Trust in No Man

by Cash

  The Atlanta Zoo wasn’t but a hop and a jump from where Poochie lived, so my son and I started our first day together, in five years, there. The whole zoo smelled like a thousand funky crackheads. The elephant pens were the worst, but Lil’ T loved the shit.

  The zookeeper let us handfeed the giraffes. They had long black tongues that grabbed at the snacks like flat bungee ropes. As we toured the zoo, my son told me all about his schoolteacher and classmates.

  “Daddy, I got a girlfriend!” He said all excited.

  “What’s your girlfriend’s name?”

  “Penny,” my son answered.

  “Is Penny pretty?” As if we were having a real father to son talk.

  “Oooh, man! She real fine!” Lil’ T got more hyped the more he talked about his lil’ girlfriend. I was laughing my ass off, wondering how a six-year-old girl could be fine. Kids are a trip.

  “How old is Penny, if she so fine?” I teased.

  “She twenty-four,” my son answered, straight-faced as a mafucka.

  I really cracked up then ‘cause either Penny was a freak bitch who liked little kids, or my son had a mad crush on a twenty-four-year-old.

  I pumped him for more information and figured out that Penny was some chicken head who lived two doors down from my son. She watched him sometimes. I figured Lil’ T had a mad crush on Penny.

  We bounced from the zoo after a couple of hours and I took him to Chuck E. Cheese. We ate pizza and played video games, and Lil’ T played with some other little kids who were there.

  I called Brenda from the pay phone inside of Chuck E. Cheese. I told her a lot about my son when I was on lock. I wanted her to see him.

  She told me to come on over.

  By the time we reached Brenda’s spot, Lil’ T was knocked out. His lil’ ass was snoring. That shit even cracked me up.

  I was enjoying everything about my son. I hadn’t seen him since he was an infant so every little thing he did amazed me.

  It was mad crazy ‘cause he looked like a miniature me.

  I had to carry him from the car to Brenda’s crib, ‘cause shorty was sleeping like a log. Once inside, I kissed him on the forehead before laying him down on Brenda’s couch, in the living room. Lil’ T woke up for a minute, realizing he was in a strange place.

  I introduced him to Brenda and he said, “Hi,” in a groggy voice.

  Then he laid his head on my lap and was asleep again in seconds.

  Probably dreaming about the animals at the zoo or the fun he had at Chuck E. Cheese. Maybe his lil’ ass was dreaming about Penny, his grown twenty-four-year-old girlfriend.

  I used Brenda’s phone to call Lonnie to see what was poppin’. I hadn’t hollered at him in a few days.

  I was still living at his spot. Well, I was crashing out there until I could build my weight up and get my own. There was no pressure, though, Lonnie was true people. I was welcomed for as long as it took me to get on my feet. He understood that the money we had split from that Freddie job wouldn’t handle all my needs. Shit, I was fresh out the joint, I needed every mafuckin’ thing. Plus, Lonnie understood a nigga was gonna splurge.

  I rapped with Lonnie for a minute, just shootin’ the breeze. We never discussed business over the phone. Lonnie had been schooled me ‘bout that. Besides, when I was locked up I used to read a lot of true crime novels and watch Court TV. It was bananas how many fools talked themselves right into prison by running their mouths on the phone. Anyway, once a caper was completed what the fuck was there to discuss any fuckin’ way?

  I hung up with Lonnie and talked to Brenda for a while. I could tell she wanted me to stay but she knew I had to take Lil’ T back home. I didn’t want to stay the night at Brenda’s no way. I was shook about spending the night at bitch’s cribs ever since some old nigga kicked in the bedroom door on Shan and me when I first started fucking her years ago.

  The only reason I had crashed last night at Poochie’s crib was ‘cause that fi’ pussy had knocked a nigga out cold. And, I knew that the only man who claimed Poochie as his was crack.

  With Brenda I figured it was different. She was phat to death, had her shit together and had trick niggaz to give her some of their shit. Plus, she fucked bitches, too. Them dyke hos were way more jealous than any man, and I didn’t want no unnecessary drama.

