Rap Game Crack Game: STREET FICTION, #1

Rap game

(Reminds me of the)

Crack game

Literature is a luxury; fiction is a necessity.

G.K. Chesterton

1

Cyssero was raised in the madness of the inner-city streets a product of his environment during the beginnings of the crack cocaine epidemic. It all began with Paris, the Jamaican who introduced his mother to it. Drugs were always around him since he was knee high, the only thing he understood back then. It ruled everything around him. Drugs turned into money, and guns were a means to protect what was yours. Get your paws on drugs, make that money, and always have your gun handy, this was the old philosophy. This is what his life was once all about. This was what worked the gears that moved his life and governed his very existence.

He had seen his beautiful mother fall victim to drugs in 1984 when he was only 10 years old. He had seen his half-brother Caesar rise beyond what the ghetto designed for him. Then he saw him fall but two short years later, getting tossed off a project rooftop, plummeting to his death...

He was downstairs in the courtyard, on the monkey bars. Cyssero and the other kids playing, heard yelling, and looked just in time to see his brother’s body hit ground and splatter all over concrete. He died instantly. Word on the street, Caesar didn’t have his gun on him. He got ambushed by a handful of rivals. If he had his gun, he would have lived, Cyssero was sure of it. Thus, as a rule he never left home without the very nickel plated .380 Caesar carried. The one he should have never left home without that day. He wasn’t planning on going out like Caesar. His half-brother wasn’t the only dealer caught slipping. Some banana peels, some would say, a fate worse than death. Eventually getting trapped behind bars for so long, a lot of them returned broken and scarred, mentally and emotionally depleted or worse. Whichever demise, he knew handling drugs as a career was an extremely dangerous endeavor. The year is 2005, and other things took precedent in his life besides drugs, money, and guns...

He awoke bright and early on a cloudy Monday on the 31st of October, to the sound of his 9-month-old daughter crying and his baby’s mother naked atop him in their bed. Huh, Cyssero murmured. He opened his eyes and yawned. Tiffany was sound asleep and the baby apparently not. Fuck, he cursed as he adjusted himself with a stretch. One sec Madison. She is heavier than she looks. He realized it was going to be that sort of morning, so he used a foot to deliberately kick one of way too many pillows to the floor. She kept so many of them on the bed, it infuriated her to find just one off the bed when she woke. A pillow is on the floor. He whispered fiendishly. No reaction. He nudged her none too nicely with a firm hand. Baby crying, pillow on the floor and nudging. Still nothing? She’s faking it he thought. You hear her dontcha? Wake up!

You already woke me! Tiffany snapped. She was always grumpy in the morning. She didn’t appreciate being roused from sleep as Cyssero had done. And one of the pillows was on the fucking floor!

Stop playing. Get the bottle. I gotta long day today. He worded.

You get the bottle! She yelled.

He obliged by jumping out of bed so fast he flung Tiffany’s body off the bed and to the floor. She went tumbling and landed hard with a thud. He rushed to the crib before she was on two feet with steam coming from her ears. I hate you! He heard her yell.

He took the baby out the crib. Madison immediately stopped crying and gave her daddy a gummed smile. You might be hungry he thought, but you’re really just spoiled. Hear your chicken head mother? It’s my birthday and she’s being nasty.

Fuck you! Tiffany barked. She was about to run over and punch him in the face, but he had Madison in his arms. That was the only thing that stopped her from doing it. Fuck you and your birthday!

He smiled at Tiffany. He wasn’t sure why he deliberately provoked her nearly every morning. She had been in his life since the first day they met, and she was still as beautiful as ever. Even now, 9 months after delivering Madison, she was back to her slim, shapely red boned self. They had sex last night. It was the first time they were intimate with each other since she delivered.

Tiffany eyed him, seething with venom, slowly heaved in a good deal of air, and exhaled. She would have been nothing but a high school dropout, hoochie ho, hood rat, and or a scalawag if it weren’t for him as far as he saw it. When he met her over a decade ago, she was one of those, let me take my earrings off and smear Vaseline on my face so I can kick your ass type bitches.

