Malek didn’t press Mitch on the name of the chick, but he knew right then and there that Mitch more than likely had been bullshitting him the whole time. He played along with it. “He ain’t gon’ have a choice. He can either take these bullets courtesy of Jamaica Joe or fall in line,” Malek replied. He got out of the car and walked across the darkened parking lot.
Mitch reluctantly followed him. He knew that he could be walking into a potential death trap. If Sweets saw him with Malek, he would wonder if Mitch was really down with Malek. So Mitch strategically kept his hand on the handle of his chrome pistol as they headed into the restaurant.
Malek’s adrenaline was pumping, and he could hear his heart beating in his ears. Malek walked in, and the bell above the door rang, causing Sweets and his entourage to turn around.
Sweets’ face turned up in disgust at the sight of Malek. He pulled the red Blow Pop from his mouth as he placed his hand near his waist.
Mitch nodded to Sweets, to let him know that everything was straight.
“Look at this mu’fucka,” Sweets said with a smirk, “living in Jamaica Joe’s shadow and trying to run my side of town.”
The sound of Joe’s name coming from Sweets’ lips sent rage through Malek’s heart. “You might wanna keep my man’s name out your mouth, nah mean?”
The Shotta Boyz sent glaring stares his way, and Malek sent them right back.
“You lucky I’m not coming in here to twist your shit back behind that stunt you pulled at the Pistons game, but I’m about my bidness,” Malek said. “I hear that you’re interested in getting your hood back.”
“I never lost my hood, fam,” Sweets replied with larceny in his heart. “Can’t you tell? I mean, considering how you a businessman and all, ain’t you curious why your money been so short lately?” Sweets winked at Malek and blew him a seductive kiss.
“See, I’ve got a problem with that ’cause them streets belong to me now. Ain’t no North Side-South Side beef, ’cause all that paper coming to me. Now we can blaze out for them blocks if you want to—” Malek pulled his nine out of his waist and let it rest in his hand by his side as he continued. Sweets saw the move and removed his pistol as well—“But you and I both know that wouldn’t be a good thing. If we out here killing each other, we ain’t making no money. Don’t nobody like to watch over they back every minute, nah mean?”
Sweets wasn’t a fool. He could see that Malek was setting up some sort of negotiation. He wasn’t against that, but the way he saw it, Malek had to really sweeten the pot. Otherwise, Sweets would be shorting himself, especially since he was already getting a piece of Malek’s money through Mitch.
“So what’s up? Speak to me, young’un,” Sweets said.
“I’ll give you your blocks back under two conditions,” Malek said. “One, you cop your work from me, and two, you give me forty percent of your profit.” Malek could see the anger behind Sweets’ eyes.
“You must think it’s a game, young’un. I run those blocks on the South—”
Before Sweets could finish his sentence, Malek raised his pistol and fired a shot into one of the goons standing behind Sweets.
Sweets’ and Lynch’s eyes bugged in anger. Lynch, the only remaining Shotta Boy, knew that he should’ve carried his pistol into the restaurant. Now he was naked and vulnerable, and they had no choice but to agree to Malek’s terms.
“Uh-uh. Keep them hands up, baby,” Mitch said as he waved his gun back and forth between Sweets and Lynch.
“Like I said, we can beef out, but if you want to live, you’ll accept my offer,” Malek added.
Sweets shook his head and laughed loudly. “A’ight, li’l nigga. You da man,” he said in a mocking tone.
“Good.”
Malek and Mitch backpedaled toward the door as they prepared to leave.
Before Malek was completely out of earshot, Sweets said, “Hey, Malek, how is your bitch doing?”
“What?” Malek asked, raising his voice.
Sweets snapped his fingers and said, “What’s her name? Um, um . . . Halleigh, yeah, that’s it.”
Malek shook his head, knowing that Sweets had just made a threat on Halleigh’s life. He walked out of the restaurant and ran to his car, where he pulled out of the parking lot, his tires screeching as he peeled off.
