Читать книгу Ghetto Girls Too - Anthony Whyte - Страница 12

SEVEN

Rightchus had seen the paramedics and cops zoom by him. He was in the lobby of Ascot’s building waiting around and was close to loitering. The doorman had asked him to leave a half hour before but Rightchus refused to go. Claiming he had business with Eric Ascot, he refused to accept the doorman’s explanation that he was unavailable and demanded to see Ascot’s representative. He would not budge when the doorman told him no. Rightchus was still in the lobby when the police and emergency technicians hurried by with Lil’ Long lying on a gurney. Rightchus saw a second gurney with a zipped body bag. He knew that someone had been killed and not knowing that person’s identity bothered him.

“I’ve come too far not to find out,” he said and darted after the ambulance. Rightchus quickly caught up before it pulled out.

“Get back. What the hell are you doing here?” Detective Kowalski asked and grabbed him.

“Just tell me, please, who caught it and I promise I’ll leave. Who caught the bad one?” Rightchus pleaded with the detective who brushed his pleas aside and attempted to walk away but Rightchus was persistent.

“This is not your concern. This is police business. Go home, Rightchus,” Kowalski seethed and Rightchus stared back defiantly.

“Look, man, three or four of my very good friends were up there. I’m just trying to figure out if anyone important to me got dropped.”

“That’s not important to me. Now beat it.”

“Look, I just hope it wasn’t my girl, Coco.”

“How do you know who came here today?”

“I just do. I came with them. I just...”

“Who were you here with?”

“I came here with some girls. What, you don’t believe me or sump’n?”

“You’re impeding official police business. Are we gonna leave today?” Detective Hall asked as he interrupted.

“Detective Hall, won’t you please tell me who got shot?”

“No, I will not.”

“Why?”

“It’s none of your goddamn business. Let’s go, Kowalski.” Both detectives were off and Rightchus, realizing he still didn’t know who was in the body bag, gave chase.

“Hey, yo, wait up, wait up,” Rightchus shouted but the two detectives ignored his pleas. They were in their Malibu speeding away. “Them cops, they devils. That’s fucked up that they don’t want to inform you but when they ready for info, that’s another story,” Rightchus continued in disgust. He walked back, dodging traffic, and made his way home, angry at not knowing who was inside the body bag.

The devil, he doesn’t want you to know yourself. That’s the only way he can keep you enslaved. I guess I’ll find out who got shot by watching the evening news like rest of this city, Rightchus thought as he continued down the block, stopping only to bum a cigarette.

He entered his east Harlem building and ran up the stairs to the second floor. He opened the door and threw himself onto his worn out wine colored alcohol stained sofa. It doubled as his bed but he was too edgy to sit still. Instinctively, he reached for the glass pipe lying on top of a dusty, well used end table. Searching his underwear, he fished for the vial he had stashed in the crack of his ass.

“Aha, found you. Thought I’d lost you but I know, I know. Those crack dealers,” he said shaking his head, “they must be tap dancing on the shit. I can’t even get a handle on it. Damn thing so skinny,” Rightchus mumbled and held the piece of rock to the light.

Salivating, he fastidiously began chopping a piece of the yellow substance and frenetically packed it into a glass pipe. Rightchus cleared his throat and whipped his tongue over his lips then brought the stem to his mouth and sucked hard, deflating his cheeks in the process. With his thumb and index finger, he squeezed off air through his nostrils. His cheeks inflated and veins grew vivid in his neck.

Really hope it wasn’t my girl, Coco. She wanna be a rap star. He breathed out. Her mother would die, he thought as he set the blowtorch again, lit it, and inhaled. Sweat poured down the side of his face. Rightchus smiled with the high. He let out a laugh.

That old biddy would run out and smoke up all the rock in the world and then die. That bitch is a crazy fiend. I wonder how she’s doing. I know that bitch went to that drug rehab but for crack heads like me and her, there is no rehab. No turning back.

The taste made him feel so good that he was up, dancing and singing, “Once a crack head, always a crack head. You just got to have it. Ain’t no turning around for me and you, sis. No rehab, no counselor, no peer pressure, no nothing. We’re doomed to our fate. Our souls have been bought and paid for by the devil. Nothing can save us.”

Rightchus broke off another piece and repeated the incantation, “Once a crack head, always a crack head.”

The yellow flame blazed from the torch igniting another piece of impure coke and once again, Rightchus’ lungs filled and he hopped around the tiny apartment. He danced, his imagination filled by a grand audience enjoying his show.

Applause followed as he focused on the decorated walls cluttered with pictures from magazines and newspapers. An assembly of some of the greatest feats in sports history was splashed across the walls of Rightchus’ alcove. He was lost in examining each picture as if seeing them for the first time then he began imitating the movements captured in each picture. Kareem Abdul Jabbar forever tossing that winning skyhook over Larry Bird while the fans at Boston Garden cheered in perpetuity. Magic’s smile and the Lakers’ championship squad of the Eighties posed tirelessly.

