Ghetto Girls 3

by Anthony Whyte

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Acknowledgements

  PROLOGUE

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THIRTY-SIX

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THIRTY-NINE

  FORTY

  FORTY-ONE

  FORTY-TWO

  FORTY-THREE

  FORTY-FOUR

  FORTY-FIVE

  FORTY-SIX

  FORTY-SEVEN

  FORTY-EIGHT

  FORTY-NINE

  FIFTY

  FIFTY-ONE

  FIFTY-TWO

  Copyright Page

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Through God all is possible.

  Thanks to Tracy Sherrod for the edits and cuts.

  Jay Clay & the Augustus Publishing manuscript team, Tamiko Maldonado, Star and the poet, Joy Leftow Yasmin Sangaria and Janet for the photo shoot.

  Kel1st and Annabelle for your tireless work Good-looking all friends and physicals down with me To all the readers for supporting Thank you all

  One love,

  Anthony Whyte

  PROLOGUE

  Deedee, Eric, Coco and Josephine arrived at the studio. This opportunity to record in the studio with famed producer Eric Ascot was her prize for winning the talent show sponsored by Busta. First prize included not only money but also a chance to do a single and possibly an album.

  “Coco this might be your one shot,” Josephine said. “This might be the moment your career is launched and I’ll be glad to say I was there.”

  “Chill out, you’re making me nervous, yo,” Coco said.

  “What’s good? You finished with the tracks?” Eric asked rap producers, Silky Black and Show Biz.

  “Everything is set. You can take it from right where the beat drops,” Show Biz said and gave Eric a pound.

  “The track is kind a hot. I laid some new sounds on it. Lemme hear it when you mix it down and add the other vocals, ahight E?” Silky Black requested.

  “Coco we throw sump’n, sump’n up there for you. Show Biz said turning to the girls. We need about thirty-two bars from you to set it off. Eric will show you what I’m talking ‘bout.”

  The girls walked into the studio. Eric Ascot directed them to the lounge area filled with television sets and vending machines. A pool table was bare and unused.

  “Coco I got this track that I want to use for a Silky Black song. It was just going to be his vocals but I wanted to try a thing and get a verse or two from you on it.”

  “This is something I’ve been looking forward to doing,” Coco answered enthusiastically.

  “Josephine will also do some background stuff, so we’ll get everyone involved.” Eric continued.

  “Wait a minute Uncle E. I don’t hear my name being called?” Deedee frowned. Eric walked over and put his hand around her shoulder, “I’ve got something very special planned for you. Only you can handle this task. I’ll discuss it later.”

  “Okay, it better be something important,” Deedee said.

  “Alright, let’s go invade the studio,” Eric said leading the way.

  Eric Ascot and Coco sat facing each other at the sound-board.

  The engineer slipped a disk into the drive and musical notes danced across the computer screen. The earth shook as the sound was filtered through Klipschs 911 studio size speakers. Coco was transported to a musical wonderland. The speakers vibrated and a steady sound of Hip-Hop came through heavy and inflexible. Coco jerked from her torso to the top of her head. She was feeling the whole thing.

  “It’s yours, when you’re ready, just go in the booth,” Eric announced.

  He disappeared as the bass led the horns that ushered the percussion.

  She worked the mechanics of the beat, breaking it down, and then spat freestyle lyrics that hit like an automatic weapon.

  Niggers terrified when they hear what comes from the young one…

  Coco’s in your town put down your guns have fun…

  This lyrical gift is like Teflon can’t say I won’t kill anyone…

  I ain’t just rapping to be popular step to me I’ll bury ya…

  The Teflon things come flyin atcha…

  In the race for cheddar I’m natural born killa…

  Hustla running laps like I’m a track star…

  Oh yeah hip-hop-hooray in case you forgot I say…

  Coco’s getting ghetto n your town today…

  A champion like Laila my rhymes lay you out forever…

  Try to peep me but can’t see my phantom jab coming to smash ya ...

  You cold before you feel me suckas?”

  There was a loud howl and scattered applause, some present in the studio laughed. Coco’s verse off the top of her dome served to convince all that she was ready for the next level.

  ONE

  No Standing Any Time

  Read the sign above the black, Range Rover on chromes. The rims were still spinning and two burly bodyguards remained seated in plush leather, air condition comfort, waiting for Deedee’s return. One of them doubled as a chauffeur, sat in the driver’s seat. The other, remote in hand, switched the radio dial to a local station.

  The news and weather report were in progress: “March 9 97 Biggie Smalls was shot to death out in LA while listening to his joint; I’m going back to Cali… Today on the sixth anniversary of his death we will remember the legend coming right after the weather. Right now New York stand up… Fordham Road in the Bronx, Jamaica Ave, Queens... up in the streets of Harlem... you’re in tune to the best Hip Hop ‘n’ R&B sounds in town. It’s three ‘o’ five and right about now we’d like to take it back to the streets of Brooklyn with the sounds of Notorious B.I.G. This is ‘Warning.’”

