Playing The Game

P L A Y I N G T H E G A M E - C H A P T E R 2

                                                  Chapter 2

Santana rolled up to the trap-house parking his 2013 bubble bee colored Kawasaki KLR 650 motorcycle. Instead of buying a car he invested whatever savings he and Creanna had into a motorcycle. It wasn’t like if they bought the car it would be expensive. So, it was either settle for a dusty old piece of junk or get a motorcycle. And Santana took option two.

Creanna had two motorcycle deaths in her family so she never rode the bike nor tried to learn how. She wouldn’t even let Santana take her anywhere on it even though he knew how to ride. She rather walk on foot or take the bus which was fine with Santana. It only meant the bike belonged to him.

He kicked the motorcycle latch down with his foot making it lean to the side. He unstrapped his helmet and rested it on the seat of the bike itself. He entered through the side of the house since his boss had ordered for the front doors to be sealed off.

Santana stuck his hands in his pockets and started to walk through the driveway crunching the dry brown leaves underneath his feet. Once he reached the backyard he noticed something. He quickly stopped moving and peered closer.

A little girl in a dirty looking pink dress who barely looked past the age of eight was standing on a old cardboard box peeking in the window of the trap-house. Santana watched her for a few more seconds then bent down to search the ground for something. He picked up a nice sized tan colored rock and began throwing it in the air to gain momentum. He wasn’t that close to her but he knew his aim was on point.

With one hand still in his pocket he took one step back and with a powerful throw, pelted the rock at the little girl.

CLAP!

The rock smashed right into the side of her head. She fell to the ground with a thud as Santana approached her. He was surprised she was still awake as he stood over her. He really didn’t even mean to hit her that hard but right now he didn’t give a fuck.

“How many times I told you stop comin’ back here?” He snarled, swelling his fist up to scare her. “Get out my face for I smack the shit outta you and ya father! You fucking brat.” Santana hissed taking a step back for her to get up.

Frightened half to death, the little girl jumped up and started to run. She would’ve ran faster, but that hit to the head still had her a little dazed. Santana watched her run back out toward the sidewalk and dart across the street without even looking first.

He shook his head and proceeded to the door of the trap-house. It wasn’t his first time seeing the little girl. He constantly caught her in the yard looking through the window for who knows what. He felt bad for acting like that to her but had warned her several times to stop coming around and she never listened. Today was just the day he got tired of talking.

When Santana approached the door, he did the special knock; making a beat on the door with his fist for six seconds. He stepped back and the door opened up just a crack. Once the person behind the door saw who it was the door opened wider.

“Whassup baby? What’s happenin’?” Moe said pulling him in for a brotherly hug.

He sighed, “I’m cool. Ya’ll just need to put a guard dog out here in the yard or something. That little girl don’t listen man. I had to throw a rock at her dumb ass just now. Who the hell she belong to?”

Moe chuckled. “Oh, that’s that crackhead lady’s daughter, Debra. Leave that girl alone man. Take it easy on her. She has a speech impediment. She can understand she’s not stupid, but still, ya know?”

“Oh…aight.” Santana said rubbing a hand over his soft hair. Now he felt a little bad for hitting her with the rock; but her ass should’ve listened the first time when she was told not to come where she wasn’t wanted.

Moe stepped to the side to let Santana in. He shut the door behind him and they walked further inside. The place was filled with hustlers, weed smoking, gambling and shit talking. Santana’s type of party. It was too bad he had to work. Sometimes when he wanted to come to the trap it would be to chill and listen to muthafuckas bullshit; but he had to get money him and Creanna really needed so he was all work and no play today.

Santana rubbed his hands together and followed Moe to the back. He heard their boss Mid-West Casper who was from St. Louis came down last week and already bought himself a spot here in New York. He was supposedly throwing a party for his new takeover here in the East side in a few weeks at a popular club named Stardust. It was actually the most popular club in the city, so that already let Santana know his boss was paid because you had to have guap to be up in a place like that. Word on the street was all Casper’s workers and their family was invited too.

Santana was a little jealous of his boss. Here he was working for a nigga who didn’t even know what he looked like, while he just made him money. Santana didn’t know what his boss looked like either, but that was different. As a boss it was normal not to let the marks know who you were.

Imma be that nigga one day, Santana thought. To make orders and know that someone was handling everything you told them while you sat back was Satana’s dream. He strived for power like that.

When Santana and Moe got to the back room there were three other guys. Santana didn’t recognize any of them because there were so much people who worked for Casper it wasn’t constantly the same people. So when you did see the same person you wouldn’t even remember since it’d been so long that you last saw them.

“Aight, we got some help ya’ll. So hopefully this shit run smoothly.” Moe said announcing that Santana was in the room.

All three dudes looked up but said nothing. One nodded his head just to be polite so Santana did the same. Santana looked around and saw how busy these guys were. Sweat poured off of them like they were doing hard labor. He saw face masks, plastic bowls, gloves, cups and everything under the sun.

“Damn, the fuck is this.” He said taking his shirt off like the other guys and tossing it to the side knowing he might sweat it out. He grabbed a pair of blue latex gloves off the shelf and the dude named Lenny that gave him the head nod tossed him a box cutter once he returned to the table.

There was a brown box on the table which Santana assumed the knife was suppose to be intended for. So he slid the blade down the middle of the clear tape on the box to open it. When he opened the box he pulled out one whole brick of black cocaine wrapped in clear plastic.

“What the fuck is this shit? Why is it black?” Santana asked no one in particular, putting the brick on the table to stare at it like a UFO.

“Shit I’on, nigga don’t ask me. Fuck am I a hood analyst?” Moe said with his hands in his pockets while he stood next to Santana.

“It’s not naturally black,” A young dark skin dread head spoke up, pausing what he was doing. “It’s actually called Coca Negra, but you can call it black cocaine since it’s the same thing. Whoever makes the shit mixes it with thiocyanates and iron salts to hide the real appearance of it. Whatchu gotta do is grab one of them plastic bowls over there,” He said pointing to a variety of different shaped plastic bowls.

Santana put on his gloves and took a clear rectangle shaped bowl like the dread said and looked back at him for more instruction.

“Then you see all them shits in those little bottles that look like liquid medicine? We gotta change the color back to white passing the coke through them, their solvents called acetone and ether. Poor one or the other in the bowl. Either the acetone or ether, and make sure you full the bowl up enough. Chop the coke up and put it in the liquid in the bowl and the color will come back.”

Santana stared at the dread head for a minute but said nothing. He felt a little played, like he didn’t know shit. He was a street nigga but had another grown mu’fucka son his ass. He knew ole boy was helping since he was the one who asked in the first place, but still. Santana could tell the black dread head with the shoulder length hair was around his age and a money chaser just like himself.

“Aight…thanks fam.” Santana said watching the dread on the low as he took the hard crack rock out of the bowl that had suddenly turned white.

“Damn Michael,” Moe laughed, “You sure you not an undercover crackhead or some shit?”