Still Hood

by K'wan

  This kept paper rolling in for Jah, when he chose to work, but he didn’t really like playing the roll of guard dog. Some of the cats he worked for were cool but the rest he could do without. To him, most of Yoshi’s clients were pussies with money, trying to stunt. Jah was of a different breed and just being around them was a task.

  “Why are y’all making so much noise out here?” Yoshi barked as she stormed out of the bedroom. Long dark hair with flecks of gold hung loosely around her face, curled slightly at the ends. Looking at her exotic features, you’d never have guessed she was beaten within an inch of her life less than a year ago.

  “My fault,” Tech said sheepishly.

  Yoshi placed her hands on her almost perfectly curved hips. “Tech, what are you doing by here so early anyway, when you’re supposed to be in school?”

  “Come by? Shit, he never left,” Jah chuckled, gunning down another duck.

  Yoshi stormed across the room and stood in front of Jah, blocking his view of the video game. She was wearing a white linen shirt and tan skirt. Over her arm she had her blazer of the same color and a large makeup case was in her hand.

  “Jah, why do you have Tech sitting up in here, when you know he’s supposed to be in school? Its bad enough that he’s getting left back again, but you’re encouraging his bullshit.”

  Jah tried to peer around her to see the screen, but she moved with him. “Tech is a grown-ass man; I can’t make him do nothing.”

  “He’s seventeen!” She cut the television off. Yoshi turned her attention to Tech, who was watching the whole thing with an amused look on his face. “Tech, you my man fifty grand, but you know I don’t condone the bullshit. Now, you ain’t gotta go to school if you don’t want to, but you ain’t gonna lay up in here all day.”

  Tech shrugged his shoulders and got up off the couch. “A’ight Yoshi, I ain’t trying to get that man in trouble. Jah,” Tech turned and gave him a pound, “I’m out.” Tech snatched a cigarette out of Jah’s open pack and headed out the door. When Jah turned to go back to his video game Yoshi was shooting him a menacing glare.

  “What?” he asked defensively.

  “You know what!” she shot back.

  Jah sighed and placed the plastic gun on the coffee table. “Yoshi, what did you want me to do, kick him out?”

  “Yes. Tech needs to have his little ignorant ass in school instead of sitting up in here smoking weed and playing video games with you. You need to be more responsible.”

  “Whatever,” Jah got up and headed into the kitchen.

  Yoshi glared at his departing back. She looked around her tastefully decorated living room that now resembled a club house with empty beer bottles and overflowing ash trays. She loved Jah, but sometimes his irresponsibility and lack of motivation got on her damn nerves.

  For as much of a pain as Jah could be, Yoshi couldn’t deny that he had won over parts if her heart that no other man could think of sniffing. Back in those days she was shaking her ass at various strip clubs and trimming cats for their bread. Her mentality back then was “I don’t give a fuck, if it’s about a buck.” Her outlook was drastically changed when she was beaten and gang raped by a scorned trick and his minions. After that she felt so low in life that nothing could pick her up, until Jah.

  Up until then she had never seen him as much more than Paul’s wild-ass little brother, but Jah showed her a much deeper side. It touched her how he could give so much of himself and not ask for anything in return, but it was his passion that made her love him.

  After the rape, death rode Harlem like a dark horse—with Jah holding the reigns. All of Yoshi’s attackers and those close to them met horrible deaths. Though Jah never admitted to it, the word on the street was that his vengeance was of legendary proportions. When he put her mental demons to rest he helped her reconstruct her physical self. He hovered over her like a guardian until Yoshi felt like she was ready to face the world again, but this time she wouldn’t have to do it alone.

  Yoshi loved having a man to pamper her the way Jah did, but she sometimes felt selfish about it. Jah was a wolf, and she knew the call of the pack rang heavy in his ears; but he still put her first, which was no easy task for a man like Jah. He was a predator, and the block was his jungle. Being away from that was, in a sense, removing a piece of who he was, and it showed in the way he hung around the house smoking weed with Tech. He and Spooky still made moves, but Jah wasn’t in the thick anymore.

