Authors: Leo Sullivan
roll right over my head. I took off my shoes, my dogs were killing
me.
“
How long is it going to take ya’ll to finish cutting up the
dope?” I inquired.
“
Just about all day,” Trina replied.
“
Tell you what, go to the store and get me a bottle of
Hennessy and a pack of smokes, stop by Popeye’s and get some-
thing to eat, I’m starving, and you can have some of the coke.”
Tomica stood up in front of the chair, eyes flaming with anger.
“
I just know you ain’t finna try me like that!”
“
Tr y you like what?” I raised my voice. Realizing this dyke was
trying to show off for the benefit of Trina’s presence, I prepared to
bust her ass if she got out of line.
“
Tr y me like I’m some junkie, or something.” Tomica sat back
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down. I was eyeballing her like she went there. On second
thought, I had a better idea. I stood taking the gun out of my
pocket, along with the diamond bracelet and began to strip down
to my boxer shorts.
“
Boo, where are the clothes that you bought?” I asked Trina,
as both women looked at me quizzically.
“
Over there on the other side of the bed,” Trina answered.
I walked over looked inside of the shopping bag, pulled out
the expensive two-piece Versailles outfit–a jacket and pants in a
beautiful shade of turquoise and gold, strictly a baller’s style. Trina
had good taste in clothes. I hurried getting dressed. Afterward, I
looked in the mirror and I wanted to salute my muthafuckin’ self.
In the background I heard Tomica suck her teeth, hatin’ on a
nigga. Bitch! I retrieved the chunky iced out chain I took from
Suge Knight’s cockeyed twin back at the hotel. Putting it around
my neck, I walked over to the table and began placing the dope
into Ziplock bags. I would just have to get someone to cut up the
rest later.
“
What are you doing?” Trina asked.
“
What it look like I’m doing? I’m getting out of this joint.”
Trina and Tomica exchanged glances. Actually what I was really
doing was following the number one code of the game: never shit
at where you got to eat. Meaning, never keep dope where you got
to lay your head. Never!
“
Gimme the keys to the car,” I said to Trina. She hesitated
with a look of despair the way a woman does when she wants to
ask a question, but is unsure of her boundaries. She reached into
her purse and gave me the keys. I placed half of the powdered
cocaine that was at the sink into a bag, and left some. I walked to
the door. I could feel their eyes boring through by back.
“
Come here,” I turned, talking to Trina. She walked toward
me. If her brown eyes could talk, hers would have plainly begged
me to stay. I spoke a whisper against her ear lobe palming her ass
through the soft material of the dress. “Dig, Shouty, I’ll be back in
a second.”
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“
It’s going to take some hours for the stuff to dry,” Trina said
in her attempt to get me to stay. I could hear the somber plea in
the tone of her voice.
“
If you like, you can give the rest of the powder on the sink to
your homegirl.”
I bent down and pecked her on the lips. She reached up, las-
soing my neck with her arms and kissed me like I was a soldier
about to go off to war.
“
Baby, don’t go. I bought a nice sexy Victoria’s Secret outfit I
wanted to wear for you.” As Trina whispered I looked at Tomica.
She was watching us closely. That reminded me of something. I
peeled Trina’s arms off of me, reached into my pocket removing
the diamond bracelet, and gave it to her. Tomica damn near fell
out of the chair when she saw that.
“
Ohmigod! Ohmigod! It’s beauuuutiful!” Trina exclaimed
after she saw the price tag and began to do the two-step like I used
to see women do at my father’s church when they claimed to have
the Holy Ghost. As I walked out of the door, I thought I heard
Tomica call my name.
*****
153
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Eleven
“
The Jump-Off ”
–
Life –
Trina’s Lexus Coupe was nice, real nice. The inside was hand-
somely designed with expensive oak wood and plush butter soft
leather interior. The seats felt like I was riding in the cockpit of a
jet. Yeah, I could tell her daddy was deep in the game. He spoiled
her rotten. I placed the shopping bag of cocaine on the seat next
to me, with Jesus on my lap, my hand resting on it in case there
was any drama, and my mind on my money.
As I drove, the air felt crisp and cool. I was on a mission to
stack some chips. While driving I counted out twenty ounces, my
mind str uggling with the mental transition of being a jackman, to
not get jacked. Easier said than done.
*****
I parked down the street from the house that I rented for
Blazack and the crew. I walked in the shadows of semi-darkness
and hid the dope underneath a tree in a hole I dug. After ward, I
got back into the car and drove the short distance to the house.
There were so many cars parked in the yard and driveway, I had
to park in the middle of the street. As I walked up, people were
hanging out everywhere. Females lounged out front on the porch.
