True to the Game I

by Teri Woods

  Picking up his watch from the nightstand, he noted it was 12:30 in the afternoon. “I really slept in,” he thought to himself, walking into the living room. Another wide-screen TV sat catty-cornered against a far wall; a round, aquamarine colored sectional leather sofa, a large glass circle-shaped table, and custom-made peach colored carpet with an aquamarine border going around the wall was his latest interior designs. There was a dining room, but Qua made that into the playroom where he put a pool table and, though he never imbibed, a fully stocked marble bar, all beautifully set off by bi-leveled mirrored walls and Hollywood ceilings. Qua was a man of good taste, and he kept his apartment immaculate.

  It wasn’t the only apartment he had either. Quadir had a room at his mom’s house, another house where he let Rasun stay, and yet another apartment, far from the city, where he could discreetly take his female companions. But no one knew about it. Not even Rasun. He never allowed anyone to know about this place. It was the only place he felt he could relax, the only place he got any good sleep. The old heads had left no stone unturned when it came to Quadir knowing what was out there. The larger Qua became, the more to himself he became. He trusted no one and knew that everyone was out to get him or a piece of him. It was really fucked up, and he learned to be extra careful.

  Rock wasn’t careful. His funeral was today. Qua could not believe that it was the Junior Mafia who took the boy out, just couldn’t believe it. Didn’t want to believe it. Quadir knew that killing Rock meant they wanted a war; he also knew that, by no means, should the boy’s death go unavenged.

  Easing onto his leather sofa, he played back all the conversations he had gathered from the streets. He knew that Rock’s death was nothing more than the Junior Mafia sending him a message, indirectly. Rik knew what he was talking about when he said the Junior Mafia was trying to weaken him. Rock was flipping keys getting G’s and since Quadir supplied him as well as a handful of others, Quadir was vulnerable through the people underneath him. He had to be certain of everyone he dealt with. The worse nightmare was getting snitched on. All he needed was an indictment behind someone else’s bullshit. He didn’t want to deal with that no more than his peoples getting killed for buying coke from him instead of the Junior Mafia. He thought about Rock’s funeral. He would not be there. He had been asked to be a pallbearer, but demurred. Qua wasn’t really sure why he wasn’t going. He really felt bad about Rock dying, but going to the funeral wouldn’t make much of a difference. Rock was gone, and Quadir would remember him the way he was.

  Besides, the ho’s be clocking a nigga at a funeral. It’s fucked up to say, but it’s true. Yeah, they might shed a tear or two, but they’re hoping to get a number and meet up with a nigga later. On top of that, the feds would be there taking their pictures and videotaping.

  Qua dialed a number from his pager and carried his portable phone into the bathroom while he showered. Dressed, he made himself a turkey and cheese sandwich, then returned to the couch and waited for the phone to ring.

  “Hello,” he said, answering the phone on the first ring. “Nothing . . . taking it easy, man,” he said. The man on the other end controlled the conversation the same way Quadir did with his people. “Next week? Same place? I’ll be there.”

  He then dialed Rasun at his mom’s house and told him to meet up with him on the Av. later.

  Then he dialed Amar. “As-Salaamu Alaikum,” said Amar, answering the phone.

  “Alaikum As-Salaam,” Quadir replied. “You just the brother I wanted to talk to.”

  “What’s going on, player?”

  “Nothing, man. Getting ready to go to this funeral,” said Amar.

  “You going to the funeral?” asked Qua, thinking of Rock.

  “Man, I got two funerals to go to. This girl I used to fuck with and Rock’s,” said Amar. Quadir realized he was talking about Sahirah. She sure did get around. He thought about asking Amar whether he knew Gena, but decided against it.

  “You going to Rock’s funeral?” asked Amar.

  “No, you know I don’t go to funerals.”

  “I must be there. I’m a pallbearer,” said Amar.

  “What?” said Qua, thinking about his own refusal of the offer. Quadir let a moment go by. “So, what’s happening otherwise?”

  “I’m ready to see you. I want to go to Fifteenth Street,” said Amar.

  “You on a 100th?” asked Qua.

  “Yeah, I’m there.”

