Dollar Bill (6 page)

Dollar knew that God must have been watching over him. Why else was he still standing, alive?

Ever since Dollar stood up to Wojo, he had appeared to have lightweight gained some true respect in the joint. If by chance his eyes did meet with another inmate's, they didn't mean mug him. They gave him the “what's up?” nod and went on about their business.

Dollar might have had to exchange a few words with some new cat trying to be hard, but other than that, prison life for Dollar consisted of minimum drama. Now, after five years of being locked up, Dollar couldn't understand why anyone would want to fuck with him. But, lo and behold, maybe because he felt intimidated by Dollar's solemn youth, some Old G had recently started eyeballing Dollar big time. Dollar knew it was only a matter of time before some shit would go down.

“So, little nigga,” a deep, Barry White–like voice clouded over top of Dollar's head. “I hear you got three bodies on you.”

“And?” Dollar said as he sat against the bars of his cell reading the last page of
Gangsta.

“Oh, so it's true?” the voice said. “I thought for sure your little punk ass was in here for stealing cigarettes or something.”

“Ah ha,” Dollar said. “The old man got jokes. Let me guess. You're in here because you pickpocketed the guests while you were working as a Walmart greeter.”

Before Dollar could get his cackle out, a thick, muscular hand collected his throat through the cell bars. Dollar dropped the book and held his breath. He didn't fight or try to get away. He held his breath hoping his lungs were stronger than the Barry White impersonator's hand.

What seemed like forever passed before the hand released Dollar's throat. Dollar sat on the floor coughing and taking deep breaths, trying to get his breathing rhythm back.

“Don't you wonder why all these years you been sitting with your back against these bars and ain't nobody cut your fucking throat yet, boy?”

Dollar didn't respond. He was so mad he could have spit bullets. All he wanted to do was kick that muthafucka's ass. By the time Dollar stood up to face the assaulter, he was gone. All Dollar could see was the silhouette of his body clearing the hall corner.

Dollar, even without seeing his face, knew it was the Old G, the old man known in the clank as Romeo. Dollar had never even looked Romeo's way and now all of a sudden he had beef.

What the fuck was his problem?

 

 

As Dollar made his way to his grubbin' spot in the jail slop house he could feel a pair of eyes burning him. The old man was back on his trail. “What is it with that old geezer?” Dollar mumbled under his breath.

Dollar could barely enjoy his tasteless chow that consisted of meatloaf, peas, and mashed potatoes. He chewed the same bite of meatloaf for five minutes as he watched Romeo out of the corner of his eye. Dollar reached for his milk, with his eyes still glued on Romeo, and knocked it over.

“Fuck!” Dollar shouted as he scrambled to clean up the mess with napkins. He sopped up the milk and proceeded to continue eating. He took a bite of his mashed potatoes and prepared to stand watch against Romeo again. When he looked up, Romeo was no longer sitting at the table he had been dining at. Dollar gulped down the bite of mashed potatoes and felt a presence behind him.

“You ain't scared that you might scoop up a razor blade in them mashed potatoes?” Romeo asked.

Dollar closed his eyes. He knew he had fucked up. He knew he had been caught slipping. But like with Wojo, he was ready to stand his ground.

“Look, old man,” Dollar said without looking away from his tray. “What's your beef? I ain't done shit to you, but if you want to throw them thangs, then let's do it and get it over with. It ain't gon' hurt my heart none to beat down an old man.”

One could have heard a pin drop. Silence filled the air and Dollar braced himself for the first blow. Surprisingly, there was no blow. Dollar whirled his body around to face Romeo, but just as quickly as Romeo had appeared, he had disappeared.

By this point Dollar was a basket case. He was watching his back tougher than ever. He even discussed hiring some of Wojo's old crew to have his back. Dollar started asking around to find out what Romeo's story was or if there was word on why he was out to get him. All the inmates he tried to get at were acting like hoes. Nobody, supposedly, knew anything. Just the mentioning of Romeo's name made half of them piss on themselves. The most information Dollar could dig up was that Romeo was in for life. He had nothing to lose.

For the next couple of months, Dollar slept with one eye open. He saw everyone up in the joint as his enemy. Dollar lay on his cot while he started on his next book,
Please Tell Me if the Grass is Greener.
No longer was his back against the bars.

Dollar molested every food item on his tray before sticking it into his mouth for fear a razor blade or any other deadly object might be embedded in it. He was always one of the first in and out of the showers. There was no way he was going to let the old man sneak on him. It was only a matter of time before the ultimate confrontation between Dollar and Romeo would erupt, and Dollar could hear the clock ticking loud and clear.

One afternoon while Dollar was lifting weights, Romeo entered the weight room. Dollar continued lifting as if everything was everything. Like zombies, dudes started surrounding Dollar. Romeo was no longer in his view as the inmates smothered Dollar with their shadows. Dollar continued lifting as if they weren't there. All the while he was scared shitless, nonetheless prepared to knock somebody upside the head with them weights if he had to.

“Boy,” Romeo said, “when you see trouble coming your way, why do you remain in its path?”

