“I can’t fuckin’ believe you gettin’ me caught up in some shit,” John said.
“Hold up, hold up,” Imani said. The sound of the front door joints squeaking sent fear riveting through their very beings.
“Hold up?” John asked. “What the fuck you gon’ do?”
Imani headed toward the door. “Just hold up,” she said. “I might be able to get him to leave.”
John watched as Imani stepped out into the hallway. As soon as she stepped toward the living room light, he heard Race explode. “What the fuck?” he asked, yelling. “Imani, who the fuck you got here?”
“Nobody, Race,” Imani lied. “What you talkin’ about?”
“What the fuck you mean what the fuck I’m talkin’ about?” Race asked. “I know you not about to stand there, right in front of a nigga, and tell me some shit about you ain’t got no other nigga up in here. Then who the fuck them pants belong to?”
“No, Race,” Imani said. “You ain’t gotta do this shit, Race! You ain’t gotta do this!”
“Who the fuck been in your pussy?” Race asked. “Huh, Imani? Who the fuck you got over here gettin’ up in pussy that’s supposed to belong to a nigga?”
“Race, no!” Imani yelled.
John listened as the thump of Race’s footsteps came closer. Only seconds passed before Race stood in the bedroom doorway. He stepped into the room and turned the lights on. Immediately, as to be expected, his eyes jerked over to the half-naked dude standing in Imani’s bedroom. “Who the fuck is…” Race’s words trailed off as he realized the face of the dude in Imani’s bedroom was a face he knew too well. “Naw,” he said. “Naw. I know you ain’t up in here nigga, gettin’ up in this pussy like that.”
John shrugged, letting Race know that he was ready to throw fists at any moment if he needed to. To say the least, he wasn’t exactly comfortable standing in front of another man with his manhood out and hanging between his legs. At this point, though, there was nothing else he could do.
“Now you not gon’ fuckin’ talk then, huh, nigga?” Race asked, his fists balled. Imani came running up and grabbing Race by the shoulders. Race pushed her way, causing her to fall into a wall in the hallway. “Nigga, you really fucked up now. You know that right?”
“Nigga, fuck you!” John said. “Nigga, if you was pleasin’ you chick like a nigga is supposed to then she wouldn’t have had to call a nigga over to come over and really dick her down right. Ain’t my fault.”
These words were enough to send Race over the edge. Within a split second, the entire situation had changed. Race had jumped across the room and was now in a full-on fist fight with John. John, even though he was half naked, held his weight. He’d gotten quite a few licks in, but Race was strong. Just as John had managed to push Race back and start swinging, Race reached underneath the dresser and pulled out a gun. He pointed it at John and John held his hands up and backed up.
“Okay, okay,” John said, standing still. He looked at the gun, hating that he’d decided to not carry his heat with him when he’d gotten ready to come over Imani’s place. “Okay, nigga.”
“Don’t okay nigga me now, nigga,” Race said. “Get out in the living room, lover boy.”
John did as he was told. Avoiding eye contact with Race, trying not to look at the gun, he walked out to the living room. Out in the hallway, Imani pleaded with Race to not kill John. “Shut the fuck up!” Race snapped, pushing Imani into the wall once again. “Shut the fuck up. You ain’t got shit to say, no way. You already done had the nigga’s dick. Hope he had a good fuckin’ time.”
With fear and uncertainly clouding his mind, John walked out into the living room at gunpoint.
“Nigga, you lucky I don’t kill you right here, right fuckin’ now,” Race said. “Nigga, swear to God! You lucky that I don’t fuckin’ kill you right fuckin’ now. And you know just how I feel ‘bout your ass, nigga. You and me ain’t never really been cool and I come home earlier and shit, thinkin’ that I’mma surprise my chick, and I find you up in here gettin’ it in. Was that pussy good?”
John thought that Race’s question was rhetorical, so he didn’t answer. However, he soon found, that it wasn’t and that Race wanted a real answer. The feeling of the butt of Race’s gun smashing against the back of John’s head was enough to make him fall to the floor. He winced as he grabbed the back of his head. The pain was just too much. If Race hadn’t been the only one of them standing there with a gun, John was more than sure that the situation would be different. The pain he felt right then, as well as the humiliation, was enough to cause him to catch a murder charge. The thought of Imani leading him into this situation didn’t exactly help either.