  The disk jockey said his piece and a raw, pulsating drum and bass laced with the lyrical flow of rap legend, Biggie Smalls followed. The classic knocked hard through the streets.

  …Who the hell is this?

  Paging me at 5:46 in the morning

  Crack a dawn now I’m yawn n,

  wipe the cold out my eye,

  See who’s this paging me and why…?

  The rhythmic spit of the Notorious B.I.G. banged clear through Bose Acoustics Systems speakers echoing through the hectic, city sidewalk, reverberating from buildings. The sound almost over shadowed the sight of several people running from out of the same building Deedee and her friend went into earlier.

  “What d’ya thinks is going down?” The curious bodyguard asked.

  “Where?” The driver answered with a shrug. Without taking a second glance, he went back to bopping his head to the rap legend.

  …It’s my nigga pop from the barbershop

  Told me he was in the gambling spot

  and heard the intricate plot…

  “Sump’n gotta be up…” The grumble came from the concerned bodyguard.

  The driver peered from smoked window and mumbled something i
naudible. He saw the clamor in front of the building but quickly dismissed it.

  “Nah, sump’n definitely up,” the guard said.

  “I’m saying ya always see niggas running,” the driver quipped. “Most o’ them don’t even know why they running. They just run to be running. Like my man, Cedric the Entertainer sez, ‘don’t take much to set black folks off running.’ Niggas think they hear sump’n strange they ain’t turning around to find out what happened? They be like ‘see ya.’” The driver chuckled. A few more people darted from the building as if it was on fire.

  “Sump’n ain’t right. Deedee went up in that building, and as far as I know, she’s still up there. We getting paid to make sure nothing goes wrong with her. Matter fact, it was her Uncle who said ‘Make sure no harm comes to not even a strand of her hair.’ I’m a go take a look, ahight.” He checked his weapon and exited the vehicle.

  “I ain’t mad. I’ll be right here. Hit me if there’s problems.” The driver held his cell phone high.

  The bodyguard walked away from the vehicle and headed to the entrance of the building.

  “What’s going on up in there?” He asked pointing to the building where a couple of teens were pitching.

  “A bunch a bitches up on the third floor arguing ‘bout some man or sump’n, you know the usual. But big man, big man check this out we got dat, ya heard?” Before he could turn toward the door, he overheard a conversation. “Man, you know that bitch straight up lesbian, man. That bitch ain’t fighting over no man that bitch fighting over some other bitch.”

  “Ah, there you go again hatin’ cuz the bitch ain’t givin’ you none, petty ass nigga.”

  “I ain’t bout it like that, cuz I got mines.”

  “Man, leave me alone. I got what you need right here.”

  The burly bodyguard walked away leaving the two teens still pitching.

  “Fighting?” He repeated perplexed, then gathered speed only to bump into another teen on his way out the building. Walking fast and breathing hard the bodyguard attempted to engage him.

  “Hey yo, hey yo, yeah you, what’s going on up in the building?”

  The teen paused shrugged her shoulders before saying: “I don’t know man,” she said out of breath.

  “These girls were scrapping on the third floor and one o’ them pulled out a hammer and let off,” another person volunteered as she quickly moved past the bodyguard.

  When the beefy security reached the third floor, he heard a chilling scream over his heavy breathing.

  “Someone please call 911!” Coco cried for help. The guard hurriedly sought Deedee and grabbed her by the arm.

  “Are you okay?” He asked with urgency.

  “Yes, yes I’m fine,” Deedee said as her fingers frantically worked her cell phone. “We have an emergency. What’s the name of these houses?” Deedee asked repositioning herself trying to get better transmission.

  “Ah… Malcolm X,” someone shouted.

  “Ah… I’m not sure. I can’t hear you… I don’t have good reception. An older lady might be dead…”

  Coco grabbed the phone, “We need an ambulance right away, someone fired a gun and a lady is down… I don’t know? Just send the ambulance right away thank you. It’s the corner of one-tenth and Lenox, hurry.” Coco hurried back to where Miss Katie’s body laid. “The ambulance will be here soon, Miss Katie. Please hold on it won’t be long now. Please hold on.” Coco held her hand pleading, tears streaming.

  “Coco, maybe we should move her inside, I’ll ask the bodyguard to help carry her…”

  “You think she’s dead, Dee?”

  “I don’t know Coco. She’s not moving. Is she breathing or anything…?”

  “I can hardly tell. Miss Katie, Miss Katie, Miss Katie…” Coco cowered as she wailed over Miss Katie’s body. “Damn, why?”

  Deedee tried to hug Coco but the bodyguard came and pulled her away.

  “We gotta go. The ambulance is on its way. I think she can handle it from here,” he said.

  “Let me go.” Deedee ordered. “I have to stick around. Coco is going to need me. After these two ah…bimbos on the elevator jumped us and when the police come I’ll have to…”

  “It’s all good, Dee. It wasn’t your beef to begin with. Kim and I have been going at it for a minute now.”

  “What about the other girl with her? She shot at us.”

