C's exhaled the last of the chronic smoke from his nose and mouth. Leaning forward, he stamped out the lit roach in the ashtray. Ant coughed next to him still, choking from the last time he'd hit the Mary J. With the side of his fist, he pounded the middle of his chest, wheezing air in and out to catch his breath. C's shook his head. How many times had he told Ant not to toke the chronic like it was some regular Bobby Brown weed? The chronic was so potent, you didn't even need a Swisher or a Phillie. Hell you could smoke that shit with some, old school, Tops rolling papers, and get the same high as if you'd put four of the Bobby B's in the air.
Ignoring Ant's sputters next to him, his gaze slid to the entrance of the club. He could tell by the line of bodies trailing down the stairs that shit was rockin'. City Limits, Oldies but Goodies night, always drew a crowd. After twelve o'clock when the old heads finally took their asses home, the music changed from the tired Marvin Cease blues to the more current Rhythm & Blues, and Hip-Hop. That's when things got swangin'. Thugs and hoes flooded that bitch to get shit crackin'. There wasn't anything like the vibe he got once surrounded by such lethal vices. Alcohol, weed, and pussy, oh shit.
"Ready to go in that bitch, folk?" Ant asked, finally shaking the effects of the chronic.
C's answered by pushing the driver's door open, and stepping out. He glanced around the parking lot. Vatos were parking lot pimpin' like a motherfucker. Ant joined him on his side of the Chevy.
"There go Putt and Taz ass ducked off in the cut over there." Ant nodded his head in the direction of a purple candy painted El Camino. "Sheeit. And here they come too. Putt cool and all, but Taz..." Ant shook his head. "I can't stand his Moreno Mexican ass. One of these days that slick ass mouth of his is gonna get him dealt with."
"Sheeit." Hopping on the hood of the car, C's chuckled. "You'd get fly too, if your first cousin was Lorenzo Vargas, and he'd struck up an alliance to cover your ass," he said as he watched Putt and Taz approach.
Ant glowered, rubbing his hands together. "Humph. Yo' ass ain't said shit, niño." He held a fist out and C's pounded it.
"Que pasa, holmes," Putt slapped hands with C's, and then Ant.
Taz stood on the sidelines, wearing a shit eating grin, which set his back teeth on edge. Refusing to show him love, C's lifted his chin in acknowledgment instead. "Not a damn thing." His gaze returned to Putt. "Been a minute since yo' ass been out, vato. I know the Devil's spot gotta be icin' over tonight."
"Right." Putt slapped Taz on the back. "I let this motherfucka drag me out. He promised putas so here I motherfuckin' stand. You feel me, amigo?"
"Come on, hombre," C's said hoping off the Chevy. "This yo' boy, who has more bitches than me?" They began to walk to the entrance of the club.
"I hear ya," Taz said, winking at a chick standing in line. "Heard 'bout that shit in the mall today. Which one of yo' bitches set it off in Dillard's, Nike, or that chica Negra you've been chillin' with?" They bypassed the line, going straight to the door.
"Her name's Cleo motherfucka." Ant snapped, fist pumping at his sides."
"Damn, homey. My bad." Taz threw up his hands in front of him in defense, grillin' them with another one of his shit eating grins. "She with C's are you?"
C's slung his arm around Ant shoulders, to help keep his head level. "Fall back, niño. She my main so let that be the last time her name come out your mouth, compreder?"
"He got you, amigo. Isn't that right, primo?" Putt said, drilling Taz with a glare.
Taz only smirked in reply, while he held out his hands to get patted down by the bouncer. Once done he disappeared through entrance, taking two hoochies by the door with him, one under each arm.
Ignoring the selling out from the people waiting in line, C's raised his arms. "It's cool, Putt. Taz's your cousin not your brother. You ain't his keeper."
"That's because Vargas is." Ant muttered from behind.
"Be cool." C's sent a glare over his shoulder, and then turned back to Putt. "Come on, let's get a drink, and find some putas. I'm backed up, yo."
They moved further in the club, elbowing their way through the crowd to the bar. A crush of bodies swayed to the beat of a Sixty Nine Boy's song, while others tried to bogard their way in the opposite direction. Drinks splashed over cup rims as drunk bitches tried to back it up and drop it in the walkway. And vatos who could barely stand, cheered like they were ring side at a Tyson fight or some shit. The scene was wild as fuck, but he wasn't there for any of that, he wanted his change.
