by J-Blunt
Tanya didn’t like being referred to as a ho, so she rolled her eyes and looked away. Ricco took it as her disrespecting him, got mad, and grabbed her by the face. “You hear me talkin’ to yo’ ass, bitch?”
Tanya snatched away from him. “Let me go, nigga! Don’t be puttin’ yo’ hands on me!”
Ricco got madder. “That’s how you talk to yo’ man? You big and bad now? You fuck wit’ them hos for one night and lose respect for yo’ nigga?”
“Fuck you, nigga! You ain’t finna be–”
Slap! Tanya fell to the couch, holding her face. Even though she was high, she knew the situation was serious. Ricco had hit her, something she never expected him to do.
Ricco’s eyes bulged in shock as he looked from his girlfriend to the palm of his hand. He had lost control and caused pain to the woman he loved. “I’m sorry, baby,” he apologized, reaching out to her.
“Get the fuck away from me!” she snapped, slapping his hand away.
Ricco wore the sorrow on his face and in his eye. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to hit you.”
Tanya stood to face him, tears flowing down her cheeks. “You been lyin’ to me and keepin’ secrets since we met. I accepted that shit and still loved yo’ ass. I had yo’ baby, and this how you do me? Put yo’ hands on me ‘cause I’m trynna save yo’ ass? You ran Laro over, and he ain’t dead. When he get out the hospital, they comin’ for us. I heard Goon Squad say it. I ain’t finna sit back and let them take my family. But you is. What kinda man is you?”
Ricco couldn’t handle the question or the look in her eyes. Like she had lost respect for him. The unbreakable bond had been severed.
“I danced for Goon Squad. I took some pills and got drunk. I shook my ass and gave them niggas lap dances. They gave me three thousand dollars. I did all that for us. ‘Cause I love you and don’t want nothin’ to happen to you. I didn’t fuck them niggas. I’m loyal to you. You can trust me, but it’s obvious you don’t because you still keepin’ secrets. I’ma do what I gotta do to take care of our family and get us out these projects. If you love us like you say you do, prove it.”
Chapter 6
“I can’t stop thinkin’ about Queenie,” Princess said.
“I know. I think about her, too. I miss my bitch,” Pop responded, tenderness in his voice.
“Somebody took her, and it don’t make sense. Why would they do that? For money? A ransom?”
“I been thinkin’ the same shit. We fucked up so many niggas that it’s hard to say who it coulda been.”
“It gotta be SOD or Grind Squad. Everybody else dead or we left ‘em in Texas.”
“SOD ain’t got no beef wit’ us. They moved on and didn’t look back. And Grind Squad just wanted us out the city. I talked to D.D.”
“But we killed his brother. If they was plugged as they said, then it could be them. Can’t anybody take her from a room being guarded. It was somebody wit’ connections.”
Pop nodded in agreement. “The more you talk, the more I agree. But we can’t go back to Atlanta and just start fuckin’ niggas up. The ATL is too hot for us. And too dangerous.”
Princess let out a long breath, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. “I know you right, but it just feels like I should be out there trying to find her. What if they torturing her? What if she need us to find her?”
Pop sat up in bed, pulling Princess close. “We gon’ get her back, baby. That’s my word. But we can’t do it right now. First we gotta get stronger. Get stable. Get a team. Then we gon’ move. But for now, hold onto yo’ emotions. And if the pain too much for you, give it to me and let me carry that burden. Cry if you need to. I got you.”
Princess lay her head against Pop’s chest and let the tears flow. She cried for the uncertainty of Queenie’s whereabouts. She cried for the pain her sister might’ve endured. And she cried because she might not see her again.
Seeing Princess in such a vulnerable state was having an effect on Pop Somethin’. Her pain was causing him pain. He wanted to protect her, shield her from hurt, harm, and danger. At that moment he would have given anything to see her smile again. And as he kissed the top of her head, he realized he had fallen for Princess. He didn’t know when or how, but the love he swore not to get involved in had crept in anyway.
“Damn,” Princess cursed when her phone began vibrating.
“Who is it?” Pop asked.
“Radical,” she answered after checking the screen.
Pop thought about J-West and Laro. “Answer it. See what he want.”
After taking a moment to compose herself and wipe away the tears, Princess answered. “You callin’ early.”
