by Kingpin
It was funny to me back then, but Benzino had always been a nigga who was willing to hurt anyone who fucked up, so Jose was in real danger at that point. Benzino didn’t actually do him anything though, because at that moment, myself and Melwheezy approached him and queried where his family was from. “Belize” was his retort, a response that excited us both, including Popdawg, who was on the bleachers that was located just to the side of the court. At that time we were all just around eleven years old, hanging out as much as we could, learning our heritage from one another, me and Benzino turned out to be cousins, and all of us were related by some means or another to one or more of the leaders of the George Street Gang. That was the start of a beautiful motherfucking friendship though. We hung out almost every day since we were eleven and by the time were fourteen we began scheming, terrified by the thought of being in poverty all our lives. That crime was the mood changer though—that was our turning point. It wasn’t even that carefully thought out or planned, but God, Yahweh, Allah, Buddha does work in mysterious ways. Who would’ve expected that random Friday that we chose to go riding to the side of the nearest University would also be the day we were practically given almost one hundred thousand dollars by Harold Boyd, the weak ass rich nigga. Damn, that shit astounding. Melwheezy and Benzino didn’t really do much, but they were our blood brothers and had a stake in our empire as much as any of us---them niggas were up for the grind no matter what it was, so when the plan for the trap house was set into effect, they were the first ones who learned how to stretch the cocaine and water whip that shit. By the time we were fifteen years old, which was a little less than a year after our big come up, we were all millionaires still living on 37th ave, and we have never really moved from there----we simply branched out a bit. By the time we were millionaires, nothing had really changed, we were still on our old block, eating Chinese food as often as often as we could, making ramen noodle every so often, and passing the blunt. We all saw no need to live that life that high life that the media perpetuates, we did have Jeep Wranglers and a couple fancy clothing, but it all meant nothing to us, we were all simply happy that we escaped the poverty that at first attempted to embrace us.
Chapter 7
I believe the fact that we were from the Caribbean and most of all Belize was what truly affected our thought processes and made us as effective as we were in the drug came. I mean, we were all inherently violent, more so than normal Americans and normal drug dealers for that matter, we were willing to go that extra mile at all times, and often with little to no care of potential losses. The fact that demon blood was as evil as it was did magnify our inherent evil though; I must credit our intensified evil to this favoured city of ours. We had everyone in the Section 8 projects under our employment initially, who were for some reason primarily African Americans and immigrants from the Caribbean.
After reminiscing for some minutes on the porch I went back inside, and woke Benzino, showing him the box. “That’s our brother in there?” I nodded.
“Well this is what we’re going to bury in the honour of our brother”.
He took the box and placed in on the kitchen counter, by then all the bitches had already finished bathing and back in their typical half naked state. Ben hit the hall and proceeded to bend over one of the caress the pussy of apparently the nearest bitch he saw, my nigga had taste though so it wasn’t a dusty old bitch, none of them were actually. He felt her pussy for a couple minutes, her moans awakened my desires, as she looked at me she saw my cock throbbing in the sweatpants I had fell asleep in the previous nights, and she pointed on the ten bitches that were in my side of the room. Not too long after pointing at them, one of the bitches took it upon herself to caress my penile projection, at that point it had almost fully made its way out of my pants, as if belonged near her face, or better yet, within its sweet embrace. It seemed as if this bitch was reading my mind, my throbbing cock still being set in motion by the moans and groans of the bitch Benzino was fucking with, who was now swallowing his dick whole, while still making the same sounds---that bitch knew her shit though, turning me on from a room away. By then the bitch in front of me had the long, black beast that resided in my pants all up in the warm embrace of her mouth, lips tightened and eyes closed, she held my cock with one hand and stroked my balls with the other, “fuck your hitting the spot”, she opened her eyes for a second and whispered “I know I am baby” in a warm, seductive manner. Those five words made my cock begin throbbing on its own within the structures of her mouth and within a couple seconds, the natural milk of my body made its way into her mouth. That bitch was nasty as fuck though, she swallowed all that shit. After I was finished, I hit the showers and went on the porch to clear my mind and simply dwell in the beauty of the hood. ---I got to thinking about Ether and what my old best friend was up to, I hadn’t made any attempt whatsoever to see her thus far, so I planned to give her a link later that day--- right then and there my phone rang, I picked it up and guess the fuck who---“Hello, who’s this calling me this fucking early”, “what you mean who’s this calling fucking you, has Fresno made you into a grumpy as bitch nigga baby?”---guess who the fuck that was, my baby girl Ether, seems she was thinking about a nigga too. “I heard about the shit that happened last night and I figured my baby boy Swiss was back in the hood, so I had to call”.
