Back in the Hood Read online

  Mitch was preparing to take over the North and South sides of the city with an iron fist, and nothing or no one could stop him. He envisioned being the most notorious player Flint would ever know. Unlike Malek, it didn’t matter how much money he banked; he wasn’t giving up life on the streets. Even in corporate America, Mitch couldn’t think of one millionaire who didn’t want another million. And, by any means necessary, he was going to make sure the money continued to flow.

  Mitch didn’t have a beef with Sweets like Malek did, and he was prepared to put the war aside to make money. Violence only begets more violence, which means police. Mitch thought about how much money he was about to get as he switched lanes.

  Since Sweets had agreed to cop coke from him, Mitch could, and did, set his prices as high as he wanted in the streets, seeing that his main competition, the person who had kept him from being “the man” in the streets, was out of the game anyway. A smile spread across Mitch’s face. Malek was no longer a threat to him.

  Just as quickly as the smile had appeared, it was gone, thanks to thoughts of Keesha’s antagonizing words resurfacing and echoing through his mind. He thought about all that time he’d worked under Malek, and about the number of people who must have seen him the same way Keesha did—just a flunky sidekick to Malek. Even though Malek was now out of the game and cats in the streets were dealing with Mitch, a trace of jealousy was still evident in his heart.

  Mitch clenched his jaws just as his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. Keeping his eyes on the road and erasing thoughts of his predecessor, he answered the phone.

  “Mitch, what’s good?” the caller asked.

  Mitch almost went left of center at the sound of the caller’s voice. He wanted to kick himself for thinking him up. “What up?” he responded, instantly getting aggravated by the sound of Malek’s voice.

  “Shit all bad right now. I got caught up in some bullshit, and I need back in.”

  A huge lump formed in Mitch’s throat. “What you mean, you need back in?”

  Mitch hoped Malek didn’t mean what he thought he meant, but Malek quickly confirmed his biggest fear.

  “I need back in the game. I need to go meet with Fredro and get hit with something,” Malek said, telling him more than asking.

  Mitch didn’t even have to think twice about his response. The game wasn’t big enough for both him and Malek. “I don’t think that’s going to happen, homeboy,” he said, hate in his voice.

  “What? What you mean?” Malek asked, not believing what he was hearing.

  “You heard me, nigga. It ain’t happening.”

  Malek couldn’t fully understand the sudden change in Mitch. The last they talked, everything was all good, so he couldn’t imagine what had changed between then and now. “Mitch, what’s the problem, fam?”

  Mitch started, “I’m not the one with the problem! You—”

  Malek cut him off, screaming through the phone, “Who the fuck is you talking to, nigga?” Had Mitch forgotten just that quickly who put him on? Just in case he did, Malek felt the urge to remind him. “I put you in the position you are in right now. You sound like a damn fool, telling me what I can and can’t do. What’s got into you, fam?”

  “I’m boss now. If you want in, you can work one of the blocks in the Fifth Ward.”

  “Work a block? I move bricks. I hit niggas that work on blocks. I’m not a worker, or did you forget? I don’t know what has gotten into you, but all that shit gon’ change when I get in Flint. Don’t let the money go to your head, fam, for real.”

  “Fuck you! Come see me then, nigga. You know where I’m at, son,” Mitch said menacingly, totally losing his cool.

  “I see it’s too late. Shit done already went to your head. I guess now your ass think you the king of Flint now, huh? Well, we’ll see if you singing that tune later, homeboy!” Malek yelled then hung up.

  Mitch smiled as he flipped down his phone, his ego fed, knowing he had just demeaned Malek. Hell, Malek should have been grateful that he’d even offered to put him on in any kind of way. When he turned over the reigns, it was a done deal. Mitch wasn’t about to let Malek climb back up on his white horse and come riding back to Flint like some knight in shining armor. He had his chance at the top and had given it all up. Now, if he wanted back in, he had to start at the bottom.

