Watch Out for the Big Girls (13 page)

Young Clips was determined to come up in the world. He was only nineteen years old, but he had been under Prime's wing since he was barely thirteen and during those six years he had accomplished a lot, more than anyone expected, but still not enough for him. He felt he was still looked at as a kid, especially by Felicia. Whenever he would purposely just happen to run into her out of the blue, she would brush him off, claiming that he was still in diapers. Even worse, she would remind him of her sexual preference and declare that he wasn't making enough money to make her even think about changing her mind. Felicia may have been on the other side of the fence, but Young Clips was not convinced that's where she wanted to be. He was in love with her at first sight, denying it to himself that it was stalking. He followed her every chance he got, especially from work, just to be able to make it look like they happened to bump into each other. He had familiarized himself with her patterns and routines.

Young Clips always suspected Felicia to be an elite Double G member with status. But after following her around for a few weeks, he had learned more than he was looking to know. What he knew thus far was powerful. He kept it all to himself though. There were times when he was ready to fill Prime and the rest of the crew in on the details; but, for one, they would clown him for stalking and, two, they would never take him seriously. So, he was just waiting for the right time to see which way he would tip the scale to his advantage. The leverage was certainly there and timing was everything, he knew.

Born Christian Reeves, Young Clips was quite tall for his age, but was always thin and lanky. He wore all of his clothes twice his size. His wardrobe never differed. It was fitting for his lifestyle: a thick black Champion hoodie, no matter what the weather was, baggy black jeans that sagged low up under his ass, and two twin .45s on his waist. The only thing that varied was the either black or tan construction Timberlands on his feet. He had a pure baby face with a slightly oversized nose. He kept the same cornrows in for months at a time. Still, his personal hygiene stayed on point. Living such a filthy lifestyle influenced him to shower at least twice a day.

After meeting Prime, Young Clip's future definitely became brighter than his past. From the age of six, Young Clips was raised in a foster home after being a ward of the state. His mother was a drug addict who couldn't even take care of herself, and his father, who he had never gotten a chance to meet, was serving a life sentence in state prison for several murders. By the time Young Clips was thirteen, he left and turned to the streets, where he ran with other kids slightly older than him. He shuffled houses among them all. Some had to sneak him in, but with an untrusting eye. It was because he always looked like he was up to something devious. Most of the time he was, but only in the streets. He prided himself on being loyal, and stayed true to anyone who genuinely considered him as a friend. Back then, he and his snot-nosed, ashy-face bandits formed a mischievous gang called the Alley Cats. They were extremely young, but lawless. They hung out in front of a Laundromat, which was a heavy drug strip owned by Prime.

Prince was the silent enforcer. It was well known that whenever Prince was called on to get involved, it was too late for the opposition. Yet and still, these young teens were in their own world, not caring about what was going on up the street. They stayed down on their end, terrorizing everyone who came through, eventually running the drug money away to the other side of town, which was looking more organized. C-Class had been watching what was going on for a few weeks before he, along with Prince, decided to step to them.

The Alley Cats were in front of the Laundromat, slap boxing, smoking, drinking, and playing music on a portable boom box, just having a good time. The radio was sitting high on top of the payphone stand. Young Clips was sitting next to it on a milk crate with his arms folded across his chest and his hoodie drowning his head. A mix CD had them all amped up. It was seven at night. The sun was just setting, but it was still light outside. Young Clips was staring down at the filth-stained, chipped-up pavement while mentally rapping along with the words. He was in his own zone. Then it happened, right next to him. The most adrenaline-rushing sound he had ever heard. The sweetness of it ran through his veins as he just sat there without flinching absorbing the aftermath of the echo. The shell casing tapping the ground was pleasing.

The music had stopped, violently disrupted. The Panasonic boom box had been blown to pieces. Shattered hard plastic splattered all over the young teens like bomb shrapnel on a group of soldiers. There was a slight pause of silence and shock and then everybody ran except for Young Clips. He stayed in the same exact position, but slowly lifted his head up and leaned back against the brick wall behind him, still rapping the remaining words under his breath.

