jump the fuck out and not say shit? No heads-up or nothing?”
“Hesitation leads to reservations. One ounce of doubt and you a fuckin’ dead man on these streets,” Sticks said calmly. He didn’t give a fuck about anyone’s feelings. This game and all its little quirks was all about a paper chase and power for him.
“You could’ve still said something,” Trail told him. “Let a nigga know what you was about to do and shit.”
“Damn, mu’fucka! Pull your skirt down. I can’t take no bitchy whining and complaining shit. If we gonna be on this new shit, taking down all the other niggas in Baltimore, we don’t have time to run our mouths like bitches. Now drop the fuckin’ subject and follow my lead, nigga. I mean, you either get down or lay down!”
Trail did as he was told and shut his mouth, but he didn’t like it. He twisted his lips to the side and bopped his head to the music in an effort to keep himself quiet. Shit was definitely different than when Scar was home. Trail noticed that since Scar had left, Sticks was more ruthless than ever. He was letting the young’uns run wild in the streets of Baltimore, killing any person—man, woman, or child—that got in their way. They were collecting money almost every hour. All of the street contracts and territorial agreements Scar had made with rival hustlers was out the window once he left. Sticks had single-handedly dismantled a commission of hustlers that Scar had put together years ago to divide up the drug territories and put an end to a war that was going on at the time. Although Scar had assigned himself the most lucrative spots and the biggest piece of the pie, the other hustlers got down with the commission because they were afraid of the consequences if they refused. Shit on the streets was all good after that. There were a little jealous spats here and there, but whenever niggas heard Scar wasn’t happy, those little sidebar fights quickly turned into truces.
Now, Trail was worried that Sticks, if he wasn’t careful, could start one of the biggest drug wars in Baltimore’s history, even bigger than the one Scar put an end to where seventy street dudes had been killed in a five-month span.
Finally, Sticks pulled the vehicle up on the other side of town. Trail bit down into his jaw. He knew that this entire south side belonged to Tango, another big hustler in Baltimore. Tango and Scar had finally settled their beef over streets years ago with the formulation of the commission, drawing imaginary lines in the Baltimore streets.
“Yo, Timber, you ready to earn your wings, nigga?” Sticks asked.
“I was born ready. Where they at?” Timber said with his thick country accent.
“That’s their main hub right there. I heard they collect like six hundred thousand stacks every eight hours. We about to take their day’s work.” Sticks laughed like he was a damn maniac.
“A’ight, let’s get it,” Timber said, pulling on the truck’s door handle with one hand, while he gripped a stolen AK-47 in the other.
Danielle rolled her eyes as her mother rambled on with another lecture. She was thinking, her mother just didn’t get it. The more Dana told her to stay away from boys, sex, and drugs, the more Danielle was drawn to them. Today though, it was a different lecture. Her mother was trying to convince her to go and spend more time with her older sister. Ever since she had turned sixteen, Danielle had begun to smell herself, thinking she was grown.
“Why should I go spend the weekends at her house, Ma? She’s a cop, and I hate the police!” Danielle said. “Plus, she’s boring. Ain’t nobody trying to sit up in her face all day talking about nothing at all.” She folded her arms across her ample breasts and shifted her weight from one foot to another.
Dana was determined to get her to focus on something other than the streets and she wasn’t trying to hear it. “First of all, your sister has a very good job. She helps pay most of the bills in here and keeps you in all of that expensive stuff you like to wear. You can show her you appreciate her. She loves you, and besides, you used to like to spend time with her.”
Danielle rolled her eyes as she applied a full face of make-up. At sixteen, she resembled a grown-ass woman. Thirty-six D cup breasts, a small waist, plump round hips, and an ass you could set a glass on made her a hot commodity in the hood. She got a million attempts at getting with her a day, and knew just how to play the game. Danielle wasn’t interested in traditional school. She was from the “use-what-you-got-to-get-what-you-want” school, having learned from the best—her mother. And she damn sure didn’t have time to spend with her lame-ass sister.
“Look, you’re becoming too spoiled, Dani. One day your sister is going to cut you off, and then what you gon’ do? Huh?” Her mother took a long drag off her cigarette.
Danielle sucked her teeth. She always felt unloved because she never knew her father. And ever since she could remember, Maria had been like a second parent.
“Fine. I’ll go with her for the weekend, if you let me go to a party with Veronica and my friends first.”
“She will be here on Saturday morning to get you, so have your ass back up in here. You act like spending time with her is going to kill you. You should try to appease her, as much as she does for us. When she cuts us off, your lips gonna be poked out. If that happens, your hot ass ain’t gonna get those little stripper-ass outfits you like to wear.” Dana blew a ring of smoke toward her daughter.
“Whatever. I’ll be here. Yeah, sure,” Danielle said, grabbing her purse and heading out the door.
Danielle rushed up the street, switching her hips as hard as she could. She smirked to herself at all of the catcalls she received from the little hood-rat dudes in her neighborhood.
“Yo, Dani, I will fuck those poom-poom shorts right off that fat ass,” a little corner boy called out.
“Nigga, pa-lease! I fucks with real hustlers. Hand-to-hand is played out!” Danielle screamed, craning her neck in true ghetto-girl fashion.
She finally made it to the end of the block, where she spotted the person she was expecting to meet. Her heart jumped in her chest. He was so damn sexy. Danielle let a smile spread across her face at the sight of the gleaming silver Benz S550 he sat in. She rushed over to the passenger side and slid in.
“Damn, baby girl! You got my shit on wood with them li’l shorts,” Sticks said, licking his lips. I have something for this little hottie, he thought to himself.
“Two weeks and you can’t handle seeing me in shorts?” She leaned over to kiss her new man.
Everybody in Baltimore knew Sticks was down with the Dirty Money Crew, including Danielle and her little friends. But she was so excited when Sticks had stopped her in a party. In fact she felt extra special that he had chosen her out of all the girls in the club that night. Sticks had told her she reminded him of Lauren London, a comment she got all the time, but coming from him, it made her blush.
That night Danielle gave Sticks her number. Her best friend Veronica had stayed up with her all night waiting for him to call, but he never did. Three days had passed, and Danielle had gotten a little depressed. Then, when she least expected it, Sticks showed up at her high school. It just so happened, that day she’d decided to attend classes. She’d rolled her eyes at him and told him off.
Sticks laughed at her and told her he liked the way she looked when she was mad. He grabbed her hand and led her to his car. He started calling her every day since.
“Where you wanna go, mami? The world is yours,” Sticks said, tossing a money stack into
