The house on Ross Road belonging to Tika’s white male “friend,” was no more than a quarter mile away from Turnkey. Aka, “The Key”. In the back of the house, hidden from view, was a two - car garage, which is where I left my faithful hoopty, when I struck out walking to Turnkey. Tika had informed that her friend would be away for at least a month, so I knew I’d be good in that aspect. Down Ross Road, up through Charlestown Apartments and across Holloway Street, and I was coming up through the bottom of the The Key. It took me fourteen minutes on foot. My trap phone was ringing off the hook but I didn’t answer it. I hadn’t brought shit with me. I needed to scope some shit out first. I was dressed plainly, in a white T-shirt, blue jeans, and number six Jordan’s. As I was coming into the bottom of The Key, walking up onto the infamous Wedgedale Avenue, my personal phone buzzed and it was Tamia. My dick got hard just thinking about how thick and soft she’d gotten and I knew I had to fuck her again soon.
“Hey stranger”. Her sexy voice came through the speaker.
“What’s good with you?”
“Nothing. How you been? You don’t know how to return nobody calls?” She teased but I knew she meant it.
“When did you call me?”
“Um like every day for the past week.”
“Oh yeah, I been busy taking care of some shit.”
“Can I help?”
“Nah, you ain’t built for the shit I got going on.” I tested the waters to see how she’d respond as two cars passed by me headed up Wedgedale Ave. Both occupants of the cars, a blue Cadillac and a gray Camry, were white. I knew they were trying to cop something.
“For you baby, it aint shit I aint built for.”
“Oh yeah? So, you down by law?”
“You didn’t know?” She came right back.
“Okay. We’ll see.
“I guess we will. When do I need to be ready?”
“I don’t know yet, but I’ll let you know. This some serious shit I’m talking about now.” I re-enforced.
“You aint talking to no little girl no more Banks. I can handle mine.”
“Okay we’ll see. Just hit me back later if you really ready to make big girl moves.”
“Aight. You just make sure you answer. Cause I’m down by law.”
“Aight later.” I said and hung up. She might just be the one I need to handle some shit. I thought as I rounded the corner and saw my homeboy Lex sitting on his porch. Lex had been getting money for years, and judging by the iced - out time piece on his wrist, and the 745I sitting on deuce fours in the driveway, I figured he might still be. I’d heard his name a few times while I was locked, in the same context with getting money, so I knew he’d put me up on what was really good. We went all the way back to summer camp and he knew I was official. Another car filled with white folks passed by me and stopped three hundred yards up the street, as I watched about ten niggas dive off a porch and run up to the car throwing their arms in the open windows. One of the niggas got smart, opened the back door and jumped in the backseat screaming for the score to pull off.
“What’s up my nigga? Long time no see. Come holla at ya boy!” Lex yelled from his seat on the porch as he held up a burning blunt for me to see. “What’s good Banks? Go ahead and sit down bru. Here smoke some of this.” Lex smiled as he passed me the blunt when I walked up on the porch.
“What is it?” I asked before I took it.
“Oh, just some Kush.”
“Ain’t shit in it, is it?”
“Man, hell nah! You know I don’t fuck around. Just weed, liquor, and pussy. The only shit I get high on,” he laughed.
“Yeah you never know these days. Niggas smoking crack, taking other motherfuckers medication, sniffing dope. Shit I usually don’t smoke shit I don’t see get rolled.”
“Come on bru, you know I’m official.”
“Yeah I know.” I sat down next to him on the porch bench, took the blunt and pulled deep.
“Yeah this shit aight. But I got that shit that will make you cry for ya mama!” I grinned as I pulled out my chronic.
“Oh shit! Why that shit red like that?” Lex asked as he leaned over, put his nose in the bag and sniffed. “Goddamn! What’s that!?”
“That’s that Cherry Trainwreck nigga.”
“Cherry Trainwreck? Where the hell you get that from?”
“California baby. It’s some of that medical shit. Guaranteed to ease the pain.”
“Word up? Damn! I aint never smoked none of that shit. Roll up nigga!”
“You aint said shit.” I laughed as I produced a Dutch from my pocket and started splitting it.
