Girls From Da Hood 10

by Treasure Hernandez

  “Yo, come help me,” Danielle yelled from upstairs. “Hurry up,” she continued yelling.

  “Keep it da fuck down,” Royce whispered loudly as he joined her in the bedroom. “What da hell is you doin’?” he asked when he saw her standing on top of the dresser with half the ceiling tiles missing.

  She pulled down two black trash bags and one small duffle bag from the ceiling. Royce immediately placed the bags on the floor and opened them to get a quick look at what was inside.

  “Jackpot!” he said, seeing nothing but money in the trash bags and some guns in the duffle bag.

  “I know he got another stash in the basement,” Danielle said, jumping down off the dresser.

  Royce lifted his head up from the duffle bag when he heard the loud bass from a car stereo outside. Danielle ran over to the window and slightly moved the blinds to the side. She almost pissed on herself when she saw Rico getting out of his man Style’s car.

  “Oh shit, that’s him,” she said, easing the blinds back. Styles got out of the car and headed into the house right behind Rico.

  As soon as Rico turned the light on, Danielle greeted him with a chrome .45 automatic pointing right at his face. Styles attempted to reach for his pistol, but stopped when he felt a cold piece of steel pressed against the back of his head. Neither man had paid attention to Royce, who was behind the door when they entered the home.

  “Danni?” Rico said, looking at Danielle with his face twisted in disbelief. “Bitch, you must have lost ya fuckin’ mind,” he snapped, looking like he wanted to walk over and choke the shit out of her. “You know who shit you fuckin’ wit’?”

  “Both of y’all muthafuckas sit down,” Royce demanded, stripping them of their guns before they sat on the couch.

  He walked over to Danielle, who kept her gun aimed at the men. Royce stood behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and rested his chin on her shoulder. The whole room was silent.

  “Pull the trigger,” he whispered in Danielle’s ear.

  Her heart almost jumped out of her chest. She had never shot anyone before. She hoped that Royce was bullshitting, but after he repeated himself, Danielle knew he was serious. She looked at Rico, who had a smirk on his face, as if he knew she wasn’t built for the murder game.

  “You sure you want me to kill ’em?” she asked, trying to stall. “Won’t the neighbors hear it?”

  Unlike Danielle, Royce had known from the moment Rico and his boy pulled up that he was going to have to lay them down permanently. It was inevitable, but Royce wanted to seize this moment to see if Danielle was ready to catch a body like the one she bragged about catching before. In their line of work, she needed to be prepared to murder something at the drop of a dime, and he needed to know she was able.

  “Come on, babe, we’ll both do it,” Royce said as he raised one of the guns and pointed it at the two men.

  Danielle was scared. This was more than what she had bargained for, but she was determined to see it through. Her palms grew sweaty and her heart began to race. At this point, she knew it was either kill or be killed, because there was no way Rico was going to let her live after this.

  Out of nowhere, Rico lunged forward in a stupid attempt to grab one of the guns. Danielle just closed her eyes and squeezed the trigger. The bullet hit Rico in his face, knocking him backward onto the couch. She opened her eyes and couldn’t believe what she’d just done.

  Royce quickly fired three shots into Styles, who seemed to be frozen in the chair. He released Danielle from his embrace.

  She stood motionless, staring at the bullet hole in Rico’s head and the blood that leaked out of it. She had actually never witnessed someone being shot and her stomach begin to knot up as she could feel the bile moving up her throat. Danielle took a deep breath and swallowed it back down, not wanting to look weak. She tried to look away, but watching the life leave Rico’s body was mesmerizing. It took Royce throwing the duffle bag over her shoulder to get her to snap out her trance. Once she did, they both exited the home, but not before Danielle took one last look at Rico’s body as she passed it.

  Chapter 1

  Krystol sat on the bed, breastfeeding Raven and watching with a scowl as Royce walked back and forth from the bathroom to the bedroom, getting dressed for the day. The attitude displayed on her face said it all, and Royce knew that it wasn’t going to be easy getting out of the house in the next twenty minutes, as he needed to in order to be on time for his meeting. Royce took his time, making sure he looked perfect. Krystol knew without any doubt that he was doing all of this for another woman.

