Dollar Bill (12 page)

“So you see, it's all good now. I just need you to reacquaint me to the streets. Allow me to get to know them better,” Dollar's said as his words tranquilized Tommy. “You working at the Chocolate Factory, T. I know you know everything that happens in the streets before it happens. The first thing these out-of-state ballers want to do is go stick they face in pussy when they come to town. I know they be up in there telling y'all hoes their business.”

“Excuse me?” Tommy said, taking offense.

“Not you,” Dollar cleaned it up. “Them other hoes.”

“Look, Dollar, I'm content with what I got going on. It pays the bills,” Tommy said.

“But that's all it does,” Dollar enforced. “In all these years, all you got saved up is seven grand? So you gon' die here, huh? You just gon' keep paying these same ol' bills? So, you're like these other wannabe hustlers? You content with some ol' two-bedroom minimum shit; and there's three of y'all living up in here, too? Is this your for life, T?”

Tommy hated to admit that it was.

“This ain't you, baby. I know you. You're like me. We cut from the same cloth. You got caviar dreams.” He looked around. “This is fish sticks.”

Tommy looked around her spot. Before Dollar had shown up, she loved her casa. All of a sudden it was a shack. It was nothing. It was four fucking walls closing in on her. It wasn't what she ultimately wanted, and Dollar was there to remind her of just that.

“I got these kids now,” Tommy said. “I can't give the county no reason to come scooping them up. I can't, Dollar.”

“I ain't talkin' 'bout making no career out of the shit,” Dollar said in a convincing tone. “I mean, yeah, we gon' have to make a couple li'l hits to get our feet wet again, but I'm looking for that big hit that's gonna allow a nigga to retire from the streets.”

“I don't know, Dollar,” Tommy said, shaking her head.

“I need you, Tommy. I need you to make this happen,” Dollar said, rubbing her face. “You know when it comes down to it I got your back. I ain't gonna never let nothing happen to you. Haven't I proven that? I can't just go out on the streets and find a crew to run with. I got out of the joint by dropping the dime, Tommy. A snitch is a snitch; muthafuckas don't care about the DNA of it. Who's gonna trust me enough to have my back? Who?”

Tommy could feel all of Dollar's weight on her shoulders. She knew she owed him. Yeah, she knew the streets like the back of her hand. The streets were her lover. They had gotten her where she was thus far. The streets had not yet let Tommy down, and with Dollar by her side, she couldn't go wrong. Tommy looked around her house and stared at a picture of her nieces, whom she breathed for and wanted everything in the world for. She had to admit that she wanted more. Not just more for herself, but more for them as well.

“So you in?” Dollar asked, giving Tommy a puppy dog face.

“If I do decide to get down, it ain't gon' be no career move or no shit like that. Just a few times, Dollar. Just enough to make some shit happen, you know? Then you're on your own,” Tommy said, trying to convince herself more so than Dollar.

“So is that a yes?” Dollar asked.

“I'm in,” Tommy mumbled under her breath.

“What was that?” Dollar asked.

“I'm in, damn it.” Tommy rolled her eyes.

“My nigga,” Dollar said, picking Tommy up and spinning her in the air. “Now alls we need is our third leg.”

The grin that had been on Tommy's face vanished. “Who?” She twisted her neck back.

“Ral, of course,” Dollar replied.

“Oh, we can't fuck with Ral. He's through. The monkey got him,” Tommy said, shooing her hand.

“Heroin?” Dollar asked.

“That and anything else he can get his hands on to feel good,” Tommy said. “I'm surprised he's not dead yet.”

Tommy could see the hurt on Dollar's face as she shared Ral's current state. Dollar felt as though he had left Ral for dead by going to jail. If he had been on the streets, he would have never let Ral get that bad; bad enough to where he wasn't to be fucked with, where he was of no use. Listening to Tommy's words, Dollar thought that maybe Ral would have been better off serving time because, according to Tommy, time was serving him.

“You okay, Dollar?” Tommy asked, pulling Dollar out of his thoughts.

“Yeah,” Dollar responded. “I'm cool.”

