by K'wan
As the phone rang, Persia started getting nervous and thought about hanging up. How would it look on her, calling a strange man at that hour of the night with nothing to talk about? Before she could come to her senses and hang up the phone, his voice came on the line.
CHAPTER 11
After a few hours of smoking and drinking with Karen and her crew, Li’l Monk barely had time to grab something to eat and change his clothes before his first night on the job started. He should’ve gone home and taken a nap, especially since he was going to be out all night, but spending time with Persia made the fatigue he was feeling worth it.
Of all the people Li’l Monk expected to bump into, Persia Chandler wasn’t one of them. According to Charlie, Persia crept through that way every so often, but they’d never bumped heads because Li’l Monk spent so much time incarcerated. It was a shame that at eighteen, Li’l Monk had spent nearly as much time in juvenile facilities as he did in school. They had labeled Li’l Monk a bad seed, but it wasn’t that. He was just a kid who had made some poor decisions in the name of survival.
Adjusting the black hoodie that he had changed into, Li’l Monk stepped out into the night air. The temperature had dropped and the breeze picked up, but it felt good on his face. It helped to clear his head. He made hurried steps down the street, wanting to be early for his first night of work. As he passed the shadowy doorway of a building, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Reflexively, Li’l Monk threw up his defenses, peering into to the darkness.
“That’s my boy, always on point,” a voice said from the shadows. From the recesses of the doorway stepped a man wearing a black army jacket and black sweatshirt beneath. His bearded face was ashy and his cheeks looked a bit drawn, but he still had the most intimidating scowl Li’l Monk had ever seen on a man. Dark eyes seemed to look everywhere at once, constantly scanning the faces of everyone who passed. For a man like him, his list of enemies was a long one and death could come at any time.
“What you doing out here, Dad?” Li’l Monk greeted his father. He was hoping to avoid him for the rest of the day.
Monk opened his jacket and showed his son the sawed-off shotgun under his arm. “Hunting. Where’re you going, dressed like you’re about to pull a lick?” Monk asked.
“Just down the block,” Li’l Monk told him.
Monk looked at him suspiciously. “Down the block for what?”
“Nothing,” Li’l Monk lied.
Without warning, Monk punched Li’l Monk in the chest. “What I tell you about lying to me, boy? You should know by now that I don’t ask questions unless I already know the answer to them. You think I didn’t hear that you’re down with Ramses and them now?”
“I ain’t down with nobody. Ramses is paying me to make sure nobody comes and fucks with his boys while they’re hustling. I don’t sell drugs for him,” Li’l Monk told him, while rubbing his chest. His father had lost weight, but his punches still felt like being hit with bricks.
“Always starts out like that, a little at a time until you’re sitting at the table and they won’t let you get up,” Monk told his son, reflecting on how he had graduated from one extreme to the other.
“It ain’t that serious for me, Dad. Ramses is just putting a few dollars in my pocket, that’s all,” Li’l Monk told him.
“More like putting a yoke around your neck. Ramses, Pharoah . . . them niggas are vampires. They’ll bleed your soul from you and put you on the dark road with your old man. Like father like son, huh?” Monk snickered.
“Not in this lifetime,” Li’l Monk told him.
“That’s what they all say. Son, money is sweeter than the hole of any bitch you’ll ever lie with. Once you get a little taste of it, you’re gonna be turned out and willing to do anything and everything to get more of it.” Monk smiled, thinking of better days.
“Kinda like you out here chasing that shit?” Li’l Monk asked. At one time his father had been a man of respect on the streets Li’l Monk could be proud of, but after Charlene died Monk let the drugs take control and it was all downhill from there.
The smile faded from Monk’s face and the scowl was back. “You trying to get cute with me, li’l nigga? I don’t care how big you’ve grown, I’ll still fuck you up. You’re a tough nut because I raised you that way. I taught you how to survive on these streets, and it’s my blood coursing through your veins and pumping into that steel heart in your chest. I can smoke a million rocks and niggas out here will still respect my gangsta. Wanna know why? Because they know I don’t give a fuck about life or death, mine or theirs. I do what the fuck I do, but I ain’t out here sucking no dick or begging for a hit. I take mine like a real goon, not some li’l snot-nosed-ass kid playing bodyguard to some pussies who can’t hold their own weight.”
