Daughter of a Queen Pin Read online

  Daughter of a Queen Pin

  Treasure Hernandez

  www.urbanbooks.net

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Daughter of a Queen Pin

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  Urban Books, LLC

  300 Farmingdale Road, N.Y.-Route 109

  Farmingdale, NY 11735

  Daughter of a Queen Pin

  Copyright © 2022 Treasure Hernandez

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior consent of the Publisher, except brief quotes used in reviews.

  ISBN: 978-1-6455-6342-6

  ISBN 10: 1-64556-343-X

  First Trade Paperback Printing June 2022

  This is a work of fiction. Any references or similarities to actual events, real people, living or dead, or to real locales are intended to give the novel a sense of reality. Any similarity in other names, characters, places, and incidents is entirely coincidental.

  Distributed by Kensington Publishing Corp.

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  Daughter of a Queen Pin

  Treasure Hernandez

  CHAPTER ONE

  It was hot. Not just regular hot weather, but miserable heat that had even skinny women uncomfortable in their clothes. The mid July temperature made the funeral procession seem longer than it truly was. Countless vehicles passed through the often-turbulent neighborhood. The rays from the sun blinded the residents crowding the streets. It was as if they’d come to see a superstar perform, instead of a zip code legend being laid to rest. Cars both new and old were lined up for miles. People from all walks of life—gangsters, pimps, priests, politicians, policemen, whores, drug dealers, and even dope fiends were posted. One would think a president, a mayor or a United States senator was deceased. For sure, this was a special kinda day in the hood that could not be missed. Each person was there in the scorching sun for their own individual reasons, yet the bottom line was to bear witness that this person was indeed dead.

  As goes life in the streets, the game had snatched another soldier. Although feared throughout the community, ironically, the person was also well liked. Cold, hard cash was easily loaned to many, or at least to those who, without a doubt, could repay it. Far from being a rumor or tall tale, countless clients had come up missing after defaulting on agreed-upon payments. They never settled their debt, and subsequently, they paid with their lives. Each knew the risk they had taken on when asking for the money, so their mournful families had to turn a blind eye to the deadly consequences or risk the same fate on point and principle.

  The blocks of cars seem to take forever to go past the neighborhood greasy spoon where the infamous crew had made their headquarters for the past ten years. Strangely, the hearse followed the cars.

  I never understood why the casket was always last in the funerals in our neighborhood. My uncle once explained to me, “This is the Bottom Barrel, and in our neighborhood, there are only three ways to get out. Dead, jail, or leave and be successful.” The other residents still living in the neighborhood were like walking zombies moving from day to day just existing until their number was called. Therefore, the casket was always last around here, signifying the end, the final ride through their stomping ground. For the people who lived in this poverty-stricken community, it was the end.

  The last few cars before the hearse were designated family cars. I was in the last car by myself. I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience. I couldn’t believe I was in this car. Am I dead too? I thought. No, the hearse is behind me. But I’m in here all alone.

  I’d always felt I was in this world all alone. My parents died when I was young, and I was always a loner. I had one brother, Kurt, who got killed three years ago slanging drugs. My brother and I were raised by our uncle, who provided a roof over our heads and food on the table. He never stayed home to counsel us on the pitfalls of life. He, too, was a major drug supplier.

  The car I was riding in passed some familiar people that snapped me out of my thoughts. I could see faces of people I didn’t get along with, yet they were here to give their respects to me, or to the person in the hearse. I tried to relax and go with the flow. It seemed like I was looking outside from a box. It took all my strength not to just bolt out of the car and run.

  The hearse was painted gold with black trim, and the interior was lined with black satin. That made it look soft and comfortable. The sides of the hearse had wide windows, so you could view the casket. Of course, the casket was gold.

  When the hearse passed a crowd of people, they would raise their right hands that were covered with white gloves. It was a tradition in this Bottom Barrel neighborhood, supposed to signify cleansing in hope that all the sins of the person in the casket would be forgiven with unity from the community.

  The family car and the hearse pulled up to the church. My body was there, but my mind seemed to be watching from afar. The pall bearers one-stepped with the casket to the front of the church as if they were on Bourbon Street in New Orleans. Once again, I was reminded how alone I was. No family, no close friends were with me. I sat alone on the front row as people streamed by to give me their condolences. My mind wanted to get up and see who was in the casket, but I was too scared it might be me. The line finally ceased. The hugs and kissing stopped, and the envelopes of money being dropped on me stopped as well.

  The reverend got up to speak. The casket was slowly closed by the grim-faced funeral director. Tears and sobs continued for two grueling minutes as all waited patiently. The organist played softly in the background.

