Brick (Double Dippin') (7 page)

The Belgrade family is large and crazy. Theodore has six brothers, about five rowdy uncles, and several young and dumb, trigger-happy, nut-ass lil’ cousins. Everybody in the Belgrade crew stays strapped, and since I ain’t carrying any protection, the last thing I need is to get into a tussle with any of them wild niggas.

Before I go visit my mother, I need to get me something for my head. I see a small crowd of young bulls hanging outside the Chinese store. I know what it is, but I ward them off, shaking my head as they rush me, each one using his own personalized sales pitch.

“You need something?” asks a tall bull wearing tight clothes. These young niggas today are trippin’ with their skin-tight, punk-ass shirts and pants.

“You need something? I gotchu, man,” a heavyset bull says, and then I realize it’s not a bull. It’s a female. A butch. Times are truly changing. These lesbian homos are outta pocket…taking their dyke shit way too far.

“I got that green,” says a dude with a little bit of slouch in his jeans.

“Give me a minute,” I say to the bull that looks more normal compared to the other two nut-ass niggas. I can work with a nigga that dresses like he got some sense.

I dip into the Chinese store to get me a pack of rolling paper. Most niggas my age smoke blunts, but you don’t get the luxury of smoking blunts when you in the state pen, and so I lost my taste for cigar leaves. A nigga that’s behind bars has to get real creative if he wants to smoke a bag of weed.

Mufuckas that’s locked up gotta use the outer wrapping of toilet paper to roll up. Every now and then, I could get my hands on some fool’s monthly court subpoena. Subpoena paper is a hot commodity in the joint. Them shits have a texture that’s better than Top rolling paper.

“Lemme get a pack of Zig-Zag. And a lighter!” I yell through the bulletproof partition.

“Top paper only,” the ol’ Chinese broad behind the counter says.

I frown and then nod my head. Hell if I’m gon’ be roaming all over the ’hood looking for a certain kind of paper.

The bitch behind the counter is taking a long time to get my shit. She’s getting on my nerves, the way she’s inching along lifting up this and that. She’s making me wanna hurt her.

Keeping my eyes on the front door, I keep twisting around and looking over my shoulder, making sure ain’t nobody creeping up on me. “What’s taking so long, Miss Kim?” I ask in an irritated voice.
They need to put Grandma out to pasture,
I think to myself.

“Not Miss Kim. Name Miss Chong,” the Chinese woman barks.

“Whatever, bitch,” I mutter.

While Miss Ching-Chang is meandering behind the counter, I notice this honey-brown skin chick come through the door. Shawty is rocking a tight pair of black shorts and a clingy top with the word “pink” inside a black heart. I give her a long, appreciative
look, but she deliberately ignores me and stares up at the sign that lists the food prices.

I scope out shawty’s ass, and I can’t help from smiling. The words, “Love Pink” are emblazoned across the back of her shorts. There’s something real sexy about those pink letters sitting on her ass. I recognize that slogan from a Victoria’s Secret catalog that was floating around the joint.

When a female comes outside half-naked, she must be looking for something. I run my hand across the lump inside my pants. Shawty got me bricked-up.

I can tell we’re vibing together. I want to brush up against her cute lil’ booty…let her feel the effect she’s having on me. But I don’t want to risk losing my cool and start grinding on that ass, so I get a grip on myself.

I can wait. I’ma give her every inch of this dark meat as soon as I can get her somewhere nice and secluded. I ain’t got any money for a hotel room or nothing, so I hope she has a spot where we can chill. If not, I’ll figure out something.

I need to let her know that whatever her hot ass wants to do, I’m with it. I don’t have any inhibitions. Shawty lucked up. She done bumped into the freakiest cat she’ll ever meet.

After leering at her for a few moments, I sidle up to her, and in a low, suggestive voice, I say, “I like that plump ass.”

She recoils like she’s looking in the face of Freddy Krueger or somebody. “Ew! Get outta my face, pervert!”