He figured if she weren’t so gorgeous, he wouldn’t have even noticed her at all. At the rate she was going, she was going to get the worst of a fight one day and beat down by a group of bitches so badly, her looks wouldn’t be an option for her anymore. What was she now? Cyssero wondered to himself while handing Madison to her. She was his daughter’s mother, of course. And probably one of the smartest people he knew with only a basic high school education, who read books all day and shopped online all night. You still ain’t shit though, he thought. She still had that street mentality and that nasty temper, despite the swanky address where they lived. It took her a long while to calm herself. She felt disrespected when he knocked her off the bed, which was nothing in comparison; he recalled doing much worse during the course of their relationship. He went to the bathroom and took a shower thinking about Tiffany the whole while. Her scent was all over him. He took one last whiff before the suds whisked it all away. It was such a sweet smell. He would have kept it on all day.

He’d been in the drug game since twelve. That made almost twenty years in the game. He was raised with the cold hard shrewdness it took to survive in the streets although he wasn’t as deeply rooted to the streets as he used to be. Nevertheless, he was still relatively young and still that name, that measuring stick for any prosperous and enterprising dealer to aspire to.

The big Willie day of the early 80’s, late 80’s to the mid 90’s when he was knee deep in the murk of the streets, those days were behind him. Drugs were still around but the drug game wasn’t what it used to be. He used a great deal of the money he accumulated and invested in a legitimate business. His young protégé Tommy Dreamer urged him on the straight and narrow path. Dreams of rapping and the music industry and owning a record label and using that to launch other business ventures.  

Cyssero rarely went anywhere near any of his illegal enterprises. His protégé was a different sort of person entirely. Tommy observed and reported. He never made a drug transaction. It wasn’t the same between Cyssero and Paris. Tommy was destined to be a star. He swore to Cyssero that he could make them money, millions even, so he challenged Cyssero to get connected. It was all about money, ho’s and shows. It mattered little to his mentor. The rap game and the drug game at times seemed one and the same.

Cyssero just turned 31 years old and had been hustling hard for most of his life. His protégé was 21 and had only been dealing in the streets for a couple of years. He was more intelligent than Cyssero but far more reckless. But in the end, he figured it really didn’t matter. He was a rapper, and so many things had changed since Cyssero was out on the corner with bundles of dope and crack vials. He felt his protégé and all the other rappers whose lyrics reflected their felonious existence were idiots. They were exposing their own criminology if they were truly thugged out and criminal. It was almost like snitching on yourself. Fortunately, it worked, and he preferred results above anything else. Street cred alone could make you in the rap game. Tommy had tiny street cred, but that was a good start.

The plan was to eventually eliminate drug dealing from the equation entirely. In a sense Tommy’s dream was Cyssero’s dream. He is going to pass a clean and legitimate baton to his protégé and sit back like Paris, sit back, and reap the benefits. He was going to enjoy his life and die of old age, instead of some ill-fate the streets destined. That was the dream he had.

He was schooled by the same dude who turned his mother into a crackhead. Paris was an old school drug dealer. He began selling heroin and cocaine in Brooklyn, fresh off the boat from Kingston, Jamaica back in ‘72. Pablo Escobar was still a well mentioned name when Paris reached his hustling prime. Paris might have been his mentor, but he was also his worst enemy. He was waiting for the day when he could end Paris’s life without getting killed in the process. The wily old Jamaican had passed his drug connections on to him, but he was still in the mix, still ruthless and still taxing Cyssero for using his drug dealing real estate.  It was just the way things were. 

Cyssero had Madison to think about now. He wasn’t ready to do anything as crazy as to outright kill the old Jamaican. He was in the middle of so many things, things that wouldn’t have mattered much before. He was a father, and his daughter was so precious to him. He had to think for two. Perhaps three if you counted Tiffany. Truth be told, he had to count her. Tiffany was indeed his better half. After his shower he began toweling off.

