Life Without Hope (31 page)

roll right over my head. I took off my shoes, my dogs were killing

me.

“
How long is it going to take ya’ll to finish cutting up the

dope?” I inquired.

“
Just about all day,” Trina replied.

“
Tell you what, go to the store and get me a bottle of

Hennessy and a pack of smokes, stop by Popeye’s and get some-

thing to eat, I’m starving, and you can have some of the coke.”

Tomica stood up in front of the chair, eyes flaming with anger.

“
I just know you ain’t finna try me like that!”

“
Tr y you like what?” I raised my voice. Realizing this dyke was

trying to show off for the benefit of Trina’s presence, I prepared to

bust her ass if she got out of line.

“
Tr y me like I’m some junkie, or something.” Tomica sat back

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down. I was eyeballing her like she went there. On second

thought, I had a better idea. I stood taking the gun out of my

pocket, along with the diamond bracelet and began to strip down

to my boxer shorts.

“
Boo, where are the clothes that you bought?” I asked Trina,

as both women looked at me quizzically.

“
Over there on the other side of the bed,” Trina answered.

I walked over looked inside of the shopping bag, pulled out

the expensive two-piece Versailles outfit–a jacket and pants in a

beautiful shade of turquoise and gold, strictly a baller’s style. Trina

had good taste in clothes. I hurried getting dressed. Afterward, I

looked in the mirror and I wanted to salute my muthafuckin’ self.

In the background I heard Tomica suck her teeth, hatin’ on a

nigga. Bitch! I retrieved the chunky iced out chain I took from

Suge Knight’s cockeyed twin back at the hotel. Putting it around

my neck, I walked over to the table and began placing the dope

into Ziplock bags. I would just have to get someone to cut up the

rest later.

“
What are you doing?” Trina asked.

“
What it look like I’m doing? I’m getting out of this joint.”

Trina and Tomica exchanged glances. Actually what I was really

doing was following the number one code of the game: never shit

at where you got to eat. Meaning, never keep dope where you got

to lay your head. Never!

“
Gimme the keys to the car,” I said to Trina. She hesitated

with a look of despair the way a woman does when she wants to

ask a question, but is unsure of her boundaries. She reached into

her purse and gave me the keys. I placed half of the powdered

cocaine that was at the sink into a bag, and left some. I walked to

the door. I could feel their eyes boring through by back.

“
Come here,” I turned, talking to Trina. She walked toward

me. If her brown eyes could talk, hers would have plainly begged

me to stay. I spoke a whisper against her ear lobe palming her ass

through the soft material of the dress. “Dig, Shouty, I’ll be back in

a second.”

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“
It’s going to take some hours for the stuff to dry,” Trina said

in her attempt to get me to stay. I could hear the somber plea in

the tone of her voice.

“
If you like, you can give the rest of the powder on the sink to

your homegirl.”

I bent down and pecked her on the lips. She reached up, las-

soing my neck with her arms and kissed me like I was a soldier

about to go off to war.

“
Baby, don’t go. I bought a nice sexy Victoria’s Secret outfit I

wanted to wear for you.” As Trina whispered I looked at Tomica.

She was watching us closely. That reminded me of something. I

peeled Trina’s arms off of me, reached into my pocket removing

the diamond bracelet, and gave it to her. Tomica damn near fell

out of the chair when she saw that.

“
Ohmigod! Ohmigod! It’s beauuuutiful!” Trina exclaimed

after she saw the price tag and began to do the two-step like I used

to see women do at my father’s church when they claimed to have

the Holy Ghost. As I walked out of the door, I thought I heard

Tomica call my name.

*****

153

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

“
The Jump-Off ”

–
Life –

Trina’s Lexus Coupe was nice, real nice. The inside was hand-

somely designed with expensive oak wood and plush butter soft

leather interior. The seats felt like I was riding in the cockpit of a

jet. Yeah, I could tell her daddy was deep in the game. He spoiled

her rotten. I placed the shopping bag of cocaine on the seat next

to me, with Jesus on my lap, my hand resting on it in case there

was any drama, and my mind on my money.

As I drove, the air felt crisp and cool. I was on a mission to

stack some chips. While driving I counted out twenty ounces, my

mind str uggling with the mental transition of being a jackman, to

not get jacked. Easier said than done.

*****

I parked down the street from the house that I rented for

Blazack and the crew. I walked in the shadows of semi-darkness

and hid the dope underneath a tree in a hole I dug. After ward, I

got back into the car and drove the short distance to the house.

There were so many cars parked in the yard and driveway, I had

to park in the middle of the street. As I walked up, people were

hanging out everywhere. Females lounged out front on the porch.

