In My Hood (15 page)

“I don’t know, Ish . . . maybe—”

“Listen, you can’t keep going like this,” he said, taking her hand and kissing it ever so gently.

“Okay. We’ll talk about it later.”

“You’re off tonight, right?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll swing by and pick you up at eight.”

“I don’t know, Ish. I really need to get me some sleep tonight.”

“I’ll make sure you get your rest. Just be ready when I come.”

She leaned over and pecked him softly on the lips before getting out of the truck.

“M
r. Mayor, there is a Leroy Jones here to see you, sir,” the secretary announced over the intercom.

“Thank you, Lois. Send him in.”

Leroy appeared through the door and shut it. He shuffled across the shiny hardwood floor with just a hint of gangster lean in his swagger. He gave a head-nod acknowledgement toward Arnold Bowen who was sitting in a chair.

“Tony,” he said, leaning in and giving the mayor a handshake.

“Leroy, my man.” The mayor stood and shook his hand with a smile. “Have a seat. What are you drinking?”

“Old Grand Dad,” Leroy belted.

“Of course. How could I have forgotten?”

He walked over to his cabinet and poured Leroy a drink.

“So, Leroy, I hope you’re here to give me some good news on our young thoroughbred Ishmael.” The mayor handed him his drink.

Leroy took a sip and set it down on the marble-top desk. He leaned back in his chair and reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. Bowen and the mayor sat patiently anticipating an answer from Leroy who pulled a huge cigar from his pocket and ran it under his nose, inhaling the cigar’s aroma.

“He didn’t take the deal, Tony. He’s got other plans.”

“Shit,” Bowen projected.

The mayor held up a hand to Bowen, instructing him to calm down. Leroy wet the cigar with his tongue before searching for his lighter.

The mayor chuckled. “What do you mean he didn’t take the deal, he’s got other plans? You told him about the consequences, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did,” Leroy said calmly as he popped the lighter and held the flame to the end of the cigar.

“Who does that nigger think he is?” Bowen belted out impatiently.

Leroy cocked his head toward Bowen and stared at him with his piercing eyes.

“Nigger?” Leroy inquired while clouds of smoke escaped his mouth.

The mayor got out of his chair and walked over to the window and let it up.

“Now, everybody, let’s just calm down for a minute. Leroy, Arnie didn’t mean what he said. Did you, Arnie?” The mayor turned and looked at him blankly.

Bowen lowered his head. “No, I didn’t mean it at all,” he said unconvincingly.

Leroy turned his head and continued to puff on his cigar.

“Okay. Let me see if I understand you correctly, Leroy.”

“Tony, you heard me correctly. He ain’t going for the deal. These young men today have hearts of stone. Nothing scares them. Frankly, I admire the guts they have.”

“Guts? Stupidity is more like it. The balls that kid must have. Big blue ones,” Bowen interrupted.

Leroy bellowed out a hearty laugh. “Listen, you little ass wipe, that
kid
got more guts in his left nut than you got in your whole body.”

“Fellas please,” the mayor interrupted. “We got a situation that needs some attention. All hell is going to break loose if we don’t fix this problem before it starts. It’s election time, fellas, not to mention the governor is going to shit bricks if he finds out.”

“Well, Tony, the way I see it, it’s your problem now. I tried. It’s a done deal for me,” he said, standing. “Oh yeah make sure them cock suckers understand not to fuck with me or mine,” Leroy warned.

“Come on, Leroy. Give me a hand here. You know how to talk these people’s language. Don’t leave me hanging,” he pleaded.

“These people’s language?” Leroy began to laugh. “You son of a bitch. When was the last time you looked in the mirror? Just ’cause your skin is light don’t make you white.” Leroy continued to laugh as he shuffled out of the office.

“Fucking niggers,” Bowen announced, jumping to his feet.

“Hold on now there, Arnie. Watch your mouth,” the mayor warned.

“Oh, come on, Tony. Don’t tell me you gonna let that jackass pull that black pride shit over your eyes? You’re better than that. Fuck that back-to-Africa, power-to-the-people shit.”

