He stopped laughing, and Cody serioused up too, as they walked into the crackhouse. A bevy of dour Hispanics and black men stood around like they were waiting for and disappointed in Bernardo and Cody.
All was silent as a sunrise, except for the bare-chested crackhead shadowboxing and screaming obscenities, which everyone in the traphouse ignored. Bernardo led Cody upstairs, where rat-scented bedrooms overflowed with the tinny smell of crack smoke and passed-out whores.
Thumper done stop outside a rundown house with boarded-up windows. The light that leaked out came from flashlights, not lamps or light fixtures. Ignored city red-tag notices was tacked onto the off-hinge front door.
It was a traphouse. Inside, Jaekwel and Deon expected to find rat beds and crackheads lacking threads among the stacked syringes, wrinkled-up foil and doors off they hinges. Jaekwel’s nose binged on the smell, and he cringed like hell.
Inside was about twenty rat-face niggas drinking forties and hooting like hardhats at one among ’em who boxed a invisible pig. Jaekwel wrinkled his nose when he walked in. It was exactly what he thought it would smell like: armpits and stale puddles of piss. Couple of ’em got crackpipes in they hands.
From Thumper the Mover