What's Really Hood!: A Collection of Tales From the Streets (29 page)

Michelle yanked her up and pushed her out of the bedroom. Nina was right on their heels. A petrified Darlene led them to the
basement and over to a large black trunk. She popped it open and sure enough all of their goods were right there. Michelle
made Darlene carry the majority of the merchandise while she and Nina carried the rest. After they put everything back in
Nina’s closet, Michelle turned to Darlene, put the gun in her face and cocked it. “This stays right here, am I right? In other
words your ass-whipping never happened, comprende?”

Darlene was nodding her head up and down so hard, it looked as if her head might pop off her neck.

“I know where you live, bitch. You’re free to go.” With that said Darlene ran out of the room.

Nina slammed the door behind her. “Ain’t that some shit?” she said in disbelief.

“That bitch just messed up my plan. You know I can’t stay here no more, right?”

“Yeah. I know.”

Nina flopped on the bed and buried her head in the pillow. Michelle began gathering everything together. Nina turned over
on her back and said, “Damn, I don’t want to call this nigga Reese.”

“Yo, you gots to do what you gotta do.”

“Fuck!” Nina grabbed her cell phone and dialed Reese. When he didn’t answer she said, “Ain’t this a bitch!” as she listened
to his voice mail. She thought about hanging up but then figured what the hell. “Reese, this is Nina, let me hear from you.”

“Now, that wasn’t hard, was it?” Michelle teased. “He ain’t nothing but a trick, so I don’t know why you nuttin’ up.”

“Whatever. Let’s pack this shit so I can get outta this ho’s house. She’ll have me under the jail for real.”

An hour later, when they were almost done loading up Michelle’s Rover and Nina’s Jetta, Nina’s celly rang.

“Hello.”

“What up, shorty? Don’t tell me you finally got time for a player! You must be ballin’ outta control, ’cause a nigga can’t
never get with you. What’s good, ma?”

“What you mean you can’t never get with me? You ain’t been trying.”

“Girl, I came by your house several times. You know you dodging a nigga.”

“Trust me. It ain’t even like that.”

“Then why you keep havin’ me come by and you don’t be there?”

“I apologize for that but trust me it was not intentional. My shit is so fucked up right now, you don’t have a clue, hell
I don’t have a clue!”

“I told you. Whose shit ain’t fucked up? I know you know how to bounce back.”

“My shit is so fucked up, bouncing back is a joke to me.”

“What? You need some more doors fixed?” he joked. “I can do that for you.”

“I wish. That door was just the beginning of this major setback I’m having.”

“What about the beatdown you gave the nigga with the baseball bat? What was up with that?”

“That was the second event. The nigga I beat was my brother and now he’s dead.”

“Damn, shorty.”

“Yeah. So now you have a little idea of what’s up. I’ve been laying low these past few days…”

“I still want to see you. What you need?”

“Well you told me if I ever needed anything then you was that nigga. Well, nigga, I’m in a big jam. For starters I need a
spot to chill in ATL or Charlotte. You got something that way? I need it like yesterday.”

“You ain’t said nothing but a word. Can I swing through a little later?”

“I’m not at that spot anymore. I…”

“Nina!” she heard Peedie yell. He slammed his car door. “Why in the fuck are you still here? You think this shit is a game?”

“Reese, let me call you back. Keep your line open.”

“Is everything aiight?”

“No. Give me about ten minutes.”
Click.

Peedie snatched her by her arm, almost yanking her shoulder out of the socket.

“Why are you still here?”

“I’m leaving in a couple more days, Peedie. I told you I don’t even have a house yet.”

“You big-ass dummy! That’s why they got hotels! You don’t even know, do you?”

“Know what?”

“Your fucking house got burnt down, Nina! You done stole money from them niggas and now they out to get your ass. Then on
top of that, five-o been questioning peeps in the hood and you know them niggas are talking. It won’t be long before your
dumb ass will be charged with being an accessory to a murder.” He looked at all of the bags in both cars and flipped. “I know
your ass ain’t shopping for clothes!”
Smack!
He slapped her across the back of her head. “You leaving right now.” He grabbed her by the back of her neck and pushed her
toward her car.