Dollar placed the dumbbells on the rack and stood erect. Romeo looked at his fellow inmates and they immediately disbursed. Before Dollar knew it, it was just Romeo and himself alone in the room.

“How is it you've managed to survive in this piece for almost six years without getting laid to rest with that cocky ass attitude of yours, like you rule the motherfucking world?” Romeo asked. “Why do you think that's so?”

“'Cause I mind my own business,” Dollar replied.

“Shit.” Romeo laughed. “There's plenty of cats up in here minding they own business. That don't mean shit to these killaz up in here.”

“I've got a question for you. How is it I've managed to survive in this piece for almost six years without anybody constantly fucking with me, and then along comes you?” Dollar smartly replied.

He looked Dollar up and down, nodded his head, and said, “My point exactly,” then walked away.

Romeo actually had Dollar spooked. This was the first time since his incident with Wojo he was feeling the wrath of the prison walls. If someone was out for you in the joint, it was far different than when someone was out for you in the streets. It wasn't about no laying low. There was nowhere to hide.

Dollar knew that since Romeo was a lifer he didn't have shit to lose. This was what worried Dollar the most. For the first time Dollar knew what it felt like to have genuine fear in his heart and that was some scary shit. It was like being in a pitch-black room with a lion. You could hear his roar as he could hear your every maneuver. It was like walking a mile-long tight rope for the first time in your life without a net to catch your fall.

Dollar would soon realize that prison life exists six feet under hell.

A couple months later, right before lights out, Dollar was reading one of Donald Goines's old joints when Romeo appeared outside of his cell. Dollar closed the book and sat silently on his cot as he waited to see what fly-ass shit came out of Romeo's mouth this time.

Romeo stood quietly as he stared down at the ground. He eventually looked up at Dollar and sighed. “Truce,” Romeo said.

“What?” Dollar asked, just to make sure he was actually hearing what he was hearing.

“You heard me, little nigga,” Romeo replied. “I'm done fuckin' wit' your punk ass. It ain't even fun no more. Truce.”

Dollar paused for a moment, stared at Romeo's hand, and then replied, “Truce.”

Their mouths had said it, but had their hearts?

The next morning the beads of water from the shower spigot beat against Dollar's well-cut physique. Too bad those hoes from the block couldn't reap the benefit from his custom-designed body. What was good about Dollar going to prison so young was that he had only been laid a few times. He had let bitches make him sandwiches and suck his dick on an occasion or two, but he wasn't laying pipe to the chickenheads who roamed his block.

Dollar hadn't gotten a taste of the various flavors that pussy came in so the lack of pussy didn't affect him all that much. The few times Dollar had gotten him some it was always from the same couple girls.

One of the girls was this chick named Pam, who had lived next door to his Auntie Charlene. Pam let him run up in her for the very first time on his sixteenth birthday. Pam was a couple years older than Dollar and had been putting out since she was twelve years old. Her own stepbrother had popped her cherry. As a matter of fact, he was the one who hooked up her and Dollar. It was his birthday present to Dollar.

Dollar was nervous as hell when it all went down, but he managed to get through it long enough to bust his first nut. Pam and Dollar did it right up against the side of Auntie Charlene's house. After that, when it came to Pam, Dollar was like a dog in heat. Whenever his mother would take him and his brother to visit his Auntie Charlene, he would hang out on the porch waiting to catch Pam coming or going. He could smell her coming before he saw her. A squirt of Chanel No. 5 that Pam would sneak and use from her mother's dresser always gave her away.

If the timing was right, Dollar knew if Pam's mama wasn't home that Pam would lead him straight to her mother's bed. The bunk bed she shared with her sister wouldn't suffice. The sound of Pam's mother's king-sized wooden headboard banging up against the wall intensified Dollar shoving his penis into Pam.

They never worried about getting caught because pussy was brand new to Dollar. He never lasted more than two minutes tops, three minutes if he couldn't find the hole right off the bat.

Because Pam lived in Chicago and Dollar lived in Gary, getting between her legs on a regular was difficult. Dollar soon familiarized himself with the technique of jacking off. It became an everyday thing almost. This newfound skill would pay off during Dollar's years in prison.

Dollar closed his eyes and allowed the shower water to rinse him of his sudsy lather. This was the first time he had rested both eyes in what seemed like an eternity. Now that Romeo had declared a truce, Dollar was more at ease.

Dollar aided the water with his hands as he stroked his now 230-pound cut physique. After making sure his skin was squeaky clean, Dollar reached for the shower knobs in order to turn the water off. Just then, a striking pain streaked through Dollar's back. It was as if someone had taken a cement block and slammed it into his back with all of their might. The pain was unbearable. Dollar lost all strength as he fell face down onto the tiled shower floor. In and out of consciousness, he could see inmates standing over him. Among the inmates, and before losing complete consciousness, he caught view of that all too familiar silhouette.

Damn,
Dollar thought as the entire scene faded to black.
Dat nigga caught me slip
. . . And he slipped in and out of consciousness.

Dollar didn't know what Romeo had hit him with, but he knew for certain Romeo had done it. Both angry and in pain, Dollar was torn between wanting to die to escape the pain and wanting revenge.

