Block Party

by Al-Saadiq Banks

  “Turn the car off!” Latif shouts.

  The police car has a bright spotlight on top. The light is shining as they cruise through the block. “Slim, lay your seat back so they can’t see our shadows.”

  “They won’t be able to see in here,” says Latif. “I couldn’t see shit when ya’ll pulled up on me.”

  The cop car is easing up on us. Their light shines directly through our windshield, brightening the entire car. I can see their faces clearly. Now the light is on the side window. Now the back window. Darkness again as they pass us. They turn into the parking lot and pull parallel to the truck.

  “Bang Man, I think we need to get out of here before they come back!”

  “Nah, we can’t move, they’ll notice us,” I explain. The man finally jumps from the backseat, but it isn’t Wu. “Damn, that ain’t even him!”

  “Big Time, that’s the other kid that was out there with him,” says Slim.

  “Oh, his little cheerleader?” I ask.

  “Yeah!” Slim confirms.

  “Man, we sat out here all this time for nothing!” I shout.

  “What should I do?” Slim asks. “Should I pull off when the cops leave?” Just as the words leave his lips, the cop’s siren starts to echo and the lights begin flashing. They speed out of the parking lot recklessly. The group immediately starts wrestling again.

  “Big Time, we might as well leave. He ain’t nowhere around.”

  “That’s his man right there, right?” Latif asks.

  “Yeah,” I reply hesitantly.

  “Fuck it, let me do him then!” Latif shouts aggressively.

  “Pssst, pssst!” Slim starts his shit. “Bang Man, them little girls out there. They ain’t got shit to do with it.”

  “They shouldn’t be out here!” Latif shouts. “I didn’t sit out here all this time for nothing! Cash, give me the word!”

  I pause before speaking. “Hold up La; let’s wait for the chicks to leave.”

  “Come on man, we can’t sit out here all night,” Latif replies anxiously. “Give me the word. I’ll jump out and do him, and we’re outta here.”

  The girl jumps back into the passenger’s seat. One of the kids chases the driver around the truck. She jumps in and slams the door. He tugs on the door handle, trying to get in. The brake lights come on, then the reverse lights. The passenger leans her head out of the window and kisses Wu’s man. “Bingo,” Latif hollers. “Better make it a long kiss; this will be the last one,” he shouts sarcastically.

  The kid slowly backs away from the truck.

  “When they pull off, let me out,” says Latif.

  “Nah, if they see you, they might take off,” I explain. “We’re going to ride up in the lot. Slim, as soon as they pull off, pull up in the lot.”

  The brake lights finally disappear.

  “Start the car up,” I instruct. Vroom!

  The girl slowly circles the lot. I grasp my gun tighter. The tighter I grip it, the slippier the handle gets. My palms are leaking sweat.

  The girls approach us. The bright headlights almost blind me. The kids back up against the building. You can barely see them, it’s so dark out here. All the lights in the court are knocked out. They purposely do that so no one can see them back here.

  “Bang Man, be careful! Them boys might have guns on them.” I didn’t even think about that, but I doubt it though. If they have guns on them they wouldn’t have let the cops get that close up on them.

  “Slim, roll my window down,” says Latif.

  The window slides down automatically. The girls zoom right past us. Slim turns the lights on. “Now!” I shout. Slim steps on the gas. “La, how do you want to do it?” I ask.

  “Just follow my lead!” he shouts. “Watch my back Cash!”

  As we come through the entrance, they all step away from the wall. They’re trying to get a look at the car, but Slim has the high beams on. The bright lights are making it difficult for them to see. We slide directly up on them. They stand there trying to see in the car. Only Latif’s window is halfway down.

  “What up fellas?” Latif greets. “Ya’ll seen Wu?”

  “Nah,” Wu’s boy answers aggressively, with a cold look in his eyes.

  “Nah? Yo, if you see him, give him this,” Latif shouts. Latif extends his hand from the window. The chrome reflection dangles from his white latex glove. Boc! Boc! Boc! The shots echo.