  Once Yoshi was well again she was back on her paper chase, but she wasn’t stripping anymore. True had gotten her a job doing wardrobe and makeup on video sets, to try and make up for what had happened. Though he wasn’t a part of the act, he felt guilty because they were his crew. It didn’t take long for record execs to recognize Yoshi’s fashion sense, and she found herself doing plenty of freelance work. Yoshi became known as an up-and-coming stylist and everyone wanted to work with her. In no time, Yoshi was back to doing what she did best, stack cheese.

  Being that Yoshi was now in the entertainment business, she rubbed elbows with a lot of heavyweights, some not being the most savory characters. She instantly saw the potential in it for Jah and plugged him. Jah was making anywhere from three to five thousand a night just to hang around. Every once in a while he might have to slap somebody, but hell, he’d been doing that for free since Yoshi knew him. Things went well at first, but after a while Jah seemed to lose interest and withdrew to the apartment. Now, Jah did his part and they weren’t strapped for cash, but having him around the house 24/7 was starting to blow hers.

  “Where’re you off to,” Jah said as he came out of the kitchen with a forty-ounce in his hand.

  “Work,” she said, snatching her keys off the coffee table. “Stacks Green and his crew are shooting a video in the city this week, and they’ve got that grudge match with Don B’s team at the King Dome next weekend. He said he tried to call you about doing security but you haven’t called him back.”

  “I’ll get around to it,” Jah said unenthusiastically. Jah had indeed gotten the message Stacks’s assistant had left him, but he chose not to return the call. Stacks Green was an up-and-coming dude from Houston’s rap scene. His single, “Golds and 44s,” was getting heavy rotation on every station and he had already shot two videos without even having a record deal. Who needed label money when you had the block?

  Word had it that Stacks Green put the D in Dope Boy. He had North Houston leaning and rocking off the shit he was putting on the streets. Still, Stacks was wise enough to know that the streets wouldn’t be forever, so he ventured into music. He had started out as just being the CEO, but after loosing his main act to federal prison he had to put on another hat. The bugged-out thing was that the boy was dead nice. He had a New York flow, with a twang of the south. The best part was that he never ran out of material, because he was still heavy in the streets.

  Stacks and his crew were certified street niggaz and he always paid like he weighed, but Jah just didn’t like him personally. Stacks was loud, arrogant, and sneaky. More to the point, he didn’t like how the man looked at Yoshi. An admiring look he could tolerate, but there was a hunger in his eyes that Jah didn’t like, especially after what Yoshi had already gone through. Stacks was an arrogant muthafucka who thought his paper entitled him to any- and everything he wanted. Jah knew that if he ever got out of pocket with Yoshi he was going to kill him, so he saved himself the trouble and just avoided him.

  “What’s with this chip you’ve got on your shoulder?” Yoshi asked.

  “What you talking about, boo?”

  “Jah, you know what I’m talking about. Every time you get around Stacks or someone mentions his name you get all funny style.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Yoshi. If I don’t like the nigga, I don’t like him. Ain’t no funny business about it.”

  “I hear that Jah, but let me give you some advice: Stacks might be an asshole, but he’s got long dough. For some reason you make him feel safe. Now, I do
n’t know what done crawled up your ass, but you better pull it out and call the nigga back. These lights ain’t gonna keep themselves on.”

  Jah turned around and glared at her. The storm clouds brewing in his eyes made her take a step back. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” He slithered out of the chair and in her direction. “Yoshi, don’t I do what the fuck I gotta do to hold us down?”

  “Calm down, Jah, I’m not saying you don’t, but—”

  “But shit!” he cut her off. “You standing here telling about why the fuck I should be so quick to accept a handout from that fat muthafucka. When did you become president of the fan club?”

  “Slow ya roll, Jah.” She matched his tone. “First of all, I ain’t the president of nobody’s fan club but my own. Furthermore, all I’m trying to tell you is not to let your feelings fuck with your pocket, that’s a fool’s move.”

  Jah bit his bottom lip. “Well, pardon me for not having long dough, but I ain’t hurting for no change, know what I mean? Even sitting in here playing nursemaid I do a’ight for myself.” He regretted it as soon as he said it.

