by Askari
“Big homie, what’s poppin’? It’s Nasty. Did you see or hear from Mook yet?”
“Naw, I ain’t heard from the nigga. Why? What’s up?”
“His Bentley is in front of the spot, but I was here all last night, and I know for a fact that he didn’t come through here.”
“Yo, don’t even sweat that shit, scrap. He probably left it out there for a reason. I’ma call him and see what’s up, and then I’ma come around there.”
Click!
An hour later, Sonny arrived on the block with a look of concern on his face. After talking to Nasty, he called Mook, but didn’t get an answer. He knew that Mook had made bail yesterday because he was with Daphney when she put up one of her properties to cover the $100,000 bond. He called Savino to verify if Mook was ever released, and that’s when he heard the news about Saleena.
According to Savino, Mook was released from the county jail around seven o’clock last night, and a couple of hours later, Saleena’s body was found on the side of the road with a single gunshot wound to the back of her head.
When he approached Nasty and the twins, he told them about his conversation with Savino. They walked over to the Bentley and looked through the tinted driver’s side window. A black trash bag was sitting on the driver’s seat and there was something inside of it that resembled the shape of a bowling ball. Sonny tried the door handle, and was surprised to find that the door was unlocked. When he opened the door and a strong, copper like smell permeated his nostrils and caused him to gag.
What the fuck is this? He asked himself as he picked up the bag. When he peaked inside and laid eyes on Mook’s decapitated head, he just stood there in a state of shock.
Nasty could see the disturbed look on his face. “Sonny, what’s in the bag?” When he didn’t reply, Nasty grabbed the trash bag from his hands and looked inside of it. “Oh, shit!” He shouted, and then dropped the bag on the ground.
It rolled over and a pool of blood spilled out and onto the sidewalk. Zaire opened the bag with his the tip of his Timberland boot, and was surprised to see Mook’s head covered in blood. His eyes were swollen shut, and there appeared to be something stuffed inside of his mouth. Zaire pulled out his pocket knife, and then used it to extract the dark object.
“Nizzaw, yo this shit can’t be real,” he stated in disbelief. They all crowded around the bloody object, and instantly recognized that piece of flesh was Mook’s dick.
*****
In Allentown, Pennsylvania...
Breeze and Erika were sound asleep in their new apartment when they were awakened by the sound of his iPhone vibrating on the nightstand.
Vrrrrrm! Vrrrrrm!
Breeze looked at his alarm clock and saw that it was a little after nine o’clock in the morning. Initially he was pissed, but when he picked up the phone and saw that the caller was Sonny, he calmed down.
“Sonny Money, what’s poppin’ bro?” He answered in a groggy voice.
“Yo Breeze, I need you to come to the city a.s.a.p.”
“A.s.a.p.? Nigga, it’s early as shit."
“Listen, I can’t say too much over the jack, but it’s Mook. We found him this mornin’,” Sonny replied in a somber tone.
“Y’all found him? Whatchu mean y’all found him?”
“We found him.”
“Ohhhh.” He sat up in the bed, and used his free hand to massage his chin. “Damn son, what happened?”
“I’ma put you on when you get here.”
Click!
*****
An Hour Later...
When Breeze arrived on the corner of Fairhill and York, he could clearly see that Sonny was preparing for war. There were approximately twenty men whom he’d never seen before positioned throughout the strip, and judging from the bulges in their hoodies and coats, they were heavily armed. The cold December weather had them rocking back and forth to keep warm, and the second they spotted him pulling up in front of Sonny’s trap house, he was the center of their attention. Zaire peeped game and immediately let it be known that Breeze was family.
“Naw, he’s good. That’s the homie Breeze,” he informed them, and then embraced Breeze with their Blood handshake. “What’s poppin’, bro?”
“Them Maybachs and them Phantoms,” Breeze replied, while looking at the men who just a few moments ago could have easily murdered him by mistake. He returned his gaze to Zaire. “Yo, where Sonny at?”
“He’s in the house. The door ain’t locked, so just go inside.”
