by K'wan
“Or give it.” Karen snickered.
“Very funny, bitch,” Persia said, picking up on the dig Karen was taking at her. She had made the mistake of confiding in Karen how she had recently tried oral sex with the boy who lived next door and found that she liked giving head. It was the first time she had ever gotten off without being penetrated. She wasn’t ashamed at sucking dick, but she didn’t like how Karen tried to put it out there.
“Y’all chicks knock it off, and let’s make a move. I heard it’s a hookie party in the Bronx that’s supposed to be off the hook,” Meeka said.
“Who’s throwing it?” Persia asked. She really couldn’t afford to miss two days of school in a row, but if the rewards justified the risks she might entertain it.
“That kid Nitty and some of his peoples,” Meeka told her.
“Nitty from sixth-period math? Nah, I’m gonna pass on that,” Persia said.
“Stop acting like that, Persia. I heard they got all kind of liquor and weed at the spot. Let’s go get right,” Meeka tried to convince her.
“Girl, please, knowing those lames we’ll probably end up drinking forty-ounces and smoking ditch weed. Holla at me when a real nigga is having a party,” Persia said.
“Listen to this one here.” Karen looked Persia up and down. “We’ve drank plenty of forty ounces and smoked dirt when we didn’t have it, so why you acting like you’re above that now?”
“Because I’m trying to prioritize, Karen. I missed the whole day yesterday and if I’m gonna cut out early today, it’s gotta be for better reason that to smoke headache weed and have some thirsty-ass dudes cracking on me for the pussy all day,” Persia told her.
“Listen to Miss High and Mighty. You get a little bit of attention from a dude who’s handling and now everybody else is beneath you,” Karen accused.
“I’m not saying it like that and you know it, Karen. All I’m saying is that I missed a day coming to hang out with you guys yesterday and I don’t wanna miss another one unless it’s worth it.”
“Didn’t nobody twist your arm and make you come uptown, Persia. Don’t try to put that bullshit off on us,” Karen said with an attitude.
“Karen, I never said you guys made me do anything, so I don’t know where that’s coming from. You need to slow down.” Persia matched her tone.
“Persia, you know a party ain’t a party unless our whole clique is there. Just think about it,” Ty said.
“Don’t beg her. If Princess P wants to stay her square ass in school then let her. We don’t need her to have a good time. We’ve been doing this since long before she started slumming with us,” Karen said, rolling her eyes.
“Karen, you’ve been acting real shitty since yesterday. What the hell is your problem?” Persia asked. Karen had been giving her major attitude since the day before and Persia was getting tired of it.
“My problem is phony-ass broads who only fuck with us when they feel like it. Only loyal bitches run with this crew.”
“Oh, so now I’m not loyal to the crew because I don’t wanna cut school to run the streets? You sound silly,” Persia told her.
“Not as silly as you looked when your thirsty ass was all on Chucky’s dick yesterday,” Karen spat.
“Now I get it. You’re acting funny toward me over some dick that doesn’t belong to either one of us? I thought we were better than that,” Persia said in a disappointed tone.
“Nah, we ain’t better than that, but you think you’re better than us. Everybody has noticed it, Persia. You come around trying to walk like us, talk like us, and act like us, but you ain’t really like us. When you’re done getting your kicks in the ghetto you go back to the suburbs and sit around the dinner table with your nice family, talking about how fucked up it is for us in the slums,” Karen said venomously.
The statement hit Persia like a slap. “That’s not true and you know it. I’m from the same place y’all are from. It’s not my fault that my family moved away because they wanted better for us.”
“See, it’s just like I said. She thinks she’s better than us,” Karen told Meeka and Ty, trying to get them riled up.
“Karen, you’re trying to twist my words,” Persia said.
“I ain’t gotta twist nothing, Persia, because it’s all out there for everybody to see. You ain’t from what we’re from and the only reason that the hood shows you love is on the strength that you hang with us. You’re wearing a mask and it’s time that you took it off,” Karen told her.
“Karen, you’re going too far,” Ty said.
Karen turned on her. “You siding with this bitch over me?”
