by Askari
“I’m back, baby boy. I’m back.”
Sonny took a step backwards and searched his eyes for any signs of weakness. He found none. He looked at Easy’s clothes, and then he looked at his Range Rover. Damn, this nigga really bounced the fuck back, he thought to himself.
“Hey, yo, pops come take a ride wit’ me.” He pressed the automatic start button on his key chain, and the SL 550 came to life.
“Damn, boy.” Easy ran his hand across the back fender. “This is a nice lil’ Benz you got.”
Sonny smiled. “Aww man, this shit ain’t ‘bout nuffin’. I remember when you used to keep a Benz for everyday of the wee,” he shot back, while settling behind the steering wheel. He rolled down the window and called out to Nasty, “Yo, be safe out here Blood. Don’t forget to tell Egypt and Zaire to holla at me in the morning.”
“I got you, bro,” Nasty replied as the Benz pulled away from the curb.
“Hey Sonny, I’ve been meanin’ to ask you this for a while now. How the fuck did y’all young buls get turned out on this gang shit?” Easy asked, not understanding how the Blood movement had made its way to the streets of Philly.
Sonny shrugged his shoulders. “For the most part, I guess you could say it started in the jails. In about 2007, a lot of niggas from New York and New Jersey were comin’ to these lil’ towns like Allentown, Reading, and York. They was out there on some hustlin’ shit, and when they came, they brought the movement right along wit’ ‘em. Eventually, them niggas started goin’ to jail, and the second Blood hit them cell blocks that shit spreads like wildfire. Now, as for me and my set, my big homie Mook, he’s originally from Richard Allen. When he was younger, he moved to Brooklyn to live wit’ his grand mom. He got locked up in ‘93, and while he was on Rikers Island, him and the niggas he was rockin’ wit’ gave birth to the movement on the east coast.”
“I can dig it.” Easy nodded his head up and down. “I just never thought it would make it all the way from Los Angeles to the streets of Philly. Now I’m seeing young buls wit’ red bandanas hangin’ out they back pockets, and they throwin up gang signs and shit.”
Sonny chuckled, as Easy threw up a fake gang sign that made his fingers look like the crazy white dude’s from Scary Movie 2. “Hey, yo, pops, you crazy as shit.”
“Naw, Sonny, that’s how they be givin’ it up,” he laughed, and then continued making all types of crazy twist with his fingers.
“But on some real shit pops, it was a time when niggas in New York swore up and down that Blood wouldn’t take over the city. Look at it now, Brooklyn is Blooded out. Harlem is Blooded out. The Bronx is Blooded out. Do I need to keep goin’?”
“Naw, man, you don’t need to keep goin’.” He shook his head and laughed to himself. “Y’all young mutha’fuckas is crazy!”
“So, what made you wanna get clean, and how the fuck you get all this bread?”
Easy took a deep breath. “Man, I ain’t touched that shit since the last time I saw you. When you snapped on me like that, it was one of the lowest moments in my life. Matter of fact, it was the way you looked at me. It was like, the sight of me repulsed you.” Easy shook his head in shame. “I knew I had to get my shit together. I went to my mom’s house, and just focused on gettin’ back to where I’m supposed to be.” He explained with tears in his eyes.
Sonny didn’t respond. He just continued driving, and allowed Easy to tell his story.
“I went back inside of myself and reconnected with who I used to be, you dig? After two weeks of going through the detoxification stage, I reverted back to my first hustle, takin’ money. After gettin’ my financial situation straight, I got me a loft in Center City. I put some money down on my Range Rover and splurged on a new wardrobe. Oh, yeah, and before I did all of that,” he smiled, showing off his new teeth, “I went to the dentist, and got my choppers fixed.”
Sonny burst out laughing and looked at his father in amazement. After everything Easy had been through, he somehow found the strength to straighten up and put all the pieces back together again.
Sonny stopped at a traffic light on the corner of Germantown and Erie, and then turned to look at Easy. “So, what’s ya next move?”
“Well, as far as gettin’ money, the only thing I know is the streets. I was kinda hopin' that you could plug me in wit’ ya connect.”
“You want me to plug you in wit’ my connect? Yo, you funny as shit,” Sonny chuckled. “Nigga, I am the connect.”
