Who Shot Ya Box Set

by Renta

  “Damn, homie, when you start fuckin’ with the boogeyman?”

  His eyes drooped as a wicked smile parted his lips. “Ah, bruh, its nothin’ serious. I just bumped a little bit to take the edge off, feel me?”

  “Naw, I don’t feel that dope-fiend shit, fam! We ‘posed to be getting to the money, not indulging ya nose, look at you. Twist—you can’t show up nowhere looking like Pookie off New Jack City! If the homies see you off yo’ note, the cubs gonna want yo’ seat, bruh, you’re ‘posed to be setting the—”

  “Nigga, fuck outta here. Them niggaz know not to move crooked round me, I’m certified! Fam, let me do me, I got this—damn,” Twisted cut me off.

  I stared at him—yea, lil’ bro’ was nefarious ‘round the city, but what he didn’t seem to understand was that these young boys were just as vicious and ambitious as he was. I’ve learned the hard way that you gotta let a man earn his own scars. Experience will be his best teacher.

  “Look, Twisted, I’m not in yo’ mix, my dude, but when the shit you do interferes with my mula. It becomes a problem, we both know how I deal with problems.” I stared him down.

  “You say all that ‘G’ shit to say what, family?” he seethed.

  His eyes were twitching and murder was snaking from his body language. We faced off like two cowboys, but what he seemed not to recall was that his heat was in the kitchen. I relaxed my stance. Even though I had the ups on fam, he’s my family. I didn’t need his blood on my hands.

  “At ease soldier—ain’t no smoke ova here, but—I’m sayin’ kinfolk—you so off ya stick that you at work on the day you mourn. How you gonna let the squad see you like—like this?” I used my hands to punctuate my point. Confusion was his best friend as he stared at me perplexed.

  “Fuck you talmbout, Berg, ain’t nobody gonna see me like this, I ain’t leaving the spot, we got work to do.”

  I smiled at him sadly. “So, you mean to tell me you forgot we layin’ Lil Joe to rest today? You gonna miss ya manz funeral?”

  ***

  ~Armani~

  “You did what? Uh-uh, bitch—you lyyyiin’! Please tell—” my sister, Kris overreacted.

  She was always extra, but, she was my best friend. There was no other person more down for me than her. We’ve been through it all.

  “Damn, bitch, lower your tone before they kick us out of here,” I whispered theatrically.

  I hated to be embarrassed! Marcella giggled as if the shit was funny, but the food here was oh-to-good to have these silly broads get us tossed out. I sat up in my seat, my eyes absently turned to slits as I used my fork to cut into my slice of Tiramisu. I closed my eyes completely as to savor the exotic taste, it was as good as an orgasm—infused with rum and layered with mascarpone cheese, topped off with grated chocolate, this delicacy was delicious.

  “Mani, damn bitch, that cake can’t be that good. I’ve been calling you for twenty years—damn.” Kris interrupted my vibe.

  “Naw—that ain’t the cake that has her out of space like that, it’s that dick-a-thought,” Marcella added her two cents.

  Kris looked at her with an arched eyebrow. Marcella released an exaggerated roll of the eyes. “Yes, bitch—the dick-a-thought—is when the dick is so good it becomes a thought! Every stroke—the girth—that—dick so good, that when he’s not around, you just daydream about it. Dick-a-thought.” She fanned herself like she’d just gamed us on some real top-notch shit.

  Kris had the nerve to high five her like she was gonna add the phrase to her repertoire of things to say. I laughed at their silly butts. Dick didn’t stay on my mind like that. Assata’s sex game was the bomb.com, yet that’s not what moved a real woman as myself.

  “Are you gonna give us the details or not?” Marcella demanded as she popped a black cherry in her mouth.

  Despite the things Tessa has said about Mar I embraced her. I even went as far as telling her and my sister about how Assata did the strangest things to my body. A woman should never tell her bedroom secrets, but my sister was my sister, and I wanted to mark my territory with Mar. Even though I gave her a chance, I hadn’t forgotten how devious she could be, nor have I discarded Tessa’s advice about her wanting Assata.

  “No, details, but—let’s just say that only a big girl can wrestle with that lion!”

  “Heeyy—Armani got her a ruff-neck,” Kristasia sang as she did a little jig in her seat.

