In My Hood (10 page)

“I just need some money. You gonna give it to me or not?”

“Not.” He smiled at her.

He watched her she stomped off again like a child not getting her way.

D
amon pulled up in front of Burger King. His passenger door opened, and Zola got into the car.

Damon had always been sweet on Zola, but Zola always had plans for the big fish in the pond, Ishmael, so she used Damon to get to Ishmael. Zola knew all about how Damon kicked dirt on Ishmael. Ishmael always thought Damon was loyal to him, but Zola knew different.

“What’s up, Zoey?” He smiled.

“Hi Damon,” Zola said in her sexiest voice.

He pulled into the oncoming traffic. They rode in silence for a few minutes. Damon took several peeps at Zola’s legs while driving.

She wore a jean miniskirt that had risen up to her upper thigh when she sat down. Her legs were shining as if she applied mounds of baby oil to them, giving them a sheen. Her muscular thighs showed their form, bulging each time she moved. His imagination ran wild as he wondered if she was wearing any panties.

“So what you been up to?” Zola asked, breaking him out of his daydream.

“You know me, I been on the grind.”

“Yeah, I hear you.” She looked over at him. “How’s Ishmael been treating you?” she asked, not wasting any time.

“Well, you know how that is. I eat though.”

“No, for real, D. What’s really good?”

Damon clenched his jaws, not sure of where the conversation was going. He had always been sweet on Zola, but she hurt his feeling when she got with Ishmael. He thought they were going to hook up. He felt betrayed although they were never official.

“Why? What’s up, Zoey?”

“I’m just tryna make sure you straight. You know how mafuckas can get when they getting that paper. They start acting like they above and beyond a nigga when
you
had his back all these years,” she said, scheming.

“True, true,” he agreed.

“And the fucked-up thing is, he be front’n on you when it comes time to pass out the promotion papers, you know?” she continued to toy with him.

Damon continued to drive, staring straight ahead, not saying a word. Zola knew she was getting to him, so she continued to push the knife farther into his back.

“How long you been down with Ishmael?”

“Like fourteen fucking years. Since I was like nine.”

“Wow, nine years old? What could you have possibly been doing with him at nine?”

“At that time I lived on the same block with Ish. Back then he was a runner, and I used to run errands for him. Like going to the corner store or some shit like that. Them niggaz use to let me hang around with them. I was they lookout and shit. When Ish got put on his own blocks, he hired me as one of his main runners.”

“So you saying that you was down with him at the very beginning?”

“Yeah, something like that,” he said, looking like he was remembering those times.

“That’s fucked up, Damon,” she said, shaking her head.

“What?”

“I mean you was down with Ishmael from day one and you still a runner.”

“Naw, Zoey, I ain’t no runner. I got my own blocks,” he stated proudly.

“Please, D, you ain’t nothing but a runner—Ishmael’s flunky.” She sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes.

Damon pulled over to the side of the road and faced her. “Yo, what’s up, Zoey?” He frowned.

“What?” she asked as if she didn’t know what was going on.

“Stop bullshitting. What are you tryna say?”

“Alright, D,” she said, facing him. “I got eyes. I see what’s going on. Ishmael is treating you like shit. You should be his right hand man, not Derrick. You feel me?”

Damon sat there mean mugging her for a few seconds, trying to peep her game.

“Zoey, listen, I got territory that I run. I’m the
man
on my blocks. I got runners. Niggaz jump when I say. Do you feel
me
?”

“Yeah, I feel you. But do you know who the connect is? Do you go to the baller’s meetings. Are you involved in any of the decision making?” she fired away.

“No,” he said, turning away from her. He gripped the steering wheel, looking straight ahead.

“But you was down with him, watching his back since day one? And peep this,” she said, not waiting for him to respond to her question. “What about when Ishmael got popped? Didn’t you step up and run shit for him until he got home?” She already knew the answer.

Damon didn’t respond. He swallowed hard and narrowed his eyes.

“D,” she said, touching him lightly on the thigh, “I know you was heated with me when I stepped to Ish and dissed you, but I couldn’t tell you what I was doing. I was only getting next to him so that I could infiltrate.”

Damon looked at her with unsure eyes. “What?” He frowned.

