Family Tiez

By Mustafaa

Part one of a two part saga detailing a family's struggles to stay together during the Crack Cocaine Era.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Sep 7, 2007
• ISBN: 9781624882029

Book preview

heat.

Prologue

1995

What up, my nigg? You ready to go see these bucket-naked bitches? asked Li’l Whitey

A.G. cracked his signature goofy smile and replied, Damn right! Where at?"

Up Chester.

The much smaller and shifty Li’l Whitey threw a lightening quick two-piece A.G.’s way. A.G. absorbed the two sharp punches into his muscular frame. He feigned a punch back at Li’l Whitey. Man, Whitey, you better chill, man, before I hit yo ass wit this hot shit.

Whitey jumped at A.G. making him flinch. Ahhh, you bitch-ass nigga, he teased. He gave A.G. some dap and a half hug. Although A.G. could’ve probably smashed Li’l Whitey, he didn’t have the balls to do it. Whitey, on the other hand, had more balls than a gladiator. He had five bodies. And once you crossed that line it was hard to be scared of much. A.G. knew about Whitey’s work. He looked up to him for it. The men had been friends since childhood.

My man Muhammad’s coming to scoop us, dawg. Whitey paused and nonchalantly studied A.G.’s face.

"Word? I heard you was fuckin’ wit that nigga. Dude gets to a dollar. White, man, you get on wit that nigga, you gonna be straight."

"Naw, we gonna be straight."

A.G. smiled from ear-to-ear. Both men watched as Muhammad pulled up in his brand new ’95 Acura coupe. He parked then stepped out into the brisk evening air.

What’s poppin? Muhammad greeted, giving both men pounds. He gave Li’l Whitey a hug with his pound. Y’all ready to be out?

Let’s do it, eagerly spoke Li’l Whitey.

A’ight. Oh, hold up we gotta wait for Bobby Dance to ge– Muhammad cut himself off. Here go Dance right here. Let’s be out. Whitey, you ride with me, let ya man ride with Dance.

Muhammad looked A.G. in his eyes. Youngbol, don’t freeze up when we get around these bitches.

Shiiiit, I’m a pimp.

A’ight, pimp

The men jumped into their respective cars. Muhammad took the lead in his car. They’d made it halfway to Chester when Muhammad turned the volume down on the radio. He looked over at Li’l Whitey. You nervous?

With his palms sweating and stomach in knots Whitey swallowed to try to get the sandpaper-like taste out of his mouth. Nervous? C’mon, my nigg, I live for this shit.

We’ll see.

Inside the other car, Bobby Dance passed A.G. the blunt they were sharing. He blew the thick, gray smoke he’d inhaled out of his nose and mouth simultaneously. The rap that Nas was spitting in the background had him perplexed. The words had him trying to put his life into perspective. He loosened his one-handed stranglehold on the steering wheel and cocked his head to the side so as to better see A.G.’s face.

Damn, A, man, we been cool for how long now, man?

Shit…what…twelve…fifteen years?

Twelve to fifteen years…damn…all them years and all we got to show for ‘em is cases.

Fuck it, Dance.

Yeah, fuck it. I love you, my nigga.

A.G. nodded his head and took a long pull on the blunt. Holding in the smoke he said. Me too, then let out a smokey cough.

Bobby Dance’s cell phone rang. It was Muhammad.

You know what it is right? began Muhammad, barely above a whisper.

Mmm-hmm.

A’ight, pull over.

Bobby Dance pulled over behind Muhammad and parked. Muhammad, Li’l Whitey, and Bobby Dance hopped out of their cars. A.G. remained in the car listening to Nas. Whitey and Muhammad approached Dance, who was standing just outside of his driver’s side door. They were in the middle of Highland Gardens, a rundown, abandoned-looking housing project in Chester, Pennsylvania.

A.G. snapped out of his weed induced trance. He was anxious to see some butt-naked bitches. He hopped out of Dance’s car. Yo, what’s up, y’all? Where da bitches at? He walked around to the driver’s side.

Got-damn, sexfiend, hold-up, I gotta pick my li’l bitch up. She dancin’ tonight, calmly answered Muhammad with a smile. I might let you niggaz party her and her girlfriends wit me tonight.

Muhammad strolled off around the corner.

I heard that this nigga’s bitch is the truth, offered Bobby Dance.

Word? eagerly replied A.G. while turning to face him.

Li’l Whitey was leaned on the car behind them seemingly uninterested in their conversation.

What?! Dawg, they say the bitch bad as a muhfucka! And her work…her shit ‘pose to be past ridiculous.

