Hoodlum Read online

  HOODLUM

  ALSO BY K’WAN

  Street Dreams

  Gangsta

  Road Dawgz

  HOODLUM

  K’WAN

  HOODLUM. Copyright © 2005 by K’wan Foye. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

  www.stmartins.com

  ISBN 0-312-33308-0

  EAN 978-0-312-33308-9

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Gone but not forgotten: Donald Goines and Iceberg Slim. Had it not been for these two gentlemen, some of us would still be working nine to fives.

  It seems like every time I think I’m tapped out, another story pops into my head. God has truly blessed me and I’m thankful for it.

  You know, every time I see my name printed somewhere or people enjoying my stories, I find myself wishing that my mother was here to see it. Then I realize that she is here. Maybe not in the physical, but definitely in spirit. I have an unconditional love for this woman for several reasons: It's hard for a young woman to raise a knucklehead on her own, but I was an entire fist. My mother loved me enough to comfort me when it was necessary, yet let me learn through trial and error. When she left here, she passed her gift on to me, and thus I share it with you.

  TO MY FAMILY:

  My precious daughter, Ni Jaa: Every time I look at you, I’m reminded of how you showed me that love did live somewhere in an ugly heart. Thank you so much.

  My newest addition, Alexandria: No matter how many times I witness the miracle of childbirth, I still find myself marveled by it. As with your sister, I will guide you to the best of my abilities.

  I would like to take this time to address my grandmother, Ethel M. Foye: Please stop listening to what people tell you, I am not totally crazy, but I battle with pain and madness every day. This is what inspires me.

  Tee-Tee, my favorite aunt, and one of the people most responsible for what I have become: It always gets worse before it gets better. I’m still working on that condo for you.

  My uncles Eric, Darryl, and Frankie: Never give up. And to my aunt Les: He can’t stop you, and if he doesn’t read this, you make sure you tell him I said so!

  To my pops: Love is love, old man. I can’t say that I’ve finally learned how to let go of grudges, ‘cause I’d be lying, but the beef between us is long dead.

  Denise: Thank you so much for blessing me with my first child. In time you’ll realize that the things I do and say are to help you better yourself. Beware of harpies with forked tongues. I’m not the enemy.

  Charlotte: Thank you for carrying around forty extra pounds and allowing me to witness the miracle for a second time. Continue to be my voice of reason when the madness outweighs the logic. And yes, I do respect your individuality.

  Monique Patterson and the staff at St. Martin's Press: Thank you for being patient with me and helping me launch my career to new levels.

  Vickie: What can I say? You saw it when no one else did. I told you one day the world would stand up and take notice.

  FOR THE HOOD:

  This is for all the people who held me down or offered words of encouragement. I’d like to send a very special shout out to Sonny Black. One day somebody took me under the wing, and I was fortunate enough to be successful. I only hope I can do the same for you. The game is wide open. Black Dawn, Inc. (home team for the New Year), Tony ‘TM’ Council (Hold ya head, cuzo. Playing fair didn’t work, so they chose lies as their weapons of choice. This is the strategy of cowards.), Ty, Cousin Shae aka Enough, Mark, Party Tyme, Coo-Coo Killz, Party's Angles (summer nights on 114th help me create some interesting characters), my nigga Shannon Holmes (you opened the door, fam. All I did was step through it. Thank you.), my extended family in Bed-Stuy, Hard Body Records, Nakeya and Dawn (my home girls from Philly, I have yet to be fed), Richard from B-more, Thomas Long, Anthony Whyte, Eric Gray, Mark Anthony, Darren Coleman, A1 Sadiq Banks (I see you, soldier. Get money.), Jamise L. Dames, Brandon Massey, Yasmin Shiraz (the tour was enlightening), Brandon Mc Calla (Pay attention to what you’re doing and leave them broads alone!), Tracy Brown, Kashamba Williams, T.N. Baker, Nikki Turner, and the whole T.C.P. roster. Whether we’re still signed to the label or not, we know where it started. All the talented authors who came behind me and added their voices to this genre, keep doing what you do, putting it down for the hood. Coast 2 Coast, Arc, Passion 4 Reading, Raw Sistaz, and the rest of the book clubs that held me down. Mad love goes to all the bookstores and vendors who continue to support me and push my books. If I missed you, I’m sorry. You’d think after four books I’d have thanked everybody.

