Slipping Read online

  “What kind of business you got to discuss, Mr. Porno Star?” Don asked, his voice dripping with envy.

  Dre ignored his friend's salty attitude. “Guess who I hollered at yesterday?”

  “I don't know.”

  “Guess, man.”

  Don exploded. “Nigga, quit playing that twenty questions shit and tell me what the fuck you talking about!”

  “Awight, don't get yo panties in a bunch. Yesterday I was shooting ball with Diego and them up at Harper Court. Them niggas think they can hoop. They was talking shit like they was so cold and shit. I told them niggas to stick to selling drugs 'cause we would come through there and spank they ass hooping. Niggas trying to hoop with new-ass clothes on and jewelry and shit. That shit be funny seeing them niggas trying to stay clean and play ball at the same time. Man …”

  “Excuse me, Dre, would you get to the fucking point!”

  Dre rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “Anyway. We argued for awhile and it all boiled down to they say they would play us any time for any amount. Them niggas know we ain't making no paper or nothing, so they say that they would triple any amount of money we came up with. They was talking so much shit it wadn't even funny. All the time they woofin', I won two games of varsity going up to 31.”

  Don released the video game's joystick and slapped Dre in the back of the head.

  “Why the fuck didn't you tell me that shit last night,” he fumed.

  “I was high than a motherfucka, I forgot all about shit,” Dre answered, rubbing the back of his head.

  Grabbing the joystick again, Don continued to play the video game. He said, “Dre, you'se a ignorant motherfucka if I ever seen one. You don't use yo gotdamn brain at all.” Don fell silent as he concentrated on his game and searched his brain for a way to get hold of a lot of money fast. Dre chattered incessantly in his ear, but over the years Don had learned to ignore his talkative friend when necessary. Sensing that Don was scheming, Dre was just about to walk away when he spoke.

  “Dre, is yo big brother still slinging all that dope in the Wells?” Don asked.

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “Do that nigga still hide his money in y'all basement?”

  Apprehensively Dre nodded his head up and down. He could tell from the look on Don-Don's face that he was getting another one of his infamous brainstorms—and that usually meant trouble.

  “Run to the crib and get a gee, I'll round up the fellas,” Don ordered.

  “Damn, a thousand dollars, man. I don't know about that shit. What if we lose that shit? My brother would kill me. You know that nigga be sweating about pennies and shit. Always crying broke. Then them nigga at the court could get on some bullshit. What if them niggas don't want to pay us if we win?”

  “Dre, my nonbeliever of a friend, we don't plan on losing. You know that them niggas can't do shit with us on no basketball court. Ain't a nigga that be with them that can play no ball for real. And if they try not to pay us after we beat they ass, I'll kill one of them studs. Now quit asking all them damn questions and go get that paper; Imma take care of everything. We'll have them ends back before you brother know it's gone.”

  Don's silver tongue managed to put Dre's fears to rest, so he hastily exited the pool hall to filch the money from his brother's stash. Don lost the last man on his video game. While the word continue flashed on the screen, he dug in his pockets to try to find another quarter, but he didn't have one.

  “Oh well,” he said as he looked around the pool hall and began calling the names of his friends. “Keno, Carlos, Big Man, y'all check it out. Y'all want to make some quick money doing what we do best?” he asked when the three youngsters were within earshot.

  “Don-Don, you ain't even got to ask us no stupid shit like that,” Big Man drawled in his usual countrified manner.

  Don said, “Alright. Just hold tight til Dre come back, then we gone go over to Harper Court and shoot the lights out them niggas that run with Diego.”

  Excited at the prospect of easy money, the small group exited the pool hall. They sat on garbage cans in the mouth of a nearby alley for shade from the glowing midday sun. Don took off his hat and pulled the half of blunt from the headband of his fitted cap. He lit it and took a few puffs, then passed it to his friends. Dante was the first among them to choke. They laughed at their friend as he gagged and spit with tears in his eyes. Dre ran past them headed for the pool hall.

  “Yo, Dr. Dre! Dre!” Don yelled.

