by Tranay Adams
Boxy and Jaquez’s hearts dropped when they reached the other side of the alley and found a dead end. Hearing the stampeding feet behind them slow to a trot and eventually stopping, they whipped around. Their heads moved from left to right taking in the scowling faces of the Mexicans that literally had their backs against the wall.
The Mexican spear heading the mob wore his long dark hair slicked to the back and had a mustache that curled over his top lip. He smiled wickedly as his malevolent eyes looked over his intended victims. He drew a knife from his waistline—Snikt—once his knife had been drawn, the ones of his homies came out one by one. Snikt! Snikt! Snikt! Snikt! It was as if they were pulling them out of the air.
Boxy and Jaquez swallowed hard seeing the knives being brandished. Their eyes took in the harden faces of their aggressors, they could tell they wouldn’t be satisfied until they lay twisted and bloodied at their feet.
“You mayates are dead, homes.” Slick licked his thin lips and moved to carve Boxy and Jaquez up like a Thanksgiving turkey when a door swung open at his back, stealing every ones attention. The loud music from the pool hall came spilling out into the alley along with a drunk and staggering Don Juan who was fiddling around with the zipper of his jeans.
“Fools holding the bathroom hostage and shit, and a nigga gotta piss like a motha....” He cut himself short seeing something at the corner of his eye. When he turned around his forehead ran with lines. He looked at the knife wielding Mexicans to Boxy and Jaquez at the end of the alley, wondering what the fuck was going on. “Poncho, what’s up?” he asked the leader of the pack. Although he sold poison to his people he didn’t like the idea of another race butchering his own kind.
“These fuckers stole from my father’s store.” Poncho swayed his knife from Boxy and Jaquez, but kept his eyes on Don Juan.
“You mean, robbed it?”
“They came in like they were gon’ buy a couple of sandwiches and ran off with ‘em. Its okay ‘cause it’s judgment night, you feel me, homie?” He turned his frightening eyes on the pair. They weren’t afraid though. They looked like they were ready to go down fighting if they had to.
“You’re good, Don, gon’ and bounce, homes. I don’t want chu catching the heat in case the policia turns out.”
Don Juan’s head snapped from the Mexicans to Boxy and Jaquez, trying to make a quick decision before the little homies met their doom.
“Hold up.” Don Juan spoke up, halting Poncho and his crew of degenerates.
“What? You know these mothafuckaz or something?”
Don Juan locked eyes with Boxy, holding his gaze as he tried to make his final decision.
“Yeah, these are my lil’ cousins.” He looked to Poncho with a straight face. The Mexican narrowed his eyes and angled his head as if he was trying to figure out if he believed him or not.
Poncho looked to Boxy and Jaquez then back to Don Juan. “Cousins, huh?”
“Yeah, man, those are my peoples, straight up.”
“So what, Poncho, fuck that!” One of the degenerates spoke into Poncho’s ear. “Let’s do these fools, they stole from yo familia, ese.”
Poncho stared into Don Juan’s eyes as he weighed his options. He could say fuck it and leave his cousins bleeding like a couple of stuck pigs in the alley, but then he thought about he and his father’s business relationship.
See, Don Juan supplied his father with the drugs he sold on the low out of his store. That’s how his family ate. The last thing he wanted to do was fall out of favor with him.
Poncho exhaled and tucked away his knife. He kept his eyes on Don Juan when he said, “They’re free to go.” The statement brought the disappointment and remarks of his crew. He quickly whipped around to them. “Shut the fuck up, I’m running this outfit.” He silenced them and marched over to Boxy and Jaquez. “And you two...” he motioned a finger between the two young men. “...if I ever see you so much as spit in the direction of my father’s store I’ll have your heads.” His hateful eyes looked between them as his nostrils flared. With that said he headed out of the alley with his crew bringing up his rear. He stopped by Don Juan. “You owe me, Don.” Don nodded in agreement then dapped him up. Once the Mexicans left Boxy and Jaquez approached him.
“Thanks,” Jaquez showed his appreciation.
“Good looking out.” Boxy dapped him up. “Not to sound ungrateful or nothing. But why’d you step in?”
