Dirty DNA (G Street Chronicles Presents) (8 page)

Once I made it to NiQue’s spot, I was a
little hesitant pulling into her row house in Trinidad. I knew I
had some shit in my glove compartment that would sound off real
lovely against a nigga’s temple; but my conversation with Papi was
clouding my mind like the thick smoke that filled my car. I shook
off the bad feeling and stepped out of the car into the cool fall
breeze. Walking swiftly, and taking note of everyone around
me, I made my way to NiQue’s door. I instantly heard Wale’s remix
of “Pretty Girls” playing; and I knew NiQue was not ready to ride
out. I rang the bell and was greeted by Ed, who was NiQue’s
brother’s security. He was just like family because he worked for
NiQue’s brother, and on occasion would travel with Daddy too when
he required extra man power.

“Hey Ed.” I said giving him a hug; one that
lingered a little too long in my opinion. I knew Ed had a thing for
young girls, but I was hoping he knew where to draw the line. I
pulled myself away from him and headed towards NiQue’s second
floor. I could feel his eyes following my ass as it swayed from
side to side while I climbed the stairs. He was just like any other
nigga in the street. NiQue was inspecting the finished product in
her full-length mirror when I reached her room.

“Bitch you are gonna wind up late to your
own damn funeral!” I laughed.

NiQue jumped damn near across the room. She
hadn’t heard me make my way up the steps because of the music
pumping from the speakers that were housed in the ceilings and
walls of the upper level of her home.

“YaYa, you scared the shit out of me!
Announce ya’self next time!” She said trying to laugh off her fear.
That’s the kind of shit you went through when you grew up with
families like ours. You were constantly watching your back and
expecting the unexpected.

“Stop being so damn scary acting.” I said
taking a seat on the foot of the bed.

“You need to be the one jumping around and
shit with Papi gunning for your ass.” NiQue laughed nervously.

“That sorry excuse for a hustler called me
today on that bullshit. He was acting like he owned the fucking
world and everyone in it.” I rolled my eyes.

“You are gonna’ have to
handle him because he isn’t gonna just go away quietly. Did you try
to reason with him?” NiQue asked me while she was applying
her
MAC
lip
gloss.

“What do I look like trying to reason with
him when he ain’t nobody to fear? Fuck him. He is just making
noise; trying to be heard. Are you ready to go yet? Crack said he
has a spot in VIP for us. I am trying to go out and find my balla’
baby!” I said smacking my ass while I wiggled it like a pole
dancer. NiQue grabbed her jacket and what she called her “goody
bag.” That was her bag with her never ending supply of Xtasy pills
and already rolled Backwoods.

“Let’s make it!” she said and we headed out
the door.

We pulled into the already packed parking
lot of G’s night club. I had deaded the last of the J we were
pulling on and we exited the car. The line was wrapped round the
building and heading clear down the block. I sure was glad that I
had a nice cushy spot in VIP, and happy that I didn’t have to wait
in line because I don’t do that “waiting” shit either.

I pulled my shades down over my grey eyes
and strutted towards the bouncer who was clowning some kid who was
trying to get into the club in boots and street wear. The kid was
doing everything but promising the burly bouncer a blow job. I
strolled over to the bouncer and he waived me and NiQue through
after checking his list. When we got inside, the club was packed
and it was standing room only from wall to wall. We made our way to
the third level of the club and I found our reserved table.

The waitress came with a
bottle of
Patron Anejo
and two glasses. She let me know that Crack said the drink
was his treat and that he would be over to check me out later. The
waitress poured the
Patron
and placed the bottle back in the bucket of ice.
I never could understand how a nigga could drink ice cold liquor. I
pulled the bottle out of the ice and sat it on the table. I could
tell NiQue’s “Candy” had kicked in because she was standing and
swaying to the music that was booming off of the walls. I was
feeling lovely from the piff we had sparked on the way to the
club.

I saw Crack and his wife making their way
towards our section. They were destined to be a power couple one
day. He exuded power and his wife, Queen, was strong. I guess you
have to be strong having a mate like Crack who was chasing his
dream and wasn’t gonna stop chasing until it was his reality.
Looking at the two of them made me wonder would I ever have love
like theirs. Once NiQue realized we weren’t alone anymore, she
tried to straighten up because a sister was fried!

