by Lennox, Lisa
The real reason Dame was gone was because he was a cocky, ego-trippin’ nigga. Dink had been good to all of his boys and made everyone family, but when Dame threatened him, he realized that the nigga was on some bullshit and had to be dealt with. Dame wanted to shine more than he wanted to grind, but his crew didn’t need to know that. Dame went down the best way he could, at the hands of a ho. “Yeah, but we all know all pussy ain’t good pussy.” Everyone dapped. “But yo, speaking loyalty, let me holla at you for a second,” Smurf told Drake.
Instantly, Drake’s pager went off. He looked at it and a frown spread across his face as he stuck it back on his hip. The two went off to a secluded area in the back of the arcade. Smurf noticed the other two guys went to scoop up some honeys.
“Wassup, boss?” Drake spoke. He knew when he and Smurf spoke one-on-one, it was serious, and he was glad that it was him that Smurf trusted.
“I been meanin’ to ask you . . . is there something up with your pager?”
“Why you ask that?” Drake asked Smurf, with a perplexed look on his face.
“I paged you earlier and you never returned my call. Let me see it.” Smurf grabbed it out of its holder and ran through the numbers. “See, it’s right here,” he told Drake, trying to jar his memory. Smurf handed the pager back to Drake.
“Shit, I don’t know. Probably chillin’.”
“Wrong answer,” Smurf said. “I’ma ask you one last time. Where were you?”
Drake remembered exactly what Smurf was talking about. He was with his older brother who’d graduated from the academy. The two went riding in his new squad car and his brother gave him some information about a chick he was asking about. Drake knew he had to confess, because he knew that Smurf wouldn’t hesitate putting a cap in his ass. Homeboy or not.
“Look, man, I was with my brother, so what?”
“So what? Your brotha is a fuckin’ cop,” Smurf said calmly.
“Rookie,” Drake emphasized.
“It don’t matter.”
“Look, man, what he do and what I do ain’t got shit to do with the other,” Drake said forcefully. “That nigga be in the streets as much as we do. So what he got a legal hustle now? I been down with you for a while, man, and you think I’ma fuck that shit up?”
Smurf said nothing.
“Look, man, we got an inside man that can let us know what’s going down and when,” Drake said honestly. “As a matter of fact, when you saw us, he was asking me about that fly-ass junkie everybody was bangin’ over the summer.”
“Which one?”
“The light-skinned one. The ho Dink was ridin’ dirty with.”
“What about her?” Smurf’s eyebrows raised. He knew Drake was talking about Laci.
“They looking at Tonette and them because of Crystal being knocked, but his partner thinks they’re behind more shit too. Actually, he said his partner put a big drug case on hold to deal with these chicks.”
Smurf thought back to the dossier that Marco had on Dame and Dink.
“You know, man, my moms wanted me to go to the academy too, but I wasn’t feeling that shit. Fuckin’ PD ain’t payin’ shit. I got two baby mamas and a gal. Shit . . . a nigga gotta eat.”
Smurf shook his head and had a crooked grin on his face. “Y’all pretty muthafuckas can sho’ get yourself into some shit, can’t you?” Drake frowned. “Well, just as long as it won’t mess up our operation, then we cool. Make sure you handle yo’ shit, but check it, I need you to do something for me.”
“You got it . . . what’s up?”
“CLIFTON,” OFFICER JONES called out, startling his partner upon his return. Detective Clifton was reviewing the file he had buried in paperwork on his desk. “I got a positive ID on the girl in the photo.” The detective looked at the clock, then turned around and looked at his trainee waiting for him to talk. “Her name is Julacia. Julacia Johnson, and get this—she lives in Riverdale.”
“Riverdale?” Detective Clifton interjected with raised eyebrows. He noticed his trainee glancing at the file that was on his desk and he shuffled papers to conceal it. “What the fuck she doing bummin’ around in the South Bronx? That’s actually a very odd combination.” Detective Clifton sat back in his chair with his arms behind his head. He stared at Officer Jones and noticed how handsome he was. He thought back to the case at hand to get his mind off his trainee. “The question is how she got involved with those girls. She doesn’t look like she’d be mixed up with them.”