“We’re an endangered species, black man, we’ve gotta look out for one another.” He stated seriously, getting both of their head nods. “What are y’all doing stealing sandwiches and shit? Y’all niggaz hungry, fam?” He pulled a thick ass wad of dead presidents from his pocket and peeled off two hundred dollar bills. “Here.” He went to pass it to Jaquez but Boxy grabbed his friend’s arm. He looked to him and shook his head. “Problem?” Don Juan raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah, fam, we don’t accept any handouts. We’ll work for ours.”
Don Juan cracked a smirk. “Pride? I respect that. That’s what makes men, men.” He shoved the money back into his pocket. “I’ve gotta job for y’all, we’ll chop it up over dinner.” He motioned for them to follow him with a wave of his jeweled hand, walking off down the alley.
Boxy and Jaquez exchanged glances trying to figure out what they should do. Don Juan stopped and turned around. “Y’all coming or what?” Boxy tapped Jaquez and followed his destiny, his road dawg right on his heels.
Don Juan took the boys to In & Out Burgers where they sat outside at a table beneath an umbrella. He smoked on a blunt as he watched the young men devour their double cheese burgers and french fries with the Thousand Island dressing on them.
Once they’d wiped out their food, they sipped their strawberry shakes. Boxy gave Don Juan the rundown on his life. He was sent to America to stay with his aunt and uncle after killing a man back home in Nigeria that tried to molest him. He was unaware of their addiction to crack since moving to the states.
They spent every nickel his family sent with him and pawned all of his most prized possessions to fund their habits. When he bucked against their mistreatment of him they kicked him out of the house. He met Jaquez while he was running a card hustle and the two had been stuck together ever since doing whatever they could to survive in South Central Los Scandalous.
“I’ma give y’all lil’ niggaz a shot at getting money with me.” Boxy and Jaquez exchanged smiling glances. “But you gotta do what I say when I say it. No questions asked.”
“Whatever you need we’ll do, long as you feed us.” Boxy spoke up.
“You.” Don Juan pointed at Jaquez.
“I’m down.” He nodded.
“That’s what I’m talking about. Now for the payment of y’all meal.” He pushed forth the In & Out Burgers bag, taking a cautious look around.
Boxy’s brows furrowed seeing him act so suspiciously. Nonetheless, he opened the bag and looked inside. Its contents were a blue steel Bulldog revolver with tape around its handle. He looked back up at the man that had saved his life earlier that night. The boys were going to have to kill someone for him in order for him to trust them.
That very night they stole the life of a nigga with loose lips by the name of Steven, earning a spot in Don Juan’s budding organization and landing in his good graces. From then on out he treated the youngsters like they shared the same bloodline.
A light bulb came on inside of Jaquez’s head.He’d just caught on to what Boxy was trying to relay to him. “Ohhh, now I see where you coming from. You know if you’re with it then I’m with it.”
“Then let’s get it.” Boxy touched glasses with Jaquez in a toast, then they sipped their drinks. And capped their night off talking about how they were going to nod Don Juan and make off with all that he had. Cold world.
Chapter 8
The next day
That was some wild shit that happened the other day, Blood. I thought cha pops was gon’put hands on your mom’s and shit. I grabbed my strap. I thought I
was gon’ have to buck pops down.” Baby Wicked relayed to Te’Qui from where he sat perched on a Huffy. The young hoodlum had a hand in every crime you could name. He was a young knucklehead looking to gain hood stardom, and he was looking forward to bringing his homeboy along on his journey. Two years prior he’d gotten his officials and was now claiming Eastside Outlaws Rolling 20s Bloods Gang.Thesame set his big brother had pledged allegiance to.
“Man, chill with all of that murdering my dad shit. That’s my pops.” Te’Quicontinued eating from his bag of chili cheese Fritos and drinking his Arizona ice tea.
“I know. No disrespect. I’m just saying your mom’s cool people, Blood. I’d lay something down behind her. She treats me like I’m her second son and shit.” He spat on the ground.
“I feel you.I’m just saying, though. That’s my momma and my dad. I don’t want anything to happen to either one of them.”
