In My Hood (11 page)

“All right now. Y’all have a good time,” Beverly called out after them.

Desiree waved to Beverly and stepped into the Benz while Ishmael held the door open for her. He slid behind the wheel and started the engine. The aroma of Happy by Clinique filled the inside of the car. He took a whiff before pulling off.

Back at the club the crew pulled up to the valet. Everyone hopped out of the two vehicles. Damon practically fell out of the truck. Derrick stared at him and shook his head. He could see what was left of the smoke escaping out of all the open doors.

They all trailed behind him as he approached the front door. There were people standing in a line that wrapped around the building, seeming to never end. The chances of getting in were slim, but everybody wanted to get in to party with the stars and the ballers.

Derrick walked right up to the three bouncers who stood in front of the huge oak double doors. The combination of their muscles and them standing side by side exceeded the width of the doors. A short Italian man holding a clipboard stood looking like a dwarf in front of the men.

“Are you...on the list?” he asked, sounding nasally.

“Yeah,” Derrick responded, detecting the cause of the little man’s runny nose.

“Oh yeah?” He rubbed his red nose and sucked up mucus again. “What’s the name?”

“Ishmael,” Derrick advised him, looking over the top of the clipboard at the names on the list.

The man ran his finger down the list then he flipped to the second page and found the name he was looking for.

“Here it is. That’s a party of nine.” He rubbed his tearing eyes. “How many you got with you?” He looked around Derrick to see how many were in attendance.

“Seven,” Derrick answered.

“Let them in,” the man instructed the burly men standing behind him as he fidgeted with his collar.

They all walked in one by one. Damon was the last to go in.

“Just say no to drugs, man, damn,” Damon exclaimed, walking past the little man. The rest fell out laughing and clowning the man.

Once inside the foyer of the club, each man was searched. No one brought their guns inside the club knowing there would be a search. They were allowed to keep their drugs but no weapons were allowed.

After being searched, they walked to the right at the end of the hall and got on a gated elevator. The music was loud but muffled. Once they reached the next level, the gate open. The music hit them in the face like the winds of a tornado. It was like stepping into an odyssey. They were souped, acting like kids in a toy store with a free shopping spree card. They disbursed and went their separate ways, chasing titties and asses that floated by them.

Derrick’s demeanor never changed. He maintained the same gentle-giant appearance, focusing and surveying the room. Dice and Nate were right on his tail trailing him. They, too, maintained the stone faces with which they’d become quite comfortable. Although their eyes roamed the exposed flesh in which they came in contact, they kept their cool.

A
s Ishmael drove, Desiree looked out the window. They both were silent, probably basking in their own thoughts. The radio was blazing WBLS FM’s slow jams.

“You put it on tonight,” he said, looking over at her.

She turned and looked at him with a smile. “You don’t look so bad yourself.” She winked at him.

Ishmael gave a bright smile. The Brothers Johnson’s “Strawberry Letter 23” came out of the radio’s speakers.

“Oh shit. This was the cut back in the day,” Ishmael exclaimed, reaching over and turning up the volume.

“The cut? What you know about that, young boy?” Desiree smirked at him.

“Young boy? Ain’t nothing young about me, ma,” he retorted.

“Yeah, alright. You don’t nothing about this song. This was before your time,” she said, laughing.

“What? Oh yeah, peep this.” He began to sing along with the song.

Desiree was grinning from ear to ear. He actually sounded pretty good, she thought. It was still funny to her, as thuggish as he was that he actually had a soft side. Ishmael grabbed her hand and continued to sing. When the hook came, he waved their arms from side to side, and she joined in on the song.

“Ooh ooh ooh ooh hooo!”
They both burst into laughter because she sounded like a coyote howling at the moon.

“Alright, you got that. You need to quit that so-called day job and start pressing records. That’s definitely a better career move for you,” she teased.

“Well, you definitely need to keep your night job at IHOP,” he joked.

She playfully tapped him. The next song that came on was “There’ll Never Be” by Switch.

“Oh see now, no they didn’t have to take it there. This was my cut.” She snapped her fingers, feeling the groove.