Scratch, fiending for a fix, looked at the garbage can where Malek’s worker had hid his stash. There was nothing worse than being on E and not having any money. Scratch itched his arms as he schemed on the unsuspecting block hustler. He looked at the other fiend that stood beside him. They peeked around the corner, and their desperation caused them to devise a plan.
Scratch laid out the instructions to the woman he’d just met, and they agreed as they went about their get-high mission. “Okay, look,” he said, “you go distract him with that ol’ fish pussy you got, and Scratch will get the stash. Meet Scratch back in this alley, ya hear?”
Scratch watched with greed in his eyes as the raggedy-looking woman approached the young hustler on the block.
“Come on, daddy,” she said, “let me get something. I’ll give you something if you give me something.” The woman dropped the dirty skirt and exposed her yellow- and brown-stained panties.
Scratched creeped up the block as the hustler responded.
“Bitch, get your ass out of here. If you ain’t got the cash, you ain’t got the coke,” the hustler responded, keeping his hands in his pockets.
Scratch silently walked over to the trash can and picked up the bag of crack rocks.
Just then, the hustler turned around and noticed him. “Yo, you stealing my shit!” he screamed as he approached Scratch and snatched him up by his collar.
“Ah, nah, young’un, Scratch don’t mean you no harm,” Scratch explained nervously as he tried to shield his body from the hits of the young man.
The hustler raised his fist and brought it down over Scratch’s face, causing his eyes to immediately swell.
“Aghh, man . . . wait!”
Scratch’s cries didn’t faze the hustler, but he was stopped by Halleigh’s shouts as she ran up to the scene.
“Hey, what are you doing?” Halleigh screamed as she stepped out of her BMW. She was parked up the street from the busy salon when she saw Scratch getting jacked up on Malek’s block. “Let him go!” she yelled as she stood back, her oversized Birkin bag hanging underneath her arm.
The hustler shoved Scratch away, out of respect for his boss’ girl. He had never really seen Halleigh before, but he knew exactly who she was because of the car and expensive clothes that she sported.
Halleigh rushed over to Scratch and helped him up. His lip was busted, and he was bleeding as Halleigh led him to her car. “Are you okay?” she asked as she pulled away from the curb.
“Scratch is okay,” he replied. “It take a whole lot more than some young’un to take me out the game.”
Halleigh was worried. Scratch didn’t look good, and she could tell that he hadn’t been eating well. “Scratch, are you hungry?” she asked.
“A little bit,” he replied.
Halleigh knew that she was going to miss her scheduled hair appointment, but looking at Scratch, she could tell that he needed her. She drove to McDonald’s and ordered Scratch some food. She watched as he scratched frantically at his arms, and tears came to her eyes. She knew how it felt to be “tweaking” and broke.
“Scratch, you’re breaking my heart,” she said. “I know this is you, but do you ever think about shaking this shit?”
“Scratch think about it all the time, Li’l Rina, but once you’re on it, there is no turning back. I’ve been on this dope for over ten years. Dope runs through Scratch’s veins more than blood,” he explained.
Halleigh didn’t reply as she watched him stuff the food into his mouth. She knew that he needed help, and she was determined to get him off the drugs. She didn’t care how much he protested, he was going to get clean.
Halleigh rolled down her window as the ste
nch from Scratch’s body hit her nostrils. She tried her hardest not to frown up, but the smell was too much to tolerate. The stink from his body was permeating her leather seats, and she hoped that it wouldn’t linger in her car after he was gone.
Scratch noticed Halleigh’s twisted-up face and began to feel slightly embarrassed.
“It’s okay, Li’l Rina. Where Scratch from, baths don’t come easy. You can roll down ya winda. Scratch won’t get offended.” Scratch rolled down his own window and stared at the passing city.
Halleigh silently thanked God that Scratch let down his window, letting her off the hook. She released a forced smiled and tried not to hurt Scratch’s feelings too much. “It’s okay, Scratch,” she lied. “I just got a bad headache, that’s all.”
“Where we going anyway, Li’l Rina?” Scratch asked as he patted down his raggedy Afro.
“Scratch, would you do anything for me?” Halleigh asked, obviously trying to avoid his question.
