Clay
Spending a few minutes at the house he, Whip, and Dorie used to cook up in, Clay sat alone at the table going over the past couple of days’ sales numbers. He was about ready to re-up and wanted to make sure everything was everything where his cash was concerned. Although he wasn’t where he wanted to be as far as that went, the seasoned hustler was well within his goal. Pushing his chair back from the table, Clay stood to his feet. Suffering from another slight migraine, he rubbed his hand down across his face and soldiered up. It was time to get back to getting the rest of the money that was still out in the streets.
Deciding to leave his truck parked on the block a few houses down, Clay made the short hike to the spot on foot. He knew sometimes the element of surprise was better in business when you have employees. If they couldn’t see you coming, they wouldn’t have a chance to clean up or hide the sneaky, low-key shit they might be doing. Although he trusted Dorie and Whip, creeping on them both was how he was feeling today.
Bending the corner, he watched with a keen eye as runners made their way back and forth from the stash spot that they were forced to move daily, thanks to Mr. Jessie, who had just driven by with his wife in the car, and his secret squirrel wannabe-a-detective ass. In between him calling the law and Reverend Richards preaching against the dangers and downfalls of doing drugs, the entire crew had to stay alert and on their feet. It only took one day of lazy hustling in Detroit and you might fuck around and get caught slipping. And as of late, the normal numbers of police cruising by had increased. That increase made Clay order a “zero tolerance” policy on unneeded bullshit with his crew. It was now business first, last, and always when posted with the bag.
Less than two yards from the stop sign, he spotted the mouthy minister holding what seemed like an in-depth conversation with Mrs. Gale. Wanting nothing more than to speak and inquire how she liked her new television set, Clay felt it was best, like they had discussed the evening before, that they just nod to each other for the sake of keeping her good name just that—good.
“Hey, what up, doe, Rev?” he growled, barely acknowledged their presence as he walked by with an arrogant thug swag and a nonchalant tone.
“Hello. Good morning, son,” Thelma couldn’t help but reply as Reverend Richards nodded his greeting with both contempt and respect. She prayed the two of them would not come to verbal blows and wanted to defuse any ill thoughts of that.
Glancing over his shoulder, Clay gave the old woman a faint grin and a wink letting her know he was only playing the game and all was well. His apparent fake greeting was to just irritate the preacher. Not more than a few feet away, Clay could hear the so-called good reverend start browbeating the elderly Mrs. Gale about her unexpected burst of friendliness to a young, reckless dope dealer. As his ears filled with words no man of God should say about the next person, Clay felt his inner demon awake. He wanted to run over and open-hand smack the motherfucker for not only running his name down, but talking loud to the old woman.
Hating foul lame! He stealing niggas’ bread every day and worried how the fuck I make mine. I should murk that pussy where he stand. He got me and my pedigree all the way twisted. If we wasn’t out here getting this money, I swear to his damn God today would be that foul nigga’s last, he angrily mumbled under his breath before meeting Abdul and his sister near the alleyway.
“As-Salaam-Alaikum.”
“Wa-Alaikum-Salaam,” Abdul responded with a huge smile. “I wanted to thank you for the other morning with those guys. It’s like that almost every time they see us.”
“I told you before, no thanks is needed. We good. Just watch your back. I just saw them around the way standing in front of the gas station.”
“I hate those big yucky boys,” the little girl frowned. “They’re so mean.”
“Well, I tell you what, li’l sis.” Clay got on one knee so they were face-to-face. “If any of them mess with you or your brother again, I’ll beat them up myself, okay? I promise.”
“We should be good for at least the rest of this week. They all got suspended until Monday for stealing out of the teacher’s purse,” Abdul sighed with relief.
After reassuring them again that he was indeed 100 percent on both their sides, they parted ways. Clay had a drug empire to watch over, and the day was young.
