Hustling or Hooping

By Bernard Jamar Haynes

Kalif Brown is an inspiring basketball star, who has what it takes to make it to the NBA. Hes a high school senior with big dreams. But his off the court lifestyle of drugs and guns, may land him in jail or dead. Growing up in a drug infested neighborhood filled with junkies, and criminals, doesnt make his situation any better. And like most young black men and women hes living in a single parent home with his mother. He doesnt have a father figure; therefore he turns to a local dealer to fill that image of a father. Kalif must make a choice. Will it be Hustling or Hooping? And he must make this decision fast because his dreams and life may depend on it.

Many young inner city athletes and those not into sports, deal with the pressures of everyday life. And many find it hard to deal with especially if they dont have anyone to talk to. Hustling or Hooping may be a fictional book, but there is a Kalif Brown in every urban city in the U.S. Many young black men grow up fatherless, and turn to the streets for a family. The out come is usually negative. But many do make it out of their situations. This book is highly recommended for any young man, or woman who is growing up in a negative environment, and feels as though he or she cannot make that change for the good. This book can be a tool, to make that negative situation a positive one. But also this book reveals the consequences of not making that change for the better.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Aug 28, 2007
• ISBN: 9781463464523

Bernard Jamar Haynes

                Bernard Jamar Haynes was born 6-3-1979 in Philadelphia Pa. Bernard resides in Northern Virginia. Bernard Attended Norfolk State University from 97-00. Then Joined the Marines where he served four years. As a child he realized he could write well when he was in grade school. His teachers would tell him often he had the skills to be a writer. But he never followed up on his talent. While serving in the Marines, a fellow Marine, Lcpl Mayes and Bernard were over seas fighting the war on terror shortly after 9-11. While guarding a post for several hours at a time, Bernard would tell fictional stories from his imagination to his fellow Marine to pass time. Lcpl Mayes encouraged Bernard to write. After returning home from overseas, Bernard started on his first book Hustling or Hooping. And there are many books to come.  

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© 2008 Bernard Jamar Haynes. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 11/19/2008

ISBN: 978-1-4343-1847-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4634-6452-3 (ebk)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2007903985

Printed in the United States of America

Bloomington, Indiana

This book is in memory of my cousin Steve.

STEPHEN DENNIS

July 29th 1968-May 3rd 1997

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Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

CHAPTER 1

Get up, boy. Right now. It’s 8 a.m., and the bus runs at 8:30.

Damn! Here we go again, I thought.

OK, Mom.

Kalif Brown, get up!

OK, OK, I yelled as I got up.

Mom’s trippin’ at 8 in the morning. I threw on my Air Force Ones, a white tee and some Guess jeans with my Sixers all-black fitted hat, new era, of course.

Mom, we got any milk?

Damn, boy, I get paid tomorrow. We’ll have some groceries then, OK? And I think your piece of shit dad is sending us some money this week. That will help us out. I got some Pop Tarts, there in the cabinet.

I opened the cabinet. Roaches were everywhere. I slammed the cabinet.

Mom, I’m out. I kissed her on the cheek then bounced. She yelled from the project’s window, Be safe. I hit the block; my niggas were waiting at the bus stop as usual.

What up nigga? I said as I dapped up Jermaine, Keith and Brian.

Yo, I say fuck school, Jermaine said. Let’s go to the mall.

Man, Jermaine you crazy, I said. But of course I went along with it. We caught the train to the mall. Kings Mall is always live. The real reason we went is because the Jordan’s were coming out, and Jermaine had every pair. Jermaine sold drugs. My mom hated the fact that I hung out with him. We got to the mall about 9:30, and there were niggas lined up outside Footlocker. They opened the store and Jermaine cut the whole line by passing out $20s to get in front. Jermaine was cool.

Yo, Aoc, give me three pairs of the new Jordan’s: 9 ½, 10 and 11, and fuck it, 10 ½. Almost $450 spent. Jermaine got all of us the new Js.