“What kind of question is that? You know Scratch will do anything fo’ you, girl,” Scratch said, displaying his brown, buttery teeth.
“Scratch, I want to help you get better. I’m taking you to a rehab to get you clean,” Halleigh said as she pulled into the Genesis Rehabilitation Center.
Halleigh had heard Malek express his dislike for the rehab center, which he thought was helping to dry up his business. And she knew that wanting to take Scratch to the rehab center was sort of like sleeping with the enemy. But the way she looked at it, Malek would be good with or without the rehab center; Scratch, on the other hand, would be dead very soon if he didn’t get his habit in check.
“Come on, Li’l Rina, I don’t need help!” Scratch said, feeling slightly betrayed.
Halleigh put her car in park and placed her hand over Scratch’s. “Look, Scratch, it might seem crazy, but you are the only family I got. I know we’re not blood, but we family. You the only one who acted like they gave a damn about me when I was out in those streets. I don’t want to see you like this anymore,” Halleigh said, tears forming in her eyes.
Odd as it may seem, Scratch was like a father figure to her. He was the father that she’d never had.
Even though they’d smoked drugs together, Scratch always felt guilty and wanted to reject the high, but the monkey on his back was too heavy. He looked in Halleigh’s eyes and could not help but surrender. Her big brown eyes got him every time. He noticed how much she resembled her mother, and his heart melted. He used to have a thing for Halleigh’s mother before she got turned out on the drugs.
“Well, I guess, Li’l Rina,” Scratch mumbled as he dropped his head. He didn’t want to admit it, but he didn’t like who he had become. Scratch was one of the biggest drug dealers in his day, but fell victim to his own product. Halleigh didn’t know it, but she was Scratch’s only family also. No one gave a damn about him, and for Halleigh to tell him that he was family meant the world to him.
“Yes!” Halleigh yelled as she hugged Scratch, disregarding the foul odor that reeked off of him. She felt obligated to help Scratch beat his addiction, like Tasha had helped her beat hers.
One of the most painful things she’d had to do was walk away from Tasha at Malek’s request. Tasha had single-handedly gotten Halleigh off drugs, so she was grateful. She had no way of showing her gratitude to Tasha, so by helping Scratch get off drugs, it helped put her mind at ease. She looked at it as passing on the gift of unwavering concern that Tasha had shown her.
“But I ain’t getting up in front of no folks talking about I’m a crackhead and all. I be seeing that on TV. Them folks make you get up and say what you did for a hit. I even saw a man say ‘I sucked dick for crack.’ He had to be outta his cotton-picking mind. Scratch might be a junkie, but I never pulled any gay shit to support my habit. Scratch love the ladies too much fo’ that. Hey, I might be ugly, but in my day I woulda gave them a run fo’ they money,” Scratch boasted, poking his chest out and patting his Afro.
Halleigh smiled and admired how Scratch could look like he did, but somehow could charm a lady with a couple of sentences. She exited the car and walked hand and hand with Scratch into the building.
Scratch squirmed and tussled in his dorm’s bed, as his body tried to separate him from its addiction. Suffering from the worst of both worlds, Scratch was addicted to heroin and crack cocaine. Drenched in his own sweat, he clenched his aching stomach. The lack of heroin in his system caused his body to undergo complete agony.
The counselors offered Scratch methadone to help him wean himself off the drug, but he refused. He wanted to beat his addition cold turkey. He wasn’t trying to shake his heroin addiction just to become addicted to methadone. No. He was going to shake it on his own.
Scratch stood up out of the bed and began to pace the room in attempt to ease the pain in his stomach muscles. Even his footsteps against the concrete floor sent pain through his body. The drug was calling for him.
“Come on, Scratch!” he said to himself as he frantically paced the small room. It took all of his might not to storm out of the rehab and hit the streets in search of a fix. The thought of Halleigh appeared in his head, and it crushed all desire to relapse. For years no one had shown that they cared for Scratch, but when Halleigh showed concern, he totally appreciated it.
