by K'wan
“Hold up, Persia. I’m about to head out so I can drop you off at the Queens Plaza,” Richard offered. He sipped down the last of his coffee and dabbed his goatee with a napkin.
“You don’t have to go through the trouble, Rich. I’m okay with taking the bus,” Persia blurted out almost too quickly. She had things to do and didn’t want him all in her business and reporting back to her mother. Aside from her being up to no good, she hated spending time alone with Richard because it was always so awkward. Outside of her mother they had nothing in common.
“Nonsense; besides we don’t get to spend any quality time anymore without your mother over-talking us.” He smirked.
“Y’all better stop talking about me like I’m not sitting here, before the only thing cooked in this house for the next week is butter sandwiches,” Michelle threatened. Whenever she sensed tension in the house she would interject and try to make everybody laugh.
Persia picked up on what her mother was trying to do. “Okay,” she reluctantly agreed to ride with Richard.
Persia occupied herself looking out the window and tried to drown out the news station that Richard insisted on listening to every morning. Her mind was in a daze thinking about hooking up with her friends in the city, when Rich tapped her on the leg.
“Did you hear me talking to you?” Richard asked.
“No, I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“I was asking how you liked the new school so far?” he repeated.
“I’m loving it. It’s a welcome change from St. Mary’s and that dry routine,” she said.
“I can totally understand that. I went to Cardinal Hayes back in my day, so I know what it’s like. You making any new friends?” Richard asked.
“Don’t need new friends when I got my old ones.”
“I know Karen and Meeka are your girls, but don’t be afraid to expand your circle and connect with other likeminded people. Growth is good, especially for a girl your age.” Richard continued to talk, but Persia tuned him out. She knew he meant well, but Richard’s speeches were like nails on a chalkboard. Before she knew it they were pulling up at Queens Plaza.
“Thanks for the ride, Rich.” Persia collected her knapsack and prepared to make her escape.
“No problem. How are your pockets looking?”
She shrugged. “I have a few dollars on me.”
Richard pulled out his wallet and handed her a twenty. “Here, add that to whatever you already have.”
“Thanks . . . again,” she said and got out of the car.
Richard sat there for a while and watched as Persia jogged across the street and disappeared into the train station, before pulling back into traffic.
Persia waited until she thought Richard was gone and came back out of the train station. She was careful to watch for his car as she hustled across the street to the newsstand. Sitting within the stand, listening to a Walkman and reading a magazine, was the son of the owner, Hamid. Persia had come to know him over the past few weeks from stopping to get magazines and other necessary goodies for her commute to school.
“Hi, Hamid,” Persia greeted him.
Hamid looked up and when he saw Persia, he smiled and removed his headphones. “What’s up, pretty lady,” he greeted her.
“Nothing much. I need to grab a few things for my trip to the city,” she told him.
“Of course, you know I’ve got whatever you need.” Hamid got up from the stool he was sitting on and grabbed several magazines, which he handed to Persia to check out. “I got the new Source, Don Diva, and that hair magazine came in that you were asking about.”
“Cool. I’ll take the hair magazine and the Don Diva, but I need something else from you, too.” Persia gave him a knowing look.
Hamid winked. “I got you, baby.” He leaned over the candy rack and looked up and down the street cautiously before reaching behind the potato chip rack and pulling out a pencil case. She smelled the weed before he pulled it out. “I got that Hydro shit that all the project kids are going crazy over.” He discretely handed her a bag of weed.
Persia sniffed the bag and frowned. “Damn, this weed smells like dog shit.”
“That’s how you know it’s good. That’s a twenty sack, but since you’re so pretty I’ll give it to you for ten dollars and I’ll only charge you for one of the magazines. “
Persia looked hesitant. “Can I owe you for the weed? I’m kind of short on cash today,” she lied.
“Persia, you know I fuck with you, but I don’t do consignment. I need cash for my stash.” He rapped like it was a song.