The two sat in silence momentarily. It was as if one was waiting on the other to say the word. Dollar could be a dirty muthafucka and just roll with Tommy or he could be a loyal nigga and go take care of his boy.

“Well, what do you wanna do?” Tommy asked Dollar.

Dollar gulped down the remainder of his Coke, set it down on the table, and said, “As always, let's go save Ral.”

On that note, Tommy had the teen girl next door come sit with her nieces and then she led Dollar to the spot Ral was known to hang out at. It was an olive green double-family home on a street that hosted dozens in various colors just like it. As they approached the front door they could hear some laughter and commotion going on. Before Tommy knocked on the door, Dollar clutched her fist and told her to hold up. They walked around to the side of the house and peeked through the side window. What they saw made their stomachs turn. They saw Ral kneeled down on his knees in front of a guy sporting an Outkast velour sweat suit. There were a couple of dames in the living room smoking on a pipe and two dudes cutting lines at the kitchen table. The guy standing in front of Ral was waving a tiny glass valve halfway filled with liquid and yanking at his dick with the other hand.

“Com'n man,” one of the guys who was sitting at the kitchen table said. “You ain't gonna get him to suck your dick. Ral will knock an old lady upside the head to get high, but I ain't never known him to suck no dick.”

“Shiiiitt,” the guy standing before Ral said. “I got that ho, Charise, to fuck a pit bull last week for some blow. We took pictures of that shit and everything. We had that bitch moaning as that pit bull pumped his little shit in and out of her. If I can get that pretty-ass bitch to fuck a dog, I know I can get this piece of trailer park trash to lick the lollipop.”

The guy continued to taunt Ral as the onlookers laughed.

“Com'n, you know you want to get high,” the guy addressed Ral.

He then waved the heroin in front of Ral and started smackin' his dick around Ral's face. Ral turned his head away, trying to avoid contact, but the guy made sure he kept up with him.

Ral needed that blow. He needed to get high. He didn't even have lint in his pockets. He was too geeked to go out and attempt to steal something; besides, he didn't have the patience to try to sell it for cash or negotiate for a hit. Opportunity to get high was right there in his face, literally.

Dollar and Tommy watched in disgust.

“What you wanna do?” Dollar asked Tommy.

Tommy pulled a baseball cap out of her back pocket, tucked her long locks up in it, and then once again reiterated, “Save Ral.”

“All right. You got my back?”

“I got you.” Tommy nodded.

Dollar and Tommy crept around to the back door. He looked at Tommy. “You ready?” Upon Tommy nodding, using all of his weight, Dollar caved in the door.

Tommy, dressed for the occasion wearing some green camouflage pants, a green fishing jacket, and a baseball cap, was right behind Dollar with gun in hand, something she never left home without since getting jumped. It was cocked at attention.

Their intrusion was totally unexpected. They heard one of the girls yell, “Undercover,” but before anyone could move, Tommy fired a warning shot. The shot shattered the ceiling fan that was already missing a blade.

Dollar kept his eyes on the occupants. Young and dumb; not much of a threat at all, especially with Tommy Gun and Tommy's gun having his back.

“Y'all cat's trying to rob us and shit?” one of the young guys said.

“Shut the fuck up. Ain't nobody interested in y'all's bullshit-ass hustle. We don't want nothing that belongs to y'all. We just want what belongs to us.”

“Ral, get the fuck up,” Tommy scolded, gripping her weapon.

Hardly recognizing her, or even aware of what was taking place around him, Ral maintained his position.

Dollar went over and snatched Ral to his feet. The expression on Ral's face was as if God Himself had reached a hand down from the heavens to save him.

“That piece of trailer park trash shit is what y'all want?” The young dude laughed.

“Laugh your ass onto the ground face down,” Tommy snapped. “All of you muthafuckas. Get face down onto the floor.”

It was now evident to everyone in the room that the intruders were no police officers. They had no handbook of regulations to follow. They could shoot each and every one of them in the back. Without a fight, everyone did as they were told.

Tommy looked to Dollar as a question of what to do next.

“Look, man,” the guy who had been trying to get Ral to give him some head said. “I was just fucking with dude. This ain't that serious. Besides, look at him. He ain't nothing but a dope fiend. I wasn't really going to let him suck my dick. I ain't gay.”

