Still Hood (3 page)
Authors: K'wan
Across the street, huddled in the shadows, two sets of eyes watched the crowd. The first set belonged to a dark-skinned kid whose head looked like it was too heavy for his gooselike neck. The
second kid was dark, but not as dark as the first. A tattered toothpick rolled back and forth between his large lips. The line of his jaw looked like a stone carving as he bit down on the toothpick.
second kid was dark, but not as dark as the first. A tattered toothpick rolled back and forth between his large lips. The line of his jaw looked like a stone carving as he bit down on the toothpick.
“You see that nigga?” Gooseneck asked.
“Nah,” Toothpick replied. “But I know the nigga ain't leave yet, we been watching the door for two hours.”
“Sha, it's hot as hell out here man, how long we gonna wait?”
“Until I say, Charlie.” Sha took the toothpick out of his mouth to make sure he was clear. Charlie didn't press the issue. Sha was someone you didn't want to argue with unless you were ready to get physical.
Ignoring Charlie, Sha went back to watching the front door as he had been for the last few hours. He was beginning to wonder if maybe Charlie was right and they should come back another day, until he saw his mark. A low growl escaped him as a red haze formed over his eyes. He wanted to run up on the man and make him strip before he popped him, but there were too many people. He had to do it as he had planned or it was pointless.
“Come on,” Sha said, checking the clip on his .380 before tucking it back into his pocket. Charlie followed, but made sure he didn't get too close just yet. It'd look funny if they both approached him. Sha kept his eyes on the young man as he moved coolly in his direction. From the way he was swaying and trying to balance himself against the wall, Sha could tell he was drunk. It would take the fun out of it, but oh well. By the time the young man even noticed Sha, he was right on top of him.
THE MAN OF THE HOUR
came half stumbling out of one of the side doors. Don B had told him to stay close until they gathered the rest of the entourage, but he had managed to slip off. The Hennessey was mingling with the champagne in his gut and it wasn't a pleasant meeting. If he was going to throw up he damn sure didn't want to do it with hundreds of people watching.
came half stumbling out of one of the side doors. Don B had told him to stay close until they gathered the rest of the entourage, but he had managed to slip off. The Hennessey was mingling with the champagne in his gut and it wasn't a pleasant meeting. If he was going to throw up he damn sure didn't want to do it with hundreds of people watching.
True managed to maneuver himself over to the wall and lean against it for balance. The world wasn't spinning as fast as it had been,
but his head still felt like it was wrapped in plastic. The sound of crunching glass drew his attention to the street. He looked up just in time to see a dark-skinned kid coming in his direction. The kid had a square face with a wide, flat nose that looked like it had been broken a time or two. Drunk or not, True wasn't foolish enough to let a stranger roll up on him like that. He didn't have his gun on him, but the butterfly knife he had slipped from his pocket to his palm would have to do.
but his head still felt like it was wrapped in plastic. The sound of crunching glass drew his attention to the street. He looked up just in time to see a dark-skinned kid coming in his direction. The kid had a square face with a wide, flat nose that looked like it had been broken a time or two. Drunk or not, True wasn't foolish enough to let a stranger roll up on him like that. He didn't have his gun on him, but the butterfly knife he had slipped from his pocket to his palm would have to do.
“Got a light, money?” Sha asked, tapping a cigarette on the back of his hand.
“Yeah,” True said, using his free hand to dig in his pocket for a lighter. He handed the Bic to the stranger, careful not to get within arm's reach of him. There was something about the kid that made True uneasy. He wasn't sure if it was the fact that the kid kept staring at him or the fact that he looked familiar. True was about to ask what he was staring at when a voice called from behind him.
“Yo, fuck you slide off for?” Don B asked as he approached. He was flanked by two large bodyguards and about ten people bringing up the rear. He glared at Sha, but didn't acknowledge him. “You a'ight?” Don B was talking to True but he kept his eyes fixed on Sha.
“Yeah,” True said.
“Thanks for the light,” Sha said, giving True back his lighter. He gave Don B and his entourage the once-over before disappearing back across the street.
“Fuck was that all about?” Don B asked, watching Sha leave.
True just shrugged. “Nigga said he needed a light.”
