Chapter Eighteen
Can’t Stop It
Melquan rode down East Gunhill Road. The sound of Jay Z blasted through his speakers. He nodded his head while listening to the lyrics of Dear Summer.
Dear summer, I
know you gon’ miss me
For we been together
like Nike Airs and crisp tees
S dots with polo fleeces
Purple label shit with the logo secret
Gimme couple years,
shit I might just sneak in…
The conversation with Charlie Rock weighed heavy on his mind. He finally turned down the volume on the track and dialed Mike Copeland.
“State your business…” Mike’s tone was authoritative.
“Meet me in Bay Plaza by Red Lobster,” Melquan said.
“What’s good? Everythin’s a’ight? Wha’, we got beef…?” Mike replied.
“I’ll talk to you about it when you get there,” Melquan said, hanging up.
He waited patiently for Mike Copeland while listening to the 534 CD by Jay-Z.
Niggas can’t fuck with me
I’m in a good mood, you lucky,
I got a good groove
And I ain’t trying to fuck my thing up
But I will lay down a couple green bucks,
get you cleaned up
Now I’m Pulp Fiction, Colt four-fifth and
Young niggas that blast for me…
blasphemy, no religion…
He could hear a loud thump getting closer. Melquan turned his music off when he heard the sound blasting and getting closer. It felt like there was an earthquake in the mall. The Cayenne Sport pulled to a stop and Melquan could hear the spitting of Fifty Cent and G-Unit.
Well tell ’em niggas they could pop this
and stop frontin’.
You heard a nigga
do you know how I get down
Stay with my vest on and
roll with a couple of trey pounds
In case you motherfuckers want to jump bad now
Start some bullshit
Mike Copeland jumped out the whip in a hurry. Melquan’s improv meeting was cause for concern to him. Although they hadn’t seen eye to eye lately, Melquan was still his man and partner. He entered Melquan’s car and showed gave Melquan a pound.
“What’s good, my dude?” Mike Copeland said. “What was so important that you needed to see me right away?”
“Look Mike I’m a get right to the point,” Melquan said. “What’s this I hear ya got some lil’ Spanish kid, named Jose sellin’ fa us?”
Mike Copeland looked at Melquan with a puzzled expression on his grill before speaking.
“Nigga, who da fuck told you that, huh? Who da fuck be spyin’ on me like that…?”
There was no answer coming from Melquan and the questions hung in the air like foul odor. Mike Copeland thought about it for a while and sardonically smiled, shaking his head.
“Never mind you ain’t even gotta tell me I already know. It’s da ol’ muthafucka in da wheelchair. Fuckin’ snitch-ass, Charlie Rock…!” Mike Copeland angrily said. “Tell me sumthin, since when you start takin’ da word from a crack-head?”
“Wha…?”
“You heard me! Fuck dat nigga! Da kid stepped to me. He talkin’ bout he wanna rock. It ain’t like I went out and purposely recruited his ass. If he didn’t get it from me, he was gonna get it from da next man. He coulda been puttin’ in work for da competition, Melquan. So I put him on before somebody else did. What da fuck is da deal?”
“Regardless of how it happened, it can’t go down like that. It’s a problem. And let’s nip shit in da bud before it goes any further.”
“Yo, lemme ask you sumthin man. What’s your problem? Why everything I do startin’ to bug you?” Mike Copeland asked, getting emotional.
Melquan stared at him blankly, unaffected by Mike’s mood swing. He couldn’t believe that Mike couldn’t see the moves that he was making, if left unchecked would lead to their downfall.
“In ya eyes, ya never do nothin’ wrong. I told ya before, I ain’t into corruptin’ no kids, Mike—”
“Da fuck you hollerin’ ’bout? These kids already corrupted! They certainly don’t need no help from me.”
“Mike, this shit’s not open for discussion! When shorty comes around again, send him on his way. Do not give da kid another package.”
“You buggin’ da fuck out my dude. But you know what I’m eat this one. Next time approach me when you got a real issue. Not on some he say-she say, ol’ bullshit, a’ight? And furthermore, I ain’t really been feelin’ da way you be talkin’ to me lately. Who da fuck I am, and how I do, nigga! Respect me like I respect you, my dude.”
An angry Mike Copeland got out the car and slammed the door. He swaggered to his ride and peeled out of the parking lot. Mike Copeland did not once look back at his friend.
Jose Jr. walked out of his project building. He was now an official part-time crack dealer, putting in limited hours, everyday on his new job. Everyday he made up a different lie to tell his father about his whereabouts. Jose Sr. seemed to actually believe it. Jose took the long way to the horseshoe, just in case his father was watching out the window. This was an added precaution.
Mike Copeland spotted Jose coming, and a cynical smile appeared, lighting up his face. He greeted the young boy with a solid handshake.
“What’s good, my nigga?” Copeland asked.
“You and da package you got fa me,” Jose said.
“Look, shorty, I got some bad news fa you,” Mike Copeland said. “Today’s gonna be your last day on da team.”
“What?”
“Yo, believe you me. You’re a natural at dis and I don’t really wanna let you go. But from what I know, this got sumthin’ to do with your pops. Certain people gotta lotta respect for him. They don’t want no problems. You feel me, shorty?”
Mike Copeland went on to explain the politics behind the decision, without naming any names. Jose was depressed, but understood for the most part. When his last package was handed to him, Jose hustled harder than he ever did.
Unbeknownst to Jose, Maria followed him to the horseshoe. She stopped a distance away, watching him and Mike Copeland. She had discovered her brother’s secret life, and bit her lips, holding back the tears she felt. There was confusion about what she was supposed to do. She felt like her brother had been taken away. This caused tears to sting her eyes. She walked back home feeling alone.
Precious walked past the weeping young girl, without giving her a second glance. Sashaying across the street, she jumped into a waiting cab. Her timing couldn’t have been better. The car sat at the curb for couple seconds. Nashawn exited his building, entering the cab from the opposite side door. The cab pulled off and Mike Copeland, wearing a grimace, quickly dialed on his cellphone. He was anxious and couldn’t wait to tell Melquan what he had just witnessed.