C-Class smiled at Prince, whose face was pure stone with the smoking gun still in his hand.

“Oh, so you got heart, huh? You ain't gonna scatter away with the rest of them?”

Young Clips slowly turned to C-Class's direction while using his right hand to swipe the hoodie away from obstructing his view. “For what? The captain goes down with the ship. I ain't scared. I ain't do nothin' wrong. Oh, by the way, that's forty-six dollars for the radio, four dollars for the batteries, ten dollars for the CD, and a hundred dollars for wasting my time.” He nonchalantly stuck his left hand out while using his right hand to swipe his hoodie back down over his head as he closed his eyes, relaxed, and waited for payment. He was dead serious.

C-Class turned to face Prince, still smiling. “You heard him. Pay the young man.”

On demand, Prince removed a thick knot of money from his pocket and flicked his thumb before slowly peeling off two hundred-dollar bills. He folded them the long way and then extended them out to touch Young Clips's fingertips. As soon as he did, he swiftly kicked the crate out from under Young Clips's ass while trying to jerk the money back. But it was too late. Not only did Young Clips snatch the money, he was still in the sitting position even with the crate gone. He was prepared. He spoke in a low, steady tone as he stood up straight, tucking the money into his pocket.

“I'm going to forget that you did that.” He turned to Prince and pulled his hoodie back again to expose his entire face, locking eyes, showing no signs of fear. “Only because the crate wasn't mine. But you just tried to renege on a deal. If you wasn't gonna pay me, you should have just said so. Maybe if you would come at me like a man, we could've worked somethin' out. But you didn't give me the opportunity. You assumed that because I'm young, you could bully me or scare me away like you think you did my squad. Nah, I used to admire y'all. I was down here studying y'all and how y'all move up there. Y'all had music blasting from your cars; all we could afford was that boom box you just destroyed. Y'all got that barbershop up there, we got the Laundromat. Y'all stick together and don't take shit from nobody; neither do we.”

As Young Clips stated that, the Alley Cats were slowly returning. But instead of being bunched up together, they were in strategically placed positions all throughout the entire block and the side streets. They each had a weapon of some sort. A few even had guns. They were slowly creeping and closing in, staying low behind cars and riding the walls of the brick buildings. C-Class and Prince couldn't believe it. Young Clips had never broken eye contact with Prince. It was as if he knew his crew was coming back, and strong, but didn't need them to show his heart.

He continued, “Now, I see things different and I'm lettin' this slide. This one is on me.” Young Clips removed the two hundred-dollars bills from his pocket and set them down on the payphone. “The boom box wasn't mines either. I took it from somebody. Right out of his hands, straight up, no weapon. And I had my gun on me when I did it.” Young Clips lifted the bottom of his sweatshirt up to reveal his pistol. “But he never saw it. We'll just call this karma.”

And just like that, Young Clips turned his back on C-Class and Prince and walked away, never allowing them to say a word. He stuck two fingers into his mouth and blew out a sharply loud coded whistle into the air. All of the Alley Cats came out of their positions and flocked around him as they disappeared.

Prime couldn't believe a word of the tickling story. He laughed so hard as C-Class and Prince told it play by play, word for word.

“Uh-uh. Young'un's like twelve. He ain't talkin' like that. That's grown man shit. And he was right. You should've known betta, Prince. Y'all could've made ya own block hot with that bullshit. Radios don't shoot back. Y'all gotta get shit in order. Preteens can't be runnin' us outta business,” he seriously joked. They were sitting in Prime's restaurant, eating at a private table in the back.

“Young'un got heart, PM. He's smart. He got them otha li'l niggas brainwashed. And I swear he's the youngest,” C-Class added.

