by Cash
“Just shut up, and stay out the way!” She was pissing me off even more, trying to save her nigga from a bullet he couldn’t avoid.
I didn’t know if Glen was strapped or not, for all I knew the nigga could’ve had a street sweeper in that tennis bag or his own heater tucked in his waist. I couldn’t allow my sister to distract me or I could end up back wearing a shit bag. I wasn’t having dat.
“It’s time to face the music, nigga!” I aimed the gat at Glen’s kneecap and squeezed the trigger, the gunshot sounded like an explosion inside of the apartment.
Glen stumbled back and fell to the floor.
Toi screamed and ran and jumped on my back, trying with all her might to stop me from bodying her nigga. I easily brushed her to the side, pointed the gat at her silly ass and told her I’d bust a cap in her stupid ass if she tried that dumb shit again. She screamed she was calling the police, so I snatched the phone cord out the wall in the living room and she couldn’t get past me to the cordless phone in her bedroom.
Glen was on the floor holding his right knee, cussin’ and trying to plug the hole with his hands to slow the blood from pouring out. Still it poured down his pants leg. I aimed at his other knee, the left one and squeezed the trigger again. He yelped. The bitch nigga started begging me not to shoot him again.
I slapped him across the head with the gat a few times ‘til blood ran down the side of his face. Each time I slapped him upside the head with the steel, I said, “Put—your—hands—on—my sister again—and—I’ma kill you!” Then I took the tennis bag and looked inside. “When you learn how to treat my sister I’ll give you back your shit!” I whipped away from there like a nigga trying to get out of Forsyth County KKK territory before dark.
I didn’t dare go to my crib. My stupid, lovesick sister might’ve called po-po and told them where I rested my head. Nor did I go by Inez’ crib as I’d originally planned. I’d told Toi I was boning Inez and though I doubted Toi knew where Inez lived, I wasn’t taking any unnecessary chances.
Toi could also describe all of my whips to po-po.
I drove to the airport and paid to park my car in the long-term lot just in case there was an APB out on me. I would push my incognito whip so it would be safe at the airport for a few days. At least long enough to find out if Toi or Glen had put the heat on me.
Niggas in the streets may have thought that it was stupid of me to spark Glen up, especially after the way my sister had tried to defend the nigga. But it was just in me to wet the nigga up for fuckin’ my peeps up like he did. I had to let the nigga know that Toi wasn’t defenseless. I’d get with his bitch ass no matter how my sister felt about him hitting her. The next time I would dead his ass. If Toi still loved him after that, she could always go visit his grave.
I took a taxi from the airport to a hotel way on the other side of the city. I called Inez and told her where I was at. Then I jumped in the shower to wash the stress away. I had forgotten all about the tennis bag I took from Glen.
Once out the shower, I dried off and went to the phone and ordered some pizza so Inez and I wouldn’t have to leave the room to get some grub once she got to the hotel.
Inside the tennis bag was five kilos of cocaine, fifteen G’s, two automatic heaters, a .45 and a .9mm. I instantly realized I could’ve been dead. Why hadn’t Glen gone for his heaters when I’d turned to snatch the phone plug out of the wall? Was he pussy? Packing steel but afraid to let the gun speak? Or had he been in so much pain he’d forgotten the heaters were near him, inside the tennis bag?
Damn, I’d almost slipped and ended up on permanent timeout. Now I was mad at Toi, her hysterics could’ve cost a young nigga his life.
I put the loot and shit back inside of the tennis bag and tossed it inside of the closet. I didn’t want Inez to see it, I wasn’t gonna hip her to what had gone down. I never told anyone anything they didn’t have to know or one day they’d be on that witness stand helping those crackers to send my ass to prison.
“Hey, boo,” Inez greeted me when I let her into the room. She was looking fly in a Prada jumpsuit that showed off her curves.
“That outfit is bangin’, playgirl,” I complimented. Inez did a slow three-sixty degree turn.
“You like it?”
“No doubt, shawdy. But not as much as I like what’s underneath it.”
“You want me to take it off so you can get some of what’s underneath it?” Her tone was seductive.
I was still amped up from blasting Glen’s punk ass, so my joint got hard the second Inez touched me.
