What's Really Hood!: A Collection of Tales From the Streets (8 page)

Wiz slid through in a pair of white Calvin Kleins, baby blue silk shirt and matching baby blue Ballys. His forty-inch rope
swung to the rhythm of his suave nonchalant stride and shimmered under the streetlights.

People were scattered everywhere. Girls in Chinese bobs, bamboo earrings and painted-on graffiti jeans congregated in cliques,
flirting with the money nigguhs while the wild nigguhs stalked the shadows.

“Yo, Wiz! It’s vic season!”

The tone was ominous, but anyone familiar with the voice would know the words were barked in jest. Wiz knew the voice well.
It belonged to his older cousin Ali Smalls, notorious across the Brick. Wiz turned his attention to Ali, who was leaning against
a green Eldorado with Al-Ameen and Ali Hubcap from Prince Street. He walked up, giving everyone a pound, and gave Ali Smalls
a brotherly hug.

“Look at lil’ cuz, yo. Muthafucka gettin’ his weight up, love love,” Smalls remarked, proudly checking Wiz out from head to
toe. “What up wit’ you?”

“Chillin’, man, what up wit’ you?”

Ali shrugged. “I told you, Cuz,” he began, pulling a chrome bulldog .38 from his waist with a smile, “it’s vic season. You
see anything you want?” Ali questioned, gesturing to the large crowd, gold and diamonds everywhere.

Wiz knew Smalls meant it, because the nigguh was
treacherous. The type of nigguh to do drive-bys with a silencer, but to look at him, you never would’ve guessed this light-skinned
pretty-type nigguh was so dangerous.

“Naw, yo, I’m straight,” Wiz declined.

“You sure? Let me know love, I’m in the house.”

Wiz nodded and walked off, heading inside Sensations. The air inside the club was suffocating. The place was packed, especially
with females waitin’ on Ladies Love, so Wiz was like a kid in a candy store. He knew from the eye contact he was getting from
every angle that he would have his pick, so he told his dick don’t worry, we fuckin’ tonight. Once LL took the stage, he didn’t
disappoint. He was young and hungry, already out to prove he was the G.O.A.T. He blazed “Rock the Bells” and “Radio,” made
the chicks’ panties wet with “I Need Love” and the nigguhs amped for “I’m Bad,” but for some reason, the song that stuck in
Wiz’s head was…

Yo, Yvette… There’s a lot of rumors goin’ around

It’s so bad, baby, you might have to skip town…

All he could think of was Crystal’s face. He just couldn’t shake it, because he wondered why a chick like that would choose
to throw her life away over a ten-dollar high. He thought of his mother, Moe and all the cats he had seen get swallowed by
the blast. What the fuck was this shit he was selling—but then again, why should he even care?
Shit, somebody gotta sell it, might as well be me
, was the last thought he had before
he was brought out of his thoughts. “Excuse me. Excuse me, but umm, do you know what time it is?” the sweet soft voice asked
him as he looked into the face of an angel. She was a sexy, short five-two in a pink tennis skirt, baby tee and white-on-white
Lottos. Her ass was juicy, his eyes could taste it, and her thighs were so thick, his dick was already jumping.

“Time to show you where I’m parked,” Wiz smirked, winking his dimples.

She giggled. “No, really. I can’t find my girlfriend and I really ain’t trying to miss the last PATH home.”

“Oh, so you from New Yitty, huh? Where at?” he questioned, knowing damn well she wouldn’t see wherever it was until morning,
if he could help it.

“Harlem.” She eyed his four-finger ring, “Wiz Kid,” she smiled, “why they call you Wiz?”

“My magic wand,” he joked, “I make dreams come true.”

“Oh really?”

“Would I lie?”

She looked at him, licking her lips. “Probably, but I do too.”

Wiz closed the distance between them to whisper in her ear. “Then you can trust me, ’cause I’m just like you. But believe
me when I tell you, I got my car outside, and it’s ready to take you wherever you want to go.”

“What about the last train?” She quivered, already seeing it pulling off without her.

“I got you,” he replied, meaning it in more ways than one.

She smiled her consent.

“So, yo… what’s your name?”

“Damn, Veronica, let a nigguh wake…” Wiz’s sentence drifted off incomplete as he gave in to the sensation of Veronica’s mouth
on his dick. He looked down at her head between his legs and her lips wrapped around his dick, letting the pleasure curl his
toes. They had gotten a room last night and wasted no time in fucking the shit out of each other, then they had both collapsed
into a satisfied slumber. He woke up to her uptown head game that had his Newark ass twisted.

