Vicious Is The Name That They Gave Me: A Philly Story (2 page)

“So how old are you?” Dollah asked me. I didn’t want to chat with him. I wanted to run away somewhere.
But where would I go? Nowhere.

“Fifteen,” I answered looking out the window. I tried my hardest not to look at him.

“Damn, I thought you were seventeen or older,” I guess he was trying to give me a complement.

“So your name is Vicious, huh?” he asked.
You know my name; why would you still ask me? Stop trying to be nice, and get the fuck out of my face.

“Yup,” I kept it short with Dollah.
I have nothing to discuss with a pedophile. I swear he grabbed his shit when he saw me. He likes little girls. He’s a pervert.

“That’s a unique name. It’s weird, but I like it. You know you’re sexy right?” he was so rude. He’s flirting with a fifteen-year-old.
You are a grown man, what is wrong with you, you pedophile?

“Thanks,” I figured if I played along, he wouldn’t bust my head wide open as he would put it. Somewhere down along the line I would have to pay him back somehow. People, especially grown as men are not going to be nice and pleasant to you for the hell of it.
It’s always something.

“You’re welcome,” He said and sat back.
Yes, Thank God, sit your ass back and stop talking to me.

Ron drove for about thirty minutes until we reached a destination. The only thing I knew is we were in a different part of Philly. We pulled up into a beige house. The house looked nice. There were two bodyguards that stood in the front of the house with guns by their side.

“Ron, show Vicious where she will be staying. Carry her bag for her too,” Dollah ordered and I followed Ron as he took my bag. When I walked through the doorway the interior of the house was luxurious and spacious. We walked up the steps and to a room.

“Alright, here you go,” Ron said. The room had a queen size bed with lavender bed sheets, a computer on a desk, and a flat screen TV.
I feel like this use to be a female’s room.
I turned around and saw Ron sitting on the bed.

“What do you want? You can leave now,” I told him.

“Before I leave, you have to suck my dick,” He said.
Whatever!
I looked around for something sharp I could grab, because if this man tries to touch me I am going to fight back.
He’s just going to have to try and overpower my ass because I am going to fight back. This will be the first niggah I fight.

“I’m not sucking your dick,” I hollered. He walked up to my face.

“Yes, you are bitch. As a matter of fact, you are going to give me some pussy too for being a fucking smart ass,” He demanded. He tried to put me on the bed, but I resisted. My mother never taught me how to fight, but I learned from fighting the dudes that tried to sleep with me after they slept with her. He tried to slap me but I ducked and kicked him in his dick. He fell to the ground. I
told you niggah. You’re going be the first man I fight. Today will be that day.

“You fucking bitch,” He whined. I stood there and thought about kicking him again.

“Ron, what are you doing?” I heard a woman asked. I turned around and saw a woman standing in front of the door.

“Hi, I’m Kareema,” She introduced herself.

“Vicious,” I said.

“It’s nice to meet you. Ron what did you try to do?” she asked. Ron stood up and got himself together.

“Man, I didn’t try to do shit. I’m out,” He lied as he walked out.

“Where are you from?” Kareema asked me. I thought to myself, I don’t know what she meant.

“Philly,” I said sitting on my new bed. I
might as well try and get comfortable.

“Oh, okay. Dollah told me you’re his niece. I know he’s lying,” She said. I smirked.

“I’m not related to him. My mother traded me instead of paying her dues,” I wonder how Kareema got here. She looked like she was in her early twenties. I didn’t think she was related to Dollah or Ron.

‘That’s crazy. I went through the same shit, so I definitely know how you are feeling right now. The only thing is my mom didn’t raise me, my aunt did. Dumb ass bitch isn’t good for anything,” I could tell Kareema was upset. I could also hear a southern accent in her voice so I knew she wasn't from here.

“Are you from Philly?” I asked her.

“No, I was born and raised in Atlanta and then moved to Philly. How old are you?” she asked.

“Fifteen,” I answered.

“Dag, you’re young. You look older,” I laughed, she did too.

“Everybody keeps thinking I’m older,” I said.

“You kind of do though. I know you just got here but do you want to roll out with me?” she asked. I would go anywhere than to stay here and have Ron keep attempting to assault me.

