As soon as we rounded the corner onto Canal Street, right off the top I knew which spot was his trap. Dopefiends were standing around everywhere like zombies in a horror flick. Once again let me remind yall that when I say “dope,” I’m speaking about “Heroin.” That “H,” “Horse,” “Dog food,” that “boy.” In the Bull City, we never call cocaine or crack, dope. The first time I’d ever heard anyone refer to crack as dope, I was in prison. You know in the penitentiary you’ve got niggas from every corner of the state. Durham also wears the nickname Lil New York, by the many New York cats that have come through to get money, and proclaimed that the way things moved so fast in Durham, it was just like being back home in New Yitty. Anyway, when I first got locked, I’d hear cats saying “Oh yeah, I’m in for selling dope,” or “he smoking dope.” I was like “Yo, who the fuck smoking heroin?” (Usually pronounced “hare-on”) They’d be like nah, I’m talking about “crack.” Then I’m like “Oh. I thought you said dope.” He’s like “Yeah. I did” Looking at me like I’m loony as hell. But then I started hearing rappers say, I’m a “Dopeboy,” and “pushing that dope,” and shit like that. And they were referring to cocaine or crack. The shit was new to me, but over time I adjusted to the phrase. As they say, “When in Rome, you have to do as the Romans do”. But yet and still, if you come to Durham looking for some coke or crack, don’t say you looking for dope. Because if you do you’re gonna get some heroin brought to you. If you’re looking for coke, then say that. Nobody in the Bull City calls coke, dope. And aint shit slow. Too many cats from up top and out of state, have come through, and been left stinking somewhere for having that misconception of the south. Durham, N.C. to be more exact. If you come straight up, and play fair, you might just make it back to wherever you came from. But if you come down with that “I’m slicker than ya’ll” bullshit, thinking shit sweet, then your life span probably ain’t that long. We are the drug, money, and murder capital of North Carolina. Like I said, ask around. Anyway, as I was saying, it was all too easy to spot Shell’s trap because of all the fiends hanging around outside. Some nodding, some scratching, some wanting to nod and scratch. The whole scene looked retarded. The nigga Cream was standing at the edge of the street talking to the broads who looked like they should have been in school somewhere. Cream was a six foot four, ashy black nigga with cornrows. He was a known stick up kid and had been shot on at least five different occasions. The nigga was lucky to be alive. He’d also had his face cut up while doing a three-year bid. Supposedly for snitching on a mule to get out of a dirty piss test write-up. For those of you who may not know, a “mule” is a correctional officer who brings in coke, weeds, pills, cell phones, etc. for a price. It’s the American way. So, to put it frankly, Cream was not a pretty sight to look at. His ugly face looked like a checkerboard. Parked in front of the house was an old ass yellow station wagon with the hatchback up. The back of the wagon was full of clothes with the tags still on em, along with a bunch of other miscellaneous shit. A short fat black woman with an orange scarf tied to her head, was standing at the back of the wagon trying to wheel and deal. As I’ve told you before, a lot of dopefiends make their daily get high money, by stealing all types of merchandise and selling it cheap in the streets. In street terminology, it’s called “boosting.” Clothes, shoes, hats, pills, tampons, razors, diapers, whatever. Anything that people use in daily life, they’ll steal. Sometimes they’ll take orders that morning and be back with your shit by noon! They’re masters at their craft. They have to be. They gotta have it. There’s usually always a fence that they can take their shit to and sell at a rock bottom wholesale price. They get less money but they get it all off quicker. The quicker they can sell their shit, the quicker they can get high. They’ll always make sure they boost enough shit to still come out with enough bread to cop em a bundle, or two, or three, depending on how big of a habit they’re dealing with. A bundle, is ten bags sold at a discount for bulk purchase. Walking over to where Shell stood, I reached out and tapped him on the shoulder. “Yo kid, is this yo trap? What the fuck is this? Why all these motherfuckers standing around here? Nigga tell these motherfuckers to cop and blow, this shit look like a case waiting to happen.”
“Huh? Oh yeah, yeah. Aye yo! If yall motherfuckers already copped, then go ahead and step!” Shell yelled out with not quite enough bass in his voice for me to believe he really meant it. I got the feeling that he liked seeing all the fiends standing around high, knowing they’d spent money that would eventually end up in his pockets.