  I rolled my eyes at her and focused my attention on Marcella. As she used her straw to stir the cream in her strawberry daiquiri, she smiled this ‘you go girl’ smile, but her eyes told a totally different story. To one that didn’t know any better, they’d overlook it, but to a bitch like me, I saw it—envy—jealousy. I notated it and store it in the back of my mind.

  “So, what you gonna do about, Jazzy?”

  I arched my eyebrows and tried to figure her angle. “I don’t get it, what does she have to do with me?”

  “Shit, girl, she loves that boy. I talk to her every day, and he’s all she talks about. She’s ‘pose to come back to town next month, that’s why I can’t believe, Assata did that—niggaz ain’t shit, I swear,” she hissed.

  “Soon as a girl goes to tend to her sick grandma, he’s stickin’ his little dick in the next bihh!”

  Shots fired! The look I gave my sister. We’re both hip to the fact that Jazzy left Assata for another man. We’re also hip to the fact that Jaz does not talk to Mar because Tessa finally let the cat out the bag about how Mar feels for him. Maybe Tessa was onto something when she tried to warn me about this girl. If only I’d known just how right she’d turn out to be, maybe I wouldn’t regret so much later down the road when her warning turned into reality. I would had been better off cutting the head off the snake than embracing it. Snakes can’t be tamed, it don’t matter if you’ve defanged them. It’s only natural for them to bite!

  ***

  ~Ice-Berg~

  The church was packed to capacity. It seemed as if the whole metroplex showed up to pay their respects to one of the city’s most ambitious sons. It’s crazy how people could turn even the most devastating events into a fashion show. Minks and Gators—designers such as Valentino, Officine Generale—Dior Homme, and many others could be seen on display. It was so many jewels that it looked as if someone looked at a picture of ancient Egypt and attempted to breathe revivalism into the atmosphere.

  I sat up front with Pearl as Reverend James sweated at the pulpit. He’d been up there lying out the front of his teeth about how good a man Lil’ Joe was, and how he was in a better place. I laughed, this nigga ain’t even know, fam! Lil’ Joe was a killa! No need to act like we ain’t all here to mourn a gangsta. This was why I hated funerals, too much fake shit. I glanced at the Audemar on my wrist, frustration was evident on my face. Fuck this boy at?

  Twist was ‘pose to be here thirty minutes ago. I knew it didn’t take this long to put that work up and lock the trap down. Pearl musta read my body language because she patted me on my knee in a soothing manner.

  “And God says, for the body shall perish, but the soul, the soul will—” James said before the doors of the church blew open with force.

  All eyes turned to see who, or what could be so bold as to disturb the eternal rest of lil’ homie. A few of the homies stood to investigate, but it was not warranted as a lone figure stepped in Crip walking his way down the aisle, stacking and chunking up the set as if Dub-C taught him that shit personally. Fam made a spectacle. He was dressed in a navy-blue Dickie’s unit, blue bandanna tied around his head, wrist, and neck, but—it was the portrait of him and Lil’ Joe one the back of his shirt that made his outfit worth more than every Mink and designer outfit in attendance.

  It was a picture of him and Lil’ Joe standing in the middle of Hic Street, clutching AR-15’s. Above the picture, it said, ‘Crip in Peace till I Get There’. No one moved to put an end to his antics. In fact, Pearl smiled so big I wondered if this shit was preordained. I turned my eyes back to my little cousin, ev
en I had to acknowledge the gangsta. Even though, his attire had to be the cheapest one in the building, financially—sentimentally it was worth a mill ticket. As he made it to the casket, he began taking the bandannas off one by one and laid them over its surface.

  “Now hold on one minute, young man, this-this isn’t’—” the preacher began before the reaper cut him off—

  “If you enjoy standing ova that casket rather than being in it, you need to find you a seat preacher. Right now, I’m grooving with my nigga. You don’t want to invite the devil in.” Twist said, as he walked up and snatched the microphone out of his hands.

  He gazed at the crowd, he sneered before he fucked the whole congregation up. “Fuck all y’all! My nigga ain’t know none of y’all! You niggaz ain’t stood in them trenches with us when we was pitchin’ fifty packs by the food sto’! You niggaz came here to stunt fa these nothin’ ass hoes but see—y’all ain’t gonna squat at my brothers last stop and come up on some of the same pussy he laid in before. He checked out. So, this what the bidness is, and it’s fair considering my first impulse.”