“Huh, nigga?” Race asked.
“Nigga, you crazy,” John said, struggling to get off of the floor. “You fuckin’ crazy, nigga. And you ain’t shit! Fuckin’ kill me then, nigga. I don’t fuckin’ care.”
Race laughed, loving the sight of a humbled dude who had clearly asked for it. “Naw,” he said, smiling. “I ain’t gon’ kill you. Naw. A nigga just got done beatin’ this one charge. I don’t need to be downtown again, givin’ them racist white people just another reason to lock another nigga up. But, trust me, John, nigga, you gon’ pay for this shit. You gon’ fuckin’ pay. You knew what the fuck you was doin’ when you walked through that door and came up in here to fuck what was mine. You knew just what the fuck you was doin’.” He looked back at Imani. “And you a hoe for this shit. After everything a nigga did for you and shit.”
John looked at Race’s big build, wishing he could lunge forward and take him down. The thought of the bullet striking him was enough to make him stay in his place. With a hard, prison-like look in his face, Race looked back at John and laughed. He looked down at his soft manhood, which dangled between his legs. “Well, at least you gave this hoe here a nice time and shit, nigga,” he said. “Get the fuck outta here before I fuckin’ kill you, nigga, cause then I’mma be the one that’s wrong.”
John looked at Race, not sure if he was serious or not. He stepped over toward his pants, freezing when Race said, “Naw, nigga. I ain’t tell you that you could put your pants on and shit. You was standin’ in there…back in that bedroom…without your pants and shit. Why the fuck you feel like you gotta put your pants on and shit?”
“How the fuck I’m supposed to leave without my pants?” John asked. The throbbing in his head had gotten to be so much that he wanted to just lay down and wait for it to pass. This was absolutely horrifying, and he was oh so sure that he’d make Race pay for this in some way, at some time.
“Nigga, I told you to get the fuck outta here!” Race said. With his gun pointed, Race rushed across the room. He pressed the barrel into John’s head so hard that John lost his balance and fell back onto the couch like a scared, little boy. “Get the fuck outta here, nigga, before I kill you. Don’t think that I won’t. Ain’t like no niggas out here is really gonna miss you or nothin’. You ain’t shit no way and everybody know that shit. Get the fuck up outta here and be happy that I ain’t killin’ you. Leave the pants and shit and just get the fuck outta here!”
Fear shook John’s soul as he rushed over toward the door and did something he never thought he’d do. Without his pants, shoes, or cell phone, he stepped out into the cold hallway. He looked inside, almost as if in disbelief that this was happening to him—with a face that let Race know he thought this was all going to be a joke.
“Well, nigga, what the fuck you lookin’ at?” Race asked, waving his gun. He came over to the door. “Go on back where the fuck you came from nigga. And, if you don’t remember nothin’ else I say, I want you to fuckin’ remember that it’s gon’ be me and you when I see you on sight. You don’t know how fuckin’ lucky you are right now and shit that I’m just lettin’ you go cause the last nigga I caught in bed with my chick wasn’t so lucky…no, not at all.”
“Man, let me put my pants on so I can at least get my car keys?” John asked. “I can’t go nowhere
without my car keys.”
Race snickered and shook his head. He glanced back at the terrified Imani, who could only wonder what her neighbors might think if they were to step out of their apartments and see a half-naked black man in their hallway. “This nigga really don’t get it, do he?” he asked out loud. Then, with no warning, Race fired the gun into the hallway, three times. These three bullets sent the half-naked John running for the steps and down seven flights of stairs.
John stopped at the bottom of the stairs, looking back up the stairwell to where he’d come from. “I can’t fuckin’ believe this shit,” he groaned, using both of his hands to cover his manhood—something he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold up long. He felt helpless. His blood boiled with rage, wanting nothing more than to humiliate Race in the same way, then pump a bullet into him so everybody in town would know the deal.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” John said. “What the fuck I’mma do?”
