by AP Jermaine
“Shit, I aint take but two pulls off this shit, and I’m higher than some pussy in prison.” Lex laughed at his own joke before re - lighting the Dutch.
Just as I reached for my phone, it vibrated in my hand. Glancing down at the screen I saw it was Lauryn. Damn I’d been neglecting that pussy lately. I thought as I hit the “talk” button. “What’s up baby?”
“Uh ah. Don’t what’s up baby me! You know I been worried sick about you and you won’t even answer my calls! I know you aint got nobody down there trying to take my place, because I’ll come down there and air shit out!” Her sassiness always made me laugh. “I aint playing Teddy, I’m serious. I need to see you. Where you at?”
“I’m on the grind right now Lauryn. I got shit I gotta do.”
“I know damn well you got shit you gotta do. Me! My pussy aint been sore in weeks and I need to be punished.” Damn she always knew what to say to a nigga.
“I can’t right now ma. I got shit to handle. I’ll call you when I’m free though aight.”
“Oh, hell no! I aint falling for that. Get a bitch all strung out and then neglect her. I’ll be in Durham first thing tomorrow. I’m going to church at nine thirty and then I’m getting on the highway. You gone hurt this white pussy tomorrow whether you like it or not. Bye baby. See you tomorrow.”
“Hello? Hello…?” Damn she hung up. Always gotta have her way.
“Ay…! Ay.! Teddy!” Somebody called me from the street as me and Lex both looked over at the same time, following the direction of the voice.
“Oh hell.” Lex mumbled.
“What the hell you looking at ya bug eyed motherfucker? Aint nobody called you. I’m talking to my godson.” I looked and saw it was my godmother Sonya, sitting at the stop sign behind the wheel of her red Ford Focus.
“Hey Ms. Sonya.” Lex waved weakly.
“Kiss my ass motherfucker!” One thing she was known for was cussing people out. If she didn’t like you, trust me you’d know it. She pulled no punches. “Teddy hey baby. What you doing out here?”
“Nothing mama just hanging out.” She loved for me to call her mama.
“Well you make sure you stop up the street and see me before you leave. You aint driving?”
“Nah, I’m walking.”
“You need to use my car?”
“Nah that’s okay mama I’m fine.”
“Okay then, don’t forget to stop by before you leave.” Ms. Sonya turned off of Walton Street headed up Wedgedale to her house. Ms. Sonya, or mama as she liked me to call her, was my mother’s best friend when I was younger. We stayed six or seven houses down from each other on Wedgedale and they both worked at Duke Hospital. Ms. Sonya had a son about my age, who I used to hang out with named Jay. Jay got killed in a car accident when he was sixteen, and ever since then, she’d always say I was the only son she had left. She did have a daughter though, whom was three years older than me. Her name was Shantell. She was common law married to my nigga Ace, until he caught 30 years fed under the RICO act. Now she was with another drug dealer. Shantell was thick as a motherfucker and said to be a “superfreak,” although I never found out because she was always like a sister in my eyes. Ms. Sonya and my mom dukes didn’t hang out much these days, because of a nasty lil habit that Ms. Sonya had picked up after Jay died. “Smoking crack.” Even though she smoked, she wasn’t what you would call a “crackhead.” I guess you could say she was a casual smoker. What I mean by that, is that she still worked, kept a clean house, stayed clean herself, and didn’t let the drug consume her entire life. Some people
are like that. They can smoke occasionally and still function. Not a lot, but some. Even though I’d come through sometimes and throw her something, I’d never actually seen her smoke. She loved to cook, and in fact cooked almost daily. Whenever I’d stop through and throw her something, she’d say, “Thank you son. You hungry? You want me to fix you a plate?” If I was hungry I’d say “No mama you know I can fix it.” She’d say “Okay,” go in her room and shut the door. When she came back out, she’d be just like she was when she went in. Laughing and talking shit. When I was there, her home was my home. She wouldn’t have it any other way. So for the record, everybody that smokes hard, is not walking around stinking looking in trashcans and shit. That’s television shit, not real life. The same goes for heroin addicts. Even though, you are more likely to see a crack smoker dirty, then a dopefiend. Most dope addicts stay clean. unless