by Dana Dane
Officer O’Doul stood back watching while Officer Lockhart paced in front of the kids, twirling his nightstick. He was finally getting his original pink-white color back in his face. “Well, we have a dilemma here,” he spoke with a heavy Irish accent. “We only have two pairs of cuffs, and five of you. So two of you are coming with us, and the other three are getting tossed off the roof.” Numbers looked at the officers defiantly. Jayquan, Jarvis, and Waketta looked frightened, but nothing like Tee. Tee was trembling so uncontrollably he looked as though he was ready to throw up or pass out.
“How ’bout you, Sambo?” Lockhart walked up to Jayquan and slapped him, squeezing his jaw roughly between his fingers. Moisture welled up in Jayquan’s eyes, but he did not shed a tear. Lockhart shoved Jayquan backward by the face almost into the roof ledge. Then he moved on to Waketta.
“Wow, this jungle bunny’s going to be something when she gets older,” Lockhart said, looking back at Officer O’Doul. “How old are you?” Waketta didn’t answer. He strolled by her and winked. “I’ll get back to you, doll.” Waketta sucked her teeth at him. O’Doul looked on, smirking devilishly.
“Are you eyeballing me, Big Head?” Officer Lockhart ridiculed Jarvis. Goddamn, boy, you got a big-ass head! Your mother has to be a mare to give birth to a horse head like you.” He grabbed Jarvis by the collar and began batting him in the head. Jarvis cowed. Hoping for more of a fight, Lockhart lost interest in Jarvis and let his eyes continue down to Numbers and Tee. Then he backtracked to Waketta.
“Now, where were we, sweetheart?” He grabbed his baton, which was hanging from his left wrist, held it horizontally with both hands out in front of him. He approached Waketta and pressed the stick against her stomach. “You better not move,” he threatened. Slowly he moved the nightstick up her abdomen like he was rolling out pastry dough until it was under her breasts. Tears began to roll down Waketta’s face from the humiliation. Lockhart raised the baton higher until her young, firm breasts were propped up.
Numbers couldn’t take it anymore. “Leave her alone, pig.”
“Oh, your little boyfriend can’t wait his turn, huh? Okay.” He removed the stick from Waketta’s breasts, slowly letting them fall to their natural position. She sobbed. He moved toward Numbers. Numbers stood tall, with his chest out and head up. Officer Lockhart stood in front of him. “What’s your name, boy?” he asked, pretending to be polite.
“Dupree,” Numbers answered, remembering one of the rules Crispy Carl had taught him. Never give out your street name.
“Dupree,” Lockhart snickered. “You must be a descendant of kings or something.” He looked back at his partner, laughing.
In an instant, Lockhart’s face had turned as red and evil as Satan’s. He shoved the round butt of his nightstick into Numbers’s gut. Numbers let out a gasp and then folded over toward the ground. Lockhart reached out his large white hands, snatched Numbers by the throat, and stood him up straight. Numbers pulled at the big white officer’s hands and arms, gasping for air.
Jarvis wanted to help his friend—they all did, except Tee, who was crying and shaking like a fall leaf. But no one dared to make a move, as Officer O’Doul stood watchful with his hand on his .38 revolver.
“This dirty little raisin wants to go off the rooftop,” Lockhart threatened, his choke hold forcing Numbers back against the roof ledge. Numbers’s head and shoulders were over the ledge, and his feet were off the ground. All he could think about was his mother and sisters. He was the man of the house. What would they do without him? His mother would be devastated. Then all he saw were black spots as he felt himself slipping out of consciousness.
The only thing he could hear was Tee praying, “Lord, please help us, mighty God; you have the power to save us. Please help your faithful servants, Lord, please.”
Just when Numbers thought he was on his last breath and was going to be tossed off the roof, Officer Lockhart released him. Numbers slumped to his knees, coughing for air.
“Deacon Darkie, done pissed all over himself.” Officer Lockhart laughed once again with his partner. Tee had lost all control of his bladder. The two cops continued to laugh heartily at Tee, whom Numbers believed probably saved his life with his prayers or his pissing on himself or both.
“Let’s go,” O’Doul called to his partner. “Take this as a warning, you little niggers! The next time I won’t be so nice.” He put his nightstick away and walked toward 68’s roof access.
