Hood (7 page)

We the spokesmen! For the niggas who popped toast in!

For mothers who lost sons

And got stuck with their hearts broken!

“DON’T TOUCH NOTHING
in here that don’t belong to you,” Portia snapped as she frowned at her son, Andreko. She watched him like a hawk as he moved around the small, tidy bedroom he used to share with his eight-year-old brother, wondering how in the hell she had managed to give birth to such a monstrosity and why she couldn’t find the courage or the strength to destroy it.

Dreko and her younger son, Drew, had different fathers, which was one reason Portia felt they were so different in their personalities. Drew’s father had been a star college athlete who collapsed and died on the basketball court of a sudden heart attack when Drew was three. He’d been two days away from signing a pro contract, but they’d never married so either way Portia was out of luck in getting any financial benefits for herself or her son. She was struggling to raise her two boys in one of the most dangerous ghettos in the nation. For the past five years she’d held down a stressful nine-to-five as a bank teller as she tried to save enough money to move them down to Alabama where the last of her family members lived.

Dreko’s father was the exact opposite of Drew’s. Boss Dawson was a fine-ass street hustler who had intimidated her into giving up the pussy when she was fifteen. His jealous temper and controlling rages had terrified her on a daily basis and had directly contributed to the fatal asthma attack her father suffered when he jumped in to protect her during one of Boss’s countless beating tirades.

Boss had been locked up in Coxsackie for the last ten years on an unrelated murder charge, and it wouldn’t surprise Portia if one day his son followed right along in his criminal footsteps. That was, unless somebody put Dreko’s ass in the ground first for fuckin with their child, which was a real possibility considering all the dirty shit he did out on those streets. Especially to little kids.

Portia stared into the face of her firstborn son, seeing his father’s handsome chisled features and her own brown eyes and smooth skin. He was more good-looking than he had a right to be, considering the fact that he was little more than a twisted demon on the inside. Lately, he’d been staying away from the apartment for days at a time, which was just fine by her. On the nights he did come straggling home drunk or high, she would use her dresser to barricade her bedroom door, then put Drew in the bed with her, against the wall, and sleep fitfully with her fingers curled around the handle of the butcher knife she kept hidden beneath her pillow.

“Where’s baby boy?” Dreko asked, digging through the small closet they shared. He pulled out a heavy sweater and sniffed the armpits.

Portia shrugged. “Don’t worry about where Drew is. He’s straight. Just get whatever you came for and go back wherever it is you been.”

Dreko turned and stared at his mother. She was pretty and petite, a hard working black woman who had suffered quite a few knocks in life. Something dangerous glinted in Dreko’s eyes, and even though he was only twelve Portia shrank back against the wall under his eerie glare.

“Why you always trippin on me like that, Ma?” he asked quietly. There was a hint of innocence and pain in his voice, and for a second Dreko sounded almost like the lovable little man she used to adore before his true colors started showing. “You know me and Drew is tight. He’s my little brother, damn. You crazy with your shit.”

“Humph,” Portia chuckled bitterly. “I ain’t the one crazy, mister nasty. You was sitting right there when Miss Newman knocked on the door and told me what you be doing to all them little boys on the back staircase. That shit is plain nasty, Dreko. How could you do something so low to them kids when you got a little brother yourself?”

“I already fuckin told you”—Dreko exploded—“I ain’t touched none of them little faggots! They just lying ’cause their moms is crackheads who wanna get vials off me for free all the time! Ask Drew did I ever do anything to him, Ma! I love my little brother! You gone take some heroin-head’s word over your own fuckin son?”

“But where could you have picked up that kind of nasty shit, Andreko?” Portia asked, ignoring his denial as her heart began to soften. The boy was just like his father: a liar and a thief. He was mean and spiteful and had a jealous, evil streak a mile long. No matter how long she stayed in church praying over him, the child lacked a conscience and could do anything to anybody without feeling a moment’s regret behind it. He had a demon living in his heart, that was for sure. But…he was still her child. Her first born son, and despite his perversions she couldn’t just toss him out of her heart. Not all the way out.