“Yes. I have to take a shower first,” I told her.

“Alright, I’m going to do the same. See you in a few,” I nodded. She got up and headed out. I got my clothes and went into the bathroom that was also located in my new room.
I locked the room door and the bathroom door. I wasn’t playing any games. I don’t know these people.

Chapter 2

Kareema

Dollah did it again! He took another girl. That stupid mother fucker took another girl.
What was he thinking?
Then again, it’s like Dollah to not give a fuck when it comes to getting his money. He takes whatever he wants, if he can’t get his money. Dollah always has these dumb ass women working for him that can never repay his ass. And when they don’t give him his money, he does a trade off with them. It usually results in him taking somebody’s child. He loves taking girls and turning them into his little slaves.
What the fuck is he thinking?
If it’s a boy, he teaches them how to smoke weed, drink, fuck girls, sell drugs, pull triggers, and a whole bunch of other shit that young boys should not know or be doing.

That’s how Ron started out and then Dollah let Ron be his sidekick for everything. He sends Ron on errands, more like missions. He goes out of the state and shit. Ron is gone for three weeks sometimes. All Ron worries about is getting money, getting pussy, and getting his little dick sucked. If it’s a female, Dollah teaches her how to count money, stack money, roll up blunts, and pimp the shit out of her.
Isn’t he a motherfucker? What kind of person do you know that does shit like that? A mother fucker!
No matter what age they are, Dollah does not give a fuck. Whatever he says goes. There is no feeling sorry for them. There is no “No, I can’t do that she’s only twelve or he’s only thirteen”. Forget age, because to Dollah age is nothing but a number. It goes beyond that. There is no easy way out. When they step under his authority, it’s his word, his way, what he likes, and what he tells them. Did
you hear!

I’ve been living in Dollah’s house since I was fifteen for the past six years. I’m now twenty-one. Ever since my nut ass Aunt Joyce traded me, I’ve been here. Honestly, I kept telling myself when I get older I’m going to get out, I’m going to move far away, none of that happened.
Why?
Through all the shit I been through with Dollah, I continued to stay and make this my home. The girls I’ve met with and bonded with became my family. The people I’ve surrounded myself with became my friends. And we kind of all stayed together and formed a family. It may sound fucked up, hell it is fucked up, but that’s what it came to.
I know some fucked up shit, I know.
At first when I came here I was stupid. I didn’t know a damn thing. I let Dollah control the mess out of me. If he told me to get up five o’clock in the morning to go drop something off, I would do it. If he told me to suck some random guy’s dick, that’s what I did. I even sucked Dollah’s dick a few times. Yeah, I’ll admit it, Dollah and I fucked plenty of times before. I gave him head. He gave me head. He did me in so many different positions for twelve months and three hundred and sixty-five days. He got me pregnant with twins. He made me have an abortion. He made me do a lot of things, and I just grew accustomed to that lifestyle over a period of time. That’s what I was doing because I didn’t know how to say no. I didn’t know how to defend myself.

Now that I am grown, I can handle myself. Since now that I am older, why don’t I leave? I got use to making a middle size family yearly salary in a month. I got used to driving what someone would call their dream car to one of my three cars. I got used to buying whatever I wanted. I got used to living my life in the fast lane. I got used to buying diamonds in full rather than pay it off in installments. I got used to the weekly shopping sprees. I got used to dining out at fancy restaurants and entrees costing sixty to three hundred dollars. I got use to the weekend getaways and trips to other countries. I have been through so much. Now that I am older, Dollah has me setting up appointments, scheduling different things. I guess you can say I got promoted to be his right hand woman.

There are five girls living in this house. It’s pretty big so it can hold all of us in here. It’s me, Simya, Retta, Constance, and Dymond. Vicious makes the sixth one. The girls do a variety of things such as making drugs, setting up for distributions, or whatever they can do to make money.
They do it.
After I got myself together, I went to see if Vicious was ready. I knocked on her door and slowly pushed it in.

“Vicious, are you ready?” I asked her.

“Yeah,” She said. Vicious looked nice. She has a light skin complexion, hazel eyes, black and burgundy hair straight down to the center of her back in a ponytail. She had a scar right above to the right side of her lip. I didn’t think it was a good idea to ask her what happened being she just got here. On the left side of her arm, she had a tattoo of her name. On the right side of her leg, she had another tattoo of a Scorpio.