Crispy Carl had once told Numbers that he didn’t need to exact revenge on bad people because karma would take care of their negative deeds. Now as he lay on the ground struggling to catch his breath, Numbers wasn’t sure if he could wait for karma.
Sex/Love
As far as Numbers knew, the only other person from the projects who attended his high school was Rosa-Marie—who was now his girlfriend, as long as her mother didn’t find out. Even though the majority of students who attended Brooklyn Tech were white or Asian, it was still one of the most ethnically diverse schools in the borough. When Numbers first entered the school, he experienced culture shock. He was used to being around only blacks and Latinos. He hadn’t ventured out of the Fort Greene projects much other than to downtown Brooklyn, his two trips to Virginia to visit his Aunt Camille and her family, his rare visits to the Bronx to see his uncle, and his frequent trips to Delancey Street to shop for gear.
After his math gift was discovered at P.S. 67 elementary school, Numbers’s mother had enrolled him in the SAMM program (Science, Art, Music, and Math) at Junior High School 258, on the corner of Macon and Marcy. From there he was admitted to Brooklyn Technical, a high school for academic achievers. His mother was so proud of him.
Now in his junior year, Numbers was growing up to be quite handsome. At five ten and about 140 pounds, he’d lost all of his baby fat. He was one of the best-dressed guys in his grade—in the school for that matter.
Jenny was always at work. She worked at the health department during the day and A&S department store at night. Numbers had the run of the apartment until his sisters came home from the after-school program, if they didn’t stay with Ms. Sandy, in Farragut.
Numbers, Jarvis, Waketta, and a girl named Sharon, who lived in building 81, sometimes cut class and rendezvoused at Numbers’s crib. Today they were in his room on his full-sized bed getting drunk off Cisco and playing High Card. The person with the lowest card plucked from the deck had to take off an article of clothing. The girls were down to their panties and bras. Jarvis had on his Fruit of the Looms and a pair of socks. Numbers still had on his pants. Sharon was okay-looking, but she was skinny with no shape compared with Waketta. Waketta, with her nice round 34B titties and plump ass, was a young thoroughbred. Grown men wanted to give her the business. Jarvis had been trying to get into her pants since his first boner. Now seeing Waketta in her bra and panties had his penis Iron Mike Tyson hard. If everything went as planned, he’d get some of that today. Numbers was going to help his friend crack that. The plan was for Numbers to take Sharon into his mother’s room while Jarvis stayed with Waketta. Numbers had no problem with the arrangement. He wasn’t too particular on which one he got, as long as he got some. When the girls were down to just their panties, Numbers changed the rules.
“The girl and guy with the highest cards have to give each other some tongue.” Numbers picked first: a deuce of hearts. Waketta plucked a 5 of spades, Jarvis pulled a 3 of diamonds, and Sharon got a 4 of spades.
“Jar, Ketta, Jar, Ketta, Jar, Ketta,” Numbers chanted, egging them on. They moved closer together and began slobbering each other down. Jarvis was really starting to get into it and sneaked some feels on her breast. Waketta wasn’t as enthusiastic. She pushed him off, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and took a long swig from one of the bottles of Cisco, blushing a little. Sharon looked on, smiling.
“Yeah, boy! That’s how you do it,” Numbers congratulated his friend. “Y’all ready for the next round? This time whichever guy and girl get the highe
st card kiss and the guy and girl with the lowest card kiss, too.” Without waiting for an answer, Numbers plucked his card. King. Jarvis drew a 7. Waketta turned up a jack, and Sharon’s card was a 9. Now Numbers and Waketta were paired up, and so were Jarvis and Sharon. Waketta slid across the bed toward Numbers. As they got closer, they both began to giggle at the thought of kissing each other. Jarvis and Sharon looked on, waiting for the other two to start it off. Jarvis wished he was kissing Waketta again. Waketta took Numbers’s hands and placed them on her young tender breasts, and Numbers’s penis got stiff instantly as she placed her lips on his. They tongued, slobbered, sucked, and slurped each other’s faces for five minutes. Jarvis and Sharon had become unlocked and were just watching the two of them go at it.
“Damn, y’all not coming up for air,” Jarvis interjected jealously.