“And what the fuck is that clown doing?” I asked nodding at Cream.
“Yo Cream! How the fuck you making money if you out her fucking wit these birds?”
“Birds? Nigga who you calling a bird!” One of the girls yelled, throwing her hand on her hip.
“I’m calling you a bird, bird. Now go ahead and fly yo ass off.”
“Fuck you, nigga!”
“Maybe later Tweety. I gotta get this paper right now. Cream! Come the fuck on here!” Shell yelled at his worker. Cream said something to the young chics, causing them to roll their eyes at Shell before walking away cursing.
“Ay cutie pie! Cutie pie! Come here, I got some nice stuff for you.” The fat lady at the yellow station wagon yelled to me from the back of her vehicle. Shell walked into the crib, and with me being curious to see just what Ms. Fat lady had in her trunk, I walked down to the street where she stood waiting.
“What’s up big mama?”
“OOOwee! You is a cutie pie. You don’t need no date for tonight, do you?” She smiled a snaggle toothed grin. I knew she was trying to loosen me up to spend some money, but I still played along.
“Nah big mama. It’s tempting but I’m straight. You probably too much for me to handle anyway.”
“Okay cutie pie, but look, I got some Levi jeans, some Izod shirts, some fitted hats and some cigars.”
I knew I didn’t need no more damn clothes. I’d already spent too much money that day, but a true hustler always respects the next man, “or” woman’s hustle. At least she wasn’t out here begging. I figured hell, with all the money that I’d already spent, a few more dollars wouldn’t kill me. “Let me see that yellow Izod.” The tag read $52.00. “How much you want for this?”
“For you, cutie pie. Give me $15.00 You aint got no dope, do you?”
“Nah big mama I’m chillin.”
“Oh. Okay. They got some in there. It aint the best, but it’ll get you off.”
“What kinda cigars you got?”
“Oh, I got some cases baby. I got Phillies, Silver Game, Swisher Sweets, Dutch Master Coronas, and Backwoods.”
“Damn big mama. Where you get all them cases?”
“Come on cutie pie. You know a lady never tells her secrets.” She smiled another snaggle toothed grin.
“How many boxes in a case?”
“Twenty - five.”
“How much you want for one?”
“Give me fifteen.” She looked like she was holding her breath, scared that I was gonna say hell no. I knew it had to be hard on a woman out here on her own. She was probably used to cats beating her outta her shit all the time.
“I tell you what. Throw in one of them Yankee fitted and I’ll give you fifty for the shirt, hat, and cigars.”
“Oh, thank you cutie pie! You’s a sweet angel!” She jumped, grabbing the things I’d asked for with the quickness, probably afraid that I’d change my mind.
“Hold on before you take that stuff out big mama.” I stopped her and handed her two twenties and a ten. I parked my car around the corner in Juniper Square, I need you to give me a ride back around there.”
“Oh, Okay cutie pie. Just let mama run in here and get her two bundles. That fifty put me right where I needed to be, bless yo heart. I aint had no shot since this morning, and mama bout to be sick.”
“It’s all good big mama, handle ya business.” I laughed as she struggled her big ass up the hill to get to the front door of the trapspot. I rolled a blunt and smoked over half of it while I waited, before Shell and big mama re-emerged from the dopehouse.
“Okay cutie pie yall ready?” Big mama asked with her speech now slurred. It was easy for me to tell that she’d finally gotten what she wanted so badly. Some dope in her veins. I won’t mad at her though, fuck it. Live and let live.
“Man, my fuckin mama just called me and want me to bring her a carton of Newports and a six pack of Master Cylinder Bulls. Her and her drunk ass friend Peanut over there playing cards. Bru, can you run me by the store, then shoot me by her crib. My word this the last stop.”
I really didn’t have shit to do but he didn’t know that. “Nigga you need to come up out them pockets with some gwap since you a Kingpin now! This a “Black Mans Wish” nigga! This shit drink gas!”
“Ha, ha, ha I got you nigga. Just pull up to the pump when we get there.”
“Yeah, and maybe your sister will be over there and I can knock her off right quick.” I laughed my ass off.
“Nigga please. You know Tonya hate yo fuckin guts.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m just fuckin wit ya.” I grinned thinking to myself. Yeah, hate she can’t get no more of this dick.