True To The Game Part 3

"Everything is my fault, right? You're the one who wants to be at every party on the East Coast. You're the one who stays out all night with other n.i.g.g.as. Yes, you do. Don't lie, Gena. Tell the truth. For once, be truthful. You and that Sahirah b.i.t.c.h stay out in the street all night chasing behind n.i.g.g.as. I know what you do. You don't fool me."

"Jamal, first of all let me tell you something, okay? I don't chase behind n.o.body. I get chased. And I am not out in no street all hours of the night, either!"

He cut her off and really let her have it. He accused her of everything under the sun, saying incredibly hurtful things. She found a wellspring of understanding that told her it was because he was hurting. If the things he were saying were true, it would cut her real deep, but what he was saying made her mad. Jamal had lost his mind calling her with a whole bunch of bulls.h.i.t. She hung the phone up.

That was it, conversation over. And when he called back, she turned off the ringer. She wasn't about to listen to any more of his threats and accusations.

Quadir was down in North Philly collecting the money everyone owed him. He went to the house where Gena had dropped off Sahirah and Rasun. Rasun and Sahirah were in a good sleep when Qua woke them up, knocking at the bedroom door.

"What happened to your hair, Sahirah?" Qua asked her, as she brushed by him going into the bathroom. "Ask your friend!" she spat back at him.

"Nasty little thing, ain't she?"

"Yeah, she's not a happy camper." Ra grinned and gave Sahirah another $300, but she continued to grouse when Qua told her she would have to catch a cab home.

Quadir and Rasun cut through the park in West Philly to see Ms. Shoog. Ms. Shoog was a little elderly lady he did business with. Shoog was something else. Back in her day she ran a speakeasy and a gambling spot. She even ran the numbers game. Shoog had it all. All the men raved about her. She could have had her pick of any of them, but chose none. By the time she was ready to choose, she had so many kids by so many different men and the streets had beat up on her so bad, she was considered not the marrying type. Shoog was a h.e.l.l of a woman, though. Quadir listened to everything she said. He might not follow her instructions, but he listened.

He knocked at her door. One of Shoog's granddaughters let him in. She had so many grandchildren. There must have been at least fifteen people living in the three-story row home on the narrow one-way street of the 2200 block of Bouvier Street. Entering the kitchen, he placed a bag holding a quarter kilo of cocaine on the table.

"I need you to cook this up for me, Ms. Shoog."

"Fool, you always needing something. The only time you come to see Shoog is when you need something," she said, pointing her finger at him. "I got the family coming over today. I got enough cooking around here to do already." Shoog could cook her a.s.s off. She use to cook and sell platters when she was running her speakeasy, back in the day.

"Those n.i.g.g.as used to pay me to cook their food for them and you gonna pay me to cook this s.h.i.t for you."

"Don't I always pay you?" Quadir considered, for a moment, this woman he'd come to count on and saw that the once proud and sa.s.sy woman had slowed under the burdens she'd carried for so many decades of doing for others.

"Come on, baby, what's the matter?"

"Everything," she said.

"What?" He softly touched her shoulders and sat her at her own table. A barely discernable squeeze and a touch to her cheek brought a sad smile.

"It seems like you just don't be getting too far out here in life, Quadir. You do what you got to do to survive out here; you try your d.a.m.ndest to see that there's some food on the table and clothes for the kids, and it don't get you nowhere. Bad a.s.s motherf.u.c.kers around here now don't listen. I done brought mines into the world. These ain't mines. They killing me, Quadir. Sure as there is a G.o.d in the sky, these bad a.s.s kids is gonna be the death of me. Eight d.a.m.n kids that ain't mine and here, look at this."

Ms. Shoog pulled out a paper from her ap.r.o.n pocket and handed it to Quadir, hoping that her scam would work. Ms. Shoog always had a scam.

"What is it?"

