Tales from da Hood Read Online Free PDF Page A

the block was hot. They say a lot of straight niggas, hustlers, and out-of-town muh-fuckers be rolling through, paying punks to suck their dicks. I like Second and Broad 'cause straight women work that block. I really ain't tryna be round no mutherfucking niggas selling their asses, but my clients are all busy at the track, watching cars crash and shit. So, whatever is whatever.
    I'M RUSHING and shit trying to get up the block before Mr. Arnold leaves with the van. Nessa is behind me, moving slow like a mutherfucking turtle again. It never ceases to amaze me; it always seems like I have to put my foot in her ass for that bitch to get some energy behind her. My shorts keep falling down, 'cause I ain't ever liked wearing belts. I keep yelling behind me, “Keep up, bitch, don't make me miss this muh-fucking ride.”
    When we get to the top of the hill, everybody is out on the strip, all the hustlers, hoochie mommas, and junkies. There's a crowd around La-La, who has just finished beating the fuck outta this young dude who works for him, name Smitty. I heard Smitty fucked up another package and now was five g's in the hole. I ain't have time to stay and watch that shit. Besides, I done seen that niggaLa-La beat plenty niggas’ ass. He don't fuck around when it comes to his scratch.
    We catch Mr. Arnold just in time. “Yo, Mr. A, I'll break you off a dove if you take us over South-side to the mall,” I say as I'm walking over to him.
    Mr. A heads toward the van, walking lopsided and shit, and says, “Shit, I'll do it for free if she sucks my dick; there's plenty of room in the van, you know.”
    I laugh at his old ring worm-having ass, then I tell him, “Nah, Mr. A, a blow job is gonna cost you fifty dollars.”
    “But I don't have fifty dollars, Demetria. I haven't made that much money today playing taxi,” he says as he pulls both pockets inside out.
    “Man, let's go.” I brush him off 'cause Mr. A was starting to act like I was supposed to feel sorry for him 'cause he ain't have no money to trick with. I open the passenger doors for me and Nessa to get in the van.
    I pull out a dove and hand it to him. “Here you go, Mr. A, twenty dollars for the ride, and when you get the money for a blow job, let me know, all right?”
    “Demetria, keep the twenty dollars, and let me pay you thirty dollars later.” He starts begging. I push the money back at him.
    “Nah, Mr. A, I'm not booking my ho's blow jobs, so stop tripping and drive the van.” I kinda yell at him 'cause I'm starting to get pissed off with him. That old nigga must be crazy, fuck he thinks he gonna get his dick sucked for credit. The entire ride to Cloverleaf Mall we have to listen to this nigga try to sing the O'Jays and Temptations. The nigga is whining and shit; he sounds more like Keith Sweat. That old gimp-leg mutherfucker is getting on my nerves. He pulls up to the front of the mall and turns down his music and says, “Do you want me to wait for y'all?”
    “Hell NO!” I scream at him and jump out of the van. “Come on,” I say to Nessa. “We all right,” I tell Mr. A, knowing I didn't have us a ride back, but ain't no way I was bout to listen to that noise for another minute.
    The mall is jam-packed. It's Saturday, and everybody is out shopping for club gear. I walk through the mall, checking out the gals and shit. I'm well known in the city. Everybody knows me, 'cause I am the baddest butch they have ever seen. I am smooth with my shit. Bitches come up to me, trying to strike up conversations just to get up on me. Lot of muh-fuckers have been asking am I all right since my baby bro was killed a year ago.
    I run into my nigga, Rome. Rome is running shit over Hillside Court; nigga has the coke and heroin market on lock. Shorty is one of the thoroughest niggas in Richmond without a doubt. If he tells his crew to kill a nigga, they ask, “Should we kill the nigga's family, too?” That nigga's presence alone can shut a whole mutherfucking block