Street Dreams

by K'wan

  Rage and anger had taken over Shamel, causing him to wild out. Without looking to see who it was, he took a swing at Rio. Rio managed to avoid most of the blow, but still got nicked on the chin. As Rio tried to get out of the way Shamel drew his weapon. Trinity saw what was about to go down and got on the good foot trying to catch up to them. Rio also saw what was about to go down and didn’t like the idea of getting shot. He could’ve easily gunned Shamel down and saved himself, but he needed another way. Shamel was drunk and really didn’t realize what he was doing.

  As Shamel brought his shooting arm around, Rio ducked and advanced on him. He made sure that there wasn’t enough space for his friend to pop him. “Shamel!” shouted Rio as he grabbed the big man in a bear hug. Shamel outweighed Rio by quite a few pounds, but it wasn’t that easy to take him down. Shamel thrashed and tried to break the smaller man's grip, but had a very tough time of it. Bellowing out in rage Shamel tried to throw his weight on Rio. Even though Rio was smaller, he was learned in various fighting techniques — jujitsu being one of them.

  Rio let Shamel think that his plan was working and then turned the tables on him. He loosed his grip from the man's waist and grabbed him by his shooting arm. Using Shamel's momentum against him, he tossed the big man over his hip. Shamel skidded a good three feet before crashing into the concrete steps. The impact caused Shamel to lose his grip on the P89. Unarmed and embarrassed, Shamel pulled a dagger out of his boot and got up to charge Rio. Rio decided that if he wanted to get out of the situation uninjured he was going to have to shoot his man.

  Before either of the two men could jump, Trinity said in a firm voice, “What the hell is y’all doing? Shamel, I know you ain’t about to get at ya man.”

  Shamel turned on Trinity as if he were going to attack, then sud denly froze. Slowly the glare of madness started to fade from his eyes. He blinked twice and slurred, “Trinity?” Shamel looked from Rio to Trinity as if seeing them for the first time. Shamel looked at the blade in his hand as if it were a viper. Suddenly the realization of what he had almost done became painfully clear. Shamel collapsed on the ground with his hands on his face.

  “Fuck am I doing?” he whispered.

  “I was gonna ask you the same thing,” Rio said, sitting beside him. “What's really good with you, fam? I come through here to check you and it's like Vietnam out this Bitch.”

  “I…yo Rio… you know I would never …”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Rio said. “You were going through something, my nigga. I respect that. But make me understand what's going on with you, God. This here ain’t you.”

  “Gone,” Shamel said. “All gone, kid.”

  “What you rapping about?” Rio asked. “You talking about the clique?”

  “Man, fuck the clique, Rio. I mean, I’m gonna miss my comrades, but fuck that shit. I had a gang of shit tucked away in there. I figured it was smarter to keep most of my shit up in the house instead of at my spot. But look what the fuck happened.”

  “Don’t wet that, Mel. I could shoot you a few dollars till you get on your feet, man. Plus I know you had some paper put up.”

  “Paper,” Shamel asked chuckling. “Baby boy, ain’t no paper. I got a few dollars put up at my mom's house and a few ‘ones’ at my spot. I had close to forty thousand in cash and stolen goods tucked at the clubhouse. I’m hit, baby.”

  “Shamel,” Rio said, lighting a cigarette. “As long as you been robbing and stealing, you really ain’t stash no bread?”

  “Rio, I really don’t feel like hearing that old ‘I told you so’ shit. I was balling outta control. A nigga always had money coming in, so I wasn’t thinking about saving. As long as it was niggaz around for me to rob, I figured I’d always be good.”

  “So, what if you just went back to freelance jacking?”

  “Rio, I wish it were that simple. The clique was supposed to have been shut down because of a snitch. Nobody knows exactly who it was, but ain’t none of the fences trying to fuck with us right now. Nobody knows who pointed the finger, so everybody from the clique is getting fed with long-handled spoons. It was hard before, but without the help of the fences, it's damn near impossible to move quality shit. Shit, I’d probably be better off getting a job.”

