Crackhead by Lisa Lennox

Author:Lisa Lennox
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atria Books

CHAPTER 11

Callin’ Shots

WHO THE FUCK is this Titus nigga?”

As the summer of ’89 neared, Dink had gathered his executive branch together to discuss how they were going to rid themselves of an infringing competitor. “All I keep hearing is Titus this and Titus that. Somebody tell me something.” Dink was raving mad at this point. It took a lot to get him angry these days, but some shit got under his skin like tattoos. “Y’all niggas is out there, right?” Dink continued. “Fuck is going on? Everywhere I turn a nigga is telling me Titus stories, but my boys don’t know shit? Fuck is up?” Dink slid down the window of his Saab 900 Turbo to let in some air. The four bodies in the car were generating heat.

“Yo, I’m like you,” Marco responded. “I don’t know who the fuck he is. But what I do know is that he’s on one of our blocks gettin’ money. At least that’s the word on the street.”

Dame didn’t see Titus as the threat everyone else in the car did. He figured that since it was his block the dude was violating, he should be the one stressing. Dame would handle things like he always did—his way. Cracking a chipped-tooth smile, Dame began to speak. “I think y’all overreacting. It ain’t even that serious,” he said nonchalantly.

Dink looked at Dame as if he had lost his mind. Dame had a bad habit of testing Dink, and now was definitely not the time.

Dink took out his burner and placed it on the armrest between Marco and himself. “Repeat that.” Dink turned to face Dame in the backseat. “I want to make sure I heard you right.”

Dame loved a challenge and feared no one. He countered Dink’s attempt to intimidate him by pulling out his own piece, cocking it, and resting it on his lap. “I said it ain’t that serious,” he replied in a daring tone.

“How the fuck you figure?” Marco spat.

All eyes were focused on Dame.

“Because,” he continued, “I seen that nigga around and he ain’t moving nothing major. He small and can be taken out in a second. I ain’t sweatin’ that fool.”

“Then why you ain’t say that shit when I asked?” Dink said.

“And where you seen him at?” Smurf added.

Dame had no respect for the seventeen-year-old gunman and resented the fact that Smurf felt like he was in a position to ask him anything. The lil’ nigga was a nobody to him and didn’t deserve to be answered.

“Where?” Dink said.

“Washington Avenue,” Dame said. “Around my way.”

“Okay, so this is your problem?” Dink said, scratching his chin. “How long has this nigga, Titus, been violating’?”

“Only a couple of months,” Dame said, picking his nails.

Dame’s nonchalant demeanor angered Dink. “Two months?” Dink barked. “You got muthafuckas disrespectin’ the hustle for months and you ain’t say nothing? Other cats lookin’ at that like our team ain’t keepin’ it funky. Soon one of them smaller crews is gonna try to climb up the food chain.”

“Look, man,” Dame said, clapping his hands together.

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