Crackhead (15 page)

Before Laci had even realized it, she was back on the block Tonette had taken her to when they got the weed earlier. She didn't know exactly where she was, but she recognized Marvin. Suddenly Laci had a thought:
Maybe Marvin would score some weed for me.
With getting high on the brain, she didn't hesitate to approach him.

“Hey,” she called over to him.

“Who that?” Marvin asked through slit eyes.

“I came over here earlier with, Tonette. Remember?”

“Oh,” Marvin said, scratching his chin. “What's up, redbone?”

“Chillin'. I wondered if you could do me a favor,” she said.

“What ya need, Miss?”

“The same thing you got for Tonette earlier.”

“So that was for you?” he asked, surprised.

“Yeah,” she said, looking at the ground. “I don't smoke all the time, just when I need to relax.”

“Sure, kid,” Marvin said. “Okay, let me get your bread.”

“This is all I got,” Laci said, handing him forty dollars. “Can I get something with this?”

“Yeah,” he said, stuffing the bills in his pocket. “Gimme a minute.” He then walked up the block and whispered something to one of the kids who were standing on the corner. A few minutes later, he came back to where Laci was waiting. “Come on,” he said, motioning for her to follow him. Marvin led Laci around the corner and handed her four cellophane bags with rocks in them.

“What's this?” Laci asked, looking at the bags. “I didn't ask for this. I asked for what Tonette got earlier.”

“What you think I just gave you? That's what Tonette copped when she came through earlier.”

Laci felt as if she went blind and deaf at the same time. She couldn't believe what Marvin was telling her. It was just like Monique had said. Laci had been smoking laced weed. She felt like screaming, but the onlooking addicts put her on pause. Laci walked away from Marvin without saying a word. All she could do was look at the crack and cry.

LACI RODE THE TRAIN
home but didn't feel like going home yet. Instead, she hopped back on the train—this time headed
downtown—and went to The Village. She walked up and down the side streets. She didn't have a destination, but she felt the need to keep moving.

She found a little store off to the side and ducked in to get a few things. Laci picked up a can of Tab and a pack of gum. When she got to the counter, she asked for a pack of Newports and a lighter. Laci never smoked, but she was stressed and willing to try something else new.

As Laci scanned the racks behind the counter, she noticed a variety of little corn pipes. She asked the clerk if she could take a closer look at one. She had seen Crystal smoke weed out of pipes before and had always been curious. She added the pipe to her purchase.

Following the flow of people traffic, Laci found herself by the Westside Pier, the nonstop party spot of New York's gay kids, drag queens, druggies, and misfits. She took a seat on an empty bench. She pulled a cigarette from her pack and placed it between her lips. She flicked the lighter and the flame stood at attention. The orange serpent swayed back and forth, waiting for its mistress to command it. Laci slowly placed the light to the cigarette and inhaled. She gagged from the horrid tobacco taste and spat on the ground. Laci tossed the cigarette and scratched it from her new bad-habit list.

There went her only method of calming her nerves. Just then, Laci pulled out the bag of rocks. She held one of the tiny stones between her thumb and index finger and twirled it. She couldn't believe how something so small could reshape a person's life. Round and round she turned it, becoming more fascinated as it spun.

I'm doing fine . . . up here on Cloud Nine . . . I'm gonna sail up higher . . . up, up and away . . .

Laci couldn't believe her girls would have been grimy enough to slip her crack. Had it been more than weed in the blunt, wouldn't she have noticed it? Shouldn't she have noticed it? There were countless possibilities running through her head, but she couldn't be sure which one was accurate.

“Crackhead,” she mumbled. “Yeah, right.” Laci knew there was no way that Tonette could have slipped her crack without her noticing. It was laughable at best. Laci decided to get rid of the rock and be done with it.

Laci tossed the rock to the ground and shook the rest of the stones onto the seat next her. For lack of anything better to do, she decided to burn them. She took her lighter and placed the flame on the rocks. Entranced, Laci watched the stones fizzle and pop, producing a foggy yellow smoke. Laci smiled at the melting pile, until she caught a whiff. Her body froze in place.

