Life Without Hope (12 page)

the riddle was.

“
Tell them to go around the block, I think I know where we

can find some at.” That’s why Regulators like to hang around rock

stars. In theor y, a rock star was a genius, at least at plotting to get

money and finding a cot in jail. Nina Brown still commanded

authority. You have some rock stars like that. Always a reflection

of their former selves, the last thing an unsuspecting victim should

do is listen to them talk. A real junkie can talk a star ved cat off a

fish truck if that’s what he has to do to get high.

She turned to me. Looked me in the eye with a “man don’t lie

to me” expression.

“
You got some dope?” she asked.

“
I don’t sell dope.” I lied.

Her experienced eyes were looking at my two hundred dollar

pair of Jordans. She sized me up.

“
Look, boy, you either got some dope or you’re the Po-Po.”

Nina Brown was a true street veteran. My shoes gave me away.

Plus, the expression I wore on my face did not help none. Some

junkies are just a ball of fun. I kind of liked Nina Brown from the

start.

I walked out with her on my heels. She was onto my scent like

a camel to water. As soon as I stepped onto the sidewalk, it was

pure pandemonium. The police had people like they called in the

riot control. Vans, cars, dogs. I had the .380 in my pocket. The

one that I took from the police at the motel. Dumb.

“
You!”

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A policeman pointed at me. “Get your ass over here!” He was

talking to me. I had no place to run. I was trapped. For some rea-

son, Hope’s face flashed before my eyes and I heard her voice,

you’ll end up dead or in prison

. Nina Brown grabbed the back of my

pants and snatched me back in the store.

“
Hurry! Give me everything you got, I’ll keep it for you.”

That was the oldest junkie ploy in the world, but very effec-

tive. If I would have deposited all my dope and money to her in

order to be saved from the police, her and her rock star friends

would have had the great smoke out, smoking all my dope and

spending money like it grew on trees.

I passed her the gun. She took one look at it like that was the

last thing in the world she wanted to trick me out of. She tossed

it into the trashcan like it was a hot potato. The police came in the

store, snatched my ass out of line, and lined me up with the other

fellows. I gave him a phony name and address and prayed like hell

that the computer didn’t find anything wrong. Once before I had

done that and the name I gave them came back with a warrant on

it and they took me to jail.

One by one, they locked some up, let some go. When they got

to me, they let me go. The cop poured out my beer, faked like he

was going to kick me in the ass. I walked off into the ardent sun

feeling like someone somewhere was praying for me.

Nina Brown followed me like a lost stray dog.

“
Well, you ain’t the police, that’s for damn sure.”

I thought I heard her snicker. She saw my fear and somehow

found it humorous how I stumbled around back there. The police

have a way of scaring the shit out of a nigga, especially when you’re

on the run.

She ran to catch up to me. I was trying to distance myself from

the police as quick as possible.

“
Here.” She passed me a brown bag. “You owe me big time.”

“
Nigga, I know you was servin’, cause I can tell. What you car-

rin a gun fo?” She had to struggle to keep pace with me. Once

again I was thinking, hot as it is this woman got on a jacket. “I

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ain’t stupid.” A police cruiser was headed our way and I was car-

rying this gun in a brown paper bag like a loaf of bread. The police

cruiser slowed. I already made up my mind to r un like hell if they

tried to pull me over.

“
Nina Brown! Take your skinny ass home before I lock you

up!” the police bellowed over the loud speaker in the patrol car.

He laughed at her and she threw up the finger at him. The officer

laughed and drove off.

“
Asshole! His name is Spitler. I went to school with his punk

ass. We were on the same track and field team. He works in the

Vice Squad now. You got to watch him, he’s dirty.”

We continued to walk. Frenchtown reminded me of the old

days. Some of the houses were set up on bricks, mingled with a

few modern homes. There were a few vacant lots, worn pavements

and dusty roads, like Black folks in poverty trying to survive.

“
Look, man, ‘L’, where you from?” The tone of her voice was

agitated.

“
Miami.” I lied.

Her bloodshot eyes lit up like Vegas slot machines. Ever ybody

knows that niggas from the bottom are considered as having been

born with a silver coke spoon in their mouths. Like a cocaine cow-

boy.

Now Nina Brown was talking a mile a minute about a cocaine

drought, how there wasn’t no coke nowhere in town and how she

just sold a white boy a piece of soap. “The white boy that was get-

ting his ass whooped back there?” I asked.

“
Yep,” she answered somberly nodding her head like one of

them bobblehead dogs that people keep in their car on the dash-

board. I erupted in jubilate laughter. She continued like it was her

sales pitch. “Ever ybody waiting on Stevey D to come back from

Miami, they went to cop some dope. Just let me hold something.”

