Still Hood (21 page)
Authors: K'wan
Regaining his composure, he got off Cinnamon and stepped around the couch to where Wendy was standing with a shocked expression on her face. “Wendy,” he began in a very calm tone, “there's been a change in plans. Leave the money in the case and I'll take it to Don B myself. I got another job for you. I want you to get this bitch cleaned up and out of my pad. She's welcomed to take whatever
belongs to her, but whatever was bought by my money does not cross this threshold.”
belongs to her, but whatever was bought by my money does not cross this threshold.”
“Ice, baby, I'm sorry,” Cinnamon crawled over to him. She had taunted Ice to get him to notice her, but the childish stunt had blown up in her face. “Daddy, don't kick ya little freak bitch to the curb.” She tugged at the bottom of his robe.
“You ain't no bitch of mine,” he said with ice in his voice. “I need solid whores at my call, not little girls who throw tantrums. Scram, bitch.” He yanked the robe from her hands.
“Ice, the girl didn't mean it,” Wendy spoke up. She knew what Cinnamon was going through, because she had been there before, so Wendy more than anyone else understood her pain. She was a young girl in love with a man who was incapable of loving anything but a dollar.
Ice pointed a bony finger at Wendy. “I already had one bitch question me today, and I'll be damned if it happens twice. Now, if you don't like what I'm putting down, you can pack ya shit and bounce with her. We clear on that?”
“Yes, Daddy,” she said, just above a whisper. Wendy felt bad for Cinnamon, but not bad enough to jeopardize her standing in the stable. Compared to the last man she had, who forced her to turn tricks in the streets, Ice was a godsend who treated her well. She would be damned if she would go back to sucking dick in staircases because some young girl couldn't control her mouth.
AS SURE AS TRUE'S ASS WAS BLACK, JAH WAS WAITING
for him when he stepped out of his building. He didn't even know the man knew where he laid his head, but Jah had proven to be full of surprises. He looked every bit of a South African mercenary, wearing black fatigues and a scowl. Just beneath the thin black jacket True could see the butts of two guns strapped to either side of Jah's hips.
for him when he stepped out of his building. He didn't even know the man knew where he laid his head, but Jah had proven to be full of surprises. He looked every bit of a South African mercenary, wearing black fatigues and a scowl. Just beneath the thin black jacket True could see the butts of two guns strapped to either side of Jah's hips.
“What's good?” Jah gave True dap. “You ready to hit the turf?”
“Yeah, man. We got a busy day ahead of us, so try to keep up,” True joked.
“Don't worry, you couldn't lose me if you tried,” Jah said seriously. True let it rock and led the way down the block to where his car was parked. It wasn't quite hot enough to bust out the roadster, so True jumped behind the wheel of a silver GS300. It was the only kind of Lexus he would drive. No sooner than they had pulled out into traffic, Jah was at it with the questions.
“Any word on them cats that tried to get at you?” Jah asked, trying to adjust himself so the twin 9s wouldn't bite into his sides.
“Not a peep,” True admitted. “The Don put some feelers
out to members of the set in Brooklyn to see if we can get a line on the other two, but so far nothing has panned out. A nigga can't even get his shine on without a muthafucka hating. But its all good though, them niggaz know not to try me. We'll probably never see them again.”
out to members of the set in Brooklyn to see if we can get a line on the other two, but so far nothing has panned out. A nigga can't even get his shine on without a muthafucka hating. But its all good though, them niggaz know not to try me. We'll probably never see them again.”
Jah gave him a funny look. “You don't even believe that shit. True, them boys might not have been professionals, but they had hell of heart to do it like they did. Nah, it was definitely a hit, but for it to go down in such a public place, there must've been some heavy cake on the table, or a personal grudge.”
“And what makes you so sure of that?” True asked.
“Cause I'm a killer, and those are the only two things that would make me jump out the window like that. Now, can you think of anyone you might've pissed off recently?”
“Jah, I'm young and bout to be filthy fucking rich. I piss people off just by waking up in the morning.” True wasn't boasting but making a point. Being young and on the come up could be detrimental to your health in the hood. Instead of people around you wishing you well, they wanted to come for your head. Hate is a muthafucka.
“Say, whatever happened with them niggaz that killed Pain and them last summer?”
“Them Spanish niggaz? Locked up, last I heard. Police caught them for that and some mo shit. It's a good thing, too, because Don B was about to send the wolves for them.”
Jah glanced over at him, then turned back to the road. “Don B is a regular Robin Hood, huh? Real down-for-a-nigga type.”