  Another reason I didn’t want to spend the night with Brenda was because we’d just spent the weekend together. I didn’t want her to be all in love with me, and I didn’t wanna be in love with her. The situation with Shan had taught me that love complicates a nigga’z life, especially if he was a hustler or a gangsta. A nigga don’t need no bitch on his mind when he got that heater in his grip. So I kissed Brenda goodbye and me and Lil’ T jetted.

  In the car, my son asked, “Daddy? Is that your girlfriend?”

  “Don’t be so damn nosy,” I said, smiling and rubbing the top of his head.

  CHAPTER 11

  A few weeks later my pockets were empty and my options were few to none. All I had was some gear, the bling-bling on my wrist, and thanks to my dawg Lonnie, I had somewhere to lay my head and some food for my belly.

  I assumed Lonnie had a stash of cash he’d saved up from capers over the years, ‘cause he damn sho’ ain’t have no job, yet he had no trouble paying his bills. But pride wouldn’t let a young nigga like me keep accepting charity from friends

  Lonnie was showing more love than the average friend would already.

  There was plenty of room in the two-level apartment, but I felt like I was cramping the spot when Lonnie’s girl, Delina, and her two sons came over for a few days.

  Now, Delina was a down bitch, straight out the PJ’s, Englewood born and raised. She had been Lonnie’s girl even before I went to serve those five years.

  While I was doing those five, Delina had served eighteen months on a pistol case to save Lonnie from taking another fall. To say Delina loved Lonnie didn’t do justice to their relationship, ‘cause when I pictured two people in love, I pictured a lot of hugging and kissing and all up under each other. That wasn’t the way I saw their relationship. So I’ma just say Delina was down for her nigga ‘til their caskets dropped.

  Every hustler needed a bitch like Delina for their main girl. She’d kick a bitch’s ass for Lonnie, and she wasn’t all jealous and shit. She might not have known where Lonnie’s dick went 24/7, but she knew where his heart was at around the clock, 365 days a year.

  She’d hold money, guns, dope, anything for her nigga. No questions asked. She’d gone to court and lied for Lonnie. The eighteen months in the pen proved that.

  Delina had two sons, one eleven, and the other nine. Kurt being the oldest and Kobe the youngest. The boys’ father was a junkie named Blue.

  Delina and Blue had been teenage sweethearts. Back then Blue had dreams of being a famous R&B singer. The streets said Blue used to sing like a mafucka. People in the hood said Blue had once gone to the Apollo in New York and won the talent show five straight weeks when he was only eighteen, but crack had stolen Blue’s R&B dreams like a sub-way pick pocketer. He woke up one day and was a flat-out crackhead! Now, he could barely talk above a whisper, let alone sing.

  Every time Lonnie ran into Blue in Englewood, he’d toss him a few dollars. Blue would then ask Lonnie how his sons were doing and then he’d run off with the money to buy a rock before Lonnie could answer.

  Seeing Lonnie do shit like that, blessing Blue with some loot ‘cause he was Delina’s sons’ father, made me look at Lonnie in a different light. Not many niggaz would do a thing like that, especially for their girl’s baby’s daddy.

  It wasn’t like Lonnie and Blue had once been partners. They knew each other growing up, like everybody knows everybody in the PJ’s, but that was the extent of it.

  So, the way Lonnie treated Blue made me realize Lonnie was above pettiness. I already had mad respect for him, but that only added to it. I was beginning to understand that Lonnie wasn’t a dirty, cold-hearted nigga even though he robbed a
nd killed. That was just his hustle.

  Now, Delina was mad cool. Although she was stingy with words, she liked anybody who showed love and loyalty to her man. If you were Lonnie’s peeps, Delina was cool with you, too.

  Her and her sons no longer lived in the projects, they’d moved into a better neighborhood the day Delina had got home from prison. But their crib was nowhere near Lonnie’s. I assumed they arranged it like that to keep whatever beefs Lonnie caught in his hustle from landing at Delina’s doorsteps.

  Delina’s sons were cool, not rowdy like most of us that came from the PJ’s. When they were over Lonnie’s crib, I would play Play Station with ‘em and go outside and toss them passes with a football. Sometimes they’d stay only one night, sometimes Delina and the boys would stay a weekend.