“YaYa”, Crack said as he moved to hug me.
“Glad you could make it out. Finally got you to come out and see
what I have been doing with myself all these years! You know my
wife Queen; don’t you?”

I smiled and extended my hand to her. Nice
to see you again.” I said, admiring her style. She was dripping in
ice. I could tell Crack was doing lovely. His wife was laced in
some hot shit I had never seen before.

“Oh, and this is my friend NiQue.” I said
motioning towards NiQue.

I could tell NiQue wasn’t interested in the
introductions because she gave them the universal nigga head nod
and started bopping to the music again. Wale and TCB were pulsating
through the speakers with their song, “Ice Cream Girls.” If you
weren’t from Drama City you couldn’t appreciate what Go-Go had to
offer.

Crack asked me to join them as they made
rounds through the club. NiQue said she was fine chilling in our
cushy spot. She was good as long as she had that bottle and her
“goody bag.” Crack introduced me to all kinds of people he had
invested his money in. I mean, he had rappers, actors, and even
some authors who wrote that made-up shit about the streets and the
so-called struggle. He had endorsement deals, and was promoting his
artists’ new albums: “Tha Kushilation,” “Heat for Tha Streets,”
“KillZone,” and he was working on a project called, “No City for
Old Men.” Crack was making money hand over fist, and it was all
clean money. He even had a company called, “The Kush Boys” who had
offered him sponsorship through their Hemp iced tea called,
“Chronic Ice.” The music changed again, but to a mellower tune.

“Aye YaYa, what do you think about this
song? This is one of my newest projects, “Mama’s Moonshine.” They
got that Neo-Soul, Hip Hop thing going on. They are based out of
Atlanta.

I nodded my head in approval. They were
straight flowing and singing; it was some great “get high music” to
say the least. It was on some Erykah Badu meets Andre 3000, and
instead of making babies, they made music. I sat thinking of how I
could make some of that legal money when Crack broke my train of
thought. I looked up into the eyes of the most beautiful specimen
of a man I had ever laid my eyes on. He was about 6’3” and had long
red dreads that hung down to his waistline. I stood to make his
acquaintance.

“YaYa this is Dread, one of my most
promising artists. He’s been in this music game for a minute. They
call him, “Dread the Old Head.” This nigga tells a story with the
wisdom of a nigga seventy-five years young; with a delivery better
than any of these youngin’s on the streets or the radio.

I immediately felt my middle moisten. He
shook my hand and I could feel the electric spark between us. The
nigga was straight off the streets. I could tell he was used to
introductions like the one Crack made, and he was definitely used
to bitches throwing themselves at him. I could feel him sizing me
up. I had to control the shit dead in the tracks before he made the
mistake of thinking I was a hood rat.

“Dread what makes you so different from all
the other rappers trying to make it?” I asked him just trying to
make conversation without seeming thirsty. Dread turned to Crack
and had the nerve to laugh at my question.

“Look baby girl, none of these bubble gum,
rapping ass niggas got nothing on me. What you think I’m gonna
bitch-up and start Souljah Boying out here? I can show you better
than I can tell you why I’m going to be the King.”

He gave Crack a pound, kissed Queen’s cheek,
winked at me, and started making his way to the lower level of the
club towards the huge stage. Queen was the first to break the
silence, she damn near fell over laughing.

“YaYa, don’t take him too serious baby girl.
He is a hot head by nature. He truly is talented though.” she said
still giggling. I am glad she saw the humor in the way he had come
off on me.

It must have shown that I wasn’t used to
being carried by dudes before. I could feel my temperature rise. It
was rising for the wrong reasons though. I got off on the fact that
the nigga thought so much of himself. It made me want to mount up
and ride his ass into the fucking sunset. I heard the crowd going
crazy on the lower levels. I stepped closer to the banister to look
over the crowd below. On the stage was the object of my temporary
desire. Dread was rocking back and forth to the bass line of the
song, and then he broke out into the hook of the song which was,
“Get Me Don’t Shit Me.” The crowd was losing their mind; screaming
the words to the song while Dread ripped the place apart with his
lyrical genius. The shit was amazing to see a forty-something
rapper doing it way bigger than any main-stream artist to date. He
told a story with the swagga of Biggie, but was on his grown man
shit like Hova’.

