Street Chronicles Girls in the Game (32 page)

Every gold-diggin’ ho in the city was trying to get at Pooh. He was rough around the edges, but inside he was smooth as a kite
sailing on a windy day. If it just happened to be a chick's lucky day to get a taste of Pooh's fine ass, then more than likely she spent that night schemin’ and manipulating on ways to try to keep him. Just one taste was never enough for the average broad.

Built like a bronze stallion, Pooh stood an even six feet, with dark brown eyes, dark hair that he kept cut in a low fade, and a dark past. A notorious hustler, slingin’ them thangs since he could learn to count, Pooh was known for handling any muthafucka who tried him. It didn't take long for cats to recognize that Pooh just wasn't to be fucked with. Pooh was no hood legend. That nigga was the truth.

Tahj wasn't your average anything either. Wasn't shit gon’ keep her from doing her. The hand she had been dealt wasn't holdin’ the ace, so what the fuck did she have to lose in this lifetime? Takin’ life serious in a world full of muthafuckas who, if they weren't tryin’ to get in the game, were tryin’ to get out, was lame. Life was a game that needed to be played. The only problem when it came to Tahj was that there were no rules and it was always her turn.

Tahj had already inserted the valve she had gotten from a medical supply store into her pussy before she even walked into Pooh's house. It was one of those tubes they used to fill at the doctor's office when taking a patient's blood. She wore a white doctor's coat she had picked up at the thrift store when she bought it so that the store clerk would assume she was a lobotomist or something. She had actually driven to the hood and found some pregnant girl to piss for her. She had to pay her one hundred dollars, but she knew there was a profit to be made at the end.

Pooh watched as Tahj started to pee.

“Damn!” she yelled. “I got piss all over my hand. Get me a rag.” When Pooh turned to get Tahj a rag, she popped the cap on the valve and let the urine pour onto the stick.

Needless to say, when Pooh saw the pink, he forked over a grand to Tahj for her to get an abortion. Tahj had made a $900 profit off some pregnant bitch's piss.

Plus, after faking the abortion, she acted as though it had mentally fucked with her. Pooh started treating her like she was a queen, Nikki Turner or some shit. Tahj played right into it, too. For a minute there, besides Lee, Pooh was the only nigga Tahj would fuck with. Pooh was a big enough player in the game, which was Little League compared to the league Lee played in, that Tahj could get out of him what she couldn't even get out of three or four niggas. So the shit was sort of like a vacation to Tahj.

But when some nigga tried Pooh one night while he was out at the club, Pooh bladed that nigga, slit his throat. Said he talked too much, and now, without his vocals, he couldn't say shit. Believe it or not, the dude he sliced up didn't even die. The doctors said that if the blade had gone just one-tenth of a centimeter deeper, the guy would have lost his life. He may not have lost his life, but Pooh lost his freedom.

T
ahj sat in her living room reading a letter out loud to this chick named Shea that Pooh had written her from jail. He had one of his boys bring it up to the shop to her one day while she was getting her hair done. His boys had been schoolin’ him on what the word was about Tahj on the street, how she was playin’ muthafuckas left and right. Pooh was on fire, to say the least.

“ ‘You ain't even brought your ass up here to see me once. On top of that, you won't take my calls on your celly’ ” Tahj read Pooh's words.

After reading the vicious letter, in which Pooh threatened Tahj's life and called her every chickenhead and stank whore name
in the book, Tahj tossed the letter next to the stack of hundred-dollar bills that were sitting on the odd-shaped glass living room table that probably cost more than the average person's entire living room set. She had seen it in a magazine at the spot where she got her massages and facials. She knew nobody's crib would be rockin’ nothing like that, so she just had to have it. She had to have it so bad that she had Lee get it shipped all the way from the Mediterranean for her. Fuck wit’ dat!

Taking a pull from a blunt and then passing it onto Shea, Tahj said, “Fuck that mark-ass clown.” Tahj leaned over and picked up the bottle of red OPI nail polish and started to polish her toes. “I don't know what done crawled up in his ass. He must have dropped the soap again.”

The girls burst out laughing. Their laughter floated through the house and echoed off the high cathedral ceilings.

“Girl, you
niggnorant,”
Shea said as she finished off the blunt. She stood up from the square retro burnt-orange sofa and placed it in the ashtray. She then walked over to the full bar and helped herself to a glass of Remy on the rocks.

