Slipping Page 9

  Weed-Eyes circumnavigated the block. He slowed down to let Don out. Hands in his pocket, Don walked casually down the same side of the street as the Bonneville. He peered at the windows of the house that the car was parked in front of. He didn't detect any movement within, so he approached the car.

  Using the flathead of the screwdriver, he popped the door lock out. With his finger he hit the mechanism to unlock the door. Again he used the screwdriver to break open the steering column on the left side. Next he tackled the Club. The owner had put it on upside down—a common mistake. He pulled and bent the steering wheel until he felt the Club give enough for him to wrench it off. He tossed the so-called theft deterrent on the passenger seat. He got a tight grip on the steering wheel and wrenched it back and forth until he felt it slacken up. He started the car by using his fingers to pull up the ignition lever until the car came to life. He slapped the Bonneville into gear and eased out of the parking space. Running with the headlights out, he sped up the block. In the rearview mirror he could see Weed-Eyes bringing up the rear. Skillfully, Don handled the large car as he headed for the expressway. Don stopped for traffic lights only when it was absolutely necessary as he headed for home base. At every intersection his head swiveled back and forth looking for police. He didn't breathe a sigh of relief until they pulled into the vacant lot where they would strip the car of its rims and any other accessories he deemed valuable enough to take. The vacant lot was only a few blocks from Don's house, so if they had to make a quick getaway they only had to hop a few gates and they would be in Don's kitchen.

  Weed-Eyes proved to be an asset as an accomplice. He handed Don a pair of work gloves, the one thing Don had forgotten, and they got down to business. The older crackhead worked alongside Don quickly and efficiently to help him remove the rims and tires. Don popped the trunk and they removed the amps and speakers. He couldn't find the snatch-out radio so he left the sleeve in the dashboard. Before getting out of the car, he took care to wipe the interior clean of any fingerprints. Leaving the stolen Bonneville sitting on milk crates and bricks, they headed for Don's house.

  At Don's house, while Weed-Eyes waited on the porch, Don went inside to make the call. He dialed the number, and even though it was after four in the morning, Monkeyhead answered after four rings.

  “Who this?” Monkeyhead asked.

  “It's Don, nigga.”

  “Who?”

  “Don-Don, man.”

  Recognition crept into Monkeyhead's voice. “Don, what the deal? What's up with you?”

  “I got what we had talked about,” Don said triumphantly. “Is you ready?”

  Monkeyhead couldn't believe it. “Don, you bullshitting, nigga. What they look like?”

  “These boys is clean as the board of health. Fat meat on the Vogues and the thirties is shining in the dark,” Don said smugly. “What's up, you want to do this shit or not? 'Cause man, I can sell these motherfuckas anywhere.”

  “Don't do no shit like that, Don,” Monkeyhead said, a note of anxiety creeping into his voice. “Come over to Harper Court. I got the scratch. Bring the rims. Is that cool?”

  Don paused a moment before answering. He had Monkeyhead right where he wanted him. It was time to discuss price. “Monkey, these motherfuckas is clean, with brand-new tires. Imma need at least a gee for these boys.”

  “Don, I ain't tripping on the price, I just want to see the merch. Man, bring the shit through Harper. I'm out here.”

  Don ran upstairs, grabbed his pistol, and they left.

  At Harper Court, even though it was four in the morning, it was business as usual. The only difference was at night the dealers openly displayed their weaponry. Monkey-head was right where he said he would be. He walked up to Weed-Eyes’ car with a Tech-9 slung on his shoulder. Warily, Weed-Eyes unlocked the trunk of his car while keeping his eyes on the fierce-looking youth. Monkeyhead noticed the way Weed-Eyes was staring at the semiautomatic firearm.

  “Don't trip 'bout the heat,” Monkeyhead told them. “Late nights you got to have you some protection, you know.”

  Monkeyhead's explanation seemed to allay some of Weed-Eyes’ uneasiness, but not by much. Stepping out of the way, Weed-Eyes let Monkeyhead inspect the merchandise in his trunk.

  Monkeyhead's face broke into a wide grin at the sight of the rims. The elated dealer dug into his pocket and pulled out a rubber-band–wrapped knot. “Damn, Don! These motherfuckas right here gone have my shit looking cold! Hell yeah!” He handed the money to Don and called for a few of his fellow workers to help him get the rims out of the trunk.