  The so-called man of God began with, “Another young life shortened by utter violence. We live in a community that raises our youth not to care about another human soul as long as they achieve that street dream. That
thirst for power and money. This allows them to buy all the materialistic things in life—jewelry, big cars, clothes, and even a person’s soul.” Everybody’s attention was on what was being said. It was hitting home for everybody.

  Out of nowhere, the thunderous sound of gunshots rang out. Screams overshadowed the tears. Mourners hid, seeking refuge. People ducked for cover while others panicked, trying to sprint for the door. I saw bodies fall and people being trampled attempting to get out of the sanctuary. Some young men returned gunfire. I kept hearing screams for God’s supreme mercy through the barrage of flying bullets.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Abruptly I was awakened out of my deep sleep. I was annoyed. I despised being snatched out of my dreams. I looked out the window to see Chuckie banging on the door.

  “Damn! What?” I yelled.

  “Hey, get up, girl. A guy got a few dollars. We can go get some blow.” He continued to knock as if he were already high. “Get up, girl. I got cash money.” Chuckie was anxious and full of excitement.

  I yawned and stretched. “Damn, what time is it?” I looked out the window at a frail man I had come to know as my friend. He was smiling but had no teeth in his mouth. The years of drug use had rotted them out and pulled the sense of real life from him. Now he was only a surviving corpse that moved along in life until the man upstairs said it’s time to check out.

  “Its seven thirty,” Chuckie replied. “So, you going to go get this blow or what? You know Malcolm don’t open this time of day, but he’ll let you in. Come on, Charday. Get up.”

  I gazed at Chuckie for a few seconds as if I weren’t going to move. “Slow down, fool, and give me a damn minute,” I barked. I knew I had to start my day off right so I could hustle up money to feed me and my unborn child.

  I sat motionless for a good minute, trying to figure out why I had this same dream repeatedly. What was the dream telling me? Who was in the casket? It seemed so real.

  The thought of the strong blow brought me back to reality. I opened the door to my temporary home, an old two-door Tempo, which was sitting on bricks, taking in the early morning hood air. Since it had broken down, it had been my home sweet home for two solid months. Sometimes, I allowed Chuckie stay with me when he got locked out of the homeless shelter, or when he was too high to move, which was a frequent occurrence. This was home for my unborn child and me. At least I wasn’t out in these wicked streets like some.

  I got out of the car with a good long stretch because I had to sleep in the fetal position in the rear seat. It was not big enough to lay extended. “Okay, let’s go.” I finally gave in as I led the way to Malcolm’s.

  Chuckie gave me the money and urged, “Don’t take too long.”

  Everybody in the neighborhood knew I used to be Malcolm’s woman, so nobody bothered me. He was also the father of my unborn child; however, he didn’t believe me. He was in denial. Either way, we were still cool.

  My using drugs destroyed our relationship. He always told me if and when I wanted to stop, he would help me. At the age of eighteen, I thought I knew it all, yet these drugs were getting the best of me. Malcolm claimed if the child was his, he would raise it.

  I rang the bell for what seemed like forever. When Malcolm finally looked through the peep hole, he opened the door. “What you want this time in the damn morning?” he asked in a dry, husky voice, trying to wipe the sleep out of his eyes while holding himself as though I still excited him.

  “Come on, now. You know what I need, and you know what I want.” I gave him my sensual smile.

  “You need to leave that shit alone, girl. You knocked up and still using that bullshit,” he lectured.

  “Well, I’m only sniffing a little bit,” I exclaimed, not one bit ashamed.

  “Charday, you are still the finest girl in the hood, but you’re eighteen and using hardcore drugs. It can’t get any better. Trust, only worse. I promised your brother I would look out for your crazy ass.” Malcolm frowned as he lowered his head like he was ashamed of the poor job he’d done.

  “Yeah, you looked out for me all right. Got me pregnant and hooked on drugs, then put my ass out on the damn streets. I’m sure my brother would be proud of you.” My words cut him to the core.

  “I didn’t make you do no drugs or put a gun to your fucking head. That was your damn decision,” he yelled.

  I could see the hurt on his face. He went to the back room and came out with a plastic bag of what I needed and threw it at me.

  A bright smile came across my face. “All of this for me?” I held the money out, even though I knew it wasn’t enough for what he had just blessed me with.

  “Go ahead and get out of here so I can get some sleep.” He spoke with a calm and cool voice. He opened the door wide with annoyance.

  “Thanks, Malcolm. I’m sorry if I said anything to hurt you. And yeah, I need to use the restroom.”