Thanks, I told him. Jermaine must have taken over Nice Town with the drug game. Spending money was his hobby.

No problem, young boys. Jermaine was a 20-year-old senior, a real old head; he schooled us. He was like an older brother to us.

So, Kalif, when you coming on and make some real paper, dogg?

I’m straight, Jermaine, I told him.

We chilled at the mall for a while. The girls loved us. I knew I was the shit.

Keith, I yelled as some chick played him. Forget her. Man come on we about to leave.

Jermaine had to pick up his car at one o’clock, so we ate lunch and caught the bus out to West Philly.

West Philly was crazy. You never knew what would happen there. Shoot outs often took place. We got off the bus and were greeted by two crack heads. Say, brother, can I borrow 3 dollars, man; I haven’t eaten all day. Jermaine gave the feen a ten and said to him, If you want that good blow, man, come up north, old head. The two crack heads disappeared into the streets.

Man, they’re about to smoke up that whole ten dollars, Keith said. Keith hated feens; he tossed a 40 bottle, half full of 2-11 at a feen across the street.

Chill I shouted. Popo be in the cut out here man, you trippin. I said.

We finally made it to Rob’s car shop. Rob himself pulled up in a cocaine white Escalade. It was Jermaine’s new truck. My mouth dropped to the ground, and Keith was speechless. Jermaine laughed.

Y’all niggas was not expecting this, ha ha, nigga. I told you. Give me a year hustling and I’d have it; and I paid $53,000 Cash. Holla at ya boy.

Kalif, you ride shotgun, nigga. You’re my new prodigy.

Here we are teenagers, with Jermaine, a true hustler. Jermaine popped in the new Jay-Z album, niggas grilled us from the curbs, as we passed by. Brian was all out the window acting a fool. Jermaine got pissed.

Nigga, I’m going to dropping ya ass off. Matter of fact, you too, Keith.

Stop trippin’ man, Brian said.

We got off the expressway and dropped them off in Logan. Jermaine and I were cruising the liveliest street in Philly, Broad Street. We stopped at Broad and Erie for some cheese steaks. We double-parked at Paul’s Steaks, and Jermaine gave some kid $10 to watch the truck while we ordered.

Yeah, man, two giants with everything, I said as Jermaine walked to the bar in the back and sounds of Teddy P’s Love TKO played in the background. What a day so far. I had skipped school, had new Jordan’s and now I’m cruising in a new Escalade. I got the steaks and headed to the bar in the back. Jermaine had some Henny shots waiting for me. We ate and drank, and Jermaine got fucked up so bad he told me to drive home.

I jumped in the truck. I switched the disks from Jigga to 2Pac. Jermaine hopped in after getting some chick’s number. We were at his crib ten or fifteen minutes later.

Yo, Kalif. You’re 18. I’m 20. Dogg, you remind me of myself not that long ago. We grew up together, our moms are even friends, feel me.

Yeah, I feel you, nigga, what are you getting at?

Kalif, it’s time for you to come home, he said as he reached under the seat and pulled out a pound of weed. Look, I’m a coke dealer. I graduated from weed a long time ago, nigga; but you’re a rookie. I got this from Jakeem, my weed connection in Jersey. It’s good weed, and this isn’t even a front. You don’t owe me shit. The money you make is yours man, feel me.

Man, I don’t know how to sell this shit, I told him. I knew I wasn’t ready for the drug game. My mom sure wouldn’t tolerate it. At the same time, I looked up to Jermaine. It was hard to turn him down.

Dogg, I’ll school you to the game. Get Keith and Brian to help you, or do it yourself.

I stuffed the pound in my bag. It was close to five, and my mom would be home soon. Man, what if my mom found this shit? She’d kick me out the house. But the money I could make from it would help us out a lot. I was tired of seeing my mom struggle with bills every month.

