Crackhead (5 page)

“Wayne!” Gloria said, wrapping the sheet around her. “Wayne, baby, I know what it looks like, but momma was just—”

“No sense in sugarcoating it,” Buck said, getting up off of the bed and putting on his pants. “The boy's got eyes. He might be young but he ain't blind, or all the way dumb for that matter. He knows what his momma's up to. Probably got him a lil' tender of his own, with all these fast-ass little girls running around here. Don't ya, boy?”

Wayne gritted his teeth and remained silent.

“You probably be doing to those little girls just what I was doing to your momma here, huh? 'Cept y'all probably keep y'all's clothes on, huh?” Buck laughed as he buckled his belt and pulled his wallet out of his pants pocket.

“Be quiet, Buck!” Gloria snapped. “This is between me and my son. Just get the hell out and I'll call you later.”

“So it's like that?” Buck asked, getting angry as he snatched up his shirt from the floor. “Ain't I the one that gave you grocery money the other day? You couldn't wait to get me up in this piss
hole, and now, just because this muthafucka sees his cunt of a mother for what she really is, I gotta go? You know what? Fuck you and this lil' nappy-headed nigga.”

“What?” Gloria squinted her eyes. “Fuck my son? No, you fat, nasty fucker, fuck you! Get the hell out of my house, you fat bastard!”

Buck didn't take well to women ordering him around and calling him out of his name. He had to show Gloria what happened to women who disrespected him, especially cheap-ass tricks like her.

Buck nodded his head; he was plotting. He looked inside his wallet and pulled out a wad of money, just to tease Gloria with. “Fuck me?” he laughed. “Naw, fuck you, you broke-ass bitch. Let's see how fat I am when you and ya little bastard's ribs start rubbing together. I'm getting the hell out of here, all right.” Buck pulled his shirt down over his head and slipped on his shoes. “I might be fat, but so is my wallet.” Buck closed his wallet up and put it back into his pocket, letting Gloria know that he wasn't giving her a goddamn dime. He then walked out of the room, knocking Wayne to the floor.

“You son of a bitch!” Gloria yelled as she got off the bed and followed behind Buck. “You get back here. You know I need some money.”

“You gonna have to learn to respect me,” Buck said, heading toward the door. “Now, if you stop while you're ahead, I just might come back and let you try to earn your keep again. But this time, you done gone and let your mouth fuck it up for you.”

“Fuck you!” Gloria screamed, chasing behind Buck as he walked out the apartment door. She tripped over the sheet and fell down the outside hallway stairs. She landed at the bottom of the landing, butt naked.

“Don't you leave without giving me some fucking dough!” she screamed. Tears of anger flowed down her face. She had just allowed this man to fuck and nut up inside of her, all in the name of the almighty dollar. And now here he was trying to eat and run.

Buck grabbed Gloria by the arm, dragged her back up the stairs, and flung her into the apartment, where Wayne was standing holding the door open. Wayne picked up his basketball, which was the nearest object, and hurled it at Buck as hard as he could. The ball hit him square in the face. Buck grabbed for his face as blood squirted from his nose.

“You little muthafucka,” he said, wiping his bloody nose with his shirt. Buck took off toward Wayne, expecting him to try to run from him. To Buck's surprise, Wayne held his ground. Though it was a noble effort, Wayne was no match for the grown, fat man. Buck hit him in the chest, folding him.

Gloria managed to make her way to the kitchen and pulled out the entire silverware drawer, going for a knife. She knew she had to do something or Buck would kill Wayne.

She darted from the kitchen and ran toward Buck, who was on top of Wayne, choking the life out of him.

“I'm gonna kill you, muthafucka!” Gloria yelled. “Get away from my son.”

Buck stood up and was able to restrain Gloria by her wrists, forcing her to drop the knife and the sheet. He let go of Gloria and hauled off and slapped the holy shit out of her, leaving his handprint on her face.

Wayne, still gasping for air, watched helplessly as his mother was brutally beaten. He'd been bullied his entire life, and now he lay there, watching his mother be bullied too. He wished he had a gun. That would even the playing field for sure. He hated the fact that he couldn't protect his mother or himself. At that
very moment, he promised himself that once he got a piece, he'd never be caught without it. He would fear no man.