Chapter Nine
The day went by practically uneventful as far as hood standards were concerned. However, anytime you hustled in the streets, flat-out street shit was bound to happen. Midafternoon, Rhonda showed up and turned all the way up, talking about this and that she’d heard about him and the ratchet girl down the way with the toss up babies. But Clay, trying to keep his encounter with Trinity low key, shut Rhonda down quickly, smacking her face damn near off her body for mouthing off to him. She’s lucky she had the option to walk away on her own two feet and not get carried away by an ambulance—or worse than that, the city morgue. Everyone knew he didn’t tolerate that nonsense, but she, like her grandmother, didn’t think the rules applied to her.
When the commotion finally settled down, Clay sat on the top stairs of the flat staring from one end of the busy block to the next. Concentrating on how to make more money by stretching his product, his feet started to sweat in his boots. No sooner than he looked down to unloosen his laces and ask Whip for the latest count, he was met with the sight of Mrs. Gale making her way from the Outreach Building, cane in hand. Next to her, Reverend Richards was carrying one of his church charity meal boxes that most of the poverty income-level residents relied on—some even more than crack cocaine.
Not this con man again. Clay leaned back on his elbows, moving a toothpick from the left side of his mouth to the right, letting it rest on his lip. “Okay, Whip, what we looking like so far?”
“We ten down, three up, and two and a half in the hole.”
“Okay, that’s a bet.” Clay shifted positions, acting like he wasn’t paying careful attention to Mrs. Gale and the preacher. “We need to pick up the pace and get finished out here. Shit, I got a feeling the block might is about to get even hotter.”
The closer the pair got, the antsier he became, hoping he could control his urge to pop off. When they were directly in front of the house, the reverend’s cell phone rang. As he excused himself, setting the box on the bottom stair, Thelma took the opportunity to ask Clay how he was doing. Not caring about Whip and Dorie’s facial expressions, he replied “good,” standing up out of respect. Overhearing the reverend’s one-sided conversation pertaining to a few missing city workers and their vehicle that was last dispatched in the vicinity, Clay coldly felt no remorse for their disappearance. They had coming what happened to them. And he would double kill them all over again if need be. However, he knew that any extra light being shined on the block he was selling at would be bad for business. As long as he had product on the block, Clay wanted if safeguarded. Most crackheads wanted to cop in peace and make it to wherever they wanted to take their blast in the same manner.
“Mrs. Gale, I’m so very sorry to be so rude, but this is my brother. You know, the one running for mayor,” he proudly bragged for all to hear. “I have to get back to the church. He has a couple of news cameras on their way and—”
“No no no! Please, you go on now. I’ll be fine.” She didn’t have to do much convincing as he briskly turned, headed back toward the church. “I can maybe ask one of these gentlemen to help me with this box that I told you I didn’t need in the first place.” She didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth, but the wise grandmother knew the reverend was just trying to be nosy and grill her some more about what Mr. Jessie had reported. Sarcastically, Thelma smirked, making her way to her own building just in time to take her medication and watch her mid-morning shows on her new television.
Clay had Dorie grab the small-in-size-but-too-heavy-for-an-old woman-with-a-cane-to-carry box. Without hesitation, no questions asked, Dorie took it up to the apartment door he and Clay had taken the Walmart stolen items to
the previous day.
* * *
Whip was still confused from the day before when Ida and Rhonda came on the block mouthing off about old girl. Yet, he had tried all day to put it to the back of his mind and stay on his grind. Now, just like that, Rhonda’s dick-crazy, good-stalking, not-wanting-to-take-no-foran-answer ass had come back with more of the same. After acting like he wasn’t ear hustling on the loud rants of Clay’s jumpoff of the month, Whip waited until the count was low and his boss was seemingly distracted in deep thought. It was time to make his move and get some answers. Easing his way down the street, Whip felt his animosity grow with each swag-filled step. Out of all this random pussy around, why this nigga knock this secondhand ho off and ain’t say shit? He got closer to Trinity’s house as his mind raced. I mean, like, damn, Clay, we could’ve both hit the bitch at the same time. It wouldn’t be shit to it. But why perp? What’s the big ancient Chinese secret about blowing her back out?