  He reached under his shirt, Twisted pulled out a grey and black .40 with a small drum attached to it. He sighed and deep intakes of breath could be heard as mu’fuckas anticipated his next move. Everybody knew the boy was nasty with his work, so his next words were heeded with haste.

  “All you mu’fuckas get the fuck out,” he roared, as spit flew from his mouth.

  A stampede ensued as people jumped over each other in order to make it out with their lives. Minutes later, the church was as empty as a deserted island, except for a few gangstas, Pearl, her daughters, the preacher and yours truly. He turned his eyes to Reverend James and grit his teeth, as he pointed the tool at him.

  “Fuck I just say, dude? Get ya fake ass out, nigga! God ain’t give a fuck ‘bout him while he was living, so we ain’t trying to hear him now. This a gangsta’s party, only gangsta’s invited!”

  Pearl fanned herself. “Hallelujah,” she stated, raising her other hand to give praise.

  Chapter Seventeen

  It’s Really Me Fam

  ~Pain~

  Days Later

  Heading out of the house, I ran straight into Tessa. Little lady was lookin’ real bossy in a Marchesa short set, with a pair of stiletto Jordan’s on. Her hair was pulled back tight into a bun, and her sex appeal screamed for a boss to take her somewhere and fuck her till she was sleeping with her thumb in her mouth.

  “Whoa, lil’ mama.” I grabbed her by her arms to prevent her from fallin’ on her ass.

  Once she was steady, I leaned down and smooched her on those succulent ass lips. “What’s good, mama?”

  Her pretty ass looked at me with a blush and laughed like a school girl. “Where you going so fast—huh, Papi?”

  “I’m ‘bout to mash to the spot to see how that bag lookin’. I’ma bark at you after I’m through getting my hands dirty,” I revealed.

  The look crossed her face, but as quickly as it came, it went. She smothered it with a fake smile, but I ain’t for the fakin’, so I checked it asap.

  “What’s the bidness with that face you made?” I questioned.

  She tried to downplay it. “Boy stop, just make some time for me when you get loose,” Tessa flirted.

  I looked at lil’ one with one of them, ‘yea right’, looks and smashed all that weak shit she spat. A female was only as gamed up as the nigga that’s molding her, and I’m a true sculptor so I saw the cracks in the shallow façade she was putting on.

  “Sup, mayne, you fuckin’ wit’ me or what? I ain’t gonna be there long anyway. You may as well slide with me,” I said, as I hit the automatic start on the blood red Jag XF Sport-brake I’d just copped.

  “What, nigga, don’t play. I know you ain’t going to nobody’s trap dressed like that,” she retorted, indicating the Prada unit I adorned.

  Bingo! That’s what crawled up shawty’s ass, she thinks I’m ‘bout to cut the next bitch.

  I laughed lightly. “Ooh, I get it. That’s why you blowing all that smoke out ya nose. You think I’m checking for the next hoe?” I stared at her with a crooked smile. “You caught feelings for a nigga, ma—you jealous?”

  “Bruh, you got the wrong one talking about catching feelings, and shit! Jealous, boy look at me!” Tessa spun around, that little petite ass jiggled as she did a 360 on me.

  “I’m a bad bitch, and you know it! Miss me with all the extras.”

  I stepped into lil’ one’s space, “Tess, you ain’t gotta front wit’ ya boy. I know you on my game like that, that’s gravy cause I’m fuckin’ wit’ your flavor as well,” I said, kissing her forehead, followed by a trail of wet kisses down her neck.

  “Umm, Pain, you, betta—bet—quit boy, you know that’s my spot,” she moaned, then untangled herself from my embrace.

  I learned at an early age that it’s two things that will humble a tough hoe. One, showing her, you don’t need her, and two, preyin’ on her weaknesses. Shawty finally decided to discard the games.

  “Pain, what is this? I’m fa real, can we even put a title on us? I mean, I’m fuckin’ with you cause you make me feel like no other nigga has—my body—my mind—they crave you, but you insist that I keep fuckin’ with Twisted so you can get ya ups on him and his crew. What happens when he senses that shit? When can it just be us? Are we just friends with benefits—lovers—what?” Tessa showed me her vulnerability.

