Slipping by Y. Blak Moore

Author:Y. Blak Moore [Moore, Y. Blak]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-307-54668-5
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2005-08-29T04:00:00+00:00

13

JUANITA SHOOK DON TO AWAKEN HIM. HE COULD TELL from the wide-eyed look on her face she had been smoking crack since he went to sleep hours ago. He started to whup her ass again, but he was already a little behind schedule, so he postponed it.

He dressed rapidly and took himself a quick hit. His new pipe was still warm to the touch from Juanita's use. Grabbing the bag with the kilo in it, his pistol, and a few extra rounds, Don left the house. At a dead sprint he headed for the abandoned building on St. Lawrence.

Don was in a good mood. He was slightly apprehensive about making such a large transaction, but the thought of acquiring $20,000 eased the tension. As he ran, his thoughts touched on the fact that he was broke—begging for credit a few weeks ago, but now he was about to come up. When he saw Weed-Eyes sitting in his car a block from the meeting place he slowed down to a walk. He walked over to the car and got in.

Weed-Eyes looked over at Don. He noticed Don's bucked eyes and smelled the burned crack in Don's clothes. “What's up, little brother. You a little early. Man, I hope you brought some of that good shit you been smoking with you.”

Don smiled and sat the kilo on the car seat between them. “As a matter of fact I did, Weedy.”

Don pulled a plastic bag out of his pocket with a little over two-and-a-half ounces of cooked cocaine in it. The only reason he was carrying such a large piece was because he had been afraid to leave it around Juanita. The way she smoked, leaving that much crack around her was almost assuredly a death sentence. Don dug into his pocket and pulled out a six-inch length of antenna he had broken off the television in his mother's room. He pinched a small piece of crack from the bag and placed it on the steel wool shoved into the largest end of the antenna. With his lighter he melted the rock to hold it in place. He placed the end of the antenna wrapped with masking tape to his lips. He held the lighter to it and inhaled. Satisfied with his hit, he handed the straight-shooter to Weed-Eyes and gave him a crack rock.

Weed-Eyes skillfully followed the same procedure.

“Damn, little brother,” he exclaimed, as he blew the crack smoke out of his nostrils. “That's some good smoke. Definitely that butter. That's better than the shit they be having over there on Harper. When this deal is over, I'm gone cop me a ball of that shit and take it out west to this bitch name Rachel crib. This little freak bitch will suck the sleeve off a nigga swipe for a hit of this good cola. Probably rent me a room for about a week and keep my swilla down the bitch throat.”

Don laughed, then turned serious. “Yeah, that shit sound like a plan, but you got to put that shit out yo mind right now.

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