by Erica Hilton
***
Nut got back to New York just after seven in the morning, and Head was out there selling hand to hand. He also had a wealth of information.
“Yo, dog, where you been? I’ve been looking for you.”
“Oh, yeah? Why the fuck you looking for me?”
“Did you hear what happened to them Harlem cats that be making all that bread?”
“What Harlem cats?”
“I heard that the feds bagged up Remy, Shue, Dominican Luis, and a few of their soldiers. They didn’t get Alonzo, though. I heard he’s on the run.”
“What?” Fear spread through Nut’s veins. “Get the fuck out of here.”
“Yeah, man. True story! Shit’s fucked up.”
After those people arrested most of Harlem, it wasn’t long before Nut had his own problems. His mother’s door was kicked open three days later and he was dragged down to One Police Plaza for questioning regarding the murder of government informant Peter “Piper” Brown. Nut was held overnight but he wasn’t worried at all. They didn’t have shit on him, and he had a host of witnesses who would say they were with him on the night in question.
Once released, it was business as usual. Nut was still on a paper chase and nothing nor no one was going to stop him. Ever.
10
“A strong word called consignment, strictly for live men, not for freshmen. If you ain’t got the clientele, say hell no, ’cause they gon want they money rain sleet hail snow.”
—“Ten Crack Commandments,” Notorious B.I.G.
1993
Butter did the right thing and copped out to twenty years. Tamia immediately left him, but that was to be expected. He was a true soldier and didn’t snitch. Melissa, on the other hand, wasn’t as lucky. She took her case to trial and blew. Her mandatory sentence was life. The news crushed Nut when he heard it. His mother said that Melissa screamed, “Mommy!” when the jury came back with the guilty verdict. Melissa’s mother wasn’t anywhere around. In fact, she hadn’t seen her mother in close to ten years.
Nut felt fucked up. He wondered why life had dealt Melissa that foul hand. On the day of the verdict he sat down and wrote her a letter, hoping she would write him back. He needed her to know that he had her back and would take care of her while she was doing her bid. He’d already told the lawyer that he would pay for her appeal. Nut wasn’t going to give up on Melissa, not after she’d traded her freedom for his.
“Listen, whatever it’s gonna cost to get her out, I need you to make that happen.”
Nut was speaking to Sheinberg, Melissa’s attorney, over the telephone.
“Nelson, I’ll do what I can, but you know I can’t make any promises. There are a few appealable issues that I could argue, but that’s going to cost you.”
“I didn’t think you were going to do it for a Coke and a smile.”
Sheinberg didn’t really care for Nelson’s smart mouth. He regarded him as a street thug who in no time would need to hire him for his own defense. He knew for a fact that the feds had Nelson on tape going in and out of Luis’s, his other client’s, apartment to buy drugs. It was only a matter of time before his luck ran out one way or another.
“Well now that we’ve got that squared away, I have a message for you,” Sheinberg said. “Luis said that you owed him some money and that I could expect to receive my retainer fee from you.”
Nut couldn’t believe his ears. What the fuck were they trying to pull, some extortion shit?
“Fuck you mean Luis said I owe him some paper? That paper expired the moment he got jammed up. Tell that fat motherfucker I said suck my dick!”
Nut slammed down the phone, annoyed. He decided against allowing that incompetent motherfucker to handle Melissa’s appeal. And since he knew that he was know fucking with his enemy, he was no longer to be trusted.
Other than Melissa and Butter going down, things were looking up for him. Head was now his lieutenant and they were making mad paper. Nut was making money hand over fist. He went out and bought the new 850i BMW, took a picture in his ride, and sent the flick to Butter. Butter was always calling him and asking him to send him a lot of flicks. Nut could see that he was maturing. He was a man who handled his business and wasn’t afraid to let that thing go if he had beef.
