by AP Jermaine
“Yeah. I’ll get back wit you soon. You ready to ride?”
“Yes baby.”
“Aight. Hit me later.” Was my last response as I exited the apartment at daybreak.
Chapter 53 “The Crossover”
The next morning, I showed up at eight twenty - five at Ishmeel’s car lot, ready to work. I was still a lil nervous about him, but if he’s the police then he must have access to the evidence room! Real talk, he’d just put me on. In more ways than one. I wore some old Timbs and a flight jacket. Ishmeel was already talking to a customer. The sign on the door said eight to five. Whatever business they’d had, they brought to a quick conclusion and the old grey man stood up and left. “Mr. Banks. I see you’re on time. Good. I like that keep up the good work, I might just let you help me sell some used cars.” Ishmeel smiled.
“So, what I gotta do?”
“Ready to work. That’s good. I admire that too. Go clean out cages seven and eight. They have been adopted. Everything you need is by the cages. Then wash the black Camry sitting by the door. After that you can leave. But make sure you stay at least two hours. The job pays two hundred dollars a week. Monday thru Friday at eight thirty.” A couple strode arm in arm into the dealership and Ishmeel quickly left me to go attend to them.
I finished the cages and the car in about an hour. I walked a few dogs for about forty-five minutes then left while Ishmeel was attending more prospective car buyers. I had a mission. I felt no emotion. The streets were now my playground, and I was eager, for the games to begin.
Out of habit, that night, I went and copped a room at the Residence Inn. I’d spoken to Tika. No need to reject her. Life goes on. She said Mishka wanted to meet me. My murder victim was her son’s murderer. I didn’t want any pats on the back. I had four dollars to my name, and was not looking for handouts. Hoisting the blue SkyTek book sack off my back and onto the table, I unzipped it and took out the Miracle Whip jar. Next came the box of Arm & Hammer Baking Soda, then finally the nine ounces of raw coke. My phone rang. It was Lauryn. “Yeah”. I hit the touch tone screen.
“Damn Teddy! What the hell? Are you okay?” she sounded alarmed.
“Yeah baby I’m good.”
“Why you didn’t call me?”
“I didn’t call nobody. I wasn’t in the mood.”
“Teddy don’t do that! You had me going crazy!” Lauryn whined. She should already know I would never cut her from the team. “I’m sorry about Monique Teddy. I know it’s probably been terrible for you.”
“Yeah. But I’m good now.”
“You need me?”
“Yeah, but not right this second. I’m handing something.”
“You gonna call me back?”
“Yeah I got you.”
“Promise?”
“Yeah.”
“You need some money?” I knew she’d ask.
“Nah. I’m straight. I’ll hit you back later.”
“Okay baby. Call me back.”
I hung up and went back to the task at hand. Emptying the mayonnaise out of the jar, I rinsed it out in the sink until it was clean. Yep. No Pyrex, no Brunson burners; Just this mayonnaise jar, some baking soda, and a pot on the stove in the corner. I’d already used the small hammer to bust up the nine ounces of rock hard powder enough to cook it. Meticulously I ran water into the pot, sat it back on the stove and turned the fire on under it. Opening the kitchen drawer, I retrieved the scale I’d left there earlier that day, weighed out four ounces of coke along with fifty - six grams of baking soda. It’s not about cutting the work; you cannot cook coke without baking soda. I picked up the mixture, walked back to the table and dumped it in the mayonnaise jar, before filling the jar a quarter of the way with water. Immediately the coke started to sizzle like a high school science project! Taking a wooden tasting spoon I stirred the cocaine into the water making a thick white foam. The pot of water was just coming to a boil as I picked up the Miracle Whip jar and sat it inside the pot of boiling water. Slowly the coke in the jar started to foam up thickly, and just as slowly I poured a small amount of water into the jar, whipping and stirring with the spoon until the ingredients were liquid again. Over and over I repeated this method until the water at the bottom of the jar was clear, and a five or six - inch deep cloud sat at the top of the jar. Swiftly I ran to the sink with the jar and ran a little cool water into it as the foam started to solidify and bulk up. A few drops of ice cubes later, and I was staring at a crater filled rock of hard white crack the size of a Big Mac. After pouring the water off, I rolled the block of cocaine outta the jar and onto some Bounty paper towels to dry. After it dried, I weighed it. 132 grams. I’d gotten back 20 extra grams without even trying. I took the coke I’d cooked, and cut it up in all twenties. I kept the entire 20 grams separate. Over eleven thousand dollars in twenties. I threw on my black Champion hoody and my black Gore Tex, scooped up the hard I’d just cooked and headed for the door. It was late night. Time to hit East Durham. “The Ho Stroll.”