“For real,” Sharon added with a giggle.
Numbers and Waketta started laughing in each other’s mouths. They would have kept going if the peanut gallery hadn’t said anything. Waketta wasn’t quite finished. She stood up and grabbed Numbers by the hand, then led him out of the room. Numbers looked back at his friend, who he could tell was pissed off, but Numbers believed Jarvis knew the rules of the game. Don’t hate the player, hate the game. Waketta had chosen him. There was nothing he could do about that.
Waketta led him to his mother’s room. That was the day they had sex, losing their virginity together. Even though Waketta knew Rosa-Marie was Numbers’s girl, she didn’t care. She wanted what she wanted.
Rosa, in only her panties, lay on the bed next to Numbers with her brownish tan body partly covered by the sheet. With her light brown flawless complexion and features, she resembled Dorothy Dandridge in Carmen Jones. But it was her hazel eyes that really took Numbers’s breath away. He had adored her since they were kids. He felt like he had waited the entire seventeen years of his life for this moment. He couldn’t believe it as he stared up at the ceiling. They were about to do it. They were in their senior year, and this would be the perfect graduation gift. They had fooled around and made out numerous times before, but Rosa-Marie was never ready to go all the way and Numbers never pressed her. He was nervous, like it was his first time. As far as Rosa-Marie would ever know, it would be.
“You okay?” Numbers asked, attempting to make small talk.
“Uh-huh. You?” Rosa-Marie replied softly. She paused for a long moment. “Do you have a condom?”
When Jenny found out her son had a sperm count she educated him on the use of protection—and not just that one time. She felt if it was important enough to say once, it was important enough to say several times to make sure her point got across. She didn’t want Numbers to burden himself with children at a very young age like she had.
“Yes. You ready?”
“Are you?”
“Yes.” Numbers turned to her and gently cupped her soft, delicate breast. Rosa-Marie closed her eyes and enjoyed his tender caress. He kissed her lips slowly at first. Their breathing and movements grew hot and heavy. Numbers moved his hands off her breast down her abdomen to her small bush. He rubbed her there as their breathing quickened. He pushed his middle finger into her tight, wet vagina.
“Hmmmm,” she moaned, her mouth opened just enough to let her tongue glide across her perfect white teeth.
Numbers stared at her features, mesmerized. Her beauty was undeniable. He played with her wet spot, making her chest heave as he fingered her clit. Their nervousness subsided. Numbers reached over to his pants on the floor next to his bed and removed a condom from his pocket. He anxiously rolled the latex down over his young hard muscle. Rosa-Marie waited patiently, watching him get ready for her. Numbers rolled over on top of her, and they kissed, grinding their bodies together. Although he’d had a couple of previous sexual encounters with Waketta, he was still inexperienced. He fumbled to insert his dick into her virgin slit. Rosa couldn’t wait for him to find it and reached down to guide him.
“Ooh, yes baby, I love you,” she cooed, speaking in Spanish, as she felt his dick move deeper inside her, breaking her hymen. They humped each other slowly and deliberately, until her pussy fully accepted him. Then they bumped and humped like dogs in heat. Rosa wasn’t sure how her first time was supposed to be, but she was pleased. She knew there was a lot to learn, and she was looking forward to learning it with Numbers. And Numbers imagined that this was what it felt like to make love to an angel.
Make ’Em Pay
Numbers was endowed with a hustler’s spirit. Throughout high school, he indulged in various hustles. The first summer after freshman year, he and Jarvis worked at Pratt Institute as camp counselors, earning minimum wage. From eight in the morning till three in the afternoon, they were in charge of children ages five to eleven. They had boo-koo fun. The only setback was that they had to wait three weeks to get their first check. It seemed like the whole summer passed before they got it. As soon as their boss called them into the office to collect their earnings, they hightailed it to the check-cashing spot and then to lower Manhattan—Delancey Street—to buy some wears. Delancey Street was a nucleus for inexpensive fashions. Numbers’s mom had been taking him there for as long as he could remember. After shopping, Numbers was damn near broke. But not for long: the summer youth program was his second hustle; gambling was his first.