Umph. I’ma bust this bitch ass. A.G. rubbed on his crotch to emphasize his point. He paused to imagine what the girl would look like and how good the pussy would be. I got to get a shot of Henny up in m— He cut himself off. He noticed Li’l Whitey behind him so he quickly turned to face him. What da… BLOOM!

His words were cut short by the 40 caliber slug that sliced through his forehead. The force of the blast knocked him on his wallet. He banged his head on the concrete after his body went limp.

BLOOM…BLOOM! Li’l Whitey stood over A.G. and pumped two more slugs into him for good measure. A tear slowly rolled down Whitey’s cheek as he stepped away from his former friend.

Muhammad came sprinting back around the corner. He stopped at A.G.’s body. He stared intently at A.G.’s bloody mask for any signs of life. Seeing none Muhammad came face-to-face with A.G. He cracked a smile and whispered, I told you not to freeze up. Dumb motherfucker, loose lips sink ships.

Muhammad looked up at Li’l Whitey and Bobby Dance. He’s gone. Let’s bounce, he coolly ordered.

The trio sped off into the night.

Bzzzzz…Bzzzzzz. Halfway back to Delaware Muhammad’s cell phone began vibrating. He quickly fished it from his pocket. Aw shit, it’s Shaheedah. I forgot all about her.

Hey, li’l sis, he answered the phone in his sweetest voice.

Uh-ah, Muhammad! Li’l sis nuttin! You corney! You know you was supposed to let me use your car for the prom. You ain’t never there for me when I need you. Oooh, you make me sick!

Cool out, Shah. I forgot, baby. I apologize. I love you, sis. You all I got. But look, I’m busy right now. I’l—

CLICK!

1

An excellent indicator that spring had arrived was the way the whole hood was talking about going to Fashion Week down in Miami. Word had it that it was happening that Thursday. With only two days remaining, you could imagine how off the hook Around The Way Girl beauty salon was. Parking was already atrocious on Wilmington, Delaware’s 24th & Market Streets. Now salon clients were causing a traffic jam on the small strip of two-way traffic.

Tempers were held in check, mainly because it was the first warm, beautiful spring day of the new millennium. April showers had brought May flowers, which, in turn, had sistas buzzing like bees. Their main focus was on getting their wigs chopped-up, so they could go down Miami and stunt.

Shaheedah As-Salafi had her shop running like a well-oiled machine. The twenty-two year old beauty was more than just the boss; she was the glue that held the shop together. She had to be because her job was to, basically, manage personalities. And her four employees, Alisha, Yurlanda, Nikki and Tracy, were a handful.

Alisha was, by far, the live wire of the bunch. Everyone called her Bird, probably because of her striking resemblance to Sesame Street’s Big Bird, when she was a pre-teen. However, puberty had been kind to her and the slim, yellow duckling blossomed into a remarkable swan. And Bird was far from prissy, she was one of—if not the—most gully chicks in Delaware.

Bird was bad, but unlike Shahidah she wasn’t drop dead gorgeous. Yet she was a star in her own right. Tall and slim with burnt copper looking skin would best describe her. There were little things that accentuated her looks. Like, for instance, the cute patch of barely noticeable freckles that lived high up on her cheeks and the sexy peach fuzz above her top lip. And on the dressing tip…forget it. If only she had her inner beauty as together as her outter beauty. Still, she put up a decent front and always did her best to keep up with Shaheedah, never mind that she usually fell short.

Shaheedah was as intelligent as she was beautiful, just more on the book smart side of things than street smarts. She had stayed garbed in Muslim attire until she graduated high school, and then the world was in for a treat. The two physical qualities that guys noticed about her first were her flawless chocolate skin and teeth like pure ivory. Unless, of course, they caught a glimpse of her ass first. She had a backside that would make J-Lo jealous. And her breasts were the mold for plastic surgeons worldwide, except Shaheedah’s were 100% natural.

Every hustler in the Tri-state was on Shaheedah’s heels. Although her father hated him, she had chosen Born. Known to her father as the kaffir boy who thinks he’s Allah. A kaffir being one who disbelieved that there was no God except Allah, and that Muhammad of 1400 years ago is Allah’s servant and messenger. Kaffir wasn’t necessarily a derogatory term, although to be a kaffir was considered a bad state to be in.

Pro-black folks always say that there ain’t no such thing as an ugly Black woman. Evidently, they had never met Yurlanda. Girlfriend was tore up from the floor up. She did her best to dress nice, but that was like using a band-aid instead of sutures after open heart surgery.