  As with her and many other women Royce had a routine. He would work out to make sure his muscles were swollen; he only wore Gucci cologne when he was going out to prowl, or going to pleasure. He sprayed the cologne in the air, and then sprayed it on his shorts while they lay on the bed. He slipped them on and checked himself out in the mirror. This was his mating routine, giving the flies honey to buzz around. The Gucci cologne applied to the wrist and crotch section of his shorts confirmed her thoughts.

  “You doin’ all that just to go to work?” Krystol sarcastically asked, popping her breast out of Raven’s mouth and placing the fully fed baby on the bed. “Damn, you can at least put some shade on what you’re doin’,” she continued as she walked to the bathroom.

  Royce just smiled, looking into the mirror as he continued brushing his hair. Moving to Atlanta a couple years ago hadn’t worked out the way that he thought it would, so he had moved his family back to his hometown of Philadelphia about ten months ago. He was on a mission to set him and his family straight forever, after a chance meeting with a financial advisor who had informed him that with a goal of $1 million cash, he could ensure that they would never have to worry about money again. It was as simple as placing that same million into an escrow account that would gain 20 percent interest annually, which would mean a $200,000 yearly payout for Royce. Two hundred grand a year consistently sounded great to him, considering all the lows and highs of the dope and stickup game. Royce was growing tired, and he knew that either death or prison was eventually going to catch up to him.

  “Yo, it’s not what you think,” he said, grabbing Krystol’s arm as she came storming out of the bathroom.

  At that moment, she couldn’t stand the sight of him, and she definitely couldn’t stand to sit there and hear him lie to her face again. Instead, she just looked at him with disgust, rolled her eyes, and walked off, snatching her arm from his hand.

  Krystol was starting to regret the move from Atlanta, which was where she was originally from. If it weren’t for the fact that Raven was only seven weeks old, she would have truly considered moving back home. It seemed that ever since Royce had gotten back to Philly, he stayed in the streets. Although he always used the excuse of working, he was always complaining about money. He had put her on a strict budget, and he kept telling her that she was going to have to get used to living on a fixed income once he retired from the streets. Krystol had dated a few hustlers in her life, and she knew that most of the time this was just pipe dreams that all of them had about leaving the life.

  “B, on the real, stop acting like dat,” Royce said, walking over to the bed. “You tellin’ me that you don’t trust me?” he said, picking up the baby.

  “So, where you going, and who you meeting?” she snapped back.

  “I’m goin’ to . . .” he began, but stopped. Royce was stuck. He was about to tell Krystol he was going to help his sister out at her club, but he could tell by the way she asked the question that she already knew he wasn’t going there today. He didn’t know what to say or whether he should tell her the truth of who he was meeting.

  He stared back at his two girls while Krystol waited to hear his excuse. Royce looked directly into her eyes, and at that moment, he knew that the truth would be to hard to explain to Krystol; so instead, he did what any man who really loved his woman would do. He prepared himself to lie: something he really hated to do, because he
knew Krystol could always tell when he wasn’t telling the truth. But before the words could leave his mouth, she bailed him out.

  “Just like I thought,” Krystol said, grabbing the remote control off the nightstand and turning the TV on. “Nigga, just put my daughter down and go where you’re goin’.”

  Royce glanced up at the clock on the wall. It was getting late, and he really didn’t have time to get into it with her right now. He chose to take the out and not even respond to her last comment. Instead, he just looked down at his baby girl as she lay cradled in his arms. Raven suppressed any anger that was building up.

  “Look, we’ll talk when I get back,” Royce said, laying Raven down on the bed next to Krystol.

  “Yeah, maybe I will find me somebody, and call it work,” she said in a smart manner. Krystol knew she had a way with her words that could make a nigga mad instantly.

  “Fuck is dat supposed to mean?” Royce said, stopping at the bedroom door.

