, taking me away from my thoughts. He backed the white Impala up quickly, making sure his tires screeched in the process. Through the black rod iron gates, what looked to me like a mini-mansion, sat nestled back behind the gigantic flower beds.
“What’s that address?” Luke asked, leaning in front of Tracey. “I can’t see shit.”
“Hell if I know. If you can’t see it, why you think I can,” she smacked. “And get your Jheri curl out my face,” she joked.
“Right there,” he pointed. “The address is on the columns. That’s it,” he added, in a more serious tone.
Luke whipped the car around and pulled up to the gate. I thought we were gonna have to push a button on the intercom and give names along with I.D. Strangely, the gate opened as we pulled onto the cobblestone driveway. The house sat like a mansion up on top of the hill.
The only way up to the front door was the long expensive looking stairwell, which led to the stylish landing.
“See, didn’t I tell you your boy was gonna hook shit up,” Luke boasted, shaking his head up and down. His smile grew wider the closer we got to the front of the house. He leaned over and kissed Tracey. “You wanna cut, don’t you?”