True looked over at Jah, unsure if he was trying to be funny. “You might call it that. Don B is a nigga who, when he made it, didn't forget the hood. You know how many niggaz he's pulled off the streets when he started Big Dawg? Fuck, without him I'd have never been able to get my shit popping. Shit, he paid for the production of my entire album, kid. I love that nigga.”
“So, he stands to make more money off you alive than dead?” Jah asked.
True slammed on the breaks of the car and gave Jah his undivided
attention. “Let me tell you something, Jah, we've known each other for a long time, so the respect is there, but I ain't really feeling what you're getting at.”
attention. “Let me tell you something, Jah, we've known each other for a long time, so the respect is there, but I ain't really feeling what you're getting at.”
“True, first of all, get us the fuck out of the middle of the street before the police come. Did you forget I'm dirty?” Jah lifted his jacket. “Second of all, I'm not getting at anything; I'm exploring all avenues on this shit. How many niggaz you know got murdered by someone close to them on some jealous shit?”
“It ain't like that with me and the Don. That's my man, and he would never do me dirty,” True said, defending Don B with vigor.
“True, Paul and Larry Love knew each other all their lives; but did that stop Larry from crossing my brother? The point I'm trying to make is that, as far as your life is concerned, you can't take no chances.” With that being said, Jah let the conversation drop.
The two men drove in silence through Harlem, looking out at the streets that had spawned them both. True glanced over at Jah in his black fatigues and then at himself, dressed in a Sean John sweat suit and heavy jewels. Everyone claims to be a product of the streets so there's somewhere to place the blame, but True didn't believe in that. He believed that it was the heart of the man that determined which path he would walk. It could've easily been Jah behind the wheel and True behind the gun, but their hearts craved two different things. Jah gave himself over to the dark side, while True chose the spotlight.
Before Jah knew it, they were pulling up at the park at 145th and Lenox. After parking the car, he and True hopped out and made their way inside the park, with Jah's eyes constantly on alert for danger. True led the way over to the courts, with Jah a few paces behind him.
For the most part, there were mostly neighborhood cats shooting around, but there was also a sprinkling of kids who decided to cut school and brush up on their games. Off near the far hoop, Don B stood amongst a cluster of his minions. He was dressed in a white T-shirt, blue jeans, and a California Angels fitted cap. The young boys around him listened intently as the Don spoke.
“Yo, y'all niggaz gotta make sure y'all bring ya A game on Sunday, cause these down-south niggaz is bringing theirs,” he said in his gruff
voice. “That's my word, y'all better not let these muthafuckas come in our house and leave with a W.”
voice. “That's my word, y'all better not let these muthafuckas come in our house and leave with a W.”
“Fuck them niggaz, we gonna smash on Stacks's team,” Goose said from his position against the fence. He was a six-nine monster that was slowly making a name for himself on the street-ball circuit.
“You better do more than smash. I want these niggaz violated!” Don B mashed his fist into his hand for emphasis. “Its more on the line here than just money and bragging rights, we gotta win this one for the boy, Chiba!”
“Word,” one boy agreed.
“For Big Chiba,” another boy chimed in.
Lazy added to the chant, but his mind was elsewhere. So many things were going on in his life that he didn't know where to begin, as far as straightening them out went. Dena, who was supposed to be his better half, was playing herself. He could understand her being upset about seeing him with Becky, but there wasn't anything going on between them, at least not recently. Then she gets her fifteen minutes of fame in Stacks's video and starts acting like her shit didn't stinkâand flaunting the fact that she was keeping close company with the hustlers. Lazy knew that Dena wasn't as materialistic as most of the girls in the hood, but she had expensive tastes, tastes that sometimes were too pricey for him to accommodate. For all he knew, she could've gone back to that trailer and given the whole squad head just to spite him. The visual made him cringe. He had been calling her back to back, but she didn't take his calls or return them. He thought she would've at least called back to give her condolences for Chiba, but she was off having too much fun to care about a young nigga dying in the hood.
Chiba had been his right-hand man since forever, and now he was gone over some bullshit that didn't have anything to do with them. He had seen dead bodies before, but never someone he knew, someone so much like himself. In a sense, looking at Chiba's lifeless body had been looking at himself. Would he ever make it out of the concrete jungle, or would some Harlem gutter serve as his final resting place?
