Block Party

by Al-Saadiq Banks

  “Later Latif,” I interrupt. I pull off. Off to Connecticut we go.

  We arrive at the bar at 12P.M. The bartender instructs me to go straight to the back. He says Juan is in the back in his office waiting for me.

  “He’s back there, so just knock on the door. If he doesn’t answer, he’s probably asleep. Just go in and wake him up,” says the bartender.

  Slim insists on waiting in the car. He’s still upset from the last time.

  Only one man is in the bar. He’s sitting there sipping on a beer. As I walk past him, he gives me a head nod. I nod back and keep it moving.

  When I get to the door, I knock three times. Knock, knock, knock! No answer. Then I knock four more times. Knock, knock, knock, knock! Still no answer. I put my ear to the door. I can hear music, so I knock two more times. Knock, knock! Still no response.

  I push the door slightly and peek in. I can see the sofa, but no one is on it. I walk through the door. When I look to my right, I’m embarrassed to see Juan’s little, frail naked ass. He’s standing there humped over with his jeans down to his ankles. In front of him is a small Mexican girl, bent over. She has her panties wrapped around her ankles, and her little ruffled skirt is up over her back. Juan is wailing on her doggy style. “Oooh! Oooh!” she sighs. “Si Poppy, si! Mas rapido!” she screams.

  They hear the door open. They both look me right in the face. My entrance doesn’t stop Juan. If anything, he starts pounding harder and faster. The girl is screaming her head off and speaking in Spanish. “Aghh! Aghh! Suave Poppy, suave!” she cries. I can’t understand a word of what she’s saying. It sounds like she’s singing. I don’t know if she’s screaming for mercy or screaming for more.

  I turn my head and begin walking toward the door. Then I hear Juan grunt like a madman. “GRRR!” He’s done.

  “Amigo!” he shouts.

  I turn around to look at him. He’s pulling his pants up. The girl is bent over with her flat ass in the air, fumbling for her panties. Her ass is bruised and discolored from all the pounding.

  When she looks up, she catches me staring at her ass. She quickly turns around and faces me.

  Her thick curly bush is fully exposed. Her pussy hair is matted down, covering her entire crotch area. She pulls her skirt down as she wiggles into her panties.

  I now realize this is the same waitress that was sitting on his lap the other day. Her pale round face is red from embarrassment.

  Juan picks up the phone and starts dialing. He speaks in Spanish, maybe three words, then he hangs up. “Uno momento, mi amigo!”

  The girl leaves with her head hanging low.

  Thirty seconds later, the translator walks in. He sniffs the air and says something to Juan in Spanish. They both laugh as Juan sprays half a can of air freshener.

  “What’s up amigo?” the translator asks. “How did you like the work?”

  “Good, it was good!” I admit.

  Then Juan speaks.

  “He said how did you make out?” he translates.

  “Tell him everything went fine. He didn’t think I was coming back, did he?” I ask.

  “No, he didn’t think that, amigo! When you left he told me you look trustworthy and he likes your style.”

  I hand them the cash and they begin counting.

  After they finish counting, Juan places the bag on the sofa. Then he speaks.

  “He said ask you how you liked it?” he translates.

  “Tell him it’s good. I can really do some things with it.”

  “He said do you know exactly what you want to do now?” the translator asks.

  “Ask him what’s the most he’ll put in my hand? Tell him the money is good!”

  He begins translating to Juan. Juan sits quietly for a few seconds before finally speaking.

  “He said ask you how many you want?”

  Damn, I want to say ten but I don’t want him to think I’m trying to take advantage of him. “Uumm.” I mumble. Fuck it, what’s the worst he can say, no? “Ten, ask him can he give me ten?”

  Juan sits quietly as if he’s calculating in his head. Then he speaks.

  “He said how long do you think it will take you to finish?”

  “Tell him to give me a week. If I’m not finished in a week, I’ll pay him out of my own money for whatever I have left. Guarantee.”

  Juan then speaks. Whatever he’s saying is a mouthful. I have never heard him talk this much. Usually he says no more than four words. “What is he saying?” I ask.