Easy laughed. “Oh, that’s right, I forgot the young bul told me you had shit on lock, and that niggas was callin’ you The Prince of the City.” He reached over and massaged the back of Sonny's head. "Now, you know why they call you that, right?”
“Lemme guess, ‘cause you’re the king huh?” Sonny smirked, and then gave him a look that said, “Get the fuck outta here!”
“Yeah, I’m the king young bul! As a matter of fact, fuck that, I’m the mutha’fuckin’ boss! I thought we already established that twenty years ago when you was a snot nosed brat sitting in the back seat of my Benz, playin’ wit’ ya Happy Meal toy? I was the boss back then, and I’m still the boss now! I’m just fallin’ back and lettin’ my underboss do what he do.”
Sonny smiled at him. “Damn pops, I’m glad you back man. Whatever you need, just let me know.”
“Well right now, I need you to hold me down wit’ this work. I’m sittin’ on $35,000, and I’m try’na get my hands on a brick. Is that too much, or can you handle that?”
“Can I handle that? Man, stop playin’.”
“Damn, well excuse me Prince of the City. Since you got it like that, what’s up wit’ tonight?”
“A’ight, but if you get ya hands on a brick, how you gon’ move it?”
“Honestly, I was hopin’ that you could help me wit’ that, but since you ain’t fuckin’ wit’ the block anymore, I don’t know how I’ma move that shit.”
“Listen pops, I done stepped my game all the way up, and I’m seeing money like never before. But lately, my girl been buggin’ me about fallin’ back.”
“Hold up,” Easy interrupted him. “You mean that lil’ chicken tender that was wit’ you earlier today? Awwww man, that’s a baaaaad mutha’fucka. You better lock that thing down.”
Sonny laughed. “Yo, you funny as shit. But yeah, that’s my wifey. She’s three months pregnant.”
Easy smiled. “Congratulations, man! Hopefully, it’s a little girl. I know ya mom wants it to be a girl.”
“Yeah, I know right. But dig though, I’m try’na fall back, and I think you can help me.”
“I’m listening.”
“My block is moving about two bricks a week, and the reason it’s poppin’ so crazy is because I’m sellin’ grams of raw for $40. All I want you to do is run the block for me, and I’m a pay you $15,000 every Sunday.”
Easy nodded his head. “I can roll wit’ that. I just need to know exactly whatchu mean by, ‘Run the block’.”
“It’s simple. All I want you to do is be the liaison between me and my young bul Nasty. Every Sunday, I’m a hit you wit’ two bricks, and all you gotta do is feed ‘em to Nasty and the twins. Nasty’s the caseworker, and his job is to manage the block. The twins, Egypt and Zaire, they the runners and they gon’ turn all the money over to Nasty. Like I said, the blocks movin’ every bit of two bricks a week so that’s $80,640. Nasty and the twins get $5,000 a piece every Sunday. So you gotta pay them niggas, take out ya $15,000, and then pay me the remaining $50,640.”
“Yeah, I can definitely roll wit’ that.” Easy replied, while rubbing his beard. “So when do I start?”
“The beginning of next month.” Sonny answered as he continued driving through the slums of North Philly.
He remembered the conversation that he had with Grip, and asked Easy what he knew about him. Easy pulled out a pack of Newports, and sparked up a smoke. After taking a deep pull and exhaling, he looked at Sonny and said, “He’s your grandfather.”
The news caught him
by surprise, and he pulled over on the corner of 18th and Dauphin.
“My grandfather? Whatchu mean he’s my grandfather? That nigga ain’t my grandfather.”
“Yeah,” Easy corrected him. “He’s definitely your grandfather.”
“How? My mom’s dad died ten years ago and Pop Pop Eddie is probably home wit’ Mimom right now. So, how the fuck is Grip my grandfather?”
“Because he’s my father. Well, my biological father anyway.”
“But what about Pop Pop Eddie? He’s been wit’ Mimom my whole life. I always thought that he was your dad.”
“Naw.” Easy slowly shook his head from side to side. “He just raised me ever since I was two years old. Before I was born, Grip was the boss of The Black Mafia, and being as though they conducted the majority of their business in South Philly, they ended up bumpin’ heads wit’ the Italians. I’m not exactly sure about what happened, but all I know is that they went to war, and in the process the Italians kidnapped my mom while she was six months pregnant wit’ me. When word got around that they had her, and wanted a $500,000 ransom, although Grip was a millionaire he refused to pay them the money,” Easy explained.
