Triple Crown Presents-Road Dawgz Page 3

  “Man, I cant do it,” K-Dawg said with a shrug of his shoulders. “What you mean?” Jus asked in disbelief.

  “All I got to rock is this bullshit from out the joint,” K-Dawg said hoisting his duffel bag. “That’s all?” Jus asked. “Man, don’t even worry about it.” Before K-Dawg could react, Jus snatched the duffel bag and threw it into a trashcan. “Come on, K-Dawg. I’m ‘bout to take you on ‘twenty-fifth and get you a few fits.”

  “Man, you ain’t gotta be doing all that,” K-Dawg protested. “I know I don’t, nigga,” Jus said soberly, “but you my homeboy and I’d never see you go without.”

  “That’s love,” K-Dawg said slapping Jus five. “Okay, we can do it, but I wanna go over and see my peoples first.” “A’ight then, K-Dawg. When you get finished wit’ ya peoples come ring my bell.”

  “Cool,” K-Dawg said, preparing to get on his way.

  “One more thing,” Jus said putting a hand on his shoulder. “HAPPY B-DAY, NIGGA!!!”

  ***

  K-Dawg was wrapped in his own thoughts as he approached the projects. So far he was sure Jus was going to get down with him. That was never really a question, though. Even though they met in the home, Jus had always been a loyal friend. The fact that Jus had stepped up to the status of jewel thief didn’t hurt nothing, either. The white boys K-Dawg had hooked up with were always talkin’ ‘bout how much money there was in hot jewels. Jus’s ol’ ghetto ass probably didn’t even realize the type of money he could get for his services. Oh well, K-Dawg was just the one to show him the light—for a cut, of course. Like Jus had said, “Everything is profit.”

  K-Dawg looked around purposefully at the changes in his little slum village, just as a tourist would’ve looked at the Wall of China. For the most part the construction was the same, but the people were different. There were a lot of new faces staring back at K-Dawg as he crossed the playground. Some faces were pleasant, while others were not. K-Dawg didn’t care; to him, they had no significance. They were just pawns, put on the face of the earth to aid in carrying out whatever plan or scheme he could come up with.

  As he got closer to his building, his heart began to race. This was the place he grew up in, yet he felt like a stranger. The sight of the dirty lobby brought back memories—horrible memories of days gone by.…

  “Family”

  History is no mystery. It’s only what we’ve taken from the past and changed over and over again. History is something we know nothing about, because it’s been turned inside out. If we were serious about History, our lives and our family’s lives, we’d keep alive. No one can ever take your family tree from you, ‘cause remember, you grew from it. Looking back to the past, History is still a mystery. But my family tree belongs only to me.

  Brenda M. Foye 1955 - 2002

  CHAPTER 2

  K-Dawg was born to a fairly large family . Unlike most kids in the hood, he was blessed to have had both parents in the home, even if only for a short time. He was the youngest of five children. His brother, Charles Jr., was the oldest. Then came his sisters—Pearl, China and Kiesha.

  Kiesha was his twin. Even though they were born on the same day, she was a whole five minutes older than he was. That’s why people always referred to him as the youngest in the family.

  K-Dawg and Kiesha were identical in every way—except gender. They both had their mother’s beautiful jet-black complexion, a gift that wasn’t passed on to any of their siblings, who were very fair-skinned like their father. The twins got their curly hair from their Creole grandmother, who some say was a voodoo woman back home. When the twins were young, their sister, Pearl, would braid their hair alike, making it nearly impossible to tell them apart.

  Overall, the children were well taken care of. They weren’t rich, but both their parents worked to make sure they had the things they needed as well as a few extras. K-Dawg’s father owned an auto repair shop in the Bronx where they used to live. His mother worked part time at a hair salon and played hostess at a nightclub on weekends. They loved their children dearly, and they busted their assess night and day to make sure they didn’t go without.

  K-Dawg’s mother was a beautiful woman. She was as black as a moonless sky, and she had pearl white teeth. She had long wavy hair that she mostly wore in a single plait, which hung down to her shapely backside. Rose wasn’t a small woman, either; she stood almost six feet tall in flat shoes.

