YNs—Test

1999

What made the gift of half a brick and then a whole brick so special was that it came from his dad. Most parents would abhor the thought of handing down drugs to their children. Not Dillard Maynard Dockerby. He hailed from Philly, but possessed a hardness about his character like a Southerner. He put kis in the streets in the late eighties.

Now, with his son Dillard Jr. of age to hit the block himself (twelve) he figured he would give him a half and then a full on his birthday.

“Now, boy, you sell that you’ll have enough to get you through college without student loans or scholarships. You’re smart enough, but you don’t need any of that money with this ki and a half. Plus, you’ll have some left over to buy whatever you want.” There was a slight gravel in his voice for his forty-three years. Before he hustled in the street, he worked in a factory making solar panels. After a semi-retirement due to an injury to his arm, he had stopped his labor at that location and hit the block.

At this point, it was June’s turn at pumping weight in the ‘hood. He gathered his friends from around the way. He trusted them to do his bidding.

“I'm a point guard and quarterback rolled up into one. I get to tell y’all what spots to look out for and where the clients will be.”

His three friends, Lance, 12, Massey, 13, and Ray, 14 huddled around the work like it was a campfire.

“Lance you’ll cook; Massey I need you to distribute; and Ray look out for the cops.”

“That’s my job? Make sure Adam isn’t on our tail.”

“It’s a serious role, I mean if you don’t want four stacks, I mean….” June shrugged with his voice even and strong.

“No, no. I’m with it.”

“Lance, I showed you how to mix. It’s nothing. Just treat it like you're making a milk shake and preparing a steak at the same time.”

“Cool,” Lance announced.

“And Massey. You’re going to post up on the block moving it hand to hand. It’s simple, no frills stuff. Does everyone have their role?”

The three sixteen-year-olds accepted the orders based on solid past and the fact that his father had introduced him to the game.

With the kitchen stove making that ticking noise for the pilot to deliver a blue flame, Lance cooked. He kept the measuring spoons, the flask, and controlled the flame. He whipped the first batch and felt his burner phone on one end of his jean pocket and a Ruger .380 just below his belly button.

He whipped up two batches and then called his girlfriend. He walked into the living room.

“What you doin’?” Satasia Madison asked.

“I’m working.”

“Pssst. You ain’t got no job.”

“This my job.”

“I know what you do.”

While he spoke, the cocaine and baking soda got burned up in the pot. He smelled the smoke and the destroyed knots in the pot.

“I’ll call you back…..” He hung up the phone.

He looked at the black wads or dried up in the pot.

“Goddamnit!” He called June. “Yeah, man. I only have two out of the two and a half.”

“It’s alright. Put them in the Glad bags. Massey will hit the block.”

“Alright. Salute. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, be careful.”

“Right.”

Massey came by the spot and wrinkled his nose. “What you do, man?”

“I messed up the brick. I only have half.”

“At least let it ventilate.” He switched on the fan.“You’ll just have to subtract your cut.”

“That’s it,” Lance admitted. He handed him thirty baggies for his Jansport.

Massey took to the street on his Mongoose chariot. He posted up under a landpost as the sun became a lemon drop descending over the city of Wilmington, Delaware.

Some clients walked up to him. He clutched his .45 pistol. Massey started to move closer to the woman who looked like life had beaten her down to the ground. Her teeth yellowed, her face had splotches and burnt lips. Massey just gave her a quote.

“18’s too much for me,” Gadina Sawhill replied.

“I really can’t knock it down today. Something happened with the processing,” Massey explained.

“Alright. I’ll—What’s your name?”

“I don’t give out my name.”

“I’ll need it for the credit. I’ll give you the correct amount on the first of the month.”

“No, you’ll give me the right amount right now or step.”

Tears streaked her face.

“Why are you so mean?”

“It’s strictly about the deal, woman. I’m not trying to cheat you and I already told you about the situation.” She started to walk away slowly then turned her back and ran into a full sprint. Massey just waved her off and got back on his Schwinn.

He traveled through the streets with the memory of what just happened emblazoned on his memory. Where did she run? Why did she go so fast? He cleared the cache on his mental dashboard. He circled around to a man in his fifties singing to himself. He flashed a gold tooth. He had enough money.

Massey made the sale and grinned. He pedalled off and in an instant, police cruisers rolled up to him. The lights nearly blinded him.

“C’mon get your hands in the air! Now, slowly take a knee. Officer Scottie Palance approached Massey with his service pistol. He patted the teen and withdrew the firearm and cell phone from his pocket. Finally, they wrapped the cool, steel bracelets around Massey’s wrists. Palance brought him to his feet and pressed the top of his head as he placed him back of the cruiser.

Ray talked to Gadina. She had exchanged sexual favors for him to snitch on his friends. Ray called 9-1-1 with his burner phone. That’s how the cops descended upon Massey. Gadina walked down the street skipping and humming a tune as she smoked from a Love Rose with the copper in the stem. She slid into the shadows, the glow of lighter casting blades of light down an alleyway. Massey took note of her every move.

Once Lance had resumed his conversation with his girlfriend, he got another call from June.

“Where’re you and Ray? What’s going on with the work?”

“Hold on.”

“Myquasia, I’ve gotta go. Business.”

“But—” the phone line died and the dial tone built up in her ear.

“June, I botched the batch. I could only cook a third.”

“You what?!”

“I know, be careful. I wasn't. I burnt the bitch up. If Massey—”

“Massey got knocked.”

“Damn. How’d you know?”

“He called me from the bull pen.”

