A/N: Sorry for the delay. For past two months I've been enduring 'prom season' at the tuxedo shop I work at. Dressing at least 200 high school boys for over sixty days has left me mentally exhausted and tapped for imagination; if you think making someone see that Brown and bright Fuchsia pink don't go together would be simple, you'd be sadly mistaken—true story. But enough about me.
For a moment I'll be taking a slight detour in this chap. Just to hold down on the confusion, this chapter is taking place at a different time in another location. In the coming chapters you'll find this has everything to do with the main story arc. You'll also find that this chapter is very long. Enjoy.
Leroy stared up at the unevenly spackled and water-stained ceiling, the last rays of the setting sun slowly retreating off the equally water-stained walls.
Nightfall was approaching.
…Not that daylight ever warded off any of the dissonance that settled on the streets of his less than amicable neighborhood—its just that its leaving seemed to take what little hope was left with it. It meant that one had to prepare for the coming night—and for all the little and not so little things that went bump in it.
Leroy shifted his weight on the too small bed, its springs creaking painfully under the strain. Looking across the small and cluttered space that was his bedroom, Leroy brought his legs around to place filthy socked feet flat on the bare floor. Cracking his back and spreading wide his massive 6'5 frame, he grunted uneasily as his joints popped in response to their new movement. There came two brief knocks on his wooden door, whose surface had been painted over so many times in the past the yellowish coating no longer bonded to the wood. Leroy looked at the seemingly ancient portal as a female voice came close through the thick wood, suggesting the speaker was pressed right against the crack between the door and its jamb.
"Lee-roy? I got some pork'n beans cookin' on'da stove. You wan'dadah' fix you some?"
Staring mindlessly at the soiled socks on his feet, Leroy allowed a second or so to transpire before responding.
"Naw, I'm good."
"You sure baby? I gots some co'wnbread too."
"Naw, I'm straight."
There was a pause.
"Is you goin' out ta'night?"
There was another pause.
"Yeeh…"
Yeah, it was kinda funny—the way his mama and everyone else said his name, always dragging out the 'e'. Actually, 'Leroy' wasn't and had never been his name; it was merely a nickname, a handle, an alias. Given to him by one of his late cousins when he was a great deal younger, as he recalled. For a while he didn't know what it meant, but all the grown folks around him seemed to pickup on the meaning and the name stuck. It wasn't until years later, after watching a martial arts movie staring an African-American lead did he understand the meaning of the handle. From that point on, he would scarcely acknowledge his given name, and before long would introduce himself only under the faux name to everyone he met, associated and directly dealt with. He figured it was safer that way.
There was another pause still, then the voice on the other side of the door spoke again—sounding slow and unfortunate.
"Oh, alright'den. You be careful, ya' hear?"
"A'ight mama."
..oo..
Fifteen or so minutes later, after night had completely fallen, Leroy set out to his destination. His streets were dangerous then—only the most undesirable elements could be found farther than their doorsteps now. With his Czech CZ-82 pistol fairly well tucked into the waistband of his black sweatpants, Leroy walked unhurriedly around the corner of the block. Anyone living in this place that planned to travel after dark knew not draw attention to themselves by walking too fast--it was always better to seem indifferent in your stride than purposeful. Granted this method didn't always work, but hell, that was what the cannon was for.
Passing several gloomy domiciles on the way, Leroy finally reached the stoop he sought and knocked the code for safe entrance; one knock towards the upper left of the wooden door, and two knocks in quick succession in the lower center. The denseness of the wood was different in these places, thus allowing the person on the other side to discern friend from dead nigga.
"Yeeh?" Came the low answer from the interior.
"It's Lee-roy."
After about three seconds, the knob on the door could be seen turning, and at the end opening up just enough for him to get through if he turned sideways. The inside was poorly lit, with the only light coming from somewhere farther back in the house. Turning to his left, as the door was closed behind him, was the person who let him in. Despite the failing light, Leroy was easily able to tell who it was, one of his nigga's boys, Roscoe. Quickly giving the standard hand greeting which began with loud slap, both Leroy and Roscoe made their way back to the better lit part of the house.
