rappers.
At 11:04 a.m., I was looking for Trina’s car. It was still raining.
I found her car in the parking lot. Moments later, as scheduled,
she came out of the building wearing blue jeans and a gray FAMU
sweat shirt with a black leather jacket that had NY stenciled on the
back in big purple letters. She wore my Chicago Bulls baseball cap
pulled down over her eyes as she walked to her car with umbrella
in hand. I honked the horn. As soon as she saw me her face lit up
and she gave me a mischievous grin. I know what was on her
mind. Sex. Occasionally I would pick her up from school and we
would go back to her place right off campus and have sex. She
hardly ever stayed there, so I also thought it was an ideal spot to
hide the money since it was her job to pick it up daily. Trina could
get so animated when she was happy, maybe that was the Spanish
side of her. She approached my car like she was dancing in the
rain. The bounce in her step had her ponytail swinging like a devi-
ous kitten. With all the vibrance of a young woman ready to set
out to conquer the world, no one would have ever thought she
could be the brainchild to a million dollar drug ring. A Brooklyn
chick.
I rolled down the window and she kissed me with enough
tongue to hang a man with, she then looked in the car at Major.
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“Ouch, what happened to him?” she asked. I shrugged my shoul-
ders as if to say,
I dunno
.
I got out of the car and walked under her umbrella to her car.
We sat inside. I told her about our new living arrangements in
Quincy. I talked as the rain pelted the car windows like soft music
to my monologue, a conspiracy between lovers. I told her about
the plantation mansion I was going to buy and remodel. She lis-
tened intently. Afterward, she asked about Black Pearl, I detected
a real bond of sisterhood there. We both knew that Pearl was due
to have the baby any day now.
Ever so gently, Trina leaned over and kissed me passionately,
sucking on my bottom lip as her fingers walked down my thigh
until she reached my fly. She eased her hand inside. “Papi,” she
crooned breathily as her hand stroked me. I closed my eyes just as
the windows in the car began to fog.
“Papi, I want to go to Freak Nic in Atlanta, me and the girls,”
she said as she licked my neck with hot saliva and took my joint
out of my pants. I was about to say yes, and then she added, “I’m
going to stop by the prison and visit Mike.” Right then, for a fleet-
ing second, I saw a gleam of something in her brown eyes. She was
talking about her ex-boyfriend. My instincts tried to tell me some-
thing, but jealousy was a barrier as I thought,
damn, this nigga in
prison, but he’s out here in my girl’s mind.
“No.” I answered Trina’s question flatly. She looked up at me
with optic slits that were hard to read, but the message was con-
veyed, she still had feelings for him, and I was jealous and seething
with the rage that came with it.
“That’s your fuckin’ problem, you and your frat sistas party
too damn much,” I snapped. Trina shook her head and craned her
neck the way a woman does when she is trying to understand her
man.
I tried to soften the blow, hide my feelings like a fire under the
bed, but the smoke was smoldering in the dark recess of my eyes.
“Ma, this weekend we s’pposta fly out to meet wit yo peeps,
remember?” I said with the timbre of my voice softening. She did-
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n’t answer, she just stared at me for all it was wor th as my joint
went soft in her hands. She pulled away. I adjusted my fly, taking
the opportunity to navigate my thoughts, it was an awkward situ-
ation. The last thing in the world I wanted was for this chick to
know that I was getting emotionally attached to her.
“I’m sending Tomica to Chicago and Evette to Baltimore.
From here on out, we movin’ weight.”
“But I thought you said we was never going to sell weight to
keep the feds off.”
“No! You said we were never going to sell weight. I’m chang-
ing the game plan, flipping the script. It takes too damn long to
move a key of Boy in this country-ass town,” I said. For some rea-
son I was angry, hurt. It felt like she betrayed me.
“Papi, why you into your feelins?” Her words chimed. I just
looked straight ahead, watched the rain dance off the windshield,
thought about all the cash I had stashed at her place, duffel bags
full. I couldn’t even count it all it was coming so fast.
Like round two, Trina’s whole demeanor changed. She placed
her hand into my lap. Her index finger gyrated a figure eight
motion on my thigh. I turned and looked at her, for the first time
I saw Trina Vasquez, the actress. She was as fake as a three-dollar
bill. I thought about what Blazack had said back there in the base-
ment, “that Brooklyn bitch playin’ you like a sucka.”
I hopped out of the car into the pouring rain, heard her shout
as she called my name. Emotions spilling over like some volcanic
reaction. That was the day that I decided to buy a money count-
ing machine, several of them.