“I’m not siding with anybody, Karen. I’m just saying we shouldn’t be arguing among each other. We’re supposed to be a crew,” Ty told her. She was the most non-confrontational of them and was trying to keep the peace.
“Crew my ass. Had it been you or Meeka neither of you would’ve been trying to throw the pussy at Chucky knowing we had history.”
Persia had to laugh to keep from crying. She was hurt, but wouldn’t give Karen the satisfaction of showing it. Instead she struck back. “Spoken like a true washed-up bitch. You know, I wasn’t gonna give Chucky any pussy at first, but I think I just might. I gotta know what it is he’s working with that got you out here playing yourself.”
Karen’s eyes flashed rage and she lunged for Persia. Had it not been for Meeka and Ty, she would’ve whipped Persia’s ass in that hallway. “I’m gonna knock your head off, you bourgeois ho!”
“Better a bourgeois ho than a broke ho. When I suck Chucky’s dick tonight, I’ll ask him which one of us does it better,” Persia spat and walked away. Karen hurled insults and threats at her the whole time, but Persia just kept it moving, with her head held high. It wasn’t until she was alone in the stairwell that the tears she had been holding back came. In less than twenty-four hours she had been hurt by two people she cared about and it dug into her chest like a knife. She knew that she was too emotional to finish out the school day, so she decided to cut the day short after all. The question was, where was she going to go? It was too early in the day for her to go home and have to explain why she wasn’t in school in the middle of the day, and she didn’t have any money so wandering the streets aimlessly was out of the question. She needed somewhere to clear her head, and get a meal and a blunt, in no particular order, and had an idea where she could get all three.
CHAPTER 16
“Now this is a pleasant surprise,” Marty said when she opened her front door and found Persia standing on the other side. She was a pretty white girl with strawberry-colored curls, a small waist, and curves like a black chick. Some speculated that she’d had work done, but Marty was all natural, courtesy of her mother, who was Argentinean, but could pass for white and didn’t bother to correct people who assumed that she was.
Marty and Persia had been friends, and occasionally rivals, since they were five years old and Persia was new to the neighborhood. Even at that early of an age the girls were always in competition, who had the best Halloween costume, who could build the biggest snowman . . . They were always trying to outdo each other. When they became preteens and discovered boys, the rivalry intensified. For as competitive as Persia and Marty were, they were also very close and knew each other’s darkest secrets.
Marty and her parents were the only people in the neighborhood who knew what Persia’s father really did for a living, and they were there for Persia and Michelle when Face had gone to prison and they stumbled upon hard times. Marty knew things about Persia’s life that not even Karen knew, and no matter how much they argued she had never thrown any of it in her face.
The same way Marty knew Persia’s business, she was also aware of her secrets. The prim and proper white girl, who lived in the big house, had a wild side that you had to see to believe. Marty was what some might call rebellious and what others might’ve called a problem child. She was into bad boys, hard drugs, and good times. In Marty’s head she was a rock star, so sh
e moved like a sexually liberated young woman, who lived for the day with no care for tomorrow and made no excuses about it.
In Marty’s defense she wasn’t totally responsible for the woman she was becoming. Her father owned a lucrative car service, which allowed them to live a cut above everyone else, but he spent more time with his mistresses than he did with his family, and substituted money and gifts for love. Marty’s mother was like an older, wilder version of Marty. She loved a good time so much that she spent most of her time chasing them. She was a socialite who kept vampire hours and suspect company.
“What’s good?” Persia asked, giving Marty an air-kiss on each cheek.
“Life, what else?” Marty spread her arms, motioning at her expansive house. Persia and her family lived in an impressive home on the next street, but Marty’s place is was like a mini-mansion. “Come in.” She stepped aside and allowed Persia in. “I must admit, I was surprised to hear from you and even more surprised that you actually showed up.”
“I told you I was coming,” Persia said.
“Yes, but it wouldn’t have been the first time you said you were coming and didn’t show up. We haven’t seen much of you since you started going to that new school with your other friends.”
“It isn’t that, I’ve just been busy,” Persia told her.
“So I’ve heard.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Persia wanted to know.
