Hood (23 page)

Egypt’s eyes grew even bigger and she glanced around like Hood might jump outta his ride and bust her flying high any minute. “I just don’t want nobody to know about me…they’ll be a whole lot of people there, Zena,” she whimpered in shame. “I just don’t want nobody to
know.
”

Zena took her friend over to a parked car and turned her around until she was facing her reflection in its glass windows.

“Take a look, Egypt. Take a real good look. Baby they already know.
Everybody
knows. But the people at that meeting tonight won’t care about what you’ve done out here or what kind of drugs you might have used. The only thing they’re gonna care about is helping us figure out how to stop.”

Egypt still looked reluctant, but Zena gave it another try.

“Look, Egypt. Please come. I’m begging you.” She reached into her purse and took out the small folded letter. Folding it once more, even smaller, she stuck it in the back pocket of Egypt’s baggy jeans.

“I wrote this letter because there’s something I need you to know, E, but I could never figure out when or how to tell you. Please read this. Not in front of me, but later when you’re alone. I love you, Egypt and I want you to know that I’m sorry for everything. But the only way I know how to make it up to you and help you, or even help myself, is by telling you the truth and then sharing something with you that I think might give both of us a chance to get our lives back. The meeting is on the corner of Livonia and Watkins at eight o’clock tonight, E. I hope and pray with all my heart that you’ll meet me there.”

A piece of Zena’s heart broke off as she watched Egypt cut down the street with the letter in her back pocket, speeding off on her mission to get that next rock. As painful as reading the letter would be for her, Zena just couldn’t bring herself to tell Egypt the truth from her mouth, even though she knew she owed her friend that much and more. A lot of stuff was about to go down at one time and Zena hoped she was strong enough to withstand it all without turning to drugs to ease the guilt and the pain. Egypt would have to get tested. The possibility was there that she may have been infected, and that would be one more agonizing burden piled on Zena’s back that she’d have to find the courage to bear.

“One thing at a time,” she cautioned herself. “Just deal with one thing at a time.” First she’d go to this meeting and put a toe down on the road to recovery. Next, after Egypt read her letter, she’d sit down and talk and no doubt cry with her friend. Zena would confess to everything she’d done, and beg Egypt for her forgiveness. Maybe Egypt would give it, and maybe she wouldn’t. But Zena knew that was a chance she’d just have to take.

A rush of emotions came down on Zena and she swallowed hard. None of this was going to be easy for her, but it was definitely what she had to do. She had walked back to her building slowly and climbed the stairs to the apartment that held so many bad memories for her. The walls had seen every foul thing she’d done here, and they seemed to mock her and taunt her and tell her she’d fucked up so much in her life that she might as well run outside and catch up with Egypt and get her rock on too.

But then Zena had glanced at her brother as he sat on the sofa playing with her daughter and tears sprang to her eyes. She loved them so much, but her drug use had prevented her from enjoying a life with them. Sackie had always been like a father to her, despite the fact that he only had her by two years. He’d done more for Andreka than her own father had, which made Zena love him even more.

Zena had taken a shower and changed into her sagging denim jumper and combed her hair. She glanced outside again, and saw a stout, black woman standing downstairs gazing up at the window.

“I’m coming, Miss Aretha!” Zena hollered as her heart leapt, then for the first time in a long time, she kissed her daughter and left the house without guilt or reservation. Tonight was the first step toward her healing and recovery. Yeah, she was leaving her baby again to go out in the streets, but tonight she’d be out there doing something good for all of them. Tonight the healing would begin, and so would the rest of her life.

I understand why these niggas wanna see me break

They can’t imagine what it took just to be this great!

How a nigga say I’m shook, never seen me shake?

They fake!

“AIIGHT! GET THAT
money laid out on the table! Let’s get that count going!” The money room was in full motion as Hood walked back and forth down the rows and in between the metal tables. He looked good in his Sean John ensemble and fresh AF l’s. His goatee had been trimmed by Fat Daddy’s old friend Felton, and the shine gleaming from his fingers and chest was blinding.

Count time in the money room was every Friday evening. If everything went good with the tally then the teams got paid and everybody on the payroll ate. By nightfall everybody who wasn’t working a corner would be getting blasted, getting pussy, and getting ready for a lively weekend.