In a room illuminated by a single cheap floor lamp--to the left down a short hallway--sat a very tall and very husky black man with a lit joint cinched between two fingers. In the room with him were four others—all of them burnin' it down around a low rising table. Upon entering, the group looked up to face him, giving the tell-tale upward nod that signified to Leroy their acknowledgement of his presence.
The large one, separate from the others, was Knuckles—this was his house. Walking over to him, Leroy bent over a bit as Knuckles leaned in to give their handshake. While he paid it no mind, Leroy couldn't help but notice (once again) during the handshake how Knuckles earned himself the handle. His hands—absolute bear paws—were exceptionally dry and rough, and his chubby knuckles were perpetually white as chalk from ash. His face was chunky, much like the rest of him, with lips that were huge and eyes that were beady. The man smelled constantly of weed and always had a sheen of sweat across his brow. No matter how many times he would wipe it dry with his light blue rag, it would moisten right back (he blamed it on his 'hot naturedness'). Personally, Leroy figured that he used burning weed like some sort of cologne to mask his perpetual funk, because whenever he wasn't smoking—which was hardly ever—he smelled like ass directly proportional to his own. He could probably kill a full-blown cockroach nest—eggs included—all the way through the walls if he stood there long enough. That being so, it went without saying that Leroy found the man utterly discussing, but obviously never let on to such in front of anyone.
"Wuhdit is, Roy?" He drawled out slowly as he picked up a forty of some assorted beer and put it to his crusty and massive lips.
"Aw, you know howit is Knuck, same toilet, same shit."
Knuckles looked at Leroy a bit and smiled at the quip, the fronts on his teeth showing up on his dark face like gaudy yellow stars on a moonless night. "Whuchu got fo'me?" He continued.
"Scoe." The large man said shortly, summoning his lackey to him. "Go an' get Dae-Dae's stuff out'da back." Orders given, Roscoe wordlessly departed the room and remained gone for several moments, leaving time for Leroy and Knuckles to converse more.
"Yo Knuck, I gots some news."
"Uh huh?" Knuckles' red and clouded eyes seem to clear for a second at the idea 'news'.
"I don't know how long I'kin keep runnin' fo'ya, man."
"Why?" Came the response, his moistened brow creasing with the question.
"I gots a lil' sumin'-sumin' goin' on in'da Dec. If dis'shit blow up, I'muh be out."
"Whutchu got over in 'Kayda, Roy?" One of the other four suddenly inquired.
"Recordin' some tracks."
All the seated men began to chuckle.
"Oh yeah?" Said the same man. "So you go'wn do it up like dem'utha niggas—T.I'n shit?"
Leroy felt himself grow uncomfortable at the jeer. Roscoe returned as he offered his response.
"Man, why ya'll gotta put ah'nigga down, eh?"
"Nigga please. Ain't no one tryin'ta put yo' nappy-headed ass down. We jus don't want you fo'getten that yo'ass stays apartuhda game. Take da'shit from'em." Knuckles said with a grin pointing to Roscoe, who was standing just off to the side of Leroy. Looking to him, Leroy allowed Roscoe to hand him the large wrapped brick. Holding it at his side, Leroy gave no indication of his surprise. This had to be at least three kilos of coke, the most he had ever moved at one time for a single customer. Knuckles clucked a bit under his breath.
"Yeah, I'kin see it in yo' eyes Roy. Dat righ'thurr is ova six pounds of'da finest powda norfuhda mutha-fuckin' boarda."
Leroy's eyes fluttered briefly from the brick back to Knuckles.
"You know me, I'm all fo'it Knuck, but dis' alotta damn coke tuh be runnin' all da' way tuh'da uthua side."
"Is you tellin' me you scared?" Knuckles queried in an almost mocking fashion.
"Naw."
"I ain't think so. I coulda got anybody fa'dis, but I wanned you cuz you can do a lil' bit mo'den alotta ma'utha foot niggas. I got alotta shit comin' in on dis'one. You go'wn get yo' cut right fo'runnin' it." At this point, Knuckles brought up the neglected blunt to his mouth. Taking in a deep breath, Leroy watched as the glowing ring of burning marijuana ate down to the thickly callused fingers that pinched it. After about thirty seconds, did Knuckles allow the gray kush to vent from the thin opening his lips created, only to be sucked back in through large nostrils and expelled again through the open mouth.