I couldn’t believe I was lusting after a
nigga who didn’t even realize I was fucking street royalty. I
pushed him to the back of my mind when NiQue caught up to me. Home
girl was sloppy drunk and was being escorted over to me by a few
cats I knew from Trinidad. NiQue was staggering and clinging to the
banister for dear life.

“Girl, did you hear how that nigga was
ripping the mic?” NiQue slurred. She was partying to her own melody
in her head and was real touchy feely because she was trying to rub
a hole in my arm. That Xtasy had her on a different planet. I could
never figure out why she felt the need to chase that kind of
high.

“Yeah girl, I heard him.” I said trying not
to show her how excited I was about meeting him and hopefully
seeing him again on a more personal level. Don’t get me wrong, I
had met some folks in my life time thanks to Daddy and all of his
dealings, but this nigga had piqued my interest, or at least for
the time being, and then it would be on to the next. That’s just
how I did things. Foxxy Brown said it best, “Fuck um, check, and on
to the next!”

NiQue and I made our way back to our seats
after trying to get through the wanna-be’s hawking to get into the
VIP area. The lights dimmed again, signaling the start of another
performance. Dread had taken his place on the stage followed by the
rest of Cap Citi and the KushBoys.

“Aye this is why Imma’ be King Shawty.”
Dread spoke into the mic. I knew he was directing that statement
towards me. I watched as the performers mesmerized their audience.
The big projection type screen was playing the video to the Cap
Citi Kush Boys hit song, “Gucci” which featured the actor Jackie
Long on the track.

I wanted a piece of Dread and I was going to
have some of him. He just didn’t know it yet. We were partying hard
and doing what NiQue and I do best –tear the club up. We were
barely able to make it back to our table when I saw my worst
nightmare enter into the VIP section of the club. Before I could
even turn to try and go unnoticed, Papi walked right into me. I
could feel my pulse quicken and I wasn’t sure if it was the anxiety
of seeing him or if it was the gallon of liquor I had sloshing
around inside of my stomach. Before I could even think of a way out
of the inevitable confrontation, Papi was dead on me.

“Aye YaYa. Long time no see.” He said
coldly. “Is this the way you treat every dude you get with? Fuck
him, steal from him, and then try and act like he doesn’t
exist?”

His eyes were squinted and I could tell he
had had one too many drinks too. That mixed with my obvious
distaste for him was making for a bad showdown. Fuck the Wild West.
It was about to be on and popping and there really wasn’t much to
stop it either.

“Papi, this is not the time of place for
this shit. I am warning you, not tonight!” I tried to walk off
calmly like nothing had happened. Apparently, Papi was not going to
look like he got played in front of his boys or anyone else for
that matter.

“Bitch, you owe me! And now it’s time to pay
up hoe!” He said, grabbing my arm. NiQue sobered up enough to know
that it was about to get ugly.

“Wassup Papi? I haven’t seen you in a while.
How have you been?’ NiQue said with her eyes darting back and forth
trying to locate help.

“NiQue mind your fucking business. This is
between me and YaYa.”

Papi yanked me towards the entrance of the
club.

“NiQue, I got this. I am just gonna go and
talk to him and settle this shit.” I said, not knowing who I was
trying to convince – her or me.

In all actuality, I had no idea how I was
gonna handle the shit that was about to go down. I was unarmed and
I could be walking out of the club to my death. Papi pushed me out
into the cool, summer night air, and took my hand so no one
passing by would be aware of the trouble that was coming. He led me
to his car and demanded that I get in.

“YaYa you are gonna give me my money if you
wanna live.”

I got into the passenger side and Papi drove
off. I had no choice. I was defenseless and my only way out was in
the glove box of my own car. I couldn’t believe I had gotten caught
slipping. If I had listened to NiQue, I wouldn’t have been out in
the first place and I definitely wouldn’t have been in the company
of a scrub ass nigga like Papi. The ride towards Baltimore was in
silence and I silently prayed that God was listening to my prayers.
Papi pulled in front of his home and told me to get out. I slid
from the car and slow stepped up the walkway. He opened the door
and pushed me inside. Once inside he flipped on the lights, but the
whole scene had changed. There were four armed men, two of which
were familiar. The two men I had seen in Papi’s house before were
there again, and apparently they weren’t invited to whatever Papi
had planned for me.