“You got it, Dad,” Li’l Monk conceded. Getting into a fight with his father would only make him late. “Can I go now?”
“Yeah, run yo’ ass along to punch the clock, and make sure you bring some food in the house whenever you come in,” Monk dismissed him.
“A’ight.” Li’l Monk turned to leave, but Monk stopped him.
“What you packing?” Monk asked.
“I ain’t packing nothing,” Li’l Monk said.
Monk shook his head sadly. “Boy, how the hell are you supposed to defend your territory if niggas run up and you ain’t got no heat?”
Needing a gun wasn’t something Li’l Monk had taken into consideration when he had accepted the position. He hoped that he could borrow one from Chucky or one of the guys until he was able to save up enough money to buy his own.
Monk looked around to make sure no one was watching before reaching into his jacket and producing a long Desert Eagle. “Take this.” He handed the gun to Li’l Monk. “The safety doesn’t work, so you don’t have to worry about taking it off if you gotta put a nigga’s head to bed.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Li’l Monk said, tucking the gun in his pants, and covering the handle with his hoodie.
“You really wanna thank me then make this worker position you got a temporary one. I can’t say I agree with what you’re doing, but I can condemn you for it either because I ain’t never showed you no better. All I can do is tell you that if you’re gonna play, play all the way. Get your money, but never forget that the men in this family don’t take other niggas’ packages, we hand them out. We’re born to be bosses,” Monk told him and left.
Long after Monk had vanished around the corner, Li’l Monk could still hear his words in his ears. We’re born to be bosses. And with that thought etched into his mind, he went off to start his shift.
Li’l Monk arrived fifteen minutes early and found Chucky on the block already waiting for him. He was leaning against the car talking to some kid who Li’l Monk had never seen before. He was light skinned, slim, and looked to be about the same age as Li’l Monk. His hair was dusty brown, and twisted up into locks that hung to his shoulders. Chucky and the kid were engrossed in a deep conversation, but when they saw Li’l Monk it abruptly stopped.
“You’re late,” Chucky said with an attitude.
“Nah, I’m actually here early. Ramses said—”
“Whatever, man. Let me introduce you to the kid you’ll be working with.” Chucky waved the kid with the dreads over to join in the conversation. “Li’l Monk, this is Omega.” He made the introductions. “Omega will be running the show tonight, but I’ll be around if y’all run into something he can’t handle.”
“What happened to Benny?” Li’l Monk asked curiously.
“Your job is to watch Omega’s back, not ask questions,” Chucky said sharply. He was having a rough day and didn’t feel like answering a bunch of questions. All he wanted to do was go somewhere, smoke, and figure out his next move.
“Don’t worry about it, Chucky. Me and Li’l Monk will be able to handle things just fine,” Omega cut in. He gave Li’l Monk a wink, letting him know he had his back. Li’l Monk had only known Omega for a few minutes
and he already liked him.
“A’ight.” Chucky gave Omega dap, but ignored Li’l Monk. “I’ll see y’all in the morning, but if anything jumps call my cell.” And with that he left them to it, and disappeared into the building across the street.
“Fuck is that nigga’s problem?” Li’l Monk asked Omega, once Chucky was out of earshot.
“Chucky is cool as hell usually. He’s just stressed out because nobody can find Benny,” Omega said.
“I heard; everybody has been talking about it. You think he’s okay?” Li’l Monk asked.
Omega shrugged. “I hope so, but when you play like we play, nothing is a given. That goes double when you’re down with Pharaoh.”
“I keep hearing about this Pharaoh cat, but I’ve never seen him. You met him yet?” Li’l Monk asked.