"Who?" Leroy questioned at last in regards to the one whom would be receiving this more than expensive package.
"Uh nigga named Needles. He godda big-ass scar in'duh middluha his fo'head. If it ain't him when you meet up, you betta make wit'sumuh'dat ninja shit an'get yo'ass back here."
Leroy was unfamiliar with anyone named Needles. He had run shit to Dae Dae before, but he had always done it on a first person bases. Then again, considering the worth of the product, Leroy could understand the idea of a middleman. "…A'ight." And without another word after that, Leroy turned on his sneakered heel and departed from the room. As he moved to the exit, Roscoe had stopped him to give him a small—and rather flimsy—backpack to carry the brick. Giving him a nod, Leroy took a few moments to secure the parcel and load it onto his back. It was a good thing too; he was wondering just exactly how he was going to get all the way through Terra Belle of all places with a six pound brick of coke under his arm without being noticed. He was good, but not that damn good.
Forty-five minutes had passed when Leroy had finally reached the designated rendezvous point, a small ally no wider than the width of it's narrow sidewalk. On one side was a privacy fence so heavily tagged with graffiti, no part of the actual wood could be seen. On the opposite side was a row of small houses haphazardly strung together by various power lines; they themselves were bordered by a faltering and rusted-out chain link fence. The fractured concrete of the sidewalk was wet with water from an unknown source, leaving it to barely catch the light of the only street post whose lamp had not been shot out. It wasn't as if Leroy hadn't made runs over here before, its just that the crampedness of the location made him feel as uncomfortable as the area around him; that feeling being magnified tenfold by the weight of so much pure powdered cocaine resting innocently at the small of his back. As the seconds of inactivity ticked by, he felt his uneasiness grow. Should anything go wrong now, he would find himself with very few options for quick escape; the wooden privacy fence was unusually high, and the chain link fence wore at its dilapidated zenith a crown of rusted barbed wire. If worst came to worst, he'd have to fight his way out, and as the eventless silence wore on, Leroy was beginning to wonder if this was some sort of set up…
"You Lee-roy?"
Startled, Leroy couldn't stifle his small jump at the unexpectedness of the voice that came from above his head. Shooting his gaze upward, he found a man knelt down on the low hanging roof of the house he stood next to. How long had that nigga been up there? And more importantly, why hadn't he notice him before? Moreover, from that angle, Leroy could not make out any features of his face; this person could've been anyone.
"I hope you unduhstand me not sayin' nuthin' till we face ta'face." Leroy replied coolly to the perched man.
With that, the man stood then leapt down from the roof. Over flying the barbed and rusted fence, he landed with all the stealthy grace of a veteran assassin on the wet concrete below. With him standing erect Leroy could now look into the face of this person, upon which he found the man to possess the aforementioned scar. Bold as a crest it was deeply engraved on his forehead, visible in spite of the hat he wore. For a moment, Leroy wondered just what exactly had this young man gotten into to earn himself such an angry blemish. However, that was hardly important.
"Yeeh, you him a'ight." Leroy said at last. "I'm dat nigga an' I got dat shit. So, you good?"
"Yeeh I'm good, but I ain't da' one wit'da dough. Dae Dae still holdin it. You gots ta git it from him."
Now hold the goddamn phone. None of this was mentioned in the briefing Leroy received earlier that evening about this deal.
"Naw playa, dat' shit wunt partuhda plan. I wus spose ta give it tuh you, get payment an be on ma'way. Dis shit too deep tuh be changin' on'da fly." Suddenly the invisible straps of tension in the air began to constrict.
"Den we gots ourselves uh problem." The man replied with a coolness that was far too aloof for Leroy's liking.
"Ain't no problem, I'm jus goin by wut Knuck said. If it ain't goin down jus like dat, den I gots ta be out."
"Look nigga," Needles said quickly. "I'm tryin ta be diplomatic. Shit change, I ain't got no reason ta lie. Dae Dae got yo shit. I been tol to escort you to'em to do da exchange. Can you please not be difficult?"
Here this nigga was jumpin out the damn shadows like fuckin' Darkwing Duck changin' shit on a more than crucial deal, and he was telling him not to be difficult? This cat had some nerve. Still, as absurd as it all was, Leroy had to work to defuse the situation. No point in making a mountain out of a molehill.