"It's a get-the-f.u.c.k-out notice. I been paying the mortgage on this house now for twenty-seven years. I only got three more to go then this house is mine. After all this time, you'd think they couldn't do this." Her face began to crumble.

"How much do you need?" said Quadir, locating the total due on the paper. "Oh d.a.m.n, Shoog you had me worried! That's all you need? I got that for you, baby. Calm down."

"Quadir, stop your lying. You hardly pay me when I cook this s.h.i.t up for you. So I know your black a.s.s not gonna pay all that!" She looked at Qua as if it were all his fault.

The truth of the matter was that Quadir always paid Shoog whatever she wanted. The price wasn't always the same, but Shoog got paid. He would even stop by to see how she was doing and not ask her to do nothing for him. The bottom line was everybody wanted something. Everybody had a story. Qua separated the two. He was always gonna look out for her. It was the right thing to do. "Cook my s.h.i.t up, Shoog," he said as he went outside. He came back in and handed her a bag of money. Shoog snickered on the inside but on the outside showed a look of gratefulness Quadir had never seen.

"There. That will save your house."

Shoog couldn't believe it. It worked. It was as if the Lord blessed somebody else and they pa.s.sed it on to her.

She could barely whisper her thanks. "That's gonna be more than enough, Quadir."

Qua was glad to bring hope to someone who deserved it. "Here, get yourself something and get something for the kids." He pulled out a wad of money from his pocket, peeling back a couple hundred-dollar bills. Qua had money all over him.

"I don't mean to fuss at you, baby," she said, changing everything up. "You're the only one that understands. Oh, Qua, I wish that d.a.m.n John-John had turned out like you," she said, now standing up and reaching for an empty mayonnaise jar, going about the business she was in.

She took the cocaine and mixed it with baking soda. She poured the combination in the mayonnaise jar and added the right amount of water, cooking batches at a time. Shoog knew what she was doing too.

Gena got dressed and called a cab, going straight to LeChevue Beauty Salon in South Philly.

"Hi, Gena," said one of the girls who worked there. Everyone knew her.

She saw Beverly, her stylist. "What's up, Bev?"

"Yo, G," Bev smiled, "Where you been?"

"Nowhere, trying to get my life on."

"Guess whose pregnant by Rik?" Beverly asked.

"Who?"

"I'm not gonna tell you. I know how you run your mouth."

"Who? I won't tell."

"Veronica."

"He been f.u.c.king with her?" Gena said, turning her face all up.

"Girl, she said she told him she was pregnant and Mr. Rik ain't called her back since."

"What?" Gena couldn't believe it.

"I'm telling you, s.h.i.t is crazy."

Beverly finished the girl who was in the chair and took Gena over to the bowl, talking about everybody under the sun. Gena told her how she had been up at the fast-food place when the three guys died. She didn't say nothing about the guy driving the caddy. Nothing said in a beauty salon is sacred. Everybody knows your business as it is. Gena didn't tell no secrets, but she stayed to gossip.

"Well, you know I don't f.u.c.k with Jamal no more."

"Why?"

"It just wasn't working, Bev. I care about him, but I can't see myself being with him."

"Well d.a.m.n, you don't seem too sad about it!"

"I'm not. It's for the best."

"Girl, I don't believe you're letting your Jamal go. He treated you real good."

"Money can't buy love."

"h.e.l.l, it can buy mine," said Bev.

"Mine too!" said the girl sitting under the bowl beside Gena.

"s.h.i.t, he didn't try to take nothing back, did he?" Beverly asked.

"No, but if he wants his s.h.i.t back he can have it," said Gena.

"I wouldn't give him nothing back," said Bev.

"Neither would I, honey. Keep your s.h.i.t. Don't give that n.i.g.g.a back a d.a.m.n thing," said the girl sitting under the next bowl.

Gena and Beverly just stared at the girl for a few seconds and when Beverly finished washing Gena's hair, they went to her station.

