Excerpts from Crew Love
January 2, 2010Shit, I got to sit back and laugh sometimes. Shit was so sweet! We was making so much fucking money you would’ve thought we was printing the shit ourselves. Young, colored, and rich in 1925. You got to be fucking kidding me. I mean, that shit was unheard of. Or was it? We were the original hustlers before they called it hustling. We weren’t gangsters…we were men…we were kings!
It started twenty years ago with a string of unfortunate events. The year was 1905. Oh, I’m sorry. Excuse my rudeness let me introduce the essential players. Standing off to the back of the room is Randy. If I didn’t know him as well as I did, I wouldn’t trust him. The aura he gave off was that of a man that would shoot your grandmother in the face if he felt she intended to cross him. Seven-feet, two hundred twenty-five-pounds, lanky, with skin the texture of a burnt cork, teeth as white as pearls, a single gold tooth in the center of his mouth that glistened as if it were …well, it glistened like gold.
Next to him is Short Stack, the complete physical opposite of Randy. Standing at five-feet, five-inches and weighing one hundred eighty pounds, his frame was all muscle. Short Stack had a darker complexion, his skin tone more of a smoother texture that young girls often took a liking to.
On the side of him is his older brother, Blue Ball. His name speaks for itself. Blue Ball was so black he was blue and his five foot eight and three hundred pound shell gave off the impression of an eight ball. Blue Ball was never a sloppy mess. He compensated for his weight with style his wardrobe consitsted of only the finest Italian silk suits and alligator shoes of the time.
On the opposite side of the room is Jermaine, my right-hand man. I ain't make a move with out him. Jermaine Lloyd, five feet ten inches, one hundred seventy pounds, long wavy hair and a creamy light complexion, was the definition of a ladies man. Last but not least, the ringleader, little old me, Phil-Good Trenton. I got the whole shit popping – without me there is no crew!
The door to the meat market flew open. A gust of wind from the cold Chicago streets blew the papers from the counter to the floor. I hurried in following a customer, slamming the door behind me. Alabama, the middle-aged owner of the meat market, sticks his head out from the back of the store. “Don’t be slamming no damn doors round here boy!” he barked, ducking back to the rear of the store. The shop was an old storefront, once a pet shop. An old German couple owned it first. Sold it when the colored’s moved on the block. It was small, the ceiling leaked, the basement flooded when it rained too hard, and the place reeked of stale fish, a scent that Alabama never could get rid of. He didn't give a damn. It flooded, was over priced and stunk on hot days but it was his. “Sorry about that!” I yelled back. I gathered the papers from the floor, caught sight of my reflection in a mirror above the counter. A five-foot, ten-inch, one hundred sixty-five pound man with skin the color of bronze, his hair in a low cut with a thin part up the middle. I put on my apron and stepped behind the counter. “Good morning. What can I get for you?” I asked the portly, dark-skinned woman I had followed into the shop. She reminded me of an old slave mammy. “A dollars worth of luncheon meat and two dollars worth of hog head cheese,” the woman replied. I wrapped the meat in butcher paper. “Is that all?” The woman flashed a toothless smile. “Yes put that on my bill.” I placed the two items into a paper bag and handed it to her. "Thank you," she said and out the door she went. ....Alabama.... joined me chewing on a cigar. “I got bad news son!” “What is it, old man?” “I got to let you go. I fell behind a few months on the mortgage and the bank is foreclosing on the place.” “You owe a lot?” “I owe enough.” “Ain't nobody you can borrow from?” Alabama.... begins laughing. “Why don’t I ask my rich uncle?” he replied in a half joking half-sarcastic tone. “Why don’t you borrow the money from Jack Black? He always loaning colored folk money for businesses and such.” “Don’t you start with that shit again you know I don’t tolerate no devilment!” “It ain't like you doing no gambling. Ain't no different than going down to one of them white folks banks.” “First they give you a loan, and everything sweeter than a Mississippi sissy eating sugar cane, next thing you know they running numbers up out of here. It ain't no more Alabama Meat Market it’s another Jack Black policy station!” “I don’t see the problem – ain't that the same thing the banks done did?” “But the banks ain't forcing me to go against my morals.” “Nah they threatening your livelihood.” “That may be so, but there comes a point in every man’s life when it comes down to that one decision. That one decision that will alter that man’s life and the lives of the ones he loves. Right at that moment in time you have to decide what kind of man you are. The one who accepts things the way they are – or the man who stands up for what he believes in and dies for what he believes in, if that be the case. What kind of man are you going be?” I stared back through cold, unflinching eyes. Spoke in almost a whisper. “I’m going be a problem!” ***
I stood on the stoop of my rundown tenement. Rhonda ran from the building, rushed pass. I grabbed her by the arm, pulled her towards me in a playful grasp.