  Mitch couldn’t control his excitement. For the first time, Malek would know what it felt like to play second fiddle.

  Malek was furious as he flipped his phone down, not believing what he had just heard. “I put him on. He got the nerve to think he’s going to stop me from getting back in. I am Flint!” Malek said, talking to himself.

  As Malek paced back and forth in anger, he saw a figure in his peripheral view. It was Halleigh in her nightgown, looking as beautiful as ever, as she yawned and stretched her arms out.

  “Why are you still up, baby?” she asked, seeing the concerned looked on Malek’s face.

  “Just thinking,” Malek said, still trying to figure out how to tell her that he’d just lost everything they had.

  Halleigh walked over to Malek and began to rub his shoulders. “Want to talk about it?”

  Malek was burning on the inside, not only because of his situation, but because of the way Mitch had showed total disloyalty. Back to back, he had been completely wrong about the character of the people he’d decided to do business with.

  “No, I’m good,” Malek answered Halleigh. “I’ll handle it. Just go back to sleep, baby.”

  Malek headed toward the bedroom, and Halleigh followed behind him. She climbed back into bed, thinking that’s where Malek was headed. Instead, he walked over to his dresser, opened drawers, and began slipping on some clothes.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’ma take a ride just to clear my head, okay?”

  Halleigh sat up in the bed, a worried expression on her face. “You sure everything is all right, Malek?”

  Malek turned and looked into the eyes of the woman he’d die for. As much as he wanted to just crawl up in the bed next to her and tell her everything, he couldn’t. He couldn’t admit that he’d let her down.

  “Everything is going to be all right, I promise.” Malek nodded his head up and down, all the while putting a plan together in his head to try to make things all right.

  Mitch watched his sweat drip onto the small of Keesha’s back as he grinded her deeply and slowly. She had been waiting for him to return from seeing Fredro so they could live out their planned sexual escapade, and that’s exactly what they were doing. Mitch watched as his pelvic area hit Keesha’s behind, and a small wave went through her fat ass cheeks. He gripped her love handles as he dug her out, enjoying every minute of it.

  “Mitch! Ooh, baby! That’s the spot right there,” she said as she gripped the bed sheets tightly and bit down on her bottom lip so hard that for a minute there, she thought she’d drawn blood. He was thrusting in and out of her so hard that it hurt so good.

  “Who’s the boss?” Mitch smacked Keesha’s ass.

  “You are,” she moaned.

  “Who?” He smacked her again.

  “You are.”

  “I’m what? Say that shit! Say it!”

  “You’re the boss!” Keesha exclaimed as she climaxed.

  Mitch pumped harder and harder as Keesha declared him the boss. That alone was turning him on more than the actual sex. He smiled as he thought about being the head nigga in charge. He had just put Malek in his place and he felt damn good about it. He pumped faster and harder as he thought about the demeaning comments Keesha had been making about him being under Malek, as if he wasn’t boss.

  Mitch was so busy trying to blow Keesha’s back out, he never heard Malek creeping up behind him. The cold steel from the gun startled him as Malek pressed it to the back of his head.

  “Surprise, mu’fucka!” Malek said from behind Mitch.

  “Aghhh!” Keesha screamed as she turned around and scooted to the corner of the bed. She watched
Mitch on his knees at gunpoint.

  “Shut the fuck up!” Malek said to Keesha through clenched teeth, giving her a stare colder than the winter in January.

  Keesha immediately stopped her yelling, knowing what was best for her.

  Malek turned his attention back to Mitch. “Nigga, I can get to you anytime I want. Remember who the fuck I am. I’m cut from the cloth of Jamaica Joe. Remember that!” Malek pulled back the hammer on his gun.

  Mitch was frozen in fear, and it was written all over his face. He’d just forced Keesha to declare that he was boss. Now he sat in front of her looking like a bitch-ass nigga.

  “Turn around and look at me in my eyes.” Malek nudged Mitch in the head with his gun.

