Читать книгу Hard White - Shannon Holmes - Страница 8

Chapter Two

Everyday Struggle

A beautiful baby blue sky ushered in the dawn of a new day. The serenity that seemed to exist in the heavens didn’t exist on God’s green earth. At least not in Edenwald projects where Melquan and Precious were deep asleep. Almost noon and they were awaken by the them loud sounds of New York City’s Housing Authority’s dump truck mixed in with workers’ voices, brooms and rakes performing the daily janitorial duties.

Still half asleep, Melquan awoke to discover Precious sound asleep in his arms. From the feel of the sheets against his skin, Melquan could tell that he was butt-ass naked. The sticky clammy taste of his mouth let him know that he wasn’t the only one that engaged in oral sex last night. Melquan always gave as well as he got with Precious.

Drained and in a daze, Melquan glanced at the clock on the cable box. Nine a.m., Melquan had no reason to get up and quickly fell back asleep. He lived the life of a drug dealer. His day didn’t start till late afternoon, and spilled into the wee hours of the morning.

Melquan was aware that Precious’ grandmother was working a double shift at her job downtown, where she worked in a hotel as a maid. His girlfriend, India was already at work in the Bronx Lebanon Hospital. His burgeoning crack business was being handled capably by his man, Mike Copeland. Melquan was in no rush to leave.

Besides all of that, he wanted to go another round with the luscious body of Precious. There was no better sex than when one had to leave. That alone was worth the wait. Armed with that knowledge, Melquan smiled and drifted to sleep. He enjoyed sleeping. Melquan always said that if death was anything like sleeping, he’d love that too.

Later in the afternoon Precious was the first to wake up. She opened her eyes and gathered her bearing. Pausing, she watched Melquan sleeping for a minute. His muscular chest rose and fell as he inhaled and exhaled. All the while Precious enjoyed the ride, listening to the sound of his heartbeat, staring deeply into Melquan’s face and fantasizing.

Melquan awoke. Precious was staring at him, her eyes stained red. He recognized the look and it scared him. Melquan had seen it all too often. It was the look of love.

“Good Morning Mel,” she said.

Her lips hugged the words seductively. Melquan glanced back over at the clock on the cable box. It was two-thirty p.m.

“You mean good afternoon, don’t you?” he remarked. “Damn, I didn’t know it was that late. I didn’t mean to sleep that long. Musta been real tired.”

“Hmm, hmm, you must’ve been,” Precious said. “Plus I did put it on your ass last night.”

“Oh yeah…? Well, I don’t remember that too well. You can show me better than you can tell me.”

A devilish smirk immediately spread across Precious’ pretty face. She glimpsed down at Melquan’s manhood showing clear through the white sheet. Precious grabbed as much of it as her hands could hold. She squeezed it so hard that Melquan’s dick suddenly rose from overnight slumber and stood at attention. Repositioning her body, Precious began to slither down to Melquan’s lower body, pausing when she reached the region around his groin.

“Is this what you want?” She asked.

Her tongue flickering at the tip of his exposed dick. It was hard with the head pointing directly at the ceiling.

“Umm honey… Do you, ma.”

Slurps and moans from sexual ecstasy flooded the room. Melquan looked down at Precious’ angelic like face while her tongue twirled around the glistening head of his erection. His eyes were soon closed. Unable to take anymore stimulation, he prayed not to cum too soon. His head rolled back and his body became lost in the moment. Precious’tongue coiled around his dick and Melquan moaned from the pleasure. She was on top of her head-game all the while fingering her exposed pussy.

His throbbing member was in her mouth and this brought Melquan to dizzying heights. Precious repositioned herself in a sixty-nine position. Her vagina was warm and when Melquan sucked and fingered Precious’ love box it got so hot, sticky cum juice oozed into his mouth.

Upstairs in the apartment, sex was already bubbling over. While outside Precious’ room window, the project world below was beginning to heat up.

“Yo, that’s my custy, son!” One dealer shouted. “C’mon Macho, don’t even play yerself like that!”

