Still Hood (19 page)

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Authors: K'wan

BOOK: Still Hood
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There was a man sitting on a car with its front end embedded into the gate of Ralphy's store. She looked up the block in time to see Yvette dip inside the next building like she had the devil on her heels. Across the street there was a jeep on the corner of Jefferson and Throop, smoking. Dena could see a man in the front, but she couldn't
tell what condition he was in. She scanned the front of the building but saw no sign of her brother.
She was about to slip her clothes back on and go down to look for him when she saw his minivan come down Throop and stop on the opposite corner of the accident. He hopped out and knelt behind a car that was almost hidden by the shadow of the blooming tree. She almost didn't see Spooky crouched down over what looked like a man. After whispering something to Shannon, they dragged their parcel to the van and sped off.
“Talk about me,” Dena mumbled, before heading back to her bedroom.
SHA BOOGIE LAY IN HIS BED STARING AT THE
cracked ceiling. Next to his pillow lay a black 9 mm, chambered and ready for combat. Though it was doubtful that anyone would rush the house in some sort of retaliation attempt, it was better to be safe than sorry. He thought about smoking another cigarette, but all that would do was add to the bitter taste already in his mouth.
From the bottom of his nightstand drawer, Sha produced a tattered old photo. It was a picture of a man and a young boy who wore almost the same face, separated by about twenty years. It was all he had left of the murdered man who had impregnated his mother, and though Sha didn't know him well, he cherished the token.
The day had been a trying one. Spider was dead and Charlie was sidelined with a hole in his shoulder. Sha wanted to take him to the hospital, but Charlie had refused because he was running from a warrant. Instead, they had gotten an old street cat to patch the wound and prayed that it didn't get infected.
For only God knew how long, he had dreamt of popping True and watching him bleed out in the streets, and this day was supposed to be it; but of course, it didn't go
down that way. They had made their move and fucked up. Now True knew someone was out for his head, taking away their biggest asset, which had been the element of surprise. A perfectly laid plan gone to ruin because of the stranger watching True's back. Sha Boogie wasn't sure who the man was, but if he was willing to kill for True then he would die with him.
Outside his window the sun was shining, which meant there was still work to be done. Whether his man was injured or not, Sha Boogie still had to handle his business. Grabbing his gray hoodie and the black gun, he left the bedroom, locking the door behind him.
When Sha Boogie got into the living room his mother was slumped on the couch, half asleep, with her mouth hanging open. Her hair was wrapped in a scarf, but nine times out of ten it wasn't done. A dingy yellow bathrobe was draped over her, with one bony shoulder sticking out from beneath. On the table was an ashtray that should've been dumped a long time ago, and a half-dozen empty beer cans. It was a sad sight, but one he was used to.
Sha's mother must've felt him looming over her, because her head popped up. A thin line of saliva dripped from her bottom lip and fell onto her lap before she had a chance to wipe her mouth with the back of her hand. Her eyes were sunken and had heavy bags under them from her nights of long partying and drug abuse. It hurt Sha to the core, because his mother wasn't even a shadow of the former fox she was hailed as. True had more to answer for than he could possibly imagine.
“What you doing creeping round my damn house like a burglar?” his mother slurred. She had come to a point where she had been drinking so long that even when she wasn't drunk, she sounded like it.
“Nothing, Ma, go back to sleep,” he told her.
“How the hell am I supposed to sleep when my ribs are in my damn back, I'm hungry as hell and ain't no damn food in here.” She pulled herself to her feet.
“Ma, I just bought some food in here the other day, what happened to it?” he asked, going to the refrigerator. Sure enough, it was empty.
“Me and Joe had some people over last night. You know niggaz love to eat,” she said, like it was nothing.
“I'm a nigga that likes to eat from time to time, too.” Sha slammed the refrigerator door.
“Don't be slamming shit in my house, Sha!” she teetered. “And watch how the fuck you talk to me, I'm still ya mama.”
“Right,” he said, brushing past her and going back into the living room.
“What's all the commotion?” Joe asked, slinking into the living room wearing a tank top and a pair of dingy boxers. He was a dude Sha's mother had met at an NA meeting. Joe spent the night a few months prior and hadn't left yet. Sha didn't particularly care for his drunken mother, but he hated Joe.