At first the stench burned her nose, but then it became strangely familiar. She started to bug because she knew that her nose wasn't lying to her. She leaned in closer to get a better smell and sure enough, it was the same smell that she had encountered at Crystal's house. This was her weed.

I'm doing fine . . . up here on Cloud Nine . . . I'm gonna sail up higher . . . up, up and away . . .

Me, a crackhead? How?
Her brain just couldn't seem to process the thought. She had seen crackheads in the streets, but she didn't fit the profile. Crackheads were degenerates who came from broken homes. No, she didn't fit the profile at all.

Laci was brought out of her daze by a warm, sticky sensation against her fingers. She looked down and noticed that some of the melting crack had gotten on her hands. She looked at the gooey substance and observed it. There was something beautiful about it—something that wouldn't allow her to look away.

The smell of it put her in a tranquil state. Her mouth began to water and her hand moved involuntarily. Without even realizing it, Laci had the corn pipe in her hand. She looked from the pipe to the goo as if she were figuring out some great math equation.

“I need to know,” she said, teary-eyed. Laci packed some of the goo into the pipe and stared at it. Her hand shook uncontrollably as she raised the pipe to her lips. She couldn't believe what she was about to do. Her poor mother's heart would break if she could see her right now. Laci put the flame to the pipe and took a hesitant pull. The smoke rushed to her brain, and there was no doubt in her mind this time
. . . I'm doing fine on Cloud Nine . . . I'm riding high on Cloud Nine . . .

Y
OU SHOULD'VE SEEN
my nigga,” Dink said, passing the joint to Marco. “Lil' nigga came running around the corner talkin' 'bout, ‘Floor this bitch.' This nigga was on some real
Untouchables
-type shit.” He leaned up against his car and nodded his head as if he were a proud poppa.

“So this lil' nigga got down, huh? Titus had it coming though.” Marco took a pull. “Niggas on the streets better know to steer clear of young Smurf.”

Smurf sucked his teeth. “Come on, son. Don't be puttin' my business out there like that. I like to stay on the low.”

“Ain't nobody gonna blow ya spot,” Dink assured him.

“I wasn't talking about you,” Smurf said, cutting his eyes at Marco.

Marco caught the look that Smurf was giving him and wasn't comfortable with it. The lil' nigga was giving him the same look that Dame had given him. He wondered if the two of them had discussed anything when Smurf smashed Dame's ho.

Dink saw the look that Smurf was giving Marco and wondered what the deal was. Ever since Dink started having Marco around full-time, Smurf had been looking at him sideways. For some reason, Smurf just wasn't feeling him. This was something Dink would have to think on.

Before he could ponder it further, Dame came walking around the corner. Dink could tell that he had something on his mind because his nostrils were flaring. Dame pushed past the few cats that were standing around and stomped over to where Dink and the team were standing.

“What up, my nigga?” Dink said with a smile, holding out his hand to show Dame some love.

“Don't gimme that shit,” Dame grumbled, leaving Dink hanging. “That was some bullshit you pulled.”

“Fuck is you talking about?” Dink asked, faking confusion.

“Dink, don't play me like that, yo. You know just what the fuck I'm talking about. That muthafucka Titus got hit.” Dame paced back and forth a couple of times.

“So? That muthafucka was violating and had to be dealt with. Why you sweatin' it?” Dink asked.

“I don't give a fuck why he died,” Dame lied. “I'm tight 'cause he got popped on my block. That shit is wack!”

“First of all, nigga,” Dink stepped toward Dame, “watch that bass in ya voice. Second of all, Titus was
your
fucking problem. I shouldn't have had to deal with it.”

“Dink, you got no right to get in my business,” Dame said. “You know what that makes me look like?”

“Wrong. I got every right when ya business is conflicting with mine. That nigga had to go. End of story.” Dink looked away, letting Dame know to drop it.

Dame could feel his rage mounting. He couldn't believe that
Dink was coming at him as if he were a soldier. That didn't sit well with him. In all actuality, he didn't give a shit that Titus was dead. He had planned to kill him soon anyway, but in his own time. Titus was sending quite a bit of money Dame's way with the street tax he was paying.

