Trust in No Man

by Cash

  “See, Youngblood,” Inez went on, “one day I’m gonna want to get married and get away from the streets and hustlers. I don’t see you as the type of man who’ll ever get married and leave hustling alone. Therefore, it’s only inevitable the day will come when we’ll go our separate ways. But I hope, whenever that day comes, we’ll part as friends.”

  As soon as Inez made that comment, I was thinking: Cool, bitch. But yo’ ass won’t be parting with no gear I bought on your back!

  “… and to answer your question, I don’t plan on gettin’ back with Stan when he gets out, no matter who I’m with at that time.”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “‘Cause I don’t ever want a jealous man again,” Inez answered with conviction. “I don’t know why you feel intimidated by Stan. Just ‘cause he’s my baby’s daddy don’t mean I belong to him forever. You don’t belong to none of your baby’s mamas, do you?”

  I told Inez I wasn’t really trippin’ the situation, I just wanted to see what type of flava she’d spit.

  Inez said, “Here, boo.” She handed me the wad of money back. “I guess you’re trippin’ ‘cause of this, but I can buy my own outfit. I’m a hustler just like you.”

  “What? You mad?” I said, not really giving a fuck.

  “Ain’t nothing to be mad about,” said Inez.

  A little while later, I was dicking her down, making her slob my knob and prove that she didn’t have an attitude about the shit.

  I offered to pay for the outfit Inez would cop to wear to The Player’s Ball since she wasn’t trippin’ it, but shawdy insisted on paying for it herself. I wasn’t about to force the loot on her, so I just gave her a few G-notes and told her my sizes.

  After we both had showered and dressed, Inez dropped me off at Lonnie’s crib and she bounced to Lenox Mall.

  Lonnie was glad to see a young nigga, just to know that I was all right and up on myself since my fiasco with Glen.

  We smoked some bomb-ass dro and sipped Henny. My dawg told me that my sister had been blowing up his pager every hour, on the hour. She’d told Lonnie that Glen hadn’t told the police I wet him up and took his shit.

  Lonnie said Toi was stressing that all Glen wanted was his stuff back, his money, yayo and the heaters. I told Lonnie what I felt about that proposal and he said I was a better man than him ‘cause once he took a nigga’s shit, he wouldn’t give them a crumb back.

  “But I understand why you’re giving the fool the dope back. Besides,” Lonnie added, “Toi says the nigga is blaming her, screaming she set him up for you to lick him.”

  I didn’t see how the fool could think something like that, especially the way Toi was going bananas when I put that steel in his face.

  Shit, she’d have had to be an Academy Award-winning actress to fake the emotions she’d shown that day. I was betting that her nigga knew better then that. He was just using that to get her to try her damdest to convince me to return his shit. Now I was contemplating keeping it all.

  “Ain’t no warrants out on you, dawg. I had Delina call and check it out,” Lonnie told me.

  “You sure?” I asked.

  Lonnie looked at me reproachfully, reminding me that his word was bond.

  “True dat,” I said.

  Knowing there wasn’t any warrants out for my arrest allowed me to move around and not have to be holed up in the motel. Lonnie dropped me off at my crib and I told him I’d get back with him later.

  I hadn’t filled him in on my business with Rich Kid, yet. I wanted to wait and see if I’d need his help before I ran it down to him.

  At the crib, Eryka crawled to me, smiling like the little princess she was. She wasn’t walking yet, and her vocabulary was some real gibberish, but she recognized her pops and loved to crawl up in my lap.

  Cheryl was looking like she was due to drop my next seed soon. The crib was clean and her appearance was better than what had become usual. I asked her a few questions concerning Eryka, and what they’d been up to while I was ghost. She responded that they’d just been chillin’, but they’d gone to visit Cheryl’s mother earlier in the day. I didn’t ask about her stankass Ma Dukes.

  “Are you going back out tonight?” Cheryl asked.

  “Yeah,” I said, dashing out any hopes she may have had of me staying home with her ass.

  When she went to the bathroom, I quickly checked the freezer to make sure the crazy bitch hadn’t been dabbling in my stash.

  It was all there or her role in life would’ve ended right here.

