by Leo Sullivan
ing.”
“Tell me, what ya’ll payin’ for a bird?”
“Nineteen, twenty grand,” he said, throwing numbers at me
from his head.
“Tell you what, the next time I go to re-up, I’ll get you one for
$17,500,” I said, thinking about Trina and her whip game, plus I
could get them thangs for ten stacks.
“Hell yeah nigga, I want you to get me three birds!” he said
excitedly. “When you leavin’?”
“I don’t know.” I replied, knowing you never tell a man your
comings and goings in this business, unless you want to come
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home one day and get touched.
I bent the corner and parked at the same spot I picked up
Stevey D.
“Yo, my nigga, I got a couple stones, I’ma do a little hustling
with Nina Brown,” I said, but actually I was letting him know I
was getting ready to open up shop in his town. He said it was cool,
but I could see larceny in his eyes. He knew that if I gave him a
whole ounce I must have been straight.
“Where ya’ll going to be ser ving at?” he asked. I turned to
Nina Brown in the back seat. She was cleaning the brillo out of
her stem, a cocaine pipe made out of a car antenna.
“Where you want to ser ve at?” I asked her.
“We gon’ be at my house,” she replied.
“Aight,” Stevey D said, nodding his head. “You got a beeper
number?”
“When you wanna holla at me, get in contact with Nina.”
He walked away. Nina jumped her musty ass in the front seat
next to me smelling like burnt motor oils and some mo’ shit.
As I pulled off she asked frantically, “What you doin’ drivin’
Trina’s car? What did you do to her?”
I turned to Nina with a dead serious expression and said,
“She’s in the tr unk of the car.”
“WHAT?!” Nina screeched. “Hell naw, lemme outta this
bitch!”
I laughed so hard it hurt my sides. Crackheads are some funny
muthafuckas. Up the street I saw the redbone that was sitting on
Stevey D’s lap. She waved at the car. When women find out a cat
is from out of town and is getting money, they make themselves
available. I asked Nina who she was. Nina told me she was a skeez-
er that sold pussy out of both drawers. I made a mental note to
buy me a shot of that ass.
*****
Nina Brown lived in the old run down section of town that
looked as if it dated back to slavery. Actually, they were Section 8
homes sitting on top of rotten wood and bricks. Strangely, across
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the street from where she lived was an abor tion clinic. At the time
it seemed so out of place. I parked my car up ahead at the gas sta-
tion and sent Nina to the store to get me a pack of razors, two
quarts of Olde English 800 and a pack of Newports. As we walked
back to her place every moment so far had been carefully planned,
parking the car at the gas station as well as walking back to her
place, ser ved as a reconnaissance move to survey the spot I was
about to turn into a trap, a dope hole. Police are trained to associ-
ate cars with drug areas. I did not want to make Trina’s car hot.
Nina Brown had not paid her light bill, so we had to use can-
dles in the dark. Her place was eerie and damp inside with a foul
malodorous smell. The wooden floors were barren and dirty.
There were three rooms, a front room, kitchen and her bedroom.
A worn dirty sheet served as the room divider to her room. She
had a back door with a clear view to the streets. That’s where I set
up. I gave Nina a half an ounce, her personal stash. She pinched
off a piece and stuffed it into her stem, lighting it up. The dope
crackled and she sucked on the devil’s dick and her eyes grew large.
Once she filled her lungs, she began to get animated. She leaned
for ward and whistled, placing her hand above her head as if she
was shading her eyes from the sun, looking at me from a long dis-
tance, she tapped her feet and blew out a cloud of smoke in my
face. “Ooh wee! Dis be that good shit!” she exclaimed and began
to smack her lips like she was trying to get her tongue unglued
from the roof of her mouth.
“Give me a plate,” I said smiling like a father who just learned
that his wife delivered a healthy baby boy. Having a good product
is the ultimate form of power when a hustler is trying to seize the
reigns of power on the streets.
“I’ma get you some customers,” Nina said like super woman.
She now had a jerky movement about her.
“Hold up.” I instr ucted her to bring the customers to the back
door and to make sure she told them I ain’t got no weight. She
nodded her head and took off out the back door like the place was
on fire. I took my gun out placing it on the table and opened up
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the pack of razors and began to break down some dimes. Nina was
back sooner than I expected, and true to her word, with her were
some customers. I served dope out of her back door. The time
went by fast. I looked at my watch, it was 3:21 in the morning.
The nighttime is the most dangerous time to serve stones. In fact,
most successful hustlers won’t do it. Too much risk. Even cowards
get courage in the dark. However, at nighttime the money triples,
just like the risk. As soon as Nina saw the size of the rocks I was
serving, she tripped.
