As soon as I stepped into mom dukes crib, Bitch came bolting down the hall like a bat outta hell; jumping all over my legs, and smacking me with her tail like she was crazy! I’d bought her a big ass doghouse and put it in the backyard, but mama already nearly had her housetrained, and let her stay in the house whenever she was home. Mama was in her room on the computer, probably playing that video poker that she loved so much, so I didn’t see any reason to bother her. I strolled through the kitchen and out the back door with Bitch trotting right beside me. Right at the edge of the backyard was a hollowed-out tree trunk. I walked past mama’s small garden, picked up a hoe, walked five feet to the right of the tree trunk and dug down in the ground about three feet deep. Reaching down into the hole I’d dug, I pulled out a burlap potato sack. Inside the sack, was large a black trash bag. Inside the trash bag, was a dirty gray pillow case. And inside that, was a digital scale, a brick and a half of cocaine, and about sixty - five thousand in cash. The whole kilo was powder, but the half was already cooked up. I couldn’t honestly tell you if mom dukes knew about my stash spot or not. Probably so, knowing my mom dukes. But these days a lot of things between me and her were just left unsaid. Several times I had to smack Bitch on her ass for being nosey, trying to stick her face into the bag. Pulling out the scale, I weighed out four ounces of hard and two ounces of soft, before putting the rest of the shit back up and burying it back where it was. In record time, I was in and out, and on my way to make some paper. Shell had hit me, about thirty minutes prior. Telling me he was in East Durham, at a nigga named “Frank Money’s” crib on Driver Street. Durham is a city of drugs, sex, and murder. No matter what you selling, you can go just about anywhere and get the shit off. If your quality and quantity is better than the next niggas, then you’re gonna eat better than the next nigga. A simple rule to the game. It’s not rocket science. East Durham is famous for two things; crack, and prostitutes. Most of the prostitute’s smoke crack. Some may do dope, but most love that hard white. So of course, wherever the prostitutes are, the coke and crack money is gonna stay flowing. Just like they say, selling pussy is the world’s oldest profession. When there’s a drought on everything else, the pussy is still plentiful! Plain and simple, motherfuckers are gonna trick. Crack has put a many of pimps outta business! Bitches sucking dick for five dollars, letting two and three niggas fuck em in any hole for a ten - dollar rock. I’m telling you the shit is a pimp’s worst nightmare. I had another hoop ride I kept at mom dukes house all the time. An 89 Honda Accord. It was plain Jane and all the paperwork was in Latifah’s name. It was just what I needed to traffic work, so I left my BMW at mom dukes and headed to the East…
As soon as I stepped into Frank Money’s crib, there was two niggas already waiting to cop some work. A few crack whores sat anxiously waiting, ready to buy something from whoever was gonna look out.
“What’s up my nigga? Shell told me you was on the way through. These cats trying to spend some paper,” Frank grinned happily as he gave me some dap. Me and Shell knew Frank from all the way back to Holton Middle School. He was also the first nigga our age at Hillside High to push his own whip to school. Booming system and all! Frank’s big brother Junio was doing it big in the coke game back then, and had put his younger brother Frank on at just fourteen years of age. All of us wanted to be Frank back then. He was our idol. He had the whip, the jewelry, the clothes and all the chics was throwing their young high school pussies at him. His main girl was bad ass senior named Sonya. At nineteen she was three years older than Frank, but that shit didn’t matter. He was “Frank Money”! He had it like that. That was almost five years ago, and in that time, Frank’s older brother Junio had caught 37 years fed time, “Frank Money” was now “Frank the crack smoker,” and Sonya was walking the hoe stroll with her two front teeth missing, looking for a dick to suck for a piece of crack. Frank was still good peoples though and I always looked out for him. Some of the same people he used to supply with work before he started smoking, he turned me on to. Even though he’d fallen from grace like so many others, I still treated him like a friend. Laying my bag down, I pulled out the scale I’d brought along, took out the work and my pistol at the same time, just to let these dudes know wont shit sweet.
“What’s good bru? What you trying to cop?” I asked the first dude, who was tall and skinny with a Yankee fitted pulled low over his dreads.
“What’s up my nigga? Frank said you had some fire wit some good prices.”
“What’s yo name bru?”
“Freeze.”
“Aight Freeze, that may be true. What you needing?” I asked getting right back to the point. I didn’t know these niggas, so I wasn’t taking no chances. Not to mention that I hadn’t seen Shell anywhere yet.
“How much you want for an ounce?”
“How much you been paying?”
“Nine hundred.”
“I’ll give it to you for eight then, and if you keep it coming I’ll drop it down to seven fifty.”