  A very special thanks to all the readers. You guys have been in my corner since day one. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your continuing faith in my talent.

  I would also like to acknowledge the people who talk breezy about me when they think I’m not listening. I thought about saying something witty, but I’ll keep it simple. WATCH YOUR MOUTHS!!!!

  Enjoy the story.

  PRINCIPLE

  “PASS THAT BLUNT, nigga,” Legs said, switching the dial on the beat-up Chrysler's radio. Legs was light-skinned with nappy hair that he either wore in braids or an unkempt ‘fro. He was known throughout the hood as a nigga that was always down to ride. He was a young cat trying to make a name for himself and that's part of the reason Tommy had selected him for this particular errand. Murder without motive.

  “Fuck you, bitch-nigga.” This was Amine. He was a short, dark- skinned kid who wore his hair in a short twist. He was an easygoing cat, who enjoyed a good laugh, but a wise man wouldn’t judge him by face value. Amine was always down to put in work just to say that he did.

  These were the two that Tommy had chosen to collect a debt owed to his family by a dude named Heath who ran numbers out of a grocery store on 131st and Lenox. Heath had a decent thing going, but he was a degenerate gambler and notorious fuckup. Tommy had loaned Heath some money a few months back so he could getback on his feet. Heath had been quick in taking the money but hesitant about paying it back.

  The amount of money that Heath owed wasn’t really worth making a stink over, but there was a method to Tommy's madness. Heath was one of the few people operating an illegal business in Harlem that didn’t grease Tommy's or Poppa's palm. Heath was fortunate enough to be running one of the few number holes that was still pulling in respectable bread. Tommy wanted in, but Heath shut him down. He was an old head and was connected to the guineas. Strong-arming him might’ve caused a stink in relations between the Clarks and the Cissarros. But if Heath was wrong Tommy could have him killed and no one could really raise a stink about it.

  Legs and Amine were both street-smart as hell, but between ail the weed and sherm they dabbled in, they didn’t have a lot of common sense between them. Tommy had given them instructions to try and get the money without getting rough. Tommy had watched the both of them grow up so he of all people knew better. Even if Heath paid the debt they were still likely to shoot him, if not break a bone or two.

  “Fuck, we’ve been waiting on this nigga for almost an hour,” complained Amine. “What's good with this nigga, Legs?”

  “Easy, youngster,” cooed Legs. “Don’t be so quick to go get it. Nine times outta ten chaos will come if you wait long enough. That's just the way of the world.”

  As soon as Legs had finished his sentence Heath came strolling around the corner of 132nd and Lenox. He was strolling like he didn’t have a care in the world. The silly murha fucka even had the nerve to be wearing a lime green sports coat. He looked l
ike a walking target.

  Legs tapped Amine and slid out of the car. His partner got out and came around the back to join him. When Heath caught sight of the two, he slowed his pace a bit. He couldn’t place the two kids who were grilling him, but the menacing looks they were giving him screamed trouble. Heath started to backtrack but the venom in Legs's voice gave him pause.

  “Don’t even do it like that,” Legs said, easing up on Heath. “If I gotta chase you, I’m just gonna gun you down right here.”

  “What's this all about?” asked Heath.

  “Come on, son,” Amine cut in. “You already know what it is. Where the fuck is Tommy's money?”

  “Oh,” he said trying to muster a grin. “I was gonna call him about that, but I lost his number. I would’ve just rolled through the hood to holla at him but I ain’t had a free moment. You know how it is?”

  “Nah,” Legs said, pulling his .45. “I don’t know how it is. What I do know is that you better drop what you owe so I don’t have to shoot yo’ old ass.”