  Mitch slowly turned around with his hands in the air and then looked in the eyes of the man he’d just betrayed.

  “I can get to you anyplace, anytime. You can’t push me out the game. I am Flint!” Malek said, getting louder with each word. He pointed the gun at Keesha and watched as she squirmed and her face became flush.

  He released a small chuckle and then exited the room. He could have very well taken Mitch out right then and there, but that wasn’t his intention. He was playing mental chess with Mitch, and just wanted to show him who was still boss.

  Mitch’s heart was beating double-time as he collapsed on the bed. It felt as if it would jump out of his chest. Not only was his heart racing, but his blood was boiling too. Mitch was furious. He hated that Malek just had his life in his hands and played with him like a cat did its prey.

  Now it’s war.

  Mitch was breathing heavily. He heard the sound of his front door slam shut. Malek might have just slammed the door closed behind him, but he’d just opened up a new chapter to a novel—one that was sure not to have such a happy ending.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Scratch sat with his old friend, Sharina, who was still pretty upset over the shooting at the rehab center. She had come back to Flint after getting sober, hoping that she could fix things with Halleigh. But that never happened, because the shots rang out before they had a chance to talk.

  After Halleigh was whisked away in an ambulance, Sharina had searched every hospital until she found her daughter. She still wanted to clear the air and apologize for everything that had happened in the past. Scratch, who held a special place in his heart for both of them, was really hoping they could patch things up. He was almost as disappointed as Sharina when she came back and told him that she’d found Halleigh, who basically just told her to get the hell out of her life.

  Scratch had grown close to Halleigh ever since they met up on the streets. He felt a special connection to her because he remembered her mother from back in the day. He even started calling her Li’l Rina. First they were get-high partners when Halleigh was working for Manolo and using drugs to escape the pain. She finally cleaned herself up, but then stayed by Scratch’s side and supported him while he was at the rehab center getting sober.

  They had a special bond. He thought maybe if he went and talked to Halleigh, he could convince her to give her mother a second chance. Being newly sober himself, Scratch felt like even the worst addicts deserved a chance.

  He looked for her, but no one in the streets had seen or heard from Halleigh since she got released from the hospital. It was as if she’d fallen off the face of the earth. Scratch felt obligated to stay close by Sharina’s side. He was afraid that if she got too depressed about Halleigh, she might start getting high again. That’s why he hated to tell her the bad news.

  “I tried to find her, but no one has seen her. I put word out that I was looking to get in touch with her, though.” Even if he did find her, Scratch couldn’t help but wonder if Halleigh would even want to hear about her mother.

  Scratch put his hand on Sharina’s shoulder. “I’m sure she’s gonna come and see you sooner or later,” he said, giving her false hope out of the pity he felt for her.

  Sharina didn’t mind grasping at every little bit of hope dealt to her either. “Yeah, I sure do hope so. I have so many things to ask for forgiveness for, ya know.” Sharina sighed sadly. “I never was much of a mother to her, and I still have so much to say to my baby.”

  Scratch listened and nodded his head in complete understanding of Sharina’s words. He, too, had some demons that he was battling. One in particular that he wanted to hide from Sharina was the fact that he was responsible for introducing her daughter to drugs. He felt so guilty, but knew that he would never tell Sharina. What good would it do to tell her? The whole thing ate him up every time he thought about it.

  “Keep trying to find her, will you?” Sharina told Scratch, desperation in her eyes. Sharina then turned away in defeat. “Even though, if you do find her, she probably won’t come racing to see me no-how.” Sharina shook her head as her eyes watered.

  “Don’t talk like that. Li’l Rina will come around eventually. I’ll make sure of it,” Scratch assured her. Then he gave her a peck on the cheek and exited the room.

  Scratch was going to find out where Halleigh was at, but he didn’t know where to start. He’d looked under every rock in Flint to no avail. She had just simply vanished. But she had to be somewhere. For the sake of Sharina, he wasn’t going to give up.