  Our eyes searched each other, as I allowed my mind to wrap around the possibilities. I’m feeling lil’ mama in a major way, but—can I trust her?

  “Look, this how I see shit if you’re ready to take it there, that exclusive shit? I’m with it, but I demand loyalty, ma. No in between, I’ll kill you for treason!” I gave it to her as solid, as it was once given to me. “There’s a lot that comes with fuckin’ with a nigga like me, ma. So, before you jump into the water with a shark, you need to be sure that’s what you want.” I gave her the ball to bounce in her court.

  I know Tessa has been giving her pussy to numerous niggaz. She’s set niggaz up for her duole and even shared herself with other bitches. Yet—her heart ain’t ever been held by a real nigga that sees her beyond jumping up and down in her pussy. I can tell from the way she walks—talks.

  “Pain, I’m tired of playing games. Yea, I’m feeling you. Yea, I wanna be yo’ girl, but what price do I gotta pay in order to hold that title? I’m not scared of being hurt, but that doesn’t mean that I’m in a rush to experience that typa emotion,” She said, with something deep in her eyes.

  “Look, ma—in every relationship, pain lurk within the shadows. If you can’t accept what comes with love, what’s the use of trying to possess it? Love and pain mix in the same pyrex, you can’t have one without the other. If you’ve never grown from the pain of the one that you love. How can you profess this sacred emotion, and know fa sure it’s sincere?”

  Tessa sighed, “So, what your saying is I should take the risk of investing my heart in you, knowing that you may hurt me in the future?”

  “Naw, ma—what I’m sayin’ is if you accept a person with their flaws and can still find it within your heart to love them. Then you take the risk of being hurt anyway. All in all, I’m asking you to take this chance with a real nigga, knowing that I’d neva intentionally hurt you.”

  Tessa stared at me—her eyes search for an indication of game. Seeing none, she did the only thang left to do, snatch the keys out my hands. “I’m driving this pretty bitch. You just sit back like a boss and show me where to go.”

  ***

  ~Assata~

  The needle glided over my skin as my ese potna, Hector inked my neck. He was freakin’ a big ass lion head, and I was trying to be ‘G’d up under the pressure of the gun, but whoever said tattoos didn’t hurt was a lying son-of-a-bitch! Focusing my attention on the sound of the money machine clicking, and the activities around me—I tried to blink it out.

  “I’m almost done vato—just be a ‘G’
till I’m through.” He smiled down at me.

  Something soft entered the room and her aroma was sweet—cherry blossom—sexy! “Ahh,” I growled as the gun cut off.

  “All done ese, tell me whatchu tink?” Hector said.

  Holding up the hand-held mirror, I stared wide-eyed at his work. Homie gifted. “That shit nice, daddy—fa real!” Marcella said next to me—too close for my comfort.

  I got up from the couch, I dug in the pockets of my Louis V’s and pulled out a knot. I peeled four bills from the stack and attempted to hand them to bruh, but he pushed my hand away.

  “Nada, amigo, tu know we too good for compensation. Don’t insult me, ese,” he frowned.

  I laughed and dapped him up. He was right, me and homie been rocking since middle school. When shit between the browns and blacks wasn’t so accepted. Yet, me and ole Hector put that shit to the side cause we recognized potential. Now fifteen years later—we still counting commas together. My phone jumped on my hip, taking it off and looking at it, the number was unfamiliar. I didn’t know what made me look up, but I came into eye contact with Mar. For some reason, the bitch just made me feel? I didn’t know really, but I did know that in an attempt at breaking eye contact, I answered my phone.

  “Yea—Yea?”

  The voice on the other end was silent, yet I could hear the breathing.

  “Man, fuck who playin’ on—”

  “This Assata?” The familiar voice froze my blood. I’d recognize it anywhere!

  He laughed. “I see yo’ paranoid ass is still observant. I take it you already know who this is, so we can skip the formalities. Dig, I need to vibe with you, homie—it’s important.”

  I’m really speechless. The whole world been lookin’ for this nigga, and here he was on my shit.