  “Agghh!” the kid screams, as he grabs hold of his chest. All three shots hit him. The impact knocks him about ten feet backwards. His body slams into the brick wall. Thump! His head bangs into the brick. His body ricochets, and he splatters face first onto the asphalt. Latif jumps out. I follow behind him. The other two kids dash off into flight. I chase behind them. I aim. I squeeze. Boc! Boc! Boc! Boc! I stop in the middle of the parking lot. They’re almost out of sight. I squeeze. Boc! Boc! I know it’s impossible to hit them with the distance between us. I just fired again so they wouldn’t look back. I don’t want them to be able to ID the car.

  I turn around and see Latif bending over the boy. He grabs him by his shoulders and turns him over. He digs into the kid’s coat pockets and then he digs into his pants pockets. From his pants pockets, he pulls out a big sloppy knot of money. He then stands up straight and aims. Boc! Boc! Boc! The boy’s lifeless body absorbs the shots. His body jolts after each bullet penetrates. Latif is still aiming at him. I run over to him. “Let’s go!” I shout. Latif doesn’t respond. He’s still standing there as if he’s ready to squeeze again. “Let’s go,” I repeat. Boc! Boc! He fires again. The kid is laying there stiff. Blood is pouring from his mouth, and his eyes are wide open. His body shows no sign of life.

  I grab Latif by the arm, push him in the car, and slam the door. I jump in the front seat. Slim speeds out of the parking lot. Latif finally snaps out of his zone.

  “Motherfucker,” Latif shouts. “Did you see his body bounce off that wall?” he asks cold-heartedly. “Yeah! Stupid young motherfucker! That’s how Latif get down! I’m an asset! You need a motherfucker like me on the team! Wait till those bitches hear about this in the morning! I told you that was his last kiss! That bitch gave him the kiss of death! Put my motherfucking tape back in,” he demands.

  “I play rough!” He sings along with the verse that bursts through the speakers.

  Within the last ten minutes no one has said a word. All I heard was the now-irritating noise of Slim picking his teeth during the interludes of Latif’s tape. I must have played it over at least ten times.

  Twenty minutes later, we pull into the garage where my car is stashed. We change cars and exit the garage.

  Slim still hasn’t said a word. “Good looking out, La.”

  “No problem Cash. I told you before, I’m here at your disposal.”

  Latif still hasn’t asked what the beef is about. He doesn’t even care. “How much do I owe you, La?”

  “Come on man, don’t insult me like that,” he replies. “I done that from the heart.”

  “I feel you La, but you gotta charge me something. Business never personal.”

  “I’m good Cash, for real.”

  “Charge me something,” I demand.

  “Go ahead, Cash!”

  I have to pay him something. I won’t have it any other way. If I don’t pay him something, he’ll throw this in my face for the rest of our lives. He’ll think I owe him forever. “How much, La?”

  He pauses. “Get me a brick of dope,” he mumbles.

  Damn, one brick? Fifty bags of dope is all he wants? He just slaughtered a man, and all he wants is one lousy ass brick! “One brick?”

  “Yeah,” he replies. “That way I can get on my feet. I’m going to turn it up from there.”

  Yeah right, you’re going to turn it up all right... right up your nose.

  CHAPTER 22

  Two weeks has flown by. Damn, it’s December already. Everything is going terrific. Love and I have officially moved into our new condominium. It’s already fully de
corated and everything. As for the old house, the realtors are trying to get a sale for it now. The wedding plans are starting to come together. We’re getting married in Central Park.

  Our entire wedding party will be entering by horse and carriage. After the ceremony, me and Love will take off for a balloon ride over New York City. And finally, for the honeymoon, we’re taking 20 guests with us to Jamaica. You know, that’s Love’s dream vacation. We’re staying for two weeks. I don’t want to be away for two whole weeks, but I know how bad she wants to go there. The date is set for April 1, 2001. You’re all invited. Come January, I’m supposed to be done with the streets. Love is giving me two more months to get a little extra money to pay for this expensive ass wedding. Plus, she says she wants to give me ample time to get the streets out of my system.

  Oh, I bought another little hooptie to move around in. It’s a 1996 Lincoln Town Car with limo-tinted windows. I still park the Benz at the old house so people won’t know we moved. What Juan said to me about my car really makes a lot of sense now that I’ve thought about it. I mean, I already knew it’s best to keep a low profile, but I let my ego get in the way. That kid Junebug was really getting to me. You know, the way he continuously tried to belittle me. Something inside me just wanted to prove to him that he isn’t the only one who has money.