  “Word, Jah?” Her words were just above a whisper.

  “Yoshi, I didn’t mean it how it sounded.” He tried to correct himself but the damage was already done.

  “Nah, you meant it just like you said it. But let me tell you something, Jahlil, I am now and always have been an independent bitch. Whether I was shaking my ass or shaking a nigga’s pocket, I did it on my own. Now, I love you and appreciate everything you’ve been to me, but if you don’t wanna be here I ain’t gonna hold you.” Yoshi didn’t even give him a chance to respond before she was out the door.

  Chapter 5

  WITH THE AFTERNOON FINALLY ARRIVING, SO did the crowd. The quiet stoops were now beginning to draw people as the partygoers and general late-risers were finally coming out of their apartments.

  Shannon sat on the stoop of his building between a pair of succulent chocolate thighs. The thighs belonged to a neighborhood tender named Shakira, who was busy braiding his hair. Shakira was nineteen years old and built like a porn star. Her breasts were so big that buying a Victoria’s secret bra was out of the question for her. Niggaz on the block had been trying to hit that since she moved around the summer before, but Shannon’s game had prevailed where others didn’t.

  Shakira played naïve but she was far from it. Growing up in Red Hook and having two aunts that sold pussy taught her a lot about getting where she needed to be. She knew Shannon was that nigga on the block and therefore the one she would let break her in. Shannon had pounded that pussy up, down, and sideways and always came back. Shakira had a shot to die for and a head game that put a lot of grown women to shame.

  “Damn Shakira.” Shannon flinched as she ran the comb through a tangle of hair in the back.

  “Don’t get mad at me, nigga; take better care of your hair. If you would perm this bitch once in a while it might be easier to deal with,” Shakira shot back.

  Shannon leaned forward and craned his neck to look at her. “What the fuck do I look like, running around with a perm in my hair? That’s some Harlem shit.”

  “Watch that,” Spooky said playfully.

  “My fault, Harlem,” Shannon smiled. “Your brother take that shit to heart, don’t he, Nate?”

  “You know he do,” Nate replied. Nate was Spooky’s older brother. He was six-two and had the physique of a boxer. While Spooky was raised with his mother in Harlem, Nate was raised with their father in Brooklyn. Though they lived in different boroughs and had two different mothers, their father made sure they spent time together growing up.

  “Word life, y’all some cool niggaz, but you know I’m Harlem to the heart.” Spooky pounded his chest.

  “So what you doing down here with these niggaz?” Shakira saw this as an opportunity to pick the mysterious Spooky’s brain.

  Spooky shrugged. “Ain’t nothing, just kicking it with my brother.”

  “I’ll bet,” she said, not believing him. Unlike Nate who liked to brag on his exploits, Spooky kept his hand close to his chest.

  “What’s up y’all?” Yvette walked up. She was wearing a pair of royal blue pajama pants with yellow ducks on them. Her socks were crispy white, but the flip-flops she wore were dingy as hell.

  “Vette, what’s popping?” Shannon gave her dap.

  “Just waking up from earlier,” she said, stretching. Because she wasn’t wearing a bra you could clearly see her silver-dollar nipples pressing against her white T-shirt. Yvette might’ve been a rough chick, but her body was crazy. She had no kids, so her stomach was for the most part flat, and she had just enough ass that you could grip a fist full while hitting it from the back.

  “Harlem, let me get a bone?” Yvette said to Spooky, startling him. He didn’t know if she’d noticed him sizing her up, but she gave him a real mischievous look.

  “This my last one.” He handed her the cigarette he was smoking.

  “That’s the best part.” She pressed her lips to the butt and took a deep pull. There was a challenging look in her eyes that made Spooky’s groin warm. “Where the weed at?” She addressed the entire stoop.

  Spooky went to say something, but Shakira beat him to the punch. “How much you got on it?” she asked, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in her voice. She didn’t like Yvette because she was always around Shannon. Even though he wasn’t her man, Shakira felt like she had papers on his dick, which was absurd.

  Yvette ignored Shakira. “I know you got that good shit on you, Harlem?” She addressed Spooky.