When Breeze entered the house, it looked like the U.S. Army had come to town. Assault weapons of all kinds were scattered around the living room floor, and a slew of bulletproof vest were piled on the couch. Damu, Sonny’s pitbull, ran up to him and began sniffing his leg.
“Hey yo Sonny, where are you at?” He announced his presence, while patting Damu on the head.
“I’m upstairs!” Sonny shouted from the second floor. “I’ll be down in a minute!”
A couple of minutes later, Sonny, followed by Sheed and Nasty, descended the stairs and greeted him. They went over to the dining room table, and after rolling up a Backwood, Sonny got down to business.
“I hope y’all niggas is ready for war ‘cause this shit about to get real fuckin’ ugly,” he informed them with a murderous rage in his eyes. “These niggas violated the big homie and his wife. Then, they had the nerve to send us his head wit’ his dick stuffed in his mouth.”
“Well, where these niggas at?” Breeze asked. “I’m ready to get it poppin’ right now.”
“Oh, we definitely gon’ get it poppin’,” Sheed proclaimed with tears in his eyes. “I’m a park every one of them niggas, and that’s word to Blood.”
“Calm down,” Sonny checked him. “We gotta be thinkers before doers. These niggas is definitely food, but we gotta be strategic in the way we move. We all know that Grip’s got three captains down in South Philly; Biggs, Monster, and Smack. The only way we gon’ get to Grip is by goin' through them niggas first. We already killed Biggs, so now we gotta focus on Monster and Smack. The nigga, Smack, is the captain for his 22nd and McKean crew, and Monster is the captain for his 5th and Washington crew.”
“But Sonny,” Nasty interjected, “them niggas is probably layin’ low right now. It ain’t no way in the world they gonna be runnin’ the streets after what they just did.”
“You’re right,” Sonny nodded his head. “But just in case them niggas take the aggressive approach,” He gestured toward the weapons in the living room. “We gonna stay on point. And if they do lay low, we gon’ fall back and make them niggas think shit sweet. They’ll pop back up eventually, and when they do, we goin’ straight at ‘em.”
Sheed was pissed. Everything inside of him wanted to go down to South Philly and put his murder game down, but now under Sonny's orders he had to fall back.
“So how long do you want us to chill? For a week or two?” asked Sheed.
“Nizzaw,” Sonny shook his head. “More like a month or two.”
Sheed shook his head and looked away. Yo, lemme find out this nigga bitchin’, he thought to himself.
Nasty was also concerned about the two month hiatus, but his concerns were centered around money. “I’m sayin’ though, what exactly do you mean by fallin’ back? That’s not including the block is it?”
“Yeah, that goes for the block too. I want them niggas to think they got us shook. That’s the only way we gonna catch ‘em slippin’.”
“A’ight, I can dig it, but at the same time, me and the twins ain’t got money like you and Sheed. How we ‘posed to live for two months without any money comin’ in?”
“I already thought about that, and I’ma give y’all $20,000 a piece to hold y’all down. In the meantime, I want y’all go outta town and stay at the apartment in Trenton. This shit ain’t a game, and that’s why I got everybody posted outside like that.”
“On another note, I holla’d at Sunshine and Rah about an hour ago to let 'em know what’s going o
n. They offered to send us some soldiers from Brooklyn, but I told 'em we were good. They bumped me up to Mook’s status as the Triple OG of the hood, and I’m movin’ Sheed up to the double spot. Nasty,” he looked him square in the eyes, “I’m moving you up to OG and the twins," he looked at Egypt and Zaire. “Y’all gettin' bumped up to fivestar generals.”
He reached inside of his back pocket and pulled out a red bandana.
“This flag represents the Blood of our ancestors and the homies who lost their lives at the hands of oppression. This is what holds us together as a set and as a nation. This is the creed that we live and die by. Big Bizness!”
“Bizness as usual!” Sheed and Nasty replied in unison.
Sonny nodded his head assuredly. “A’ight,” he looked at Nasty and Breeze, “I need y’all step outside for a minute, so I can holla at Sheed.”
After they left the house and closed the door behind them, Sonny directed his attention to Sheed. “After the funeral, we’re gonna break down the bricks that we got from Mook’s house. We’re both gonna keep 75, and the remaining 50, we’re gonna split amongst the team.”
