What's Really Hood!

by Wahida Clark

  He got up to put on his clothes. She jumped up too and grabbed him around his neck, choking him.

  “Bitch!” was all he could get out. She was choking him with all her might.

  They fell back on the bed, Carla still choking him. She wrapped her legs around him as he struggled to get free from her hold.

  “Uhhhh,” she gasped as he elbowed her hard in the ribs.

  A couple more elbows and she loosened her grip. He broke free and turned around. He gave her punches to the stomach. She used her feet to kick him off the bed. Shocked and angry, he jumped back on top of her, this time delivering punches to her head. Her screams caused him to ease up. She saw an opening and reached up, scratched his face and followed up with a swift kick to his groin.

  “Ahhhhhh!” he growled as he buckled in pain.

  Carla jumped off the bed, nose bleeding, and got into her fighting stance. “Come on, nigga! Come on!” she shouted.

  He was in no position to fight her anymore. “Crazy-ass bitch!”

  “Yeah,” she said, huffing and puffing. “I thought so.” She went to her mirror to survey the damage. Not bad, she thought to herself. Her face was a little swollen and her lip was busted but she was okay. There had been times when she looked in the mirror after an episode of their fighting and not recognized the person staring back at her. She wiped the blood from her nose with some tissue, then went back to tend to BoBo.

  “After he kicked our ass, you going to see if he’s all right? Fuck him!”

  “See. That’s why he don’t like coming over here now. I wish you would keep quiet before you ruin it for us.”

  There were those voices in her head arguing again. She had gotten used to them now. They had seemed to appear right after she hit her head on the bathroom sink a few years ago when she and BoBo were fighting. Sometimes she listened to them, sometimes she ignored them. This was a time to ignore them. Her BoBo was there.

  “Let me see!” she told him.

  “Get the fuck away from me!”

  “Let me see!” she demanded.

  “Bitch, go on!”

  Her whole demeanor changed. She stroked his back. “Baby, I’m sorry. You know I get crazy when you about to leave.” She kissed his back softly.

  As mad as he was and as much pain as her kick had caused him, her kisses were causing him to get an erection. He knew what she wanted. She knew just how to get it too.

  “Let me make sure he okay,” she whispered while nudging him to turn over. He could not resist. He turned over and lay on his back and gave her access to his dick.

  Carla massaged his groin softly. Her rubs made it grow in her hands. She gave the tip a kiss followed by a lick, then engulfed it into her warm, wet mouth inch by slow, delicious inch. BoBo sat back, enjoying the sensation. When it came to her BoBo she knew her way around. She paid homage to the same organ that had released the life-giving seeds that made her a permanent part of his life. She had never stopped loving him and felt that she would feel the same way until her death.

  “I don’t know why I keep fucking with your crazy ass,” BoBo said as he moaned.

  They both knew the reason he always came back. Her head game was excellent. She would vary from a very slow stroke while sucking hard to a breakneck speed while sucking slightly and every speed and sucking pressure in between. The combination of speeds and pressures and the sensation of her twirling tongue made his ass clench, toes curl until they cracked, back arch and funny whimpering noises escape.

  Satisfied with the results of her work, she let her mouth experience other parts of his body as she got into position to insert him into her pussy. She took control of things while he lay back. As she worked his dick to get her own release, her muscles contracted, fuck faces appeared, moans got louder and movements grew fierce. She dug her nails into his chest unknowingly. The pleasure mixed with pain caused him to explode. Her movements came to a stop and she collapsed on his chest to rest. They both lay lifeless apart from their heavy breathing.

  In control of his breathing again, BoBo spoke. “Get up. I gotta go.” He felt himself getting sleepy.

  “Go ’head. Leave,” she said, although she didn’t move.

  “Get up then.”

  She rolled over.

  “Give me a towel.”

  “Naw. Let your bitch taste my pussy too.”

  “Come on now,” he said, agitated. “I don’t say shit when you go fuck with that goofy-ass nigga.”

  “You the one who told me to go ahead and holler at him.”