John hid in the stairwell for a few minutes as he thought about the situation. Without his phone, he certainly didn’t remember any phone numbers. If his boys knew what was going down, and that it was Race doing it, then they would surely be on their way. John thought about how he couldn’t even use his car because his keys were still up in Imani’s apartment. To make matters even worse, the very thought of going to a random door in the middle of the night with no pants just seemed like it could end really badly.
Finally, feeling brave, John realized what he would have to do. He only lived about a mile away, and it wasn’t that cold outside. With his arms relaxed at his sides, he made his way out of the apartment building and was soon walking down the street with nothing but a shirt and socks on. He walked quickly, ignoring the cars that rolled by and honked their horns. To make the situation even more embarrassing, every couple of blocks someone would stick their head out of the car and comment on his manhood and its size. Then, about halfway to his neighborhood, two gay white men rolled up in a four-door blue car. As to be expected, they offered him “help” in exchange for other things.
Walking briskly, the aggravated John was rather relieved when he finally turned the corner of his street and saw the four-unit house where he lived. Because this was a quiet, side street in the hood, there weren’t a lot of people out in front of their houses. Rather, John could hear the voices of people enjoying a beer or smoking out in their backyards. With a bitter face and tight lips, John made his way up the block with bulging eyes.
“I’mma fuckin’ kill that nigga,” he said. “I’mma fuckin’ kill that nigga for this shit.” He realized how glad he was that some cop didn’t roll up and cause an even bigger problem for him.
“Man, I hope these niggas is still here,” John said, finding it crazy that he was going to knock on his own door. “Please, I hope these niggas is still here.”
John rushed up onto his stoop and knocked on his door. Since the unit had three small bedrooms, he’d been sharing the apartment with his boys, Camron and Judge, for the last couple of days. As they both had played football in high school and had kept their bodies in shape since then, they were often gone with some chick or another. Judge had a couple of kids by a couple of different women that kept him pretty busy.
“Open up the door, niggas!” John shouted. “It’s me, John! Open up the fuckin’ door? I ain’t got no clothes on out here.” He heard what sounded like a couple of men talking
Just then, as if the night couldn’t get any worse, the sound of a door opening came from next door. Acting on instincts, John covered his manhood as he knocked again, pummeling his fist into the wood this time. “Open up the fuckin’ door!”
The front door swung open just as the porch light next door had popped on. Holding his manhood, John stepped inside and closed the door. “Damn, niggas!” he asked, standing in the living room. “Why the fuck y’all niggas take so fuckin’ long to answer the door and shit? I was standin’ out there like this and y’all gon’ take all fuckin’ day to open the fuckin’ door.”
Camron and Judge looked on with confusion. “Nigga, what the fuck happened with you tonight?” Camron asked, a bottle of Hennessey in his hand.
John groaned as he rushed across the living room, feeling humiliated that his boys had to see him this way. He rushed into his bedroom and threw on some gray sweatpants, totally skipping the underwear. To him, the night was still young. And, because of this, he still had plenty of time to go and catch up with Race. If Race thought for one minute that he was going to be able to get away with doing something like this, then he really hadn’t heard much about John and how he operated.
John rushed back out to the living room. “What y’all niggas doin’ tonight?” he asked. “I think we gotta go kill a nigga.”
Camron, who was from Baltimore and still had a strong east coast accent, walked around the couch. “Nigga, what the fuck kinda shit is that?” he asked. “I just looked out the window and shit and ain’t see your car. That’s why we ain’t know who the fuck it was. We ain’t see your car.”
Judge parted the living room blinds and looked out again. “Yeah, man,” he said, shaking his head. “Your shit ain’t out there.”
“Yeah, I know my shit ain’t out there, nigga,” he said. “I had to fuckin’ walk home!” He nodded in response to their looks of disbelief. “Yeah, that’s right. A nigga had to walk home and shit with his damn dick out and shit. Got cars rollin’ up and shit… gay ass old white men try’na give me a ride so they can suck my dick. I was over at Imani’s place, beatin’ that pussy up, and that nigga Race came home.”
