Crackhead II: A Novel (9 page)

Chunky was just that, an abnormally big dude with big features. Smurf couldn’t understand a word he said because he had a stuttering problem, but he liked Chunky despite his flaws.

He was sincere and the most confident nigga Smurf had ever known, because Chunky never backed down from anybody. Because of his large size, he often intimidated many, but cops would never think that a big, fat stuttering cat would be in the game. It was all good because Chunky wasn’t no punk, and that worked for Smurf.

The third player, Lil’ Rob, was the weight that Dirty sent from Harlem. Smurf needed someone just as hard as him, or harder, to keep him secure. Keeping true to the Harlem style, Rob wore nothing but track suits with T-shirts and a large gold-link chain that complemented his open-faced gold tooth. His long Jheri curl was always topped off with a Kangol, and he wore only Adidas, Converse, and Fila sneakers.

He was attractive to many of the hood rats who tried to jock him, but Lil’ Rob was arrogant and refused to fuck with South Bronx hoes, because he felt they were skeezers. Smurf called him the enforcer. Lil’ Rob didn’t have any problem forcing bullets in any muthafucka that crossed the line.

It was a Friday night, and Smurf knew the arcade down in The Hub was jumpin’. Fordham Road, also known as The Hub, was the busiest strip mall in New York, so there was always something going on. Smurf often met with his key players at the arcade because it would be the last place cops would think they would be conducting business.

It was crowded, hot, and noisy from the sounds of the arcade games that filled the air, along with the loud laughter and hollering from the teenage crowd. Smurf and his lieutenants huddled around their favorite game, Commando, and Smurf began his meeting.

“It’s been brought to my attention that Five-0 been canvassing
the turf. Y’all seen ’em around your way?” Smurf asked as he played the game.

“N . . . n . . . no,” Chunky forced himself to say.

“You seen ’em?” Smurf asked Drake.

“Naw.”

All four of the guys were concentrating on the game and whoopin’ and hollerin’ when Smurf started shooting and blowing shit up.

“Them muthafuckas been comin’ around West Ville askin’ questions about Dink, Marco, and Dame,” Lil’ Rob confirmed.

“What the ffffuck you ddddoin’ in West Ville, mmman?” Chunky asked, looking at Lil’ Rob suspiciously.

“Man, fuck yo’ fat ass!” Lil’ Rob shouted, glaring at Chunky, knowing what he was getting at. Everybody laughed.

“It’s only gonna be a minute before they come down here asking that same shit, that is, if they haven’t already.”

“Okay, well, what you want us to do?” Drake asked seriously, getting back to the meeting. He knew Lil’ Rob was a hothead and someone had to think rationally.

“Nothin’ right now,” Smurf told his boy, coolly. “Just fall back, keep your eyes and ears open. Let me know if you see or hear anything that don’t seem right.”

“Well, now that you mention it,” Drake spoke, “ain’t nobody seen them niggas. What’s up?”

Smurf looked at his boy, who made him lose a turn.

“Dink had some business to tend to, Marco had loyalty issues. Dame had loyalty issues too, but he got cut up slippin’ in some bitch pussy.” Smurf shook his head. “That’s a damn shame.”

The crew became quiet and looked at Smurf. They knew what that meant. “I know you handled that shit, boss,” Drake
told Smurf with a slight chuckle. He’d known of Smurf when Dink was around. “I thought there was something shady with that bitch Marco, but Dame . . . I thought he was on top of his game.”

The real reason Dame was gone was because he was a cocky, ego-trippin’ nigga. Dink had been good to all of his boys and made everyone family, but when Dame threatened him, he realized that the nigga was on some bullshit and had to be dealt with. Dame wanted to shine more than he wanted to grind, but his crew didn’t need to know that. Dame went down the best way he could, at the hands of a ho. “Yeah, but we all know all pussy ain’t good pussy.” Everyone dapped. “But yo, speaking loyalty, let me holla at you for a second,” Smurf told Drake.

Instantly, Drake’s pager went off. He looked at it and a frown spread across his face as he stuck it back on his hip. The two went off to a secluded area in the back of the arcade. Smurf noticed the other two guys went to scoop up some honeys.

“Wassup, boss?” Drake spoke. He knew when he and Smurf spoke one-on-one, it was serious, and he was glad that it was him that Smurf trusted.

“I been meanin’ to ask you . . . is there something up with your pager?”