SHA'S LEGS THREATENED TO GIVE
out on him before he had made it completely across the street. It wasn't because he was nervous; it was because he was angry. Rage shook Sha's body so intensely that he looked cold. He could almost taste victory, but the unexpected arrival of Don B had snatched it from him. He could've kicked himself in the ass for toying with True instead of just handling his business. He had wasted precious time and undid his own plan. It was okay though. The next time he would be swifter and True would be a statistic.
out on him before he had made it completely across the street. It wasn't because he was nervous; it was because he was angry. Rage shook Sha's body so intensely that he looked cold. He could almost taste victory, but the unexpected arrival of Don B had snatched it from him. He could've kicked himself in the ass for toying with True instead of just handling his business. He had wasted precious time and undid his own plan. It was okay though. The next time he would be swifter and True would be a statistic.
THE BLOCK WAS QUIET THAT MORNING, WHICH
was a relative miracle for the Brooklyn strip. The first pigeons were beginning to gather in front of the buildings to pick over the scraps left from the night before. Somewhere in the distance a tattered shade flapped in the light wind, applauding the coming of the new sun. The warm breeze washed over the curb, spinning a lone Budweiser can that had been abandoned by its five brothers. It wasn't even eight o'clock and the air was already humid. Just another sign of what a hot summer the inhabitants of New York could expect.
was a relative miracle for the Brooklyn strip. The first pigeons were beginning to gather in front of the buildings to pick over the scraps left from the night before. Somewhere in the distance a tattered shade flapped in the light wind, applauding the coming of the new sun. The warm breeze washed over the curb, spinning a lone Budweiser can that had been abandoned by its five brothers. It wasn't even eight o'clock and the air was already humid. Just another sign of what a hot summer the inhabitants of New York could expect.
In the doorway of the fourth building from the corner a figure appeared. She was a brown-skinned cutie who let the front of her shoulder-length hair flop over her high forehead in bangs, while the back was flipped and pinned in place. A pair of cream-colored Capri pants hugged her hips and thighs as if they had been designed specifically for her. Removing a small mirror from her Gucci knapsack, she examined her face, making sure she didn't apply too much eye shadow, nor that the lip gloss was painted on too thick. To her, appearance was everything. Confident that she was killing everything on the streets, Dena Jones stepped off her stoop to face the world.
Dena was the youngest daughter of her mother's, and hadn't spent enough time with her father to find out where she fit in on the chronological scale of the scores of bastard children he had fathered. To her, the only siblings she had were the ones who had come out of her mother's womb, regardless of who their fathers were. She was the youngest child of three, and in her opinion the only one not like the others.
There was Shannon, her hotheaded older brother. He was what you would call a career criminal, spending most of his teenage and young adult life in someone's detention center. Shannon was amongst the elite, as far as street niggaz went in Brooklyn. Everyone knew he wasn't to be fucked with and tried to steer clear of him for the most part. Standing at about five-six, Shannon had what some people called a Napoleon Complex. He had long ago earned his hood stripes, but being insecure about his height made him feel like he always had something to prove.
Dena couldn't say that she agreed with Shannon's lifestyle, but she also couldn't knock his hustle. He never shitted exactly where he lived, and he broke his mother off before the weed man or one of his bitches ever saw a dime of his money. Since Joe, Shannon was the closest thing they had to a man in the house.
Joe was a guy that Dena's mother had hooked up with a few years after Dena's father had taken off. He was a Puerto Rican cat who made his money between driving a delivery truck and slinging cocaine uptown. He treated all of the children as if they were his own, never trying to overshadow their fathers, no matter how fucked up they were. Joe had lost his life when Dena was about twelve or thirteen years old. Nostrand Avenue, formerly known as N.A. Rock back in the day because it was always rocking with one thing or another, would be Joe's final resting place. He had been on his way to visit them one night when he lost his life. A young man shot him in the back while he was coming out of the Nostrand Avenue train station. He didn't take Joe's money or his jewelry, just shot him and ran off. The police would later discover that it had all been a part of a gang initiation and Joe had the misfortune of being a random target. Though Dena never admitted it, the scars from Joe's murder had never really healed.
Then there was Nadine, the oldest of the three. Behind her back Dena referred to Nadine as one of their mother's greatest mistakes. At the time she had become pregnant with Nadine, their mother had been in her last year of high school and scheduled to leave for college in the fall. When she found out that she was pregnant things changed considerably. In the beginning she planned to just go to school at night and work during the day, but when Nadine's father took off she was forced to work two jobs just to make ends meet. By the time she realized what was becoming of her life, Nadine was four and her mother was pregnant with Shannon.
Nadine was well into her thirties but still couldn't seem to find a place of her own, or a clue as to what life was about. She was content to coast off government income and an on-again, off-again supply of sugar daddies. No one could deny the fact that Nadine was fineâugly was something her family didn't doâbut she had about as much get-up-and-go about her as a six-hundred-pound man looking at a Stair-Master. Dena saw her as an example of what she didn't want to become.