Back when Cyssero started selling for Paris, Paris was already 30 years his senior if not older. He reminisced while he was brushing his teeth. Thought back to when he was 10 or 11. He walked into the crib and saw his mother sucking Paris’s dick and getting fucked from behind by some other Jamaican dude. A young Cyssero didn’t know what to think. There were other men in the apartment, men waiting their turn. His mother was so beautiful once. It took her a long time to drop as low as she did. In the end, she was nothing more than a desperate dick sucking crackhead. Paris used her till there was nothing left. He would never forget that. His mother looking at him with eyes void of emotion, still with Paris’s dick in her mouth while another man was getting in from behind. The crack had her gone so badly. Go to your room! She snapped when she could.

He could barely understand what she said but he fully understood what was going on. This wasn’t the first time his mother turned tricks for crack. But it was the first time he had seen her lower herself with multiple men and the mere sight of it sickened him.

Playbwoy galang tuh yuh room si, Young Cyssero heard Paris. Shi a a duh wah shi needs tuh duh undastan? Ih aint nutten now gwon!

Apparently, his mother owed Paris a lot of money—again. He wasn’t sure of the whole story. He knew his mother used to sell drugs for him. Somewhere in the middle of that she became a user; then she began getting used. He forced himself to think about something else since memories of his mother deeply troubled him. It was the past, but it haunted him, nonetheless. He figured the past was meant to haunt...

He walked out the bathroom with boxer shorts on. When he stepped into the bedroom, Tiffany was on the foot of the bed feeding the baby. She stared at Cyssero. He stared back. He was always able to read her eyes. She had forgiven him for earlier. Where are you going? Tiffany asked with a nasty attitude.

He laughed in her face in response, began getting dressed. Are you crazy? he worded after a while. Why do you continue to ask questions I never answer? How dumb are you?

I guess I’m real dumb, I’m still with you! She yelled.

Her outburst made Madison murmur. She stopped drinking. The baby looked over at her father, cut a small grin from behind the bottle then continued to drink her breakfast.

Tiffany, you ain’t a prisoner, you can leave anytime you want. You know I’m gonna take care of Madison regardless. That or you can leave her here with me.

He put on a white tee-shirt, a pair of jeans, construction boots and one of his platinum chains. He usually preferred to look like every other dude in the street. Other times he would dress in pants, shoes, and button shirts, so he could look less like Cyssero.

Today wasn’t a ‘look like less Cyssero’ day. He had hood business to take care of. He reached inside a Chester drawer and pulled out a diamond bezel 18k gold Presidential Rolex and a black compact 9mm pistol. He put the gun behind him, in the crook of his lower spine, nestling the weapon in his jeans. The white tee-shirt went over the jeans. He put the watch on and smiled at Tiffany.

I’m tired of fighting with you. She told him with sincere eyes.

Are you? He shook his head in disbelief. If you are so tired why do you always start the fights?

She said, You knocked me off the fucking bed.

He was wrong. She was still angry about earlier. Sorry. He worded while walking toward the door.

At least you apologized. She piped dryly. He was almost out the door when she said, Happy birthday, you jerk.

He stopped, turned. Thanks. His eyes lit with mischief. I know you got me something.

No, I didn’t. She uttered before she leered at him. How you know? She questioned.

I saw a box all gift wrapped in the glove compartment. He gave her a smile. You shouldn’t have left that there.

She narrowed her eyes. Damn! I forgot to take it out the car, Tiffany thought.

I won’t be long. I’m going to the hood. I gotta handle something.

Tommy’s girl told me you guys are going to kill somebody. She blurted, Murder, Cyss? What’s next, kidnapping? What about Madison? You never going to give the streets up, ever? What sort of father are you, huh? Tell me, or better yet, tell Madison. She took the bottle out of Madison’s mouth and turned her around so she could face her father.

Madison’s bottom lip dropped; some milky white drool was leaking down the corner of her mouth. He knew she wanted the bottle. Madison was in the early stages of crying as loud as her lungs could carry her voice. He saw the same face he used to make when he was little. He saw Tiffany’s big eyes in his daughter’s face. Her eyes were watering; she was about to cry.

That bitch ain’t Tommy’s girl. Cyssero was annoyed by Tiffany’s words. He told Tommy not to tell anyone about anything. Tell no one anything. That was a very explicit rule. Tommy had broken that rule twice, telling the same bitch Claudette things and each time she told Tiffany. No telling who else Claudette was telling things to. Do you know how many girls Tommy fucks with?