“Tell me, baby. Was it in that group home they had you in? Did some of them big boys do something bad to you and get your mind all twisted around the way it is?”

“Miss Newman is lying, Ma. How many times I gotta tell you that old bitch is lying?!?”

“See there!” Portia bristled, furious with him all over again. “I can’t believe shit you say! The truth just ain’t in you! Miss Newman didn’t tell me about something she heard. She actually
saw
you! She caught you with your dick in that boy’s mouth, Andreko! She said the child was just a crying and a shaking trying to satisfy you. Ain’t no telling how you done ruined that boy’s life. He’s gone be all fucked up in the head behind what you did to him! So hell no, you can’t get nowhere near my baby. You just like your twisted up daddy and I’m waiting for the day when you get the fuck outta my house for good!”

Dreko stood near the closet staring at his mother as she breathed deeply. Her face was twisted in a scowl, like he was something foul, and her brown eyes flashed in disgust.

He could hurt this bitch. Really do some damage to her little ass up in here. For a brief second he actually saw his hand gripping her neck. Squeezing the fuck outta that shit, making her eat back all them grimy words she’d been tossing at him. He felt like banging her grill up against something hard. The walls, the floor, the windowsill, the sharp edge of a counter. Anything. Bang her up until she bled like a stomped rat.

He could do it too. Yeah, he could.

Portia read her son’s thoughts and moved fast. Seconds later she had ran her ass into her bedroom and slammed the door, locking it behind her as his cruel, mocking laughter filled her ears.

The boy was crazy. Dangerous. Twisted right outta his nasty skull. Andreko was a predator and a killer. Damn right he was. Portia was his momma, and no matter what he did or how bad he was, part of her would always love him. So if she could admit to this horrible twisted side of him, then the rest of the world had better watch out. Because if Mama said it, then it was damn sure the truth.

Do you think they hate me, ’cause they ain’t me?

Or they just B-A-D D-O-P-E?

HOOD LOVED HIS
new job and worked a maximum grind for Xanbar’s organization on the streets of Brooklyn. He put his total efforts and concentration into learning how to manage his street workers and their cash-clientele, and above all into gaining Xanbar’s trust and confidence.

“You runnin shit from the corner of Livonia and Rockaway over to Newport, then up to Bristol and back,” Xanbar ordered. It was Hood’s twelfth birthday and Xan had called a special meeting at Baller’s Paradise to mark off territory and introduce Hood to the rest of his team.

“I’ma put you out there with five soldiers for now, dig?” He motioned over his left shoulder, and Dreko stepped up. “This ya number two man right here. Your problem solver. Work ya people correct and he’ll become your right hand. Anybody act up, you and Dreko handle that shit together.”

Xan smirked at Dreko. The boy was still swole behind wearing that number two tag, but he’d get over it. “Both of y’all some skull splitters, for sure,” he told Dreko. “But you one of them young niggas who can’t be taught shit. Just ’cause you 7:30 crazy don’t mean you fit to be no capo in my organization, ya know. You ain’t shown the proper respect and obedience yet, youngster. Around here you gotta be able to take orders before I can think about letting you give some.”

The next cat up was Lil Jay. At eighteen he wasn’t no kid compared to the rest of them, and that could be a potential problem. In the back of his mind Hood questioned why the fuck Xanbar was putting him in charge of a grown ass man.

“Lil Jay is gone be your driver,” Xan said, squashing Hood’s doubts. “The Brownsville police are way up on this shit and will impound a g-ride in a minute. I don’t want y’all young boys even touching the keys to none of my whips. You gotta get somewhere like your re-up spot or back here to fuck with me? Lil Jay is ya pony. Ride that nigga. He’s all yours.”

Lil Jay came over and dapped Hood out, grinning. “I’m ya ride or die, my nig,” he said, breaking the ice and letting Hood know that despite their age difference he respected the g-code and would happily maintain his lane. “We gone do this shit.”

A dude they called Sackie was introduced next. He looked about fifteen. He was tall and built and had some ice-cold blue eyes. Hood just stared as Xanbar introduced him.

