Tales from da Hood (29 page)

Crystal ushered a nonplussed Trina out the door. After locking the door, she leaned against it. Her drink fell from her hand and she slid down to the floor. Heavy sobs racked her body as she set her pent-up angst free.

“
DAMN, DODO
, slow down, it ain't going nowhere,” said Crystal as she flipped pancakes at the stove in a black cast-iron skillet.

At the kitchen table, Dodo held up one finger because he had a mouthful of omelet and breakfast sausage.

“Sorry,” he said when he was finally able to swallow. “Girl, when you learn to cook like this? I thought all you could make was cereal. This here omelet is good as hell.”

Crystal came to the table and served Dodo a stack of golden pancakes. Her own pancakes she put on a plate and set on the table across from Dodo. When she took her seat, Crystal asked, “How soon did you know about Danny Man?”

“I heard a couple of days ago. I really wanted to give you some time to get yourself together. Even though I didn't like him for all
that Nino Brown–ass shit, I had to respect that you cared about old dude, being that he was Mulan's daddy and all.”

Crystal cut her pancakes into sections and poured syrup on them. “That nigga wadn't no daddy. He ain't sign no birth certificate or shit. When I really think about it, all that nigga did was buy me a few things and come over once and a while to fuck me.”

“Damn Crystal, you sound cold as hell,” Dodo commented as he carved up his pancakes.

“That ain't cold–that's real. It took me some time, but I finally woke up. Don't nobody really matter in this shit but family. That's you, Momma, my kids, Johnny, and Kent. Fuck everybody else. Blood is thicker than mud.”

“I feel you. I found that shit out a long time ago in the joint when I couldn't get a letter or visit from nobody but my family.”

They both ate their pancakes in silence for a while. Dodo's pancakes, however, disappeared at a much faster rate than Crystal's.

“Dodo, I got good news and bad news,” Crystal announced.

“Gimme the good news first.”

“I'm bout to buy a house and you know that you got a room in it if you want it.”

“That's tight. I was kinda thinking about trying to move in with my lady friend, but I wasn't so sure. After all I just met her.”

“What lady friend?”

“Her name is Mary and she real cool. We ain't serious or nothing, but she fun to be around. Right now we just kicking it and having a good time, but she is good peoples.”

“Well, like I said, you got a room at my house and the kids is missing you. They got used to having you around the house. Ain't nobody been there on the regular since they daddy died. He was always in the streets, but he always made time for them.”

Dodo looked up from the little bit that was left of his food.

“Hey, you getting off track. What's the bad news?”

“I don't know how to tell you this….”

“Spit it out, Crystal.”

“The house I'm buying is on the same block as Johnny's house.”

“Shid, Mama gone love that. The only problem is that Johnny'll probably be out there watering your lawn with holy water.”

They both laughed.

“What you doing today?” asked Crystal.

“Nothing much. I was thinking about heading over to Mary's house and lift some weights with her nephew and cousins. I be working them little niggas out. Plus I'm making sure that I don't lose my muscle tone. The ladies won't like that.”

“The ladies? You need to stop it. It sound like this Mary already got you going.”

“Never. She just good peoples and I was running out of money for my hotel room. So it was either Johnny's house or try to move in with her.”

Crystal got up to put her plate in the sink. “Well, if you bypass a day of working out, I don't think you'll lose too much muscle mass. I need you to go somewhere with me.”

“Where?” Dodo asked as he got up out of his seat and put his plate in the sink.

“Well, I wanted to take you shopping and see if we can't find you a little putt-putt so once we move you can get back and forth to see Mary from the new house.”

Dodo was taken aback. “Crystal, you can't do that. I'll be all right. You need to be thinking bout them kids. You got to make sure that y'all alright.”

“Oh, we gon’ be alright. I had a nice insurance policy on DM, I mean Danny Man,” Crystal said, referring to the packing trunk full of money in her closet. “That nigga was worth more to me dead than he was when he was alive. Let's go.”

Told by Nikki Turner, desired by many A Nikki Turner Original

Who'da Thought It?

DAMN!
WHO WOULD'VE
ever thought I'd end up being a ride-or-die chick? That bottom bitch? Or a down-ass chick, a gangsta's girl, a hustler's wife, or any of that shit that I had always read about. No, no, not me. Not Angel Delaney, a twenty-eight-year-old journalist, already set in her ways. But let me be the first to say, that shoot-'emup bang-bang type of drama just gets my pussy wet. As a matter of fact, my pussy is dripping as I sit here in this souped-up vehicle just as nervous as the day is long. Never in a million years would I imagine myself caught up in the middle of some real-life gangsta shit. But I should have known it would be only a matter of time before reading about the street life wouldn't satisfy my curiosity. Just getting wet wasn't enough for my needs. It was time to climax!

I lost my virginity with my boyfriend, my high school sweetie,
Brandon Fetch. Any woman who wonders where all the good men are would be honored to have him as their man. I guess I should be, but right now, I can't even think about Brandon. All I can think about is the nigga I'm holdin’ it down for right here, right now. A man I haven't even known a full twenty-four hours. I know I'm not acting like the adult woman I am, but the shit is just so intense that guess what? I don't give a fuck!

I know good and well my ass shouldn't even be here. I should've been long gone, like a speeding bullet, ten minutes ago when the shit first hit the fan. I kept telling myself to leave and don't ever look back. I guess it's that edginess, the unknown, the adrenaline pumping boldness through my body that's keeping me sitting here with my hand on the gearshift and the engine running, waiting. Waiting on him.