  Scratch walked down the street headed to the homeless shelter, where he planned on trying to get a place in line, so he could have a roof over his head for the night. He knew it was on a first-come, first-serve basis. They didn’t hold a bed for nobody.

  He walked with a pimp’s swagger, and even though his bones were worn out, he still managed to have that same ol’ stride he was once notorious for, before he allowed drugs to get the better of him. He hummed the sounds of an Isley Brothers tune as he walked past the same block where he used to score his dope. It was hard being a recovering addict, but he promised himself he would fly straight and get the monkey off his back for good.

  Every time he got the urge to put the drug that once controlled his mind and body into his system, he quickly remembered how his inner demons took over when chasing the high. He would do any and everything just to score the drug. He learned firsthand that no matter what a dopefiend said he wouldn’t do, when it all came down to it, he’d do it in a heartbeat. Scratch had been one of those fiends.

  Ostracized by his entire family because of his addiction, in the end, he was left with nothing and nobody. His family and close friends turned their backs on him, locking their doors closed when they saw him walking down the street. The days of being invited to family Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners had become a thing of the past. Although it hurt Scratch, he couldn’t even be mad at his peoples. They had every reason to disown him.

  Scratch would constantly scheme and swindle just to achieve his next high, even if it meant cheating and stealing from his own family. He remembered one time on Christmas, they were all having dinner at his mother’s house, and his twelve-year-old niece had gotten a purse for Christmas with a hundred dollars in it. She wasn’t aware that she couldn’t just leave her purse lying around, even though it was only with family. No one explained to her that when one of the family members is a crackhead, the rules change.

  In all honesty, Scratch hadn’t set out to steal from his family that Christmas Day. As a matter of fact, he’d been clean for almost a week and was quite proud of himself; but when he walked into the bathroom and saw that purse just lying there next to the hand towels, he couldn’t resist the temptation. He knew it was just a kid’s purse and probably didn’t have any money in it, but, out of habit, he had to see for himself.

  He picked up the purse, unzipped it, and to his surprise, five pairs of eyes were staring up at him—all belonging to Andrew Jackson. Scratch counted out the five twenty-dollar bills. That’s when the tug-of-war within himself began. He put the hundred dollars down in his pocket then headed to the bathroom door. Before he could even leave the room, he pulled the money back out of his pocket and stared at it. “I can’t do this,” he told himself. He hea
ded back over to the purse. “I don’t need this,” he reasoned as he placed the money back inside the purse. “I’m not even gonna get high no more.”

  Once again he walked away, but then that little voice spoke to him, calling him a fool for not holding on to at least some of the money . . . just in case he felt the urge to get high. On that note, Scratch took twenty dollars, leaving only eighty in his niece’s purse.

  “I could have taken it all. At least I left her most of it,” he told himself, which allowed him to sleep that night. But by morning, the guilt had eaten him up to the point where only one thing could wash away the guilt—getting high.

  Once the family discovered that there was a missing twenty-dollar bill, they didn’t even have to think twice about how it had vanished. Stealing from a child was the ultimate low, as far as Scratch’s family was concerned, and they let it be known to him by disowning him. Everyone cut him off, including his own mother.

  Today, after all these years of getting high, Scratch was determined to never go that route again. He was ready to turn over a new leaf. He knew it could be done. It just wasn’t going to be easy. And although the homeless shelter wasn’t a place he wanted to call home forever, it was a start. He’d have to prove himself to the world all over again that he could be trusted and that he wanted to change.

  Maybe Scratch will even get a job ‘round these parts. I still got swagger, he thought as he touched the tip of his brim and walked past the dope house he used to cop at, which Mitch now ran.

  Malek sat back and watched as the crackheads and dopefiends went in and out of one of his old spots like clockwork. It looked as though business was booming. Not too long ago, he thought he’d never miss the game, but now he’d give anything to have a piece of the action.