by Renta
Why she had to come back? Okay—I’m trippin’, I know she had to come back to show love to, fam. But, why she had to come back so grown—so womanly? See a nigga will fuck a hoe all day long, but when that one bitch comes around, that one bitch, a nigga knows is built to last. That one, that stands on loyalty and morale, a nigga will change the game for her. That shit is rare and Jazzy stirred something in me that no other bitch had before.
Noticing, my mental wasn’t with her, Six did what most women do when they felt neglected.
“Assata,” she whined. “What’s it gonna take for you to leave this street shit behind? It’s not like you hurting for loot or nothing, even if you was you know I got you.”
I allowed the potent weed smoke to escape my lungs before, I answered. “Look, ma, we’ve been down this road befo’. You, know, how I rock out here. The grit is where you met me, but now that the dick hitting the right spots yo’ emotions tryna guide you, and you wanna house a nigga.” The frown on lil’ one’s face, let me know she wasn’t diggin’ my gangsterism’s, but she had to respect what was real.
“Say I ‘G’ for you, Six. You’re everything a street nigga dreams of in regard of a good bitch. I also need you to understand this shit ain’t no fantasy. This life I’m living ain’t one I chose, it chose me and at any moment, I could catch a slug to my face.”
Six never took her eyes from her task. The warm towel felt good against my skin, as she lifted my nuts and cleaned me completely. The tension in her body told me, she didn't like where my spiel was headed. As I reached down and grabbed the half-smoked blunt on the dresser. I could see the rain forming in the wells of her eyes. She stood in front of me holding the wet towel in the palm of her hand. Without hesitation, she grabbed the blunt from my hand and rolled her eyes in frustration, but I shook that shit off and further explained my mindset.
“At any moment, Allah becomes tired of my hustle. I can end up in front of a judge facing five to ninety-nine. With them type of numbers, how much love will you hold for me then, ma?” Snatching the blunt out of her hand, I took a deep pull from the gut, before blowing the smoke in her direction. “None, you know why? Cause nobody gives a fuck ‘bout a nigga when his time is up. When a nigga time expires so does the love. So, tell me Six, why you keep comin’ at me with this leave the streets shit? You gone take care of me, while I’m caged up doing thirty to forty-five years and the loot gone?”
“Yes, I will,” she proclaimed.
“Fuck outta here, lady. Let me ask you this and I want a true answer. What would make you betray me, love?”
Six flung the towel at my chest and tears ran down her face. “You know what, Assata, fuck you. All I ever tried to do was show and prove to you, that I’m nothin’ like these other hoes out here. You already know dick nor money moves me. I’m a woman, that works for my own shit. I know how to play with my pussy better than any nigga can fuck me. All you know about me is what I reveal. You have no fuckin’ idea, Assata. Honestly, I’m not ‘bout to sit here, and try to convince you of my loyalty.”
Rage shone in the liquid fire racing down her face, as she tried to get her point across. “And, boo, just for the record the life you’re living is the life you’re choosing to live. You may not have chosen it, but you’ve become just like every other nigga, that lives in it, institutionalized in the stigma of the hustle. The only reason you may catch a bullet to the face, or for God to become tired of your hustle is because you caught the disease every nigga before you and with you has contracted. You don’t know when enough is enough.”
I stared at her through glassy eyes. The look painting my face spoke volumes. Six rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I am a stripper, Assata. Yeah, I display my body for niggas, that only recognize me by my ass and titties, but when it’s time to quit. I bet you I won’t have to be told twice.”
I sat up. “When is enough gonna be enough, Six?” I stood to retrieve my belongings. I looked down at the beautiful woman that had tears drying on her pretty face. “I know that you attend the University and shit, but you're stripping because you want to, ma. You could have any job—there’s plenty of jobs that don't require you degrading yourself, for niggas that put a price tag on you.
“You know a nigga will help you if you need it, but Beyoncé got you on this other shit. Dig this, Six, Beyoncé has a nigga that she’d never cross. Beyoncé has been rich half her life. She’s never had to experience the typa shit we have. So, who are we to blessings? I’m just saying, love, when it comes to decisions we all have a few to make.” I put my clothes on and smashed out.
