2 months earlier
Smoke &C-Note
Smoke watched his cousin, C-Note, walk out of the door of one of his own regular weed customer’s house followed by a short, dark skinned girl, who filled out the white cat suit she wore. She had enough ass and hips to match Buffie the Body or any other video vixen. He lit a cherry Black & Mild as he watched his younger cousin shoot game at the cutie, then pull out his phone and apparently got her number. After another minute or so of talking, C-Note held out his arms and the girl stepped into his embrace. C-Note turned his head towards Smoke and smiled, showing the four gold teeth at the top of his mouth before he winked as his hands slid down over the girl’s ass. After letting her go he walked the short distance over to Smoke’s black Chevy Tahoe with the smile still plastered on his face. He pinched the inside collar of his wife beater and flicked his wrist out as if to say he’d popped his collar. C-Note never had a problem getting women-Smoke either for that matter- he was a borderline pretty boy with a peanut butter complexion covered in tattoos. The wife beater let most of the tats show along with the lean muscular frame he’d still had from playing both point guard and corner back the two and a half years he’d stayed in high school. At 5’10 and 180 pounds, he gave up 7” and 50 pounds to Smoke, but his hazel eyes and gold teeth along with his swag kept more panties around ankles that diarrhea. C-Note got in the truck and pulled a twenty dollar bill out his pocket, which he handed to Smoke.
“I bet yo’ ass serve yo’ own sack next time. I know you saw what you missed out on and I’m gon’ beat that pussy down,” C-Note said holding his hands in place in front of him like he was holding a girl’s waist.
“I ain’t miss nothing,” Smoke said nonchalantly. “It’s plenty mo’ like that and I can probably hit her if I catch her over here again. Pimpin’ ain’t neva been a issue. Plus, these twenty eights get a nigga mo’ ass than toilet seats.”
Both men laughed before C-Note reached to turn the volume up on the stereo as Playa Fly’s classic album “Moving On” blast through the speakers as they pulled out into the streets of Memphis.
They pulled up to a gas pump at the Exxon gas station on Chelsea street and Danny Thomas Blvd. Smoke went inside to pay for the gas and grab a few of the lottery tickets he loved to play. On his way back to the truck he noticed his cousin yelling into his phone and waving his hand around. Smoke waited until the twenty dollars worth of has he’d paid for finished pumping then got inside, where C-Note was no longer on his phone, but was visibly upset.
“Wassup nigga, you ai’ight?” Smoke asked with genuine concern.
“Naw cuz, shoot me to my car. This dumb ass bitch done let my son get burned some kind of way. I know you ridin' dirty, so I won’t ask you to take me. Plus, I’m gon’ haul ass to see bout my lil nigga mane,” C-Note replied with a scowl on his face the entire time.
Since C-Noted turned the stereo back up Smoke could see that he didn’t want to talk, so he left him alone and quickly drove him to his apartment in New Chicago. Smoke turned the stereo down as he pulled up behind C-Note’s car to try and gauge where his cousin’s head was since he knew how he could get once he was upset.
“I know you tryin’ to see bout yo’ lil boy, but be careful heading up there, and don’t get too crazy. Yo’ ass still on probation, and you know you ain’t trying to be off the streets,” Smoke said.
C-Note nodded his head slowly taking in his older cousin’s words. They sank in all the more since C-Note’s baby mama drama was the reason he’d ended up on probation in the first place.
“I’m cool mane. I’m just gonna make sure junior cool. Nothing more, nothing less,” C-Note said in a low tone as he climbed out the truck.
The truth was that he and his cousin both knew that he didn’t know how he’d react until he got there, especially since his baby mama, Vera, could agitate the smallest of situations. He was about to open the door to his car when he heard Smoke blow his horn.
“Hit me and let me know wassup once you get there mane, ai’ight,” Smoke called out leaning his head out of the window.
His cousin only nodded before opening the car door and getting in.
Smoke could only shake his head as he watched the taillights of the car come on. He knew his cousin would probably drive the 96’ Impala to its limit racing up the highway to Huntingdon, Tennessee, where Vera lived. The car could have been his and initially it was. The two cousins’ dead uncle had left him the car and C-Note the truck. Seeing as though C-Note had always loved fast cars and he the commanding feel of trucks, the switch was easy.
Smoke sat in the truck and reminisced on some of the time he’d spent with his uncle before he died from lung cancer shortly after retiring from the military. He thought about the day when his uncle, Andre, introduced him to his first cousin, Corey, for the first time when they were sixteen and fourteen. Andre had told them what had happened to both of their fathers, who were both his younger brothers, who had never been in either boy’s lives. Around the time that Smoke was two years old, C-Note had just been born and both of their fathers had been running in the streets. Smoke’s father, Sean Sr., had been robbed and shot multiple times during a drug deal gone bad. He’d died three days later, but not before he’d told C-Note’s father, Corey Sr., what had happened. A week later Corey buried his younger brother with a small sense of closure since he’d been able to tell the former shell of his brother that the men responsible for his death were already dead themselves, one to never be found. Unfortunately the same couldn’t be said for the other body. In his initial emotional rage upon learning the identities of the robbers from his brother, Corey had caught one man at his mother’s home where he kicked in the front door and gunned down his former childhood friend right in front of his family. Since the man’s entire family knew Corey’s own, the police knew exactly who they were looking for and maliciously arrested him as he exited the church carrying his brother’ casket.
