Block Party

by Al-Saadiq Banks

  I’m not sure if the measurements are accurate. I weigh the blow with an ancient triple-beam scale that Slim has laying around the house. I put an extra 50 grams in for Wu. He can pay me after he finishes. This is my way of giving him a little boost. A little extra always helps.

  As we turn onto his block, I begin looking on porches to see if I see him. I’m looking on the driver’s side while Slim is looking on the passenger side. “There he is!” Slim shouts.

  “Where?”

  “Right there, three houses down,” Slim directs. No soon as Slim says that, two police cars come speeding down the block. Then a third follows. Finally, I pull over in front of the porch on which he’s standing. He dashes across the street and jumps in the car.

  “What up Cash?” he asks. Here comes another police car. Only this one isn’t speeding. He’s slow rolling. He slows down even more as he approaches us. When he gets to us, he stops. Ah, shit! He peeks in the car. I nod my head at him, and he nods his head back at me. Then he gives me a dirty look and rolls his window down. “Is everything all right?” he asks.

  “Yes sir!” Slim shouts, as he lifts up in the seat and takes his hat off trying to show off his gray hair. “We’re just coming to pick up my grandson,” he lies.

  “OK, have a nice day,” answers the officer. The cop zooms away. Whew, that was a close call!

  “I told you it’s hot as hell out here,” says Wu.

  “Is it always like that?” I ask.

  “Yeah!”

  “Yo, next time we’re going to have to find a better meeting place.”

  “All right!” he replies. “Yo let me go and put this shit up before they come back through here,” Wu suggests.

  I pass him the zip lock filled with one solid rock. It’s a perfectly shaped corner of the brick.

  “This 300 right?” he asks.

  “Nah, that’s 350,” I correct. “You can give me the money for the 50 on the next one.”

  “All right bet, so how much do I owe you now?” he asks.

  “Six thousand.”

  “How much are you selling your grams for?” he asks.

  “Twenty dollars.”

  “All right, so I owe you how much for the 50?” he questions.

  “One thousand,” I answer. Damn, this young boy can’t count for shit! School is definitely important.

  “All right, I’ll be right back!” he shouts. He dashes across the street and runs in the house.

  As we’re waiting, another cop car cruises through the block. “Bang Man, it’s hot as hell around here! You gotta get me from around here. I’m scared to death,” Slim admits.

  “You and me both.”

  Two more cars speed across the block directly in front of us. “Damn!” Slim shouts.

  “This motherfucker is taking a long ass time!” I holler.

  “Shit, he probably has to count the money,” says Slim. “That could take forever, dumb ass little nigga!”

  We both sit impatiently for about ten more minutes.

  “Come the fuck on!” I shout. Beep! Beep! Beep! I’m beeping the horn while looking over at the house.

  Five more minutes pass. By this time Slim is knocked out. Beep! Beep! Beep! I honk again. Slim jumps up. The horn startles him.

  “He still hasn’t come out?” he asks.

  “Hell no!” Beep! Beep!

  I bust a U turn to the opposite side of the street. Beep! Beep! Beep! Still no Wu.

  “I’m about to go ring the fucking bell!” I shout.

  I get out and slam the door behind me. Slam! As I’m walking up the stairs, I’m debating which bell I should ring. I look at the nametags on the bell. The first floor has the name scratched out, so I ring the second-floor bell. Tick! Nothing but a tick. This bell doesn’t even work. Ring! The bell lights up. This must be the apartment. Ring, ring! No answer. I ring the bell two more times. Ring, ring! Still no answer. Finally, I turn the knob. The door opens immediately and I go inside.

  The hallway is a mess. I climb over the junk that’s in my path. When I get to the door, I knock lightly. Tap, tap, tap. No answer.

  I put my ear to the door and try to listen for any noise. Total silence. I don’t hear a peep. I turn the knob but it’s locked. “Yo!” I yell. My voice echoes throughout the entire building. Maybe he’s upstairs.

  I jump over the first three steps and skip every other step until I finally reach the top.

