Hittin' the Bricks: An Urban Erotic Tale (7 page)

Determined to do his little bid and get back to his low- level crimes to support his lifestyle and his music, Fiyah wrote songs
night and day. Eva had brought his songbook to him on her first visit and having it in his hands was almost like having his freedom.

Since he was a nonviolent offender he was able to sign up on a work detail. His job was to sweep and mop the tiers along with nine other inmates, and that was cool with Fiyah because it kept him moving.

The whole time he was pushing his broom he was also working on his grind. He chanted dope lyrics and spit the kind of shit that illustrated what was really real on the streets. A couple of cats would check out his flow game as he swept or mopped past their cells, and pretty soon inmates were lining up to check out his rhymes every time he walked by.

Fiyah loved the attention. He appreciated it when people dug the words that he strung together so artfully that they felt big enough to move mountains. There was always a slick reg-gaeton beat playing in his head. And although most times he laid his rap down in English, some of his songs were a fusion of English and Spanish verses that fucked everybody's head up, including Fiyahs.

It was in this manner that he spent his time and counted down the days until he would get off The Rock. Eva visited him every Saturday, and she brought him more notebooks when his old ones were full. With the money she earned from her little job she also kept his commissary tight, and Fiyah knew it was partly out of love and partly out of guilt.

“This shit is all my fault,” she said over and over again. Each time she went off in that direction Fiyah would wave her off. The truth was, coming to jail had given him a lot of time to get serious about his music grind. It had taken his perspective from being just a simple street rapper to wanting to get a contract and cut his own CD, and it had given him the space he needed
to tap into that creative pit in his belly and bring forth his best quality rhymes.

“It's cool, Evita” was the most he would say. He didn't wanna get into that mode with her, even though she was right. This was Eva's problem that she had made his, but some shit was just better left undiscussed, and that's how he felt about this bid. “Just take good care of Mami and Rosita, yo. I'ma be straight on this end.”

And everything woulda continued to be straight too, except that some crazy dudes from his tier had cornered Fiyah going into the showers one morning and decided it was his turn to go bottom up.

“Hold him!” one of them had shouted as Fiyah fought back four to one. Despite the numbers he was holding his own. He cracked heads and busted lips. He bit and he scratched and he elbowed muhfuckahs in the eye. He was willing to do anything to anybody because he wasn't about to get his manhood took.

One of them caught him hard from behind though, and he faded left. Just for a second. But that was all it took. Them cats flipped him. He was laying facedown on the wet cement before he realized he'd left his feet.

“Yeah,” somebody laughed over his shoulder. Fiyah craned his neck back and saw a buff dude holding a big erection. “Papi ‘bout to get some of that man pussy!”

The little Puerto Rican cat from Brooklyn was down with them. He looked at Fiyah and shrugged. “I told you to get some fuckin protection, homey.”

Fiyah was fighting again. This time from the floor. But he was outweighed and outmanned, and to his horror they spread his legs wide and he felt a hard dick poking dead in his asshole. Fiyah screamed and bucked, trying to get free, and just when he realized it was useless and that he was about to get his cherry
busted, a voice boomed out and the battle for his asshole came to a halt.

“Yo, break that dumb shit up.”

Fiyah had been straining backward, his spine almost in a C. His legs were suddenly released and he slumped down to the floor.

“Fuckin’ pervs …”

Fiyah turned his head. When he saw who it was that had rescued him his heart sank even further.

It was King Brody That big niggah who strong- armed the weak and put fear in the hearts of the brave.

“Fall back, muhfuckahs!” Brody yelled, waving his massive, muscle- roped arm. “And get the fuck outta here!” Cats started scurrying out the shower like mad.

Him and Brody were alone. Fiyah rolled over and stood up. He was filled with fear and ready to fight again. Harder this time. If Brody wanted to fuck him it was gonna have to be on his feet.

“Here ya go.” Brody tossed him a towel and walked away. Fiyah was stunned. He had a hard time believing he wasn't on the floor at that very minute. Getting deep- dicked straight up in his chocolate tube.