I drove back to Quincy with Major as my sidekick. We drank
E&J bumping Too Short’s “The Ghetto” on my Alpine system. I
fired up a blunt, reflected back on my life. Trina’s words were
haunting me. I knew it was time to start thinking about getting
out of the game, but hell, I was just getting star ted. Besides, Trina’s
people had me hooked.
Two days later Black Pearl gave birth to a healthy baby boy.
When she came home from the hospital, the girls decided to give
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her a baby shower. I had never seen so many ruddy females in my
entire life. They even hired male strippers. I noticed that a few of
Trina’s fraternity sisters brought rulers with them to use on the
strippers. When dude showed up at the door wearing a cowboy
suit I knew it was time for me to get the hell out of there.
*****
It took me a few weeks, but I was finally able to purchase the
land that Black Pearl and I dreamed about. The old guy thought
I was crazy, so did ever ybody else, except Black Pearl. She had been
talking to decorators and architects about building a stylish man-
sion just like them white folks have out in Hollywood, so I flew in
decorators from California and paid out the ass for it, too.
*****
Trina finally graduated from FAMU after being there seven
years, majoring in a four-year course in Business Management.
On the same day Trina graduated, Black Pearl turned seventeen,
so I did the damn thang! We partied lavishly. I rented five stretch
limos and filled them with cases of Moet and Alize. The next day
I paid for thirty-eight tickets at eight hundred a pop, plus airfare,
to go see a Mike Tyson fight at Madison Sq
uare Garden. The fight
only lasted thirty-seven seconds. We still had a ball. For the first
time I saw Blazack with a smile on his face that wasn’t from mis-
chief, but the pure joy of being a big baller. The next morning we
flew back to Florida. We were tired, hung over, pooped and par-
tied out. I had another surprise for Trina. In the parking lot of her
building complex off campus sat a top-of-the-line Mercedes. One
of them big body Benzes. I even had it customized with a special
stash spot and some other nice amenities. We decided to give
Black Pearl Trina’s Lexus to zip around town in.
The most amazing thing happened. Something that a man
will never fully be able to understand, the metamorphosis that a
woman experiences with her body after childbirth. Keep in mind,
Black Pearl was like my baby sister, or for that matter, my daugh-
ter. After she had the baby she blossomed into a drop dead gor-
geous beauty. Her hips spread wide, her butt got big like Wow.
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One of them ghetto booties with a small taut waistline, punctuat-
ed by the symmetry of her figure like a deformed Coke bottle.
Lord, I tried not to look at that child’s rear end. If Trina, Tomica
and Evette were dime pieces, then Black Pearl was definitely a
twenty piece with her dark features, deep chocolate skin, perfect
white teeth with a dazzling smile that could make a man blush
from standing too close to beauty, not to mention body. She
named her son Shawn L. The L was named after me. I thought
that was kind of dope.
Shawn L. was a cute little booger. Looked just like his mama.
As soon as he started walking we called him Lil Man. The first
words that came out his mouth were “muthafucka” and “money.”
I taught him that.
*****
Two months later the remodeling of the Chateau was going
lovely and I was bringing in so much money that I had to hire
more workers. August 26, 1992, Lil Cal was found guilty. He was
sentenced to life in prison. I immediately hired attorneys to work
on his appeal. The last time we talked he sounded distraught, that
was my nigga, and with all my newly achieved wealth, there was-
n’t a damn thing I could do to help him other than send him
money.
*****
May 1994, two years later, I was still in the game, only then,
I wasn’t a playa, I was coaching from the sidelines, doing big
thangs. Moving major weight. Tallahassee was small to me, so I
gave Blazack the entire operation. That way officially it looked like
I retired, but actually I graduated into the Ivy League right up
there with the rest of the corporate American thugs. I was doing
all the things that I promised Trina I would not do. Only now, I
kept her out of my business. We were starting to grow apart.
Money can do that to a relationship. I knew of her disdain for me
selling dope. Even though I promised her I would get out, I could-
n’t and sometimes I wondered if her cousin, Willie Falcon, would
let me. I knew too much.
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To ever yone’s delight, Pearl and I remodeled the old mansion
into grandiose elegance with sprawling manicured landscaping of
picturesque green pastures surrounded by a white picket fence that
gave the estate the appearance of the White House. In the drive-
way and in the garage sat ten luxury cars including my two prized
possessions, his and hers Rolls Royce convertible Bentleys sitting
on dubs. We spent close to three million on remodeling the place.
I named it “Chateau G.P.”