“Why you ask that?” Drake asked Smurf, with a perplexed look on his face.

“I paged you earlier and you never returned my call. Let me see it.” Smurf grabbed it out of its holder and ran through the numbers. “See, it’s right here,” he told Drake, trying to jar his memory. Smurf handed the pager back to Drake.

“Shit, I don’t know. Probably chillin’.”

“Wrong answer,” Smurf said. “I’ma ask you one last time. Where were you?”

Drake remembered exactly what Smurf was talking about. He was with his older brother who’d graduated from the academy. The two went riding in his new squad car and his brother gave him some information about a chick he was asking about. Drake knew he had to confess, because he knew that Smurf wouldn’t hesitate putting a cap in his ass. Homeboy or not.

“Look, man, I was with my brother, so what?”

“So what? Your brotha is a fuckin’ cop,” Smurf said calmly.

“Rookie,” Drake emphasized.

“It don’t matter.”

“Look, man, what he do and what I do ain’t got shit to do with the other,” Drake said forcefully. “That nigga be in the streets as much as we do. So what he got a legal hustle now? I been down with you for a while, man, and you think I’ma fuck that shit up?”

Smurf said nothing.

“Look, man, we got an inside man that can let us know what’s going down and when,” Drake said honestly. “As a matter of fact, when you saw us, he was asking me about that fly-ass junkie everybody was bangin’ over the summer.”

“Which one?”

“The light-skinned one. The ho Dink was ridin’ dirty with.”

“What about her?” Smurf’s eyebrows raised. He knew Drake was talking about Laci.

“They looking at Tonette and them because of Crystal being knocked, but his partner thinks they’re behind more shit too. Actually, he said his partner put a big drug case on hold to deal with these chicks.”

Smurf thought back to the dossier that Marco had on Dame and Dink.

“You know, man, my moms wanted me to go to the academy
too, but I wasn’t feeling that shit. Fuckin’ PD ain’t payin’ shit. I got two baby mamas and a gal. Shit . . . a nigga gotta eat.”

Smurf shook his head and had a crooked grin on his face. “Y’all pretty muthafuckas can sho’ get yourself into some shit, can’t you?” Drake frowned. “Well, just as long as it won’t mess up our operation, then we cool. Make sure you handle yo’ shit, but check it, I need you to do something for me.”

“You got it . . . what’s up?”

“CLIFTON,” OFFICER JONES
called out, startling his partner upon his return. Detective Clifton was reviewing the file he had buried in paperwork on his desk. “I got a positive ID on the girl in the photo.” The detective looked at the clock, then turned around and looked at his trainee waiting for him to talk. “Her name is Julacia. Julacia Johnson, and get this—she lives in Riverdale.”

“Riverdale?” Detective Clifton interjected with raised eyebrows. He noticed his trainee glancing at the file that was on his desk and he shuffled papers to conceal it. “What the fuck she doing bummin’ around in the South Bronx? That’s actually a very odd combination.” Detective Clifton sat back in his chair with his arms behind his head. He stared at Officer Jones and noticed how handsome he was. He thought back to the case at hand to get his mind off his trainee. “The question is how she got involved with those girls. She doesn’t look like she’d be mixed up with them.”

“Well, I’m one step ahead of you on that,” the rookie answered, not giving up how he knew of the girl. Even though he’d learned her name by going to the South Bronx, Officer Jones was just as familiar with her as every other nigga in that neighborhood. He, too, had a copy of the tape of Dame fucking the shit out of her. It was the hottest thing on the streets.

“Well damn, Jones, I’m glad you got your ass outta there without getting shot at. It’s a jungle out there.”

“Nah it ain’t,” Officer Jones reassured his partner. “They’re nothing but pussycats in the South Bronx,” he joked.

The detective looked at him strangely. “Yeah, pussycats.”

“But for real, though, it’s just everyday life. We just gotta stay on top of what’s going on down there, that’s it.”

“I’m one step ahead of you on that, youngin’,” Clifton spoke, “but this makes more sense. Ms. Thomas alluded that someone else may be involved. You gotta give it to Ms. Johnson, though. She’s a smart one.”

“Why you say that?”

“Whatever this girl is doing, you can damn sure bet she ain’t bringing it back to Riverdale. I’m sure once it starts getting dark, she gets the hell outta the South Bronx, hops her little ass in mommy and daddy’s car, and hits the Henry Hudson Parkway back home.” The detective laughed at his own humor. “Well, what’s up with her, rookie, what else did you find out?”