“Oh yeah,” Brody said over his shoulder. He paused in the doorway and nodded. “I been digging your flow. You spit extra nice. I got a little music thing going on the outside. Shows, studio time. Contracts. All that shit. Might be able to put you on. I'll holla.”

Fiyah stood there dumbfounded as the big mofo bounced out the door. He'd heard about the homo gangstas in jail, but he was a fighter. This shit wasn't supposed to happen to him. He felt lucky, but he was still scared. They didn't call that big niggah Brody for no reason. Cats like him didn't give up nothing
for free. Especially their protection. Nah, they always wanted something. And it was always something big.

Fiyah reached back and touched his tight asshole with relief. He hadn't gotten deep- fucked today but who knew? Tomorrow might bring something different.

S
hit changed quick on the tiers.

Inmates looked at him different. Cats who used to grill him now cut a path around him or gave him a nod of respect.

“Yo, ese,” the little Puerto Rican dude from Brooklyn told him. “We got no hard feelings, right? This is jail, meng. We was just having a little fun.”

Fiyah dug what was up. Word had gotten around that he'd been tried. And word had also gotten around that he was off-limits too. Fiyah felt fucked in all directions. Without the protection of Brody and his crew, his asshole was open for anybody's interpretation. But living under Brody meant paying a mean piper, and Fiyah didn't know what the fuck it was he had that Brody mighta wanted.

The next Saturday afternoon he found out.

“Yo, man,” Brody said, approaching him with a smile. Fiyah was cautious as they dapped and nodded their greetings. Visitation had just ended and they were heading toward the security area to be checked for contraband.

“So that's your chick, huh? That girl on your visit?”

Fiyah shook his head. “Nah, she's my cousin.”

Brody whistled and grinned. “Yo, she's black and you're Puerto Rican? Is that like a
cousin- cousin,
where y'all got the same grandmother and shit, or one of them cousins you pick up as family ‘cause when y'all was little they used to eat at your house?”

“Eva's my cousin. My real cousin. She's half black and I'm Dominican.”

Brody shook his head with a look of pure delight. “That bitch is bad! She was killin’ them shorts. I see her up here all the time. A ho like that ain't got no man?”

Fiyah bristled. He didn't like the look in Brody's eyes and he wasn't feeling the ninety questions about Eva neither.

“I don't ask her what she do, man. I just take care of her when I can.”

Brody stopped walking.

“Like I take care of you, right?”

Brody's stare was colder than a blizzard. Fiyah felt his eyes held in a grip. He saw craziness lurking behind Brody's gaze and knew his life might depend on the way he answered.

“Yeah,” Fiyah said carefully. “Like you take care of me.”

Brody's eyes shot cold daggers for a second more, then he bust out laughing.

“Man, you all right, little shit. You cool with me.” He threw his arm over Fiyah's shoulder as they headed back to the tier. “You know what, Fuego? You all right, my nig. I like you. Yeah. I like you. There ain't many idiots in here who got real talent, but you do.”

Brody's arm was tight around his shoulder and every muscle in Fiyah's body was coiled and protesting. “I tell you what. You got, what? A few more months of easy time left in here? Well not only am I gonna make sure that time stays easy for you. I'ma give you the hook- up when you hit the bricks.

“I got a big operation going on out there on the streets. I'll put you on the trap when you get out. You don't even have to pull look- out first. You'll get straight on the trap action. How you like that?”

“I ain't a corner boy Brody. I'm a rapper.”

Brody stopped walking. The bulging weight of his arm on Fiyah's shoulder made Fiyah stop too.

“You know,” he said, staring hard into Fiyah's face. “Usually when I offer somebody something they have like, a different reaction. I mean, I'm a pretty generous cat so I'm always giving. But usually when I'm giving a niggah something he accepts it and says some stupid shit like, ‘Thanks man, that's whassup.’ You know? Usually.”

