True to the Game, page 13
“Rik, I want to get out of this shit,” Quadir said.
“Out of what?” Rik had no idea what his mentor could be talking about.
“The game. This shit is too much for me. I want to sit at home instead of hustling out here in these streets.”
“I know that’s right. Motherfuckers are passing out time like it’s government cheese.”
Qua turned to face him. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. Cherelle calls the house and she follows me around. The bitch is a fatal attraction.”
“You played it real cool, though. You didn’t even blink when you seen her walking over to you.”
“Shit, I wanted to run my ass the fuck out of this motherfucker, but Gena’s nosy-ass girlfriends would’ve had something to say.”
“Those are some bitch-ass girlfriends she got. How do you take it? I done fucked almost all of them.”
Qua’s eyebrows went up at the revelation, and Rik warmed to his subject. “The only one I was really fucking with was that Veronica bitch, and she tried to baby trap me, man.”
“Yeah, right. I heard.”
“I admit I was sweating the girl back in the day, but sis wouldn’t give me no play. Then I got a little paper, became the man, and who do you suppose was on my dick?”
“Veronica.”
“I been playin’ that bitch ever since.”
The brothers clinked their glasses and drank. On the table sat two bottles of Dom and one bottle of Remy XO.
Gena took advantage of a lull in her own conversation to look around. The Malibu Dining Room was fabulous. The only thing missing was Sahirah. Her pretty face, her small frame, and her warm smile. If only she was there with her. She was the one who pulled over Rasun that day in Harlem. If it hadn’t been for her, Gena wouldn’t be standing there, portraying the perfect queen of the crack stars.
“Sahirah,” she mouthed. I miss you so much, she thought. Not a day would pass without Sahirah being in her thoughts. She held her glass up, and there was Sahirah with her. A toast for old times, Gena thought. She toasted to the memory of her best friend.
“Hey, Gena. Happy birthday,” Black said, trying to figure out what she was staring at.
“Hi. Where’s Pam?”
“Home with the kids. Where’s Q?”
“See him? He’s over there, at that table in the corner,” she said, pointing.
As soon as he’d left, she heard someone singing, “It’s your birthday. Happy birthday. It’s your birthday.”
“Charlie Tuna, you’re so crazy.”
“Yo, Gena. You think you can hook me up?”
“Hook you up how?”
“I’m trying to see your girlfriend.”
“Who?”
He suddenly noticed her wrist. “Goddamn! That motherfucker is all that.”
“Isn’t it?”
“You playin’ with this piece right here. This is some real high-powered shit. Damn, let me step the fuck back!”
She stood there laughing and smiling as Charlie gassed her head up. Finally getting back to the point of why he stepped to Gena, he asked, “Are you gonna hook me up or not?”
“Hook you up with who?”
“Baby, it don’t matter. Give me a quiet one. Y’all women got too much mouth these days, always yappin’. Give me one that don’t talk.”
“What? We’re not supposed to talk?”
“Yeah. When somebody says something to you.”
Charlie spotted a girl who attracted him. “Hook me up with her?”
Gena smiled. Charlie had chosen Bev from LeChevue and she never shut up.
“Beverly.” Gena took her girlfriend’s hand and made an introduction.
She left them there to talk as she walked over to where Quadir was sitting. Coming up behind him, Gena put her arms around him, bent down, and started licking his ear. “I’m ready to go home,” she whispered.
They began to say goodbye to everybody who’d come out to get a free lobster-and-champagne meal. Qua told her, “I’ll be back. I’m going to take care of the bill so we can go home.”
Gena turned to see Andrea watching her slink into her to-the-floor mink.
“You leaving?”
“Yeah, we’re going on home.”
“You’ve had a happy birthday, and the shit ain’t until tomorrow.”
“Yes, this is true.” She jingled her bracelet for Andrea. “Qua really surprised me. First, the bracelet, the outfit, and, to top it off, dinner with all our friends. This was enough.”