Sometime during my incarceration, it had been rumored that Frank the crackhead, had stopped smoking crack after his mother passed away. One of her deathbed requests, that her youngest boy “get off them drugs.” Although he still wasn’t hustling, he did let cats pump outta his house. When I say “pump” I mean “trap” or “grind.” His spot was still frequented by the “ladies of the night.” (tricks) Which was a major source of income for East Durham, because every horny motherfucker from Raleigh to Hillsborough, knew they could come to East Durham, mainly between Holloway Street, Driver, and Guthrie, if they wanted to trick. As I’ve told you before, don’t get in your head that T.V. and fake hood novel shit, that all tricks are ugly with rotten teeth and dirty clothes. Not so. Some tricks are pretty, some still thick, a lot look no different than your girlfriend or wife. Some “are” your girlfriend or wife! You just don’t know it yet. You’ll always be the last to know. This is the untold truth. There may never be another like this.
I parked my car around the corner from Franks crib and walked up to it. I’d removed the 20 grams plus one ounce in twenties and locked the rest in my trunk. One of the main reasons I wanted people to see me come up walking. It was 1:15am. I had four dollars to my name. There were smokers milling around everywhere in front of Franks crib as I walked up.
“Yo. You looking homeboy? I got you right here.” A scraggly looking nigga wit a George Jefferson bald spot, ran up to me with some crumbs in his hand. He had two eager looking prostitutes by his side.
“Nah homeboy I’m straight. Just looking for Frank.”
“Banks! What’s up dog! Come on in! Ay! Yall get the fuck from in front of my house!” Frank yelled as he ran out at the trio that had just tried to sell me the crumbs. Instantly they scattered like roaches! The inside of his house looked almost exactly the same. So was the scene. Although Frank may not be smoking hard, his tricking habit was still at an all- time high.
“I hope he got something to smoke.” A fortyish looking black woman with fading beauty spoke out.
“Chill out Jackie I got you.” Frank tried to assure her.
“Ah, Ah! Goddamn that! You done fucked me three times and aint gave me but a fuckin hit!
“Shut yo fuckin mouth! I told you I got you! Come on in Banks.” Frank ushered me in as we headed for the back. The furniture was newer, but the tricks were still the same. A street prostitute is the same as any stripper, or escort, or girl from “BackPage.” They’re simply offering you, for a price, a cut through the bullshit, and straight to the head or the pussy. Possibly the ass. And not necessarily in that order. One short, blond haired girl with a butterfly tattoo on her neck, looked slightly out of place as she scurried over to me.
“You got something?” Butterfly neck asked hopingly. I could tell she hadn’t been out in the streets long. Her eyes still held hope, something a true crack smoker’s eyes lack.
“I might. Why? What you got?” With hope and uncertainty sketched across her face, she reached into her pocketbook and there it was.
A ratchet! The prettiest snub nosed 357 I’d ever seen. Chrome so shiny it looked like silver! Was this god sending me another blessing, or the devil? “Where’d you get that from?” I was suspicious and curious about this out of place white chic.
“I took it from my daddy’s pawn shop. Don’t worry its good.”
“What pawn shop?”
“National Jewelry and Pawn.”
“Your daddy owns that?”
“Uh Ha.”
National Jewelry and Pawn was one of the biggest, most prominent pawn shops in the city. How did this pawn shop heiress fall so far from the tree? Probably a no - good boyfriend, who’d introduced her to the white devil. The same boyfriend she’d rebelled against her parents to be with. Until he recently went to prison. Leaving her with no man, and a fucked - up habit. “How much you want for it?” I asked as I took the hammer from her hand, feeling the reassuring weight of it.
“You straight. You got some hard?”
“Yeah. What you want for it?”
