Snitch

by Allison van Diepen

“Shouldn’t she be back from rehab soon? She’s been there for months, hasn’t she?”

  Black Chuck shrugged. “She don’t keep us posted. She could be with her junkie friends in Hoboken, for all I know.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t matter.”

  “Do you ever get tired of having the party house? I mean, some Fridays don’t you ever want to chill by yourself?”

  He raised an eyebrow, which was shaved in vertical lines. “Would it matter if I did?”

  I got the picture.

  I looked up and saw that I was being watched. Scrap winked at me, smiled his metallic smile. I guess he liked my sexy new outfit—the fake black leather pants and the tight black halter with a fat pink rose over my right breast. I’d picked out the outfit with the help of Jazz and Apple Jax on one of my days off (aka my suspension).

  I’d worn it for Eric, of course. I knew he’d love it. Too bad he wasn’t here yet to see it.

  In the meantime, I obviously had Scrap’s approval. Not that that was much of a compliment, since he had a rep for being a walking boner.

  Nessa grabbed my hand. “C’mon, we dancing in the basement!”

  I was up for that. “Chuck, you coming?”

  “Later. We got pizza coming.”

  A bunch of people were dancing downstairs to Pitbull’s latest. There wasn’t much room to dance between the couches, so people bumped and grinded, everybody getting hyped up.

  As I danced, I thought of Q and how we used to bust it out on the dance floor. I shoved the thought aside and focused on the people around me: Nessa, Jazz, Sly, Sarah, Apple Jax—all my girls were here. They’d stick by me, these girls. Not like my old friends.

  K-Ron came on. Nobody could put me in the dancing mood like him. I closed my eyes and moved to the music, then felt hands on my hips.

  Eric!

  I looked over my shoulder. It was Scrap.

  I had no choice but to grind with him. Walking away would make him look bad, and you just didn’t do that to Scrap. For his ego, I played along.

  After a while, he moved on to the next girl, Apple Jax. Jazz went in front of him, making a Scrap sandwich. He seemed to be having a great time. I left the dance floor and ducked into the bathroom to call Eric.

  I flicked the light on and was closing the door when Scrap pushed his way in and closed it behind him.

  He took the cell phone from my hand.

  “Who you calling, baby?”

  “Uh, Eric.”

  “What’s wrong. You nervous? It’s only me, Scrap. I known you since you was little.”

  “I have to go to the bathroom.”

  “No, you don’t, honey. Don’t be shy, now. Old Scrap’s just looking for a little fun.”

  He put his hands on my shoulders, his pierced nipples jutting out of his shirt. “Eric wouldn’t mind, if that’s what you worried about.”

  “And Latoya?”

  “Her pussy’s all dried up. But yours is off the hook, honey. Eric said it himself.”

  He kissed me fiercely, drowning me in beer-breath and cologne. I pushed him back.

  His eyes bulged. “Don’t play me, Innocent. You always be smiling at me like you want me. Grinding with me on the dance floor. And now you playing hard to get?”

  That got my back up. “I never led you on, Scrap. Why don’t you back off?”

  He slapped me.

  “You a cock-block, Innocent.” He walked out and slammed the door.

  I locked it behind him, leaning against the door, my whole body shaking. Glancing in the mirror, I caught sight of the made-up face, the tear-filled eyes, the trembling chin.

  Five minutes later, I’d pulled myself together enough to leave the bathroom and go upstairs. I grabbed a slice of pizza and sat down next to Black Chuck.

  “You okay, Ju? You quiet.”

  “Cramps.”

  “Sorry. You want me to free up a bed so you can lie down?”

  “That’s okay.”

  When Eric showed up, I wanted to throw myself into his arms and tell him everything. But I couldn’t trust how he’d react.

  He’d probably confront Scrap.

  Which is not something you did.

  The whole gang would side with Scrap and fuck Eric up.

  I couldn’t let that happen.

  “She don’t feel well,” Black Chuck explained.

