Trust in No Man

by Cash

  She fed me a slice of apple and kissed me softly on the lips. “It’s real, you just gotta give it a chance,” she said confidently.

  But at the time, the streets were in me too deep.

  During the day, I would whip around the city in my drop or my Lex, occasionally being harassed by the cops. But all of my papers were in order, and I kept my gat hidden in the secret compartment of the Lex’ or the Benz, so po-po had no choice but to let me drive on. Jay-Z said it best: “Can I live!”

  I got with Keisha and Angel again a few weeks after our threesome, but the second time didn’t produce the same fire as our first menage-a-trois. I got the feeling those freak hos were more into each other than they were into me. Fuck it! At least I’d helped them realize they could be more than friends.

  I was at a sports bar when I ran into Blondie, the stripper I had robbed along with her friends. She was working behind the counter, sweating me like crazy.

  A young nigga, braided up, came from a back room and joined her at the register. A few minutes later, he came over to my table and introduced himself.

  “I’m Little Gotti,” he said. “Welcome to my establishment. Don’t I know you from somewhere?” Seeing if I’d lie.

  “Yeah. We were both at The Player’s Ball,” I acknowledged, “I’m Terrence.” Knowing that it would be more difficult for him to find street niggaz who knew Terrence than it would be to find those who knew Youngblood.

  “Can I send you over something to drink?” Little Gotti offered.

  “Naw, I just stopped in for a minute to check out the scenery.”

  “Be sure to come back, and bring some friends.” He sounded like he’d fallen for my nonchalance.

  I said, “I will.” I stuck around for twenty minutes just to play my hand right. Then I dipped.

  CHAPTER 36

  Poochie greeted me with a hug. “James, this is my son-in-law Terrence,” she introduced me to her company, an older cat who struck me as a deacon of a church.

  “Terrence?” he said, extending his hand.

  I shook it and then made small talk until a pause in the boring conversation afforded me the opportunity to say I had to get going.

  Poochie walked me outside, complimented me on my drop and laughed when I teased her about trading me in for an old fossil.

  “Boy, you’re the devil!” she kidded back.

  After leaving there, I would’ve went by Lonnie’s and smoked some weed while kicking his ass at John Madden Bowl, but I remembered he was up in New York visiting family. So, instead, I drove by the game room to see what was poppin’.

  A couple of Rich Kid’s workers were amongst those shooting pool. I nodded at them. I had spoken to Rich Kid a few days ago, he’d said he was just checking on me and would holla again later.

  Bitches were in the game room, dressed to attract ballers as usual.

  A few of them were sexy, in comparison to the others, but none were dimes and none were eatable. I bounced from the game room and headed down to Englewood.

  Murder Mike appeared to be putting one of his workers in check when I pulled up in the horseshoe. The young soldier bowed down under the barrage of his bossman’s tirade. I parked the drop and got out andaited for the storm coming from Murder’s mouth to cease. When it did he came over to where I’d parked.

  “Whud up, main man?” I greeted him.

  “You own the world, whoady,” he shot back, eyeing my whip for the first time. “Business must be good. I didn’t know Rich Kid paid his lieutenant so well,” he cracked.

  “What?” I asked, a little peeved. That was the second time he’d tried to connect me with Rich Kid.

  He laughed, but it was forced. “C’mon, dawg, you think I can’t tell those kilos you sold me was the same type yayo his crew be slangin’ by the basketball court?”

  Damn! That was news to me. The seven keys I’d sold Murder Mike had come from King’s safe. How could it be the same dope Rich Kid’s crew was pushing? Unless King had stolen it from Rich Kid?

  Or, more likely, they’d had the same supplier. I couldn’t figure the shit out. I did know that my man, Murder, was interrogating me.

  And I didn’t like it.

  I told him that he and I go way back, like roaches in the projects.

  It wasn’t my style to reveal my hand to him, but I assured him I wasn’t selling dope for Rich Kid or anyone. “You know I don’t get down like that,” I said.

  “Bet dat.” Murder Mike dapped hands with me, letting me know he believed me.