A few more feet and he was at his destination—her walkway. Turning his baseball cap backward, Whip spit on the grass after seeing Trinity laid back in an old plastic white chair with one of the arms broke off with headphones in her ears. “Damn, girl, oh, your punk ass alive?”
“Huh?” With dark sunglasses on, she barely raised up removing the plugs. “What you say?”
“Oh, so we play the dumb role now, huh? Is that how we doing it these days?”
“Whip,” Trinity, still feeling emotionally numb from the traumatic experience the morning before, didn’t want or need any more problems. “I saw you was calling and texting me but—”
“But what, you ungrateful little bitch?” Whip wanted to play hard core, like shit didn’t matter, but got caught in his feelings real quick, recognizing the T-shirt she had on. I know this ain’t that nigga shit this slut rocking—the one he work out in all the fucking time! “You was too busy sucking the next dick to get back? Is that it?”
“Shhh . . . please,” Trinity stood up begging him to keep his voice down before he woke both her sleeping kids. “It’s not like that, baby, I swear. I’m just going through something right now.”
“I bet you is.” Whip snatched her cell phone up from the concrete banister. “Let me see what your green snake in the green grass been up to.” After several tries, he realized he couldn’t break her security code.
“What the fuck is you doing?” she tried yanking at his arm unsuccessfully reaching for her phone. “You think because you gave me a few dollars and an iPod you own me or something? You tripping!”
Whip stopped when Trinity said the word iPod, noticing the one she had was an entirely different color than the one he’d given her. He knew right then and there, besides Dorie, Clay was the only one that had access to that shade. “What’s your code, ho?” His demeanor grew dark, wondering why the dude he was so loyal to would be so petty over some stanking rotten-smelling pussy. “What the fuck is it?”
Trinity was over trying to get her phone and finally gave in to his demands. “It’s 6969—why? What’s wrong with you? Why you need to check my shit?”
“6969? Figures, you dirtball.” Infuriated, he pushed the numbers in sliding the bar over to the side while mumbling under his breath about the iPod and T-shirt. Once he got to her home screen, Whip slowly searched down her call log discovering no numbers belonging to Clay or any text messages from him either. “Here you go, slick ass. You probably erased the shit!”
“Erased what?” Almost missing catching her tossed cell, Trinity’s sunglasses fell to the ground revealing the battered and bruised side of her face. “Urghh.”
“What the fuck happened to you?” Whip blurted out, pausing with fake concern. “Damn!”
“It don’t matter. I’m good.” Trinity had enough of his verbal assault and sat back down. “Just leave me alone. In between you and that crazy bitch Rhonda earlier, I’m done!”
“Say what?” Whip tilted his head as if he hadn’t taken in her words correctly. He was surprised hearing what he heard. “Dang—so if Rhonda was here, you already know we know what time it is—lying ass.” He smirked with satisfaction. “I ain’t know she had it in her.”
“Just go.” Uninterested in any more confrontations, Trinity threw her hand up not wanting to go into details of what Clay’s supposed jumpoff had said to her or divulge the secret she was hiding from them both. “I’m not trying to talk. Just leave.”
“Well, by the looks of your face, I can see Rhonda done got you all the way together, so I’m out. Do you, baby girl—do you. You lost out on some more of this here good dick and got an ass kicking. I hope he was worth it. And by the way,” he stopped in his tracks showing her the rubber band grip handle of his pistol, “what’s understood doesn’t need to be explained but in case you slow, if you tell ole boy I was down here, your kids gonna be orphans by daybreak.”
As Whip walked off the porch with a smug expression, Trinity let him believe what he wanted to believe about her bruises and her kitty kat. At this point, it didn’t matter. He was just another dude she’d slept with who called himself set tripping. Keeping her word to Clay was all that was important.