“Hell naw! Dems too damn big. What is this, a fifty dollar
rack?” she asked, dead serious. I cut up sixteen hundred out of an
ounce, but I forgot in a cocaine drought, a basehead will buy just
about anything to smoke.
“Give them here. Lemme sell them,” she demanded.
“Girl I want sixteen off this bomb,” I said and passed her an
ounce. I sat right there and watched her sell some of them little ass
rocks for fifty and if a person only had eight dollars, she would
take that too. I peeped what she was doing, selling half and keep-
ing half. I looked out the window, cars were lined up and a few
prostitutes lounged around. Everywhere I looked, I saw people. It
was easy to tell I was the only nigga in town with a package. The
next ounce I cut up smaller, a lot smaller. Nina started smoking
again.
She walked in and asked to see the size of the rocks. I showed
them to her. “You catch on fast,” was all she said and then asked
to use my cigarette lighter. Reluctantly, I gave it to her, knowing I
would never see it again. Junkies could take a cigarette lighter
apart and make a flame thrower out of it. She walked back into
her room. I knew that was all the work I was going to get out of
her for the night, but it was all good, her place was a gold mine.
The money was starting to come so fast I couldn’t count it all at
times. Suddenly, she ran back into the room and slid across the
floor, damn near falling. With her eyes bulging out of her head,
panic stricken, she shrieked, “Don’t open the door! Don’t op
en the
door!”
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“WHAT?” I asked incredulously, hoping she wasn’t starting to
trip off the dope.
“Jackie Boy and T-Bone!” she exhorted. “ They on their way
around back. They gon’ rob us. That’s all they do is rob niggas!”
Nina said, horrified. I watched as she then hid her money under
the sink in a pot. There was a knock at the door. Nina whispered,
“Don’t open it.” I yanked her arm so hard her neck snapped. “Just
do as I say!” she pleaded.
“Them niggas ain’t going to fuck with us. Who is it?” I asked
with enough base in my voice to scare a small child. Nina cringed.
A voice returned.
“T-Bone.”
“Go ‘round the front.”
I knew this was it. I had a feeling that Stevey D may have sent
them. Now came the risk. I grabbed my gun off the table as the
candles flickered our shadow on the wall, like ghosts dancing in a
gloom of a murderous reality. Tomorrow ain’t promised to no one,
not even a gangster in town with the odds stacked against him.
“I’ma scare ‘em,” I said. “Go blow out all the candles in the
house. As soon as they come in I want to you to stand on the other
side of the room, in the opposite direction from me. Count to ten
and stomp your feet as loud as you can, and get the fuck out the
room.
“Nigga, you crazy fo-real!” she said with the confidence of a
woman that just had her greatest fears confirmed. What she did
not understand was I had no choice in the confrontation. It was
as imminent as life itself–power only concedes to counter-power
when tested. These niggas had come to test me. There was little
doubt in my mind that Stevey D was behind this. The only good
part was cats in this town had to already know of my early record
of putting them hot balls in a nigga’s ass.
Reluctantly, Nina Brown answered the door as I instr ucted
her. From the corner of the room, hidden in the darkness, I
watched the silhouette of two figures enter the room. They both
wore large coats. Nina closed the door. Complete darkness. I
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heard feet shuffling. A frantic voice called out, “Nina cut on some
fuckin’ lights!”
“Yeah, what can I do for ya playa?” I said.
“Cut on the fuckin’ lights man!” an agitated voice sounded.
More feet shuffling with the sound of ruffling clothes.
Click …
click …
a cigarette lighter flickered. I cocked the hammer on Jesus
and the sound resonated in the darkness.
“Nigga cut dat muthafuckin’ light out!” I barked. The light
died, along with any hope of their plan of robbery. I was aware
that they pulled out their straps pointing in the direction that they
heard my voice coming from. When Nina stomped her feet, it
scared the hell out of me, too. I heard guns being cocked. It damn
sure wasn’t mine that time. I crouched down as low as I could to
the floor and headed to the kitchen door. I was certain there was
going to be some gunplay. I heard someone fiddling with the
door, and then it flew open, clanging against the wall. The light
from the street lamps sliced through the darkness as I watched the
two figures scurry out of the house falling on each other. To my
surprise, Nina followed suit. She reminded me of one of them lit-
tle dogs that ain’t going to do shit but yap.
“What the hell ya’ll want anyway Jackie Boy? Don’t be bringin’
that bullshit around my house!” she scolded while walking up
behind them.
“Tell him to come out here, we just want to talk wit him,” I
heard one of them say.
I walked to the door, gun in hand, making sure they saw Jesus.