  There’s so much junk at the top of the staircase that it’s impossible for me to get to the door. The stinking smell of piss fills the air. This doesn’t feel right.

  I jump down the flight of seven little stairs. When I get to the porch, Slim is at the bottom of the stairs.

  “What’s up Big Time?”

  I guess he can see the baffled look on my face.

  “What did he say?” Slim asks.

  “Are you sure this is the house?” I ask ignorantly. “Let’s go to the back!”

  We walk around to the left alleyway of the house. There is so much junk we can’t possibly go this way. Stoves, dressers, and refrigerators, are blocking the path. I immediately run to the other side.

  I sprint through the alleyway. When I get to the back of the house, I look up. To my surprise, there is not a window on the whole house. Everything is stripped. I peek through the first-floor window. The smell of newly burned wood is in the air. I run up the stairs. When I get to the door, I turn the knob. It opens right up.

  What do I see? ... Nothing. Nothing at all. The entire apartment is empty... No sign of life. The whole house is abandoned.

  Slim creeps up behind me. He doesn’t say a word. He just glances around the apartment.

  “Are you sure this is the house?” I ask again.

  Slim picks his teeth before he speaks. “Psstt! Big Time, you’ve been played!”

  CHAPTER 12

  Me and Slim ride around looking for Little Wu for almost three hours. Every 20 minutes I go back through the block where we met him. I’m hoping I’ll catch him around there. This kid played me the fuck out! I hope he doesn’t think he’s going to get away with this. I’m going to kill this motherfucker! Nobody plays me like that! I’ll just have to deal with his father when he comes home. Fuck it! I’ll kill him too if I have to! Damn, I take that back. I can’t kill him. He’s my man. But something has to give. His son just beat me for $7,000. I might not kill him, but I am going to bust his ass!

  Now we’re on our way to see Mike Mittens. I gave him 250 grams the other day. He’s out there on some little hole-in-the-wall block. He has like five little niggas out there pumping for him. They’re scared to death of him. They were out there doing their own thing, but he slid in and made all of them take work from him.

  I turn onto the block. I must admit, I’m impressed. They have a nice little flow of traffic coming through. It’s nothing compared to Junebug’s flow, but it’s pretty decent.

  I take notice of Mike sitting on a porch in the middle of the block observing everyone. He’s been in prison so much that even when he’s on the street, he acts like he’s still in prison. He’s sitting there looking like he’s in the yard, of a penitentiary, somewhere. He has on a wool skull cap, a tight gray sweatsuit with no pockets, and some beige state boots tied extra tight. His boots are choking his feet. I hit the horn to catch his attention.

  “Slim, don’t say shit about Little Wu,” I instruct. “I’m going to handle that myself.”

  “Come on Big Time. You know me better than that.”

  Actually, I don’t want Mike to know I got played like that. That might give him some ideas, and then there will be two motherfuckers I have to kill.

  Mike runs off the porch and gets in the car.

  “What up ya’ll!” he shouts.

  “What’s happening Mike?”

  Slim doesn’t respond. He never really talks to people he doesn’t know. His saying is “I’m 60 something years old. I don’t need new friends. If I don’t know him by now, I must not need to know him.” I respe
ct that.

  “Yo, I have to make 500 more and I’ll be ready for you,” says Mike.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah, I would have been finished but the cops just left. They were out here for almost two hours.”

  “Is the block that hot?” I ask.

  “Nah, some nigga was up there beating on his bitch,” Mike replies. “They locked his dumb ass up. Yo, they love this coke!” He changes the subject. “Them fiends clucking like a motherfucker. I’m about to take this whole shit over. This whole side is going to be mines! Either they’re going to sell my shit or they’re going to have to buy product from you. It’s a lot of paper around here and these niggas soft as hell. Oh, I almost forgot. My little nephew is on his way through. He wants a half a key (kilo). I told him I’d call you when he got back.”

  “Where is he?” I ask.

  “He went home to get the money. He was out here kicking it with me, and he saw how them motherfuckers was chasing this coke. He said he had to get some of it. He usually buys the whole thing (kilo), but he just bought one off the kid Ice yesterday. So he only has enough to buy a half.”