Brody started walking again, leaning on Fiyah and forcing him along.

“I tell you what!” he said moments later, his smiling face once again bright. “Since you got so much talent and shit, I'll make an exception this time. Don't tell nobody, though,” he said, leaning close to Fiyah's ear. “I wouldn't want nobody to think Big Brody was getting soft or nothing, ya feel me? Besides, I got music connections too. You know about that club called Bricks, right?”

Fiyah nodded. Every fuckin’ body knew about Bricks. But not every fuckin’ body could get up in there. He'd heard mad stories about that place. Money wasn't nothing when it came down to that club. It didn't matter if you was a multiplatinum niggah. If you couldn't get inside of Bricks, then you really wasn't shit. Careers were born on that stage. Unsigned artists stood in line for hours tryna get picked to walk through those doors. Getting a chance to spit in that joint was just like paying for airtime on MTV or 106th and Park. That shit was priceless.

“I handle business outta Bricks, my man. You know the record shop in front?”

Fiyah nodded again. He was big- time impressed and he couldn't even keep that shit out of his eyes.

“That's me too. We got DVDs, CDs, mixtapes.” Brody
grinned. “We produce a little triple X from time to time … So since I know you like to rap and all that shit, I'll put you on the VIP list when you get out. Cool? I'll introduce you to a couple of majors. You know. The power players that make shit happen in the music world. Dig?”

Fiyah's nose was wide open. He was nodding and grinning like a little bitch, and even though he knew it, he was so amped about getting a crack at Bricks that he couldn't help himself.

The next few months flew by. Fiyah composed hard Afro-Cuban drumbeats in his mind, and blended them with some funky reggae drops that could stank a club up. Eva visited him every weekend and he filled up notebook after notebook with song lyrics and still the words flowed like water in his head.

The little Puerto Rican cat from Brooklyn had gotten his walking papers. But not before Fiyah took advantage of the protection he enjoyed under Brody and his crew.

“Fuckin’ fag!” Fiyah spit as he slammed his elbow across the bridge of his “ese's” nose. Blood spurted from the dude's face and he went down on one knee. “Tried to set me up, remember?” Fiyah kicked him in the face and the little dude fell over backward. “I should make you kiss this man pussy, you nasty fuckin’
puta!”

Brody was scheduled for release a month before Fiyah was. He was only in on a probation violation so he'd served out the remainder of his time on Rikers and was now free to go.

“Don't worry, bro,” he told Fiyah before leaving. “My arm is long and strong, my nig. You gone be straight in here even after I'm gone. And remember, I'ma be waiting to pick you up when they let you out. It's gone be lovely as fuck. Nothing but bitches and brew, ak. I'ma have so much pussy lined up waiting that you gone be smelling fish while you walking off the tier.”

Brody gave Fiyah a dap that almost dislocated his shoulder.

“Now remember, man. We got us an understanding, right? You and me, we look out for each other, right? You been safe up in here. Ain't nobody fucked with you. I delivered on what I promised, and in a minute you gone hafta deliver on what you promised too? Ya dig?”

Fiyah nodded, fear gripping him low in his nuts.

Brody was a ruthless muhfuckah. Fiyah had seen and heard enough to know that clicking up with a capo like Brody came with certain risks. The problem was that Fiyah had made a deal with the devil, and on the mean streets of Harlem the devil always got his due. Fiyah understood that kinda thing. It was the way of the world. But this time the devil wanted more than Fiyah was prepared to deliver.

The devil wanted Eva.

T
he scene was gully and 125th Street was popping. Eva was walking next to Alex and munching on a hot slice of pizza with extra cheese as Harlemites, tourists, and shoppers from other boroughs ambled down the streets in search of bargains.

Everything you could think of was up for sale. Corner boys lurked in doorways, then ran out to the curb to satisfy their customers, and African hair braiders stopped sis-tahs on the street with offers of crazy skills and cut- rate fees that would have your hair whipped into a million stylish braids in a matter of hours.