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Don caught her completely off guard. He snapped, “Bitch, what the fuck do you think you doing!”

Juanita was so scared she almost dropped her pipe. She was busted—there was no denying it. It was too late to hide her equipment. Now if she could just get out of this one without getting her ass beat.

She crawled on the bed with Don and pressed her naked breasts against his chest. With her free hand she gripped him between his legs. With tugs and jerks she began to arouse him. He felt his nature rising, but tried to ignore it and pursue his line of questioning.

“Bitch, I know you ain't smoking the hooter in my momma's house! Let go of my swipe, you hear me talking to you!”

“I'm sorry Don-Don, I wasn't trying to disrespect yo mama's crib. It's just that after that good fucking you just gave me I wanted a bump off the whistle, you know. If you want me to leave, then I'll go.”

She accentuated every word with flutters on his member. She could tell that he didn't want her to go. Since Wanda had turned her on now it was time to pass on her knowledge.

She cooed, “Don-Don baby, I'm sorry, boo. It's just that I was looking out for you. We be wasting all that good-ass crack on them pussy-ass premos. All we smoking is paper.
That shit don't even get me high no more. And if you think it feel good when I suck yo dick when you smoking a 'mo, wait till you try it smoking the pipe.”

From the curious expression on his face, Juanita knew Don was buying her line of bullshit. A little more prodding and he would be eating out of her hand.

Meekly, Don asked, “Girl, how you know that shit ain't gone fuck a nigga around? I mean smoking 'mos is one thing. To tell you the truth they ain't get me anywhere near as high as they used to. I'm cool with premos. That way you smoking weed and crack, but with the pipe all you smoking is crack. The hooter ain't shit to fuck around with. I heard that shit can kill a motherfucka. I ain't finta be no hype neither.”

“Don, I know a down-ass nigga like you don't believe everything you hear. A big, bad nigga scared of the little ole pipe.” She laughed scornfully. “Everybody is doing this shit. You can't even tell because everybody don't turn into no clucker. That only be those weak-minded motherfuckas that can't handle their drugs. Them and old people. Young people like me and you can't get addicted like that. Plus them people's lives already be fucked up. Then they start smoking and everybody want to blame it on the crack, but how you start off is how you finish. If you was fucked up before you started smoking then you gone be doubly fucked up when you is smoking. But look at people like me and you. This shit can't fuck us up 'cause we already straight. Plus with premos all we doing is smoking the paper pipe. Smoking
crack is smoking crack, I don't care how you do it. Plus you don't have that crazy ass noid feeling that weed give you. You better get with it. This shit is going on. It makes you feel like a super motherfucka. Try it. I guarantee that you ain't gone never find nothing that make you feel as good as this.”

Juanita's words, and her grinding and fondling of him, had him confused. Before he knew it Don had the glass stem between his lips taking his first blast. Juanita doubled his pleasure by giving him a simultaneous blow job. To him, it felt like his entire nervous system was being sucked into her mouth. Somehow he managed to synchronize his next hit with his ejaculation. He wanted to scream for her to stop, but he didn't dare. Dropping the lighter, he sank back onto the pillows. He never saw Juanita's sly smile as she headed for the bathroom to rinse out her mouth.

TWO-AND-A-HALF WEEKS HAD PASSED SINCE DON'S
first hit of the crackpipe. He had spent every last cent of the money he had stolen from his friends. It had taken the connivance of his girlfriend and the space of a little over a month and a half to change him from a friendly, outgoing youth into a paranoid recluse. Juanita was his constant companion. He ventured outside the safe confines of his home only for crack or cigarettes.

Dark circles appeared under his eyes from lack of sleep; his weight dropped off by the pounds. His diet consisted of candy bars, Cheetos, and chicken wings. Don's once unblemished face was now pockmarked with pimples and blackheads.

For a time his friends still tried to kick it with him, but they found him distant. They were unaware that his growing crack habit was responsible for his aloofness. He began to borrow money from them and never repaid it. Dre, his best friend since third grade, knew that Don was going through a thang, but he didn't suspect that his troubles stemmed from drug abuse. Not one to abandon a friend, Dre tried for a while to tolerate Don's moodiness, but even he began to fade out of the picture.