  Don stood back smiling, but all the while watching every movement Monkeyhead made.

  “I don't need to count this, do I?” Don asked as he climbed back into the passenger seat. He handed Monkey-head three hundred dollars. “Have one of yo guys bring me a quarter onion and a ball.”

  Monkeyhead slammed the trunk when the last rim was removed, then he walked to the passenger door. “Nigga, you better count it,” he said jokingly.

  Don laughed as he took the rubber band off the money and began to count it. “Before I forget, you don't need no music, do you? I got some amps and speakers and shit.”

  “I don't need shit,” Monkeyhead said, leaning on the car door. “But hold off on selling that shit if you can. My nigga Sajak was just talking 'bout getting some music and shit for his ride. I forgot that nigga new cell number, but the minute I see that stud I'll let him know that you got some merch.”

  One of the dealers walked to the car, leaned down into the passenger window, and dropped a quarter-ounce and eightball of crack into Don's lap. Don gave Weed-Eyes the signal to start the car.

  “Get my number off yo phone if you need to hit me,” Don said, leaning out the window as Weed-Eyes pulled off. “If anybody else need some rims for they car let me know. I'm like Pizza Hut, I deliver.”

  Monkeyhead stood watching them drive away with a smile on his face.

  In the car, Don dropped five twenty-dollar bills on the seat beside Weed-Eyes. He broke open the eightball of crack and pinched Weed-Eyes off a nice piece.

  “I know I only told you I was gone give you a bill,” Don explained, “but shit, you held me down. So, I'm gone hold you down.”

  Weed-Eyes smiled. “Thanks, little brother, you dig. You got my help anytime.”

  “We gone hit them again, real soon. Take me to the crib, the motherfucking sun is 'bout to come up.”

  10

  WHEN DON GOT IN, JUANITA WAS WIDE AWAKE.

  “Hey, baby, how did things go?” she asked anxiously.

  “It was cool,” Don said as he waved the six hundred dollars and tossed the quarter-ounce of crack on the bed.

  Juanita scooped it up like a Cubs shortstop. “I love you, Don. You always manage to get yo hands on that butter. When you came in I was just thinking.”

  Don had pulled off his shirt and was sitting on the edge of the bed preparing to take a hit of crack. “What was you thinking?”

  Juanita came around to Don's side of the bed. She kneeled on the floor in front of him and took the torch from his hand. She lit it and held it to the bowl of the hooter for him. Don laid back on the bed and blew crack smoke toward the ceiling.

  Juanita took the pipe from his hand. “Baby, I was thinking that it got kind of boring with just the two of us sitting here smoking all day. I think we need some company.”

  “What is you talking 'bout, girl?”

  “I'm just saying that we got a nice little piece of crack and we can afford to kick it.”

  “Kick it with who?”

  “With my friend.”

  “Who is yo friend?”

  “Her name is Wanda. She live over there on Cottage Grove in the walk-ups.”

  “How you know her?”

  “She my brother's baby's mama. She real cool. That's my girl and I miss kicking it with her. If you don't want her to come over here, then you can give me a little piece and I can go over there for a few.”

 
; Don thought about it. He really didn't want to let her out of his sight and he had to admit that it was growing a bit boring just sitting there looking at each other while they smoked. “I don't give a fuck. She can come through.”

  “She probably have her man with her,” she hedged out. “He ain't no problem, though. If she don't bring him, then she probably can't come. He be on some bullshit. He ain't like you; he all jealous and shit.”

  “Whatever, they just better act like they got some sense while they up in my crib.”

  Juanita made a brief telephone call and fifteen minutes later there was a female voice calling her name in the backyard. She went downstairs and escorted the couple upstairs to Don's attic bedroom.

  Juanita gave a brief introduction. “Don, this is my girl, Wanda. She my motherfucking girl,” Juanita said happily as she slapped hands with Wanda. Her voice was dry as she said, “And this is her man, Raoul.”