“Well I was trying to get an eight ball. The price tag on it said almost four hundred dollars.” She answered as she looked at me with fear in her eyes. Probably afraid I’d just take the gun and tell her to get the fuck on, or give her little to nothing for it. Admiring my new girlfriend once more, I tucked her in the waistband of my jeans, then reached into my briefs to retrieve the coke I’d brought. I never wore boxers when I hit the block to trap. Always briefs so I’d have somewhere to stash drugs or money. Just in case the police wanted to pull up and do a pat down, I’d make it through it. There was still some risk, but this way, it was significantly reduced. The house went into a frenzy as soon as they saw the rock!
“Hey baby, you want some head?” A middle aged black woman with a sundress on, ran over before Frank grabbed her!
“I got six dollars!” another white girl held the money up so I could see.
“Y’all sit the fuck down or I’m gonna throw yall ass outta here! Let my man handle his business!” At the mention of getting kicked out, the tricks calmed down instantly. Pulling out the 20 - gram rock of crack, I strained to break off a chunk from the side with a “Pop!” It looked to be about 5 grams that I handed to butterfly neck.
“That good?”
“Hell yeah, if its real! This aint no dummy, is it?
I looked at the white chic with the six dollars and called her over. She was at my side inhumanly quick! “Where that six dollars at?” I asked as I pulled out a twenty.
“Well, I really got three dollars, but I can straighten you out for the other three.” Straighten me out, meaning suck me off.
“Nah baby girl I’m good. Give me the three dollars.” Happily, she handed over a sock full of pennies. “Where’s your stem at?” I asked her as it appeared in her hand as if by magic. I took the twenty and showed it around the room. “These are dimes. My homeboy from Virginia just came in town and he got plenty. He told me to sell these bolders for ten dollars. That’s how he’s gonna do it from now on.” I announced to my audience full of crack smokers. A lighter flicked and the unmistakable smell of cocaine smoke and the unmatched sound of crack sizzling through a pipe, filled the room. Immediately the butterfly chic started to dry heave! Over and over she seemed to gulp for air that wasn’t there!
“Tina! Oh shit, Tina! You ok girl? Get her some water!” A short round light skinned woman with a red wig ran to Butterfly chic’s aid.
“It…. It… It goo… It’s good.” Butterfly chick finally pushed the words out. Her eyes were the size of boiled eggs, and her face looked contorted as if she was having a stroke! Instantly the ladies of the night were all over Butterfly neck like vampires looking for blood!
“Ay! Ay! Yall leave her alone! Get away from her. If she gives you something then fine. If not, you need to get yo ass outside and find some dicks to suck! She spends good money Banks. Can’t let these monsters run her off.” Frank whispered the latter sentence to me. Obviously, Frank had his crib in check; because at the sound of his raised voice, the women backed away from Butterfly like she was bad news.” Come on Banks we can talk in the back.” Frank led me towards the back of the house as I looked over my shoulder and watched Butterfly distributing hits around to the other girls. “Damn Banks! You say that shit come from Virginia? You know it’s been a lil drought in Durham lately. Everybody got the same bullshit coke. If your man got a lot of that, then he can get paid.”
“I don’t know what he got. I only know what he brings when he come see me, and that ain’t all the time. When he’s here, I’ll have it, when he’s not, I won’t.” I tossed Frank what was left of the 20 grams after paying Butterfly for my new pistol. Probably about fourteen, fifteen grams.
“What’s this?” Frank looked at the crack confused.
“It’s something for you to sell to these tricks when they come up in here. Just give me two hundred dollars.” I knew it was a blessing.
“Two hundred! For this? Shit I got you dog! This that same shit that almost put Tina into cardiac arrest in there?”
“It’s all the same. Here, take this twenty,” I handed him a rock outta my bag. “Make sure you let these hoes know I got these from my man and they going for ten.”
