(Knock! Knock!) No one answers. (Knock! Knock!) The door opens slowly. It’s my older boy, Ahmir. “Daddy!” he screams. He jumps into my arms. Then Ahmad, who was sitting in the middle of the room playing video games, slams the controller down and runs over to me. Both of them together almost knock me off my feet. It feels so good to know the love is still here.
“Owwww! Owww! Stop boy!” screams a female voice. “Ahmir! Ahmad! Help Mommy!” When I look into the kitchen, I see Desire rolling around on the floor play- fighting with some nigga.
“Mommy! Mommy! Daddy’s home!” Ahmir yells. When she looks up and finally sees me, I can see the embarrassment in her face. She’s laying there with her hair all wild, and she has it dyed honey-blond. I must admit it looks pretty good on her. All she’s wearing is a sports bra that’s about two sizes too small for her and some tight coochie shorts.
They both hurry to their feet. The giggling stops. Desire walks over to me while the young boy takes a seat at the kitchen table.
Desire’s shorts are so small you can see the blackness on the bottom of her ass cheeks. Her ass is the darkest part of her body. She has a pretty, dark- chocolate complexion, but her behind is so black it looks blue. Back in the day, I would tease her about that. She hated that.
She definitely has her weight up. I can tell she’s been working out. Shit, she has to, being that she’s a dancer. She has to stay fit. Her body is her meal ticket now.
Her thighs are so tight and strong looking, like the legs of a track runner. The sweat all over her body makes her chocolate skin glisten. All of the wrestling around must have made her horny, because her big hard nipples are ripping right through her bra.
“What’s up?” she asks with the dumbest look on her face. “When you came home?” she questions.
“Last night,” I reply. The kid starts walking from the kitchen. He can barely look me in the eyes as he passes me. I can’t help but notice his big, baggy jeans. He’s wearing about size 40 jeans when his waist can’t be any bigger than a size 30. His pants are sagging damn near to the floor, showing his boxers.
“Ma, I’m out. Hit me later,” he whispers as he diddy bops. He’s walking like he’s the coolest motherfucker in the world. I have never seen a motherfucker this cool.
“All right later,” Desire replies. Ahmad closes the door behind him.
“Were you baby-sitting?” I ask sarcastically.
“Huh?” Desire responds with a confused look on her face.
“Are you his baby- sitter, or is he one of the kids’ classmates?”
“Stop playing boy!”
“Na, I’m serious. Why are you rolling around on the floor play- fighting with their little schoolmates?”
He isn’t that young looking, but he does look too young for Desire. He doesn’t even have any facial hair. He appears to be about 16 years old. One thing I learned as a youngster is, that when you push up on an older woman when you’re 18 and broke, you’re just plain 18. You’re too young. But when you’re 18 with money, it’s all right. It seems like the cash evens everything out. It adds five to ten years on to your age.
“Go ahead Cash.”
“Na, for real, how old is he?” I ask.
“Why?”
“I just want to know.”
“Why do you want to know?” she questions.
Pssst! I suck my teeth in frustration. “How old is the damn boy?”
“Do it matter?” Desire asks.
“Hell yeah, it matters! I want to know what kind of niggas you got my boys around. For all I know he could be a blood or crip, gangbanging and shit. I don’t want my boys around that madness!” I shout.
“Your boys are all right.”
“Don’t change the subject! How old is he?”
“Oh boy!” Desire shouts. “Nineteen Cash, damn!”
“Nineteen? Girl, you almost 35 years old and you fucking with teenagers. You crazy as hell!”
“That’s my business!” she replies. “I ain’t asking you about Love, am I?”
“Don’t ask about Love,” I reply.
“I ain’t! Fuck Love!” she screams.
“Fuck you!” I shout defensively.
“No fuck you!” she yells back.
I don’t want to get into this with her. I knew she would start as soon as I got here. Ughh, Aghh. I take a deep breath to calm myself down, and then I walk over to the little raggedy, worn- out, black leather sofa and take a seat. My boys jump on my back, and we start to play- fight.
This is the day I’ve been looking forward to.