  Trinity gave Rio the eye without letting Shamel catch it. Rio frowned at her but figured what the hell? The worst Shamel could say was no. In which case, he’d still have Cutty. “Look homey,” Rio began. “What if I told you that I had a way for you to still keep ya head over water?”

  “Rio,” Shamel said, pulling himself up. “Unless you know of a good fence or a nice mansion I can take off, I don’t think you can do anything for me.”

  “See, there you go. Ever since we was young, you’ve been quick to jump to conclusions. I ain’t asking you to sling no drugs. I know that ain’t your thing. What I’m asking you is to become a part of my team.”

  “So, you just gonna pay me for nothing?”

  “Oh, hell no. Ain’t nothing in life without a price, dog. You taught me that. I need loyal niggaz around me that I can trust. Cutty is my nigga, but you like my brother. I know if I can put my life in anybody's hands, it's yours.”

  Shamel scratched at his beard and weighed his options. The stickup-kid thing was slowly dying out. True, there was still money in that game, but they were giving out too much time for it. The amount of time that it would take to get another operation going like the one he and Burger had set up would take too long. Rio was surely on his way to the top of the crack game and he would make sure Shamel ate. If all he wanted Shamel to do was watch his back or slap a few niggaz up, why not? He was doing it for free, so if Rio was willing to pay him for it then so be it.

  “A’ight my nigga,” Shamel said. “You my peoples, so you know I’m gonna look out for you. This ain’t really my game, but I’m willing to play.”

  Trinity had to turn her head so Shamel couldn’t see the grin that spread across her face. Just as she had said everything was falling into place. Rio now had a solid team, each with his own special usefulness. Cutty would kill without question, but Shamel would kill with efficiency. Rio was her boo and she loved him dearly, but sometimes he needed a little direction. She remembered something her mother used to tell her: “Behind every good man is a cunning woman.”

  Truck sat in the rear of Prince's Caddy, fuming. His father had been screaming on him for the last twenty minutes without so much as taking a breath. It seemed that someone had told Prince about the little show he put on for Rio. To say that Prince was upset would’ve been an understatement.

  “I just don’t understand you, boy,” Prince scolded. “You think you can just go around killing people and it's all good?”

  “But Pop—”

  “But Pop, shit, Truck. It don’t work like that. This is my ma fuck’n setup and I call the shots,” Prince said, jabbing his index finger into Truck's chest. “I decide who lives and dies.”

  “Pop, all I was doing was trying to show ya little protege what time it is.”

  “Fuck you gonna show somebody what time it is and you don’t know? Rio is a good kid and a damn good earner. I don’t need you cramming his head with that bullshit you laying down.”

  “I hear you, Pop, but the boy is soft. He needs heart.”

  “Heart? Truck, you don’t know Rio as well as you think you do. He's a stand-up dude.”

  “Just because he did a little time doesn’t make him a stand-up anything,” Truck insisted. “Plenty of niggaz in the hood did time and I don’t see you pampering them.”

  “Oh yeah, smart ass? Well, tell me this then, how many niggaz done time for someone else?” Truck remained silent. “Just like I thought,” Prince continued. “You really don’t know the score, son. That gun they pinned on Rio wasn’t even his. My ‘protege,’ as you call him, took that charge for one of my boys.”

  “Damn,” Truck asked in disbelief. “You serious?”

  “As a heart attack. You remember Go-Go, don’t you?”


  “Yeah.”

  “Well, ol’ Go-Go had an open case and decided that it was a smart thing to be running around holding heat. When the police rolled up, Go-Go wanted to shoot it out. A gangsta-ass thought, but a dumb-ass move nonetheless. Had he shot it out wit them people, he would’ve gotten himself as well as everyone else in front of the building killed. Rio, being the kinda nigga he was, came up with a plan to save everyone's skin. Everyone except his.”

  “What he do?” Truck asked.

  “Rio told Go-Go to pass him the heat.”

  “Why did he do a dumb-ass thing like that? He could’ve just stepped off.”