“A'ight,” Don B's voice boomed out, “y'all niggaz hit the baseball diamond and start ya laps. Lazy, I need to holla at you for a minute.” The rest of the team dispersed, leaving Lazy and Don B standing under the rim. “What's good wit you, kid?”
“I'm good,” Lazy said, dribbling a basketball.
The look Don B gave him clearly said that he saw through the lie. “Listen, fam, I know you hurting over Chibaâwe all areâbut being down on ya self ain't gonna bring him back.”
“I know, Don, but every time I close my eyes I see him. Yo, when they tore my nigga up, I was close enough to smell his breath. Man ⦠forget it, you wouldn't understand.”
“And why wouldn't I?” Don B asked, taking the ball away from him. “Lazy, you think you're the first one to lose a homey? I lose people close to me every day, cause that's just how fucked-up the world is; but the blessing is that we're still here to carry the memories of our fallen comrades. My uncle used to always tell me that tragedy comes into our lives for two reasons: so we can learn and become stronger from it. It's okay to mourn your man, Laze, but walking in the shadow of death only brings his icy touch closer to us, smell me?”
“Yeah, I feel you, but that don't change how I feel, Don,” Lazy countered. “These niggaz came into Harlem, where we're supposed to be untouchable, and shot my best friend. The worse part was that I couldn't do shit about it but hide under a car. Man, if I had a gat I would'veâ”
“You would've what?” Don B cut him off. “You'd have tried to pull that thang, an ended up lying next to ya man or waiting on a trial date. Let me tell you something about guns and the character of people: Just because you got a hammer doesn't make you a killer, just another nigga with a gun, and that's one of the biggest problems affecting American society today. There are too many guns on the streets and not enough niggaz with enough common sense to know what to do with them. When you kill somebody you can't take it back, Lazy. Now, for as much as I know, you would've loved to have been able to blast for ya man, but think about what you would've had to sacrifice in the process. Don't no D-1 college want a nigga with charges, dawg.”
“Yo, Don!” True called, interrupting their conversation. “What's good?” True gave him dap.
“Ain't nothing, just over here kicking it with the boy, Lazy,” Don B said. “Jah, what up? You on ya toes out here?”
“I don't know no other way to be,” Jah said.
“That kid is too fucking serious,” Don B snickered.
“Lazy, what it do?” True addressed Lazy. “You a'ight?”
“Yeah, I'm cool,” Lazy said halfheartedly.
“How many points you gonna drop on them niggaz Sunday?” True asked, trying to lighten the mood.
“Fifty,” Lazy said, sinking a jump shot.
“That's what I'm talking about.” Don B patted him on the back. “Now, go do ya laps with the rest of the team.” Lazy nodded and headed off to the baseball diamond. “That boy has got potential like a muthafucka!”
“How's his head? I know he stressing over what happened to Chiba,” True said.
“Yeah, the boy is down about it, but his head will be right come game time. I got too much riding on this to let emotions fuck it up,” Don B said coldly. Jah gave him a look but didn't say anything.
“So, everything still popping for Sunday?” True asked.
“Oh, yeah, a lil bloodshed ain't gonna come between the Don and his chips. Them young boys is ready. Oh, I got a line on them kids who tried to hit you!” Don B suddenly remembered.
“Well, don't keep an asshole in suspense,” Jah stepped closer to listen.
“Well, like we already knew, the cat you dropped was named Spider. He's a low-life nigga from Brooklyn who until recently was just doing renegade shit. Word has it that a few weeks ago he started hanging around with two badasses named Sha Boogie and Charlie Rock.”
“Those names mean anything to you, True?” Jah asked.
True thought hard on it. He thought he had heard the name before, but for the life of him couldn't remember where. “Nah, I don't think so.”
“So, what kind of niggaz are we dealing with?” Jah turned back to Don B.
“Well, we still don't know too much about them, but from what I heard, Sha Boogie is the biggest threat out of them all. He ain't got no real soldiers behind him, but is quick to pop off. I got Devil and Remo out in BK now, getting at fam and them to see what else they can come up with. Until then, True, you just keep a low profile.”
“Don, I ain't wit this hiding shit. I'm ready to ride into Brooklyn and see about these niggaz!” True said heatedly.
“True, calm yo ass down,” Don B told him. “Ain't no way I'm gonna let you run off into the lion's den with an album about to drop.”
“So, what? I'm gonna spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder?”
“I doubt that, True,” Jah said, watching an Escalade that was creeping to a stop outside the park fence. “If this Sha Boogie is the kind of nigga I think he is, he's gonna move on you again sooner than later.”
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