It’s hard to believe that only a few hours ago this place was for
rent. Mad Ball and Gucci looked up to see me. They could tell by
the expression on my face my mood was not good. I walked inside
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and saw that the place was jam packed. In the kitchen, I saw Dirty
throwing dice. They were gambling, playing Low. He looked at
me and said something slick out the side of his mouth, something
about how much money did I have, and then he threw the dice. I
shot him a look that said,
don’t fuck with me
. Twine walked up and
grabbed my hand. He was smoking a blunt, eyes red, pants hang-
ing off his ass.
“
Nigga, you been killing ‘em huh?” he said checking out my
gear and running his fingers over my necklace.
“
Listen man,” I talked between clinched teeth fighting to con-
trol my temper. This was becoming a habit dealing with these nig-
gas. I was trying to stop it before it started. “Ya’ll didn’t come
down here to party, this is strictly business. Clear these mutha-
fuckas out the house!”
I knew that there was no way that Twine was going to take
orders from me, at least not at this stage of the game, but now was
the time to employ my will for the sake of building a team and
bleeding this town out of its riches. “Where’s Blazack at?” I asked.
Twine pointed at the back room giving me a look like he was try-
ing to read where I was coming from with the attitude.
I knocked on the door. Heard a voice say come in. I walked
into what looked like a gun show. “Damn it man!” I intoned.
“
Where did ya get all dem shits from?” There were about a half
dozen AK47s lined up on the wall, a Mac-10, Mac-11, various
handguns, a Thomson submachine gun with a special shoulder
holster to hold three thousand rounds of ammunition. On the bed
next to Blazack was his trusty double barrel 12 gauge sawed off
shotgun, the same one that he pointed at my nuts earlier that day.
On the bed was a book titled
The Art of War
. Blazack just lay
there, looking up at the ceiling. He was the most reclusive man
that I had ever known. His quiet could be disturbing at times. It
gave you the feeling that he was always plotting. I hoped he was
not plotting about me.
Slowly he rose from the bed ignoring my disapproval of his
arsenal of guns.
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“
I had to use my hands,” Blazack said, flexing his fingers. His
hands were huge. He now examined them as if it were his first
time really seeing them, their power and strength.
“
What?” I asked, confused as to what he was talking about.
“
He wouldn’t die.” Blazack continued. The scowl on his face
was that of a man reliving a bad memory.
“
I strangled dat nigga for damn near ten minutes. He would-
n’t die.”
“
Who?” I asked aggravated.
“
Dre’,” Blazack said clinching his fist.
“
Oh.” The sounds left my lips, with it the grimy reality of who
he was talking about. I stared, mesmerized. Once again I won-
dered about the mystic of life’s greatest myster y–death, and if the
people who kill are haunted by the very souls they stole. There was
a glassy look of a madman possessed by demons on Blazack’s face
as he examined his hands like they were murder weapons he
wished he could discard. I think that to some degree, the dead are
still alive, they live vividly in the minds of the people that killed
them. At least with Blazack that was the case.
“
Yo, I let the cracka in the van go and tied him to a tree.
Someone’ll find him in a few days, maybe. But Dre’… dat nigga
ain’t never comin’ back,” Blazack said with malice as his eyes nar-
rowed, giving me the full intent of what he meant. The moment
lingered. I was lost for words. I noticed in the corner of the room
there was a stick of dynamite and some other kind of explosives.
Just when I was about to ask about that rat muthafucka, his state-
ment completely caught me off guard. I knew what he was hint-
ing at.
“
My nigga, on ever ything I love, when the shit went down in
the hotel with the nigga trying to set me up, I had to out-run hel-
icopters and some mo shit. Hooked up with this broad, if she did-
n’t help me, I’d be fucked up right now, that’s how I ended up
here.”
“
Uh huh,” Blazack said with all the interest of a man watch-
ing paint dry. “I talked with Lil Cal’s mom this morning. Told her
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to ask about you, since you da one that introduced us to Dre’ in
the first place.” Blazack left no doubt in my mind his suspicion of
me, as well as his loyalty to Lil Cal, death before dishonor. He
would kill me in a heartbeat. The feelings were mutual. Our real
common bond was only Lil Cal. I knew I would have to accept
the dark cloud of treason that loomed over my head. For some rea-
son the dope game is like that. It permeates on paranoia and fear
for the lack of trust. Trust is like a good woman forced to go bad,
she will always be needed and unfortunately used and abused to
serve like hell in the dope game. If there were no trust, there
would be no lies.
I ignored Blazack’s acid remarks. The reality was, I needed him
as much as he needed me.