Maria defiantly crossed her arms. Infuriated she stood on the sidewalk staring at her brother. He moved closer to where the crowd of teens was hanging. Wading through the crowd, Jose shouted out an abundance of greetings and daps to whomever he knew. He managed to make his way directly into the sea of bodies that were waving with the rappers.
Meanwhile inside the horseshoe, George was still running his game to perfection. He found no shortage of dealers to hustle. George continued perpetrating his fraudulent game on many unsuspecting dealers. Tasting the crack to test the potency of it, he kept right on turning down product.
“Rodney,” a dealer called out. “Lemme git dat… I got a custy waitin’ on me.”
The look on the crowd’s face suggested they were upset that this kid had bust through and straight up interrupted a good rap battle.
“My dude, dis shit can’t wait?” He barked. “Can’t you see what the fuck I’m doin’?”
The dealer gazed coldly at the rapper before speaking.
“Yo, my man, fuck this battle shit right now. This shit ain’t gonna feed you when you broke, nigga… You better snap outta it and make this paper. I’m tryin’ to help you out. I already knocked off my PK.”
“Aw-aw-aw-aw man, that’s that bullshit!” Someone in the crowd shouted. Rodney abruptly exited the crowd.
“Just say no nigga! C’mon back and finished what you started.”
“Loser…! Loser!” The crowd chanted.
“I got bizness to handle,” the rapper shouted back. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go nowhere gimme a minute. Ya heard?”
Rodney was clearly bothered by the crowd’s lack of understanding. He couldn’t just go on rapping and not go to take care of his hustle, making drug transaction. The further away he got from them the more furious he became. He began looking for anything to spark an argument with his co-worker. He had to take out his frustrations on someone.
“And yo, what the fuck is wrong wit you calling out my government like that? Huh?” Rodney roared. “Nigga, out here I told you my name is Feedi. F-E-E-D-I,” he said, spelling his moniker. “Man, save that other shit for school. How many times I gotta tell you that?”
“Why you spazin’ like that fam?” The other dealer responded. “It ain’t even that serious.”
“Speak fa delf, nigga! I don’t like niggas callin’ me out my government… Now where da fuck is da custy at? He better be copin’ more than just one joint too… The way I’m feelin’ right now—”
“Be easy, nigga. He right over there, nigga…!”
In a rush, Rodney removed a black pouch filled with tiny crack vials from his crotch as if he had just wiped his ass.
“How many you want?” He barked.
“Lemme see what you got first?” George impatiently replied.
“Nigga it’s da same shit you always cop! I ain’t got time for no bullshit, man.”
Rodney stared intently at the fiend before opening up his black bag and removing a few samples. George studied the vials closely looking for the fattest rock. Once he spotted it, he opened the vial putting the crack to his taste test.
“This shit ain’t all that, George said, voice his disapproval. “This shit got too much baking soda in it. All you niggas must got the same batch of shit or the same muthafucka cooking up for y’all. I don’t know if you niggas sellin’ cake mix or drugs? I can’t do nothing with that there, man... Here take this shit back.”
“What?”
With his teeth tightly clenched, Rodney glared angrily at George who was attempting to hand him back the vial of crack. George shoved it at the dealer repeatedly trying to return the product. The dealer fiercely stared at George, eyeing closely. Something seemed to click. Rodney recognized the fiend from around the area.
His peoples from Grenada Place, on the North side of the projects, had beaten down a fiend for trying to buy crack with fake money. Now Rodney had come face to face with the same conniving crackhead. Still he didn’t let on to the man’s true identity. He knew the man had a bad habit of burning dealers out of crack, but he wasn’t about to take an L to feed this fiend’s crack habit. Finally he announced, “You ain’t about to play me out. Dat’s yours, money. I don’t even want that back. You bit it-you bought it!”
The commotions attracted the attention of other drug dealers. A few quickly moved in closer. George felt nervous from all the eyes on him. His speech slurred, and his tongue now moved uncontrollably inside his mouth. Crack cocaine was slowly disintegrating in his mouth and he was trying to reposition it under his tongue.
“Yo, why da fuck you sound like dat? Fuck is wrong with your mouth?” Another dealer asked.
“Son, dis nigga on some ol’ bullshit!” Someone else said.
Unsure of what to do next, the fiend began to take unnoticeable baby steps backwards. He was copping a plea, imploring the dealer to take back his vial of crack.
“I don’t want no trouble. It’s not like that. And you know me?” George said, pleading.
“Money, you got about two seconds to produce my bread. I ain’t tryin’ a hear dat other shit!” Rodney interrupted.
“I think this nigga got something in his mouth. Yo, my man, open up ya mouth for a sec,” another dealer chimed.
George felt his luck running out. From the screws on the dealer faces, he knew he was in deep trouble. He started looking for another avenue to escape. Rodney struck George with a straight right hand and those thoughts vanished from his mind. The blow landed on George’s jaw, but it lacked enough power to put him on the seat of his pants. He tried to run, but all thoughts of escape came to a crashing halt when several drug dealers pounced on him.
“Get him!”
The battle cry rang out and everyone seemed to respond to it. Kicks and punches was George’s reward for his dishonesty and trickery. The drug dealers rained down each blow on him with bad intentions. George’s body exploded with pain as he absorbed the punishment. Soon more and more kids joined the fray. The beating had snowballed to unprecedented proportions in a matter of seconds. Everyone wanted a piece of the action it turned into a feeding frenzy.
George had no choice but to take his medicine. Finally the fiend fell to the ground and the angry mob stomped him. Still the man took his beating and refused to open his mouth. The ruckus drew lots of attention.
Melquan was in the bathroom taking a leak and heard the faint sounds of the scuffle outside the window. He finished letting nature take its course then went to investigate. He heard what sounded like a cry for help from Precious.
“Melquan! Melquan!” Precious yelled. “C’mere! Hurry up!”
Shaking off any excess urine, Melquan put away his penis and hurriedly rushed toward the room.
“Look, they gonna kill that man,” she said, looking out the window.
“What? Who?” He replied.
“Come on over here and see for yourself,” she said, inviting him. “Look! Oh God!” Precious said.
Melquan looked out the window and saw a mob pummeling someone with their feet and fists. He couldn’t identify who was on the receiving end of the beating, but the sight of the mob against one person was a disturbing thing. This would