“Shit, that’s what’s up cuz! Is it some bullshit? No offense my nigga but you talking some helleva numbers.” I didn’t even answer. I looked over at the short black haired white girl, sitting in the corner pushing her stem and called her over to me.
“Ay yo shorty come here.”
“Who me?” A short dark skinned woman with a handful of dirty dreads said as she ran over.
“No. I was talking to the white girl, but fuck it both of ya’ll come her. Where ya’ll stems at?” The two tricks had their pipes out quicker than a gunfighter in the old west. I reached in the bag, grabbed about a twenty - dollar sized rock and broke it in half. “Here, ya’ll smoke that and tell me what it is.” I knew the fish scale powder that I’d cooked up was that flame. Even though all my coke is good, whenever I know I’m going to encounter new customers, I always bring out what I call that “heart buster!” This is the shit that I cook up, not worrying about bringing back anything extra. Both the women threw the rocks up on their pipes at the same time, put the flame to it and sucked for dear life as the crack sizzled like bacon frying. The white chic pulled her lips from the glass first and blew out a thick cloud of white smoke. She tried to say something but started whispering instead, as her eyes bulged from their sockets as if they might pop! Soon after, the black chic blew her smoke out, dropped to one knee and grabbed her chest. I laughed like a motherfucker. If they would have taken their time and pulled slow, they would have been fine.
Geeked the hell up, but fine. But being the greedy, crack loving tricks that they were, they sucked on them stems like it was the last hit in the world, and got the full effect of the purest shit on the street!
“Goddamn!” Freeze yelled as he yanked out his money and started counting.
“Yo how much for a six deuce?” his homeboy jumped up eager to spend now. A “six deuce” is two ounces and a quarter. Half of a “big eigth”, which is an “eighth of a kilo.”
“I know niggas been letting em go for sixteen fifty, so just give me fifteen hundred and I got you.”
“Hell yeah! I’m Bob bru. Me and Freeze be trapping down on Barnes Avenue by the old Few Gardens. Our plug we been fucking wit trying to tax us for some weak ass work. That shit been fuckin up our clientele. Our spot be jumping so we can probably hit you back tonight if you got this same shit.”
“I keep the same fire all the time my nigga. I’ll probably be steppin out tonight though. But if you need something tomorrow, just get up wit Frank and he’ll call me.” Bob was short and stocky with a lazy left eye. The Polo sweat suit, iced out watch and fresh Timbs he sported, gave me the impression that he really was a money getting nigga. But yet and still, I’d just met these cats and wasn’t about to give them my number yet.
“That’s what’s up bru. We’ll hit you up tomorrow. Frank got the number so we’ll get up wit him.”
I did my thing with the scale and the coke, they gave me my bread and were gone in a flash. I weighed out another eight ball (3 ½ grams) and tossed it to Frank. The eyes of the tricks sitting around the room lit up, knowing they were about to get high. Frank still had hustle in him and would give the tricks a little something to get them started, before they hit the streets looking for a dick to suck. Any money they made, they’d bring straight back to Frank where they knew they could get good crack with a safe place to smoke it. Frank smoked, fucked, and got sucked off at will.
“Hey Frank, where the fuck did Shell say he was going? This nigga tells me to come here and he gone?”
“Oh nah dog, he here. He back there.” Frank pointed to a closed room door at the back of the shotgun house, as he distributed hits of crack to the ladies of the night, who were standing around him like hungry puppies. “Shut up bitch and wait!” Frank yelled at a second white girl in the room! This one had dirty blond hair and dirty bare feet. I couldn’t help but laugh as I zipped up my bag, threw it ova my shoulder and walked to the back. As soon as I reached the door, I heard scrambling and then a female voice.
“You almost finished? You aint give me but a dime.”
“Shut up bitch!” I paid for a nutt and I aint finished till I get one!” I listened to the unmistakable sound of skin smacking against skin and knew that Shell was in there tricking. I laughed like hell as I slowly turned the knob and burst into the room yelling… Police! Everybody get down! The horrible stink of the fishy pussy that I smelled, was nothing compared to what I saw! Shell was butt ass naked sweating like a lunatic, and on her knees bent over in front of him, with her pants and panties tangled around her ankles, was Ms. Samantha. Tika’s mama! The mother of the girl who was the sole reason I started trappin. The girl I had killed for and hadn’t seen since. Ignoring the funky smell in the room, I slammed the door behind me and dropped my bag.
“Shell what the fuck is you doing!” I screamed! Shell pulled out and stood to stretch as if it were the most natural thing in the world! I looked at his glazed eyes, then down at the floor, noticing for the first time the empty bags of heroin.