There are two ways into The Key. From the top of Wedgedale and from the bottom. As I rolled, I watched as every two or three minutes, different cars occupied by mostly Caucasians, pulled in from one way or the other, and niggas out there trappin, would either run up and sell to them through the window, or get in the car with them and ride around the block, before getting back out and walking back up to sit on somebody’s porch. Most of the niggas I knew. Some I didn’t. A young nigga I knew named Tuck got slick on they ass, walked to the bottom of the hill and caught them soon as they were turning in the hood. They call that “short stopping.” My trap phone wouldn’t stop ringing so I eventually cut that shit off and put my personal phone on vibrate. “Damn bru, all them scores come through here like that every day?”
“Shit nigga this a slow day.” Lex answered nonchalantly.
“Word up? The Key jumping like that out here? What they buying?”
“Hard mostly. Some soft. A little dope, but not much. That hard what’s really booming.”
“Oh yeah. I been hustling in the East. Fucking with McDougald some too.”
“Yeah, I used to fuck around in Fayetteville Street a little bit. But just to put you up on game bru, I know it’s constant paper in the city, but what will take you all night to get rid of in the city, you can get rid of out here in six, seven hours.”
“Nigga stop lying!” I challenged his statement as I crumbled the red colored bud into the leaf.
“My word nigga! You see all these niggas out here running to these cars. You got thirty, forty niggas out here trapping and everybody eating on the daily. Everybody got plenty scores on they phone. The block is just where you put em on your phone at. The thing about these white folks is they don’t want no dimes and twenties. They coming with fifty, eighty, a hundred every time. It aint shit for one to hit yo phone and be like yo I got three hundred. And you know what you give em?”
“What?”
“Three - grams nigga!” And they happy as a punk in boy’s town.” As we talked, white people were constantly riding back and forth, and niggas stayed busy serving em. “Nigga you know white people got access to money that niggas aint got.”
“Shit if it’s jumping so hard, then why you aint out there getting it?”
“Cause most of these niggas cop from me. I got scores on my phone too, so mostly I just chill and wait on my shit to ring. Bru if you want some of this money, shit then get on out there. You from The Key nigga! You one of the originals, even if you aint never really hung out here, that shit don’t matter. TK3 for life baby!” He held up his fist and I gave him a pound.
“I feel you. I feel you.” I said just before lighting up the Dutch of that doctor prescribed fire. Goddamn! I swear that shit tasted like the cherry tree that George Washington, “could not tell a lie” about chopping down! The effects of that shit were instant! “So, what you copping nigga?” I asked Lex as I blew the smoke out and passed him the blunt. Fear flashed through his eyes as I followed his gaze down to my waist where my shirt had risen up exposing the handle of my trey pound.
“Yo Banks chill out man.” Lex said raising his hands in surrender. “I heard about that shit that happened with yo girl Monique. That was some sour ass shit. Monique was good peoples, and you are too bru. But you aint go to come out here laying niggas down dog. If you hurting, I’ll put you on. Real talk my nigga.” Lex spoke with obvious fear in his voice as he stared from my eyes, to my waist and back again. I was high as hell already, and all I could do was laugh.
“Nigga put yo fuckin hands down!” I laughed some more. Lex looked at me like I was crazy. “If I came out here to lay you down, I wouldn’t have done no talking. I’d have just come through and laid yo ass down!” Relief showed on his face as he dropped his hands back to his lap.
“Here nigga.” I handed him the blunt.
“Shit nigga I don’t know what’s on yo mind. I know you just came home off a bid and I know you going through some wicked shit. Then out of the blue, you start asking what a nigga copping. Shit, the first thing that went through my mind, is damn I got caught slippin.” Lex relaxed as he accepted the blunt from me and took a good strong pull, before damn near coughing up a lung.
“Slow down playboy. I told you that shit is certified by the government. But nah nigga, the only reason I inquired about what type shit you was working with, is because my nigga I was locked up wit from Atlanta about to come through in the next couple days and drop some work on me. If you think you can move it out here, I might be able to throw you something like a half a joint for a good price. The nigga aint here all the time, but when he comes through, he blesses.”
“Half a joint? You talking about half a bird?”
“Nah nigga, half a jelly sandwich. What the fuck you think I’m talking about!”
“Word up? Yo man hitting like that?”
“He said he was gonna throw me two whole thangs, and if you think you can handle it, I’ll bust down one of em wit you. Since I see you go the cliental. Can you handle it?”
“So, you gonna trust me with a half a bird just like that?”
“Yeah. Cause if you fuck it up, either him or me one is gonna kill you. Not saying that you no pussy or nothing, but that’s just the way it is. Oh yeah. I saw that gun you got sitting under that towel beside you. You know if you woulda reached for it I woulda had to blow yo shit off?” I smiled and all Lex could do was smile with me. “So, can you handle it or do I need to holla at one of these other niggas out here?”
