stopped, and burst out laughing.
“ What’s so funny?” she pouted. Her eyes smiled up at me.
Even with her hair half matted to her face, with sweat and the
painful wrinkles in her eyes, she was still one of the most beauti-
ful women I had ever seen. I took what I could get and then some.
After ward, I rolled off of her and lay there satisfied, depleted. She
looked over at me with a knowing grin, the kind lovers share when
they have both been satisfied by the other, only I kept seeing
something else. I closed my eyes because the game can make a
nigga paranoid. For some reason the faces of Dre’, and the nigga
that set me up, popped into my mind. I cringed like I had just
been shot. Shot by the reality of my own stupid blunder. Dre’ was
69
L i f e
looking for Lil Cal. Lil Cal was from Miami, a spot called Opa
Locka. It was infamous as a dope hole for young thugs, better
known as the “ Triangle,” where you could walk in and never come
out. I would never go in there without Lil Cal with me. Shit! All
this time I forgot to warn my nigga Cal about what Dre’ was up
to. I leaped from the bed and startled Trina. So much had been
going on in the past two days. I paced the floor thinking. Dre’ had
family in Tallahassee, or was it Jacksonville? Orlando? I forgot and
we used to hustle together. My mind was really congested. I paced
the floor naked while Trina looked at me with the covers pulled up
to her chin. I picked up the phone, dialed 305 area code. The
phone wouldn’t let me call out long distance. I slammed it down,
cursed Dre’ out and paced some more, rubbing the waves in my
head absent-mindedly.
“ Pass me my purse,” Trina said, reading my mind. I grabbed
her purse, rummaged inside and found a phone and a tiny two
shot derringer .38 pistol, powerful enough to put any man down.
Livid, she sprung up in bed and screamed at me, “Gimme my
damn purse!”
I did what playas do, I ignored her, dialed the number and
watched as she stormed toward me. She snatched the purse out of
my hands and came close to getting her first ass whoopin too.
Someone answered the phone on the third ring. It was
Blazack. Before I could tell him what happened, he told me that
the Feds got Lil Cal as soon as Dre’ walked out of the house. Cal
sold him a brick. Heavy hearted, I sat down in the middle of the
floor. Blazack went on to say that he felt like my boy Dre’ had
something to do with the bust. Blazack was one of the most dan-
gerous men that I had ever known. It was like he had been born
in the wrong era. He was a cold-blooded murderer, who went at
life like it was his mission to die. He was the only man I knew that
beat three murder raps. He really didn’t have to sell dope. If he
walked up to you and asked for something, like an ounce or two,
it was best to give it to him or risk getting shot, or have a loved
one come up missing. Every real crew had to have a Blazack, he
70
L i f e
was the enforcer, the man that went into the trenches and did the
dirty work. He didn’t aspire to be rich, just enjoyed staying true to
the game. Reluctantly, I told him what happened. I could hear his
breathing on the phone, a silent threat to wreak havoc on
whomever he felt was responsible for setting up Lil Cal. This
included me. I felt my heart racing in my chest after I’d finished
telling him what happened.
“ What took you so fucking long to warn us?” he yelled on the
phone.
“ Man, I’ve been caught up in all kinds of bull –”
“ Fuck that nigga!” he yelled. He wasn’t even tryin’ to hear
about the shit I had been going through. “I know where yo old
man live at with that big-ass church down there in Sarasota, if you
tryin some funny shit –”
“ Hold up!” I interrupted. “Don’t go there, don’t go there.” I
was tryin to calm him, at the same time, let him know I ain’t noth-
ing nice either when it comes to gunplay.
“ Man I’ve been
“ What’s so funny?” she pouted. Her eyes smiled up at me.
Even with her hair half matted to her face, with sweat and the
painful wrinkles in her eyes, she was still one of the most beauti-
ful women I had ever seen. I took what I could get and then some.
After ward, I rolled off of her and lay there satisfied, depleted. She
looked over at me with a knowing grin, the kind lovers share when
they have both been satisfied by the other, only I kept seeing
something else. I closed my eyes because the game can make a
nigga paranoid. For some reason the faces of Dre’, and the nigga
that set me up, popped into my mind. I cringed like I had just
been shot. Shot by the reality of my own stupid blunder. Dre’ was
69
L i f e
looking for Lil Cal. Lil Cal was from Miami, a spot called Opa
Locka. It was infamous as a dope hole for young thugs, better
known as the “ Triangle,” where you could walk in and never come
out. I would never go in there without Lil Cal with me. Shit! All
this time I forgot to warn my nigga Cal about what Dre’ was up
to. I leaped from the bed and startled Trina. So much had been
going on in the past two days. I paced the floor thinking. Dre’ had
family in Tallahassee, or was it Jacksonville? Orlando? I forgot and
we used to hustle together. My mind was really congested. I paced
the floor naked while Trina looked at me with the covers pulled up
to her chin. I picked up the phone, dialed 305 area code. The
phone wouldn’t let me call out long distance. I slammed it down,
cursed Dre’ out and paced some more, rubbing the waves in my
head absent-mindedly.
“ Pass me my purse,” Trina said, reading my mind. I grabbed
her purse, rummaged inside and found a phone and a tiny two
shot derringer .38 pistol, powerful enough to put any man down.
Livid, she sprung up in bed and screamed at me, “Gimme my
damn purse!”
I did what playas do, I ignored her, dialed the number and
watched as she stormed toward me. She snatched the purse out of
my hands and came close to getting her first ass whoopin too.
Someone answered the phone on the third ring. It was
Blazack. Before I could tell him what happened, he told me that
the Feds got Lil Cal as soon as Dre’ walked out of the house. Cal
sold him a brick. Heavy hearted, I sat down in the middle of the
floor. Blazack went on to say that he felt like my boy Dre’ had
something to do with the bust. Blazack was one of the most dan-
gerous men that I had ever known. It was like he had been born
in the wrong era. He was a cold-blooded murderer, who went at
life like it was his mission to die. He was the only man I knew that
beat three murder raps. He really didn’t have to sell dope. If he
walked up to you and asked for something, like an ounce or two,
it was best to give it to him or risk getting shot, or have a loved
one come up missing. Every real crew had to have a Blazack, he
70
L i f e
was the enforcer, the man that went into the trenches and did the
dirty work. He didn’t aspire to be rich, just enjoyed staying true to
the game. Reluctantly, I told him what happened. I could hear his
breathing on the phone, a silent threat to wreak havoc on
whomever he felt was responsible for setting up Lil Cal. This
included me. I felt my heart racing in my chest after I’d finished
telling him what happened.
“ What took you so fucking long to warn us?” he yelled on the
phone.
“ Man, I’ve been caught up in all kinds of bull –”
“ Fuck that nigga!” he yelled. He wasn’t even tryin’ to hear
about the shit I had been going through. “I know where yo old
man live at with that big-ass church down there in Sarasota, if you
tryin some funny shit –”
“ Hold up!” I interrupted. “Don’t go there, don’t go there.” I
was tryin to calm him, at the same time, let him know I ain’t noth-
ing nice either when it comes to gunplay.
“ Man I’ve been
Similar Books