  “One hour,” said Qua.

  “Everything the same?”

  “You know it.”

  “As-Salaamu Alaikum,” said Amar.

  “Alaikum As-Salaam,” said Quadir, hanging up the phone.

  Three minutes later he was out the door. He got in a 1987 Cutlass Oldsmobile and went straight to the 4-U-Self Storage, Inc. Inside his compartment was some furniture and a safe. Just like the one in his apartment, only this one contained 523 kilos of cocaine. He grabbed fifteen bricks and put them in a duffle bag. He then placed another one in a shopping bag, which he was going to take to Ms. Shoog’s house.

  He jumped back in the car and drove to a supermarket, parking at the rear of the lot, then rolled a spliff and set the CD player. He sat patiently, as if waiting for someone in the store to finish their shopping until, finally, Amar pulled into the parking lot. He parked next to Qua. Both got out and shook hands as brothers do.

  “What’s up, man?” said Amar.

  “You looking good, player,” answered Qua.

  “Yeah, man, you know me. I got to be right for my man.”

  Quadir and Amar talked for a few minutes. Amar assured Quadir that there was $100,000 in the trunk of the squatter. Quadir in return assured Amar that there was fifteen kilos of cocaine in the duffle bag on the backseat.

  Quadir watched Amar get in the Oldsmobile while he got in the squatter Amar had been driving. He dropped the money off at his apartment and put it in the safe. He then headed down North Philly to see Ms. Shoog. Qua pulled onto the narrow one-way street and parked in front of Shoog’s house. He grabbed the bag out of the backseat. The moment he opened the car door, he could hear Ms. Shoog hollering down the street.

  “And don’t come back in this motherfucker until you learn how to act.”

  She was cursing some man out for the entire block to hear. “You dumbass motherfucker, you. I don’t know why I even let you in here. You not fit to be in no house!”

  “Who was that?” he asked her, walking up the sidewalk to her door.

  “Some nigga my granddaughter brought in here,” Shoog replied. “His ass damn sure look like what the cat drug in, don’t make no sense. He gonna stand up there and tell me to go to hell. He lucky I didn’t break his goddamn neck,” she said taking a breath.

  “Come on, get your ass back in the house. Titties hanging out and shit. How you playin’, Shoog? See, you got all the neighbors looking. Come on,” said Qua, walking her back in the house.

  Kids was all over the place and as soon as they seen Quadir they ran over to him to get a dollar. The house was always junky, but today it seemed as if there was an abundance of junkiness, cluttering up any space the house may have once had. You could easily tell that too many people were occupying the three-bedroom row home. Where do all these motherfuckers sleep? Qua thought to himself, looking all around.

  “Shoog, why the house so hot?” asked Qua.

  “All these lazy ass niggas in here. Shit, you can hardly breath in this motherfucker. I wish they would come and get they kids and take them the hell on somewhere and buy my fan that them heathens done broke today. They got my blood pressure up so high, Lord, I’m surprised I haven’t dropped dead.”

  She took the bag out of his hand and broke up the coke. “There’s no way in a cat’s ass you gonna get me in this hot ass kitchen cooking all this shit today. I’ll cook some but I’m not cooking it all. You hear me, Quadir?”

  “Yeah, I hear you.”

  As he sat next to the kitchen window talking to Shoog, he felt a cool breeze
kissing his face. He talked to Ms. Shoog about everything. She had her ways, but she wasn’t nobody’s fool; most old people weren’t. They had been here long enough to know how not to play the fool. Shoog was full of wisdom. It was one thing to hear her; it was another to listen.

  When she was done Quadir handed her five hundred dollars and stepped. “When you gonna get my fan?” she asked.

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Nigga, you know you is a lie. Besides, I’m going to get me an air conditioner, right now.”

  “You better before your ass drops dead in that motherfucker,” hollered Quadir.

  He got in Amar’s squatter after Shoog cursed him out and headed down to the Av. Everybody was out. It was the crew. Qua was happy to see his bucks out there. He shook hands with everybody and got right in the middle of the conversations with them and started kicking it. “Yo, look at that girl,” Pookey said, pointing his finger. On the opposite side of the street, approximately twenty feet from where they stood, a girl had pulled her pants down, exposing herself. She slightly bent her knees and started peeing in broad daylight between two parked cars.