  “He said, he can give you the ten but he needs to know your whereabouts, you know, where you live.”

  “That’s no problem!” I respond, trying to give him a sense of trust in me.

  “He said he’ll get someone to deliver them to you for an extra $250 per kilo. Altogether that’s $2,500 just for delivery. He doesn’t want you to get busted with them.”

  Yeah right, he wants to know exactly where I live just in case I don’t come back with his money. That’s why he’s getting them delivered.

  “When they get them to your house, you give them the $2,500 for delivery and you give them a fourth of the price of the kilos. So total you give them $42,500, when they get there. Then three days later, he’ll send someone back for another $40,000. Then you bring the other $80,000 when you come back at the end of the week.”

  I think about it for a second before finalizing it. “Deal!”

  That concludes our meeting. He tells me the package should be there at 10 in the morning. That will be perfect. I can meet them at Desire’s house. The kids will be off to school by that time. I hate to jeopardize her home like that, but Homicide comes through my block all day. That’s all they need to see is some Mexicans leaving my house. They’d run right up in there. Ten kilos would finish me for life!

  CHAPTER 14

  Desire left early this morning with the kid Ice. After dropping the kids off at school, me and Slim wait patiently until 1: 30 in the afternoon for the delivery. I give them the $42,500 just like Juan instructed. I use the money that Love and my sister took out of the bank for me. That leaves me with approximately $13,000 left in the house. I’ll use that as a head start for the next payment I have to give Juan.

  I have a few dollars left in the bank, but I promised myself that I won’t touch that. The only way I’ll touch that if it’s a real emergency. If I keep taking money out of my savings, I’ll be hustling backwards.

  The Mexican boy told me he’d be coming back in three days for another $40,000. It’s not too much pressure because I still have that $13,000 head start. Really all I have to do is move about, a bird and a half and I’ll be ready for him. The real pressure is the $80,000 I have to come up with at the end of the week. I really have to get out there and make it happen. The last thing I want to do is get stuck with the work or hold it too long. Time is everything. He may think I’m not worthy, and then he may cut me off. I look at this first batch like a test. I figure after I prove to him my capabilities, then him giving me 25 to 50 birds at a time shouldn’t be a problem. It’s all a matter of trust. I don’t want to do anything to mess up this relationship. With a connect like him, I’m sure to take over. In this game, the man with the most cocaine wins. The more you have, the cheaper you can afford to sell it for. It will be impossible for a man with only two keys (kilos) to compete with me if I have 50-bird capacity.

  CHAPTER 15

  It’s mid October. Two weeks have passed. I still haven’t bumped into Little Wu. I try not to think about him too much because it frustrates me. I’m just going to do what I have to do: get this money. When I see him, I’ll deal with him. He can’t hide forever. Even a bear has to come out of hibernation after a while. This is a small town. I’ll bump into him when he least expects it. Right now he’s probably hiding somewhere wishing he didn’t do that dumb shit. I know what he’s going to do; he’s probably going to send a middleman to set up a meeting so he can apologize and pay me back the money. But I ain’t trying to hear that shit. I’m going to
make an example out of his ass. It’ s been too long now. If he had came back the next day or two, I probably would have let him slide, but not now. He’s probably flipped my money a hundred times by now.

  Besides that, things are going splendidly. The first week was a rough one. I almost didn’t make my quota. Had it not been for Junebug, I would’ve been stuck. He bought four birds that week. That’s $72,000 cash money. His block is on fire! Besides the dope flow, he’s killing them with the blow, as well. His other block is still dry. Homicide hasn’t let up yet. They park on the block and sit there all day, everyday. The block doesn’t even look the same. You wouldn’t recognize it. The only trace they left is the raggedy house they used to sell the dope from. Besides that, it once again looks like a quiet residential block.

  Last week things picked up. Mike Mittens is holding me down. He’s killing them with the $20 pieces. He puts a half a gram in aluminum foil and sells it for $20. He doubles his money and pleases the customers. He goes through a half a joint a week easy.