“You like it, Daddy?” she purred between slurps. “Yeah, you like it, I bet your girl at home don’t do it like Veronica, do
she?” She licked tantalizingly slowly up his eight-inch shaft and all around the ball of his head.

“What girl at home?”

She climbed on top of him, gripping his dick, then squatted on it with a squeal. “Stop… Stop lyin’… Dick this good don’t come
without a leash,” she stuttered, long-dicking herself into a zone of pure feminine pleasure.

Veronica’s pussy felt like warm quivery Jell-O to Wiz, and he had to curl up his insides so he wouldn’t bust off too soon.
But when she reversed her position and rode him backward, just the sight of his dick disappearing inside her made him pound
her furiously until they both came. She flopped down beside him, brushed the hair from her face with a satisfied smile and
asked, “Don’t Veronica know how to treat a man in the mornin’?”

“No doubt,” Wiz replied.

She leaned in to kiss him, but he turned his face, so the kiss landed on his cheek. Wiz’s rule was, he never kissed a chick
on the mouth, especially not one he hit the first night.

Crystal lay on the mattress, staring at the cracks in the ceiling. She followed the crack from one side of the room to another
while she waited for the old man to go limp inside her. He always did, which was one reason she didn’t mind tricking with
him. Every month he got his disability check, and every month like clockwork she and Tricia would trick him out of it. It
was always the same story. He could hold an erection only for a few minutes, then before he ejaculated he’d go limp, grunt
and roll over. He’d give them both twenty or thirty dollars, then go to sleep.

All it was was a business transaction. Crystal felt nothing inside because she was learning to separate herself from herself,
and in the process she lost a little more of her soul each day.

The old man rolled over and flopped down on the bed, sweating like it had been three hours and not three minutes. “Whew! You
young gals is gonna be the death of me one day, I swear. Where’s your girlfriend? Why she ain’t come?”

Crystal thought of Tricia with a mild degree of remorse. Tricia was supposed to come. It was a silent agreement that they
worked the old man together. Hell,
Tricia had turned her on to the trick. But Crystal had lied to Tricia, telling her she had a ride to pick Tricia up. So instead
of meeting her at the old man’s house, Crystal was coming to get her. That was just an excuse so Tricia wouldn’t come and
she could get all the money, Fifty dollars, which he had given her before going to sleep.

Crystal pulled up her jeans and fixed herself in the mirror. It wasn’t that she didn’t like what she saw, she simply didn’t
care. Friendship no longer mattered; she saw Tricia as stupid, because if it had been her, she would have kept the trick to
herself.

Crystal walked out of the small bedroom and through the living room. She eyed his stereo system, weighing it in her mind,
but she decided against it. He was a steady trick, so why burn a stable bridge? She let herself out of the dilapidated two-family
home and exited the rusted fence with a squeaking clink. The rain wasn’t hard, but kept up a steady drizzle. Crystal put her
windbreaker hoodie over her ponytail and headed toward Lyons Avenue to see who was holding. But when she turned the corner,
all she heard was, “Bitch, you ain’t shit!”

She looked up and watched a fuming Tricia heading straight for her, double time. The look on her face told Crystal that Tricia
didn’t want to talk, and before she knew it a razor came slicing through the air, narrowly missing her cheek. Crystal stumbled
slightly, but she was able to grab Tricia’s forearm and keep the razor at bay, while she dug into Tricia’s face with her free
hand.

“Argghh!” Tricia winced in pain, “I’ma kill you!”

Both Tricia and Crystal were small, but Crystal was quicker. She bit into Tricia’s wrist until the razor fell from her hand.
Tricia grabbed her by the ponytail and yanked her head back, causing Crystal to fall backward on the ground.

“Get the fuck off me!” Crystal grunted as she struggled to topple Tricia in their wrestling match.

A small crowd of guys were gathered around, yelling, “Go hard, shorty! Flip her over on her back with your knees!”

“Fuck that, pin that bitch arms!”

“I got my money on Red,” one commented, referring to Tricia.

Both women were kicking, scratching and punching until one guy had the decency to break them up. He grabbed Tricia with one
hand and Crystal with the other, holding them apart by the length of his arms. They struggled to get at each other. “Yo, y’all
muthafuckas, help me!” he yelled.