“Well, I’m one step ahead of you on that,” the rookie answered, not giving up how he knew of the girl. Even though he’d learned her name by going to the South Bronx, Officer Jones was just as familiar with her as every other nigga in that neighborhood. He, too, had a copy of the tape of Dame fucking the shit out of her. It was the hottest thing on the streets.
“Well damn, Jones, I’m glad you got your ass outta there without getting shot at. It’s a jungle out there.”
“Nah it ain’t,” Officer Jones reassured his partner. “They’re nothing but pussycats in the South Bronx,” he joked.
The detective looked at him strangely. “Yeah, pussycats.”
“But for real, though, it’s just everyday life. We just gotta stay on top of what’s going on down there, that’s it.”
“I’m one step ahead of you on that, youngin’,” Clifton spoke, “but this makes more sense. Ms. Thomas alluded that someone else may be involved. You gotta give it to Ms. Johnson, though. She’s a smart one.”
“Why you say that?”
“Whatever this girl is doing, you can damn sure bet she ain’t bringing it back to Riverdale. I’m sure once it starts getting dark, she gets the hell outta the South Bronx, hops her little ass in mommy and daddy’s car, and hits the Henry Hudson Parkway back home.” The detective laughed at his own humor. “Well, what’s up with her, rookie, what else did you find out?”
“Nothing much,” Officer Jones sighed. “I’m afraid we may not find her.”
“Why not?”
“Word on the street is she’s out there bad on the pipe and when they’ve got that itch, trying to find that one crackhead is almost next to impossible.”
“A crackhead?” Detective Clifton picked up the picture and looked closely at Laci, then shook his head in disbelief. “This girl right here?” Officer Jones nodded his head. Clifton looked back at the picture and shook his head. “Just doesn’t seem right,” he mumbled under his breath.
“No telling what this girl looks like now.” They both looked at Laci’s picture.
They both knew that there was no specific look for a druggie, as they came from all walks of life, but most of the people they arrested were dirty, toothless, and homeless. Scrungy-looking at best, but even on her worst day, Laci didn’t fall into this category.
“Look, I don’t care what kinda itch she got. We got to find her. I think she could have some information on why or who would report Ms. Moore as being armed and dangerous.”
Once the rookie had analyzed the situation as his partner did, he nodded his head in agreement. “You’re right, but let me keep working on this. I should have more answers for you by tomorrow.”
“Nuh huh, you’re not going back down there alone this time,” the detective told him. “It’s almost night and the area’s too bad. They see you in your uniform and all hell will break loose. Rule number one, you always need a backup, and rule number two, don’t be a fuckin’ wise-ass.” The detective got up in Jones’s face and pointed a finger. He saw how smooth Terrance Jones’s skin was, and he even caught a faint whiff of Eternity for Men. Rodney Clifton was incensed now. “Y’all come in here, straight out the academy like y’all on some robo-cop shit try’na make us look bad. Fuck that shit! I told you I put a big case on hold that could have promoted me to the head of the drug task force, but now, I gotta investigate this shit because a fuckin’ cop was involved in the shooting. IA is breathing down our necks. There is a link here with these two cases that I’m try’na work out. I worke
d too long and hard, man. Ain’t no fuckin’ rookie gonna take what’s rightfully mine.”
“Man, I ain’t try’na take none of your cases from you,” Officer Jones confirmed, moving out of the way of his partner’s stank coffee breath and getting his personal space back. “I could care less about that! I’m just trying to help. I know my way around the streets more than you do as an officer.”
“I don’t care if you were a goddamn blind mouse working your way around a fuckin’ maze,” Clifton spat, “I can’t let you do that. You’re fresh out of the academy. You ain’t been trained for the streets yet. Especially the Bronx.”
“I know more than you think I do,” Officer Jones told him honestly.
“Is that so? And how you figure that? You got an insider on the girl or something?”
