Hood (20 page)

Between Egypt and his mother, shit started fuckin with his head and Hood stayed in a foul mood for the next five days. A trap boy came up forty dollars short one night in the count room and he choked him so bad that the boy blacked out, nearly strangled to death. Four of his dudes had to pull him off the guy, and when they did Hood turned on them in a raging fury, lunging at them one at a time until he sent them all running out the building in fear for their lives.

Hood spent a lot of time guarding his mental state, scared that if he let himself think too deep or slip too far he’d find out that he was indeed his mother’s child. He composed mad rap lyrics in his head, putting metaphors and similes together with flawless effort and delivering them with gangsta gusto over at the Stank Mic almost every night.

He battled cats on the mic and got mad props from his boy Reem, who still hadn’t quite let that shit with Dreko rest.

“Man,” Reem told him as he poured from a bottle of Krug. Hood had just come off the stage and the crowd was still chanting his name. “I got mad love for you, my nig. But your boy is grimy.” Reem sparked up a blunt and pulled from it.

“You know, I seen your moms a couple of times while you was out there on that Rock, man. I tore her off some change and shit, but I could tell it was gone get wasted.” He looked hard at Hood. “Nah mean?”

Hood nodded.

“I did a little asking around, you know. Wanted to make sure none of my teams was trading favors with her. And ya know what? Nobody on my side of the bridge ever sold to her. And they all know they better keep it like that.”

“I appreciate that shit.”

Hood had already put the word out about his mother to the slangers on his side of the bridge too, and the whole world was gonna hate it if one of them cats fucked around and violated it.

A couple of weeks later Hood was almost back to normal and everybody around him was breathing sighs of relief. Dealing with him when his heart was dark was dangerous and unpredictable, and not even Dreko wanted to fuck with that.

He jumped back on his grind, ruling the D.W.I.T. empire side by side with Dreko. But some static kicked up when one of their cats slipped on a payoff to the NYPD blue boys who were in pocket, and as a result three of their teams got knocked and tossed out on the Rock. Dreko went ballistic and blamed Sackie for the transgression.

“See? What I told you? That white boy is dumb as hell! He can run his fuckin mouth but he can’t handle his business!”

“Nah.” Hood rejected that bullshit. “It wasn’t Sackie who slipped, it was ya new boy Vince. Sackie gave him solid fuckin instructions. That nigga just failed to follow them.”

“How you figure that, man? Was you there when Sackie gave the order?”

“No. But Sackie’s a vet, yo. He told me he relayed that shit properly so that’s the truth to me. I ain’t got no reason to doubt him.”

Dreko narrowed his eyes, then opened his desk drawer and got a stick. He fired it up, then sat back and watched the tip smolder and burn.

“I hope you ain’t crazy enough to believe everything that white boy say outta his neck, Hood. I’m telling you, that cat will lead you into a cold box.”

“Man,” Hood stretched his legs out in front of him and yawned. “Kill all that stupid-ass noise, Dreko. Sackie been down for this whole ride. I ain’t never had cause to doubt shit that came outta that dude’s mouth. He’s a hard-body soldier. A true rider.”

Dreko dropped his blunt to the floor and ground it out with his Timb. Then he walked over and positioned all six-feet four inches of his frame above his friend.

“But you ain’t saying you trust that fool’s tongue more than you trust mine, is you? Me and you done hustled a lot of shit together, Hood.
I’m
the one been down with you for the whole ride, remember?”

Hood raised his eyes. Danger was in them.

“Hey man.” His voice had ice chips in it. “You might wanna back up off me, ya heard?”

Dreko hesitated, then broke out in a big grin. He took a few steps backward, laughing and grinning like shit was funny for real. “Aiight! Lil nigga you sitting here looking like a fuckin murderer! You got the jailhouse look in ya eye and ere’thang! Chill, partner. We riding the same strip, remember?”

Hood nodded slowly. He gave a
fuck
about all that grinning. Dreko had backed the fuck up, and that’s what was important.