I’d been holding Inez down for months now and the pussy was still bangin’. For some reason I couldn’t explain, capers and gunplay always left a nigga wanting to fuck something. Add to that, Inez’ Stacey Dash’s looks and mad sex appeal. It took every ounce of a young nigga’s resolve not to fuck her right there where we stood in the room. I held my composure, though.
“Don’t be starting nothing you don’t wanna finish,” Inez said playfully.
But I could tell she meant it. She was ready to fuck a nigga’s back out and get me out of the crunk-up mode she could tell I was in. Inez was just perceptive like dat. Maybe that was how she was able to play Fat Stan, a lesser nigga than me, into being an all-out fool over her.
Of course, I was too game tight to fall under any bitch’s spell.
The pizza arrived and I fucked up the whole pie. Inez said she’d already eaten.
Someone was paging me so much the mafuckin’ beeper was damn near vibrating off the nightstand, but I ignored it after I checked the number and saw that it was Ma Duke calling.
“You got some weed with you?” I asked Inez.
“I brought two blunts.”
“Damn, playgirl.” I handed her a lighter. “Fire one up.”
We got blazed and fucked all night.
The next morning, Inez asked me how long I planned to stay at the hotel. I told her she could bounce if she had something to do.
“Well,” she said, “I need to at least go home and get a change of clothes. Plus, I need to drop off a few things at my mother’s house, stuff for my daughter.”
“Go do your thing, shawdy.” Inez’ daughter was so seldom around while I was kicking it with her; I had almost forgotten she had a child.
“I can come back in a few hours if you want me to,” Inez offered.
“That’s cool.” I told her to bring me some clean gear that I kept over her crib. I gave her some tongue and she bounced.
When the door closed, I finally returned my mother’s call. “Yeah, what’s up?” I asked when she answered.
“Terrence, have you lost your damn mind?”
“Calm down, Ma! Or I’m just gonna hang up.” The momentary silence told me she was fighting her natural need to cuss and fuss, knowing full well that our relationship had already been strained for years, and I wouldn’t hesitate to hit her in the ear with a dial tone. It wasn’t disrespect that I felt for my Ma Duke, it was bitterness.
“Why did you go over Toi’s house and shoot her boyfriend? Are you crazy? You wanna go back to prison? You need to learn to let the police handle stuff like that.”
“Look, Ma”, I said. “I did what I felt I had to do. Now if Glen or Toi wanna run to the police on me, I’ll do what I gotta do then, too.”
“And what is that, Terrence?”
“I ain’t going back to prison.”
“So you’ll make the police find you and kill you?”
Without hesitation I countered, “The police ass ain’t immune to dying. They gotta bring some to get some!” A few seconds later, I heard a dial tone.
While I was at the pay phone, Lonnie paged me so I hit him up asap.
Recognizing my voice, he said, “Damn, dawg. Your sister called me talking all crazy, saying something about you wet up her nigga and took a lot of money from him.”
“It ain’t go down exactly like that,” I countered.
“Whatever, dawg. I knew you was gonna step to dude sooner or later,” Lonnie sa
id, not asking for details. “You all right?”
“Yeah, I’m cool,” I assured him.
“Come holla at me when you think it’s cool,” he shot back.
“You know I will, main man. Peace.”
I left the payphone and went back to the hotel room. Since I didn’t have any weed to burn, I thought about busting one of the kilos I’d taken from that chump, Glen, and gettin’ rawed-up. But I wasn’t trying to turn into no powder head, so I cancelled the thought and just laid back and chilled.
I had come down off that mad rush a nigga be feelin’ when he pulled a caper or let that pistol bark, and now I was weighing the repurcussions of what I’d done, but I wasn’t regretting my acts. But I knew not to take shit for granted, or I could end up in a grave behind this shit.
I knew very little about Glen or his business, but common sense told me that a nigga holding that much yayo could retaliate against me. Hell, a nigga just pushing a few rocks was capable of mad revenge, especially if he felt a nigga’s acts had violated some principle. More niggaz done got deaded over principle in the streets than anything else. So I wasn’t about to take it for granted that Glen wasn’t gonna try to straighten his business.