After leaving Six’s spot, I had some heavy shit on my mind. Yeah, I was driving a G-5 and had a pearl white MBZ CL-550 parked in the driveway of a two hunnid thousand-dollar home. Yeah, I rested my head on fluffy pillows and lavished myself with satin sheets, but a nigga got lonely at night. Every boss nigga knows you can’t bring any typa bitch into your lion’s den. That’s the main reason, one side of my king size Egyptian sculpted bed stayed cold at night.
It was mad dangerous inviting strangers into your home. A nigga never knows the caliber of the bitch he loving on until he wakes up to find a masked gunman with a semi-automatic weapon aimed at his face. So, I protected my sanctuary with keen judgment and a reclusive perspective. I knew I couldn't live like that forever, but I was addicted to the kitchen. I couldn't explain the rush, I felt when I ran up on a nigga with that banana shoota. It was just the life for me.
All my niggas lived on the edge. The street shit was our religion, and we were thick as thieves. It started out with four of us, but now that my ace, Shy had returned to the soil, that left me, Gusto, and Strange. Three the hard way. Gusto was a straight killa. He actually enjoyed bustin’ a nigga’s shit. He was a pretty boy, nigga with a crazy ass murder game. With the ladies, he was even deadlier.
I mean that literally because my nigga was cursed with what we called them alphabets—H.I.V. Yet, he wasn't out there passing it around like it’s cool. He was just doing him living every night like he might not see the morning.
As for Strange, he was a live wire from Fort Worth, Texas. But, he was real quiet-like, almost a mute. He was real observant and believed strongly in family values.
Strange was a tall, black ass nigga, with one green eye and the other dark brown, hence the name Strange. But those was my niggas. I trusted them and no one else.
Six had my head twisted. She wanted more than I could give. Plus, I was thinking about other shit. I couldn't believe that pussy ass nigga, Nutz was violating the game like that. That nigga had to be foolish to think he could slide through my side of town and not face the music.
We had been long-time enemies since we were lil’ niggas. I was reppin' the Kreek, Piru territory, B.I.P Bleed in Peace, O.G. Rusta. This nigga Nutz was bred of Hic Street and everybody knew those whack ass niggas repped five-deuce Hoova.
Him being spotted on my side of town created a conflict of interest. Even without the ongoing beef of our hoods, our most intimate grievance against each other, derived from the most common element that set flame to beef—a bitch! The very object of my fantasies to be exact.
Jazzy and Shy had to move out of the hood with their pops somewhere on the other side of town. They had switched schools and errythang. They ended up going to Denton High, that’s where the majority of them fuck niggas of Hic Street went. Shy ended up coming back to the block with his T-Jones ‘cause he was putting on for the hood and his pops wasn’t feeling him getting his ‘G’ on.
His old man was a devout Muslim so that shit didn’t blow over too well, but Jazzy found a home there. It just so happened, that the sucka Nutz went to D.H.S as well. Even though he was three years older than her, he and Jazzy started fuckin’ around. If it wasn’t bad enough for her to be fuckin’ around with a nigga from the other side. I flipped out when she started bringin’ the sucka to the block.
In the end, he had to take that bullshit ‘98 Seville to the shop, ‘cause, I hit that bitch with eight fireballs. This
only made shit between us worse. I’m from the dirt with this gangsta shit, so I fed the flame. I’ve always G’d for lil’ one. Jazzy has always been the type of female a real nigga dreamed about. She just needed a real nigga to love her. His mother was a fiend, and her pops was a good dude who just made mistakes. She coulda been like the rest of these bum bitches and used her pussy to catch a boss, but baby girl desired more outta life. She’s one of the few females from the ruts that finished high school. If that wasn’t enough she ain’t got fifteen, or twenty niggas, that can testify how good or bad her pussy is.
She attended college in Cali and has always walked the loyal line. She didn’t know, I sent a bankroll every month through her brother just to make sure she was good. She deserved it. Yet, even with all that said I’d never fuck with her heart. I know, I won’t do shit but destroy it. I’m not ready for that lovey-dovey shit. So, I let her do her. She deserved her happiness.
