Working Girls (9 page)

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Authors: Treasure Hernandez

BOOK: Working Girls
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Chapter Twelve
M
imi and Tasha started to notice a drastic change in Halleigh's behavior and appearance. She was always so edgy and “noided” and was losing weight by the hour, it seemed.
The three of them had grown close living under the same roof together, but lately, Halleigh was acting all paranoid. She was acting withdrawn, and seemed spaced-out all the time. She was often depressed, and when she thought no one was paying attention, she cried silently to herself.
“I mean, let's just leave her alone. Let her do her. Maybe she ain't trying to have us all up in her face,” Mimi stated one day when Tasha asked her opinion on the situation. She figured that Halleigh would eventually snap out of whatever it was she was going through.
Tasha knew that there was much more to the story. Her heart went out to Halleigh because she could see what the streets were doing to her. Ho'ing was sucking the life right out of Halleigh. Tasha could see Halleigh's innocence fading, and the youthful sparkle in her eye had disappeared completely.
Since Halleigh's run-in with Malek, she had lost all hope. Not once had he come for her. It wasn't that she really wanted him to come knocking down the door and making a scene, because the last thing she wanted was for him to once again put his life on the line for her. But if Julia Roberts could dream about her Prince Charming in the movie Pretty Woman, couldn't Halleigh?
After all, Malek was real to her. He was once her Prince Charming. He was all that she had ever wanted, but the reality was, they would never be together. After all that had happened, it was impossible for them to reconnect. Things would never go back to the way they used to be. Manolo had made it clear that she was not to associate herself with Malek, and if she disobeyed, he would kill both her and Malek.
Halleigh's appreciation for Manolo had long ago turned into contempt. She hated the sight of him, and the sound of his voice made her sick to her stomach. In her eyes, he was the root of all evil. He held her life in his hands and was unwilling to let her go. Halleigh knew that getting away from him would be one hell of a fight—a fight she just didn't have the energy for.
“I should just kill Manolo's ass.” Halleigh thought out loud in desperation as she lay in the bed in one of her depressed states.
Mimi exited the bathroom just in time to hear Halleigh's outburst. She snapped her head in Halleigh's direction, a look of shock on her face. Then she rushed to their bedroom door and closed it. I hope Manolo didn't hear that, she thought.
Mimi walked back over to Halleigh and sat next to her. “Girl, you better stop talking reckless before somebody hears you,” she whispered. “Have you lost your mind?”
Halleigh didn't say a word to Mimi. She just sat Indian-style and closed her eyes, like it was too painful for her to see her life as it was.
“What is wrong with you?” Mimi asked.
“I just want to be with him. Malek is all that I know. He is my heart. We had plans that always included each other. He's all I've ever really wanted.” She dropped her head and played with her fingernails. “He's how I ended up here in the first place. I was just trying to help him, earn a little money to help put up toward his bail, but look at me now, Mimi. Look at me now. I'm a whore! Who wants to spend the rest of their life with a whore who almost every nigga in Flint done ran up in, huh?”
Mimi looked at Halleigh with sympathy, but she couldn't feel empathy. She knew that Halleigh was in love with Malek. She could always tell when Halleigh was thinking about that boy, and that was usually day in and day out, but Mimi couldn't fathom having love for another person. The only person she cared about was herself, not because she was selfish, but because she knew no other way.
Mimi's mother had abandoned her when she was just a child, sending her into the foster care system at the tender age of three. Never having a stable environment took its toll on Mimi. She never stayed in the same place long enough to develop any attachments, and she practically raised herself.
“Shit, I can't really speak on that because I don't know nothing about love. The only thing I love is money. If a nigga got money, I guess I could learn to love him too.”
Halleigh shook her head. “No, you don't know anything about the way I feel because money can't compare to Malek. I would die for him.”
“You are basically dying for him. The only reason you still here is to stop Manolo from hurting that boy. You saving his life and he don't even know it.”
