Chapter 5
Back home Sylvia didn’t have to worry about working two jobs anymore; between Steve giving her money and Marcus sneaking in funds, she really had a chance to be a stay-home mother for Chris. By Marcus staying with different females and not being around the house much, Steve never really knew what nation Marcus was affiliated with, but he figured he was up to something.
The two bosses called a goal (meeting) in the spring of ‘92. The meeting was called to unite the two nations so they could make even more money and be more powerful than ever. At the meeting, Spoonie made it his business to make sure that Marcus and Smitty met face-to-face. Marcus had been putting in so much work for the past couple years, Spoonie felt like it was time for Marcus to move up in rankings. The meeting took place at Marcy Center, an open gym that’s located on Sixteenth and Springfield.
The meeting began with Big C acknowledging everyone and reciting the nation’s prayer.
“I wanna start by showing my appreciation to the high-ranked individuals for being responsible for their crews to be here. They know who they are. I also wanna give a moment of silence for all the fallen soldiers we had ova’ the years. Their lives will never be forgotten . . . As I start with the opening prayer, I advise everybody to ‘palms up’ and bow your heads,” Big C demanded. Everyone followed suit.
“In the name of Allah, most gracious, most merciful, praises be to Allah, the Cherisher and Sustainer of the world’s, most gracious, most merciful, the Master of the day of judgment, thee do we worship and thine aid we seek. Show us the straight way, the way of those on whom thou has bestowed thy grace those portion is wrath and who go not astray . . . Amen.” After reciting the opening prayer, Big C chanted the word, “Almighty!”
“Almighty!!!” The crowd of about fifteen hundred lords roared back.
Big C put out suggestions and spoke his peace. Smitty took the podium next; he accepted the suggestions Big C presented, and he gave some of his own. Everyone agreed on the terms that were given out. Now came the part of the meeting where the bosses chose a special someone to get blessed with some juice! Spoonie had already “spit a bug” in Smitty ear about Marcus being that dude.
At the end of every meeting, the bosses and other high officials would stand in a circle to discuss the facts of the meeting. In this circle stood Big C, Smitty, Steve, a couple of their bodyguards, and a few other high-ranked figures.
Spoonie headed toward the circle with Marcus behind him. As Spoonie and Marcus made it to the circle, Steve and Marcus locked eyes with each other immediately! The expressions on their faces were so intense; you would’ve thought they were getting ready for a twelve-round brawl!
Marcus had been blessed with three-star elite status at the age of nineteen, one of the youngest elites in the nation. Marcus was blessed differently than any other three-star elite. Instead of being in control of an area that was already in progress, he had the opportunity to operate his own block. Marcus already had in mind what land he wanted to work on and who he needed on his personal team.
Marcus’s block was located on Avers and Cermak, sort of in the middle of lands, the Twenty-first Strip and the Sixteenth area. Marcus didn’t believe in having new faces around him, so he had his same childhood friends as his crew members: Mikey, Pee Wee, JR, Lil G, and Marlin.
Mikey was one person everyone would love to have on their team. He was the silencer of the crew and also the oldest, so he understood the “ends and outs” of the game. Mikey stood about five foot nine and sported a Low Top Fade. He wasn’t the most attractive person in the world due to his bad case of acne that covered his face. What attracted women to Mikey was his distinctively deep voice and his groggy-style type of laugh.
Pee Wee on the other hand was the wild one out the crew. All of Marcus’s guys had the heart to put in work at any given time, but Pee Wee just didn’t give a fuck. Whoever Marcus needed out the way, Pee Wee would do it in a heartbeat! Even if Marcus decided to give someone a pass, Pee Wee would still take them out just to stop any future problems with that person. Pee Wee was as black as charcoal and had braids straight to the back. Pee Wee didn’t care too much about fashion as much as the others. He was satisfied with a pair of Dickies khaki pants with the button-up shirt to match and whatever new pair of Jordan’s that came out. Majority of his money went to buying new guns and weed.
Lil G and Mikey were actually blood cousins. They were always together, and they went on most of their missions together; they had similar ways.
Lil G stood six feet three inches tall with a husky type of build, not too muscular and not too chubby. With his short wavy hairstyle and a baby face that attracted all the young ladies, he was more of a ladies’ man than his cousin Mikey.
JR was the so-called book smart one out the crew; he actually graduated from high school with average grades and went on to take business management classes at Malcolm X Junior College for one year. JR was the type that didn’t do unnecessary hanging out. If there weren’t any business to be handled in the streets, JR would usually be in the house on standby. With his five-foot-nine skinny frame and his bald head with a full connected beard and mustache, JR wasn’t the gigolo type of guy like the rest of the crew. He actually had a main girl he was living with whom he planned on marrying and adding on more kids to the two they already had. JR was settled down at the early age of twenty, but he was still very much involved in the street life.
Marlin was the hustler; I mean, rain, sleet, hail, snow, Marlin stayed on the block, grinding. Marlin was short with a light brown complexion. He always dressed in grimy clothes because he was always on the block. But when it came time to dress, he would splurge and buy some of the most expensive gear. When it came time to play, he would definitely dress to impress. Marcus treated all his guys equally but always assigned them to different daily tasks.
In the meanwhile, Christopher was pursuing his basketball career. He was starting at the point guard position on the seventh—and eighth-grade team while only being in the sixth grade. Chris stood about five foot five but could shoot three-pointers with the best of them.
Christopher’s grades were beginning to fall because of him being more focused on basketball and less on his schoolwork.
