Shorty Gotta Be Grown. T.C. Littles
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“Yo, li’l man, are you hungry?” I grabbed us some snacks and a beer for me from the kitchen and came back to someone knocking on the door.
“Who is it?” I called out, reaching for my chrome-plated piece that sat to the right side of me.
“It’s Spider. Can I holla at you for a second, C-Note?”
I raised the window and told Spider to come off the front porch so I could see him. “Yo, nigga, I’m spending some quality time with my son. Don’t waste my time coming down the muthafuckin’ stairs if you’re about to ask me for some credit.” I’d been hustling back and forth all day, but Spider was one of my regular customers who begged for credit on the usual. Mr. Nice Guy was not available for his bullshit today.
“No, I don’t have any money, C-Note. But I was trying to see if I could work it off. I can sweep your porch, wash your car, or do whatever odd job you got around here.”
“A’ight then, Spider. You got it. I cannot and will not hate on a man willing to work for his. I don’t want to see a speck of dust on my porch when you knock back on my door. Do you understand?”
“Yes, yes, thank you. I’m about to run down the street and get a broom.” He was tripping over his feet.
Falling back on the couch, I popped the top off my beer and guzzled down a fourth of the bottle. There had been a slow and steady flow of customers since Porsha and Trinity hit the streets for their mother-daughter date, but I was about to shut the trap down. It was a good thing Spider was going to be outside in the yard, because I was going to have him send away anyone else who wanted to cop a baggie.
I wanted to take a nap, then take Benzie out of the house for us to have a father and son playdate to the Riverwalk. I never knew my father to do corny shit like that, but that did not mean I wasn’t trying to create a new trend with my own son. I wanted Benzie to have memories of us playing at the park and playing catch, and I even wanted to coach him if he played Little League when he got older. I was proud to have plans for my li’l man.
My phone rang and interrupted my thoughts.
“Yo, are you outside?” I answered it and was straight to the point.
“Yup, yup. I am walking up on the porch now,” my top worker replied.
Elvin “Street” Thomas was one of the hardest-working hustlers on my squad, which was why I’d called him to meet up with me. He had been my protégé since he was a teenager and held major respect among his peers. Street was the first man in charge at my trap house on the block, the very first dope house I opened up years ago. It was the first house Trinity and I got together as a couple.
“What up doe, nephew?” Street spoke to Benzie, then shook his hand and addressed me. “Li’l fella is getting big, boss. He’s gonna be knockin’ clowns out around here.”
“And making his old man proud.” I hoped Street was speaking the truth. “Is everything moving smoothly on the block?”
“Ain’t nobody complaining about not eating, and we keep selling out, so I’ma say shit’s all good,” he confidently replied.
“No news is always good news.” I liked his report.
“I heard that, boss. But being that the block is slow and steady money, why don’t we branch out and start serving product in another territory? I’ve already got a few li’l niggas who wanna come push weight with me, but there ain’t no room on the block.” It was obvious Street had not waited for the green light from me to start fleshing out his business plan.
I nodded and rubbed at my chin, letting what he put onto the floor soak in. It had been a minute since I’d studied Street with a critical eye, but his tenacity had me wondering if it was time to clip his wings or let him fly. I might have trained him a little too well.
“Okay, son. You’ve got my ear. Tell me what you’ve been thinking,” I strategically quizzed.
“Nothing major, but a li’l, low-key spot. Me and Pete Rock can run in on an abandoned house that ain’t been stripped down yet and set up shop.”
“Do you really think you are ready to run two spots?” I questioned condescendingly, knowing I was getting ready to shut his plan down. His plan came with too much risk, and I was comfortable sitting on top.
“No disrespect, boss, but I’ve got the hustle in me, and I’m hungry. I’ve got a big appetite, and I’ve gotta eat. I’ve gotta get out here and put my foot to these nigga’s necks and make a name for myself that will hold some weight.” I saw the savage mentality Street had embedded within him bleeding through his eyes. Running one trap house was not good enough for him anymore.
“Look, son, what I’m about to say is not going to be what you want to hear, but it will be what you need to hear. There are levels to this shit, and you are not at the level where you can run shit in two different spots.” I watched him slouch into the couch.
“I can respect that, Cal. But I do not agree with that. I’m a beast in these streets.”
“I know that, which is why I put you in charge of the block in the first place. Don’t mistake my carefulness for doubt. Make no mistake about it, you’ve got my eyes and ears open. I am definitely thinking about what you’ve suggested, but that doesn’t mean I’m getting ready to give you the green light on shit past taking a li’l bit more off the top for ya pockets. We’ve all got set positions that must be played for a little while longer. Are you good with that decision for now, or do we need to have a different conversation? Are we good?” I questioned, knowing I wasn’t getting ready to compromise or bend with what I already offered. I wanted to see where his head was at.
“Yeah, boss. We’re good, no doubt.” He dropped the subject, then was saved by my ringing phone.
Swooping my cell off the table when I saw Daddy’s Princess on the screen, I dismissed Street. “A’ight, son. I’ll be on the block in a few to see how shit is lying.”
Already knowing I put my family first, he got ghost without another word.
“Hey, baby girl, what’s up?” I answered Porsha’s call.
“Calvin! I’m caught up in some shit and need your help.” My wife’s voice came through the headset.
“Say less. Where are you at?” I slid my pistol in my waistband and picked up Benzie. Hesitation was not a word in my vocabulary when it came to me seeing after mine.
PORSHA
“I want this woman arrested. Call the Dearborn Police,” the loudmouthed lady said, making a scene.
“Ma’am, we’re not going to keep telling you to calm down and let us do our jobs,” the security guard warned the lady again. Then he turned to my mother. “Ma’am, I need to check your purse,” he demanded.
“Oh, hell naw!