“You my nigga, Hood,” Dreko said. He came over and held his hand out for some dap. “You know that shit, right?”

Hood gazed up into Dreko’s grin. He caught a funny feeling deep inside, and all of a sudden the only thing he could see was that number one platinum emblem on Dreko’s front grill.

He held out his hand and gave up the skin. But that funny feeling still didn’t go away, and after a moment Hood realized it was because for the first time ever his boy’s dap felt like it was leaving shit on his hands.

This is gangsta rap!

And in the hood I got gangsta stats!

So fuck ya lil teardrops and ya gangsta tats!

IT HAD BEEN
raining for four days straight, but that didn’t stop the slangers. Them niggas was out there on a serious grind. Desperate customers was rolling up like clockwork, fixated on accomplishing their life’s mission. Some came on foot with no umbrellas, others pulled up in whips with the windshield wipers going steady and waited as the trap boys ran out and delivered that corner action right to their windows.

Up in Cypress Arms, Dreko had shit bouncing. He pumped the volume on his system loud enough to blow out a speaker and had everything in the joint humming from the bass vibrations.

As usual, the house was full of soldiers. Even more were in place downstairs on the door, and the sentries were up on the roof keeping their eyes peeled for trouble, even in the rain. A crew of Dreko’s most loyal doljahs were high enough on the ladder to be allowed to stay inside and stay dry, and they passed the time playing spades and barraged each other’s rap game with battle verses.

Dreko was buzzed and feeling himself. Earlier him and Hood had attended a meeting where they found out that one of their connects was cutting them off. The motherfucker was either gonna up his price to almost double, or completely drop them from his distribution list. Dreko had jumped crazy with the cat and demanded to know what was up.

“Hey, man,” the young guy told him. His family was Columbian, but he was straight outta Brooklyn. His tone was easy, with no emotion. “Its about business, my friend. Reem Raw expanded his sector and those Bottom Half Boyz are trappin out more yay than I can keep ’em supplied with. Their shit is economical too ’cause they buying in bigger bulk. You know how it goes. Money is money, homey.”

Hood had taken that shit in stride. There were other connects on their roster. This guy could straight suck his dick. Besides, Reem had a much larger sector so it made sense that his demand was higher. But Dreko had taken that shit personally, like the cut-off from the connect had cracked him straight on his chin.

“Them niggas better watch they fuckin backs. All of ’em. Reem, Hawk, Gita, Speedy. Even that fuckin connect. That whole crew gone get took down.”

“You mean like you took Xanbar down?” Hood’s voice came out quiet, but cold. He’d heard some grimy shit from the old guy Felton who used to work in Fat Daddy’s shop back in the day. It seemed like every time he turned around somebody he trusted was buzzing some unspeakable shit in his ear. Shit that fucked with the G in him.

Dreko laughed and shook his head. He lit a cigarette, inhaled, and blew out an
O
. “Nah, nigga. Like
Chaos
got took down. That fool drew twenty years for trafficking and distribution. Shit, there was enough stats on him for them to give him twenty more. He came out lucky.”

Hood knew he’d heard wrong. Snitching was something Dreko despised. Both of them had popped niggas dead in the grill for having loose teeth.

“That was you, Dre? You put the blue boys on to Chaos and then put the tool on Riff too?”

Dreko laughed. It came out sounding cold and nasty.

“You know me better than that, Hood. Friend or foe, I’d blow my own fuckin teeth out before I let ’em swing loose. Don’t disrespect me like that, man. Chaos was grimy, man. You know that for ya self. He had a shitload of niggas lined up outside the DA’s office just itching for a chance to rat on him. But I wasn’t one of them.”

Dreko had spent the rest of the rainy day getting fucked up, and now he was sucking down Patrón like it was water. Hood had watched his boy pop a few tabs of X that one of his dun duns was passing around. The more he drank, the cockier he got. He got fucked up until he was swole up on his swagger. Evil and on edge.

