Street Chronicles Girls in the Game (15 page)

Twan's age and mind-set were reflective in the ways he recklessly spent his money, throwing it away on designer clothes and jewelry that were bought on a whim. Patrons at Larry's Nightclub and Southern Tavern loved for Twan and Ant to walk through the doors. The two always sprang for bottles of Moet and Alize for any- and everyone fortunate enough to be sitting at the bar. Hell, on a couple of occasions they even bought the bar out for the night.

Being local celebrities brought the men attention all around the city. Seeing the lifestyle changes the two friends were experiencing caused other men to envy them and women to want them. Ant often took advantage of his new status in the city. He had never been popular with women because of his large frame and hard features. All of his life people had called him ugly. Ant thought it was funny how money could make even a so-called
ugly man look good to some women. He had been a virgin until the age of twenty, and even then he had to pay for the experience. Life had changed with money, and he was making every minute worthwhile.

K
ayla was inside her apartment chillin’ with a glass of brandy and the old-school sounds of Curtis Mayfield. She'd been waiting for Twan to make his regular dropoff and pickup, and as usual, he was running late. Kayla had decided to mellow out more by firing up a joint at the exact minute her doorbell rang.

“This run tomorrow will be the biggest since Teddy Bear died,” Twan bragged. “Bossy, are you sure you can handle the weight?”

“How much weight are you talking about, and what type of turnaround time are you looking for, Twan?” Bossy asked.

“I'm looking at twenty pounds of weed to be broken down into twenty- and fifty-dollar bags. They'll be distributed out to six workers. Then I'm looking at fifty kilos of white girl. I know it's time-consuming, but I need half of those keys cut into twenty-and fifty-dollar rocks. Package the other half the same, but keep it in powder form,” Twan explained.

“Twan, you want all of that done in the regular turnaround time? Three weeks?” Bossy said. “That ain't gon’ work. You know how I feel about rushing my work. Even if I pull Terry and Aisha in to help, it's going to require more than three weeks. Why are you still breakin’ down everybody's shit, anyway? That don't make no sense,” Bossy vented. She flicked her lighter to the end of the joint while waiting for Twan's response. Bossy wasn't stupid, and such a big order so close to the previous one was telling her that Twan was on some other shit.

“You're the best in town when it comes to this shit. I still have
you breakin’ down my weight because you don't waste a crumb, and after you put your magic touch to it, the potency is outrageous. Each bag and every rock match my profit in weight,” complimented Twan. “It's cool on the time issue. I can stand to wait it out, and you know I don't want you to rush and fuck up my shit.”

“See, you trippin'; I ain't never fucked up nobody's shit!” Bossy said defensively. ”I gotta sleep at some point, so at least give me six to eight weeks. But I ain't cleaning that weed. Now that's what's up.

“Girl, you know I'm just playing with you. Just think of this shipment as your own personal property. Let's call it Kayla's Keys.” Twan caught himself and said, “I know that no one calls you by your government name, so let's go with Bossy's Keys. That will motivate you to complete the assignment in record time. How does three weeks sound to you? I'll pay you and your girls a thousand per day extra for your time.”

“Oh, I was chargin’ extra for this load no matter what you wanna call it. Bossy's Keys, or whatever, will be completed six, maybe eight weeks after delivery,” said Bossy. If Twan was fuckin’ with a new supplier it would come out soon enough, and Bossy would call him on it at the appropriate time. Until then she chose to keep things as they'd always been.

Twan had stood to leave when the thought of the block party crossed Bossy's mind. Every year Danny Levy held a big-ass block party on Kenmore Avenue. He had started it about five years ago, and each year it got bigger and better. The affair was nonprofit and allowed the kids around the south-side neighborhood to have some summer fun and see those who'd made something of themselves give back.

“Twan, just one more thing before you leave. Don't forget about that contribution to this year's Kenmore block party. Danny
got the entire weekend lined up, and Terrywants KAT69 to be the biggest sponsor for 2006.”

“Isn't the annual Kenmore block party the last weekend of July?” Twan questioned.