  Dre backpedaled and peeked into the alley. He had to shield his eyes so that he could see his friends clearly. His right hand was shoved into the pocket of his jeans like he was holding on to something extremely valuable.

  Don asked, “Did you get it?”

  Breathlessly Dre nodded his head.

  Don jumped down from the garbage can. He addressed the troops. “C'mon y'all. Let's go hit these niggas up for this paper. I'm telling y'all, when we get out here don't be playing no games with these studs. Don't underestimate 'em either. The minute we start playing them studs like they sweet, they can sneak up and get a win. Don't be on no soft shit neither. If we got to fight for every loose ball and every call we on that shit. If they want to throw they hands up, then we gone be some fighting motherfuckers 'cause we here to get this paper. Y'all got it?”

  Everybody agreed.

  Lighthearted at the prospect of winning some easy money, the five friends started the short journey to Harper Court. They were all in a good mood except Dre, who couldn't think about having a good time until his big brother's money was safely back in its hiding place in the basement. When they reached Harper Court they saw Diego and his usual band of flunkies, selling drugs and shooting baskets. The basketball court was a front for the dealers to sell their merchandise under the guise of being avid sports competitors. The five boys walked through the gate and stepped onto the court. Diego was sitting on a bench with a couple of girls who looked too young for him to be hollering at, but he was leering at them like they were supermodels.

  Don called out to him. “Diego, what's up, yo? Let me holla at choo.”

  Diego left the bench and met Don and his crew in the middle of the court.

  Jerking his thumb in Dre's direction, Don said, “My nigga told me that y'all studs was up here talking crazy 'bout what you would do to us on the court. It sound like you studs want to donate some of that drug money.”

  “You ain't said shit slick,” Diego said. “We right here, we got a ball and we standing on a court.”

  “Whoa, pimp. Slow it down. I seem to remember my man telling me something about three-to-one odds. It sounded to me like you was just woofin'. Ain't that right fellas? 'Cause I know you ain't got no paper like that.”

  Even though Diego didn't have as much money as he pretended, there was no way that he could let Don and his crew, or his own cronies, know that. That information could damage his reputation and people would stop treating him like he was big-time. Besides, he knew that Don and his boys couldn't have that much money anyway. He knew that they didn't serve or work regular jobs, so how much scratch could they have gotten hold of? He decided to call Don's bluff.

  “Yeah, nigga, I said it. I ain't biting my tongue neither. Let me see yo money, frontin'-ass nigga.”

  Whipping out the thousand dollars, Don offered the money to Diego to count. Diego eyed the deceivingly thin bankroll but refused to touch it. He tried to guess the amount of bills hidden from his view by the ten-dollar bill on top. It looked to him like it couldn't have been more than fifty bucks.

  Diego laughed. “You niggas come up in here acting like y'all got big paper. We can play for that little shit. I'll give y'all five-to-one odds.”

  Don and his friends joined in Diego's laughter. Turning to the growing crowd of curious onlookers, Don said, “Y'all heard the wetback, right? He said that he gone give us five-to-one odds. For all of y'all that failed math or just don't know shit, that mean for every one dollar we got, he gone put up five dollars.”

  With
a puzzled look on his face, Diego watched Don's strange antics. He was starting to feel uneasy, but it was too late. Ever since grammar school the two boys had competed at everything from getting girls to sports, from basketball to pitching pennies. They had even fought to a standstill once in sixth grade in their grammar school classroom wars.

  Don handed Diego the money and bowed. As Diego unfolded the money and began to count it, Don's crew couldn't help but enjoy the look of amazement on his face. Diego realized too late he had played into Don's hand.

  “That little bankroll, as big bad-ass Diego call it, is exactly one thousand dollars. A gee, a gangster. So that mean that Diego and his crew got to put up five thousand dollars. Five gees, cinco stacks. That is unless this stud been out here woofin’ and he ain't got paper like that.”