But all the other cats in the joint was wildin and having a good time. Cheeba was clouding the air, yak was being swigged back, and chickenheads was running around half-naked, jumping in laps and claiming their dicks for the night.

Shit got serious when four young cats pushed a few tables and chairs out the way and then lined up in teams to battle on the mic. Three of them were pretty good, but the fourth one was straight fire. They all shined though, and Hood dug the hell outta their flow. When they were done he leaned back in his chair and bust out with a dark, sinister hook that he had been humming in his mind for a good minute.

Who’s pushin that work like me,

Down to go all out, put in that twerk like me, haah?

Who’s getting them hoes like me,

Make ’em play that strip, go off for doe like me, haah?

Who carries the strap like me,

Keep one in the head, ready to clap like me, haah?

Who’s on the block making traps like me, or

Up in the booth burning them tracks like me?

“Yo, Hood, spit that shit!” Sackie said. “You was resting up on that rock for six whole months. I know you got some tight shit stacked in ya arsenal, man.”

Hood waved no, and shook his head.

But then a bunch of other cats joined in on the plea.

“C’mon man! You need to give these young muhfuckas a little rap-a-ma-cation!”

“Shit, I remember when we couldn’t pry a mic outta that niggas hands! Now he out the joint and done gone all silent on us and shit.”

And then: “Next to Reem Raw, you the best in these parts, hands down. Ain’t nobody bars iller, nobody’s delivery smoover. It’s almost a crime for you
not
to spit.”

Moments later Hood had the floor and somebody tossed him the mic. All eyes were on him and what came outta his mouth became the center of attention.

Ay yo, fresh outta state boots,

I’m feelin hateful

’cause livin on the rock will either make you

or break you,

But I was makin moves like A.I. breaking ankles…

So you’ll never catch the Hood eatin…shit

on a shingle nah!

Niggas get mangled,

For fuckin with the squad,

I’m lookin for some pussy and they be lookin for some heart!

Grillin my eyes, yeahhh!

Fake promotion, noooo!

So when it’s beef—I’m straight approachin them

Stretchin and poking ’em,

Anything to open ’em,

Raw got the Gag Order, no problem choking them!

I’m tryna blow, I’m the next to do it,

I’m getting doe and I’m the best in music,

And I can show and prove!

Niggas got crazy off that one. But then a buzz went up in the room and danger sparked in Dreko’s eyes. Everybody knew he carried mad hate for Reem and his crew. It was bad enough for one of them niggas to say Hood was the best next to Reem, but for Hood to give respect to Reem’s mixtape
Gag Order
in his lyrics was a crushing blow to Dreko’s image and to his gangsta ego too.

But Hood spit the second verse like he didn’t notice the change in the air.

Who’s pushin that work like me,

Down to go all out, put in that twerk like me, haah?

Who’s getting them hoes like me,

Make ’em play that strip, go off for doe like me, haah?

Who carries the strap like me,

Keep one in the head ready to clap like me, haah?

Who on the block making traps like me, or

Up in the booth burning them tracks like me?

All day sticky green, rush haze blowing crews,

Twisting dutchies, niggas can’t touch me!

And I’m a cannon in the home that I rep,

But keep a cannon when I’m roaming the ’jects,

Them niggas snakes out there—

Gotta grind, get ya cake out there!

But take ya time, gotta break out there…but don’t slack up!

Drove by the spot, saw the drop, had to back up!

If I think it’s sweet, grab the Glock have to act up!

You’ll hear the tech spit if you tryta get to my throne,

I will wreck shit!

If you tryta take what I own!

N.Y. state, we oh-so-great, we pop tags,

Got dreams of a foreign estate and drop Jags,

For all you niggas crowdin the place, we not fags,

But you can catch four in the face from Sack’s mag!

From this point on, we only fuckin with official dudes…

Hop in the cockpit, I’ll show you how the missile moves!

