Warrior Poets, Episode 11
by Scott Walker

RE-UP

On the way to re-up at Smoked's place, I dropped Stutter off at the local strip club. He loved the strip clubs. They were another place he didn't have to talk. At the strip club, he let the green do the talking. 

I went straight to Smoked's crib after dropping off Stutter, but I sat in my car in the parking lot for a minute to count my money again. I had seven thousand dollars on me, and I knew that was enough to buy two pounds of hydro. It was time that I started to make power moves and try to make some real money. I needed to start pulling down large sums of money if I ever wanted to start making plans to switch coasts and start a new life. 

That had been my idea lately. I decided my life would be a lot easier if I could get a fresh start. Don't get me wrong, I like my life, it's just that I am at a true crossroads. I've been selling herbs for over six years, trying to master the game and make as much money as I could. In the beginning, I did it just for the free smoke and a little bit of pocket money. Three years ago I made the big move to actually selling enough to make some real money. I gave up the set hours, the annoying bosses, the rules, and most importantly, I stepped off the path and went to the side of the law. 

The situation that I am currently faced with, more and more, is that, the deeper I get into the game, the more serious the people and the penalties are becoming. Selling real drugs and making real money is a multi-faceted risk. Not only is the risk through the police and getting locked down for the bitch , but it is also the risk of the shady individuals that are encountered in the game. These people are actually criminals and they don't give a what. 

So right now I am on the fence. Should I stay in the game, keeping a low profile and making good money but risk getting involved in more serious stuff, or quit now and get out with some money? I don't think I could ever go back to normal life. Waiting for a weekly paycheck, listening to a boss and driving in rush hour traffic? That's definitely not for me. 

I decided, that very minute, that I would try to get as much money as I could, immediately, and move away. I didn't know what I was going to do, and I didn't know where or when. But, I knew that I was going.

At present, I was knocking on Smoked Out's door. He answered the door, almost tearing it off the frame, and asked me, "Where the hell I'd been"? I told him that I had things to do. I didn't know why he was so mad, he wasn't going anywhere. Smoked said that Tough Guy had come by his house and was asking all sorts of questions about me. Tough asked Smoked if I had any friends, family, girlfriends and kids. I guess Tough Guy was dead set on revenge. I just hoped that he didn't do anything that required me to have to go see him. I had connections that he didn't even know about, and would never want to meet. I could find Tough Guy in about two minutes if I needed to. If he did something really stupid, it wouldn't be a matter of finding him. It would be a matter of finding No and asking where Tough was buried. No was crazy, and Smoked told me he was scared to tell No that Tough had asked about him. I told Smoked that it would be best if he didn't mention any of this to No. 

I decided to call No and see what he was doing. He answered the phone on the third ring. He said he was busy with a girl, and would call back. Soft didn't answer his phone.

I left Smoked Out's house fully stocked. I didn't have room in my secret compartment to stash two pounds of herb, so I had to out it in the trunk. Thankfully, it was dark and I wasn't parked near a street light. I stashed the two pounds under a blanket and closed the trunk. It was now that I realized how much I wanted to see Shorty. I thought about her so much more than I thought about Boo. That probably wasn't a good sign.

I drove to my house as fast as I could. I didn't want to get pulled over, but I didn't want to be late for Conflict. I needed her to be in the best mood possible. 

I got to my house and had the greens out of my trunk faster than you could say "felony". I rolled a blunt that would have made Cheech and Chong proud, and proceeded to get blazed. When I finished the blunt, and had no idea what my name was, I jumped in the shower. 

If you've never showered while you were high, you're not really living a full life. Showering when you are high is like putting on new skin. Each motion is so exaggerated and deliberate, forty-five minutes will pass before you've washed above your waist. I usually take ten-minute showers, but after I've smoked, I'll stay in there for an hour. 

Tonight, I only took a half-hour. From there, I was out of my house and on the way to Palmieri's in twenty minutes.

At the restaurant I realized that even though I made thousands of dollars a week, I was not in the same social class as the people that dined here. I learned this lesson painfully when I went to the Maitre'D's desk and asked for the table I had reserved earlier. 