On the other hand, I wasn’t shaking in my Timbs, either. I knew one indisputable fact, he would have to bring ass to get some. Unless he’d send another nigga at me.
Still, I planned to be on-point 24/7. What was really on my mental was the five bricks and the fifteen G’s, plus those two heaters in the tennis bag.
My plan was to give that sucka, Glen, back the dope if he hadn’t already dropped dime on me to po-po. If he had, I’d use the dope to strengthen my bank while I was on the run. No matter if Glen had dropped dime on me or not, I wasn’t returning the money or the heaters.
The way I saw it, the fifteen G’s was payment for stressing me when he beat down Toi. As for the heaters, wasn’t no goddamn way I was gonna give a nigga a gun back that he might later use to clap me. Shit, the nigga was blessed that I planned to return his dope. I’m a robber, I never giveth, I taketh.
But since this wasn’t ‘bout no jack moves and was strictly personal beef, the code was different, which was also why I didn’t body the nigga. I’d just wanted to teach the nigga a lesson: that there was a severe penalty for putting his nut scratchers on my peeps. He had put my sister in the hospital, now I’d done the same to him. That was street justice. Ghetto style.
My pager started ringing. I checked the number and walked back to the pay phone a few blocks from the hotel.
“Yo. This is Youngblood,” I said into the phone as soon as I heard the familiar voice on the other end.
“What’s up, lil’ nigga?” It was Rich Kid.
“Same old, same old,” I rapped. “What’s up with you, playboy?”
Rich Kid asked if I was still gonna handle that business with King for him. I told him that my word was bond, I’d meet him at the Player’s Ball Saturday, but I didn’t want King to see us kicking it. I was thinking I could play my way up under King by telling him I had some type of beef with Rich Kid. If King took the bait, I’d ask him to put me down with his crew. Then I’d soon get the opportunity to dead him.
Besides, with the heat I anticipated being on me for that Glen shit, a few weeks of being in Kentucky to play up under King would be right on time. It wouldn’t be easy to hook up with King, though. I knew the nigga didn’t like me, and I suppose he felt the same vibe from me.
I told Rich Kid I was in a predicament which didn’t allow me to get to any real money for a minute and I needed some cash flow to buy some boss gear for me and a shawdy to rock at The Ball. Plus, I needed floss money. Fuck it, Rich Kid had to cover the expenses since he wanted the hit done in such a rush.
Not that I was foolish enough to try to hit King at The Player’s Ball. I knew nothing about the set-up of the club, nor how crew-deep King would be rolling. Unless the opportunity to body King unexpectedly presented itself Saturday night, I would have to use that night as a linkage to touch King a little later
Rich Kid came right over to the hotel and dropped a fat roll of dough in my grip. He didn’t ask me why I was holed up in a hotel, and I didn’t volunteer an explanation. It wasn’t his biz.
Before leaving he gave me invitations to The Player’s Ball for Inez and me.
Inez showed back up at the room about 3 p.m. She must’ve heard a nigga’s stomach growling from way over wherever she had came from, ‘cause she brought a nigga some soft tacos and chicken fajitas and fries. I attacked the food like I hadn’t eaten in days.
Inez smiled. “Damn, slow down before you choke.”
I told her she was a lifesaver and kissed her before eating the last of six tacos and the remainder of a large order of fries.
Even though I told her she didn’t owe me no rundown, she told me what she’d done between leaving the hotel early that morning and now. Fat Stan’s jealous ass probably had questioned Inez so thoroughly about her whereabouts whenever she left the crib that it had become habit for her to justify any period of absence to a nigga. I didn’t check no ho for hints of unfaithfulness every time she stepped out of my sight and returned.
Fuck smelling their panties for another nigga’s scent and shit. If a ho couldn’t be trusted, a nigga had to either let her go or just serve her booty calls.
“I’m just letting you know what my day been like,” Inez corrected, sounding hurt that I wasn’t really interested.
I didn’t try to placate her feelings, though. Shit, once I started catering to a bitch’s every emotion, it was just a matter of time before a nigga found himself vulnerable to all types of shit.
I changed subjects and asked Inez if she wanted to be the lucky one I sported on my arm to The Player’s Ball Saturday.