The feds had motherfuckers in the game shook. Nut convinced himself that he had an angel on his back, undoubtedly his pops. There wasn’t any other way to explain away how on the day he could have gotten jammed up, he took a walk—a fucking walk to a kiddie park at that. And how about the whole Harlem being taken down, and although he did business with some of those niggas, he wasn’t even arrested. And last but not least was how Melissa and Butter held him down. If heaven wasn’t looking out for him, he didn’t know who was.
Now that half of the hustlers were either locked down doing fed time, or buried six feet under, Nut’s operation expanded. He now serviced uptown, Brooklyn, Bronx, and Queens. He wasn’t fucking with any out-of-town niggas, though. I-95 South was hotter than fish grease. Too many dudes were getting hemmed up by those state troopers, and Nut didn’t want to risk his livelihood. The moment a state trooper cruised by any vehicle with New York plates, it was over. They were pulling your ass over and checking your trunk.
Triple fours was the code he gave all of his customers. That code meant that they needed work. The person would enter his number, and then put triple fours behind it. Nut would then page the person back with triple fours and add the number he was selling the weight for. An example would be 444*18. That meant he was selling a kilo for eighteen thousand dollars. When his freedom depended on staying one step above the law, he had to think of ways to outsmart 5-0.
On this day Bert was the person calling for work. He was hustling down in Charlotte, North Carolina, but was originally from Oakland, California. He needed two pies, but Nut wasn’t taking any chances. He needed Bert to come up north.
“Nah, man, you gotta come through,” he told Bert.
“You know I would if I could. But I gotta watch my spots.”
“Come on now, man. You know better than that!” Nut was annoyed that he was talking drug lingo over the phones. He was supposed to talk in code. “How many cakes you want my sister to bake for your party?”
“I need four cakes and one donut.” That meant he needed four and a half keys.
“I got you, but you gotta come through.”
“Nut, don’t do me like that, man. I need you,” Bert whined. Of course he needed Nut. He didn’t want to take the risk himself.
“Yo, let me get back to you.”
“A’ight. Call me on this same number.”
Nut hung up and ignored the next stream of calls coming from his out-of-town customers. He needed time to think.
The thought came to him in his sleep. The next morning he took the Honda they used to transport drugs to his mechanic.
“Listen, I need you to make a secret compartment in the trunk, something high tech like in those James Bond movies.”
“For what?”
“For this green paper you’re gonna charge me. That’s all you need to concern yourself with. Fuck you mean for what?”
“OK, I understand. I will do it perfect. Leave it here and it’ll be ready in three days.”
Now many people would try to take credit for inventing the stash car, but Lil Nut from Brooklyn swore he was the first man to put the stash car out there. One week later he was putting his drivers on the road to go out of town to service his customers. Each week he stacked steady paper while also schooling Head to the ten crack commandments.
***
“Yo, man, I got the flicks,” Butter said from Fort Dix Federal Prison. “What’s up with those colorful clothes you got on? Let me find out you going homo.”
Laughing, Nut replied, “See, that’s how much yo
u know. That’s some new shit. It just came out. That shirt I was wearing is Versace. Gianni Versace is a new brand, and that shit cost an arm and leg. Only a baller can afford this shit here.”
“Word? That’s the new shit?”
“Hell, yeah. I already got my outfit because I’m flying out to the Soul Train Music Awards.”
“Soul Train like the TV show? They got an awards show now?”
“Yeah, man. I wish you were out here to go with me.” Nut meant those words. He hated that Butter wasn’t out on the streets with him after all they’d been through. Butter deserved to enjoy the fruits of their labor.
“So you go and have enough fun for the both of us. And send me some flicks too. Where that joint at?”
“I gotta take a plane out to California. This will be my first time flying, but a nigga can’t wait. I got this fly purple and yellow Versace silk shirt. It cost me eleven hundred. And I got a pair of purple linen slacks and purple gators! Motherfuckers gonna be on my dick!”
Butter chuckled. Nut had certainly evolved from wearing Lee jeans and Puma sneakers.
“Yo, before I let you go, I want to thank you for looking out for my moms,” Butter said. “She said you be coming through all the time blessing her. Good looking out, kid.”