Conflict wasn't in the front hall, so I stepped inside to see that she hadn't already gotten our table. She had not. I told the glorified waiter that I was here for the table and I would like to be seated when my date arrived. He gave me a look like I was rude, but that was the method I had seen others use to request there table when they arrived. They didn't receive any weird looks.

Conflict arrived five minutes later. She looked stunning. She was wearing a black, silk dress, which clung to her trim figure. It showed off every area of her body, and they were all worth showing. She stepped out of the cab, and all eyes, including mine, were on her. She loved the attention. For a girl that could become " ghetto" in a second if she had to, she had a lot of class.

We walked into the lobby and I realized that she was really enjoying the chance to dress up. I also realized, upon looking around Palmieri's, that Conflict was the only black person in the restaurant. I hoped that didn't make her uncomfortable, but she was so beautiful, I don't think all the stares she was getting were from racism. 

I, once again, went to see the Maitre D. He stood very still as I approached, but he was staring straight at me. But, I could tell that he wasn't looking at me as much as he was looking through me. It wasn't until I stepped in front of podium and tapped on it, that his eyes met mine. 

Shockingly enough, I had to tell him, again, that I needed my table. Although I could tell that the idea of a young man and a young, black girl having the money to eat at a restaurant that he couldn't afford, was something that really bothered him, he showed us to our table. I even saw a tiny little smirk on his face while he said, "Right this way sir".

Now I usually pride myself on my calm and collective behavior, but things of late had ruined my disposition. The waiter courteously whispered in my ear, that I needed a suit jacket to go over my two hundred-dollar sweater. Apparently, I needed to look like a stuffy old white man to eat in a stuffy old white man's restaurant. 

I told the waiter that I was quite comfortable the way I was, and refused the jacket. The waiter made the obnoxious, "tsk, tsk, tsk" sound with his front teeth and proceeded to straighten the jacket out. In this restaurant, the sound of sucking your teeth was meant to make the customer feel embarrassment. In the street , that sound is usually followed by a brawl. 

The waiter tried to put the jacket on my shoulders, but I shrugged him off and told him to go away. What I actually yelled was a lot harsher, but we won't get into that now. 

My shouting had drawn stares from the patrons, and I no longer felt comfortable. Also, my high was getting ruined, and that was really pissing me off. I decided to leave. I grabbed Conflict by the hand and we left. 

Outside, I gave my ticket to the valet and watched as he scurried off to retrieve my car. I turned to face Conflict, aware that her stare of hatred could probably melt my skin. She managed to look pissed-off, disappointed and embarrassed, at the same time. I felt guilty. It was obvious that she had been excited about Palmieri's, and my foolish and stubborn outburst had ruined it for her. I wish I wasn't so stressed I definitely wouldn't have acted like that if I was in a normal situation. I've always considered myself a humble man, but as she began to tell me how she felt about my actions, I realized I had no interest in hearing my mistakes pointed out to me. This is my biggest character flaw. When I make mistakes, I always apologize. But, if the person I try to apologize to tries to make me pack my bags for the guilt trip, I will take back my apology, and thoroughly burn the bridge. I didn't want that to be the case with Conflict. 

She opened her mouth to start the verbal onslaught, but I cut her off. I told her, "Don't even bother". I didn't want to hear my mistakes pointed out to me, I knew what they were. I think my abruptness caught her by surprise, because she closed her mouth and didn't say a word. The car pulled up and moment later and we were inside, driving away. 

The mood was awkward in the car. I tried to play some music to ease the tension, but it didn't help. We drove in silence the whole way, the only sound was the soft play of the CD. Finally, as we pulled into her driveway, Conflict decided to speak. She told me I wasn't a man. Then she told me that she wasn't really pregnant and she only slept with me to get back at her brother for being so strict. She also said that she never really liked me, it was all a ploy to accomplish the dual tasks of pissing off One and teaching me some humility from the beating I was sure to get. As she got out of the car, I let her words sink in. The words sank fast. Before she slammed the door in my face, Conflict decided to say the seven words that told me of my impending doom. Those words were, " I'll tell One, that you said 'hi'".

Poser's Dictionary

KNUCKLE UP- summoning the courage to do something

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