The love was thick. Every cat in the crib came over and dapped Hood out, giving up respect for his superior flow game. Almost everybody. A kid named Kilo took the floor next. They put on a new beat, and the kid got it in, showing his shit.

Move over or get pushed over!

I’m in too deep and the waters getting murkier,

I’m in the lead, y’all hurry up,

I been bringing the storm y’all just starting to flurry up!

Homey I been flames, you just startin to turn it up—

Dreko got up and snatched the mic outta the kid’s hand.

“Nigga that’s all you got? That lil weak-ass shit?” He turned to his boy Black. “Yo, throw that beat on by Game, man. You know that jawn he spit ‘Where I’m From’ on.”

The beat started jumping and Dreko got pumped.

Come and roll with me I can show you how it’s done…

I’m the shit, you wanna be me but can’t!

I’m the MAN, oh yes I AM!

I’m the SHIT!

I’m the shit so go ’head witcha bullshit rap,

You say you gunnin but you runnin,

Get ya old head gat’d!

Go ‘head wit’ the bullshit, Black!

Soon as he move I’ma clip him and gun-hit him

Till his forehead crack!

Dreko looked right at Hood and spread his arms wide, like nigga bring ya shit. Bring ya shit!

Hood better do what he gone do to me!

I’m here in my community

Riding with all my soldiers and everybody

That’s cool with me

Disrespect the I? Shit I gotta put the tool to him!

Leave him outstretched in a box

Now how cool is him?

Most of his lil cats laughed at that one, but that was to be expected. They was on Dreko’s dick hard anyway, scared they wouldn’t be able to eat without him.

I’m on the move again, cash money movin in

So call up your hooligans and tell ’em bring the Glocks,

You ain’t got nothing to touch,

You gone catch rounds to the top,

That’s another general dead and another open slot!

Come and roll with me I can show you how it’s done…

I’m the shit you wanna be me but can’t!

I’m the MAN, oh yes I AM!

I’m the SHIT!

It wasn’t lost on nobody that Dreko was spittin directly to his boy. But Hood was feeling hateful for real. He took it up a few notches and slammed Dreko right below the belt.

Nigga all of my tools shoot,

Don’t play the crazy role cause I don’t give a fuck

If all of ya screws loose!

One shot, it’ll blow all of ya screws loose!

Shoot niggas smoke too many L’s to shoot hoops!

You?

Just a dirt bag,

Blowing on them dirt bags

Cops rush the door bitch I’m aiming for the first badge!

What had started out lookin like a regular old battle had turned ugly and was now an all out rap war. Hood switched up the beat and spit his next couple of verses to the beat behind Damian Marley’s “Road to Zion.”

I led a sinister past, but ya’ll fag niggas livin a laugh,

And I went straight to war, never been in the draft

I’m a sinner, me and my niggas makin ministers mad…

Wasn’t no holding Hood back. He had locked his teeth on Dreko’s throat and he went in for the verbal kill.

This is gangsta rap!

And in the hood I got gangsta stats!

So fuck ya lil teardrops and ya gangsta tats!

Muhfucka I’m in the gutta blowing bags of the marijuana…

And I can feel it in the air when it’s bad karma…

Round here we rock the flags like a badge of honor

Any beef they gone blast then they crash the corner

Hop out with the hammer then smack it cross ya

Damn face just for acting like you wanted drama!

Hood was straight actin up now and didn’t give a fuck. He had taught Dreko everything he knew about runnin niggas on the street, dealing crack, and getting that gwop. That nigga had it twisted all the way around. Hood was number fuckin one on this side of town. Dreko was a distant fuckin number two. On the strip and on the track.

Duckin the N.Y.P.D. jakes,

I understand why this nigga wanna see me break!

He can’t imagine what it took just to be this great!

How a nigga say I’m shook, never seen me shake?

He fake!

You want the streets? Yell at me, I’m that guy!

He say he better than Hood? He told you a flat lie!

Mama said when you “the shit” you attract flies!

I clap mine!

So keep my name out ya rap line, nigga!