  I played with my lil’ girl for a minute until she got tired and fell asleep, then I changed into some new gear, baggie jeans, McNabb Tshirt, Timbs and green bandana. I then dipped out of the door and jumped in my Lex’ truck. I then whipped over to the hood to see what was poppin’.

  Like always, niggaz were on the block and on the grind from lil’ bad ass shorties and all the way up to old school hustlers still slangin’ break down sacks.

  It was dusk dark outside, but a gang of hos were still outside sitting on their porch or on top of a nigga’s whip, gossiping and watching out for po-po so their man wouldn’t get bagged.

  I parked my whip and got out and flashed my platinum smile at a group of hos I knew. They were all choosing but I wasn’t on the come up. Stank pussy Fiona was in the bunch, eyeing me like her looks could kill. I walked over to where she was posted up and served her some game.

  “Hey, fly girl,” I popped. “You be looking so good, a boss hustler gon’ marry you and move you out the hood one day.” That had her so off balance she forgot she was mad at me for driving off and leaving her at the store the last time I’d seen her.

  All she said was, “I hope it’s you.” Smiling like the gullible rat that she was.

  I’d rather stick my dick in a pitbull’s mouth than marry her ass. But I was playing the ho up in front of her girls, making peace, ‘cause a nigga don’t need no unnecessary enemies.

  Murder Mike was moving up a notch in the dope game. He was no longer out on the block slangin’ his own sacks. Now, he had two young niggaz trapping for him.

  He pulled up on the set in a tricked-out bowling-ball blue Acura Legend, Eve bumpin’ out of the system.

  When Murder Mike stepped out of his whip and the dome light came on, I saw Cita profiling in the passenger seat like she had stacked the cheddar to buy the whip sun was pushing.

  I just shook my head.

  Cita had something that made Murder Mike keep fucking with her or else Murder Mike was really just a trick nigga. But trick or not, he was a’ight with me.

  “Whud up, playboy?” I said and gave him some dap. “I see you been on the grind.”

  He tried not to smile, like his coming up wasn’t a big deal. But a nigga who came from the gutter and made any progress had to be proud.

  “Just trying to get my piece of the pie,” Murder Mike said with a tight grin.

  “I see you and Cita still tight like thieves.” I cut my eyes toward his Acura.

  Murder Mike hunched his shoulders. “You know how it is, dawg, convenient pussy,” he rapped. “Still, it’s M.O.B., nigga.”

  “Always.” And I meant it, whether he did or not.

  I dapped him and jetted down to the Ribs Lady spot and copped some grub.

  On the way back to my whip, I saw this shawdy who be hooking up a nigga’s braids in some real fly styles. I made an appointment for Friday night, paid her in advance to cement the deal.

  From there I jetted over to Poochie’s, hoping Lil’ T would be over there. He was, but so was Shan and ugly ass Pete and their crumb snatcher. I spoke to Poochie, snatched up my lil’ man and dipped before Shan could say two words.

  “I’ll bring him back tomorrow,” I said over my shoulder.

  “Wait! He—” Shan yelled.

  I was ghost before she could spit it out.

  I stopped at a pay phone and called Inez on her cell. She was still late-night shopping at the mall, excited about the gear she had picked out f
or us to wear Saturday to The Ball.

  “We gon’ be tight, boo,” she said.

  “I’ma see. You better not have me looking like no prep or no pimp.”

  “Nigga, I copped you some gear that’ll have you thugged-out and fly,” she promised.

  “A’ight, I’ll see. Look, I got my son with me. Is it cool if we all just chill at your crib tonight?”

  “Yeah. I’ll be there in an hour.”

  CHAPTER 27

  Saturday morning came before I knew it and found me at the crib asleep with Eryka on my chest, drooling slob on my face, trying to wake me up. I opened my eyes and turned my head away from her sloppy kisses.

  “Yuk!” I exclaimed. Eryka giggled.

  A while later, I showered, dressed and dipped out of the door. I whipped over to Inez’ crib so that we could take care of a few last minute things before the big event later that night. Inez still had to go get her hair fixed and her nails done. My hair was already freshly braided in a zig-zag style. My ice was already on Inez’ dresser, so with those things handled, all I had to do was take the truck to the detail shop for a wash and wax.