"Ay man, I ain't tryin' ta be difficult, but surely you see how dis seem suspect ta me?"
"Nigga, whateva. Look. I see where you comin' from, but real talk is dat if you don't come, thurr go'wn be consequences." He said slapping the back of one hand into his upturned palm for emphasis. "I do beseech you, jus go ta Dae Dae an' thurr won't be no issues."
No way. No goddamn way. This really was turning into a setup! And what the hell did he mean by consequences? Was that supposed to be some kind of threat? Fuck decorum. He wanted to know, so he asked.
"Hol up nigga, is that uh threat?" His tone was low, but it did little to mask his offence.
"Ay nigga, I ain't gotta threaten yo ass. I'm speakin' truths. I know what you rollin around wit an' I guarantee dat you or yo people don't wanna go ta war ova dis. Jus be fuckin' easy an' dis shit can get handled proper."
Leroy stared at him for a few seconds then looked away, contemplating. This shit was bad, real bad. But this Needles nigga had a point. The coke on his back was worth starting what would quickly escalate into a full scale gang war. What was more, Leroy didn't have time for that—he had beats to make; the shit that would finally get him and his mama outta the Terra Belle slums, and hopefully outta this drug game. A long time ago Leroy had learned the importance of picking one's battles carefully, despite the fact that foregoing one's proclivity to self preservation was a more than difficult task. It had to be a setup; there was no way it wasn't. Finally coming to the bristling conclusion of being the victim of a classic Catch 22, Leroy grimaced and sighed loudly. At that point, there was no other way around it.
"Lead the damn way."
With Needles pointing ahead of him, in the direction opposite of where Leroy faced, the two began their way up the narrow path to wherever it was they were going. When he got back with Knuckles, he would definitely be having some choice words with him…if he got back at all.
..oo..
The two walked for several minutes in silence until they arrived at a small house not unlike the one Knuckles owned, the misery of the architecture was only highlighted by the unpleasant night air. After two brief steps onto the porch Needles turned to face Leroy, running his index finger up the underside of his septum as he did.
"Uh, you go'wn hafta check yo piece." He said holding his upturned palm near his hip. Leroy looked at the open palm, to the door ahead, then back to the scared face of his escort. The longer it went on, the worse his situation seemed to become.
"Come'own nigga, we ain't got all fuckin' night." Needles said impatiently as he shifted his weight. Leroy pursed his lips again as he complied, pulling the Czechoslovakian military issued pistol out of his sweats. With the gun now in Needles' possession, he moved to the door and called though it.
"Ay, its Needles. I got that nigga Lee-roy wit me."
Leroy watched with growing trepidation as the door unlocked and came open. Needles looked to him then pointed, with his gun no less, to the open entrance. Hooking his thumbs through the thin straps of the flimsy drawstring bag, he crossed the threshold into the small house. With Needles the man at the door now at his back, he stood amongst several gritty looking hoods in the carpeted living room—six in all not including the two standing behind him. After several seconds of intense silence, footsteps could be heard coming down the hall. The six parted evenly on both sides to let the newcomer through.
This person was Dae Dae.
"Ay Dae Dae man, wassup? Why all da changes?" Leroy asked. Dae Dae said nothing for a few empty moments, as if searching for something impressive to say.
"Cuz, I'm about ta drop alotta damn cheese on dis shit, an' I prefer that happen where I'kin see it. I'm sure you can realize that I'ma man who likes ta be in control of da sitzy-ashin."
Bullshit, Leroy spat in thought. Dae Dae ain't never been in control of shit, but here he was now frontin' like a motherfucker. Leroy always felt this guy wasn't about nothin', but he could suppose that money and drugs had a way of changing things around. While at Knuckles', he didn't dare query as to how exactly Dae Dae on the North Quad got his hands on enough gwap to cover the cost of such wildly expensive cocaine. Either way, that wasn't important now. Dae Dae wanted control and control he got. Leroy was now pinned in a room full of potential adversaries with no armament of any kind and no decent way out. At this point, he'd be lucky if he left with his life.
