King of the Dancehall Read online

  And she only had eyes for me. It was a no-brainer. I locked that down. I was proud to call her my girl and flaunt her around the hood. That body stopped traffic, and she had the attitude to match. A couple of months went by and before I knew it, she was pregnant. My daughter Tisa was born, and my whole life changed. It made me really want to man up and be a good provider. I guess that was another reason why I was out there putting in work. Hustling for my family. My moms, my baby, and my baby moms.

  Tameka was supposed to be my ride-or-die, down-for-whatever girl. But, the whole time I was away, I hadn’t heard a word from her. My mother had reached out to her. But, Tameka hardly ever brought Tisa over to visit her even though the women lived feet apart. It was like she had forgot all about me the minute the judge banged his gavel at my sentencing hearing.

  I climbed the stairs to her second-floor apartment and pounded on the door. I could hear movement inside, but no one answered. I knocked again, even louder this time.

  “Tameka! Come on. Quit playing and open this goddamn door!”

  “No!”

  I heard her high-pitched voice.

  “Yo, Tameka, let me see my daughter. I ain’t playing with you! Five years, and no letters, no visits. And now you can’t even have the decency to let me see my baby?”

  I banged on the door again. Finally, she opened it just a crack. The guard chain kept it secured.

  She looked prettier and thicker than ever. I had to try hard not to smile.

  “Fool, ‘the baby’ is six now.” She looked at me like I stunk. It was obvious that she was not happy to see me. I began to realize, with great disappointment, that I was probably not getting any pussy today.

  “So what? She’s still my baby.”

  Tameka gave me a strange look. “No, Tarzan. She is not.”

  I stared at her. I could feel my pulse racing. I took a deep breath. I hoped that she was playing.

  “What the fuck did you just say?”

  “You heard me!” The bitch was unapologetic. “She is not your daughter. That’s why I didn’t visit or write. Because there was no point.” She chewed her gum hard. “Found out a few months before you got locked up that Tisa belonged to Charles and not you.”

  I felt a surge of rage rushing through my body. Thoughts of that little girl, and of Tameka, too, had gotten me through the past few years. Now here she was telling me that it was all a lie. I tasted blood.

  “Bitch!” My voice echoed off the walls in the project hallway. My mama would have slapped the shit out of me if she heard me call a woman that. But, this time it was accurate. “I should snap your fucking scrawny ass neck! Charles? Really? That fucking scrub!”

  “Whatever! You know what, Tarzan? Yes. Charles is my man now. And, lucky me. Because he’s someone that can actually take care of us. Unlike your trifling incarcerated ass!”

  “That nigga was doing the same shit I was doing!” My voice echoed again. One of her nosy neighbors peeked out their door. “Mind your business!” I yelled. They slammed the door shut.

  “Not no more, Tarzan.” Tameka’s voice was mocking now. “Charles is a boss. I don’t have to worry about nothing. Bills paid, Tisa in private school, car, clothes, groceries. And, I get my hair did every week!”

  “Tameka, you’re bald-headed!” I was looking right at her.

  “So what?” She stared at me with hatred in her eyes. “You make me fucking sick! Why don’t you just get away from my door? Yelling and making all this damn noise! You gonna wake Charles up.”

  My eyes flew wide. “The nigga’s here?”

  I didn’t even give her a chance to answer. Once again, I saw red. I reacted instantly, and kicked the door with all my might. The chain gave way easily, and I rushed past Tameka into the apartment. I saw the scared expression on her face and wondered what happened to all the mouth she had a minute ago. But, she wasn’t my target. I wanted to get my hands on Charles. The dude used to be a friend of mine. And now he had taken my girl and my daughter. I was furious.

  I rushed through her living room and saw the leather couches, the flat-screen TV on the wall. It was obvious that Charles had been hooking her up. I saw a triple beam scale on the kitchen table, surrounded by some cocaine and a bunch of cash. I shook my head, grateful now that I didn’t have a child growing up in the midst of this mess. But, I was still gonna kick Charles’s ass.