Instead of responding, Sheed just nodded his head.
*****
A Week Later…
On the morning of Mook and Saleena’s funeral, Sonny drove to the Baker’s Funeral Home on Broad Street to drop off the $30,000 that he owed the funeral director. As he sat in his Chevy Tahoe, discreetly behind the tinted windows, he took slow pulls on his Backwood and nodded his head to the soulful sounds of Tupac Shakur's, Life Goes On...
How many niggas fell victim to the streets?/ Rest in peace young nigga, it’s a heaven for a gee/ I’d be a liar if I told ya that I never thought of death/ My niggas, we the last one's left/ And life goes on.
Soft raindrops pelted against his windshield, and the only thing he could think about was the day that he'd first crossed paths with his big homie and mentor...
Feburary 2, 1996
He was walking down 5th Street, heading to school when a cranberry 1996 Lexus GS 300 sitting on 20" rims drove past him. The tinted windows were rolled up, but yet and still the trunkrattling sounds of the Notorious B.I.G.’s, Who Shot Ya?, could be heard from blocks away. He was walking in between Susquehanna Avenue and Diamond Street when the Lexus cruised by, sending vibrations throughout his entire body. The bandage on his left hand was beginning to itch and he was pissed off due to the fact that instead of rocking the new Air Jordan’s that his dad stole from him, he was wearing a tattered pair of Bo Jackson’s.
As he continued walking, the cranberry Lexus stopped at the corner of 5th and Susquehanna, and then rode in reverse until it was cruising beside him. The tinted passenger’s side window rolled down and the music went mute.
“Hey, yo, lil’ man!” The driver called out, catching him off guard. “Come here for a minute!”
His instincts told him to run, but something deep inside of him told him to remain calm. He threw on his mean mug and ice-grilled the dark skinned man with the short, wavy hair. “What's up?”
A twenty-five year old Mook smiled at the skinny young man. “Yo, you’re Lil’ Easy right?”
“Fuck no. My name’s Sonny,” he barked back, trying his best to look hard when he said it.
Mook chuckled at the young man’s body language. “Yo, let’s try this again. Is Easy ya pop?”
Instead of a verbal response, Sonny just nodded his head.
“A’ight, well I got somethin’ for you,” Mook replied as he climbed out the Lex with a pair of black and red Jordan's in his hand.
His 6’4” frame gave him the appearance of an NBA player. At the time, he was tallest man that Sonny had ever seen. He was wearing a red Coogie sweater, a pair of dark blue Guess jeans with the pencil pockets, and a fresh pair of black chuckas or low top Timberlands. A gold Cuban link with an iced-out Jesus piece hung from his neck, and a gold Movado with a diamond bezel was wrapped around his left wrist.
He held up the black and red Jordan's and said, “Are these yours, lil’ homie?”
“Yeah,” He looked up at the 6’4” giant. “My pops stole ‘em from me.”
Mook nodded his head. “I figured that. Here,” he handed him the sneakers, and then reached inside of his pants pocket and pulled out a wad of Ben Franklins. “And take this too.” He peeled off two of the bills and handed them to Sonny.
“What’s this for?”
“That’s for you,” Mook stated, while placing the money back in his pocket. He then pulled out a white business card and handed it to him. “That’s my number. I want you to call me whenever you need something. I don’t give a fuck what it is, just call me.”
“Man, I don’t even know you. Why you doin’ all of this for me?”
“Let’s just say that I’m doin’ for you what my ol’ head Alvin did for me back in the day. From here on out, you my lil’ homie and I got ya back. All you gotta do is get good grades in school, stay out of trouble, and you gotta stay true.”
Sonny scrunched up his face. “Stay true? Whatchu mean by that?”
“That means you gotta always keep it real wit’ me, and whenever you gimme ya word, you gotta keep it.”
Sonny nodded his head and smiled. “A’ight, big homie, but you never even told me ya name!”
“Mook.”
“A’ight Mook. I got ya back too.”
