No Ordinary Day (Part 1) featuring Rory L. Watkins

August 1990:

Cochise and Cass had been friends for years so it was no surprise when Cochise called his buddy to let him in on the good news.

"Cass, dirty," Cochise screamed into the phone. "Guess what?"

Cass, still half-sleep, was shook up. "Who is this?" he stubbornly asked.

"This Chedda, fool," Cochise remarked.

"Chedda Chise," Cass acknowledged. "What's up, homie?"

"Man, today's my brother birthday," Cochise said excitedly, "and he's 'bout to comp a new swerve."

Cass was a bit confused at first, and then caught his wits. "Damn, today is the 23rd, ain't it? So what did he say?"

Cochise's older brother Big O.G. had told Cochise that he was buying a new car for himself on his birthday and Chise could used the 1988 Ninety-Eight Regency that Big O.G. had parked in the driveway of their mother's house. Big O.G. had never let anyone drive his Nine-Eight. Ever.

"He said I could get the keys as soon as he gets back from the car lot," Cochise exclaimed.

Cass was skeptical. "Dog, you think he jeffin'?"

Big O.G.'s Nine-Eight wasn't just a regular old Nine-Eight. It was a baller's Nine-Eight. You know the kind; custom fifty spoke Dayton wire rims, 15-inch vogue tires, laid out bumper kit and a custom sunroof to show of the plush snowflake white leather interior. Oh, I almost forgot about the JVC sound-system, with the four 6x9 speakers, crossover and amps and two fifteen inch subwoofers. The leather interior matched the candy coated paint job on the Nine-Eight’s pristine body.

"He chunked it up on the 'hood, he wasn't jeffin', Cochise replied, "so, dirty, be ready when I get there."

"When are you coming," Cass asked looking for a watch, clock or something.

"I'on know," Cochise answered, "probably around noon time."

"What time is it now," Cass wanted to know, not knowing he was setting himself up to be the punch-line of another one of Cochise's silly antics.

"Half past the monkey's ass and a quarter to his nuts," Cochise teased, right before he delivered a piece of useful advice towards Cass. "Call time fool or get a watch."

Before Cass could even muster a reply, Cochise hung up **************************************************************************

A few hours had elapsed since Cass and Cochise's conversation and Cass was getting restless. He picked up the phone to call Cochise, but was not so rudely interrupted.

"Boy, I'm on the damn phone," Cass' mother shouted from the living room of their government subsidized three-bedroom apartment, echoing through the phone wires and off the walls.

"Moms, my fault," Cass shot back, muttering damn under his breath for effect.

"Who are you talking to little boy," Moms chimed, disregarding whatever or whoever on the opposite phone line.

Cass and Moms had a understanding kind of relationship going on and he knew how to keep her off his back. For the most part that is.

"I was just saying, I'm sorry for picking up the phone," Cass explained. "But I was trying to call Chedda to see when he was coming to pick me up."

"Cochise?" Moms questioned. She was sort of dumbfounded. She knew that neither Cass nor Cochise had a car or a driver's license. "Pick you up with what, the Bi-State?"

"No." Cass corrected. "Big O.G. is giving him the Nine-Eight for the day."

"Is that right?" Moms hastily reacted. "Cochise had better not have stolen another one of his brother's cars again. And if he has, your ass is not going anywhere."

"Moms, Big O.G. is buying a new car for his birthday and he gave Chedda the keys to the Nine-Eight," Cass explained. "Everything's cool."

Just as Moms raised her hand to counter Cass' explanation, they both turned their attention to the outside front and the loud thunderous noise booming through the neighborhood. "I'ma call you back," Moms bellowed into the phone, oblivious to the caller's objection to the sudden lack of attention. "I said I'ma call you back."

The beats. Cass knew who it was.

"My homie," Cass said, opening the shades of the living room window while unlocking the front door at the same time. "Beatin' down the block, baby, beatin' down the block."

"Move," Moms shouted, shoving Cass to the side, preparing to lecture Cass' closest friend. "Bring your butt here Cochise, right now."

Moms was upset. She didn't mind Cochise coming to pick Cass up in Big O.G.'s car, but she was concerned about them flashing their newfound glory, albeit brief glory.

"O.K., Moms let me park," Cochise responded.

"Little boy," Moms admonished Cochise as strutted his way toward Cass' residence, "you don’t have to broadcast your arrival on this block. Your mere presence is sufficient enough. Do you know these guys will put a pistol to your head for hi-siding on them in their own backyard? You do know that don't you."

"Yes ma'am," Cochised admitted.

Moms usually gives it to you when she gives it to you, but Cochise had an innate ability to diffuse certain situations and he was an expert dealing with folk's parents. He was above average height, brown-skinned, mildly intelligent, street savvy and confident. Cass thought Cochise was a charming son of a gun. Cochise called it 'mad game.'

"O.K. I'ma leave it alone," Moms said, questioning Big O.G's rationale for giving Cochise the Nine-Eight.

"I have my permit already, Moms," Cochise said, giving Cass the winking eye. "But I'm 'bout to go to the license bureau right now to take my driver's test and you know I need Cass Money there with me for good luck."

"Hmmph," Moms sighed. "Boy that's a bold face lie, but oh well, if Big O.G. don't care, I surely don't. Ya'll just be careful. The police would love to take ya'll little black butts to the juve center. And guess what, Cassius? I'm not coming to get you. Good day. Get out of my house."

Once in the ride, Cass couldn't believe Big O.G. had given up the Nine-Eight, but he wasn't going to complain. "Where we headed, Chedda?" Cass asked.

"To the license bureau," Cochise stated. "Why you asked?"

"Seriously, where are we headed, homie?" Cass wanted to know.

Cochise eased up on his story. "I'on know, fool, we just gonna’ cruise the St. Louis streets, see what we see, do what we do and screw what we screw." Cass laughed. Cochise reached in the fold-down ashtray in the middle of the Nine-Eight's console and emerged with a bag full of funk. "And blow our brains back."

Cass had seen marijuana before but he had never smoked it. (Actually, when Cass was nine-years-old, his favorite uncle, Moms' brother Unc, let Cass hit a joint a couple of times, but that's another story). "What's that for?" Cass nervously responded.

"To smoke and get high," Cochise wryly replied.

"I mean, I know that, but what do we need it for?" Cass protested.

"So we can ride out, smoke out, have some fun, pick up some hoochies and do how these cats with paper do. We some ballers today, dirty, me and you. Let's do the damn thing. We got the swerve, we got the beats, we got the herb and we got this," Cochise said, cocking the chrome .380 automatic pistol he sneaked from Big O.G.'s gun collection.

"Man," Cass relented, "Moms was right. We're going to jail tonight."

"Dirty, we good," Cochise retorted. "As long as I got the wheel, we straight, so roll up."

"I don't know how to roll that stuff, dog, you tripping," Cass rebuffed.

"Ole' cry-baby, titty-licking, mama's boy, can't do nothin'," Cochise teased. "I'll roll it myself."

"Yeah, you do that," Cass said.

"I will," Cochise countered.

"Fine," Cass stood firm. "I still ain't smoking it."

"Yes you are," Cochise demanded.

"No, I'm not," Cass offered.

Cochise was getting aggravated by Cass' resistance so he turned the car's stereo system back to full blast, put the car in drive and peeled off.

"You smoking today," he said, ignoring Cass' pleas. Cochise emphasized his position by burning tire rubber on the neighborhood's black-tar asphalt while at the corner stop sign. "Yep, you getting blowed today, dirty, so don't even trip."