Dope Girl 3

by Sa'id Salaam

  “Sup y’all? What’s the gloves for?” Dasia sang.

  “We’re about to have an intervention,” Meisha replied.

  “Cool, where’re mine?” she asked eager to play along.

  “Here, you get this,” Meisha said handing her a mouth piece, “Bite down.”

  Dasia smiled and frowned at the same time as she complied. As soon as she had the mouth guard firmly in place, Meisha socked her in her jaw. The blow made her stumble toward Jackie who popped her with a jab. The jab steered her towards Aqua who hit her with a haymaker.

  “Aqua! Ugh!” Meisha whined as Dasia fell to the carpet sound asleep.

  “What?” Aqua asked innocently, holding her gloves up.

  “You hit too damn hard is what!” We ‘posed to whoop her and you put her to sleep,” Cameisha griped.

  Dasia was exhausted anyway from a long night of snorting coke and sixty-nining. The girls plopped down on the sofa to wait for her to wake up so they could continue whooping her ass. This was tough love New York style. Aqua tried to smoke a blunt with the gloves still on, while Jackie went to try to fix the coke.

  She mixed the cut up bullshit with raw cocaine until she had brought the purity back up. Learning directly from the dope girl she could judge the coke by sight. Samantha would later confirm it was 65% which was better than 80% of the stuff on the streets.

  Curiosity caused Cameisha to go through Dasia’s purse. This whole business just didn’t add up and she was eager to get to the root of the problem, and she was about to real quick.

  “Bubble gum flavored vagina spread?” she read aloud from the tube of the stuff she found in the purse. “The fuck is that?”

  “I don’t know,” Jackie quickly lied. She knew because it was the same stuff Joline used to use on her. She preferred the piña colada but bubble gum was cool.

  Cameisha dropped it back in the purse and picked up her phone. Nothing gave up info like a smart phone; fucking snitch. The first stop was the picture gallery; it was filled with the typical glamour shots taken in front of the large bathroom mirror. When the clothes began to decrease, she clicked off since she had no desire to see her buddy naked. When she checked the videos, the first one was a finger making small circles on a wet swollen clit while its owner, Dasia, moaned. The image shook wildly when she climaxed then panned up to her face.

  “Mmm……Dasia, see what you made me do,” Lisa said hoarsely from desire.

  That was enough evidence but an incoming text added fuel to the fire. When Meisha saw it was from Lisa, she quickly opened it and read it.

  Lisa: I can still taste you on my tongue.

  “Damn dyke!” Cameisha shouted and dropped the phone. Luckily, the outburst caught everyone’s attention because Meisha quickly attacked.

  When Cameisha kicked Dasia in her mid-section, the blow woke her up. She curled up in a fetal position and deflected a series of blows. Aqua dropped her blunt and practically tackled Cameisha.

  “Fuck you doing?” Jackie demanded, as she abandoned her task and rushed over.

  “No wonder this bitch is stealing, she fucking gay!” Meisha shouted, as Aqua lifted her off her feet and carried her away. “Look at her phone!”

  Jackie picked up the phone and hit play. Her eyes grew wide from the display and she quickly turned it back off.

  “I ain’t stole nuffin! All money is accounted for. Err’ penny!” Dasia protested taking to her feet. “And how is it yo business who I fuck?”

  “I…you…um….” Meisha stammered trying to figure out exactly how it was her business, it really wasn’t.

  “Yo, that coke you been selling was cut to shit. You did that! Why?” Jackie growled in a murderous tone. The only people who had ever seen her like that were now deceased: Big Mike, Rowdy, Sweetness, Ill-Will and Curt; all dead.

  “Yeah, why?”Cameisha shouted happy to have a reason to be mad.

  Dasia lowered her head and her voice and admitted, “I been getting high.”

  The truth sucked all of the air out of the room and hovered in the air. The silence was deafening until the leader spoke up. In clear, even tones, she made her ruling.

  “You got two choices yo, either you tighten up and I mean all the way up. No getting high, no eating pussy, and no fucking skimming or you can take your ass back to the Bronx. Be sitting on that project bench by yo damn self while we get this money.”

