True to the Game I

by Teri Woods

  “Are you for real?” Gena asked.

  Jerrell nodded.

  “Thank you so much!” Gena told him. She wrapped her arms around him and gave him a hug. “I’m sorry, I don’t even know your name. What’s your name?”

  “Jay,” he told her. “My name’s Jay.”

  Gena shook Jerrell’s hand. “I can’t repay you for this.”

  Jerrell nodded. “Yeah you can.”

  “How?” Gena asked, lifting an eyebrow.

  “Let me pay for your gas, and let me walk you to your car and pump it for you.” Jerrell told her. “And then, let me follow you back to where you are going, so that I can make sure you make it home safely.”

  Tears fell from Gena’s eyes and she hugged him again. “I just met you, and you’re so nice. I’m telling you I was really being followed.”

  “Hey, don’t worry about nothing anymore, ma,” Jerrell told her. “You’re safe with me. I got you, okay?”

  Gena nodded.

  “Which car is yours?” Jerrell asked.

  “The blue Mercedes,” Gena told him.

  Hot damn, that’s what I’m talking about, Jerrell thought. Let me find out this broad is rolling. No wonder she thinks she was being followed. Niggas was probably trying to jack the bitch for her ride. Probably a bunch of youngsters trying to make a quick come-up. Jack her car, take it to a chop shop, make a few thousand. See, that’s what’s wrong with youngsters today; no fucking vision. Why yank the bitch from the car and risk catching a carjacking case? All you got to do is just finesse these broads out here; stroke ’em, fuck ’em, and milk ’em until they credit card bills look like a New York Lottery number. Youngsters these days have no finesse, no G. But, I’ma show ’em how it’s done, baby; old-school style.

  Jerrell tossed a twenty-dollar bill onto the counter. “Put it on the blue Benz,” he told the cashier.

  Jerrell clasped Gena’s hand and led her out to her car, where he sat her inside of the vehicle and closed the door. Then he pumped her gas.

  Inside of the Benz, Gena closed her eyes and leaned her head back on the headrest. She felt a feeling that she hadn’t felt in a long time. She felt that she had someone looking out for her again. She felt like she had just met a really good man, one who wanted to take care of her and keep her safe. Wouldn’t that be something? She missed that feeling. She missed being able to wrap her arms around a man and feel safe. She missed having the man of life in her life.

  Jerrell finished pumping Gena’s gas and then walked to the driver’s side window, where she had it rolled down.

  “Hey, I want to call you tonight,” Jerrell told her. “I want to make sure you’re okay.”

  Gena nodded, pulled a pen from her purse, and wrote her number on the corner of an envelope. She tore the number off the paper, and handed it to Jerrell.

  “I’ma follow you home to make sure you’re safe, okay?” Jerrell told her.

  Gena smiled. “Thank you so much, Jay. You’re the nicest guy who I’ve met in a long time.”

  “No problem, pretty girl,” Jerrell told her. He caressed the side of her face and then turned and headed for his vehicle, where he climbed inside and waited for Gena to pull off. Jerrell pulled off just behind her, and trailed her as she headed onto the turnpike, back to Gah Git’s house, and back to safety.

  His fucked-up crew had blown through all of his bread while he was locked up, and he had spent the remainder of his dough fighting that bullshit case. And now—now he had been given a beautiful, lonely, scared bitch to fuck. Ain’t life grand? And it’ll be even grander if this bitch got a couple of dollars so I can come up again.

  “Wooooooeeeee!” Jerrell let out an excited scream as his imagination ran wild. He dreamed of fucking Gena on top of a pile of money, and then suffocating the bitch in that same pile of Benjamins afterward. It was obvious that she didn’t know who he was, and it was obvious that she was feeling all of the nice, concerned, protective shit that he was throwing her way. Which meant she was lonely and didn’t have a man to turn to. Maybe her man’s in jail or maybe the nigga’s just steppin’ out on her every night. Either that or the nigga is a weak motherfucker and don’t know how to protect his bitch. Either way, I got to find the story out on Ms. Gena.

  Jerrell had made up his mind and he had decided that he would get to work on that as soon as time permitted. But first, he had major important things to attend to first; like catching up with all them niggas who fucked up his dough and had nothing but excuses about why he was broke. Yeah, he would take care of them, and he would get with his baby girl, too. One thing at a time, though. One thing at a time.

  “Don’t worry, boo,” Jerrell said to Gena’s taillights. “Daddy’s here! Daddy’s gonna spank that monkey real good, and give you all the man that you need!”

  Jerrell settled in for a long drive back to North Philly, dreaming of what he was going to do to Gena and everybody who owed him. I can’t believe them niggas fucked up my money. They must’ve never thought I was coming back home. Never once did he realize that the treasure he so deeply desired was only fifty feet away from him—in the trunk of Gena’s car.