Slipping Page 6

  For a moment, Don looked like he was about to cry. In all honesty he wanted to tell his sister everything; that he might be in over his head, but the thought of being without Juanita and without crack stopped him.

  “Yeah that's right,” he said. “You my sister, not my mama or my daddy so keep yo nose out my personal business. Now is there anything else?”

  Dismissing his disrespectful tone, Rhonda said, “Okay Don, but like I said I'm your big sister and if I can help you in any way I will.”

  “Whatever,” Don said to the room's closing door as Rhonda left. He pulled his pipe from under the pillow and resumed trying to scrape some residue from under the lip. The stuff that Rhonda was talking about wasn't shit. He was broke right now and didn't know where he was going to get his next hit.

  Rhonda passed Juanita on the steps as she was going downstairs. Rhonda wanted to hit Juanita in the mouth for whatever she had done to her little brother, but instead she headed for her bedroom.

  When Juanita entered the room, Don was racking his brains for a way to come up with a nice piece of cash. He decided to try and get his friends to play another basketball game. With no scratch of their own they would have to rely on Dre to steal some of his brother's cash. To gain their help, he knew he would have to apologize for his recent behavior. That was something that he wasn't looking forward to. Since Juanita was dropping hints that if she couldn't get high here she would go somewhere else, he knew that he didn't have much of a choice.

  Don got up and began to slip into his hooping gear.

  “Where you going, baby?” Juanita asked.

  “I'll be back. Imma try to hustle us up a nice rack of cash so we can chill for a few more days. I think I got a line on some loot, so hold fast and I'll be back.”

  “What am I sposed to do while you gone? It's boring here.”

  Quickly growing irritated with her whining, Don snapped, “I don't know what the fuck you sposed to do. Watch some motherfucking tv or something. I said that I'll be back. Now stop fucking with me.”

  Don left her on the bed looking salty as he dipped out of the house. The pool hall was his first stop. If his friends weren't there it would still be easy to pick up their scent. In his mind he was spending their winnings. Maybe he could talk Diego into putting up another half-ounce of crack— that would be an acceptable bonus. Reaching the game room he walked inside. Nobody from his clique was present. That was a minor setback, but one he could deal with. He scanned the room and located a likely candidate that might have information pertaining to his friends’ whereabouts.

  “A homie, you seen Semo, Big Man, or Dre and nem?”

  The cornrow-wearing youth's eyes never left the video game he was playing as he said, “Yeah, they was up in here awhile but they left a coupla, few minutes ago.”

  “Did they say where they was going?”

  “They had mentioned Momma Taylor's house, but that was all I heard.”

  Don was already out the door. He knew if they were following their old routine they would probably be at Semo's house by now.

  Using the alleys and gangways he reached Semo's house in a matter of minutes. As he came around the garage behind the house he could hear his friends’ voices. For the first time in weeks he realized just how much he missed his friends. He realized that he had replaced their constant companionship with Juanita and crack cocaine. They had grown up together, braved the dog streets of Chicago's South Side together. They had faced bullies together, stole together, fought together and one another. It brought tears to his eyes thinking about all the things they had been through together. Composing himself, he put his hand on the rusty gate. With a shove he opened it. Standing perfectly still he watched the boys for a moment. They were so engrossed in one of their petty sports arguments that they didn't notice him.

  Keno looked up and saw him standing there. He signaled to the others that they had a guest. Everyone stopped talking at once and looked at Don.

  He felt a little self-conscious under their stares at first, but he knew it was now or never. He walked over and sat on a lawn chair. Under their collective scrutiny he felt anything but at ease. He tried to play it cool. With hooded eyes he stared at his sneakers waiting for one of them to make the first move. It didn't take long.

  “What you want, nigga?” Big Man drawled.

  “Yeah, nigga, what brings you around?” Semo added.

  Don said, “I just wanted to see you studs. I mean damn, we is homies and shit.”

  “That's not how you been playing it since you hooked up with yo new broad,” Semo countered.

