by K'wan
“Your guess is as good as mine. Monk spends more time in the streets than he does at home with us,” Charlene said with a slight attitude.
Face shrugged. “You know how the game goes.”
“Yeah, I’ve been playing it with him since I was a little girl and it’s getting boring. I sure wish he would grow up one day like you did, Face,” Charlene said.
“Don’t think living with this one is a cakewalk.” Michelle spoke up. “I get more than my fair share of bullshit from Face, but I have to admit he’s getting better with it. My training is paying off.” She laughed.
“Trained my ass. I do what I wanna do,” Face boasted.
“Yup, that’s exactly what I allow you to believe.” Michelle kissed Face on the lips.
Face’s sky pager went off on his hip. When he read the message across the small blue screen he smiled. “Speak of the devil. This is Monk hitting me up right here. I’m about to go meet him in the hood.”
“Wait a second, what about Persia?” Michelle asked.
Face was confused. “What about her? You got her, right?”
“Come on, Face, don’t even play me like that, baby. I told you that me and Charlene were going to the movies and I needed you to stay with Persia,” Michelle reminded him.
Face sucked his teeth. “Why don’t you just take her with you?”
“I am not taking Persia to see Higher Learning. That’s too grown up for her. Now stop acting up and take your daughter with you.”
Face let out a deep sigh. “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me when you know I’m trying to hit the block.”
“And I can’t believe you’re complaining about watching your own child,” Michelle shot back. “If you’re just going to the block then it shouldn’t be a problem, unless you’ve got something going on that you shouldn’t.” She raised her eyebrow.
“You know damn well I ain’t got nothing funny going on. Stop acting like that, Michelle.”
“Then stop acting like you’re having a problem helping out,” Michelle told him. “When the movie is over we might stop off and get something to eat. I’ll page you when I’m on my way home.” Michelle kissed Persia on the forehead. “Be a good girl for Daddy, okay?”
“Okay, Mommy.” Persia beamed.
“Face, since you’re going to see Monk anyway you may as well drop Li’l Monk off to him,” Charlene suggested.
“Aw, come on. I ain’t Mr. Mom,” Face said.
“Don’t be like that; I’ll even pay for the cab.” Charlene pulled a twenty from her purse and extended it to Face but he didn’t take it.
“A’ight, but y’all owe,” Face conceded. “The next time me and my nigga wanna hit the town I don’t wanna hear shit from either one of y’all.”
Michelle sucked her teeth. “Y’all do what y’all wanna do whether we complain or not, so stop it.”
“C’mon, y’all.” Face took both kids by the hand and left the boutique to catch a cab on the Avenue.
As Face was standing on the curb trying to flag down a taxi, a car pulled to a stop at the red light. There were three people inside: Shaunte, who was a chick known for boosting in the hood, her man Tim and his little brother Chucky. Normally Tim wouldn’t let Chucky mob out with him, but his mother had made him promise to take the twelve-year-old along because she had to work a double shift and didn’t trust the troublesome child to be home by himself. Ever since the death of her oldest son, Sonny, she had become increasingly worried about her other children, praying they didn’t get caught up in the same madness. Grudgingly, Tim let Chucky roll out, which pleased Chucky to no end. He had been trying his hardest to follow in his big brother’s criminal footsteps so actually being able to ride around with him made his day.
“Shaunte, why the fuck did you come across 125th Street instead of taking 126th? You know traffic is always fucked up,” Tim complained.
“Tim, stop being a damn backseat driver and let me do what I do. I been driving in New York since before your ass could ride a bicycle,” Shaunte teased him.
“I hear that, old timer,” Tim teased back. He pulled a rolled blunt from his pocket and proceeded to spark it.
“Tim, why you lighting that shit while we got Chucky in the car? I don’t wanna hear no shit from your mom if he comes home with his clothes smelling like weed,” Shaunte said.
Tim sucked his teeth. “Shaunte, you my girl not my moms so why don’t you chill? Besides, this li’l nigga smokes too and think nobody know it. Ain’t that right, Chucky?” He turned around to face his little brother.
