Trust in No Man

by Cash

  “So,” I concluded. “I’ll check a bitch if she gets way outta pocket. But I ain’t no woman beater.”

  “Look at it this way,” Inez countered. “Maybe your sister got way outta pocket with her man.”

  “That don’t matter, yo. His bitch ass still ain’t gettin’ away with it, no matter what Toi did!” I wasn’t hearing that shit.

  “Don’t get mad with me,” Inez said. “I’m just trying to get you to look at it from all angles. In my opinion, your sister shouldn’t have called you and told you her man jumped on her. That’s just gonna get somebody killed.”

  “You right about that!”

  “See, that’s what I’m saying. If it was me, I would’ve just stopped fucking wit’ him. Why get my brother killed or get him locked up for murder?”

  Deep down I knew what Inez was saying made hella sense. But I wasn’t hearing it. Fuck what made sense, I was gonna get just as stupid as that nigga got when he put his hands on my peeps. Stupid mafuckaz made you do stupid shit to ‘em. I told Inez to shut up and taste my dick.

  “Yo’ ass be trippin’. Why you come out of left field with some shit like that?”

  “Aww, you know I’m just playin’, shawdy,” I laughed.

  Ten minutes later, I had my dick in her mouth, though.

  The day my sister was being released from the hospital, I was riding with Rich Kid discussing the situation concerning his ex-lieutenant, King. I assured Rich Kid that although I had a few personal dramas on my mind, I had not pushed the hit on King to the side. I asked him if King was aware there was fatal beef between them? I wanted to know for sure if King would be expecting Rich Kid to send someone after him. If so, I wouldn’t be able to go as a friend and then catch King with his guard down whenever I located him.

  Rich Kid promised me that he and King didn’t have any cross words when King decided to go on his own. In fact, according to Rich Kid, he hadn’t wanted King hit until later, when he found out his ex-lieutenant was setting up crews to rival his. Then, Rich Kid had reevaluated everything about his once-trusted henchman. And in hind sight, no longer giving King the benefit of doubt, Rich Kid counted numerous times the mafucka had lied to him or stolen from him. I could believe that. King had stolen from me once. I told Rich Kid about it.

  He just nodded. I could see the hurt in his eyes. The pain King’s betrayal was causing Rich Kid.

  It was supposed to be blood in, blood out. When partners got bodies with a nigga, major paper with a nigga, flossed and rode with a nigga, one wouldn’t ever expect he’d betray him. Especially if he was the one who put the nigga in the game, and the game in the nigga, like the streets said Rich Kid had done with King.

  Shit, I hadn’t fed Shotgun Pete like Rich Kid had done King, but I’d done major crimes with him. Deep down, Pete’s betrayal had burned like six caps to the back. My pride just wouldn’t let it show.

  Other than what I’d heard from the streets, I only knew Rich Kid and King’s story from Rich Kid’s perspective, but I could believe it was King who violated their bond.

  And for what? Money? Power? Shine? Probably all three.

  I knew that none of that bullshit could make me cross my dawg, Lonnie. All of that shit was what we strove for, but it was just like a bitch, a bus and a problem, they all come and go.

  Of course, greed and jealously festered inside 99 percent of the mafuckaz I’ve met. So, the other side po-po always won in the end.

  Anyway, I let Rich Kid know that if King didn’t show his face in the ATL soon, the murder rate in Kentucky would increase by at least one.

  We whipped to the hospital to pick up Toi. She’d had reconstructive surgery on her face. It was still slightly puffy and bandaged.

  She was ashamed that I’d brought Rich Kid along.

  On the way to the hospital, I had told him the deal, so he’d stopped at the hospital gift shop and bought Toi a teddy bear and welcome home balloons. She accepted them with embarrassment, thanked Rich Kid and lowered her head. My pager went off, so I left them in the hospital room and went to the pay phone to answer it.

  It was Poochie calling. She asked if I could stop by and bring her a few dollars. I told her I’d stop by later.

  “Is Lil’ T over there?”

  “No. He’s with Shan, I guess.”

  “A’ight. I’ll stop by later. You’re a’ight, ain’t you?”

  “Yeah. I’m doing fine,” Poochie said.