Careful not to twist her ankle in the high-heeled Gucci sandals she wore, Dena made her way down the stairs. On the last step she almost tripped over a beer bottle that someone had left on the stoop. She looked down at the almost empty bottle and sucked her teeth. It was bad enough that the building was fucked-up and the landlord refused to do anything about the recurring rodent problem, but the nightly stockpile of trash was getting ridiculous. People would party on the stoop all night and leave their trash wherever it fell. It was just one more reason why Dena was determined to finish school. She knew that completing her education was her best chance at getting off Jefferson Avenue.
A few buildings away were two girls that Dena didn't care to see first thing in the morning, Yvette and Mousy. Yvette was a transplant from East New York that had moved to the block a few years back. She was a mixture of Dominican and Black, giving her a skin tone that was a shade deeper than caramel candy. Her face could've been considered attractive had it not been for the lingering war scars from the many scraps she had been in over the years. She wore her long hair wrapped and tucked beneath the ever-present scarf on her head,
more so to keep her hair from being pulled out in a fight than to preserve whatever hairdo she was sporting.
more so to keep her hair from being pulled out in a fight than to preserve whatever hairdo she was sporting.
Mousy was short and dark-skinned, with large breasts and an equally large mouth. Unlike Yvette, for whom there might've still been hope, Mousy had never been very attractive. She wasn't butt-ugly, but it was an effort for her to turn the head of a man who had anything going for himself. Mousy was a skilled boxer, but had made her name in the streets for her willingness to go above and beyond in the bedroom. Though it was never confirmed, Dena had heard that a guy gave Mousy two thousand dollars to have oral sex with his pit bull.
These two were the official guardians of the “Stoop of Shamelessness.” The stoop was a platform for all things hood. Most neighborhoods in the inner city had a focal point for most of the bullshit that went on in them, but the stoop had them beat. The things that took place on that stoop were straight out of an episode of
Jerry Springer
. From drug sales to group fights, to domestic disputes, the stoop had it all.
Jerry Springer
. From drug sales to group fights, to domestic disputes, the stoop had it all.
“Look at you!” Yvette shouted as Dena approached the stoop. Yvette let her eyes roll from Dena's Gucci sandals to the matching shades sitting on top of her head. “Dena, I gotta give you your props. For a young bitch you be on your job. Get money, shorty!”
Dena smirked. Though she didn't say it, she knew Yvette was speaking the absolute truth. For a girl that was all of seventeen years old, Dena had quite a bit going for herself. Unlike some of her peers she was about to graduate high school and had a feasible shot at going to college. Dena gave a halfhearted effort at best, but a natural intelligence kept her ahead of the pack. None of her teachers could quite understand how a girl who looked at school with such a flippant attitude could be so brilliant. It was one of the greatest unsolved mysteries amongst the faculty of Martin Luther King Jr. High School.
“I just do what I do,” Dena replied, executing a playful crosslegged strut. “What you doing outside this early?”
Yvette shrugged. “Shiiit, waiting on the aftermath.”
“Aftermath of what?” Dena asked.
“You didn't hear what happened last night?” Mousy asked, anxious
to recount the story. “Them Hancock bitches came over here on they bullshit last night, trying to say that Tee-Tee fucked Tango's ugly ass. You know he got a baby wit that bitch Boo from Hancock, so she be acting like she got papers on the nigga. Anyhow, these hos came over here stunting, so Tee-Tee and them got it popping. Yo, Tee-Tee ragged that bum bitch!”
to recount the story. “Them Hancock bitches came over here on they bullshit last night, trying to say that Tee-Tee fucked Tango's ugly ass. You know he got a baby wit that bitch Boo from Hancock, so she be acting like she got papers on the nigga. Anyhow, these hos came over here stunting, so Tee-Tee and them got it popping. Yo, Tee-Tee ragged that bum bitch!”
Dena shook her head. “I knew that shit was gonna happen. Every time one of them bitches walks to the store they grill this building all hard. I never knew what that shit was about, but I always knew it was gonna explode.”
“Well it exploded alright,” Yvette added. “After Tee-Tee mangled that ho she came back with her brother Scott. Him and those degenerate-ass niggaz he be with shot out Tee-Tee's windows last night.” She motioned up to the fourth-floor window, which now had a black garbage bag taped over it.
“Damn, they was popping last night?” Dena said, looking up at the window.
“Yeah, I'm surprised you didn't hear it.”
