Still Hood

by K'wan

  For the auspicious occasion, Black Ice had rented out an entire brownstone, including the lower levels, which would be used for the real entertainment. Ice had spared no expense making sure the house was jam-packed with ladies. From the exotic island of St. Lucia to the slums of Charlotte, N.C., Ice made sure they came in droves. Fifty-three of the finest hos he could scrape up, all ready to do business.

  As expected, the rappers made a grand entrance. Led by Don B’s signature red Bentley, a caravan of at least five luxury cars made their way down the block. Men hung from sun roofs, and out windows, popping shit and throwing up gang signs. Cooter wanted to let off some rounds in the air from an AK47 he had bought from some big head Dominicans off Broadway, but Soda convinced him it was a bad idea. Instead, he resorted to shouting obscenities and spraying champagne all over parked cars. To say that these cats were ignorant would’ve been an understatement.

  As the two crews filed out of the cars and made their way towards the brownstone entrance, the crowd went crazy. Even with the aid of Stacks’s security team, Remo and Devil had trouble holding off the throngs of people trying to get autographs or integrate themselves into the crowd to gain quicker entry into the club. It was amazing to Jah to see grown-ass men acting like starstruck groupies. While security did crowd control, Jah’s eyes continuously swept the crowd for hostile faces.

  “Big Bear, what it is?” Don B greeted the hulking bouncer who stood vigil outside the front door of the brownstone.

  “Ain’t nothing, Don. Trying to get a meal ticket.” He let him pass without a search, as he did with most of their crew. It was only when he got to Jah that he stopped him. “Oh, hell nah,” Bear said, placing a hand against Jah’s chest.

  “Bear, what’s popping? You ain’t happy to see me?” Jah smiled at him.

  “Happy to see you? Lil nigga, I should bust ya shit for getting me fired!” A year earlier Bear had made the mistake of allowing Jah into a club he was working while armed. Jah promised not to cause trouble, but of course he did. The young man had caused a stampede inside the club and escaped with Yoshi through a side entrance before Bear could catch up with him. Since Bear was at the door, the club owners fired him and threatened to bring him up on criminal charges if he came within one hundred feet of the spot.

  “Man, that wasn’t my fault. Them niggaz was tripping,” Jah tried to explain.

  “It ain’t never your fault, Jah,” Bear scolded. “Up the strap, cause I know you holding.” Bear extended his hand.

  “Come on, man, I’m on the job,” Jah told him.

  “And I’m Britney Spears,” Bear said sarcastically. “I ain’t letting ya monkey ass in with no hammer.”

  “He’s with us, Bear,” True told the bouncer.

  Bear was waiting for True to say it was a joke, but True wasn’t smiling. “You serious?” He looked from Jah to True.

  “As a heart attack. He’s my personal security,” True informed him.

  Bear hesitated. “A’ight, you got that. But I’m telling you now,” Bear pointed his finger at Jah, “if you start any shit tonight I’m gonna kick ya ass personally.”

  “Whatever, nigga,” Jah taunted him before slipping behind True into the brownstone.

  The air inside the brownstone was muggy and stale. It smelled like cigarette smoke and musty pussy, but the vibe was crazy. Ballers from all over were staggering around chasing naked women and drinking like it was the last supper. Never in Jah’s young life had he seen as many women in one place at one time, and he seriously hoped that all the sweet pussy wouldn’t distract him from the task at hand.

  Inside the club they were greeted by Wendy, who was dressed in a yellow thong-and-bra set under a see-through teddy. She escorted the rappers and their thick entourage to the third floor, which was reserved for VIPs, and seated them at a large table in the back, where there were complimentary bottles of champagne already chilling. Though the action on the third floor wasn’t as intense as on the lower levels, it was still packed with females.

  Soda was the first to grab a bottle and start chugging. “This is what I’m talking about. A nigga gone get his double L on in this bitch,” Soda said, slapping a dark-skinned honey on the ass as she walked by.

  “What’s double L?” True asked him.

  “Leaned and laid!” Soda roared, turning the bottle upside down.