  Activator from Heath's salt-and-pepper curl began to drip down the side of his face as he pleaded, “Come on, fellas. What's all the gun business about? I’m sure we can talk about this.”

  “Man,” Legs sighed. “I’m not really trying to go through the motions with you right now. Do you have Tommy's money or not?”

  “Hey, no need to get bossy. You know I’ve been running the streets since before you and Tommy were born. Can I get a little respect?”

  “I see you wanna do this the hard way. Amine,” Legs said, looking at his partner, “do you mind?”

  “Sure thing,” Amine said, pulling a small .22 from his back pocket. Before Heath could cop a plea Amine shot him once in the foot. The gun sounded like a small firecracker, but Heath's roar of pain overshadowed that as he hopped around and eventually collapsed. The few people who were on the street took off in any direction other than the one Heath and the two gunmen were in.

  “Now,” Legs said, kneeling beside Heath, “let me ask you this shit again. Do you have Tommy's money?”

  “Jesus,” Heath cried. “You shot me in the fucking foot … my fucking foot.”

  “Oh, so you don’t hear me, huh?” asked Legs, leveling the .45 with Heath's eye.

  “Hold on, hold on,” pleaded Heath. “Don’t kill me!”

  “Do you have the money?” asked Legs.

  “I can give you half, but I need a day or so to—”

  “Hold up,” Legs said, cutting him off. “You mean to say that with all the money you’re pulling in over here and you can’t pay my man a measly twenty grand?”

  “Sorry mutha fucka!” Amine said, kicking Heath in the ribs.

  “Man,” Heath picked up. “I ain’t got that kinda bread laying around. It's gonna take me at least a couple of hours.”

  “Get up, Heath,” Legs said, extending his hand. When he saw that Heath was hesitant to take the assistance he softened his tone. “Come on, Heath. We ain’t gonna do nothing to you.” Reluctantly Heath allowed Legs to help him up. “Its a’ight, man,” Legs said, placing his arm around Heath's shoulder. “You know what, Heath? You’re about a sorry mutha fucka. Tommy's been good to you, why would you wanna stiff him on some short bread?”

  “I wasn’t gonna stiff him,” Heath lied. “On my dead mama, I was gonna pay him his cake. I got about ten on me and I can get the rest later on tonight.”

  “You know, Heath, if it were up to me then that would be fine, but I ain’t the one who makes the laws on these streets. That would be Tommy. See, a nigga like me just enforces them. Just like in situations like this, when a shit bag like you tries to cross a good dude like Tommy. I’m sorry, Heath, but we just can’t have that.”

  Before Heath could utter another word, a .45 slug tore through his torso and exploded out his back. Legs stepped over him and put another slug in his cheek. A young Hispanic man who had been off loading a truck in front of a store spared a second too long to look at Legs. “Fuck is you looking at,” barked Legs. “You got an eye problem?” The young man shook his head and ran off.

  Legs and Amine went to work tearing Heath's pockets off. The lying son of a bitch only had about eight thousand on him. It would do though. Tommy had told the youngsters that they could keep whatever they snatched off the man. It wasn’t really the money that Tommy had Heath killed over. It was the principle.

  BABY BROTHER

  THE YUKON THUNDERED along the BQE dipping in and out of traffic. “All Eyes on Me” was playing at full volume as the vehicle seemed to sway to the beat. The truck jumped from the left lane to the right without bothering to signal. Some of the other motorists beeped their horns and gave the driver the finger, but he didn’t give a shit. His boss was in a rush and they were holding up progress.

  “How much longer?” asked the dark-skinned man sitting in the backseat.

  “Not much, Tommy,” the driver said. “The exit's just up ahead.”

  “Cool,” Tommy said, going back to his Daily News. “Let me know when we get there.” After reading about the fifth article on someone that got a raw deal that week, Tommy closed the paper. The news was always so damn bad. “Fucking depressing,” he whispered.

  “What ya say, Tommy?” the driver asked.