  “Dee, I appreciate it and all, but you don’t have to get involved any further. I told you, this bullshit been going on between them two and me, ever since that nigga, Deja’s been murk.”

  “Deja?”

  “Call me I’ll tell you later.” The girls hugged and Coco sat next to Miss Katie’s body.

  On the street, Deedee stepped into the parked Range Rover and watched as the police led the way into the building with firefighters and the EMTs in the rear.

  TWO

  Coco winced from the pain that she felt in her chest. The slow moving emergency teams, toying around with their equipment, appearing unsure, was too annoying.

  “Please yo, yo please what’re y’all doing bout her yo?” Coco asked feeling a sharp pain searing her stomach. She folded her arms and watched the police fan out, sniffing for a lead. The paramedics looked dumbfounded.

  “For real for real, y’all gotta start doing’ sump’n, Miss Katie could die, yo. C’mon, already, yo,” Coco said, watching the paramedics stare at each other then at her. “What da fuck, am I the only one around here who understands English? There’s an old lady laid out on the floor and y’all need to get busy and do sump’n. Do y’all jobs and stop looking at the hood rats!”

  “Young lady, please get back in your apartment and watch yourself, you don’t want to see the inside of a cell tonight,” an approaching officer said.

  “I don’t care. Tell humpty and his corny ass pal, dumpy in those damn paramedics uniforms to start acting like they came here to save lives not grab ass. All they be doing since they got up in here is staring at every bitches’ ass, when they should be doing sump’n to save this lady.”

  “Okay, okay, but please calm yourself. Turn it down a notch. We must make sure the area is safe. The medics must feel secure before anything else happens. Now you wouldn’t want either of these medics to be ah, shot while doing their job, saving a life, right?” The officer sarcastically asked while menacingly spinning his nightstick.

  Coco made a face, sulked and turned away. The officer nodded to the paramedics and they went to work on Miss Katie.

  “Possible heart attack,” the paramedic yelled into a hand held radio. “Victim is African American, approximate age sixty-five. There does not appear to be any visible gunshot wounds.”

  Coco could feel the tightness increasing in her chest as she realized that there would be no one else to share her deepest feelings. She was caught up in the memories of Miss Katie as the officer tried to get her attention.

  “Who had guns?”

  “Was she shot?”

  “Were you a witness?”

  “What was she doing alone in the hallway?”

  “Was this a stick-up?”

  Coco remained tightlipped despite hearing the questions. She cringed as she witnessed the EMTs’ attempts to revive Miss Katie. Their actions were almost brutal. One minute they were shifting the body this way, then another way. Tears continued to roll down Coco’s cheeks while she listened to the paramedics shout above the curious crowd.

  “Coming through! Coming through!”

  “Make way! Give us some room people!” The paramedics were rolling Miss Katie’s immobilized frame on a two-man stretcher. Coco closed the door to Miss Katie’s place and followed the paramedics to the elevator just as the door closed. She raced down the stairs.

  In the lobby, she slid by police officers interviewing neighbors about the shooting incident. She ran after the paramedics but the uniformed officers would not let her get close to the ambulance.

  “Are you a relative?” One of the medical technicians asked
while placing a breathing apparatus over Miss Katie’s nose and mouth.

  “I… I’m her relative. She’s like… ah she’s ah my grand-mother…”

  “Do you know if she’s got medical coverage?”

  “I guess… ah… I mean I could check.”

  “What do you know?”

  “Look, just give me a list of whatever you need and I’ll get it for you. Please get her to a hospital!”

  “Alright, alright, cool it, we’re only here to help, not to have a fight,” the technician said, then wrote on a sheet and gave it to Coco. “Here, call this number and the operator will let you know the hospital where she’ll be admitted. Bring everything on the list to that hospital.”

  “Done,” Coco said and took the note. “Take care of her, please.”

  “Back up, please.”

  The technician slammed the door. Coco stood with her arms folded, watching and praying until the ambulance disappeared from her view. Coco felt her strength sapped, as if the whole building had just collapsed on her. Her heart tightened with fear as her tears came in a rush. She ingored the call of an officer. Coco lit a cigarette and sucked deeply on it. She exhaled and contemplated her escape from this crowd.

  “We have to speak with you,” the officer said.

  “I really have nothing to say to y’all. I’ve got to go and help the old lady that was hurt,” Coco hastily answered.

  “I understand you Miss, but I’ve got to get a statement regarding what caused it all. Some of your neighbors reported that you know who fired the gun,” the officer countered.

  “All right, all right, there were a couple of girls fighting or sump’n and then one of them pulled out a gun and bust it. I ducked like everyone else and got da hell outta dodge. Therefore, I couldn’t see anything. You feel me, officer?”

  “Do you know the name of the girl who had the gun and fired the shot?”

  “Nah, nah I don’t know those peeps. I don’t know any of them. I heard people saying that they were visiting. They ain’t from this building. That’s all I know. That’s it, yo.”

  “One more thing, what’s your name? And how can I get a hold of you? ”