“You figured I was around huh baby? I don’t see how, since coming here all I did was drink and smoke with Benzino”.
“Don’t give me that crap, I know my Swiss, you can’t deny shit to me”.
“You acting like a nark though honeypie, you know I been innocent of every shit niggas have assumed I’ve done, and I surely am innocent of whatever you’re thinking I’ve done since coming back home”.
“Alright baby boy, I hear you”. She knew I was guilty as fuck, but which real nigga ever admits to a crime---None, no real nigga ever snitches on himself, especially not over some shit like social media, and especially not over these tapped out motherfucking telephones.
“So…..”
“What’s on your mind baby girl?”
“So, I’m coming over tonight or what Swiss?”
“Answer that shit yourself Ether, you coming over or not? You know a nigga is always prepared for an encounter with his best friend”.
“I missed you thought”.
“I know you did and I surely missed that Ether you got”.
She laughed and quickly hung up the phone, I knew it was best not to call back as she might’ve been subjected to a couple hits if the Kingpin was around and he was probably the reason she hung up. I had planned to kill him regardless, but I saw no sense it having Ether getting hurt in the process, and I surely didn’t want to fuck her after she had been beaten, she would probably want some sort of emotional support and I was definitely not up for doing bitch nigga shit like providing emotional support being as trippy as I was at that point.
Me and Benzino went through a normal day on the block, but he simply showed me around for the most of it, the expansions and all the new niggas that came around. Nothing much really changed, except for a couple new traps and a couple new niggas on the block. They were for the most part cats from Jamaica though, my dad was half Jamaican so I loved to bang a bit with Jamaican squad niggas and hear them speak. I feel that it brought me a bit closer to my pops, even though while he was alive I hated him with all my might.
Chapter 8: The Story of Swiss’s Old Man
Big Curtiz was what they called him back home. The first fucked up thing my dad did was not giving me his name, simply to ensure he had no juniors representing him. He named me Curtis, but with an ‘s’ as the end instead of ‘z’. It seemed to be an attempt to make me feel less at every point in the early part of my life and even the latter part of my days on this earth that I was never good enough to receive his name. But it wasn’t as effective as he hoped, as he forgot one crucial fact, I had an older brother, and he too didn’t get to be a junior. And who in the fuck aspires to be a jun
ior anyway, I’d very much rather be able to be the first in a line of Curtis’s rather than the second in a line of Curtiz’s, even though there isn’t much different there. My pop was also a horrendous father figure; he drank excessively and surely suffered from alcoholism. Abusing me and brother to his heart’s content for the most of our early years. --- We got the belt, we got the stick, we got his feet, we got the whip. There was nothing that couldn’t be use as a means of punishment when it came to his beloved sons—I can recall a night after school, I came home and was resting my eyes from a long and tedious day fighting off seasoned bullies from my school and the ones that surrounded it, he was never able to assist me in any conflict at school as he was too weak to fight any battles other than ones that involved his family---this night was special though, as I attempted to sleep, he flung a frying pan towards my head and it struck me near my right eye, the entire right portion of my face was swollen and bruised for days. Nothing came of that situation though, my mother was too weak to do anything about it, and I was too afraid of being taken away by social services to inform the proper authorities. I had always thought that one’s family would be there for you no matter what---but have never been given evidence of this. Not only did he beat and practically tortured us excessively, he also was also incapable of maintaining a job and successfully supporting us financially. So we were in most cases, beaten and subjected to an immense level of poverty. I would assume you can have at least one good thing existing in your world. But we were subjected to pain basically each day of the week and also to a high level of poverty, we ate ramen noodles practically every night and fried or boiled egg each morning. If having a fucked up father and a feeble mother wasn’t bad enough, I also had a bitch ass brother who was nine years older than me and tried tirelessly to beat the shit out of me each day after school. When being a bigger brother he should’ve tried to show me love and support or some sort of positivity, given our shared environment and circumstance. Our father escalated by the time I was ten years old and he began beating my mother each night she would come home from her vending stall in Belize’s trading square near the battlefield park. After two months of seeing my feeble mother being beaten endlessly for no reason other than the fact that she was a hard- working woman attempting to provide for her family which included a punk ass father---I became increasingly