“Don’t let the blond hair fool ya. Sackie a gangsta down to the bone. One day we gone be able to dress this cat up in a suit and tie and send him into places the rest of us just can’t go. White boys got that kinda privilege in this world. And this one’s got a heart. Plus he got a head for numbers and that’s gonna work for us too.”

Xan introduced Bones and Riff next, and with the addition of these two young lookouts Hood’s five-man team was set.

“Remember,” Xanbar pulled him aside and warned him again. “Don’t let none of these muhfuckas think they can run you. If they even try to step outta line you got my permission to fuck ’em up and put ’em back in pocket.”

Hood shrugged. “Oh yeah, I’m for that. Matter of fact I hope one of them niggas do go bananas and try to fuck with me.”

“That right?”

“Yep. I’ll cut his ass so deep the cat standing next to him gonna need some stitches.”

Xan laughed. “Yeah, lil nigga. You got the right attitude. Hit ’em hard in a brutal fashion, my man. They’ll get the message. Who you think gone try to yank your dick first?”

Hood grinned. “Man, you already know.”

“Yeah I do. It’s Dreko. That cat is ambitious but he psycho. The kinda wild-head nigga you gotta keep ya eye on. He the type a’ goon you send to guard a schoolhouse and he end up slaughtering all the fuckin little kids. Just crazy like that without putting no thought behind the shit he do.”

Hood shrugged, then shook his head in disagreement. “Nah, Dreko gone be easy. He only thinks like a predator when he know he fuckin with some prey. Dreko is cool. I’m already feeling him. It’s Riff who I gotta fuck with. He ain’t smart, he just wanna come up real fast.”

“What?” Xan chuckled. “You smell that kinda drive on a bitch like Riff?” He glanced at the tall, light-skinned kid, then squirted spit through his teeth and pushed his hands into his pockets. “I can’t see it, but cool. Fuck that nigga too. Do what you gotta do, lil man. Just watch your back.”

It didn’t take Riff long to step outta line and when he did, Hood was ready.

Less than a month after assuming command of his territory, Hood watched the streets from the window of an abandoned apartment across from Jerri’s Liquor Shop. Earlier in the day he’d peeped Riff talking on the low to a cat from Ocean Hill who rolled heavy with that rival nigga Chaos. The two had gotten into a dark blue sports car and headed up toward Pitken Avenue. After some long thought, Hood found a spot where he had a good vantage point and made his way into an abandoned building. He sat in the busted-out window for over two hours until he saw the little sports car come rolling back down the avenue again.

Hood scrambled downstairs and waited as Riff stepped outta the enemy’s car looking warm and happy, then he went straight to that ass right up on the avenue. Right where every nigga in town could see. He banged Riff in the forehead with the butt of his Sig, then beat him down just like he was a pimp cracking a ho for coming up short on her bank.

“That’s right, boss,” Dreko yelled out loud as Hood gun-cracked Riff all over his head. Riff had people in the game and his family name rang bells on the streets, but just like Hood, Dreko had no fear of their get back. His gat was comfortable in his hand as he stared down a couple of Riff’s boys with menace and murder in his eyes.

“Gone and put that bitch-ass nigga in check, Hood. We can take this shit to war with an army of two right here, right now. Any one of these boys feel like battling and I’ll grab him and gun-beat his ass down too.”

After that bloody incident Hood’s leadership and Dreko’s loyalty was never challenged again. Not up close, anyway. Hood was a hard-body soldier and ran his small crew with such authority that even grown-ass dealers had to give it up to him because the nigga was street buff to his core. He was principled, though, despite the harshness of his young life. He forbid his crew to conduct transactions if there was a kid in sight, and demanded they respect the elderly at all times. It was nothing to see him strolling down the block pushing a shopping cart full of food for somebody’s moms in the projects, and when the work was done and it was time to play, the child in him came out and he flexed his thumbs and reigned surpreme on every action-packed video game on the market.

But when it came to moving his product and collecting his doe, Hood didn’t give up shit. Niggas on his block couldn’t get no credit, no sympathy, no nothing. And as they found out from his dealings with Riff, who ended up in a brief coma for riding with the enemy, they couldn’t even get no second chances.