“I overheard my mom talking to that nosey old hag, Mrs. Peterman, who lives next door to you. She said she heard someone fighting at your house last night. I tried to call you for hours, but your bedroom line was busy,” Marty told her.
“I hate that nosey old bitch,” Persia huffed. “Me and my mom got into it last night because I had been sipping a little bit while I was out.” She left out the part about her mother forbidding her to go to Harlem because she didn’t want Marty to know about her travel restrictions. “Speaking of mothers, is yours home?” she changed the subject. “I was hesitant about calling at first, because I didn’t want to blow your cover if you were ditching school today.”
“Yeah, she’s in her usual spot, face down and drunk across the bed. I don’t think she’ll mind that I didn’t go to school today. Let’s go in the bedroom. Sarah is back there.”
Marty led her up the spiral stairs to the second floor where her bedroom was. Sarah was sitting near the window packing a tall glass bong with weed. Unlike Marty, Sarah was an average-looking blonde with little to no curves, but she had the best drug connections. Her father was a pharmacists and she made a killing selling what she could filch from his inventory to the rich pill heads in her school.
“Looks like you’re right on time, Persia.” Sarah hunched over the bong, preparing to light it.
“You greedy bitch, I can’t believe you were about to smoke without me,” Marty said with an attitude.
Sarah ignored her, and lit the bong. The small bowl sizzled when the lighter touched it, and the glass chamber filled with grey smoke. Sarah inhaled deeply, clearing the smoke from the bong and holding it. Within a few seconds she was coughing and choking.
“That’s what you get for being a fiend.” Marty snatched the bong. She took her time with it, taking delicate pulls, and letting them flow from her nose. The last pull she held, and held the bong out to Persia, along with the lighter.
Persia lifted the bong to her mouth, but hesitated. She thought something smelled off, but when she sniffed it the second time it just smelled like weed. Persia fired the bong up and took short tokes until the chamber was full. In one mighty breath she cleared the chamber. The smoke hit her chest like icy fingers, trying to pump the air from her lungs. She immediately broke into a violent fit off coughing. She was barely able to pass the bong to Sarah without dropping it, when she scrambled to Marty’s wastebasket and started dry heaving.
“I guess that weed is a little bit stronger than that ditch weed you’re smoking up in Harlem.” Marty laughed, firing up the bong again.
“Jesus, what the hell was that?” Persia asked, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
“That was some of California’s finest. When we get high, we go to the moon with it,” Sarah said proudly.
“Whatever.” Persia waved her off. “Can I get something to drink? That weed gave me the cottonmouth.”
Marty went to the mini-fridge that sat in the corner near the window, and rummaged around for a few seconds before she came up holding a bottle of wine, and a bottle of vodka. “Pick your poison, because I’m not going downstairs to the kitchen.”
“Happy time.” Sarah snatched the bottle of vodka. She didn’t bother with a cup, sipping straight from the bottle. “Here.” She extended it to Persia.
“Well, damn, don’t you at least have a chaser for it?” Persia asked.
“Chase it with your spit.” Marty snatched the bottle from Sarah and took a swig. “On the phone you said you were having a shitty day, so what better to take the edge off than a strong drink?”
Persia usually didn’t drink that early in the day and especially two days in a row, but Marty was right, she was having a shitty day. “Fuck it.” She took the bottle and took a sip. The vodka burned at first, but by her third sip it wasn’t as bad.
For the next hour or so the girls watched videos, laughed, and talked about boys. Persia was having a good time with Marty and Sarah. They weren’t as catty as Karen and her cronies, and they weren’t always looking for Persia to spend her money on the drinks and drugs. It was nice to be able to just have fun without the bullshit. Marty’s cellular phone rang. While she chatted on the phone, Persia entertained herself watching Sarah try to mimic the moves some girls were doing in the video that was playing. The girl didn’t have one ounce of rhythm, but she thought she was killing it. When Marty was done with her phone call, she had a big smile plastered across her face.
“What did you just hit the lotto or something?” Sarah asked sarcastically.
“Almost as good; found out where there’s going to be a bunch of rich rappers tonight and how we can get in,” Marty said coolly. “That was Jenny Hunter, she’s tending bar at some club tonight where they’re having a hip hop showcase. There’s supposed to be lots of rappers there, including the Big Dawg crew!”