“Nothing much,” Officer Jones sighed. “I’m afraid we may not find her.”

“Why not?”

“Word on the street is she’s out there bad on the pipe and when they’ve got that itch, trying to find that one crackhead is almost next to impossible.”

“A crackhead?” Detective Clifton picked up the picture and looked closely at Laci, then shook his head in disbelief. “This girl right here?” Officer Jones nodded his head. Clifton looked back at the picture and shook his head. “Just doesn’t seem right,” he mumbled under his breath.

“No telling what this girl looks like now.” They both looked at Laci’s picture.

They both knew that there was no specific look for a druggie, as they came from all walks of life, but most of the people they arrested were dirty, toothless, and homeless. Scrungy-looking at best, but even on her worst day, Laci didn’t fall into this category.

“Look, I don’t care what kinda itch she got. We got to find her. I think she could have some information on why or who would report Ms. Moore as being armed and dangerous.”

Once the rookie had analyzed the situation as his partner did, he nodded his head in agreement. “You’re right, but let me keep working on this. I should have more answers for you by tomorrow.”

“Nuh huh, you’re not going back down there alone this time,” the detective told him. “It’s almost night and the area’s too bad. They see you in your uniform and all hell will break loose. Rule number one, you always need a backup, and rule number two, don’t be a fuckin’ wise-ass.” The detective got up in Jones’s face and pointed a finger. He saw how smooth Terrance Jones’s skin was, and he even caught a faint whiff of Eternity for Men. Rodney Clifton was incensed now. “Y’all come in here, straight out the academy like y’all on some robo-cop shit try’na make us look bad. Fuck that shit! I told you I put a big case on hold that could have promoted me to the head of the drug task force, but now, I gotta investigate this shit because a fuckin’ cop was involved in the shooting. IA is breathing down our necks. There is a link here with these two cases that I’m try’na work out. I worked too long and hard, man. Ain’t no fuckin’ rookie gonna take what’s rightfully mine.”

“Man, I ain’t try’na take none of your cases from you,” Officer Jones confirmed, moving out of the way of his partner’s stank coffee breath and getting his personal space back. “I could care
less about that! I’m just trying to help. I know my way around the streets more than you do as an officer.”

“I don’t care if you were a goddamn blind mouse working your way around a fuckin’ maze,” Clifton spat, “I can’t let you do that. You’re fresh out of the academy. You ain’t been trained for the streets yet. Especially the Bronx.”

“I know more than you think I do,” Officer Jones told him honestly.

“Is that so? And how you figure that? You got an insider on the girl or something?”

“No, I just know how the streets work. You go down there demanding answers and shit, try’na bum-rush those kids, you don’t know what’s gonna kick off. Just sit back at yo’ desk, eat some donuts, move some papers and look busy. Let me do this.”

“Man, fuck you,” the detective retorted. Officer Jones winked at him, signaling that he’d won this round with his comrade, and walked out of the office.

“Hotheaded rookie,” Detective Clifton mumbled under his breath. He was glad his trainee was out of his face. He had him so worked up, he needed to go back to the West Village to find some stress relief.

S
ONNY OPENED THE
door to Margaret’s house when he heard the doorbell ring. He had been staying with Margaret since Laci went to rehab. Margaret welcomed the company. She had always liked Sonny. He’d developed a dope habit in 1965 and had lost everything, including his relationship with his mother and his brother, Jay. When he was confronted, he took the coward’s way out and burned out. He wasn’t there for his mother’s funeral or Jay’s college graduation, marriage, or death. Margaret was big on family because she had a small one, and so she’d searched the streets for her husband’s only brother. Once she found him, she vowed to help him and never turn her back on him.

Margaret put Sonny through rehab, visited him, and helped him turn his life around. She even helped him get a job at the local supermarket, but after being clean for a year, he woke up with a jones he couldn’t shake. Margaret was brokenhearted that he wanted to go back to his habit, but if he hadn’t run into Laci that day at the crack house, who knows what could have happened.

“Hi, can I help you?” he asked the officer who stood in front of him.

“Good evening, I’m Officer Terrance Jones,” he displayed his badge, “and I’m looking for Julacia Johnson.”

“Why are you looking for her?” Sonny asked in a harsh tone, followed by a worried look on his face. He noticed the officer had an envelope in his hand.