On the bright side, she had a personality like Jill Scott. At times, she could be the nicest sista you’d ever want to meet. Yurlanda was also, arguably, the best hair stylist on the East Coast. All things considered, maybe she wasn’t that ugly. Maybe she, like most people, became inwardly bitter and vindictive because of prejudices she’d experienced based on her looks.

Tracy and Nikki were both laid back, Nikki more so than Tracy. Tracy was a class act, but she loved to play the clubs. Nikki was also finer than Tracy. Nikki was light skinned with fine hair and a body like Beyonce. You would’ve guessed she was raised Muslim by her level of humility.

∼ ∼ ∼

It was the afternoon of a seventy-degree day and the shop was alive, buzzing with the latest gossip.

Heeey, that’s my shit! screamed Bird, shaking her ass to the beat. Golden Girl was deejaying on Power 99 FM. She was spinning Hypnotize by Biggie. "Poppa, sicker than ya av’rage/Poppa twist cabbage on instinct/Niggaz think shit don’t stink…" The shop was electric. Biggie had everyone bobbing their heads, reminiscing.

"When Life After Death came out every broke nigga in Delaware was tryna stack money," Bird offered.

Word! interjected Shauntae. She had to lift the dryer up for this conversation. Y’all remember dirty-ass Boo from the West side?

Uh huh, Yurlanda, who was doing Shauntae’s hair, chimed in. It seemed like that nigga evolved wit Biggie. Remember when he was sniffin’ dope, robbing everything movin’?

Shiit, that nigga did six months up Gander Hill and came home eatin’, finished Shauntae.

He still got a little dick, added Shaheedah, matter-of-factly.

Oooh, bitch, I knew you fucked that nigga, Bird said, disgustedly. If Born knew that, he’d drop yo ass like a hot potato. Bird was just hating, she had fucked Boo herself.

Born was Born Supreme, Shaheedah’s boyfriend from Brooklyn, New York. He was down Delaware eatin’ crazy. He had the East side on smash.

He was a year Shaheedah’s senior, but growing up in New York had made him age in dog years. He wore a buck-fifty down his left cheek from where a Latin King had slashed him on Rikers Island.

Born was chubby with a mouth full of platinum teeth encrusted with diamonds. He kept his hair braided to the back and accessorized well. But homeboy, with his midnight blue-ass, wasn’t attractive by any stretch of the imagination.

Besides tricking crazy dough on Shaheedah, he had a good heart. That’s what Shaheedah loved most about him. And make no mistake, she loved her some Born. He was her everything.

He took care of sis all the way around the board. He kept her fly, bought her a Lexus GS430 and the shop. He had also copped them a crib off of Maryland Avenue in a decent working class neighborhood. Plus, it didn’t hurt that he was hung like a horse and fucked like Sean Michaels.

Hoe, spat Shaheedah, checking Bird. You can’t tell my man nuthing about me! That nigga loves me. Bitch, you’re the help. Not only do you work for me, you stuff that package for my man and mule it back, she told herself, still gritting on Bird.

True, but none of that stopped Born from slipping dick to Bird on the low. Sho ya right, Bird sarcastically retorted.

In Bird’s case, the apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree. She had a lot in common with her mother when she was her age, twenty-four. Both had three babies with three different baby daddies.

Sheila Thomas, Bird’s mother, used to hoe for Muggins in her prime. Muggins turned Sheila out on Heroin in the 80’s, then stepped it up in the 90’s by stringing her out on crack. Bird—a major blunt head—was addicted herself. Her drug of choice was money. And she didn’t have a problem selling pussy, indirectly, to get it.

Shah, Bird called, you goin’ down M-I-A with us?

Girl, you know I ain’t in to all that.

Oops, I forgot, your Pop, Farrakhan, ain’t raise you like that, Bird cracked.

No, hoe! My Father is a Salafi Muslim, not in the Nation of Islam! It’s a huge difference your ignorant kaffir-ass wouldn’t understand! And his name is Nafis, Mr. Nafis to you.

Bird, I don’t even know why you went there, added the usually reserved Nikki.

She was right. Shaheedah was a daddy’s girl. Mr. Nafis was her heart, and vice versa. Her family was originally from the bottom, West Philadelphia, 42nd & Mantua.

Mr. Nafis grew up during the gang war era. He had changed his life by becoming a member of the Nation of Islam during a time known as the First Resurrection. When Elijah Muhammad’s son, Warrith Deen, split from the Nation and became Sunni, Nafis followed. In his search for knowledge, he began to study with the Ahmadiyyah sect temporarily.

