Читать книгу The Game Don't Change - Mazaradi Fox - Страница 5

CHAPTER ONE

“Mr. DeMarco Jones, I hereby sentence you to eighteen months at the Tryon Residential Center for your role in the robbery in question. You will remain in custody until the end of the eighteen-month term.”

As the judge spoke, DeMarco was off in his own world. He immediately began to think about all the time he was set to serve. For a teenager, eighteen months was an eternity. He wasn’t mentally prepared to be away from the streets of Queens and his friends for that long.

“Fuck,” he said under his breath.

“What was that, Mr. Jones?” the judge spoke in a deep baritone. He had the kind of voice that vibrated through you. There was no question that when he spoke, he meant business.

“Uh, nothing, Your Honor. I ain’t say nothin ,” DeMarco said, sitting there next to his lawyer who didn’t do shit for him.

“In closing, I hope you learn your lesson from this situation and make the best of it. You still have time to turn your life around, young man. Court is dismissed,” the judge said and banged his gavel.

* * *

Man, I see already I ain’t gonna like this shit, DeMarco was thinking to himself as he sat in a van with ten other kids on their way to Tryon. He was already contemplating ways to get out of the situation. He was imagining multiple routes to escape without even knowing the layout of the detention center. For the first time in his life, he felt like he didn’t have control and it was uncomfortable. He was used to doing things his way without being a “yes” man. This would be his first time locked away, but many of his friends had endured the same fate. From their experiences, he learned that you could do one of two things: sink or swim. Sinking was just not an option for him.

Man, the first chance I get I’m up outta here, he thought to himself. He was getting more annoyed by the minute as the kids around him started playing the tough-guy role. He sat quietly in deep thought waiting for someone to get out of line with him. He was always ready to knock a nigga on his ass if necessary. Finally, they pulled off the road and passed a sign that said, Welcome to Tryon Residential Center for Boys. Taking a deep breath, DeMarco stilled himself as he got out of the van.

“Grab your bags and follow me,” the driver said as he walked toward a door that read, Intake. Once at the door, the staffer held it open for the young men. DeMarco walked inside with his three bags and couldn’t believe that he was going to have to stay there for the next eighteen months. The guards stared each of the boys up and down, clearly trying to intimidate them. Some young men buckled at the knees, but DeMarco kept a straight face.

“Put your bags against that wall and then follow me,” one guard said to the group as he walked down the hall. “Now take a seat.”

Each of them found a spot and did as they were told.

“After you see the nurse, go across the hall and someone will give you a card with the cottage name on it. Once that’s done, come back up the hall and I’ll send you on your way.”

Man, this is some bullshit, DeMarco thought as he sat there waiting for his name to be called. All sorts of ideas flooded his mind as he looked around the room studying the other boys. He watched their movements carefully. He was taught not to trust anyone, not even your best friend. He was also taught to be ready at all times in the event an enemy attacked. He sat impatiently for the next fifteen minutes until his name was called.

“Jones!”

“About time,” he mumbled under his breath.

“What’s that?” the guard asked.

“I ain’t say nothin,” DeMarco replied.

DeMarco headed into the nurse’s office with a straight face. After about twenty minutes of bullshit, he walked across the hall to find out what cottage he was going to be in. He grabbed the card off the desk, turned, and stepped back out of the office.

“Ya card,” a guard said.

DeMarco handed it to him.

“Elmwood One. Oh, that’s Mrs. B. I think you’ll like it there. When you go out of the door, turn right and follow the road. It will be the second cottage on your right side. Just give her this card and she’ll handle everything from there.”

At that point DeMarco didn’t give a fuck what cottage he was in or who the staff members were. All he wanted to do was get there and get to his bed. A couple minutes later he walked through the door of his new home. It wasn’t sweet, but he would have no choice other than making the best out of it.

“You must be Mr. Jones,” a chubby guy said.

“Last time I checked,” DeMarco answered.

“A funny guy, I see. I have just the place for you: room five. You go down the hall, make a left, and you’ll find it. By the way, my name is Mr. Johnson.”

Not saying shit, DeMarco just grabbed his bags and followed the directions. Reading the numbers on the door, DeMarco found his room and went in.

You can’t be serious, he thought as he looked around the two-man room, seeing how dirty it was. He didn’t have the energy to do anything but make his bed. DeMarco slipped under the covers and fell right to sleep, missing the block already.

* * *

What the fuck? DeMarco said to himself when he was awakened by nearby voices. Sitting up, he noticed three white boys sitting on the bed across the room. Mad as hell that they’d woken him up, he grabbed his toothpaste, toothbrush, washcloth, and walked out of the room. Ten minutes later DeMarco came back into his room and saw the same people sitting on the bed. Putting his stuff down on the top of the locker at the foot of his bed, DeMarco turned to the dudes across the room.

“Ayo, which one of y’all sleep in here?” he asked, standing up, hoping that one of them would get smart.

“I do,” the one in the middle said.