  By the way, Junebug hasn’t bought one bird from me ever since he saw my new car. I guess he feels that him buying kilos from me helped me get the car. I had a feeling that was going to happen. When I looked into his eyes that day, I saw nothing but jealousy. Him not buying from me doesn’t stop anything. I picked up two new plugs, and believe me they buy heavy! Anyway, that dope has taken off! I finished the first package, and now I’m working on another one. I didn’t receive all the money from the work yet, because I put everything out on consignment. I gave it to a couple of guys I know from other towns; 50 bricks here, 100 bricks there. The response was incredible. Everyone is trying to get their hands on “BANG MAN”. The stamp is in red letters with an exclamation mark at the end of it. “BANG MAN!” Slim is famous. I took another half a joint from Juan yesterday. I took it over to the Doctor so he could do his chemistry.

  I only have one problem. Last week, me and Mike had a slight falling out. He’s mad because I won’t give him any dope to move on his block. I told him I don’t want to move it around here. But he got real mad at me. I don’t know why he wants the dope anyway. He doesn’t need it. He’s killing them with the twenties of powder in aluminum foil. He goes through two pies a week out there. Overall, he grosses about $75,000 a week. After he pays his workers, he steps off with about $18,000 profit. That’s damn good for a motherfucker who has never made any money on his own. All his life, he’s been taking money from hustlers. He was an extortionist.

  After a week of not speaking, I called him and told him I would hit him when I get the new package. Although I don’t want to do it, I will have to. I’m going to do it because we’re a team. That means if I’m eating, the whole team has to eat. If one teammate isn’t eating, that’s a problem in the making. Eventually, jealousy will set in. Then all kinds of problems will arise: setups, stealing, snitching, and so on. Not to say Mike will do any of those things, but I really can’t afford to find out.

  Oh, I almost forgot; the other day Ice slid into town. He went to Desire’s house. Slim told me Desire didn’t let him in. He was on the porch, begging and pleading for her forgiveness. Slim said he was out there crying like a baby, telling her how much he really loves her and how he wants them to spend the rest of their lives together. Slim said she didn’t give in. She told him to leave her porch before she calls the police. My oldest son called me so I could come over and catch him, but I missed him. I’m glad I did. I don’t think I’m going to do anything to him; he’s already going through enough. I’ve been there before. Trust me, I know how a broken heart feels.

  Right now, I’m walking down the block to my kids’ house, me and my two pit bulls. You should see how much they’ve grown. They’re only a couple of months old, and they already look full-grown. They’re so strong and so mean.

  I’m taking the kids to the park around the corner from their house to shoot some hoop. They begged me to bring the dogs. They love them. I have to bring their muzzles. I don’t think they’ll turn on the kids, but I can’t take a chance. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if these dogs were to hurt my boys.

  Beep! Beep! “Cash!”

  Before I even look over, I already know who it is that’s calling me. It’s Junebug; I can tell by the horn. I know how Mercedes horns sound.

  “Cash, what’s up?”

  “You!” I reply.

  “Nah, you the man,” he shouts sarcastically.

  Seconds later, the Grand Prix rolls up behind Junebug as usual. Immediately, me and the driver, Spook, start our staring contest. He isn’t blinking, and I’m not blinking.

  “I’m hearing big things about you,” says Junebug. I don’t respond; me and the kid Spook are still at it.

  I laugh. “Your little man back there, he real funny!”

  “What did you say?” Spook asks. “You talking about me Old Head?”

  “Yeah, I said you’re a real clown!” I reply. By this time, my dogs are going wild, barking and growling. They sense a threatening situation. Spook slams the car into park and starts to get out.

  I got something for his ass today; 17 shots. If he thinks for one minute he’s about to play me out again, he has another thing coming.

  He gets out, leaving the door wide open. The rest of the goons follow. I switch the dogs’ leash to my left hand. With my right hand, I sneakily reach for my nine inside my coat pocket. By the time they’re all out of the car and approaching me, I have my gun out. They halt. “Nah, don’t stop! Keep coming so I can let this motherfucker go!”