they’ve just totally let themselves go. The reason being is that with crack, they can never get enough of the shit. They just keep going and going and going… You get my meaning. You know how you might be somewhere drinking and blazing some tree, and you get to the point where you’re so fucked up, that you feel like if you take even one more swig, or one more pull, you might just fall over and die! I mean you just that fucked up that you don’t want no more! A crackhead will never say that. They can smoke a rock the size of Texas, and fifteen minutes later they’ll be looking for a rock the size of Mexico. They’re moving around a mile a minute with their heart rate racing, they can’t eat on the shit so they get as thin as a skeleton. Crack consumes their entire life. Not all, but the majority. They can never get enough money, and that’s why niggas start stealing, and women start selling pussy and sucking dicks. Always searching, for that rock the size of Mexico. They can never get enough. It’s the way the drug was designed. For poor people to get poorer. In poor communities. Namely “Blacks.” The thing is, the government didn’t factor in the possibility of it getting out of control like it did. When suddenly, white kids in suburban America started getting hooked! Now Daddy has to go run Becky down in the hood, and drag her outta the house where she was at, sucking on them big black dicks for a hit! So all of a sudden, the government was like, “Oh shit!” And henceforth, came the “War on Drugs,” and the crack cocaine laws that gave a person 100 times the amount on a sentence for crack, as they would get for powdered cocaine, typically considered a white man’s drug. In fact, only just recently after numerous protests, rallies, and bills introduced into Congress, did the federal government bring down the crack cocaine sentencing to coincide with the powdered cocaine laws. Now thousands of black men are being released from prisons, because of retroactivity of the law and because of the humungous amount of time they received for selling crack as opposed to powder. Go figure. But anyway, a heroin addict although an addict and a sufferer just the same, once “they” get high, all they wanna do is get somewhere and sit down so they can nod in peace. It’s a downer, as opposed to crack which is an upper. There’s a lot of “boosters” in the heroin world, so most addicts have daily access to nice clothes, shoes, and things of that nature. The only time you’ll really catch them at their worst, is if they can’t get the dope as soon as they wake up to get the sickness off of them. Heroin is a physical addiction, while cocaine is mostly mental. The cocaine or crack, actually they can do without. Whereas with heroin, they have to have it as soon as they get up in the morning, or they go through a physical sickness that they describe as “the worst pain imaginable!” Runny nose, shakes, bone aching, chills; everything in their body hurts, all the way down to their pinky toes! My homeboy Maine who was locked up with me during my bid, used to snort dope when he was out. He told me that he can remember a time when he woke up sick about six o’ clock one morning. He said he made his way over to the dope house in about 15 minutes. He was shivering, aching, and hurting so bad tears ran down his face. He knocked on the door and the man opened and said, “Not yet, it’ll be about thirty minutes.” He said he shit on himself right then, and fell off the porch in a knot! That’s why most dope houses make their money between 6 A.M. and 10 A.M. By 11 A.M. you can shut down shop for the day. Unless you’re waiting for the boosters, to see what they bring through. And in that case, you can probably shut down by 12 A.M. Dope addicts praise heroin, and say it’s the best thing god ever created. The best feeling in the world! But as I started off saying, don’t think that everyone who smoke crack or does
heroin is walking around looking like Pookie from New Jack City, or Eddie Kane from The Five Heartbeats. 50% of the time you’ll never know. Depending on how strong or weak their mind is.
“Damn nigga, what the fuck you do to my godmother nigga?” I asked Lex.
“Man, I don’t know? Well, I’m lying. Yeah, I do know. She came home from work early one day about eight nine years ago, and caught me with Shantell balled up in the Chinese buck dropping dick off in her, and ever since then she can’t stand me. She won’t let it go.”