Yeah, if only he knew, Halleigh thought. If only he knew.
Chapter Thirteen
S
weets sat back and watched one of his many boyfriends as he counted his money. He had quickly unloaded all of the bricks that he had stolen from Jamaica Joe, and the profit was incredible. He hated to admit it, but Joe had a nice connect and the quality of his heroin was better. No wonder I can't keep up with this nigga, Sweets thought as he concentrated on the different denominations that he flipped through his hands. The process was lengthy because most of the bills were wrinkled fives, tens, and twenties. It was money that had probably been everywhere, from stuck down in a sock to the crotch of a G-string. But he couldn't complain. He knew that dirty money was the best money, and he loved getting it.
But what he could complain about was Joe. He was tired of sharing the city with Joe and knew that it was only a matter of time before he crushed Joe's North Side empire.
What gave Sweets the advantage in the battle was that Jamaica Joe wasn't even aware that there was a snake in his camp. He should've made sure he was feeding his soldiers. If niggas ain't eating, they start creeping. Disloyal-ass nigga, Sweets thought. He hated workers like Tariq. He felt that a side needed to be chosen. Either you were North or South. He despised dudes that tried to ride the fence. Usually, Sweets would have murked any nigga who tried to step to him with any type of proposition such as the one Tariq had presented him with. But Tariq was different. He was Joe's right-hand man, not just some disgruntled corner boy, and he knew the ins and outs of Joe's operation. So Sweets used it to his advantage. He was going to get as much information from Tariq as he could and then dispose of him afterwards.
Sweets sucked on the Blow Pop in his mouth as he reached for his twin Desert Eagle pistols and looked around his bedroom. He placed one pistol in his lap and put the other on the nightstand next to him.
“Ay, go check the door,” Sweets instructed his lover.
“I just did an hour ago,” was the gentleman's reply.
“Then get your ass up and do it again and shut them dick suckers up.”
Sweets had been on edge ever since hitting Joe's spot. He knew that Joe wasn't going to let the situation go easily. He would try to retaliate, but when he did, Sweets planned on being prepared. He won't catch me slipping, Sweets thought.
Most dudes who were out in the open with their attraction to other men would have been underestimated when it came to gunplay, but Sweets was amongst the feared in Flint. It wasn't a secret that he had been with both men and women, but preferred men to women any day. He had been gay ever since he was a child. Although, as a child, he was molested by one of his foster mother's boyfriends, that wasn't the cause of him being like he was today.
Sweets grew up knowing that he was different than the other little knuckleheads that ran around his block, and it was apparent to everyone else that he had feminine characteristics. Kids his age taunted him daily, and it wasn't until he hit high school that he began to accept himself.
When he was in the tenth grade, Sweets met one of Flint's most notorious gangsters, Smitty Jake. Smitty was a smooth OG and a retired hustler, but he was still respected around the city. He was married with three children at home, but he still found time to mess around with men. His fascination with men, young and old, was what drew him to Sweets, and the two had a love affair that introduced Sweets to an entirely different perspective of the homosexual lifestyle.
Smitty would take Sweets out of town to gay underground clubs, where they would partake in all types of sexual acts. Looking at Smitty, one wouldn't know that he was gay, and even in his own eyes, he wasn't. He was married and had a family, which is how he justified his sexuality. “Gay men don't have wives and kids,” he told himself. And anyone who ever said otherwise always came up missing.
Smitty was a killer, and hustling was second nature to him. He groomed Sweets into the young hustler that he was today. He once told Sweets, “You don't have to be a straight man to be a gangster. That's something that's just in you. Either you got it, or you don't. Either you built for the streets, or you ain't, simple as that. Don't hide who you are, Sweet Tooth.”
Smitty was the one who had nicknamed Sweets in the first place, initially calling him Sweet Tooth. Sweets shortened the name himself.
