In My Hood (5 page)

They walked up into the club like they owned it. Everybody knew who Ishmael and his crew were, and they gave them much respect. Once inside they were directed straight to the VIP room upstairs, which overlooked the entire club. You could do anything in this VIP room, and mostly anyone in there, did. Little Cash, a member of the crew, pulled out the blunts, and the men smoked, drank Cristal, and watched the scene.

An hour had passed when Derrick tapped Ishmael and directed his attention to the center of the dance floor. There in the middle was Zola dancing with some low-count dealer from another town named Lo-Lo. The way Zola was grinding Lo-Lo, it looked like he’d bust a nut right in his pants. They were dancing to Sean Paul featuring Sasha “I’m Still in Love with You.”

She was wearing a tight leather coochie skirt that inched up higher and higher every time she rolled her ass. The dude was humping on Zola so hard, that every man watching had to have gotten a hard-on.

Ishmael looked over at his boys as they were looking at him waiting to see how he was going to handle the situation. Ishmael knew he had to do something, and it had to be something of leadership action to spare himself the embarrassment.

He tried to act as if it didn’t bother him as rage began to fill his body. He got up from his seat and high-tailed it downstairs with his boys in tow.

Once he reached the dance floor, he stood and observed with the veins protruding from his neck. He clenched his jawbone, and he approached the couple. Ishmael snatched Zola up by the arm.

“What are you doing, Ishmael?” she screamed, holding her arm.

“No, what the fuck are you doing?” He was calm. “Take yo’ ass home.” He shoved her.

“You know this clown?” Lo-Lo said, pointing at Ishmael.

“Yo, fam, that really ain’t none of your bizness. Let’s go, Zola,” he demanded.

“Yo, wait. Hold the fuck up. Who is you?” Lo-Lo directed his question to Ishmael.

“Like I said fam, this ain’t got nothing to do witchu,” Ishmael warned.

“Yo, mafucka.” Lo-Lo pushed Ishmael in the chest, not budging him an inch.

Ishmael stepped forward, and before Lo-Lo could blink, Ishmael had landed a right hook to his jaw. Stunned, Lo-Lo stumbled backward, holding his jaw.

Lo-Lo reached for his burner, but before he could whip it out, Derrick was up on him with a quickness with his nine-millimeter jabbed into Lo-Lo’s stomach.

“Yo, nigga, let me introduce you to the belly of the beast,” Derrick said, his fiery eyes warning him.

Lo-Lo dropped his shoulders and looked around to see the squad had him surrounded. He knew he was outnumbered.

“Punk ass,” Lo-Lo mouthed, looking at Ishmael.

Ishmael smirked with confidence.

“We got a problem over here,” Duke yelled as he stepped into the middle of the altercation with his squad behind him.

“Naw, fam, no problem—” Ishmael looked back at Lo-Lo—“right?”

“Oh, a’ight ’cause if this nigga poppin’ off, Ish man, I could take care of this punk proper like for ya,” Duke projected over the loud music.

“Naw, Duke, I’m good. Good lookin’ though,” Ishmael assured him. “Yo, Rik man, we out,” Ishmael shouted.

He grabbed Zola by the hand and floated toward the exit. Once outside they all descended to their vehicles. He mushed Zola in her head, never saying a word to her as they walked. Although she knew he was pissed, she knew better than to say anything at that moment. She knew that she was wrong, and she wasn’t a fool either. He was heated and would do anything to show off in front of his friends. He had told her time and time again not to show her ass in front of his boys.

That situation just like many others ended their relationship, but then weeks later they got back together.

Ishmael came back to the present and finished grooming himself and entered into the bedroom. He walked into his walk-in closet, which took up almost the entire wall. He had rows and rows of fitted caps, sneakers, shoes, and boots. He had every name-brand pair of jeans lining the other side of the wall. He had all his designer sweaters and suits on one portion of the back wall, and his jerseys and button-up shirts lined the other half of the back wall. He turned on the light and prepared to select his gear for the day.

He heard Zola’s cell phone ring. Zola walked past the closet and headed for the bathroom all the while whispering on her cell phone. Ishmael wondered why all the whispering. He went to the bathroom door and listened. He couldn’t hear much, but it appeared she was talking to a dude.

Ishmael burst into the bathroom, breaking the doorjamb. Zola jumped up from the toilet. She closed her cell phone and peered at him.