  “You’re pale, Julia,” Eric said. “What’s the problem?”

  “Cramps. Could you walk me home?”

  “Sure, come on.”

  I got my jacket and we went outside.

  “Shit, it’s cold,” I said, stuffing my hands into my pockets.

  “Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong or what?”

  “I said I had cramps.”

  “You suck at lying.”

  I guess I did.

  I took a deep breath, choosing my words carefully. “It pisses me off the way Scrap is in control of everybody. He tells people what to do. He—”

  “That’s what gang heads do. That’s normal.”

  “Maybe, but I don’t have to like it. It’s not just that he tells people what to do. It’s the way he treats them. You should have seen him trying to get with half the girls at the party, right under Latoya’s nose and with his babies upstairs!”

  “He’s an OG. That’s what OGs do. You have to stop caring so much, Julia. You’ll never be happy in the gang if you keep questioning things and bitching about how unfair it all is.”

  “But it is unfair. Scrap’s got too much power, if you ask me. His lieutenants are like . . . sheep!”

  “Maybe they like it that way.”

  “What do you mean? Why would anyone like being told what to do?”

  “Maybe they hope to be head one day.”

  “When Scrap retires or dies?”

  “When he goes to jail, probably.”

  “Is that how you see it? That Scrap’s destined to go to jail?”

  “Most of the lieutenants will do a few bids. That’s the way it is.”

  “Doesn’t that scare you?”

  “Me? ’Course not. I’m not a pusher. I’ve seen too many friends in DT go down that way. The money’s good for a little while, but it ain’t worth it. Anyway, no matter what you think about Scrap and his lieutenants, you better keep your mouth shut. You say a bad word about Scrap and you’re the hater of the month.”

  I knew I’d seriously pissed off Scrap. Would he send girls after me to teach me a lesson? But then he’d have to admit that I’d rejected him—and he wouldn’t risk the embarrassment, would he? I counted on that.

  I noticed four Hispanic guys walk out of a housing project across the street.

  “Maybe you should put away your flag,” I whispered.

  “Too late. They already saw it.”

  “Are they . . .?”

  “Cholos.” Cholos was a rival gang. Meeting them this way would not be a good thing. They were coming toward us.

  “I have pepper spray,” I said quietly.

  “If it’s small enough to fit in your pocket, it won’t work on four people.” His hand tightened on mine. “If I tell you to run, run.”

  “If they want your cash, give it to them. Don’t be a hero.”

  The guys walked up behind us. I tried to pick up the pace, but Eric held me back. “No point.”

  We turned around to confront them.

  The oldest of the guys, probably twenty-five, gave a chip-toothed grin.

  Shouldn’t we be running by now?

  The guy said something to Eric in Spanish. I heard the word “dinero”—money—and I assumed it was the Spanish equivalent of “run your pockets.”

  Eric didn’t blink. He took out a blunt, lit it, and started smoking it right in front of them. He replied in Spanish, but the only word I caught was “Mexicans.” The guys looked at one another like they didn’t know what to make of what Eric was saying. That made five of us.

  The guy wearing the white do-rag said something back.


  Eric reached into his pocket, took out a few blunts and gave them to the guys. He used his lighter to fire them up. Then he pounded their palms, and we walked off.

  When we got farther away, I gaped at him. “What just happened?”

  “They were looking for an old-fashioned shakedown.” Eric took a drag of his blunt and exhaled slowly. “But they were willing to compromise.”

  “Why’d you take the chance? We could’ve given them money!”

  “I’d have preferred that—those spliffs were ten bucks a pop! But I figured this was a better way. It’s showing them we can be cool with one another without running anybody’s pockets. I’m in this hood all the time, you see. If I act like a punk once, they’ll never leave me alone.”

  “But what if they wanted to fight you?”

  “Then we’d fight.” He put an arm around me. “You could watch from the sidelines, boo.”

  “Are you kidding me? Do you think I’d just watch?”

  “Nah, you’d get in there with those fancy fingernails!”