  I hung up from Poochie and called Inez. Her weed connection was over there dropping off some ganja so I told her I’d holla later. I made a few other calls, just wasting away a few minutes ‘til I figured Toi was checked out and ready to leave.

  Rich Kid pushed Toi toward the elevator in a wheelchair, with a fat nurse right on their heels. I hung up the phone and caught up with them.

  “Why is she in a wheelchair?”

  “Hospital policy,” replied Fatso.

  I waited with Toi and the nurse at the main exit while Rich Kid went to get his whip.

  A few minutes later, he pulled his Escalade up, got out and helped Toi up into the high sitting SUV as though she were an invalid. Though Toi was clearly uncomfortable by her predicament, I sensed that she was flattered that Rich Kid was showing so much compassion. I was sure he’d never said more than What’s up? or honked his horn at my sister before.

  Toi wasn’t a dime, but she was just a penny or two short of being one. At least when she wasn’t swollen-faced and bandaged.

  Rich Kid’s sudden interest could’ve just been his way of showing love ‘cause Toi was my peeps and he wanted to use the situation to help cement my loyalty to him. Or it could’ve been genuine. There was always a flip side to a coin. Both possibilities flashed through my mental, but I wasn’t real concerned about either at the time.

  When we got to Toi’s condo, it was exactly as it was the last time I’d been there. If Glen had been by there, he’d left no evidence. After Toi assured us she’d be okay alone, me and Rich Kid told her we’d holla later. He gave Toi his cell phone number and told her to call if she needed something and couldn’t reach me.

  It was a few hours later when I whipped over to Poochie’s crib.

  Her sons were there babysitting my son, Lil’ T and Poochie was nowhere around. Poochie’s sons were not yet teenagers and I wondered why Poochie would leave them alone watching Lil’ T for the hour-and-a-half I waited there for her to return.

  The boys didn’t know where she’d gone, only that she’d said she’d be back before dark. It was beginning to get dark out and my patience was wearing thin. I gave the oldest boy some loot and told him to give it to Poochie when she returned.

  “Tell her to call me,” I said. “Y’all don’t open the door for anybody but her.”

  I had to bounce, but I took Lil’ T along with me. I wasn’t leaving my lil’ man in the care of other kids although Poochie’s sons were pretty sharp for their age. The hood bred ‘em like that. But I still wasn’t comfortable with Poochie’s absence.

  I stopped at a pay phone and called Shan and ran down the situation to her.

  “Zack and ‘em can take care of the house for a few hours,” she said. “They’re not babies.”

  “Whatever,” I shot back. “Lil’ T is with me.”

  “Don’t be having him in the streets with you or around all your bitches. I know how—”

  “Shut up.” I hung up on her ass.

  Poochie didn’t call me that night.

  I kept Lil’ T with me the whole weekend, letting him and Eryka get used to each other. It wasn’t often I was able to have both of my children over at the same time. With Cheryl and Eryka temporarily staying at my crib, it was now easier to go get Lil’ T and enjoy both of my seeds.

  Lil’ Terrence sort of treated Eryka like a toy, but they enjoyed each other and that made a nigga proud.

  Sunday evening, I took Lil’ T back over Poochie’s crib since Shan hadn’t answered my calls.

  Poochie opened the door and let me in, looki
ng like I’d seen her look a thousand times back in the past. I knew that popeyed look like I knew none other.

  “What’s up?” Poochie licked her dry lips. Damn.

  You a’ight?” I asked, just to hear Poochie’s response. I could tell she’d fallen weak and had been out smoking crack.

  “I’m cool,” Poochie lied weakly, her voice cracking and betraying her.

  “C’mon, Poochie. You know you ain’t gotta lie to me. I got love for you no matter what.”

  That was when she broke down in tears and confessed to getting high. I let her cry and hugged her to my chest, like an understanding son/lover/son-in-law/friend.

  I told Poochie that one slip-up didn’t mean she had to wash all the months of drug-free living down the drain.

  By the time I bounced, I was somewhat hopeful that Poochie would pull herself together and not fall weak to the pipe again. Yet, I was only hopeful. The pipe was too formidable a foe to bet against.

