Blow

by K'wan

  “I think I’ll pass on the drink, my nigga.” Prince gave him a hug and a pound/hug.

  “Prince, I know you ain’t acting like that over some coke blocks?” Diego spread his arms.

  “Nah, D, you know I understand this business,” Prince shrugged. “Me and my man is gonna get up outta here and chase a little trim.”

  Diego gave him a broad smile. “Hmm, a hunt for the cunt, those were the fucking days.” Diego thought back a few years. “Yo, Manny,” he turned to the slightly taller man who was silently watching everyone. “Remember how sweet the pussy chasing was when we were these guys’ age?”

  “Not really, I was locked up from the time I was eighteen until I turned twenty-five,” Manny said seriously.

  “Whatever,” said Prince, disregarding his comment. “Yo,” he turned back to Prince and Daddy-O. “Y’all niggaz be careful out there; the streets is dangerous in the summer.”

  “Please believe it,” Prince said seriously, before disappearing down the block with Daddy-O on his heels.

  “Guess you ain’t gonna holla at him about that heroin,” Daddy-O said, glaring at the backs of Diego and Manny as they left the liquor store and headed back in the direction of the projects.

  Prince lit a cigarette and spat on the ground. “Guess not.”

  CHAPTER 6

  O nce you crossed 104th street, the projects ended, giving way to bodegas, beauty salons, and tenement buildings. Granted, the tenements on Columbus Avenue weren’t as run down as some of the ones further up in Harlem, but they still weren’t much to look at. Inside of an apartment on the top floor of one of these tenements, Diego sat with his ever present shadow, Manny.

  The apartment they sat in was one that only a few of Diego’s closest soldiers had access to. Though Diego sometimes slept there, it wasn’t his home, just one of several places he had to get low. A deep burgundy carpet stretched from one end of the living room to the other, stopping just before the foyer. The furniture was very basic. A sofa and love seat with a forty-two-inch television. On the surface it was a very normal looking apartment, but in the game, nothing was ever as it appeared to be. Behind an iron door, to which only Diego had a key, was a veritable arsenal of weapons of all shapes and sizes. The apartment was what they called their armory.

  “You should’ve let me eat that nigga, D,” Manny said from across the kitchen table. He was busy chopping the lumps out of a pile of cocaine with a twenty-five-cent razor. In his free hand he held a straw that had been cut down to a quarter of its original size. Pinching one nostril, Manny dipped the straw into the powder and inhaled.

  “Who, E?” Diego asked, pouring whiskey into a plastic cup. He downed the liquor and chased it with the Corona he had been drinking.

  “Nah, Prince. Yo, he frogged up like he wanted to do something.”

  “That wasn’t about shit, Manny. He was just trying to protect his man.”

  “Fuck that. I wouldn’t care if that was his brother. You told that nigga to fall back, and he should’ve stayed the fuck out of it.” Manny slid the plate over to Diego.

  “I’m not stunting it, so why are you?” Diego asked before taking his turn with the white lady.

  “Because that monkey needs to know his place.” Manny slammed his fist against the table, nearly spilling the coke and the liquor. A sharp look from Diego told him to calm his ass down. “Listen, poppy, that nigga Prince is getting too big for his fucking britches.”

  “Why, because he actually stood up to you? That took big balls.”

  “Big balls and a tiny brain. I should’ve stomped the shit out of him!” Manny said.

  Diego gave him a mocking grin. “I don’t know, Manny. I’ve seen Prince get down, and the boy knows how to throw them thangs.”

  “You actually think that Prince can whip my ass, D?” Manny asked, clearly offended. “A’ight, wait till next time I see him, and then we’ll see.”

  “Chill, I’m just fucking wit you. Nah, but don’t take that shit personal, dawg. Prince is young, and youth sometimes makes us do dumb shit, feel me?”

  “You got a point there. There’s no way I would’ve put my ass in the fire for that snitching-ass faggot E.”

  “Me neither, but what am I gonna do about it? I told Prince and it’s up to him to take the advice. I just hope he wises up before that snake bites him on the ass and fucks up my flow.”

