Previously: Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3
T is a beast with his very personal and true story. Here with another installation is Part 4 of Chronicles Of A True Hustler:
She's dead. She was drug free but died of an overdose at the age of 14. The pastor who presided over her funeral referred to her as ______ ______, but we all knew her as Deucey. What the pastor neglected to mention in his sermon was that Deucey was the original Around The Way Girl before L.L. cool J would coin the phrase. She was Lil' Kim before there was even a Notorious B.I.G.
Barely out of junior high school, Deucey was a foul-mouthed, rail-thin cutie who was the first to wear Van tennis shoes and peg leg Guess jeans in Page Street Projects. She was what we called "light-skinded", her complexion matching that of Angela Davis but instead of Black Power, she hungered for the power of the dollar. Her hair was nappy, dirty-blonde, which she wore in her trade marked style, braids and beads, whose colors matched her outfits and clink-clanked as she bopped down the street.
Most people thought that a young girl like Deucey, out in the streets well past a good girl's curfew had to be lost, turned out or both. But Deucey knew exactly where she was and where she stood. Known for poppin' more bullshit than bubble gum, niggas on the turf respected her. She earned her stripes the same way they did, by getting money, keeping niggas up off her and never letting a bitch step outta line. She could play chase with cock-strong youngstas as easily as she could outrun the police. Deucey was real.
Armed with an entirely different kind of ghetto pass, Deucey was one of the only youngstas, let alone females, who could grind in Page Street Projects, also known as Tha Capital, well into the morning hours without fear of crackheads, jackers, J-Cats or snitches fucking with her business. Deucey was a hustler. But Deucey was just a little girl, just past puberty. In another place or time she might be practicing Double-Dutch, reciting schoolgirl rhymes or reading Nancy Drew. But what happened to Deucey was no mystery. She made one faulty decision and lost her life to the game.
"Po, po comin'. Here they come," echoed through the projects in a hushed alarm as everyone scattered, trying to run without moving too fast or walk without moving too slow. No one wanted to draw unwanted attention as they tried to outrun the law and beat the laws of averages. The Narcs were going to catch somebody and you just hoped it would be somebody else. And if it was your turn to catch a collar, you did your best to make sure you were empty handed.
Deucey knew the protocol. With the Narcs in full pursuit and the exits from the projects blocked, shew knew she had to get rid of her dope. But once the Narcs had suspects in custody they would comb the area, searching for every spec, every crumb to try and pin on someone. So she decided to swallow her package, thinking she could shit it out later, like mules do. Thing is, her dope wasn't in balloons or tied securely in cut-up rubber surgical gloves the way mules smuggle contraband in and out of San Quentin or Pelican Bay. Here dope was in a glad sandwich bag.
The acid in her stomach slowly began to eat through the plastic sending multiple grams of pure rock cocaine rushing into her bloodstream. First, she noticed a funny buzzing feeling in the pit of her stomach but by then it was already too late. Attempts to vomit proved futile as she dryheaved repeatedly. Nothing came out.
Deucey's senses became acute. Her skin, now hypersensitive, began to sweat as she experienced hot flashes. Her hearing intensified, picked up children playing in the distance as if they were right in front of her. She could hear herself breath more quickly. Her heart raced as her body succumbed to the cocaine that was now overpowering her small frame. She began to go numb; first her lips, the tip of her tongue, then her entire throat. Her body hummed as she began to overdose. Soon her body would seize, her eyes rolling back in her head. foam gathered at the corners of her mouth as she lost the ability to swallow.
The sounds of people screaming her name, slapping her face, trying to help her regain consciousness, the chaos, calling for Paramedics, the sirens racing to the scene to save all faded to a dark, deathly silence. Deucey was dead.
Deucey's name was later spray painted on the wall in Tha Capital in memorium.
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