About as many as you do. Tiffany replied frowning. He was about to respond but Madison did first. She broke out in the loudest cry. She wanted her bottle. Cyssero walked over to Tiffany and took Madison in his arms. He held out his hand. She gave him the bottle and rose from the bed.

Tiffany, He began. You’re the woman I love to hate. But I love to hate you for sure. Luckily for you, you are still and will always be so damn beautiful.

My ass is still nice and fat, and my face is really pretty. She said coyly before scowling.

True. He agreed.

See how fast I lost all the pregnancy weight? She said spinning around.

That little spin got Cyssero aroused. She was wearing an appealing light green negligee that only went as far as her butt cheeks. She was always shopping with his money. She was always purchasing things that looked so damn good on her. He used to love showing her off, back in the day. Now he rarely took her out or did anything with her.

It must have been the night of overwhelmingly great sex because he said, Have dinner with me tonight, anywhere you want. Tiffany’s eyes widened in shock. Get your sister to babysit. She can stay here. No need for Madison to go anywhere.

You don’t even like my sister. Tiffany blurted.

She wanted to say, you don’t even like me, but she hushed. She didn’t want to ruin anything. Secretly Cyssero wasn’t her entire life. She loved him like breathing, but she had a few hopes and dreams of her own. He was out and about so much he hardly noticed anything not related to drugs or the new music mogul thing. She knew he had taken her away from a potentially horrible ghetto existence. They were together off and on for a little over a decade of drama filled years, but he always kept her comfortable. Even with all the bullshit they were going through Tiffany knew she was in a better situation than anyone else she knew.

I might not like your sister, but Madison loves her. Toya is the only person I trust with Madison besides you, your mother, and Cash of course. That was real talk. He trusted so few and hardly anyone with his most prized possession, his baby girl.

When will you return? She asked with outright glee.

6 o’clock or 7, He answered handing Madison to her. Madison was so happy the bottle was back in her mouth. She saw her mother and father talking and that had her gleeful as well. Her little brain worked hard and figured their mouths moving without yelling involved was a good thing. Madison made her mouth open wide in smile, so wide the bottle almost fell to the floor. Both parents reached and caught the bottle with a hand. Her father had better hold of it. He gave the bottle to Tiffany, stole a kiss from her mouth then rushed out the bedroom. She breathed a sigh; after all these years he still took her breath away.

Tiffany knew it was early but once noon arrived, she would call a restaurant, make reservations, get Toya and off to the Dominicans for her hair and to the Koreans for her nails, afterwards shopping in SOHO or Fifth Avenue. She was going to look beyond stunning. Cyssero is going to want to eat me up when he sees how good I look tonight, she thought.

2

They lived in Manhattan on 99 th street and Central Park West in a two-story penthouse, in a high-rise apartment building, on the 30 th floor. Cyssero walked out of the master bedroom and strolled through his capacious and modernly decorated living room; went outside on the terrace. It was a brisk thirty degrees with a sunny forecast. He breathed in the fresh city air just to get the blood pumping and took a good look at the fantastic view before him. Central Park was such a wondrous thing to survey from that high.

He looked beyond the 840 acres of grass, trees and rolling hills and feasted his eyes upon the outskirts of the island and the early morning horizon. Looking out over Manhattan made him feel like he was looking out over the world. He had come a long way; had everything he could ever wish for. No, that wasn’t true. He wanted more. That was the problem. He was never satisfied. No matter how high he climbed he always saw another mountain top even higher. He had to keep going, had to keep climbing. And why wouldn’t he?

Young Cyss was a snot nosed kid with nothing more than the streets to look forward to. His mother was a girl with ass and tits a couple of sizes too big for her age. She was just waiting to be exploited. His half-brother’s father moved in first, a dude way too old to be messing around with a 12-year-old. After Caesar’s father mysteriously vanished from the face of the earth, Paris moved in like a shark, and like clockwork, soon enough she became his. Cyssero was just a year old at the time. His mother just turned 18. Who knew who Cyssero’s father was? He didn’t and his mother never mentioned.

