True to the Game II Page 8

  “What the fuck are you doing, man?” Mont screamed.

  Jerrell carefully maneuvered the bike around the garage until he was just in front of Mont. He raced the engine and propelled the bike forward, riding it on top of his victim.

  “Aaaaargh!” Mont screamed like a wounded animal.

  Jerrell positioned the rear tire of the motorcycle just on top of Mont’s chest, and then revved the engine as high as it could possibly go. Once he had the rims on the ramps and the motor at nine thousand, he released the clutch, allowing the bike to catch first gear. The rear tire spun with the ferocity of a category-five hurricane, shredding skin, tearing flesh, and sending blood and tissue flying through the garage. Mont was dead before the 440-pound bike peeled the meat off his face.

  Detective Letoya Ellington stood in the rain, waiting for her charge to show up. He was late, and it pissed her off more than anything else in the world would, for a low-life drug dealer to keep her waiting. As if what they did was so much more important than what she did. Who the fuck were they to keep her waiting? She could see the asshole making his way toward her now.

  Rasun approached the detective with a smile on his face. It would be the first time they had met alone. He was glad that she had been put in charge of his case. For one, she was a sister. And two, she was fine as hell. The thought of getting into Detective Ellington’s panties had crossed his mind more than once. He wondered how tight police pussy would be, with their uptight asses.

  “What the fuck are you smiling at?” Detective Ellington asked.

  “You,” Rasun told her.

  “Maybe you got things twisted,” Detective Ellington told him. She kicked Rasun in his nuts, causing him to grab his genitals and buckle. She then slammed him against a nearby brick wall. “Let me make this shit clear to you. You are a low-life fucking drug dealer. And even worse, you’re a low-life snitching bitch. You couldn’t even stand up and do the time for the crime. So you are lower than low. You’re lower than maggot shit, so don’t you ever keep me waiting again. You hear me?”

  Rasun nodded.

  “Good. Now that we got that shit straight, we can get down to business,” Detective Ellington told him. “We need to get Reds on the scene with the drugs. And we need to get him on tape turning the cocaine into crack.”

  Rasun turned toward the detective. “You want me to wear another wire?”

  “We want you to wear another wire,” Detective Ellington confirmed. “You got a problem with that? I mean, if it’s a problem, we can just let the prosecutors know that you don’t want to cooperate with us, and that you just want to go ahead and go to prison for a long fucking time!”

  Rasun shook his head. The deal was getting worse and worse, each time that he saw them. They were supposed to be cops, but they rolled like the mob.

  “When is Reds going to go to Ms. Shoog’s and cook up his stuff?” Detective Ellington asked.

  “Tomorrow,” Rasun told her. “Damn, did you have to kick me in the nuts?”

  “I started to shoot you in them, so be happy,” Detective Ellington told him. “So, he’s cooking tomorrow. Damn, that means I have to stop raids tonight. Shit!”

  “Can I go now?” Rasun asked, still rubbing his sore privates.

  “Yeah. Meet us at the deli again in the morning. The same place where we wired you up before. And don’t be late. The other detective won’t be as nice as I was if you are.”

  Rasun nodded. “Good to know.” He turned and headed out of the alley and down the block. The rain began to pour down even harder. He had betrayed his friends and allowed the man to get his hooks inside him. As part of the deal, he had to give a confession of guilt, on tape, and then sign it in front of a notary. They had him. And if he tried to run, they would catch him and give him thirty years. Or even worse, they would go after his moms again. He was trapped in a cage filled with lying, cheating, low-life hyenas with badges. And they were slowly draining the life out of him, with each of their sinister bites. But what was killing him even more was his betrayal of his friends. Tomorrow he was going to wear a wire. And that wire not only was going to entrap Ms. Shoog, but was going to help the cops solidify their case against his best friend. Tomorrow, he was going to betray someone he considered to be a brother. He was going to betray Reds.

  WHATCHA SAYIN’

  Rasun walked to the window and peered out. He seemed visibly nervous but no one paid him any mind. He wondered if the police were going to raid the cooking house while they were inside it. Would Reds shoot, would he run, would Ms. Shoog survive a drug raid? What about a hefty prison sentence? Could Ms. Shoog do time? And what about the cops? How would they come in? Would they run in with guns blazing? Would they toss in a stun grenade, blowing out everyone’s eardrums?

