What's Really Hood!

by Wahida Clark

  “Yo, Wiz, what up with that bitch? She trickin’?” young Nu-Nu still wanted to know.

  Wiz restrained himself from tapping his jaw. “Naw and watch yo’ mouth, lil’ nigguh, ’fore it get bloodied.”

  But despite her veneer, she was still as big an addict as ever. Wiz tried to smoke weed with her more, not realizing he was only feeding her dependency.

  She always promised, “Baby, I’m tryin’, I swear I’m tryin’. Please, just give me a chance.”

  And he did over and over, numerous chances. She could go a few days, but it always ended up, “Come on, Wiz, I’ve been doin’ good, right? Just do me right one more time.” He couldn’t tell her no, but it hurt him to say yes. It was his mother’s situation all over again, and she was still a factor.

  “How come you never home, boy?” his mother demanded to know. “What lil’ hussy got you so twisted, you can’t come see your mama?”

  “Ain’t no hussy, yo, I just be busy,” Wiz would tell her, but after the ranting and raving, the guilt trips and browbeatings, it always ended like, “So you gonna look out for me or what?”

  And he always gave in. He felt like he was caught in a three-way tug of war between Crystal, his moms and the game. Like he was the crackhead, hustling backward, selling drugs just to give them away.

  He and Crystal got an apartment in Weequahic Towers, because keeping the motel room for months was getting too expensive. He hoped their having a place would give Crystal a home. He let her lace the place out, which kept her occupied for a few days, but after that…

  “Ain’t I been a good girl, Daddy?”

  And the game began, until one night when it all changed.

  He had taken Crystal to the movies in Perth Amboy. It was late when they went to White Castle, but the Castle was always packed. Booming systems, fat whips and Newark hardheads everywhere. Wiz pulled up in the Jetta and parked.

  “You comin’ in?” he asked Crystal.

  Her seat was reclined and she was half asleep. “Naw, just get me what you get.”

  Wiz got out and went in. While he was inside, Fatty Moo, a cat from Renner Avenue, peeped Crystal in the car. “Yo, Crystal!” he called out, approaching the car. She didn’t hear him because she had dozed off, so he tapped on the window. “Yo, Crystal, it’s me, Moo. Open the door.” He knew whose car it was but he ain’t give a fuck.

  Crystal froze in horror. She knew Wiz would flip if he saw Moo at the car, and she also knew Moo wouldn’t back down. She didn’t know what to do, but she opted to lower the window, try and be nice and get rid of him. “Hey, Moo, whut up? I got a crazy headache.”

  “Oh word? I got that medicine, yo. Whatever you need.” Moo cheesed.

  Crystal tried to maintain a smile, saying, “I’m cool. Just let me—”

  “Ay yo!”

  Crystal knew exactly who that was. Wiz. He had seen Moo at the car window and he came out to see what the deal was.

  Moo leaned up from the window and spoke. “Oh, whut up, Wiz?”

  “Whut up wit’ you all over my shit!” Wiz barked, not three feet away.

  “Oh, this you?” Moo faked ignorant. “My bad, I was just hollerin’ at my old friend.”

  “Come on, Wiz. He just actin’ stupid.”

  “Stupid? Oh, we ain’t friends? You sayin’ you ain’t come through the block last week and cop an O.Z.?” Moo was purposely blowing her spot because Crystal hadn’t let him fuck her when she came through last week, even though she had tricked with him in the past.

  Crystal covered her face with her hand so Wiz knew it was true. By then a crowd was looking on and Wiz couldn’t just let Moo clown him in the middle of the parking lot. He took off his chain and his Goose Bomber and gave them to Crystal.

  “Yo, Moo, bring yo’ bitch ass on!”

  “Wiz, no!” Crystal pleaded, teary-eyed. “Let’s just go, please!”

  “Shut the fuck up!” he snapped.

  Moo took off his waist-length fur and said, “Nigguh, this ain’t what you want, but you damn sure can get it.”

  “No, Wiz,” Crystal muttered helplessly.

  Fatty Moo outweighed Wiz by a yard easy. But Wiz had been taught by Al-Ameen, who was extremely swift with the hands. The first few blows from Wiz proved that he had been taught well. He landed a sweet left-handed jab to Moo’s chin and nose several times in swift succession, which only angered the bigger Moo. Moo swung a haymaker wildly, but Wiz ducked and caught Moo with a gut shot that took the wind out of him. Moo saw he couldn’t handle the smaller man toe-to-toe, so he rushed him, scooped him and slammed him hard on his back.