In 1975, he and his wife, Amina, had their first child, Muhammad. Three years later, they had Shaheedah. Mr. Nafis made Hajj to Mecca in Saudi Arabia when Shaheedah turned ten. This is where he was introduced to the Salafi Da’wah, or call to pure Islam. After studying in Medina, Saudi Arabia for the next two years, he moved his family to Delaware. He founded Masjid As-Salafiyyah on 28th & Jefferson Streets in Wilmington, and opened Al-Maun Restaurant on 32nd & Washington Streets.

Besides, my brother comes home on Friday, Shaheedah began, and I’m going to pick him up. It was as if time had stopped. Muhammad was that boy. He was somebody.

Oooh, Moe comin’ home? rhetorically asked Bird. That’s my boy. It seems like he’s been gone forever.

No, not forever, five years that’s all. And everybody ya boy, Nikki snapped with an obvious attitude. She had been secretly writing Muhammad for the past eighteen months.

Well excuse me, Ms.-I-don’t-need-no-nigga. Somebody sound caught up. I was starting to think you was a bulldyke.

No, bitch, I just ain’t fuckin’ everything moving like you, said Nikki, defending her sexuality. She was definitely strictly dickly. Unlike Bird, who rumor had it ate a little beaver on the side.

Y’all ain’t ask me to go down M-I-A with y’all, interjected Yurlanda, as serious as a heart attack.

The shop exploded with laughter. Pa-leeze, cracked Bird, who was holding her stomach. She was laughing so hard it hurt.

Offended, Yurlanda spat, Y’all bitches really think y’all is all that! Y’all hoes wouldn’t be laughing so hard if y’all knew how many of y’all so-called men I be fucking, she told herself.

She was right too, dudes might not have wanted to be seen with her in public, but she was secretly smutting plenty of cats. Big Momma had that snapper, and her head was off the meter. An added bonus was that she didn’t have a problem spending that change on a brotha. If a brotha messed a package up and needed some re-up money, Yurlanda paid off like a slot machine. Plus, she could cook.

∼ ∼ ∼

Bird almost didn’t feel her cell phone vibrating on her hip. Without looking at the caller ID, she pushed the talk button.

Hello, Bird said.

What up, ma? queried Born, on the other end.

Ain’t shit, baby. How you?

I ain’t ya baby, and I need to see you.

Mmmm, I need to see you too, daddy. Bird cut her eyes at Shaheedah. Sneaking made her horny. She secretly wished that Born would have a three-way with her and Shah.

Quit ya bullshit, shorty. I need you to handle some B-I. Meet me at Kennedy Friend Chicken up Thirtieth Street.

A’ight, give me twenty minutes. I gotta finish up my client.

A’ight, one. Born banged on her before she could respond.

Bird rushed through her client’s hairdo in breakneck speed. I’m ‘bout to take my lunch break, y’all, she informed her co-workers.

How you gonna leave wit all these people in here? Nikki asked.

Honey, my next appointment ain’t til one o’clock, it’s a quarter to twelve. I’ll holla.

Jumping in her ’92 Lexus SC300 coupe, Bird lit up a Newport. She pressed on the CD player until Donell Jones started to croon, then she was out. She knew if Born was calling during the day then it was about some paper. She had whatever money she’d receive spent before she even knew the mission.

Born’s Escalade was parked on the 30th Street side of Kennedy’s. She parked on the Market Street side of the block and walked around the corner to Born’s whip.

Hey, daddy, she said, hopping aboard his SUV.

What up, shorty? Dig, I need you to make a move for me tomorrow. My man ain’t ready in Brooklyn so you gotta go Uptown and get at Poppi.

Shit, I hate going Uptown, Bird whined with her bottom lip poked out.

Going to Brooklyn to cop was a much easier trip for her. Not only that, the Dred in Brooklyn would break her off a couple dollars on the side. She had him open with her dick suck.

Ma, it’s a drought right now. Them Spanish niggas the only ones got work. Oh and they want thirty a gram so I can only give you a G for the run.

Damn nigga! You want me to go up hot-ass Harlem, and you want a discount? He had spoiled her by paying her $2,000 a trip. Regardless, she knew damned well she wasn’t going to miss that money. Besides, she had a thing for Born.

It gets greater later, Ma. You know I pay the cost to be the boss.

I have to stop in Philly on my way back though. I need to go down Unica on South Street. I fly out for Miami on Thursday morning and I wanna grab this Enyce set they got up there. And I want some of that dick when I get back from New York too.

I got you, shorty. Bust it, I’ll drop the paperwork by your crib in the morning. Rent a whip today before Budget close.

Okay, daddy, gimme a kiss before I go, she said while puckering up.