  Tameka was still behind me, screaming and yelling for Charles to help her. I rushed toward the bedroom and kicked in the door. Charles was lying in the bed sleeping in nothing but his boxer shorts. I punched him in the face and he woke up, dazed and confused. I hit him again, twice, and he struggled to gain his composure. Disoriented, he tried to reach for his Glock 9mm on the nightstand. But, I got to it first. I used it to beat the shit out of him. I beat him for stealing the woman and child I had convinced myself were mine. I beat him for the years I spent separated from my family. I beat him until he was unconscious, sprawled out in a puddle of his own blood on the floor.

  I looked around for Tameka and found her standing in the kitchen crying with a butcher knife in her hand.

  “Please don’t hurt me.” Tears streamed down her face. She looked petrified.

  In that moment, I felt like I was at a fork in the road. One part of me wanted to slap the shit out of this broad and send her flying into the wall. The other part of me wanted to grab her by the face and stick my tongue down her throat. After all, it had been five years since I felt the warmth of a woman’s body. But Tameka wasn’t worth any kind of emotion. Not my passion or my rage. As heartbroken as I was, I couldn’t let her have the satisfaction of seeing that shit. Believing that Tisa was my daughter had gotten me through some of the toughest moments of my incarceration. In my mind, that little girl was the only good thing I had ever done in this world. Discovering that it was all a lie had crushed me. But, I wasn’t going to hurt this bitch. Moms had taught me better than that. Instead, I walked over to the table and snatched up all the money I could grab. I filled up each one of my pockets with cash and walked right past Tameka, out the door.

  I got to the lobby, exited the building, and calmly walked through the courtyard. I could hear Tameka yelling at me from her window. She wasn’t scared anymore now that I was leaving.

  “You ain’t shit, Tarzan! You are a bitch! Nothing but a worthless, punk ass piece of shit!”

  She was tossing shit out the window at me. I could hear glass shattering behind me, but I just kept walking.

  “You’re gonna get yours, Tarzan! Wait until Charles wakes up. This whole city is gonna be looking for your bitch ass! You’re a dead man! Watch!”

  I quickened my pace and started a slow jog. She was making it hot. A dollar van slowed down near me, and I jumped inside. I had a pocket full of cash and no plan. I had to think fast.

  ON THE RUN

  My first day back on the streets, and I already got myself into more trouble than I could handle. I knew how fast word traveled in the hood and that my name was being mentioned all over Brooklyn. Charles was a bitch. I wasn’t too worried about him. But, I had been gone for a long time. The hierarchy of the streets was constantly changing. Because of the money he was making, and who he was making it for, Charles had connections that I didn’t have the luxury of. So, it was necessary for me to get low and stay that way for the time being. I got to Linden Boulevard and found a pay phone. I was surprised to find one, and even more shocked that it was working. With a phone card I bought from a bodega, I frantically dialed my cousin Toasta’s international number.

  My cousin answered the phone, and it sounded like complete pandemonium on his end of the line. I could hear kids playing in the background, a baby screaming, a woman yelling. Over the noise, Toasta’s gravelly voice barked into the phone.

  “Who dis? Ouch! What di hell?” It sounded like he got hit with something, and he cried out in protest. “Peta Gaye! Can’t you see me on the phone here?” He yelled at his wife some more, and then returned to the phone. “Me say who
dis?”

  “Toasta! It’s your cousin, Tarzan.”

  “Tarzan? Brethren! Wha g’wan?”

  “Yo, what the hell is all that noise in the background?” I was struggling to hear him over all the commotion.

  “Ugh! Ya know who it is. Baby mama on that bullshit again.”

  I laughed at the irony. “Brother, you’re preaching to the deacon!”

  Toasta laughed, his voice booming in my ear. “Man, I miss Brooklyn! What I wouldn’t give to be on the block right now with a slice in one hand and a fatty in the other!”

  “Don’t let Peta Gaye hear you say that shit. I already hear her giving you hell in the background.”

  He laughed again. “So, they finally let the lion out of the cage, huh, brother? What’s the plan now?”