  “Stay here with us, don’t be eating no coochie!” Aqua frowned and pleaded.

  “I’m cool yo. I’m staying,” Dasia said confidently. “I got this, trust me.”

  Chapter 3

  “Ok from now on, Dasia you got the weed and Aqua gonna handle the coke,” Cameisha demanded. She was ready to argue but Dasia put up no resistance.

  She had been closely monitored since the intervention a week ago and showed no signs of drug or vagina abuse. It was time to get back to work. Meisha brought over the package and they got to work bagging it up. She put glove son to mix the coke, while Dasia and Aqua stuffed dime bags of weed. They even chit chatted like old times until Dasia’s phone rang, stopping time.

  “Get that for me?” Dasia asked since the phone was closer to Cameisha. Meisha didn’t even bother taking off the gloves before snatching it up and taking the call.

  “Hello?” she said making a sarcastic face that got a giggle out of her girls.

  “Dasia?” a beautiful baritone voice asked, frowning through the line.

  “No, it’s not, who is this?” Cameisha demanded, tapping her foot impatiently, getting another round of giggles.

  “Umm….Calvin; is she available?” he asked, unsurely.

  “Available for what? To fuck? You tryna fuck my friend mista!” she said in her original accent.

  “Gimmee!” Dasia squealed with laughter and snatched her phone away. Cameisha playfully denied it for a second before giving it up.

  “Hey Calvin…my crazy ass sister…mm hm…giggle…mm…hmm…blush...giggle…hmm hmm.”

  “All she needed was some dick.”Aqua nodded in agreement with herself.

  “Her and me both,” Meisha mused already missing Bilal.

  ****

  Once the package was flipped, the dope girls flipped another then another, and then it was summer. Meisha had managed to pass all of her courses, barely. Jackie on the other hand, excelled. She had so much fun learning new stuff she enrolled in summer school so she wouldn’t have to stop. Cameisha was going home to the Bronx so she called a meeting.

  “Yo, Jackie’s in charge while I’m gone. Don’t be fucking calling me every five minutes asking me shit, ask her and she’ll get with me,” she began. She sounded much like a CEO briefing the board, and in a way she was.

  “You gonna be gone the whole summer?” Aqua moaned in an exaggerated tone that made summer sound like it lasted nine months.

  “Nah, just a couple of weeks. I gotta go spend some time with my grandma after the shit they just went through,” Meisha said referring to the events of KILLA SEASON. “Plus, I gotta see Sincerity’s baby.”

  “Just be back by your birthday so we can turn up!” Dasia added

  “For real though, you know we gotta stunt for your birthday,” Jackie chimed in.

  “Ok, first of all……,” Meisha said then paused for dramatic effects before continuing, “Ralphie ain’t gonna let you out of his sight and your cheap ass ain’t ‘bout to stunt nothing.”

  Jackie was indeed frugal if not actually cheap. Truth is, after being broke for so long she hated spending her money. She stacked it and counted it, checked on it and counted it, but rarely spent it.

  “First, his name is Ralph not Ralphie and he don’t run me,” she said feigning indignation. “And I guess I can part with a few dollars so we can turn up.”

  “Ok, turn up!”

  ****

  “Oh, hey Cameisha,” Samantha sang when she answered the knock on her dorm door. She opened it as wide as her smile was and stepped aside.

  “‘Sup Sam?” Meisha replied cheerf
ully as she stepped inside. As usual, the dorm room turned lab was a flurry of activity. Something was bubbling under a burner and a centrifuge was swirling. It was a small white mouse running a hundred miles per hour in his little wheel that captured her curiosity. “Huh?”

  “Oh, I tested the synthetic coke on Tommy and he’s been on that thing for an hour!” Samantha laughed.

  “His little ass is geeked up I see. You got that yo?”

  “Yeppers! Turned one ounce of 98% pure cocaine into four, It’s quite simple actually. I……”

  “Whoa! Tell me when I get home. I got a plane to catch.” Cameisha cut in, cutting off what would’ve been a lengthy explanation regarding the cloning of chemical compounds. “Here you go. Thanks.”

  “Thank you,” Samantha replied, thankful for an ounce of weed. “You think I can hang out with you guys. You know, be down with the crew?”