Chapter Ten
“Fuck it! Let’s shut it down.” Clay rubbed his hands together taking notice of the near-vacant block. “We done did what we came to do.” He manipulated his toothpick from one corner of his mouth to the next.
“Damn straight. Man, we did almost close to double with this new strong package,” Dorie announced, going over the numbers in his head. “What you think, Whip? We hit them Twelfth Street busters in the head! This re-up was much better than the last shit they had.”
Whip was still feeling some sort of way toward Clay but tried playing it off. “Yeah, y’all, shit was banging today.”
After checking the stash spots and paying off the runners, the trio was ready to part ways for the night.
“You riding with us? I know you ain’t walking back to your truck,” Dorie assumed, even though Clay stayed strapped. “Not with all that bread on you. Niggas be thirsty as fuck!”
Clay stretched his arms glancing up at the old woman’s window, then stepped back on the porch. He stood silent to gather his thoughts. He then decided to stay around a little bit longer to think. Nodding at the young Muslim boy and his family returning home from evening prayer at the mosque, Clay started to get a pounding headache. A lot of bullshit he was doing the last couple of days was out of character for him, and the block was the only place he could think. The streets raised him and always made him feel at home and welcome. “Naw, I’m good with it. Y’all go ahead and break out. I’m ’bout to be here for a while—chillin’.”
“Want me to stick around? Maybe I can call ole girl from the bus stop and one of her friends you can smash,” Whip suggested with an arrogant tone and a twisted lip. “She ain’t shit but a tramp anyhow. She’ll be down with it!” Playing with fire, Whip kept pushing for a reaction.
“Dawg, I’m telling y’all, I’m straight. I’ma a real killer by nature. Nobody want it, for real. Go focus on some other shit in ya life.” Clay felt himself getting slightly annoyed at all the low-key shade about Trinity Whip was throwing throughout the day and tried to bring it down a few notches before he blew up. “Look, Whip, you and Dorie go do y’all’s thing, okay? I’ma in the zone and ain’t trying to blow up the spot on no foul shit. I’m about mines tonight. Y’all already know how I get down. Just bounce—see y’all in the a.m. Go get y’all head straight or something!”
Knowing it wasn’t in their best interest to argue with a grown-ass man, especially one with an anger management problem like Clay, Dorie started his car as Whip, hyper as ever, jumped in the passenger side. Seconds later, they were off the block and out of sight.
* * *
Twenty minutes or so went by. Leaning back on the wooden stairs of the abandoned house next to the stash house, Clay heard a sound of breaking glass. Not sure of where exactly it’d come from, he stood up. What in the fuck? Seconds later, he heard an echo
ing sound of what he believed to be a door being kicked. Gun in hand, he eased off the stairs, slowly making his way around the side of the house creeping into the backyard. After making sure his own immediate surroundings were secure, Clay headed back up the driveway toward the porch. Before reaching the second side door of the two-family flat, the young hood warrior saw a series of lights click on, then off in the house across the street. Is this what the hell go on when we shut down? he pondered, watching nosy Mr. Jessie’s windows like a hawk. I know good and damn well niggas ain’t being reckless! Not on my block—making the shit hot!
Having been posted all day, Clay knew the man always trying to throw salt in his game and his wife were still out somewhere, yet to return. To reassure what he already knew, the couple’s car was absent from the driveway of their home. Sure the lights could’ve been on some sort of timer—but then that thought was pushed right out of his head. Tucked in the darkness of the night, he witnessed what looked like at least three or four different people scurry past the upstairs and downstairs windows and peek out the front curtain of the door. Not knowing just how many there truly were or if they had guns, Clay quickly ran back to the rear porch retrieving two more pistols his runners kept stashed—just in case.
Upon his return, adrenalin pumping, he was met with Mr. Jessie and his wife getting out their car. “Yo,” Clay tried being discreet, not wanting to alert the burglars inside before he taught them a lesson for disrespecting the block where he made his bread. “Hey, yo—over here, old man!”
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