“What’s a Big Dawg?” Sarah asked.
“Trouble from the way I hear it,” Persia said. Big Dawg was a name that she was familiar with, being from Harlem, which was the place where the company was birthed. It was one of the most successful, and notorious, rap labels in the music industry. It was run by a retired crack dealer turned music mogul, who called himself Don B., the self-proclaimed Don of Harlem. Big Dawg was known for producing a string of number-one albums, as well as the people who seem to meet their mysterious and untimely ends in the shadow of the company.
“Trouble or not, I know there’s going to be bottle popping and drugs, so I wanna go,” Marty said. “Jenny says once we’re in she’ll let us drink without carding us.”
“Won’t we still need ID to get in? I mean, it is a nightclub,” Sarah pointed out.
“If we make our faces up and put on some tight clothes, ID is the last thing anybody is going to be thinking about asking us for.” Marty winked. “Persia, you’re coming with us.”
“Great idea, Marty! Those rappers are gonna take one look at Persia’s big ol’ ghetto booty and wanna put her in all their videos,” Sarah slapped Persia on the ass playfully.
“Shut up.” Persia shoved her. “I’d love to, but I don’t think it’s gonna happen. My mom has been on some bullshit lately about my comings and goings. I don’t think she’d let me go.”
“Ye of little faith, and limited lies.” Marty shook her head. “Tell her that after the big blowout you guys had, you want a little space to clear your head so we’re going to have a sleepover. It’s the weekend, so it should be cool. If she gets suspicious, I’ll have my mom call her to back the story up. She’ll either be passed out again or out partying somewhere so s
he won’t know if we snuck out.”
“Sounds good, but I don’t have anything to wear,” Persia told her.
“Not a problem. You and my mom are about the same size, so we’ll see what we can find for you in her closet,” Marty told her.
“You’ve got it all mapped out, huh?”
“Of course I do, Persia. This is going to be a night to remember and I want you there with us. Now stop worrying and let me handle everything.”
CHAPTER 17
Monk was dead tired when he got home that evening. He had been out robbing, stealing, and getting higher than an airplane for the past few days and he was ready to crash and sleep, before getting up to do it all over again. His old friend Face would be ashamed to see what he had let his life become, and he wasn’t too happy with himself either.
When Face went away, and Charlene was killed, everything changed. Face had been his heart and Charlene his soul; with them gone he slipped into a dark place. Monk was still getting money on the streets, but his heart was no longer in it. He had become a shell of the man he was and life held no more joy for him. If it hadn’t been for the fact that he was the only person in the world Li’l Monk had left, he would’ve probably swallowed a bullet years ago. To cope, Monk substituted love with drugs. He spent his nights binging on cocaine and pills, while partying with random women, leaving others to take care of his business. His so-called friends bled him slowly, and Monk was so coked up half the time that he didn’t even notice it. By the time he realized what was going on, their operation was nearly in shambles and over half his soldiers had either gone to work for someone else or struck out on their own. Monk had a lifestyle and a habit so he had to find a way to keep money coming in, so he started robbing to make ends meet.
He hooked up with Scooter and his sister Sissy, and concocted a scam that would net him a nice haul with each lick. Sissy was always on the arm of one hustler or another and she started setting her dates up to get robbed by Monk and Scooter. In the beginning it was sweet and it kept the three of them in money, cocaine, and booze, but it didn’t take long before their habits got in the way of their business. Sissy had set cut into some players from Atlanta who were in New York on business, and set them up to be robbed by Monk and Scooter. The plan was for Monk to rob the dudes in their hotel room and Scooter was to be waiting for him in front in the getaway car. Scooter was so coked up that he got the instructions wrong and was parked in front of a different hotel two blocks away. Monk ended up fleeing on foot, but the police caught him five blocks from the scene. The dudes from Atlanta were drug dealers, so they didn’t report the robbery, but Monk had a gun on him at the time of his capture and was given two years for it. When he got out of prison, what little bit he’d been holding on to was gone, and the only things waiting for him were his son and his demons.