At first I’m confused, and I look around, flabbergasted. She couldn’t be talking to me; I just gave her a compliment. But she’s sneering, so I get insulted. A few moments ago, this bitch was throwing her pussy all up in my face, and now she tryna play me.
Who does this lil’ dick teasing, cum slut think she is?
I’m so mad, I’m about to go ham on this ho.

“Two dolla; two dolla!” the Chinese bitch starts shouting. Her mug is twisted up in irritation. It takes me a few seconds to realize she’s yelling at me.

“Hold up, Miss Chin Chang…Yin Yang or whatever your name is.” I reach inside my pocket and get the money. As I slide the money through the slot, I use my peripheral vision to keep an eye on that smart-mouth dick tease.

Shawty got her lips bunched up. She’s looking furious, with her arms crossed against her chest. She’s glaring at the food selections.

I stick my purchases inside my pocket, and wonder how long this bitch is gon’ take to order her food. She needs to hurry up; I got something for her. I’ma show her who’s in charge. I grab my dick and give it a quick squeeze before I step outside and pay dude for a bag of weed.

The sun is setting; it’ll be dark pretty soon. Instead of going to my mother’s house, I mosey on over to the next corner and watch a group of young bulls shooting craps. I’m not really paying these dice-slinging mofos any attention. I’m camouflaged right now…looking like any other nigga, blending into the backdrop of everyday urban life.

When shawty comes out with her bag of food, I’m gon’ peep which way she goes. With my dark skin and dark clothes, I’ll merge into the shadows as I stalk my prey. I’ma yank that ass into a nearby alley. Or behind a truck…whatever’s convenient.

Some slick-looking young bull walks up and acts like he’s watching the crap game. He has a sly grin and a gleam in his eyes. His hand is suspiciously in his pocket, making me think he’s a stick-up bull. I recognize a thieving nigga when I see one, and so I take a few steps backward, deciding it’s time to bounce. I can wait for shawty on a different corner.

But the grinning nigga’s eyes dance in my direction and then grow wide. “Yo, is your name Kaymar?”

Damn, I’m busted.
The last thing I need is to be recognized around here. I briefly consider denying being Kaymar; my name is mud in this neighborhood. I want to run but, for some reason, I’m stuck. Frozen with fear. I should’ve never allowed that lil’ ho in the Chinese store to delay me. I shoulda went straight to my mother’s house like I planned.

“I don’t know you, man,” I state. My feet thaw out and I start easing in the opposite direction.

“You’re the dude that got sent upstate with Theodore. Your name’s Kaymar, right?” the young bull asks again.

Now everybody’s gawking at me. Their expressions start to harden at the mere mention of my name. Even the nigga that’s holding the dice stops playing and decides to gaze at me with the corner of his lip turned up in disdain.

“That’s the snitch—the bull that turned state evidence on Theodore?” a short, stocky dude inquires, and then steps toward me threateningly.

Keeping him away from me, I stretch out both arms and hold my palms out in front of my chest. “Yo, I’m not looking for any trouble, young buck.” It was hopeless to try to reason with a pack of blood-thirsty fools, but it was a worth a try.

“Looks like trouble found you,” the stocky bull said.

Their voices take on the sound of an angry mob as they advance and then surround me.

I don’t stand a chance against this hoard of wild young bucks. All I can do is drop to the ground and curl into a ball.

These fools are acting like my head is a soccer ball. Kicking and stomping my dome like they tryna make a score.

I have to protect my dome, so I manage to pull my arms up and shield my head. Every other part of my body is fair game. After a while, it seems like my body simply goes numb.

The distant sound of a siren saves my ass.
The cops!
Yes!
Unwilling
to interact with the law, the hooligans quickly disperse.

Taking ragged breaths, I drag myself to my feet, and pat myself down, checking for broken bones. None of my bones are jutting out, so I figure I’m straight. I dust my pants off, but there’s not much I can do for my shirt. It’s ripped and filthy.

As I limp down the street, making my way to the bus stop, I catch a glimpse of shawty coming out of the Chinese store. She takes one look at me and bursts out laughing.