For me, this was the testament of a hustler’s grind from hav-
ing a team of niggas with one common interest: money. Outside,
I lived lavishly. There was a waterfall connected to the swimming
pool, and of course, a basketball court. Inside was sixteen thou-
sand feet of nothing but plush luxur y. Black Pearl had everything
decorated white with sparkling crystal chandeliers, which accen-
tuated the marble floors. There was even a white baby grand piano
that sat in front of the picture window that overlooked the swim-
ming pool. I installed a state-of-the-art security system with cam-
eras set up so I could see any part of the house I wanted, both
inside and out. I even had a secret passageway built in behind the
bookshelves in my study, just in case I needed to make a quick
escape if them folks came looking for me. About a year ago, Willie
Falcon got nabbed in New York. The media had a frenzy. His bust
made world news. The papers dubbed him the second biggest
drug lord in the world. They said his empire was worth billions.
So I continued to make moves with his backing, only now since
his arrest, for some reason, more tr ust was bestowed to me. My
millions were crumbs compared to his billions. So I moved
weight, occasionally I would fly over to Colombia. The job was
risky as hell, but the rewards were great. I’d never seen so much
coke in my life. The last time I flew over there, the National
Guard with the help of the DEA tried to shoot our plane down.
Scared the shit out of me. That was the last time I flew to
Colombia.
*****
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Chapter Four
teen
Chapter Four
“Gangsta’s Paradise”
– Life –
I pulled the old Cadillac off the shoulder of the old dirt road onto
the spiraling landscape of my estate as Lil Man sat on my lap. He
liked to play drive with the steering wheel. Now, at 3 years old, he
was a bundle of joy. I remember when I was a shorty, my old man
used to do the same thing with me.
It was one of them lazy Saturday mornings. I was just return-
ing from the Mom and Pop grocer y store up the hill. I was driv-
ing the first car that I purchased from back in the day when I first
came up on the grind. The ‘73 Caddy was in mint condition. I
made it a point to never let anyone see me drive my new whips.
They were like awards given to the most valuable playa. Besides,
Trina shined for the both of us. There is something about New
York chicks. Trina drove around town in a customized white
Bentley on dubs, she and her wild-ass homegirls.
As usual, as I approached the security gates of the Chateau,
with its large embellishment decorated in brown stone and white
marble. Looking at this filled me with pride. I noticed that the
gates were wide open and thought that was unusual of Major to
leave them open like that. As soon as I turned into the circular
driveway, I saw trouble, six unmarked police cars lined up. Spitler
was standing next to the statue with the waterfall. For some rea-
son it made him look small. My heart skipped a beat as I franti-
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cally stashed my heat under the seat. I saw Trina and Black Pearl
watching from the doorway of the mansion. I got out of the car
with Lil Man in my arms. I was trying to act nonchalant, but I
could feel my leg shaking.
Spitler walked toward me gingerly. I tried to read the expres-
sion on his face, but didn’t want to look him in his eyes. I learned
long ago that white cops are easily intimidated by that. Spitler’s
brown suit was wrinkled like he slept in it for days. His eyes were
red with dark circles underneath them. A tuft of unruly blond hair
hung over his left eye. Trina rushed out of the house, the sound of
her slippers racked the concrete like a woman on the verge of
panic. She took Lil Man out of my arms and looked at me and
asked was everything all right. I told her to go back inside. She
walked away with the baby on her hip and glanced back over her
shoulder. In the distance, I saw Major grooming a horse watching
me carefully.
“How in the fuck did you get through that gate?” I asked
pointing a finger at him.
“I had one of my men take a sledgehammer to it,” he said.
I turned, and vaguely I could see the face of a Black man sit-
ting in the front seat of one of the cop cars.
“What, you come to arrest me or sumpin?”
“Maybe. I thought I told you not to sell that stuff to the white
kids!” he said angrily jabbing his finger into my chest. I took a step
backward and braced myself. In the background, I heard the
sounds of police car doors opening.
“Man you know damn well I don’t fuck around in Frenchtown
no mo.”
“Yeah, but your gang does, Blazack and his crew.”
“Then that’s who the fuck you need to be harassing! He’s the
one payin you now, not me. I’m outta the game.” I lied, and we
both knew it. It was just that I graduated to selling weight, a hus-
tler’s dream. Ten keys or better and most of my clients were Willie
Falcon’s people.
Agitated, Spitler spoke through clenched teeth. “You’re not lis-
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tening to me. Someone is flooding the town with high quality
heroin called China White, now we got white kids dying too,” he
said, walking up to me getting all in my face. I could smell his
fetid breath. There was something about what he said. Maybe it
was the way that he said it all in my face. I just lost it.