“Yeah but—”
“Yeah, my ass. I’m done with this.”
“Dawg, you don’t understand with your fake light-skin ass. You ain’t even black enough to be talking shit to us, calling us all niggas. Matter of fact, you look more like that ho-ass camel jockey behind the counter.”
“Now look,” Clay cautiously warned, not wanting to skull drag a kid but certainly not above it. “Look, I done said it’s too early in the morning for this bullshit. And as for who the fuck I look like or don’t look like, you got the game fucked up. Now do you li’l bastards really want it with a real nigga like me or not? It’s y’all call.” He cracked his knuckles ready to put in a little lightweight work. Tucking his gun deep in his waistband he grinned. “’Cause see, I’m still good with mines. These hands do what they do, and I’ll beat a kid’s ass just for old time sake.”
Abdul stood mute, rubbing his sore jaw. Thankful, he looked on as the boisterous group begrudgingly dispersed from the store, but not before helping themselves to a few bags of hot chips and tipping over the metal newspaper rack.
“As-salaam alaikum,” Clay spoke having taken his Shahadah while locked up a few years back but was not following Islam any further.
“Wa alakum assalam,” Abdul happily responded with relief, still holding his jaw.
“Look, you and your sister go tell Kalif I said to let y’all out the back way. Y’all should be good. If not, holler at me. Don’t let them assholes stop you and your sister from being who Allah intended on y’all being. Y’all out here doing the right thing; trust me. Stay true to y’all self.”
“Inshallah,” Abdul announced.
“Yeah, inshallah,” Clay reaffirmed as Whip looked on, not the least bit interested in Islam, Allah, the Quran, or the Bible, for that matter, or anything they stood for. In Whip’s greedy, self-indulged eyes, money—the almighty dollar—was the only God he knew, and the only thing he worshiped.
As the two older guys stood guard making sure the trouble-intent teens left from in front of the doorway entrance, the Muslim store owner did as Clay asked. Unlocking the security door and gate, he allowed his religious-linked little brother and sister out the back exit. Peeking around the corner to make sure the coast was indeed clear, Abdul saw the brazen crew go down the block. They were soon turning their vindictive attentions toward a young mother and her small children.
Extremely grateful for the divine intervention of a beat down, he nodded at Clay holding his right fist up against his heart, signifying respect. Now maybe we can make it to school or at least to the church. I hate being Muslim and being judged for nothing. It’s not fair.
Abdul grabbed his little sister’s hand. Wasting no more time, they ran toward Reverend Richards’s Outreach Building. Even though Abdul and the preacher had very different faiths and overall beliefs, the seemingly devoted man of the cloth never once turned him or his sister away when they were being chased, mocked, or ridiculed—which was almost daily. The good reverend had even given Abdul a Bible which the teen snuck and read every night before going to sleep instead of the Quran. He knew if his father ever found out, there would be hell to pay, so Abdul kept it hidden.
Trinity Walker
Damn, when this bus coming? I could be at home still in the bed! With a sleeping newborn in the stroller and balancing a crying toddler on her hip, Trinity peered down the busy block. “Stop that noise. You too big for all that. Now be quiet before you wake your brother,” she commanded her son.
Extremely late for her appointment at the Child Support Office, Trinity tried calling her worker, hoping to maybe reschedule but kept receiving the voice mail. Frustrated for even being up this time of morning, she finally got her fussy son calmed down. Using the last few dollars she had on her Bridge Card to buy him a bag of chips and a chocolate milk, she prayed the public transportation she relied on would arrive so she could get back and watch reruns of Bad Girls Club.
Not having either of her sons’ fathers in their life, the barely out-of-her-teens mother lived month to month the best way she could. From time to time, guys she “dated” would bless her with a free trip to Red Lobster or at least some White Castle, depending on what all she was willing to do with them. Some months were better than others. Luckily, when times were real tight, she’d get a nice-size food box from the Church Outreach Building. It wasn’t much in the way of what she and her kids desired to eat, but beggars definitely couldn’t be choosers. Bottom line, Trinity Walker and her children were catching it. Then suddenly, out of nowhere, her already bad day was seconds from getting worse.