Another guy grabbed Tricia as she continued the fight verbally. “You backstabbin’ bitch! I know you fucked ’im, I know you
fucked ’im!”

The guys ohhed and ahhed like it was a joke.

“Damn girl, you fucked honey girl man?” The guy who had the decency to break it up accused Crystal, but she ignored him.

Her nose was bloody, her hoodie was ripped and she had lost a shoe in the fight, so her left sock was soaked.
“Get off me!” she growled, snatching away from the guy and spotting her shoe.

“You gonna give me my money, Crystal! You hear me?! Where’s the money?!” Tricia screamed, still trying to get at Crystal.

Crystal stepped into her shoe, fixed the heel and turned away like,
Bitch, fuck you! I don’t owe you shit!

Tricia was close to tears. She was so mad, because she wanted to get high and she felt betrayed. “You crack-smokin’ bitch!
That’s all you is! A fuckin’ ten-dollar whore!” Tricia screamed, knowing it hurt Crystal to hear it because it hurt Tricia
to be one.

But Crystal took the insult in stride, letting the pain go where her self-esteem had drained into. Pure nothingness inside.

Wiz hated the rain. He was a summertime sunshine cat, so when it rained, it made him moody. He couldn’t remember a time he
hadn’t felt this way, but he didn’t remember the reason why. He had dropped Veronica at Penn Station, exchanged numbers and
promised to call, which he definitely planned on doing. It wasn’t just because of her banging head game; she also lived in
Harlem, where he bought his weight.

So it was convenient to have an uptown layup, and hopefully he could convince her to mule his drugs back to Newark on the
107 bus while he drove back without the heat. Wiz sat at the light, watching the windshield wipers go back and forth, while
the system
pumped…
Sun showers bring light to the flowers loving you my baaaby.
Until his attention was attracted to the hooded figure crossing the street in front of him. He recognized the person instantly
as the chick from Goldsmith. He watched her huddle her shoulders against the heavy drizzle, walking like every drop was an
assault on her person, and he was moved to compassion.

He made a right on the light, then let down the passenger window as he drove slowly next to her. “Yo! You, shorty!” Crystal
saw who it was but didn’t even break stride, quickening her pace. “You act like I’ma snatch your purse, yo, where you headed?
I’ll give you a ride,” Wiz offered, keeping one eye on the road and the other on her.

What does he want?
she thought. “That’s all right, I can walk,” she replied without looking his way.

“In the rain? Come on, yo, get in. I said I’ll take you,” Wiz reiterated a little more forcefully, because he wasn’t used
to no female telling him no.

Crystal just kept walking. Recognizing him from Goldsmith, and remembering his comment about knowing her from somewhere, and
because she felt the same, she avoided finding out from where. She didn’t want to meet anyone from her past life, who remembered
her as she had been and would then see what she had become. So she ignored him to avoid the embarrassment.

Wiz, on the other hand, was fuming. “Yo, all this here ain’t even necessary. I was just tryin’ to be nice to your
dumb ass. Fuckin’ crackhead,” he spit, and the insult was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

Everywhere she went she had to put up with being treated like a feen, but she wasn’t about to be called out her name when
she hadn’t done anything to deserve it. Before Wiz could pull off, she turned to his car and blazed him.

“Nigguh, if I’m such a crackhead why the fuck you want me in your car?!”

Wiz hit the brakes and yelled back, “Bitch, I hope you drown out there! Mutherfucka can’t even be nice no more!”

“Nice?! You ain’t bein’ nice, you just want some pussy! It’s a shame you have to buy it from a fuckin’ feen, you lame-ass
bama!”

Wiz threw the Jetta in park and leaped out in the middle of the street, leaving the driver’s door wide open. Crystal saw the
rage in his eyes, and she hoped she hadn’t pushed him too far, but just in case she looked around, spotted a forty-ounce bottle
and smacked it against the pavement. She brandished the jagged edge like,
Nigguh, I wish the fuck you would!

Wiz stopped short, took one look at her with that sad excuse for a weapon and busted out laughing. The bottle was jagged,
but it only hung together by the glue of the label. One poke and it would only crumble to the ground. Crystal didn’t see the
humor, and despite the bottle’s condition she still gripped it tightly until she felt a sharp pain in her palm. She looked
down and saw
that her hand was dripping blood. Wiz saw a red drop hit the pavement, and without thinking snatched the bottle from her
hand and inspected the cut. “You need to go to the hospital, yo.”