  I wondered how long it would be before he made his move on Rich Kid.

  Fiona came up and interrupted us.

  “Don’t you see us talking?” My tone checked the bitch.

  “I’m sorry. I—”

  “It’s cool,” Murder said. “I gotta make a quick call, anyways” He walked off a few paces and called someone on his cellphone.

  Fiona wasn’t talking about shit. She was still peeved that I’d taken her friends to the hotel, like I had violated her by doing so.

  “Ho, please!” I snapped. “When you start making me some money, then you can have an attitude about who I fuck.”

  “Yo’ ass gon’ catch AIDS!”

  I pulled out a pack of Magnums. “Never! Leave! Home! Without! ‘Em!” I barked, one word at a time. Then I tossed a pack at her, hitting her in the face. The young hustlers around cracked the fuck up!

  Fiona walked away warning: “What goes up, must come down!” Like the jealous-hearted hoodrat she was.

  I bullshitted the day away in the hood—shooting dice by the basketball court, puffing on a stogie filled with ‘dro, listening to lil’ niggaz bustin’ ryhmes, freestyled and rehearsed.

  When I got hungry I copped some hot dogs and chips from the rolling store, a truck/van that drove through the hoods selling groceries and other items at high prices to mafuckaz too lazy to walk to the store.

  Juanita’s mother, Miss Pearl, had come up to the rolling store wanting a pint of Mad Dog while I was waiting on my hot dogs. She was thirty-five cents short so the man wouldn’t let her have the cheap wine. I told him to give her two bottles and put it on my tab. Then I squeezed a hundred-dollar bill into the palm of her swollen hand. She looked at the money for a long while and then looked at me like I was Heaven sent.

  “Thank you, son,” Miss Pearl said and hurried down the hill.

  She hadn’t recalled my face as one of the lil’ boys who used to rip and run all over the projects. And I was sure she didn’t know her daughter was trying hard to pull me away from the streets.

  By the time I left Englewood, it was just turning dark. I saw Murder Mike’s whip still parked in the horseshoe, but he wasn’t around. A red Mercedes E-Class was parked in front of Cita’s mama’s unit. I’d heard earlier that day that Murder had blessed Cita with a Benz. I didn’t know what Cita’s grip was on my homeboy, but, whatever it was, it had to be strong.

  I stopped at a music store a few blocks from I-20 Expressway to cop the latest edition of Jay-Z’s Hard Knocks and that white boy, Eminem’s, latest CD, plus, anything that was hot by ATL niggaz.

  A half hour later, I came out of the store with a box of incense and five CDs.

  A van was parked so close to my drop, I had to turn side-ways to get to the driver’s door. I was at the car door, digging in my jeans pocket for my car keys when I heard the van’s side door slide open. I should’ve jetted, on foot, or at least pulled the gat that was at my waist. Instead, instinct made me turn to face the sound of the sliding van door.

  That was a big mistake!

  I was staring at a Dread holding a sawed-off shotgun aimed at my chest. “Don’t be stoopid, mon!” the Dread barked.

  I would’ve still tried the mafucka, fuck going out without a fight!

  Fuck being a hostage or the victim of a kidnapping, eventually found with my dick in the dirt! I was going for my gat, half-turning away from the sawed-off when some strong mafucka grabbed me from behind, pinning my arms to my sides. My g
at hit the pavement and skidded under my whip. A third mafucka bent down and scooped it up.

  I yelled at the top of my lungs! Not like a bitch, but to attract a crowd. Then I was thrown inside of the van, choked by the strong ass nigga, threatened with the sawed-off and whisked away.

  They drove around, beating me with a lead pipe, cussin’ and threatening me in Jamaican accents, saying I was fuckin’ wit’ da wrong people, mon!

  I pretended to be dead and the beating stopped. I was tossed out of the van while it was still going about twenty miles per hour. They didn’t rob me or hold me for ransom. Maybe they didn’t know I was worth a million and some change?

  I scrambled to my feet, my entire body in pain, blood running down my face and the back of my head. So much blood was in my eyes and I was so weak and dizzy that I couldn’t make out where I was, but it seemed very familiar.

