by K'wan
“Alright, boo. Love you.”
Marcus cut his eyes over to Shooter, who seemed to be fixed on the game, before answering. “Love you too, boo,” he whispered before ending the call.
“If that wasn’t the sweetest shit,” Shooter said, with his eyes still fixed on the television. “You having gal troubles again?”
“Nah, me and Billy cool,” Marcus said, coming around the desk and grabbing a folding chair, which he set next to the love seat and plopped down on. “Yoshi got shot.”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” Shooter sat up and turned to Marcus. “Is she okay?”
“Yeah, took a slug to the collar, but she’ll be okay.”
Shooter laid back down on the love seat. “Man, that girl gets into more shit than a little bit.”
“I know. Even when folks try to do right, wrong comes to them,” Marcus said.
“Ain’t that the truth? So how’s Billy holding up?”
“You know that girl is a pillar. She ride or die for her team.”
“Same as somebody else I know,” Shooter chuckled. “I always liked that girl. She a lil on the hard side sometimes, but generally a good soul. I still don’t know what she doing wit ya old gangsta ass,” Shooter teased him.
Marcus laughed. “Sometimes opposites attract. I don’t agree with some of her choices, but I love that girl, Shooter.”
“You’re acting like you’re telling me something I don’t know. Damn it, Jeter, stop swinging at every pitch!” He took a moment to yell at the television before turning back to Marcus. “So, what you gonna do, lil nigga, poke around her, checking shit you already know is straight, or you gonna make sure you’re in the crib when ya lady gets home?”
“Right as always, Shooter.” Marcus patted him on the shoulder.
“Don’t I know it? I keep telling you, neglect that girl and you’ll have a player like me tapping that pussy.”
“Shooter, you’re wrinkled-ass dick couldn’t do nothing with my lady,” Marcus said, laughing. Shooter tried to swat him with his cane, but Marcus was already slipping out the office door.
AS SOON AS MARCUS STEPPED out of the office, the heavy bass from the speakers clapped him on the cheeks like a long-lost grandmother. Beautiful women pranced back and forth advertising their wares, and the dudes were tossing cake. It was barely midnight and the club was already popping. Marcus first checked with the DJ, then made his way over to the bar area to make sure everything was good. As he was whispering into the bartender’s ear he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned and found himself staring at Black Ice and one of his new ladies. He and Black Ice weren’t friends to speak of, but Ice brought him a lot of business. On the nights he busted out his stable or hosted one of his locked-door parties, the club raked in a pretty penny.
“Big Mark, what’s up, man?” Black Ice gave him dap.
“Shit,” Marcus shrugged, “trying to keep these niggaz in line and my paper right.”
“Sho ya right, man. Say, I want to introduce you to a friend of mine.” He pulled Dena over. “Marcus, this is Dena. Dena, this is Marcus, he owns the joint.”
“Sup?” Marcus said pleasantly.
“Nice to meet you.” She shook his hand. Though she tried to look calm, Marcus could tell she was uneasy by the way she tried to look everywhere but at the naked flesh in the room.
“Your first time?” Marcus motioned around him.
Dena blushed. “Yeah, I’ve never been to a strip club.”
“Well, this isn’t a strip club. Strip clubs are for hookers and drunks. This is a gentleman’s club,” Marcus corrected her.
“Well excuse me,” Dena said.
“Its cool, people make the mistake between the two all the time. I’ve put a lot of work into establishing Shooter’s as a place of leisure, and I take pride in it. You trying to get in the business?”
“Nah, she don’t rock like that. She’s a square,” Black Ice answered for her. This surprised Marcus, because Ice wasn’t known to associate with anything but whores, unless he was trying to break a new girl in, which Marcus suspected was the case with the pretty young thing at his side.
“I hear you talking,” Marcus said, careful not to give away Ice’s secret. Though he didn’t agree with Ice’s chosen profession, men like him helped keep the club running. “Ice, I got some things to take care of on the outside, but you know the lay of the land. If you need anything, just holla at Raheem.”
“Nah, I can do on my own,” Ice said with distaste.
Marcus shook his head. “Y’all two still carrying grudges?”