In the Edenwald projects there was no such thing as a drug free zone. Wherever there was money to be made, drugs was sold. Regardless of whose child or parent was around. Dealers would grind all day and night. Hard white was the product primary pushed.

The 227^th street drive known as the horseshoe, also referred to as the shoe, was currently the officially the largest open-air drug market in Edenwald. The shoe was comprised of seven short, three-story brick buildings. This was the prime destination for drug addicts seeking the best crack cocaine. In Edenwald drug money was known to shift from one side of the projects to another. It could go from strip-to-strip, or even building-to-building. There were two factors that dictated this shift, police presence and better product. Right now the horseshoe had both things in its favor.

School was already out on this unseasonably warm fall day. Temperature of was high, and crowds of kids scattered about the projects’grounds. Drug dealers, drug addicts, and older residents were outside doing whatever it was that they did to enjoy what was left of the Indian summer day. Because of the warm temperature, there were more people out than usual.

In midst of all this madness, a cat and mouse game was being waged by a single addict against the dealers. He was frail, and shabbily dressed. Everyone knew the African American crack-head named, George, moving almost undetected from dealer to dealer. George seemed like he was on legitimate business to cop crack, just like he had done a couple other times that day. He would closely examine each glassine bag handed to him, tasting the product each time.

“Nah, I’m good,” George stated and walked away shaking his head. “That shit don’t even taste right. I’ll pass. Know-wha-I’m-sayin’…?”

After rejecting that dealer’s product, he proceeded to another, and repeated the same act.

“Who got that good shit?” he’d asked.

“Right here, fam,” another unsuspecting dealer hollered. “These other niggas out here got garbage. Fam, you know me. You’ve copped from me before. Just tell me how many you want?”

“Slow your roll,” George hastily suggested. “I copped from a lot niggas out here. Know-wha-I’m-sayin’…? What makes you so special?”

The young dealer immediately began to show George a hand full crack rock he removed from a large ziplock bag. The conversation would be momentarily ceased. Silently salivating over each individual bag, the crackhead carefully selected the largest rock he could find. Greed mingled with the sickness of getting high raced through George’s mind.

“Somebody beat me last night,” he complained. “I bought some shit and the shit didn’t even burn. You believe that? Sonofabitch sold me some synthetic coke! So I hope you don’t mind if I taste this shit. I need to know if this is the real deal before I spend my paper with you. Know-wha-I’m-sayin’…?”

The young hustler gave the man a funny look. There was just something about him that he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He remembered something an old-timer once told him, ‘usually when people talk a lot they’re lying’. Despite his better judgment, he let the man do as he had asked.

Scrutinizing his every move, the dealer eyed George carefully opening one of the packets. George removed the rock, nibbled on it, and handed it back to the dealer. He was awaiting any signs of approval from George.

“That was good money, right?” the dealer asked.

George firmly shook his head and continued on about his business as if nothing had ever happened. Unbeknownst to him he was now under the suspicious glare of a young, wild, irate drug dealer. The dealer made a signal to other dealers from his crew.

Not far away, a group of youths gathered round to witness the current rage of a freestyle battle rap contest. Two of the hottest rappers from the projects who also peddle drugs faceoff in a rhyme fest. The contest was more interesting because they were from different drug set. There was a genuine dislike between the two MC’s and this fact was sure to spill over into their lyrics.

“Yo, I’m a spit sumthin light fa y’all. Check—check it out, huh…” Young Feddi began.

Wish a nigga try it, that nigga won’t be eatin’ put ‘em on a diet. I been told niggaz I was on my shit, fuck all these haters man they just on my dick….

I’m da liviest. I let da nina spit, break ‘em like Kit-Kat, flip ‘em like a Sidekick….

I’m cheddar getter AKA cheddar flipper, that Bitch you lovin’ ain’t wifey she just lettin’ you lick her…

“Whoa who-who …” a roar went up from the crowd that had gathered.

They were still buzzing when Sylk Smooth confidently stepped up. Sylk Smooth spat, clearing his throat.