  “Nothing, Here. Just thinking out loud, man.” Tommy lookedat the back of Here's massive bald head and grinned. Here might’ve been one of the biggest and ugliest sons of bitches in the world, but a friend like him was priceless. He was loyal and didn’t talk much, but the love was true between him and Tommy.

  The truck finally pulled up near the terminals. “Be right back,” Tommy said as he hopped out.

  Tommy walked over to the gate where he was supposed to meet his charge and checked the arrival time. The young lady at the gate informed him that all of the passengers had exited the plane already. Tommy scratched his head and looked around. He was sure that he hadn’t missed him coming in so where could he be? Tommy heard a giggle to his rear and turned to see what the cause of it was.

  Two flight attendants were taking their time getting off the plane. One was a dark-skinned sister, sporting fish-bone braids. The other was a Puerto Rican girl with a wrap. In between them was the person that Tommy came to meet: his baby brother, Shai.

  Tommy just stood there and watched as the flight attendants hung on Shai's every word. He couldn’t hear what they were being told, but they were going for it. Shai just smiled and soaked it all up.

  The brothers were very similar in appearance. They both had their mother's dark skin and their father's Trinidadian features. The only difference was that Tommy was broad with a low caesar, while Shai was thin with waves. Other than that they were almost identical.

  Shai noticed Tommy waiting for him, but that didn’t make him move any faster. He took his time as he relieved the flight attendants of his bags and kissed them both on the cheek. He put on his coolest walk and headed in Tommy's direction.

  “What up, Slim?” Tommy said, spreading his arms.

  “Nappy black,” Shai capped. “What da deal, Buckwheat?” They had been calling each other names for years, but they were tight as hell. “Damn,” Shai said, rubbing Tommy's stomach, “You got fat, kid.”

  “Good living,” Tommy said, patting his stomach. “Good living. So, what up with you?”

  “Same shit, man,” Shai said, looking at his shoes.

  “That's all you got to say?” Tommy asked.

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “You can start by telling me how you managed to get kicked out of school. Shai, what the fuck were you thinking?”

  “It wasn’t my fault, Tommy,” Shai protested.

  “It never is,” Tommy said, shaking his head. “Shai, you gotta learn to take responsibility for your actions. Ever since we were kids, you were always blaming others for your mistakes. You can complain about how it wasn’t your fault until the cows come home, but didn’t nobody make you bet on that damn game. Now look what the fuck you’ve done.�
�

  Shai wanted to argue with Tommy, but he knew that he couldn’t. His older brother was totally right. Until recently, Shai had been the star point guard at NC State. He was awarded a full athletic scholarship out of high school and was supposed to be the next big thing. Unfortunately for Shai, he was lured by the idea of fast money. Against his better judgment and common sense, Shai started betting on the games. It was a good little hustle until a sore loser reported him and Shai was suspended from school. Now he was home to face the music.

  “Guess it doesn’t make sense to argue about it now.” Tommy shrugged. “You’re grown and this is your life. I just hope Poppa doesn’t kill you.”

  Shai cringed at the thought of going home to face their father. Poppa had verbally lashed him over the phone at least three times already. Shai had disappointed him and tarnished their family name at the school. Poppa took great pride in the name he had made for them. Their family had their hands firmly planted in the under world, but their father was a respected businessman and pillar of the community. Having his son suspended for something like gambling didn’t look good on them and there was no doubt in Shai's mind that he would suffer for it.

  After grabbing Shai's last bag from the belt, they maneuvered their way to the waiting car. Shai looked at the truck and nodded hishead in approval. Tommy always did have refined taste in cars. The forest green Yukon on 23s was a testament to that.

  Shai found himself grabbed from behind in a vise-like bear hug. “Break yo'self, fool,” Here said, lifting Shai off his feet. “What's my name, huh?”

  “Aw damn,” gasped Shai. “Put me down, man.”

  “Say my name.”

  “A’ight. Wilmont.”

  “You trying to be funny?” Here asked, tightening his grip.

  “A’ight, a’ight. Here.”