“Nothing but Sha's crazy ass acting like he got an attitude cause I asked him for some money. Shit, it ain't like I charge his funky ass rent,” she said.
Joe loved an opportunity to sway Sha's mother further away from Sha, so he decided to instigate. “Shit, I moved out of my mother's house when I was sixteen years old.” Joe lit a cigarette. Exhaling the smoke he looked at Sha Boogie. “If ya ask me, I think its about time you started kicking ya ma a few dollars from time to time.”
“Well, ain't nobody asked you shit, so mind ya business,” Sha warned him.
“You watch how you talk to my company; this is my motherfucking house!” Sha's mother barked. She went through the process of shaking several different beer cans until she found one with something left in it. After peeking inside to make sure there were no ashes in it she took a deep sip. “You gonna watch ya mouth Sha, or you're gonna find yourself on the fucking street.”
“If you kick me out whose gonna buy forties for you and Joe?” Sha asked sarcastically.
“Hold on now, Sha, you know anytime I ever asked you for something it was a loan. To come round here talking like Joe don't make his own way,” Joe said seriously.
Sha gave him a comical look. “Nigga please, most nights you can't
even make ya own way to the bathroom without falling on your drunk ass.”
“You better mind your tongue, Sha. I'm still a man,” Joe said, like he was thinking about doing something.
“What-the-fuck-ever. Man, I don't even know why I'm talking to ya fucking ass,” Sha fumed.
“What the hell did I tell you, Sha? Joe is here to see me, not you. You don't run shit up in here!” his mother yelled.
“Yo, every time I turn around you're defending some fucking drunk or crackhead over your own kid. This nigga ain't shit to hold onto!” Sha told her. During the heated word exchange between him and his mother, Joe rolled in from behind and sucker-punched him.
Sha Boogie turned to Joe with an animal fury in his eyes. Joe tried to throw his hands up but Sha didn't give him a chance as he moved in and started raining blows. He hit Joe in every exposed part of his body, trying to break everything he touched. Whenever Joe tried to slump to the ground, Sha Boogie grabbed him by the collar and picked him back up. At some point Joe managed to grab a beer bottle from the table and try to swing it at Sha. Sha blocked the bottle with one hand and came up holding his gun with the other. This gave Joe pause.
“Fuck is wrong with you,” Sha placed the 9 to Joe's forehead. “Lowlife, drunk, crackhead muthafucka, I should kill you!”
“Please, man,” Joe pleaded with tears in his eyes.
“Sha, you better get ya hands off him!” his mother shouted.
“Shut the fuck up!” Sha roared before turning back to Joe, who smelled as if he had pissed his pants. “Say something now, son. Come on, let me here you pop that fly shit,” Sha pressed the gun further into Joe's skull. “I ain't got shit to live for but an old score, so try me if you want to, muthafucka, I'm ready to go!” Sha slammed Joe roughly against the wall and headed for the door.
“You get the hell out of my house, you black-hearted son of a bitch!” Sha's mother called after him. “You ain't gonna be shit, Sha. Just like ya snitching-ass father, you ain't shit!”
SUGAR WOKE UP WITH THE
headache from hell. The inside of her mouth tasted like she had been tongue-kissing an ashtray, and she could've sworn her teeth had sprouted fur. Propping herself on her elbow she surveyed her surroundings. From the looks of the pale paint and the dime-store pictures on the wall, she knew she was in a motel room, but only the Lord knew where or how she got there. Her hand brushed against a lump that was wrapped in the sheets that she hadn't noticed before. It was roughly the size of a man, but Sugar had been so drunk the night before that she was almost afraid to look.
Peeling back the rough blanket, she saw that there was a light-skinned kid laying next to her. He was snoring his ass off, with his mouth draped open and a tart trail of slobber running from his mouth to the pillow. Suddenly, pieces of the night before came flooding back to her.
The light-skinned kid was one of the dudes she and Roxy had met at Shooter's. At first they seemed way cool, but the kid who called himself Hollywood couldn't stop taking about himself or his delusions of being the next Don B. Hollywood and Chris played the roll of true ballers, making sure the ladies' glasses never ran empty. After leaving the club, they smoked four blunts in Hollywood's van on the way to a local diner. Seeing the wads of money the young boys were flashing affected the decision of whether to fuck them or not. A no-brainer. This is what landed them at the Holland Motor Inn in Jersey City.