My nigga Shy used to tell me, “Bro, I see the way you be lookin’ at my lil’ sis. Bro, you, my Ru and she’s been loving you since the sandbox. Do y’all—just don’t hurt my blood, fam.” He made me promise not to pursue her until I was ready to settle down. Needless to say, I locked it in and till this day my word is still solid.
Make a long story short, before she left for Cali she broke it off with Nutz pussy ass, but somehow word got back to him, that she did so for me. That shit was a fabrication, but truth ain’t a factor amongst enemies. It was simply another reason to aim at each other’s head. Now, the hood was in an uproar and had been since Shy’s death. Hollow tips had been flying and blood had been spilled.
We lost some dear niggas and they lost even more. Shit ain’t safe it’s going down any and everywhere. So, now I’m checking the magazine on my Mac 11, preparing to get my hands dirty. Playboy shoulda ran the light, kuz it’s what just caused him his life. Word ‘round town was that Ice-Berg had a hand in Shy’s bloodshed. Blessed be his soul.
“I told you, Shy. I’m gonna murder all them, bitch niggas! Red Rum Ru.” With that pledge, I speeded the G-5 in front of the nigga’s Audi, throwin’ the whip in park.
I hopped out, it was about to be fourth of July, in the middle of March death on this pussy ass nigga. I didn’t notice the bitch in the passenger seat until the hollows began singing that tune. Fuck it, she gotta get it too!
***
~Nutz~
I was sitting at the light feelin’ like a boss should. Rolling in my baby the Audi R8 Coupe. It ran a nigga ‘bout one-hundred thirty-four stacks and some change. That’s not including the loot, I laid out on the deuce-fours, the five flat screens, and the eighteens beating so hard in the trunk it felt like, I was going to crack the asphalt. To compliment my status, I had one of the baddest bitches sitting sideways on the passenger seat. This bitch was bad. She stood ‘bout 5’5, with short curly hair, that wouldn’t fit any other female except her, and a body outta this world. Her slanted grey eyes was covered by an exclusive pair of bubble eyed Gucci shades.
Her head was bobbin’ to the sounds of Tink’s new hit, ‘Bonnie and Clyde’ stuntin’ with the boss. Baby girl's name was, Jazzy. She was from the Kreek, but I met her back in my lil’ nigga days. She had a nigga gone from first impression. I once thought we had something real, but there was a conflict of interest that couldn’t be ignored.
A conflict of interest by the name of, Assata. That pussy boy acted like him and his team’s guns was the only ones that clapped. I had seen Assata slump a nigga in broad daylight, but that didn’t faze me. We went from squabblin’ as lil’ niggas to bustin’ at each other as teens. All in all, there was no way we could coexist. Someone had to return to the earth and since my two seeds needed me to show them how to be men, dude had to be the one to die.
‘Yeah, I'ma slump his ass,’ I decided.
Finally, the light turned green. “Man, what the fuck?” I screamed as I pulled off.
A black on black G-5 Benz truck on some gold big heads cut me off. Caught off guard my mind didn’t register what was going on until two clues snapped me back to reality quick.
The only thing going through my mind was, “Damn—who gonna take care of my sons?”
In sequence Jazzy uttered. “Oh shit, Nutz, that’s Assata’s truck,” she panicked.
Then out stepped the devil himself. He swiftly slid out the driver’s seat, and even though the Dallas Mavericks fitted sat dangerously sideways on his head, it never came off. What finally brought self-preservation into play was when I notice the big Mac11 he was aiming my way. The clip was so long it made the whole gun look fake. I threw the R8 into reverse and tried to get the fuck outta there, but I guess Assata had other plans.
Hollow points came spitting at me in a hail of fire. The windshield shattered and glass showered me and lil’ mama. I ducked down attempting my escape. I jacked the wheel hard to the right in order to turn this bitch around and that’s when shit went bad for a nigga. Assata ran towards us letting his murder game speak for him. The fucked-up part is that I couldn’t get to my tool. Unfortunately, turning the wheel like I’d just done, fucked me rather than helped.
My side of the whip was exposed to the slaughter. That was a big mistake, because first, my shoulder exploded, then my left arm. I could hear Jazzy screaming hysterically.