  “Nigga, you know,” she uttered in a sarcastic tone.

  “Know what, B? Say what you say!”

  Krystol just looked off into the TV, as if she didn’t hear him, hoping it would make Royce mad. In some odd crazy way, she wanted to argue and fight with him, knowing it would mean that he would have to stay home.

  Royce kept his cool and didn’t entertain the last comment. Instead, he just chuckled, told her that he loved her, and left.

  Sanaa sat at the bar talking to Joi, who was drying the glasses that had just come out of the dishwasher. The two ladies were exhausted from the long weekend at the club. Club All In was Sanaa’s baby, and Joi was the aunt. The three-level club consisted of the large bar and grill area on the first floor, and an even larger dancing area on the second level. Poker tables and slot machines where housed in the basement area. This was where the majority of the money was made, and normally where all the headaches and drama were as well.

  The club was coming up on its one-year anniversary, and for the two women, it would mark their fifth year of being best friends. The great connection they had with each other proved that their bond was just as strong as blood sisters, even though there was a fourteen-year age difference between them, Joi being the elder. The two women enjoyed each other’s company, and it was a good thing, because they had spent every day of the last year together.

  At times like this, Sanaa could guess what was going on with her friend before Joi could even say anything. “What’s wrong?” Sanaa asked, seeing the sad look on her best friend’s face that Joi was so desperately trying to hide. “I know you miss him, and I do too, but we can’t go back yet. It’s still too hot, and if he comes this way, they will follow him.”

  “Damn, but don’t you feel trapped sometimes? Don’t you?” Joi asked, pointing at the bottle of Jack Daniels so that Sanaa could pour her a drink.

  Joi sure as hell was feeling trapped, and had been feeling that way ever since they moved back to Philly. Joi was used to a different type of lifestyle in Atlanta, where she had moved over ten years ago: a life where she could get up and go whenever she wanted. It was a life where she surrounded herself with dope boys and niggas who took money. That was until she had a chance meeting with the only man she had ever really loved in her life.

  Balil was an old Philly hustler that Joi had started messing with when she was only nineteen. Although he was old enough to be her father, and had children nearly her age, Balil was still a very attractive man, who kept himself feeling young by not dating anyone in his age bracket. His and Joi’s relationship lasted a few years, but as she began to age, Balil desired for something younger, just like he had done with the girl before Joi. But that was years ago, and water under the bridge, as far as Joi was concerned.

  She had run back into him at a club in Atlanta. Balil had moved his gambling empire down South, for a chance at semiretirement, and Joi had hoped that included his womanizing and cheating behavior. Everything was going so well for the two of them, and the icing on the cake was his daughter, Sanaa, who she found to be a kindred spirit and had developed a relationship with.

  Things in the ATL eventually began to come apart, and she and Sanaa had to go on the run. Philly looked like their best bet at remaining free. Although being stuck behind the bar at Club All In wasn’t her idea of real freedom, she knew that after the shit that went down in the A, she had to make some changes in her life. But this was a little much.

  Before Sanaa could respond to Joi’s questioning, the sound of the bells ringing on top of the front door caught both of their attention. It was mid-afternoon, so pedestrians were allowed to drink at the bar, but when four men walked through the door dressed in suits, Sanaa knew it wasn’t her regulars coming in for a drink. Instinctively, she eased her hand toward her waist where her gun was holstered, while watching the hand of everyone who entered the establishment.

  Joi also inched over and got closer to her pistol, which was sitting under the bar.

  I hope this ain’t the Feds, Sanaa thought, hesitant to pull her weapon on federal agents.

  But as the men got closer, she recognized a familiar face she hadn’t seen in a while. Boo, with his classic smirk that showed the one deep dimple in his left cheek, walked through the door. He was the last person she had expected to see; he was a bully, and she thought for sure someone had planted a bullet in his brain by now. Seeing Boo generally meant that you needed to be strapped up, or have enough people with you to handle beating his stupid ass down. The long scar on his neck was a reminder of how people felt about him. The cut was only millimeters from his jugular. He was hated and feared by many niggas in the hood. She and Boo were not on the level of doing more than passing each other.

