Street Dreams

by K'wan

  All of the female workers applauded as Loupe ate humble pie for the first time. For as long as they could remember, Loupe had used his clout to degrade them and crack for sexual favors. Now he was eating his words. Trinity had become the Angela Davis of Happy Jack's.

  “Very good, Loupe,” Trinity said, tucking her blade. “Was that so hard?”

  “Fuck you,” Loupe spat, his eyes watery. “You yellow bitch. You’ve just fucked yourself out of a job. Bitch, packya shit and get the fuck out.”

  Obviously Loupe rediscovered his courage now that he didn’t have a blade pressed against his throat, but Trinity didn’t give a shit what he said now. Loupe had proven himself to be a coward in front of the same women he had been taking advantage of. That was reward enough. Trinity grabbed her Coach bag and headed for the door. As she was leaving she fake lunged at Loupe, causing him to jump back. The sight of his cowardice gave her a good laugh all the way to the train station.

  Rio was feeling the pains of frustration tingling at the back of his head. It seemed like every time he tried to make some sort of forward progress, someone or something was pulling him back. The job interview had turned out to be a waste of time, and to add insult to injury, now he had to go and see his P.O.

  Rio was walking up Leonard Street smoking a cigarette when he heard someone calling his name. When he turned around, he saw a thin man walking in his direction. Rio didn’t recognize the man right off, but he figured he knew him from back in the days because he was calling out Darius instead of Rio.

  “What it is, young brother?” the middle-aged man asked as he caught up to Rio. “Boy, it's been a while since I last saw you.”

  Rio stared at the man, but still couldn’t place him. He was a dark-skinned man who appeared to be in his late thirties to early forties. He wore a pair of no-name jeans and scuffed combat boots. Rio examined the various political buttons that decorated his second-hand jacket with two swords crossing it. The symbol of an activist group called M.E.M. (Minority Education Movement).

  “Jamal?” Rio asked, finally placing the face.

  “Yeah,” Jamal said, flashing a yellowed grin. “In the flesh, baby.”

  “Damn,” Rio said, shaking his hand. “How you been, man?”

  “Up and down, brother. You know how it is.”

  “For sure. So, what you been up to?”

  “Man, the pigs had me in custody. Gave me eighteen months on a bullshit charge.”

  “Damn, sorry to hear that, Jamal.”

  “Ain’t about nothing, brother Darius. I’m back in the world now and still doing my part in the movement. What's up with you? I ain’t seen you down at the rec center in a while.”

  “You know how it is,” Rio said, looking at his shoes. “Been a li’l busy.”

  “I hear that,” Jamal said, looking at him suspiciously. “So what's been keeping you from the tutoring sessions?”

  “Ripping and running. Just trying to keep my head over water like everyone else.”

  “Brother Darius, you know you can’t bullshit me. Before I joined the movement, I was a stinking ass dope fiend. I know every con in the book. You back on them corners?”

  “A nigga gotta eat.” Rio said flatly.

  “Come on, Darius. That's a poor cop-out and you know it.”

  “Take it for what you want, Jamal, but real is real. I’ve been out here for months trying to find work. Ain’t nobody in a rush to hire a felon. You don’t expect me to starve, do you?”

  “Darius, there's plenty of things you could do other than hustle. Down at the center we’re hosting a job fair. We’ve gotten quite a few people jobs recently. Even sent me out on an interview.”

  “Listen,” Rio said, “I don’t knock M.E.M. for what they’re doing and if I works for you, cool. But on the real, that ain’t for me.”

  “So, you trying to say that you’re too good to work an honest job?”

  “Nah, I ain’t saying that at all, Jamal. What I’m saying is that it ain’t for me. I want more for myself, man. I don’t knock anybody's hustle, but I can’t see myself working a job for five-something an hour and being content.”

  “What's gotten into you, Darius? You were one of the few young brothers who were really down for the movement and what we were doing.”

  “And I still am. I think what the movement is doing is a beautiful thing, man. I’m just doing other things right now. Trying to better my situation.”

  “Man, that's jive. How the hell is slinging poison gonna help better your situation?”