  As for his nephew, not only does he get kilos from me, he also turned his entire crew onto me. The ones who buy kilos, he sells it to them for $19,500. He makes $1,500 off each one. The others who buy ounces or quarters at a time, he sells it to them for $22 a gram. I heard from a reliable source that Ice is starting to notice the difference in his flow. I’m definitely going to steal a lot of his clientele. I have better quality blow at a cheaper price. How can anyone refuse me?

  Last week, I sent Mike Mittens to speak with Ice about doing business with us. I was willing to give him the special price of $17,500 a bird. That’s cheaper than I sell them to anyone else. He told Mike he would talk to him later, but he never got back at us. I guess he let his pride get in the way. Now my plan is to break him. I’ll do whatever I have to do. Even if I have to cut my prices so he can’t compete with me. Eventually he will have to buy his work from me.

  At this moment, me and Slim are at the kids’ school. Today they’re playing their third basketball game of the season. They both made the team. Ahmir is the team’s captain; he’s also the key player. His position is point guard. No matter what kind of pressure they put him under, he still manages to get that ball down the court. If that ball touches his hand, he will definitely score. So far he has an average of 20 points a game. I guess he takes after me. In my early years, I played basketball each and every day. Whenever you saw me, I had a basketball in my hand. My dream was to be a professional basketball player until I was introduced to fast money. That’s when I lost all interest in the game.

  I worry about Ahmad. He doesn’t have the heart he needs to survive in this game. He can dribble his ass off, but he’s scared to shoot. Even if he’s alone, he’ll pass the ball to someone who’s being guarded. He barely gets in the game. The coach only puts him in the game after he knows there is no hope of them winning.

  Right now, it’s the4th quarter with 1 minute and 40 seconds left in the game. We’re up 56 to 54. The other team has the ball. They’re passing the ball around trying to kill time.

  Twenty seconds have gone by. The forward passes the ball to the point guard. The point guard fakes the shot, and Ahmir leaps in the air. The little boy goes around him. He zooms right past the forward as if he isn’t even there. He dribbles straight down the middle of the court. When he gets to the bottom, he encounters the oversized center. He spins around and lays it up on him. The ball bounces off the backboard and goes in, causing the score to be tied.

  The team is nervous. Tension fills the air; we’re tied up with only 40 seconds left. Ahmir is furious, and he’s embarrassed. The crowd oohed and aaghed when the kid blew right past him. I have to admit, I’m embarrassed too.

  Phwew! After the whistle, the ball is passed to Ahmir. I can tell he’s mad by the way he’s bouncing the ball so hard. It’s like he’s almost slamming the ball into the floor. He’s charging right into his opponents.

  “Mir, you the man!” I shout. “Slow down, Mir! Take your time! You the man!”

  “Bang Man, he’s pissed off! I hope he don’t blow the game,” says Slim.

  “Nah, he’ll be all right. Mir, take your time!” I shout. The clock is running out. Ahmir dribbles to half court. Everyone swarms him, except the center. He crosses over and runs between two of his opponents, causing them to bump into each other. Then he quickly dribbles right past the other two. Then the big center steps up. He’s twice Ahmir’s size.

  Ahmir dribbles to the left, then to the right. The big boy doesn’t budge. Ahmir stops dribbling and fakes. Still he doesn’t respond. Finally, Ahmir jumps and releases from damn near half court. The big awkward kid jumps up. As he’s coming back down, he falls clumsily on top of Ahmir. Phew! The whistle blows as the ball is gliding in the air. “Foul!” screams the referee. Swish! All net. Ahmir shockingly scores a three pointer, and he accumulates the foul.

  As he stands at the foul line preparing to shoot the foul shot, the crowd is extremely quiet. Everyone is anxious to see the outcome. Ahmir bounces the ball four hard times. Boing, boing, boing, boing! He slowly lifts the ball into the air and releases. Boom! Off the backboard, he misses. The score is now 59 to 56, we’re up. Only 20 seconds left in the game. Phew! The referee blows the whistle. The ball is in play. The ball is passed to the point guard.

  As the boy dribbles down the court, Ahmir runs over to him. This is the same kid who just embarrassed him. They’re standing face to face. He tries the same move on Ahmir. This time Ahmir doesn’t fall for it.