“Hell yeah, I can handle it. But what kind of numbers you talking first? This aint no garbage, is it?”
“Nigga it aint a motherfucker on the street with better shit than this. What you fuckin with now?”
“Shit, I’m already touching half a joint. It’s kinda dry right now though because it’s election time. My man hitting me over the head for eighteen bands, and the shit already rocked up.”
“Yeah, this shit already hard too. But I’ll front it to you for fifteen even.
“Fifteen stacks!”
“Yeah.”
“Shit, hell yeah! For fifteen bands, I wouldn’t give a fuck if it was chalk! This aint no joke is it dog?”
“Nigga do I look like Kevin Hart to you?”
“Shit that’s what’s up then! When you talking about coming through?”
“I don’t know for sure. Whenever my man gets up here. Probably within the next couple days. Gimme yo number so I can program it in my phone. And light that blunt back up nigga! You seen Next Friday. Be smoking or be passing.”
“Shit, I aint take but two pulls off this shit, and I’m higher than some pussy in prison.” Lex laughed at his own joke before re - lighting the Dutch.
Just as I reached for my phone, it vibrated in my hand. Glancing down at the screen I saw it was Lauryn. Damn I’d been neglecting that pussy lately. I thought as I hit the “talk” button. “What’s up baby?”
“Uh ah. Don’t what’s up baby me! You know I been worried sick about you and you won’t even answer my calls! I know you aint got nobody down there trying to take my place, because I’ll come down there and air shit out!” Her sassiness always made me laugh. “I aint playing Teddy, I’m serious. I need to see you. Where you at?”
“I’m on the grind right now Lauryn. I got shit I gotta do.”
“I know damn well you got shit you gotta do. Me! My pussy aint been sore in weeks and I need to be punished.” Damn she always knew what to say to a nigga.
“I can’t right now ma. I got shit to handle. I’ll call you when I’m free though aight.”
“Oh, hell no! I aint falling for that. Get a bitch all strung out and then neglect her. I’ll be in Durham first thing tomorrow. I’m going to church at nine thirty and then I’m getting on the highway. You gone hurt this white pussy tomorrow whether you like it or not. Bye baby. See you tomorrow.”
“Hello? Hello…?” Damn she hung up. Always gotta have her way.
“Ay…! Ay.! Teddy!” Somebody called me from the street as me and Lex both looked over at the same time, following the direction of the voice.
“Oh hell.” Lex mumbled.
“What the hell you looking at ya bug eyed motherfucker? Aint nobody called you. I’m talking to my godson.” I looked and saw it was my godmother Sonya, sitting at the stop sign behind the wheel of her red Ford Focus.
“Hey Ms. Sonya.” Lex waved weakly.
“Kiss my ass motherfucker!” One thing she was known for was cussing people out. If she didn’t like you, trust me you’d know it. She pulled no punches. “Teddy hey baby. What you doing out here?”
“Nothing mama just hanging out.” She loved for me to call her mama.
“Well you make sure you stop up the street and see me before you leave. You aint driving?”
“Nah, I’m walking.”
“You need to use my car?”
“Nah that’s okay mama I’m fine.”