“Goddamn. What did Ray do? He was supposed to watch out for all that,” Lance observed.

“Alright, Massey’s most likely going to tell. That’s cool,” June pointed out.

“‘Cool’?! Since when is snitching ‘cool’?” Lance demanded.

“It’s cool when he is able to be selfish and consider his own needs.”

“What about us? We won’t get out until we’re thirty!”

“Now look who’s being selfish. We don’t have to see that action. We’ll do a few PSAs, community service, and we probably won’t have to serve time considering our ages.”

Lance looked up. It was a revelation that crossed his mind at the sound of June’s words.

“Goddamn. I didn’t even realize it, but you sound about right. We’ll probably end up eating potato chips in juvie at worst.”

“Did you leave any product?” June asked.

“There’s some residue around the edges of the pot. We might be able to scrape that together into an eight ball.”

June ventured into the kitchen. “Jesus, it’s amazing you didn’t burn the place down, Lance. These pots are ruined.”

“I’m sor––I’ll be more careful, I promise. I’m still thinking about snitching. I guess I’m being selfish, too. And what’s wrong with that? Anyone who says there’s a problem with snitching or bein’ selfish doesn’t respect the code of the first and the truth of the latter.” Lance was an ace in language arts and often spoke broken English and advanced words all in one.

“We put this remaining work together and make three point five. Let’s make sure that we keep our conversations brief and focus on the task at hand. Yes?”

“Yes.”

The two boys donned aprons like chefs in fine restaurants. Lance scraped remnants of cocaine onto a spoon and June grabbed a torch. With some water in the pot, he added the cocaine and put the flame to it. The cocaine dissolved in the water. Lance added the baking soda to the mixture and June produced more heat until the solution became an oil. Lance laced the concoction with more baking soda. June applied added heat.

“Please hand me that spoon,” June ordered politely. He whisked the product at the edges, being careful not to touch the product. He did this for about a minute and the rock began to form.

“Grab that paper towel, please,” June directed with a gentleman’s air. He touched the rock to see if it was ready. If not, it could crumble and not be any good to the clientele. Not good for them would mean no sales from ruined work, a friend about to spill his guts like a Backwoods, and a disappointed father. But June knew what to do. He grabbed his Jansport. And placed it on the table. He then went to the cabinet and withdrew a large blue dinner plate.

Lance grabbed a Gem Star razor blade and started chopping up the work. Like two chemists in DuPont labs, the young men began to formulate a plot to bring the ready rock to market. With Glad blue and yellow baggies, they managed to fit all of their efforts into the plastic pieces of paradise. The last touch? A Desert Eagle.

“If anyone sees this––over, don’t even gotta fire it,” June relayed.

Once they finished, they gathered their wares and headed out to their Mongoose bikes.

With enough stamina to go out during this late spring night, they didn’t care about getting up to go to school the next morning. They would get up early enough with fresh outfits and an outlook that of adventurers fresh from a journey. For now, though, they wheeled around with the weight.

“You know Myquasia is going to be on the block next week,” Lance mentioned.

“I don’t care to hear how my birthday gift got messed up. You were talking to her when it was burning, were you not?” June queried.

Lance lowered his head. “I can make it up. Pardon me for ruining your birthday.”

“You didn’t ruin it. You just made it that much more of a challenge to derive pleasure from my day.” June could handle some words, too.

They rode down the street like centurions securing the roadways. Some lamps remained broken and it looked like spots on a cheetah where the light shone and where it didn’t. They didn’t care. Their aim stayed on trying to keep out of reach from wherever Massey was. June was certain the police would be at his house with immediacy.

“With the girls you’re going to get,” June started, “you’re going to forget about Myquasia, anyway,” June declared, the pistol in the bag clanging against his lower back.

“Maybe.”

As they rode, they saw plenty of clientele struggling to find sleep in alleyways. Chipped glass bottles and busted Love Rose pipes littered the area. Clients laid down and broke the night air with laughter and some sobs. The sobs quickly died down with more giggles than laments. Gadina was still on her stilts. She looked at the two boys on their Mongoose vehicles.

“Hey, you two got some rock?”

“As a matter of fact we do. But you’re going to have to be kind in asking for it….”

Gadina frowned and then smiled. “Okay! Can I please have some stone?”

June looked at Lance and nodded his head. He reached into his bag and retrieved the ready rock. They then saw Massey. His gait seemed strong if not labored. Gadina turned around and then looked at June and Lance with timidity and a bit of skittishness. She pressed her hands to her skirt and started walking the other way.

“Ray! We thought you were watching the cops. We heard they got Massey.”

“They did. But he had such little work and it was just his first time. They put a boot to his ass and told him to keep stepping and stay clean. He should be back at the house by now.” Upon closer inspection, he made out the contours of the buyer. His voice then shifted to a higher octave. “Wait a minute, that's her! That’s the bitch that almost had us all hemmed up! Get her!”

Gadina trotted and then burst into a full run, trampling over the debris of the street until she tripped and fell over a client who had overdosed.

The three boys became spacecraft and rocketed down the street to catch her. She crawled on her hands and knees, struggling to rise to her feet.

All of the young men reached her.

“Stay down!” Massey commanded. “Y’all got any heat on you?”

June and Lance looked at each other. Lance shrugged and handed him the bag. He fished for a moment and then found the steel. He unsheathed it from its Jansport home and pointed it directly at her head. He kicked her and cocked the pistol.

“Stop crying. Beg for your life!”

“I’m sorry!” She shrieked. Then June grabbed the gun.

“You should’ve been careful!” He squeezed the trigger and put two rounds in her skull.