“It’s ten o’clock. Early bird get the first worm. When you trynna get a bag, you get to it. Niggas wit’ time ain’t got no money. Niggas wit’ money ain’t got no time.”
Princess laughed. “That was slick. So, what up wit’ you? You callin’ to gimme some money for my time?”
“Hold on, shawty. I ain’t no trick. If I bless you, it ain’t to pay for yo’ time. I’m just lookin’ out. I do shit for my people ‘cause I love showin’ love. I wanna fuck witchu. I told you that. What up?”
Princess looked at Pop and rolled her eyes. “I’m wit’ my man right now, and he the jealous type.”
“Fuck yo’ nigga and his feelin’s. I tell you what. Getcho girls and come kick it wit’ us later. We gon’ bless y’all. That way yo’ nigga won’t get mad if he know you gettin’ that paper. I’ma call you later. Be ready for me.”
After ending the call, Princess turned to Pop. “He wanna see us tonight.”
“Take care of that. See where he lay his head at and if he talked to Laro. I gotta make a few moves wit’ Red Dot.”
“You fuckin’ wit’ him? Is he wit’ us?”
“Yeah. Ricco still on his shit, so I’ma take Red Dot as far as I can. He know a few niggas we can put on. I’ma look into it. But I ain’t forgot about Ricco. That nigga is the key.”
***
“Tell me about these niggas? How good you know ‘em?”
“These my niggas. My day-ones,” Red Dot said from the passenger seat of the rented Chrysler 300. “Been knowin’ ‘em since Blue’s Clues. Dank is a li’l nigga, but he ‘bout that action. Goon, you gon’ like him. Quan is one of them light-skinned, pretty-boy niggas, but he loyal. And the nigga can flip a eight ball to a ounce in a hour. Paco my Mexican nigga that think he black. He just got out the bing, so he trynna do the right thing. Fuckin’ wit’ tattoos an’ shit. But his cousin, Ghost, got the plug.”
Pop Somethin’ nodded. “And you sayin’ these niggas valid?”
“One hunnit grand.”
Pop glanced at the young hustler, his stare serious. “You willin’ to put yo’ life on the line for these niggas? ‘Cause if any fuckery go down, it’s on you.”
Red Dot took a moment to think over his words. “Yeah. Uh. These my niggas.”
“What up wit’ the stutter? Anything you need to tell me? I don’t like surprises.”
“Nah. My niggas is valid, as far as I know. But I know you one of them serious-ass niggas, and I ain’t trynna die for no nigga.”
Pop had a laugh. “You good, Dot. As long as they good. These yo’ niggas, so you responsible for ‘em. That’s how I move. I need to know if you can handle this. You in or out?”
Red Dot took his time answering. “Yeah. I’m in. I’m ready to eat.”
“Good. We gon’ get to it. Now, tell me about Ricco. What that nigga runnin’ from?”
“He don’t want nobody to know about him. He don’t want me tellin’ his bidness.”
“I hear you, and I respect yo’ loyalty. But I need to know if what this nigga runnin’ from can come bite me in the ass. Tanya and my bitch runnin’ ‘round makin’ moves. I need to know if his issues can come back on me and mine.”
Red Dot let out a heavy breath. “Look, brah. All I’ma say is he used to be the plug in Miami. I seen the nigga ridin’ ‘round wit’ $100,000 cash money. All twe
nties. I thought that shit was a million dollars. He was up, brah. Then some grimy-ass niggas fucked him over. I don’t think he runnin’ from the niggas. I think he runnin’ from the game.”
Ten minutes later, Pop parked the Chrysler and checked his surroundings. One-story brick row houses lined both sides of the street. The screens on the windows looked like black metal grates, and the screen doors were made of heavy, black-painted stainless steel. The buildings looked designed to keep the occupants on the inside locked in and the people on the outside locked out.
“These the Merrywheather Projects, but we call it The Zone. Like the Twilight Zone. The shit that go on in these projects is damn near unbelievable. Don’t nobody give a fuck about us in here. Not the politicians, the police, or the churches. Shit, the only time twelve come to The Zone is to pick up dead bodies. We goin’ to the second building. Dank live here wit’ his baby mama.”
After a couple raps on the screen door, a deep voice called from inside, “What dat?”
“Red Dot. Open the door, nigga.”