  LAZY STOOD OUTSIDE THE BROWNSTONE, mad at himself for not being on time. He knew that Don B and the gang had set the meet time at eleven thirty, but he had been so caught up in his bullshit with Michelle that time had passed him by. He still wasn’t quite sure how he had managed to get himself caught up.

  When Michelle had broken the news to him he was totally numb. A baby? Oh hell nah, that was something he definitely wasn’t ready for. He was just a kid himself. He tried to explain to Michelle that she should get an abortion because a baby would only complicate things, but she hit him with some shit about how it went against her religion as a Catholic. That was laughable, because he had never seen her go to church since he’d known her. Still, he couldn’t force her into it. He’d contemplated the idea of beating her into a miscarriage but didn’t have the heart for it. She literally had him by the balls. For as much game as Lazy thought he had, Michelle apparently had a bit more.

  In light of the bullshit he was going through, he found himself missing Dena. She might not have had her own pad or job to speak of, but at least he knew that she was with him for who he was and not who he would become, like Michelle. Seeing Dena with another dude had driven him batty and he’d said some very hurtful things that he couldn’t take back. He tried calling her to apologize, but she wouldn’t pick up the phone. He’d thought about popping up at her house, but couldn’t be sure what she had told Shannon, and Lazy didn’t want a problem with him. He would just have to hope that their paths crossed in the street, so he could tell her how sorry he was and pray that they could work it out.

  After almost twenty minutes of waiting, Lazy had finally made it to the front of the line. Slipping into his young star persona, he bopped to the front of the line, where the bouncer was looking at him with suspicious eyes. “What’s good, my dude?”

  Bear looked down at him and grumbled, “Fifty bucks and valid ID.”

  Lazy looked at him as if he couldn’t be serious. “Son, I’m here with the Don.”

  Bear glared at him. “Is that right?”

  “Yeah, that’s right. This is big Lazy, star point guard for the Dawgz,” Lazy boasted loud enough for everyone to hear. When he saw Bear’s face soften he thought he had pulled it off.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Big Lazy from Dawg. How could I not recognize a star of your caliber? Of course you’re here with Don B,” Bear said sarcastically. “Say, who else is here with Don B?” He addressed the line. Almost all at once, everyone claimed allegiance to Big Dawg. Bear glared back down at Lazy. “Lil nigga, you and everybody else in this muthafucka is claiming to be somebody. Either cough up that fifty cash or get off the line.”

  Lazy was about to black out on the bouncer when he was roughly shoved aside from behind. He spun around and found himself staring into the cold eyes of a man who was barely five feet tall. The man glared up at Lazy, who bit back the sharp words he was about to fire off and allowed him to pass. Trailing him were two more girls and the cat Lazy had gotten into it with at the park. The real kick in the ass was who the well-dressed man had on his arm.

  “Dena?” Lazy whispered.

  As sure as his ass was black, Dena strolled casually on the arm of Black Ice, moving towards the entrance of the brownstone. The stones in her ears looked like two flashlights, catching faint rays from the pale moon. She was dressed in a black evening gown with a diamond collar, and stiletto heels, which she walked on as easily as if they were sneakers. Her beautiful face was flawlessly made up and Shirley Temple curls danced all over her head. Lazy couldn’t believe that this was the same teenage girl he had shared so many good times with, because at that moment she was looking like a
grown-ass woman.

  “What’s up, D?” Lazy beamed at her. He could hardly contain himself, being so close to his one true love.

  When she turned her eyes on him there was sleepiness to them, as if she had way too much to smoke. “Do I know you?” Dena asked, looking at him like he was a piece of shit.

  “Word, you gonna play me to the left like that?” he asked, with hurt filling his voice.

  “Baby, who is this lil nigga you’re talking to?” Black Ice draped his arm around her. Just to make Lazy tight, he started kissing her cheek.

  “Just some square-ass nigga that I thought I knew,” she said scornfully.

  Lazy’s body began to tremble with rage. “Dena, how you gonna play like you don’t know ya man? This nigga you wit don’t know your heart like I do!”

  “Young buck, you better calm down before you find ya self missing,” Shorty warned him.