“Let me put you down,” she said, placing her hair behind her ear. “You were my best friend, and I respected you . . . and I still do. We use to have long hours of great conversations on the phone. I miss that. But I was on a mission for you, yo.”

Damon raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah you,” she said, confirming his curiosity.

“How you figure?” he asked.

“You should be the top man. Technically once Ishmael got sent up the river, the next man in line was you. So you should be da man, not him. But you were loyal, and you gave him his rank back,
and
you kept shit poppin’ while he was gone.”

She continued to stare at him, making sure she had his undivided attention before continuing. “I went on a mission to peep his game, and once I did that, I was going to bring it back to you so that you can take back what belongs to you. And baby,” she said, moving her hand higher up his leg, “it’s time.”

“Time for what?” he asked, opening his legs wider, anticipating where she was going with her hand.

“It’s time to get your spot back.” She kept inching upward.

“And you think you capable of helping me pull that off?”

“Don’t sleep, D. The safe is in his closet. I don’t know the combination, but I’m sure you can get it open,” she said as she stopped moving her hand. “Once you make Ishmael disappear, you gonna hafta get with that Herman Monster–acting nigga, Rik.”

“I’ma hafta body Rik first then I’ma step to Ish. But I want the loot first. So how you plan on keeping him out of the house until I get the safe open?” he asked, placing his hand on hers and guiding it upward again.

His dick began to rise.

“You ain’t heard? I’m nice with mine. Let me handled that part,” she bragged, reaching her final destination.

“Oh yeah?” he whispered, enjoying her rubbing his hard-on.

“Oh yeah.”

Zola unzipped his jeans and reached inside, pulling out what she had been searching for. She leaned over and spit on it and put it into her mouth, causing him to shiver.

Damon looked at the surroundings outside. It was broad daylight, and they were pulled over on a busy street. Seeing that no one was walking by, he laid his head back and enjoyed the best head he had had in a long time.

I
shmael stepped out of the shower. He wiped the mirror clean of the steam with his towel then peered into the mirror, looking at himself. He patted his body dry and pulled the clippers from the bottom cabinet and began to trim his sideburns and beard, edging them up a bit. His braids were fresh and intact. He had stopped by the African braid shop the day before to get them done. The braids were so tight that you could see the raised skin about his forehead. He could have easily gotten Zola to do them, but that was not even an option considering how she’d been tripping lately.

He checked the time on his cell phone, which was on the sink. It was 7:00 p.m. He had one hour before he went to pick Desiree up for their first date.

After he finished grooming himself, he walked into his closet to select his wardrobe. He stood in the middle of the closet with his arms folded across his chest, studying the attire that hung loosely about the thick plastic hangers.

He was taking Desiree to an industry party in the city for a famous rapper Diggy Mar. Everybody who was anybody was scheduled to be there.

It had been a long time since Ishmael had attended an industry party in the city. They became predictable and repetitious, and he basically outgrew them. It would be the same faces and the same drama. All the women walked around half naked and desperate, trying to find the nigga with the most paper.

They all had the same come-on line and all wore the same type of weave. One minute they would be up in a nigga’s face, and if they didn’t get a drink out of him, they’d move on to the next sucker. Ishmael could see right through the sack-chasing groupies.

But this night was different. The top suppliers were going to be at this party. They were to meet for a brief meeting about some new product that was just discovered over in Cuba. The word out was that the heroin was so pure that it almost looked yellow, and it was putting niggaz on their asses over in Cuba. Ishmael’s main hustle was heroin, but he dealt in cocaine as well. The team wanted in, and Ishmael was a part of that team. If they got their hands on the product, they would surely rise above all. So all and all, this wasn’t only a date. It was business as well.

Ishmael figured that after the meeting he would take Desiree to the Copa for some old-fashioned dancing and dinner. He had a hidden desire for dancing the salsa.

Several years ago Ishmael was sprung on this chick named Sasha. She was Spanish. She loved to dance the salsa. At first Ishmael thought the dancing was gay until Sasha taught him in the privacy of her home. They danced the sensual dance so much that after each lesson he and Sasha would end up butt naked on the floor.