“Don’t be like that, Hamid. You know I’m good for it. I’ll hit you back as soon as I get my allowance at the end of the week,” she said sweetly.
Hamid leaned on his elbows and looked at Persia. “I don’t understand how you live in that big house, and both of your parents drive nice cars, but you’re always screaming broke.”
“Because that’s their money, not mine. Look, if I have to beg you for it then I don’t even want it.” Persia rolled her eyes at him. She extended her hand like she was about to give the weed back to him.
Hamid didn’t reach for the weed. “I’ll tell you what; I’ll let you have the weed if you promise to go out with me.”
“You know my parents don’t allow me to date,” Persia half lied. Michelle was okay with her going out with boys, as long as she got to meet them first so she could ask a million questions. Persia didn’t mind bringing the good boys from her neighborhood around her, but she kept the hustlers hidden.
“Bullshit, I saw you in the sandwich shop the other night with that dusty-ass dude from the projects. You want something from me and I want something from you.” Hamid looked her up and down hungrily.
“A’ight, Hamid. I’ll go on one date with you, but don’t think you’re getting no ass for a twenty dollar bag of weed,” Persia said, rolling her neck.
Hamid laughed because it was like Persia could read his mind. “A’ight, pretty lady. Just one date, and no funny business. So let me get your number and I’ll call you later on so we can make the arrangements.”
“I can’t right now, I’m late for school.” Persia looked down at her watch. “I’ll catch you later though. Thanks again.” She waved and jogged back across the street to the train station.
Hamid called after her, but Persia didn’t even turn around. He knew she had just run game on him, but he would see her again. “Slick bitch didn’t even pay me for the magazine.”
Persia had just made it onto the platform as the train was pulling into the station. Slipping through the crowd of passengers getting on and off the train, she grabbed the double seat near the conductor booth. Just to make sure nobody tried to sit in the next seat and crowd her, she threw her knapsack on it.
It was shady for her to game Hamid out of the weed, but he had been trying to game her out of her pants for weeks so she had just given him a dose of his own medicine. Her friend Karen had once tried to convince her to date him so they could get free weed and snacks, but Persia wasn’t with it. Hamid was nice enough, but he was only a paperboy. One thing she had learned from her mother was never to bother with a man who wasn’t financially well off. If he couldn’t do anything for himself he couldn’t do anything for her.
Thinking of her mother made her feel guilty. She thought Persia was on her way to school, but Martin Luther King Jr. High School wouldn’t see her that day; she was going to Harlem to meet up with her girls, Karen, Meeka, and Ty. They had declared it an unofficial holiday. She loved hanging out in Harlem, but her mother had forbidden her, so she had to sneak anytime she wanted to see her girls outside of school. It never made sense to her why her mother was so adamant about her not hanging out in Harlem, especially since that’s where they were from. She chalked it up to her mother being paranoid of someone trying to retaliate against her for the boy her father had killed twelve years prior. Persia knew her mother meant well, but she was seventeen years old and almost grown.
&nb
sp; Persia settled back in her seat and cupped her hands to her nose, inhaling deeply the smell of the exotic weed and thinking about what they were going to get into when she got uptown. It was going to be a good day . . . at least for her it was.
CHAPTER 5
Li’l Monk awoke to the sounds of rap music coming from the small radio mounted on his windowsill. Over the music the disc jockey announced that the weather was sixty-eight and chilly and the time was a quarter to nine, which meant he was late for school. It was all good, because Li’l Monk wasn’t sure if he felt like going that day anyway. He and school hadn’t really seen eye to eye since his most recent release from juvenile detention, but he made sure he attended enough so that his probation officer didn’t violate him. If nothing else, his many brushes with the law had taught him how to work around it.