  Raoul stuck out his hand. For a moment it seemed that Don wouldn't show him any love, but finally he shook the older man's hand. As they took a seat Don surveyed the pair with disdain. Wanda was about average height with ninety-degree-angle hips and shriveled breasts that were all too visible in a halter top several times her size. Raoul was a beanpole of a man. Something about his ferretlike countenance made Don distrust him right away. The way Raoul's eyes scanned the room made Don feel like Raoul was doing a mental inventory of things to steal. When he was sure that they weren't paying attention, Don slid over to his dresser and stuffed his pistol in his waistband.

  The more he thought about it, the more he didn't want the two hypes in his bedroom. Calmly but firmly he insisted that they move the festivities to the garage.

  In the garage, Juanita and Wanda chitchatted while Don cleaned off an old card table to put the pipe and mirror on. When he dumped some crack on a mirror from the quarter ounce, all conversation stopped. Wanda and Raoul had hoped to smoke only a dime bag or two, but the amount of crack on the mirror challenged their crack-hungering minds. As if by magic, Wanda's pipe appeared in her hand, but Don ignored her.

  They all watched Don take a long, leisurely hit, then pass the pipe to Juanita. Don took a razor blade and slid about a twenty-dollar-bag worth from the big pile for Wanda and Raoul.

  “Y'all two gone get down with that there,” Don told them.

  For a few seconds it appeared as if the couple would come to blows over which one of them would get the first hit when Wanda sat forward and put a few chips of crack in her pipe.

  Raoul said, “Damn, why you always get to take the first bust?”

  “Fuck you, Raoul,” Wanda hissed. “Don't be starting up in here. Shit, we got a motherfucking dub of yay right here and you crying about who get the first bump. That's some petty shit if I ever heard it.”

  Don watched both of them with an amused look on his face.

  Raoul was doing his best to control his temper. “I know the fuck you ain't trying to front me off in front of this nigga in his motherfucking garage. I ain't petty. I'm just saying is all. This here is sposed to be a party that we was both invited to. Being that we was both invited, I want to know why the fuck you gots to be the one that get the first hit?”

  Before Wanda put the pipe to her lips, she said, “See, now you always got to show people just how stupid you is. Since you is not getting the shit, I'm gone break it down for you like you two years old: Because it's my gotdamn pipe. Not ours, or yours. Mine. Then the second reason is that Juanita invited us over here and she is my friend, not yours. So now that I done had to explain some shit to you that you shoulda knew, can I take my hit now?”

  Wanda didn't wait for Raoul's answer. She put the pipe to her lips and flicked a torch. The good crack made her swoon a little bit. On purpose she took her time before handing the pipe to Raoul.

  Don made a mental promise that he and Juanita would never turn out to be like the couple sitting across from them.

  Wanda and Raoul smoked the piece Don had given them in about ten minutes. While Juanita and Don continued to smoke, Raoul and Wanda pretended to clean their pipe, but spent more time watching the younger couple than anything.

  “Don,” Wanda said.

  He looked up, blowing crack smoke toward the ceiling. “What's up?”

  Raoul pushed her shoulder. “Gone head and ask him, girl.”

  Wanda turned on Raoul. “Why don't you shut the fuck up!” she told Raoul.

  “Bitch, just gone head and ask, shit,” Raoul grumbled.

  Wanda turned back to Don with a phony smile on her face. “Sorry 'bout that, Don. I just wanted to ask, you know, if we could get a little more.”

  “No,” Don said casually. “I done already gave you motherfuckas a twinkie. Y'all didn't even say thank you for that shit. Matter of fact, why don't y'all get the fuck out of my house.”

  Raoul jumped to his feet. “Nigga, you ain't got to talk to my woman like that! Who the fuck you think you is, you young-ass punk!”

  Nonchalantly, Don raised his T-shirt to show the butt of his pistol. “Man, you better calm yo thin ass down in my motherfucking house, dude. Now like I was saying before, get the fuck out of my damn house before I have yo skinny ass wearing a shit bag. Juanita, show them out.”

  Wanda and Raoul grumbled all the while as they followed Juanita out of the garage door and out into the alley.

  “I'll call you, girl,” Juanita whispered to Wanda as she closed the back gate behind the vexed couple. She had heard Don leaving the garage.

  “You ain't have to put them out like that,” she said when they were face-to-face.

