by AP Jermaine
Now, as I was saying earlier, it’s completely fictitious for any man, or crew of men, to claim they’ve got any part of Durham on lock. I don’t give a fuck what you selling. It’s not gonna happen. You’ll get killed in the process of even trying. But if you act like you got some sense, then you can get your share. It’s out there. Millions are getting made daily. True fact. These days almost everybody has got some kind of hustle. Any stupid motherfucker can sell drugs, because the drug basically sells itself. It takes a smart and savvy motherfucker though, to divide, conquer and maintain. Whether it’s weed, coke, boy, crack, Percocets, Oxy’s, Ex, Molly, blunts, cigarettes, beer, liquor; there’s a market for everything. But you aint locking shit down. Period. So, ladies, if yo nigga come in the crib blowing smoke up yo ass about how he’s got this and that on lock, tell that clown to quit lying, and get his ass back out there on the grind. Because while he’s in there talking, niggas are out there trappin. I will say this though. If you move enough of your product in a certain area, niggas will feel it. In their pockets. Now let me tell you about Turnkey. Also, known as “The Key.” Turnkey is the last black neighborhood you’ll get to just before you head into Durham County. We’d stayed out there half my life although I’d never really hung out there. Most of my adolescent years were spent in McDougald Terrace Housing Project, where my Aunt Mable lived and where I went to every afternoon after school, until my moms came and got me around eleven thirty or twelve when she got off work. All my friends therefore, were in the projects. So, on the week-ends I wouldn’t have it any other way than to get dropped off in the projects. I also had cousins there. “The Key,” is a housing development, of which there are roughly about 350 to 400 houses, that are actually just a small step above the projects; because most of the houses are occupied by low income black families. I’d always done my hustling in the inner city, but now for the second time, I was hearing that there was “get rich” money, being made in The Key.
Chapter 62 “The Key”
The house on Ross Road belonging to Tika’s white male “friend,” was no more than a quarter mile away from Turnkey. Aka, “The Key”. In the back of the house, hidden from view, was a two - car garage, which is where I left my faithful hoopty, when I struck out walking to Turnkey. Tika had informed that her friend would be away for at least a month, so I knew I’d be good in that aspect. Down Ross Road, up through Charlestown Apartments and across Holloway Street, and I was coming up through the bottom of the The Key. It took me fourteen minutes on foot. My trap phone was ringing off the hook but I didn’t answer it. I hadn’t brought shit with me. I needed to scope some shit out first. I was dressed plainly, in a white T-shirt, blue jeans, and number six Jordan’s. As I was coming into the bottom of The Key, walking up onto the infamous Wedgedale Avenue, my personal phone buzzed and it was Tamia. My dick got hard just thinking about how thick and soft she’d gotten and I knew I had to fuck her again soon.
“Hey stranger”. Her sexy voice came through the speaker.
“What’s good with you?”
“Nothing. How you been? You don’t know how to return nobody calls?” She teased but I knew she meant it.
“When did you call me?”
“Um like every day for the past week.”
“Oh yeah, I been busy taking care of some shit.”
“Can I help?”
“Nah, you ain’t built for the shit I got going on.” I tested the waters to see how she’d respond as two cars passed by me headed up Wedgedale Ave. Both occupants of the cars, a blue Cadillac and a gray Camry, were white. I knew they were trying to cop something.
“For you baby, it aint shit I aint built for.”
“Oh yeah? So, you down by law?”
“You didn’t know?” She came right back.
“Okay. We’ll see.
“I guess we will. When do I need to be ready?”
“I don’t know yet, but I’ll let you know. This some serious shit I’m talking about now.” I re-enforced.
“You aint talking to no little girl no more Banks. I can handle mine.”
“Okay we’ll see. Just hit me back later if you really ready to make big girl moves.”
“Aight. You just make sure you answer. Cause I’m down by law.”