“Girl, you know I be in a coma when I'm sleep. I guess that explains why the block is so quiet this morning.”
“Yep, everybody is waiting to hear what happened, but me and my girl wanna see it firsthand,” Mousy said.
“Y'all bitches is crazy. I wouldn't want to be out here when the shit hits the fan. Especially as reckless as these niggaz is wit they hammers,” Dena told them.
“Man, listen, I'm out here trying to make a dollar. I can't let some knucklehead-ass dudes stop me from doing my thing. These crack heads wanna get high on the wake up, and I'll be damned if my rocks ain't the first ones they taste in the morning. Besides,” Yvette dipped her hand into the trash can and came up with a chrome .25, “I'm ready for the bullshit if it comes my way.”
“Yo, we about to get high, D. You wanna blaze something with us?” Mousy asked, holding up a small Ziploc full of pretty green buds. “This shit is straight from Five-Six.”
“Damn, you rode all the way uptown to get that?” Dena asked.
“Please believe it,” Yvette answered for Mousy. “I'd rather travel for it than smoke some bullshit, feel me? So what's up, you trying to get high or what?”
“Nah, I think I'm gonna pass. If I fuck around and get high before school I won't be able to get a damn thing done.” Dena lied. Actually, she preferred to get high early in the morning. That way, she'd be floating for the majority of the day. The real reason she turned down the weed was because she didn't want to smoke behind Mousy. She had heard more than a few stories about where that girl's mouth had been, and the last thing she needed was a strange growth on her lip for the love of a get-high.
Mousy shrugged, “Suit yourself.” She really didn't care what Dena's reason for not smoking with them was, because to her it was just one less head on the blunt.
A thumping sound drew all their attentions to the lobby of the building they were standing in front of. The sound was distant at first but seemed to be getting closer. It sounded like someone dragging a pushcart down the stairs. They all watched curiously as a pair of legs appeared on the stairs followed by hips, then an upper body. In a matter of seconds Dena's best friend Monique was standing on the stoop in all her glory.
Monique was a big girl. She teetered somewhere between big-boned and fat. A baby or a cheeseburger would likely push her in the direction of the latter. Even though Monique was a size sixteen, she refused to believe she couldn't dress as provocatively as a woman who was a size eight. That morning she had squeezed into a pair of shorts that left little to the imagination and a halter that strained to hold her huge breasts. The noise everyone had heard was produced by her calf-high leather boots that sported a tall wooden heel. The zipper on the side looked like it would go at any minute, but Monique still stepped like a fashion model. In an attempt to preserve some of her decency, she wore a plaid shirt that was tied off at the stomach, but she still looked like she had just stepped off someone's stage. Monique was a big girl, but because she had a very pretty face and outgoing personality, she never found
herself short of men who showered her with affection. After all, big girls needed love too, right?
herself short of men who showered her with affection. After all, big girls needed love too, right?
“Dena, I know these hos ain't got you caught up in the drama which is this stoop?” Monique said in a deep voice that didn't quite fit her China doll face.
“Fuck outta here, like you don't spend as much time on the stoop as we do,” Yvette shot back.
“What y'all doing out here so early?”
“Bout to get high.” Mousy held up a Dutch Master that was still in the plastic sleeve.
“Now, you're speaking my language,” Monique said, retrieving a crate that had been left in the building lobby. When she settled on the crate you could almost hear the plastic cry out for mercy.
“Mo, you know we gotta go to school,” Dena said, checking the time on her cell phone.
“We'll still be on time, Dena, stop acting like that.” Monique waved her off. “So,” she turned to Yvette and Mousy, “I know y'all got the lowdown on what happened last night, so spill it.” Just as simple as that, Monique was caught up in the gossip network, listening intently as Yvette and Mousy gave her their accounts.
Dena sighed. She knew that it would be a while before the girls finished smoking and running their mouths, and she didn't want to spend any more time around them than necessary. In an attempt to occupy some of that time, she decided to walk to the corner store for a loose cigarette.
Other books
Isle of Palms by Dorothea Benton Frank
The Weight of Love by Perry, Jolene Betty
The Cleaner by Brett Battles
wicked witches 08.6 - a witch in time by lee, amanda m
Poseidon (The God Chronicles) by Solomon, Kamery
Things Hoped For by Andrew Clements
The Crystal's Curse by Vicky de Leo
His Royal Princess: A Billionaire Boys Club Novella by Jessica Clare
Homebody: A Novel by Orson Scott Card
The Blind Goddess by Anne Holt