“Nobody meets Pharaoh except Ramses and a select few from his inner circle. I don’t even think Chucky has ever met him, and he’s been hustling for Ramses for years. They say that he stays tucked away in a big house somewhere with all kinds of trained assassins guarding it and rarely leaves.” Omega told Li’l Monk what he’d heard.
“So these niggas just follow him blindly? How does he control the streets if he’s never in them?” Li’l Monk asked.
“Through Ramses. He’s Pharaoh’s eyes, ears, and executioner,” Omega said like he was recounting a ghost story.
“I heard Ramses is gangsta with it.”
Omega laughed. “Gangsta doesn’t even begin to describe a nigga like Ramses. I’ve seen Ramses do shit to people that made me wanna get off the streets and get a job. That’s the most black-hearted nigga I ever met, and you better watch yourself when dealing with him.”
“I will,” Li’l Monk told him.
“Smart man. Listen, I’ll make sure that you know who is who and what’s what before the night is over. For right now, let’s make a quick circuit of the workers to make sure everybody has got what they need so we can get on this paper.”
Li’l Monk accompanied Omega, hitting every corner of the square block they commanded, making sure the pitchers had work, and the money men turned in drug money they were holding on to. Omega wasn’t even from the hood, but the people they encountered on the block showed him love. Li’l Monk and Omega were probably about the same age, but hardly in the same weight class.
“Born to be bosses,” Li’l Monk said to himself, thinking back on what his father had told him.
“What’d you say?” Omega asked.
“Nothing, just thinking out loud.”
Chucky used his spare key to get into the apartment. He had a special set of keys that allowed him access to all the stash houses, but only he and the tenant, Yvette, had access to that one. Not even Ramses could enter uninvited.
He found Yvette sitting on the couch in front of the television, holding a cigarette lazily between her fingers. The ash at the tip of it was long overdue to be flicked, but it held fast when she put the cancer stick between her lips and took another pull. The New York Jets jersey she wore did little to hide the fact that she didn’t have any panties on beneath it. She turned her dreamy eyes toward Chucky and gave him a goofy smile.
“Looks like you’re dancing on a cloud, baby,” Chucky said.
“Until a little while ago I was caught up in a beautiful dream, but that dream is starting to fade, and I ain’t trying to wake up just yet,” she told him. Yvette was what you would call a chippie. She dabbled in cocaine, but it hadn’t officially taken over her life yet. The cocaine had made her look slightly older than her thirty-one years, but she still had a nice body and all her teeth. You wouldn’t know Yvette fucked around unless someone told you.
“You always cut straight to the chase, and that’s what I love about you, Yvette,” Chucky said. He dug in his pocket and pulled out a small sandwich bag that had a few grams of cocaine in it, and tossed it on the coffee table.
Yvette eyed the bag and smacked her lips. “Damn, it’s that kind of night?”
“I’m still trying to figure it out. For right now, I’m just looking for a quiet place to get my thoughts in order,” Chucky told her.
“Do you need me to leave?” she asked.
“Nah, you good.” Chucky sat in the recliner across from her. Worry lines were etched all across his face.
“Looks like you’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders,” Yvette said.
“Sometimes it feels like it,” Chucky admitted.
Chucky didn’t need her to elaborate to know what she meant. He reached in his pocket and tossed two loose bags of cocaine on the table.
Yvette scooped the bag, of coke a small wooden box from its hiding place under the table, and sat on the floor between Chucky’s legs. From the box, she produced a cigar, weed, a mirror, and a stained razor. He watched her as she dumped some of the powder out and began chopping it into fine lines. In a deft motion, she used the same razor to slit the cigar open and dumped the guts into a paper bag. Skillfully, she broke the weed up in the cigar and scooped one of the lines of cocaine up, spreading it over the weed before twisting the blunt closed and sealing it with her spit. What she had just created was known as a Woo or Woola in the hood: weed laced with crack or cocaine. You could hear the crackle of burning cocaine when she lit the blunt and took a deep pull, which she held for several seconds before exhaling.
“Damn, that’s some good shit,” Yvette mumbled through clenched teeth. The numbness from the coke had spread through her mouth and was affecting her speech. “You want a taste?” She extended the laced blunt to Chucky.
