Ghetto Girls IV

by Anthony Whyte

  “Twenty thousand is twenty thousand,” he stated.

  Kim looked at him from the corner of her eyes. She didn’t want to tell him how she felt but her rage spilled out.

  “How’s it gonna be only twenty thousand? The reward alone for it is like two hundred thou,” Kim snarled. “You trying to play us!”

  The whack across her cheek shut her up immediately and caused her lips to bleed. Kim gave him the coldest stare she could muster.

  “Don’t you ever talk like that to me again, you bitch!”

  “Mike, chill., She didn’t mean…”

  “You know better than talking to me, slut!”

  “Mike all she meant was that... twenty thousand, that’s all you got for the diamond?”

  “That goes for you too,” he said angrily.

  Kowalski kept the engine idling and stared at Tina. She realized he was lying to her about the reward money and nothing he said would changed it. Kowalski tried.

  “I had to make a deal with some of my friends to keep your asses from being set up for robbery,” he lied. “I couldn’t just walk in and tell them you took the diamond. Fucking, twenty thousand is a lot of dough in any language.”

  “It ain’t enough, Mike. It just ain’t,” Tina said, shaking her head.

  “I can’t believe we did all that work for these cops and on top of that you gave him the diamond,” Kim said.

  “How else would she get the money? Are you stupid? They’re not gonna give the reward money unless the merchandise is handed back.”

  “You gave him the diamond, huh Tina?”

  “Yes, I did. I had to,” Tina said to Kim. Then she looked at Kowalski. “I thought we had a deal?”

  “You know better than to trust the police,” Kim sneered.

  “What’re you gonna do now?” Kowalski asked.

  Kim heard the sudden blast and saw Kowalski clutching his face. She saw Tina clutching a .45 caliber and cocking the slide. Another round chambered. The gun glinted from the streetlight. Kim heard the deafening gunshots rang out twice. She stared in wide-eyed surprise at Tina without saying anything. The shooter rifled the pockets of the dead detective. Kim jumped out of the still idling car wiping brain matter and flesh off her clothing.

  “You shot the fucking cop!” Kim screamed. “My fucking ears still ringing, bitch!” she yelled. “You could’ve let me know.”

  “Chill. That nigga deserved it,” Tina said contemptuously.

  “What’re you gonna do with the gun?”

  “I’m a leave it at the Eric’s studio. They gonna think he did it anyway.”

  “Let’s get da fuck up outta here before somebody spots us.”

  They walked away leaving the detective with his face in a mass of blood, sitting in the idling car.

  “You’re a fucking idiot,” Kim said as they hurried out of the area.

  It was late evening and Coco’s mother had fallen asleep next to her. The television blared and Coco quickly located the remote. She was about to lower the volume when the late news caught Coco’s well rested eyes. She saw the faces and knew immediately something bad had happened to Josephine.

  “Coco, turn that down,” her mother shrieked.

  Coco heard the news confirming her worse fears. It was being broadcast the day of her release from the hospital.

  “Investigations are still on the way in the shooting of two people in midtown earlier today. Eyewitnesses described the two people killed in a hail of gun fire…Josephine Murray, an aspiring singer and model Derek Miles were struck down by a fusillade of automatic weapons, in what police are calling a botched hit…the police are still investigating at this time…”

  Coco listened for a few minutes and then realized Ms. Harvey was awakened by the telephone ringing off the hook.

  “Is that your other friend?” Ms. Harvey asked, walking to get the phone. “We were just eating dinner with her the other day. I wonder what happened. She looked like she got mixed up with the wrong set of people,” Ms. Harvey said, then picked up the telephone.

  “Hello,” Ms. Harvey said. “It’s Deedee,” she said, giving the phone to Coco.

  “There’s so much drama. Did you see the news, yo? That’s what you called about, right yo? That’s fucked up!” Coco said grabbing the telephone confused.

  “Coco, please fuckin’ remember where you are,” Ms. Harvey reminded.

  “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe that shit really happened. I was just watching the news and the fucking shit hit me like pow!” Coco said. She covered the phone. “I’m soo sorry, ma. Yo Dee, I’m a call you back, yo. I gotta finish watching this.”