Baby Wicked nodded his understanding. Though he was only three years Te’Qui’s senior, he had a great deal of respect for the youngster. They’d done some crimes together and it was through those illicit acts that he’d grown to respect him as a down ass little nigga.
“My fault,” the YG slapped hands with Te’Qui.
When he pulled back his hand, the sun’s rays bounced off of something on his waistline causing it to gleam and blind Te’Qui. The youngster blinked but once his eyes came into focus he saw that it was a pistol on his homeboy’s hip.
“What’s that?” He nodded to the strap.
He knew what he was referring to immediately. “Oh, that’s a .38 special. It was one of my brother’s pieces, but he let me have it before he got locked up.”
“Let me see it.”
“Alright,” Baby Wicked looked around to make sure no one was spying on him before brandishing the revolver.
Te’Qui wiped the crumbs from the chips on his jeans before reaching for it. He’d held his mother’s Taurus .9mm before. He even taught himself how to shoot it, but the little revolver was foreign to him, though. He’d seen the pistol on TV, but he’d never held one in real life. He tested the weight of it and looked through its sights. “This mothafucka beefy.”
“It’s alright.” Baby Wicked begged to differ. “It’s cool to use to patrol the hood and all. But if I ever really wanna cause some damage, I’d get that pump or that choppa my bro got hidden in the back of the closet. If a nigga get hit with one of them, one of the two are gon’ happen: one, limbs gettin’ torn off, or your ass is gon’ be flat out dead.” He held an imaginary choppa and swept it across, pretending to shoot up the enemies of his set.
Te’Qui passed the ratchet back to his homeboy and he tucked it, while making sure no one was watching him. “You wanna bust on some crabs with it.”
“Hell yeah, I’m with it.” Te’Qui rubbed his hands together micheviously; ready to do some dirt.
Zoooooom!
Day Day zipped down the block on his mini motorcycle stealing the youths’attention. Their eyes followed him as he shot right back and did donuts in the middle of the block, smoke trailing him.
“What’s up, y’all?” He called out to the young niggaz.
“What’s up, Day?” Te’Qui replied.
“What that shit two?” Baby Wicked responded.
The youngsters wore smiles across their faces as they watched the skinny nigga on his miniature bike clown.
“Let me ride that mothafucka, D!” Te’Qui called out.
“Alright.” Day Day stopped the mini motorbike and sat the kickstand in place, waving the boys over.
Day Day was a young nigga who stayed in the streets. If he wasn’t running to the store for the D-boys or stealing cars, then he was telling other niggaz’ business for a couple of dollars. That’s how he made the bulk of his money—snitching. If people needed to know who was fucking with whose baby momma or who got locked up or shot, then he was the cat they needed to see. Day Day was playing with fire running around the hood telling every ones comings and goings but ironically that’s what kept him alive. See, niggaz wouldn’t dare kill him because what he knew always came in handy. Now if it wasn’t for that, the little dude would sure enough be lying six feet under in someone’s cemetery.
The boys ran over to Day Day and his mini motorcycle. They took turns on the bike racing back and forth down the block, enjoying themselves.
Suddenly, the frontdoor flew open and his mother stepped out onto the porch.
“Te’Qui!” Chevy called out, looking paranoid.
***
The ringing of the telephone brought Chevy out of her sleep. She had sprung up from where she laid gasping for breath and pointing her gun around the bedroom. Her face glistened with perspiration and her chest heaved. She’d been jumpy ever since the confrontation with Faison from the day before. She was paranoid and didn’t know what he would pull next, if anything. Chevy lowered her gun and wiped the sweatfrom her forehead with the back of her hand. She leaned against the headboard and blew a sigh of relief. She looked to the ringing telephone and answered it.
“Hello.” Her eyes shifted as she waited to hear a response but there was only silence on the other end of the line. “I see we’re back to this bullshit again, huh? Get a life.” She hung up the phone and closed her eyes. Soon as she drifted back into a peaceful slumber, her telephone rang again. Her eyes angrily popped open. “Look, nigga, if you keep on playing with me, I’ma pack up our shit and get ghost. And you’ll never see your son again, so keep fucking with me if you want to!”