  On my way to the toilet, I thought I saw a tear fall from his face. He was one of the most feared dealers in the hood. He killed one of his workers for coming back from the store late with his beer. But I think I was his weakness. I knew he truly loved me, yet I was too busy chasing parties and highs to realize something good for me.

  Once in the bathroom, I opened the dope and snorted some. Then I put some in an empty cigarette pack. Whenever I saw Malcolm, he always gave me more drugs than I paid for.

  When I left the bathroom, I passed by Malcolm’s bedroom and noticed a picture of my brother Kurt with Malcolm. I guess this was really hard for him. Malcolm was waiting at the door. I gave him a hug and left.

  Chuckie was waiting for me around the corner. “You get it?” he asked in between loud sniffs. I think his jones was coming down. He needed to get high.

  “Yeah, be cool. You wanna go back to the car or what?” I knew Chuckie was a mainline user. He shot drugs straight into his veins, so he needed a spot to fix up.

  When we reached the car, I gave him what was left in the plastic baggie, and he smiled.

  “Malcolm be hooking your ass up,” Chuckie said with a smirk as we climbed into the car.

  “Yeah, he cool. But he’s always talking shit about me using.” I couldn’t let my homie know how much my soon-to-be-baby daddy was hooking me up.

  Chuckie pulled out a small can used to sell mints. It was wrapped in rubber bands. Opening it up, he pulled out a needle with an eye dropper on it, then a bent-up spoon. He took the contents from the bag, tapping it onto the spoon. He opened a small pill bottle he had with water in it. Using the eye dropper, he sucked a few drops of water and put it on the spoon. Chuckie then took a lighter and put flames under the spoon, melting its contents. Chuckie got excited pulling a piece of cotton from his filtered cigarette. He put it onto the spoon as well. In seconds, the powered drugs had become liquid form. Easily, he sucked the drugs through the cotton with the needle and the eye dropper. Removing his belt, he tied it around his upper arm. He tapped his arm while balling up his fist.

  “You want a hit?” Chuckie asked, surely hoping the answer would be no.

  “Come on, now. You know that’s not my thing. I’ma do a couple of lines.” That’s what my mouth said, but I always paid attention to the difference in the high I got and the high Chuckie got.

  “You sure?” He smiled as he stuck the needle in his arm, watching the blood come up from his vein into the eye dropper. With expertise, he pushed the top of the eye dropper so the contents would go back in his vein.

  I glared Chuckie with admiration and nervousness. Is this where I’m headed?

  His eyes closed slowly. He loosened the belt as the drugs started to take control of his inner soul. My get-high buddy sat there in a trance with the needle in his arm.

  “Chuckie!” I yelled as he drifted off. “Nigga, wake up!” I was terrified as I shook him.

  “Damn, girl, you blowing my damn high,” he complained as he woke up from his deep nod to take out the needle. He started scratching his nose, then his nuts. Every time I saw those actions, fear came
across me, halting my thoughts of shooting up.

  I snorted a couple of lines Chuckie left in the bag for me. Like him, I was out the gate and nodded out as well.

  CHAPTER THREE

  It was well after one o’clock when I woke up. Chuckie was long gone. The neighborhood was alive. On a warm summer day, the temperature was 80 degrees. The sun was hot, and there was no breeze to speak of. I opened the trunk of the Tempo to get something halfway decent to put on. Even though I had a drug habit, I still kept myself clean. My home, I mean my car, was in the far rear of a police precinct with a lot of old discarded police vehicles. So, no one messed with me or my things.

  I picked out a nice green outfit. Like normal, I had to make sure my top fit loose so no one could tell I was pregnant. I went to take a “ho bath” at the gas station across from the station and changed my clothes. I returned home and put my dirty clothes in my closet. Okay, my trunk. I must admit I was looking good for a homeless semi-addict. My caramel skin put an accent on my short haircut that I usually kept wrapped up to make me look older. My mature body could catch any man’s attention.

  I was ready to go get my hustle on. I didn’t have an everyday hustle. I just went with the flow of the day and whatever came my way. However, the last thing I wanted to do was have sex with some random dude. So, I’d explore all my options. I wasn’t greedy. I just wanted my kid and I to eat and me to get high.

  With no shame, I walked up on the avenue. A candy apple red Cherokee pulled up to me and the driver rolled down the window. It was Duane. He was a young drug runner who worked for Malcolm. He liked me, but he knew Malcolm would give him a short stay on earth if he got caught up with me. I think Malcolm had scared the whole neighborhood. That’s why I didn’t have any real friends or a man.

  Duane pulled his truck close to the curb. I kept walking to allow him gaze at my voluptuous body that I knew he lusted for. Duane followed my walk with his eyes and his vivid imagination. He inched the vehicle forward to keep up with me.