Rhonda had no idea of what was going on with her little brother. She blamed Juanita for all of her brother's recent changes. All she knew was that before Juanita started coming around her brother seemed normal. Rhonda hated the hold Juanita seemed to have over Don—she couldn't stand the girl. It was exasperating to see that young tramp leading her brother around by the nose.

One Saturday morning when Juanita walked to the store to buy a couple of loose cigarettes, Rhonda decided to try and talk to her brother about his girlfriend. She knocked on his door.

“Who that?” Don asked as he duffed the pipe he was cleaning under his pillow.

“It's Rhonda,” she said sweetly. “I want to holler at you for a minute.”

“What you want?”

“Boy, let me in this damn room.”

“Hold on,” Don said as his eyes swept the room to make
sure there wasn't any incriminating paraphernalia laying around. Content that he could stand a light inspection, he walked over to the door and lifted the latch. “Come in, girl.”

Rhonda entered the room, noticing a strange burnt odor, but she didn't know what it was. She looked over at her brother. He had returned to his bed and flopped across it. “You need to let some air in this damn room, boy. It stink in here. I hope that ain't yo feet smelling like mildewed cardboard.”

Don raised his middle finger. “I know you ain't bother me just to tell me that my room stank. You worry about your room and I'll worry about mine. What you want?”

“Look boy, I just came up here to see what's up with my little brother.”

“What you mean what's up with me? Shit.”

“Something's up. You don't kick it with yo buddies no more. No basketball. A couple of weeks ago you couldn't be paid to stay in the house, now it seem like you never leave. You used to attempt to go to school, but a letter came from the school saying that you haven't attended school this semester. I ain't even showed it to Mama yet.”

“She don't care. If it ain't got nothing to do with them fucking cops, a schoolbook, or her faggot-ass man, she don't want to know nothing about it.”

“Mama do care. It's just that for the first time in a long time she got a chance to be happy. She ain't got to be here
nursemaiding us. We grown. Well I am anyway, you just think you grown. Laying up with that little hood booger.”

“That's what this about. Juanita. You just don't like her. Well, you ain't got to like her. She's my woman. What yo lonely ass need to do is get you a man so you can stop worrying about what I'm doing and who I'm doing it with. Sound like you jelly of her.”

Don's comment blew Rhonda's mind. “I know you don't think I'm jealous of that slut. You have got to be kidding me. Jealous of what? She ain't got shit. Not a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of. Boy, you are really bullshitting yourself if you think I'm jealous of that homeless-ass tramp.”

“Yeah, well why you all up in here talking shit about her,” Don snarled.

Rhonda had to catch her breath before she said any more. She hadn't come up here to argue with her brother. “Look, Don-Don. I just came up here to check on you. I don't know what's going on with you, but I don't like it. You done lost all yo weight and your face is looking bad. You ain't had yo hair cut and there's a crazy odor always coming from yo room. You can talk to me 'bout anything. I'm your big sister and I love you.”

For a moment, Don looked like he was about to cry. In all honesty he wanted to tell his sister everything; that he might be in over his head, but the thought of being without Juanita and without crack stopped him.

“Yeah that's right,” he said. “You my sister, not my mama or my daddy so keep yo nose out my personal business. Now is there anything else?”

Dismissing his disrespectful tone, Rhonda said, “Okay Don, but like I said I'm your big sister and if I can help you in any way I will.”

“Whatever,” Don said to the room's closing door as Rhonda left. He pulled his pipe from under the pillow and resumed trying to scrape some residue from under the lip. The stuff that Rhonda was talking about wasn't shit. He was broke right now and didn't know where he was going to get his next hit.

Rhonda passed Juanita on the steps as she was going downstairs. Rhonda wanted to hit Juanita in the mouth for whatever she had done to her little brother, but instead she headed for her bedroom.

When Juanita entered the room, Don was racking his brains for a way to come up with a nice piece of cash. He decided to try and get his friends to play another basketball game. With no scratch of their own they would have to rely on Dre to steal some of his brother's cash. To gain their help, he knew he would have to apologize for his recent behavior. That was something that he wasn't looking forward to. Since Juanita was dropping hints that if she couldn't get high here she would go somewhere else, he knew that he didn't have much of a choice.