He rolled off the mattress on the floor that served as his bed and stretched his long arms, twisting right to left to work the kinks out of his back. He ran his hands over the thick cornrows on his head and tried to remember the last time he’d had his hair braided. When he got his hands on a few dollars he would have one of the neighborhood hood rats tighten him up. After giving up thanks to God for letting him see another day, Li’l Monk began his morning calisthenics, 200 quick push-ups and one hundred sit-ups. Li’l Monk wasn’t big on fitness, but he was big on survival. Every day before he left the house his mind and body had to be right. The world was full of predators and only the strong survived. It was the one lesson his father, Monk, had taught him, which he applied to his everyday life.
After his light workout, Li’l Monk stood in front of the mirror and looked himself over. He was only eighteen years old, but was already six feet tall, and weighed about 215 pounds, give or take. A few whiskers sprouted from his chin, but he was a long way away from having anything that resembled a beard. Li’l Monk had the face of a baby, but the eyes of a man twice his age. In his short time on earth he had seen both sunshine and rain, but the last few years had been mostly rain.
After dressing in a white thermal shirt, black jeans, and black steel-toed boots, Li’l Monk was ready to hit the turf. He walked his father’s bedroom, and listened before carefully easing the door open. His father’s bed was empty and unmade, and the room was in disarray, but that was nothing new. His father was rarely home, unless it was to sleep it off when he finally crashed from his constant street running. Since “the day,” as they called it, Li’l Monk had pretty much been raising himself.
When he entered the kitchen he was greeted by piles of dirty dishes, and roaches playing freeze tag on the counter. Li’l Monk grabbed a box of cereal, peeking inside with one eye and shaking it to make sure there weren’t any critters living in it. He popped open the fridge for some milk. The inside of the refrigerator was so empty that he could hear an echo. There was nothing in it but a half-empty forty-ounce bottle of St. Ides, an old cheeseburger that looked like it was growing fur, and a container of milk. When he went to pour the milk over his cereal, it came out in thick clumps, obviously spoiled.
“Fuck.” Li’l Monk tossed the carton in the sink. He was starving, but it would have to wait until he hustled up some money for a meal. Tightening up his belt, he left the apartment and hit the streets.
The sun was shining outside, but the air had a chill to it. It wasn’t quite cold, but you could tell winter would come early that year. With his hands shoved into his pockets, he walked up to the Avenue to see who was out and what was going on. Standing in the doorway of the Chinese restaurant was Li’l Monk’s friend, Charlie. He had on an oversized hoodie and dark sunglasses. From the way Charlie was looking up and down the Avenue suspiciously, Li’l Monk knew he was up to no good.
“Fuck you doing out here on some James Bond shit and what’s with the glasses?” Li’l Monk asked before giving his friend dap.
“Shit, I’m just trying to make the best out of a bad situation. I know you hear what happened?” Charlie asked.
“Nah, I’m just coming out. What went down?” Li’l Monk asked.
“Fam, it was popping out here!” Charlie said excitedly. He went on to tell Li’l Monk the story about how the dudes had come through and robbed one of Pharaoh’s drug houses. “They took the work and the money so everything is shut down until somebody comes through with another package.”
“So what you doing standing around like you’re waiting for it to rain?” Li’l Monk asked.
“Trying to get in where I fit in.” Charlie opened his hand and showed Li’l Monk the two baggies filled with white chips.
Li’l Monk looked around suspiciously, as if the police might’ve been watching them at that moment. “I thought you said the stick up kids took all the crack off the block?”
“This ain’t crack, it’s a dummy,” Charlie said, grinning stupidly. A dummy was counterfeit crack. Most times it was made out of soap chips, so at a glance it looked real and by the time the fiend realizes you played them, you were long gone with their money. The grin was wiped from his face when Li’l Monk slapped the fake crack out of his hand. “Fuck is you doing?”
“Trying to keep you from getting murdered out here, dumb ass.” Li’l Monk shoved him inside the Chinese restaurant. “I swear it seems like you get stupider by the day, Charlie.”
“Li’l Monk, I don’t know why you acting like that. Me and you have slung dummies plenty of times when we were hard up for cash. I don’t see why you’re all upset over it now.” Charlie didn’t see what the big deal was.