“Alright, let’s go,” I said and we left. I wasn’t upset that Vicious came here, but she did come around at a bad time. From what she told me so far, she’s had a rough life and I don’t want to add more drama to it. You know, nobody wants to deal with the bullshit, especially the things that can stress a person the fuck out and make you feel like everything is hopeless. The shit that makes people go crazy like committing suicide and shit. Some people want to kill their family and then turn around and kill themselves. Sometimes it starts from their childhood. The girls and I were planning something and I wasn’t sure if I should have Vicious around me, when we get together. But at the same time, I’d rather she be around me and not Dollah or Ron. We walked inside the garage to my car. I drove a gold Lexus, tinted with black rims. I figured with the money I make; I should at least drive a nice car.
It’s only right.

“Where are we going?” Vicious asked as we got in.

“We’re going over to my friend, Chanelle’s house. Let me warn you about Chanelle real quick. She can get out of hand sometimes. And her mouth, she has no filter. She says whatever,” I told her and she nodded.

My friend Chanelle is one crazy chick. She thinks everything she does everyone should do as well. She’s loud, curses like every other five words, and will fight anyone. We’ve been through some of the same things. When things seem down, she is still my number one ride-a-die bitch. We watch out for each other no matter what. We pulled up in front of Chanelle’s house. Vicious seems like a sweet innocent girl that didn’t deserve what she was about to be exposed to. What she do deserve is a loving family with siblings, a stable and safe home, positive friends, and freedom. She deserved to be in school getting her education, giving answers to a teacher’s math problem or at lunch sitting down snacking on chips while talking with a group of friends. I was going to make sure nothing ever happens to Vicious to the best of my ability. I would love her like she was my own blood. I would talk to her, care for her like the little sister I had, before she was killed in a fire at just six years old.
May my sister rest in peace.

“Alright, let’s go,” We got out of the car and walked up the steps. Chanelle didn’t live in the ghetto but the people did bring the ghetto to her neighborhood.
She’s one of them.
Her door was not open but I could still hear her loud ass mouth.

“Who is that, talking loud?” Vicious asked.

“That would be Chanelle,” I answered as we walked in the house. We walked right into their conversation.

“All I’m saying is, if you have never been with a Jamaican niggah in bed ever in your life, then you haven’t been with a real man,” my friend, Essence, said. Essence is another one of my good girlfriends. She’s always representing Jamaica like she’s from there. She’s from around the corner of the next block over and nobody in here family is Jamaican.

“What, a Jamaican niggah? Don’t be bringing that island shit up in here. Fuck a Jamaican. Give me a Kunta Kinta regular black niggah, with a twelve-inch-thick dick that knows how to stroke a pussy really good and I’m alright,” Chanelle said. Chanelle is a big wild freak. She loves talking about sex, guys, dicks, money, weed, and beating a bitch up.

“Pause, a Jamaican niggah would fuck you better than a black dude any day hands down,” Essence tried to validate.

“Are you serious? As a matter of fact, go ahead and give me a Jamaican dude. I would literally fuck him till his dick gets lazy. I’m going to have that niggah speaking in tongues. He’s going to want to go back to church,” Chanelle said. All the girls laughed.

“Whoa, can we chill real quick?” I asked before they got deeper into their porn debate.

“When you come in here Kareema? Don’t be ordering shit around like you live here or something. You know it is a freedom of speech in here,” Chanelle joked.

“I could hear your loud ass mouth all the way from the porch. You need to tame that mouth.” I joked.

“You need to kiss my natural black ass,” Chanelle said smoking a black and mild.

“You need to bring it down some. Nobody wants to hear your loud ass mouth talking about dicks and shit,” I said sitting down. I offered Vicious a seat. She sat next to me.

“Lower my voice? Please, you know that will never happen,” Chanelle said.

“Anyway, this is Vicious. Vicious, that’s Chanelle, that’s Essence, and that’s Retta,” I introduced. Everyone said their greetings.

“Hey, Retta, tell me why the bull Ace tried to do me in his mom’s bathroom while we were at her barbeque,” Chanelle said.