“Wait, Peedie! I got a few more things in the house,” she pleaded.

Just then they heard a car screeching around the corner and before you know it the Chevy Impala was right up on them. “Get
down!” Peedie yelled and whoever it was began spraying bullets.

When it finally quieted down Nina raised her head. “Are they gone?” She looked behind her and Peedie was patting his arm.
Blood was seeping through his shirt.

“Peedie!” Nina screamed at the top of her lungs.

“I’m good. It’s just a flesh wound.”

A few feet over, Michelle’s brain matter was splattered all over Nina’s Jetta. “Nooooo! Oh God whyyyy? Call
an ambulance somebody!” Nina was screaming as she stood up. She ran over to Michelle’s body and then back to Peedie’s.

“She’s dead, yo. Get the fuck in the truck and go. You know they comin’ back.”

Peedie watched as Nina frantically jumped in the big truck. He hoped that she could drive that thing. A sharp pain caused
him to grit his teeth. “Go, Nina,” he yelled.

The truck finally turned on and was gone. “Shit,” he gritted. Peedie got up and headed for Darlene’s porch.

“Darlene!” he screamed as he ran toward her porch. Nina turned around at the sound of screeching tires. “Open the door, Darlene!”
He stood in the doorway, separated from her by a screen, astonished at the sight of blood. “Open the door, bitch!”

Splat! Splat! Splat!
Darlene stood there in shock as the bullets caused her lover’s body to twist and jerk before slowly sliding down the screen
door.

“You bitch!” were Peedie’s last words as blood gushed out of his mouth and his blank stare rested on Darlene.

BLACK IS BLUE

1.
Did you already know Kaseem was a snake?

2.
What was your response to Desiree and Polo getting together?

THE “P” IS FREE…

1.
Do you think that Wiz overreacted when he saw the guy (Moo) at the car talking to his girl?

2.
Do you think he should have chased a crackhead (Crystal) and wifed her?

THE LAST LAUGH

1.
Should the best friend find out that BoBo was involved in her sister’s death? And if so, should she take vengeance on his
baby’s mother, her now love interest?

2.
Should the gang send someone after them, and how?

ALL FOR NOTHING

1.
Do you think that Tiffany, the woman Jihad messed with on the run, should come up pregnant? If so, should she see his downfall
on the news and go after his real family?

2.
Do you think Jihad, being on the run, should have gone to see his son, or should he have put together a visit the way he
did with Monique before he left?

MAKIN’ ENDZ MEET

1.
What do you think about the relationship between Nina and Reese from NY?

2.
Do you think Nina should have left without getting her child back?

W
AHIDA
C
LARK
was born and raised in Trenton, New Jersey. She began writing fiction while incarcerated at a woman’s federal camp in Lexington,
Kentucky. Her first novel,
Thugs and the Women Who Love Them
, and the sequel,
Every Thug Needs a Lady
, appeared on the
Essence
bestsellers list. Since her release, Wahida has achieved much success with her follow-up,
Thug Matrimony
. Her most recent work,
Payback With Ya Life
, made its way onto the prestigious
New York Times
bestseller list. Wahida continues to amplify the urban landscape from her home and office in East Orange, New Jersey.

V
ICTOR
L. M
ARTIN
is the author of four published novels:
A Hood Legend, Menage’s Way, For the Strength of You
, and
Unique’s Ending.
He is currently incarcerated in a North Carolina prison.

L
A
S
HONDA
“L. L. D
ASHER
” S
IDBERRY
-T
EAGUE
is a Wilmington, North Carolina, native, coming into her own as an up-and-coming author. She is the wife of author Kwame
“DUTCH” Teague, one of the hottest street writers, and the mother of five children. She has found her calling in writing,
and has her first novel,
Kiss
, coming soon. LaShonda lives by the motto “Be a blessing and you will be blessed.”