“Hey, big booty,” one boy rudely mocked, smacking Trinity across the rear.
“Dang, she got a fatty—one of them Nicki Minaj asses,” another spoke on the young mother’s backside as if he was a grown man, not a ninth-grader.
“What the hell!” Trinity turned around with her son still on her hip. Furious, she wasted no time cursing the youths out. “Y’all must’ve lost y’all’s damn mind. You best keep ya motherfucking hands the fuck off me.”
“Or what!” a third teen joined in. “You gonna make us drink milk from them big headlights of yours?”
As they all laughed, Trinity caught a glimpse of her young neighbor and his small sister creeping by through the rear alleyway. They were headed in the direction of the Outreach Building where the Reverend Richards had just the day prior blessed her with a few bottles of formula for her baby. Trinity wanted nothing more than to shout at Abdul to come hold her kids while she taught these disrespectful idiots a lesson. However, he and his sibling seemed in a rush. “Look, y’all gonna mess around and catch a foot up y’all ass if y’all don’t be careful,” she promised with conviction. “I ain’t one of y’all little damn friends. Y’all gonna get hurt fucking with me.”
“Whatever, bitch.”
“Bitch? Oh yeah? I got your bitch, little boy.” With all the commotion, both of her small children were now wide awake and crying. Without hesitation, she placed the older of the two on the ground near the stroller and instructed him not to move. Trinity then put her cell in her back pocket, kicked off her flip-flops and irately braced up to fight. “Trust, y’all done fucked up now.”
Before Trinity could swing, Clay showed up and intervened. No matter how much she tried to flirt with the hood kingpin in the past, he never paid her a second thought. Now, here he was ready to assume the role of her ghetto hood knight in shining armor, only dressed in Tims. “What in the entire fuck is wrong with y’all? Didn’t I already tell y’all to take y’all little punk asses the fuck on? Why y’all out here messing with this lady?”
“Damn, old school, you ain’t nobody’s daddy,” the leader mumbled under his breath as his friends, now intimidated, looked on. “And this tramp ain’t no damn lady.”
“Yo, did you say something, big man?” Clay, growing angrier, stepped to him. Wrapping his hand around the back of the teen’s neck, Clay applied pressure. “I ain’t hear you. Matter of fact, while you running your mouth—apologize.”
“Well,” Trinity, full of attitude, reached down trying to console her children. “Where is all that mouth you just had—all of y’all? Talk that bullshit now.”
“Sorry,” the boy swiftly grimaced in pain before being let loose.
Knowing his boss was seconds from exploding all the way, Whip had to step in, making his presence felt. “You wannabe tough li’l playas—bounce before shit to the point of no damn return. Ain’t gonna be no more fucking around with y’all.”
Sensing they had caused enough havoc for the morning without getting in serious trouble, the group took Whip’s advice and ran off toward the school.
“I wanna thank—” Before Trinity could finish her sentence and hopefully get Clay to maybe sponsor a meal or two or three, his cell rang. All about his business, he immediately stepped over to the side to answer it.
Whip, however, was left ready to capitalize on the moment. As if it was second nature, he glanced down at Trinity’s wide
ass. He and his boys had seen the young mother around the way for some time, but she was just a little bit too ghetto for his taste. She was very unpolished on the norm. However, she seemed to be looking extra cute today, so Whip figured—why not?
“That wasn’t nothing, ma,” he stuck his chest out, realizing she had her sights focused on Clay. “What’s good with you later on? What’s the deal?”
“Well, I’m . . . um . . .” stalling until Clay ended his call and possibly showing her some attention was not working out as planned. Sure, Whip was cute, and she knew he had money to spend, but Clay was the man around the hood. He was the big fish. Fucking with him could be her big payday. Any female that ran his pockets would be straight for a long time to come. Just thinking about that drunk and damn near toothless Ida’s granddaughter Rhonda, whom she’d enviously seen Clay with the past month or so, was proof enough in the way her once raggedy-weave-wearing ass had come up. Damn! Ain’t this about nothing. Of all the times for DOT to show up. Trinity couldn’t believe her luck. After running late, the bus finally decided to turn the corner, cutting her impromptu game plan short.