“Scratch finally got someone in his corner!” he said, talking in third person as he always did. He balled up on the ground and clenched his aching stomach and cried himself to sleep. Scratch was taking this battle head on.
Scratch stood up in front of the group of fellow drug users. “Hello, “ he said. “My name is Marcus ‘Scratch’ Pipes, and I’m a mu’fuckin’ crackhead.”
The room burst into laughter at Scratch’s brutal honesty. Halleigh smiled as she saw Scratch trying to better himself. She sat toward the back and just watched as he testified in front of the small group.
Scratch continued, “I’m forty-two years old, and I’ve been smoking, shooting dope, stealing, and robbing for the past ten years.”
Halleigh wasn’t supposed to be in the meeting, but the rehab center agreed to let her sit in just that one time, since it was the only way Scratch would have gone through with the process. The rehab center had to also first make sure that it was okay with the other addicts.
The mediator, Moses, said as she sat in the middle of the group, “The first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem. Marcus has done that. Please give him a hand.”
“Uh, no disrespect, baby, but could you please call me Scratch? Crackheads do have dignity, ya know. I don’t want everybody to know my government name, baby,” Scratch said smoothly before sitting back down and crossing his legs. Even though Scratch dressed in shabby clothes and smelled like ass, he had a certain swagger about himself. You could tell that he was somebody in his heyday. He looked back at Halleigh, who smiled at him, and he winked his eye at her.
Halleigh smiled back and took a glance at her watch. “Oh shit!” she whispered as she realized that she was late for her lunch with Malek. She quickly gathered her purse and slipped out the door. She put on her oversized shades and discreetly slipped into the brand-new BMW Malek had purchased for her.
She knew she was playing with fire, being on one of Malek’s blocks. She wanted to tell him about helping Scratch, but she had promised him that she would stay out of the hood for all reasons and leave her former life behind. She didn’t want to disappoint him, so she kept it a secret. After she made sure Scratch was good, she would never step foot in her old neighborhood again.
Halleigh maneuvered her luxury car through the city streets, trying to rush to the Italian restaurant to meet Malek.
Attorney Hill walked into the Genesis Rehabilitation Center with an Armani two-piece suit on, carrying a briefcase. He stuck out like a sore thumb amongst all the addicts and counselors. Malek had sent him to give the president of the rehabilitation center an offer she couldn’t refuse. Hill approached the front counter and set his briefcase on the desk.
&
nbsp; “Hello, I would like to speak with the owner of this facility,” he said with a smile.
“Just a minute. I’ll get her for you.” The receptionist picked up the phone and notified Moses that she had a guest.
Moments later Moses came out of the back, her dreads neatly pulled away from her face. She greeted Mr. Hill with a smile and an extended hand.
Like a gentleman, Hill stood when she entered the room and shook her hand.
“Hello, I’m Martha. Everyone around here calls me Moses, though. How may I help you?”
“Jacob Hill. Nice to meet you. I’m here on behalf of my client. I would like to discuss a few things with you.”
“No problem. Follow me into my office,” Moses replied and waved for Hill to trail her.
Once they entered the office, Moses sat behind her desk and offered Hill a seat.
“That won’t be necessary, ma’am.” Hill set his briefcase on the desk and popped it open. “I’ve researched the worth of this property. Since this is a non-profit organization, the revenue isn’t that great. So, I say you gross about thirty thousand a year from the federal grants, correct?” Hill asked.
“Yeah, that’s about right. What are you getting to?” she asked as a confused look formed on her face.
Hill turned the open briefcase toward Moses, revealing the stacks of Benjamin Franklins. Hill fixed his tie and smiled slyly. “My client wants to offer you one hundred thousand dollars. You see, he wants this establishment to close down immediately.”
Moses closed the briefcase and gently pushed it toward Hill. She couldn’t believe her eyes. She looked up at Hill in puzzlement. “I know what you getting to, Mr. Hill. This won’t be necessary. Genesis wasn’t established to be a profitable organization. We’re here to clean up our community and help with the increasing drug use that’s killing our residents.”
“I thought you might say that. My client would like to offer you two hundred thousand dollars, double the amount.”
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