Hear my bars prove I’m fire, sickest nigga ballin since Magic retired… When its beef he known to take the track route, threw the car in reverse the only time he backed out……

Fiends say my dope is Ipod music, once you hear it you gone be noddin’ to it. They like Sylk got that Brett Favre gene. No matter the damn team I stay with green….

Bars murder shit call it disaster rap, gotta lotta so called MC’s taking casket naps…

This is sleep you won’t see him wake, tryin’ to put a square in a round hole you outta shape…

My rhymes piff like haze and jars, this year I’m goin’ Cinglar, I’m raisin’ my bars…

“Whoa-a-a- whoa…” The crowd really went wild.

Each of rappers had supporters and they were cheering for their man. The approval from the crowd ignited the rappers passion to outperform the man in front of him. The competition was mild at first, a disrespect word here, and there. Finger pointing, yelling, and offensive body language suggested that the battle could get ugly in a New York minute. For twenty minutes straight Young Feddi and Sylk Smooth went bar for bar, with no clear-cut winner.

Word spread like virus spread through the projects about the rap battle. The infectious performance caused the crowd to grow, attracting the attention of grown-ups as well as the brother and sister tandem of Jose and Maria Torres. Dressed in catholic uniforms, they were on their way home from school.

“Oh, shit!” Jose cursed. “What the fuck is goin’ on here? I know these niggas ain’t battling?”

Maria heard the change in her brother’s language and stared at him in disbelief. His attitude changed immediately and she shook her head as if she never heard a curse word in her life. Unlike her brother, Maria was not as adapt to the ways of project living. In her mind she didn’t live in the projects. She pretended to only go there to sleep. Her innocent act always irked Jose. He simply ignored her.

Jose was curious and excited to see the battle taking place. Glad handing with all around, he seemed to know everybody including the two participants. His Catholic schooling seemed to be the only thing that separated, Jose and his childhood peers. Every free moment he got, he ran the projects with them.

A latchkey child who preferred to sit in the house and watch TV, Maria, was the opposite of her brother. She was never outside playing with other girls her age. She was Jose’s lil sister to those who knew her.

Suddenly Jose broke away from his sister and rushed closer to the battle.

“Jose, what do you think you are doing?” Maria yelled. “You know daddy said we have to come straight home after school. No stopping for nothing! I’m telling!”

“Maria fallback,” Jose quickly responded. “Stop bein’ a lil’ tattletale… I’m just goin’ to see what’s goin’ on. So chill out, I’ll be right back.”

Maria defiantly crossed her arms. Infuriated she stood on the sidewalk staring at her brother. He moved closer to where the crowd of teens was hanging. Wading through the crowd, Jose shouted out an abundance of greetings and daps to whomever he knew. He managed to make his way directly into the sea of bodies that were waving with the rappers.

Meanwhile inside the horseshoe, George was still running his game to perfection. He found no shortage of dealers to hustle. George continued perpetrating his fraudulent game on many unsuspecting dealers. Tasting the crack to test the potency of it, he kept right on turning down product.

“Rodney,” a dealer called out. “Lemme git dat… I got a custy waitin’ on me.”

The look on the crowd’s face suggested they were upset that this kid had bust through and straight up interrupted a good rap battle.

“My dude, dis shit can’t wait?” He barked. “Can’t you see what the fuck I’m doin’?”

The dealer gazed coldly at the rapper before speaking.

“Yo, my man, fuck this battle shit right now. This shit ain’t gonna feed you when you broke, nigga… You better snap outta it and make this paper. I’m tryin’ to help you out. I already knocked off my PK.”

“Aw-aw-aw-aw man, that’s that bullshit!” Someone in the crowd shouted. Rodney abruptly exited the crowd.

“Just say no nigga! C’mon back and finished what you started.”

“Loser…! Loser!” The crowd chanted.

“I got bizness to handle,” the rapper shouted back. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go nowhere gimme a minute. Ya heard?”