  CHAPTER 26

  It was my good luck, and the beginning of King’s bad luck, that he decided to come back to ATL and floss and profile his new come-up. Playa had been seen around the city in all the hot spots hustlers go to mingle and outshine the next mafucka. I had heard he was whippin’ a double R, a Rolls Royce. Damn!

  That nigga had to be stacking major chips to roll like that. Either Kentucky was a dope boy’s gold mine or King had stolen mad loot from Rich Kid while he was the muscle for Rich Kid’s crew. It was one or the other, ‘cause street wisdom had always proven that kingpins like Rich Kid didn’t ever paid their workers enough loot for the worker to get rich. I guess they figured if they let the worker get rich, they’d lose their power over ‘em.

  The vibe got back to Rich Kid and it had to be vexing him real bad ‘cause he was talking careless on the phone when I answered my pager.

  Rich Kid told me he’d throw in an extra ten G’s if I’d slump King while he was in Atlanta playing Big Willie, like his black Warren Sapp-looking-ass was bullet proof.

  “Slow down, playboy! You know your cell phone ain’t tap-proof, either,” I reminded Rich Kid.

  “Yeah, you’re right, lil’ nigga.” I told Rich Kid I’d handle business as soon as I could get the drop on King.

  “He’ll be at the Player’s Ball Saturday night,” Rich Kid informed me.

  “Yeah, but I can’t get up in there. That shit be invitation only, don’t it? I ain’t got juice like that,” I cracked.

  “I do,” Rich Kid boasted. “You can roll with me and my crew.”

  “That’s peace.” After getting some info on when, where and how we’d hook up Saturday night, I told Rich Kid I’d holla later and hung up.

  I dipped by my sister’s crib just to see how she was doing and to pass a few hours away before I’d go by Inez’ crib and chill for the rest of the night.

  I had no plans to go to my own apartment. Cheryl and my daughter were still staying with me and I wasn’t up to even looking at Cheryl’s fat pitiful ass. I knew there was food and pampers there and as long as my daughter was okay, I wasn’t feeling any rush to go home.

  When I got to my sister’s crib she was just chillin’ around the apartment in old shorts and a big T-shirt, but her hair was fresh.

  Two months had passed since Toi had reconstructive surgery on her face. It had healed beautifully except underneath her left eye was a shade or two darker. I guess that was where that fuck nigga’s punch had connected with her face. I was still hot about it, but I hadn’t yet run into Toi’s boyfriend on the half dozen occasions I’d stopped by Toi’s crib since that foul shit went down.

  Probably Glen knew I was gonna straighten that beat down he put on my sister, so he was ducking the payback, creeping back and forth to her crib when he felt safe.

  “Hey, Terrence!” Toi greeted me with genuine affection.

  “What up, sis?” I went straight to her fridge and grabbed a Corona.

  From the living room, Toi yelled, “You want something to eat?”

  “What you working with? I don’t see nothing in the fridge and freezer but salad and TV dinners. I ain’t no rabbit, and I eat enough TV dinners at my own spot.”

  By now Toi was in the kitchen nudging me aside, telling me I needed to stop fucking with hoodrats and lazy hos, and find me a woman who could at least cook and put some meat on my skinny ass.

  I laughed. “But what if she can cook but the pussy ain’t no good?” I could kick it with my sister like that, we kept it trill.

  “Fool, you so crazy! I’m sure you can find some girl to do both things good, since you so nasty and sex means so much to you.”

  I told Toi that Poochie was da bomb with both, but I wasn’t up to fighting the pipe, Poochie’s guilt and her back-and-forth religion for her affection.

  “Don’t tell me you been sexin’ Shan’s mama?” Toi gasped. “Y’all should be ashamed of y’all self!”

  “Why? Shan ain’t ashamed of having a brat by a nigga who was supposed to be my dawg.”

  I didn’t bother telling Toi that I’d been splacking Poochie’s guts long before Shan crossed me out with Shotgun Pete. It didn’t make any difference in my eyes. Deep down I didn’t blame Shan as much for her betrayal as I did Shotgun Pete for his.

  “You want me to warm your trifling ass up some leftover lasagna?” A hint of laughter was in her voice.