  “Wiz!” Crystal screamed.

  She didn’t know what to do. Her nerves were shot to pieces. She knew it was all her fault, but there was nothing she could do about it. She wanted to get away and that want became a need. So as someone pulled Moo off of Wiz, saying, “Shoot the one, fuck all that grippin’ and grabbin’,” Crystal slid out of the tightly formed circle and walked the few blocks to their apartment.

  Meanwhile, Wiz got to his feet. Moo had landed a few heavy shots while he had him pinned, and the effects could be seen in his busted lip and puffed eye. But he continued to fight, catching the bigger man repeatedly, but becoming less and less effective. He was tired so it slowed him down, allowing Moo to land some hard joints. Had Wiz’s mind been clear, he would have danced on Moo; instead he was the only one bleeding, despite the fact he landed the most blows.

  They fought for twenty minutes, until Ali Smalls and Al-Ameen pulled up in Ali’s Eldorado. Someone had called and told Ali that Wiz was at White Castle fighting, so he came through. He and Al-Ameen got out and maneuvered through the crowd to the front, his huge gold plate medallion clinking with every step. He looked at Wiz circling Moo expertly, but he could tell by his footwork he was on his last leg. He let Wiz catch Moo three more times before he stepped in, threw his arm around his shoulder and said, “That’s enough, baby.”

  Moo saw Ali and automatically assumed the worst. He didn’t know who Ali was to Wiz, but he knew if he had stepped in, that was his man.

  Ali looked across at Moo, then stepped to him calmly. “You straight, Moo? You got it off your chest.”

  Moo dropped his eyes to avoid the shorter man’s gaze. “Yeah, Smalls, it’s over, yo.”

  “Yeah? You sure? The problem solved itself?” Ali probed.

  Moo knew Ali was a live wire, one he really didn’t want to ignite, so he replied, “It’s dead, Smalls.”

  “Aiight,” Ali responded, then went back to Wiz.

  Once the crowd saw the fight was over, and that Ali and Al-Ameen were there, they quickly dispersed, leaving Ali to deal with Wiz.

  “Whut up, Cousin? That nigguh Moo owe you something?”

  Wiz spit out a stream of blood and saliva, then wiped his mouth. “Naw, yo.”

  “You say some ol’ slick shit?”

  Wiz was getting aggravated because he hated to tell Ali the real. “No man, he just disrespected me. Fuck it, it’s over.”

  “How it’s over if he disrespected you? What the fuck he do?” Ali aggressively persisted.

  Wiz checked his lip, glanced around, then proceeded to tell Ali what the fight was about. Ali and Al-Ameen listened to his whole Crystal story with expressionless faces. The only comments they made were mainly questions of clarification, but they held their tongues until he finished.

  “So I was like, fuck it, shoot a fair one,” Wiz concluded.

  Ali lit a Newport and put the lighter back in his pocket. He blew the thick smoke into the frigid night air and watched it quickly dissipate. “Nigguhs been tellin’ me you been tryin’ to turn a crackhead into a housewife, but I told them nigguhs, keep your name out they mouth. If that’s what you wanna do, fuck it. But then, I’m hearin’ how she always wit’ you, even when you in the mix, and I’m like whoa. Fuck is lil’ cuz thinkin’,” Ali stated, and Wiz tried to explain, but Ali stopped him. “Let me finish.” He hit the cigarette, then said, “Word is bond, Wiz, you
in a position to see some real cheese, okay, ’cause your weight is up here. Any mistakes and shit be like dominoes. You got enough problems than to be out here fightin’ over some chick! Smokin’ or not, what the fuck shit you on? Huh? You ’posed to have thanked Moo for pullin’ yo’ coat to that triflin’ shit, then took her home and whooped her ass, yo! Am I right, Ameen?”

  “Word is bond, Wiz.” Al-Ameen was far from a yes-man, he was just a man of few words. Wiz looked at the two men who had basically raised him in the life, knowing they were right.

  “Now dig, go home and straighten that. If you love this broad like that, raise her ass like a thoroughbred, if not, turn that mule into dog food and feed her to the street. Either way, I hear you doin’ this bullshit again, you gonna shoot me and Ameen a fair one, aiight?”

