by K'wan
An elderly dark-skinned man was sitting behind the wheel of the car trying to figure out what the traffic jam was about. He had no idea that he was about to be Gator's ticket to freedom. Still grippingthe security guard, Gator made his way to the wagon. The man looked on in shock as Gator snatched the driver's-side door open.
“Don’t shoot,” the man pleaded.
“Don’t fret, old-timer,” Gator sneered. “These hot ones ain’t for you. But I will be needing ya bucket. Get the fuck out!”
The old man raised his arms and exited the wagon without protest. Gator tossed the security guard into the driver's seat, while he climbed into the back. He placed the pistol to the back of the security guard's head and said, “Drive, mutha fucka!”
CHAPTER 2
SHAI GOT OFF THE HIGHWAY on 155th Street and took 8th Avenue downtown. It had been quite some time since he really got to hang out in the hood. Shai rode slow and watched the honeys go back and forth. There were some thick lil’ mamas at NC State, but they weren’t built like the females in the City. Their whole gutter-ass attitudes were a turn-on for Shai. He was a sucker for a hood rat.
Shai cruised 8th until he got to 114th Street. Before he made the left, he threw in his 50 Cent CD and got low in the ride. “Wanksta” blared from the speakers as Shai got his low ride on across 114th Street. Due to him slouching and the tinted windows, people really couldn’t see who was in the ride. He just peeked over his shoulder and laughed as the haters watched his 20s spin.
Shai pulled up in front of a building where some dudes were standing around clicking. Shai recognized his peoples so he decided to have a little fun. “Hey!” he shouted, still hiding his face behind the tint. “Any of y’all niggaz know Swan?”
Most of the other dudes backed away from the car, except for askinny, light-skinned kid wearing a white T-shirt. “Who that?” asked the kid.
“You Swan?” Shai asked, trying to hold in his laughter.
“I said who that?” Swan said, backing away.
“I got something for you, son,” Shai said, rolling the window down slowly. Before he could get it down all the way, a .38 appeared in Swan's hand.
“How you want it?” Swan asked, raising the gun.
Seeing that his joke was about to go too far, Shai rolled the window all the way down. “Easy,” Shai said, showing his hands. “You gonna pop ya dawg?”
“Shai?” Swan asked, smiling. “Is that my nigga? The mutha fuck’n prince of the underworld? When you blow into town, cat?”
Shai stepped out of the ride and accepted his friend's greeting. “A lil’ while ago. I see you still out here on one?”
“You know how it is, Shai. We can’t all inherit a big house. Some of us gotta work for it.”
“I can dig it. So, what's up with the gang?”
“Up and down, kid. You know how it goes down ‘round here. My little brother Joe just caught a bid.”
“That lil’ nigga out here doing dirt?” Shai asked in disbelief.
“Please believe it,” Swan confirmed. “I tried to tell the lil’ nigga this here ain’t no joke. These young cats got hard-ass heads.”
“How much time they give him?”
“Gave that boy sixty-six years,” Swan said sadly.
“Damn, lil’ ass Joe-Joe. Fuck he do, kill somebody?”
“Nah, him and his man was riding down to VA wit’ like four birds in the trunk. Police tried to pull them over for a busted tail- light and the dumb mutha fucka that's driving dips off. They ran for about a good twenty minutes or so before they wrecked. Joe was already on probation, so that didn’t help his cause any. Then the nigga he was wit’ cold snitched.”
“You’re serious?”
“I bullshit you not, kid. Mutha fucka ain’t even wait till the trial, he started talking in the sheriff's station. Ya pops paid for thelawyer out of his own pocket, ‘cause it was his work. But the snitch killed it. The fucked-up part was that I was supposed to take the work down there. I ended up going to Atlantic City with this bitch, so I got lil’ Sleep to do it for me. I didn’t know he was gonna gas my brother to go with him.”
“So what happened to Sleep?”
“Fuck you think?” Swan said venomously. “A mutha fuck’n shiv happened to that rat bastard. Had that boy cut from ear to ear, then they broke the blade off in his ass. That dribble mouth sack of shit took my lil’ brother's life away, so I took his.”