  “If he ends up dragging Prince into some shit, we’ll just get someone to replace him. Prince ain’t the fucking MVP of this team.”

  Diego just gave his friend a look.

  “D, I know you ain’t thinking about bumping this nigga up?” Manny asked in disbelief. “You’d actually consider letting that baboon sit at this table?” Manny wasn’t very fond of black people, black men especially.

  It all stemmed back to his days as a kid, when he was little Manny, the Puerto Rican immigrant, instead of a feared killer. Manny and his family came from PR with nothing but the clothes on their back. Their first home was in the Bronx’s Jackson projects, which was predominantly black at the time. The black kids always made fun of his clothes and called him names, making his childhood a living hell. As a preteen, Manny tried to sell drugs but ended up getting locked up within the first month. During his six-month stay in the juvenile detention center, Manny was subjected to ungodly horrors, including being gang raped by a group of black kids. No one knew his secret, including his best friend Diego, but it would shape the man he was to become. From that moment on, he decided that he would make all blacks pay for what the group of boys did to him.

  “Manny, you need to chill. I ain’t got a lot of love for the cocolos either, but we’re all niggaz at the end of the day. Let’s just get this fucking money, kid!” Diego told him.

  “I hear you talking, D, but I don’t know if I like the idea of you letting Prince in. We can’t have shit without the blacks wanting a piece of the action. That’s why all them niggaz had to get laid down so we could do us.”

  Something else few people knew were the details of how Diego solidified his hold on the Westside. During the aftermath of the turf wars, Diego and Manny had orchestrated and carried out a series of hits, eliminating anyone who could’ve been considered rivals to his claim. Lieutenants, second in commands, even some of the eldest sons of the old bosses were whacked. It didn’t matter if you were active in the game or not, if you had a stake you had to die. That’s just how it went. Had anyone put two and two together, Diego’s life would’ve been forfeit for the innocent teenagers he murdered, but he was never even a suspect. When the smoke cleared, he was the boss of the Westside.

  “Watch your fucking mouth!” Diego looked around nervously. “Why don’t you tell the whole fucking world we whacked out those guys?” The third of their trio was in the other room, but you could never be too cautious when it came to ear-hustling.

  Realizing his mistake, Manny lowered his voice. “Look, all I’m saying is that I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to give Prince more power than he already has. Those hood-rat mutha fuckas follow him like the Pied Piper as it is.”

  “I don’t pay you to think; I pay you to kill,” Diego said seriously. “Listen, I watched that kid go from a snot-nosed punk to one of my best earners. Prince is the reason why our hold over the projects is so strong. He’s more valuable to the team than he gives himself credit for, but I’d never tell him that. The boy is getting his weight up so I’d think there was something wrong if he didn’t want to move up. I’m not saying I plan on giving him as much power as my other lieutenants have, but it wouldn’t hurt to give him a taste of what it’s like. Kinda like stroking his ego, ya know? Once we clean out that spot on nine-four, I’m gonna let him and his ragamuffins have it.”

  “If you say so, D,” Manny reluctantly agreed.

  “I do.”

  “I hope y’all saved some of that for me,” Benny said coming out of the bedroom. Benny plopped in one of the empty kitchen chairs and snatched up the other half of Manny’s straw. He w
as short and plump with smooth brown skin. Benny and Diego had come up together under Sonny, but it was Benny’s craving for coke and women that had stunted his growth in the game. Benny had been a loyal lieutenant to Sonny, as he was with Diego, but lacked the leadership qualities that you would expect to find in someone who had over fifteen years on the streets. The coke made him crazy and sometimes unreasonable, thus no one was willing to follow him. The only reason that he had managed to live through the turf wars while most of Sonny’s other lieutenants died off was because he was locked up at the time. Any chance that Benny had had at the brass ring was a memory, so he found himself in the position of Diego’s yes-man and head chef.

  “Jesus, Benny, you’re gonna burn your sinuses out!” Manny warned, watching Benny snort two thick lines of coke, lumps and all.

  “I got this, amigo,” Benny snorted to clear his sinuses. “I’ve been doing this shit since you were in pampers, right, D?”