“No, I just know how the streets work. You go down there demanding answers and shit, try’na bum-rush those kids, you don’t know what’s gonna kick off. Just sit back at yo’ desk, eat some donuts, move some papers and look busy. Let me do this.”
“Man, fuck you,” the detective retorted. Officer Jones winked at him, signaling that he’d won this round with his comrade, and walked out of the office.
“Hotheaded rookie,” Detective Clifton mumbled under his breath. He was glad his trainee was out of his face. He had him so worked up, he needed to go back to the West Village to find some stress relief.
CHAPTER 11
SONNY OPENED THE door to Margaret’s house when he heard the doorbell ring. He had been staying with Margaret since Laci went to rehab. Margaret welcomed the company. She had always liked Sonny. He’d developed a dope habit in 1965 and had lost everything, including his relationship with his mother and his brother, Jay. When he was confronted, he took the coward’s way out and burned out. He wasn’t there for his mother’s funeral or Jay’s college graduation, marriage, or death. Margaret was big on family because she had a small one, and so she’d searched the streets for her husband’s only brother. Once she found him, she vowed to help him and never turn her back on him.
Margaret put Sonny through rehab, visited him, and helped him turn his life around. She even helped him get a job at the local supermarket, but after being clean for a year, he woke up with a jones he couldn’t shake. Margaret was brokenhearted that he wanted to go back to his habit, but if he hadn’t run into Laci that day at the crack house, who knows what could have happened.
“Hi, can I help you?” he asked the officer who stood in front of him.
“Good evening, I’m Officer Terrance Jones,” he displayed his badge, “and I’m looking for Julacia Johnson.”
“Why are you looking for her?” Sonny asked in a harsh tone, followed by a worried look on his face. He noticed the officer had an envelope in his hand.
“Is she here?” the officer asked again, in an attempt to look past Sonny.
“Look, officer, no disrespect,” Sonny said, “but I’m not going to let you see her or talk to her until you tell me what you want.” Sonny knew it was pointless to argue with the officer, so he tried his best to cooperate without coming across as defensive.
“I’ll come back later,” the rookie officer said, despondent. He knew something was up and hoped that getting answers wouldn’t be a problem. It was Friday evening, and he was afraid this would be the start of a long-ass night.
“Officer,” Sonny spoke before the officer got to the second step on the porch, “my niece has gone through a lot in the last few months. If something is wrong, I’d like to know.” He extended his hand in a formal introduction. “I’m Sonny Johnson and whatever’s happening, I’d want to be the one to tell her instead of you. She doesn’t need any stress added to her life.”
Officer Jones stopped and looked at Sonny. He handed him the envelope he was carrying. Sonny stepped outside on the porch and closed the door slightly in case Margaret came looking for him. He would rather he handle this than his sister-in-law. Sonny opened the envelope and looked inside. He saw pictures of five girls, one of whom was Laci.
“Do you know these girls?” the officer asked.
“Just my niece,” Sonny spoke after looking at the picture, “but these have to be those little bitches who—” Sonny stopped talking, realizing his anger was getting the best of him.
“Who what?” the officer asked.
Sonny looked at the officer. “Nothing. What do you want to know about my niece?”
“I’m curious how she knew these girls and if she knew anything about who may have set up Crystal Moore. That’s the girl right here.” He pointed to Crystal’s picture.
“What happened to her?”
“I really can’t go into details because I’d like to question your niece, sir. But if you would,” he reached into the breast pocket of his uniform shirt and pulled out a business card, “could you have her call me? My number’s right there.”
Sonny took the card. “Is my niece in any type of trouble?” he asked.
“Honestly sir, it’s too soon to tell. Her name came up and we need to question her about her involvement with these girls and see if she can tell us anything about the incident involving Crystal Moore.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Sonny told the cop, “but I can’t promise you anything.”
“Well, as long as you try, that’s all I can ask; but if you can’t, then we’ll have to put a search warrant out on her.”
“A search warrant?”