“Damn. Did Poppa flip out?”
“Did he? That's where I got this,” Swan said, pointing to a scar under his eye. “Poppa beat me like I was a nigga in the street. Said that the only reason he didn’t kill me is because he loved me like family. To make it worse, he cast me out, dawg. Got me out here with these stupid-ass niggaz,” he said, motioning to the soldiers in front of the building. “How long I known ya family, Shai? I know I fucked up, but this shit is crazy.”
“You know how Poppa is, Swan. But fuck that, what's up with you?”
“Same shit, different day, Shai. I’m just trying to live. Ya know?”
“Ain’t we all, brother.”
“I’m good now though,” Swan said, throwing phantom jabs. “I got my road dawg back. The streets better look out now.”
“I ain’t on that shit, Swan.” Shai waved him off. “Poppa's already pissed at me for getting kicked outta school. I ain’t trying to hear his mouth.”
“Damn, son. You got kicked out?”
“Yeah, man.” Shai sucked his teeth. “Nigga snitched on me behind that gambling shit.”
“Man, you ain’t push his shit back?” Swan asked, making a gun with his fingers.
“Nah, kid. It ain’t even that serious. I was in enough trouble, so I just bounced.”
“That's some bullshit. Niggaz be on that faggot shit. Don’tsweat it though, it's money out here, son. Wit’ us together, we can do some things. Just like old times.” Swan folded his arms across his chest.
“We used to kill ‘em out here.” Shai smiled.
“Hell yeah.” Swan gave him a punch. “You was the only nigga I knew that could take a pound of bullshit weed, and have niggaz thinking they had some fire.”
“You know what I say,” Shai said, smirking, “if it smells like watermelon, then it must be. Mutha fuckas spent all that money on some backyard boogie and a little watermelon puckers.” A few summers ago, Shai ventured into selling weed. He wanted to get some high-powered shit, but niggaz was selling it too high for him not to have a spot. Shai found a way around the bullshit. He bought regular weed and doctored it up to be something else. If it smelled exotic, Shai could sell them on it being so.
“Those was the days,” Shai continued. “We could’ve got our fucking heads handed to us behind that shit.”
“But we didn’t,” Swan pointed out. “You always knew how to do your shit without it getting ugly. Just like a true gentleman.”
Shai smiled.
“Yeah,” Swan continued, “if we had you on the team, we could do some shit.”
“Nah.” Shai waved him off again. “I ain’t really trying to go there, Swan. Poppa don’t want me on the streets. This is Tommy's thing.”
“Don’t beat me in the head, Shai. You know damn well you got hustler in your blood. Shit, we was flipping them pounds, of weed like hotcakes. Ain’t nothing for us to set up shop again. I fuck wit’ Tommy on the hard drugs. Coke, dope, shit like that. It shouldn’t be a problem if we do us on the weed tip.”
“Yeah, until Poppa finds out and whips both our assess,” Shai joked. “But fuck that. How's the lil’ one?”
“Mara, that's my heart,” Swan said proudly. “I live and die for her, baby.”
“‘Bout how old is she now?”
“She about to be three, son. It's funny ‘cause while you was at the prom, I was up in labor and delivery.”
“Life is crazy like that, kid. But you doing right by her, ain’t you?”
“That's a silly-ass question, Shai. You know me, man. Giselle is a stone-cold bitch, but that
ain’t got shit to do with Mara.”
“Fo’ sho’.”
“Hey, Shai,” two passing girls said in unison. Shai waved at the girls and gave them his winning smile. The girls giggled and kept going. Swan shook his head.
“You ain’t even been on the block five minutes,” he teased.
“Don’t hate, nigga. I’m the prettiest nigga in Harlem,” Shai joked as he licked his fingers and ran them along his eyebrows.
“Front’n-ass nigga. Yo, let's spin the hood, kid.”
“You ain’t said nothing but a word,” Shai replied as he got into the driver's seat. Swan got in on the other side. Shai cranked on the CD player and pulled the car into traffic.
