Black Scarface

by Jimmy Dasaint

  Poo stared out the window watching Pamela's perfect ass bounce back and forth. Lust filled his eyes. Just the thought of having sex with her brought Poo an instant erection.

  The insistent vibration of his pager snapped him from out of his lustful trance. When he saw who the number belonged to, he started the car and speeded off down the street.

  When Pamela walked into the house, she went straight to her bedroom. She took the piece of paper with Poo's phone number on it from out of her bra. She thought of flushing it down the toilet. Poo was nothing but a low life thug who tricked off his money and ran his mouth. They had nothing in common, and she knew it. But, strangely, she decided to keep it.

  Maybe someday it will come in handy, she thought.

  Later that night…

  While Allen and Peaches were inside their bedroom with the door closed, Pamela was talking with Veronica and Momma in Philly on a three-way call. They had been talking for nearly an hour before they hung up. After hanging up, Pamela quickly dozed off to sleep.

  Down the hall, Quincy and Face were sitting on the edge of their beds talking casually. Quincy stood up, walked to the TV, and switched it off; neither of them was really watching it anyway.

  “Face, I got something to tell you," Quincy said, walking over and sitting down beside him.

  "What is it?" Face replied in a whisper.

  "Tomorrow, I'm going to the Crips meeting at Manchester Park," Quincy replied, enthusiastically.

  "For what?" Face curiously asked.

  "Because I’m ’a be one of the Hoover Crips. My friends Mark and Eric are gonna put me in," he whispered back.

  "But why do you wanna be in a gang?"

  "Because man, that's just the way it is in L.A. Either you rep blue or red, and I'm repping blue. Just like my daddy did before he got killed." "My daddy got killed, too," Face said sadly.

  "By who?"

  After a short sigh, his shoulders lowered, "By Lil' Robbie's father." "Your brother's dad killed your dad?" Quincy asked with a perplexed look on his face.

  "Yeah," Face said, shaking his head up and down.

  Quincy saw the hurt look on Face's face and realized they were talking about a sensitive subject.

  "So, you wanna go to the Crip's meeting with me?"

  "Nope."

  "Why not?"

  "Because."

  "Because what?"

  "Because my mother told me only cowards run to gangs for protection. And that the only person I can count on in life is myself," Face replied seriously.

  "Well, maybe in Philly that will work, but not here in L.A. Being affiliated with a gang shows strength and power. And if you're gonna be livin' in L.A., sooner or later you will have to choose either red or blue, Cuz." Quincy stated, matter-of-factly. "So what color will it be?"

  Face thought about it for a minute, then looked straight into Quincy's eyes and said, "The color I'm choosing is green. Because that's the color of money, and when I grow up, I'm ‘a be rich. My mom told me that once a person has real money, then power and strength come with it. So, my color is 'money green' and that won't ever change," Face said, laying back in the bed and covering up with a blanket.

  He lay staring at the ceiling, lost in thought, until he drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  A few days later, Philadelphia, PA...

  Hood sat on the sofa watching as Lil' Robbie crawled around on the carpeted floor, smiling and playing with his new surrogate mother, Britney. Over the last few months, Britney and Lil' Robbie had formed a mother-son bond. Lil' Robbie had also grown close to his father, after the first few weeks of crying out for his mother and brother. He eventually settled down and got used to his new loving surroundings.

  Hood loved his new son more than anything in life, and all the attention, time and care he devoted to Lil' Robbie showed just how much. In his son, he saw the heir to his empire; the son who could continue his bloodline into the future.

  Since Britney was now Hood's main girl, it made him very pleased to see her and his son getting along. Every day after work, Britney would drive straight to Hood's place to be with him and Lil' Robbie. They were the two men who formed her life and gave her direction, a purpose and a goal; one a violent drug dealer, the other a beautiful innocent child.

  Still, there were many times when Hood wished for Pamela to be in Britney's place. There was something about Pamela that he just couldn't shake loose from. Even though she had tried to kill him twice, he longed to possess her all the more. But he kept these longings to himself, knowing that revealing them would bring nothing but disaster to the life he had cut out and taken for himself. Right now it was all about his son, Britney, and the violent drug organization he controlled.