  “Glad you find this funny.”

  DAD TRIES

  Want to go out for dinner, bella?”

  My eyes narrowed. Was this a setup of some kind? “Did Gina cancel?”

  “No. I thought maybe you’d give your dad a couple hours of your time.”

  Talk about a one-eighty. Since when was he wanting time with me?

  “Sure, if you’re buying. I’ve been craving a cheeseburger deluxe.”

  “Great. We’ll go to Jimmy’s then.”

  Jimmy’s was a huge diner on the corner of Flatbush and DeKalb Avenue. Its decor was loud and obnoxious, just like its customers. The tip from the last customer was still on our table when we sat down.

  “I dare you to take that, Dad.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  Dad had something on his mind—it was mad obvious—but he waited until after the waiter took our order before saying anything. “You’re going out a lot more these days.”

  This was his way of being subtle, right? “Yeah. I’m having fun.”

  “Now, don’t get angry, but I’m wondering why you’re not hanging around with that group of girls anymore.”

  “People drift apart, you know. It’s not a big deal.”

  “That’s not what you said before. You said they blew you off.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to rehash the details, okay?”

  “Fine. So who are you hanging around with then?”

  “Eric and Black Chuck and some others.”

  “From your school?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I had a lot of friends when I was your age too. Didn’t hurt that I played sports. I haven’t kept in touch with most of them over the years. They were never really a good influence on me. We were just drinking buddies, to tell you the truth.”

  Oh, I knew where this was going.

  “So these kids you’re spending time with, what do they do for fun?”

  “Gangbang, hustle, pimp, drink, smoke, shoot up—the usual.”

  Dad burst out laughing.

  I smiled. “I’m good, aren’t I?”

  He didn’t know how good.

  “Dad, what’s this about? Are you worried I’m on drugs or something?”

  “Of course not. I know you’re not stupid. But you’ve been staying out late on school nights and I want to make sure you understand—I don’t believe in curfews, but the second I hear you’re slacking at school or cutting classes, I’ll put you in lockdown.”

  Wow, Dad was laying down the law for the first time ever.

  “I’ll keep it under control, Dad. I didn’t know you were worried.”

  “Tell me more about your new friends.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Do these kids smoke up?”

  I rolled my eyes. “This is so wack. I thought you trusted me.”

  “I do. I don’t know if I can trust them.”

  The waiter came back with our food. I grabbed for the ketchup. Dad got it first, but gave it up. The food smelled delicious. I dug in.

  After a couple of minutes, Dad said, “Don’t be mad at me, Julia. I know you’ve had a rough time these past few weeks. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

  “I get it, Dad. You can relax. The concussion didn’t screw up my brain.”

  Poor Dad. He could be annoying, but I could never really be mad at him for long. He was cute when he tried to be parental.

  I took a few more bites of my burger. Dad had gone quiet, so I realized it was my turn. “How are things with Gina? Sounds like they’re going good.”

  “Yeah, she’s a great girl.”

  “Ever think about getting married?”

  He nearly choked on his food. “Are you serious?”

  I shrugged. “Why not? You’re with her all the time. That must mean something.”

  “Well, I like her a lot, but I can hardly see going to extremes like that. You know how it is.”

  I wasn’t sure if I did.

  JAZZ

  It was a regular week until Jazz showed up at the door of Economics class with tears streaming down her cheeks.

  Mr. Finklestein opened the door. She pointed at me, and he let me go talk to her.

  “What happened, Jazz?”

  She sniffed. “Let’s go outside first. I don’t wanna get taken to the holding room.”

  We went outside through a side door, jamming it with her book bag so we’d be able to get back in without going through security.

  Jazz grabbed me, sobbing on my shoulder.

  “Jazz, tell me what’s going on!”

  “I’m pregnant.”

  “What?”

  “I’m so stupid. He—he was giving me all this attention.”

  “Who?”

  “Scrap.”

  Oh no. Oh God.

  “Scrap told me he’d liked me for a while but didn’t know what to do about it because of Latoya.”