“Who was that on the phone?” he asked as his nose flared.

“Why, Ishmael? Don’t start tripping.”

“Who the fuck was that on the phone?”

“Why?”

“Because I asked you, Zo.” He remained calm.

“It was my modda, Ishmael.”

“Your mother, huh? You think I’m stupid?”

“I don’t know what you are, but I do know you’re tripping right now.” She rolled her eyes.

Zola tried to walk out of the bathroom, but he stopped her by pushing her backward. “Come on, Ishmael, let me out.”

“Who was that nigga you was on the phone with?” he asked as calm as he could be.

“I wasn’t on the phone with no nigga. Just leave me alone,” she shouted.

“A’ight. So it’s like that?”

“Yeah, it’s like that.”

“I swear, Zola, if I find out you fucking around with another nigga, we finished,” he said, leaving the bathroom.

“Whatever, Ishmael. Ain’t nobody doing nothing.”

His mind was racing. He no longer trusted her. He knew something was going on. He was so tired of the games she played. He always thought the saying, you can’t turn a whore into a housewife was bullshit. When he met Zola, he didn’t consider her a whore, even though rumor said it. He always thought she was too sophisticated to stoop to that level. But the more he thought about it, deep down in his gut, he was starting to believe it.

He pushed the thought out of his mind and continued to dress. Minutes later, Zola came into the room stark naked. He looked up at her. Her skin was flawlessly smooth. There wasn’t a single spot on it. It was black as night, and it glowed. Her ass looked like two basketballs mounted on her lower back. Her breasts favored two grapefruits sitting up on her chest.

Zola knew what she was doing. She knew Ishmael couldn’t resist her beauty. She had taken a shower. She walked over to the dresser drawer and bent over to retrieve a pair of panties from the bottom drawer. Ishmael felt himself rising. He tried to fight the urge off by turning away from her. He continued to put on his sneakers and lace them.

She then walked past him to get to the other side of the room, throwing her ass hard as she walked. She hadn’t put on her panties yet. She bent over again in front of him, pretending to be searching for something in the basket of clothes that sat on the floor. He looked at her pussy, which was exposed to him. His tool stiffened, and fighting the urge was no longer an option.

Ishmael stood and made his way over to her. He unzipped his jeans, letting them drop to the floor. He pulled down his boxer shorts and grabbed his tool. As Zola bent over, he entered her, and an explosion went off in his head. The feeling was so overwhelming, he didn’t know if he would be able to hold on without releasing too soon. Zola threw her grind on him like a true Jamaican woman. If she continued to stroke him the way she did, Ishmael knew he wouldn’t be able to hold on. Minutes later, he pulled out and dumped cum on her backside.

After cleaning himself, he walked out of the bathroom to his ringing cell phone. It was Derrick telling him that he had made it to the spot with the package.

Ishmael looked at Zola as she began to dress. He felt a certain distance from her. He didn’t understand it, but he knew one thing. He didn’t trust her—even though the sex was off the hook.

“You gonna give me the money or not, Ishmael?” she asked with a little more attitude than he cared to hear.

“No. Get whoever you were talking to on the phone to give it to you. Oh yeah, that was your mother, right? Well ask her for the money.” Ishmael walked out of the room.

Zola was heated. She waited until Ishmael left the house and went into the back of his closet and pulled the small lever that loosened a portion of the wall. She then removed the panel. Behind the wall was a compartment that held a safe and a shelf. She didn’t know the combination to the safe, but Ishmael kept small piles of money on the shelf for easy access. She grabbed a small stack of money and put the panel back. Zola left the house, heading for the mall.

I
shmael pulled up in front of a tattered two-family house also known as their stash house. The house needed a paint job badly. The brick steps leading to the porch had seen better days. They were broken and some were missing. He walked through the front doors of the house and down the hall of the first floor. He searched for the key on his key ring and entered into the apartment. There were a few pieces of furniture sprawled around the front room. He walked through the kitchen into the rear room. Derrick and three of the crewman were waiting for his arrival.

The package was tied to a chair. His name was Rallo. He looked to be twenty years old. He had been beaten. One side of his face was swollen from the punishment he was given. Dried blood covered his lips. A sock was shoved into his mouth. His eyes widened when Ishmael appeared in the room. Rallo began to squirm and try to speak. One of the men slapped him across the face with the back of his hand. Rallo’s head snapped back from the force of the blow. His breathing became short and hard.