  Knowing that his street credibility was on the line, Diego gave a halfhearted smirk and retreated to his homies. He instructed his main lackey, a tall, skinny kid with bad teeth by the name of Lonnie, to run to his Jeep and see how much was in the stash spot. In a few moments Lonnie returned with a handful of cash and a worried look on his face—there hadn't been as much cash as Diego thought. The rest of Diego's crew dipped in their pockets and pooled together the money they had on them. Altogether they came up with forty-three hundred in cash. Sajak, one of Diego's young dealers, offered a half-ounce of crack to the pot, and another, Monkeyhead, contributed a .357 Python revolver to make up the difference. Motioning to Don, Diego walked to the center of the basketball court.

  “You think you slick,” Diego grumbled when Don was in earshot.

  Don retorted, “Nall, you think I'm slick.”

  “Fuck all of that shit. We got forty-three hundred, a half onion, and a heater. Is it a bet?”

  “Hell yeah, but we choose who gone hold the loot.” Don scanned the crowd and spotted an attractive teenage girl who looked innocent enough.

  He turned back to Diego. “You see shorty over there in the jogging suit? We gone let baby girl hold this down.”

  Diego gave the girl a once-over. Nothing seemed amiss so he acquiesced.

  Both boys sidled up to the girl, who coolly watched their approach.

  Don asked, “Excuse me baby girl, what's yo name?”

  “Juanita,” she replied.

  “Juanita, we need you to do us a favor if you ain't too busy right now. We want you to hold the pot for us while we play this game. You only give this shit to the winner. Is that cool with you?”

  “Yeah, okay, but what do I get out of this?” she asked coyly.

  “Well, you get to be my special guest of honor at the victory celebration,” Don answered, winking as he handed her the winnings. “And after that, we will see what will be, baby girl.”

  Both teams stepped onto the court and took practice shots on opposite ends of the court. After warming up they met in the middle of the court.

  Diego announced, “We shooting from the top of the key to see who get first ball. Do or die on y'all, Don-Don.”

  Keno, Don's team's best long-distance shooter, easily sank the shot securing their team the first ball.

  From the first pass, Don and his team controlled the tempo of the game. They had been playing basketball together since grade school. They knew each other's talents and strengths and covered one another's weaknesses. Diego and his team were the exact opposite. Every one of them thought they were better than they really were—everyone wanted to be the superstar. They consistently turned the ball over, hogged it, and forced up wild shots.

  The beginning of the game was a little rough, but that was to be expected in a game for such high stakes. Don and his crew didn't back down; they were used to playing under intense pressure. Big Man snatched rebounds greedily at both ends of the court. Carlos and Keno shot jump shots from every angle on the court. Don was an astonishingly quick defender. He managed to steal the ball repeatedly from Diego and Lonnie and he blocked three of Monkey-head's shots. Dre had a dazzling array of layups in his repertoire and he drove to the hole with intensity.

  Diego's team was out-classed, out-rebounded, out-shot, and out-passed. Before they knew it, it was game point with Don's team leading 32–14.

  Dante inbounded the ball to Dre. Dre pushed the ball up the court and passed it to Don. Don fed Keno at the top of the key. Keno was wide open and his teammates expected him to let fly one of his high, arching jump shots. Don and Carlos set two consecutive picks to free up Big Man from his defender. At the top of the key Keno flicked up a long, high lob. Big Man ran, leapt into the air, caught the basketball in midair, and slammed it through the basketball rim. Before letting go of the rim he smacked the metal backboard.

  Holding his head in his hands Diego sat down in the middle of the court. He watched enviously as Don and his boys ran over to Juanita to claim their winnings. Don kissed the girl quickly on the mouth—she didn't protest. Laughing and congratulating themselves, Don's crew exited the fence surrounding the court. Don stopped and called Juanita over to the fence. He slid a fifty-dollar bill through the links of the fence.

  “Shorty, that invitation still stands. We'll be over Semo's house on Eberhart. It won't be hard to find. You'll hear the music and smell the weed before you find the house.”

  Juanita thanked him and assured him that she would be there. As she turned and walked away, Don watched her plump behind for a few moments before running to catch up with his friends.