  “She really don’t give a fuck,” said Ra.

  “She got to be high,” said Reds.

  “I told ya’ll pipers were inheriting the earth,” said Pookey.

  Wiz spotted three girls walking down the opposite side of the street. “Hey, baby in the blue,” he called out.

  “Why are you messing with them girls?” said Pookey, turning his face up.

  “Yo, I like fat girls too, don’t get that shit twisted. I’m not one to discriminate. Skinny, fat, tall, short, light, dark, it don’t make a difference, man,” said Wiz.

  The girls walked over to Wiz and engaged him in conversation. The rest of them looked at the girls real mean with a “dont even think about it” expression on their faces.

  “I got a boyfriend,” said the girl in blue.

  “So, I got a girlfriend,” said Wiz.

  “Well, why are you trying to talk to me?”

  “Because. Can’t we be friends?” said Wiz.

  “No, I dont think so,” said the girl as if she had checked Wiz out and was completely turned off.

  “Well, fuck you, then.”

  “Man, leave them girls alone. Excuse him,” said Qua, as the girls walked by him.

  “Fuck you, too,” the girl said, walking away.

  “Only if you promise to diet.”

  At that, everyone, even Quadir, had to laugh.

  Quadir walked over to his jeep, which Ra had parked up the block. Rasun followed right behind him. They decided that Reds and Wiz would go back up the way and help cap the package. Quadir handed him the keys to Amar’s squatter and left.

  Across town in West Philly, Sahirah Bowden was being laid to rest. Outside, it looked like a car show. On the inside, Gena saw the girlfriends she and Sahirah traveled with. It wasn’t packed, but it wasn’t empty either. A lot of brothers were there. Bridgette said she had seen brothers come through for the viewing. It was really nice that everyone came to say good-bye to Sahirah and even though they didn’t stay through the funeral, they did come out to pay their last respects.

  She was so young and looked so pretty in a soft pink cashmere sweater with a matching skirt. Gena couldn’t see her shoes because there were flowers covering the bottom half of the casket.

  The preacher’s bellowing voice echoed over the body of her friend that lay peacefully beneath his pulpit, the congregation agreeing with him readily. Ms. Bowden had lost control. The funeral nurse rocked her throughout the sermon.

  Gena sat with her head hanging low, feeling the loss of her best friend like an empty pit at the bottom of her spirit. Who would she laugh with? Who would she share with? Who would be her friend? As the preacher preached, a tear fell for every word he spoke. Why did the words beloved friend make her fill up even more? What about Mr. and Mrs. Bowden? They lost a child! How they gonna deal with that?

  She glanced up and looked around the church. There was a huge crucifix suspended behind the ornate wall where the preacher was standing. Large blocks of stained-glass windows allowed the last bit of sunlight to shine through as the service proceeded. The faces of the people sitting in row after row of the beautiful gothic church were just as tormented and distraught as the next.

  “Dear God,” she prayed, “take my friend Sahirah in your arms. Love her, protect her, give her peace.” Gena surveyed those gathered to bid farewell to the young, beautiful girl they all knew, stopping at a familiar face.

  All prayers and reasoning power flew from her perspective. She couldn’t believe it. Sacrilege! He was sitting there two rows in front of her on the right side of the church. He even had the gall to acknowledge that he saw her. Oh my God, she thought, feeling that it was appropriate to express the Lord’s name. The first word that actually came to her mind would surely be unseemly in this church setting.

  Jamal was there, sitting with Kim. Kim who, just the night before last, had preached to Gena about how she should not break up with him. That bitch, Gena thought to herself. She felt a little funny inside seeing Jamal with Kim. That miserable man. She couldn’t believe how he had called and offered to bring her, then had the nerve to show up with Kim. She saw right through him. Jealous that Jamal was there with someone else was one thing; the aching betrayal that was setting in made her furious. Don’t nobody need to lie to me. Why didn’t she say she was interested in Jamal? Why didn’t he say, well, maybe I’ll see you there, anyway or maybe I’ll bring Kim? He wasn’t paying any respects; he was there to hurt Gena. She faced the altar and concentrated on her friend.