“You shouldn’t have been stealing her daughter’s innocence nigga.”
“Innocence! Nigga please! She taught me how to fuck!” I laughed like a motherfucker as through my periphial I saw somebody trying to get our attention. I looked and saw that it was two white chicks in a white Acura Legend sitting at the stop sign. “Yeah what’s up?” Lex yelled.
“Anybody got any dope out here? I’m looking for Cee Cee.” The chic in the driver seat with black spiky hair yelled over to us. By the fatness of her face I could tell she was a chubby chic.
“Nah baby girl. Nothing but hard right now. Cee Cee’s in jail.”
“Fuck!” Chubby chic hit the steering wheel obviously upset, as her peoples in the passenger seat just shook her head.
“You want to cop some hard? I got a lil soft too.” Lex asked hopefully.
“Nah baby. I gotta have boy. You know how it is,” black haired chubby chic started to pull off.
“Yo….!” I yelled as she hit the brakes like a deer had run in front of her car.
“Huh you called me?” She asked with hope.
“Yeah, what you trying to get?”
“Four bundles. You got something?”“Yeah. Meet me at the Lighthouse in twenty minutes.”
“For real? We been looking all over and can’t find nothing. You aint no cop or nothing, is you? This aint no set up, is it?”
“You just ain’t been looking in the right place ma. Shit I’m the one who should be asking you is “you” a cop!” I shot right back at her.
“Hell baby, if I’m a cop then I must be Denzel in Training Day,” she said as she reached down and held up a bag of needles.
“Aight I believe you. Twenty minutes. The Lighthouse.” Every hood has a hood store. “The Keys” hood store was called The Lighthouse, ran by Africans.
“Thank you baby,” Chubby chic yelled out as she pulled off headed out the bottom of The Key.
“You got some boy bru?” Lex asked me looking confused.
“Yeah I got a lil bit. These Haitians I be fucking wit got that shit. They in town right now. You meet the best plugs in the penitentiary my nigga.”
“Yo I heard that. But yo, if your peoples straight like that on that boy, right now you can get rich nigga. Quick! You know it’s damn near dry right now? You know my brother Cuddy don’t ya?”
“Nigga you know I know Cuddy. That’s my nigga.”
“Yeah. He lives in Raleigh wit his baby mama now, and that’s all he fucks with is that boy. Him and his homeboys. And, they can’t find shit. Hell, Cee Cee was cleaning up out here til his dumb ass caught that body over that whore he called his girl. Now she out here sucking dicks for outfits to go to the club. I aint mad at her though, cause she damn sure can suck a dick. Whew!” I hope this nigga didn’t thing I was impressed. “But check bru, I know Cuddy wanna cop something. Yo peoples got weight too?”
“I don’t know but I can check. See what he wants first.”
“Aight hold up.” Lex hit a button on his phone and speed dialed his brother. “Yo. What’s up bru? Ha? Nah I aint seen her, but guess what nigga? I found some dope for yall. Ha? Yeah, I’m dead serious. Some Haitian niggas Banks know. Yeah Banks nigga. Cuddy said what’s up bru. Yeah. What you trying to do? Aight hold up. He said is it good, and what’s the numbers on an egg?” Lex relayed the messages.
“Tell him it’s that “Black Magic” and hold on let me call and see.” I dialed Bubba’s number as I got up and walked to the edge of the street. He picked up on the first ring.
“Yo what’s good dog? Where you at?”
“Ay yo how much you be paying for an ounce?” I asked Bubba.
“Shit, anywhere from twenty - eight to thirty - five hundred.”
“Aight I’ll hit you back in a few minutes.” I told him and hung up.
“Yeah they got it. They want four - thousand a zone.”
“Bru, Cuddy wanna know is it the same “Black Magic” that was on the news for killing them people?”
“Yeah. Same shit.”
“He said yeah. O.k. gotcha. He said he can be here in an hour, and if it’s that same heat, he wants two zones.”
“Tell him aight but come correct, cause these niggas don’t play no games and I don’t either.”