  I stumbled up on the closest porch and rang the bell. The person on the other side of the door said something, but I was too disoriented to comprehend.

  “I—need you—to call an—ambulance.” I mumbled.

  The door yanked open and I fell face-first into the doorway. The last thing I remembered hearing before I blacked out from my pain was a woman’s scream.

  I didn’t find out until I woke up in the hospital the next day that it was Inez’ crib I’d stumbled into. It was she who’d called an ambulance to rush me to the emergency room. Whoever had kidnapped and beaten me, obviously intended to toss me out the van in front of her crib, which meant they had to be someone who’d knew I was holding her down.

  My face was hideously swollen from a broken jaw. I’d suffered two cracked ribs, a concussion and several gashes to the back of my head. But I was still alive and somebody would have to pay!

  My mouth was wired shut, but I could talk through clenched teeth after a few days. I told Inez to go down to the music store and check on my whip.

  The next day she informed me that the store’s owner said the police had towed it away the same night I’d gotten snatched inside of the van. He’d seen the altercation and had called the police but wanted nothing else to do with the matter.

  I could understand that.

  Mafuckaz in the hood had heard that I got snatched up in a van, but they didn’t know my whereabouts until a bitch from Englewood, who worked as a cleaning woman in the emergency room, started running her mouth. Then, mad mafuckaz from the hood came to the hospital to visit me: Keisha and Angel. A couple of lil’ niggaz who worked the traps for Rich Kid. Poochie and Shan. Bitches whose names I didn’t even know. And, of course, my main man, Murder Mike.

  I didn’t like them seeing me banged up and shit. Yet I appreciated the love shown. And I would definitely hunt down my enemies and let the streets know that I was not to be fucked with!

  Murder Mike said, “How you feelin’, main main?”

  “Ready to go to war.” I mumbled.

  He said he’d keep his ear to the streets and if he found out who had banged me up, he’d ride down on ‘em with me when I was well enough. I appreciated his concern and knew it was genuine.

  Lonnie was still up in New York and had no way of knowing I was laid up in a hospital. I asked Inez if I’d been wearing my pager that night.

  “No, boo. You must’ve lost it before those cowards pushed you out of the van.” She was being concerned and sweet, staying at the hospital with me all day, until visiting hours ended.

  My sister came to visit me the fourth day I was in the hospital.

  She’d just heard about it. She said that Glen hadn’t even tried to stop her from visiting me. He knew where to draw the line, she said.

  “Terrence,” she said, “Glen didn’t have anything to do with this. He just got back from Florida yesterday, and he’s still on crutches. I questioned him about—” She hushed when a nurse came in to check my vital signs. When the nurse was gone, Toi said, “Trust me. Glen’s my man, I would be able to tell if he were lying.”

  Then without any prompting, Toi told me the whole story of why Glen had jumped on her that day. It fucked me up. I would’ve never suspected it. Glen had jumped on Toi after catching her creepin’ with Rich Kid! Not once, but twice! It also should’ve embedded in me that you never know anybody like you thought you did. But I wouldn’t come to that unbending conclusion until much, much later.

  Juanita showed up in my hospital room looking so beautiful I forgot about all my pain. She was carrying a get-well card so huge it came up past her shoulders when sat on the floor. She let me read it and then sat the huge card in a corner of the room.

  “How’re you feeling, baby?” Her eyes were sad for me.

  “I’ve had better days,” I admitted, mumbling the words.

  “Say what?” she moved closer to my bed so she could hear me more clearly.

  “I’m a’ight,” I said. “How did you find out I was in the hospital?” She said she’d been paging me for the past week, with no reply.

  Worried, she’d driven over to Englewood and asked of my whereabouts. Some fool had told her I was dead and my body had been found in a dumpster. Others said they hadn’t seen me but had heard I’d been kidnapped out of my Benz in front of the music shop near I-20.

  Finally, in near hysterics, she ran into Cita, who told her where to find me.