“Look, ma, whenever you get back from wherever, come find me on the block, okay?” Whip still kept trying his hand even after helping her put the stroller onto the bus.
Through the fingerprint smeared bus window, Trinity watched Clay and Whip walk back down the block. All day long she would think about Clay coming to her rescue. Forget Whip. Clay was the hog with the big ones. The farther the bus drove, the more Trinity drowned the annoying sounds of her kids out. She continued to stare out the window and daydream what her life could be like if she were childless and Clay’s main woman. She knew there would be no way in hell she’d be on the bus. She’d be pushing a new Benz or SUV every season. Trinity imagined all the shopping sprees Clay would sponsor and the over-the-top trips they would take here, there, and all over the world. Held captive by her fantasy, Trinity was pulled back into her real everyday, humdrum, below-poverty existence. Another passenger on the bus was nudging her arm to alert her that the baby had dropped its bottle. Damn, I hate this fucked-up life I done made for myself. And I double hate y’alls daddies for being some deadbeat bum-ass niggas, she regretfully glared at her seeds.
Chapter Four
Clay
Tuesday morning rolled around, and it was back to the same routine as the day before; trying to survive in Detroit the best way a midlevel hustler knew how. Needing to pick up a few much-needed supplies to keep his ever-growing enterprise on the rise and standing tall, Clay yawned, fighting to get out of his king-sized bed which he shared from time to time with a female of his choice. Last night and the few weeks prior—it was Rhonda. Having got down with her from time to time in hotels, motels, and short stays all around Metro Detroit, he finally trusted her semienough to bring her to the Grosse Pointe apartment complex where he laid his head at. No girl in Detroit could really be trusted when it came down to it, but Rhonda knew enough to know if she ever crossed Clay, the consequences wouldn’t be worth the crime. It’d be her last day on earth. She, like everyone else, could see by the cold and dark uncertain gaze in Clay’s eyes—he took loyalty seriously. It was strange to some, but whenever a person even thought about or considered crossing Clay, he would give them that “evil eye” of his, and they immediately fell back.
Feeling him move around in the bed, the “flavor of the month” started to wake up as well. Rhonda was just average in the looks and in the body department, but it was her street edge that made a dude like Clay first take notice of her. Not scared to ride dirty, guns, dope, pills or talk that gangster-girl slang when she felt like she was getting taken advantage of, it was what it was. Rhonda was what most guys in Clay’s position searched a lifetime for: a true, authentic, bottom bitch. Most times, the slicked-mouth diva knew her position and played it, but like most females, she’d step out of line from time to time and had to be brought back down to the reality of dealing with a balla—especially one of Clay’s caliber.
“Yo, get up, girl. Wake that ass up.” He nudged her shoulder as she resisted taking the sheet off her head. “We gotta roll. You know I don’t like keeping my folk waiting.”
“Dang, Clay. Why can’t I stay here while you handle your business? I can go grab some groceries and hook up some dinner later.”
Clay stood to his feet. Standing in the mirror thinking about getting several more tattoos, he laughed at her daily repeated request. “Come on, now, Rhonda. How many times do we have to go through this routine? Is you slow or something? You already know how I stand on that type of bullshit.”
“But, Clay,” she whined relentlessly in hopes of getting her way.
“But Clay what? Where in the fuck is we really going with this one-sided conversation?” Naked in all his glory, he headed toward the shower, towel in hand. “Now look, I’m about to wash these here nuts, you feel me? And you can either come in there and help a brother out or stay out here and get your clothes on; either way, we both breaking out when I get dressed. The bargaining session is over.”