“Chevy, it’s me.Kantrell.” The woman on the other end of the phone laughed. “I was just playing with you, girl, hahahahahahaha.”
Chevy blew hard and brushed her hair out of her face, pulling it behind her ear. “Bitch, you play too much. I really thought you were him. That mothafucka is driving me up the wall.”
“Why don’t chu have Savon and his goons take care of him? Hang him up in an abandoned warehouse somewhere and go to work on ‘em with a powerdrill and an electric saw. I bet that’ll straightenhim out.”
“Girl, are you crazy? He’s still Te’Qui’s father. And I still have love for ‘em. Besides, I’m not tryna have my baby brother down in Central cased up on the account of my bullshit. I’ll figure things out, I just need a minute.” Chevy stood up, slipped her feet into a pair of house slippers and headed out of the door. With her shoulder pressing the cordless phone to her ear, she journeyed into the kitchen where she went about the task of making herself a cup of coffee.
“So, what’s up with baby daddy number two?” Kantrell asked.
Chevy had to laugh at that one. “Girl, please, you’re fast forwarding ahead. We got to get to know each other.Feel one another out, first. Besides, the next man I have a baby by will have to slip a ring onto my finger.”
“I’m not mad at chu, sis.Are you and nephew all right over there, though?”
“Yeah, we’re good.I got my nine and my Glock. If Faison send some niggaz over here, they’re gonna be in for a rude awakening. Best believe that. ‘Cause this high-yellow bitch don’t play.” She sat her cup of coffee down on the table and plugged her laptop’s charger into the wall.
“So, Prince Charming is coming home in a minute, huh?”
“Yep,” Chevy smiled. “I got butterflies and shit. I haven’t felt this giddy since Faison asked me out in ninth grade. Girl, this nigga got me open like a can of paint.”
“I’m pulling for you, Chev’. I’ma keep my fingers crossed. You deserve to be happy, ma.”
“Thanks, baby momma.”
“You know I got chu. Well, look, let me get back on this clock. I’ll call you once I get off of work. Smooches.”
It’s too quiet in here, where is this boy? Chevypeeked out of her bedroom door looking for Te’Qui.
“Chevy, did you hear me?”
“Oh,” she suddenly realized she was on the telephone. “Yeah, yeah, smooches.We’ll chat later.” She disconnected the call.
“Te’Quiiii?” Chevy called out to her
son. When he didn’t respond, she checked the bathroom and his bedroom. “Hmmm.”
Her forehead wrinkled when she didn’t see him. Hearing Te’Qui and Baby Wicked outside, she wandered into the living room. Something between the openings of the curtains caught her eye.
She spotted a black Lincoln Town car up the block. The door opened and a man in an expensive suit and tie stepped out, wearing black sunglasses. He adjusted his tie, reached into the backseat, and removed a box of long stemmed roses. Chevy wasn’t buying his get up, though. The man looked menacing. The long scar that traveled along the side of his face made him appear rough, nothing like a friendly flower delivery man.
There was something off about the man and Chevy could feel it in her gut. Some shit was about to go down and she didn’t want her son and his friend to get caught up.
Chevy threw open the front door and stepped out onto the porch.
“Te’Qui!” Chevy called out, looking paranoid.
“Hey, Chevy.” Day Day gave a wave. She didn’t even notice him. She was too focused on the car across the street.
“Momma, did you hear Day Day talking to you?” Te’Qui inquired, sitting on the miniature motorcycle.
“Y’all come into the house!” she ordered, eyes stuck on the car.
“Ma, we were just...”
“Now goddamn it!” She barked with authority. With that command, the boys darted into the house like they had hot coal up their assholes. “Te’Qui, take them into your bedroom and lock the door, don’t come out until I tell you to.”
Chevy recovered her .9mm from her bedroom and headed back up front. She was just in time to see the flower delivery guy knocking at the front door. She undid the locks, removed the chain, and opened the door. The delivery man was just about to open his mouth to say something when she grabbed him by his tie and pressed her gun under his chin. The delivery man dropped the box of flowers. His legs buckled and he looked scared.