  “When was this?”

  “A month ago.”

  “That bastard!”

  “It’s not his fault, Julia. He didn’t force me.”

  “Why’d you do it?”

  “Because I liked him. I thought he liked me. But he said to get rid of it.” She was almost hyperventilating. “He didn’t say that to Latoya! She’s got two of his babies!”

  “He’s going to have to pay child support. Don’t worry, Jazz. He’s got money to help you out.”

  “That’s what I said. I told him I wasn’t gonna get rid of it, and he’d have to pay. Then he said he didn’t even know if it was his! He said he didn’t know how many guys I been fucking!”

  “You’ll prove it, Jazz. With DNA. Then you’ll sue his ass for child support.”

  “I can’t sue Scrap—he’d kick me out of the gang! He’d fuck me up, and Clyde too.”

  “Does Clyde know?”

  “No. How can I tell him? He’ll go after Scrap!”

  I couldn’t stand it. Scrap got away with everything because we were all too scared to stand up to him.

  Not me. Not anymore.

  “The doctor at the clinic says I need prenatal care, but I don’t have insurance. Grandma’s gonna kill me!”

  “I’ll get Scrap to give you some money. He’s got plenty to spare.”

  “How are you gonna do that?”

  “I don’t know yet. I’ll think of something.”

  * * *

  I left school early and went right to his crib.

  No answer.

  Damn it.

  I called Black Chuck’s cell.

  “Holla, honey.”

  “Chuck? Where are you?”

  “On my way home. Where you at?”

  “I’m standing outside your place. We need to talk.”

  “I’ll be there in fifteen. Everything okay?”

  “You’ll see.” I hung up. And waited.

  When I saw Black Chuck coming around the corner, I ran up to him.

  “What’s the dram
a, Ju?”

  “Scrap fucked up. And he’s got to clean it up.”

  “Huh?”

  “Remember at the party, when I said I wasn’t feeling well? It was because Scrap tried to get me to sleep with him.”

  “C’mon, Ju, you can’t take Scrap serious. He always playing.”

  “He followed me into the bathroom. When I told him no, he slapped me and called me a cock-block.”

  Black Chuck shook his head. “Aw, shit. I’m sorry.”

  Sorry? Why was he sorry?

  Because he knew Scrap was like this. And he hadn’t warned me.

  “Don’t be sorry, Chuck. It’s not your fault. I’m only telling you now to give you background to the rest.”

  “The rest of what?”

  “Scrap’s been making the rounds. Last month he went after Jazz. She’s pregnant.”

  “Holy shit. You sure?”

  I nodded.

  “Fuck!”

  “Jazz knows Scrap won’t be much of a baby daddy. But she needs money to go to the doctor while’s she pregnant. I’m going to ask Scrap for the money. He should do right by Jazz and pay up. If he really doesn’t think he’s the daddy, he can pay for a DNA test once the baby’s born. For now, she needs his help.”

  “Look, Ju, I’m glad you sticking up for Jazz and all, but I’ll take it from here. I’ll get the money from him.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “You a bad bitch when you wanna be. I don’t think he’d wanna hear what you have to say.”

  “Somebody’s got to set him straight,” I said. “Maybe after Jazz gets the money, we should tell Latoya. She’s the only one who isn’t scared of him.”

  “No way. You know what happens if she turns on him? Crip and Sha-Ta truce breaks down.”

  “We need to protect him because of the Sha-Ta?”

  “You don’t get it. They the ones keeping an eye on the Haitian Mafia for us. We dealing with as much as we can handle with the Bloods and the Latin gangs trying to close in. Nah, Ju, we need the Sha-Ta, and we need Latoya. She can’t know he’s been creeping on her.”

  “So what do we do about Scrap?”

  Black Chuck sighed. “Maybe giving up the dough will teach him a lesson, or at least make him more careful about wrapping it up.”

  OLD FRIENDS

  Q:

  its been a while how u been?

  Julia:

  all right u?