He didn’t quite know if Desiree would like dancing the salsa, but he damn sure was going to give it a try.

No one knew about that side of Ishmael except his ex-girlfriend Sasha, and he had intended to keep it that way—until now. He felt a certain type of closeness with Desiree, and he felt he was ready to share some of his secrets with her. Although they had not reached that point, now was as good a time as any to open up to her. Desiree made it clear how she felt about the game and all that came with it, and he told her he intended to stop.

He didn’t know why she felt the way she did about the game, and he never asked. He figured when she was ready, she would tell him.

***************

“Speak,” Derrick yelled into the ringing phone.

“What up?” Ishmael responded.

“What’s good? Where you at?”

“I’m swinging by to scoop up Rae. Where you at?”

“I’m sittin’ in this fuckin’ long-ass line waiting to go through the tunnel,” Derrick complained.

“Oh, a’ight, I’ll get wit’ you when I get there.”

“A’ight, one.” Derrick disconnected the call.

He was sitting in traffic waiting to enter the Holland tunnel with Dice, Nate, and Click. Behind him a few cars back was Damon, Little Cash, and Niles. They were all going to the party, which was a treat for most of them. Ishmael would bring them on occasion whenever he went over to the city for a night of fun and relaxation. Although this was a business affair in a sense, no one knew that but Derrick. The rest were out for the night to chase skirts.

Before pulling off the block, Derrick instructed the knuckleheads riding in the car with Damon to go easy on the weed and to remember they was rolling with Jersey plates. Everybody carried a hammer, and he didn’t need them doing anything stupid to get them busted. Damon stayed a few cars behind Derrick for a reason. He wasn’t feeling taking orders from Derrick. Besides, he and Zola had some shit in store for him anyway.

The Acura Legend Damon drove was so clouded from them blowing trees, it was a wonder Damon could see anything driving. The base boomed from the large-watt speakers he had installed in the rear of the car, drawing major attention to the vehicle.

***************

Ishmael pulled up in front of Beverly’s house and blew the horn.

“Nigga, you better get the fuck out that Benzo and come see me,” Beverly yelled, sitting back in the cut on the dark porch.

Ishmael turned off the engine and got out of the car. He adjusted the belt holding up his Armani pants, which he straightened over his Armani shoes.

He glided toward the porch.

“Hot damn! I hear you, my brotha. That’s what’s up, nigga,” Beverly yelled, obviously impressed with Ishmael’s ensemble. “And you pulled out the big dog tonight.” She looked over at the Benz.

He gave a sly grin, knowing that he was doing his damn thing. “What’s up, Bev?”

“Apparently you, nigga.” She looked him up and down.

“Why you hiding out on the porch? Somebody looking for that ass, huh?” Ishmael joked.

“Is you crazy? I don’t scare, and I definitely don’t run from nobody.”

“Where my girl at?”

“She upstairs.” She pointed. “Rae-Rae! Ish down here for you,” she yelled ghetto fabulous. “Go tell Rae-Rae Ishmael down here for ha,” she told one of the kids running around. “So where y’all going?”

“To the city. Why? You rollin’?” He smiled, already knowing the answer.

“You know I can’t go to the city. I got kids.” She rolled her eyes at him, realizing he was toying with her.

Desiree walked onto the porch, and Ishmael looked at her. Although it was dark, he could still see her figure. She headed down the steps and stopped in front of him. The streetlights bounced off her radiant skin. She was wearing a black Chanel dress that fell above her knees. Its soft material lay upon her petite but shapely frame. The v-neck dove down the front of the dress, leaving room for her exposed cleavage. The sleeves of the dress dangled loosely, hanging to her elbows. Her hair was pinned up in a princess bun with long pieces hanging down around its crown.

“Aw, watch out now,” Beverly yelled.

Desiree turned to Beverly. “Bev, be quiet. You are so loud.”

“You look good, girl. Y’all make a nice couple,” she said as if she was a proud parent at her daughter’s prom.

Ishmael was in shock. He couldn’t take his eyes off Desiree. Her legs were as smooth as a baby’s ass and they shimmered in the night-lights. He held his hand out to her. She placed her manicured hand into the palm of his and stepped off the last step.