“You’re so lucky.”
“I’m blessed.”
Rik was hanging up the payphone outside the dining room. “Yo, check it out.” He pulled Quadir over to him. “Rich Green is no longer a member of the life force as it exists on this earth.”
“Dead?”
“Through the heart and through the head. Nigga said since he fucked his baby mom, he shot him in the dick, too.”
“Damn.”
“Quadir, don’t look so sad, ’cause the nigga was plotting. Always riding around the same corners, all damn day and night. Trust me, the boy Rich had a list. Junie was locked up with my brother and told him everybody was on the list. Shit, the nigga’s list was so long, by the time the Junior Mafia finished, it wouldn’t be nobody left.”
Quadir said goodbye to Rik and shook hands with a few other brothers before finding Gena. Getting into the car, Gena looked at her man. “I can’t believe you did all of this for me.”
“Gena, tonight was nothing compared with what I have in store for us. This is only the beginning.”
The Cheddar Will Be Better
Qua sat in the living room of his secret hideout and placed the counting machine on the table. Pulling up a chair, he organized all the money in the safe. He plugged the counting machine into a socket, sat back, and watched it do its job. Two hours later, the total was looking him in the face.
Got to be a mistake, he thought. But there was no mistake. He was speechless. The machine totaled his money at $17.2 million. “I’m a millionaire,” he said to the fish in the tank. He’d had an idea but had never counted the money in the safe. He wanted to jump, shout, knock himself out!
Then he sat down and began counting it again. The total was the same. He ran his hands through the bills, stuffing them into his pockets, his shirt, his baseball cap, his jeans—all hundred-dollar bills.
In front of the mirror, seeing all these green pieces of paper falling out of his clothing, he thought to himself, All this money. Drug money! There’s a lot of paper in the ghetto.
Quadir sat back and looked at all the stacks of money surrounding him. The years of hustling had paid off. People spent their entire lives working to retire and still didn’t have shit. Quadir, on the other hand, had hustled for five years and could retire at the age of twenty-five as a millionaire, never working an honest day in his life.
He sat down on the sofa in the sea of money scattered around him. It made him nervous. For the first time, he saw his wealth, and, for the first time, he saw what he really was: a drug dealer. He understood it was wrong. All he did for the hustle was a constant reminder of his own greed. He was down to his last two hundred kilos of cocaine, and he didn’t want to purchase any more. For $3,800 a kilo, who wouldn’t? But with seventeen million staring you down, why? He was not thinking of finances. He was thinking about the Junior Mafia. It was merely a matter of time before he was a direct target. Things were getting complicated in the streets. The police were downright dirty. They would stick you up, set you up, and give you a case.
The brothers were just as bad. Everybody had a gun. Everybody. Even little kids had guns. Your life meant nothing. It was all about money, who had it and who didn’t. Not only had Quadir beat the odds, but he had also lived to talk about it, without owing any debts or favors. That was a task, considering most of Quadir’s friends were dead or in jail.
He thought of Tony Santero and the cartel. He thought of Barranquilla, Colombia, and Carlos Escobar. He’d met Tony’s uncle, Carlos Escobar, only once. Carlos was so captivating, even with his intense dislike for the United States. Quadir totally enjoyed his conversation. The man had everything he wanted and desired at his fingertips.
Tony’s mother was an Escobar. She married a Santero and had three sons. Two of the sons and her husband were killed in a boating accident on the Panama Canal in 1968, when Tony was a little boy. She and her only son then moved in with her brother, Carlos. Carlos raised Tony like his own son. He turned over some of the family affairs to Tony, who took on the responsibility of serving the United States. Through governmental and diplomatic contacts, Tony was free to serve countries. Carlos had two brothers and three sons, all of whom controlled and shared the Colombian drug profits.
