Lust (17 page)

An occasional police sedan cruised down the street, but after a brief glance to see exactly who was conducting business they kept on cruising. They weren’t pressed about the drug trade on the streets of Harlem. Since they couldn’t possibly beat it, most of them simply turned a blind eye and profited from it.

“Ay!” Flex hollered from the passenger window as his boy Shorty stood posted up on the corner supervising his five-man crew. Shorty was one of Flex’s favorite aks, and he had been thinking about promoting him to Divine Nine capo status to fill the spot that Cee-Low had left empty.

Shorty flashed him a sign, then sauntered over to one of his sons to replenish his supply of tan goods.

Flex liked the way that gangsta Shorty worked. That niggah was all bizz all the time. He kept his little soldiers standing at attention and his take never came up short.

“Yo,” Flex turned to his boy Dre who was driving. “I think we should promote that niggah Shorty and bring him up, yo.”

“What?” Dre said. He eased up to a red light and turned the music down. “Run that by me again?”

“Shorty,” Flex said. “He’s a real dude. I think we should promote his ass. Give him Cee-Low’s crew. Nah’mean?”

Dre thought about it for a second, then nodded his head. “Yeah. That niggah’s chill. He’s certified and legit.”

“A’ight,” Flex replied, his spirits lifted. He turned his head and spit out the window. “We’ll put him to the gut test and see where his heart is.”

But moments later, as they rode past a popular community youth center called The Crossover, Flex peeped something that immediately fucked his head up and dogged his mood.

“Yo!” he said, sitting straight up in his seat. “Pull over, niggah! I
know
that ain’t who the fuck it look like it is! I know that silly bitch didn’t bring her ass back to Harlem!”

Dre pulled up next to a fire hydrant and put the whip in park. He took one glance out of his boss’s window and clammed right the fuck up.

“I’on’t know, man,” he said like he had amnesia. “I’on’t know who the fuck that broad is.”

“Niggah, you ain’t blind! You know that’s Juicy!” Flex said, shock and amazement making his voice squeak. “And that’s that niggah Trey Jackson flossing wit’ her too!”

Dre bucked and threw his hands up in the air. “Goddamn, muh’fucka!” he blasted on Flex. “The last time somebody recognized ya girl you shot his fuckin’ ass! I don’t know
who
the fuck that chick is!”

Flex clenched his jaw and breathed hot rage through his nose.

“It’s
her
, man,” he said as he eyed the fine bitch with the gangsta booty. She was standing there with another chick Flex recognized as his man Cooter’s little sister, Chiney.

Flex fumed as he watched Juicy climb in the front seat of Trey’s whip and Chiney get in the back. Him and Cooter had been mad tight. In fact, they had started out as partners in a bold quest to pull a takedown on the G-Spot crew for control of Harlem’s drug trade. But a series of unforeseen and tragic events had unfolded that tossed a big rock in their game. They’d been forced to accelerate their agenda when G got popped, but the framework wasn’t firmly enough in place yet and their timing was off. Flex had gotten gut shot, and Cooter ended up taking a street beat-down that cost him his life.

Flex eyed that niggah Trey with big disdain.

Trey was Cooter’s younger brother, but there had never been any love between him and Flex. Where Cooter was of the streets and deeply vested in the game, Trey had gone to the joint and came out damn-near sanctified. He had opened up a bunch of barbershops and started mentoring young boys, and him and Flex inevitably bumped heads because they were constantly trying to draw talent from the same limited pool. Trey recruited the youngstas in the community to cut hair out of his shop, and Flex recruited those same youngstas to sell ooo-wee on his corners.

Flex eyeballed that niggah warily. Trey had a way of flossin’ that made him wanna bust that niggah one. He was one of them big, handsome niggahs who used to ball back in the day, and all him and his Talented Ten posse wanted to do besides cut hair and sell bean pies was work to put a niggah like Flex out of business.

Trey got in the car with Juicy and Chiney. Flex stared at all three of them, grinding his teeth. He couldn’t believe Juicy was rubbing up against that niggah and riding around Harlem in his cheap car.

He thought about the jump-off he had fucked just two nights ago as he fantasized about Juicy. He’d chosen her because she had a body type that was similar to Juicy’s, but the bitch ended up being a beast in the face and a skank in the sheets. She was one of those ruff project bitches, and with all that thick and musty underarm hair she was sporting, the girl had thrown his fantasy totally off and it hadn’t felt like he was fucking Juicy at all.

“That scandalous bitch!” Flex spit, breathing hard.

Dre shrugged and waved his boy off.

“You know Chiney’s a dyke, man. She be out here fuckin’ bitches without a dick.”

“Not her,” Flex growled, his eyes never leaving the scene. “Juicy.”

He sucked his breath in sharply as he saw Trey throw his arm over the back of Juicy’s seat and pull out into traffic.
That grimy muh’fucka
…Flex thought, and then an idea popped into his head.

“Yo!” he punched Dre in the arm. “Ain’t them niggahs down at the G-Spot still looking for Juicy? They got some money on her neck, don’t they? A cash reward for that booty, right?”

Dre nodded. “Yeah. As far as I know they still want her.”

Flex grinned like a little kid. “Good. Send that niggah Pluto a text message for me,” he said and laughed real loud. “Tell him I got some juicy info I wanna drop on him.”