  It was all over the evening news. Bits and pieces of the report of the shooting were on the local channels. But nothing altered the fact that Josephine had been shot down in the streets. She was dead and Coco’s steady stream of tears flowing down her face couldn’t bring her back. Coco quietly munched on a chocolate bar, watching the streets down below. She could see people moving back and forth in the shadows and felt the gnawing emptiness deep down inside her.

  “Don’t stay up all night, Coco,” her mother shouted.

  Coco returned to the table. She sat down with pen and pad in hand. Her tears wet the empty sheet. She slowly scrawled Josephine, Danielle and Coco on the paper. Da Crew she wrote below their names, and stuck the Tougher Than Dice CD in her headphone. The beat was pumping and Coco put pen to paper.

  My sisters dream about us being on the top, our hopes will not die cuz through me you’ll always fly/ Things sometimes don’t always work out the way we plan but I’m taking a stand/ I’m gonna do what’s right/ My sisters will live through me cuz I ain’t going down without a fight/ I know things gonna go my way/ I’ll have all I want on lock/ Up in da club hanging in the back/ Another sold out performance reminiscing bout da crew how we used to put it down/ My time’s now this the moment I’m ready to run shit/ Handling things like a real hood chick/ Take me out the ghetto I’m still soo hood/ For my peeps who lost their lives/Never taking shit for granted coming in as the greatest I swear/ only thing that bothers me is my girls ain’t here…

  Coco stopped writing and wondered aloud in a hoarse whisper, “Why they had to die?” She bowed her head in deep thought and took the headphones off. With her eyes closed, she was staring into an abyss of infinite possibilities. Coco was searching for the solution to a gnawing she felt in her gut.

  She broke down crying and started reminiscing over Danielle and Josephine. They were Da Crew and it was the final of the teen talent competition of last summer.

  “Here we go; ladies and gentlemen. Our final finalists for you are Da Crew!”

  The three girls ran to the center of the stage and were met by flashing, bright lights. Coco, Danielle and Josephine attacked the stage, marking their territory like cats, making it difficult for anyone else to follow their tracks.

  Danielle sang and moaned her way into every heart, while Coco rapped soul to go. Her words flowed like no ordinary rapper. She was vicious in her lyrical assault, taking no prisoners but holding the audience hostage. Josephine provided smooth background vocals and hammered out a rap. Her steps and moves deceived and delighted the naked eye.

  The audience were caught napping. They slept through six lullabies and the seventh rocked them. Club kids jumped to their feet, moving with the heavy rhythmic beat. They clapped their hands, even while they sought refuge from the heat of Da Crew. There was no shelter from the storm and they were even more hyped when Coco shouted into the microphone.

  “An old lady told me to knock out da competition, leave ‘em dead, blood oozing from their fucking heads, rolling off with lyrics. Kicking like Bruce. My vocabulary is like a fist of fury. What I come to say is me and Da Crew ain’t fucking here to play. Tell you something, you hear?. All y’all want mo? Well, let me give ya my girl, Jo.”

  It went big with a pop for Da Crew. They renewed the onslaught of the Chop Shop Crew, whose members took notice and began discussing the girls’ pe
rformance.

  “Yo, honeys could open for us.”

  “No question. Ghey’ll do a lil’ sump’n, you know?”

  “Yo, we should find out who managing them. They nice.”

  “Muthafuckin’ right!”

  “They got all the moves too.”

  Busta, Eric Ascot, Sophia and Deedee were upstairs in a booth watching the video feed. They witnessed Da Crew, re-run after re-run.

  “They were without question the best,” Eric noted.

  “I told ya they butters,” Busta bragged. “Them judges are gonna have to give those six other acts honorable mention or sump’n. C’mon, lemme go see how they doing.”

  An elevator took them down to where the finalists nervously waited. Deedee walked to Da Crew and hugged the girls. Eric, Busta and Sophia shook each finalist’s hand, wishing them all good luck.

  Josephine noticed the gesture. “Everyone is so cool tonight,” she said excitedly. “I’m so tired, but it feels great, like this should go on forever. This really cool.”

  The four girls continued hugging. Eric and Busta kissed each girl on the cheek.