  “I see nothing’s changed,” Boo said, walking up to Sanaa and taking a seat on a stool next to her.

  “Yeah, they say the more things change, the more they remain the same. What can I do for you?” Sanaa asked, curious about this unexpected meeting.

  “You got somewhere we can talk in private, or is this open for everybody’s ears to hear?” he asked, looking over at Joi, who had her eyes on everything that was going on.

  “Nah, we good right here. Whatever you got to say, you can say it in front of her, unless you don’t trust your people,” Sanaa interjected, picking up the bottle of Jack Daniels and pouring herself another shot.

  Boo stared at her for a minute. Sanaa was a true wolf in sheep’s clothing. Her face reflected her young mother and older father’s timeless genes. She wore her naturally curly hair in an afro Mohawk. Her eyes were like black coal and had a piercing effect, as if she was able to look right into a person’s mind and thoughts. Boo temporarily closed his eyes and gave his head a slight shake, as if he was clearing it from his physical attraction to Sanaa. He knew he had to stay on point, because although beautiful, she was dangerous.

  “Well, first of all, I do believe a thank-you would be nice, considering I gave you a grace period to get your little business up and running. Now I know you didn’t think that you was going to eat in my hood and not show me any love,” Boo said, grabbing the bottle of Jack Daniels from the bar and pouring himself a shot.

  Sanaa really didn’t care for Boo. She knew he was a grimy nigga who would sell his own momma if he thought he could get rich from it. Plus, he was known for putting his hands on females, a fact that she knew first hand after Boo smacked up one of her girlfriends who used to date him. The smacking turned into an everyday beat down for her friend, and Sanaa was the one there taking her to the hospital damn near every other day.

  She looked at him like he was crazy. He had many people in the hood shook, but Sanaa wasn’t one of them. She had put in some respectable work herself over the years, which had earned her a lot of street credit from both men and women. It was only recently that she had turned it down a little, considering the authorities were sitting back waiting for her to mess up.

  Boo motioned for one of his boys to come over to the bar. In his hand was a small black trash bag, and without Boo
telling him to do so, he dumped the contents onto the bar right in front of Sanaa.

  She looked down at the stacks of twenties and fifties in a curious manner. Not sure what to say, she just looked up at him.

  “I’m trying to get rid of this counterfeit money and you going to help,” Boo said, throwing back his shot glass.

  “Oh, I am, am I? And how you figure I’m doing that?” Sanaa said, picking up a stack of twenties and peeling off one of the bills. She closely examined the bills, hoping that none of the gamblers had passed any to her recently. “How in the hell can you tell it’s fake? Shit looks real as fuck to me,” she said, raising the bill up to the light, unable to find its flaws.

  “I can tell because I made it,” Boo said, reaching over the bar and grabbing one of the sodas that was about to be put in the refrigerator.

  “Nigga, when you start making funny money?” she asked in shock. Sanaa had played around with some phony money back in Atlanta for a while, so she wasn’t a stranger to the counterfeit game. She had changed over large amounts of it during her many drug transactions, and she was never caught. This money looked a lot like the high grade she had back in the A. The ink was on point, and the paper. She had a hard time being certain that it was counterfeit, due to her limited handling of the funny money back in Atlanta. Her boy Manny was the expert in regard to how to print it, and how to spot it.

  “Yeah, I get busy a li’l. I know you got a nice li’l hook up in here, plus you and ya crazy-ass brothers be making moves. I figure you wouldn’t mind doin’ some business wit’ me,” Boo explained, throwing back the shot of Jack Daniels.

  As he and Sanaa talked, Joi listened carefully, and the more she listened, the closer she inched toward her gun. His demeanor was somewhat aggressive, and Joi didn’t take too kindly to it. Boo was trying to muscle in with a soft press. Whatever the case was, Joi didn’t care because she was armed, clutching the Ruger P80 under the bar.