“Can you believe this muthafucka talkin’ all that rah-rah shit?” Tahj said.

“Hell, yeah, I can believe it,” Shea answered. ”What did you think Pooh was gon’ say when he found out how you was out here livin'? He probably feels like Snoop Dogg did in the movie
Baby Boy.
You let Jody take over your life and shit.”

“Bitch, you crazy.” Tahj chuckled. “That nigga don't know how I'm really livin'.”

“No, you da one crazy. He ain't get life, you know. That nigga gettin’ out one day, if you haven't forgot,” Shea said, sitting back down on the couch.

Tahj wasn't studying Shea's comments. Just as long as she was
up under Lee's wing she was untouchable, so Tahj didn't worry about Pooh's jailhouse threats. She finished up her last coat of polish and started to blow on her toes.

“How much time he get, anyway?” Shea asked.

“Muthafucka got something like twenty-five years or some shit,” Tahj said, sucking her teeth. “Talking about beatin’ my ass when he get out. That nigga gon’ be using a walker and shit to get around by the time he hit them bricks again.”

“Oooh, you wrong for that,” Shea said.

“Get me a glass of orange juice,” Tahj ordered Shea, who immediately filled the request.

“Damn, Pooh got twenty-five years and shit?” Shea said with a sigh. “That's like forever. No wonder you sittin’ around like Bone Crusher, never scared and shit. He ain't gon’ be kickin’ yo ass doing twenty-five years. I know dat nigga's mind is all fucked-up.”

“Yeah. I'm sure it is,” Tahj said as a devilish grin came across her face. “Hand me that notepad in the kitchen by the phone. Bring me the pen, too.”

“Damn, ho,” Shea huffed. “Do I look like Florence the maid?”

Tahj gave Shea a piercing look.
This raggedy wannabe-me ho sittin on my shit that cost more than her whole goddamn Section Eight town house,
Tahj thought.
She smokin my shit and drinkin my shit. Bitch lucky I don't ask her to come over and blow my muthafuckin toes like I had Keisha doing last week. I thought these hos recognized that by now.

“Why you lookin’ all serious?” Shea said, hiding the slight fear that was creeping up on her. “Girl, you know I was just playing.” Off she went, returning with the notepad and a pen.

“Good girl,” Tahj said, taking the contents out of Shea's hand.

“What you ‘bout to write?” Shea inquired as she sipped on her drink.

“I'm gonna write his ass a letter right back and take it to his boy to mail to him. I'm ‘bout to let his bitch ass have it. I'm gonna be the last bitch he ever sits down to write some ol’ fucked-up letter to again.” Tahj shot off an evil chuckle.

Shea shook her head. “Don't do that, Tahj,” Shea said. “Girl, just ignore him.”

“No, fuck that,” Tahj snapped, hating the fact that Shea was trying to piss on her parade. “I ain't thinking about him. He old news. That nigga always thought that just because he was holdin’ big paper he could treat people any way he wanted to. Look at him now. Fuck that nigga. It's my turn to floss on his ass now. How about that?”

As Tahj started writing, Shea just shrugged her shoulders.
Fuck it.
What did she care if Tahj pissed that nigga off? If that ho didn't know that a nigga with Pooh's status could reach out and touch a ho even from behind bars, that was her own stupidity. Shea didn't really give a fuck about Tahj's letter hurtin’ Pooh's feelings or nothing. She didn't really give a fuck about that at all. She just didn't want to see Tahj cut off the coattail she'd been able to ride on. Tahj had been unordinarily quite friendly with the stash Pooh had left behind for her. She didn't want to see her spontaneous shopping sprees, free trips to the spa, and free Coach bags come to an end. Other than that, what did she care?

“Hustlin’ ain't limited to one craft,” Tahj said to Shea as the two of them headed for the exit of the Red Lobster restaurant. They had just eaten a seafood feast as well as enjoyed a couple of margaritas.
The meal was delicious and on point, but it was the worst meal they had ever eaten, let Tahj tell it. At least, that was what she had the manager convinced of, anyway.

She complained about every little thing that she could think of in order to get free food. She complained that the Cheddar Bay Biscuits were too cold, there was too much salt around the rim of the margarita glass, the meal took too long to be served, and that she had ordered vinaigrette dressing for her salad instead of the Italian dressing that was on it.