  “Umm……,” Cameisha paused weighing the pros and cons of having a scientific genius on the team, “Hell yeah!”

  ****

  Cameisha was all girl but she definitely had balls. She boarded the plane with four ounces of cocaine tucked snuggly in her panties. Taking it on the plane made it a federal charge but that was even better; any criminal would much rather do comfy fed-time than have to be in a fucked up state prison.

  Tommy seemed to love the synthetic coke but now it was time for some human trials. High Bridge Projects had hundreds of test subjects who would pay to sample the product. When Cameisha de-planed in New York, Deidra was at the gate waiting. She braced herself for a grandma hug. Only a bear hug from an actually grizzly bear packed more power. Plenty of grandkids had been snapped in half by grandma hugs.

  “Cameisha!” Deidra screamed like a groupie at the sight of her beloved granddaughter. She rushed over pretty quickly for a woman her age and scooped her into her arms.

  “Hey Grandma,” Cameisha blurted as all the air left her body.

  Deidra released her death grip and inspected Cameisha. When she was satisfied she was intact, she led the way out of the terminal. The only baggage she carried was the carry-on since she planned on shopping while she was here. What’s a trip to New York without a shopping spree?

  The car service provided a large luxury Sedan to ferry Mrs. Forrest to and from the airport. The polite driver instantly stole Cameisha’s heart by being so sweet. The elderly man held the door open for the ladies just like a gentleman was supposed to. The girls sank back in the plush leather seats and made girl talk all the way uptown. Once the car crossed the bridge entering the Bronx, Cameisha switched to high alert.

  Again, she regretted not killing E-man instead of just beating him. He of course, blamed the attack on some teens in the projects and had them murdered. Of course he wasn’t going to admit he’d gotten his ass whooped by some girls; he now had to wear a fitted cap to hide all the stitches he’d gotten from the beating that night.

  Meisha stared at the corner of 164th street as the car glided up the hill on Ogden Avenue. She was hoping that he wouldn’t be outside but no such luck. There was E-man and a couple of his cronies having a board meeting on the corner. She could have ducked her head and hid but grandpa never taught that lesson. No surrender, no retreat. Had she been armed, she would’ve gunned him down on the spot. Since she didn’t have any bullets, she shot daggers instead.

  “Aight, y’all niggas spread out and cut off all traffic up the hill. If a nigga tryna get high don’t let him by!” E-man said directing his workers. He was looking in all directions pointing out spots for them to trap when he saw the luxury car. When he and Meisha made eye contact, it took a two count for him to place the face, on three he pulled a gun from his waist and raised it.

  “Drive!” Cameisha yelled as she pulled her grandmother to the floor and dove on top of her.

  The driver didn’t need to be told twice and floored the car just as gunfire erupted. He let out a grunt when one of the nine millimeter rounds went through the door and into his torso. E-man ran out into the street dumping at the car as it sped away. His crew was so stunned by the sudden violence they showed up late and got off a few harmless shots, but harmless or not, they were going to cost them their lives.

  The driver slumped over the wheel once his clock stopped. The car slowed down side-swiping parked cars before coming to a complete stop against a street light.

  “Are you hit?” Cameisha asked, frantically searching her grandmother for gunshot wounds.

  “I’m fine, let’s get out of here!” Deidra shouted and got out of the crumpled car. “What the hell was that?”

  “I don’t know. You ain’t beefing with nobody are you?” Cameisha lied as they rushed towards the projects.

  “Some broad was talking mess ‘cause I‘ liked’ her man’s picture…… but I know one thing, your uncle will get to the bottom of it today!”

  “Wait, Killa is here!” Meisha asked, excited to finally meet the myth of a man.

  “That’s right, Killa’s here!”

  Chapter 4

  Trigga got off the bus and took a deep breath, inhaling his hood. It smelled exactly like he’d left it four years before. It smelled like gun powder, pussy, coke, weed, alcohol, fried chicken, collards and money ;it smelled like home.

  “Trigga?” Lil’ Troy asked blinking in disbelief as Trigga entered the rundown apartment complex. He stood out in the prison issue clothing amongst the colorful clowns.