  “Watch him Ahmir!” I shout. “Don’t let him get the three pointer!”

  Ahmir plants his feet firmly. He slides from side to side with the boy. The boy tries to cross over. Ahmir snatches the ball from him and takes off the opposite way. Time is running out, only six seconds left.

  “Shoot Mir Mir!” Ahmad screams out.

  As soon as he crosses the half-court line, he launches the ball into the air. The ball is gliding. It seems like the ball has been in the air forever. Only two seconds left. Swish! Urrr! The buzzer sounds off. Another three pointer, he just barely made it. The crowd is going wild. His teammates swarm him. The center picks him up and twirls him around like a rag doll. I’m so proud of my boy.

  After the game, I take my sons out to celebrate the victory. We order two whole pizza pies with extra cheese and anchovies. Ahmir is not a big eater, but Ahmad on the other hand can easily down five slices.

  “Daddy, we kick their butts, right?” asks Ahmad.

  “We?” Ahmir asks sarcastically. “You didn’t even get in. You rode the bench the whole game!”

  Ahmad lowers his head in embarrassment.

  After I finish my mouthful of food, I slowly place the crust down. Ahmir has a dumb smile on his face. Ahmad can’t even finish his food. He’s fumbling with his hands under the table.

  I look Ahmir right in the eyes. He can see the anger in my face. He stops smiling.

  “Apologize before I smack the shit out of you,” I whisper, in a low but meaningful tone.

  “Apologize for what?” he asks innocently.

  “Apologize for belittling your brother.”

  He hesitates before speaking. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, while looking out the window.

  “No, you look him in the eyes and apologize like you mean it!”

  “I apologize,” he says quickly.

  “Say, I apologize for belittling you, and I’ll never do it again,” I instruct.

  “I apologize for belittling you, and I’ll never do it again,” he repeats.

  “Don’t you ever as long as you live let me hear you do that again! Do you hear me?” I ask. I can see the tears building up in his eyes as he looks everywhere but in my eyes. “Do you hear me?”

  “Yes,” he whispers.

  “Look me in the eyes when you talk to me!” I shout. He slowly lifts up his head. “Real men look you in the eyes whether they’re right or wrong. Now, I’m going to ask you again. Do you hear me?”

  He looks me dead in the ey
es with a stern face. His eyes are as cold as stone. He’s pissed off at me.

  “Yes Daddy, I hear you,” he says, with a loud, clear voice.

  “That’s your brother right there. That’s all you have. Fake friends are going to come and go. They’re going to do everything in their power to tear ya’ll apart. Never let anyone or anything come between ya’ll. Are ya’ll listening to me?”

  “Yes,” they reply simultaneously.

  “You two are brothers for the rest of your lives. You don’t need friends. You got each other. Never trust anyone but your brother. This is the only person who has your back. You will meet people who say they have your back. They’ll be there until you need them, and then you won’t be able to find them. But your brother is your brother regardless of what. Do ya’ll understand?”

  “Yes,” they reply.

  “Ahmad, do you accept his apology?”

  “Apology for what?” he asks.

  “For belittling you,” I reply.

  “Oh, yeah, I accept.”

  Everyone begins eating again.

  “Daddy, what is belittling?” Ahmad asks. Slim busts out laughing.

  “What?” Ahmad asks, with a clueless look on his face. Now all of us are laughing.

  That’s one thing I’m not standing for. I want them to grow up tight. I wish I had a brother when I was growing up. Then maybe things wouldn’t have been so bad. It’s hard out here by yourself. You need a partner in this crazy world.

  “Daddy, do you still like my mommy?” Ahmad asks.

  This question baffles me. Ahmad asks some of the weirdest questions. Every time I’m around him, I have to be on point, because I never know what he’ll ask next. He’s so up front. Whatever is on his mind, he just let’s it out. “Why do you ask that, Mod?”

  “I just want to know,” he replies. “She still likes you!”

  “No she doesn’t,” I answer.

  “Uh huh!” he shouts, as he nods his head up and down.

  “How do you know?” I ask.

  “Ice said it,” he replies.