By the end of their meal, Tahj demanded to speak with the manager, relaying the complaints she had been making all evening long. When all was said and done, the manager ripped the bill up and gave both Shea and Tahj a free dessert on top of that. This was everything Tahj expected when she had planned her little act before she even entered the restaurant. Of course, Tahj had more than enough money to cover the bill, but she'd rather keep her money in her pocket, where it belonged. Couldn't stack the loot if you were spending it, so finding a way to get what you wanted for free was a hustle in itself.

“I just can't believe your ass hustled a free meal,” Shea said with a smile, shaking her head while admiring Tahj's skills.

Tahj stopped in her tracks. “Correction, bitch, two meals,” Tahj bragged as she continued her strut.

“Oh, my fault. I mean two meals, bit—” Shea said, catching herself, almost letting the word
bitch
fall off of her tongue.

The last time Shea had called Tahj a bitch, even though it was jokingly, the way Tahj called her one, Tahj mopped up the floor with her ass. Tahj hadn't gotten into many fights as a kid, but she had witnessed a couple of her older siblings beat enough asses to know how it was done.

Even though Tahj always called her girlfriends
bitch
or
ho,
their calling her a bitch was off-limits. The first and only time Tahj had
ever been called a bitch was by her own mother, and those words cut like a knife. That night her mother had said plenty of nasty things to her, but that particular word played over and over in Tahj's head, sometimes waking her from her sleep. So Tahj was sensitive when it came to the B-word. She didn't give a fuck who was saying it—Tupac, Ja Rule, LiP Kim, or whoever. That word was like nails down a chalkboard to her.

“Anyway,” Tahj said. “Don't sleep on the hustle game. That's muthafuckas’ problems. Everybody wanna label they ass as a hustla but don't wanna do but one goddamn thing to make a come-up. Fuck that … lazy bastards. Everything you goddamn do in life should be a hustle. Everything!”

“I hear you,” Shea agreed.

“Here,” Tahj said, digging down in her Gucci purse and handing Shea the keys to her car. It was a nice li'l Gucci purse that Lee had bought her. Well, actually he had bought her one a size up, but Tahj took it back to the store, traded it for a smaller version, and kept the difference. “Go pull my car around. I'm too stuffed to even walk to it.”

Without hesitating Shea followed Tahj's orders, taking the keys, then heading to the rear parking lot, where they had been forced to park due to the Saturday-night crowd.

Tahj walked over and sat on one of the benches while Shea went and got the car. As she sat there rubbing her stomach, a couple walking through the parking lot heading for the door caught her attention. The girl was laughing and saying something to the guy she was with. It was dark, and Tahj didn't want to squint and stare, but she knew she recognized the girl's voice and was trying to figure out who it was.

She turned her head away as the couple made their way up to the door. She didn't want them to think she was muggin’ them or anything. The girl stood and waited for the guy she was with to
open the door for her, and that was when Tahj decided to get a better look at them.

When Tahj turned around to put a face with the familiar voice, she saw Shondell, a hairstylist she went to sometimes at a shop called Cute Cutz. Shondell was there with a date, a tall, dark, fine-ass brotha with a bald head and a goatee. Tahj recognized him as well. He was Kel, the boyfriend of Lisa, one of the other stylists at Cute Cutz. He had come into the shop a couple of times to drop off some money for Lisa, bring her food, or whatnot. What was even worse was that Shondell was supposed to be Lisa's girl—for real, for real girl.

Tahj couldn't believe her eyes.
Scandalous bitch,
Tahj thought as a smile crept across her face.
I think I like her now more than ever.
Tahj didn't draw attention to herself. That was nothing new, though. If muthafuckas couldn't see her coming, they couldn't prepare for what she was bringin’ to the game.

Shondell and Kel went off to enjoy their secret meal together as Shea drove up in the car. A wicked grin formed on Tahj's lips as she stood up, walked over to the car, and got in.

“Why you looking all like the cat who just ate the bird?” Shea said.

“Oh, nothing,” Tahj said devilishly. “I was just thinking how I can't wait to go get my hair done Tuesday. Lee will be back in town by then, and I want to get an entire new look. I'm talking perm, sew-in weave, color, cut, eyebrow wax, the works!”

“Girl, that's doing too much,” Shea said. “All that gon’ cost you an arm and a leg, and here you didn't even want to spend money on shrimp.”