The judge handed down a life sentence for a crime he said was cold and heartless and to which Corey showed absolutely no remorse whatsoever. It was a sentence he would never finish since he was killed in a riot around the time his only son was going on three years old.
Their uncle had told them how upset he was that he’d been overseas and missed both of his brothers’ funerals, and a difficult point in the lives of the rest of his family. He said that he was upset with himself for years because he’d been able to fight for an entire country, but not his own family. Years later he’d been permanently stationed at the base in Millington, TN right outside of Memphis, and he made a vow to find both of his brothers’ children and help raise them as best as he could. Both boys were being raised by their mothers, who were more than happy to have help with their sons, who were both being drawn into the streets at a young age. Though he’d never been able to pull either out of the streets completely, he’d always try to help guide their decisions and treat them like the sons he never had himself.
Smoke was snapped out of his daydreaming by the sound of C-Note’s horn as he pulled off headed towards his son. He thought about how he and his cousin clicked as soon as they’d met and how they came to be as brothers as they grew and spent time together. Since the day they’d met and the fate of their fathers had been revealed, Smoke had truly grown to believe that their lives were truly meant to be tied together. Smoke blew his horn in return, but he didn’t pull off behind C-Note. He relit the Black & Mild he’d put out before going into the gas station. He then reached down and pulled up the floor mat on the passenger’s side where he kept his lucky penny, which he’d used to scratch on every lottery ticket he’d ever played. He grabbed the tickets from the center console and sat them on his lap and began to scratch off each and won only sixty dollars off the twenty dollars in tickets he’d brought earlier.
Even though he considered the lottery tickets a loss, Smoke mellowed out since he knew he had a week worth of money to count at home, which always made him feel good. He let down his windows to let in the late August air since it had cooled off as the sun began to set. The clear sounds of his Alpine stereo system thumped as he made his way to his home in Binghampton. He stopped at the nearby McDonalds’ to grab a bite to eat, and to see if he could sell a few more sacks of weed like he usually did before he went in for the night. After getting his food, and selling three twenty dollar sacks, he made his way to his duplex apartment on Eastview Street. As he pulled into his driveway, his neighbor, Solo, came out of his apartment and began speaking once Smoke made his way up to the porch.
“Smoke, wassup mane? You got a quarter on you?” the heavy set, light skinned Solo asked as he sipped from an alcoholic beverage inside a brown bag.
“Yeah, I gotcha right here,” Smoke said as he pulled the last quarter ounce of the weed they called sour diesel from his pocket.
Solo put the weed to his nose and inhaled, savoring the enticing aroma. “Be on yo’ Ps and Qs too mane, them people been riding through all afternoon,” he informed Smoke.
“Damn what done happened now, a nigga got hit up or somethin’?”
“Naw mane, it ain’t go down like that. The police was chasing some niggas in an Explorer. Tuck told me he saw the shit, and them niggas was jumping out shooting at the police and running in different direction. The credit union over by the board of Education building got robbed, and most likely it was dem niggas.”
“Damn that sound just like that shit that Ken-Ken them tried to pull in Arkansas. I can’t knock a nigga though, cause the way I’m starting to feel that look like the only way a nigga can get ahead.”
“When you put the plan together come holla at cha boy, ‘cause this Techni-color shit ain’t ‘bout to get a nigga nowhere no time soon. Fuck the feds and fuck this supervised release shit. But look mane, let me get back in here, by baby in the tub,” Solo said then dapped Smoke up after passing him his cash then made his way inside.
Smoke grabbed his mail then made his way into his own home, where he headed straight to his bedroom and emptied all the cash from his pocket, then pulled the small knot from his right sock and tossed it onto his bed. Then he reached under the foot end of his mattress and pulled out the paper bag that was full of the money he’d made through the rest of the week. Thursdays were count day since he may or may not hit the clubs on Friday and Saturday. After lighting another cigar he sat down and counted out the money in the bag and then what he’d had on him and altogether it totaled to four hundred and seventy dollars. Smoke could only shake his head at the small change he’d made from a week of hustling, but even that was eighty dollars more than he’d made the week before.
“I might be better off getting a damn job, at least ain’t no risk of jail in that shit,” he said to himself.
Smoke left two hundred on the bed and took the rest to his other bedroom, where he pulled the back off an old floor model TV. He pulled out a thick wad of bills, which he knew was just over five thousand, and added the two hundred with it. After putting it back he pulled out a smaller knot, which was the re-up money, and added the remainder of what he’d brought in. Once he replaced the money and the panel he went back into the master suite and picked up the two hundred, shaking his head once again as he placed it on his dresser. H knew the reality of his situation was the same as many other hustlers, and that was that unlike books and movies showed, there were hardly ever Bentleys and mansions gained for the majority of them. Some had been fortunate enough to stay alive and out of jail long enough to get ahead, but most of them were just maintaining and keeping their heads above water. You could get nice things here and there, but a lot of times it could all be a frustrating headache.