  “Yeah, this nigga has been bumping since we were kids,” Diego admitted. “Manny’s got a point though, Benny. This new shit ain’t like the powder we came up on. Even though this ain’t been stepped on,” he motioned toward the coke on the table, “it’s still got a lot of extra shit in it.”

  “Fuck it, my nigga. We can’t live forever anyway.” Benny sniffed two more thick lines. His nose began to drip onto the table, splattering the pile in front of him. “You want some more of this, bro?” Benny asked Manny in a nasally tone. There was powder caked in and around his nose, making him sound like he had a cold.

  “I’m good for now,” Manny raised his hands. There was something about getting high with Benny that made him feel like an addict.

  “Yo, while you busy in here snorting my shit up, did you finish whipping that for me?” Diego asked, getting back to business.

  “I got you, poppy. I’ll be finished by sometime tonight.”

  “Tonight? Benny, I gave you that coke yesterday, fuck are you over here doing?”

  “D, you know how long it takes to cook a half a bird, man. Even as nice as I am, it still takes a while, poppy. You know I got you though.”

  “Benny, sometimes I don’t even know why I fuck with you,” Diego got up from the table and stretched.

  “Because there ain’t been a nigga as nice as me on the cook-up since Sonny, God bless.” Benny made the sign of the cross. He raised a very good point. There were several people in Diego’s organization that knew the formula to turn cocaine to crack-rock, but only a select few could be called nice. Benny could literally turn shit to sugar and get an extra few grams out of it in the process. No one really knew how he did it, because Benny never let anyone watch him cook, including Diego. That made sure that he remained valuable to Diego and would always have a job.

  “Just make sure you get it done before the night is over, cocksucker.” Diego playfully threw punches at Benny. “Come on, Manny, let’s hit the streets.” The two men exited the apartment, leaving Benny to his work.

  “What’s good wit ya, playboy?” Jimmy asked, entering the apartment of his best friend and crime partner, Vince. Jimmy and Vince had been best friends since Jimmy had moved to Manhattan from Red Hook, Brooklyn, when he was fourteen. Back then Vince was running short con, but it didn’t take long for Jimmy to turn him on to the art of the stickup.

  “Maintaining,” Vince said, lounging on the sofa. A freshly rolled blunt dangled between his lips.

  “Looks like I came right on time,” Jimmy said, smiling and taking the seat next to Vince. When he smiled, his gold teeth glinted in the morning light.

  “Don’t you always,” Vince teased, lighting the blunt. “What you getting into today?”

  “Shit, a paper chase, nigga. You know how I do it. It’s hot so you know niggaz on the other side is probably gonna be gambling. I was thinking about taking off a dice game or maybe catching one of them dumb-ass little niggaz slipping again,” Jimmy said proudly.

  “Damn, J, we just hit them niggaz last night. I don’t think we should go in again so soon. Let’s ride on some of them niggaz from 141st Street instead,” Vince suggested.

  “Man, I don’t feel like waiting till damn near half the night for them niggaz to get they money up. Nah, I’d rather slump one of them Columbus niggaz again.”

  Vince momentarily considered it but pushed the idea out of his mind. True, the young boys who hustled under Prince weren’t the sharpest knives in the drawer, but Prince wasn’t a slouch. If they weren’t careful, he might wise up. Now, they might’ve been able to go at it with Prince and his crew and not catch too much hell, but if Diego butted in, then it would be more than a wrap for the two stickup kids.

  “Nah, we ain’t gonna do that tonight, Jimmy. Let’s get some pussy and get fucked up instead. We can get back at it tomorrow.”

  “Let me find out your ass is scared?” Jimmy teased Vince. He knew there was nothing sweet about his partner, but he also knew that with enough prodding he could get Vince to come out with him.

  “Nigga, you know better than that,” Vince said seriously. “I just ain’t trying to get greedy with it. We just hit them niggaz last night so you know they’re gonna be on point for it. Why you so fucking gung-ho to keep hitting Prince anyway?”

  “Cause they got it, and we need it. We can take these niggaz packs and sell them shits to them Dominican niggaz on 84th Street for less than street value.”