“Okay then, don’t forget to stop by before you leave.” Ms. Sonya turned off of Walton Street headed up Wedgedale to her house. Ms. Sonya, or mama as she liked me to call her, was my mother’s best friend when I was younger. We stayed six or seven houses down from each other on Wedgedale and they both worked at Duke Hospital. Ms. Sonya had a son about my age, who I used to hang out with named Jay. Jay got killed in a car accident when he was sixteen, and ever since then, she’d always say I was the only son she had left. She did have a daughter though, whom was three years older than me. Her name was Shantell. She was common law married to my nigga Ace, until he caught 30 years fed under the RICO act. Now she was with another drug dealer. Shantell was thick as a motherfucker and said to be a “superfreak,” although I never found out because she was always like a sister in my eyes. Ms. Sonya and my mom dukes didn’t hang out much these days, because of a nasty lil habit that Ms. Sonya had picked up after Jay died. “Smoking crack.” Even though she smoked, she wasn’t what you would call a “crackhead.” I guess you could say she was a casual smoker. What I mean by that, is that she still worked, kept a clean house, stayed clean herself, and didn’t let the drug consume her entire life. Some people
are like that. They can smoke occasionally and still function. Not a lot, but some. Even though I’d come through sometimes and throw her something, I’d never actually seen her smoke. She loved to cook, and in fact cooked almost daily. Whenever I’d stop through and throw her something, she’d say, “Thank you son. You hungry? You want me to fix you a plate?” If I was hungry I’d say “No mama you know I can fix it.” She’d say “Okay,” go in her room and shut the door. When she came back out, she’d be just like she was when she went in. Laughing and talking shit. When I was there, her home was my home. She wouldn’t have it any other way. So for the record, everybody that smokes hard, is not walking around stinking looking in trashcans and shit. That’s television shit, not real life. The same goes for heroin addicts. Even though, you are more likely to see a crack smoker dirty, then a dopefiend. Most dope addicts stay clean. unless they’ve just totally let themselves go. The reason being is that with crack, they can never get enough of the shit. They just keep going and going and going… You get my meaning. You know how you might be somewhere drinking and blazing some tree, and you get to the point where you’re so fucked up, that you feel like if you take even one more swig, or one more pull, you might just fall over and die! I mean you just that fucked up that you don’t want no more! A crackhead will never say that. They can smoke a rock the size of Texas, and fifteen minutes later they’ll be looking for a rock the size of Mexico. They’re moving around a mile a minute with their heart rate racing, they can’t eat on the shit so they get as thin as a skeleton. Crack consumes their entire life. Not all, but the majority. They can never get enough money, and that’s why niggas start stealing, and women start selling pussy and sucking dicks. Always searching, for that rock the size of Mexico. They can never get enough. It’s the way the drug was designed. For poor people to get poorer. In poor communities. Namely “Blacks.” The thing is, the government didn’t factor in the possibility of it getting out of control like it did. When suddenly, white kids in suburban America started getting hooked! Now Daddy has to go run Becky down in the hood, and drag her outta the house where she was at, sucking on them big black dicks for a hit! So all of a sudden, the government was like, “Oh shit!” And henceforth, came the “War on Drugs,” and the crack cocaine laws that gave a person 100 times the amount on a sentence for crack, as they would get for powdered cocaine, typically considered a white man’s drug. In fact, only just recently after numerous protests, rallies, and bills introduced into Congress, did the federal government bring down the crack cocaine sentencing to coincide with the powdered cocaine laws. Now thousands of black men are being released from prisons, because of retroactivity of the law and because of the humungous amount of time they received for selling crack as opposed to powder. Go figure. But anyway, a heroin addict although an addict and a sufferer just the same, once “they” get high, all they wanna do is get somewhere and sit down so they can nod in peace. It’s a downer, as opposed to crack which is an upper. There’s a lot of “boosters” in the heroin world, so most addicts have daily access to nice clothes, shoes, and things of that nature. The only time you’ll really catch them at their worst, is if they can’t get the dope as soon as they wake up to get the sickness off of them. Heroin is a physical addiction, while cocaine is mostly mental. The cocaine or crack, actually they can do without. Whereas with heroin, they have to have it as soon as they get up in the morning, or they go through a physical sickness that they describe as “the worst pain imaginable!” Runny nose, shakes, bone aching, chills; everything in their body hurts, all the way down to their pinky toes! My homeboy Maine who was locked up with me during my bid, used to snort dope when he was out. He told me that he can remember a time when he woke up sick about six o’ clock one morning. He said he made his way over to the dope house in about 15 minutes. He was shivering, aching, and hurting so bad tears ran down his face. He knocked on the door and the man opened and said, “Not yet, it’ll be about thirty minutes.” He said he shit on himself right then, and fell off the porch in a knot! That’s why most dope houses make their money between 6 A.M. and 10 A.M. By 11 A.M. you can shut down shop for the day. Unless you’re waiting for the boosters, to see what they bring through. And in that case, you can probably shut down by 12 A.M. Dope addicts praise heroin, and say it’s the best thing god ever created. The best feeling in the world! But as I started off saying, don’t think that everyone who smoke crack or does heroin is walking around looking like Pookie from New Jack City, or Eddie Kane from The Five Heartbeats. 50% of the time you’ll never know. Depending on how strong or weak their mind is.
“Damn nigga, what the fuck you do to my godmother nigga?” I asked Lex.
“Man, I don’t know? Well, I’m lying. Yeah, I do know. She came home from work early one day about eight nine years ago, and caught me with Shantell balled up in the Chinese buck dropping dick off in her, and ever since then she can’t stand me. She won’t let it go.”