  “You were the best. Your show was damn great,” Eric said.

  “Yeah, you were the best,” Busta said enthusiastically. “I can’t dispute da truth,” he laughed.

  While Deedee and Sophia chatted with Da Crew, Eric and Busta wandered off to meet the other guests and judges.

  “I’m saying, yeah, I’d love to work with Da Crew,” Eric said confidently.

  “Yeah, well then that’s that. You know they won. You’ve seen the response. Let’s check what the judges say,” Busta said. There was a burst of music, then the booming sound of the emcee’s voice.

  “We’ve got Eric Ascot in da house tonight.”

  “And his niece, Deedee! Yea-a-ah!” Deedee shouted.

  Da Crew laughed along. The girls began pacing around, forming their usual circle, accompanied by Deedee and Sophia.

  “Wonder what’s taking so long, yo?”

  “Yeah, it’s only seven acts to choose from,” Danielle said.

  “Hmm, I don’t like all this waiting around. For what?” Josephine pondered.

  Coco lit another cigarette and sat on the floor. She seemed tired. Deedee noticed and went off to get two sodas. She returned, sat next to Coco and gave her one. The pair watched Josephine and Danielle attracting all the young boys.

  “If they give this to anyone else, oh, it’d be a major diss,” Deedee said.

  “It’s close to that time,” Danielle said.

  “What time is that?” Josephine asked.

  “Our time..!” they shouted, high-fived and laughed while jumping around.

  “This is Da Crew’s hour!” Coco, Danielle and Josephine shouted.

  “And the top three finalists are...” the booming voice of the emcee announced, behind a thunderous drum-roll. Da Crew heard the names of other finalists. Suddenly everyone was kissing and hugging them. They won and the crowd converged on them, mobbing them.

  Coco spotted Josephine and Danielle hugging in the flashing lights. They signaled to her and she disengaged from Deedee’s embrace and ran to the center of the stage to join them. Camera lights flashed and applause thundered in the air. Coco, Danielle and Josephine repped Da Crew, smiling, holding hands and taking a final bow, relishing their shine in the spotlight.

  To be continued

  GHETTO GIRLS V: TOUGHER THAN DICE

  BlacKout

  ONE

  August 14, 2003, 8:00 a.m.

  The people of Flatbush, Brooklyn awoke to the sweltering heat coming off the top of the apartment buildings. Sunshine and high humidity locked the city in a ferocious heat vice. Craving relief, the residents of Browser Street migrated from their apartments to enjoy the fresh air outdoors.

  It was around 9 a.m. when three women of West Indian descent sat on lawn chairs blocking the entrance to 254 Browser Street. They were busy chatting up the latest gossip, while keeping their eyes on the crowd of teens surrounding Tech. He was in front of the barbershop hawking his CDs and DVDs.

  “I got it all,” Tech shouted. “From the latest Fifty to classic Biggie, some new Jay-Z, I got it…I got it!”

  By 10:00 a.m., Corey was on his way to the barbershop to get a haircut, and stepped to Tech with a request.

  “What it do? You have the new Bad Boys II soundtrack?” Corey asked checking out Tech’s display.

  “I got it right here, dog!” Tech said handing the CD to Corey. “That joint’s bananas,” Tech added as Corey examined the disk. “It’s selling like crack all day long, everyday,” Tech said pushing his sales pitch.

  “Hmm…word? What it do?” Corey asked.

  “On n’ poppin’! Cop it. It’s jumpin’. And you need this Sean Paul remix and the G-Unit and Fifty Cent joint… Fire!” Tech said placing two CDs in Corey’s hand.

  “Ahight, I hear you,” Corey said looking at each CD and quickly passing a twenty dollar bill to Tech.

  “And I got the new Freddy versus Jason on DVD, director’s cut! Fire! What you know about that?”

  “Damn! That joint ain’t due out for another couple weeks,” Corey said scratching his head, visibly impressed.

  “What’s my muthafucking name, dog?” Tech asked.

  “Ahight, you do what ya do, dogs,” Corey said smiling and giving Tech a pound.

  Nelson and Rick lifted the gate to the barbershop, triggering a sudden flight of pigeons from their overnight perches.