Ral dropped his head as his eyes began to roll to the back of his head.

Dollar had already told these little niggaz to shut up. His initial intention was just to go get Ral, but now he had to teach these young'uns a lesson. “You holdin'?” Dollar asked the guy.

“Com'n, man,” the guy responded. “I work for Ducie. He'll kill me, man. Muthafuckas in wheelchairs for doing that song and dance about getting robbed. Com'n, man.”

“Stop crying, you bitch-ass faggot,” Dollar said, becoming irritated.

“Come on, D,” Tommy said. “You said we was just coming to save Ral.”

Dollar gave Tommy the “shut the fuck up, bitch” look.

Tommy snapped her neck and turned her lips up at Dollar.

“Take your pants off,” Dollar said to the guy.

“What?” the guy responded.

“Did I stutter, muthafucka? Take 'em off. You already got 'em unzipped and had your dick hanging out. Now take the pants off. You like showing your dick. Let's see it.”

The guy, still on his face, slowly removed his pants and kicked them to the side.

Dollar picked up the pants and went through each pocket and took ownership of what was around $6,000.

“This all you holdin'?” Dollar asked. “Oh, you's a tennis shoe dope boy. What do you get out of this, about a grand?”

“Com'n, man,” the guy begged. “You see for yourself it ain't much. Ducie gon kill me, man.”

Dollar looked the guy up and down and began laughing. “What they call you?” Dollar asked.

“Tyrone,” the guy responded.

“Figures,” Dollar said, throwing out a snicker. “Well, I'll tell you what, Tyrone, you ain't getting this money back.”

Tyrone began to cry actual tears and repeat, “Com'n, man” over and over.

“You s'posed to be hardcore, ain't you? You sitting here crying like a bitch. I can see why you like getting your dick sucked by men. You a ho.” Dollar bent down and continued addressing the young thug. “See, you caused my boy here a lot of pain and suffering.” He looked to Tommy. “T, if we were in a court of law, how much do you think a judge would give our friend Ral here for pain and suffering?”

“I don't know,” Tommy said, shrugging. “About six thousand dollars.”

Dollar looked upward. “Yeah, that sounds about right,” Dollar replied, then looked back down to Tyrone, Tommy alternating the aim of her gun from one person to the next. “So, you see here, Tyrone. I'm gonna be the judge in this case and award my friend here this six thousand dollars for pain and suffering.” Dollar put the money in his pocket and looked at Tommy as if giving her a cue.

“Oh,” Tommy said, catching on. “There's always court costs and attorney fees. I suppose your friends here won't mind helping you out with that.”

Tommy and Dollar proceeded to strip the occupants of their cash and any jewelry. These were some old sorry-ass dope boys paying some bitch's rent to let them hustle out of her place. Their jewelry pieces combined weren't worth more than $3,000. Dollar and Tommy took it all the same, along with $4,000 more collected from the other occupants.

As Dollar and Tommy carried Ral out of the house, they could hear the cries of Tyrone. “Ducie gon' kill me,” Tyrone said. “Ducie gon' kill me.”

 

 

“Where we gon' take him?” Tommy asked Dollar as they threw Ral in the back seat of Tommy's Plymouth Sundance.

“We gotta take him to your house to clean him up,” Dollar replied.

“I can't take him to my house with the girls there,” Tommy quickly said. “You think I want this shit around them? You acting like this fool is drunk, and once he throws up he'll feel better. Dollar, he's addicted to heroin, crack, and anything else his ass can probably get his hands on. You think putting on your cape to rescue him from a dope house is going to make him quit, but he don't want to quit.”

Dollar sighed. “You right,” Dollar said, taking a moment to think. “This is going to take time. I gotta think. Let me think.” Unfortunately neither had thought this whole thing through before portraying Batman and Robin, saving Ral's day.

Seeing Ral like this tore Dollar to pieces. Back in the day he got high, but he'd never seen him this bad off. He didn't understand how Ral could allow himself to even let drugs take over his life like this. He had a million questions and no answers.