After wrestling with my boys, we play video games for about three hours. They beat me at every game. Before I know it, it’s 12 in the afternoon, and time for me to leave.
As I stand up and start to give my little men the Peace, Desire calls out. “Cash!”
“What?”
“Come here before you leave,” she demands.
“Where are you?”
“Back here,” she yells. I know what she’s calling me for. She wants to beg me for some money. I’m just getting home, and she’s already going to ask me for money.
When I enter the kitchen, I don’t see her. Then she calls me again. “Cash!” Her voice is coming from the direction of the bathroom. I walk over there. To my surprise, she’s standing in the middle of the bathroom floor, butt naked. Soapsuds cover her entire body. The shower is running boiling- hot water, so the room is completely foggy.
“What?” I ask.
“Come here,” she whispers.
“For what?”
“Just come here,” she demands. “I want to ask you something.” Judging by the look on her face, I know what she wants to ask me. She has her horny face on. I remember that face.
“Ask me what?”
“Come in here. I don’t want the boys to hear me.” When I step into the bathroom, she quickly kicks her leg up and closes the door with her foot. She rests her foot on the doorknob as if she is securing it so no one can get in and I can’t get out.
There she stands directly in front of me. She has me pinned against the wall. Her legs are wide open. She is so clean-shaven I can’t help but see the pinkness of the inside of her pussy. Her clit is peeking out from between her tiny dark lips.
Oh boy! I swallow the lump that forms in my throat.
“Huh? What do you want to ask me?” I inquire with a high- pitched squeaky voice.
“Come on,” she begs.
“Come on what?”
“Let’s do it,” she whispers in a low, sexy voice as she rubs my chest.
“Chill Desire.”
“Don’t you miss this pussy?” she asks as she gently strokes herself. “I miss that,” she whispers.
Before I know it, she grabs a handful of my dick and starts groping it. I push her off.
“Chill, Desire.”
“Chill what?” she asks.
“Cool out Dee!”
Now she’s leaning on me with all of her weight. She starts humping on me. I struggle to push her off. As I push her, she falls to her knees. She starts to tease me by gently nibbling my dick through my jeans. The more she nibbles, the more excited I become. I ‘m getting weak. I’m almost ready to give in. Finally, I manage to lift her up. She turns around and backs up on me. She starts rubbing her soft ass against me, then bends over and grabs her ankles. After she’s fully bent over, she starts grinding her butt in a slow, circular motion. Her heavy breathing is beginning to turn me on. Finally, I squirm to the side and push her away. She stumbles to the sink. I quickly grab the door and open it.
As I step into the hall, she speaks. “Oh, it’s like that? All right. It’s like that. I see. I see.”
“You see what?” I ask.
“Cash, I can’t get none?”
“Go ahead with that shit Desire.”
“Oh, I see. You don’t want to cheat on your wife, huh? Get your punk ass out of here.”
She’s furious. She slowly bends over to pick up her shorts from the floor.
Before rising, she pauses for a second, allowing me to see her big ass spread open. She peeks at me from between her legs. I guess she thinks I’ll change my mind.
“Later girl.”
“Fuck you,” she shouts.
I then walk back into the living room, hug my boys, and bounce.
On my way home, I turn the air conditioner on full blast to cool off. Desire definitely had my temperature up. A little more grinding ain’t no telling how things might have turned out.
What was she thinking? Did she think I would smash her? I don’t know. I can’t blame her for trying though. Look at me, my first day home. I ain’t fucked nothing in all these years. I got my weight all up, skin looking good. I got the just- coming- home-glow. No, no! Ah, ah! She probably thought she could give me some and have me running around here all strung out over her again, spending all my money on her. I know her. Her biggest fear is probably me getting an asshole full of money and her not being able to get any of it.
When I pull into my driveway, I notice a small group of people forming on my stoop. I zoom up the alleyway. As I quickly walk to the front, I’m steaming with fury. I step to the group. I take notice of a man standing in the middle of the group. He hands everyone around him something while a frail, dirty woman collects the money.
“Block party! Block party!” she yells at the top of her lungs. “Hand me the money, get the dope, and keep it moving!” she instructs. “No hanging around! Clear it up! Clear it up!”