Jermaine dropped me off, and mom wasn’t home from work yet, so I made some tuna fish for us to eat. After I ate I went to my room and broke up the weed. Jermaine called and gave me some pointers. I did as he said; I would sell strictly dimes. I got all the seeds out and got some bags from the store. I would take ten bags with me a day. That’s 500 a week, not bad. I heard my mom walk in just before she shouted, Kalif! You made dinner, boy?

Tuna fish is in the refrigerator, mom, I answered as I went out into the kitchen.

I greeted her with a kiss, took off her shoes and made her a plate. My mom was a beautiful woman. She use to model in the late ’70s. That’s when she met my pops, a fast-talking drug dealer. He knocked her up and skipped town because he had killed two niggas in South Philly. She never saw him again. But he does call and send’s letters and money from time to time. She says I look just like that nigga, so really she sees him every day. I never seen my pops, but almost every cat in the hood hasn’t seen their dad.

I’m going over Shirley’s, Kalif, OK?

A’ight, I answered.

My mom ate, then left and I got myself together, for the first day of hustling. Jermaine had schooled me over the phone on the do’s and don’ts of hustlin’ weed.

CHAPTER 2

By the first period bell at Malcolm X High. I had sold six bags. That’s $60; by lunchtime, I was done with the ten bags I had brought. I knew that if it were still basketball season, I probably wouldn’t be hustling. I just wouldn’t have time. But with the season over, it was a good time to make some money. These niggas ain’t ready, man. I’m about to blow up, I thought. I watched haters grilling me; mostly cats who knew I rolled with Jermaine. As I stood in front of my locker, I saw Brain and Keith approaching me.

What’s up, nigga, Keith asked. Can’t get up with us, huh, big hustler?

Whatever, y’all my niggas. I told him.

Yeah, whatever, Brian said. Jermaine is your nigga; watch yourself, though. Jermaine got beef with niggas out west.

Yeah, I feel you, I told him. Good looking out, Brian, a’ight one.

The next day I took 30 bags and came home with $300. Easy money. Man, at this rate, I’ll be re-upping in another week. I got home, and my mom came in early.

Kalif, Friday I’m going over Aunt Renee’s, I’ll be back Sunday. Your ass better keep my house intact, she warned me.

A’ight mom, chill.

Chill my ass, boy, you heard me.

I got you.

Friday came quick, and Jermaine picked me up from school.

How’s sales, nigga? Said Jermaine.

I’m making moves. I told him.

Check this. I got some girls coming over tonight, man, and they down for whatever.

That’s what’s up. I said.

Jermaine dropped me off at my house and said he’d be back to get me later. Yo, and bring, some rubbers, a’ight one.

Mom had left a note: I’m at Renee’s don’t have nobody in my house. I laughed and went to my room and played X-box until it was almost time to go over to Jermaine’s. I threw on a fresh white tee and my Timberland boots with some Polo sweats.

When I got to his apartment, there were four thick-ass bitches there. As soon as I got in the door, I new it was on and poppin. After chatting with this red bone for about twenty minutes she pulled out my dick and went to work. I stopped her before I came, out of respect. Then she said to me, bust in my face. She was a true freak. I sat on the couch. This chocolate chic took Jermaine into the room; here I am, in the living room with three freaks. Two girls started eating each other out. Man, this shit was like a dream. I put on a rubber, and the rest was history. Later I got drunk off some Rémy Red. It was a long night. I woke up with a serious hangover.

By the time I got out of the shower, Jermaine was cooking breakfast. He tossed me the keys to his Acura Legend and told me I could use it for the week. I was on the way out when he threw me a money stack. Man, go shopping. Get your gear up, nigga, he said. I took the dough and went to the mall. I bought mad shit. I spent almost $600.When I got home I noticed I had a little weed left. It was time to re-up if I wanted to make real money, and I had to do it soon so I’d have a constant flow of money. I smoked the last bit of my supply. The weed was strong, so strong that I passed out quick as hell.

***