"But anyway, lessie da'goods—pullit out ova here." Dae Dae said motioning to a small glass and wood coffee table in front of a couch that was off to his left. Letting his eyes flash quickly to the table, Leroy moved slowly in removing the small bag from his back. Hovering over the ring-stained surface, he lowered the incased brick of coke and loosened the strings that kept it hidden. Dae Dae, who had since moved over to watch, looked on with great intensity as the block of cocaine was revealed. Swells of aw and other sounds of delight filled the small living room as the compressed powder came into view.
"A'ight Dae Dae, here it is, three kilos of coke. Jus lemmie collect so I'kin go." Leroy announced as he slapped the level top of the brick.
A lopsided grin appeared on the man's face. So transfixed on the copious amount of cocaine that would soon be in his possession, he failed to notice that the brick still remained in the mote of cheap fabric created by the scrunched bag—and that Leroy never took his hand off the top of it. Leroy remained silent as Dae Dae continued to leer at his dust.
Moving even slower than Leroy had, Dae Dae reached into his pocket and pulled from it a rubber-banded wad of hundreds. Watching as Dae Dae began to move the bills in his direction, Leroy confirmed, quite consciously, with a question that seemed to catch his customer off guard.
"Fifteen?"
The spell on Dae Dae broken, he cast his eyes up to Leroy.
"Yeeh, you see me handin' it to you don'tcha?" Dae Dae sneered with an undertone of aggravation.
"Its all good man, its jus dat from here it seem like yo' roll lookin' ah lil' thin…dem all hundreds?"
"Nigga you don't believe me? Fuckin' look! I'll fuckin' count all deez damn shits out so you'kin fuckin' see." Dae Dae retorted. Then, as if he was some little kid in a dare, undid the band around the hundreds and began to count them out loud.
Leroy let his eyes count with the unfurling hundreds, curious as to where this course of action would take. While he counted, Leroy, moving only his eyes, took better inventory of his surroundings. The couch he stood next to was not fully against the wall and that there was a nightstand at the other end of it away from where he stood. Behind Dae Dae was a large plush chair. Off to the left was the hallway leading to other rooms in the house. The place itself was not very large, but only seemed that way due to the underutilization of floor space. Taking a few extra seconds to examine the other men, Leroy noted that none of them appeared to be older than twenty…and wet behind the ears to boot.
Dae Dae went on for about a minute as all the bills began to lay flat in his palm. In the last count, Dae Dae's words staggered with something like disbelief as his number stopped several thousand short of the asking price. Now this was awkward.
Leroy would feel the tension in the air move to strangle; that mysterious quiet before disaster stuck settled over the room like an exploded bag white flour. Leroy and Dae Dae's eyes met like predator and formidable prey, both of them knowing what came next. The time for thought was over.
Leroy snatched up on the drawstrings of the bag with his right hand, re-sheathing the coke and securing it firmly in the same motion. As his fist continued upward, he swung out counterclockwise, welding the coke brick like an Olympic hammer, striking the man that stood behind him to the left. The brick continued its desperate course towards Needles. The slender-built man bowed backward like a boxer to avoid the blow. Instinct flashed in his black and dead eyes and quickly snatched from nowhere a switchblade to counter the deviant actions Leroy was taking—this nigga thought he was going to get away…
In the space between Needles righting himself and Leroy finishing his swing, Leroy doubled back and grabbed by the shirtfront the still stupefied lackey he had pummeled with the cocaine and jerked the man between him and the switchblade that was hurdling toward his liver.
There was a gasp and a howl that signified that Leroy's human shield had taken the blow. With his fist still wrapped up in the man's shirt, Leroy pushed back on him, effectively keeping Needles off balance. With the victim stumbling back on Needles as well, it made it difficult for Needles to quickly collect his blade lodged in the man's back. In the midst of this, Leroy sidestepped with his shield in such a way that he and Needles were never face to face in addition to keeping the injured man between him and others.
Slow to the draw, and thoroughly blindsided by the unexpected skirmish, Dae Dae's other six thugs pulled their guns sloppily and aimed—holding their fire only because two of their men were in direct line of it. Taking advantage of this hesitation, Leroy forced back with all his might on his shield, sending the man and Needles with him stumbling over the coffee table. Before they landed though, Leroy had already lunged over the couch, hitting the back of it and causing it to fall backwards. Immediately rounds started firing, however no holes exploded through the cushions. Much to his blind luck, the couch had a hideaway-bed component and all the wood, metal and mattress stuffing from it worked to insulate him from the weapon fire.