Smoke hadn’t been to jail in almost two years and all he’d managed to stack was five thousand. It was true that he had to pay an attorney eight thousand six months earlier, but that shouldn’t have been an issue because he felt that he should’ve earned that back by now and then some. He kicked his shoes off and then lay back on his bed looking at the ceiling. After a few minutes he sat up and pulled a rolled blunt from his nightstand.
“Damn, if something don’t give I might need to plan a bank job for real,” Smoke thought to himself as he lit the blunt and took a deep pull from it. After smoking half the blunt, he put it out and lay back in deep thought before drifting off to sleep.
C-Note mashed the gas in his Impala, loving the power of his souped up engine as it pushed him back in is seat and also towards his destination. He took Chelsea Street down to Danny Thomas, where he turned left and sped towards downtown Memphis. After a brief drive, he turned into the parking lot of the Poplar Tunes record store. He parked and made his way inside, where Smoke was already waiting for their weekly meeting at the store on Fridays to check out new music and to see if and which clubs they would hit.
“Wassup nigga, I though yo’ ass was gon’ hit me up last night to let me know what was up?” Smoke asked as C-Note walked up and gave him dap.
“Nigga I did, but yo’ ass didn’t answer. You was probably high, you know how yo’ ass get,” C-Note replied.
Smoke could only chuckle at the truth in his cousin’s words. “You got that,” he stated nodding at C-Note. “But what happened to lil man, he cool?”
C-Note really couldn’t help but to shake his head as the craziness of the whole episode came back to him. “Yeah he good. That bitch was just trying to get me up there. When she called she was talking ‘bout some scalding hot water fell on him, but when I got there the real story came out that it was just some hot water out the damn faucet. I checked him out where I got there ‘cause the dumb bitch didn’t take him to the hospital, but he was only red where the water hit ‘em. It wasn’t no bad burns or peeled skin.”
“Damn. What happened to him though?” Smoke questioned with genuine concern for his godson and nephew.
“One of Nisha’s bad ass kids was standing in a chair to get some hot water to make some cocoa or some shit and spilled it on him trying to get out the chair wit' it. Like I said she exaggerated the shit, when I get there and see that it ain’t that serious, I cussed her ass out and she tried to flip the script talkin’ bout I need to come up there more. You know her nosey ass momma tried to get in the convo, so I drug her ass outside to my car and cussed her ass out some mo’.”
C-Note took a moment to scan the songs on the back of a 70’s greatest hit album.
“After a while she got to apologizing and shit, and the next thing I know she sucking my dick. I end up nuttin’ in her mouth, and she got to talkin’ bout spend the night wit' my son and the shit worked cause I felt a lil guilty and shit. Staying wit' him turned into fucking her and I ain’t get back home ‘til at this morning. I’ll be glad when I can stop hustlin’ and get my son from her sorry ass, but I need my paper all the way straight first.”
“While we talkin’ bout money, mane somethin’ gotta give cause this nickel and dime hustlin’ shit getting real old real fast,” Smoke said with exasperation. “Shit I ain’t even got ten stacks saved up.”
“Shit, me neither. What you tryin’ to do hit a lick or somethin’?” C-Note asked rubbing his hands together.
“That ain’t what I was thinking, but I ain’t saying naw to it either though. I’m talkin’ bout something that’s goin’ keep bringing in money like a club or something. Shit we might need to get a record store all the money we spend up in this mothafucka.”
Smoke eyed the price on the c.d. in his hand thinking of how he could get his hands on some cash.
C-Note’s face lit up as an idea flashed through his mind, and Smoke knew his cousin was good for thinking on his feet.
“Fuck a record store, we can get a record company,” C-Note said as the vision formulated in his mind. “I know you remember that nigga Larry that used to be over there fucking wit Solo’s cousin Skip before he got popped last time right?”
“Yeah, the nigga wit’ the white Infiniti we used to smoke wit’,” Smoke confirmed.
“That’s him, but the last time I saw him he was in a red S600 on twenty sixes. I holla’d at the nigga fo’ a minute and he said that he’d just started a record company. You and me both know that nigga ain’t know shit bout runnin’ no record company, so I know damn well we can do that shit together.”
“He might didn’t know shit, but you know that nigga got back on ever harder once he got out, so he had somethin’ we ain’t got much of at all right now.”
“What the fuck is that? Some how-to books or some shit?”
“Naw, Theodore Huxtable lookin’ ass nigga. Money. That’s somethin’ missing in my life right now. Plus, who the hell we gon’ sign?”
“Don’t yo lil brother still rap?”
“That nigga in jail again, but I guess it’s plenty of wanna be rappers so our issue is the money if we gon’ do this for real.”
C-Note used his left hand to rub his goatee. “You still got that house unc left you in south Memphis right. We can use that, the cars, and some other stuff as collateral. So all we gotta do is Google a business plan and go where everybody go for money. The bank.”