  “I keeps that Barney, ma. Go get a Dutch and we can burn something,” he said coolly.

  “That’s a bet.” Yvette stepped off the curb.

  “Stank bitch,” Shakira mumbled, after Yvette was out of earshot.

  “Fuck is up wit you and Vette?” Shannon asked.

  “I just don’t like the bitch,” she replied.

  “Damn, Shannon, you got these hos bout to squab over you,” Nate teased.

  “Nigga, I ain’t no ho!” Shakira snaked her neck.

  A little boy with a half moon cut into his hair ran past the stoop, with a skinny light-skinned kid on his heels. The light-skinned kid hurled rocks at the other kid, nearly hitting Nate.

  “Booby, you better watch where the fuck you throwing them rocks, before I kick your little ass,” Nate grumbled.

  “Nigga, you ain’t gonna do shit!” Little Booby stuck his tongue out and ran off.

  “I’m gonna kick your ass when I catch you!” Nate called after the fleeing little boy.

  “These is some disrespectful little muthafuckas,” Shakira said, as if she were a model citizen. “They bum-ass mama need to teach them some fucking manners.”

  “You better not let Shirley hear you talking about her kids. You know she be tripping,” Shannon teased her.

  “Shannon, I don’t know why you think it’s something sweet about me? What, do I gotta lay one of these bitches out before you finally take me seriously?”

  “Go ahead with that, Shakira.” Shannon waved her off as he watched Yvette jog back to the stoop. Her breasts bounced under her T-shirt, giving all the men sitting there food for thought. Shakira also picked up on it, and she only got more irritated.

  “I hope you know how to roll a Dutch?” Yvette asked, tossing Spooky the cigar.

  Spooky smiled, which was something he didn’t do often. “You got jokes, ma. Take a seat and pay attention, you might learn something.”

  Yvette shook her head. “Y’all Harlem niggaz stay popping shit. Yo, Shakira, slide over some so I can sit down.” She motioned at a spot next to Shannon.

  Shakira sucked her teeth. “Damn, why you trying to squeeze all between me and my man? Nah, ain’t enough room on this stoop.”

  No sooner than she finished her sentence, the whole block seemed to get quiet. Everyone on the block knew Yvette to be one of the coolest chicks out, but they also knew her to be a warrior. For Shakira to come out in her fa
ce like that, she must’ve had a mean knuckle game.

  “Excuse you?” Yvette rocked back on her heels.

  “I ain’t stutter. It’s too tight over here for you to be squeezing between me and my man,” Shakira reiterated.

  Feeling the mounting tension, Spooky stepped off the stoop and over to the side where Nate was standing. Nosy bystanders moved closer to the center so they wouldn’t miss a good fight. Yvette glared at Shakira like she had lost her last mind. She gave Shannon a questioning look and he just shrugged his shoulders.

  “What you looking at him for, he ain’t my daddy,” Shakira said, getting up from behind Shannon and moving down a step.

  “Little girl, if you step off that stoop you’re going to lay on it,” Yvette said very calmly.

  “Word, bitch?” Shakira took a step off the stoop, and before the other foot hit the pavement Yvette hit her. She laced Shakira with a left hook to the cheek, knocking her into the gate. Shakira bounced off the gate and came out swinging. Yvette could fight her ass off, but Shakira was a healthy girl. She clipped Yvette on the side of the head, dazing her. Yvette moved to swing, but Shakira was a little quicker. She caught Yvette twice in the face, but couldn’t lay her out. Yvette faked a right and came with a left. Before Shakira could get her head right Yvette threw a haymaker and knocked her into the trash.

  “Yeah, told your ass you’d lay on it!” Yvette said, sounding winded.

  It took a second for Shakira to shake off the cobwebs, but when she was able to focus she saw Shannon looking down at her from the stoop with a smirk on his face. This added to Shakira’s rage as she came lunging at Yvette with a bottle in her hand. Faster than anyone’s eyes could follow Yvette whipped her blade out and put it in motion. She gave Shakira a half moon across the forearm, producing a wail that sounded like a scalded child. With rage in her heart, Yvette went to cut Shakira across the face when Nate grabbed her from behind.