Hood and Dreko usually worked the count together. It was easier to control shit with both of them watching niggas, scoping for bad intentions and observing their every action. But right before count time Dreko had hit him on the cell and said he wasn’t gonna make it.

“Hey my nig,” Dreko spoke loudly into the phone. He’d been acting a little cool after that verbal ass-whipping Hood had put on him, but he sounded straight now. Hood shrugged. Spittin shit at a nigga was all a part of the battle rap, and Dreko should’ve been back to his normal self a long time ago. “I ain’t gonna make the count, man. I got a bitch out here wildin and I need to handle that ass. I’ll catch up with you later, though. In the club.”

Hood was cool with it.

There was one table per team leader, and each leader was responsible for making sure their trap money came to them correct from their corner boys. If that shit was a dime bag short they had to report it to Hood and Dreko, but it was up to them to make up the difference.

Hood used to be an expert at moving dope on the streets before he got locked up, but managing a whole crew of capos was even better. His reputation for being a coldhearted killer was enough to keep these cats straight on their game. These was some hardbody niggas he was dealing with, but they still liked living. Seldom did him or Dreko have any real problems that couldn’t be handled with a swift, harsh, and very public lesson. They had taken turns cracking niggas’s skulls and demanded complete obedience to the council rules at all times.

Hood watched fifteen pairs of hands move. Shuffling money and stacking paper. He walked down the line and stood looking over Roman’s shoulder. Twice last week that nigga had rolled in the spot with a short trap, blaming it on his boy Waheem. Dreko had gave a
fuck.
He’d stuck his gat up under that nigga’s chin and told him by the time he sat at that count table his numbers had better be adding up.

“Your shit straight right?”

Roman glanced up, his hands full of money. He nodded, his lips turned down at the corners. “I shoulda been straight both times last week too, man.” He set his stack down and stroked his goatee, his eyes narrow. “Something ain’t clickin, Hood. You know me, nigga. My shit always tight. I need to holla atcha later, cool?”

Hood shrugged and moved on. Rome was a down cat. They’d scrambled together for Xan back in the early days, but you never knew about a nigga. Hood had seen and heard the craziest of shit, and when niggas started fallin off with the doe there was usually a grimy reason behind it. He’d hear Rome out, but it prolly wouldn’t change shit. Either the nigga came correct with them papers, or he paid the fuckin price for running short. It was just as simple as that.

When the money room had been counted down and closed, Hood made sure the doe was recorded and loaded into the safe. Then the safe was locked and the steel-encased office was secured. He was on his way out of the building when he saw Roman laying in the cut. He was sitting slouched down in his whip looking like he didn’t wanna be seen.

“’Sup Rome?” Hood stood at the driver’s window, waiting.

“Man,” Roman said, sitting up. “I need you to ride with me for a minute, dog. I got some shit to say I think you gone wanna hear.”

Fifteen minutes later they were sitting in a parking lot at Canarsie Pier, facing the waves coming in from the Atlantic Ocean.

“Check this out,” Roman began. His eyes was locked dead on Hood, without an ounce of deception to be found in them. “Waheem’s trap been off. I’d give him thirty, he’d hand over the money for twenty-four. Then the nigga would lie right in my fuckin grill, swearing on his dead mother that twenty-four was all I dished out.

“At first I thought the young cat was smoking,” Roman said, then shook his head. “But I watched him real close and I could tell that wasn’t it. I started noticing that his shit was never short unless certain people was in the area, ya know? Then the next day that lil nigga would do his turn-in and be short on my money.”

Roman put his hand on the steering wheel, drumming his fingers. “So I figured Waheem was passing off freebies, you know? But I just couldn’t figure out why. I mean, he wasn’t getting no pussy for the product, and he knows the fuckin council rules. We don’t work on no credit. And then he told me.”

Hood’s voice stayed cool. “Told you what, Rome?”

“Now, he ain’t wanna fess up on that shit, but I busted that nigga’s lip real good for him and made him spit me some truth. Wah swore it was Dreko who had him dishing off vials. He said he got his orders straight from the top. He said Dreko told him don’t fuckin worry about coming up short or about nothing I said. Dreko told Wah to just give out as much as he told him to fuckin give out, and that he’d handle any beef that came up in the money room.”