“That’s what I’m supposed to do. You my man. And as far as I’m concerned, that’s your money.”
***
The March air was unseasonably warm. Nut had on a velour Karl Kani sweat suit and Nike sneakers. He was headed to meet Head in front of Howard projects. As soon as he pulled up, he saw Head up in a female’s face. After closer inspection, Nut realized that was his latest broad, Tawana.
Nut had only been fucking with her for a few weeks, but it was definitely official. Tawana wasn’t like any other girl he wifed. She was a street chick who was nice with her hands. She also got busy on the boosting tip. In fact, she’d gotten him the sweat suit he was wearing now. The only thing Nut didn’t like about her was that she knew too many niggas. She claimed she had to because of her occupation. She sold women’s clothes hot from the stores, and most of her customers consisted of dudes who had a little paper and wanted to splurge on wifey.
Head nor Tawana realized he was sitting there watching their exchange. Head was just coming of age at eighteen, and he really reminded Nut of himself at that age. He was fearless and didn’t take to authority. Yet he respected Nut. Head kept telling Nut that he wanted to be like him. As Nut watched him flirt with his girl, he wondered if Head wanted to be him. Nut beeped his horn and got both of their attentions.
Tawana sauntered over and Head followed closely behind. Nut rolled down the window, and Tawana leaned in and gave him a kiss.
“I didn’t know you were coming through,” she said.
“I came to scoop up Head. We got shit to do.”
Head got into the passenger’s seat and gave Nut a pound.
“You got any money on you?” Tawana asked. “I need a few dollars.”
Nut began reaching into his pockets. Tawana was always hitting him up for money, but he knew that was part of the game. “How much you need?”
Tawana took her thumb and index finger and spread them about an inch apart, and said, “That much.”
Nut smiled. He liked her style. She was the female version of himself. He knew that she could be heartless—she’d sliced up more than a few of her friends’ faces. And trifling—she’d already left her baby’s daddy the moment he got sentenced to life on a murder wrap. And a hustler—she didn’t wait for her mother to give her shit. She took hers. But Nut knew exactly who she was. There would be no surprises with Tawana. Nut peeled off fifteen hundred dollars and gave it to her. “I’ll get up with you later.”
“Be careful,” she replied and gave him a quick peck on the lips. “Later, Head.”
“A’ight, later, T.”
Nut always took Head with him when he went to collect his money from the spots. Stickup kids were always lurking, and Head was a little, agile dude who was always on point. As they drove from spot to spot, Nut spoke about the award show that was only days away.
“So I talked to the travel agent today and she got us three suites at the Four Seasons Hotel, and we’re all riding first class on American Airlines.”
“I hope I’m staying in a room with you.”
“Nah, man, I’m not sharing a room with y’all niggas. Each night I plan to share my room with a different bitch. The other two rooms are for you, Mike, Slim, and Justice. You choose which one of those niggas you want to room with.”
“Damn, Nut. You know those niggas act like little kids.”
“As my lieutenant, you gotta school them and set them straight. Because out there in L.A., we’re going to be around a different crowd of cats. I don’t want them making me look dumb. Nothing but moneymakers will be there, and I’m going to be politicking as well, trying to get new connections and shit. I need you there by my side, because most times you might have to step in and handle some of the business on your own. You think you ready for that?”
“Hell, yeah, I’m ready. I was born ready.”
“Your stupid ass was born Henry Jackson. What the fuck you talkin’ ’bout?” Nut couldn’t help but clown Head, who at times could be a little sensitive.
“You know what I meant. I can handle whatever you throw at me. Haven’t I proved that to you already?”
Nut changed the subject. “Did you finish buying your gear?”
“Nah, I didn’t even really start. I was waiting for Tawana to come through with some shit so I could get a discount.”
Nut was turned off. Head had enough money to go and splurge at the department store as opposed to waiting for the boosters to come through. He was a cheap motherfucker, and that irritated Nut.