“Yeah, I got blazed a few times,” Chucky said proudly, trying to impress his brother.
Tim laughed. “That dirt y’all be smoking in the park don’t even count as getting you blazed. This”—he held the blunt up—“is that real shit.” Suddenly Tim had an idea. “You wanna hit this?” He extended the blunt to Chucky.
“Tim, don’t give that boy no weed,” Shaunte warned.
“Shaunte, he gonna smoke anyway, but at least if he’s smoking with me I know ain’t nothing gonna happen to him,” Tim reasoned. “Here.” He forced the blunt on Chucky.
Chucky took two pulls and began coughing. Tim laughed and tried to take the weed back, but Chucky wasn’t quite ready to let go. He took another pull, this one smaller and softer, and held the smoke. Within seconds Chucky’s bright eyes became red and lazy. Wearing a dumb grin he handed the blunt back to Tim.
“Yeah, that’s that shit right there.” Tim smiled.
“You are such a bad influence,” Shaunte said, before snatching the blunt from Tim hitting it.
Tim was lounging in the passenger’s seat, enjoying his buzz when he saw a familiar face that made him sit upright. He squinted to make sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. The man was older than last time he saw him, but he’d know his face anywhere. “Pull up on that dude right there,” Tim ordered, pointing to a man getting into a taxi with two small children.
“What’s going on, Tim?” Shaunte asked nervously. Something about the look in Tim’s eyes frightened her.
“Stop asking me so many damn question, and pull up!” Tim shouted. He reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a small .32.
“Tim, please don’t start no shit,” Shaunte pleaded.
“I ain’t starting nothing, but I’m about to finish some shit,” Tim told Shaunte, but kept his eyes on the man.
“What’s going on?” Chucky asked from the back seat. He had never seen his brother so mad and it made him nervous.
“You wanna know what’s going on? That faggot right there is one of the dudes who killed Sonny. They shot him down like a dog in the street and now it’s time for payback.”
Chucky’s mind immediately raced back to the day he had come home from school to find his mother crying, and Tim sitting on the floor, still wearing the shirt stained with Sonny’s blood. At the time he was too young to really understand what was going on. “Should we call the police?”
Tim laughed. “The police don’t give no fuck about kids in the ghetto. This gotta be handled with street justice.” Tim reached for the door handle.
“Tim, don’t, he got kids with him.” Shaunte grabbed his arm to try and stop him from getting out of the car.
Tim snatched away from her. “Fuck him and his seeds, he killed my blood and I’m gonna kill him.”
“Tim, we’re on 125th. If you shoot Face your ass is going to jail before his body hits the ground. Don’t be stupid,” Shaunte said.
“You’re right,” Tim said as her words sank in. “I ain’t gonna do nothing to him on 125th, but his ass is going to sleep today. Follow the cab.”
“Tim—”
“Bitch,” he cut her off, “you either drive this muthafucking car or get the fuck out so I can handle what I gotta handle, but Face is outta here either way.”
Shaunte was hesitant. This was not how she had planned her day going when she came out of the house. All she wanted to do was swipe a few pieces of clothing
from the local stores that she could sell in the hood so she could have some party money that night, but she now found herself on the verge of becoming an accessory to a murder. She looked to Tim to try to reason with him, but the hurt expression on his face after seeing his brother’s murderer said it wasn’t up for debate. Reluctantly, Shaunte did as he had ordered and followed the taxi.
CHAPTER 3
Face got out of the cab in the street and walked around to the curb to open the other door for the children. As soon as the neighborhood kids saw Persia with Li’l Monk they came running, glad to see their chums. Face had moved his family off the block when his name started ringing in the streets, so Persia didn’t get to see as much of her old friends. Monk had moved too, but only a few blocks over and he was a constant fixture in the hood.
“What up, Big Face?” A young boy named Charlie greeted him by slapping his palm.