“Star, quit playing and get your coat!” Tish shouted, trying to find her house keys. She had been having a rough day, and her niece Star wasn’t helping. This was the usual routine when her sister didn’t come home: Tish would be left to tend to Star. At times, she got pissed, but she tried to understand her sister. It was hard raising a child by oneself. That's the reason Tish didn’t have any.
Honey had always been the rebel around the house. She pretty much did what she wanted to, even when they were kids. When she came home one day and told her mother that she was pregnant, it didn’t really come as a surprise. Instead of her mother trying to understand, she called Honey every name under the sun and gave her a clear ultimatum: “Give your baby up for adoption, or get out.” Honey chose the latter.
In the beginning, it was really hard for her. She was a teenage mother with no job and no skills. Honey was always too proud to accept help, so welfare wasn’t an option. Besides, since she wasn’t eighteen, she’d need her mother to handle the paperwork. There wasno way in hell she was going to do that. She’d just have to find another way.
So she just coasted. Honey looked for work, but she was either too young or underqualified. In the meantime, in between time, Honey had men throwing themselves at her left and right. Having a baby accented her already shapely body. It was around this time that Honey realized just how much of an asset a woman's body could be. She decided that instead of trying to work for peanuts, she’d just use her natural assets to get what she wanted.
Guys constantly showered her and Star with gifts. It was cool, but it wasn’t hers. When a man gives you something, he usually wants something in return. Honey wasn’t above fucking for a buck, but it wasn’t really her style. She needed to find a way to generate her own income. It was around that time she was introduced to stripping. A girl she knew coaxed her to try it once, and like most girls, Honey was addicted to that fast cash. She hadn’t looked back since.
Tish tried not to be judgmental of her sister. She didn’t agree with Honey's career choice, but she understood survival. She had often tried to coax Honey to explore going back to school, but she only half listened. Honey was caught up in the glitz and glam of the streets. She sold herself on the idea that she’d find the balla to snatch her off her feet and take her to paradise. Not likely.
“Star, let's go!”
“So where we at?” Shai asked, coasting up Broadway.
“I don’t know, nigga,” Swan replied. “You act like you ain’t from New York. Oh, 1 forgot. Youz a Jersey nigga, right?”
“Fuck you, Swan. You know where I’m rep’n. Man, that weed gave me the munchies. How ‘bout we go find somewhere to grub?”
“A’ight,” Swan agreed. “I know this little spot uptown where we can get some seafood at a reasonable price.”
“Sounds good to me,” Shai said.
“In a minute,i got a run to make,” Swan told him.
“Swan, you know I ain’t riding wit’ no work in the car,” Shai warned.
“Shut up, fool,” Swan joked. “I ain’t gotta pick up no work, I gotta go snatch some bread from this cat on Amsterdam.”
“What, you playing messenger?” Shai asked.
“Hardly.” Swan smiled. “Insurance money.”
“You mean extortion money,” Shai pointed out.
“What the fuck ever. All I know is that I’m supposed to pick the bread up from homeboy. Whatever arrangements he's made wit’ ya brother is none of my concern. I sell crack, nigga. I don’t know nothing about that other shit.”
“Just hurry yo’ ass up,” Shai said, sucking his teeth.
Swan directed Shai to a bodega on 102nd and Amsterdam Avenue. He pulled the Camry in front of the joint and double-parked. There were some dudes standing in front of the store, trying to look hard. They strained their eyes to see who the occupants of the car were. When they saw Swan hop from the car, they all turned their eyes and went back to what they were doing.
“What up, ahk?” Swan asked, stepping into the bodega.
“Swan, what's good?” said a young-looking Arab boy wearing a fitted Raiders cap. “My pops is stocking the shelves. Dad!” the boy yelled down the aisle.
A man, who looked like the boy twenty years older, popped his head up from behind some cereal boxes. He looked around the front of the store and stopped his gaze on Swan. He dabbed his tan face with a handkerchief and gave Swan a yellow-toothed grin.
“What up, shorty?” Kareem asked.
“Told you about that shorty shit,” Swan said playfully. “You got that for me?”
“Yeah,” Kareem said, pulling a healthy-looking envelope from the pocket of his smock. “It's all there, but it's almost a shame to give it to you.”