“What’s wrong?”
She swallowed, spoke her voice cracked. “I need a place to stay.”
“Your folks put you out?”
Rhonda, with huge puddles of water forming in her eyes, forced down the huge lump forming in her throat.
“Yeah!”
I was upset. “Why they put you out in the middle of winter?”
She pulled from my grasp. Wiped the tears from her eyes, threw one hand on her hip and replied in almost a child-like voice, “Can I stay with you for a little while or what?”
“I don’t know man. Shit getting real tight around here since mom’s passed on. I’ve been trying to keep my head above water caring after Will.”
Rhonda stood firm at five feet even. She kept her shoulder-length hair straightened and in the latest styles of the day. Weighing one hundred fifteen pounds, skin the color of tope, she was fine as hell. Every brother on the block wanted a piece of that.
“I’m fucking pregnant all right?”
That ain't move me one way or the other. I stared back. “So!”
“So what?”
“You know what?”
“Negro I know you are not about to ask me what I think you about to ask me?”
“I don’t see why not?”
“You know that’s real fucked up!”
“Well is it?”
“Nigga you know I ain't been with nobody but you, you was my first and only.”
I bit down on my bottom lip. “Man, fuck!”
“Look I ain't ask for this either, but that’s okay, I don’t need to stay with you.”
“This ain't no good time for this shit for me right now.”
“What? And it is for me?”
“Look go on up and wait for me ‘til I get back. We’ll talk about what were going to do when I get in.”
She wrapped her arms around my waist. She loved me for real. I kissed her forehead. I knew I had to do right by my girl. Damn, was she my girl? I never thought about her in that way before. Shit, not to the point where I would have to take care of her. I knew one thing, though – I wasn’t going be shit like my old man. He ran out on us before I was even walking. I made it half way down the block, then –
“Shit I forgot my money.”
I ran back home for the few dollars I had stashed away for rainy days. It was no surprise to find Mr. Holloway standing in the doorway of my apartment. Mr. Holloway was the owner of the dump we lived in. A Russian immigrant, he always smelled of booze and never fixed shit. I knew why he was there.
“How you doing Mr. Holloway?” He spoke in a Russian accent with broken English.
“You two months behind. You’ll be getting the rent for me Mr. Trenton?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Holloway, I ran into a bit of bad luck. I need a few more days and I’ll have everything I owe you in full.”
“No more excuses, no money, no apartment, I give you three days I paid everything or you go!”
Mr. Holloway turned on the heels of his boots down the stairs and out of the building. Rhonda was standing in the doorway of the apartment.
“I have six dollars saved up. You can have it.”
I felt the blow to my pride.
“I don’t need your money. I’ll get Mr. Holloway his money, take care of you and Will, my youngin', and get us out of this dump.”
“How you gonna do that?”
I ignored her question walked pass her into the apartment into the kitchen, where I grabbed a revolver and twenty dollars from a coffeepot. I bolted from the kitchen, leaving Rhonda standing in the doorway.
***
I started cooking catfish Phil-Good had in the refrigerator. He didn't have anything else to go with it, so I seasoned some flour, cut onions and made onion rings. It wasn’t the greatest meal in the world but Phil-Good and Will would be happy. It wasn’t often they got a hot-cooked meal.