Gena couldn't wait to let go the good s.h.i.t. "I met this guy though," she said.

"Who?" asked Bev.

"His name is Quadir."

"Quadir? Quadir from North with the BMW?" asked Bev.

"Yeah, you know him?"

"Yeah, he supposed to be f.u.c.king with Dawn's sister Cherelle."

"He give her anything?" asked Gena.

"I don't think so. He probably got her a pair of sneakers and s.h.i.t, but he ain't throw that s.h.i.t to her like Jamal threw it to you, 'cause if he did, she would be in here running her mouth about it."

"What she look like?" Gena wanted to know.

"She don't look like nothing. She your average light-skinned b.i.t.c.h," said Bev, admiring Gena's chocolate skin tone.

"She don't look better than me, do she?" Gena asked.

"h.e.l.l no. Girl, Quadir ain't no joke. The boy is large as h.e.l.l. Jamal ain't never seen no money compared to that motherf.u.c.ker. Girl, Quadir's middle name is stock and you would want to invest," said Bev.

"Guess what?"

"What?"

"I met him Wednesday in New York. Last night we went to Atlantic City and today he's taking me to the Bahamas."

Beverly put the curling iron down. "b.i.t.c.h, lies."

"No, I'm dead serious. So Cherelle can forget about him 'cause I'm getting ready to put my thing down."

"I guess he just playing Cherelle."

"I guess so," said Gena.

"d.a.m.n, she act like she really in love with him, too," said Bev.

"She'll get over it. That's the way love goes," said Gena, with extreme confidence.

"So, you just dropped Jamal when you started f.u.c.king with Qua?"

"No, I met Quadir after me and Jamal had broke up."

"Here," said Beverly, handing her the hand mirror so she could see the back of her hair. Gena got a pump with a long strand of hair hanging down the side of her face.

"So, when are you leaving?"

"In a couple of hours. I have to go shopping, buy some luggage and I have to get my nails done."

"I know you're happy," said Bev.

"I am. It's something about him," she said.

"Yeah. The man is rich," said Bev.

"No, it's not that. It's the way he looks at me, and the way he talks to me, you know, like we're on the same vibe. It seems like he's always been there, watching me." Gena sat there with a gleam in her eyes talking about the man, while Beverly wished it was her.

"I gotta go, Bev. I got to meet Sahirah. We're going shopping."

Gena got bathing suits, fashion accessories, short sets, summer dresses, and luggage.

Then the girls went to Nice New Nail Salon on Lancaster Avenue. Pam was booked, but acted like Gena had an appointment and squeezed her in. Sahirah and Gena sat in the nail salon talking about Quadir and how nice he was, especially since Jamal was so mean.

"I'll be glad when someone comes along for me," Sahirah said.

"Sahirah, you got to settle down with somebody. That's what you got to do. I know they a pain in the a.s.s, but it's like a job. Besides, n.i.g.g.as sweat you half to death when you got a man. You stay single too long, then n.i.g.g.as gonna think that there's something wrong with you. Everybody gonna do their thing, you dig me? It's all about respect. I would have been the lowest b.i.t.c.h on the planet if I had taken them guys up on their propositions, but since I didn't, I showed loyalty to Jamal when I was with him. Girl, all them n.i.g.g.as think I'm a saint. You got to prove that you are woman enough to be true to your man. That's all you got to do. You're not going to get no respect dealing with a brother on that "wham bam, thank you, here you go ma'am" tip. You need to know that the brother got your best interest at heart. Money don't mean he care. You can't run tricks on the big boys. Tricks are for kids. So, you just chill. Slow down, baby. You moving kinda fast, that's all."

Sahirah just sat there looking at her friend, knowing what she was saying was true, but she was having fun and just couldn't see herself with no one man.

Gena finished getting the last coat of paint on her fingernails. "Oh, guess what!"

"What?"

"Guess who the f.u.c.k is pregnant by Rik?"

"Who?"

"Veronica."