  Lazy ignored him. “So that’s how it is, huh? You gonna play me for some fake-ass pimp?” Lazy wanted to cry, but there were too many people watching.

  “Son, call me what you want, but the reality of it is that I’m probably the realest nigga your simpleminded ass will ever lay eyes on. Come on, baby.” Ice pulled Dena along. “If he ain’t talking about cake then it ain’t worth listening to.”

  “I know that’s right, Daddy,” she followed her new man into the club.

  Lazy was left standing in front of the brownstone feeling like a meatball, with Dena and Ice’s mocking laughter echoing in his ears.

  Chapter 43

  IT WAS SAFE TO SAY THAT DENA WASN’T FEELING much pain that night. During the entire ride down in the limo Ice had rented, they snorted heroin and drank high-end liquor. It seemed like the more Dena danced with the devil the more comfortable she got with it, which seemed to please Ice. Lisa had even warmed up to her and started treating her like family, instead of some square-ass outsider. Though the white girl was still a little too wild for her taste, it made Dena feel good to be accepted.

  When Dena entered the brownstone she was totally unprepared for what she was about to see. There was nudity everywhere she turned. Girls were running around in their birthday suits performing the most lewd acts while men chased them and showered them with money. They even stepped over a couple that couldn’t make it to one of the VIP rooms and were fucking on the staircase. A fat cat wearing heavy jewelry and clutching a fistful of money tried to entice Dena into giving him a lap dance, but Ice marked his territory by pulling her closer.

  “These niggaz is off the chain,” Dena said distastefully, looking back at the fat cat, who was still watching her hungrily.

  “What do you expect in a house of sin?” Ice rubbed her back. “These niggaz is all in here to blow their cake and their loads, so it’s only natural that when the baddest bitch on two legs walks in the joint everyone wants a piece of her.”

  “Well, ain’t nobody getting a piece of this but the Ice Man,” she told him.

  “Loosen up, baby, ain’t nothing wrong with showing a lil flesh,” Lisa said, flashing her breasts at a man who was passing. He was so stunned that he tripped over the sexing couple and fell on his face.

  The happy little group was shown upstairs to the third-floor VIP section, where they were seated behind a velvet rope. For nearly a half hour Black Ice received people who wanted to either wish him well or offer to buy him a drink. The way they catered to him, you’d have thought he was the president. Dena proudly snuggled next to her man, drawing a nasty stare from the girl who had been introduced as Lexi. She had been shooting Dena nasty looks all night, but knew better than to cut up in front of Black Ice.

  After a few drinks Lisa and Lexi went to get changed, leaving Dena, Ice, and Shorty sitting at the table alone. They drank, snorted more heroin, and talked shit, having the time of their lives. The mood was light and jovial, but that changed when Marcus and Raheem escorted an older man that Dena had never seen before over to the table.

  “My man, Shooter,” Ice stood up and embraced the older man. “How’s it going?”

  “Long and strong as when I was twenty-five,” Shooter joked. “And who is this fine young thang in the midst of you sorry muthafuckas.” He let his eyes roll over Dena.

  “This is my new lady, Dena. Dena, this is an old and dear friend, Shooter.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Dena extended her hand.

  “The pleasure is all mine,” Shooter said, kissing the back of Dena’s hand. “So tell me, what would it take for an old man like me to occupy a bit of your time, Ms. Dena?”

  “More bread than you’re holding onto, Jack!” Shorty bust out laughing.

  Shooter slanted his eyes at Shorty. “Little nigga, I don’t care how dangerous you think you is these days, old Shooter will still kick ya ass like it was 1985!” he said in a good-natured tone. Back in the days, Shooter used to run with Shorty’s father when they were both breaking into the mack game. He had watched him go from a young man who was curious about the game to one of the most dangerous men in New York City.

  “Sup, Dena?” Raheem asked, looking at her slyly. “I see you’re still slumming.”

  “You know what, I’m getting a little tired of your mouth, fam.” Shorty stood up. He was more than a foot shorter than Raheem, but it didn’t deter him one bit.