“You shouldn’t have been stealing her daughter’s innocence nigga.”
“Innocence! Nigga please! She taught me how to fuck!” I laughed like a motherfucker as through my periphial I saw somebody trying to get our attention. I looked and saw that it was two white chicks in a white Acura Legend sitting at the stop sign. “Yeah what’s up?” Lex yelled.
“Anybody got any dope out here? I’m looking for Cee Cee.” The chic in the driver seat with black spiky hair yelled over to us. By the fatness of her face I could tell she was a chubby chic.
“Nah baby girl. Nothing but hard right now. Cee Cee’s in jail.”
“Fuck!” Chubby chic hit the steering wheel obviously upset, as her peoples in the passenger seat just shook her head.
“You want to cop some hard? I got a lil soft too.” Lex asked hopefully.
“Nah baby. I gotta have boy. You know how it is,” black haired chubby chic started to pull off.
“Yo….!” I yelled as she hit the brakes like a deer had run in front of her car.
“Huh you called me?” She asked with hope.
“Yeah, what you trying to get?”
“Four bundles. You got something?”“Yeah. Meet me at the Lighthouse in twenty minutes.”
“For real? We been looking all over and can’t find nothing. You aint no cop or nothing, is you? This aint no set up, is it?”
“You just ain’t been looking in the right place ma. Shit I’m the one who should be asking you is “you” a cop!” I shot right back at her.
“Hell baby, if I’m a cop then I must be Denzel in Training Day,” she said as she reached down and held up a bag of needles.
“Aight I believe you. Twenty minutes. The Lighthouse.” Every hood has a hood store. “The Keys” hood store was called The Lighthouse, ran by Africans.
“Thank you baby,” Chubby chic yelled out as she pulled off headed out the bottom of The Key.
“You got some boy bru?” Lex asked me looking confused.
“Yeah I got a lil bit. These Haitians I be fucking wit got that shit. They in town right now. You meet the best plugs in the penitentiary my nigga.”
“Yo I heard that. But yo, if your peoples straight like that on that boy, right now you can get rich nigga. Quick! You know it’s damn near dry right now? You know my brother Cuddy don’t ya?”
“Nigga you know I know Cuddy. That’s my nigga.”
“Yeah. He lives in Raleigh wit his baby mama now, and that’s all he fucks with is that boy. Him and his homeboys. And, they can’t find shit. Hell, Cee Cee was cleaning up out here til his dumb ass caught that body over that whore he called his girl. Now she out here sucking dicks for outfits to go to the club. I aint mad at her though, cause she damn sure can suck a dick. Whew!” I hope this nigga didn’t thing I was impressed. “But check bru, I know Cuddy wanna cop something. Yo peoples got weight too?”
“I don’t know but I can check. See what he wants first.”
“Aight hold up.” Lex hit a button on his phone and speed dialed his brother. “Yo. What’s up bru? Ha? Nah I aint seen her, but guess what nigga? I found some dope for yall. Ha? Yeah, I’m dead serious. Some Haitian niggas Banks know. Yeah Banks nigga. Cuddy said what’s up bru. Yeah. What you trying to do? Aight hold up. He said is it good, and what’s the numbers on an egg?” Lex relayed the messages.
“Tell him it’s that “Black Magic” and hold on let me call and see.” I dialed Bubba’s number as I got up and walked to the edge of the street. He picked up on the first ring.
“Yo what’s good dog? Where you at?”
“Ay yo how much you be paying for an ounce?” I asked Bubba.
“Shit, anywhere from twenty - eight to thirty - five hundred.”
“Aight I’ll hit you back in a few minutes.” I told him and hung up.
“Yeah they got it. They want four - thousand a zone.”
“Bru, Cuddy wanna know is it the same “Black Magic” that was on the news for killing them people?”
“Yeah. Same shit.”
“He said yeah. O.k. gotcha. He said he can be here in an hour, and if it’s that same heat, he wants two zones.”
“Tell him aight but come correct, cause these niggas don’t play no games and I don’t either.”
“Come on Banks. You know Cuddy aint bout that shit. He damn sure wouldn’t be bringing it to where I lay my head.”
“Cool. Ok yeah. Tell him come by himself. These motherfuckers carry some big heat and they get real itchy when they see a lot of faces.”
“Bru he said come by yourself.” Lex spoke back into the phone. “He said he gotcha Banks.”
“Ten four. Now drop me off in Rochelle.”