  “How much is Ice charging?” I ask.

  “He charges $24 a gram. But if you buy the whole thing, he’ll let it go for $21,000,” Mike claims.

  “Yeah?”

  “Shit, I told my nephew you want $20 a gram. I’m going to make $1,000 for myself off that deal.”

  “Damn Mike, you’re charging your nephew?”

  “Hey, that nigga already got paper! I’m trying to get me some paper!” Mike replies.

  Ring, ring! Mike’s cell phone is ringing.

  “Hello!”

  “Damn Mike, look at you. You blowing up. You got you a little cell phone and shit!” I shout sarcastically.

  “Nah, I took this from one of my little niggas,” he whispers. “Hold on. Hello? Yeah! He right here now! How long? All right, come on. All right, I’m about to tell him right now. Peace!” he shouts, before hanging up the phone.

  “Yo, that was him,” says Mike. He said he’ll be here in 20 minutes. Go ahead and get that. I’ll wait right here!” He opens the door and climbs out of the backseat. “You might as well bring me another 250 grams. I’ll be done by the time you come back,” he says, before the car door slams shut.

  “Slim, that’s one bird down. Mike already finished 250 grams. I’m about to give him another 250. His nephew wants 500 grams. That’s done.”

  I’m not even going to mention the 350 grams Little Wu played me for. I can’t believe this shit. That young jack swindled me. He actually took me for a ride down Beat Street. I hope he doesn’t think it’s that easy.

  It took me exactly 25 minutes to get the work and come back. When I got there, Mike had the money counted and ready. Altogether, there was $14,500. It was only supposed to be $13,500: that’s $9,000 from his nephew and the $4,500 he owes me. He gives me the extra grand to go toward the new work I just gave him. Now he only owes $3,500.

  Later that day I hooked back up with Junebug. To my surprise he bought the remainder of the work I had left. Total he paid me $29,700. The minute I showed him the work, he immediately jumped in his car and told me to follow him. We went to his stash house. Some young chick lives there. He had $160,000 neatly stacked in a safe in the back room. He took me all the way to the safe, where he pulled 29 neat $1,000 stacks. The other $700 he pulled from his pocket. He made sure I saw the other money he had in the safe. He bragged on and on about how it only took three days to make that money. I must admit I was impressed. For a minute I thought he was one of those fronting ass niggas.

  Before going in me and Slim took a spin through the projects where Little Wu is from. It was crowded as hell out there. The cook up has them going crazy. There was no sign of Wu, or any other familiar face. None of the older guys I used to know from the projects were out there; just a bunch of new face teen-age niggas. Wu won’t be able to run forever.

  CHAPTER 13

  Next Day

  This morning I woke up bright and early. We’re going to Connecticut. I know we have to get on the road early so we can beat the traffic.

  After I pick up Slim, we pull into the gas station to gas up the car.

  “Slim, can you do me a favor?” I ask.

  “Anything, Big Time!”

  “Go in and get me a cup of coffee, light and sweet.”

  Slim opens the door.

  “Here, you can get whatever you want!” I shout. I hand him a $20 bill. As Slim is getting out of the car, I notice a beggar standing in front of the convenience store. He’s tall and skinny, and his clothes are filthy. His hair is braided in thick, messy cornrows and his beard is long and nappy.

  As I watch him, I see him squinting as if he knows me but he’s not sure whether it’s me or not. Now I’m trying to see if I recognize him. With all that hair, it’s hard to tell.

  He waves at me. I don’t respond. Then he waves again. I still don’t respond. Now he begins to walk toward me. Oh boy, here we go. This guy doesn’t know me. He only spoke so he can come over and beg. He walks right up to my window and gestures for me to roll down the window. I crack the window. I’m not about to open the window all the way. I don’t trust anybody.

  “Cash!” he screams. “What up big daddy?”

  “What up?” I ask hesitantly, while trying to figure out who the hell he is.

  “Long time no see!” he shouts.