B
ONTA
was born and raised on the mean streets of Chicago’s southeast side. After graduating high school and a brief stay in the
US Army, he answered the streets’ calling. The cost of chasing the mirage of fame and fortune was a 151-month federal sentence.
While he was there, the legendary Joe Black inspired him to get serious about writing. Since then he has written two novels
and a few short stories.

S
HAWN
“J
IHAD
” T
RUMP
was born in Pennsylvania. In November 1999 Shawn was arrested and subsequently indicted by the federal government and sentenced
to eighty-four months in prison. During his time he learned to channel his emotions through writing. Since being released,
Shawn continues to write and is also partner in an up-and-coming indie label, South of the Burgh Entertainment. Shawn is married
with two daughters.

THE GOLDEN
HUSTLA

By

WAHIDA CLARK

CHAPTER ONE

GBI

C
ongratulations, Bob! You did it! Are you sitting down?” Alexis Greenspan shouted in excitement. She could feel Bob’s adrenaline
rush through the phone.

“Oh God, Alexis. Did I really do it?” Bob could barely contain his breathing.

“You did it, Bob Tokowski! You have just won your fair share of one million dollars of American Eagle Gold Coins! One million!”
Alexis screamed out. “I told you to hang in there, Bob. The road was rocky, but you did it. Your perseverance paid off. Again,
congratulations to ya, Bob. You deserve it! You finally hit the big time.”

Bob was now crying tears of joy. “Thank… you, Alexis. Oh, my God. Thank you.”

“Now, Bob; I need you to grab your pencil and paper. You must write down this claim number. Go ahead, Bob, grab a pen and
a pad.”

Alexis could hear Bob piddling around in the background. Then she heard a moan and then a thud.

“Bob!? Bob!?”

The excitement must’ve gotten the best of him.

Click.

Agent Houser turned off the recorder. Houser had been the lead investigator for the past two years, heading up the Georgia
Bureau of Investigation. Two more years and Houser, who reminded you of the undercover detective played by Robert Blake in
the 1970s hit
Baretta
, could retire. However, he was ready to retire now. His impetigo was spreading, and pus was oozing out of the skin infection
on his legs. But he told himself it would all be over soon.

Retirement, here I come!

The bright side of his gloomy lining was that he lucked up and got an interview with Erica McCoy, aka Alexis Greenspan. She
was one of the top salespeople at WMM advertising, aka We Make Millionaires. All of law enforcement knew that this was one
of the biggest and hardest-to-penetrate fraudulent telemarketing firms in the state of Georgia; they knew how to operate in
that gray area.

Houser had screamed at his team of four, “Screw the FBI! We can do just as good a job as they can.”

He had pulled one of the not-so-oldest tricks in the book, but old nonetheless. He sent Erica an official-looking certified
letter explaining that she had inherited some money, to the lovely tune of $250,000. The letter stated that she would have
to come and get processed to see if she was eligible to claim it. When she pulled up to the Bureau’s fictitious office, which
they had set up
just a few blocks away from WMM, Houser flashed his badge, introduced himself and told her to follow him.

She did. To the Bureau’s main office.

“Why are we at the GBI?” Alexis’s curiosity was piqued.

“We have to make sure that you are claiming what’s rightfully yours,” Houser simply stated.

As they walked past the front desk and down the long, bright white corridor, Erica got really curious. “Are you sure I’m here
to claim some kind of inheritance?”

Houser smiled. “Depends on how you look at it.”

“How I look at it? What does that mean? Don’t have me down here on no bullshit! I got better things to do with my time,” she
spat.

Houser pulled out his keys and unlocked his office door. He moved to the side and motioned for Alexis to step inside. He then
flicked the light switch.

“Please have a seat, Ms. McCoy. Would you like a cup of coffee? Tea? Bottled water?”

“No. I just want you to tell me what this is really all about.” Erica was growing agitated.

Houser sat his six-one, two-hundred-pound frame behind his desk. He lifted his spectacles off his nose and rubbed its bridge.
He then leaned back into the chair, resting his hands behind his head. Erica cringed at the patches of impetigo on his chin
and elbows. He obviously picked up on her discomfort because he hastily sat up, resting his arms on the chair’s armrest.