He normally has an instant effect on people’s minds.
“Look my nigga, I’m just tying to get a toe hole, I ain’t got
nothin’ but smokin’ dimes.” For the first time they looked in my
eyes, nodded their heads in agreement, and walked away. I knew
that the two of them were going to be a problem, I could feel it in
my gut. Call it a gangster’s intuition, but I felt it. Just then, three
people came up complaining to Nina that they had been banging
at the back door. They wanted some stones. I turned to walk back
in the house. The Narcotic Taskforce car rolled through, four
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deep, looking out of the car window. With them is the telepathic
message that they are watching me. Them white boys sent a shiv-
er through my spine, a signal that I had to be very careful and
watch out for the jackman and the policeman. The ironic part
was, a dope fiend is cleverer than both of them put together, so I
had to watch for them, too.
*****
I ser ved out of Nina’s house until the crack of dawn. When the
sun started to rise I knew it was time to bounce. The whole time
I thought about Trina waiting back at the hotel for me. She was
going to be pissed. This was one of my greatest rewards–coming
back pockets phat like they got the mumps. I had money in my
drawers, socks and all my pockets. Twenty-two stacks, not bad for
one night of hustling. Throughout the night, Nina and her elite
friends of basers were in the back room of hers having the great
smoke out. I was down to my last few stones. My body felt
fatigued, my back hurt from bending over serving and my clothes
stunk from the awful smell of crack smoke. I was about to call it
a day and gave Nina the last of the rocks I had in a bag, about a
hundred dollars worth, when I heard a soft knock at the door. I
opened it, and there stood the cutest little girl I had ever seen in
my life. She was dark as coal, with enchanting almond eyes that
seemed to sparkle. I stared, mentally stung, mouth agape. I could-
n’t take my eyes off of her. Didn’t want to either. Something about
her held me spellbound. Then it dawned on me. Uncannily, she
looked familiar. She looked like Hope! Holy shit! The crack smoke
was starting to make me hallucinate. She smiled up at me batting
her long pretty eyelashes, wringing her hands together as she
danced her leg nervously. I was prepared to dig in my pocket to
give her some money. As cute and young as she was I just knew
she was selling Girl Scout cookies or something. My eyes trailed
her body until I saw the swell of her belly. Like a basketball, she
was ready to drop a load. Looked like she was about fifteen
months pregnant under that dir ty coat. I guessed her age to be no
more than 12 years old.
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“I don’t have any money, but I’ll do whatever you want for a
rock,” she said. I felt my legs wobble as I grabbed hold of the
doorframe for support. “I’ll suck your dick.” I felt my knees damn
near buckle.
From somewhere I did not know existed, I heard a voice
groan, “NOOOO!!” as her little hand reached out to grab my
shirt. I wanted to scream at her and ask wher
e her family was,
especially her mama, but Nina’s voice broke my thoughts.
“Black Pearl, whatcha doin’ out there? I thought you was still
in the hospital.”
“I left. I got tired of them people sticking needles and stuff all
in me. Gurl, give me a bump. I need something to smoke,” the lit-
tle girl known as Black Pearl said. She tried to push past me. I
quickly seized her arm, spun her around. She looked up at me, a
face of youthful innocence.
“Nina what the fuck you doin’? You see this damn girl is preg-
nant! How old are you?” I asked, fuming mad. The girl cast a long
glance at me shuffling her feet. I had the feeling she was asked this
question one too many times. “Sixteen,” she mumbled, rolling her
eyes.
“Dat girl gonna smoke if I give it to her or not,” Nina said. “I
smoked with my first two babies, and all of them came out all
right,” she continued.
I turned ready to smack the shit out of Nina. She held a pipe
in her hand, a rock balanced on top of it. From the look in Black
Pearl’s eyes, she wanted to hit that pipe awfully bad. For the first
time in my life I was overcome with guilt. This little girl with
Hope’s eyes caused the incantation of the words to flow all over
again
, you’ll end up dead or in prison
. This shit was strange. One
thing was for sure, this girl was somebody’s child, somebody’s
daughter, sister and now was about to be somebody’s mama. Shit!
This was not supposed to be part of the game. Someone was vio-
lating the r ules.
“Girl, where in the fuck you live at?” I asked her.
Nina cut in, “She lives wit me sometimes, now leave that gurl
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alone.” I continued to stare her down, like waiting for an answer.
Finally she looked up at me and blinked her eyes the way a child
does when they are being chastised.
“Where your mama at … your family … somebody?” My
emotions consumed me. I found a part of myself that I, along with
millions of hustlers, find it difficult to identify with–the plight of
Black life and just how destructive we are in selling poison to our