“Well, how did Mimom get away?”
“The Italians took pity on her because she was pregnant wit’ me. They let her go, and ever since that day she vowed to never speak to Grip again. She divorced him, and then moved to North Philly, where Eddie was from. Eventually, they got married and he's been in my life ever since.”
“Well, how did you find out that Grip was your real dad?”
“It was the summer of ‘88, and I was down in the Richard Allen Projects serving my man, Beaver Bushnut. I was parked up on 10th and Poplar, chillin’ in my new Jag, and outta nowhere those YBM niggas ran down on me. They snatched me out the Jag, and threw me in the trunk. The next thing I knew, I was butt ass naked in a warehouse on Delaware Avenue, and strapped down to a workshop table. After being there for a few hours, this light skinned nigga wit’ blue eyes came inside of the warehouse, and the second he laid eyes on me, he ordered them niggas to untie me. He gave me back all of my shit. He gave me my clothes, my money, my jewelry, my gun, and the brick of coke that I was takin’ to Bushnut. Then, he gonna tell me to ask my mom about him, and to tell her that he still loved her.”
“Later that night, I went to my mom’s house, and that’s when she told me that Grip was my dad. She broke down the situation between him the Italians, and because she was still married to Grip at the time I was born, she gave me his last name which is Moreno.”
“Damn, that’s some deep ass shit!” Sonny shook his head, and then sparked up a Newport. “All these years, y’all had me believing that Eddie was my grandpop. What else did y’all keep from me?”
Easy took a deep breath, and then looked out the passenger’s side window. After a few seconds of gathering his thoughts, he returned his gaze to Sonny.
“Fuck it, it’s about time that I told you this shit anyway.”
“Yo, hold up,” Sonny interjected. “Man, I hope you ain’t about to tell me you got that monster or somethin’ like that.”
“That monster?” Easy scrunched up his face. “You mean, AIDS? Hell no! I was gon’ tell you that you’ve got a little sister and a little brother.”
“I’ve got a little sister and a little brother?” Sonny asked in disbelief. “Yo, why is you just tellin’ me this?”
“Look man, I was livin’ reckless, and you already know what I was doin’. I was fuckin’ around, and I had a daughter by Rosie from 8th and Diamond, and in ‘93 I had a son by this chick from 24th and Somerset.”
“Hold up pops, Ms. Rosie? That’s Nahfisah’s mom. You mean to tell me that Fisah’s my lil’ sister?”
Easy nodded his head. “Yeah, but all the way up until now, I’ve been denyin’ her.”
“Pops, you outta pocket. Me and Fisah been rockin’ wit’ each other since the second grade. What if we woulda started fuckin’? Then what? Yo, that’s some nut ass shit.”
“Look Sontino, I know I fucked up. Now, I’m doin’ everything in my power to make shit right,” Easy responded with sincerity in his voice.
“What about my mom? Does she know about any of this?”
“Hell no,” Easy quickly replied. “She had her suspicions about Rosie’s daughter because you and her were only a few months apart, and resembled each other. Now, ya little brother on the other hand, by the time he was born I had already moved y’all away from the city. She was mostly kept out the loop in regards to what I had goin’ on back in Philly.”
Sonny reached in the ashtray and grabbed the Backwood that he’d rolled prior to meeting with Easy. He sparked up the Kush filled cigar, and took a hard pull. After exhaling a thick cloud of smoke, he asked, “Well, what’s up wit’ my lil’ brother? What’s his name?”
“Rahmello. He just turned nineteen back in October, but I haven’t seen him since he was 6 years old.”
Sonny looked at him and shook his head. “Pops, you need to fix this shit.”
“Trust me Sontino, I have every intention to do just that.”
Instead of responding, Sonny turned up the radio, and pulled away from the curb.
Chapter Eleven
Sonny and Sheed drove to Mook’s mansion to tell him the news about Tommy. He offered no response. Instead, he just cracked his knuckles one by one, and gritted his teeth. His body language said everything, and that meant that Tommy was a dead man.
*****
Later That Night...
On the corner of 4th and South, an overweight black man dressed in a Santa Claus suit was standing beside a Salvation Army station ringing the bell, and encouraging the holiday shoppers to leave a donation. A brown Dunkin Donuts cup was clutched in his right hand, and the hot steam that seeped from the cracked lid carried the aroma of roasted coffee beans mixed with Hennessey. He took a sip of the scorching liquid.