Born brushed her off and sent her packing with half her fee upfront. If he would hit her off on the regular, he wouldn’t have to pay her a dime. But it was bad enough he was mixing pleasure in their otherwise good business relationship. He didn’t want to take it too far because the young girl was a ridah. Born respected that, and if she wasn’t so loose she would be his official side joint.

Bird strolled back into the shop ten minutes late acting like she owned the place. She knocked out her last three customers then fell back. By the time she checked the clock it was 5:30 p.m., closing time.

Shah, here go my buck-fifty for my chair rent this week. You know I’ll be down M-I-A doing it big on Friday so I want to get it out the way. I cancelled my two appointments for tomorrow too. I need to run some errands, Bird said.

∼ ∼ ∼

Six o’clock the next morning, Born was knocking on Bird’s door. She answered it wearing a T-shirt with nothing under it. Her freak game made Adina Howard look like a preschooler.

Hey, daddy, she greeted Born.

What up, ma? Born made his way to the couch and sat the book bag full of money on the coffee table.

Bird disappeared into the bathroom to get herself together. She washed her face, brushed her teeth, and sprayed herself with some Bath & Bodyworks Mango body spray.

Umm, what time is it? she asked, walking into the living room to join Born. She sat in the chair opposite him and opened her legs enough to display her neatly shaved cat.

It’s six o’clock. Listen, I need you on the road by eight so you can blend in with rush hour traffic. I already paged Carlos. He’ll be waiting for you at twelve inside the Bodega. He lifted his head and caught a glimpse of Bird’s well-manicured coochie. His massive dick began to stiffen in his black, velour Sean John sweat suit.

It’s sixty in here, continued Born, pointing to the bag.

Let me see. Bird made her way to the couch. She stood between Born and the coffee table with her back to Born. She bent over, revealing her peach-looking pussy.

Born reached up and pulled her shirt all the way over her ass. She wiggled her tight little ass with excitement. Born grabbed her by the hips with his thumbs locked on her butt cheeks and fell face first into her pussy. With his nose pressed to her asshole, he began his feeding frenzy. He ate her pussy like a hungry shark gnawing at a bloody seal. He stiffened his tongue to tongue-fuck her.

Daddy, I wanna feel your dick inside of me, she moaned.

Bird wouldn’t have to say that twice. He slipped out of his sweats with his manhood standing at attention. Bird liked it rough, and he intended to give it to her exactly how she liked it. Bird spun around so that her face was in one of the couch’s pillows. She slipped the rest of the way out of her T-shirt then arched her ass in the air.

You want this dick, ma? whispered Born, teasing her by rubbing the head of his dick against her clit.

Oooh, give it to me, daddy. I need it…please! Bird’s coochie was like a soaked sponge. She was small built, so even though she was a major whore, her pussy was tighter than the gloves at the O.J. trial.

Born eased his huge cock into her. Bird’s body squirmed while she let out a shriek with every inch he inserted. Once fully inside, he grabbed her hips tightly and pounded her like a jackhammer trying to demolish hardened concrete. After five minutes of his pounding, Bird’s body began to shiver. She liked it better in her asshole, but Born could make her cum either way.

After Bird came, Born followed by shooting a huge load inside her. Then he momentarily collapsed on top of her. When he had gathered himself, he pulled his semi-erect cock out of her and headed to the bathroom to wash up.

Where da kids at? he asked.

They at my Mom’s crib. Bird walked into the bathroom and sat on the toilet to pee out Born’s hot jism.

Born got dressed and left on his way home to shower and start his day.

Bird was on the New Jersey Turnpike by five till eight. She took alternating routes depending on whether she was going Uptown as opposed to Brooklyn. For the Uptown trip she took the Turnpike to the Jersey City exit. Once in Jersey City, she would park at the Grove Street Station and catch the Path Train to the World Trade Center. From there, she’d jump on the subway to Manhattan. After that it was a five-block walk to the small Bodega on Broadway.

Carlos would meet her there to take the stacks of money she had stashed in her girdle. Then she’d go to the building next door to receive the coke; two kilos, a light for Bird. She usually copped five or better when she saw the Dred in Brooklyn.

Carlos was on point, as usual, which allowed Bird to get back to Jersey City by 10:30 am. She hated Spanish Harlem because the Dominicans on the block were always making lewd remarks. Not that she was above fucking with a foreigner, she wasn’t. Bird was only interested in bosses. The workers were beneath her.

Bird cruised down the Turnpike deeply submerged in her thoughts. I don’t know why Born’s wit that lame bitch Shah. Our sex is magic. When I get back from Miami, I’ma turn it up on him. I gotta start ridin’harder for him so he’ll fall in love. I gotta find a live connect down Miam, so he can really get his weight up, too. When we