“Aiight, yo,” Dame said, sucking his teeth. “You got that, Dink. You got that.” Dame walked away with his hands in his pockets. Part of him wanted to spin around and unload the glock he was carrying, but he knew not to overplay his stroke. Dink would answer for his smart-ass mouth and cocky-ass attitude soon enough. Dame was content to bide his time.

“You better start watching these niggas, Dink,” Marco said.

“You ain't lying,” Smurf whispered under his breath as they each watched Dame pull off.

AFTER THE DRAMA
with Dame earlier, Dink treated Smurf to a lobster dinner in City Island to celebrate yet another successful job. It wasn't often that Dink had the time to cruise the street in his whip and clear his head. He had just dropped Smurf off and was enjoying the late spring night. The wind was still and the stars were trying to shine over the gritty streets. Listening to the smooth grooves of Guy, he spotted her again.

Laci had just come from walking under the railroad trestle. Dink beeped the horn, but she didn't seem to hear it.

“Laci!” he called out, but still she kept walking. Dink checked for oncoming traffic before making a U-turn. He pulled up alongside her and drove slowly, matching her speed. “Laci,” he said, wearing a smooth grin. “Where you goin', girl?” She didn't even look in his direction. It was as if she were a zombie. Dink pulled over, got out, and walked up behind her. “Yo, Laci!” He grabbed her arm.

“Get off me!” Snatching her arm from his loose grip, Laci continued her stroll.

“Damn, what's wrong with you, baby?”

She could see that he was going to be persistent; she'd learned her lesson the last time. Trying to get him off her back, she stopped to chat with him for a minute and then be on her way. Dink looked into her eyes and noticed that they were glazed over like two donuts. It was obvious that this was not the same Laci he'd met two weeks ago. Dink's heart pounded in his chest; he knew that all-too-familiar gaze staring back at him.
I know the street ain't got her
, Dink thought to himself.

Laci was in a dreamlike state, looking at him as if she were seeing him for the first time. Finally, she was able to quiet the voices in her head and focus. “Dink?”

“Yeah, it's me, Dink. You aiight? You don't look so good.”

Laci gave him a half-ass smile. She wasn't insulted by his comment. She knew she looked like shit. “I'm just trying to get home. My mother is sick,” she lied. Dink could see that something wasn't right with Laci. He didn't know her well enough to be able to read her like a book, but he wasn't quite convinced she was telling the truth. Caught up in her physical beauty, his brain and dick wouldn't allow him to analyze her frame of mind.

“Your mother is sick? Then what you doin' around here? Do you know where you at, girl?” Dink said, looking around.

“Yeah, I know,” she said, staring down at her shoes. “I just need to get home. I gotta go.” She turned around and attempted to walk away, but Dink wasn't going to let her escape without telling him what the real deal was; besides, the longer he looked at her, the more his heart fluttered.

“We've been here before. This time I'm driving you home, no cab, and no trains, just me.”

“No . . . no,” she pleaded. “That's okay. You probably have more important things to do.” Laci just wanted to be alone with her thoughts and her cravings. Even though she thought Dink was cool, and had saved her life, she didn't feel like being bothered with him at the moment. He was giving her the puppy-dog face.
He is cute,
she thought,
and I know he's feeling me, but I can't. I don't deserve such kindness. He's being nice now, but what about when he finds out I'm a fucking crackhead? I bet he won't be offering me any rides then. Probably won't even look in my direction anymore.

“You still didn't tell me what you're doing around here.” Dink took her by the hand and led her to his car.

“Damn, Dink! I just need to get home,” she snapped. “Enough with the interrogation, please.”

“Slow down, momma. Ain't nobody trying to get all up in ya shit. I'm just trying to make sure you're good.”

“Sorry,” she whispered. “I didn't mean to snap. I'm going through something.”

“It's cool,” he shrugged. “Come on.” He opened the car door for her.

“Nah, think I'll take a rain check on this one. Maybe I'll see you later.” Laci smiled at Dink and jogged across the street, into the night.