“Umm umm umm. Now, that’s what I’m talking ‘bout,” he said to himself, and then did a shimmy with his shoulders to shake off the chilly November weather.
As he took another sip, a pearl white Mercedes Benz SL 550 pulled up on the corner, and the heavy baseline that rattled the car’s trunk, coupled with the effects of the Hennessey laced coffee made Santa nod his head and do a little two step.
Inside of the Benz, sitting comfortably behind the tinted windows, Sonny and Sheed were smoking a Vanilla Dutch, and discussing the conversation that Sonny had with Easy the night before.
“Damn, Blood, Nahfisah’s your sister?” Sheed asked, and then exhaled a cloud of Kush smoke. He passed the Dutch to Sonny, and continued talking. “I’m sayin though, y’all do look alike. Y’all both light skinned and y’all both got that curly hair. The only real difference is y’all eyes. Yours is brown and her’s is blue.”
“Yeah,” Sonny nodded his head. “And we always had that brother/sister type of bond.”
“A’ight, now what’s the situation wit’ ya lil’ brother?” Sheed asked.
Sonny shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know, scrap. Last night, me and my pops went through 24th and Somerset to check on him, but his mom said she ain’t seen the nigga in two weeks. So basically, my lil’ sister’s laid up wit’ a rat, and my lil’ brother’s runnin' around the city doin’ only God knows what.”
“It is what it is, scrap. But yo, I’m a change the channel for a minute. I know you just found out that the ol’ head’s ya grandpop and all dat, but the big homie gave us the green light, and we gotta follow his orders. Plus, you already know the ol’ head be on that Black Mafia shit, shakin’ niggas down and imposin’ his will. These pussy ass niggas in the city be goin’ for that shit too, but I’m not. Just so you know, the first chance I get, I’m parkin’ this nigga,” Sheed stated, indirectly checking Sonny’s temperature.
Sonny remained quiet. Although he’d just found out that Grip was his grandfather, Mook was the one who practically raised him, and therefore his undivided loyalty was to Mook.
As he killed the ignition and looked across the street in front of the Dr. Denim’s clothing store, he spotted a money green Escalade.
“Speakin’ of Grip.” He pointed toward the SUV. “Ain’t that the nigga’s truck?”
“I don’t know,” Sheed shot back, but instinctively gripping the pearl handle on his Desert Eagle.
A couple of minutes later, Biggs, one of Grip’s street captains emerged from the store with shopping bags in both hands. He cautiously glanced up and down South Street, and then made his way toward the Escalade. He tossed the bags in the backseat, and then climbed his 6’4” frame behind the steering wheel. He started the engine, and the sounds of Tupac’s, Hail Mary erupted from the 12 inch subwoofers in the back compartment...
“I ain’t a killer, but don’t push me/ revenge is like the sweetest joy nextcto gettin' pussy/ Picture paragrahs unloaded, wise words being quoted/ I peeped the weakness in the rap game and sewed it...”
Slowly, he pulled away from the curb and cruised down the crowded block. He was oblivious to the fact that Sonny’s Benz trailed closely behind. He made a left turn on 3rd Street, and the white Benz followed suit.
After trailing the SUV for a few blocks, Sheed looked over at Sonny. “At the first red light, I’m a hop out and park this nigga.”
“A’ight, just make it quick so we can hurry up and get outta here,” Sonny replied, and then reached inside of his center console and grabbed his red flag. “Here,” he handed the bandana to Sheed. “Tie this ‘round ya face.”
At the intersection of 3rd and Snyder, a red traffic light caused the Escalade to ease to a stop. As Biggs sat behind the steering wheel nodding his head to the music, he spotted a shiny gleam in the corner of his left eye. “What the fuck?” He turned to his head to get a better view of the shiny object.
Doom! Doom! Doom!
The tinted driver’s side window exploded in his face, and the bullets missed his head by centimeters. Despite the fact that he was momentarily blinded by the muzzle flash, he mashed down on the gas pedal, and fishtailed into a black BMW that was parked on the opposite corner. Wounded and disoriented, he opened the driver's side door and attempted to flee. Again, Sheed squeezed the trigger.