Camron looked confused, mostly because he hadn’t been filled in on the entire story. Yes, he knew who Race was, in some ways, but Imani was a new person to him altogether. Judge, on the other hand, had been talking with John since he’d run into Imani at the clothing store. He’d also been the lucky one to be at home when John got the naked pics that Imani had sent.
“Nigga, is you fuckin’ serious?” Judge asked. “I thought you said that she said they wasn’t together no more.”
“Yeah, that’s what she said at first,” John said. “I asked her that same fuckin’ shit when I got there and that fuckin’ bitch told me that they breakin’ up and shit cause she ain’t happy with him and all that kinda shit. She even went as far as sayin’ that she live alone and shit. I was layin’ there with her, try’na get ready for another round, when that nigga came in.”
“Nigga, why you ain’t make a run for it?” Camron asked. “Remember when I had to beat that one nigga’s ass so bad for jumpin’ on me when he found his chick with me and shit? You gotta stay ready to run and shit in case somethin’ pop off.”
“I know, I know,” John said. “But my pants was out in the front room where she was suckin’ my dick. We did the fuckin’ back in the bedroom. That’s why I couldn’t get my pants…and my phone and my keys and shit. I don’t fuckin’ believe this shit.”
“Damn, is you fuckin’ serious?” Judge asked. “That nigga walked in on you with his chick and did this shit?”
“Nigga, what the fuck I say?” John asked. “My bad,” he added, realizing that he was taking his frustration out on his friends.
“Fuck it, then,” Camron said, shrugging his shoulders. “Let’s go get this nigga. You know where he is and shit, don’t you?”
Within minutes, the three of them had their guns in their pockets and had hopped into Camron’s black truck. Because Race had probably never seen it, John felt like it would be the perfect vehicle to use to creep up on Race without him knowing.
Camron turned onto the street where Imani’s apartment building was and John tapped his shoulder. “Pull over, nigga,” he said, pulling his gun out of his pocket. “Pull up and park somewhere over here. Don’t pull up by the door. I think that nigga is comin’ out of the door right now.”
Camron pulled up a little ways down from the door. Almost like magic, John hopped out as soon as Camron had put his truck in park. He and Judge hopped out, following John toward the front of th
e apartment building.
“Hey, nigga!” John yelled.
Race, who’d been getting into his car, stopped. Without replying, he pulled his gun and started firing. Bullets flew back and forth between them as John ducked behind a tree. He stuck his arm out and fired, hearing glass shatter. When he looked around the tree, Race was nowhere to be seen. He laughed. “This bitch ass nigga is over there hidin’ behind his car and shit.”
Judge and Camron rushed over to the car with John and all three looked towards the building. They just caught the door closing behind Race as he rushed into the building, realizing that his one gun was no match for three.
“Get that nigga!” John said, pointing toward the building.
The three of them rushed into the building and tried to catch up with Race. However, their efforts cametoo late. By the time they’d gotten to the staircase—Race wouldn’t dare trap himself in an elevator—Race had already gotten up to the seventh floor. John rushed up behind him, firing his gun. The bullets missed, crashing into the wall and sending flakes of white pants sprinkling down like little snowflakes.
“Nigga, I’mma fuckin’ kill you!” John yelled with Camron and Judge close behind him.
When the three men reached the seventh floor, they realized they’d lost Race. He must have ducked into one of the other floors. Which one, they did not know. Frustration made John feel terroristic at times. The humiliation from having to walk home without any pants on was enough to make him angry for the rest of his life. If humor could ever be applied to the situation, there was at least a silver lining for John: at least he was packing enough to not be the butt of jokes from walking down the street with his manhood exposed.
“Come on, nigga,” Camron said, pulling John’s shoulder. “We gotta get the fuck up outta here. I can hear the police is on they way. We can come back and get your car later or somethin’.”
All three of their hearts jumped, almost even more than when they’d been exchanging bullets with Race out in front of the building. The sounds of sirens getting closer rang into the air. The three of them rushed back downstairs and out the front of the building, running like criminals in a police chase. They hopped into Camron’s pickup just as police were about a block away.
The Bed You Make: An Urban Hood Drama Page 2