“Mark, you know I’m cool as a nigga on trial with no murder weapon, but ya boy takes his job too seriously. The nigga mad-dog all day long like he got issues, fronting muthafucka.”
“I hear you Ice, but running security for this place takes a hard-nosed cat. I guess he’s living out the part,” Marcus shrugged.
Head of security, Dena thought to herself. And here this cat was fronting like he was the man. Dena didn’t have a problem with him being a security guard, but he could’ve kept it one hundred with her. Lying was a big no-no in Dena’s book. She might still try and tap his pocket, but his chances of getting the pussy had flown out the window.
“Well, let me roll out of here and handle my business,” Marcus said, giving Black Ice a dap. “It was nice to meet you miss,” he said before disappearing into the crowd.
“LOOK AT THAT BITCH,” ROXY whispered to Sugar. For the past five minutes or so she had been shooting daggers at Dena and Black Ice while they mingled in the crowd, and it made her sick. “She hanging all over the nigga like that’s her man, thirsty bitch.”
“She beat you to the punch, Rox. Fuck that though, I see some niggaz in here that look like they holding, anyway.” Sugar looked around. In the corner she spotted a short, light-skinned kid with his man in the corner, looking the role of Big Timers. They were sipping champagne out of the bottle and flashing a big wad of money. “Matter of fact, I think I see our next marks. You bout ready to go?”
“I’ve been ready,” Roxy said, giving Dena and Ice one last grill.
“Excuse us.” Sugar got up from the table, followed by Roxy.
Shorty gave them a disapproving look. “Y’all just gonna drink and run?”
“No disrespect, love, but it don’t seem to be enough meat to go around,” Sugar told him with a smile. “Maybe once the crowd thins out we can talk about a nightcap.”
“That’s a conversation I’ll look forward to,” Shorty said, watching the two girls depart.
HOLLYWOOD BOPPED UP TO THE front of Shooter’s and busted his most serious gangsta lean. Trailing him was a kid from the hood, named Chris. Chris was a young boy who had yet to find his own way in the world, so he latched onto Hollywood. Unlike most cats in the hood, Chris actually bought into Hollywood’s illusion. To him, Hollywood was the greatest thing since sliced bread.
“Yo, it’s mad niggaz out here,” Chris said, looking across the gathering of people in front of the club. “I hope it ain’t more dudes than chicks.”
Hollywood gave Chris the young-boy stare. “Man, do you think I’m gonna bring you to a spot that’s not popping? Stop acting like a square. Come on.” He led the way to the entrance. When the bouncer lifted the rope, Hollywood palmed a fifty-dollar bill and slapped it into his hand. “Good looking, my nigga. How we looking?”
“You know Shooter’s don’t boast nothing but wall-to-wall ass,” the bouncer said, slipping the bill into his pocket. “Y’all go in there and get ya dicks wet off some of these big-butt bitches.”
“That’s a bet.” Hollywood stepped inside, with an awestruck Chris behind him.
“Yo, did you slip that nigga a fifty?” Chris asked.
“Be easy, my dude. You know money come and go,” he said, handing Chris a thousand-dollar stack from his pocket.
“Good looking, my nigga!” Chris said, excitedly thumbing through the bills. As he felt the strange texture he frowned at Hollywood. “Nigga, this ain
’t real, this is prop money!”
“I know. I swiped a box of it off the set yesterday,” Hollywood whispered. “As long as we pay for our drinks with real money we’re good, but these bitches is gonna be too busy trying to cake to check the authenticity of the dough.”
“Hollywood, you sure are a smart dude,” Chris said.
“That’s why I’m the boss of Starving Entertainment.” Hollywood popped his collar.
There were no more tables available, so they had to find a spot at the bar. Luckily for them, two stools opened up at the end, where a dancer had just lured a young dude away. Hollywood and Chris took the seats and immediately ordered two bottles of Moët. The two cats sipped champagne and tipped strippers with the fake bills, playing the role like they were getting it heavy. They were contemplating running a train on a thick, light-skinned chick, when two sexily dressed ladies approached.
“Is this a private party?” Roxy asked, making sure to push her breasts out.