Flex was still grinning when another idea popped into his head. This one was a grand opportunity for him to play one camp against the other and cancel both of his rivals out.

“Yo!” he said abruptly. “Forget what I said about bringing that niggah Shorty up.” 

“Huh?”

“Cancel all that shit I just said about Shorty! That fool is gone have to wait on that promotion.”

“Cool. Whattup doe?” Dre asked. “You got somebody else in mind?”

Flex nodded. “Yeah.” Trey wanted to fuck around with his property? Cool. He’d stick it to that big niggah by corrupting his son.

“Go find me that niggah, Maleek. Tell him he’s next up in the Divine Nine queue. Put him out there to make his daylight hit, then bring him to the crib so I can give him the gut test and let him press the six-shooter to his head.”

“A’ight,” Dre nodded. He checked his side mirror then pulled back into traffic. “You got anybody special you want Maleek to smash?”

Flex thought for a few moments and then smiled.  “Yeah,” he chuckled at his own brilliance. “Tell him to hit one of them G-Spot niggahs. Let him pick one. I don’t give a fuck which one he burns. Just as long as he gets it in.”

Dre stared at his boss with an impressed, knowing look, and Flex put his head back and laughed like a mothafucka. He’d found himself an opportunity to aggravate two birds with one stone. He’d let the G-Spot niggahs take care of smashing that bitch Juicy, and let Maleek stick a knife in the hearts of the G-Spot crew. Either way, Trey Jackson was gonna learn some real fuckin’ lessons and suffer some real fuckin’ pain.

CHAPTER 22

Trey drove me and Chiney down a narrow block that was lined with brownstones. It was one of those Harlem streets where the homes had been remodeled and white people had started moving in. He got my small bag out of his trunk and the three of us walked up the stairs to the small stoop.

“Make yourself comfortable, Juicy,” Trey said quietly as he unlocked the door and I followed him inside. He handed me my bag and walked through the doorway of a nice-sized kitchen. “Chiney can show you where your room is.”

I could tell from the jump what kind of energy Trey was packing. It was a black man’s crib and it was laid out. It was decorated in masculine colors of mocha brown, rust, black, and off-white. The air was cool and the scent of African candles met my nose.

There was abstract black art on the walls, the kind they sold on 125th Street, and a lot of African statues and masks and stuff like that displayed on shelves.

“C’mon,” Chiney said, scooting past me. “All the bedrooms are back here.

We walked down a long, narrow hall and she told me there were four bedrooms and two bathrooms on the main floor.

“There’s another bedroom with a bathroom downstairs that Trey uses as his office and,” she pointed and looked up, “we’ve got two more rooms upstairs. Trey is an exercise freak, so one of the rooms up there is his work-out room, and I don’t know what the hell is in the other one because he keeps that shit locked and ain’t nobody allowed to go in there.”

There were four bedrooms lined up in a row on the right side of the house, and Chiney explained that the first bedroom was Trey’s and the last one was hers.

“This is his shit,” she said and touched his closed door. “I wanted this room ’cause there’s a real nice bathroom in there, but Trey wasn’t having it. My brother is real protective, Juicy. His has gotta be the first room in the house. Just in case some shit pops off. A fiend would have to get past Trey’s room before they could get to me in mine, you know?”

I nodded. I could see Trey being that kind of dude.

“This room is yours,” Chiney said, stepping just one door down from Trey’s room and twisting the door knob. “It’s cool in here. You’ll like it.”

I peered into the room and took a deep breath. It was simple, but really nice. There was a queen-sized bed with a rose-colored chenille bedspread, and a mix of cream and rose-colored throw pillows were displayed at the head of the bed. The floor was made of a dark, shiny hardwood, and there were cream and rose drapes up at the windows. I stepped inside and got a whiff of the candle-scent that was circulating through the house, and immediately I loved the flow of energy that surrounded me.

“There’s a television and a DVD player over there,” Chiney said and pointed across the room. A flat screen TV sat on a beautiful table display, and somebody had put a vase of fresh flowers right next to it. “And the bathroom is right down the hall next to my room.”

I took a deep breath and looked at her, then sighed. “Chiney, I just don’t know about all this…”

“All what? It’s just a room, Juicy, damn! Relax girl, and just accept the love, okay? This is how friends do each other, right?”

“I know,” I sighed. “I just don’t feel good about staying here and living off your brother, you know what I mean? I don’t have anything to give up for rent and food and all that…”

Chiney gave me a crazy look. “Damn, Juicy. Is it that fuckin’ hard to admit you need help? You turning down a bed when your ass was just in jail a minute ago, and you slept in a homeless shelter last night. You need to check ya ego and let go of some of that pride, my sistah. I want you to stay here. And Trey wants you here too. So chill, baby. If you feel like you need to contribute something then ask Trey if you can help him out at the center. They got mad young girls dropping by The Crossover every day. Those chicks are surviving on nothing but their tits and their wits. Maybe you can holler at some of them and make a difference in their lives.”

$$$$$

Flex mighta had a lesson planned for Trey, but there were lessons to be learned everywhere. And later on that night while Trey was sleeping he experienced a lesson that his waking mind had been trying real damn hard to deny him.

He was in a strange place but for some reason the girl he was making love to had a real familiar feel. He was riding her from behind, and the further he thrust into her, the deeper something stirred in his heart.