  “You look so helpless lying there,” Juanita cried. “When you get out of the hospital, I’m taking you home with me.” She leaned over and kissed my forehead just as Inez returned from calling to check on her daughter.

  Juanita spoke first.

  “Hi,” Inez returned the greeting, with no sincerity.

  She then turned to me and said, “I gotta go take my daughter some cough medicine and soup. Mama says she’s coming down with the flu. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

  If I had a response, Inez didn’t wait to hear it.

  Juanita didn’t comment on Inez’ thinly disguised attitude.

  For the next two hours, she just kept me company, bringing me up to date on her plans to move away and pursue her goals.

  “I found a buyer for my house, we’re supposed to close the deal in a few weeks,” she said expectantly.

  She told me to think about moving away with her and to consider coming to stay at her house when I got out the hospital in a few days.

  “I will,” I promised.

  She said, “I’ll come back to see you if you want me to. But I don’t want to ‘cause a problem between you and Inez.”

  “I’ll be getting released in a few days,” I mumbled.

  “Please think about what I said.” She kissed me softly before saying goodbye.

  Rich Kid came to see me later that same evening. He showed concern, offered any help that I might need and asked if I needed anything until I could get back on my feet. He couldn’t tell that I was now seeing him through slightly different eyes. I told him I was straight and kept what I now knew about him and Toi to myself.

  So, everyone I would’ve expected to visit me in the hospital had now shown up. Some sooner than others, but all just the same. I knew Lonnie and Delina were still in New York, and he didn’t know what had happened or he’d been the first at my bedside.

  Cheryl was at my crib, just a twenty-minute drive away, but she might as well have been on the moon, for all she knew about what was happening with me. She didn’t know my niggaz from Englewood. She knew Lonnie and Rich Kid, but she had no way of contacting either of them. She’d probably tried to page me over the past few days, but undoubtedly figured I had gone out of town, or just hadn’t wanted to call her back.

  If something was seriously wrong with one of my daughters, I guessed Cheryl would still have Toi’s number.

  I imagined what her dingy ass would say once she found out I had been in the hospital. She’d probably say, “Boy, you could’ve had someone come by and tell me you were hurt. Dag!”

  CHAPTER 37

  The last night before I was to be released from the hospital, I laid in bed all night trying to figure ou
t who had wanted me beat down, but not dead?

  Number One on my list was Big G, Glen. Despite what my sister believed, I didn’t believe she could tell when he was lying. Love blinded her from the truth. But why would Glen have me beaten up instead of killed? I had shot him in the knees and kept his money and guns. A beatdown hardly revenged that.

  Number Two on my list was Little Gotti, Blondie’s man. Maybe she had convinced him that Terrence and Popeye was one and the same? For what I’d done to her, a beatdown might have seemed sufficient.

  I moved Little Gotti to the top of the list, ahead of Glen.

  Who else would want to see me hurt? And would know I fucked with Inez? And where she lived? Rich Kid, maybe? But he had no beef with me. Plus, he hired out killers, not mafuckaz who’d roughed you up.

  I was also thinking: This was the second time somebody had done me bodily harm and both times, I’d just got finished dissin’ Fiona.

  Could she be behind this shit? I wondered

  Naw, that po’ bitch don’t have the juice to have me touched. The bitch just provokes bad karma.

  Now, who did I know with affiliations to Dreads? The shit had me vexed! But I had a brave heart, a few loyal friends and mad loot to help me find out who my enemies were.

  Why did niggaz have to bring the drama, just when I was trying to chill and enjoy my mil’?

  I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, thinking about Juanita’s offer, knowing I couldn’t walk away from Inez or my unfinished business in the streets.

  Inez arrived at the hospital to take me home early the next day. It didn’t take too long for the day nurse to do all the things she needed to do in order for me to be discharged and sent on my way. While the nurse was doing those things, Inez went down to the hospital pharmacy and had my prescriptions filled.

  Armed with gauze rolls to wrap around my cracked ribs, clean dressings for the gash in the back of my head and plenty of prescription pain pills, Inez wheeled me down the hall onto the elevator, and, finally, to the hospital exit.