I want to punch that ho in the face. But I can’t…not in my current condition. Angry and humiliated, I hobble away. The sound of her laughter echoes in my ears.

After the ass-whooping I took, I have to exact some type of revenge on somebody.

Ain’t nobody to take my anger out on except that bitch at home. I shake my head. Evette has no clue that she’s gon’ have to pay for this. She’s gon’ feel my wrath tonight.

A
fter continually choking, kicking, punching and knocking Cash Money around, Brick figured he’d gotten all the information he was going to get for the moment. But Brick had no intention of letting his victim go free.

“Give me your cell phone.”

“What for? Yo, I need my phone, man.” Cash Money’s voice cracked pleadingly.

Brick gripped him by the collar. “Gimme that fucking phone.”

“Aye, aye.” He grudgingly relinquished his phone. Frowning, Brick scanned the contact list, but saw no familiar names. Searching for a link to Smash Hitz or any of his people, he was particularly interested in out-of-town area codes, but found only local numbers. Figuring that it might come in handy later, he tucked the phone inside his pocket.

Brick took a moment to compose himself. He looped his belt around his waist, and smoothed out his shirt. “Let’s roll. It’s time to pay your chick a visit.”

“She don’t know nothing,” Cash Money insisted.

“Let me be the judge of that. Let’s go!” Brick didn’t possess any weapon other than the belt he wore, and yet all he needed to persuade Cash Money to trudge to room 1215 was a harsh tone and a deadly look on his face.

Cash Money’s expression was grave; he walked stiffly, as if being forced at gunpoint.

Cash Money rapped softly on the door. “It’s me, Anya. Open up.” He looked at Brick sheepishly. “I don’t have my key on me. I left it in the room.”

Brick could hear the TV. The volume was turned up high. Shawty couldn’t hear Cash Money’s light tapping with the TV blasting. He cut an evil eye at Cash Money, who was being entirely too patient as he waited for the girl to open the door. “Whatchu waiting for? Knock again!”

Cash Money knocked again—softly, listlessly, like he really didn’t want his knocks to be heard.

Brick was ninety percent sure the cagey little con man hadn’t personally harmed Misty, but he was convinced that Cash Money had had a hand in setting her up for disaster. And he was going to pay with his life—after Brick beat some more information out of him.

He could see himself snapping Cash Money’s boney fingers, one by one. After that, he’d stomp on the man’s ankles. Brick could break those bones easily with the heavy work boots he was wearing.

He’d crack dude’s kneecaps next. He could do some real damage if he whacked those knobby knees with a metal pipe—a piece of steel. He looked around the empty hallway, hoping to set his eyes on something he could use as a weapon. Nothing!

Brick frowned as he envisioned the tool kit in the trunk of his car.
If I had my tool kit on me, I’d nail his palms to each side of the doorframe with my nail gun. Then I’d use my hammer on those kneecaps. Plunge a screwdriver into his eyeballs. Crack a coupla ribs with a wrench. Pull out all dude’s teeth, using a pair of pliers. I’d torture the shit out of this lil’ grimy-ass Negro!

“Don’t be playing games; this better be the right room,” Brick groused.

“It is. Shawty’s probably in the bathroom or something.”

“You’re fuckin’ around, man.” Aggravated, Brick jabbed him in the ribcage with his elbow. Cash Money folded, letting out a groan.

“Tell your girl to open this door up before she finds you bodied right out here in the hallway,” Brick snarled.

Motivated by the threat of death, Cash Money banged on the door. “Anya!” He pounded again. “Open the door, Anya!”

Brick was fuming at the mere suspicion that the female on the other side of the door was involved in hurting Misty. He rubbed his hands together, gearing up for mayhem and murder.

Finally, the door cracked open. The security chain was in place. Through the small opening, a pair of large, curious eyes scrutinized Brick. “Who’s that?” a female voice inquired.

“Oh, this is my man, Marvin.” Cash Money attempted to sound cheerful.

Brick shifted restlessly.
Unlock the door. Don’t make me have to splinter this mufucka with one of these steel toe boots.