Rodney was clearly bothered by the crowd’s lack of understanding. He couldn’t just go on rapping and not go to take care of his hustle, making drug transaction. The further away he got from them the more furious he became. He began looking for anything to spark an argument with his co-worker. He had to take out his frustrations on someone.

“And yo, what the fuck is wrong wit you calling out my government like that? Huh?” Rodney roared. “Nigga, out here I told you my name is Feedi. F-E-E-D-I,” he said, spelling his moniker. “Man, save that other shit for school. How many times I gotta tell you that?”

“Why you spazin’ like that fam?” The other dealer responded. “It ain’t even that serious.”

“Speak fa delf, nigga! I don’t like niggas callin’ me out my government… Now where da fuck is da custy at? He better be copin’ more than just one joint too… The way I’m feelin’ right now—”

“Be easy, nigga. He right over there, nigga…!”

In a rush, Rodney removed a black pouch filled with tiny crack vials from his crotch as if he had just wiped his ass.

“How many you want?” He barked.

“Lemme see what you got first?” George impatiently replied.

“Nigga it’s da same shit you always cop! I ain’t got time for no bullshit, man.”

Rodney stared intently at the fiend before opening up his black bag and removing a few samples. George studied the vials closely looking for the fattest rock. Once he spotted it, he opened the vial putting the crack to his taste test.

“This shit ain’t all that, George said, voice his disapproval. “This shit got too much baking soda in it. All you niggas must got the same batch of shit or the same muthafucka cooking up for y’all. I don’t know if you niggas sellin’ cake mix or drugs? I can’t do nothing with that there, man... Here take this shit back.”

“What?”

With his teeth tightly clenched, Rodney glared angrily at George who was attempting to hand him back the vial of crack. George shoved it at the dealer repeatedly trying to return the product. The dealer fiercely stared at George, eyeing closely. Something seemed to click. Rodney recognized the fiend from around the area.

His peoples from Grenada Place, on the North side of the projects, had beaten down a fiend for trying to buy crack with fake money. Now Rodney had come face to face with the same conniving crackhead. Still he didn’t let on to the man’s true identity. He knew the man had a bad habit of burning dealers out of crack, but he wasn’t about to take an L to feed this fiend’s crack habit. Finally he announced, “You ain’t about to play me out. Dat’s yours, money. I don’t even want that back. You bit it-you bought it!”

The commotions attracted the attention of other drug dealers. A few quickly moved in closer. George felt nervous from all the eyes on him. His speech slurred, and his tongue now moved uncontrollably inside his mouth. Crack cocaine was slowly disintegrating in his mouth and he was trying to reposition it under his tongue.

“Yo, why da fuck you sound like dat? Fuck is wrong with your mouth?” Another dealer asked.

“Son, dis nigga on some ol’ bullshit!” Someone else said.

Unsure of what to do next, the fiend began to take unnoticeable baby steps backwards. He was copping a plea, imploring the dealer to take back his vial of crack.

“I don’t want no trouble. It’s not like that. And you know me?” George said, pleading.

“Money, you got about two seconds to produce my bread. I ain’t tryin’ a hear dat other shit!” Rodney interrupted.

“I think this nigga got something in his mouth. Yo, my man, open up ya mouth for a sec,” another dealer chimed.

George felt his luck running out. From the screws on the dealer faces, he knew he was in deep trouble. He started looking for another avenue to escape. Rodney struck George with a straight right hand and those thoughts vanished from his mind. The blow landed on George’s jaw, but it lacked enough power to put him on the seat of his pants. He tried to run, but all thoughts of escape came to a crashing halt when several drug dealers pounced on him.

“Get him!”

The battle cry rang out and everyone seemed to respond to it. Kicks and punches was George’s reward for his dishonesty and trickery. The drug dealers rained down each blow on him with bad intentions. George’s body exploded with pain as he absorbed the punishment. Soon more and more kids joined the fray. The beating had snowballed to unprecedented proportions in a matter of seconds. Everyone wanted a piece of the action it turned into a feeding frenzy.