  “Spook, ya’ll get the fuck back in the car!” shouts Junebug. Spook is really mad now, but he isn’t coming any closer. The rest of them are already getting back in the car. “Spook, did you hear me?” asks Junebug. “Get the fuck in the car!” Spook walks to the car slowly. I put my gun back in my pocket, but my finger is still on the trigger. I’m not a fool. I’m not sleeping on these motherfuckers. One false move and I’m going to tear that car up. They might kill me only because I’m outnumbered, but I tell you one thing; my family won’t be the only family in mourning.

  “Cash, don’t mind him,” says Junebug.

  “You need to teach him some manners!” I reply.

  “You teach me some manners!” Spook shouts.

  “Get out the car, I’ll leave your little ass right here in the middle of the street!”

  “Yeah, right,” he challenges. “You ain’t nothing but a punk ass old head! I know your kind!”

  “You little punk ass nigga, you ain’t never met a motherfucker like me; my guns bust,” I shout. “This some new shit to you. I was doing this when you was a baby.”

  “You ain’t never done nothing,” Spook shouts. “What have you done?” he asks sarcastically.

  “I’m not about to sit here and run down my resume to your little punk ass. I let the streets tell my story,” I reply.

  “What story? Ain’t nothing for the streets to tell,” Spook claims. “I already did my homework on you. You ain’t never did shit but call them punk ass niggas Jake and Ab when you had a problem.”

  “Who?” I ask. “You got me fucked up! I put in my own work! I’m good with mines.”

  “I’m good with mines too,” he shouts.

  “Yeah, I saw your little work over there on the block,” I admit. “I wasn’t impressed. It took you almost twenty shots. Not me. I’m guaranteed to finish the job with no more than two.”

  “Your punk ass ain’t gonna finish shit. Stop lying to yourself! You ain’t gonna kill nothing, and you ain’t gonna let nothing die,” he replies. “You ain’t fooling me. I already did my homework on you.”

  “Yo Spook, shut the fuck up,” Junebug interrupts.

 
“Get out again,” I shout. “I bet you I finish your ass right here.” He has me pissed now, talking that Jake and Ab shit. This young cat don’t know me. I’ll bust his motherfucking head! “Listen, you little young motherfucker, we can do it however you want to do it. We can go toe to toe on the yellow line in the middle of the street, or we can go from corner to corner with the hammers. It’s up to you; my gun bust and I can fight.”

  “Cash, cool out,” Junebug mumbles.

  “Fight?” Spook asks. “I ain’t about to wrestle around with your ass out here. Nobody ain’t fighting no more. That shit played out! I’ll put some hot shit up in you,” he shouts, as he digs up under his shirt and grabs his gun from his waist. I raise my gun slightly just in case he decides to start firing. “I’ll hit you with this forty-five, have ya old ass walking around here like 115 pounds,” he says sarcastically, as waves his gun in the air.

  “Spook, shut the fuck up,” shouts Junebug. Spook doesn’t respond. He’s just sitting there nodding his head up and down with a devilish smirk on his face.

  “Yeah, back to what I was saying. I’ve been hearing big things about you,” Junebug repeats.

  “Like what?” I question.

  “I heard you got it good,” Junebug replies.

  “I can’t tell. I haven’t heard from you in two weeks.”

  “Oh na, I chilled with the blow. I’m just concentrating on that BLOCK PARTY, but I heard you got your hands on a smoker,” he shouts.

  How does he know about that? I wonder who could have told him. “Where did you hear that?” I ask.

  “Listen, I’m the Mayor! I might only run this town, but I politic with other Mayors and politicians all over the world. You feel me?” he asks. “I heard you’re making a lot of noise other places. The big dogs from other towns are calling me up questioning me about you,” he informs. “They say you’re making it hard for them to eat ever since you put out that BANG MAN.”

  Damn, he really does know. He even knows the name.

  “Listen, Cash. I don’t have nothing to do with that out-of-town shit. I don’t care what you do out there. I’m only concerned with right here. Please Cash, I’m begging you to keep that shit out there wherever you have it at. Not even on no tough shit,” he claims. “This is man to man, from the heart. This is how I feed my family. This is how I been feeding my family. You watched me grow up. I spoke to my brother Dre the other day; he’s real big on you. That first day you came home and you were telling my people where they can stand, niggas wanted to off you then,” he admits.