  When she moved to New York from Louisiana, all the players Uptown wanted to get with her. ‘Black Rose,’ as they called her, was the baddest chick in Harlem. She was showered with jewels and expensive gifts, but no one was able to capture her heart. Instead of hooking up with a big money cat, she chose a poor working stiff named Charlie. Whenever someone asked her why she chose him instead of a baller, she would simply say, “He has a good heart.”

  Rose loved all of her children completely, but the twins were different. She called them her miracle babies, and she always seemed to be overly affectionate toward them. No one thought anything of it; to onlookers, she was just a woman who loved her special little ones. No one really had any idea of the dark secret she harbored.

  Their father was a different story altogether. When they were babies, Charlie showed the twins as much love as he did the other children. As the twins got older and their features began to define themselves, Charlie changed. He still treated Kiesha fairly well, but for some reason he seemed to dislike K-Dawg. It wasn’t like he hated him; it was more like he just couldn’t stand to be around him. His temper with the toddler was short, and he was quick to spank him for the littlest things. He claimed he was trying to teach him discipline, but it was borderline abuse. The other children thought Charlie’s mishandling of the boy was funny as hell. That is, until the day the laughter stopped.

  Charlie was a good man by most standards. He always divided his time equally between his business and his family. He loved his home life, but an incident from the past had haunted him and changed his life forever. Many years earlier, before the birth of the twins, Rose had suffered an indignity that would alter the future of her family as well as the streets of New York.

  It was about three in the morning when Rose left her job at a club she worked at every weekend. Usually Charlie would come to pick her up, but that evening he had business—in the form of a tender young blues singer—that kept him away. Before Rose had left the house for work, he gave her cab fare to get home, so he wasn’t worried. However, his decision to let his little head lead him instead of showing more concern for his wife’s safety caused him tremendous regret.

  Rose stopped a gypsy cab and instructed the driver to take her home. The long hours she worked caught up with her, and she fell asleep in the taxi. When the car came to a sudden halt, Rose awoke from her nap. Slightly disoriented, she looked around and realized that she was not in front of her house. Instead, she was in an isolated section of The Bronx, where the prostitutes turned their tricks. When she asked the driver what he was doing, she was ignored.

  A chilling fear took hold of Rose’s entire body, and a voice inside her head yelled, “GIRL, GET THE FUCK OUT OF THIS CAB AND RUN!” Rose tried the door and learned that there was no way to open it from the inside. She was trapped. The driver turned around wearing a wicked grin. For the first time, Rose got a good look at him, and she knew that she was in trouble.

  He was white and in his early thirties. His hair was a tangled red mess, with clumps of it sticking up here and there. His eyes were a wicked green that seemed to glow in the dim light. His teeth were yellow and rotted, like something seen in a beforeand-after picture at the dentist.

  “Well, well,” he said in a heavy southern accent, “ain’t you a fine lil’ black bitch. Umm hmm. I knew’d it when I seen you outside that whore shack where you work. I said to myself, ‘Self, that is one fine piece of black pussy.’ I sho nuff did. So tell me, darkie, you ever been wit’ a white man?”

  Rose shook her head from side to side. “N...no. Only man I ever been with is my husband.” “Oh, so youz married?” he asked as he climbed over the front seat and into the back of the car with Rose. “Probably got you one o’ them big-dick buck-niggers, huh, honey? Well, today is your lucky day. Out of the goodness of my heart, I’m gonna give you a taste of this ol’ pink swipe,” he said grabbing his crotch.

  “Now,” he continued, “before you get all nervous and start screaming, you ain’t got to worry about me raping you. I don’t plan on doing you no harm. What I’m going to do is let you suck on this ol’ pecker of mine. Probably a lil’ smaller than what you’re used to,” he said while pulling his penis out of his pants, “but it ain’t about the size. It’s all about technique. Yep, I’m gonna let you suck on this here, and give you a taste of this joy juice.”

  Rose thought about pleading for her life, but the maddened look in his eyes told her that he was beyond reason. She was in a serious dilemma, and she had to think fast. With all the strength she could muster, Rose socked the taxi driver square in the jaw. He fell back against the dashboard, and his head bounced off the driver’s-side window.