  “Goddamn. Shoog, what the fuck is that smell?” Reds asked.

  Ms. Shoog shook her head sadly. “Child, my washing machine is gone out, baby.”

  “Damn!” Pookey said, waving his hands around. “That shit smells foul!”

  “Can we get a window open in here?” Dontae asked.

  “Yeah, why not open up all a the doors too!” Amar said sarcastically. “We ain’t doing nothing but cooking up some coke!”

  Ms. Shoog shuffled across the floor to her laundry room and opened the door, allowing the smell of spoiled clothing to waft into the room. Amar, Reds, Rasun, Dontae, and Pookey all raced for the closest windows.

  “Sorry, but y’all better get used to the smell,” Ms. Shoog told them. “Maybe if y’all pay me this time, I can go ahead and get a new one.”

  Reds took his shirt off and tied it around his mouth. “Goddamn, Shoog! Okay, a nigga a handle that shit!”

  “For real!” Amar told her. He reached into his pocket, peeled off a couple of hundred-dollar bills, and handed them to her.

  “Here!” Rasun handed her two hundred-dollar bills as well.

  Reds reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick wad of money. He pulled off three one-hundred-dollar bills and handed them to her.

  “Here, get that shit taken care of with the quickness.”

  Shoog turned toward Pookey and stared at him sadly. “Washing machines is just so damn expensive these days.”

  Pookey shook his head and pulled out a fat wad. He pulled off three bills and handed them to Ms. Shoog. Just when you thought she was cool, that’s when she really hit they asses up.

  “But it’s that dryer that’s broke down,” Ms. Shoog told them. “I can’t dry no clothes, and that’s how they get so spoiled.”

  Dontae shook his head and smiled. “Here, old woman! You sure got a lot a game.”

  Ms. Shoog took Dontae’s three hundred dollars and added it to her collection. She closed the laundry room and tucked her money away in her bra. “Thank you, babies! Now Ms. Shoog can have it all nice and sweet smelling in here for y’all.”

  Reds and Rasun exchanged knowing smiles.

  “Okay, okay, can we just get down to business?” Reds asked.

  Ms. Shoog shuffled over to her stove and turned on two of the burners. “You know Ms. Shoog is still the best at this shit, don’tcha?”

  Amar turned away from the window. “Yo, here come that nigga Rik!”

  Pookey unlatched the door and opened it. Rik walked through it and tossed his gym bag onto the coffee table.

  “Shoog, what’s the line look like?” Rik shouted into the kitchen.

  “I’m hooking up Reds and Ra, and then Pookey, and then Amar, and then Dontae, and then you’re next, baby,” Shoog told him.

  Rik seated himself on the couch, leaned forward, and unzipped his gym bag. He pulled out kilo after kilo from the extra-large bag and set them down on the table.

  “Damn, you niggas need to get ya own damn cook!” Rik told them with a smile. “Y’all monopolizing my shit. Ain’t that right, Shoog?”

  “That’s right, baby!” Shoog shouted from the kitchen.

  “Then you should have paid for her damn new washing machine and dryer,” Reds
told him.

  Rik laughed. “Word? She hit you niggas up like that?”

  “Hell yeah,” Amar said, smacking his lips.

  Rik shook his head and laughed. “Damn, that old woman got game! What story she sell y’all this time?”

  “Her fucking washing machine and dryer broke down,” Amar told him.

  “And that’s why it’s funky as a muthafucka in here,” Dontae added.

  Rik laughed and clapped his hands together. “Damn! The washer and dryer broke at the same time? Shoog, you’se a bad muthafucka yo!”

  “Hell, I bought ’em at the same time, so they broke down at the same time!” Shoog shouted back from the kitchen.

  Rasun strolled into the kitchen where Ms. Shoog was preparing her materials.

  “Rasun, hand me that big Pyrex dish on the table, baby,” Ms. Shoog told him.

  Rasun handed Shoog the dish. She busted open one of the kilos of cocaine and poured it into the dish, then set the dish on the stove.

  “Ms. Shoog don’t use none of that microwave shit, baby,” she told him. “I don’t need you to tell me what to do, fool, I got this. I do this shit the old-fashion way!”