“Humph,” Mook smiled. “We’ll see lil’ homie. We’ll see.”
He hopped back in the Lex, turned up his DJ Clue mixtape, and sped off.
Back To 2012
Sonny killed the ignition, climbed out the truck, and then walked into the funeral home. After handing the director an envelope full of money, he was led to a redwood casket with gold trimming.
“Here he is,” said the funeral director. “As you already know, we never received the rest of his body so there was no possible way for an open casket.” He gestured toward the casket that was positioned across the room. “Now, the woman on the other hand, our makeup artist and hair dresser did a wonderful job. If you want, we can have an open casket for her.”
“Naw, that ain’t necessary,” Sonny replied in a somber voice. “Their havin’ a joint funeral so it won’t make sense for one of ‘em to have an open casket, and the other one to have a closed casket.” He looked at his Breitling. “My home girl, Daphney should be here within the next hour or so and she’s gonna drop off some 10X12 pictures of them. The flower shop’s bringin’ the floral arrangements, so just place their pictures on top of their caskets, and surround them wit’ the flowers.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Moreno,” the funeral director confirmed, while placing the money filled envelope inside of his suit jacket. “Is there anything else?”
“Yeah,” he nodded his head. “I need a couple of minutes alone wit’ my big homie.”
As the funeral director left the sanctuary, Sonny took a deep breath, and then approached Mook’s casket. His heart was heavy, his chest was tight, and his stomach was tied into a knot. For the past sixteen years, the man who was lying in that wooden box had become his everything. He was his father, his mentor, his brother, his big homie, and most importantly his best friend.
He desperately tried to keep it together, but when a picture of Mook appeared in his head, he became completely unglued. He broke down crying and bear hugged the wooden casket.
“I promise you bro, I’ma murder them niggas. The only thing that can stop me is death.”
*****
Later That Night...
After the funeral, Easy was in a state of deep depression. The pain and grief that surrounded him at the funeral was immeasurable, and the second he returned to his Center City loft, he went straight to his stash. He opened a brick and extracted a small rock. He then, grabbed a plate, a razor blade, a straw, and a bottle of Moet from the refrigerator. He took the items to the living room, laid them on the coffee table, and then plopped down on his suede sofa. His desire to ingest the cocaine was immense, but there was something in the bac
k of his mind that was telling him to refrain. His palms were sweating and tears were falling from his eyes.
“What the fuck am I doin’?” He questioned himself. “How the fuck did this shit become the center of my life?”
The answer to his question was the day that he linked up with the Medellin Drug Cartel.
December 31, 1985
Before the crack wave smothered the streets of Philadelphia, Easy was a twenty year old stick-up kid who robbed everything from drug dealers to jewelry stores. His profession had provided him with a lavish lifestyle, and earned him a bankroll that peaked at $200,000. However, it wasn’t until New Years Eve of 1985 that he met a man by the name of Juan Nunez, and his life changed forever.
Juan was a captain in the Medellin Cartel, and he was sent from Columbia to the Unites States to expand the distribution of the cocaine that was manufactured by the cartel. He was stationed in Miami, and upon his arrival, he instantly fell in love with the tropical weather, the beautiful beaches, and most importantly, the beautiful women.
It was New Year’s Eve, and Juan was partying at a Miami nightclub when he noticed a young black man who stood out from the rest of the crowd. He was dipped in a tailor made MCM sweat suit, and a gold rope with a diamond encrusted Mercedes Benz emblem decorated his neck. A gold Rolex was wrapped around his left wrist, and his iced-out four finger ring spelled ‘Easy’ in cursive.
Being that Juan was from Columbia where his culture taught him to never flaunt his wealth, he was intrigued by the young man’s flashy appearance.
He turned toward the bartender and said, “Gimme a double shot of rum, and send a bottle of ju finest champagne to de guy over dere,” he pointed at Easy. “Tell him it’s from a friend.” He reached inside of his slacks and pulled out a wad of hundred dollar bills. He peeled away ten of them, and then laid them on the counter.
“Whatever you say buddy.” The bartender replied as his eyes feasted on the money that he was now holding in his chubby hands.