“Come on Banks. You know Cuddy aint bout that shit. He damn sure wouldn’t be bringing it to where I lay my head.”
“Cool. Ok yeah. Tell him come by himself. These motherfuckers carry some big heat and they get real itchy when they see a lot of faces.”
“Bru he said come by yourself.” Lex spoke back into the phone. “He said he gotcha Banks.”
“Ten four. Now drop me off in Rochelle.”
Chapter 63 “Trap Junky”
As soon as Lex dropped me off in Rochelle Manor, I hit Bubba back as I headed through the cut to Ross. Rd.
“Yo what’s good?” Bubba answered on the first ring again.
“Yeah you still got the address to where you left your car programmed in your phone?”
“Hell yeah. You know I gotta know how to get back to my baby.”
“Aight, call a cab and meet me back there. Just wait in the parking lot.
“You mean now?”
“Nah. Right now.”
“Aight bru I’m on it.”
Thirty minutes later, we pulled up to The Lighthouse store in Bubba’s Charger. I made the four - bundle score and headed back to Lexes crib in The Key. The chubby chic with the black spiked hair’s name turned out to be Mandy. She was a dike and the girl with her was her bitch. I charged her ninety dollars a bundle. Since I was now finding out that it was a semi-drought, by law I had to tax just a little bit. Even at ninety dollars I was still hitting it ten dollars less than what they were used to. As we turned back into The Key, I handed Bubba the two ounces of dope and the nine - millimeter to lay across his lap. Everybody in the car had instructions not to open their fuckin mouth period, when Cuddy came to the car. When we rounded the corner, Cuddy was already there. Good. He and Lex were standing at the edge of the street leaning up against what I assumed to be Cuddy’s tan Maxima. Bubba and Jack were in the front seat while me and Jill sat in the back. We pulled up behind the Maxima and I called Cuddy up to the car.
“Banks what’s up my nigga?” Cuddy reached through the back window and gave me dap although I watched his eyes lock onto the pistol in Bubba’s lap.
“Aint shit my nigga. Same shit different day. You got that paper straight?” My peeps gotta get ready to hit the highway.”
“Yeah I got it right here bru.” Cuddy handed me the small paper bag he was holding as I pulled out and counted eight - thousand even. I tapped Bubba on the shoulder and he reached between his legs, handing Cuddy the two zones of boy out the window. Cuddy inspected it and seemed to be satisfied. “You say this that shit that be having em falling over?”
“The one and only.”
“Damn bru, thanks my nigga! I’m about to lose all my damn scores! Aint shit in Raleigh! Ay yo, if your peoples gonna still be straight, I know my niggas gonna wanna cop. I had to get my shit and do me first though. You know how it is Banks.” Cuddy smiled.
“Yeah I know my nigga.” I said as I made a show of passing Bubba the money. My phone vibrated on my hip, I looked down and it was a text. “Yo Cuddy just call your brother and he’ll call me if my peoples still around. I got an emergency I gotta get to. Drop me back off across the street,” I told Bubba. And with that we drove off.