  “Truthfully, it won’t. I don’t advocate hustling, but it's keeping a roof over my mother's head and food in our bellies. I believe in what the movement is doing, but I also believe in survival.”

  Jamal looked at Rio with saddened eyes and shook his head. “Man, if your father was here he wouldn’t dig what you’re talking about. He was for the people.”

  “Well, my father ain’t here and I ain’t him. I’m Rio.”

  Rio stormed off and left Jamal standing there. Jamal was a little upset about Rio's attitude, but he couldn’t be too mad. He understood what it was like in the streets. You had to get it on your own because no one was going to hand it to you. He felt for Rio. It seemed like more and more kids were succumbing to the call of the streets. All he could do was respect Rio's space and say a prayer for him.

  Rio entered the department of probation and went through the usual hassle. Since the 9/11 attack, security had been very tight. Before it you could just walk into the building and just get searched when you reached the probation floor. Now you had to remove your belt and go through a metal detector upon entry. It was more like a prison than a government building.

  After nearly an hour in the waiting room, Rio was called to see his probation officer. Mrs. Ortega was a motherly looking Puerto Rican woman who wore purple cat-eyed frames. Rio was lucky to have been assigned to her. She was one of the more easygoing P.O.s. Her visits were pretty basic. Have you been rearrested, are you employed or going to school, and do you still live at the same address? After answering her questions, Rio was free to go. After he picked up Trinity's boots, he was going to be on the next thing smoking back to the hood.

  Rio clutched his package tightly as he jogged up the steps of the 103rd Street station. One more month of freedom. Going to see his P.O. always made him feel uneasy for some reason. He guessed it was the thought of another bid looming over his head brought it on. Rio's bid had been a short one, but it was long enough to teach him that he didn’t like jail. That shit was wack, with a capital W.

  As Rio crossed Manhattan Avenue, he spotted two of New York's finest muscling some of the home boys. Rio hated the police. Not only for what they helped do to his father, but because of what they were doing to hoods all over the globe. They were supposed to be the protectors, but they were more like overseers. N.Y.P.D. became more like the S.S.

  The neighborhood elders just kept it moving, while the police were slapping the youngsters up. Rio had a few minutes to kill, so he decided to have a little fun. He calmly walked over to the stoop and took a seat. When the police noticed him sitting there, he pulled out his cell phone and began scribbling something on a paper bag.

  “Fuck are you doing?” a tall white cop barked. Rio ignored him and kept writing. The tall white cop snatched the bag and flung it into the bushes. “Didn’t you hear me, boy?”

  Rio looked at the white cop and smiled. “Of course I heard you,” he said politely. “By exercising my right to remain silent, I chose not to answer you.”

  “Oh,” the white cop said, putting his boot up on the stoop. “You’re a smart one, huh? If I bust that big brain of yours outta your black-ass skull, how smart will you be then?”

  Rio scratched his chin as if he was thinking. “Well,” he said, standing to face the officer, “there ain’t no doubt in my mind that you’d try to make good on your threat, Officer Nelson. But what do you think I’m gonna be doing while you’re trying to make a vegetable outta me?”


  “You challenging me?” Nelson asked.

  “Never,” Rio said, maintaining eye contact. “Only a fool fights a battle he can’t win. I didn’t come over here to bust up ya party. I just wanted to make sure that those young men get a fair shake. You know, by the book and all?”

  Officer Nelson weighed his options. He could just beat the hell out of the nosy kid, but there was something different about him. He knew Rio was from the hood cause he had seen him around, but he wasn’t like the rest. Rio was a smart nigger. The kind of kid that knew the law and could cause a potential problem. In the long run, it wasn’t worth it just to jack a few dollars.

  “They dirty?” Nelson asked over his shoulder.

  “Nah,” the Puerto Rican cop said. “They’re clean.”

  “Okay,” Nelson said, backing up. “Let's get outta here. I’ll see you another time,” he told Rio.