  “Yeah, I did. What’s up with him anyway?”

  She told him all that had transpired between them. She had met the guy at the mall. As she always did, she played the game and teased him by telling him he was not ready for her. Like most ballers, he wanted to prove himself and expose his personal business. She got him to go through her to purchase his next package of drugs. BoBo provided her with them. Once he saw it was good and that he could trust her, he would make a bigger purchase. She kept the promise of sex that would knock his socks off lingering in the air and stringing him along.

  Once she had worked him up to a nice amount, they would meet at a hotel to do the transaction. The plan was in effect and going just as BoBo had orchestrated it. What she did not tell BoBo was that she had given him a blowjob worth sticking around for. Unlike BoBo, she knew her head game was addictive and he would stick around just for it if for nothing else.

  “That’s my girl,” he said proudly. “Now what room are you gonna get?”

  “One in the back on the end. Damn!”

  “Aiight. Now go get that towel so I can go.”

  “You know where they at,” she said as she rolled over and got under the covers.

  With his mind on the money involved in this setup, he went, washed up in the sink, got dressed and headed home.

  The clock read 3:53 a.m. when he stepped into the living room of his and Serena’s apartment. He did his usual routine of walking through with his gun drawn, going from room to room. Looking into his daughters’ room, he saw that the bed was empty. He made his way through and went into his bedroom. The three sleeping bodies, one large and two small, soothed him. He walked softly to pick up BaBa so he could stay in their bed. He was in no mood for any more sexual activity. He barely had enough energy to shower.

  While in the shower, he heard the bathroom door open. He peeked out from behind the shower curtain to see Serena sitting on the toilet. The trickling of the water could now be heard.

  “Where’s your phone at?” she asked, sounding fully awake.

  “Out on the charger. Why?”

  “You didn’t get my call?”

  “My battery went dead earlier,” he lied. “Why? What’s wrong?”

  She did not answer him. He heard the toilet flush and braced for the surge of hot water he knew would come next. He went back to showering. Finishing, he cut off the water and pulled back the shower curtain. Serena was standing there with his boxers in her hands.

  “What the fuck is you doing?” he asked her.

  “What bitch you been with that done scratched you up like that?” She stared at his chest and face. He had forgotten about the scratches. Quickly, he went to the fogged-up mirror and wiped it. He looked at Carla’s engravings. “Muthafucka!” he said, sounding pissed off. “I had to beat the shit out this dude ’bout some money. He was scratching like a bitch. Goddammit!”

  “Um-hmm. Turn around.”

  He turned around. “For what?” he asked, knowing why.

  She saw no scratches, but was not convinced. When he turned back around, she threw the boxers in his face. No evidence, however she still felt he was guilty.

  Had he not been so tired and worn out from Carla, he would have given her an ass-whupping for a nightcap.

  “Don’t push your luck!” he warned.

  It was business as usual up at Eckersall Park. Same things going on as the day before. Every car coming past received a stare from BoBo. He never knew when on
e of his enemies would try to do a drive-by.

  The traffic got heavy around the time school started to let out. Many of the younger Stones rode past just to see who all was out there. One car stood out from all the others. He would recognize it out of the parking lot full of cars at the United Center. It was the car of his mortal enemy. An enemy made from a best friendship turned sour. The silver ’95 Honda Accord had a dent in the driver’s door, three chrome hubcaps, one missing from the back passenger’s side, slightly tinted windows, fan that only worked on levels three and four, with a plug-in CD player, MY DAUGHTER IS AN A STUDENT bumper sticker on the right side of the bumper and a dented-up front license plate from misjudging distances. As it approached, his feelings of love and hate begin to stir.

  “Daddy!” the little girl who had emerged from the Honda once it parked upon sighting him said as she ran and jumped in his arms.

  “Hey, my little princess. Whatchu doing up here?”