Roman frowned then continued. “But that shit just didn’t make no sense to me. If Waheem was dishing off for Dreko, then why didn’t Dreko just square that shit up on count day like he said he would? Why the nigga let my shit keep coming up short so I could look like a skimming-ass low baller? The only way I can figure it is, Dreko let me take the heat because he wanted somebody to fucking know what Waheem was doing. Like he was counting on me to figure this shit out and make some noise about it to the right person.”

Hood shook his head. “That shit
don’t
make no sense, man. Dishing off to who? Dreko don’t smoke. And even if he did, he wouldn’t have to go through a nigga like Waheem to get to his own product. He’s sitting on all the weight he needs every day.”

“Yeah. That’s what I thought too, ya dig? But see, Dreko can’t be every fuckin where all the time. Waheem’s corner is far enough away from the Arms where the bosses don’t peep every damn body who rolls up to cop a package. And besides,” Roman said, his face grim. “Waheem wasn’t dishing them vials off
to
Dreko. Just at his command.”

Roman frowned again. “I don’t know man. That nigga Dreko done stacked at least a million dollars, Hood. And he still ain’t satisfied unless he taking and violating. Violating and taking.”

Street intuition is a funny thing. There was a reason Rome was telling him all this shit tonight. Hood felt the hammer falling even before it hit him in the head.

“Nigga, I’ma ask you again. Who Dre got Wah dishing off to, Rome?”

His old friend sighed deeply, then looked in his eyes and said quietly, “Dreko’s out there feeding shit to your girl, Egypt, man.”

Then he added softly, “And if you ask me, I think that nigga is being so loose with his shit ’cause he wanna make damn sure that you find out.”

As a man you gotta learn to come to terms with decisions

So pay attention ’cause you never know

What’s lurkin within him

Now sing along, if I’m wrong, put the blame on me

But if I let you bite me twice, then it’s shame on me…

SACKIE TURNED HIS
niece onto her back and flipped the switch on the musical Winnie the Pooh mobile hanging above her head. She was almost knocked out, and her sleepy eyes and wispy curls tugged at his heart and made him lean over and gently kiss her forehead.

But then he frowned. Her crib was stank. The whole thing smelled strongly of vomit and old diapers, and when he pulled the covers up over her he discovered four foul, dookie Pampers that Zena had stashed inside the crib after changing her.

“Fuckin lazy ass!” Sackie cursed, snatching the nasty Pampers up with one hand. He tossed them in the middle of Zena’s unmade bed and cursed again. Her sheets were filthy and crusted with some of everything. Blood, dirt, and Dreko’s cum. The girl was so far gone there was no way she could begin to take proper care of the baby, and just the thought of that scared Sackie.

He bristled. The next time Zena left Andreka home alone, or left her drugs laying around where her daughter might find them, it could mean a bad one for his niece and that wasn’t cool. Sackie shook his head as he took in the trashed room. Zena and Egypt were probably out there getting lifted right now saying fuck him and the baby.

He looked down at her. Andreka was already asleep. He touched her cheek and walked out the room. He left the door open but turned off the light.

In the small living room Sackie plopped back down in his chair in front of the computer. He surfed for some tracks to download to his iPod, and listened to a hot new mixtape Robb Hawk and Reem Raw had just put out called
H&R Block.

He’d just chosen to download a track from Papoose’s new jawn when a key turned in the lock and the front door swung open.

Dreko cast a long shadow as Sackie looked up in surprise.

Dreko held the door open as Barry, Flip, and Waffle came in, locking the door behind them.

“What it do?” Sackie asked, then nodded, swiveling around to face his boys.
Fuckin Zena,
is what rushed through his mind. He had changed the lock, but his sister must have given Dreko the new key. It only took Sackie two seconds to smell the cup of lighter fluid Waffle carried, and a half a second after that to dig the murderous look in Dreko’s eyes.

“You the one with all the mouth, muhfucka. You tell me what it do.”

Instinct drove Sackie to his feet. With four big men in front of him sucking up the air, the apartment felt small and tight.

Sackie shrugged like everything was straight, but in reality his mind was on whirl. His eyes never moved but he sure as hell saw the small pair of art scissors, handle up, in the pencil holder next to the computer.

“You got a bitch mouth, muhfucka. It’s time somebody closed it for you.”

“What you talking about, man?”

Dreko swung his fist like it was a hammer.