I trapped a
ll night Saturday. I fucked around wit the niggas in the Key till about 10:00 Saturday night, when most of the cats out there went to the club. One thing about Turnkey niggas, the club was almost mandatory every weekend. Lex had asked me earlier in the day if I was going, and I told him “Nah I’m gone chill this time.” My godmother Sonya, told me in her own words,
“Don’t be out there with them stupid motherfuckers. If you gone be out here, you come over here. Anything you need to have, you bring it in here and put it in Jay room.” So that’s what I did. Almost. Actually, the work I brought with me, I stashed in her back yard, that was fenced in with two vicious ass pitbulls named Bonnie and Capone. I’d known them both since they were puppies, and they both knew me, so that was Gucci. Bonnie was actually Bitches mother. They were mean as fuck though, and would kill any man, or dog that stepped foot in that backyard if they didn’t know you. And mama Sonya won’t that friendly, so they didn’t know many people. It won’t shit out the ordinary for my phone to be ringing off the hook and for scores to constantly be pulling up asking for D. J., because most of the niggas out there had phones that were jumping. Wedgedale Avenue, I found out was a million - dollar strip. And it was the perfect place for me to stay outta the spotlight of the city, and still stack my paper. To everybody out there I was just another nigga trying to come up. Which, in a sense I was. Cuddy called back twice. The first time for another egg. And the second time for two. I stuck to the script. Pulled up with Bubba and Jack and let Bubba hand him the work. I’d made almost eighteen bands in an eight - hour period off him alone. As it turned out, Sandy wasn’t lying. She knew every fuckin body! She brought me so many customers and copped so many bundles, I stopped counting! My phone never stopped ringing! I’d walk in between the houses, traveling back and forth, popping out at different locations to make it impossible for them to pinpoint where I was going and coming from. Sometimes I’d say meet me at the store, sometimes at the basketball court, sometimes in the Grays, never in the same spot twice in a row. The coke and dope sells never stopped coming up and down Wedgedale Avenue. And yeah, most of them were white. Now, if you been in the game for a while, I know you can remember back in the eighties or maybe even the early nineties whenever somebody would be out on the block trappin, and as soon as they saw somebody white they’d scream out “Man down! There go the police!” Well if you didn’t know by now, which I know you should, the streets have long ago evolved from that bullshit. In case you didn’t know they, do have black cops too. Once some snitch told the police not to send nobody white through the hood to make a buy and bust, that shit was dead. Now it’s more than likely some black undercover that’s gonna try and get you. Shit, it might be your homeboy that didn’t tell nobody he got popped the other night! Yeah. Mr. Tough guy that’s supposed to be so real, but ready to snitch out his whole team cause he facing two years! The main reason being, because as soon as they put the cuffs on him, the first thing he thinks about is “Oh shit! My girl!” He’s scared to death of leaving that broad out there. The same broad he stays treating like shit, while he’s out running the streets fucking other niggas that’s locked up girls. Now he knows the next nigga with rims on his car and a chain around his neck, gonna be running a football field worth of dick through every hole, “his girl” got. He starts thinking about all the freaky shit she be doing that “she claims” she aint never did to nobody else. That’s right tough guy. “She gone be doing it now!” Licking niggas asses on Saturday night and tonguing you down at visitation on Sunday. That shit scares him more than doing the time does! So, you know what he does? That’s right Sherlock. He straight pulls his skirt up to reveal that vagina he’s been hiding, and sets yo ass up. You can believe that like you believe in God. It’s the untold truth. So; the cops,or feds, or whatever the case may be, aint wasting no more time and money trying to send some lame ass white motherfucker to cop from you. For what? When he can go with sure thing? Your tough ass homeboy. The second thing your tough ass homeboy thinks about is how he’s been out here in the streets with that gun. Clapping at niggas, pulling out on niggas, and now he gotta go in the jail or penitentiary without that gun! And, he knows some of these same niggas is gonna be in there, and as soon as they see him, they gonna smack his teeth down his throat and have him washing they shitty boxers. Cause without that gun he’s what? A coward. A pussy hiding behind that gun. He aint trying to go through that. So, you know what he does? He sets yo ass up and sends you to the penitentiary in his place. Your tough ass homeboy. But anyway, like I was saying, I trapped all night Saturday. After everybody went to the club, it was so much money coming through that motherfucker it was unreal! I didn’t go to sleep period! Black hoodie, black jeans, black Timbs. And I went and got that paper! Dope sells continued to call me all through the night because they wanted to get their dope before they went to sleep. That way they didn’t have to worry about waking up sick. My nigga Kado stayed out all night with me so I made sure he got his weight up. Every time he sold out, I’d sell him whatever he needed. He started out with a quarter and by morning he had a big eighth. (4 ounces) That’s how hard it was jumping! Bubba had hit the highway with three ounces of boy and a promise from me to hit him harder when he came back with the bread.