“Chilling, shorty. What’s up with you? I hope you’re staying out of trouble and staying focused on school?” Face quizzed him.
“Yeah, I’m doing great in school. I got four As and two Bs on my last report card,” Charlie said proudly.
“Good shit, man.” Face smiled.
“Since I’m doing so good in school, can I hold something?” Charlie asked, with his hand extended.
Face shook his head and reached into his pocket. “I swear if you ain’t your mother’s kid,” he said playfully as he peeled off a five dollar bill and handed it to Charlie. Face and Charlie’s mother had dated back in the days but she was always begging him for money and it was a turn-off so he stopped messing with her.
“You know you can’t give one without giving the other,” Karen said, with one hand on her hip and the other one extended. She was Charlie’s little sister and even at an early age the fresh little girl showed signs that she would likely follow in her mother’s footsteps.
Before Face could get back into his pocket he was surrounded by the rest of the neighborhood kids, all wanting their cuts from his bankroll. Face broke all the kids off with dollars then watched as they all went running down the block to the bodega. In them Face saw how he and Monk used to be: dirt-poor kids who dreamed of having something in life and escaping the ghettos they were born in. He only hoped that they make better choices than he had in their quests for freedom.
Face didn’t see Monk immediately, but he knew he wasn’t far. Cats like him never ventured too far out of their comfort zones. Face waved to some of the people he knew and snubbed others. When he was still making hand-to-hand sales, he was always on the block, but with more money came more problems, so he played the block less and less. People started whispering how Face thought he was too good for the old neighborhood, but that was hardly the case. He just knew better than to continue to shit where he lived. No matter how some of the locals felt about Face they knew better than to try him because whereas Face was seldom seen, Monk was always around, lurking and looking for a reason to hurt someone.
“Yo, Face . . . Face!”
Face turned to see who was calling his name and spotted Neighborhood coming in his direction. Neighborhood was what you would call a landmark in the hood, meaning he had been there longer than most and had no desire to go elsewhere. He would live and die in the same hood that had birthed him and he was totally fine with that. Face and Neighborhood had history. It was Neighborhood who had taught him how to survive on the streets and turned him on to the drug game. He was the man who had given Face his first package when he was starving, and his blessings when he wanted to strike out on his own. At one time Neighborhood had been a sporting young cat who showed plenty of promise in the drug game, but Neighborhood’s downfall had been the fact that he loved a good time more than the money. When he fell off, the hood had turned it’s back on him, but Face still had love for the man who had taught him the hustle.
That day Neighborhood was sporting a pair of green Boss jeans with the beef-and-broccoli Timbs and camouflage army jacket. His jacket looked like it could’ve benefitted from a spin in the washer and his boots weren’t the crispest, but he could fit in with most crowds without raising a red flag.
“What’s up with you, Neighborhood?” Face gave him dap.
“Same shit, different toilet,” Neighborhood replied. “I see you shining like new money, as always.” He eyeballed the thick bracelet that Face was rocking.
Face brushed invisible lint off his sleeves. “You gotta dress for success, you know how it go.”
“Listen to you spitting my own lines at me. Face, I can remember when you was just a nappy-head young nigga out here begging to hold a package, now you handing them out. I’m proud of you and how you came up to play this game,” Neighborhood said, beaming like a father who had just watched his son graduate from high school. “I swear, I never could figure how you came up so quick after you left me.”
That was a secret only known to Face and Monk. After they’d taken Pharaoh’s drugs, they knew the streets would be buzzing about the robbery and missing product. They had to move smart so as not to give themselves away. Face was messing with a girl who lived in Richmond, Virginia, who he knew could help them move the drugs down there. It took a minute, but they were able to sell off all of the coke. With the money they made in Richmond, they went to see Neighborhood’s connect, Flaco, in Washington Heights and started buying cocaine in small amounts at a time. Over the course of a few months, when they had worked their way up from grams to weight, nobody gave them so much as a second look. They were just two young cats who were on their grind.
“Well, I did have a good teacher,” Face played it off.