Ducking below the blow, Sackie lunged to the side and grabbed for the scissors, snatching them as he crashed into the computer stand and went down hard.

They were on him then. Feet, fists, however they could get him.

Sackie defended himself like he wanted to stay alive. He blocked with one arm and stabbed out with the scissors with his other hand. The only sounds in the apartment were those of a beating. Sackie was quickly overpowered. He was taking some furious head shots, and fading fast. He realized that if he was going to have a chance at survival then he couldn’t be the only motherfucker down on the floor.

Enduring the stunning blows, he grabbed Dreko’s foot in both hands and twisted it sharply, bringing him down to one knee. The moment Dreko was in reach Sackie went for his eye, digging his thumb in until Dreko screamed and twisted away. His boys turned up the attack. Doubling the blows and stomping their boots into his face and body until he cried out in pain.

Blood oozed from Sackie’s face and into his eyes. His lips and nose were busted. Numb. He turned on his stomach and tried to crawl away, and the weight of a full grown man came crashing down on the small of his back. Something cracked and Sackie screamed once, then laid out flat. Helpless.

They dragged him over to the dining table and lifted him into a chair. Barry ran over to the door and got the lighter fluid and rope they’d brought with them. Sackie felt himself being tied to the chair. His arms were snatched behind him, his feet bound tightly together at the ankles.

Squeezing his poked eye closed, Dreko grabbed one of his daughter’s spit rags off the table and balled it up, then picked up the lighter fluid and sloshed the cloth. Gripping Sackie by his hair, Dreko yanked his head back then crammed the cloth into his mouth as far as it would go.

“Yeah, muhfucka,” Dreko said quietly. He voice was so cold and deadly he didn’t even have to raise it. “You thought Fat Daddy caught a bad one that night you popped him? Well just wait till we get this shit going. Won’t be nobody here to put your bitch ass outta your misery.”

Digging his intentions, Sackie’s eyes grew big. He struggled against the ropes, choking and gagging as the acrid taste of lighter fluid flooded his mouth. He bucked and growled as Flip poured the rest of the fluid over his head and into his lap. The liquid burned as it washed over his abraised facial skin, but that’s not why Sackie was suddenly crazed out of his mind.

“Ahkega ih heh!” His words came out garbled as he stared into Dreko’s face and swung his head wildly toward the apartment’s only bedroom. “Ahkega ih heh!”

Frustrated tears fell from Sackie’s eyes. His rage was bitter and deep. Screaming into his gag, he arched his wrenched back and stretched his body, trying to stand. And when that didn’t work he bounced in the chair trying his best to scoot toward the bedroom.

No dice. Waffle grabbed the back of the chair and slung it to the ground. Sackie landed with a defeated thud, and when he looked up into Dreko’s eyes all he saw was ice. But Sackie didn’t give a fuck about himself. All he cared about was that baby girl back there sleeping in her crib. Sackie silently begged. Pleaded. Darted his eyes back and forth, and aimed his head toward the bedroom, desperate for Dreko to get his message.

And then finally he saw it. Understanding. It was right there in Dreko’s eyes as he glanced toward the bedroom and grinned. He was reading Sackie loud and clear.

Dreko held up his hand and his boys fell back.

Sackie sighed, silently thanking God.

Dreko bent down and lifted Sackie’s chair upright. Then he slid his hand into his own front pocket and came out with a lighter.

“Yeah. You got a big fuckin mouth, Sackie. Let’s see how good you can swallow some of this fire.”

Sackie really screamed then. His muffled sounds of rage were pitiful as he stared at Dreko with pure hatred.

Dreko laughed, then held the lighter next to the spit rag that was lodged halfway down Sackie’s throat and flicked up some fire.

A high flame licked the ends of the cloth and Sackie bucked backward. The pain was instant and intense and his nose hairs singed.

Dreko’s boys moved toward the door as Sackie writhed in agony, screaming from the back of his throat and flinging his head from side to side. The next thing Sackie heard was the sound of a baby crying. Wailing loudly from the bedroom. The front of his hair caught fire and he shrieked.

And then Flip’s voice cut into his pain.

“Oh shit!” he said to Dreko. “Man, ya baby is in there! What you want me to do?”

Dreko only had two words to say, and they were the last two words Sackie would ever hear.

“Leave her.”