“By invitation only, but consider yourselves invited,” Hollywood said, offering his stool. Chris caught the hint and did the same. “Shorty, gimme two cups!” Hollywood shouted at the bartender.
“I see, y’all up in here doing the do?” Roxy moved closer to Hollywood, who was thumbing through a mixed stack of real and prop bills.
“Nah, we just enjoying a night off. Running a production company takes up quite a bit of our time,” Chris said.
“Oh, y’all in the business?” Sugar asked, seeing dollar signs.
“Yeah, I’m the CEO of Starving Entertainment, and my nigga Chris is the VP,” Hollywood said, giving both the girls business cards that he had made using Print Shop.
Roxy leaned in to whisper to Sugar, “Looks like the night might not be a bust after all.”
“Heeeyyy!” Sugar sang, lifting her glass.
Chapter 25
IT WAS JUST AFTER TWO IN THE MORNING, BUT you could still hear the loud thud of reggae music vibrating up and down Jefferson Avenue. Spooky had left Jah to handle his business and took up a perch on the rail steps of building 437. Also with him were Shannon and Yvette, who were passing a bottle of Hennessy back and forth.
“Shorty, you really trying to put the gangsta lean on that bottle,” Spooky said, watching Yvette take a long drink.
“My motto is: Go hard or go home, Harlem,” she told him.
“Vette, why you always calling me ‘Harlem’?”
“Cause it sounds a hell of a lot better than ‘Spooky.’ I don’t see why they call you that anyway, you ain’t that scary.”
“That’s cause you ain’t never been on my bad side.” He winked at her. Spooky’s attention was drawn by a white Escalade creeping down Jefferson. It looked familiar, but he couldn’t remember where he had seen it. Shannon must’ve felt in a way too, because he retrieved his gun from the garbage can. When the car pulled to a stop directly in front of them Spooky stepped off the stoop so he wouldn’t be trapped if trouble popped off.
“You know this nigga?” he asked Shannon. The windows were tinted to the point where you couldn’t see inside, but you could tell there were multiple occupants.
“Nah, but if they coming round here on some bullshit, they gonna know my four-four.” He stood up with the cannon in plain sight. As the passenger door opened, both men stood at the ready to fight or flee, but it was only Dena returning from wherever she had just come from. Dena was visibly tipsy as she stepped from the back of the truck, but she managed to reach the curb without busting her ass.
It had been an eventful night for the high school senior and her clique. Black Ice had made sure that the champagne and weed flowed all night long. Normally, Dena didn’t drink and smoke in excess, but this night was the exception to the rule. Regardless of what people hinted about him, Black Ice had proved to be a perfect gentlemen and fun as hell to hang out with. He kept Dena laughing with his quick wit all night long, and even coaxed her into getting a lap dance. Dena felt funny as hell about it, but the big-butt Puerto Rican girl handled her with great care.
When Cinnamon and Lisa rejoined their group they were heavy with cake. The men in the club had been pressing and throwing money at them up until the time they all rolled out of Shooter’s. Dena was thoroughly impressed by the amount of money they made in such little time. The most surprising part was when they turned in their earnings to Ice. Dena wasn’t so naïve as to not have figured out that Ice was some type of mack, but she was more focused on how she could use it to her advantage. She didn’t think she had the nerve to shake her ass in front of a room full of people, but there were definitely advantages to hanging around Black Ice.
“Bitch, let me find out you twisted?” Mo said, getting out on the other side.
“Ain’t nobody drunk. Quit hating,” Dena said.
“You walking just like that lil hot-in-the-ass Sharon was when we dropped her off,” Mo laughed. Before heading back to Brooklyn, they had dropped Sharon at 112th between Lenox and Fifth, near the Foster projects. Seeing that she was tipsy, Dena and Mo tried to convince her to get dropped off at home, but she wasn’t trying to hear it. She supposedly had a jump-off in the block, and she assured them that he would get her home. She had been cock-blocking Dena the whole night with Ice, so she wasn’t really sorry to see her go.
“Shit, what time is it?” Dena stretched.
“Time for little girls to be indoors,” Ice said from the passenger side of the truck.
“First of all, I ain’t no little girl. Second of all, if you wanna say something to me, you get out of the car and say it.”