Back at the motel, Sugar had given young Chris a run for his money, making him cum in less than ten minutes, while Roxy handled hers with Hollywood. She wanted to nominate her girl for an Oscar, the way she snarled and hollered like he was killing the pussy. Sugar would later find out that this was far from the truth. When their soldiers were able to stand back at attention they decided to switch off. Sugar sucked Hollywood's dick like it was a rib bone, letting him spray nut in her face. When he tried to doze off she slapped him back to alertness and rode him almost until the sun came up. From what she recalled, he didn't have much of a stroke—but he licked her ass cleaner than a wet wipe.
“Sop it like a biscuit,” she mused, thinking back to the multiple orgasms she had in Hollywood's mouth. Careful not to disturb him, Sugar slipped from the twin bed. Just across the room, in the other bed, Roxy was knocked out. She was naked as the day she was born with her arm hanging off the side. Chris was sound asleep with his head resting on her ass.
Sugar located Hollywood's pants lying in a heap on the floor at the foot of the bed. As quietly as she could, she picked them up and went through the pockets until she found his money. She had a little difficulty at first, but was finally able to yank the large knot from his pocket. Her lips parted into a wide grin at the site of the cake, but the grin faded as she began thumbing through the bills. To be sure she wasn't bugging, she took the money over to the window and held it to the light.
“Dirty muthafucka,” she said, realizing it was funny money. All except about two hundred and fifty dollars were fakes. Sugar continued her search but came up empty, which infuriated her. The thought of her ditching Black Ice and his crew for the two con artists made her want to cut them both in their sleep, but Sugar had an even better plan.
“Roxy,” she whispered, shaking her friend. “Roxy, get yo ass up.”
“Huh?” Roxy looked around, sleepy-eyed. Her wig now sat at a funny angle on her head.
“Get ya shit. We outta here.”
“Sugar, you bugging. Checkout ain't till twelve, and I'm trying to go shopping when these niggaz wake up,” Roxy told her, and tried to roll back over, only to have Sugar shake her again.
“Ain't much we can buy with this,” Sugar slapped one of the phony bills in Roxy's hand. It took Roxy a second to understand what Sugar was trying to say, but as soon as she felt the bills she knew what time it was.
“Dirty muthafuckas,” Roxy hissed, about to bop the sleeping Chris in his head, but Sugar grabbed her arm.
“No need for that. I've got something much crueler in mind. Come on,” Roxy said, plucking her clothes off the floor. In less than
five minutes both the girls were dressed and on their way out the door.
“How we gonna get back to Brooklyn?” Roxy asked, still holding her stiletto boots in her hand.
Roxy stopped short and held up Hollywood's van keys. “Oh, we good. But them two fronting muthafuckas will be hitchhiking all the way back to wherever the fuck they're from.”
SHARON TRIED TO IGNORE THE
sun's rays as they shone through the bedroom window. There was no shade on the window, so the best she could do to avoid the light was pull the blanket over her head. This helped to protect her from the annoying light, but it was useless at that point because her rest had already been broken.
“Shit,” she mumbled, trying to remember the pleasant dream she was having. To her left her latest conquest, Scooter, was still fast asleep.
Scooter was a cat from Foster that had been getting money in Harlem for years. He was a little older than her sister Reese, but had a thing for young flesh. Sharon used to swoon every time he came through on his motorcycle with Yoshi, or some other model-looking chick on the back, in something tight. She often imagined what she would look like with her ass cocked up on the back of his bike, but it wasn't until recently that the dreams of a little girl would come to fruition.
Sharon was supposed to have just been going to the store for her mother, but when she saw Scooter and his team ride up on their bikes it was a wrap. That first night he had wined her, dined her, and fucked the lining out of her little pussy. Since then, they had had an on-again, off-again secret romance. Scooter said that it was important that they keep their affair a secret, because he didn't want his enemies targeting his loved ones; but the truth of the matter was that the man was married, with five kids.

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