  “I’ll be looking forward to it,” Rio said smugly. On the outside Rio looked confident, but on the inside he had been holding his breath throughout the whole confrontation. He’d taken a big gamble with those cops. They could’ve whipped his ass and taken him in. That would’ve been a violation and sent him right back to jail. All cause he wanted to prove a point.

  “Yo, kid,” Mark said, getting up off his knees. “That was some cold shit, Rio. You played crazy brain game on that pig. Good looking.” Mark extended his hand, but Rio just shook his head. “What up wit you, Rio?”

  “Y’all,” Rio said flatly. “Fuck is you niggaz doing?” “Getting money.” “Mark, who hit you?” “Come on Rio… “

  “Fuck that shit, Mark. When I’m on shift, do I ever hit y’all wit work?”

  “Nah, but… “

  “Nah but my ass, Mark. I told y’all, you’re too young to be out here. It's fucking eleven-thirty in the morning and you out here getting searched. You need to have ya ass in school.”

  “School ain’t gonna pay the bills, kid.”

  “Bills? You only twelve, Mark. You still live wit yo mama, what bills you got?”

  “You know what I mean, Rio.”

  “Nah, I don’t know what you mean. This shit is wack out here. Give it up while you still can.”

  “Rio, you’re still out here on the grind, so how you gonna tell us not to be?”

  “Let me tell you something, my man,” Rio said, getting angry. “Don’t compare my ma fucking situation to yours, cause they ain’t hardly the same. I been doing me to feed me since I was a shorty. My pops is dead and my moms is a wine head. Nigga, you still got both ya parents, they ain’t strung out, and they both got city jobs.”

  “Rio,” Mark said, not trying to hear it. “You used to be one of the wildest niggaz out here. My older brother used to talk about you all the time. Everybody out here knows whose project this is. Shit, Prince might hold it in name, but this shit is yours. All you gotta do is reach for it.”

  “Wow,” Rio said sarcastically. “I got a little street fame, big fucking deal. All my rep did was make me hot in the hood and catch me a bid. You think that shit is a badge of honor, then you’re mistaken. My one and only dream is to get up outta this shit and be something. Getting out these streets, that's my dream.”

  Mark still didn’t seem moved. “I hear what you saying, but technically you set the standard for a lot of niggaz out here.”

  Rio's face went completely blank. Mark's words were like a slap in the face. At first Rio was offended, but as he thought on it, was it that far from the truth? Rio had never really thought about how his actions affected those around him. Was he truly some street legend that all of the kids aspired to be like?

  “Fuck it,” Rio said, walking off. “It's your life, Mark, but you better find a purpose for living. This shit out here,” he motioned to the buildings around them, “it's a death sentence one way or another.”

  Mark watched Rio walk up the hill and shook his head. How could a nigga that had so much potential prove to be such a lame? Mark's level of respect for Rio dropped a few notches. In his mind jail had made Rio a weak nigga. What kind of hustler were you when you have the world at your fingertips and you close your hand? Mark was determined to come up in the game. When his time came, he would take what was his.

  Later on that evening, Mark was caught transporting two ounces of powder. All he would be taking now was the five to fifteen the judge was going to hand him. Just goes to show. Every nigga thinks that he's smarter than the ones that came before him.

  Prince sat in his plush Harlem apartment staring out of his picture window. He loved to watch the sun set over the city of broken dreams. His city. He had come a long way from his days as a stable boy back home. He used to tend the horses of the white family that he and his mother worked for and dream of owning one. Forty-something years later, he owned his own stable and five fine horses.

  The sound of someone knocking on the study door brought Prince out of his daze. Prince turned around in his wing-backed chair and saw Li’l J standing in the doorway. With the wave of a jeweled hand Prince waved Li’l J inside.

  “What it is, my man?” Li’l J asked, flopping on the love seat.

  “Just thinking,” Prince said, offering J the bottle of rum.

  Li’l J poured himself a drink and returned to the love seat. From the deep crease in his brow he could tell that something was bothering Prince. After being as thick as thieves for over thirty years, the two knew each other's moods pretty well.

  “What's on ya mind, Prince?” Li’l J asked.

  “Nothing, man,” Prince said, sipping his drink. “Trying to figure this damn Rio kid out. What's his angle, J?” “How do you mean, Prince?”