Feeling tired and not knowing how late Phil-Good would be coming in, I stretched out on the plaid sofa. It occupied the majority of Phil-Good’s apartment. A nap would be good. I knew that sofa well. I found myself laughing at myself – it was the spot Phil-Good welcomed me into womanhood. I remember how embarrassed I felt. Screaming so loud, even if Mrs. Trenton wasn't home at the time God-bless her soul, she was working the eleven to seven shift at the sewing press. It was still too loud. Phil-Good’s younger brother was home. I was so mad at Phil-Good and I know Will heard me making all that noise. He didn’t say anything the morning after at breakfast. The uncomfortable silence made us all laugh.
A burnt orange loveseat sat across from the sofa, a small coffee table in the center of the room. A picture of Jesus hung on the wall in the middle of the living room, as it did in damn near every colored person's living room through out the country. Just as I was falling asleep, a knock at the door startled me. I went to the door.
“Who is it?’
“It’s Mark?” The voice from the other side of the door yells back.
I stood frozen. “What do you want?”
“Open this door girl. Stop being silly.”
I hesitated, dumbfounded. I know I shouldn't open it. Not without Phil-Good being home. Mark, my stepfather, the reason mama put me out. He had been coming on to me, flirting and stuff, for the past six months now. He was nicer when I was younger. He came into me and mama's life five years ago. I was almost seventeen. He never looked at me then the way he does now. I don't know why the weird change in his behavior happened but I don't care why either. He was creepy.
It started with him making offhand comments about my breast getting bigger. Saying I was no longer in the itty-bitty titty committee. I was a late bloomer, almost twenty-two. He would find ways for us to be home alone, sending mama on errands that he knew would take her the majority of the day. Truth is, he was the reason I began sleeping with Phil-Good. I had to find a way to stay out of the house. After he lost his job, mama had to work two jobs. We were always home alone.
I heard what the other guys in the neighborhood said about wanting to bust my cherry. They were all losers with reputations. The majority of them not only fucked the same girls but bragged about it and all the girls knew. I’ll never understand how or why the girls kept giving pussy to the same jerks that turned around and put them down for doing it. One thing I do know is they’ll never get a chance to talk about me. Phil-Good doesn’t have a reputation. If he does, I don't know about it. That was fine with me. Intimate moments supposed to be private.
Thinking back to earlier that day brought tears to my eyes and my stomach balled up into a knot. Mark accidentally walked in on me getting out of the shower. Bullshit, I know I locked the door. He was standing there with a butter knife in his hand that he had used to pick his way in. Mama came back because she forgot her lunch sitting on the kitchen counter. She caught Mark in the bathroom with me. He blamed it on me and that bitch believed him! Called me a whore and ungrateful, told me I had to go. Now what the fuck did he want? I thought, snapping out of my daydream. I hesitated before opening the door with an attitude.
“What?”
He stood in the doorway looking like a man who got away with murder. He had a gut that stuck out from years of drinking beer. His beige complexion did nothing for his appearance. His face, covered with acne, gave off the appearance of a worn leather wallet.
“You know what?” he said, throwing one hand on the door to hold it open.
The action startled me but I didn’t want to show signs of fear. I prayed he didn’t notice. “No, I don’t know, Mark, and you’d better go. Phil-Good will be home soon and you and I both know you don’t want that!”
I tried to hide any signs that I was lying. I didn’t know when Phil-Good would be home. Right now couldn’t be soon enough.
“Oohh you going put your little boyfriend on me?”
“Look Mark, go home okay? I’m out the house. You and mama can be alone and I don’t have to deal with your bullshit no more okay!”
“No, it’s not okay. You think you going keep walking around here teasing me and shit you little bitch?”