  “Word up,” I reply. I’m still trying to figure out who he is. I squint to try to picture him without all the hair. Then it dawns on me. This is Latif, b.k.a. Lie through his teeth. That’s what people used to call him behind his back. He’s a habitual liar. Damn, what happened to him? He looks terrible.

  “Latif, what up?”

  “Nothing much!” he replies.

  Shit, I can see that. He doesn’t even have to tell me.

  “You the man!” he shouts. “If I had your hands, I’d turn mines in.”

  I hate that saying. When someone tells me that, it makes me feel uncomfortable. Those are the words of a jealous man. You have to watch a guy who talks like that. Those are the words his mouth is saying, but his heart is saying something totally different.

  I look him over again. He looks completely different compared to how I remember him. The smell of funk is barking at my nose as he stands at my window.

  “What’s up with you, man?” I ask.

  He lowers his head in shame. “Cash, shit happens. That’s the game.”

  “No, shit happens if you let it!” I shout. “What the fuck are you doing? Look at you. You look like shit!” He can’t even look me in the eyes. Latif was a terror a few years back. He was a notorious stick-up kid. He used to have the whole town walking on eggshells. He was the only guy that I knew who didn’t give a fuck about Jake or Ab. I mean he respected them, but he didn’t fear them like everyone else did. But now look at him; he’s all washed up now.

  “Damn, you got this Benz looking good as hell!” he shouts.

  Cut the shit with the flattery. This is a 1993, for crying out loud.

  “I had one just like it. Mine was silver though. I just sold it two months ago.”

  Here he goes with the lying. All the years I’ve known, him he never had a car. I don’t think he even knows how to drive. Every time I saw him he was in somebody else’s passenger seat.

  Slim gets back in the car while the man is snatching the nozzle away.

  As I’m paying the man, Latif’s eyes are glued to my stack of bills.

  “Big Bro, you got a few dollars so I can get something to eat?” he asks. “A nigga starving.”

  “Latif, tell the truth. You’re dope sick. You want dope right?”

  “You got some?” he asks.

  “Nah man,” I reply. “Latif, you need to get yourself together, man.”

  “I know Cash. I’m fucked up right now. Shit crazy, I’m trying to get in a program now. Man, my mother didn’t raise me like this. She got a big house and the whole shit; I can’
t even go there. She told me to come back when I get my shit together. A lot of this shit got to do with the people I’m around. If I was around good people like you, I could get right again.”

  Never! You’ll never let me nurse you back to health, then when you get strong again, set me up for the kill. I ain’t no fool.

  Now he has so much to say to me. Back in elementary school, he didn’t even acknowledge me because I wasn’t part of the in crowd. Look now; the tables have turned. Look what all that cool, tough shit got him.... Nothing. “Here man!” I peel a $100 bill from my knot and pass it to him. “Go get yourself a haircut!”

  “All right! Good looking out, Cash!”

  “I ain’t bullshitting Latif. The next time I see you, I don’t want to see you out here looking like a werewolf.”

  “All right, I’m going to get a cut right now.”

  I wasn’t going to give him shit, but then again he never crossed me. Oh, except for the time he sent one of his boys through the block and they robbed my little man. I could get him back right now. I could take pure advantage of him but what would that prove? It would be pointless. He’s harmless. Right now he’s paying for all the dirt he possibly could have done.

  “Yo Cash, if you have some old boots and jeans, look out for me,” he begs. “I don’t have shit.”

  I look down at his feet. I never saw anyone destroy a pair of boots like that. And his jeans are about six sizes too big. He has rope tied through the belt loops to keep them from falling.

  “I’ll check and see what I have. How will I find you?”

  “I’ll be right here,” he states. “If I’m not here, I’m in front of McDonalds.”

  “All right later, Latif!”

  “All right Cash!”

  “Latif, get your mind right,” I shout, as I begin to pull off.

  “Yo Cash, if you need me just holler! For anything, I’m here at your disposal! Dirty work or whatever. I might be fucked up, but I still can bust a nigga’s ass. Give me a hammer (gun) and I’ll put in work. Ain’t shit change!”