“No, it's always the first weekend in August,” Bossy corrected him. “I know it's two weeks away, but Danny Levy needs the finances to roll in now. Terry got him to let that rapper No-Joke headline the free concert, but throwing a block party costs money—big money.”

“What are you talking about?” Twan was puzzled. “Who the fuck is No-Joke?”

“You know, Sirenna Salas's husband, Felix. He's an up-and-coming Y-town rapper. He goes by the stage name of No-Joke. The boy is nasty and going places. After his performance, Ruffus Black takes the stage. The block party gets bigger and better every year.”

“Just like my bank account,” Twain bragged as he stood up in preparation to leave.

Bossy decided there was no time like the present to speak with Twan about his recklessness.

“Before you leave, have another quick drink with me so I can holler at you about a few things,” Bossy insisted.

“Anything for you, Bossy.” Twan winked as he made a beeline to the bar. “What's goin’ on?” he asked as he cracked open a new bottle of Belvedere.

“Word on the streets is that you and ya boy Ant are fiossin’ and puttin’ ya business out there. Slow down, boy. Everybody ain't ya friend, and we both know there are a lot of haters out there.”

“You worry too much,” Twan said as he walked back into the living room and refilled their glasses. ”But I hear you loud and clear.

“I hope you do, because if you get popped, that affects me and my girls. And let's not forget about that family you got out there in Boardman.”

“Bossy, don't worry about nothing. I'm straight, and won't nothing happen to any of us. That's what's up.” He nodded before holding his glass in the air in a toast motion and then drinking it down.

“Now that we have that out of the way, I want you to join us the weekend after the block party for a small, informal set. It's going to be here at the crib. You and Ant both are invited. Y'all both are more than welcome to bring a date; just keep in mind one thing—”

“I already know what you about to say,” Twan interrupted Bossy, as he could predict the next words that were about to come out of her mouth. “ ‘Be careful who you and ya boy bring into five thirty-nine.’ But you know you ain't even gotta worry about that. You know I don't trust nobody.”

“That's what's up. And while we're on the subject of trust …” Bossy took a sip of her drink before proceeding. “You need to slow your roll, Twan. I'm hollerin’ at you from the heart, baby boy. Be careful,” Bossy said with sincerity and concern.

She had never told Twan about the phone call she'd received months ago from Lajetia, so she didn't want to come straight out and talk negatively about his chick. Bossy felt that she was the main person he shouldn't trust. But she didn't even bother to waste her breath on that one. Bossy was experienced enough to know that Twan wouldn't hear anything she had to say about his girl, no way. Young love was blind, hazardous, and volatile. He'd see when he was ready and not a day before.

Bossy saw Twan to the door and then proceeded to package and weigh the product of another longtime associate. It puzzled her as to why Twan and others of his status would take the time
to have drugs packaged for street distribution on someone else's behalf. In the end, Bossy decided that it didn't matter why they did it, only that they kept doing it. She preferred dealing with one top-notch person as opposed to six midscale players. So as long as she continued to play her cards right, it didn't matter what hand she was dealt.

“You have to be fuckin’ around on me; otherwise you would be home at four in the morning,” Lajetia cried into the phone.

“Man, I'm so sick of this shit. Take ya ass to bed and I will see you when I see you,” said Twan, hanging up the phone in Lajetia's ear.

As Lajetia lay in bed recalling the argument she and Twan just had, tears began streaming down her face. The tears were flowing from a life of pain and neglect. In her heart she felt the love Twan and her children held for her was genuine and unconditional. But years of feeling neglected by her mother convinced Lajetia that Twan would one day betray her, just as everyone else in her life had done.

Lajetia had felt so alone and insecure her entire life. She always sought attention from strangers in an effort to feel love. Because it was foreign to her, she couldn't recognize the real love that Twan was offering her. Unlike most people, Lajetia didn't allow herself to dream about tomorrow. She kept her focus on today and today only.

She couldn't help but ask herself why now, in her life, she was still so unhappy and angry To anyone looking at her life things appeared well. Twan had given her and the kids a nice home, clothes, cars, and all of the material necessities. If happiness were
measured by material possessions, Lajetia should've been ecstatic. Twan was a great provider, but fell short when it came to giving of himself emotionally.