When they climbed the steps to the bar, C's scanned the club for Nike. The dimmed lights however, made it impossible to tell one face from the next. So he stopped looking. He'd let her come to him. Turning back around, he waved at the bartender.
"Don't worry, homey." Taz yelled, attempting to be heard over the music. "Already ordered eight shots of Tequila. See," he said, waving a hand at himself. "I'm not all bad. Sheeit, even look out for others." He leaned down to kiss the thick ass red bone under his arm. "Ain't that right, chica?"
"You betta tell him, boo." She cooed back at him.
"What the fuck am I gonna do with Tequila, hombre?" C's dismissed Taz with a wave. "I drink brown, not white. Leave that shit for them hoes."
"I need a drink." Ant rested his arms on the bar, signaling wildly to get the bartenders attention. "This dude here, is blowin' my high. Can't do two more minutes around him without at least a buzz, dog. I'm tellin' you."
Putt saddled up next to him, cutting his eyes at someone down the bar. "Hey, why the hell Tech watching you so hard. Some shit popped off 'tween you and him?"
Letting a second slide by, C's cast a sideways glance in the direction of Putt's gaze. Sure as shit, the dread headed Haitian was glaring holes in his ass. What the fuck was this shit about?
"Shit, looks personal to me," Taz said, snatching one of the shots in front of him from the bar and knocking the glass back as if it was filled with water. "Maybe it's about your main." Slamming the glass down on the bar, he smirked at C's reflection in the mirror behind the counter. "You know how vatos are about their territory." He turned around and slapped C's on the back. "Right, homey?"
C's ignored him, lifting his arms in a, what's up fashion. Tech's chest and shoulders bucked in answer. So that's how it was going to be. If dude wanted a fade he could get in the parking lot. He owed that fucking refugee one anyway, for putting salt in his game with Cleo. He swore if he had to hear one more time, well Tech said. That motherfucker would get merked on general purpose. For real. When he attempted to take a step in his zone, Nike stepped from thin air into his path. Snaking an arm around his neck, she used the opposite hand to slide a stuffed silk pouch in his pocket.
"Are you ready to square off with the Haitians?" She whispered, staring up at him with wide caramel eyes. "She really mean all that to you?" Unshed tears made her eyes sparkle brighter than polished diamonds.
"You want the truth or the game, Nik?" He met her gaze with hard eyes, so mad his hands wouldn't stop shaking.
Haitian bastard! He didn't run shit around here but the Ninth, and since his ass had crossed his yard, he didn't have long to run that either. Grabbing Nike by the upper arms he tried to set her aside out of his path, but she stood her ground.
"All I ever wanted was for you to be real with me." Her quiet voice, drew his attention back to her. "If she's what you want for yourself, then do you. But don't get us caught up in your jones, goin' to war behind a chick who belongs to him by right anyway."
"Nobody askin' y'all to ride with me." Anger coursed just beneath the surface of his skin, sending electrical pulses to his already twitching hands. His papi's words rung like church bells in his ears, so loud the litany couldn't help but to escape from his mouth through clenched teeth. "A man stands even if he has to stand alone."
She tapped the side of his head with her index finger. "Think, vato. Damn!" Sighing, she shook her head, and threw her hands up in the air. "No matter what we go through, I'ma always ride with you and I'm not the only one. Hombres who get down with you, is gonna suit the fuck up too. And in the meantime in between time with all of that goin' on, imagine how hard it's gonna be to chase paper. With Haitians firin' on our asses whenever they can." C's watched as she folded her arms across her double D's, and cocked her head to the side. "I'ma ask you this shit again." She held up a finger when he opened his mouth to speak. "'Cause you a dude, and you stupid. Is she worth it?"
C's clenched his back teeth harder, causing the muscle in his jaw to twitch. His gaze drifted from Ant, then Putt, and even to Taz snake ass. They pretended not to be listening, but their body language put them on blast. Dudes were holding on for the word, tighter than En Vogue. If he spit the gospel, all game to the left, then the word was...Hell fuck yeah! Babygirl was his heart and soul. He'd ride for her even after the wheels rolled the fuck off and the brake pads sparked flames on the highway. There could be only one and Cleo was it for him. That was his business, though.
"Chill, Nik." He forced a grin. "It ain't all that. We here to kick the fuck back. Not to get preached to." With a glance he snatched Putt and Ant's attention. "Let's go post up and scope out some bitches, yo." He'd get up with Tech ass at a later date, solo.