  This little girl was his seven-year-old daughter, named Jennifer. The driver of the car was his first baby mama, Janine. Their relationship had ended almost as soon as it started. Her becoming pregnant after a few sexual sessions introduced her to the not-so-sweet-and-loving but possessive side of BoBo. His engagement proposal was not only turned down but a restraining order was obtained. No stranger to jail, BoBo ignored it and continuously threatened her and her mother, forcing her to move. After a year’s absence, BoBo had calmed down and moved on. She brought Jennifer around every now and then. He knew, like most other times, it was a money issue. Many a time he had told Janine not to bring his daughter to the park to see him. She did it anyway out of pure spite. He had come to find out over the years that she could be really evil.

  “Mommy said you were going to pay for my field trip.”

  “Field trip? Where you going?”

  “Our class got the highest scores so we get to go to the movies,” Jennifer told him as she swung her hand in his while they walked toward her mother’s car.

  “Oh yeah? What y’all going to see?”

  “We don’t know yet. We have to vote on it.”

  “Y’all ain’t going to see no rated-R movie is y’all?”

  She laughed as she got back in the car. “No, silly.”

  “Silly?”

  “Yeah. Silly. Mommy says you’ve always been silly.”

  “Oh yeah?” He looked over to Janine, who was acting like she was not paying attention as she cracked a smile. He pulled out a wad of money from his pocket. “Well, check this out. You take this and pay for your trip. Whatever’s left, put in your piggy bank. Okay?” He handed Jennifer five twenty-dollar bills. Her eyes grew wide. “You do got a piggy bank, don’t you?”

  “Yes, Daddy.” She turned to her mother. “I can pay your way too, Mommy.”

  “Naw. That’s for you. Your mama can pay her own way or get it from her boyfriend since I’m so silly.”

  She looked saddened by the tension that was now in the air between her parents. “Okay, Daddy. Thank you.”

  “Aiight now. Give me a kiss.” He leaned down and kissed his daughter. “Be good now.”

  “Okay, Daddy. I will.”

  “And don’t have no boyfriends.”

  She just laughed as he closed the door. He walked in front of the car. Janine put the car in drive and bumped his leg. They made eye contact and if looks could kill, one of them would have been dead. He went to the driver’s-side window and motioned for Janine to let down her window. She gave him the finger and drove off, leaving him standing there in the middle of the street. Hearing his daughter laughing at him made it even worse. “Fuck that stupid-ass bitch!” he muttered to himself.

  A car’s horn beeped and startled him, causing him to jump. He turned to see a car full of youngsters laughing and throwing up the Stones hand sign.

  Andre was navigating the stolen vehicle, a clean ’88 Chevy Caprice Brougham LS that one of the older Stones had ordered from his crew of car thieves. He stole cars to supplement his income as well as to provide some excitement.

  “Look at his scared, punk ass jumping. I told you he wasn’t shit. I shoulda hit his pussy ass,” Andre said, laughing.

  “Fuck that nigga. Pull over and let me drive,” Rooster told him. The other three Stones in the backseat just enjoyed the ride.

  “Let’s find this muthafucka and get our money.”

  “Yeah, you right. Where y’all going?” Rooster asked the three guys in the back.

  “Drop us off in the B’s,” one of them said. The B’s was an adjoining neighborhood across from Eighty-third Street.

  On his way toward their destination, he saw a young woman in her mid-twenties pushing a double stroller. He slowed down beside her.

  “Excuse me, miss. Can I get out and holla at you?” he asked her. She kept walking as if she did not even notice him.

  “Ay yo, ma. Holla at a nigga.”

  “Boy, you better take your ass on.”

  “Fuck you then, ol’ stuck-up-ass bitch!” he yelled out and sped off.

  Rooster was laughing. “Yeah right. Like she was gonna holla at your ass.”

  “Fuck that ho!”

  He drove to the block they wanted and dropped the guys off. He and Rooster drove to their stash garage and parked the Chevy in a hurry to stand on the block where they sold their drugs to all the crackheads who came looking.

  Not long after they arrived, a car with some older Stones pulled up. “Hey, shorty, let me holla at you,” the driver, who had his hat cocked to the left side, said.