Three locks clicked and the door swung open. Dank was a small man, a shade under five-foot-seven with a medium build, but his aura was powerful. When Pop looked in his eyes, he could instantly tell he was in the presence of a real nigga. He had dark skin, a short, nappy afro, a wide nose, big lips, and tattoos covering his neck, chest, and arms. “’Sup witchu, niggas?” he nodded.
Pop nodded in return as he and Red Dot walked into the apartment. Before closing the door, Dank stuck his head outside to make sure everything was how it was supposed to be. When he was satisfied, he closed and locked the door.
Inside the apartment, Paco and Quan were playing Call of Duty. Pop sized up everyone. He liked what he’d seen in Dank. The little nigga was a goon. Paco was average height, his brown skin covered with ink. Long French braids hung down his back, and a silver Rosary hung from his neck. Quan looked the part of a pretty boy, light-skinned, hair cut low with brushed waves, snug-fitting designer clothes, gold-rimmed glasses, and three gold chains around his neck.
“Aye, pause that weak-ass game. This who I was tellin’ y’all ‘bout,” Red Dot said, getting everyone’s attention. “We gotta holla.”
Quan sat the controller down reluctantly, eyeing Pop. “This betta be important, brah. If it ain’t, Red Dot, I’m whoopin’ yo’ ass. And you a big nigga, but my knuckle game nice,” he joked.
Pop Somethin’ mugged him hard, staring Quan in the eyes until he looked away. “I don’t play no games. Especially wit’ niggas I don’t know. If you wanna play, leave. Niggas get killed for playin’ too much.”
The house grew quiet as everyone digested his words, unsure how to respond. Pop’s size and tone had intimidated everyone. Except Dank. He began laughing.
“That’s what yo’ square-ass get, nigga! ‘Bout time we got anotha real nigga on deck.”
“Y’all see brah don’t play no games,” Red Dot spoke up. “Chill wit’ the jokes. This shit serious. I told him y’all was valid, and he wanna fuck wit’ us. Y’all in?”
“No disrespect, but who is he? How you know him?” Dank asked.
Red Dot was about to answer, but Pop waved him off. “I’m from Texas. Shit got live and I set that bitch on fire before I left. I landed here and made a few connections. I heard a nigga can check a bag here, and I wanna run it up. I don’t know the city like y’all, so I need a team. Red Dot movin’ wit’ me, and he said y’all his niggas. I’m offerin’ y’all spots. But just know I get down for mine, and I play for keeps.”
“How much paper we talkin’ ‘bout?” Paco asked. “If we ain’t playin’ wit’ birdies, I’m out. I ain’t riskin’ my freedom for a couple racks. I’d rather do tattoos and get pussy.”
“I wanna start small to see what y’all capable of. All y’all get a half bird. If shit go right, we jumpin’ in the big leagues.”
Hearing they would all be getting eighteen ounces of dope got Quan’s attention. “When do we get the work? How much you want back?”
“We ain’t gon’ worry ‘bout that right now. First things first. Paco, can you get two birdies from yo’ cousin? I heard you can get a plug. And is this enough for you to join the team?”
The French braid-wearing Latino smiled up at Pop Somethin’. “Hell yeah. Both ways. I’m in, and I can get us a plug.”
“Take care of that. Get at me when you get the numbers. Now we gotta talk shop,” Pop said, pausing to look at Dank. “We gotta getcho family outta The Zone. We finna take over, and this gon’ be ground zero.”
Dank nodded, a wide smile growing on his face and murder in his eyes. “Hell yeah! I neva like these niggas ‘round here anyway. Let’s bad these bitch-ass niggas.”
“Hold on. Wait,” Quan cut in. “I got a line, and my shit slappin’ like a pay phone. I don’t gotta bag nobody.”
“It don’t work like that,” Red Dot spoke up. “This where we settin’ up at. Fuck yo’ plans. We a team now. We eat together. If you want the product, you gotta put in the work. Or leave.”
“Damn, brah. It’s other ways to eat. We can’t go to war and get money.”
“Who said anything about a war?” Pop cut in. “We gon’ slaughter these niggas State Property-style. Get down or lay down. Then we movin’ in. If niggas ain’t sellin’ our shit, they ain’t sellin’ shit. Either you in or out. It’s that simple.”
All eyes flocked to Quan. He visibly cringed under their stares. “I’m in. You niggas ain’t finna eat without me. Plus, don’t none of you niggas know how to whip that work like me.