  “Yo, fam, I gotta get the fuck out of Brooklyn ASAP! Like tonight. Word. I need to lay low for a while.”

  “Uh-huh. What happened?”

  I wasn’t about to get into all that over the phone. “Long story, my dude. But, I just came up on about five grand that we can flip. If I can get down there, you can link me up with a plug, and we put that shit back out on the streets up here. Double, triple up real quick.” I had actually snatched about seventy-five hundred from Charles’s bitch ass. But, I figured it would take a good two grand to get everything lined up quickly. I needed to leave Mama with some money, get some clothes and ID, and get a plane ticket.

  “Say no more, cousin. You need to lay low? I’m the king of laying low. You can stay with me. Everything is lovely here. You know I got the whole island on lock.”

  “Yo, good looking out, Toasta. Word! I’m on the next thing smoking. I’ll hit you back when I get to the airport. Make sure you answer your phone.”

  “No doubt.”

  “Peace.”

  I got a seedy motel room on the cusp of the city and got low for the rest of the day. I got my hands on a trap phone and got word to Kareem that I was all right. He let me know that Charles had put the word out that I was a dead man. My mama’s apartment was allegedly being watched, and there was no way I could go back there. Not that I was scared to face Charles. He was a sucka nigga who I had no problem going to war with. But, the last thing Mama needed was bloodshed at her doorstep. Instead of going home, I called home and talked to Trent.

  “Bro, I need you to get some paperwork together and come meet me. And don’t tell Mama.”

  I could hear the frown on his face over the phone. “What kind of paperwork?” He sucked his teeth. “You’re in trouble already, aren’t you?”

  I was offended even though it was true. “I need your help, Trent. You got my back or not?”

  There was silence on the other end of the phone. I prayed that he would hold me down.

  Finally, he asked, “What do you need?”

  I laid it out for him. An hour later, he met me at the Atlantic Avenue subway station. I had never been more relieved to see my brother walking toward me. I spotted him maneuvering through the crowd, his face set in a grimace. He didn’t look happy to see me, but I didn’t care. I had bigger problems than that at the moment.

  “Thanks for coming. You brought my papers?”

  He nodded, and shoved a manila envelope in my direction. “Here.”

  I snatched it up, and rifled through it to make sure everything was there. He had done exactly what I asked. I smiled at him. “Thank you, Trent. You don’t know how you’re saving my life right now!”

  He nodded. “Kareem said niggas are looking for you. What did you do now? You just got home!”

  I shook my head. “Some bullshit with Tameka. I had to put my hands on that clown Charles. Apparently, Tisa’s not even my daughter.” I didn’t look at him when I said it because I was embarrassed to admit that. Tameka had played me.

  Trent laughed a little. He shook his head. “Mama told you she was trifling. You should have never got caught up with her.”

  “I know that now,” I said. “But, with Charles looking for me I gotta get out of town for a little while.”

  Trent frowned. “Charles is a punk. You had a fight, and he lost. What’s the big deal?”

  There was no way I could tell Trent that I had robbed this nigga for his stash. No way. “It’s complicated.”

  I handed him a white envelope. “Give this to Mommy. Tell her I love her, and I’ll be back soon.”

  Trent stared at me, clutching the envelope in his hand. In his eyes I saw a whole bunch of questions, maybe even a few accusations. But, to my relief, he tucked the envelope in his jacket pocket, nodded, and didn’t question me further. He did leave me with some youthful words of wisdom.

  “I know I didn’t show it. But I was glad to have you home. It would have been nice to try to connect again after all this time. But, I’m also glad to see you go.”

  I didn’t like how that sounded.

  “If you’re in danger, I want you to go somewhere so you can be safe.”

  I nodded.

  “We grew up hard,” he said. “You made some mistakes. But, you have a family that loves you. Don’t forget that.” He extended his hand to me, and I took it. “Take care of yourself.”

  I pulled him into a hug, and this time he didn’t protest. I wondered how long it would be before I would see my little brother again, and tried not to get choked up.

  “You, too,” I managed. “Take care of Mama.”