  “You clowns knock that shit off. I’m in here to get chose, and if y’all fuck that up cause of this street bullshit I’m gonna kick the both of your asses!” Shooter warned. Shorty returned to his seat, but kept his eyes locked on Raheem.

  “I see you’ve got a packed house tonight, Ice,” Marcus said, changing the subject.

  “You know I don’t do nothing half-ass,” Black Ice boasted. “We got every flavor under the sun, all ripe for the plucking, if the bread is correct.”

  “Even this one?” Raheem nodded at Dena.

  “Nigga, don’t play yaself. This pussy ain’t for sale,” she shot back. She had initially thought Raheem to be a cool nigga, but he was proving to be more of an asshole than anything.

  “Not yet,” Raheem mumbled.

  “Nah, cat daddy. Dena is special,” Ice told Raheem, snuggling Dena against him. He knew the man was trying to get a rise out of him, but he refused to step out of his character in front of Shooter or his girls.

  “Well, I’m gonna move around a bit and see what you’re working with, Ice. If all goes well, we can place most of these bitches, can you dig it?” Shooter said.

  “Sho nuff can,” Ice responded. “Y’all go on and have a good time and everything, except the women are on the house.”

  “That’s a bet,” Shooter shook Ice’s hand and led his small entourage back through the crowd. Raheem stopped short and gave Shorty a hard look before falling in step behind Shooter and Marcus.

  “Ice, that nigga is asking for it.” Shorty slammed his fists on the table, scaring Dena.

  “Yeah, you’re right about that, Shorty. Raheem is out of pocket.” Ice scratched his chin in thought. “You know what, go on and give him a dose.”

  “Bet!” Shorty hopped up eagerly, but Ice grabbed him by the arm.

  “Nigga, not now. Shooter is probably gonna cut out early; and when he does, I want you to split that nigga’s shit,” Ice said wickedly.

  DENA SAT AT THEIR TABLE, tossing back glasses of champagne, fuming. For a good portion of her night she found herself fending off advances from men trying to pay her for sex, and it was starting to piss her off. What made her more uptight was the fact that Ice seemed oblivious to it. He continued to laugh and drink with the different guests while Dena was damn near molested. When she had finally tired of being groped, she decided to step up to Ice.

  He was standing on the other side of the room where Don B and his team were seated, with Lexi at his side. She had traded her street clothes for a thong and some clear heels. The small purse she wore slung over her shoulder was damn near bursting with dollars. With an ass ripe enough to sit a drink on it, Lexi drew more than her fair share of attention.

/>   “Can I talk to you for a minute?” She tapped Ice interrupting a conversation he was having with Stacks Green and Don B. They seemed to be bartering about something, but Dena wasn’t really sure what. Knowing those three, it could be just about anything.

  “Give me a minute, baby,” he said, brushing her off. He was currently trying to gas Stacks Green to spend some cake on Lexi. He knew that she had the stamina to do his whole crew and still come back for more, so Ice was trying to capitalize on it before the bitch got too drunk to perform.

  “I need to talk to you now!” she demanded. This drew stares and snickers from the men assembled at the table.

  Black Ice’s face remained unmoved, but there was a fire building in his belly. One of the most important aspects of the game he played was appearances. It was crucial for him to appear to be in control at all times, especially at a venue such as the locked-door. If word got back that his hos were back talking or trying to give him orders, he’d be ruined in the game—and he couldn’t have that.

  “Damn, where you been hiding that one?” Soda asked, openly admiring Dena. He tried to touch her ass, but she slapped his hand away.

  “Excuse you? What do I look like, one of these ho bitches?” she snapped.

  “You really don’t wanna hear the answer to that,” Cooter snickered.

  “Fuck you, too, you country muthafucka!”

  “Damn, I like a bitch with some fire. How much, honey?” Stacks asked, pulling out a brick of money.

  “More than your fat ass could come up with!” she barked. A look of rage crossed Stacks’s face as he tried to raise up from the seat; but Cooter held him back. Seeing the situation about to turn ugly, Black Ice stepped in.

  “Hold on, playboy. No need to get hostile,” Ice said pleasantly.