  “Whew, its gonna be a mother of a hot one today. You feel the heat already?” Nelson observed, shielding his eyes and gazing at the bright sun.

  “Yeah, no doubt. I’m sayin’ my brother, may we shine like the sun,” Rick nodded in agreement. “Hope we get a lot of heads today,” he added walking inside and dusting off his barber chair.

  “What it do?” Corey greeted, walking into the barbershop. “I need a fresh one for the weekend, Rick,” he continued, taking a seat in Rick’s chair and glancing at the mirror.

  The barbershop was the place where everyone who was anyone came to hang out. From the latest cuts to freshest style, anything that was popping happened first at Nelson’s barbershop.

  Nelson was a proud, thirty-something entrepreneur who owned the barbershop. A vocal leader, he had street savvy with genuine social conscience. He was known to stand up for friends and often went out of his way to give a helping hand. At the same time, Nelson had old-school swagger and was known to get down with his knuckle game. He made his reputation fighting for what he believed in.

  Rick, one of Nelson’s barbers, was also in his thirties and had the rep of being an entertaining brother. Known for his sometimes arrogant ways, Rick enjoyed yapping about his sexual exploits. His different baby mothers would sometimes show up at the barbershop bringing drama. Most of the customers just laughed at his calamities, while he busily laced another satisfied customer with the latest fresh haircut.

  Cam was the only female hanging in the group. She was a star athlete in high school, renowned for her basketball prowess. Her talent on the court earned her mad respect from the fellas. She wasn’t at the barbershop for haircuts; it was simply her favorite hangout. Not only did Cam enjoy hanging with them, she also dressed like one of the guys, sporting baggy jeans, T-shirt and corn rows.

  “Damn, look at the ass on shortie in that video! She doin’ what she do,” Corey said pointing to the television screen.

  For a few rump-shaking seconds, all eyes turned to look at the latest Jigga video playing on BET.

  “You know I heard them chicks don’t make a dime, shaking ass in those videos, you feeling me?” Nelson announced.

  “I don’t know about all that. I know they gotta to be eating. I used to date one of’em video-hos, I mean ‘chicks’, and I’m sayin’, the bitch was getting paid,” Rick said smiling.

  “Yeah, video-ho is right. They getting paid for their services off camera, that’s what’s really up,” Cam said sucking her teeth.

  �
�Sounds a little like hatin’, you feel me, Cam?” Nelson smirked.

  “Please, I don’t love ’em ho’s. I likes me a gangsta bitch. I like’em pretty but gangsta, that’s what’s up,” Cam smiled.

  “Damn, I’m sayin’, you might as well just date a dude,” Rick said with a chuckle.

  Cam’s explanation was drowned by raucous laughter. She resigned herself to throwing up her two middle fingers.

  Tech took a break from hustling and walked into the barbershop. He and Nelson were very good friends and shared much history. Both had played on the same high school basketball team and came up hustling drugs with each other. After getting caught up with the law, they both got out the game.

  Besides selling mixed CDs, Tech also functioned as the manager for budding rapper L. Tech not only assisted with sales and marketing of his new CD, he was also helping to get L signed to a recording deal with a major label. Tech worked at a friend’s makeshift recording studio on Flatbush Avenue and was able to print a couple thousand CDs and sell them. The partnership was going well, but L needed to manage his time better. This is where Tech’s help was crucial.

  “Where’s your boy L? He ain’t here yet?” Tech asked Nelson.

  “How long have you known L?” Nelson shot back.

  “A while now,” Tech answered with a chuckle.

  “You know that nigga in the bodega messing with them Arabs, or rollin’ up sump’n to smoke, ” Nelson said.

  “That’s one hun’red. L’s probably at the bodega gettin’ a Dutch or sump’n,” Tech said.

  “You feel me? He does nothing but roll up, gettin’ high on bullshit all day long,” Nelson laughed.

  “He’ll be here soon, high as a muthafucka, talking plenty shit. And that’s one hun’red,” Tech laughed.

  The two men exchanged dap like friends who had shared many years of private jokes between them, and Tech went back to work.

  “Come get these CDs,” Tech shouted to passersby while looking out for L.

  WHERE

  HIP HOP