  Inside Veronica's West Philly apartment...

  "Are you okay, Jay?" Veronica asked, watching him pace back and forth across the living room floor.

  "Hell, no!" he snapped. "I've been running for my life for over two years now!"

  Veronica sat on the couch shaking her head in sorrow, wishing there was something she could do, some way she could help make his fear and anxiety go away. But there was none, and they both knew it. It helped to vent once in a while. It wasn't personal and they both knew it. She and Jay had been good friends for several years and it hurt her to know the pain and heartache he suffered over the past few years because of Hood.

  Jay walked over to the couch and sat beside her, his eyes low and vacant. "Veronica, he murdered both of my parents," he sobbed. Finally unable to control his emotions, the tears broke loose and rolled down his cheeks, dripping onto his pants. "He killed my mother, my father, my cousin Mick, and he wants me dead too. How long will it take them to find me? They will eventually," he continued, now sobbing uncontrollably into his hands.

  Veronica reached out and took his trembling hands away from his face and pulled him into her arms tightly. "Jay, just keep doin' what you been doin' and always remember you got me in your corner," she consoled, patting his back tenderly. "I told you, you can keep using my car and spend the night whenever you like."

  "I have to get him Veronica!" Jay stated, pushing back from her gently and looking into her eyes. "I can't let him win!"

  "And he won't, Jay. No war was won in a day. One day Hood will slip and you just be there when he does."

  After a long sigh, he pulled his friend and confidant back into his arms for a long hug. "I'm gonna get him! One of these days I’m ‘a have that niggas heart on a silver platter," he promised them both in a barely audible mumble, then released her and stood up.

  Veronica stood with him and followed him to the front door. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a roll of money. She peeled off five one hundred dollar bills and stuffed them into his shirt pocket.

  "I can't keep taking your money Veronica," he said seriously, though they both knew he needed it.

  "What are friends for then?" she asked, kissing him on the lips.

  "Thanks Veronica," he smiled for the first time in hours. "I promise you that when I get back on my feet, I'm ‘a pay you back every single dime."

  "I know you will. But right now, don't worry about the money. You just be safe out on them crazy streets."

  "I will," he replied. "I have a promise I made to myself."

  "And, what's that?"

  "Revenge on the mothafucker that ruined my life!" he said, then he turned and walked away, cautiously looking up and down the street.

  Black Scarface

  Veronica watched him vanish into the dark of night, then closed the door and walked to the phone. Tonight she had a private date with a wealthy new friend. Jonathan Goldstein; a highpowered civil attorney she met while shopping downtown. Tall, blond, blue eyes, married with two children and lonesome -just the way Veronica liked them.

  After hanging up the phone, she ran upstairs to her bedroom and repositioned the hidden video cameras and microphones so that nothing showed from any direction. She checked her appearance in the mirror th
en ran back downstairs to wait for her ride.

  Besides her, Pamela was the only person who had ever known about the hidden cameras and microphones. Veronica called it her “Plan-B” insurance policy. Most of the men she videotaped having sex with her were rich, married, successful business men lawyers; high-ranking police officials, and a couple of local politicians all made up her digital video files.

  Veronica was a beautiful young woman who knew how to use her looks to her advantage. Besides being attractive, she also had street smarts. She knew her beauty and youth wouldn't last forever, so if times ever got hard for her, she wouldn't hesitate to resort to Plan B…BLACKMAIL!

  Hearing the sound of a foreign car horn, Veronica grabbed her wallet, keys, and jacket. She rushed to the brand new silver Porsche, double-parked in front of her house and got inside.

  As always she was dressed to impress. She wore a black designer dress that hugged her curves like the Porsche she sat in. Her hair was styled to accentuate her beautiful brown face and long, delicate swan-like neck. Her make-up was light and applied to perfection to highlight her high cheekbones, eyes and lips. Her nails and toes were freshly done and her jewelry was just enough to catch the eye.