“A’ight, so you and you,” he said, pointing at the other two. “Y’all got to go. All that early-morning hanging-out shit, talking loud—that shit is a wrap.”

“Lil’ Nicky, you hear this fucking kid?” the one on the right said, laughing.

Not thinking twice, DeMarco walked over and punched him in the mouth. Blood splattered and his lip immediately began to swell.

“Now laugh at that, pussy-ass white boy, on your way out my fucking room,” DeMarco said as he stepped back.

Both of them left, looking scared, one of them holding his mouth.

“Now look, Lil’ Nicky, or whatever your name is. First thing is, you gonna clean this dirty-ass shit up,” DeMarco said as he started unpacking his bags. “And all that throwing your clothes all over the place, that shit is a wrap too. Fuck I look like? I’m not sleeping in dirt. Next thing: this is my side and that’s your side of the room. If I catch any one of your lil’ buddies on my side of the room, or if anything goes missing because you got niggas coming in and out, I’m holding you responsible. You got me?”

Lil’ Nicky, just as scared as his friends, nodded his head. DeMarco had him just where he wanted him.

After pulling out his favorite rap posters from his bags, DeMarco began to hang them up. The posters—which he had gotten from The Source magazine—were of Nas, Tupac, Lil’ Kim, Biggie, Mobb Deep, Da Brat, Run-D.M.C., and some others. In the middle of putting his clothes in his locker, the staff yelled out that it was lunchtime.

“Ayo, where we go to eat lunch?” he asked.

“On weekends we eat every meal here, but Monday through Friday we eat breakfast and lunch in the cafeteria and dinner in here,” Lil’ Nicky explained.

“A’ight, cool,” DeMarco said, and walked out of the room.

* * *

After lunch, DeMarco was sitting in his room writing a letter home when Lil’ Nicky came in and told him that the counselor wanted to see him. DeMarco put his letter down and stood up, about to head out of the room to find the counselor. Lil’ Nicky dropped and began doing push-ups.

“Now that’s what the fuck I’m talkin about. How many sets you got in?” DeMarco asked as he pulled off the shirt from over his wifebeater, deciding the counselor could come find him if it was so important.

“This is the third one. Thirty a clip,” Lil’ Nicky said once he got up.

“A’ight, bet, let me catch up real quick,” DeMarco said, quickly knocking out the ninety push-ups in two sets. The two were so caught up in their workout that neither of them realized how fast the time had flown by. After twenty more minutes of push-ups and sit-ups, DeMarco laid back on his bed with his eyes closed to calm himself down.

“Nicky, I know this room better be clean!” a female voice yelled.

DeMarco opened his eyes, but had to close them again because he thought he was bugging out. When he blinked again she was gone. Sitting up, he looked over at Lil’ Nicky and asked, “Ayo, who was that?”

As he sat up on his bed laughing, Lil’ Nicky said, “That’s Mrs. B. Yo, I’m telling you, she’s the baddest female on the compound.”

“Yo, I thought that was Stacey Dash standing in the doorway. Man, I got to go check on her even though she a little too short for me,” DeMarco said as he got up, grabbing his shirt and leaving the room.

Walking down the hall he saw Mrs. B sitting at the staff desk in the walkway. He had to admit she was bad as fuck. She had a fat ass and curves for days. He watched her movements imagining how she’d look naked. He’d been with a few older women, but none as fine as her. It was now his mission to get a piece of Mrs. B.

Stepping to the bathroom he heard, “So, you must be Jones.”

He turned to her and said, “Yup, I guess that’s me.”

He kept walking into the shower room. He didn’t want to seem pressed; he wanted her to make the first move.

* * *

For the next couple of weeks—after their brief encounter in the hall—Mrs. B made it her business to frequently stop by his room. Every time she came he acted as if she wasn’t there. He could tell that she was feeling him and he was figuring out a way that it could work to his advantage. Getting pussy would be a plus, but getting her to help him get out of there would be even better.

“Man, I’m telling you, DeMarco, Mrs. B feeling you, yo. She ain’t never stopped by my room until you got here,” Lil’ Nicky said while the two were working out.

“Man, fuck shorty, yo. I’m focused on going home,” DeMarco replied as he dropped down to do his set, all the while thinking of a master plan. He wasn’t comfortable enough to tell Nicky what was on his mind, but fucking Mrs. B was definitely part of the plan.

* * *

Five months went by so fast that DeMarco didn’t realize it until his birthday came and went. By then he and Lil’ Nicky had grown pretty tight. He also found himself flirting with Mrs. B more and more, to the point where he would ask her to do her hair in a particular style or to wear certain clothes. She would always do it. Mrs. B saw how all the quiet guys gravitated toward him—even trying to talk and dress like him. The young thug that had all the other boys in check turned her on.