It’s hard to believe that only a few hours ago this place was for

rent. Mad Ball and Gucci looked up to see me. They could tell by

the expression on my face my mood was not good. I walked inside

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and saw that the place was jam packed. In the kitchen, I saw Dirty

throwing dice. They were gambling, playing Low. He looked at

me and said something slick out the side of his mouth, something

about how much money did I have, and then he threw the dice. I

shot him a look that said,

don’t fuck with me

. Twine walked up and

grabbed my hand. He was smoking a blunt, eyes red, pants hang-

ing off his ass.

“
Nigga, you been killing ‘em huh?” he said checking out my

gear and running his fingers over my necklace.

“
Listen man,” I talked between clinched teeth fighting to con-

trol my temper. This was becoming a habit dealing with these nig-

gas. I was trying to stop it before it started. “Ya’ll didn’t come

down here to party, this is strictly business. Clear these mutha-

fuckas out the house!”

I knew that there was no way that Twine was going to take

orders from me, at least not at this stage of the game, but now was

the time to employ my will for the sake of building a team and

bleeding this town out of its riches. “Where’s Blazack at?” I asked.

Twine pointed at the back room giving me a look like he was try-

ing to read where I was coming from with the attitude.

I knocked on the door. Heard a voice say come in. I walked

into what looked like a gun show. “Damn it man!” I intoned.

“
Where did ya get all dem shits from?” There were about a half

dozen AK47s lined up on the wall, a Mac-10, Mac-11, various

handguns, a Thomson submachine gun with a special shoulder

holster to hold three thousand rounds of ammunition. On the bed

next to Blazack was his trusty double barrel 12 gauge sawed off

shotgun, the same one that he pointed at my nuts earlier that day.

On the bed was a book titled

The Art of War

. Blazack just lay

there, looking up at the ceiling. He was the most reclusive man

that I had ever known. His quiet could be disturbing at times. It

gave you the feeling that he was always plotting. I hoped he was

not plotting about me.

Slowly he rose from the bed ignoring my disapproval of his

arsenal of guns.

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“
I had to use my hands,” Blazack said, flexing his fingers. His

hands were huge. He now examined them as if it were his first

time really seeing them, their power and strength.

“
What?” I asked, confused as to what he was talking about.

“
He wouldn’t die.” Blazack continued. The scowl on his face

was that of a man reliving a bad memory.

“
I strangled dat nigga for damn near ten minutes. He would-

n’t die.”

“
Who?” I asked aggravated.

“
Dre’,” Blazack said clinching his fist.

“
Oh.” The sounds left my lips, with it the grimy reality of who

he was talking about. I stared, mesmerized. Once again I won-

dered about the mystic of life’s greatest myster y–death, and if the

people who kill are haunted by the very souls they stole. There was

a glassy look of a madman possessed by demons on Blazack’s face

as he examined his hands like they were murder weapons he

wished he could discard. I think that to some degree, the dead are

still alive, they live vividly in the minds of the people that killed

them. At least with Blazack that was the case.

“
Yo, I let the cracka in the van go and tied him to a tree.

Someone’ll find him in a few days, maybe. But Dre’… dat nigga

ain’t never comin’ back,” Blazack said with malice as his eyes nar-

rowed, giving me the full intent of what he meant. The moment

lingered. I was lost for words. I noticed in the corner of the room

there was a stick of dynamite and some other kind of explosives.

Just when I was about to ask about that rat muthafucka, his state-

ment completely caught me off guard. I knew what he was hint-

ing at.

“
My nigga, on ever ything I love, when the shit went down in

the hotel with the nigga trying to set me up, I had to out-run hel-

icopters and some mo shit. Hooked up with this broad, if she did-

n’t help me, I’d be fucked up right now, that’s how I ended up

here.”

“
Uh huh,” Blazack said with all the interest of a man watch-

ing paint dry. “I talked with Lil Cal’s mom this morning. Told her

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to ask about you, since you da one that introduced us to Dre’ in

the first place.” Blazack left no doubt in my mind his suspicion of

me, as well as his loyalty to Lil Cal, death before dishonor. He

would kill me in a heartbeat. The feelings were mutual. Our real

common bond was only Lil Cal. I knew I would have to accept

the dark cloud of treason that loomed over my head. For some rea-

son the dope game is like that. It permeates on paranoia and fear

for the lack of trust. Trust is like a good woman forced to go bad,

she will always be needed and unfortunately used and abused to

serve like hell in the dope game. If there were no trust, there

would be no lies.

I ignored Blazack’s acid remarks. The reality was, I needed him

as much as he needed me.