After Quadir understood the trade game, he understood who had the power. It was not the brothers. The brothers got caught up, too, but not solely them. It seemed like everyone was getting high. The upper class, not only the poor, contributed and depended on it. He thought of the sisters who were out there using and selling their bodies for a gusto, the brothers and sisters who were robbing their own mothers and grandmothers. He thought of his financial destiny: matches torn in two. He thought of the seventeen million dollars. Shit was too good to be true.
How could he stop? How could he tell Tony? What would he say? What would he do? For three weeks, Quadir continued business as usual, dropping his price down to ten thousand dollars a kilo. Everybody and their mothers were trying to see Rasun and Reds, who had basically taken over the Ave. Quadir couldn’t figure it out. It seemed like out of nowhere, not only were they selling his shit, but also buying shit from him and doing their own thing.
Rik and Forty were tearing up the drug game down Richard Allen. After the death of Rock, Rik and Quadir paid out two hundred thousand dollars to have five members of the Junior Mafia assassinated. Within the past three weeks, there had been twelve drug-related murders in the city, all of which directly involved the Junior Mafia.
Quadir was tired of the small circuit. He was tired of the drug game. He wanted to not have to walk or drive so fast. He didn’t want to look over his shoulder or peek around corners. He was ready to take his money and sit back, enjoy life.
Finally, Qua paged Tony and sat back and waited. An hour later, Tony Santero was telling him that he would be there in three more weeks.
“That’s what I was calling to speak to you about.”
“Is there something wrong, Quadir?”
“It’s like this. I’m not going to re-up.”
“What? What the hell do you mean—retire?”
“What I said, Tony. I’m done, man. I’m finished. I can’t take it anymore. This shit is really starting to get to me. It’s like, every day and every night, I got people chasing me down. Gimme this and gimme that. And then there’s the Junior Mafia. They been knocking off my family.”
“Well, kill them back,” Tony said, not understanding.
“Everyone is going for self. Things are changing. They’re losing honor. Everybody’s snitching now, and then there’s Gena. I’m not spending any time with her. I want to retire alive.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I know. That’s one nice-looking girl you got there. She’s real nice, man. You know I’d love to fuck her.”
“Yeah, but you can’t, so why feel it?”
“See, that’s the problem with you Black guys. You don’t like to share, do you?”
“I’ll share some pussy with you, Tony. Just not that pussy.”
“Well, are you sure that’s what you want to do?”
“Yeah, I’m positive.”
“Well, how can I say this? Um, you can’t do nothing, man; you can’t lie to me. But if you’re really stopping and you want out, then fine, okay. Give me five million dollars and you’re free to go.” Five million rolled off his tongue with the Colombian accent; then his voice grew stern. “And remember, you’re retired. I find out you’re lying to me, you’d be betraying me and my family. I’ll know what you’re doing.”
“Tony, on my life, you took care of me and you helped me. I’d never cross you. Why not two?”
“No, for you, four million, Quadir, and no less.”
“Three.”
“Four.”
“Three and a quarter.”
“Three and a half and that’s it.”
“Okay, three and a half it is.”
“Take it to the Princess docked at the harbor. Give it to my cousin Sancho; take his number.”
Breathing easier, Qua thanked him.
“Keep in touch, Q, and remember what I said. You’re retired.”
Quadir separated out three and a half million dollars, put the rest back in the bags, and locked it in the safe.
* * *
Gena was glad to be out of chemistry class and drove straight home. She marveled at the sight of Qua’s keys on the vestibule table. “Quadir, are you here?”
“Yeah!”
“Where are you?”
“Down here!”
“What’s up?”
“Come here, baby, we got to talk.”
She joined him in the playroom, wondering what was up, and walked into his arms.
“I’ve been thinking lately, Gena. I haven’t been home a lot. I’ve been so busy taking care of business, I haven’t been taking care of you.”
True enough, Gena thought, taking a seat. So, he’s finally fessin’ up about the bitch Cherelle.
“I talked with Tony today. I told him that I was done. Finished. Out of the game. The coke I got, I’m going to get rid of, and then that’s it.”