“Aight later.” I said and hung up. She might just be the one I need to handle some shit. I thought as I rounded the corner and saw my homeboy Lex sitting on his porch. Lex had been getting money for years, and judging by the iced - out time piece on his wrist, and the 745I sitting on deuce fours in the driveway, I figured he might still be. I’d heard his name a few times while I was locked, in the same context with getting money, so I knew he’d put me up on what was really good. We went all the way back to summer camp and he knew I was official. Another car filled with white folks passed by me and stopped three hundred yards up the street, as I watched about ten niggas dive off a porch and run up to the car throwing their arms in the open windows. One of the niggas got smart, opened the back door and jumped in the backseat screaming for the score to pull off.
“What’s up my nigga? Long time no see. Come holla at ya boy!” Lex yelled from his seat on the porch as he held up a burning blunt for me to see. “What’s good Banks? Go ahead and sit down bru. Here smoke some of this.” Lex smiled as he passed me the blunt when I walked up on the porch.
“What is it?” I asked before I took it.
“Oh, just some Kush.”
“Ain’t shit in it, is it?”
“Man, hell nah! You know I don’t fuck around. Just weed, liquor, and pussy. The only shit I get high on,” he laughed.
“Yeah you never know these days. Niggas smoking crack, taking other motherfuckers medication, sniffing dope. Shit I usually don’t smoke shit I don’t see get rolled.”
“Come on bru, you know I’m official.”
“Yeah I know.” I sat down next to him on the porch bench, took the blunt and pulled deep.
“Yeah this shit aight. But I got that shit that will make you cry for ya mama!” I grinned as I pulled out my chronic.
“Oh shit! Why that shit red like that?” Lex asked as he leaned over, put his nose in the bag and sniffed. “Goddamn! What’s that!?”
“That’s that Cherry Trainwreck nigga.”
“Cherry Trainwreck? Where the hell you get that from?”
“California baby. It’s some of that medical shit. Guaranteed to ease the pain.”
“Word up? Damn! I aint never smoked none of that shit. Roll up nigga!”
“You aint said shit.” I laughed as I produced a Dutch from my pocket and started splitting it.
There are two ways into The Key. From the top of Wedgedale and from the bottom. As I rolled, I watched as every two or three minutes, different cars occupied by mostly Caucasians, pulled in from one way or the other, and niggas out there trappin, would either run up and sell to them through the window, or get in the car with them and ride around the block, before getting back out and walking back up to sit on somebody’s porch. Most of the niggas I knew. Some I didn’t. A young nigga I knew named Tuck got slick on they ass, walked to the bottom of the hill and caught them soon as they were turning in the hood. They call that “short stopping.” My trap phone wouldn’t stop ringing so I eventually cut that shit off and put my personal phone on vibrate. “Damn bru, all them scores come through here like that every day?”
“Shit nigga this a slow day.” Lex answered nonchalantly.
“Word up? The Key jumping like that out here? What they buying?”
“Hard mostly. Some soft. A little dope, but not much. That hard what’s really booming.”
“Oh yeah. I been hustling in the East. Fucking with McDougald some too.”
“Yeah, I used to fuck around in Fayetteville Street a little bit. But just to put you up on game bru, I know it’s constant paper in the city, but what will take you all night to get rid of in the city, you can get rid of out here in six, seven hours.”
“Nigga stop lying!” I challenged
his statement as I crumbled the red colored bud into the leaf.
“My word nigga! You see all these niggas out here running to these cars. You got thirty, forty niggas out here trapping and everybody eating on the daily. Everybody got plenty scores on they phone. The block is just where you put em on your phone at. The thing about these white folks is they don’t want no dimes and twenties. They coming with fifty, eighty, a hundred every time. It aint shit for one to hit yo phone and be like yo I got three hundred. And you know what you give em?”
“What?”
“Three - grams nigga!” And they happy as a punk in boy’s town.” As we talked, white people were constantly riding back and forth, and niggas stayed busy serving em. “Nigga you know white people got access to money that niggas aint got.”