Prime's fork sounded off as it dropped down into the glass plate. He got serious as he spoke to both of his top men. “Listen. He ain't got them brainwashed. He got them all on the same page and in order. Just like us. It's the same situation. Them li'l niggas are so young and advanced they're willing to die for their respect. And they're smart. They moved in silence. Young Clips was the sacrificial lamb of distraction and diversion. Y'all assumed that his crew ran away out of fear, because not one of them threatened y'all while fleeing. Young Clips held y'all there, knowing they'd be back strong, just as I would've done. It was all mapped out. They forced y'all to come to them and to respect them by the time they left. They knew your move. Y'all were a step behind. It was a game of chess. They put y'all in check and spared the mate. Where's young'un at? I'm gonna go find him.”

“And what?” C-Class asked.

“And give him a position. The biggest part of this picture is that most likely his pockets were empty, but he still returned the money. To me, that says more about him than anything.”

The next day, as always, after learning from his mistakes, Young Clips stepped his game up. Instead of a crate he was sitting on an old, rusted steel dining room table chair that had been thrown out. It would've been impossible to get kicked from under him. He and his crew all chipped in to buy a new radio this time, and a Young Money mix CD. Young Clips had on his usual black attire. His head was drowned by his hoodie while he focused on devouring his favorite meal: Chinese food. In a single moment, it seemed as if all the breath around him was lost in silence as his crew gasped, leaving only the radio playing. Young Clips looked up to see the cause and almost choked on a chicken bone he was sucking clean.

A powder blue Bentley GT had pulled up and parked right in front of the Laundromat's chipped, unlevel sidewalk and parked next to a huge pile of stinking black garbage bags. The horn honked twice as the window rolled down.

“Get in,” Prime ordered.

Everyone looked down at Young Clips. He looked around with an odd look plastered on his face as if Prime was speaking to someone else.

“Yeah, you!” Prime confirmed.

“I'm eatin'!” Young Clips shouted while dipping his fingers into the white foam tray, dripping with sauce and grease.

“I can see that. That's why you're gonna use them napkins in that paper bag and wipe your hands clean before you get in my ride,” Prime declared.

Young Clips thought about contesting but he was curious, so he opened up the bottle of Fiji spring water and poured it onto his hands before drying them off with his napkins.

“Watch my food, y'all,” he ordered as he bopped to the car and reached for the door handle. It was locked as he tried to pull it open and grew angry. “What kinda games you playin'?” he aggressively questioned.

Prime stared him down with intense scrutiny. “Go clean yourself up and come back correct. Then you get in.”

Clips caught on. He walked back into the huddle of his crew and passed his .32 automatic off to his right-hand man. As he returned to the vehicle, he heard a double click and he entered. The window slowly rolled back up as they pulled off.

“Wassup?” Young Clips asked.

“I got a job for you and your team. But I'm only hiring you. You're hiring them. That's how business works. You're the boss. You handle your own payroll. Make it work however you can; just get the job done,” Prime testified, keeping his eyes on the road.

“First of all, how do you know I—”

Prime cut Young Clips off. “Five hundred a week. Every Friday at nine p.m. I already got you your own apartment. It's a furnished three-bedroom. Keep the noise down and stay low. Don't shit where you sleep. Bring your top three men with you. One of y'all sleep on the couch a different night in rotation to watch the door. A king always protects his castle. Even himself. Now, your job is to spread your team out. I'm gonna give you a printout of all the streets I own. I want all four corners of them sealed off at all times. Now y'all will be sealing money in instead of chasing it out. But y'all won't touch the product. It's just steering and security. Any of y'all see anything out of order, report it directly to Prince, C-Class, or me. It starts tonight, clear?” he asked as he pulled put seven hundred-dollar bills and passed them to Young Clips.

Young Clips counted out five of them and handed Prime back the other two. “You said five hundred.”

Prime smiled to himself knowing he made the right decision. He waved the money back off. “Nah, that's for Prince. Never start business off on a dirty slate. The dust from the chalk smears too easily. Pretty soon, you can't tell what's there and what's been erased.”