  Apologetically, Don offered, “Man, I'm sorry 'bout all that shit. Ain't no thang, you know. It was just I made a mistake is all. Pretty little bitch had my head all fucked, yo. I can't even front. I'm cool now, though. My fault if I seemed like I flipped on y'all niggas.”

  “Yeah, nigga, you was in love like a motherfucka,” Carlos said. “Now get you a beer and hit some of this blunt, nigga. We yo niggas, we ain't tripping on that little shit. We glad you back, we sick of hearing Dre bitch-ass whining 'bout missing you.”

  Carlos held the lit blunt out to Don.

  “No thanks, kid. Since we back down and shit, let's make some loot so we can throw a big-ass party. I'm talking 'bout some off-the-hook shit. Dre, run to the crib and grab about three stacks. Shit, hopefully we can get Diego to at least go for three-to-one odds. Shid, we gone stomp them niggas. I been working on my game and shit …”

  Don was talking so fast he never noticed the looks of disappointment on his friends’ faces.

  Semo interrupted. “Slow down, nigga. Is that what you came over here for? Dude, you outta pocket. We really missed kicking it with you, dog, but I see all you missed is having us help you make some scratch.”

  “Nall, Semo, you got me all wrong. I didn't mean it like that. I was just thinking on the way over here that it would be fun to kick Diego and them ass for some of that easy money so we could throw a party.”

  “You mean so you could buy you some crack don't you?” Carlos interjected. “Nigga, we played them studs last Sunday for five gees. We won of course. And while we was at the court Diego noticed that you wadn't playing and mentioned just how good a customer you done became. Nigga, we knew something was wrong wit yo ass.”

  “Man, I don't know what the fuck you talkin’ 'bout. I know y'all don't believe that funky-ass half-breed. I been copping from him, but it was so I can get my swerve on. I been hustling so I can help out at the crib and shit with the bills.”

  “See, I told y'all he wadn't fucking with that shit,” Dre said, wanting to believe that Don was straight. “He been copping pieces trying to get his pockets right.”

  “Dre, shut yo ass up,” Carlos said. “Look at this nigga. Do he look like he been hustling? This nigga is clucking. Look at all the weight he done lost and shit. His face skinny as hell. Tell me he ain't starting to look like a baby crackhead.”

  Don looked around at his friends. Dre was the only one that seemed to hope that the rumors weren't true. He decided to try and bullshit his way past them. “Come on y'all, this is Don-Don. Do y'all think I'm a fucking clucker? I done lost weight 'cause I be stressing and I don't be eating right. Think about who it is y'all talking to.”

  “We know who we talking to, a motherfucking crackhead,” Big Man said slowly. “I got enough of them in my family for me to know exactly what they look like from start to finish. Nigga, you know that all my uncles is on that shit, so I know.”

  Don began to grow angry. He shouted, “Y'all sposed to be my niggas, but y'all gone let some motherfucka tell y'all some foul shit about me! That shit ain't cool. I ain't done shit to you niggas. How y'all gone turn y'all back on me?”

  “Nigga, you turned yo back on us,” Big Man said with his usual country twang. “We been through a lot of shit together. If you had came to us with the real we could have helped you with whatever, nigga. How you gone play us?”

  Semo said, “Man, fuck this crackhead-ass
nigga! He better get the fuck out of my yard, before I whoop his motherfucking ass!”

  Don was dumbfounded. “Semo, who the fuck you think you talking to, nigga? Yo pussy ass. Nigga, all of a sudden you tough. I'd still beat the dog shit out of you, bitch-ass nigga!”

  Keno spoke up for the first time. He threatened, “No you won't, hype. 'Cause if you put yo hands on Semo we gone stump yo ears together in this motherfucka.”

  Looking in Keno's eyes, Don saw that the lanky teenager spoke the truth. They were prepared to beat him down. With a mask of scorn on his face he glanced at the others. He could tell that they echoed Dante's sentiment. Only Dre, his oldest friend, looked confused. In a last desperate attempt he tried to play on Dre's uncertainty.