“Gotcha D. J.” I wrote my number on a piece of match cover and handed it to Butterfly on my way out the door. She was sweating like a marathon runner and the coke had her mouth locked up, so I simply opened her empty purse and dropped it in. Her father owned National Jewelry and Pawn. There’s no way she couldn’t be an asset down the line. It was chilly when I stepped out into the street. Yet the foot traffic through the East Durham streets could easily match any New York nights at 2:15am. Black and white, rich and poor, riding and walking; they were all in the same family at this time of night. They were searching. A rock, a bag of dope, some pussy, a blowjob. They were all searching for something. I saw the tricks getting in and out of the cars as I walked down Driver Street headed Holloway. A group of three women were standing at the corner of Liberty Street and Driver, like it was one in the afternoon. They stared apprehensively as I walked close by them.
“What’s up?” I asked the dark-skinned woman with the Donna Summers weave. She wore grey spandex with flip flops. Her feet looked like she’d walked somewhere where there’d been dirt. She looked like she’d been fucked a few times that day too.
“What’s up? What you want, some head or some pussy?” she answered my question with a question.
“What’s your name?” I ignored her question the same way.
“Fanny. You trying to do something or what? We trying to make us some money, so if you aint got none you might as well keep steppin.”
“Nah. I don’t need your services. I’m out her trying to get this money. I got twenties for ten dollars. Best crack in Durham.”
“You got twenties for ten dollars! At two in the morning! Ha! Ha! Ha! Nigga please! We know it aint no hard around here. That’s why we trying to hurry up and make some money and get to the West-End before Carlos close down shop. He the only one straight, and his shit aint all that. But if you trying to get high, you might as well quit trying to beat us, and help us find some tricks.”
“I got eight dollars, lemme see what you got.” A short dark skinned girl stepped up.
“Girl don’t do it!” Fanny yelled! Pulling out five rocks I told her to pick one.
“Oh, hell nah! I had to suck a dick for this money! That shit aint real! What’s that soap!”
“Look goddammit! I ain’t got time to be fuckin wit you bitches’ all night! I got the fire hard and I’m gonna be out here. My name is D.J. I’ll be around Liberty and Holloway. Now where’s your fuckin pipes so I can keep it moving.” I gave each of the three a hit. They locked up! The rest is history. Once word got out on the late-night circuit; I didn’t have to go to them. They came to me. And the money with them. From Driver to Main, from Main to Angier, from Angier to Alston. On foot, I covered a lotta ground. I moved in the shadows through the ho strolls of East Durham with my n
ew girlfriend, Ms. 357., as my only companion. I knew that over and over, the ladies of the night were bent over in cars, on their knees behind houses, on the sides of apartment buildings with their legs in the air getting fucked on beer and wine bottle filled grounds. The tricks went and got that money. And they brought it to me. At all costs. Morals were not an issue. The word was out. Just like any hot new celebrity rumor. The Virginia boys were in town. And they got that EYEPOPPER! For the low! I sold nine ounces in twenties for ten dollars, in two nights! The new foot traffic I’d created by selling on the street, constantly on the move, I knew was taking away from trap houses in the area. Good. Shell had a trap house in the East. I’d made a little over eleven thousand off the nine ounces. That meant I only had to make eight more to pay Ishmeel for the bird of coke, and I still had twenty - seven ounces. Tomorrow I’d see what’s up with this “boy.” That boy and that girl, were two whole different worlds. But I don’t give a fuck. Time for me to check some of these phone messages and get some sleep.
Chapter 54 “Mishka”
After washing the cars and cleaning three cages, I was off work the next morning in about two hours. I had seventeen messages on my phone. Tika had the most with nine. To her surprise, I called her back and agreed to meet her and Mishka at Hibachi Bar and Grill. Mishka wanted to meet me. Cool. Her brother was a real motherfucker. His sister couldn’t be that bad. It was lunchtime when I pulled into the parking spot next to the black 430 Benz. Tika was in the driver’s seat. I couldn’t see her companion that well, and I was ready to park and stretch my legs. “Meet me at the door. I’m going to park.” I yelled at Tika over the noisy afternoon traffic.
“Okay. Three minutes.”
Five minutes later, I was sitting in a booth across from Tika, and whom had to be the most exotic looking creature I’d ever crossed paths with. Mishka was gorgeous! What was she, forty- seven, forty- eight? Damn! Her sun kissed skin looked like a mix between Indian and Columbian. Her hair was long and black, and flowed so easily down her back. Her lips were forever perched in the perfect pout. Her smile was hypnotizing me. “Teddy? Teddy!”