George had no choice but to take his medicine. Finally the fiend fell to the ground and the angry mob stomped him. Still the man took his beating and refused to open his mouth. The ruckus drew lots of attention.

Melquan was in the bathroom taking a leak and heard the faint sounds of the scuffle outside the window. He finished letting nature take its course then went to investigate. He heard what sounded like a cry for help from Precious.

“Melquan! Melquan!” Precious yelled. “C’mere! Hurry up!”

Shaking off any excess urine, Melquan put away his penis and hurriedly rushed toward the room.

“Look, they gonna kill that man,” she said, looking out the window.

“What? Who?” He replied.

“Come on over here and see for yourself,” she said, inviting him. “Look! Oh God!” Precious said.

Melquan looked out the window and saw a mob pummeling someone with their feet and fists. He couldn’t identify who was on the receiving end of the beating, but the sight of the mob against one person was a disturbing thing. This would draw unwanted attention. Melquan thoughts turned to business. It wasn’t good for his drug business. He saw his money going down the drain.

“Mel are you gonna just let shit go down like that?” Precious questioned. “Them niggas about to catch a body out there.”

“My team ain’t involved, so I really don’t give a fuck what they do?” He deadpanned.

“That’s beside the point, Mel. You better care. If they kill him then it’ll be too hot out here for God knows how long. Nobody will be able to walk outside much less sell some fuckin’ drugs,” Precious said. “Mel, you do need to look a little bit closer. There’s a few heads out there that’s slinging for y’all and they involved in it too. Shit’s gonna get outta hand and someone gonna call the cops.”

Precious’ words resonated in his ear. Everything she had said was true. Melquan had to rethink his course of action. He quickly made a decision. Melquan threw open one of Precious’drawers and took out a fully loaded semi-automatic nine-millimeter. Gun in hand, he dashed out the apartment.

He had moved so fast that she had no time to protest. Precious ran to the door, hoping that Melquan wouldn’t do something he might regret. She was nervous about what Melquan might do next. She went back to the window and continued to watch the beat down. At any second she was expecting Melquan to appear with his gun blazing.

The unmistakable sound of gunfire suddenly caused all activities to standstill. Having heard it so much, most residents of the projects were immune to the loud clap. The guilty parties began to scatter like roaches when lights were turned on. Their eyes were desperately trying to locate the shooter.

Even the fiend, who was bloodied and beaten, curled up on the ground in a fetal position, looked around from his defensive position to see who was shooting. The residents of Edenwald projects scanned their urban terrain. They saw Melquan looking down on them from the roof with the nine raised high over his head.

“Git da fuck off a him!” He barked. “Don’t nobody else touch him. Dat’s my word, if anyone of y’all lay another hand on him, the next shot I let off won’t be in the air! Y’all niggas about ta make it real hot out here over some ol’ bullshit.”

The power of the gun was an intoxicating high for most of the youths. Some openly stared at Melquan with envy. With the potential for tragedy in the air, cooler heads prevail. Melquan had restored order. The fiend sprung to his feet, quickly seizing the opportunity to make his escape. Before anyone realized it, he was hauling ass in the opposite direction.

When Maria heard the warning shot, terror gripped her like never before. She stood frozen to the spot. Even before she heard Melquan issue his threat, she knew it was time to go. This wasn’t the place for her or her bother to be. They had overstayed their welcome.

“Jose! Jose! C’mon let’s go,” Maria pleaded, her voice crackling with fear.

Jose rushed over to his sister and placed a protective arm around her shoulder, ushering her out of the area. They left the bustling horseshoe just as all the other spectators began to disperse.

“Jose, you’re crazy to hang with those people—”

“Maria, calm down. I’m right here. Stop being a lil’ scaredy cat,” he chided her.

Maria shook her head, thinking how amazing it was that her brother had recklessly risked their lives for what a rap battle. She walked, staring straight ahead, wanting to admonish him, but knowing that would only lead to an argument, she let it drop. The incident had left Jose excited.