upset, and I saw that my brother was upset as well, so a night after mother came home, I began helping her unpack so that we could get inside as soon as possible and avoid our father who now lived in a separated house in a yard right beside ours. To our expectation, he came at the heights of his intoxication and proceeded to hit my mother as he would normally do. This angered me for some reason more than ever this night, I had a pocket knife hidden in my boxers in hopes of him fucking up and attacking my mom on that night. I pulled it out, and my brother who was at that time just arriving home, watched as I stabbed him in the back of the neck—no one else saw, but he lifted my father and placed him into the yard, where I proceeded to pierce his throat over and over until he no longer gasped for oxygen. That was the last night I saw my father, and it was also the last night anyone else have seen him in this world. That was ultimately what led us to the United States, we got on a boat that normally brought people to the United States illegally as my mom had already have about twenty- thousand in savings from a couple months of work as a street vendor. We all left together, but my mother was only there for a couple months before leaving for United Kingdom, which were her birthplace and the country where majority of her side of the family resided. I was only ten years old when my mother left me and my brother to practically fend for ourselves. She did sent some money each month to help us get by and put towards getting an education. But that was about it, no more parental support or guidance. But were we losing anything really, was I ever even receiving any parental guidance? To answer that, no, I wasn’t, I had no strong male figures in my life and at that point the only real nigga I knew existed was me. My brother had nine years ahead of me, nine years more of the torture that I had been enduring for ten years, he had almost double the amount of torture I had been enduring, but yet, he was only strong enough to take his bereavements out on me--- his little brother. I had no respect for him, and could never see myself growing any for him in anyway whatsoever. To make matters worse, he brought a woman to live with him within the same year mother left, who was ultimately also living with me. That woman, or should I say, that scum was and is the most horrid female that has ever existed in this place called earth and I met a lot of bitches. I can’t even refer to her as a bitch as that description would be much too respectful for me to use so I’d rather call her scum. She disrespected our household with constant curse words, and she was also the foulest scum in this world. She was the type of woman who would go pad- less during her menstruation ad bleed her pussy out while sitting in a sweatpants on our couch. Yeah, that type of shit. She also showed no respect for me, the young nigga of the household, attempting to scream and shout at me every chance she got, she did the same to my brother---but that pussy ass nigga had always been a bitch in this world. I cursed his scum out to my heart’s content too, I was the type of nigga that held nothing back and I surely made her feel like the scum she was. By then my brother was too afraid of me to ever try to chastise me, and she too was afraid as she could see the flame in my eyes as I stared her fat pudgy face.
Chapter 9: Been Squadd
I had a squadd mentality, ever since I knew myself. Back home, in Belize I mean, I had a Squadd mentality too. To deal with the constant bullying, I created the AB squadd, which really meant the anti- bully squadd. We were all younger than nine years old at that point, but we were all hardened by our family and the hoods we came from. All our bullies were older than us, but for the most part they were squad- less and we had multiple numbers. So when someone would try to bully us, we would attack them in full force, once, my nigga Mikhza stuck an ice- pick in the leg of one of our bullies. That was the last time a bully at school fucked with the AB squadd though. Salute to my nigga Mikhza wherever he’s at. We just had to worry about bullies from other schools still though, but they were weak compared to those from our school. For the most part, they all were from rich- kid’s school as we called it, so they were all of a higher economic status than us, we came from St. John’s Anglican Primary, which was a school consisting of primary poor individuals from neighbouring hoods, all the schools that surrounded us contained children of students whose parents were able to afford more than twenty five dollars registration fee each school year, that’s about 12.50 in US dollars. Just to give you a glimpse of how poor we were. Not a single cat that was birth in a family richer than mine could effectively fuck with me, I just wouldn’t allow it. Yeah, they could take their fancy karate and judo classes, but when it came to street- fighting and stash weaponry (the act of concealing weapons and attacking unsuspecting enemies) I was a fucking golden belt. Bitch niggas knew better than to fuck up, I brought all that shit with me to the US, never knowing how useful all these skills would prove to be in my career.