  She saw the approval and lust in Jonathan’s stare as she settled into the seat and closed the door. She also caught his eyes traveling up the exposed length of her thigh, as her dress rode up dangerously. She knew his mouth was watering like a starving hound dog staring at a t-bone steak. It's a wonder he isn’t drowning or foaming at the mouth, she thought to herself. She smiled at him with a flash of brilliant white, perfectly aligned teeth, then leaned over and kissed her new, rich, white sugar-daddy on the lips.

  "So, Jonathan, where are you taking me tonight?" she asked, while turning the radio station.

  "A nice Italian restaurant in Center City," he replied as Anita Baker’s soulful voice flowed out of the car speakers. "After we dine, we can grab a bottle of champagne and check into a suite at the Holiday Inn."

  “How about tonight we come back to my place?" she said, placing her hand on his thigh and sliding it up until she came into contact with hisraging erection.

  "Anything you want, Baby," he replied lustfully, barely keeping the Porsche in the right lane as he drove down Market Street.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Early June, One Month Later...

  Pamela had every drawer in the dresser open and her clothes scattered all across the room, bed and floor. She stood in front of the bed with an upsetexpression on her face. Someone inside the house had found one of her money stashes and had taken $500 dollars from it. She had a good idea who that someone was too. She was just lucky she had hidden her money in more places than one.

  After Poo told her Peaches was an undercover whore and a crack-head, she began hiding her money and jewelry in various places; not all of them inside the house either. Having reached her boiling point, she quickly threw on a sweat-suit and white Nike sneakers and rushed out thedoor. The beat-down of Peaches was long overdue and she was going to deliver it.

  She spotted Peaches in the front yard talking to the next door neighbor. Pamela ran at her in a rage of fury, throwing hard, solid punches at Peaches' unprotected head.

  Peaches had no idea the assault was coming and before she knew what was happening, Pamela was all over her.

  Pamela knocked Peaches to her knees then continued the vicious attack. Peaches tried to fight back and protect herself to no avail. Pamela was relentless in her attack, punching and kicking Peaches in the face, stomach and chest, until she was covered in her own blood and nearing unconsciousness. Pamela had given Peaches the beat-down of her life.

  So much hate for each other had been built up over time that Pamela's rage, once released, could not be stopped until it was all out and on Peaches in the color red. This showdown between the two was inevitable and they had both known it for a while. Today, it had arrived. Peaches had taken Pamela's beauty as weakness. As she was learning firsthand, that was a big mistake!

  As the crowd gathered around in the yard, Pamela continued to beatPeaches into unconsciousness.

  "You're killing her!" someone yelled.

  "Yeah," Pamela agreed coldly, not slowing down a bit.

  This was personal. It wouldn't be over until it was over. And as far as Pamela was concerned, it wasn't over yet. The beat-down continued as the

  crowd looked on without interference.

  "Bitch, this is for all the shit you been taking me through," Pamela yelled, kicking Peaches in the back of the head.

  Peaches curled into the fetal position and tried to protect her head with her arms. She could barely comprehend the words Pamela was screaming at her.

  "You fuckin' crack-head, whore!" she said stomping her foot savagely into Peaches' chest.

  "Aghhh!" Peaches growled in pain as someone came through the crowd and jerked Pamela away. Pamela rounded on them and squared off.

  "What the fuck is goin' on here?" he yelled, pointing at Peaches' bloody and battered body.

  Pamela came to her senses, her rage spent. She looked at Allen, as ifseeing him for the first time. She breathed as hard as if she had just run a marathon. Her eyes moved to Face. He smiled at her. She looked down at Quincy, crying over his beaten and bloody mother. "Mom! Mom! You allright?" she heard him ask.

  "Do she look alright?" someone from the crowd said, seriously.

  "That bitch stole my money!" Pamela yelled, trying to break away from Allen, who had taken her in a strong bear hug to hold her off of Peaches. "Allen, that bitch ain't nothin' but a undercover crack-head whore! I know all her secrets!" She vented in his face, as they both watched Quincy help his mother up from the ground, and walk with her into the house.