The mayor sat in thought. He knew what was about to go down, and his career could be along with it. The governor had given him strict orders to handle this situation or it would be his head. The governor had people to answer to, and he had to answer to the governor. Bowen was an asshole, but he kept him around because of his smarts and loyalty. Although he was a light-skinned black who could pass for white as well, he didn’t hate black people the way Bowen did. They both had a lot in common, and they worked well together. Bowen was a hardworking man and brought a lot of political know-how to the team. Bowen did all the mayor’s dirty work and kept his name clean. As much as he despised him at times, he needed Bowen.

“Well, Arnie, I hate to tell you, it’s about to be an all-out war. This may be the last of our term, buddy. The governor is going to get heat brought down on him, and he’s going to throw my ass from the frying pan straight into the fire.” He sat back as realization set in.

Once the DETF found out that Ishmael wasn’t cooperating, they’d begin to start the operations to bust and take down all major drug connects, causing an all-out war among organized drug crime and task force, all due to one knucklehead turned Al Pacino.

The rules were set in place for a reason, and anyone who did not cooperate set off a chain reaction that caused all in the game to pay. They paid by losing profit from the constant raids on their spots, which caused suppliers to tighten up on who they distributed to, which caused revenue to go down and everyone to lose big profits. Once you fuck with a man’s money, you fuck with the beast in him. Ishmael would pay heavily when word got out because of his stubbornness to cooperate he would be the cause of this invasion.

The mayor would be looked upon by the public as an unfit candidate to run the city because of the turmoil that had happened, which would hinder his chances for re-election.

“I guess I’ll make the call to the governor. No sense in prolonging the inevitable.”

“This is bullshit, Tony. No way in fuck am I going to lose my job over some little snotty-nose punk kid. Come on. Let’s think this over. There has got to be another way.”

“Arnie, there is another way, but I don’t want no parts of it.” He looked at him sternly.

Bowen understood what he was implying.

“Shit, that’s right.” He pulled his chair up to the desk. “Tony, listen, I can do this. No one has to know that you had anything to do with it. Our jobs are on the line, and frankly, I can’t face my wife if I lose it. I didn’t bust my ass in college all those years for one nigger to pull the rug right from under my feet. I’ll contact him myself this time.”

“I don’t know, Arnie. This could backfire, and then we would be facing prison time. No, I’ll take my chances on the governor and re-election.”

“Fuck! Tony, come on!” He hit the desk. He leaned forward on his hands and spoke calmly. “All I’m asking is for you to think about it. Don’t make any hasty decisions yet. Go home and sleep on it, and we’ll talk about this tomorrow. Okay?”

The mayor stared into the desperate eyes of his colleague and sighed. “Okay, Arnie. I’ll think about.”

“Good. Now let’s get shit faced,” Bowen said, heading toward the liquor cabinet.

Z
ola and Damon lay in his bed panting like two track stars who had just completed running a fifteen-hundred-meter run. They had just finished with two hours of hot, butt-naked sexing. They had been sexing it up for the past two weeks while they planned how they were going to set up Ishmael and Derrick.

“Boo, I need some ends,” Zola said.

“What?” Damon continued to pant.

“I need some money.”

“Damn, you is one money-hungry bitch.”

“As much as I suck you off with you busting off in my mouth, got me swallowing your babies and shit, you mean to tell me you can’t kick some dollars my way?” she said, raising up off the bed.

“Yo, for real, you startin’ to get on my nerves with that bitching shit.” He got up off the bed, heading to the bathroom.

“Cheap-ass bastard,” she said, plopping back onto the bed.

Minutes later he returned to the room.

“So what’s up, Damon?”

“What?” He sounded irritated.

“When we gonna do this shit, ’cause I’m tired of begging you tired mafuckas for ya money. I want my piece of the cake.”

“Stop asking me about that shit. Stick to the script and stay in yo’ fucking place.”

“Oh, I see what’s up. You acting real grimy, nigga,” she retorted.

“Man, chill out. You gon’ get yo’ hush money.”

Zola rolled her eyes at him. She was getting real tired of him. He had been acting and talking real slick like shit was sweet like that. He didn’t know who he was fucking with because on the up and up, he could get it, too, she contemplated.

***************

Damon pulled up on the block. One of his runners approached him.

“What’s good, little nigga?” he asked.

“It’s all good, D! Shit poppin’ like firecrackers out this mug!” he shouted.

“That’s what’s up.” Damon nodded.