The more Lajetia recalled the last argument she'd had with her man, the more convinced she became that the late-night hours he kept meant only one thing—the fool was playin’ her. Lajetia could come up with a laundry list of reasons for Twan to walk away from her, the number one reason being she did not trust him.

T
wan had had enough of Lajetia's insecurities. In the time he'd been in a relationship with Lajetia, he'd given his all. He couldn't understand why his best was never enough. Lately the weight on his shoulders had gotten so heavy that he was becoming physically ill. Twan knew his only option was to walk away from the relationship. He just couldn't figure out how to get Lajetia to understand that his leaving didn't mean he would be walking away from his responsibilities.

Things had gotten so bad that Twan dreaded going home on those nights he could get away and make it to the crib before the a.m. hours. He knew that an argument would greet him the second he walked through the door no matter what time it was. That was just how bad things had gotten. Home was supposed to be the place a man could lay his head and rest. Twan's home was a battleground, and it seemed that his mere breathing could ignite a fight.

Nonetheless, the next night when Twan returned home, he entered with caution and was surprisingly met with quiet and calm. The kids weren't running around ignoring their mother's threats of beatings if they didn't settle down, and Lajetia didn't attack him with a verbal assault, accusing him of sleeping around on her.
After walking farther into his home, Twan heard the sounds of Teedra Moses singing about her man standing her up. Lajetia was sitting in the study with aromatherapy candles lit, and wearing a pair of lilac satin lounging pajamas.

“Hey, baby, what's up with you?” Twan asked cautiously.

“I didn't hear you come in,” Lajetia said. “Nothing's up; I'm just taking a minute to myself, since the kids are all asleep.” Lajetia turned to face Twan as she spoke. He could see evidence of recent tears on her face.

“Are you okay, Lajetia? Please tell me what I can do to make you happy.” Twan felt drained. He had to figure out a way to handle the situation with care, because Lajetia's emotional state seemed fragile. Looking at the mother of his only child, Trayvon, Twan began to rethink his decision to leave the relationship. Anyway, he was the only father her other two children had ever known. Seeing Lajetia like this caused him to fear that she might harm herself—or even worse, harm them.

“If I tell you, will you do it for me?” she asked sadly.

“Yes, what do you need?” Twan said, walking toward her.

“I need you to give me your time and attention. If you're not in the streets, you paying the kids more attention than you do me. I need you, too, Twan. Why can't you understand that?”

“Damn, girl, I'm trying to be as patient as I possibly can. Like I told you countless times before, the streets don't close down. I'm a hustler and I'm my own boss. Shit, I ain't punchin’ no time clock. If I'm home, you got ya hand out for money! How can I give it to you if I ain't puttin’ time in?”

“See, that's what I'm talking about, Twan,” Lajetia snapped, throwing her previous cool, calm demeanor out the window. ”You don't listen to me at all. I may as well be a single parent, because you ain't helpin’ me raise these kids. You come and go as you please while I do everything around here by myself. You climb
into bed and don't even touch me, so you must be touchin’ another bitch.”

“Come off that shit, girl. How many times I got to tell you I ain't fuckin’ around?”

“As many times as it takes!” Lajetia replied as she stood up and exited the study, stomping down the long hallway. Once inside their bedroom, she threw herself across the bed and forced herself to cry. She knew how it affected Twan to see her cry, and she was going to milk the situation until she got what she wanted from him.

Twan refused to run after her, but her crying seemed to echo throughout the house.
Shit, this bitch must think I'm one of those weak-ass niggas from the jets she used to fuck with,
he thought as he remained in the study.
I'll chill at the crib tonight, but if she thinks she gon keep a nigga on lockdown, she got life fucked-up. And that's my word!

The private life of Anthonie “Ant” Quarles was in vast contrast to that of his street life. Before Ant went to work each day, he checked in on his mother to ensure that she was safe and wanted for nothing. This particular summer morning was no different from any other.

“Hey, Mama, do you need anything done before I head out to work?” Ant asked between bites of the homemade sausage burrito, sitting at the kitchen table eating, while his mother sipped on a cup of coffee, reading the morning paper.