“Chanelle, chill,” I said. I’m sure Vicious heard all types of things but I didn’t want her to hear that at the moment.

“Vicious how old are you?” Chanelle asked her.

“Why?” Vicious asked. I sense an attitude.

“Bitch, don’t get smart and you in my house. Just answer the question,” Chanelle said. If I knew Chanelle would act like this, I would have never brought Vicious with me. But then again, where would I leave her, With Dollah? Hell, no. With Ron? That’s definitely a hell no.

“Chanelle chill, she’s fifteen,” I said. I gave Chanelle this long stare. She knew what it meant.

“That’s a mother fucking adult in my book. Why you babying her?” Chanelle asked ignorantly.

“I’m not babying her, but can you just watch what you saying? Can you show some respect?” I asked and Chanelle started laughing.
Here it comes.

“Respect?” Chanelle asked.

“Yes, some respect,” I repeated.
I can feel it coming. I can feel Chanelle blood pressure going up.

“You want me to show respect in my house?” Chanelle asked. I had a strong feeling Chanelle was about to take it to another level than it needed to go. It wasn’t even that serious.

“You come up in here and bring this ignorant little ass girl with you, and you still want me to show some respect? And you're all in my house? Get the fuck out of here,” Chanelle tone got louder.

“Not like how you put it, but yes,” I answered.

“Whatever, Kareema. My bad, Vicious,” Chanelle apologized.

“It’s cool,” Vicious said to Chanelle. Before I could start a conversation with the girls Chanelle’s sister Kassidy comes flying through and slamming the door.

“Well, damn Kas, did the door do something to you?” Retta asked.

“All I know is, if she had broken my door, she would be paying for that shit,” Chanelle added.

“You won’t believe what happened to me coming out of the parking lot,” Kassidy said. By her body language you could tell Kassidy was furious. When I look at Kassidy, I see Chanelle. Everything Chanelle knows, did, and said, she taught Kassidy the same. I feel bad for Kassidy, because while she’s behaving like this, sooner or later she is going to run into a dead end. She is going to have enemies from left and right. She is going to make some dreadful decisions and deal with risky consequences.
And whose fault will it be? Chanelle’s.

“What happened?” I asked Kassidy.

“Some dumb bitch banged the shit out of your car,” She said heatedly. Kassidy speaks as if she is a grown woman. She is only sixteen. I told Chanelle about Kassidy’s language. She just ignores me and let Kassidy run wild like as if it is a good thing.

“My car? Somebody hit my shit?” Chanelle questioned getting up from the coach.

“Yes, your car,” Kassidy repeated.

“Kassidy don’t play with me. How the fuck did the happen? See that’s why I can never let you hold shit. You should have used your car,” Chanelle said.

“I was on my way out to the car, when I see this car banging the shit out of your car and drove off,” Kassidy explained.

“Are you sure you didn’t hit it?” Essence teased.

“Don’t play me, I can drive,” Kassidy defended herself.

“Well, did you at least see the driver?’ Chanelle asked.

“Yup, do you remember that girl you had a problem with at Wanita’s party?” Kassidy asked.

“Yea, umm, Tonya right? That rusty roach looking bitch, I can’t stand her. Don’t tell me it was her. Kassidy don’t tell me it was her black ass that hit my car. Please don’t tell me that or I’m going to jail,” Chanelle anger grew.

“It was her and her ugly friends in the car too. I don’t get how everybody in the car was ugly though. Usually at least one person is at least cute but they all were ugly. And as ugly as they are they don’t need to be driving a Mercedes. They should be driving in a Hyundai or something. I’m just saying. That car probably isn’t even hers, it’s probably a courtesy car or some rental. You know how bitches act like they have money but they are really broke,” Kassidy stated.

“Wait till I find that bitch, I’m going to hurt her. No, that’s not enough! I’m going to kill her ass. I’ll put a bullet straight through her ass,” Chanelle threatened. Chanelle got into more fights than anyone I knew. She is always getting into a fight every day. It’s not like she starts with them, well, sometimes she does. But Chanelle does not know how to let things ride out. She loves proving her strength. I told her she should become a boxer, she called me a loser.