After all the customers are served and the crowd clears out, I can finally see the face of the man who’s handing out the work. It’s the same guy who was out here this morning.
“Yo, what the fuck did I tell you?” I ask. He doesn’t respond. He just looks me in the eyes as if I haven’t said a word. I hate to be ignored. I grab him by his neck and push him down. One hand is on his collar, and the other is pointed in his face.
“I see you’re a hardheaded motherfucker! If I catch you on my stoop again, I’m going to pop you. Do you hear me?” I shake him by the collar. He still doesn’t respond. He’s sitting there like a deaf mute who can’t understand a word of what I’m saying. Then he nods his head to someone behind me as if he’s signaling the person. When I turn around to see who he’s looking at, I see one man crossing the street toward us. He’s dressed in all black. I can’t see his eyes because he has a skullcap pulled down to the bridge of his nose. Then appear two more men, with hoods on their heads. The hoods are drawn tight. They’re coming from each direction, and they have their hands tucked in their pockets. I’m not a fool. I realize what’s going on. I let the man’s collar go, and I back up against my porch so I can watch all of them.
As they approach me, one of them draws his gun and points it at my chest. My heart is racing. I ‘m scared to death, but I refuse to let them sense it. I stand there face to face with the gunman. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see a blue Intrepid pull up and stop in the middle of the street. The windows are so dark that it’s impossible to see who’s driving. One thing I do notice is the out- of-state- license plates.
“I told you that you would have to settle this with the Mayor,” the man brags. I still don’t say a word; I just give him a cold stare. The gunman grabs me by the collar and tries to snatch me closer to him. I push him back and try to position myself away from the wall. The other men simultaneously draw their guns. The Intrepid’s driver- side window slowly begins to roll down.
“Hold up. Hold up. Let him go,” the driver shouts. The men then back up, but they still have their guns aimed at me. “Put the guns up,” the driver instructs. “Cash! What’s happening?” I glance over at the car, still trying to keep an eye on the gunmen. I don’t have a clue who this guy is. He’s a young, long- faced kid with chinky eyes. He has diamond earrings in his ear that are the size of nickels. He appears to be about 19 or 20 years old.
“Who are you?” I ask.
“You don’t remember me?” he asks with a big smile.
“No, not at all,” I admit. The more I stare, the more I realize I don’t know this kid from a can of paint.
“Dre’s little brother!” he shouts.
“Junebug? Are you Junebug?” I ask him.
The kid then pulls over to the curb and parks, and the gunmen get into the car. As the kid steps out, all I can see is his long, skinny legs. It seems like his long ass is never going to make it out of the little car.
This kid has definitely grown. The last time I saw him, he was about 11 years old. A little guy, now he’s standing over me. I’m 6 feet 2 inches; this kid has to be about 6 feet 6 inches. He looks like an NBA ball player. His jewelry is crazy. He has platinum everything. His watch is fluttered with so many diamonds you can’t even see the face. Not those cloudy ghetto diamonds you normally see in the hood; these are good- quality diamonds, clean and sparkling. Each time he moves, you can see the rainbow reflection bouncing everywhere. The glare alone can blind you.
He has on big baggy jeans, sagging well below his waist. As a matter of fact, he has on the same kind of jeans Desire’s little friend had on- Omavi. That must be the latest designer. Times have changed. When I left Polo was the shit. I guess Omavi has taken over.
He has on a tight tank top that shows off his little muscles. You can tell he hits the gym regularly. He is slim framed, but he’s ripped up. He sort of looks like a statue of one of those Greek gods. His upper body is covered with tattoos. One of his tattoos especially stands out. It takes up his entire arm. It’s a picture of a tombstone, and it reads R.I.P. CHARLES. The tombstone has teardrops coming from the bottom of it. Right next to it is a geographical sketch of Italy, broken into little pieces, with blood dripping from them.
Charles was their father. He was a number runner for some Italian mob men. More than ten years ago police found his body in a lake at the park. Rumor has it that the Italians murdered him because he cut a side deal with another family.