  By 9 p.m. we were back at Inez’ crib getting ready. I let Inez get dressed first because all females took forever to get dressed and made-up, and I didn’t want to be sitting around dressed while she was stuck in the mirror.

  By ten, we were both ready to step out of the door. Inez was rockin’ a skin-tight, blue mini-dress, made of satin and sequin by Dolce’ & Gabbana, with one strap over her right shoulder. The left shoulder was bare and exposed her left breast. A blue sequined satin star was pasted over the left breast nipple, ala’ Lil’ Kim.

  I wondered how her left tittie stood up so straight. She was rockin’ alligator stiletto heals with a matching clutch purse. Her hair was tinted with streaks of gold and fell to her shoulders. She sported some big movie-star glasses with alligator print frames. Her neck, fingers and wrists were iced-out. Shawdy was a dime plus some tonight.

  I was thugged-out supreme in a baggy Gucci jean suit, with a matching platinum-studded sun visor cocked to the side to allow my braid design to show. I had on some fresh blue Timbs that Inez had gotten customized with the Gucci jean material on the sides and heels of the Timbs. I was rockin’ a platinum cuban-link necklace, with a crystal coffin medallion. On my left wrist was a Gucci watch platinum face, jean band. On my right wrist I sported a pair of handcuffs, one cuff dangling. A fat blunt was behind my left ear and in my left earlobe was a platinum bullet. I was thugged-out to the max.

  When we fell up in The Player’s Ball, mafuckaz was eyeing Inez like she was J-Lo. While they were eyeing the eye candy on my arm a few of their bitches was eyeing me. I believed I was one of the youngest niggas on the set. The only nigga in thug gear and jeans. The other niggas were sporting expensive gear, but more formal.

  I spotted major hustlers that were seldom seen. In a different set of circumstances, I would’ve been casing them for a lick.

  Rich Kid came through the door with two dimes on his arm. Fly bitches that looked like he cut ‘em out of a magazine. Playboy had mad taste. I had to give him props on that.

  Hannibal was there, too. So were many of the major hustlers in the city. I was thinking of a way to rob all them mafuckaz.

  I was a little vexed when I saw this one dude show up with a white bitch whom I undoubtedly recognized on his arm. It was Blondie from The Passion Palace. Damn!

  I rushed over to Rich Kid and whispered some game in his ear since he was really the only nigga on the set who knew me. I also knew that he and Blondie knew each other, and I didn’t want him telling her I was the same dude he’d told her was in the music industry that night at the club.

  Rich Kid laughed, remembering the lie he’d helped me perpetrate, though he was still blind to what he’d really helped me pull off. He told me not to sweat it. He’d tell Blondie I wasn’t the same dude if she asked.

  “Just keep your eyes open for King,” Rich Kid said.

  “I’ma do that.”

  They had a fool-ass comedian for entertainment. Then a local R&B group crooned the top twenty-five R&B songs regularly played on the radio.

  But King still hadn’t showed up.

  Inez and me sipped on bubbly and enjoyed the show. She knew a few of the hustlers in attendance and gave me a quick rundown on ‘em. The ones she knew, so she said, had stepped to her in the past, but she wasn’t interested in being put in one of their stables. Pimps, major dope boys and other street hustlers were all representin’.

  When I went to the men’s room, I walked right past Blondie and the nigga who was sporting her. I didn’t know him but I knew that if he wasn’t a pimp, he had to be a trick. ‘Cause he had a trick ass bitch on his arm.

  On the way back to my table, playboy stopped me, but it was Blondie who spoke.

  “How’re you doing, Popeye?” the white bitch said. Her eyes were locked on me, studying my every feature.

  “What’d you call me?” I changed my voice to throw her off and made the question sound as if I was offended.

  “Your name is Popeye, isn’t it? Don’t you remember me?” Blondie responded with certainty.

  I told her she had me fucked up and did I look like a nigga who’d be named after some cartoon character? And wouldn’t she feel disrespected if I called her Snow White?