  Andre ran up to the window. He had recognized the driver’s face from being up at the park. “What’s up?” he asked as he gave them the Stones handshake.

  “Let us get a couple of them thangs.”

  “Aiight.” Andre ran to his stash.

  “Make sho’ they propa!” the driver yelled.

  Andre ran back and completed the transaction. He had seen all kinds come buy drugs from him. He did not care who they were. As long as they had enough money.

  “You saw dude in the backseat?” Rooster asked.

  “Yeah. What about him?”

  “That was dude BoBo slapped the shit outta in the park. Then put the blunt out on that nigga’s chest.” Rooster giggled.

  “Lame-ass niggas. I woulda definitely killed his ass for that. I’m tired of that muthafucka anyway. You know ol’ girl who had the two shorties I was tryna holla at earlier?”

  “The one who played you off?” Rooster said, laughing.

  “Yeah, that bitch. That’s his bitch and two bastards.”

  “Man. Why you fucking with BoBo like that? We gonna have to fuck around and kill his ass foreal.”

  “Fuck him. I’m like Scarface.” Andre started getting hyped up. “Come on. I’ll take your fucking violations.” He was beating his chest like Scarface did when he was getting shot. He stopped and walked to the middle of the street, held his hands in the air and yelled at the top of his lungs, “The Trey is mines!”

  “Nigga, you done lost it!” Rooster was laughing.

  Cars were driving past, the people looking at him standing in the middle of the street. He caused a car to stop and just stood in front of it, still shouting “The Trey is mines!” Rooster was laughing hard. The people in the car had started honking their horn. A few cars had lined up wondering what the commotion was.

  “Man, I’m high as hell!”

  “Hell yeah! I feel like just whupping a nigga’s ass or something.”

  The driver of the car turned down the radio that was blasting Common’s “The Corner.” “Did you just say you feel like whupping a nigga?”

  “Yeah. What’s up? You got somebody in mind?” the guy said, grinning.

  “Yeah, I got somebody in mind. That nigga BoBo,” the driver said, serious.

  The other two passengers got qiuet. They knew the shit was about to hit the fan.

  “Oh, so you gonna go there, huh?” the guy said, trying to play it off.

  “You damn right I
’ma go there,” the driver said, still serious. “You let that nigga bitch-slap you, burn you, then tell you that you can’t smoke in the park. Who the fuck is he suppose to be?”

  “Yeah, like his name’s Mr. Eckersall or something,” the guy sitting in the back with him said. He and the front seat passenger laughed but the driver and the guy who had been burned stayed serious.

  “I didn’t see none of y’all tryna help,” the guy shot back in defense.

  “Nigga, you ain’t help yourself. Tryna run and shit.”

  “Fuck you, nigga!”

  “Naw, fuck yourself. You got better pussy.”

  “You try it then, muthafucka, since you so tough.”

  “I’ll beat your soft ass.”

  “Oh yeah?” The guy was now in his feelings. The personal comments had permeated his skin and made his blood boil. Coming from his friend made them worse. The drugs amplified his adrenaline. He swung and hit the driver in the back of the head. The car swerved as his punch startled the driver as well as the other two passengers.

  The driver pulled the car over and jumped out before it had stopped moving. He ran around to the back passenger-side door. The guy attempted to get out but was rushed by the driver.

  “Soft-ass nigga!”

  “Show me I’m soft!”

  They were exchanging blows in the backseat. The other two passengers quickly separated them.

  “Straight up! The beef is with BoBo, not each other,” one of them said.

  “That’s this nigga,” the driver said.

  “Fuck y’all!” the guy said, and walked off.

  The guy who had been in the backseat with him tried persuading him to come back but the driver insisted he was straight.

  “Ain’t that that lil’ nigga Andre up there?” Looney put his blood-red Cadillac Escalade in park and got out. He walked up a few cars to see Andre standing there holding up traffic. “What’s up, lil’ homie?”

  “Shit. All is well.”

  “Why you holding up traffic?”

  “Ain’t shit else to do.”