  “Girl, fuck them!” Don said. “Them motherfuckas just want to sit up and smoke up a nigga yams. They got to be crazy thinking Imma set out all my yay. Shit, when we struggling them motherfuckas ain't gone call us and have a smoke-out. Now bring yo ass on. I want some head.”

  “Un-uh, nigga. It's yo turn to lick my pussy while I take me a bump.”

  “I just might do that, shorty.”

  Don took her hand and led her upstairs to his bedroom.

  11

  DON DECIDED TO TAKE JUANITA SHOPPING—SOMETHING he hadn't considered doing in a long time. He could use some new shoes and Juanita was long overdue for some new clothes. He took care to put on some clean socks before they left, something his father had taught him he was always supposed to do if he was going to buy some new shoes. It was funny how something his father had taught him so long ago remained with him.

  They found Weed-Eyes on his favorite corner.

  “Weedy, what's happening with you, dog?” Don said by way of greeting.

  “Nothing much, youngblood. Just trying to put a couple of dollars in the same pocket as always.”

  “Problem solved,” Don announced as he started heading toward Weed-Eyes’ car. “We need a ride out to Evergreen Plaza so we can grab some stomps and a few outfits and shit. If you ain't too busy I'll give you some gas money and put a couple in yo pocket for a ride.”

  “Let's ride,” Weed-Eyes said.

  At the Plaza, Don and Juanita looked like a normal couple as they shopped. Weed-Eyes chose to remain in his car, reading his newspaper and drinking his wine. Two hours passed and the teenagers returned to the car, carrying a gang of bags and smiling.

  Starting up the car, Weed-Eyes asked, “Where to, young-blood?”

  Don had eaten a steak sandwich in the mall's food court and was feeling full and tired. “Run us by the crib. I got to get me a few hours, of sleep 'cause I want to go out tonight and take care of business. You gone be ready for tonight?”

  “If I ain't then my eyes ain't green.”

  Weed-Eyes dropped them off at the house. Don hit him twenty-five dollars and they went inside as he pulled off.

  Don stripped down to his boxer shorts and was almost asleep when the doorbell rang. He tried to ignore it, but whoever it was insisted that someone answer the door.

  Don pulled on a T-shirt and a pair of shorts. Downstairs he looked out the window to see who was on th
e porch. Monkeyhead was pressing the doorbell again. Alongside him stood a boy Don recognized as Sajak.

  Don unlocked the door and held open the screen door. “Monkeyhead, Sajak. I was just about to knock some zs. What's up?”

  Monkeyhead said, “Don, my fault, bruh. I told this nigga Sajak about that shit you got and he wanted me to bring him through yo crib.”

  “Alright, give me a minute to get the shit.”

  Don let the screen door slam and bounded up the stairs to his room. He stacked the stereo components on top of the kicker box. Before leaving his room, he grabbed his pistol and stuck it in his pocket. Better to be safe than sorry.

  On the porch he let Sajak inspect the equipment. Almost immediately Sajak offered him four hundred dollars for the sounds. Not one to haggle over price, Don accepted the money.

  Speaking in a voice cracking under the strain of puberty, Sajak said, “Monkeyhead showed me them thirties you got him. I got a Regal, a clean one. I want some racing rims for it. Some Billets or something. My shit in the pipe shop right now. When I get it out, I want to take it to the sound shop to put this shit in there. Now all I got to buy is a CD player. Man, do you think you could get them rims for me?”

  Don chuckled self-confidently. “Nigga, if you wanted wagon wheels I could get them. You just make sure that you have that scratch ready 'cause I'll be to see you. And don't worry about no CD player neither. I'll track one down for you.”

  “I ain't tripping on the money. I don't give a fuck long as the rims is clean. And please make sure that they got some nice meat on the tires. Oh yeah, and if you can try to make sure that you get all the rim caps.”

  Don yawned and stretched his tired limbs. “Alright, shorty, I got it. Thanks for shopping at Don-Don's discount auto parts, but like I said before, I was about to knock some zs.”

  That night Don hit the streets with Weed-Eyes in search of some racing rims for Sajak. In the middle of the block on 78th and Hermitage, Weed-Eyes spotted a navy-blue Cutlass sitting on Billets.

  “Little brother,” Weed-Eyes said, “check out that Cutlass right there.”