Buck stood over Gloria and laughed.

“Like I said, fuck you, bitch.” Buck snorted the blood and mucus from his nose, bringing it to his throat. He hacked it up and spat in Gloria's face. “Punk muthafucka,” he mumbled as he looked over at Wayne before heading out the door.

Butt naked, bruised, and starting to swell up, Gloria crawled over to her son and tried to comfort him. “I'm so sorry,” she cried. “Oh, my baby, I'm so sorry.”

Gloria tried to put her arms around Wayne but he pushed her away. The damage had already been done and Wayne began to rot from the inside. Hate consumed his being, and it was quickly growing like a cancer. He had no intentions of going out like that.

Wayne got up and walked out the door, leaving his sobbing mother behind. He had to start putting together a plan. Fuck waiting until he got older. His time was now.

I
NEED SOME LOOT,”
Crystal said, plopping down on her mother's plastic-covered sofa next to Tonette. Spring was on its way out the door and summer was around the corner. All of the girls were at Crystal's house shooting the breeze, which is what they usually did when their pockets were short. When a bitch didn't have no cash, she sure had conversation. “I'm tired of sitting around this house lookin' at you hoes,” Crystal continued. “I wanna go out, but hell, I'm broke. I ain't heard from Dink in two days, so I can't even get nothing from him. I hate not having ends.”

“You ain't never lied.” Monique, who was lounging in the wicker Huey P. Newton chair, agreed. “A sista's pockets are tight.” She leaned forward and squeezed her hands down into the back pockets of her size-eight jeans. She knew she wore a size twelve all day long.

Monique wasn't one of those chicks in denial about her weight. Truth was, most of the hottest designers of the day didn't
make clothes that were her real size and she wouldn't dare wear men's jeans. A little discomfort served as her motivation to lose weight. However, if she didn't hurry up and lose some, she was going to end up with chronic yeast infections from wearing her tight-ass Used jeans. She wasn't fat—just plain ghetto-girl thick. She was a pretty brown-skinned girl. Her trademark was her huge gold, shoulder-length, box braid extensions with the burnt ends that she always wore in a high ponytail. She liked to think she was the freshest of all the girls, overcompensating for the fact that Tonette and Crystal were slim, trim, and fly. They always rolled with the niggas with loot, while Monique would travel all the way to Brooklyn to boost clothes, come back home, and say some dude bought them for her.

“Damn, I know all of us bitches ain't broke,” Tonette said. “Yo, Crystal, you ain't get
no
money from Dink?” Tonette put her hands on her hips.

“G-i-r-r-rl, did you not just hear me say that I ain't seen or heard from that nigga in two days?” Crystal said, rolling her eyes. “What about you?” she flipped the question on Tonette. “I know you juicin' Dame's hustling ass.”

Tonette rolled her eyes. “Crystal, you know Dame's scrooge-ass,” she said in disgust. “That nigga got me ridin' the bus. And you know the South Bronx Bitches don't take the fucking bus.” Crystal gave Tonette dap.

“Well, all my extra money goes to my son,” Shaunna said, jumping into the conversation as she entered the living room from the bathroom. She waved her chipped fingernails, trying to remember the last time she had a manicure. That definitely wasn't like Shaunna, with her wanna-be-diva attitude. Pregnant with her second child, Shaunna waddled over to the rest of the girls, pulling her spandex pants up over her belly.

Coming up, Shaunna Parker had never had it easy. Her mother and father died in a car accident, leaving her to be raised by an uncaring grandmother. Shaunna's grandmother never approved of her son's wife, something she took out on Shaunna regularly. Getting up in age, her grandmother became sickly and had to loosen the noose on Shaunna. Three years ago, Shaunna befriended Tonette, who'd embraced her and added her to the crew.

Together the girls made it their business to be at all the hot spots, including clubs like The Rooftop, 1018, and the infamous disco/skating rink, Skate Key. Quite a few hustlers had always wanted a taste of the pretty, young thick girl from around the way. Shaunna made sure that nearly all of them got a sample of what she had to offer, but only if their paper was long enough.