“Don’t sing, baby. Let me get this one,” he continued to tease her.

“Shut up, Ishmael.” She laughed.

Ishmael wasn’t joking. He liked the song, too, and began to serenade her once again. This time he showed her what he could really do vocally. Desiree was in awe, listening to him belt out the high tone of the lead singer.

Chills ran up her arm while he hypnotized her with his vocals.

Desiree stared at him with melting eyes. He continued to hold her hand and sing. Once the song was over, he kissed the back of her hand with his soft lips. She pulled her hand from his. She was flustered. The way Ishmael made her feel was overwhelming. She didn’t think there was another man on earth who could make her feel the way Bilal did. But there was, and his name was Ishmael.

Bilal would roll over in his grave if he knew what she was doing, she thought. She stared out of the window thinking about Bilal and how she missed him so much. She didn’t want to lose the love she had for him, but if she continued with Ishmael, that was inevitable. No, she couldn’t let that happen, she knew Ishmael was heavy in the game and with that she knew it would be a matter of time before the drama started.

Ishmael saw the change in her behavior. He was somewhat use to her mood swings. He knew all about her secrets from Beverly—or so he thought—but she didn’t know he knew. He understood that sometimes your past resurfaces and can change your mood. He, too, had secrets he held within, and sometimes they surfaced, haunting him.

He quickly got on another subject to help clear up whatever was on her mind. He was determined not to let anything ruin this night.

“So have you registered for school yet?” he asked.

“Actually, I did that today.” She looked at him, surprised.

“What, you thought I forgot?” He looked over at her.

“Well, yeah, I did.”

“I pay attention to you when you talk, Rae,” he assured her.

“I see, and I’m impressed.”

“No, I’m impressed with you and you furthering your education. I think that’s important.”

She sat back in the seat and smiled to herself.
This man is something else. He always manages to amaze me.

They continued to talk about the subjects she registered for in school and what her goals were going to be when she finished.

A half hour later they pulled up in front of the club. The valet rushed to the driver side while another valet opened the door for her. The line was still draped around the corner with people trying to get in. She looked at all the people standing outside and felt a sudden rush of stardom. Everyone gawked at her and Ishmael as if they were the guests of honor. His demeanor portrayed him as some kind of superstar, and he flaunted it as such. He grabbed her hand and led her to the doors.

After the little Italian man gave the sign to let them in, they proceeded in through the doors. Desiree didn’t like the fact that they had to be searched. Ishmael saw her expression as the female guard patted her down and searched her purse. He explained to her as they walked toward the elevator the purpose of the security. He didn’t let her know that fifty percent of the guests were ballers and that the club was owned by one of the made bosses.

Once inside the elevator, he placed his arm around her waist, pulling her close to him. She looked up into his eyes and inhaled his cologne—Chrome by Azzaro. She loved the smell of it. Their gaze was so intimate that they both began to lean toward each other for a passionate kiss, until the clinking of the elevator distracted them. Two walls opened, and the blare of the music and noise filled the space in the elevator.

Desiree was flabbergasted. She had never been to such an event, and she had been to the most elite corporate affairs, but they couldn’t touch the party she and Ishmael had just entered.

There was everything—crap tables, black jack tables, roulette wheels, and pool tables. There were female strippers in one section of the room dancing on a small stage with a pole down the middle and male strippers in another section dancing on a small stage. A glass elevator took guests to an upper level, which had a balcony that wrapped around the entire place. The dance floor was huge and filled with people. The bar wrapped around half the entire lower level. People surrounded every inch of it. There were short round tables with chairs and tall round table with stools. There were sofas and love seats. There were even vending machines with plenty of candy and chips. In another corner, a chef was preparing stir-fried foods and special gourmet. There was a turkey on a rotisserie and a cook carving roast beef.

The place looked like a cruise ship on land with all the luxuries that came with the cruise.

Ishmael escorted her toward the bar.

“What you drinking?” he asked her.

“Nothing just yet,” she replied, still looking around.

