Read Online Crackhead by Lisa Lennox - Free Book Online

looking around. Then he pulled a pack of Kools from his back pocket and emptied a crack rock into the palm of her hand. Her eyes lit up like she was looking at a gold nugget. Slowly, she slipped her hand down the front of her skirt, placed the rock in the crotch of her panties, and pulled out some money.
    â€œHere you go, daddy,” she said, handing him the crumpled-up five-dollar bills. “Take a whiff of that to remind you of me. What I got is better than money and you should never forget it.”
    â€œLater,” the dealer said, unimpressed. She was a bum, but not like the man outside the bodega. She was a bum to all the dudes in the neighborhood. That was how they referred to old pussy. And there was certainly something better than old pussy—new pussy. Her shit was done.
    The girl blew the dealer a kiss, then looked over at Wayne. “Breaking them in younger and younger every day, huh?” she said to the dealer. “He’s a little cutie, too. Maybe one day you might wanna do something nice for your little worker bee. You know I’m always willing to work for mine. Later, fellas.” She strutted away.
    â€œSorry about that,” the dealer said, stuffing the Kools back in his pocket. “That was just Peaches. Ho will do anything for a rock.”
    Wayne stood there in awe, watching her walk away. She didn’t look anything like the neighborhood crackheads he had seen before. She seemed so sweet and innocent—not to mention fine. No way was she copping that shit for herself.
    The dealer observed Wayne staring at the girl until she was out of sight. “Looky here,” he said, laughing. “Lil’ man diggin’ on Peaches. Man, she’s gotta be twice your age. How old did you say you were again?”
    â€œWhy?” Wayne snapped, not appreciating being laughed at. “Is that gon’ make a difference in whether you let me hold something?”
    â€œYou really is a hard lil’ nigga, huh? I see the potential. I like your heart and I just may have some work for you. But I don’t even know your name, homebody.”
    â€œIt’s Wayne.”
    â€œWayne . . . Wayne what?”
    â€œJust Wayne,” he said, figuring that was all the dude needed to know for now, unless he decided to help him out for certain.
    â€œOkay, tough guy,” the dealer teased. “You sure don’t look like no Wayne. With that scully sitting on top of ya head like that,you look like a black-ass Smurf. And you kinda act like the little angry one. Matter of fact, fuck that Wayne shit. I’m gonna call you Smurf. That’s yo’ new name, lil’ nigga. Get used to it.”
    â€œWhatever,” Wayne said, waving him off. “So can I get that piece now or what?”
    â€œWhat’s the hurry, Smurf?”
    â€œI need to take care of some important business. I’ve already wasted enough time.”
    â€œWhat exactly is your business?” the dealer asked, searching his face.
    â€œWhat kind of business you think?”
    â€œThere you go again with that shit. If you gonna be down wit’ a nigga, you gotta keep it real. You gotta lay your shit out flat.”
    â€œFirst off,” Wayne obliged, “I need to take care of some shit. I want to go ahead and knock down the first domino.”
    The dealer nodded his head and smiled. He knew Wayne wasn’t the street-bred type of cat, but he could tell that he’d seen a lot. And his street finesse seemed to flow naturally. It needed some polishing, but the kid had potential.
    â€œSecond off, do you really want me to make you an accessory before the fact?” Wayne said, using the language he had learned from the prime-time law shows like L.A. Law and Columbo.
    â€œOkay, Smurf,” the dealer said with a chuckle. “Follow me.”
    He led Wayne over to his parked car, a brand-new cherry-red Benz 300 with a spoiler kit. He ordered him to get in on the passenger