  Rose had managed to daze the madman, but she was still trapped in the car. She took off her shoe and began to bang away at the glass. Before she could even crack the glass, a powerful hand gripped a big chunk of her hair, restricting her movement.

  “Oh, a tough lil bitch, huh?” he snarled with spit clinging to his lips. “Well, I like it when they fight,” he said just before slamming his fist hard into Rose’s face, knocking her flat across the back seat of the car. For a moment she thought she would black out, but miraculously, she didn’t lose consciousness. As Rose desperately thought about what to do next, the driver ripped off her skirt and panties in one motion and began to straddle her.

  “Look-a-here, look-
a-here,” he said while pawing at Rose’s vagina. “Such a tender young thang.” He lowered his head and lapped at Rose’s vagina. Rose just closed her eyes and tried to drown out the slurping sounds coming from the vile man. “I’m gonna make you enjoy this, bitch,” the driver said fumbling with his pants. When he entered Rose she hardly felt it, but she knew a man other than her husband was inside of her. She tried to squirm, but that only made him more excited, and he thrust himself into her harder.

  Within two minutes, the driver had reached his climax. The sweat and funk from his body filled Rose’s nostrils and almost caused her to gag more than once. He sat upright and smiled down at Rose, still flat on her back, as if he had done her a favor.

  “That wasn’t so bad, now, was it, sweetie?” Rose didn’t answer. She just turned and lay sobbing with her face pressed in the seat. The driver, hearing her sobs, suddenly became furious. He snatched Rose’s hair and pulled her upper body towards him, so that he could look her straight in the face, eye to eye.

  “You laughing at me, whore?” he said with madness dancing in his eyes. Rose tried to shake her head no, but the pain from his strong hold on her tresses was too much to bear. Rose, being a religious woman, called on God. “Lord, why you do this to me?” she sobbed. “I ain’t done nothing to deserve this.”

  “Shut up!” the driver screamed, punching Rose in the mouth. “You were laughing at me. They’re always laughing at me,” he said with tears rolling down his cheeks. “They say I’m not a man. Well, lil’ bitch, I’m gonna show you what a man is all about.”

  Instead of letting Rose go, the driver beat her. He beat her and raped her over and over until the sun was peeking over the skyscrapers. When he was done with her, he dumped her body down near the highway on 125th street. He didn’t expect her to make it through the morning, but thanks to a young prostitute, she did. The girl took Rose to the hospital and left as soon as the doctor said she would live. Rose never even got the girl’s name so she could thank her.

  The police questioned Rose about the rape and the girl that brought her to the hospital. Rose couldn’t give a good description of the girl, but she did remember that her attacker was a redheaded green-eyed monster with the confederate flag tattooed on his neck.

  The rape counselor said that in time the mental scars would heal. Rose had actually started to believe her, until eight weeks later when she found out that she was pregnant. That’s when everything turned to shit.

  Charlie hadn’t been intimate with Rose since several weeks before the rape, so he knew that he wasn’t the father. He wanted Rose to terminate the pregnancy or arrange for adoption after the birth, but she wasn’t trying to hear it. Even though Charlie didn’t plant the unborn seed, Rose insisted on keeping it alive. It was hers, and she would love it regardless.

  Six and a half months later, Rose gave birth to twins—Kiesha and Keshawn. At first it was hard for Rose to look at the children; every time she looked down at the two new additions to her family, she saw the green eyes of the rapist staring back at her.

  K-Dawg knew his mother’s story well, even if he did keep it to himself. He knew it so well because on a few occasions when Rose wasn’t around and Charlie was drinking, he would tell it to him. Charlie would describe in detail the tragedy that befell Rose, and K-Dawg would listen intently.

  ***

  K-Dawg was brought out of the past by the sound of a female voice calling his name. He turned around and saw Nikki grinning from ear to ear. Back in the days, she would always punch K-Dawg in the arm and run away. He never really dug her, though. Back then, she was skinny as hell and wore glasses. When K-Dawg took a good look at her, he realized that things had definitely changed.