Don got up and began to slip into his hooping gear.

“Where you going, baby?” Juanita asked.

“I'll be back. Imma try to hustle us up a nice rack of cash so we can chill for a few more days. I think I got a line on some loot, so hold fast and I'll be back.”

“What am I sposed to do while you gone? It's boring here.”

Quickly growing irritated with her whining, Don snapped, “I don't know what the fuck you sposed to do. Watch some motherfucking tv or something. I said that I'll be back. Now stop fucking with me.”

Don left her on the bed looking salty as he dipped out of the house. The pool hall was his first stop. If his friends weren't there it would still be easy to pick up their scent. In his mind he was spending their winnings. Maybe he could talk Diego into putting up another half-ounce of crack— that would be an acceptable bonus. Reaching the game room he walked inside. Nobody from his clique was present. That was a minor setback, but one he could deal with. He scanned the room and located a likely candidate that might have information pertaining to his friends’ whereabouts.

“A homie, you seen Semo, Big Man, or Dre and nem?”

The cornrow-wearing youth's eyes never left the video game he was playing as he said, “Yeah, they was up in here awhile but they left a coupla, few minutes ago.”

“Did they say where they was going?”

“They had mentioned Momma Taylor's house, but that was all I heard.”

Don was already out the door. He knew if they were following
their old routine they would probably be at Semo's house by now.

Using the alleys and gangways he reached Semo's house in a matter of minutes. As he came around the garage behind the house he could hear his friends’ voices. For the first time in weeks he realized just how much he missed his friends. He realized that he had replaced their constant companionship with Juanita and crack cocaine. They had grown up together, braved the dog streets of Chicago's South Side together. They had faced bullies together, stole together, fought together and one another. It brought tears to his eyes thinking about all the things they had been through together. Composing himself, he put his hand on the rusty gate. With a shove he opened it. Standing perfectly still he watched the boys for a moment. They were so engrossed in one of their petty sports arguments that they didn't notice him.

Keno looked up and saw him standing there. He signaled to the others that they had a guest. Everyone stopped talking at once and looked at Don.

He felt a little self-conscious under their stares at first, but he knew it was now or never. He walked over and sat on a lawn chair. Under their collective scrutiny he felt anything but at ease. He tried to play it cool. With hooded eyes he stared at his sneakers waiting for one of them to make the first move. It didn't take long.

“What you want, nigga?” Big Man drawled.

“Yeah, nigga, what brings you around?” Semo added.

Don said, “I just wanted to see you studs. I mean damn, we is homies and shit.”

“That's not how you been playing it since you hooked up with yo new broad,” Semo countered.

Apologetically, Don offered, “Man, I'm sorry 'bout all that shit. Ain't no thang, you know. It was just I made a mistake is all. Pretty little bitch had my head all fucked, yo. I can't even front. I'm cool now, though. My fault if I seemed like I flipped on y'all niggas.”

“Yeah, nigga, you was in love like a motherfucka,” Carlos said. “Now get you a beer and hit some of this blunt, nigga. We yo niggas, we ain't tripping on that little shit. We glad you back, we sick of hearing Dre bitch-ass whining 'bout missing you.”

Carlos held the lit blunt out to Don.

“No thanks, kid. Since we back down and shit, let's make some loot so we can throw a big-ass party. I'm talking 'bout some off-the-hook shit. Dre, run to the crib and grab about three stacks. Shit, hopefully we can get Diego to at least go for three-to-one odds. Shid, we gone stomp them niggas. I been working on my game and shit …”

Don was talking so fast he never noticed the looks of disappointment on his friends’ faces.

Semo interrupted. “Slow down, nigga. Is that what you came over here for? Dude, you outta pocket. We really missed kicking it with you, dog, but I see all you missed is having us help you make some scratch.”

“Nall, Semo, you got me all wrong. I didn't mean it like that. I was just thinking on the way over here that it would be fun to kick Diego and them ass for some of that easy money so we could throw a party.”

“You mean so you could buy you some crack don't you?” Carlos interjected. “Nigga, we played them studs last Sunday for five gees. We won of course. And while we was at the court Diego noticed that you wadn't playing and mentioned just how good a customer you done became. Nigga, we knew something was wrong wit yo ass.”