“What the fuck you mean you waiting on Tawana? How the fuck that sound? The fucking show is March nineteenth!”
Any other nigga yelling at him like that and Head would have bodied him. His finger itched to pull the trigger on his burner. Head knew that if he killed Nut, he would get instantly upgraded. People from all over would respect and fear him.
“Nut, I’m sitting right here, man, in this small-ass car. You don’t gotta be screaming like that all the time to make a point. Today is only the fourteenth. I got five days before we leave. It ain’t that serious.”
Nut calmed down. They had three more spots to pick up from, and then he was going to drive Head straight to the city to go shopping. Since it was a Saturday, the stores stayed opened late, so Nut had plenty of time.
“Next Saturday I want you to do the pickups on your own,” Nut told him. “You think you ready for that?”
“I just told you I am.”
“Well I want you to take Mike with you. And from now on y’all do the pickups each Saturday, but only you go to my stash house and leave the bread. You already got the combination to the safe. And if anybody is short, you call me right away, and I’ll tell you how to handle the situation.”
Head was excited. He loved more responsibility, because that meant that soon he wouldn’t be considered a lieutenant. He’d be more of a partner.
“Does this mean I’m getting promoted?” he asked.
“First you gotta prove yourself. Right now you ain’t done shit but take direction and orders from me. You gotta learn how to think and make moves on your own. That’s why I keep drilling the ten crack commandments in your ear. You see how all these motherfuckers done got either murdered or doing football numbers, and I’m still here. Ask yourself how the fuck I’ve been able to get money in this game for almost ten straight years. Nigga, that’s more than half your life. I was around when this crack epidemic started, and I’m still here!” Nut boasted.
Head had to admit that Nut did accomplish a lot. All these motherfuckers were either murdered or in jail, an
d Nut had outsmarted the game. On that alone he deserved Head’s respect.
***
Later that night Nut stopped by Tawana’s and gave her the Moschino Cheap & Chic dress he’d bought earlier when he took Head shopping. He couldn’t believe an item of clothing could make a girl so happy. She squealed, smiled, and thanked him profusely, and then she wanted to fuck. Nut told her to keep it wet, because he wanted to go see his moms first.
When he got to his mom’s place, she was in the living room eating a bucket of crab she’d gotten from the fish market. You could smell the beer and seasoning from all the way down the hall. The aroma made Nut’s mouth water.
“Ma, you see how you are? You ain’t even call me and put me on,” he accused. Julie grinned as she broke off a leg and began sucking the juices.
“What you doing here this late?” she asked.
“Don’t worry about all that.” Nut peered into the pot sitting on the floor on top of an old newspaper. “Let me get some of that.”
After they finished eating the crabs, Nut began talking about his plans. He’d never been so hopeful and excited before. Things were really going well for him. He was hitting off Melissa’s and Butter’s books on a regular basis. He had also paid for Melissa’s new attorney to appeal her sentence. And he had a girl that he was checking for and could see himself with her for a long time. But mostly, he wanted to tell his mom about the money he’d saved, and how well his spots were doing.
“Ma, remember I asked you a couple years back to move out of here, and you said no because you didn’t know how long of a run I’d have.”
“Yeah, I remember.”
“Well I’ve been having a long run, and I’m ready to semi-retire. I got close to a million dollars, give or take a few grand, in my safe at one of my stash houses, and I got six spots that are bringing in ten to fifty grand a week. Here’s my plan for my future. I want to buy you a house, so you won’t have to worry about a mortgage, and I want to fall back from this drug game for a while. I’ve been doing this shit since I was fourteen. Now I want to enjoy my money. I’ve been schooling Head to run my operation, so I’ll be taking less risk, but still counting the same paper. All I need is for you to want to get out. Ma, if you stay in the hood, then that’s where I’m staying. You know I can’t leave you here. And I’m telling you now, I don’t want to be here anymore. It’s just a matter of time before one of these little motherfuckers tries me and my luck runs out.”