  Ms. Shoog added a cup of lukewarm water to the cocaine, then lifted a large spatula that she had next to the stove and began to stir the mixture. The fire from the stove began to melt the drugs, turning the substance into a thick, oily, yellowish gook. Ms. Shoog stirred the oily concoction, adding a second cup of water, and then an unusually large amount of baking soda. The yellowish gook quickly turned into a thick white substance with the consistency of finely blended cake mix.

  Ms. Shoog turned toward Rasun and smiled. “This is how you want it, baby.”

  Rasun examined the pasty substance and nodded.

  Ms. Shoog pointed to a stack of glass dishes on the side of the counter. “Hand me another one of those dishes, baby.”

  Rasun handed Ms. Shoog another glass Pyrex dish. Ms. Shoog took the dish, busted open a kilo, and poured it into the container. She set the dish on the stove and poured in a large cup of water.

  “How long you been cooking coke, Ms. Shoog? ’Cause you sure do know what you’re doing.” Rasun asked, stroking her so she would answer.

  “Baby, Ms. Shoog been cooking for a long time,” she told him, slowly turning her mixture. She poured in a second cup of water and added a large amount of baking soda. “Probably before you was born.”

  Rasun felt the wire taped to his chest. He knew what he had to do, and he hated every second of it. But it was either Shoog or his mother. “So, Shoog, how much shit you gotta cook up for these niggas today?”

  “Hell, Reds, Rik, Amar brought six, Dante brought four with his broke ass.” Ms. Shoog pulled the dish off the fire and set it to the side, next to the first dish. She then reached for a third. “Pookey with his po’ self want me to cook up four.”

  “Shit, that ain’t nothing compared to the damage Quadir use to do. Shoot, if he was here, you’d be here all day cooking,” Rasun said with a smile.

  Ms. Shoog laughed. “Oh, that boy would have me busy for two days cooking all of his shit! I’ll never forget that time Quadir brought me two hundred keys and wanted it all cooked in two days! Hell, I felt like Sara Lee up in this bitch!”

  Rasun laughed. He had enough information from Ms. Shoog. It was now time to concentrate on Rik. He turned and headed into the living room to find his next victim.

  “So, the bitch stuck her head under the covers trying to fade a nigga, but I couldn’t hold that shit any longer!” Dontae said, laughing. “She came up mad as a muthafucka, choking and gasping for air and shit!”

  The guys gathered around the living room bust into laughter.

  “Man, how could you mess that up?” Pookey asked. “That bitch is finer than a muthafucka! Nigga, I been trying to knock that since day one, and you fuck it off by gassing the bitch!”

  Rik threw his head back in laughter.

  Rasun walked to the table where Rik had his kilos stacked up. He lifted one of the bricks. “Damn, nigga. How much dope is this?”

  “Twenty birds, nigga,” Rik told him. “I got thirty more in the ride. I need to have this shit ready for the first of the month.”

  “It’s the first of the month,” Pookey said, singing. “It’s the first of the month.”

  “What the fuck you cooking up all that shit at once for?” Rasun asked.

  “Because, nigga, I got customers,” Rik explained. “I’m expanding into some very lucrative territory. Them Junior Mafia niggas have been dropping like flies in the wintertime, and all of their peeps have been calling me trying to get something. Nigga, this shit won’t last me four days the way my phone ringing off the hook!”

  “You willing to risk a war with them crazy Junior Mafia dudes? That Jerrell Jackson is a fucking nut case. I heard that nigga knocking everybody right now over his money that got fucked up while he was locked up,” Reds said.

  “Ain’t gonna be no war,” Rik told him. “Them niggas is so paranoid right now, they are all running scared for hiding like some little bitches. Them niggas don’t know who’s reaching out and touching they ass, so they ain’t trying to do nothing to nobody right now.”