“So I heard it’s ’bout to be a all-out war out this mafucka,” the young boy announced.

“Fuck you talking about?”

“Yo, my sister is fucking with this cat who’s down with Big Leroy, and he told her he was going to get her up outta dodge ’cause yo’ boy done fucked around and stirred up some big shit downtown.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Straight like that, and what’s fucking wit’ he said y’all niggaz ’bout to catch some serious heat. So what’s up, D? We rollin’ with y’all niggaz or what? ’Cause you know I’m down to pump some hot led in a mafucka,” the eager boy shouted.

“Yo, man, chill. Ain’t no shit like that ’bout to happen.” Damon was in deep thought.

If it was about to go down, pop off like the boy said, then his work might be easier than he thought. He needed to find out what was up.

“Yo, good looking, man. That’s why I fucks with you. Keep your ear to the street, and holla at a nigga when you get up on anything else,” he said, giving the boy a pound and a hug.

“Word. No doubt, D. I’ma look out for you, man, ’cause you look out for me.”

“A’ight. One.”

Damon be-bopped back to his car and got inside. He sat in deep thought for a minute before pulling off.

Meanwhile, Ishmael, Derrick, Nate, and Dice were sitting at the garage. Nate was sucking on a blunt while Ishmael was talking.

“A’ight, I need y’all niggaz to get on your grind and dig up some real do-or-die, don’t-give-a-fuck type cats. Shit about to heat up real soon. We about to get hit from all sides.”

“Why we gotta do all that? We got Big Leroy on our side. That old man ain’t gonna let shit go down like that,” Nate said.

“Nate, put the blunt down. You ain’t been listening to shit I been saying. Fuck Big Leroy. That nigga did me dirty.”

“So what you saying, we on our own?” Dice inquired.

“Yeah, nigga,” Derrick interjected. “Damn.”

“Like I was saying, we need some real cats that fit the bill. If we gotta hold court in the streets, then so be it. Y’all niggaz gotta make it happen quick, fast, and in a hurry. You feel me?”

Everyone nodded in agreement.

“Keep this shit on the DL, and hype them clowns up on some other shit so they don’t know about the real,” he stated, pacing the floor.

Ishmael knew what was about to happen. He was ready for it. There was only one other dude who did the same thing he was doing, and he was a legend. It was back when he was ten years old. A dealer named Sojo Clark was one of the biggest of his time. He had running status like Frank Nitti, Nicky Barnes, and them cats had back in they time. He had shit on lock big time. Sojo didn’t want to play by the rules. He had a big mouth and a lot of muscle. Sojo thought he couldn’t be touched. In all actuality it was difficult to get to him. But every man is caught slipping at one time or another and can get got just like the next.

That day came when Sojo refused to cooperate with the underworld, and all hell broke loose throughout the city. Enforcement came down hard on every major operation throughout the tristate area, which caused the head honchos to go after Sojo who refused to bow down.

Many innocent people lost their lives that grueling week of killings. Ishmael remembered his grandmother locking him in his bedroom to keep him from running the streets. She barricaded the apartment and kept the lights out. People ran the streets looting neighborhood stores and setting fires to cars and buildings. Gunshots rang out throughout the night. Police sirens became a way of putting people to sleep like a lullaby at night.

Hit after hit was being carried out. Ishmael couldn’t sleep on the third night of that week. Every night he would pry at the burglar-proof bars that covered his bedroom window with a screwdriver until he managed to get the bottom of the gate loose. He squeezed his frail body through the bottom of the gate and dropped down one story to the grassless backyard.

He remembered running through the alleyway on the side of the house. When he stepped out onto the streets, it looked like a sight from the Vietnam War. People were running up and down the streets. Some of the local kids were setting off cherry bombs in garbage cans, sending out an ear-piercing bang.

He wandered the streets and ducked behind buildings when the police drove by. He watched a boy he went to school with get shot in the head by a stray bullet. That was the first time he ever saw a murder, and it didn’t seem to bother him.

Army jeeps filled with armed guards raced through the neighborhoods. It was total chaos.

Once the smoke cleared, Sojo was a memory. It took the cities months and months to recover from the damage that was done. All the small-time hustlers came out of hiding and got right back to business, picking up the customers most of the big timers lost due to the war.