“I wanna smoke rock right now. I’m Rightchus and I came to get down. I’ll free base whether you’re a fatty or skinny. I don′t care, just you holler. I wanna smoke rocks wit’cha, ain’t turning nothing down but ma collar,” Rightchus sang as he drifted past pictures of Jordan in complete Nike-flight, Ali caught delivering another invisible jab, Bruce Lee executing a painful grin, and teen boxer, Iron Mike, wearing a champion’s scowl with three title belts hanging around his trim waist. Rightchus waved his arms.

“I’m old school like that,” he said with a smile as he plopped onto the ruined sofa and closed his eyes as if on the verge of passing out. Rightchus was on his beach building his castle of sand. He played with the birds and fishes.

A long time ago, his mother told him he would never amount to nothing. At the end of a trying teenage life, he mapped out his adult living to prove how right mothers could be. Rightchus knew he would need help to accomplish that so he formed a partnership with crack in order to accommodate a quick end to his tale of frustration. “Round here, you either smoke it, sell it, or stay the hell away from it. That’s the three ‘S’s’ to da shizzit. I do two out of three all the time,” he would often brag. “I’m in control of my destiny, see.”

He closed his eyes and whistled a soft melody. It must have been a favorite cause he smiled ear to ear. Rightchus carried with him the bad names and things thrown at him. He savored the moment when he would use the taunts and jeers and turn them into cheers. Rightchus smiled knowing that no matter the weather, there would always be crack and he was a survivor.

Another day, another hit. Don’t blame me, blame the drugs and shit, he thought as he jumped up and reached for the volume on the old beat-box. He tried to find a station he liked. Rightchus paused briefly then continued for a while until finally, he stopped and stared at the television. Rightchus rushed over and began adjusting the antennae in the hopes of getting better reception.

“Time for the news. This bad boy better play right,” he said aloud and shifted the antennae from this side to the next, right to left. Nothing he tried worked. Rightchus was on the brink of irritation when he heard the knock on the door. “Who is it?” he asked and frantically hid his works.

He peered out the peephole and immediately recognized Maruichi’s spoiled daughter and her friend. They probably looking to cop sump’n, Rightchus thought as he yelled.

“Yeah, can I help y’all? What you want?”

“We want some of the stuff, you know? Like before. Can we come inside and talk, Mr. Rightchus?” one of the girls asked while the other kept a goofy grin pinned to her face.

Rightchus hesitated. “Where your father and brothers? They ain’t out there waiting behind y’all, is they?” Rightchus asked but then realized that the big man’s daughter was out of her league, slumming for drugs.

Lillian’s father was Joey Maruichi, brother to a well-known mobster Frankie who had a hand in just about everything that happened in the hood. In the past, Rightchus had given the girls E tabs. The ecstasy pills were payment for him identifying drug spots.

After a successful bust, the police would provide the spoils as his reward. Rightchus was about the buck so he would sell most of his bounty to teenage club kids. Somehow, he’d sold tabs to Lillian’s younger brother who told her of Rightchus and she came slumming for ecstasy pills.

Rightchus gazed through the peephole knowing he had no drugs but the girls pushed the right buttons. “We have money,” added Lillian’s friend. Rightchus’ curious frown quickly converted and he morphed into hustle mode at the mention of money. A plan brewed as he released the door locks.

“What da fuck? That’s all you had to say,” Rightchus said graciously opening the door with a bow. “Enter. Mi casa es su casa,” he continued as he stepped aside. The two young girls, about sixteen, walked into the cluttered apartment.

“Do you have the, you know, the stuff, Mr. Rightchus?” Lillian immediately asked.

The frown on his face indicated that he was thrown for a loop so she quickly added, “Same thing as the last time, Mr. Rightchus. Only this time more.” She showed Rightchus the money. He had no Ecstasy tabs but Rightchus was a con artist and he was sure that he would able to get some dollars out of these two young rich white girls.

“This is my place, you can talk. Stuff don’t have to be stuff. What is the stuff you’re talking?” Rightchus asked hoping to rid these girls of their money. Under the guise of trying to be helpful, the mind of a con man plotted and schemed.

“Same stuff like last time. You know? You got us thirty E-Tabs, Mr. Rightchus. We need it for our Sweet Sixteen party. All our friends are gonna be there. Wanna come?”

“Nah, I’m chilling and furthermore, what would it look like, me hanging out with y’all kids? I’m liable to go to jail. Take me for R. Kelly or sump’n. Baby, I’m too hot. Plus, I’m too dirty for y’all,” Rightchus said shaking his head.

“Well, do you have the tabs?” Lillian’s friend asked while Lillian reached back into her pocketbook. Rightchus saw the Benjamin’s and his mind was already engaged.

“It’s gonna cost five hundred dollars. You’ve got that, don’t you?” Rightchus asked witty with a smirk.

“But, it’s not the same price as the last time?”

Rightchus had forgotten the price he had quoted the last time. “E is scarce and the price got to go up. It cost a lot to export and all that overseas shipping is crazy overhead. I’m saying, you want it?” The girls looked at each other and nodded.