  He left, and I watched him go. I felt so proud of him, and so guilty for not being a good son like he was. One who stayed out of trouble and followed the rules. But I was a badman. There seemed to be no redemption for me.

  I rummaged through the papers Trent had brought for me. Inside the envelope, Trent had tucked his U.S. passport. I prayed that our resemblance was strong enough for me to pull this off. With Trent’s passport in hand, I went to the DMV nearby and got my hands on a New York State ID in his name. Kareem had tucked an online boarding pass for a flight to Kingston, Jamaica, into the envelope with all the papers Trent had brought me. I hated that Kareem told my brother about the trouble I was in. But, I understood why he did it. Charles had a point to prove in the hood now. It was important that my brother be on point to protect himself and Mama in case that fool came gunning.

  I was weighed down with guilt. Every time I thought about the situation I had placed my family in, I was sick with myself. It felt like I always wound up here. Paying for some stupid, spontaneous decision I had made in a split second. My hood survivor instincts would kick in, and I would lose my temper. That was when things usually went too far. This time, though, I was in too deep. I was fresh out of jail, supposed to be laying low. Instead, I was running around Brooklyn like a fugitive with a price on my head.

  I thought about the money I had stolen and what the consequences might be if Charles and his niggas got their hands on me. All my life I had operated with a fearlessness that frustrated and perplexed my mother. I never worried about the very real possibility of my demise. Whether I was running up in a store with a loaded gun, entering a house to burglarize it, or pistol whipping a drug dealer who disrespected me, I was never scared. But, as my mother often reminded me, I didn’t have to be scared to get hurt.

  “There’s a whole lot of people who weren’t scared laying in the cemetery right now,” she often said.

  I thought about that now as I faced my reflection in the mirror in my motel room. I knew that I wasn’t immortal. But, I never believed that I could be touched. I was Tarzan motherfucking Brixton. Even with the weight of the world on my shoulders, I knew that I would figure a way out of this. Somehow, I would make it work.

  I got my next couple of moves mapped out, grabbed something to eat, and went back to the motel and crashed. I was exhausted. The front desk gave me a wake-up call at 5:00 A.M., and I grabbed my ticket, the cash, and the few possessions I had to my name. I headed for the airport and hopped on the next flight headed for Kingston. I was putting all my faith in Toasta and I prayed that he wouldn’t let me down.

  CL
EAN SLATE

  I landed in Kingston, navigated that long-ass line through customs, and waited in the sweltering heat for my cousin to come and get me. I hadn’t been to Jamaica in a very long time. Not since Trenton and I were kids and my mom had brought us to visit her homeland. It felt different now that I was a grown man, on my own. Beautiful green hills kissed the skyline. I looked around and took in all the scenery while I waited outside of the airport for Toasta. I was anxious to see him again.

  Toasta had become a part of our family for a few years when we were kids. My aunt Cheryl had sent him to stay with us in Brooklyn when he was ten years old. She wanted him to get a better education than the one he was getting in Kingston. That was when Toasta and I had gotten close. His real name was Allester, but we all called him Toasta. He liked to front like he got the nickname “from carrying the biggest hot-fire gun in Brooklyn.” But, that’s not how I remember it. I recall our family calling him that as a kid because he would always walk around the projects chewing on a piece of day-old bread. He added the “All Star” when he moved back down to Jamaica and started deejaying. For years, the locals called the emcees “toasters.” So it all made sense.

  I stood in the heat, watching the locals and the arriving visitors for about an hour. The energy of this place felt very different from what I was used to back in Brooklyn. There was a spirit here that seemed to fill every inch of the island, from the weather to the people that inhabited it. A spirit of heat, sex, and danger, all wrapped up in one enticing package. I could sense the excitement that awaited me here, and I anxiously glanced around for signs of my cousin. Then finally, an old, rusty eighties edition of a BMW 325i pulled up. The hood of the car was painted a completely different color from the rest of it. It sputtered and coughed as it came to a halt, and I stood in shock as my cousin climbed his big ass out of it.

  “Sim-simma! Who got the keys to my Beamer?” His smile rivaled the sunshine.