Just then a blue BMW on dubs pulled up with three people sit-

ting inside, including the girl that Nina was talking to in the store,

Shannon, the Regulator.

“
They from Carolina and they want to buy some dope,” Nina

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whispered. I guess these were the dudes they were whispering

about in the store.

“
Yo, Nina! Stevey D and them ain’t showed up yet?” the driv-

er asked.

“
Wuz up playa?” I said, ducking down talking to the driver.

He gave Nina a look, like who the fuck is this nigga. I continued,

“
I’m Stevey D’s people. I’m from Miami.” Nina took one look at

me and caught on. That’s the brilliance of working with a junkie,

they got more game than Toys R’ Us.

“
What ya’ll looking for, he got it.” She was the sales represen-

tative. The Regulator was in the back seat squirming around like

she was going to blow up at any minute, seeing Nina Brown steal

her sales commission. I detected trouble from her as she cut her

eyes into slants of optic disdain at us.

“
How much you charge for an ounce?” the driver questioned

placing his arm out the window showing off his Rolex. He was

young, barely into his twenties. Light skinned. I could tell he was

a ladies’ man. He had diamonds on his fingers.

“
I charge a grand a piece,” I said and looked around like I was

into big things and wasn’t trying to get caught. I continued, “I’ll

give you six ounces for five grand.”

The Regulator in the back seat started nodding her head like

she was going to try to blow the whole thing.

“
Is the dope good?” the driver asked.

“
I dropped twenty eight ounces in the water, got back twenty

seven.”

Someone in the car droned, “Damn!” in approval.

“
You sho this Stevey D dope?” the driver asked. For the first

time I could see the youth in his face.

“
Look man, I ain’t got all day. All I got is six O’s left. You want

them or not?” I said like he was starting to get on my ner ves.

“
Lemme see.”

“
Meet me back here in an hour. The spot is hot.”

He placed the car in gear and looked at his watch. I pointed

my finger at the runt in the back seat. “Shouty, let me holla at you

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for a minute, I got something for ya,” I said digging into my

empty pocket. She got out of the car like it was on fire. Thus went

her allegiance to them Carolina niggas. As the car drove off, my

mind was formulating a plan, mind racing in meticulous thought

how I was going to relieve these busters of their bankrolls. I looked

up to see Nina Brown, and the runt Regulator, watching me like

I was about to perform some great feat, like go into my pocket and

break them off something. I hadn’t been in town a minute, and

here I was plotting like a disbarred member of the For ty Thieves.

The sun suddenly felt hotter on my face, or was it the two pair or

beady eyes staring at me?

“
Like, I’ll give ya’ll an ounce to split when I get back,” I said,

not knowing where I was going to get dope from.

“
Naw you ain’t!” Nina Brown said with an attitude looking at

the runt making her intentions known. “You gonna give me the

dope and I’ma give her what I think she should have. Them my

customers.”

“
Ninaaa!” the runt shrieked indignantly stomping her feet.

Nina balled up her fists. The expression on her face was “take it or

leave it.” The runt had no choice.

I know that if Stevey D and his crew showed up I was as good

as dead. Here I was, breaking the law of the land, at least the ghet-

to’s code of ethics. And believe it or not, the ghetto has one. Never

sell dope on someone else’s turf. Not only was I selling dope on

someone’s tur f, I was using his name. Talk about being on a mis-

sion. I loved doing this kind of shit but to make matters worse, I

didn’t even have any dope.

“
Meet me here in forty minutes,” I yelled to Nina Brown as I

took off walking.

The Regulator answered “OK” like I was talking to her.

I remembered seeing a drug store at the corner. I went in and

bought six tubes of Oral Gel, some sandwich bags and some can-

dles. I also bought one of them five-dollar scales. They did not

have any cooking flour so I found some at the Winn Dixie down

the street from my hotel. By then, twenty minutes had already

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passed. Shit! I was behind schedule.

In the hotel, I mixed up the ingredients. Melted down the

candle wax, carefully blending it with the flour to give it that

cocaine texture and added the Oral Gel that would numb the

mouth, just like cocaine, if someone wanted to taste the dope.

However with a large amount of fake dope like this, there was risk

involved. It was too big to stand a taste test.

Maybe

, I thought. I

knew cats that sold keys of this stuff to the feds for major money.

I liked the fake dope, better known as Dream. It looked good.

Good enough to sell these suckers a Dream.

I changed clothes. Played the part for the occasion. Put on a

pair of jeans, and a Tommy Hilfiger shirt, dug into the mattress

and removed five hundred dollars. I put on the big platinum chain