  “Dre, I know you ain't gone front on me like these niggas. Cut these fake-ass niggas loose and ride with yo man. Nigga, we been down since like eight years old. We don't need these punks. Scary-ass niggas. Come on Dre, let's be up.”

  Before he walked out of the gate Don paused to see if Dre would follow him. He locked gazes with Dre and knew his efforts were futile when the boy dropped his eyes to his shoes. At that moment he knew that he would miss Dre the most.

  Giving Dre a way to save face, he relented. “It's cool, Dre. Don't even trip. I don't need none of y'all. You niggas turned y'all back on me, but I'll be alright. Fuck y'all.”

  Don slammed the rusty gate and savagely kicked an empty beer bottle as he stalked down the alley. As disgusted as he was at his friends’ treachery he had no place to turn now. He knew that if he went home empty-handed, Juanita would be talking shit. He walked and cursed his bad luck, especially the misfortune of having Diego run his mouth off to his friends.

  Damn, I could use a blast, he thought. Then I could get my mind right.

  With nothing else better to do, Don did what so many other tortured Black men do every day—he stood on the nearest corner. He extracted a crumpled cigarette from his pocket and lit it. Gagging at the taste of the stale smoke, he spit a piece of tobacco out of his mouth. Deep in thought, he paid no attention to pedestrians. From the depths of his brain he recalled a small bit of information that could end his crack strike. If he remembered correctly, Diego gave credit to good customers. The interest on the credit was ridiculous, but that was beside the point. Paying back double wasn't so bad, especially when you could have a credit line of up to four hundred dollars. Snapping his fingers he put his feet in motion and headed for Harper Court.

  Arms and legs pumping like pistons, Don ran like a world-class sprinter. By the time he reached the small neighborhood park he was out of breath and had to sit down on the curb for a moment. He didn't want to approach the crack dealers sweaty and looking like he was geeking for a hit. Coming off like a hype would destroy his chance for getting a piece on consignment. On the curb he rehearsed the lines he would use like a theatrical understudy. Using his T-shirt he wiped his forehead. He got a sip of water from the water fountain in the middle of the park. He spotted Diego. The drug dealer was doing his usual strutting in front of some young girls of suspect age.

  “Yo, Diego, check it out,” he called pleasantly, closing the distance between himself and the drug dealer.

  Diego instantly recognized from Don's patronizing tone that he wanted a favor. He had been selling drugs long enough to know that when customers was short or didn't have any money they could be the nicest people on Earth. The closer Don came, Diego could see for sure that his old archrival was a fucking clucker. The sly smile that played upon his lips showed his pleasure at seeing Don like this. Now that Don was a crack monster he knew the boy wouldn't be challenging him anymore.

  Diego asked, “What's up, Don-Don? How you living yo?”

  “I'm tight, bruh. I just came to check you out. I done ran into a little snag with this scheme I'm running. My loot is low right now, so I was hoping that you could hit a nigga up wit a little something to hold me over until I get my paper in order. You know I'm good for it.”

  Diego had heard it all before. “Yeah, you good for it. You done spent a decent piece of paper wit a nigga. But I'm duty bound to let you know that all credit cost double. And even a cool fella like you got a deadline like everybody else or …”

  “Yeah, Diego, I know all that shit. But you don't got to worry about that shit. Once my little scam come through I'll have some nice paper.”

  Nodding, Diego said, “Awight, Don. I hope you right, 'cause I don't want to have to come looking for you. What you trying to touch?”

  Throwing caution to the wind, Don said, “Nothing huge, just a quarter. That should hold me until I touch this paper I've got coming to me.”

  Diego looked him up and down. “Run over there and tell Lonnie that I said to give you a quarter ounce.”

  “Thanks, bruh,” Don said, hoping that he didn't sound too eager. He backed away to find Lonnie quickly in case Diego changed his mind.

  The business transaction with Lonnie took only a few seconds. Don had to admit that they did have a smooth operation. It took only a nod from Diego and he had seven grams of crack in his hand. He ran all the way home with the quarter ounce stuffed in his pocket with his hand on it.