“Do you, and stay true to yourself,” Smitty told his young prodigy. “You blast on any nigga who got something to say about it. I've lived a double life for so long that I don't know which life is real. Don't be like me. Don't let another man's judgment dictate how you want to live your life.”
Once Smitty uttered those words, Sweets ran with them. He came out of the closet, and any dude that talked that slick shit or tried to test him because of his sexual preference found himself six feet underneath the earth. And if Jamaica Joe think he's any different, Sweets thought, I'll put the steel to his dome.
Jamaica Joe called a meeting for all his workers and block lieutenants. He wanted to discuss the recent events with Sweets' crew and the beef that seemed to have taken itself to a whole 'nother level. Malek and Tariq, his two most trusted soldiers, stood next to him as he addressed the roomful of hustlers.
How does this young nigga get to stand armored guard at the front of the table? I been putting in work for years and I just got to the front, ol' pretty-boy mu'fucka,
Tariq thought.
I see this nigga is going to be a problem. I should be running the Fifth Ward block, not this li'l nigga.
Tariq discreetly gave Malek cold stares. He hated the way that Joe took Malek under his wing so quickly.
Honestly, Tariq wished that he and Joe had the same relationship that Malek had with him. Jamaica Joe knew that Malek was a kingpin in the making. Joe would always say, “You don't learn to be a hustla. Hustlas are born.” True indeed, Malek was just that, a born hustla.
“We just gon' fall back for a minute,” Joe said, sitting at the head of the long red oak table.
One of the hustlers from Selby stood and said, “Why haven't we clapped back yet? Sweets over there feeling good about that caper he pulled. We've already been laying low for two weeks now. Let's get at that nigga.”
“We want him to start feeling himself. I'm playing mental chess with that nigga,” Joe replied. “You have to know when to strike and when to fall back. Once he start thinking that everything is all good, then we get at his ass. Smell me? Sweets is over there thinking that I'm just going to chalk it up as a loss, but I got tricks for that nigga.” Joe clenched his fist. “Just when he thinks shit is sweet, we gon' swoop on 'em.” Joe tried to speak calmly, but they could hear the anxiousness in his voice.
Malek just stood back and listened. He had been reaping the rewards of being down with Jamaica Joe's empire. Now it was time for him to prove himself and put in some real work. He never expected to be a street dude. Yeah, he was born and raised in the toughest hood in America, but he was always focusing on basketball. While his friends and teammates were falling victim to the allure of the streets, he knew that b-ball was his ticket out of the hood, so he did everything not to jeopardize it.
He had it all mapped out. He was positive that he would be drafted into the league, so he found a chick that was down for him early on in his high school career. Halleigh had been digging Malek way back in middle school, before there was even the thought of the NBA, which was why he chose her to be his girl. He didn't want some gold-diggin' chick to come along when he got rich; although since he and Halleigh never officially got together until tenth grade in high school, that's exactly what his mother thought she was.
What other people thought, including his mother, didn't change the way Malek felt about Halleigh, though. He wanted a “down chick” that he could spend his life with, and thought he'd found that in Halleigh. He'd planned on marrying her right after the draft, but life happened and interrupted all of his plans. Now instead of doing what he loved and making millions for it, he was doing what so many other dudes in Flint had died trying to do: achieve the American dream. Malek had moved up the ranks so quickly, he'd made mad enemies within his own camp already, some of whom he didn't even know about.
Joe pulled out his gun and laid it on the table. “Y'all ready to bring the heat to this mu'fucka?”
Malek nodded.
Tariq replied, “No doubt. That's what I do best.”
Everyone in the room was in agreement, and the tension could be felt in the air.
“Good,” Joe stated, “because blood is about to flow. Anybody who is caught associating with a South Side mu'fucka can get it. I don't care if the mu'fucka is your uncle, your cousin, or your gotdamn daddy. Niggas gon' have to choose. Either you South Side or North Side. I got to show this nigga who he fuckin' with . . . and soon.”

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