  Rasun nodded. He was finished with his questions for now. He was sure that he had given his slave master more than enough. Now, he just wanted this shit to be over. He wanted this to be the last time he had to do this shit, because it was making him sick to his stomach. And the wire-wearing shit had to cease. That shit made him nervous. What if a nigga hugged him too tight or something? He just stayed nervous the whole time he had the damn thing on. This morning, he had to pull over the side of the road and jump out of the car. His stomach wouldn’t hold his breakfast down, that’s how nervous he was. Not to mention, ever since he had gotten locked up and started fucking with the clown-ass task force, his hair was falling out, he was constantly throwing up, some days he’d have diarrhea, and if that wasn’t bad enough he was literally starting to feel like he was coming down with the flu, just plain ol’ physically sick. Snitching was like a corrosive poison that was eating him up from the inside, like a deadly malignant cancer. If it ended up killing him, he wouldn’t complain about that either.

  Crawling under a rock and dying was something that he truly felt like doing. He had betrayed his friends, his boys, his crew. These were the niggas that he had grown up with. The niggas that he had come up in the game with, his boys who had had his back since kindergarten, and now he was about to fuck them all over.

  Rasun could feel himself growing nauseated once again. Sweat started pouring down his face, his mouth became moist, and his head began swirling. He raced for Ms. Shoog’s bathroom.

  “What the fuck’s wrong with that nigga?” Pookey asked.

  “Probably that fucked-up smell still getting to him,” Amar told him.

  In the van down the street, Detective Ellington stacked her papers together and removed her headphones. She had heard enough. Rasun had given them more than enough. This case was a wrap. Everyone in that room would be arrested and indicted within twenty-four hours.

  DON’T STOP GET IT GET IT

  Gena lifted her head from her steering wheel. She was parked in the neighborhood Pathmark parking lot just sitting, quiet and still. She watched people pass by—cars, kids, shopping carts—and she simply tried to digest what she had heard her cousin say. That’s why your father killed your mother. Gena couldn’t imagine the thought. It was just something to think about. That’s why Daddy’s in jail. Why the fuck they say he tried to rob a bank for? Why didn’t they just tell me the truth? Yes, the truth would have been better, it always is. Truth is a hard thing, but maybe harder is sometimes better than betrayal. And right now Gena felt so betrayed by her family that she questioned her entire existence. I bet everybody knows too. Gena picked up her phone and tried to call her cousin Gary, but again she got another voice mail.

  “Dag, don’t nobody answer their phones when you need them.”

  She did
n’t want to call the house. What if Aunt Paula answers the phone? She tried Gary’s cell phone once more, refusing the confrontation with Gary’s mother, but still no answer. She needed someone to talk to, someone to tell that her whole life was a lie, her mother’s death and her father’s imprisonment were one and the same and that her entire family knew and she had not one clue. There’s something extremely wrong with this and with my family for doing that to me. She felt so betrayed. I wish you was here, Quadir, I really do.

  Just then her phone rang. She looked at the number. It was Jay. She had forgotten they had an early dinner date. She answered the phone and confirmed she was on her way. His call had come with perfect timing. Gena needed company and the truth was Quadir wasn’t there. Jay don’t seem that bad. He could be Mr. Replacement. She revved up her engine and exited the parking lot to meet Jay for dinner. He had turned out to be everything that she had ever wanted in a man. He was kind, and sensitive, and handsome, and polite. He listened to her when she talked. He opened doors for her when they went out. He would call her to say goodnight, or to tell her how beautiful she was.

  She didn’t care about his money, but he did appear to have some change. That nice baby blue Range Rover that he was pushing definitely wasn’t cheap. Plus he was jeweled out. His apartment was in a real swanky part of town and even had a doorman. Jay had an expensively decorated home with fine furnishing and lavish silk tapestries. He had it all. And when they went out, he never ever let her pay for anything. He always paid for dinner, and the little gifts that he gave her were always nice. But she knew he wasn’t holding like Quadir. His paper was way short compared to Quadir. Actually, it wasn’t fair to Jay to even try to compare ballin’ status. But it didn’t matter; she had plenty of money. She liked him just because he was nice and attentive. Jay was smart too. He had a nice vocabulary, and he used words that the average fella on the street didn’t. And he was also a bit mysterious, and even dangerous. She couldn’t resist.

  The look that they got when they were out on the street told her that she had a real man. The other guys on the street deferred to him when they walked along the sidewalk or into a restaurant. He was a natural leader. He kept himself well groomed and smelling nice. And he could kiss like there was no tomorrow. She would become lost inside his strong lips. When they kissed, it often felt as if she were standing on a cliff peering over it, with only him to keep her from falling.