“Yeah, we have sold burn bags together, but never on the same block where we rest our heads. What do you think would’ve happened if somebody had caught you out here wrong and told Ramses?” Li’l Monk asked him.
A worried expression spread across Charlie’s face. Ramses was Pharaoh’s right hand and his voice on the streets. He was a man quick to violence and wasn’t known to give passes when people offended him.
“Ramses would’ve sent Chucky or Benny looking for you and ensured that your mother couldn’t give you an open-casket funeral,” Li’l Monk continued. “Only a fool shits where he lives, Charlie.”
“I hear you, Li’l Monk.” Charlie adjusted his sunglasses.
“And what is it with you and those fucking shades, you high or something?” Li’l Monk snatched Charlie’s sunglasses off before he could stop him. “What the fuck happened to your eye?”
“Nothing, man. Me and Burger were just horsing around. It was an accident.” Charlie tried to downplay it.
Li’l Monk tilted Charlie’s head up so he could get a better look. “What happened to your eye looks deliberate as hell from where I’m standing.”
“Li’l Monk, you’re acting like he kicked my ass or something. He was just fucking around and hit me a little too hard, that’s all. You know Burger plays rough,” Charlie said. Burger was one of the kids who hustled on their block, so he considered himself a tough guy. Li’l Monk never liked him because he saw Burger as a bully.
“I don’t give a fuck how he plays. If a man puts his hands on you, you put yours back on him! Even if it means getting your ass kicked in the process, at least you fought,” Li’l Monk snarled. Charlie was his best friend in the whole world, and he hated talking to him like that, but Charlie didn’t understand the seriousness of the situation. In the world they lived in, the strong survived and the weak were food. Food attracted predators, predators Li’l Monk would have to help him fight off.
“I ain’t no sucker, Li’l Monk,” Charlie said.
“Then show me right when you see this pussy!” The more Li’l Monk talked the angrier he got.
“Li’l Monk, it ain’t that serious,” Charlie said. He would’ve much rather have left it alone.
“Charlie, there ain’t gonna be no weak links in this chain. You’re either gonna take this nigga’s head off or I’m gonna take your head off,” Li’l Monk told him in a tone that said there would be no more debate about it.
Before the conversation could get any deeper, the door to the Chines
e restaurant opened and a man came. “Give me four wings fried hard, Lin!” he shouted to the young Chinese girl who was sitting behind the bulletproof glass. He was decked out in a dusty army jacket and ashy black jeans. They nappy wool hat that sat cocked on his head blended almost perfectly with the untamed afro he sported beneath it.
“No, no, no. You still owe for the last order. No wings for you, Neighborhood!” Lin shouted back.
“Ain’t this some shit.” Neighborhood hiked his jeans up over his bony hips. He was teetering left and right and his eyes were glassy. “Lin, I been on this block since long before your daddy opened this cat kitchen. How many five dollar bills I put in yours or your brother’s and sister’s hands when I was getting it? I broke the yellow kids off same as I did the black and browns, and you gonna treat me like a crab over some yard bird?”
Lin gave in. “All right, Neighborhood. I’ll give you an order of wings, but the next time you have to come with money or I have to turn you away, okay?”
“That’s what I’m talking about, Lin. Look out for your Uncle Neighborhood.” He smiled broadly, showing off discolored and rotting teeth. When he spied Charlie standing in the corner his smile faded. “Damn, who got you out here looking like Petey the Dog from The Little Rascals?”
“I got your little rascal right there, muthafucka.” Charlie stepped forward, but Li’l Monk’s hand on his chest stopped him.
“Chill out, Charlie,” Li’l Monk told him. “Why you gotta fuck with my man every time you see him?” he asked Neighborhood. It seemed like he always went out of his way to set Charlie off.
“Tell him to ask his mama why I always fuck with him,” Neighborhood said with a mischievous grin. He plucked a half-smoked cigarette from behind his ear and placed it in his mouth. “Let me get a light, young blood.”