Mad she’d never been able to stay alone at his suburban apartment and nose around at free will, Rhonda got tangled in her overwhelming love for Clay. She’d more than proved she was “down for whatever” when it came to him on more than a few occasions, but Clay was adamant about his rules. “I swear to God this fool think somebody out to get him—with his overly paranoid ass,” she arrogantly mumbled. “If I wanted to get him, trust and believe, he’d already be got! He think driving around ten more minutes and bending all them corners late at night gonna have my ass confused where I’m at? He crazy as fuck.”
Yearning for nothing more than to get a few more hours of sleep and lie around like she was wifey, Rhonda hesitantly did as she was told. As the cold air conditioner climate hit her chocolate skin causing her to get chill bumps, she looked over at the nightstand. Seeing Clay’s cell as well as his wallet, she thought she’d take her chances and see what was really good with the man she was so devoted to that obviously wasn’t returning the favor.
Letting her curiosity take over, her eyes darted toward the bathroom door, ensuring the coast was clear. Opening his wallet first, she discovered no big surprises as she snooped; his driver’s license, registration, and insurance papers to a few cars that she already knew were in someone else’s name and a spare key to the truck. Besides an old photograph of him and a woman who had to be his mother, Rhonda came up empty-handed with any potential dirt or clues to who he really was.
Glancing at the hallway, she remained motionless, making sure Clay wasn’t coming back. Taking a deep breath, she reached for his phone. Relieved he didn’t have a lock or special code, she exhaled. Wishing she didn’t have such long nails, she fumbled with each icon she touched, bringing up a different screen. First, incoming calls, then outgoing—she copied down the numbers and names she didn’t recognize, tucking the paper in her purse. “This sneaky wannabe playa got too much going on for my black ass,” she remarked in a whisper before tapping the envelope icon revealing his existing text messages and reading them as quickly as possible. Seeing that she wasn’t the only female vying for his attention, her heart started to ache.
Placing his cell back where she’d found it, Rhonda fell back onto the pillow wishing she and Clay could be much more than apparent fuck buddies. Daydreaming what their kids would look like, she went so far as to think of names of their twins; one a boy and one a girl. Rhonda was fascinated by Clay’s good hair and extra fair skin, so she automatically assumed their joint offspring would be gorgeous. She couldn’t help but grin as she thought about her perfect fantasy. However, the only roadblock standing in the way of fulfilling that family dream was only a few yards away, hell-bent on being a single street nigga his entire life.
“Hey, yo, Rhonda! Bring your hot firecracker ass in here and give your manz some of that head game you working with,” Clay snatched her out of her emotions.
Rhonda might have felt slighted; yet, she wa
s not going to pass on an opportunity to please her future baby daddy. Hearing the shower water still running, she was soon met by a thick mist of steam when she opened the bathroom door, stepping inside. After joining Clay in a round of early-morning sexual escapades, the sometimes ill matched couple got themselves together. Sixteen or so minutes later, the pair was out the door climbing in Clay’s midnight-colored leased Hummer. After bending a few corners in the dismal morning climate, Clay was dropping a tight-lipped Rhonda off at the lower-income area two-family flat she shared with her mother, two older sisters, a nephew, four cousins, as well as her drunk drug-addicted grandmother Ida.
Seeing the screen door damn near falling off the hinges and dirty diapers thrown out on her front porch, Rhonda rolled her eyes at her existing living conditions. Up until the moment she started hanging with Clay and was exposed to a carefree lifestyle, she didn’t know any better. The downtrodden hood rat had accepted her circumstances as normal. However, one taste of the so-called good life, the eager-to-please girl resented the world for the hand she was dealt at birth. Angry, not being able to just chill, relax, and enjoy the tranquility at Clay’s apartment, Rhonda tried her best to play it off. She knew just as easily as he’d noticed her around the way, he could do the same to the next female that was always waiting in the wings as her replacement.
“Baby, will I see you later?” Uncertainty filled her voice after shutting the truck’s door. Clay was busy calling Whip while ignoring Rhonda’s questions that wouldn’t stop coming. “Well, Clay, will I? What time you gonna pick me up tonight, huh?” she presumably asked, refusing to take no for an answer or be placed on the back burner. “I can be ready whatever time you say.”
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