“Drive, Nutz, get us the fuck outta here.” This bitch couldn’t have noticed I was hit.
Finally, getting the whip back in drive. I crashed my foot on the pedal and worked the wheel. With an open shoulder and leaking arm, I got us the fuck outta the storm. Before I could give thanks to the Heavens, I took one more hit to the thigh. Thank God for small blessings, because it coulda been my head. Four minutes later, we were speeding down Moore Street. I don’t know which situation caused it, but two things transpired seconds after I thought we was clear.
I looked in the rear-view mirror and low and behold, the Devil had caught up to us again. The G-5 was fast approaching and all of a sudden my whole right side locked up on me. Dizziness hit me hard, and as I started losing control, the wheel followed suit. My whole side felt like it was on fire and to make shit worse this hoe wouldn’t stop screaming in my mu’fuckin’ ear.
All I remember is the impact that the collision with the fire hydrant had. I remember feeling blood pour from the gash on my forehead then staring down the barrel of death.
Click—click—click!
The bitch ass nigga ran out of bullets. A small smile crept on my lips as the sound of Denton's finest tainted the air. No doubt they were on the way to me—then blackness!
***
~Detective Hunter~
That motherfucker made a fool of the entire Bureau of Investigations, the DEA, and the ATF. The last I heard the prick of a district attorney, that blew the case is now flipping burgers at the local burger joint. The son-of-a-bitch made history with the stunt he pulled. The County of Denton was still facing heat and the Bureau was still under scrutiny. It’s all a fucking faux pas. It makes our great state look like a paradise for crooks to migrate. It makes us look incompetent. I am in an alliance with the Federal Bureau and the higher-ups are having a shit fest behind this fucker’s disrespect.
So, I am after him diligently. At this moment, I found myself at, yet another violent crime scene. So, far there had been forty-eight shell casings retrieved within a two-block radius. Not including the three that was lucky enough to leave marks. Shame that the shooter didn’t have much of an aim, because if he’d been a little more in control. He would’ve done us a big favor by ridding the city of the scum, that was carried away on the stretcher.
“Hey, there Hunter, how’s it going, buddy?” A local cop by the name of Adams acknowledged as he walked up beside me.
I continued to stare at the bullet-riddled Audi. “Beautiful car—” I grunted.
This got a snicker or two from the blue. He obviously caught the pun, intended. Seeing as I didn’t join in on the laughter Adams composed himself and cleared his throat.
“So, what brin
gs the detective with the brass balls to a crime scene, that won’t even make the front page? Last I heard you had your own practice, and you were running interface with the Bureau, along with some hot shots that work with you. Word around the station was that you and your colleague are the modern-day Alex Cross and Sampson, from those James Patterson novels.”
“Media gossips, Adams. I heard the gossip as well, I just take it in stride. The partner in question isn’t a partner at all. Her name is Detective Winslet and she’s a Fort Worth homicide detective who helps me from time to time.” My gaze returned to the punctures in the side of the Audi. There was one thing that became clear to me the perp elucidated his actions. He didn’t intend for, Mr. Swanson to walk away from his car. I watched as the crime scene tech approached me.
“Detective, I got something I think you might need to see.” As I turned to walk away, “Hunter!” Someone called my name.
I turned my head to Detective Winslet. “Detective Hunter.” She strolled over to us with a sense of pride in her stride.
We acknowledged each other with handshakes, then her eyes went to Adams. He extended his hand in a friendly gesture.
“Adams, D.P.D.”
Never the rude the epitome of savoir-faire, Winslet gripped his hand in a feminine, yet firm shake. “Winslet, D.P.D as well.”
A moment of maladroit silence passed before Winslet spoke. “I’ve been a detective for this precinct for four years now. I know damn near every officer on our force, including the chief, Lonny Flemington. I don’t believe our paths ever crossed.”
Adams smiled a handsome smile. “It’s probably because I recently returned from a five-year tour. Since you’ve only been here for four years, it’s no wonder we’re not familiar with one another. Yet, before I was called to duty, I walked the beat for six years at this very precinct.”