“Christopher . . . Christopher!” Sister Mary Ellen yelled out for Chris’s attention, his sixth-grade history teacher.
“Huuuh . . . what, I ain’t sleep,” Chris quickly responded while lifting his head up from being in a deep sleep.
“Christopher, I need to have a serious talk with you after class!”
“Shhit,” Chris muttered in a hushed tone.
“What was that?”
“Nuttin’, I ain’t say nothin’,” Chris replied with a slight attitude. Out of all his sixth-grade teachers, Sister Mary Ellen wasn’t the one to fool around with. Her white hair and wrinkled-up skin made her look very scary.
“All right, class, I need the essay completed by Friday, no later! Any papers turned in after Friday will automatically receive a failing grade!” she stated with emphasis as the bell rang for changing periods.
“Christopher! Where do you think you’re going? I need to have a word with you!” she demanded while witnessing Chris trying to slip out with the rest of his classmates.
“Yes,” Chris answered with a slow drag.
“What’s been going on with you lately?” she asked with a concerned expression upon her face.
“What’chú mean?” Chris countered while looking confused.
“What I mean is . . . ,” She paused in between her statement. “For the past two weeks you’ve either been late with your assignments or just not turning them in, and on your past three tests you received lower than a 70 percent on each of them. You know what this means, right?” She asked
“No,” Chris answered, hoping she wasn’t about to say what he was thinking.
“No . . . ?” She questioned his answer in disbelief as she gave a sarcastic grin. “You are kidding m
e, right?
“No, I’m not kiddin’. What does it mean?” Chris said with more seriousness in an irritable tone.
“It means, as of today you are failing my history class. Now do you understand, mister?”
“Yeah,” Chris answered with disappointment written all over his face.
“Now to my understanding you need at least a C average in order to be eligible for next week’s game, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Now what’s wrong with this picture?”
“What’chú mean?”
“I just told you that you’re failing my class. I have to turn in your progress report to the coach by the end of the week. That’s not enough time for you to bring your grades up from an F all the way to a C average or better. You might have to play the sidelines this week and possibly the rest of the season,” she explained.
Chris stood there looking disappointed as his teacher broke the bad news to him.
“There ain’t nuttin’ I can do?” Chris pleaded.
“Nope. At least not before the upcoming game. Now if you’re willing to put forth an effort to raise your grade, I can assign you some extra assignments. Not only that, you still would have to keep up with our everyday tasks. You’ll have to pass every test from here on out with at least a B average or better, and the essay that’s due Friday will have to be superb!” she instructed while looking Chris directly in the eyes. “Do you think you will be able to handle that?”
“Yes . . . !” Chris answered desperately. “I got no other choice.”
“I don’t know if you’re thinking realistically, but I guess it’s worth a try. Now if somehow you pull this off, you’ll be eligible to play in the play-offs three weeks from now.”
“Come-on wit’ it, I can handle it,” Chris said with confidence.
“All right, see me at the end of the day and I’ll have your assignments ready for you.”
As Chris was leaving out the classroom, he was shaking his head in disbelief at all the extra work he had ahead of him. He knew it would be damn near impossible to make up past assignments and still maintain a passing grade in the rest of his classes. As he continued to walk down the hallway to his next class with his head down, a voice came from behind him that distracted him from his train of thoughts.
“Chris!” a loud voice of a young lady yelled. Chris picked his head up and looked back to see that it was Bridget Adams calling him. Bridget was Chris’s girlfriend; she was a grade higher than Chris.
“Wassup?” he responded in a low, depressing tone.
“What’chú don’ did now? Everybody told me you got in trouble,” Bridget said as she walked up.
“I ain’t get in any trouble. And what’chú doin’ in the hallway after the bell, anyway?”
“I got’a hall pass to go to the washroom,” she replied. “But this isn’t ‘bout me right now, this is about you," she continued.
“Maaann, Sister Mary Ellen trippin’ ‘n’ shit, talkin’ ‘bout if I don’t pick my grades up I ain’t gon’ be able to play for the rest of the season, including the play-offs,” Chris explained.
“Are you serious?”
“Hell yeah . . . !” He said harshly with a frown. “She gets on my damn nerves. Now I don’t know what I’mma do. I mean, she givin’ me some extra work to do but I know I ain’t gon’ be able to do all that shit!”
“Well, baby, you know I will help you out with whatever you need.”
“I’m sho’ll gon’ need it,” Chris responded with a sympathetic expression.
“I’ll talk to you more about it later. Gimme a hug and a kiss before I go,” she requested while approaching Chris with open arms.
“Can I go in ‘nere wit’chú?” Chris mentioned as they sneaked a hug and a kiss without the teachers noticing them.
“No!” Bridget said humorously while seductively walking away.
St. Angela was undefeated, and they also were the favorite to win the championship. A big part of their success came from Chris’s production on the court, averaging twenty-five points and ten assists per game. It was safe to say that without Chris’s presence, St. Angela would be doomed come play-off time.
Bridget was an honor student and very mature for her age. She stood a couple of inches taller than Chris. Dark skinned with full juicy lips and long jet-black hair. Bridget had a body of a woman in her twenties, and she was only in junior high. All her body parts were fully grown, and she was only thirteen years old!
Bridget made it her business to help Chris out with his homework. She also tried stopping him from fooling around in the classrooms and in the hallways during passing periods but to no avail.
After a couple of weeks of consistent working and with the help of Bridget, Chris was able to raise his GPA up to a C, which was good enough for his eligibility for St. Angela’s first play-off game that was coming up the following week.