  Wiz nodded his understanding. As Ali and Al-Ameen walked to the car, Ali stood in the open driver’s door and said with a smirk, “A shame what happened to Moo, huh?”

  Wiz looked perplexed.

  “Oh, you ain’t heard?” Ali snickered. “Don’t worry… you will.” And with that he got in the car and pulled off.

  Three days later Wiz would find out Moo’s body had been found with two to the head on the steps of his own basement. But that night Wiz wasn’t thinking about Moo, he was focused on Crystal.

  Crystal sat on the toilet. The floor around her feet was cluttered with baking-soda-caked spoons, empty vials and half-empty lighters. She stuffed the rocks into the end of the pipe until she couldn’t stuff anymore, hoping to take a big enough hit to stop her heart. If not, to get so high she never came down, never feel anything again but cocaine’s sickening comfort. Her hand was shaking so badly, she could hardly keep the lighter to the opposite end. She inhaled, eyes widening as the smoke filled her lungs, her mind and her soul. Higher, baby… Get higher, baby, and don’t ever come down!

  The words of Melle Mel’s “White Lines” floated from the back of her mind. Twice as sweet as sugar, twice as good as salt. And if you get hooked, baby, it’s nobody else’s fault!

  “Yo, Crystal! Where you at!”

  She heard Wiz call and slam the door behind him, but she was ashamed to answer him. She sat paranoid on the edge of the toilet seat until she damn near jumped out of her skin when he kicked the door open.

  “You fuckin’ wit’ Moo now, huh?! You takin’ my money and spendin’ it wit’ him? Huh?”

  “I… I,” she stuttered, “I didn’t want you to get mad.”

  Wiz couldn’t believe the irrationality of her statement. “You didn’t what?”

  Crystal got up and came over to him. “I know how you hate to give me stuff all the time, so I figured—”

  “You’d go behind my back!” Wiz furiously finished her sentence, then turned his back and walked a few feet away.

  “No, I didn’t go behind your back, Wiz,” she said.

  “How the fuck you didn’t? Did I know? Did you tell me? Did you purposely not fuckin’ tell me?” Wiz paced the floor, fuming. “Did you fuck him, Crystal?”

  Her whole body stiffened like he had slapped her. “I can’t believe you’d even ask me some—”

  He cut her off, his stomach full of butterflies, anticipating the answer. “I ain’t talkin’ about last week! Did you ever fuck that nigguh?” This time her whole body went limp, and all she could do was drop her head. Wiz turned away in an anguished rage and punched the wall, causing a picture to fall. He chuckled. “What the fuck am I doin’?” He chuckled harder, then laughed to keep from crying. “Muhfuckas in the street runnin’ around talkin’ about I’m trying to turn a crackhead into a housewife. Fuckin’… laughin’ behind my back like I’m a clown, and you gonna go and do this dumb shit!”

  Crystal was crushed, but she mustered up enough to say, “Then maybe I should just go.”

  “Naw, maybe you should stop smokin’!” he fired right back.

  “I swear to you, Wiz, I’ma try harder, harder than I ever—”

  Wiz’s brushing past her into the bathroom cut her words off. He went straight to her Gucci pocketbook and dumped everything on the floor.

  “What are you…” Crystal started to say until she saw him start throwing full bottles of crack in the toilet and flushing it. Her habit made her blurt, “Is you crazy?” She tried to reach in the toilet and salvage one of the bottles, but Wiz pushed her back and dumped the rest. “Stop it! Leave my shit alone!” she screamed hysterically, beating his back. He stood up after flushing everything and looked at her. He could see the hysteria in her eyes. “You gonna give me some more, Wiz! Give me some more now!”

  “No.”

  “You ain’t my father, mutherfucka, you can’t control me!”

  “Then control yourself,” he retorted calmly.

  “I swear to God, I’ma suck every dick in Jers—”

  He turned her whole face with an open-handed slap. He didn’t slap her out of anger, so he didn’t try and hurt her. He wanted to make her mad.

  She lunged at his face, trying to dig her nails in, but he easily swatted her hands away and told her, “Fight.”

  And she did, swinging wildly, but doing no damage. He reached in and smacked her again. “Fight,” he repeated.

  Crystal grunted with emphasis, swinging, swinging and swinging. Wiz smacked her once more. “Fight.”