He left the terrace and went into the kitchen. Everything inside the apartment was state of the art because Tiffany made sure they had a credit card from every store that provided one. She was always ordering things off the internet and went shopping everyday—whether for clothes and things for her and the baby or for household appliances, gadgets, and other utensils.

She loved to invite friends over to the apartment so she could show all her wonderful things off. Her latest purchase was a refrigerator. It made ice and filtered cold or hot water. Cyssero forgot about how technologically advanced the new fridge was. He wanted some water, opened the fridge. He didn’t see a bottle of water anywhere. He was about to complain to Tiffany and get faucet water. He shut the fridge door and realized the fancy features it had. How much did you cost me? He asked aloud. He got a cup and pressed the button for cold water. Once the cup was full, he took a drink. The water was ice cold. Tiffany thinks money grows on trees. Cyssero smiled and said, Money grows on drugs. And rap music, to the refrigerator.

THE BUILDING HAD AN underground parking garage. Cyssero walked into the hallway, pressed the elevator button, and waited. He took the elevator all the way to the sub level and walked over to where his vehicles were parked. He paused for a moment, deciding about which to take. The Benz or the Range...? He uttered.

He thought about the birthday present Tiffany left in the glove compartment. It was a small box. He figured it was jewelry. He wasn’t sure if she left it there purposely or if she simply forgot to take it. He decided to leave her with the Mercedes and the birthday present. He would see what his money got him for his 31st birthday during dinner.

Soon he was driving the chocolate truffle colored Range Rover out on the street. He had Tommy on his mind. He was more than a little upset over how loose his tongue was when he was around Claudette. He specifically told him to not tell anyone anything, especially a bitch. Cyssero had been in the game since 12. He knew how untrustworthy women could be. He saw a lot of niggas go rock bottom at the hands of a female, whether directly or indirectly. Women weren’t to be trusted. Most of the time...

He got angrier by the moment thinking about Tommy’s carelessness. This was the third time Claudette mentioned something she shouldn’t have known about to Tiffany. If Claudette was telling Tiffany, she was telling somebody else. Tommy didn’t listen. He felt it was time to chastise his protégé.

He thought back to when he got some chastising of his own. Paris stressed not getting too attached to any female. Women a wicked by nature, si? He would say, Dem use wateva yuh seh an use eh gainst yuh undastan? Yuh tell dem nutten. Dat way dem cant seh nutten.

In other words, don’t tell a bitch shit. Cyssero was 18 back then and still very naïve. He told Tiffany something he didn’t think was anything important. Obviously, it was important to Paris...

He was out on the corner that night, with a few of his boys and his drug dealing stooges. It was a chilly night, a good night, the first of the month; that spelled a lot of money in the hood. Most of his customers were welfare recipients, that or welfare recipients would get robbed. Whichever it was, it all would eventually trickle down to him.

Crack was the drug of choice with dope a close second. One of his boys just finished serving a fiend when a car pulled up on the avenue. Two of Paris’s wild ass Jamaican flunkies hopped out in a rush. The next thing Cyssero knew he was being tossed into the back seat of the vehicle.

A yuh head haad bwoy? Yuh soon learn tuh keep yuh raasclaat shut. Yuh tink yuh faas eeh playbwoy? Tell mi now wid yuh bait ass. Paris said with a heavy accent. Tink yuh faas? Mi gwon teach yuh how tuh keep bumboclaat quiet!

Cyssero got one of the worst beatings he ever got in his life in the back seat of that car that night. Paris drove around the block while two Jamaicans proceeded to kick his ass. One had his huge muscular arms wrapped around his neck, choking him. The other continued to punch him, in the face and in the stomach till he was choking from the blood coming out his nose. Paris circled the block a few times while Cyssero was gasping for air. The Jamaicans dumped Cyssero out the car, back where they abducted him, on the corner.

Feel nuh way ar mi will box yuh up miself. Yuh ah lickkle slow yute. Memba wah ih feels lakka tuh taak too much tuh ah ooman. He