“Dat was crazy right the way they was beating that crazy head up. Then that guy just starts shooting off the roof,” Jose chuckled.

She was no longer able to control the angry raging in her.

“No it wasn’t crazy. It was stupid. Why were those boys beating up the poor man? And why does that guy even have a gun? He’s not a cop! Things like that give the projects a bad name. You just wait till I tell daddy!” Maria said, interrupting her brother.

Jose removed his arm from around Maria’s shoulders. He heard what he deemed to be reckless talk and no longer wanted to comfort her. The same event had affected each sibling differently. The violence action that had excited Jose had disgusted Maria. They walked the rest of the way home to their project building in silence. Each of them intensely contemplated what had just transpired.

Melquan returned to Precious’ apartment after leaving the rooftop. He stashed the gun until he needed it again.

“I’ll see you later,” he said then went downstairs.

All eyes were on Melquan, including the leader of his chief opposition for drug money, Nashawn operated on the other side of the horseshoe. He was the projects’ resident bad guy, and walked around with a chip on his shoulder. Nashwan, who stood five feet, eleven inches tall with dark skinned and closely cropped wavy hair, always had something to say about anything and everything. His mouth was the only physically imposing thing about him. His small, beady, black eyes made him appear sneaky.

Oblivious to everyone around him, even those who greeted him, Melquan waved and nodded in response to the outpour of greetings he received. Even with all the love that was showering him, Melquan could feel the hatred too. Overcome by a strong sense of someone’s intense stare, he did a quick survey of his surroundings and found the source of the ill feelings, right across the drive. Nashawn was sitting on the benches with a few of his soldiers, mean mugging him. Flaunting hostility in Melquan’s direction caused a light laugh to escape Melquan’s lips. It was pointless for him to acknowledge Nashawn’s presence in any other way.

Melquan saw Nashawn but their eyes didn’t lock long enough to make Melquan uneasy. Nashawn felt slighted by Melquan’s cool reaction. To save face he deliberately started loud talking about Melquan.

“Nigga’s fuckin’ clowns,” Nashawn spat. “What da fuck did that do? Huh? Niggas got a few guns and start thinkin’ they gangsta for lettin’ off a few shots. Now all of a sudden they wanna regulate the block and shit. Who died and left that clown the keys to the kingdom, huh? I ain’t havin’ it. I wish a muthafucka would say sumthin to the kid or any of my people. Word…!”

Nashawn’s verbal assessment of the situation had more bark than bite. Still he came away with the notion that something like this wasn’t happening again without repercussions.

From across the drive, Melquan could not hear exactly what Nashawn was saying. Melquan saw their nonthreatening stares. He knew that whatever the tough talk being made, Nashawn wasn’t prepared to back it up. It was all just talk. If Nashawn truly had a beef all he had to do was bring his ass across the drive and approach him. They could get it popping right then and there. Melquan tired get back to the business at hand, but couldn’t dodge the thought.

The drive was divided, and if a war popped off between them, the general consensus was that more people disliked Nashawn. In a popularity contest, however, the tide could turn at any given moment. Melquan was a good dude who never gave anyone the business that didn’t have it coming. Nashawn on the other hand, was a snake, the grimy type who would turn on his friends if he felt he could get away with it.

Melquan walked up to the guilty parties and admonished them for their senseless use of violence.

“Y’all niggas know y’all dead wrong,” he announced. “What da fuck is on y’all’s minds? We tryin’ a open this shit back up and keep it that way.”

The young boys looked up at Melquan nodding. They took their medicine in silence none of them dared objecting. They knew they were at fault.

As soon as Melquan was done, a motorized wheelchair, rapidly approached, guided by a middle aged, African American male. He was well dressed in the latest athletic apparel. Despite his physical handicap, the man appeared to be in an upbeat mood.

“What up, Charlie Rock?” Melquan said.

“Hey Melquan, what’s good nephew?” Charlie Rock answered, reaching out with a handshake.

Charlie Rock used nephew as an affectionate term on younger dudes he liked. There were no family ties between him and Melquan.

