Forget a blood connection, Nick and Hurk are my brothers. Fuck that, they are an extension of myself. Talk shit about Nick or Hurk and I’ll slap your face before you get the words out. If you’re bigger than me I’ll crack a Rémy bottle across the side of your dome. I remember when Nick played with toys and Hurk used to name the roaches in his crib so I can never front on them.
“Yo, you need to rap to Hurk, man, ASAP!” Nick yelled through the gate three times straight. His pudgy fingers gripped the fence. We were down Bocek Park. Baltimore greats that turned pro like Sam Cassell and Muggsy Bogues used to play here back in the day, but no one fixed the court up. The pavement was cracked and uneven, and sometimes I had to kick the shit out of junkies so they would get up and let kids shoot around. The only new items in the park were the nets that my friends and I hung when we had hood versus hood games. We normally played for five hundred a head against surrounding blocks and other crews. Some girls will grill, blunts get passed, bottles get drained, and these events are normally peaceful. We had a hood game coming up in a few weeks so I’d been sneaking and trying to get a little practice in here and there. I was trying to get my jump shot working against some middle schoolers. Same form Bip taught me back in the day—bend your knees, flick your wrist, slap a rotating arc on it, and leave your form up as you watch the ball fall through the bottom of the net every time.
I wanted to be a pro ball player way back when I was a kid but I grew out of that quickly. People don’t understand how talented professional athletes are. Being the best in your town or city or state isn’t enough. You have to rank among the top in the world. I wasn’t even the best in my house plus stupid dirt bike tricks and Pop Warner football mangled my left leg, making me walk like a seventy-year-old. So yeah, my hoop dreams deflated a long time ago.
“We gone rap later, I’ma see him at Moe’s,” I told Nick.
Later came quick on that day. I beat Hurk down to Moe’s. “Dee, how are you, my friend!” said a guy working the door. I gave him a pound, five dollars, and asked him to watch the car. They know me in Moe’s, because I’ve probably eaten there at least once a week since I was an infant. Moe’s is known for Maryland crab cakes. Maryland crabs are different from any other place in the world. We have a zillion big-ass blue crabs popping up in the Chesapeake Bay every day so seafood restaurants in Maryland can’t be skimpy on the crabmeat. Popular spots like Moe’s use huge pieces of jumbo lump and almost no filler. They were also known for a number different seafood dishes as well. I tried them all—except the ones with thick chunky mayonnaise-textured imperial sauce. There’s nothing more disgusting than imperial sauce. I’ll eat a woman’s ass, but I won’t eat imperial sauce.
I grabbed a table near the bar. The server came out with double shot of Belvedere chilled. Hurk and his new bling strolled in. He was a walking jewelry store wearing too many chains to count. He also had some heavy bracelets that sparkled.
“Damn, homie, you about to shoot a rap video?” I asked, waving the bartender. I needed another shot.
“Yo, we playing in the hood game, right? A thousand dollars a head against them Perkins niggas. I’m bustin’ they ass, you hear me!” Hurk replied, loud enough for our whole side of town to hear. The waiter bought him some Belvedere too. I ordered a crab cake.
“Yo, you ain’t getting no food?” I asked Hurk. He ate imperial sauce and ass.
“Naw, man, I ain’t eatin’. I’m just telling you that I’m done with Madeira Street. Like if you buying from Rex, I got money and I can buy from Rex too. Feel me? No hard feelings, though, just this three-way split is dumb. I’m in this shit to win it. Feel me?”
“I hear you, but I don’t feel you. We make each other better, we got each other’s back, man,” I said, trying to make eye contact, but he looked away.
“Yeah, I know, I know steel sharpens steel and all that dumb shit, but I’ma do me. And you do you.”
Hurk dropped some cash and slid. I sat a minute, had three or four more drinks. Stayed a while longer. I started this to make money with my friends, I thought, knowing I had just lost another brother.