  "Come on, Pamela," he replied calmly. "We gotta get down to the bottom of this," he replied, releasing her and walking her to the house andthrough the open front door.

  Face stood watching all the nosey spectators as they began to disperse. When they were gone, he smiled, pumped his fist in victory, andwalked into the house, closing the door.

  A few hours later, after all the smoke and heat had cleared, the truthhad finally come out. Peaches tearfully admitted to Allen that she had taken Pamela's money for her secret crack habit. Allen found it hard tobelieve. But it must be true, he thought; she admitted it. He was heartbroken. The only drug he had ever known her to smoke was marijuana, and they had done that together.

  Pamela had also told him about Peaches sleeping around on him with other men, but Peaches vehemently denied it. Peaches thought about calling Poo over to prove it, but changed

  Black Scarface

  her mind. She knew how much her brother loved Peaches, so she just stated what she knew and left the matter between them.

  Face and Quincy had been sent to the bedroom while the grownupssorted things out. They both had their ears to the bottom of the door, hearing all that was said. But they couldn't see that both women sat at opposite ends of the table; one beautiful and pristine, the other battered, bruised and raggedy.

  However, her greatest hurt was to her pride. She had received an embarrassing beat down in front of a large crowd of onlookers, that were now snickering, giggling and laughing; boasting about what they would have done had they been her. She sat there and secretly smoldered. The worse part of it though, was that it was by the type of girl she had beaten and bullied around her entire life.

  Pamela stared down the table at her with a devilish smirk on her lips.Peaches stared at her hands, never once looking up at Pamela. Pamela knew she was planning her revenge, even though she was all mouth and no action. All cowards did was plan, they never acted. From the moment she had met Peaches she had known she was weak.

  Allen looked back and forth across the table, from one to the other. Peaches' face was hard to look at, whereas Pamela had not a blemish. He knew they could no longer live under the same roof. If they did, the next time would be worse and one of them might die. It had to end here and he had one hell of a
decision to make. He loved both of them with all his heart. Now he needed to decide which had to go.

  Peaches had already told him one day she would get Pamela back for what she had done to her in front of all those people. He knew she had meant every word she said. She was a coward and nothing about her revenge would be fair. Finally, coming to a decision he looked at them both and said, "Okay ladies, what's it gonna be?"

  "I don't want her here," Peaches screamed, "She has to go!" "Baby, calm down," Allen said, reaching out and touching her hand. "She's right, Allen," Pamela agreed. "We can't live together. The next time, I'm ‘a kill the bitch!" Pamela added, standing up.

  "Fuck you, bitch! At least I ain't give my child away," Peaches shouted, coming to her feet and balling her fists.

  When Pamela tried to go for her, Allen grabbed her and held her back. "Calm the fuck down, you two!" he shouted, his frustration quickly reaching its breaking point.

  "No, fuck that crack-head whore!"

  "Fuck you, baby killer!" Peaches screamed, taking a punch at a restrained Pamela.

  "I ain't kill my child!" Pamela shouted, barely avoiding the punch. "You might as well!" Peaches screamed, backing off a little. "You ain't love 'him!"

  "Fuck this Allen!" Pamela said calmly. "I'm outta here. This bitch gonna make me kill 'er!" She pulled calmly away from Allen and headed for the bedroom.

  Before she made it to the hallway she turned and said, "Allen, I will always love you for being there for me and Face, but that bitch need help!Don't let yourself get caught up in her shit!"

  Then Allen and Peaches stared in silence as Pamela disappeared down the hallway to pack.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The day after the fight with Peaches, Pamela and Face packed up all theirbelongings and moved to the Bombcourt Motel. The rundown motel was an old dilapidated building that stood on the corner of 83rd and Main Street. It was an old, rat and roach infested property owned by a Korean family. Drug dealers, prostitutes, crack-heads and gangbangers all called the place home.

  At night boisterous crowds of young men would hang around, yelling, shooting pistols, and selling every drug known to man. Their unruly activity kept the L.A.P.D. busy all hours of the day and night. It was the worst place Pamela and Face had ever seen in their lives. But, since Pamela's money was running short, it was the only place she could afford.