Junebug’s hair is faded with big curls on top. This is my man Dre’s little brother. The more I look at him, the more I can see the resemblance, especially with his hair cut like that. They’re mixed. Their mother is from the Philippines, and their father was black. The ladies loved Dre. He was a straight pretty boy. Growing up, we had to take the girls he didn’t want. He always got first pick on every chick. Dre is one of the dudes that caught the fed beef with us. I haven’t heard from him in two years. We were keeping in touch, but somehow the letters went from once a week to once a month to no letters at all. After five years in the joint, you start running out of shit to talk about. It’s the same thing over and over, day in and day out.
“What’s up nigga?” Junebug asks.
“You,” I reply.
“When did you get home?”
“Last night. What’s up with Dre?” I ask.
“He’s cooling. He’s in Florida right now.”
“How long has he been there?”
“About three months,” Junebug replies.
“He should be short, right?”
“Yeah, he should be coming home in 2004. Yo, don’t mind that shit that just happened. They told me somebody was around here mouthing off. I didn’t know it was you,” he claims.
“Nah, the man was blocking my stoop this morning. Me and my wife couldn’t even get past,” I explain. “I told him to get up, and he started telling me some shit about some Mayor. I told him, fuck the Mayor.” Junebug chuckles with a cheesy grin. Before I can spit the words from my lips, a dopehead lady walks by. “What’s up Mayor?” I stand motionless for a moment.
“They call you the Mayor?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he answers blushing from ear to ear.
“Mayor? How did you get that title?”
“Well, for the past few years I’ve been holding everything together around here.”
“Yeah?”
“So what do you think about the block?” he asks. “I’ve made a lot of changes out here since you left.”
“I see. What’s up with that blowcai
ne money?” I ask.
“I don’t really fuck around with that cocaine too much. Every now and then I’ll buy a bird or two and let my little niggas pump it with my dope. I’m killing them with the dope,” he says.
“Yeah, I can tell,” I admit. “I see the crowd.”
“Yeah, that’s that Block Party! I named it Block Party because any given day that you come out here, there are so many customers out here it looks like we’re having a block party,” he brags. “I’m doing 100 bricks a day out here.” (A brick consists of 50 bags of dope. Each bag costs $10.)
“Damn, the block amped up like that?” I ask.
“Hell yeah!” he shouts.
“What’s that, like $50,000 a day?” I calculate.
“Yeah. I pay them junkies $50 off each brick. I step off with about $15,000 profit a day.”
“How many of ya’ll out here?”
“What do you mean?”
“How many other crews are out here?” I ask.
“Out here?” he questions sarcastically. “Ain’t no other crews out here, or nowhere near me,” he replies. “Are you crazy? I ain’t having that! I wish a nigga would sell some dope around here; my young goons will tear his ass up. My young jacks don’t play,” he says confidently as he points to the five dudes in the car. “Them boys wild. They don’t care about nothing. The oldest one is only 18 years old. That’s my first-born. My baby ain’t but 15 years old. He’ll pull the trigger faster than any one of them. None of them don’t have a problem mirking (murdering) a nigga,” he claims.
His arrogance is starting to piss me off. I guess he’s telling me this to warn me about trying to get my old block back. I don’t have plans of coming back to the streets, but if push comes to shove, him and his young goons will have to pack it up. Especially now that those young boys just disrespected me like that.
“So Cash, what are your plans?”
“I’m not sure yet,” I reply. “I got a few things brewing, but I’m not sure if I’m ready yet. I don’t want to jump out there yet. I’m just going to sit back and take baby steps,” I explain. “I met a Mexican boy upstate. He was real big on me. He gave me his brother’s phone number and told me to call him as soon as I touch down. My man got four more years to do. They got a connection out of this world. I mean, unlimited kilos of blow. It’s just a matter of when and where I want to put my hat down. You know how the old song goes, “wherever I lay my hat is my home,” I sing. I have to tell him that just to let him know I’m Cashmere, and I can get money anywhere in this town. I paid dues around here. I pioneered this block. That’ll be the day when I let some young punks tell me where I can put my thing down.
Block Party Page 2