Working the summer camp was a great experience, but the following summer Numbers opted not to sign up again—it was too time-consuming and didn’t pay enough. Instead he worked another money-making scheme Crispy Carl put him up on. It was a game called Chuck-A-Luck. With start-off capital as low as ten or twenty dollars, he could rake in five to ten times that amount in a few hours. All he needed to skin his vics was a board, three dice, and a cup. He numbered a flat board from 1 to 6. The gamblers would place their bets on their desired number. Numbers would then shake the dice in the cup and slam it down on the board, calling out, “Chuck-A-Luck, Chuck-A-Luck, put down a quarter, win a buck.” The bettor could win up to three times his wager. Numbers hustled hard during his sophomore summer with his Chuck-A-Luck board and rolling dice.
During the summer after his junior year, Numbers met a brother named Muhammad Saleem, a street peddler who hustled down on Fulton Street, selling sundresses, sandals, handbags, and other accessories. Numbers came across his setup on the corner of Fulton Street and Nostrand Avenue and stopped after seeing a very attractive dress he wanted to buy for his mother. While he was there, Numbers convinced a young lady that one of Saleem’s dresses would look fantastic on her. She purchased the sundress, a bag, and a silk scarf. Saleem was impressed by Numbers’s sales spirit and gave him a job.
Selling sundresses, hats, scarves, and other accessories would train Numbers for what lay ahead; he learned he could sell just about anything. Numbers was a natural, but his street-vendor career was cut short after 5-0 confiscated his product multiple times in one week.
Throughout the school year, Numbers made cash playing cards during his lunch period. He received satisfactory grades and was somewhat popular, known for being the fly-dressing hustler from Fort Greene with the prettiest girl in the school.
All was cool until his mother was called up to the school during his senior year because of his excessive gambling. Jenny hated to have to take a day off from work for nonsense. She forbade Numbers from hustling in the school. His gambling and other antics had been okay with her as long as they didn’t interfere with his schooling, but now they did. Numbers respected his mother’s wishes for the most part, so that was the end of that. He only gambled occasionally for the next year or so.
What now? Numbers pondered. What would he do to keep getting cash? He decided during the middle of his senior year to try his hand at a regular gig. He got a part-time job at Mickey D’s. Other than the summer youth program, this was his first real employment.
Numbers had planned to go to college in the fall with Rosa-Marie, but he never followed up. Instead he worked at McDonald’s full-time.
Cri
spy Carl once told Numbers, “When you start taking what you do or what you have in your life for granted, you’re sure to lose it.” Now that Numbers was picking up his last paycheck from McDonald’s, he understood what that meant. After working at Mickey D’s for more than two years, he got fired. He had to admit, it was his own fault, and stupid! He knew he shouldn’t have been smoking blunts while he was still on the clock. That was some dumb-nigger shit, and he chastised himself repeatedly while walking across Fulton Street.
“FUCK!” he yelled out into the warm summer air, swinging his fist at no one. People looked at him like he was crazy, but he didn’t notice.
Numbers took his check out of his pocket and looked at it again, hoping the amount would have somehow miraculously changed into more. But $463.32 was all it was and all it would be. This was two weeks’ worth of pay, including overtime. He went to the check-cashing place downtown on Willoughby Street. They took five dollars and change for their fee. At this rate I’ll be broke before I get home, Numbers thought cynically. He bought a Pepsi and headed home. Fort Greene was one of the biggest project developments in BK. It consisted of the Raymond Ingersoll Houses and the Walt Whitman Houses, where Numbers lived. The people in the Ingersoll section called the Whitman section the far side. The people in the Whitman section called the Ingersoll section the third side. It was crazy how the sides had so much animosity toward each other even though they were, in essence, part of the same projects.
Numbers crossed the Flatbush Avenue Extension onto Myrtle Avenue and the third side. He continued on Myrtle until he crossed Navy Street, called the middle side, since it divided the two. Once he crossed St. Edwards, he was in the area they called the island. And that’s exactly what it was—an island between Whitman and Ingersoll. While each one of the other three sections had more than fifteen buildings, each either six, eleven, or thirteen stories high, the island only had eight buildings, each six stories. On the corner of North Portland and Myrtle were Sarjay’s candy store, Johnny’s grocery store, and the dry cleaners, as well as the rent office for the Walt Whitman Houses.