I tried to close the door. He pushed me to the floor, closing and locking the door in the same motion. I jumped to my feet and threw two quick jabs, hitting him in the face. Mark wasn’t a fighter. The blows I threw annoyed him more than causing any real damage. He backhanded me swiftly and fiercely. I heard a whistle before the blow reached me. Blood jumped from my lip as I crashed to the floor. He scrambled to get a grip on me and I clawed at his flesh like a furious mountain cat. He mounted me, pinning down my wrists. I tried to knee him in the balls. I screamed, hollered, scratched, struggled and squirmed. It did no good he told me I would thank him when he was done. Struggling, he held me down with one arm, ripped my dress open and clawed at my panties with his free arm. Slobber fell from his mouth, dropping on my face and chest. I screamed louder as the stink from his breath entered my nostrils. I closed my eyes as I heard his zipper coming down. He was about to force himself into me.
The door flew open. Before my eyes could blink, Mark went crashing into the wall. I felt as if God himself had rescued me. I quickly scooted back to the couch. Before I made it to my feet I heard blows coming down across Mark’s middle-aged frame, bones cracking mixed with screams of pain. If I hadn’t been standing there I would've thought the high-pitched screams came from a woman.
I gained composure I realize it's not Phil-Good beating the shit out of Mark, but his younger brother Will and one of his friends. I stared wide-eyed. Mark on the floor balled up in a fetal position. His body jumped and jerked from the blows to his back and stomach. The vicious blows reigned down hard and fast. Blood splattered against the wall from a knee to the face. Will yanked Mark to his feet, throwing him against the wall. The drywall crumbling underneath his back. Will yelled, his voice filled with rage, “You a rapist mutha fucka just take the pussy huh?” Bitch ass nigga! Roscoe go get the car, we about to kill this bitch ass nigga!”
I panicked. I yelled out in a frightened voice, “No, Will no he ain’t worth it baby!”
“Fuck that shit! I hate mutha fuckas like him. You like my mutha fucking sister too. Scoe go get the fucking car nigga!” I cried and pleaded with Will. “Roscoe wait, Will please if you do this and get caught, I would die knowing you were in jail for me over this pervert bitch!”
Roscoe said, “What you want me to do man?”
Will snapped. Fire leaped from his eyes.
“Look you fucking faggot if I ever see you again you dead!”
Roscoe couldn't mask his disappointment. “Man we letting him go?”
Blood dripped from Mark's face, forming a sticky puddle on the floor. He struggled to get the words out. “Tha … tha … thank you man.”
Will spoke words drenched in venom. “Man shut your punk ass up! Rhonda come over here and get you some!”
I shook my head no. “Just let him go, I just want all this to be over with.”
“Fuck that! He tried to violate you. Take something from you, you could never get back. Fuck that come and get some!”
I walked over to Mark. Will pinned him against the wall with his elbow across his neck. I spat in his face, pulled my leg back and kicked him between the legs as if I was punting a football. Will let him go and Mark hit the floor like a ton of bricks, letting out a high-pitched yell. It sounded like a whistle on a steam ship. Will and Roscoe dragged him into the hall as the neighbors began to file out of their apartments. Blood oozed down his pant leg into his shoe. The two of them threw him down the stairs ignoring the nosy neighbors. Will re-entered the apartment while Roscoe snapped at the neighbors.
“What the fuck yawl looking at? Go the fuck back in the house! Coward mutha fuckas, yawl ain’t come out when you heard her screaming for help!”
Roscoe slammed the apartment door shut, following Will inside. “You need me to stay for a while?”
“Naw I’m good, good looking out though.”
“Now come on. You my nigga and he was trying to rape a mutha fucka. I’m glad I was here to help, you alright Rhonda?”
“Yeah, thank you Roscoe!”
“It ain’t nothing. I’m gone.”
Will and Roscoe shook hands.
“I’m going get with you in a few hours.”
Roscoe exited the apartment. Will examined the slight gash across my face from where Mark had slapped me.
“You want to go to the doctor?”
“No, I’m fine. Let me go get washed up and changed.”
“You sure?”
I hugged Will, began shaking and crying tears of joy, relieved that he had been there to save me. Will didn’t know it but there was nothing I wouldn’t do for him now, even kill.
***
Posted by Antwan Floyd