  Anyway, I just felt like I was crowding their space when Delina and her sons came over to visit Lonnie. None of them made me feel unwelcomed. It was really as simple as this: a man needs his own spot.

  I put word out in the streets that I wanted to hook up as a bodyguard/pistol man for a dope boy. I knew that would be a weekly salary, a few bonuses and would give me an inside to future licks.

  My prospects were few, though, ‘cause a few niggaz were whispering that I was a stickup kid.

  Niggaz really didn’t know my business, but they knew I was Lonnie’s dawg. The whole world knew Lonnie was a dope boy’s nightmare.

  Niggaz in the dope game would be foolish to let a stickup kid get down with their crew, especially pulling rank as a bodyguard. Of course, there were plenty foolish niggaz in the dope game. The way I saw it they were all foolish.

  Weeks went by and still not a single dope boy had contacted me concerning the services I was offering. Didn’t they all know they needed a real gangsta to watch their back at all times?

  Most of ‘em had lieutenants in their crew watching their back, though the lieutenants probably wouldn’t kill nothing or nobody. They fronted like they were killers, shooting at rival crews from the other end of the street when there was beef. And they slapped crackheads down in a minute. But few of the lieutenants I had peeped would explode a niggaz dome, point blank range, like I would. Them niggaz were mostly about flossing for the bitches.

  I was even willing to get a body for free, just to prove I wasn’t no studio gangster. But dope boys weren’t feeling me or else they were scared of me. Scared that if they hired me, I’d explode their dome and walk away with their bank, which I admit was a real good probability.

  While I waited for a hookup, I put on the ski mask a few times and robbed a couple of small time rollers. I struck for six and a half ounces of hard and about ninety-five hundred all together.

  Now, with weight in my pockets, I was able to relax a little. Ain’t a hustler alive who can concentrate flawlessly when he was broke. Empty pockets breed desperation, which led to a nigga trying a foolish stunt.

  My grip was tight for the moment. I dropped the six and a half ounces of hard on a lil’ hustler from around the way. He gave me twenty-five hundred.

  I had no use for the crack cocaine, I damn sho’ wasn’t gon’ stand out on the block and sell rocks.

  So now I had a total of twelve G’s in my grip. I didn’t want to just run through the loot like a giant termite and be broke again in a few weeks. I had mad shit I wanted and needed to get, but twelve G’s wasn’t gon’ get it all. I needed a crib and furniture, a whip to floss in, and a whip for business.

  I wanted to buy my son some gear, maybe my sister, too. And if Poochie was serious about not smoking crack anymore, buy her a television and some decent furniture.

  Lonnie wasn’t home so the townhouse was quiet, just me and my thoughts. With twelve G’s in my grip, I was no longer desperate. I knew I still needed a steady hustle, though, something a little easier and more consistent than preying on smalltime rollers.

  Mafuckaz had been offering me hustles like starting off as a lookout in dope traps, paying me five hundred to seven hundred a week. I wanted to explode their dome for offering me a chump off like that! They could’ve at least offered to let me slang the dope, so I could’ve got paid decently. But the scary-ass mafuckaz was too spooked to trust me handling their dough.

  I wasn’t gon’ accept no slangin’ job no way. But damn! They could’ve offered it.

  I’d wash cars or shine shoes before I let a mafucka put me on the corner like I’m a ho. Slangin’ dope for a nigga was the same as a bitch selling pussy for a pimp. Wasn’t no difference besides the product they were selling.

  When I was locked up, cats with sales cases didn’t wanna see it like that. They ass was just ashamed to acknowledge they got pimped.

  Brenda had a neighbor who had a used Nissan Maxima for sale. I cried broke until the lady accepted four G’s for it. It was clean, in good condition, and it was dark blue.

  All good. I just needed a business whip. I’d get something fly to floss in later.

  I spent eight bills on a platinum watch for Toi. I called her from a pay phone and was glad she answered the phone instead of Ma Duke or Raymond.

  “Come outside. I’m on my way over,” I instructed Toi after identifying myself.

  “What’s up? Where you at?” she asked.