She watched the half-naked women strut around like it was okay to look like sluts. She watched them grope men and watched the men grope them. She started to feel uneasy and held on to Ishmael’s hand a little tighter. He could feel her tense, and he put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer. He kissed her cheek, reassuring her that she was safe.

The deejay was pumping the music, and people jumped up and down like they were at a concert.

Derrick appeared out of nowhere with Nate and Dice close behind him. They all gave Ishmael some dap. Ishmael introduced Desiree to the men, and he and Derrick began to converse privately, speaking into each other’s ears.

Desiree wanted to go to the ladies’ room. She nudged Ishmael, and he leaned over to hear what she had to say.

“Where’s the ladies room?” she shouted over the music.

He looked around the room. “It’s over there,” he said, pointing to the left side of the club. “Hold up. I’m gonna get Nate and Dice to walk you over there.”

“Why? I’m a big girl. I can find it myself.”

“Oh no doubt, but I don’t trust none of these cats up in here. They going with you and that’s that.” He looked at her. “A’ight?”

“Okay. If you insist,” she surrendered, feeling like she was on top of the world. If Ishmael kept treating her like the queen she was, Bilal would soon be a memory. She shook the thought from her mind and walked to the ladies’ room with Nate in the front and Dice bringing up the rear.

S
itting at a large round table in the basement of city hall were members of the Drug Enforcement Task Force better known as DETF.

Seated were Robert Cohen, chief of police; Arnold Bowen, assistant to the mayor; Thomas Littleton, director of special units; and David Weston, deputy of operations.

The men were indulging in their usual Saturday night endeavor of poker. Smoke filled the room and bottles of beer and Johnny Walker sat on the table.

“In your face,” Cohen yelled as he threw down his hand, displaying a straight flush.

All threw in their hands as they grunted in defeat—except Thomas who was still holding his hand with a smile spreading across his thin, pale lips.

“Read ’em and weep, buddy.” Thomas laid the cards on the table, revealing a royal flush.

“Fuck,” Cohen yelled and smacked the table. This was the first hand he had lost all night. He was still the big winner so far—he hated to lose at anything. He was a challenger whether on the streets or at poker. One hand lost meant defeat for him, even if he walked away with all the money, which he did almost every Saturday night.

The room erupted with laughter. The men began to refill their glasses and popped the tops to bottled beer. Some lit cigarettes or cigars as they prepared for the next hand. Thomas pulled the pile of money toward him and began to count it. Cohen eyed him with envy although he had a stack of bills sitting in front of him larger then anyone’s in the room.

Cohen was your average redneck with the attitude to match. His skin was red, and he was overweight with a protruding belly.

“So what are we going to do with that punk Ish-mail?” Weston asked.

“I’m still waiting to hear word from Leroy,” Bowen responded.

“Waiting?” Weston inquired, confused.

“We don’t wait for no one. What the hell kind of shit is that?” Cohen yelled.

“Hold on, Cohen,” Bowen interrupted. “Give the man some time to set things up.”

Cohen barked out loud with laughter, “That nigger has to follow the rules just like every other jigga-boo out there. He’s not exempt from the rules. I’ll shut that tar baby down.”

Weston and Littleton agreed with a nod. Bowen continued to shuffle the cards, clearly showing signs of agitation.

“I told you he’ll come through,” Bowen said through clenched teeth. “That kid brings in a lot of money from this city. Don’t go jumping the gun and fuck this up for all of us.”

Cohen let out another laugh. “Hey, Arnie boy, don’t get your shorts in a ruffle. I know you feel connected to these people and all, but this is business, and you know it. We’ve been doing this for many years, and nothing has changed about the way we get a piece of the pie to protect these street scum. Now I know you feel some kind of closeness with them at times because of...you know...you being half monkey and all,” he sarcastically teased.

Weston and Littleton bellowed out with laughter. Littleton spit out beer onto the floor and continued to roar.

“I’m not half nigger!” Bowen yelled, furious. “I told you that my great-grandmother was half black because her mother was raped. My skin is as white as yours. The reason being my family stuck with the white color line. I don’t have an ounce of nigger blood in me.”