  “In the flesh, what’s popping ‘round here shawty?” he asked as they exchanged dap.

  “Same shit like yesterday shawty. Real nigga shit, it’s like you ain’t never left. Couple new junkies, couple new hoes,” he explained. “You know, same shit.”

  “Where’s Sharika?” Trigga heard himself ask against his will. Even he could hear the strain in his voice when his baby mama’s name was mentioned.

  He and the gorgeous little hood rat started going together at 10, and by the age of 12 they were fucking, they became parents by the age of 16. When he’d gotten locked up, she faithfully came to see him in the county jail. Every weekend she brought their young son for a visit. Once he got sent down the road to prison, she got in the wind. That same wind carried rumors that she was fucking everyone in the hood. Everyone!

  “She um…she ‘round I guess,” Troy said admitting that he had hit it too.

  Trigga heard it and nodded. Truth was, he didn’t care. She wasn’t in his plans anyway. He wanted to be the King and knew her ratchet ass was no Queen.

  “Say shawty, your brother getting it!” Troy said to change the subject. “Keith is that nigga!”

  “He is?” Trigga frowned. He hadn’t received a coin from his brother his whole bid. “Aight shawty, I’m finna go holla at my momma dem.”

  “That’s what’s up. Fall through the trap later,” Troy said and traded another pound and hug.

  Trigga could hear his mother from outside yelling at the small army of small children inside. The little brood ran grandma ragged but kept her off the pipe. His older sister Alicia had a baby a year up until she was 16. She died at age 21. Lil’ Trigga and his younger brother also stayed with their grandmother.

  The front door hadn’t been locked in forever and it wasn’t locked now. Trigga turned the knob and stepped into the cluttered living room. He could smell his momma’s menthols and malt liquor over the diapers but over that was her fried chicken.

  “Momma! Uncle Trigga home!” Alicia’s oldest boy announced starting a stampede. He ran over to hug his uncle, followed by the rest of the kids.

  “‘Sup lil’ man?” Trigga laughed as he hugged his nephew, then nieces and finally his son.

  Lil’ Trigga stared up at his father for the first time since he was a baby. The young ghetto couple actually named the child Lil’ Trigga Jackson.

  “You know who I am?” Trigga asked looking down at the look-a-like face staring up at him.

  “My daddy,” the boy answered proudly. What ghetto child wouldn’t want a daddy?

  “That’s my dad
dy too?” Lil’ Trigga’s little brother asked looking confused.

  “Uncle Keith yo daddy,” Lil’ Trigga said possessively and shoved him away. They would have hooked had grandma not came out.

  “My baby!” Betty Jackson screamed at the sight of her son. She rushed over as quickly as her tight jeans would allow.

  The early forty something woman had missed her childhood due to child births, so she incorporated it into her adulthood. She watched videos, smoked weed and clubbed along with people half her age.

  “Hey momma.” Trigga smiled brightly as he hugged his mother. “You smell like that loud pack.”

  “Momma got a blunt of that funk!” Betty bragged. She fished out the neatly rolled blunt and gave it to her son and went to tend to her chicken.

  Trigga went to his old room and found it pretty much like he’d left it. He and his brother Keith once shared the space but now their children and nieces and nephews did. By the time he exhaled the first drag, a group of his boys rushed into the room.

  By the time the chicken was fried, he was good and high and filled in on the latest gossip. He knew who kilt who, who snitched on who and who fucked who. Since most of them had fucked Sharika, her name didn’t come up. Trigga had already heard in the pen that she was fucking out of both pant legs. She had two more baby daddies including his own brother. If he had a fuck to give he wouldn’t. That chapter of his life was closed. Besides, he had his sights on the crown and she was as unfit to be queen as she was to be a mother.

  “They said Trigga home!” Sharika proclaimed as she burst into the room, chomping on chewing gum like a steak.

  “‘Sup?” Trigga nodded casually even though the first sight of her made his heart ache, just a little. She was still fine as ever in the tight jeans and t-shirt. Motherhood had blessed her with full breast and wide hips. Too much make up adorned her face and pounds of weave was intricately piled on her head.