  “My name is Youngblood,” I said with mad ‘tude. “I guess you think all black people look alike!” I balled my face up. feigning anger. and then I turned and walked off.

  A short while later, I saw Blondie and her nigga ‘versing with Rich Kid. I assumed she was asking him if I was the same dude he’d told her was in the music industry that night at the strip club. All I could do was trust that Rich Kid wouldn’t reveal my identity to her.

  But if he did, I was strapped. I kept my eyes on Blondie and her nigga, in case he wanted drama. Inez must’ve been following my stares because she asked me if everything was a’ight.

  “Yeah, I’m cool.” So she let it ride at that.

  A few minutes later, a big black nigga came through the entrance followed by a slew of young soldiers.

  King!

  He was dressed to the T, wearing mad bling. While the ten young soldiers wore army fatigues. King’s entrance was climatic. Even from across the club, I could see the look of disdain that was plastered on Rich Kid’s face. His ex-lieutenant’s shine was hard for him to swallow, for some reason. As if King had stolen loot from him, used it to blow up and was now flaunting it in Rich Kid’s face.

  Whatever their true beef was wasn’t my concern. I had the scope on King for monetary and personal reasons. So, in essence, he was just a dead man walking, like a mafucka sentenced to death row. His end had already been written.

  I turned my attention back to Inez and the bubbly, but I kept one eye on Blondie and dude with her. I’d wait for the right opportunity to approach King. From the looks of his crew, the lay-out of the club and the fact that Inez was with me, I knew I wouldn’t be hittin’ King just yet.

  Now the party was in full swing. Hustlers relaxed their code and hit the dance floor with their ladies or one of the many dimes who’d been invited in case a nigga came without one. Fly honeys like Halle Berry and Vanessa Williams would’ve gotten overlooked amongst the honeys in attendance, that was how fly most of them were.

  Even though Inez was looking as fine as J-Lo, she still wasn’t one of the top ten at the Ball; however, her sexy outfit was definitely top three. Still, I sweetened her cup, telling her that she was the flyest female on the set.

  “You mean that?”

  “No doubt, shawdy.”

  She gave me a wide smile, which I returned with a wink.

  “Nigga, you’re so smooth it ain’t even funny,” she said over the music that had begun to play.

  We continued to talk as the band played a handful of oldies but goldies, shit my Ma Dukes used to jam to before she soldout and got with Raymond.

  Inez talked me into slow dancing to
a song or two. And on the way back from the dance floor, I saw niggaz eyeing her like she belonged on their arm. I wasn’t peeved, though. Not only did I have confidence in my ability to hold any bitch down, I also knew that a bitch was replaceable. And if Inez was to choose one of those niggaz over me, I knew where she laid her head and how she got her money. I could always rob her ass.

  “What’s up, Youngblood? You mind if I dance with your girl?” King stood over our table, his soldiers right on his heels.

  Not only had he stolen some of Rich Kid’s money and his clientele in Kentucky, he’d also stolen his steelo.

  “She’s a big girl,” I said with an even tone, “ask her.” I didn’t trip it, either, when Inez got up and went to the dance floor with King.

  The band had stopped playing and the dee-jay was spinning up-to-date rap music. I watched with a casual eye as Inez shook what her mama gave her, and King moved fluidly for a man of his size. I noted that he was up close on Inez, obviously doing as much talking as dancing. Whatever King was saying it had Inez blushing.

  King’s army-clad soldiers stood at the edge of the dance floor, at attention, like well trained GIs. To me, they looked like fools, jock riders. There was nothing wrong with being down with a nigga, but those niggas had to be ass kissers, willing to play toy soldier to gloss another nigga’s shine. I wasn’t built like dat.

  King was definitely making an impression, letting niggaz know he would soon be a force to reckon with in the game. Though he got his cheddar in Kentucky, it was obvious that ATL was still in his blood.

  It shouldn’t have been hard for the dope boys in attendance to prophesize that one day, soon, King would return to Atlanta and make a play for Big Dog status in the city’s dope trade.

  Little did King know, I had a far bleaker prophecy in mind for him. Now I was even more certain I’d soon serve King his demise.