  Jimmy was sincere on what he planned to do with the drugs they stole from Prince, but he wasn’t completely truthful about his reasons. Jimmy had been fucking with this girl from the other side of the projects and found himself smitten with her. She stripped at this club in the Bronx, but her beauty and down-to-earth personality made him look past her career choice. He finally thought that she was a chick he could fuck with like that, until he found out she and Daddy-O had an ongoing thing. It wasn’t the fact that she was fucking Daddy-O that pissed him off, but the fact that she was fucking him for paper. He hated Daddy-O for it and was hell-bent on making him suffer.

  “J, you know you my nigga, can’t get no bigger, but this ain’t the wisest plan you’ve ever come up with. We’re cutting the shit too close,” Vince said.

  Jimmy thought on it for a minute. “You’re right, my dude. It’s just the thought of all that paper made me kinda crazy for a second. The rest of these niggaz don’t pay as well as Prince’s boys.”

  “I be knowing, kid. Between what we took off Gene and that other lame mutha fucka, we had like three stacks. Don’t even trip off that shit though. Go see ya young bitch and leave that shit for another day. They’ll still be selling crack tomorrow.”

  “Fo sho.” Jimmy gave Vince a pound. “I’m ’bout to go see my bitch.”

  “That’s what I’m talking about, son. Shit, I’m gonna call a bitch and see about getting my freak on too. Call me if you wanna make it a double date!” Jimmy said.

  “That’s a bet,” Jimmy assured him as he left the apartment. No sooner than the door closed behind him, he was scheming. To Jimmy, Prince and his crew were sweet and ripe for the plucking. If his man didn’t want in on the lick, that just meant he didn’t have to split the take.

  CHAPTER 7

  T he Sugar Shack was an out-of-the-way spot located on 139th Street and 8th Avenue in Harlem. It wasn’t as glitzy as some of the more established nightspots in Manhattan, but you could go there and get your drink on or enjoy a meal.

  By the time Daddy-O and Prince got to the spot, there were already some heads from the projects in the building helping Sharon celebrate her twenty-first. Keisha and her girls were in the joint, drinking and cussing like dudes. Though they were easy on the eyes, these were some of the roughest broads in the hood.

  Prince and Daddy-O had traded in their street ware and dressed for the evening. Daddy-O was wearing a white, short-sleeved button-up with sky blue jeans and white and blue Delta Force Nikes. Prince didn’t go button-up, but he had on a crisp black T-shirt, dark blue Enyce jeans, and lowcut black Timberland chuckers. His White Sox
fitted hat was pulled so low over his face that you could barely see his eyes.

  A few dudes who knew the duo nodded and raised drinks in their direction. Keisha and her crew, who appeared to be tipsy, shouted them out from across the room. Prince scoffed at the attention but didn’t take it personal. That’s just how Keisha was. Prince and Daddy-O treated them to a bottle of champagne but didn’t spend too much time at their table. There were some fine females in the joint that night, and the last thing they needed was the neighborhood girls cramping their style.

  Daddy-O was having a ball eye-fucking damn near every woman who passed him. Prince on the other hand seemed withdrawn. Though Prince was trying to act like everything was good, Daddy-O knew his friend better than that. Diego had wounded his pride. Prince had made Diego tons of money over the last few years, and his loyalty was never a question. He’d gone harder for Diego than his own inner circle, but the deeds seemed to go unnoticed. Everyone knew that Prince was more than qualified to run his own show, but he needed Diego’s backing to solidify it. A stand-up dude would’ve given Prince his blessing as long as he was still seeing a piece of the pie, but Diego was proving time and again that the age of the real nigga was dying out. He didn’t want peers, he wanted sons.

  “You still tripping off that shit, son?” Daddy-O nudged him, causing some of Prince’s drink to splash on the bar.

  “Nah, I’m good,” Prince grumbled.

  “Yo, that nigga Diego be on some real bullshit. You brought the projects back to life, and he won’t even let you reap the benefits of it.”

  “It’s all good, Daddy.”

  “Nah, it ain’t all good, Prince. We’ve been putting in work for that greedy spic since we were kids and don’t ever get a shred of fucking gratitude.”