“You’re serious?” she beamed. “How you get an invitation? I thought only major hustlers get invited to that shit? Not to sound like I’m dissin’ you, boo,” Inez polished up her response.
I told her that she was indeed right, only major niggaz were invited to The Player’s Ball, which meant she was underestimating my clout. I let her know that sometimes a nigga had power through the mafuckaz he knew.
I was thinking it would be good for my pockets if I could clap King real soon and get the bonus Rich Kid had added as a sweetner. But even better for my pockets would be if I could play up under King or tail him to Kentucky and relieve him of his stash money after I deaded him.
That was the plan that appealed to me most because it would probably mean more loot in my grip.
I’d probably need Lonnie and someone else’s help to do it like that, though. I wasn’t gonna lie, Shotgun Pete would have been perfect to take along with me and Lonnie. But I couldn’t forgive his betrayal, it hinted of other flaws in that ugly ass nigga’s character. I didn’t trust my life and freedom to his shady ass. I treated him like I’d treat a grimey bitch, I stopped fucking with him and there was no going back.
Inez’ voice interrupted my thoughts.
“… plus I’ll have to get my hair and my nails done. And how am I gonna find something to wear? I don’t know? Saturday ain’t but three days away.” Inez was saying.
I broke her off a thick wad from the money Rich Kid had given me and told her to go buy the flyest, sexiest dress she could find, regardless of the cost.
“And while you’re at it,” I added another stack of benjamins to the wad I’d just given her. “Buy me some fly thug gear. Not no tuxedo or shit like that. Nah mean?”
“Why can’t you go shopping with me?” she whined.
“Nah, shawdy. I’m keepin’ a low profile for a few days.”
But I didn’t bother to explain, and Inez didn’t press me any further, which was one of the things that I liked about shawdy. Inez’ understanding on how to treat a hustler was far more advanced than my babies’ mamas.
Inez just knew when to be up under a nigga and when to give him space. Maybe she’d gained that wisdom through trial and error. Or maybe being a h
ustler herself she understood that a mafucka couldn’t stack love and sex in a safe, like you could money.
Despite Inez’ many attributes I still wasn’t on any love shit with her. Like I said, five years in prison had killed whatever it was in a nigga that allowed him to love a bitch. I’d already told Inez those exact words, no cut on’em.
“All women aren’t bitches,” she had argued.
“Name one that’s not,” I challenged her.
“I’m not a bitch.” Her tone was defiant.
“I bet Fat Stan thinks you’re a bitch right about now.” My tone was matter of fact.
“Yeah, he might feel that way right now because he’s jealous and locked up,” Inez conceded. “But whenever he sits down and analyzes the situation, unemotionally, he’ll respect the choices I’ve made, and he’ll respect me as a woman.”
I was laid back across the bed recalling that conversation now.
Inez had put the bankroll I’d just given her on the nightstand, and she was laying her head on my stomach, her hand rubbing the scars from where I’d been shot. I saw a quick smile come across her face, as it always did each time she saw the tat’—Hard 2 Kill—encircling the scar. But like always, she offered no comment.
Her touch was arousing a nigga, while her tongue ran traces across my chest.
But other shit was on my mental.
While Inez was trying to seduce me, I interrupted her. “Say, playgirl. When Fatboy comes home, what you gon’ do if me and you are still kickin’ it?”
“Why we gotta go there?” Inez started. “I must not be turning you on?”
“Just answer the quesiton.”
Inez propped up on her elbow and looked me in the eyes. She said, “How do you expect me to tell you what I’m gonna do five years from now? I ain’t Miss Cleo. And I know you ain’t the type of nigga who needs to be lied to.”
I didn’t say shit.
Inez sat up and leaned back against the headboard, her eyes still locked with mine. She let out a sound of exasperation, as if it was taking away her strength to have to respond to the question.
“Boo,” she continued, sounding sincere, “I know that you think all females are trife, and I can understand why you feel that way, ‘cause of the stuff Shan and ‘em be taking you through. But I’m not Shan or Cheryl and whoever else got you scarred like that.” She told me that she would be all the way down with me until our time ran out, whenever that day came.