  “That sounds cool. But don’t warm up a lot ‘cause I ain’t that hungry. Plus, Inez will probably have something hooked up for me to grub on when I fall through her spot after I leave here.”

  “Well, you want me to just heat you up one of these soups?”

  “Hell naw!” I damn near barked when I saw the Ramen soup Toi pulled from the cabinet. I’d bought those same kinds of soups from the commissary for five mahfuckin’ years in the pen. I’d promised myself when I touched freedom I’d never eat another one, I explained to Toi.

  “Oh. My bad. I’ll heat up the lasagna,” Toi said.

  We ate lasagna and garlic bread, I guzzled down two Coronas then fired up a spliff. When Toi took a pull of the weed, she started choking and coughing like a new jack. My sister didn’t chief on the regular, but she wasn’t new to it, either.

  “Damn! Ugh—ugh!” she coughed. “I ain’t smoked in awhile.” She passed the spliff back to me.

  It was cool with me, ‘cause I could blaze like a Rastafarian. I didn’t need Toi to smoke with me if her lungs weren’t up to it.

  We were watching a rerun of Martin, trippin’, when Toi asked me if the Inez I had mentioned was the same female that had a daughter by Fat Stan?

  “Yeah, that’s the shawdy I’m holding down now,” I confirmed.

  Toi said, “You must be death-struck for real. That fat ass nigga be trying to kill niggas ‘bout that girl.”

  “Since when did I bar another nigga? He got beef about it, he better check Inez. ‘Cause I don’t owe his fat ass no loyalty. I’ll send him to his maker.” I popped, seriously, and raised up my shirt.

  “Now why you gotta bring that gun in my house?” Toi asked, though she knew the answer.

  My heater was like my arms and legs, with me wherever I went.

  I told my peeps to relax, Fat Stan was on locks for a nickel and time would teach him that when the dog’s away, the cat gon’ play.

  Awhile later, we heard keys jingling outside of the apartment door.

  “That’s Glen!” Toi sounded panicked. “Don’t start no shit, Terrence! Give me your gun.”

  Yeah, right. I ignored the lame request.

  Glen stepped through the door carrying a tennis bag. He didn’t speak to Toi or me. He sniffed the air inside of the apartment and asked Toi, in a scolding tone, what she’d been smoking.

  “I smoked a blunt with my brother,” Toi’s tone was like a frightened child being fussed at by her father.

  “I only hit it once,” she added as if that would diminish Glen’s anger.

  “Open some windows or turn on the air conditioner, that shit stinks!” Glen barked. �
��Then step back here in the bedroom, I need to holla at you.”

  “Whoa, mafucka! Where you going so fast?” I got up off of the couch with gat in hand, aimed at his egg-shaped head. “We got some bidness to settle.”

  “What?” He was caught off-guard.

  “You heard me, fuck-ass nigga! You gotta answer for that shit you did to my sister.”

  I couldn’t tell if he was gonna try to make a mad dash for the bedroom or at me. Nor did I know what he was packing inside of that tennis bag, but I felt sure it wasn’t no tennis gear.

  “Put that gun up!” Toi cried, hysterically.

  “Stay out the way!” I warned her, never taking my aim off her nigga.

  Now he was at my mercy, like Toi had been at his that day he beat her down. I was gonna teach him not to fuck with my peeps.

  But what really had me heated was the way the nigga had just came in the apartment and walked right past me, like I was pussy and wasn’t gon’ straighten out that beat down he’d put on my sister a couple of months ago.

  Toi was still screaming for me to put the gun down. That shit only made me more determined to light a spark in Glen’s ass. He hadn’t shown my sister no pity, yet she was trying and crying to save his ass. But in vain. ‘Cause once I pulled out the heater, I was

  Glen tried to con his way out of getting what he had coming to him.

  When he realized I wasn’t studyin’ that shit, he said, “Put the gun down and we can step outside and settle this man to man”.

  My gat stared steadily in his face while I said, “It wasn’t man to man when you was punching my sister out, nigga!”

  “Terrence! That’s over with. We talked about it and Glen promised he’d never hit me again,” Toi lamely explained.