  Bursting into the house, Don bound up the steps and crashed into his room. Juanita was lying in the bed. She appeared not to have moved an inch since his departure. He walked over to the bed and triumphantly dangled the quarter ounce over her head. She bolted upright and retrieved the saucer from under the bed. Razor blade in hand, she waited eagerly for him to dump the contents of the plastic bag on it.

  “See, girl,” he bragged, “I told you that I was gone cop. I ain't no shorty in this shit. If you stay with me and act like you got some sense, I'll keep both of us high.”

  Stroking his ego, she said, “You know I love you, baby. I wasn't worried 'cause I know that my man can handle his business. I knew that you wasn't coming back without some shit. To celebrate after I take me a hit Imma try to suck you dick to the bone.”

  Don took off his shirt and shorts. Chivalrously, he waited for Juanita to take a bump off the pipe so he could receive his reward.

  7

  A QUARTER OUNCE OF CRACK FOR SMOKING PURPOSES was considered to be a lot, but Don and Juanita consumed it in record time. Two days of continuous smoking and sex was all the time they needed.

  Juanita was relentless. “Don, you need to do something. That little shit we had is gone. I need something else.”

  “I know,” Don said as he scraped res from the pipe. “You think I don't know that shit, girl. Shit, the way you smoke we need about a ounce to hold us for a few days.”

  “I know you ain't talking the way you be sucking up the yams. I didn't see you holding back none.”

  She was right, they had both grown piggish when it came to smoking crack.

  Juanita got up and tossed the television remote on the bed. She stretched and put her hands on her hips. “I'm 'bout to get up out of here.”

  “What?”

  “I'm 'bout to show at the crib,” she said innocently. “I ain't been home in a coupla weeks.”

  “Who you live with?” Don asked. “You never did tell me about yo crib and you never act like you got to go there.”

  “I live with my drunk-ass momma and my four brothers when they ass out of jail. They don't care if I come to that motherfucka or not. Plus me and my momma stay into it. Whenever she get drunk, which is all the time, first she want to be all happy. Next she get to doing all that crying and bringing up the old days. Then she get straight-up mean and start talking shit.”

  “Okay, well, why you fixing to go there then?”

  “I need to change clothes and see what's going on around the crib. I been cooped up in here for too long.”

  Don thought about it. He guessed that if he let her out of his sight she might not be coming back anytime soon. No crack was one thing, but no crack and no Juanita was unfathomable.

  “Bitch, you better sit yo ass down somewhere. You ain't been worried about changing clot
hes or going to the crib. Now all of a sudden when the rest of the yayo gone, then you ready to hit the crib. That's bullshit. I know what yo ass trying to do. You done smoked up all my rocks and now that we ain't got shit, you ready to be out. You got to be crazy than a motherfucka if you think that you leaving up out of here. I'll kick yo head in. If you leave up outta here it's gone be in a ambulance.”

  “Well, what you gone do?” Juanita said as she bounced onto the edge of the bed and folded her arms. “I want a bump.”

  “Shut the fuck up so I can tell you what I'm gone do. A nigga can't even think or get a word in edgewise with you talking shit. Now look, I need you to call one of them jiffy cabs.”

  “For what?”

  Don reared up and raised his hand. “I swear if I got to tell you to shut the fuck up again, I'm gone slap the shit outta you. Don't worry 'bout for what, bitch. Damn! You getting on my motherfucking nerves with all these questions. I said call a motherfucking jiffy cab. Now gone head. I gotta do something.”

  Don descended the stairs from his room to the second floor. He dipped into his mother's bedroom and began rambling through her dresser drawers. He found her old wedding ring, an antique brooch, and two gold chains. From the shelf in her closet he pilfered his mother's video camera. He fled his mother's room and pushed open his sister's bedroom door. From the top of her bookcase he took a 35-millimeter camera. He looked around for something else and found a thin gold chain on her dresser. He took everything downstairs and set it on the kitchen table. He slid into the living room and unhooked the VCR from the television. Back upstairs, he grabbed a pillowcase to stash the merch in.

  Outside a car honked.

  “That's the livery cab,” Juanita called out.

  “Come on, girl. You going with me.”