Crack Head II. Lisa Lennox

from the streets, baby, and you can't trust everybody, so you have to use more than just common sense to peep game.” Laci stopped walking and turned to face Dink. She loved to hear him talk with such passion. “On the streets, baby, a hungry nigga would do anything or say anything just to get put on and come up. But for me, I listen to what's being said. When I hear something that don't make sense, my radar goes off and I automatically think someone tryna fuck me. It doesn't necessarily mean that they are, it's just that with all the shady shit folks do, you can't trust just anybody and those that can be trusted, you keep close to you. I fucked up in the beginning, but as I grew with the streets, I started looking at stuff differently. I became more defensive, on guard, and more aware of what was going on around me. In the game you have to be careful because one fuck up, it's over. It all boils down to being able to spot the real from the bullshit,” Dink told Laci. “Besides a broke hustler, ain't nothin' worse in the game than a wannabe hustler because shit bound to go down.”

      Dink's thoughts went to Marco and Dame. He was still shocked that his boys would try to play him shady, but repercussions in the hood were a muthafucka. Disloyalty was honored by death. “Niggas will try to get at you all the time but you have to have to be sophisticated enough to be able to differentiate between the straight shooter and the nigga tryna take you. You have to work on that balance, and that balance is called…”

      “Objective reasoning,” Laci said out loud.

      “Exactly,” Dink confirmed. “Niggas take kindness for weakness so you still gotta be cool, all the while, ruling with an iron fist. There's a time to be hard and there's a time to finesse shit.”

      Laci looked at Dink in awe and with respect. She didn't realize that hustling required that type of thought. “Do you miss it, Dink?”

      “Do I miss what?” Dink replied.

      Laci was studying the look on Dink's face as he talked about his former life. “Do you miss being on the streets?” she asked.

      He paused momentarily. Everything was still fresh and new to him. “Nah, not really. That was just something to do for the time being. But things happen for a reason. I'm where I want to be now.” Dink stepped toward Laci and put his arms around her waist.

      Laci smiled at him, and then placed a tender kiss on his lips.

      “I knew there was more to you all along,” she confessed. “You are truly a smart man.” She kissed him again. “And guess what?”

      “What?”

      “You're all mine,” she smiled back at him. “But right now,” she looked at her watch then grabbed her backpack from Dink's grasp. “I'm late for my next class and this isn't the way to start the new school year. I'll see you after class, baby.” Laci quickly kissed Dink and ran in search of her second class.

      Dink loved Laci's innocence and smiled while he watched her scurry away. He was glad he was a part of Laci's rehab and saw how much it helped her. After she had disappeared out of his sight, Dink glanced at his schedule then shoved it in his pocket and flung his backpack over his left shoulder. He strolled through the campus with the swagga of a man who owned the world. It was a new day, and Dink saw that there was another life outside of being a dope man. Of course, the game gave him cash and material things, but now he had the opportunity to exercise his mind. Dink realized that he had it all. Money at his disposal, a girl he loved and now he was legit. Giving the ‘what up’ nod to those who passed him, confidently Dink walked to his next class, now living the white man's American dream.

      3

      SMURF SAT INSIDE DINK'S APARTMENT on Gun Hill Road contemplating his next move. It had been a couple of weeks since Dink had left the Bronx, and Smurf needed to make sure that he had everything on lock just as Dink had. He wasn't a sentimental cat, but he couldn't believe that Dink gave him his entire empire—the South Bronx. He was no longer Dink's best-kept secret…he was the dope man now.

      He started exploring the apartment. Although Smurf had been to Dink's place before, he never really tripped off of all the luxuries he had because he was so busy taking in everything Dink taught him. Dink was a street philosopher and in order to learn, Smurf had to listen. Maybe he was schooling me on all of this all along so he could get out the game, Smurf thought to himself, but does a hustler ever truly get out of the game? He remembered arriving at the apartment when Dink called, and seeing the huge Louis Vuitton traveling trunk near the front door.

       “Where we going?” he remembered asking.

       “We're not going anywhere.” Smurf was confused. “I'm going. I'm leaving this place. I've done all that I can do for you, Marco, Dame, shit…even Crystal. I got to do for me now.”

      Smurf realized that doing for him meant following his heart, which meant starting a new life with Laci—a crackhead. He remembered how deeply Dink was wrapped up in her and how he always had a smile on his face, even when he saw her at her worst. Smurf knew that leaving was the right move for Dink. He only hoped that one day a woman would make him feel that way as well.

      Walking slowly around the apartment, Smurf admired the black art that graced the walls and small African figures that were placed strategically throughout. He looked at the picture that hung above the fireplace. It was a close up of a beautiful black woman's face, but there was something about the picture that he connected with. There was so much sadness in her eyes that he could relate to. Smurf's thoughts traveled back to his mother. He always wanted a good life for her and with him being the man now, he would make sure she would have nothing less.

      Smurf stood and studied her for what seemed like hours, as if he was staring right into her soul. Then he remembered that behind the picture was a wall-safe. He removed the large picture and leaned it up against the wall next to the fireplace. Remembering the combination that Dink gave him, he slowly turned the dial to the right, to the left, then back to the right. He grabbed the handle gently and turned it.

       Click.

      Smurf's heart beat rapidly as he looked at the perfect rubber banded stacks of dead presidents that lay before him. He reached his hand inside and took one out.

      He fanned through the stack, inhaled the fresh crisp scent of money then a smile crept across his childlike face. Smurf took out the remaining stacks just because he could. A brand new, shiny Beretta .380 that sat just behind the money shocked Smurf. He took the piece out and walked over to the full-length mirror by the front door and posed. First, he stood with his legs apart and the gun pointed at his reflection as if he were the bad guy. Then he turned to the side to check out his profile with the new piece. Smurf liked how he looked, and the new gun made him feel invincible.

      “Yo, Dink—” Smurf yelled, only to remember that Dink was truly gone.

      He looked at his reflection and the tear that he had tried to suppress crept down Smurf's sepia-colored cheek.

       “Don't be mad, Smurf. I'm gonna always take care of you.”

       “How you fuckin' leaving…leaving me here? What am I supposed to do? This is all I know.”

       “Naw, my lil man, you know way more. That's why I'm leaving this all to you. You're the man now.”

       “What? Leaving what to me?”

       “The South Bronx, baby.”

      Smurf roughly wiped the tear away. For the first time since he started working for Dink, he was all alone. Smurf never knew his own father, so he looked up to Dink as a father figure. It was Dink who took Smurf under his wing and taught him not only the code of the streets, but also about life, which sharpened his mind. Smurf's mother tried to do the same but as he got older, she became too busy with men to make sure he stayed on the right path. Truth be told, Dink lasted longer in his life than the men his mother had running through her.

      Dink gave Smurf credit because he was hungry and eager to work, and he actually listened and learned. Smurf was his most loyal comrade;