Black Ice laughed, and to the surprise of everyone in the car he stepped out. Cinnamon mumbled something under hear breath, but Wendy placed a firm hand on hers. Though Black Ice treated all of his ladies well, Cinnamon was new to the stable and didn’t understand that there were two sides to every coin.
“You know, you don’t give much for all that you ask of a nigga,” Black Ice said smoothly.
“I don’t give anything unless I deem the other party worthy,” she said, moving to stand directly in front of him. They were nose to nose and the alcohol told Dena to take the initiative. Just as she leaned in to kiss him, Shannon’s voice boomed out.
“Dena, what the fuck is you doing?” Shannon called from the stoop. He was shooting daggers at Black Ice. Shorty made to get out of the truck, but Ice waved him back.
“Is that yo nigga or something?” Black Ice asked, stealthily positioning his hand to draw the berretta tucked in the small of his back.
“Nah,” Dena looked over her shoulder, then back to Black Ice. “Nah, that’s just my brother tripping.”
“Dena, I know you hear me talking to your lil ass?” Shannon took a step off the stoop. “If I gotta come over there you and ya lil boyfriend gonna be mad.”
Black Ice gave Shannon a cold stare, but his eyes softened when Dena touched his chest. “Baby, I’m gonna let you go. But you got the number, so make ya next move ya best move.” Black Ice gave her a pound and got back into the Escalade. As the truck pulled away, Shannon and Shorty locked eyes, both their glares silently threatening violence.
“Better get the fuck outta here!” Shannon called after the truck, which was halfway to Marcus Garvey Boulevard by then.
“What’s up, Shannon?” Monique asked, trying to draw some of the tension away from Dena.
“Wondering where the fuck y’all coming from at his hour of the morning? Don’t y’all got school or some shit?”
“Boy, you know we was shaking our asses up at the video shoot,” Mo told him.
“Funny, I didn’t see y’all up there,” Shannon said.
“Cause we was VIP status, nucca,” Dena said, doing a tipsy dance.
“I know y’all lil hot asses weren’t fucking none of them country niggaz?” Shannon accused.
“Hardly,” Mo said. “Dena was in the video. Shannon, you should’ve seen ya little sister doing it up for the camera.”
“I don’t give a fuck who you were doing it
up for, y’all need to stay outta high-risk areas. Somebody got killed up that muthafucka.”
“Word, I heard they was shooting, but I ain’t know nobody got killed,” Mo said surprised.
“Niggaz came through trying to get at True and ended up getting one of their own laid out,” Spooky said, as if he’d heard it secondhand. Shannon was there, so he knew what role Jah played in the shooting, but it was none of anyone else’s business.
“See, Dena, that’s why I be telling you to slow ya fucking roll. You keep running round looking and you might not like what the fuck you find.” He pointed his index finger in her face.
“Shannon, why you gotta act like an ass?” Dena slapped his hand away.
“Cause my lil sister is hopping outta some nigga’s car at two in the morning. Who the fuck was that nigga, cause he sure don’t look like Lazy?”
“A friend,” Dena said.
“And what the fuck is that supposed to mean? Since when does a high school girl have friends who drive a sixty-thousand-dollar truck?”
“Shannon, he was just giving me a ride,” Dena insisted.
“Shannon, cut her some slack,” Yvette spoke up.
“Yvette, don’t tell me how to check my sister!” Shannon yelled. “I refuse to have her wasting her life on the fucking stoop like the rest of these bitches.” He hadn’t directed the comment at Yvette, but it stung just the same.
“I’m going around the corner to the store,” Yvette said, stepping off the stoop.
“Hold up, I’ll walk with you.” Spooky followed.
“Dena, Ima leave y’all to it. Call me in the morning for school.” Mo waved good-bye and left the siblings to work out their differences.
“Dena, you need to check ya self. All this running around wild wit y’all girls shit ain’t what’s up.” Shannon paced in front of the tiny stoop. “Yo, I know you be thinking ya ass is cute cause you got a little body and these niggaz be chasing you, but you have no idea what’s waiting for you on these streets.”
“Shannon, I can take care of myself,” Dena said, as if she didn’t really want to hear what Shannon was kicking.