  “Girl, just come outside, I got something for you. I ain’t coming inside, I don’t wanna see those other folks.”

  “You don’t wanna see Mama?” Toi sounded disheartened.

  I said coldly, “I ain’t got no mama!”

  When I drove up, Toi was outside waiting by the curb. I told her to get in and she dashed around to the passenger’s side.

  I pulled off. Toi wanted some KFC, so I took her and bought her a three-piece chicken dinner. I gave her the watch on the way back. She started crying.

  “I love you.” It was the first time she’d ever said that to me. I mean, I knew she loved me ‘cause I was her brother. But we never said it to each other before. We just knew it.

  “I love you, too,” I said.

  While parked in front of the house, Toi was trying to tell me that Mama did love me, she just didn’t like my ways. And that Raymond wasn’t really all that mean.

  I cut her off. I didn’t wanna talk about them.

  Toi had just finished some computer school and Raymond was gonna buy her a new car. As a reward, I guess. I asked my sister why she still lived at home with those folks. She said, “Those folks is our mama and her husband, our stepfather.”

  “Not mine!” I spat back.

  “Anyway, I’m getting my own place once I start working full-time and save up some money.”

  “I hate it for you,” I half-joked.

  As soon as Toi got out the car and shut the door, I honked the horn and jetted.

  I had seen Mama peeking out the door, waving at me before I bounced but I kept pushing as if I didn’t.

  I dipped over to Englewood projects, stopped in the dope trap to holla at a few homies and to buy some blunts and check on my wire. to see if anybody had been looking to answer my offer to be their bodyguard.

  Still no takers.

  I went to cop a couple of dinners from the Ribs Lady. When I got there, two Atlanta cops waited on the porch for their barbeque dinners. She handed the cops’ dinners to this little girl she’d adopted from a crackhead and then the little girl handed the cops their dinners.

  Of course, the Ribs Lady’s hustle was illegal, too, because she was clocking loot and not paying any taxes. But cops would turn their heads the other way to that type of hustle.

  I collected two dinners and paid the Rib Lady. Then I drove up the hill to Poochie’s, the hot sweet aroma from the rib dinners licked at my nostrils and tempted me to dig into them as I drove.

  It was absolutely unbelievable that the Ribs Lady had put her two adult children through college from the sales of her dinners.

  When I got to Poochie’s crib I had already eaten three bones out of my dinner. I had sauce all over my mouth and my shirt.

  When she opened the door, I gave the
unopened dinner to Poochie and flopped down on her couch to devour the rest of mine before the roaches smelled the aroma and attacked.

  Poochie did the same.

  “I see you got a new television?” I noticed.

  “Yeah. I got it from Rent-A-Center,” Poochie said with pride. “I pay a little on it every month.”

  “You’re comin’ up, ain’t you?” I joked, with a mouthful of food.

  Poochie said, “I told you, I ain’t getting high no more. I’ma get myself together and get out of these projects. I might even get my sons back from their daddy. I haven’t seen them in a year. They live in South Carolina with him and his wife and other kids.” Her tone and facial expression told me that Poochie missed her little boys and regretted that crack had dragged her so low she’d had to call their father to come get the boys and move them in with him.

  I already knew the deal, but I hadn’t really thought twice about Shan’s half-brothers. I hoped Poochie could stay off crack, but I didn’t really believe that she would.

  I told her that I would help her move out of Englewood as soon as I built my weight up strong, and providing that she stayed off of the pipe.

  Poochie claimed she hadn’t smoked crack in a month, which was a long time for a crackhead. She claimed to have done it without having gone to a rehab center or nothing.

  “Just woke up one day tired of being a crackhead,” Poochie told me. She said she’d been to rehab several times over the years and it hadn’t stopped her from smoking crack. She believed an addict couldn’t kick their habit unless they wanted to do it themselves.

  I gave Poochie five hundred dollars and made her promise to go buy herself some clothes. I wrote my pager number on a napkin that came with the rib dinners and told Poochie to page me whenever Shan dropped Lil’ T off over there so I could dip by and see him.

  “Page me if you need me for anything,” I said sincerely and told Poochie which code to use so I’d know it was her.