“Quit talking crazy,” Swan said, taking the envelope and thumbing through the bills. “We’ve got a beautiful thing going over here. Y’all move our product and pay taxes, while we provide youwith the goods you sell at a generous discount. What's better than that?”
“Yeah, that part is cool, but you guys are slipping,” Kareem admitted. “We pay you for protection, but those kids from the projects have robbed us twice this month. I had to go into the rent money to pay you guys.”
“Robbed?” Swan asked in surprise. “1 didn’t know anything about that. Kareem, you know you my nigga. Why didn’t you come to me?”
“Since you got into that trouble with Poppa, you don’t get over this way much. I tried to tell that other guy, but he didn’t follow up on it,” Kareem explained.
Swan suddenly became furious. Kareem and his family were good people. They paid on time and they never came up short. Their store, just like several others in Harlem, were under the protection of the Clark family.
“Don’t worry, Kareem,” Swan said. “I’m gonna take care of this shit, right now. Would you know these kids if you seen ‘em again?”
“Why not?” Kareem asked. “It's not like they wore masks.”
“A’ight. So we’ll take a walk over to the projects and handle this shit,” Swan said, leading the way out of the bodega.
Swan walked past the car, not saying a word to Shai. Shai noticed him and wondered what the deal was. Not wanting to be left out of the loop, Shai climbed out of the ride and followed Swan and the Arab man.
“What the deal?” Shai asked, finally catching up.
“Wait for me’in the car,” Swan said over his shoulder.
“What up, we got beef or something over here?” Shai asked, ready to hold his partner down.
“We ain’t got shit,” Swan said, checking his gun. “I gotta go fix a problem for my man Kareem.”
“So, I’m with you,” Shai said.
Swan looked at Shai and sucked his teeth. He knew Shai wasn’t a punk, but he also knew that Tommy would murder him if anything happened to Shai. They were already right there, so Shai was in it.Swan just hoped that he would be able to hold him and his man down with one gun.
“There they go.” Kareem pointed to a group of young men standing in front of the building. “The fat one,” Kareem said, indicating a dark-skinned kid who was smoking a cigarette. “That's the main one. The other dudes are just flunkies.”
“A’ight,” Swan said, shoving the barrel of his gun into his pants pocket and covering the butt with his shirt. “Shai, you stay here with
Kareem until I call for you.”
“What you gonna do?” Shai asked.
“Man, stop asking so many fucking questions,” Swan snapped. “Just be easy and watch a nigga work.”
Shai looked on in confusion as Swan hunched over and walked toward the boys. He couldn’t think for the life of him what Swan was up to. Regardless of what it was, he was gonna hold Swan down. He didn’t want to get hurt in the process, but if it happened, he was ready.
“Say, man,” Swan said, swaggering toward the boys. “Who's working?”
“What?” a short, light-skinned kid asked. “Fuck you talking about?”
“You got coke?” Swan asked, scratching his arm.
“Nah, man,” the light-skinned kid said. “We don’t know nothing about that shit.”
“Come on,” Swan pleaded. “I ain’t no cop. I’m just trying to get a quick buzz.”
“Why don’t you buzz yo’ ass from ‘round here,” the fat kid cut in.
“It ain’t even gotta be like that,” Swan said, reaching out and touching the fat kid's shoulder.
The fat kid grabbed Swan's arm, which was just what he expected him to do. When he tried to move Swan's right arm, Swan came up holding the gun with his left. He jammed the pistol into the fat kid's gut and smiled wickedly as his whole team froze in place.
“Chill, man,” the fat kid pleaded.
“Fuck that chill shit, big boy,” Swan said, jamming the gun farther into his stomach. “Talk that fly shit now.”
“Chill,” the fat kid repeated. “We selling weed over here. Take it all and the money.”
“Thanks,” Swan said, digging into the fat kid's pocket. He removed a small bankroll and shoved it into his pants pocket. “But this ain’t about no paper. Yo!” Swan called to Shai and Kareem.
Shai looked at the Arab man and shrugged his shoulders. He walked over to his friend, followed by a frightened Kareem. Shai looked each one of the boys in their eyes as he took his place next to Swan. He was nervous as hell, but he held his face.