Rightchus licked his chops as they indicated their agreement. “Aiight, that’s what I’m talking ‘bout, business people. Sit down and I’ll be back in two minutes. You can wait right here. I’ll be back with the tabs, my sweethearts.”

“Why can’t we come with you? We could have the chauffer drive us.”

“Nah, what it gonna look like if my connect see me in that car?”

“But the windows are tinted...”

“Look, you want the E or what? Just chill for a few. I’ll be right back. Get you what you want, you smell me?” Rightchus asked and the girls nodded.

He was out the door and running to the corner store. There, he purchased a bottle of aspirin and disappeared around the corner. He ran up four flights to his friend, Jorge’s, apartment.

“Yo, open the door,” Rightchus yelled as he banged on the door. “Open up, dogs. I got some business. I need some tabs dogs,” Rightchus continued to yell. He heard the door locks becoming undone and he began to salivate.

Five minutes later and completely out of breath, he was back in his apartment. Rightchus opened his hand to reveal a plastic bag filled with pink tablets. The girls’ faces lit up. “Since y’all waited a little extra, I slipped some extra ones in there, aiight? Where the dough at?” he asked. Rightchus felt his blood pressure rise as the crisp wad of bills hit his palm. “Aiight, aiight, that’s what I’m talking ‘bout. Go on, get out of here with y’all bad self,” Rightchus said showing the two girls the open door. “That’s right, go on get out, you jailbait. Get out of here and don’t be telling no grown folks about da biz. Tell only your best friends or other kids. A brother don’t wanna go to the poky, ya heard?”

“You got it, Mr. Rightchus.”

The girls smiled and made their way out of his apartment. Rightchus’ grin widened as the girls walked away. He closed the door quickly and rushed to count the money. A smile brightened his face when he realized he had made over five hundred dollars in about ten minutes. The yellow-toothed smirk blossomed into a full chuckle as he reached for the crack pipe, lit it, and inhaled. Five hundred, the figure spiraled with smoke throughout his brain.

“It ain’t my fault that the drug is really good.”

Rightchus sang and smoked until all his vials were empty. Eyes wide open and sweating profusely, he stared at the television. The reception was worse. Through the fuzz of his discontent, Rightchus heard a sprinkle of the news flash.

“Coming up, two people shot, one bzzzzz... in a ritzy ...bzzzzzz apartment. And bzzzzz heat you bzzzzz can handle along with sports coming up next on bzzzzz clock news.”

Rightchus scratched his head. The buzzing annoyed him. He walked over to the where the television set was and struck it a few times with his open hand. He waited for some kind of a change but the reception got worse. Rightchus banged a few more times on the set.

“What? That’s it? Get da fuck out. Come on, gimme some type of picture. Man, I wanna see who the fuck got shot,” Rightchus mumbled then all the reception was gone. All he had now was snow and the accompanying hissing. He gave the broken box a couple more slaps and then left his place. “Got to get me a new television. Flat screen joint,” he said and walked out onto the street. “I just hope it ain’t my girl, Coco, that got shot.”

Rightchus saw a neighborhood fiend approaching. “Hey, you heard about that shooting today over at that record producer, Ascot’s, apartment? Huh, ya heard anything? My girl, Coco, she was there taking care of some BI, ya know?”

“I ain’t heard a damn thing, dogs. Gimme a cigarette.”

“I ain’t got no free cigarette, man. Buy one, my brother,” Rightchus said.

“Aiight, aiight, I feel you but I ain’t holding nothing now. Let me hold one until...”

“Man, you ain’t nothing but a crack head. Where you gonna get money to buy cigarettes? C’mon, get real. Ain’t nothing free, man.”

“You gonna do me like that?

“Man, you better go on. I ain’t doing shit. I got places to go,” Rightchus said and began singing as he walked to the Chinese restaurant. Maybe they have their television. Chinese people always paying their bills, he thought as he walked into the tiny take out restaurant with the bulletproof windows.

“Chicken wings and pork fried rice with lots of hot sauce and ketchup.” Rightchus placed his order but there was no visible response. “Why y’all looking at me like that? C’mon, y’all shook, niggas? What’s up?”

“You no pay, you never pay,” the man behind the counter shouted back. “You pay first and then we serve you,” he continued. “Every time you say you will pay, you no pay. You no have money, you don’t get food.”

“Man, I got money,” Rightchus said as he unveiled a twenty and got the results that cash brought. “Money is king, right? Make sure you put some extra duck sauce in the bag to go.”

“Duck sauce cost twenty five cent more.”

“Just put the damn thangs in da bag. Duck sauce twenty five cents more,” Rightchus mocked and howled to himself.

Next stop was the liquor store on the corner where he bought a pint of cheap liquor. He also found out that the person killed in the shoot out was not Coco. “It was someone else, not my girl, Coco,” Rightchus said and poured some of the liquor onto the curb. “Coco, you know I don’t like to waste my liquor but I’m glad it ain’t you, ma girl.” He sipped and C-walked his way back home.