Shaunna was big-boned. She was a little bigger than Monique but shapelier. Though not nearly as attractive as the rest of the girls, she had an attitude that seemed to ooze sex. She once had a bet with them to see how many dudes she could give blue balls to one night at the club—and she'd won with seven. Shaunna wore a 46-DD and stilled managed to rock bra-and-bikini-panty sets. She would give the average skinny bitch a run for her money any day. As a result of interacting with these hustlers and pimps, she'd acquired a taste for the finer things in life.

She thought that by the way she was moving, she was gaining popularity and prestige, but she was really developing a reputation. After most of the dough-getters in the Bronx (as well as ballers from other parts of New York) knocked the bottom out of young Shaunna's pussy, she had become old news. By the time Shaunna had turned sixteen, she was a high school dropout, pregnant, and on welfare.

“And any other dime I get,” Shaunna continued, sitting down
on the love seat next to Laci, “is going to go for shit for this new baby.” She rubbed her six-months-pregnant belly.

“And that's exactly why you should have your own money,” Laci preached. Her big brown eyes swept the room, looking for one of the girls to back her statement.

“Bitch, please. You get all your money from Mommy and Daddy!” Monique snapped, not appreciating how Laci was shitting on them. When Monique became angry or animated about something, her large nostrils flared like those of a bull seeing red. “Don't even try to front like you do for yourself. I hate it when you do that shit, Laci. We ain't all got parents feedin' us money like you do.”

“Monique's right,” Shaunna said to Laci, poking out her lips and bobbing her neck. “You always tryin' to make us feel like we nobodies, like we just some fuckin' squirrels runnin' around in your goddamn world, tryin' to get a nut.”

Laci just sat there, silent. For the life of her, she couldn't figure out why the girls acted like they adored her at times, but then turned around and showed her nothing but contempt and jealousy. This hurt Laci, because she loved them. These girls were the sisters she'd never had. It was no secret that Laci was definitely the most beautiful and flyest out of the crew. Guys always tried to holla at Laci first, not only because she had a sophisticated, good-girl aura about her, but also because she was the only one out of the crew who didn't have a known reputation.

“You know what, Laci? Forget about your parents,” Crystal said, standing up and walking over to her. “What I really want to know is how come I ain't never seen you with no dudes. You don't even
talk
about no dudes, and when they try to mack, you never give them no play. What's up with that?” Crystal asked, puckering her lips and getting right up in Laci's
face as if she were conducting an interview. Once one person started in on Laci, it was an open invitation for the others.

“Crystal,” Monique said with a disapproving look on her face.

“Crystal, nothing,” Crystal continued, rolling her eyes. “Don't act like y'all ain't never thought about it either. So, tell us, Laci, if you don't like dudes, then what
is
your flavor?” Crystal tauntingly twirled one of Laci's curls around her finger.

“I'm more of a private person,” Laci said, grabbing her hair from Crystal's fingers and turning away.

“What you mean ‘private'?” Tonette quickly cut in, glaring at Laci.

“She means she's a down-low ho,” Crystal said. She and the rest of the girls began to laugh. Crystal went and sat back down.

Not finding a damn thing funny, Laci responded. “Private, you know? I don't put my business all out in the streets. It's not ladylike to be running around spreading news about what you do. That's how girls get reputations.”

“So what the fuck you trying to say?” Shaunna said, taking offense. “You trying to say we got reps?”

“Yeah,” Crystal said, jumping in without hesitation. “Say the shit.”

“You sayin' we ain't ladies?” Shaunna asked with major attitude.

“No, Shaunna,” Laci said nervously. “Crystal asked me a question and I answered it.”

Crystal folded her arms, ran her tongue inside her jaw, and looked over at Tonette. She had a
“should we let this shit ride?”
look written all over her face. Tonette nodded her head in the affirmative. It was better to fall back for a minute before tempers flared and Laci got her long-overdue beat-down.

“This shit is crazy,” Shaunna said, looking over at Laci. “This
ain't even about you, Laci. Let's keep it real. This shit is about us being a group of young, fine, broke-ass females.”

“Uh, huh.” Monique popped her bubble gum and nodded her head.

“What the deal with the so-called men in our lives?” Shaunna continued. “We mad at Laci because she ain't dealing with none of these sorry niggas around here. They quick to take some ass but slow on givin' cash. Fuck that!”