  “Look at it, J. A few years ago, Rio was my number-one man. I was grooming him to be the next big thing. Then he does a bid and comes home with his head screwed up. Talking about going legit. As sweet as this money is, he must’ve fell and bumped his head. I just can’t figure him, J.”

  “Well,” Li’l J said, lighting his Salem. “As long as we been down I ain’t never questioned your judgment, but I gotta ask. Maybe you fingered Rio wrong?”

  “Bullshit, J. That kid is it. You know it as well as I do.”

  “Yeah, Prince. He's a bright kid, but he ain’t built for the streets. I tried to tell you when you first recruited him, but you wouldn’t listen. You figured because he was so young you could program him. If a nigga ain’t street, he just ain’t. I don’t care how much you try to brainwash him, you gotta be born with it.”

  “I dig where you’re coming from, J, but I don’t agree. I know Rio ain’t the killing type and I’m cool with that. Hell, we got soldiers for that. But this kid has got his marbles in order in a major way. Rio's little spot always checks in the most scratch when he's on shift. Wanna know why? Cause he's on his job. That kid has got a nose for money. But I need a way to pull him in totally. I even offered him the Columbus side of the projects and threw in Manhattan Avenue. But still he refuses me. What can I do, J?”

  “Well, you could always muscle him.”

  “Nah, can’t do that. You try to muscle a kid like Rio and one of two things is gonna happen. Either he ain’t gonna perform at peak efficiency or he's gonna make it so you don’t wake up in the morning. You can’t back a guy like him into a corner. I need another angle.”

  “You could always run the con on him, Prince.”

  “Yeah, that could work. But if he wakes up to it the whole thing could sour. Just give me some time, J. I’ll rope that kid in. Everyone's got an itch. Rio's got an itch, I just haven’t figured out what it is. But when I do, I’m gonna be the one to scratch it. You watch.”

  5

  The party at the Cotton Club ended up being a big turnout. It was mostly full of older players, but a few of the up and coming were also invited to attend. The D.J. played a blend of music to accommodate both crowds. The booth blared out everything from “Lonely Girl,” to “Ya Birthday.” Prince had thrown quite the little shindig together.

  Trinity looked around in awe.
Prince's party was like the prom she always wondered about. People were dressed in all kinds of fits. She couldn’t remember ever having seen so many diamonds and gold in one spot. Not wanting to come across as a bird, Trinity refrained from staring.

  She wasn’t looking half-bad herself. Trinity had selected a cute little outfit for the event. Her tight-fitting stretch shirt showed off her tiny waist as well as her 36D bustline. The short leather vest she wore over that went perfectly with her snug leather miniskirt. The skirt was tight enough to show off Trinity's apple-shaped booty, but it wasn’t tight to the point where people would’ve called it trashy. Her midcalf leather boots capped the fit off nicely. Trinity might not have been the most glamorous female in attendance, but she still managed to turn quite a few heads.

  Rio was dressed in a similar fashion. He stepped in looking like a runway model in his loose-fitting leather pants, with matching three quarter leather jacket. The white mock-neck shirt he wore hugged his torso, showing off his lean frame. Rio wasn’t a health nut but he did work out a few times a week. The ladies in the spot sized the young player up as he moved through the crowd with Trinity on his arm.

  Rio noticed the men in the club eyeing Trinity. He didn’t get mad though. The way they were lusting over Trinity filled him with pride. Trinity was a bad young chick and she belonged to him. Those other cats might look, but she shared her body with him. They made quite the cute couple in their leather ensembles.

  “Rio,” she whispered. “This place is off da hook. Look at all the minks floating around this joint. I feel so outta place.”

  “Please,” he said hugging her. “Ain’t not a one of these broads can touch you, ma. You the baddest thing in here.”

  “You always know how to make me feel better, pa.”

  “What kind of man would I be if I didn’t? Here,” he said handing her a fifty. “Why don’t you go to the bar and get us some drinks while I see if I can find Prince?”

  “Rio, I’m only nineteen. They ain’t gonna serve me.”