  “Because, you selfish bastard, Rio is a smart nigga. Go-Go was one of my top dogs back then. He brought me a lot of paper during his run. Rio knew that Go-Go had a jacked-up record, whereas he had none. The police would’ve fried Go-Go, but they could only do so much to Rio. So he took the fall to save Go-Go. Everybody thought they would give Rio probation, but he ended up getting some time on top of that.”

  “So that's how he ended up doing the thirteen months?”

  “Umm hmm.”

  “Shit, that li’l punk was probably scared to death, huh Pop?”

  “Yep, heard he damn near cried his first night on the island. But the funny thing about it all was that boy never once spoke my name or anyone else in the organization.”

  When Prince mentioned the “Snitch Factor,” Truck tensed up a bit. The cocaine he had been sniffing was telling him that Prince knew what he was doing in the joint. Truck didn’t consider himself a snitch by any stretch of the word. He looked at it more like good bargaining. While he was behind the wall, he would feed the guards from time to time. Nothing heavy though. A buy here, somebody holding a shank there. They would piece him off from some of the bust in addition to shaving his time. He might’ve been able to skate by on that shit while he was inside, but the streets were ignorant to such mercies.

  “That's some deep shit,” Truck said, lighting a cigarette. “The boy got a li’l heart. But all that proves is that he was stupid.”

  “Truck,” Prince sighed. “You still don’t see the big picture and that's probably why you’ll be middle management for the better part of your career. To some niggaz, what he did might’ve been considered stupid, that's the truth. But to me and the type of players I deal with, that was noble as hell. He sacrificed his freedom for the love of his man and the good of the organization. The whole time he was locked down, he never asked me for a dime. Not one fucking cent, Truck. He put his self there, so he held that time on his own. That's a stand-up nigga, Truck. You see, son, I got big plans for both of you boys. You’re my son, Truck, so it's only natural for me to want you to succeed me. But you need a nigga like Rio to be like a second brain, catching things that you might’ve missed. If you wanna do it the right way, Truck, its gonna take a team effort.”

  Prince's words both enlightened and hurt Truck. Taking a charge of any kind for someone else, let alone a gun charge, took balls. He could kinda see why his pops fucked with Rio like that, but he still didn’t like him. Truck might not have been as smart as Rio, but he wasn’t no dummy either. Team effort his ass. He saw just where his father's twisted little mind was going with all this. He was grooming Rio to be his successor.

  Just thinking about it made Truck want to reach over and choke his sperm donor. He might’ve tried it, but there was no doubt that if he did, J would pop him. Truck eased back, trying to calm himself. Prince could pop all the shit he wanted, for now.

  “Okay, Pop,” Truck said, sliding out of the hog. “I fucked up and I won’t let it happen again.”

  “You damn right,” Prince snapped. “You better be cool, Truck. Hotheaded cowboys don’t last long in this here. You let me worry about Rio. Ya hear?”

  “A’ight Pop. I got you. But why—” Before Truck could pose his question, J pulled the hog into traffic. Truck just stared at the taillights in disgust. Prince's fifteen minutes of fame would soon be over. Truck was going to see to that personally. Regardless of what Prince wanted, Truck was going to be the next king.

  15

  After walking Shamel home, Rio dropped Trinity off and hit the block in search of Cutty. The li’l sparring match with Shamel took a lot out of him, but he was still in pretty good shape. Shamel never really drank like that, let alone forties. What went down with the clique must’ve really had him down. Whoever the snitch was, Rio would’ve bet his life that it wasn’t Shamel. After hearing that, Rio understood why J made him hold off till he checked Cutty out.

  Rio's attention was drawn to the sound of a blaring car horn. When he turned around, he saw Prince's hog coming his way. As the Caddy eased to the curb, the back door swung open. Rio already knew what time it was, so he just got in. Prince greeted him with a warm smile.

  “What it is, youngster?” Prince asked.

  “Chilling,” Rio responded. “What brings you down here, Prince?”

  “I wanted to rap wit ya about some bread.”

  “Bread? You ain’t get the take money for this week?”

  “Oh, I got it. Everything is right on time, kid.”

  “Okay, so what bread you talking bout?”

  “Here,” Prince said, tossing him a heavy envelope. “That's for you.”