“What up, Rallo?” Ishmael asked.

Rallo began to mumble.

“Take that sock out of his mouth,” Ishmael instructed no one in particular.

The sock was removed. Ishmael grabbed one of the chairs that sat in the room and placed it directly in front of Rallo.

“Ish man, what’s up with this, man?”

“Where you been?” he said, sitting down on the chair backward.

“My grandmother got sick so I had to go down south with my moms to help out,” Rallo stated, looking as serious as he could.

“Oh yeah? So how your grandmoms doing now?” Ishmael asked as if he really cared.

“She a’ight now.”

“A’ight. I’m glad to hear that. So where’s my money?” Ishmael stated, looking Rallo dead in his eyes.

Rallo fidgeted as he tried to keep eye contact. “What money you talking about, Ish?”

“My fuckin’ five thousand dollars,” Ishmael said, remaining calm.

Ishmael stood. “Before you answer my question, just know that your answer decides whether you keep breathing.”

“Ish, I don’t have no money that belongs to you, I swear,” Rallo pleaded.

Ishmael shook his head. “Wrong answer, Rallo.” He folded his arms across his chest, revealing the strength of his muscular arms. “As a matter of fact, I know you took my money. You want to know how I know you took it?” Not waiting for an answer, he continued, “Because you the only nigga in town who’s got a tattoo of a snake going around your neck. When you and your stickup punks robbed one of my men, he saw the tat. Although you had on a ski mask your neck was exposed.” He was silent for a few seconds and spoke again. “I’m gonna ask you again and keep it funky. Where is my fuckin’ money?” he stated calmly.

“Ish, I would never disrespect you like dat. I respect you. I been tryna get on your payroll for a minute now. That’s why I hung around your crew so that they could tell you about me. I wanted to show you my loyalty,” Rallo cried. Tears streamed down his face, and his words were barely audible.

“Get on my payroll, huh?” Ishmael gave an evil laugh, sounding like the Jackal. “Maybe you hung around my squad to set me up. You ain’t nothing but a nickel-and-dime nigga anyway.”

“Ish, I didn’t rob you, man. That’s what I’m tryna tell you,” he pleaded.

“A’ight, check this out. Give me the names of the two dudes who was with you who robbed my boy, and I’ll let you go.”

Rallo tried to speak, but Ishmael threw up his hand to silence him.

“Let’s just say the third person wasn’t you. In fact I don’t even want to know who the third person was. Just tell me who the other two were.”

Ishmael walked over to the window and looked out into the backyard. Garbage was all over the yard. Old furniture lined the fence. Two old mattresses were placed in the middle of the yard by the neighborhood’s youth. They would do somersaults on the mattresses when playing.

Rallo tried to turn his head to follow Ishmael. “I don’t know who they were, Ish.”

“So you would rather kick my back in than to tell me who took my money?” he said, still looking out the window.

“No, man, I ain’t kick’n yo’ back in,” Rallo cried.

“So who got my money?”

“I heard it was Donald and Ronald,” he said, coughing.

Ronald and Donald where identical twin brothers. They where two-bit hustlers who did nothing but rob niggaz to get money.

“Oh, Ron and Don got my money?” Ishmael turned and looked at the back of Rallo’s head.

“Yes. That’s what I heard. I swear it wasn’t me.”

“And you knew about this all along? So that’s how you show me your loyalty?”

“Ish, I didn’t get a chance to tell you because I had to go down south to see my grandmother. I swear, I was gonna drop a dime to you as soon as I touched down.”

Ishmael, unimpressed, looked at one of his men and lifted his shirt, exposing the butt of the Glock that was shoved down the front of his jeans. His worker then removed his own hammer and stood behind Rallo.

“A’ight, Rallo, you done good, man. Real good,” he said, walking back in front of Rallo. “I’m gonna let you go, but remember this, I don’t like frontin’-ass niggas on my team.” Ishmael was calm.

“I know, man. Thanks, Ish man. I swear you won’t have no problems out of me. I’m gonna be the most productive worker you got on your team.” Rallo breathed a sigh of relief.

“A’ight, cool,” Ishmael said.

His worker was screwing the silencer on the gun as Ishmael and Derrick began to walk out of the room.