Pop looked to Red Dot to see what he thought. The gold-toothed hustler nodded in approval. Then Pop addressed his new team. “I hear it’s pretty much open season out here. Niggas hustle how they want. Ain’t nobody claimed this project yet. We gon’ do that. Red Dot told me ‘bout Link and his niggas. Since they the most known and recognized, we gon’ hit them first. Then Prada and his niggas. We ain’t givin’ ‘em no options. We pushin’ they shit back and kickin’ ‘em out. The rest of these petty hustlin’ over. Goon-style.”
Chapter 7
“You know my sister gon’ fuck you up if she find out we doin’ this,” Katrina said as she lay across the bed. “I don’t think you should record it.”
Link sat on the dresser holding his phone and puffing the blunt, anxiously waiting for the nineteen-year-old to begin the show. The young Puerto Rican bombshell had the hustler’s nose open. Reddish brown skin, big breasts, thick thighs, and a phat ass made Link betray his baby momma’s trust and start fucking her sister on the side.
“Kandy got betta shit to worry ‘bout than who I’m fuckin’. And she know not to touch my phone,” Link said, tapping the blunt’s ashes on the floor. “I gotta have both of y’all. You do shit for me that she can’t. And I do shit for you that no do shit otha nigga can. Yo’ Camaro got new rims. I’ma get that apartment soon as I make my next flip. Now quit talkin’ and let me see yo’ fuck faces.”
Katrina opened her legs wide, exposing her bald, pink pussy. “I swear to god, you bet not show nobody.”
“Quit playin’, girl. You know I ain’t finna show nobody this video. This for me when you not around. Show me that pussy mine. Cum for me.”
Katrina lifted her head, grabbing her breasts and sucking the nipples. With her other hand she fingered her clitoris, giving Link a seductive stare. The erotic scene had him so turned on that he reached for his tool and began jacking off. The secret lovers continued the self-pleasure until loud noises got their attention.
Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop!
Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom!
“Is they shootin’?” Katrina panicked, going for her clothes.
“Stay here! Don’t move!” Link said, grabbing his clothes and the .357 revolver.
***
Man-Man, Killa, and Seven stood in front of the row of houses in The Zone, passing a blunt around. The men were regulars in the projects and at one point had called the place home. Today they no longer lived in the projec
ts, but it was still their hood. It was where they hustled, played, and preyed. And tonight it was no different. Except they didn’t know they had become prey.
“I should send Kandy a video of they ass. Then she gon’ be done fuckin’ with dat nigga and I can slide in that juice box,” Man-Man 1aughed.
Killa shook his head. “That’s some sucka-ass shit, hatin’-ass nigga. Go find yo’ own bitch.”
“Have you niggas took a look at Kandy?” Man-Man asked rhetorically “She super bad! A twenty piece. I wanna add her to my list. And if I gotta hate, so what? At least I’ma fuck. Link got a bad bitch, and he fuckin’ her over.”
“Shut that weak-ass shit up!” Seven frowned. “How the fuck you knew that nigga this long and hatin’?”
“Power of the P-U-S-S-Y,” Killa said. “That shit be havin’ these weak-minded-ass niggas ready to fold. Type-a nigga thata snitch to get out of jail so he can get back to the pussy faster.”
Man-Man got mad. “Now you niggas goin’ too far! I ain’t no snitch, soft-ass nigga. I ain’t neva told on nobody. Fuck you talkin’ ‘bout?”
“Whatchu think you doin’ by sendin’ Kandy the video of Link and Katrina? You a snitch, nigga,” Killa said.
“You betta watchcho–”
Boom!
Killa and Seven watched in confusion and horror as a chunk of Man-Man’s head exploded, splashing them with brains, blood, and gray matter. When they realized he had been shot, it was too late for them to run or shoot back. All they could do is watch in frozen terror as four men charged them, firing semi automatic weapons. The bodies of The Zone’s regulars jerked and spasmed as they were filled with hot metal.
Inside the apartment, three men lounged around smoking weed, drinking and playing video games. When the shooting began, all of them froze, wondering if their niggas outside were doing the shooting or under attack. When the front door opened, they got their answer. A big man walked into the apartment holding a large pistol in each hand. Behind him was a shorter man with an assault rifle. Two more armed men follow in the rear. None of the intruders hesitated as they squeezed triggers on their weapons.