“I’m sorry, but yes. It’d be so much easier if she came to us.” The officer was truthful but respectful. He didn’t want to cause any trouble. He had a feeling that the sex tape, Crystal’s death, and Laci’s connection with the South Bronx Bitches had to be related in some way. But how?
CHAPTER 12
AFTER THEIR TALK, Drake and Smurf returned to the other guys, who now had the full attention of some skeezers. Drake and Smurf’s eyes widened in shock at the skanky girls. Obviously, Lil’ Rob and Chunky had awful taste in women.
“I thought that was you,” a girl whined to Drake. It was his first baby mama, Tanisha.
“Oh, hey . . . wassup, T.”
“Wassup?” she said in true ghetto-girl fashion. “That’s all you gotta say to me, ‘wassup’?” She stood in front of him, put her hands on her hips, and cocked her head to the side.
“It’s kinda late,” he told her. “Why ain’t you at home with my son?” Drake couldn’t stand Tanisha and didn’t have much to say to her. She was a neighborhood ho and the word on the street was she’d trapped him with a baby because she wanted one with good hair.
“Shit, nigga, why ain’t you home with me and yo’ son?” she shot back. “Knock a bitch up, then you move on to the next dumb bitch.” She rolled her eyes and looked at Drake as if to say now what, nigga?
Smurf and Drake exchanged glances.
“I’ma let you handle yo’ family business.” Smurf patted him on the back, shook his head, smirked, and walked away.
Just as Smurf began to play a game of Donkey Kong, a sweet voice startled him.
“Hey, Smurf.”
The smell of PRIMO caught Smurf’s senses, and before he could turn around, he knew who it was. LaQuan. She stood about 5′5″, had dark, smooth skin, and wore a short, tapered haircut. She wore a pair of l.e.i. jeans with leather on the front, with black leather riding boots and a red silk blouse. She also wore multiple dolphin earrings that dangled from her ears. She shifted from foot to foot because this was her first time approaching Smurf and she was nervous, even though she’d heard he wanted to get up on her.
Smurf had wanted to get at her for a while, but business came first. “Hey Quannie, what you up to?”
She smiled at Smurf, glad to hear that he called her Quannie. She’d heard that he referred to her like that from around the way but wanted to hear it for herself.
“Just hangin’ out with my homegirls.” She looked around, spotted her clique, and pointed to them. “I was hopin’ to run into you.”
“Yeah, me too,” he told her,
looking up and down at her body.
LaQuan looked at Smurf innocently and smiled. Along with Smurf’s reputation of being a ruthless killer, he was also known as someone who could lay some good pipe. Many chicks chased him and some got what they wanted. Even though young Smurf was only seventeen, he went from not being able to get pussy to having to choose carefully which ho to get it from. If a ho came to him wanting to give him some, he figured something was up, and that could mean the beginning of the end for him, just like in Dame’s case.
Smurf pulled nothing but top-notch hoes. They looked good on his arm, but these were the same women who had their hands extended, and always wanted something.
Smurf didn’t mind doing shit for females he liked, but he started getting tired of them always saying “gimme” followed by an expectation. The only bitch he would trick for would be his momma and with the way she was rolling, those times were few and far between.
LaQuan stuck close by Smurf for the rest of the night, cheering him on and bumping into him at the most convenient times, brushing her small, firm breasts against him or pushing her pussy against his hip. LaQuan looked innocent, but Smurf knew many niggas who slid up in her. It was his turn now.
An announcement came over the loudspeakers that the arcade would close in five minutes. Smurf looked at his watch. It was one o’clock in the morning. He finished up his game and turned to LaQuan.
“Wassup for tonight? You burnin’ out with your girls?” Smurf asked.
“I’m try’na see what you ’bout to get into,” she told him. “I really liked how you handled that joystick,” she flirted.
It was late, and Smurf had something else on his mind. “You think you can handle my joystick?” he countered.
LaQuan smiled. “Take me home and you’ll see how I play the game.” She got closer to him and he placed his hands on her small waist. “Let’s see how well you take the curves.”