Gena couldn’t speak, her mind racing to compute the implications of his retirement from the game. Did I push him too far? Did I demand too much? Will they let him retire? Where will all the shopping money come from if he stops? She kept her cool and listened to him.
He slipped a small baby blue box out of his pocket. He opened it and showed her the contents. “Will you marry me, Gena?”
He took the ring out of the holder and slipped it on her finger.
She gasped. “I’ve never seen a diamond this big before!”
“It’s ten carats.”
Gena was in shock. She couldn’t believe he was coming at her with marriage.
“Gena, you haven’t answered my question. Do you want me to get on one knee?”
“Qua, please.” She smirked. “You’d get on one knee?”
He bent his knee to the floor before her. “Janel Louise Scott, will you marry me?”
“Quadir, please get up. You’re going to make me cry.”
“Not until you answer me; not until you say you’ll marry me. You’re all that matters to me, and I want you to be my wife.”
His face told her this was not fun and games; he was serious. “Yes, Quadir Montell Richards, I will marry you.”
She got down on her knees with him and put her arms around him.
The ringing phone broke the happy moment. He smiled, watching her run upstairs as he picked up the phone.
“Hello?”
“I need some money for your daughter, Quadir,” a female voice said.
“Look, don’t ever call my home again,” he said as he slammed the phone down. It immediately rang again.
“Hello.”
“Don’t fucking tell me not to call there, motherfucker. You got a child that you don’t do shit for.”
“Look, Cherelle, if you need something for the baby, I’ll send it to you. I’ll call Rasun and he can bring you whatever you need.”
“No, bitch, you bring it. Rasun didn’t fuck for this baby, you did.”
“Who you think you’re playing with?”
“Who am I talking to? Ain’t nobody else on the goddamn phone.”
“I told you, if you need something, then page me. I’ll see to it that you get it.”
He hung up and the phone rang again.
“Bitch, stop calling my motherfucking house.”
“Yo, Qua. Man, it’s me, Rik.”
“Oh. What up?”
“Damn, my brother, havin’ problems today?”
“Yeah, Cherelle. She’s fucking with me again. She’s been calling here.”
“How did she get the number?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.”
“Now, calm down, partner. You’ll be all right.”
“What am I gonna do, Rik?”
“Get a motherfucking blood test. You the only one who thinks the baby is yours.”
Qua hadn’t heard Gena return. “Quadir, I’m gonna take a shower. Want to join me?”
“No, baby, I’m on the phone.”
“Who’s that? Gena?” Rik asked.
“Who else is going to be up in my house?”
Rik started laughing at him. “All these hoes runnin’ around talking about it’s Qua’s baby, shit, you might got the Virgin Mary up in that motherfucker. How the fuck am I supposed to know?”
Gena was still trying to entice Qua. “Okay, if you don’t wanna shower with me, you’re gonna miss out,” she said, dropping her robe in front of him on the way to the bathroom.
When she was gone, he turned back to the phone. “Rik, I asked Gena to marry me.”
“What, Qua? You getting married, man?”
“Yeah. I’m gonna have a big wedding.”
“Well, what’s up? I’m waiting.”
“Oh, yeah, and I want you to be my best man.”
“That’s because you know I’m the best nigga out here.”
Qua let out a heavy sigh. “You gonna be my best man or what?”
“Oh, nigga, stop bitchin’. You know I got your back. However, there is a problem.”
“What?”
“You selling keys for five thousand is the motherfucking problem, man.”
“I’m not selling them for no five. I’m selling them for ten.”
“What’s the fucking difference? How is you playin’ with this ten shit?”
“Look, me and Gena are about to go to Atlantic City. When I get back, I’m gonna come and see you. I got something for you.”
“When are you coming back?”
“I’ll be back later on tonight and then we’ll talk.”
“Pick me and Lita up some Gucci sneakers while you down there.”