In the infirmary, Dollar woke up to a blond white girl standing over him. It was Crissy. She was one step up from being like the prison hospital candy striper.

“Hey now,” Crissy said with a smile as Dollar's eyes slowly opened.

Crissy's face was the most pleasant sight Dollar had seen in years. Dollar didn't know if it was because he had been locked up so long, but he never saw a more beautiful white girl in his life. A white chick had never even turned his head before. The only white girls he had ever looked at were the ones on the porno tapes and
Playboy
magazines he used to jack off to. Crissy was nothing like them. She wasn't trashy looking. She could have been an angel as far as Dollar was concerned.

“Am I dead?” Dollar asked Crissy.

“What?” Crissy smiled.

“Am I dead?” Dollar repeated.

“No, silly,” Crissy said. “Someone busted up your back pretty bad though. I don't know who did it or what they did it with, but they sure got you good. But fortunately, you're not dead.”

“Then you shouldn't scare people like that,” Dollar said, attempting to sit up but prohibited by the pain. “I opened my eyes and saw you, an angel, and thought I was in heaven.”

“Good one.” Crissy laughed. “But do you really think a man in prison for a triple murder is going to wake up in heaven?”

“You got me on that one.” Dollar snickered. “Ouch.”

“Oh, you're in pain,” Crissy said as she grabbed a hypodermic needle that was lying on the tray next to Dollar's bed. “I was just getting ready to give you something for that. You're bruised up pretty bad. You must be in severe pain. That's why we've been keeping you out of it. Let me help you try to turn over so I can take care of your discomfort.”

Dollar looked at Crissy as if she was crazy as she flicked and plucked at the giant-sized needle in her hand.

“Oh, you were right,” Dollar said. “I am in hell.”

“Come on now,” Crissy said. “Be a big boy. Roll it over.”

“Oh hell no! You gon' stick that in my ass? You are out of your mind. Ouch!” Dollar screamed as the slightest movement sent volts of pain through his body.

“Okay, have it your way,” Crissy said, laying the needle down and walking away. “I can think of far worse things to get stuck in your ass while in prison.”

“Okay, okay,” Dollar said, hailing her back. “Do what you got to do. Just make the pain go away.”

Crissy walked back over to Dollar in an “I told you so” demeanor. She picked up the needle and eyeballed Dollar to turn over so that she could stick him in his banana pudding dipped ass. Embarrassed that Crissy was about to see his bare bottom, Dollar hesitated.

“I've given you a sponge bath for Pete's sake,” Crissy said. “I've seen everything you've got already.”

Dollar rolled over very slowly, with Crissy's help, and braced himself as Crissy inserted the needle into his right butt cheek. It was almost instant gratification. Crissy helped Dollar turn back over and get comfortable as his eyes began to prepare themselves for more rest.

“Now that wasn't so bad, was it?” Crissy asked as she ran her hand across Dollar's forehead.

Dollar smiled as false illusions of Crissy in a little white nurse getup danced throughout his mind. He had a vision in his mind that he was still unable to move, lying in the infirmary bed as Crissy began to tear her clothing off piece by piece.

Before Dollar knew it, she was straddled on top of him with nothing but a white lacy garter belt with a matching corset and some white four
-
inch, ice pick heels.

Crissy's tongue brushed across her cherry red gloss
-
covered lips as she placed her hands behind her back and began to unzip the corset. All the while she was grinding her warm pussy on Dollar's dude. As Crissy threw the corset to the floor, she took her fingers and pushed her laced thong to the side as she began to tease Dollar with the masturbation of her pink pussy lips. She twisted her clit with her forefinger and thumb and moaned softly. The candy apple red polish on the tip of her nails plunged in and out of her cunt as she began to breathe heavily.

Dollar had never eaten pussy in his life. But he had a feeling that if he ate that pussy right, Crissy would handle his dick proper like. Niggaz in jail told him that they stole plenty of niggaz' hoes because their man didn't go down on them right.
That bitch, Pam,
Dollar thought. That trick, who had been fucking and sucking dick since she was twelve, never once instructed him as to how to eat a woman out.

“Yeah, yeah, what?” Dollar said, exiting his dream and reentering reality.

“Would you like to try to eat, Dareese?” Crissy asked.

“Word.” Dollar smiled. No one had called him by his given name in years. Hearing Crissy call him Dareese sounded strange.

“You haven't been able to eat,” Crissy said.

“Yeah, I know,” Dollar said.

“We've been feeding you intravenously since yesterday when you came in. Would you like to try to eat something?”

Slightly disappointed that Crissy was referring to real food and not her private part that she had been referring to in his vision, Dollar nodded his head. “Yeah, that's cool,” Dollar replied.

“Don't sound so depressed,” Crissy said. “How about we skip this jailhouse food and I give you the sandwich from my lunch? It's salami on rye, decked with lettuce, tomato, and onion.”

“Yeah, that would be nice,” Dollar moaned with a smile on his face.

“Okay, you try to stay awake and I'll be right back,” Crissy said, heading out the door. “Oh, and Dareese, I was just kidding about that heaven thing. God forgives us all.”