“Ain’t a damn thing, Unk. What’s really good wit you?” Melquan greeted, shaking Charlie Rock’s manicured hand.

He bent over and warmly embraced the man in the customized wheelchair, a sign of respect.

“Nada, but what’s up with all that shooting I heard when I was up on the Ave, nephew? These niggas wilding out again?”

“Nah Unk, that was me… These lil’ niggas out here were about to beat a crack-head to death over nothing. Wilding out, you know how they do? I tried to tell them niggas to stop. But they wouldn’t listen. So I had to pull out the hammer just to get their attention.”

“Man didn’t I teach you better than that. We only pull out guns for a reason, not for the season. A true hustla only uses gunplay as a last resort. Life or death…”

“Yeah, I know that, Unk. I was kinda wrong there. But—”

“But, but nothing. There are no excuses, nephew. You keep that shit up and you’ll be the hottest thing around here. Much too much snitches around for all that. These lil’ niggas ain’t worth the shells you spent to break that shit up. Next time fuck ’em! Most of ’em don’t belong out here anyway. They ain’t doin’ nothin’ ‘cept gettin’ in a true playa’s way.”

“Unk, you right,” Melquan conceded, taking a deep breathe. “Lately, I’ve been thinking about locking this whole thing down. It’s like every man for himself right now. And that ain’t gettin’ us nowhere. If everybody come together we could get some real money out here. We can bring the flow back instead of letting fiends go to White Plains or Boston road. We can bring it back to where it used to be.”

“That sounds all good. But nephew, you know these niggas. They love disorganized crime. Niggas wouldn’t come together to save their own damn lives. Let alone to get some damn money…”

“You ain’t neva lied. But I still think it’s worth a shot, though. There’s too much money out here not to try.”

“If you believe that in your heart then you should go for it by all means. Don’t let anyone stop you from reaching for the stars. Never let it be said that your ol’ Unk is a hater. Nephew, nothin’ beats a failure, ‘cept a try.”

The loud ring tone from a cellphone interrupted the conversation. Melquan checked the caller ID before speaking.

“What’s up, Mike…? You back? A’ight, I’m on my way up there right now. You need anything? Razors, sumthin to eat, drink? What? You good…? I’ll be right there.”

“Where you headed, nephew?”

“I gotta go see my man, Mike Copeland. He waitin’ at the spot for me. We gotta handle some BI real quick.”

“That’s what I like about you Mel, you about your business. You like that shit Tupac use to shout, M-O-P, Money Over Pussy. Lemme tell you sumthin, pussy is like snow, it’s fun to play in, you never know when it’s gonna cum and only some of it is clean enough to eat. Feel me?”

Melquan let out a hardy laugh. It was vintage Charlie Rock, he was good for that old school advices.

“That’s a good one, Unk. I’ll remember that. That’s all good, but lemme let you in on a lil’ secret, Tupac used to say M-O-B… Money ova Bitches… That’s just for the record. Now look, Unk, I gotta go.”

“Don’t lemme hold you up, nephew,” Charlie Rock laughed. He moved closer to Melquan. “Listen, before you go, let a nigga hold a couple dollars.”

“How much you need? Twenty… Fitty… A hundred dollars…?”

“Twenty dollars is good, nephew. That’s all I need.”

Melquan reached into his pocket and pulled out a knot. He peeled off a crispy twenty dollar bill and handed it to Charlie Rock.

“And nephew, please do me a favor and go put that money away. The police would love to run up on you and find all that cash. That money would keep ’em supplied with a lifetime of coffee and donuts.”

“I feel you. I’m about to bounce up right now.”

“A’ight nephew, watch yourself. Be careful coming in and out of these buildings. Ask me, I know that shit.”

“No question. Good looking out, Unk.”

Charlie Rock gave Melquan dap and watched him walking away. He waited until Melquan was out of sight. Then he signaled a dealer.

“Hurry, lemme get four nickels. And keep it on the DL,” Charlie Rock said.