“What’s up my nigga?” Shell asked, walking towards me with his dick saluting the room.
“Man put yo goddamn clothes on!” I turned my head disgusted.
“Oh, my bad bru.” Shell laughed and reached for his boxers as if he’d just realized he was naked.
“Ms. Samantha, what the hell are you doing?” I asked looking down at the half naked woman I had so much respect for.
“He aint give me but a dime! He on that shit and can’t cum!”
Ms. Samantha looked horrible! Her once curvy body was now rail thin, the beautiful long jet black hair she once possessed, was now short, dirty, and nappy. The shine that her pretty brown hair once held, was no more. Her appearance now, all but said she’d already given up on life. “You got something? My daughter can’t do it like me. I can suck you off, real good and fast Teddy.”
“Hell no! You crazy? What the hell happened to you! Where’s Tika!” I looked over at Shell, and I’ll be damed if this nigga hadn’t bent over to pick up his boxers, and got stuck right there in a fuckin nod!
“Shell!!!”
“Huh? Oh, my fault bru.” This nigga was high as a Las Vegas hooker! He couldn’t keep his head up long enough to put on his fuckin clothes! By now I was mad as a motherfucker as I looked back over my shoulder at Frank peeping his head into the room.
“Everything alright in here?”
“Yeah everything’s alright! Close the goddamn door!” Frank ducked back out the room like a turtle pulling his head into its shell. My patience was wearing thin! Reaching into my waistband, I pulled out my ratchet and cocked it. The unmistakable sound of that, brought Shell up outta his nod quick fast! “Get out!”
“Huh?”
“I said get out nigga!”
“Aight bru damn. But that bitch still owes me a nutt.” Shell walked out of the room, and without another word, I walked over, grabbed Ms. Samantha by a handful of her nappy ass hair and pushed the tip of the barrel into the side of her head!
“Oh god! Please! I’m sorry, I’ll do it! I’ll get him straight!” She screamed out in terror.
“Shut the fuck up with that bullshit! I don’t care nothing about that shit! I respected you like my own mother! What the fuck happened to you and where is Tika!”
“I don’t know.” She started to cry. “I just need another hit so I can think.”
Becoming even more frustrated, I tightened my grip on her hair and pushed the gun even harder into her forehead! I pushed so hard I broke the skin! “Now, I’m gonna ask you one… more…. time.” I growled just inches from her face. “What the fuck happened to you and where is Tika?”
“It’s…. It’s all my fault!” Ms. Samantha broke down crying as she fell over on her side and balled herself into a knot. “My greed did that to my baby! My greed for a nigga wit money made me blind to what was happening to my baby! Her uncontrollable sobbing made it hard to understand her, so I sat down beside her to make sure I heard her clearly. “I should have seen the signs. I… I saw the way……. The way he looked at her but I ignored it. Why would he want a little girl when he had me? I ignored the signs. It’s all my fault. I’m a whore and that’s all I’ll ever be! I hate myself for what I let happen to my baby!” Ms. Samantha poured her heart out for the next thirty minutes about how she’d failed Tika. She seemed to be releasing a deep pent up sadness. How and when she started smoking crack, I never found out.
“Where is Tika Ms. Samantha?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen her in over a year. I woke up one day and she was just gone.”
“Where were yall staying?”
“On Riddle Road.”
“So, you haven’t got a clue as to where she might be?”
“No, and I don’t ever want her to see me like this.”
I was pissed, and yet relieved. Relieved that there was at least some hope that I’d run across Tika again. If only for some closure. I was knee deep in the game and didn’t know where or how she would fit into that. As I stood up to leave, I looked down with pity at the woman I used to have so much respect for. Quickly Ms. Samantha jumped up and ran to my side. “Wait Teddy! You sure you don’t want to do something? I’ll suck….”
“Shut up! Don’t ever ask me no shit like that again!” Reaching into my bag I took out a pen. Sliding a hundred - dollar bill outta my pocket, I wrote my number down on it and handed it to her. Reaching back into the bag, I took out the remaining seventeen grams of crack and threw it at her feet. Her eyes stretched so wide I thought they would explode. “Stop selling your body. You’re a queen. Somewhere along the way you’ve forgotten that. That’s my cell number on the bill. When you ready to get off this shit, call me. I’ll help you.” I turned, walked to the door and headed out. Just before I shut the door behind me, I looked back to see her bent over with crack in her hands. Crying. Two days later Frank called me. And spent the same one hundred - dollar bill with my number on it. Ms. Samantha was nowhere to be found.