“Indeed you did, Face. You were always a smart kid, good with money and knew how to fly under the radar. I just wish some of that could’ve rubbed off on your buddy Monk. I love the youngster like I love you, but Monk is out here moving sideways.” Neighborhood shook his head sadly.
“What do you mean by that?” Face was now serious. Neighborhood was his OG and he respected him, but Monk was his brother.
“Same shit, man.” Neighborhood shrugged it off as if it was nothing because he didn’t want to create tension.
“Don’t start speaking roundabout now. What’s up, Neighborhood?”
Neighborhood hesitated for a few minutes, searching for the right words so as not to offend. “Dig man, word on the streets is that your boy Monk is out here on some gorilla shit. I heard a few cats whisper tales that it was him who robbed them Jamaican cats up on Boston Road for all that cocaine a few nights ago.”
Face had heard the story like everyone else, but it didn’t make sense for Monk to be the culprit. “Neighborhood, that don’t even sound right. Me and Monk get our work from Flaco, so why would he be stealing coke instead of just seeing our man for the re-up?”
“Because Monk owes Flaco money for that heroin he gave him on consignment,” Neighborhood informed him.
“Bullshit, we don’t sell heroin, only cocaine,” Face reminded him.
“You only sell coke. Monk will sell anything he can turn a dollar from. The way I hear it, he got the dope to try to make some side money off these dudes some bitch turned him on to. Of course the deal went sour and Monk got burned for the dope,” Neighborhood filled him in.
Face shook his head. “Monk is always doing some dumb shit over pussy. If Monk wants to sell a little dope on the side, it’s his money to spend and fuck up. I got no beef with that; it’s the consignment part that’s bothering me. From our very first package, we’ve always paid for everything up front. No debts, that’s the rule.”
“Face ain’t you realized yet that you’re the only one playing by the rules?” Neighborhood asked. “You better open your eyes to what’s going on around you, Face.”
“I’ll get in his ear and see what the fuck is good,” Face said.
“You can talk to him all you want, but he might be more inclined to listen to that white bitch who been whispering in his ear than me or you.”
Face was shocked. “What white bitch? Monk didn
’t tell me he started fucking with . . .” Then it hit him. “Nah, you got it wrong, Neighborhood. I know Monk toot a li’l bit, but so do a lot of cats. Monk sniffing a little coke here and there ain’t about nothing.”
“That’s the same shit I used to say when I started dipping and look at me now.” Neighborhood opened his jacket so that Face could get a good look at the tattered Iceberg sweater he was wearing.
Face didn’t even want to get the visual in his head of what Neighborhood was insinuating. “I’ll talk to him. Where is he?”
“I seen him earlier down by the basketball courts ’round the corner,” Neighborhood recalled.
“A’ight, let me go holla at my nigga.” Face gave Neighborhood dap. “You good? You need a few dollars?” He pulled out his bankroll.
“C’mon, Face. Don’t insult me like that. I’m a little down on my luck right now, but my hands still work and I’d rather use them to earn some money than take a handout. You wanna do something for me, put me on a package and let me rock for a few hours,” Neighborhood told him. He had always been a proud man, even being down and out.
“I’ll have one of the young boys bring you something tonight that you can knock off,” Face told him.
“That’s what I’m talking about.” Neighborhood rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “And don’t worry, you know I’m gonna bring all your money back straight,” Neighborhood assured him.
Face waved him off. “Don’t even worry about it. I’m gonna lay a half of a G-pack and you can keep whatever you make from it. That should keep you straight for the next few days.”
Neighborhood was so happy he looked like he would burst into tears. “Thanks, Face.” He hugged him. “I swear they don’t make real niggas no more. You gotta be one of the last.”
“It is what it is, but if you fuck that up don’t come back around me singing no sob story, Neighborhood. I’m serious.”
“Face, don’t even play me like that. I’m an addict, not a creep. Now let me hold twenty dollars so I can get my day started. I ain’t had my wake-up yet.” Neighborhood gave him his best slave grin.