* * *

“Ayo, I don’t give a fuck, Reek. You ain’t gonna keep tryna play me. Just ’cause you from the city, that don’t mean shit to me!” DeMarco heard Lil’ Nicky saying one night as he was walking by the bathroom. Wanting to see if Lil’ Nicky was a soft upstate nigga or if he had bust a hammer before, DeMarco kept it moving to his room. A couple minutes later, Lil’ Nicky came in with his face red as fuck and tight.

“That pussy-ass nigga Reek think I’m soft or somethin ’cause I’m not from the city. I guess I’ma have to show him how we get down upstate,” Lil’ Nicky said out loud to himself, as DeMarco sat on his bed acting like he wasn’t listening. “Wait till Mrs. B come on. I know these niggas gonna try to jump me, but I don’t give a fuck. I’m gonna knock all his teeth out his mouth. Watch!”

DeMarco drifted off to sleep but woke up when he heard Mrs. B at his door.

“Wassup, lil’ DeMarco?”

“Ain’t nothing little about me, Mrs. B,” DeMarco replied with a devilish grin.

She had on a tight pair of white jeans with a fitted shirt. Just seeing her standing in the doorway made his dick hard. He wanted to jump on her right there at that moment, but he held his composure.

“So you say,” Mrs. B said, smiling as she walked away.

DeMarco slipped his feet into his sneakers, grabbed his toothbrush, and headed out of the room. Walking into the bathroom, he saw Lil’ Nicky talking to Mrs. B and thought to himself, I knew that nigga was soft! All he could do was shake his head. He wasn’t mad at Lil’ Nicky, just a little let down. After handling his business, DeMarco returned to his room and found Lil’ Nicky sitting on his bed.

“What’s poppin, Lil’ Nicky?”

“Shit. You? Today I ain’t gonna work out; you feel me?”

“Yeah, I was gonna take today off anyway to rest,” DeMarco said, placing his things in his locker before leaving the room again.

Sitting in the dayroom playing cards with a few dudes who looked up to him, DeMarco heard Reek over in the TV room with his crew. He could tell that none of Reek’s crew was tough unless they were in a group. As he continued playing cards he noticed Lil’ Nicky approach the dayroom doorway and stop, then look around a few times and head toward the TV room. Seeing this, DeMarco put his cards down and got up from the table, moving slowly toward the TV room. Not knowing if Lil’ Nicky was going to do something, DeMarco didn’t want him to feel that he was by himself and Reek had a crew of dudes with him. When he made it to the TV room doorway, DeMarco watched Lil’ Nicky walk slowly to the front of the room where Reek was sitting.

“I’m told you been talkin shit about me, bitch,” DeMarco heard Lil’ Nicky say before he started raining blows on Reek.

Everybody was so shocked that it took his boys a moment to realize what was going on. By this time DeMarco slid closer to Reek’s man who was nearest to Lil’ Nicky. As soon as the guy stood up to move on Lil’ Nicky, DeMarco leveled him, causing all kinds of ruckus as the TV room erupted into an all-out fight. DeMarco, Lil’ Nicky, and the “Quiet Boys”—as they called themselves—were pitted against the city crew. When Mrs. B and the other staff members ran up front, they couldn’t believe what they were seeing. It reminded Mrs. B of a royal rumble. There were muthafuckers fighting everywhere. As Lil’ Nicky and DeMarco were kicking someone on the ground, Mrs. B waited, and then pulled the pin on her radio.

Three minutes later, everyone was lying on the floor.

“DeMarco, you snake bitch, you supposed to be from the city!” one of the dudes shouted.

“Nigga, I’m my own man!” DeMarco said, laughing. “Plus, I’m from southside Jamaica, Queens. Remember that!”

After what seemed like two hours lying on the floor, Mrs. B came back with five staff members and started pointing at people. DeMarco knew they were in deep shit, but at that moment, he didn’t even care. Lil’ Nicky was his boy and he vowed to have his back.

The staff was yelling for everyone to get up from the floor; there was a lot of commotion. Obscenities were being flung and threats were being made. DeMarco noticed Lil’ Nicky staring at him while the guards were escorting people out of the TV room.

“That was some real shit, DeMarco. I’ll never forget that,” Lil’ Nicky said. From the look on his face, DeMarco could tell that he meant it from the heart.

“Ain’t shit, Nick. I told you before I’d always have your back,” DeMarco replied as he headed out and found Mrs. B sitting at her desk.

“You wanna tell me what the fuck that was all about?” she said, tapping her foot.

“They tried to play my boy, and when he didn’t back down, they tried to jump him,” DeMarco said, looking Mrs. B directly in the eyes. “I wasn’t just gonna stand there and let that happen. Loyalty is one of the most important things to me in life and I’m loyal to those who are loyal to me. Point blank.”

“You and that fuckin Costolow. We’ll see how fuckin loyal y’all are to each other when his ass is on the line. Just go to your room!” Mrs. B snapped. “Send Costolow back here.”

DeMarco was pissed about the way she was talking to him, but instead of making another scene he just went into his room. He lay back on his bed and closed his eyes, thinking about the streets that he missed so much.