  Rio skimmed through the bills and shook his head. “Hold on, Prince. There's like eight grand in here.”

  “Ten. That's your paycheck.”

  “But Prince, I was only getting a few hundred before.”

  “I know it. But that was before I brought you in. You checked in a hundred grand. Ten percent goes to you. As you get ya weight up, you’ll buy from me and just kick something back to the home team.”

  “Damn,” Rio said, smiling. “I keep getting hit like this and I’ll have my weight up in no time.”

  “I told you, Rio. You’ll win fucking with me. The more you check in, the more you’ll make. Think about that the next time you hit the block. Now, get up outta here and spend some of that bread.”

  “Thanks,” Rio said, getting out of the car. “But I think I’m gonna put this up.”

  “Have it your way, kid. It's your paper. But take some advice from an old player. If you gonna be a big dog, you gotta dress the part. Try trading in the sweat suits for some nice slacks?”

  Rio looked at his getup and shrugged. “Nah, I’m good, Prince.”

  “Have it your way, kid. But remember what I said about ‘big dogs.’ “ Prince winked at Rio and the Caddy took off.

  Truck strolled down the Avenue of the Americas with his man Slim. Slim was unlike the other cats that Truck surrounded himself with. Slim actually had class. He was a brown-skinned dude that stood an even six feet. Standing next to Truck he still looked like a midget. Slim had thick black hair that he kept low and waved out. His Gucci jumpsuit was identical to the loafers he wore on his feet. Slim might’ve looked like a pretty boy, but he was by far one of the most dangerous men in Harlem.

  “Damn, my nigga,” Slim complained. “How fucking far you gonna walk me?”

  “Be easy,” Truck barked. “We almost there. We gotta meet these niggaz in the park on the side of McDonald's.”

  “It better be worth the trip, Truck. You got me down here with these crackers, knowing damn well I don’t fuck with white people.”

  “Man, these folks ain’t thinking bout you. Just bring yo ass on.”

  Truck understood where his friend was coming from. They had traveled a good distance to find someone to perform a service for him. Everyone else that Truck tried to get at turned the contract down. Prince had a lot of love in the streets so no one wanted to take the contract. As a last resort Truck sought help from outsiders. The two men walked the last few blocks to West Fourth without further debate. When they got to the park, it appeared to be empty. Truck moved warily into the park, followed by Slim. Truck had the meeting set up through a third party. He had never actually met the man he was coming to meet, but he had heard that he was one of the best.
<
br />   “Fuck is going on,” Slim whispered. “This cat ain’t coming?”

  “Hold on, son,” Truck said. “He's still got a few ticks.”

  A flicker of movement caused Slim to spin around with his gun drawn. Slim's muscles relaxed a bit when a teenage boy stepped out of the shadows. The boy was tall and thin with dark shiny skin. His brown eyes seemed to burn with an unnatural glow. At first Slim was going to say something slick to the boy, but something in the back of his mind told him to let the boy be.

  “Beat it, kid,” Truck barked. “It's dangerous in the park after dark.”

  “Danger only finds those who try to avoid it,” said the boy in a voice that hardly matched his young face. “I should be telling you the same thing about the dark, my friend.”

  “I ain’t ya fucking friend, shorty. I got business down here and you holding that up.”

  “I know about your business, Truck.”

  “Man, how you know me?”

  “Because, I’m the person that you’re waiting for. I’m Kane.”

  Truck looked at Kane as if he were lying. As far as he knew, the man he was supposed to meet with ran with some of the best killers around. The scrawny punk in front of him couldn’t be Kane. Could it?

  “Look, kid,” Truck said, getting frustrated. “You ain’t but maybe twenty or so, the guy I’m waiting for is an older dude.”

  “Truck,” Kane said, stepping closer. “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear. I think my reputation had been a little overexaggerated. Trust me, I am Kane. Now, we can sit here and keep talking shit back and forth or we can do some business.”

  Truck noticed that Slim hadn’t moved since the kid stepped out. He just kept staring at him like he was in love or some weird shit. He was definitely going to get an earful about it later. Right now, Truck was going to test the waters with this Kane.