  Nikki had come the fuck up. The black spandex pants she wore advertised her new and improved large and shapely booty. She didn’t wear glasses anymore. Now she opted for green contacts. Her caramel skin had long since won its battle with acne and was as smooth as K-Dawg’s ass. All he could say when she hugged him was, “Damn!”

  “Well, hello to you, too,” Nikki said seductively. “When you touch down?”

  “Oh,” K-Dawg said, reluctantly breaking her grip “a nigga just touched down.” “Word?” Nikki asked unwrapping her lollipop. She slowly put the cherry red pop into her mouth and began working it in and out. “So what you got planned now that you’re in the world?”

  “Who knows?” K-Dawg said with a shrug. “You gonna finish school?”

  “Please, been there done that. I’m shooting for bigger game.” “Yeah, I know what that mean. You ain’t even been a free man for twenty-four hours, and you already trying to be a hustler.” “Nah, you got it fucked up, Nikki. I’m not trying to be a hustler. I’m gonna be the king.”

  “I hear that,” she said licking her lips. “You always were the dreamer, Keshawn.”

  “Well, Nikki, you know what they say about dreams—sometimes they become a reality.”

  “So you try’n to be that nigga, huh? Excuse me, I meant, you gonna be that nigga.”

  “Call it what you want, Nikki. I’m ‘bout my paper. Point blank.” “So, I better snatch you up from the jump, huh?” “Do you, girl. You know where to find me.”

  K-Dawg continued on his way home while Nikki kept her eyes glued to him. “I sure do,” she said. “You go right ahead and blow up, but every good king needs a queen. One thing you gonna learn about Nikki, is that I’m ‘bout my paper too.”

  CHAPTER 3

  K-Dawg made it to his building without bumping into anyone else he knew. He couldn’t believe how Nikki had come up. She had always been a down ass chick, but she was never much to look at. Now Nikki was all that. However, K-Dawg had never been stupid. He had been down for a while, and Nikki was transparent to him. She was a street bitch. Be that as it may, she might still prove useful; she was sure to have the scoop on the who’s, who’s in the hood. Even if the information he was sure to pump from her bore no fruit, he could still tap that ass. It was a win-win situation in his favor, as it should be.

  On the fifth floor, a scruffy-looking character got on the elevator and took a spot in the corner. He wore a pair of beat up Reebok’s that looked like they had seen far better days. His Colombia was torn, and it was patched together in certain places with duct tape. His stench was enough to make K-Dawg cover his nose.

  K-Dawg couldn’t believe how this dude could run around smelling like that, but there was something about the filthy cat that rang a cord in his head—something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. The character must’ve felt eyes on him, because he turned around and stared at the young man just inches away from him. That’s when it finally hit K-Dawg.

  The character in the elevator was his childhood friend, Flip. Flip was a young man from K-Dawg’s building that he used to shoot around with as a kid. He was maybe four to five years KDawg’s senior, but they treated each other as equals during their Saturday morning basketball games. Flip had cut his teeth in the game early. While everyone else was playing 7-11, Flip was learning how to cut drugs. The older fellas used to let flip sling and hold drugs for them. They knew that because he was so young, the police couldn’t really do shit if they caught him. Flip was one of the freshest kids in the hood back in the day. Now he was running around looking like a stone hype.

  “Flip,” K-Dawg said a little skeptically, “what up my nigga?” Flip looked at K-Dawg trying to figure out where he knew him from. One could tell from the look in his eyes that he was fucking around. Every trace of the young boy K-Dawg remembered from the days on the court was gone. Now he stood face to face with a full-fledged crackhead.

  Slowly the fog lifted from Flip’s brain. As he looked at the handsome young man addressing him, things began to become clearer. At first Flip thought it was someone he might’ve ripped off, so his hand immediately dipped into his pocket and fingered his switchblade. As he looked closer, he realized it was his chum, Keshawn.

  “What it is?” Flip asked in a scratchy voice. “Keshawn, I ain’t seen you in a minute. Where the hell you been, man?” “Been a while,” K-Dawg said extending his hand. “I been down for a minute. Nigga did a bid and shit.”