“Shit if it’s jumping so hard, then why you aint out there getting it?”
“Cause most of these niggas cop from me. I got scores on my phone too, so mostly I just chill and wait on my shit to ring. Bru if you want some of this money, shit then get on out there. You from The Key nigga! You one of the originals, even if you aint never really hung out here, that shit don’t matter. TK3 for life baby!” He held up his fist and I gave him a pound.
“I feel you. I feel you.” I said just before lighting up the Dutch of that doctor prescribed fire. Goddamn! I swear that shit tasted like the cherry tree that George Washington, “could not tell a lie” about chopping down! The effects of that shit were instant! “So, what you copping nigga?” I asked Lex as I blew the smoke out and passed him the blunt. Fear flashed through his eyes as I followed his gaze down to my waist where my shirt had risen up exposing the handle of my trey pound.
“Yo Banks chill out man.” Lex said raising his hands in surrender. “I heard about that shit that happened with yo girl Monique. That was some sour ass shit. Monique was good peoples, and you are too bru. But you aint go to come out here laying niggas down dog. If you hurting, I’ll put you on. Real talk my nigga.” Lex spoke with obvious fear in his voice as he stared from my eyes, to my waist and back again. I was high as hell already, and all I could do was laugh.
“Nigga put yo fuckin hands down!” I laughed some more. Lex looked at me like I was crazy. “If I came out here to lay you down, I wouldn’t have done no talking. I’d have just come through and laid yo ass down!” Relief showed on his face as he dropped his hands back to his lap.
“Here nigga.” I handed him the blunt.
“Shit nigga I don’t know what’s on yo mind. I know you just came home off a bid and I know you going through some wicked shit. Then out of the blue, you start asking what a nigga copping. Shit, the first thing that went through my mind, is damn I got caught slippin.” Lex relaxed as he accepted the blunt from me and took a good strong pull, before damn near coughing up a lung.
“Slow down playboy. I told you that shit is certified by the government. But nah nigga, the only reason I inquired about what type shit you was working with, is because my nigga I was locked up wit from Atlanta about to come through in the next couple days and drop some work on me. If you think you can move it out here, I might be able to throw you something like a half a joint for a good price. The nigga aint here all the time, but when he comes through, he blesses.”
“Half a joint? You talking about half a bird?”
“Nah nigga, half a jelly sandwich. What the fuck you think I’m talking about!”
“Word up? Yo man hitting like that?”
“He said he was gonna throw me two whole thangs, and if you think you can handle it, I’ll bust down one of em wit you. Since I see you go the cliental. Can you handle it?”
“So, you gonna trust me with a half a bird just like that?”
“Yeah. Cause if you fuck it up, either him or me one is gonna kill you. Not saying that you no pussy or nothing, but that’s just the way it is. Oh yeah. I saw that gun you got sitting under that towel beside you. You know if you woulda reached for it I woulda had to blow yo shit off?” I smiled and all Lex could do was smile with me. “So, can you handle it or do I need to holla at one of these other niggas out here?”
“Hell yeah, I can handle it. But what kind of numbers you talking first? This aint no garbage, is it?”
“Nigga it aint a motherfucker on the street with better shit than this. What you fuckin with now?”
“Shit, I’m already touching half a joint. It’s kinda dry right now though because it’s election time. My man hitting me over the head for eighteen bands, and the shit already rocked up.”
“Yeah, this shit already hard too. But I’ll front it to you for fifteen even.
“Fifteen stacks!”
“Yeah.”
“Shit, hell yeah! For fifteen bands, I wouldn’t give a fuck if it was chalk! This aint no joke is it dog?”
“Nigga do I look like Kevin Hart to you?”
“Shit that’s what’s up then! When you talking about coming through?”
“I don’t know for sure. Whenever my man gets up here. Probably within the next couple days. Gimme yo number so I can program it in my phone. And light that blunt back up nigga! You seen Next Friday. Be smoking or be passing.”