But while Riff was a minor annoyance, much more than Hood’s coldhearted reputation had been tested on that day. His soft spot had got mashed up too, and in the worst way possible for a gangsta. Hood had been so furious behind Riff bringing one of Chaos’s boys on the block that he probably would have ended it all and beaten Riff to death right there on the street if somebody hadn’t called out his name and frozen his hand.

“Monty! Stop that fighting, Monty! You got any money, Monty?”

Hood was on one knee, his fists slick with Riff’s blood, his sleeves soaked red up to his elbows. Niggas was standing with their backs up against the building giving him room to put in work, and when the bony, light-skinned lady wearing a million fuckin buttons on her jacket ran across the street begging for money, Hood had stood up breathing hard, shook.

“Hey baby you got something for me, huh?”

Whenever he bumped into his moms it was painful, and this was the third time their paths had intersected in the last few weeks. One night he had run into her as she stumbled high out of a club, and it had hurt his heart when he’d had to remind her that he was her son. The next two times he’d seen her in the daytime and bought her some Chinese food, then taken her over to Fat Daddy’s place. Fat Daddy had let her come in and take a shower and tried to talk to her about rehab a little bit, but Marjay couldn’t sit still for more than a minute. Not even long enough to spend any time with Moo, who just sat there with his mouth open, holding tight to her hand and staring at her like she was God or somebody.

But not even the sight of her baby boy was enough to cure the crack demon that was crawling around raising hell inside Marjay. In what seemed like seconds Moo was sitting on the lumpy green couch alone and crying, and Marjay was gone again. Needing a high more than she needed her children, she ran clanging out the shop’s door and back onto the city streets.

Remembering this, Hood stared at his mother and tried not to hate her for allowing drugs to reduce her to the wasted, devastated sight standing before him.

“C’mon on now,” she said, hopping over Riff’s bloody body as she tried to get closer to him. “I’m needy right now, baby. Tell me what you got in your pocket that’s good?”

He appeared cold on the outside, but deep inside Hood was crushed. His mother had that classic crackhead-on-a-mission look. Her eyes darted around and she licked her lips, then she grabbed hold of his arm like he was her trick nigga instead of her young son.

But he held his ground. He didn’t have to glance around to know he was being observed. Niggas wanted to see how he was gone handle this part of the job. Riff was still moaning on the ground with his forehead and his grill busted up. Hood’s crackhead moms had on a mangy-looking rabbit jacket, a short black skirt, and some run-over space boots. She curled up her tongue, then pressed her shriveled breast against his arm and winked at him, flirting for that yay.

Hood hardened his heart, and shook her loose.

“Moo up the street,” he answered her coldly. “At Fat Daddy’s place. Take ya ass up there and check on your baby.”

Marjay smiled and reached for him again.

“Why don’t you check on
me
, huh?” she laughed like a silly little girl and switched her bony ass around, her buttons making crazy noises as she lunged for his arm again. “You wanna check on me for a minute? Huh? You wanna check on some of me?”

“Ma, stop,” he muttered under his breath. She was so dirty he could smell her stank body through her clothes. Just looking into her deranged eyes was enough to make him wanna break down and question his own sanity for selling the drugs that had taken hold of his mother’s life and turned her into one of the walking dead. But how else was he gonna feed Moo?

“Gone back to Gramma’s house and wait there with Aunt Pat. I’ll come over there later and check you out.”

“Oooh! What you gonna bring me?” she squealed hopping up and down, her hundreds of buttons jingling as her crazy eyes grew hopeful. “You gone bring me something good?”

Hood bristled as some stupid nigga snickered behind him. Then Dreko’s voice boomed as he went ballistic on the whole row of cats who were lined up listening and watching intently.

“Yo! What the fuck y’all muhfuckas gawkin at? Man, all y’all fake niggas turn around and face the fuckin wall! Y’all heard me! Turn around and put ya grill to the muhfuckin wall!”

Hood grabbed his mother’s shoulders. Dirty rabbit hair stuck to his hands as his boys faced the wall like Dreko had ordered, giving him his space. He steered Marjay gently in the other direction, toward the projects. “Gone back down the block, Ma. I’ll get with you later.”