  She couldn’t anymore, because she was exhausted. She fell into his arms, sobbing like a small child, lost and turned out. He allowed her weight to sag against him, causing them to slide slowly to the floor. He cradled her in his arms, whispering, “Fight, baby girl… you’re gonna need it.”

  FOUR

  Five… four… three… two… one…

  Happy new year!!!

  The ball in Times Square dropped, signaling the beginning of 1987 and a new beginning for Crystal. She had never fought so hard for anything in her life, but slowly she was regaining her spirit of self, her motivation to be her best, and Wiz was with her every step of the way.

  Times Square on New Year’s eve was the place to be, and 1987 was no different. Everyone came out to do it up in their own way, but Crystal and Wiz did it big. Wiz rented a cocaine-white stretch limousine and held Forty-Deuce hostage as he and Crystal fucked it up in matching full-length chinchillas, diamonds smiling for every flash. They club-hopped from the Silver Shadow to the Red Parrot and even blessed the Latin Quarters with a paparazzi-type entrance. They owned the night, so they would only share it with each other.

  Back around the way, paper was steadily flowing, so much so that Wiz started selling hundred-dollar clips for fifty dollars. He changed the game and had nigguhs blowing his pager like crazy. Nigguhs who ain’t have their weight up couldn’t compete, and those who did had no choice but to do the same. Crystal on the other hand was on top of the world. The first couple of months getting off crack had been tough, but once they passed it had gotten that much easier. Whenever the urge did hit her to scratch that itch, she’d remember Wiz’s word, “Fight,” then she’d sing Alicia Myers’s “I Want to Thank You.” I want to thank you, heavenly Father / For shining your light on me / You sent me someone who really loves me and not just my body.

  Wiz became her everything, her world and her new addiction. She had to have him all the time. Not just sexually, although it was liable to go down anywhere anytime, she had to have him around, close. He didn’t take her everywhere as he had before, because then coke would always be in her face or in her presence. But she kept a constant check on him, beeping him and would be like, “Hey, boo! Where you at? You comin’ home soon?” It irked Wiz slightly, but he understood, so he never let it show.

  “Gimme like an hour.”

  “An hour?” she’d pout. “You gonna leave me naked for an hour,” she’d purr, because she knew how to get him.

  “Aiight, twenty minutes.”

  Truth be told, between the game and home, Wiz was happily exhausted, but exhausted nonetheless. So one afternoon, while he and Crystal were cuddled in the afterglow, he asked, “You
ever think about going back to school?”

  Crystal lifted her head from his chest. “You tryin’ to get rid of me, huh?” she asked, only half jokingly, because she had become very possessive of him.

  Wiz chuckled. “Naw, yo, I just asked, you know, ’cause I know how you told me how much you liked it.”

  “That’s true,” she had to admit. She rolled over on her stomach and rested her forearm on his chest and her chin on her forearm. “It’s not a bad idea… on one condition?”

  “What?”

  “You go back with me.”

  Wiz threw his head back and laughed. “Stop playin’. Me? Go back to school?”

  Crystal was feeling the idea more and more because school would mean less time in the streets and more time with her. “It’ll be good for both of us. We could go to Essex County and you can just test out and get your GED, then we could take business classes together. Turn that street money legit.”

  “We’ll see,” Wiz replied, realizing his plan had back-fired.

  Several weeks later Wiz had his GED and he and Crystal began to go to Essex County College together. He was still in the streets, but he let Nu-Nu handle things more and more.

  “Shorty got that nigguh fucked up,” Nu-Nu would say, “got Wiz in school and shit, yo.”

  Word got to Ali Smalls and he was proud of little cuz. He even approved of shorty because she was having a good effect on Wiz. School was good, money was good and love was good, until one day Veronica beeped Wiz.

  He and Crystal were home making spaghetti. So he picked up the kitchen phone and hit Veronica back. “You beep me?” he asked, cradling the phone to his shoulder and stirring the sauce.

  “Wiz, I need to see you,” Veronica said, sounding like she was crying.

  “For what?” he questioned.

  Crystal was fixing the table a few feet away. She knew who Veronica was and what she did for Wiz, but she definitely didn’t know what she did with Wiz.

  “Wiz, please, when is you comin’ over here?” Her sobs were getting heavier.

  Wiz knew in his gut that this was no conversation he wanted to have with Crystal right there, so he replied, “Tomorrow, as usual. You straight?”