As I sit here, I can't help but think about how that chick Bonnie must have felt when she was riding off into the sunset with Clyde. On the real, though. How about I ain't mad at that bitch because I'm about to do the same daggone thing for my man. My heart is racing. Every second seems like an hour, but I can't leave. Not yet, not without my man. So I'm steadfast, waiting patiently with no fear at all in my heart although butterflies should be in my stomach and fear should be rattling every bone in my body. But how crazy is it that I'm not scared? I'm a little nervous as to what's taking him so long, but not scared. If my friends were here, hell, those bitches would be scared to death, probably pissin’ their pants. Back in the day, or even a few weeks ago, hell, even twenty-four hours ago, I just might have been, too. Why? What is so different about me now from then? Well, I'll tell you what changed in a day.

I'm not used to this ghetto type of mess right here. You know, some ol’ gangsta shit right out of a Quentin Tarantino flick. I always walked the straight and narrow. I never did anything that would get me into trouble. I always hung around the right crowd, and I always
dated clean-cut, honest men, like Brandon. Brandon and I were homecoming king and queen at our prom. I was even a debutante. I had the picture-perfect life, and everything came easily to me. So I guess it was only a matter of time before I would become attracted to the razor's edge.

From the first moment I ran my tongue across the sharp scalpel, getting a taste of the salty blood, I was hooked like a vampire. Addicted like a crack addict. Dick was the razor's edge for me. Not
a
dick, but Dick, the tall, dark handful of a man I called Dee for short. From the moment I saw him, there was just something about him that made me want to do things that I had never imagined doing and experience things that I never dreamt about even in my wildest dreams. He was that nigga, the one I had read about, the one I had seen in gangsta flicks. He was my Nino Brown, my Scarface, my invincible, hard-to-kill type of cat.

I was at the courthouse doing research when I encountered him. I've been working as a reporter covering the crime beat ever since I got my degree in journalism from the University of Richmond. Because of the nature of my work, I've seen all kinds of street-life cases. When I'm not working on articles for local newspapers and magazines, I gather data and statistics for one of the largest crime data–reporting agencies in the country. I used to just gather stats on pedophile cases until one of my coworkers, who also happened to be black, went on maternity leave and never came back. She covered street life—you know drugs, prostitution, racketeering, murders, anything that has to do with the fast life. So I guess they figured that since I was black with just as much, if not more, experience than she had, who else better to put on the street-life stuff but me?

After a few months, I became intrigued by the lifestyle of the ruffnecks, thugs, drug dealers, ballers, and gangstas and the spunk and boldness that they all seemed to possess. That type of living
never seemed real to me. It felt more like fiction. All the killing, stealing, and drug dealing seemed a bit too much for a small town like Richmond. But my reality check came one day when I was at the courthouse gathering some information on a high-profile murder trial. That's when I ran into Dee. I was walking out of the clerk's office with my nose buried in the case file, thumbing through copies of the court transcripts I had just copied. Not paying attention to where I was walking, I ran smack into Dee.

“Excuse me, Miss Lady,” he said, his smile blinging like Frosty the Snowman with all that ice.

I looked up, and the first thing I saw was my own reflection in his teeth. His top front four teeth were platinum capped. Then I tuned in to his features. He had mocha latte skin with the bone structure of a Sean John model. I couldn't take my eyes off him. He wore his hair straight back in thick jailhouse braids. They weren't raggedy either but neat as hell, as if he had just gotten up from between the legs of the girl that braided them. He had a tattoo on his hand and a pair of diamond earrings that the sun's shine didn't have shit on.

I slowly and gently rubbed my hand across the case file I had under my arm as my mind began to go to work.
I wonder if he's ever murdered anybody. Nah, he's probably just a small-time pusher who spends all his profits on clothes, jewelry, and tennis shoes. Hell, he probably lives in his Momma's basement.

The next thing I noticed was his apparel. He wore some baggy Sean John jeans and a button-down shirt with a wife beater underneath. A platinum chain with a cross medallion hung from his neck.

“No, excuse me,” I said, still somewhat dazed by our abrupt encounter.

“Do you happen to have change?” he asked, pulling out a wad
of cash and peeling a bill from it. “You know they don't let you bring cell phones up in here. I gotta hit my boy back, and I ain't got no change for the pay phone.”

“Hit your boy back?” I said with a perplexed look on my face. See, I'm a college graduate and so are all of my friends. We live in condos or suburban family homes, far removed from the streets; therefore, I was completely ignorant to real live street lingo.

“Call him back,” he said. He smirked at my ignorance. “Never mind,” he said, shooing his hand at me and proceeding to walk away.

“Wait!” I said. For some reason, I just couldn't let him walk away that easy. I was far too intrigued by his savoir faire. “Uh, wait! Hold up. I do believe I have change for a dollar.” I began nervously fumbling around in my purse for change while trying to balance the court files.

“Let me take those for you, Miss Lady,” he said, lifting the files from my hands. When he did that, his hand grazed mine. As rough as his exterior seemed to be, his hands were as soft as butter. Suddenly my arms were covered with goose bumps. Brandon's touch never gave me goose bumps.

“Thank you,” I said as I located a dollar's worth of change.

“Here you go.”

We made the transaction. I handed him the change. He handed over my files and gave me the bill. I balled up the bill and put it in my suit pocket.

“Good lookin'.” He nodded, winked, and then headed over to the pay phone.

I watched this dude walk, and his swagger was fierce. I was absolutely mesmerized. I felt as though the world had been silenced, and all I could hear were his footsteps walking over to the phone. Loud and clear I heard the clink of the change making its way
through the phone and him pounding the keys to the phone number. Then, as if everything was in slow motion, I watched his lips move.

“What up, my nigga?” I read his lips as I stood there licking mine. A smile crept across my face. And I don't know why, but I stepped out of the box for once in my life. And then I did something that I would have never ever done.