  The service lasted more than an hour. Sahirah would be buried the following morning at ten. After today, Gena didn’t know if she could take anymore. She had shed all the tears she wanted to and put the memories of Sahirah inside her heart, where they would be forever cherished. Her only consolation was that Gena knew she had a friend in Sahirah, and she hoped and prayed to one day see her friend again. The firm belief that Sahirah would always be with her, plus the memories they shared together, is what helped Gena get through the service.

  As the congregation made its way down the aisle and outside the church, Gena just sat still and waited for Jamal and Kim to leave the building. She wanted to watch them leave together to be sure they were together. As they walked down the aisle Jamal was a few steps behind Kim, all smiles. What the fuck is he smiling about? Gena thought to herself, as they stopped at her pew.

  “Hi, Gena,” Kim said.

  Gena coldly acknowledged them both, silently rolling her eyes at them.

  “Didn’t take you long, Jamal.”

  “What do you care for? Don’t you want Quadir?” he asked.

  “I don’t want him; I am his,” said Gena, her eyes glaring at Kim as if she could rip the bitch apart. “I’m through with him. He’s all yours,” she spat at her, before staring Jamal down, waiting for him to say one single word out his pathetic sorry face. “If you’ll excuse me, I have better things to do,” she said.

  All of Jamal’s feelings were crushed. He couldn’t believe it. She really wasn’t that upset he was with Kim. His plan failed. At that moment he got the picture that it was really over. “Fucking bitch,” he rasped.

  “Jamal, you’re in a church,” said Kim.

  “God understands. He made all of you, didn’t he?” Jamal asked, looking at Kim, waiting for her to say he was right.

  “Come on, Jamal,” she said, leading him out of the church.

  Outside, Gena saw all her girlfriends. Girls from the beauty salons, girls who worked at the mall, girls she hung out with in the park, girls who were close to both her and Sahirah.

  “Yo, G. What’s up?” said Bridgette.

  “Guess what? Jamal is here with Kim.”

  Bridgette took the bait. “You should have known. I never trusted that motherfucker. Bitch ain’t nothing but a whore. And she don’t be bullshittin’ when it comes to your man, neither.”

&n
bsp; “I didn’t know the bitch rolled like that,” said Gena, knowing that Bridgette was just as slimy as Kim.

  “Please, she fucked Adrienne’s man and then called her on the phone and told her. She said she felt bad about it and, as a friend, she had to tell Adrienne about her man. Now, you know the bitch is crazy ’cause the day she ring my phone with some shit about my man is gonna be the day she get her ass kicked.”

  “I’m not fighting over no Jamal,” said Gena even though she wanted to.

  Bridgette glanced across the street. “Look. Isn’t that Quadir?”

  Gena’s heart raced, her mind scrambled and her eyes darted. “Where? I don’t see him.” Quadir was in his black Range Rover with the black tinted windows, which Gena had never seen. So, she turned her back, not wanting to be seen, trying to see something she didn’t.

  “Yo, the kid is so large it’s ridiculous,” said Bridgette.

  Andrea walked over to where Gena and Bridgette were standing. “Yo, what’s up? I’m so sorry about Sahirah,” she said, giving Gena a hug.

  Gena returned her embrace. “I know, I’m really torn up about it.”

  “Yo, I wonder what he’s doing out here,” said Bridgette.

  “Who?” Andrea wanted to know.

  “That kid Quadir, from down North Philly,” said Bridgette.

  “Oh God. Is he out here? Where? Girl, the motherfucker is a millionaire,” said Andrea pulling out a pocket mirror. You would have thought she had a winning Lotto ticket in the palm of her hand. Gena just stood there feeling two disappointments, one after the other. She felt so fucked up inside. What if he was there to see another girl? What could be worse, besides her girlfriends standing there getting their panties wet over a Range Rover?

  Qua pulled the jeep over and parked. Gena just stood there with her back turned from him, knowing his every move from the channel zero news reporters.