“Not right now, ma,” Chucky declined. For as much as he could’ve used a blast, he was already on edge and it would’ve only made him more paranoid. Chucky had two huge problems: his missing friend and a greedy cop. Technically the problems were connected, since it was the pressure from Detective Wolf that had put the idea in Chucky’s head to try to do the impossible in the name of a dollar.
Chucky was making good money under Ramses, but he was also making side deals. He had a select clientele who could call him direct if they wanted weight, one of whom was a dude from Brooklyn named Wolf. It was never more than a few ounces at a time, but by the time he found out that Wolf was a cop, he had sold him enough cocaine over a period of time to amount to a lot of years in prison. Chucky already had two strikes, so he did what he had to do and rolled. He never told on anyone in his crew, but he’d given up a few random cats he’d met in his travels who the world wouldn’t miss. Chucky had done his service, but Wolf wanted more. Chucky had only signed on to trade a bit of information to make the drug charge go away, but Wolf was trying to make him a confidential informant. It was bad enough that Chucky was breaking the code, but making a career out of it was out of the question. Chucky was tired of playing deputy and he needed a way to get Wolf off his back, so he played on his larcenous side. Wolf was a cop, but he was also a gambler and Chucky had heard through the grapevine that he had some serious debts. Chucky offered Wolf $100,000 to get out of his life. Just as he’d hoped, Wolf agreed to take a pay off but he wanted a quarter of million dollars. That was the price for Chucky to purchase his life back.
There was no way that Chucky would be able to come up with that kind of money, but he agreed to it anyway in order to buy himself some time. He had been ducking Wolf for nearly a month before that day he got pulled over. Wolf let him known in no uncertain terms that if he didn’t come up with the money sooner rather than later, not only was he going to hang the original cocaine charges on him, but he would make sure word got back to Pharaoh about his extracurricular activities. Chucky was a man on borrowed time.
Then living there was Benny and his unexpected disappearing act, which was complicating Chucky’s plan to get the money up for Wolf, and his life. Not only was Benny gone without a trace, he vanished with a good chunk of money that belonged to Chucky. It was part of what they had been stacking in the pot, and Chucky needed it now more than ever. It was a prime example of a well-laid plan being shot to sh
it.
The drug spots getting robbed had ruffled some feathers, but nothing too major. Stash houses got robbed all the time in the hood. Ramses had trusted that Chucky and the street crews would get to the bottom of it, but Benny disappearing around the time Pharaoh got hit for a big shipment sent up a red flag. Things weren’t adding up and people were growing suspicious. He knew what was coming next: Pharaoh was going to start cleaning house and bodies were gonna drop. Chucky had to find Benny before Ramses did or run the risk of somebody making him disappear too. Knowing how close Benny and Chucky were, he knew he was on the short list and there would be nothing Ramses or anyone else could do to save him once Pharaoh handed down the decree. He needed to find Benny before Ramses did.
“If you’re turning down this sweet candy, you must be more stressed out than you look,” Yvette said. Chucky had been so deep in his head that he’d almost forgotten that she was there. “Don’t worry about it, baby. I’m about to help you work that stress out.” She rolled up a dollar bill and leaned over the mirror, where she snorted one of the remaining lines. When she turned back to Chucky her eyes were glassy and wild. Chucky’s dick was limp when she pulled it from his pants, but not for long. Yvette was an expert at using her mouth, and in no time she had him as hard as a rock. “That’s what I’m talking about.” She licked his shaft. Yvette ran her finger through the cocaine residue and coated Chucky’s dick then like magic, made it disappear in her throat.
Yvette’s mouth on him took Chucky to a pretty place. She licked him from his balls to the tip of his dick and back down again, making his toes curl in his sneakers. She paused, looking up at him, stroking his dick before putting him back in her mouth. Yvette paused to relight the blunt, and take a toke before getting back to the business at hand. Without looking up, or removing him from her mouth, she tried handing him the blunt again.
