HAM (Hard As a Muthaf**ka)

WARNING: This chapter contains scenes of an intense sexual nature. Reader discretion is advised.

Can We..?

                  Errythang went as planned- Winnie told her story, and the police took her in to look at her bruises…it automatically eliminated her, as a suspect. Phaedra corroborated with Winnie’s story, and further erased the suspicion off Winnie…the po-pos couldn’t even find a mark or anything that would say Winnie fought him back. Meanwhile, I told them that Winnie came to my house, and she was scared…I told them that I called Phaedra and let her know where Winnie was. When they asked my connection to it, I told them that Winnie and I were friends from high school…after all, that was the truth.

                  So the po-pos were lookin for “Chuck”, who was a figment of my imagination. I gave Phaedra and Winnie a couple dollars so they could get a new apartment(and furniture, and some clothes- until the po-pos let them back in to get their clothing)…I dismantled the gun, and buried the pieces in various spots throughout the neighborhood. After the po-pos had left, and took Winnie for a DV exam, I slept like a mutha fucka on my sofa…I didn’t even have any nightmares about the shit.

                  Thursday…I had skipped Barber shop class- I called in and told them I wasn’t feelin well. The reality was, that I was sleepy, and needed to get some rest…so I finally got up about eleven-ish, and started getting ready for work at Target. Reagan left me a text message that I could pick up the package for Weston Friday afternoon before I went in to work.

                  It kinda bothered me, a little that Reagan and I weren’t talkin. We had a plan, to sell some shit, and make some money- without havin to risk our asses in the streets…I mean, I knew he was a cool guy, but Max was my sister- I didn’t want her to get caught up in what we were doin. I just didn’t know if I could trust Reagan, and I didn’t want Max to be tainted by this shit we doin, and think street life and drugs were cool. I mean, yeah, I was doin it- but you could see what the fuck was goin on with me. I had murked three niggas in two weeks…before that, I never even entertained the thought of killin anyone, let alone actin on it.

                  I felt like there was a proverbial clock tickin in my head, and that time was runnin out for me…I needed to get all the money I could from sellin pills an’ shit in the clubs and stuff, and deal with as little as street sellin, as I needed to. I had a feelin that I couldn’t trust Mos anymore, and that my friendship with Kantrell was headed that way too…after all that bullshit he spit in the Blue Flame the other night, about how I always acted like I was better than him, and how he tried to fight me coz he thought I was trynna spit game, and get Sheryl Moss into my bed. I’ll give him that much for not callin me- he still probably mad from after I went upside his head wit that wooden plank, but I feel it’s deeper than that.

                  If I couldn’t trust Mos, Kant, or none of my other friends anymore, then who was I gonna trust?

                  The work day dragged as slow as humanly possible…Weston bought at least $200 worth of weed off me- not that I carry it like that, but he had text me, and let me know some of his friends were comin up to the store. I was wheelin and dealin, straight parkin lot pimpin, sellin them the weed when we were goin to their cars…I made six off them, and Wes bought two alone, so I almost had a stack.

                  “I’ll have yo other package when I get in here on Friday,” I said to Wes. He nodded, as I walked back out to the parkin lot. My game was fuckin tight, shawty- sellin weed in the Target parkin lot while on the clock, workin? You couldn’t tell me nothin…