Not waiting for one of them to get smart and come around the couch, Leroy tempted fate by lunging from his deteriorating cover across open floor to the area behind the oversized chair. In that split second of vulnerability, a bullet managed to graze his far right shoulder. The wound burned like fire, but the pain was not enough to punch through his adrenaline. Even more exposed in this inadequate position, Leroy's eyes locked on a closed door directly ahead of him. For a brief second, the firing ceased—their magazines were empty.
"Hurry up an' fuckin' reload!!" An unfamiliar voice rang out.
Never having a clearer opportunity, Leroy dove for the door that somehow seemed farther away just a second ago. He crashed through it and sprang to his feet, whipping the bag onto his back as he did. By now the blood from his wound had soaked well through his shirt and gave the appearance of more damage than was actually there. It still hurt, but now wasn't a time to dwell on such trifles. He was in a bedroom now, and in front of him stood a very pregnant and wide-eyed woman. She was young enough, maybe eighteen. She wore a pink tanktop that barely covered her swollen form and a pair of pink, green and yellow pastel plaid peddle-pushers that also failed to accommodate her enlarged belly. Her short, broken out and chemically damaged hair was pulled back into a nub of a ponytail and slicked back with brown gel. Somebody's baby mama. Maybe it was Dae Dae's? Not that it mattered. If Dae Dae was stupid enough to keep a pregnant woman in the house with all the dirty shit that went on in it, he should be prepared to pay for such a laps in judgement.
Regardless, Leroy was unprepared for this turn, and found himself equally unprepared for when she moved for a Glock on the dresser next to her. Before she was able to collect and aim the gun, however, Leroy had already negotiated the distance between them and the pregnant girl soon found herself in a firm headlock. With the Glock in his possession, he wasted no time pressing it's barrel into the side of the woman's pregnant belly; if he was going to have leverage, damnit he'd have some fucking leverage. She gave a small terrified squeal as Dae Dae and another filled the doorway.
"Qwanisha!" Dae Dae blurted, genuine worry in his face. Maybe it was his after all.
A second passed and Leroy had managed to square most of himself behind the slight frame of the woman, making himself less of a target. He spoke dangerously as his one visible eye hovered over his hostage's shoulder.
"This bitch'll git uh bullet-made abortion if yall niggas don't get duh fuck up out muh way." He took a few steps forward, pushing the girl along, her breath hitching loudly in undisguised terror. Dae Dae and the other man beside him backed up quickly as Leroy cleared the doorway. In the hallway, all the men, except the one who'd been knifed by Needles' switchblade, stared at Leroy with a mix of discomfort and anger. Leroy disregarded their burning glares and he moved towards the front door, the woman his shield all the time.
With his back to the wall beside the doorframe, he spoke lowly in the woman's ear instructing her open the door with her left hand. Once he saw from his peripheral the door swing open, he backed out. As he moved across the threshold, the group inched toward him. Leroy stopped immediately and tightened his already fierce grip on the girl till she mewled in pain.
"Yall niggas think I'm playin…" he said as he pressed the gun farther into the side of her hardened stomach. The men jerked to a halt at the visible threat. Satisfied, Leroy slowly moved down the stairs until he was on the dusty ground below.
"Don't follow or da' hoe gets it." He called into the open door. Backing away into the relative darkness of the poorly lit street, he allowed the gun to migrate from the girl's belly to her neck.
"You make a fuss an' I'll still bus'a cap in yo ass." She nodded her head quickly and Leroy began walking backwards swiftly, all but dragging her along. Once he had rounded the corner of a building out of sight of the house he had just fled, he whirled her about and threw her roughly to the ground. She had served her purpose and was no longer needed. Not taking another moment, he broke out into a full on run through the darkness back to his headquarters, knowing that he would loose them successfully if they attempted to pursue.
Needless to say, there was gunna be hell to pay for this one. If there was ever a time to try and vacate terrible Terra-Belle, it was now. Too much shit was on the horizon and the fault seemed to lay with Dae Dae--damn that ignorant fucker.
A/N: I hope this chapter didn't go too oddly for you. It'll make more sense after while. Thanks for reading. Till next update!