  Keno said, “Man, that's a fine young bitch. If you get her naked don't forget to share. You know what they say. It ain't no fun if the homies can't have none.”

  Don teased, “They wadn't talking about you niggas that be burning all the time.”

  Big Man joked, “That nigga keep crabs like pets.”

  They all laughed.

  Don thought about the pistol tucked into his waistband. “Come on y'all, let's put some pep in our steps, I got this heater on me.”

  2

  AFTER A QUICK SHOPPING SPREE THEY ALL SHOWERED and dressed in their new, stiff clothes which, combined with a trip to the barbershop, had them looking like different people. Even Semo was sporting a fresh fade and a new pair of Jordans. After all, they were partying in his house.

  Semo's house was the usual party spot. Semo's father, a long-distance truck driver and his only parent since his mother had died from lupus five years ago, didn't come home for weeks at a time and he always phoned first. He knew that Semo partied hard, and since he was a bit of a hellraiser himself, he didn't mind, as long as they didn't tear the house down. His phone calls to tell his son that he was on the way home were really an early-warning system to give Semo time to clean up any mess and clear out any houseguests. Partying and getting high were at the top of the list of things that Semo loved to do, especially if everything was free. Don gave him the important role of playing host and that was fine with him. His only duties were rolling the blunts, keeping the drinks flowing, and making sure that no freeloaders got in the spot. He loved rolling the blunts; it gave him autonomy over the weed and the chance to cuff a few blunts, which he did at every opportunity.

  The party was going full blast by the time Juanita made her entrance. Don was so high that at first he didn't recognize her. He was smoking a blunt and nodding his head to the music blasting from the stereo. When he spotted her and realized who she was, he choked on the smoke in his lungs. She was looking good enough to eat in a miniskirt, tie-up Roman sandals, and a halter top. Her pixie hairdo perfectly framed her tan, thin face. Her large doe eyes were enhanced by thick eyelashes. Her full, pouting lips were coated with shimmering lip gloss. The halter top she was wearing displayed her blemish-free midriff. She had the legs of a long-distance runner and her round butt hiked her miniskirt up dangerously high.

  Don did a double take that would have made the Three Stooges proud. Pulled to her as if he was hypnotized, he grabbed her hand and gave her a hug.

  “What's up, baby girl!” Don yelled into her ear over the music.

  “Nothing, what's up with y
ou?” Juanita shouted.

  “I'm tight. You want something to drink?”

  “Huh?”

  “I said you want something to drink!” he repeated.

  “I'm straight, but it's too loud in here. Let's go outside or something!”

  “I got a better idea!” Don hollered.

  “Huh?”

  “Follow me!”

  Don grabbed her hand and led her through the party-goers up to the second floor. They walked down a short hallway, and then he ushered her through a door and closed it behind them. Semo's father's bedroom was strictly off-limits to ordinary partygoers, but not to Don-Don. He motioned for her to have a seat beside him on the bed.

  “Damn, girl, you looking fine as hell in that outfit there,” he said. “I bet you ain't even got no panties on or you got on one of them thongs. You got on a thong?”

  “Yep,” she replied. “A black silk one, too.”

  “Ohwee,” Don whistled. “I loves me a girl in a thong. I bet you look sexy as hell in that boy, too. Can I see it?”

  Juanita laughed. “Un-unh. I don't even know you like that to let you be seeing my thong. How do I know you ain't a raperman or something?”

  Don was taken aback, but only slightly. “If you thought I was a raperman, why you come up here with me? If I was a raperman do you think I would be asking you could I see your thong? Hell nall, I'd be ripping off yo skirt and shit.”

  “For you not to be a raperman, you sure know a lot about how to rape somebody,” she said slyly.

  For a second Don was confused, then he realized she was putting him on. “Get yo ass outta here. Girl, you had me going. Wassup though? Can I check you out in that thong?” he persisted as he leaned closer and sniffed her neck. Taking a chance he licked the tan skin right above her shoulder.