24th and Dixie

by Author Ron C

  “Might as well grab sumthin’ to drank too,” J-Smith said.

  “I’m finna grab some cash, hold up,” C-Brook said and walked into an apartment. Ron and CJ were picking up the shells, and the other guys were looking around and listening for the cops. J-Smith walked over to the shot up Chevy and shook his head. “Wild-Man wanna play and shit. I’ll kill a wild man,” he said and popped the trunk on the car. He reached deep off inside and pulled out an M-16 rifle loaded with a 30 round magazine. “Fuck around and hunt me a wild man down. Shred his entire ma’fuckin’ body,” he said.

  Fam recognized the cop car clearly as it turned on the street and proceeded their direction. “Yo, 5.0 comin’ y’all. 5.0! J-Smith put that up homey!” He warned.

  J-Smith tossed rifle back in the trunk and slammed it shut, and Ron and CJ kicked the remaining shells far as they could out of the street. “Y’all just chill and act normal. Somebody probably called and reported shots fired,” J-Smith said. They watched as the cop car slow up as it wanted to stop down the street where the other crowd of people was standing, but it continued on down.

  “Damn,” Fam said patting his pockets out of nervousness.

  “Stop panicking Fam, damn,” J-Smith said.

  As the cops got closer, it was obvious they were going to stop by the way the driver pushed on the brakes. Once he did, the guys realized it was two cops they all knew too well. They were two white cops named Brad and Finley, and they were known to harass the guys on 24th. They were middle aged guys with about twelve years of cop experience. Brad was the driver. As he made a complete stop in the street, he held up a bright flashlight and shone it on the guys. “What are you guys doing?” he asked. J-Smith shrugged his shoulders and hissed. “Just standing around enjoying the pretty night officer,” he said.

  “Is that a crime?” CJ asked.

  “Depends on what you’re doing in the process of enjoying the pretty night,” Finley said from the passenger’s seat. CJ looked over and mugged Finley and got mugged back in return.

  “You guys know anything about a shooting that happened a little while ago on the corner?” Brad asked referring to the shooting on 27th.

  “Sorry officer but that’s a negative,” J-Smith said.

  “We don’t know nuthin’ about it,” CJ said

  “But I take it you do know about the one that took place a moment ago right?” Brad said.

  “Right here around this area, possibly on this very street,” Finley said and leaned down to look at the fellas for their response. He was watching to grade their facial expression.

  “On this street? Right here?” J-Smith asked and looked at CJ shockingly.

  “Here? Right here? Nah, couldn’t have been. I don’t think it was here on two fo’ officers,” CJ added to the lie. They knew the guys were full of shit, but it never hurt to try and apply a little

  Pressure. You never know. One day someone just might break. “There was a murder on the corner tonight. You guys know anyone who drives a black Range Rover?” Brad asked.

  “Not personally, but I know of some people that drive ‘em,” J-Smith said.

  “Give me some names,” Brad said. Finley rushed and pulled out his pen and pad ready to write the names down. “Shit…P Diddy, Jay-Z, TI and I think that boy Young Jezzy got one,” J-Smith said.

  The guys laughed, and even Brad smiled.

  “That boy Trick got one too ‘cause he was just here last month doing a show,” CJ added.

  “You guys are real funny you know that?” Brad said.

  “We try,” CJ said.

  “Fuckin’ idiots,” Finley mumbled.

  The cop car was the first thing C-Brook noticed as he came out of the front door. Damn. Da’ hell these crackers want? He thought. His first thought was to turn around and go back inside of his apartment, but he was sure that would have made him look suspicious.

  “Calvin?” Brad called out his real name.

  “C’mon, man. What I tell y’all ‘bout callin’ out my real name,” he said.

  “We’re the law. We can do whatever we want,” Brad said.

  “Well it ain’t much going on 24th and Dixie I can assure y’all that. We just got off work, and we tired. We good citizens, and we pay our taxes,” he said. Lying son of a bitch! You never had a job in your fuckin’ life Finley said to himself.

  “Good citizens, huh?” Brad repeated with a smile.

  “Yes sir,” C-Brook confirmed. Brad clicked off his flashlight and sucked his teeth looking C-Brook dead in the eye. The stare he gave sent a bad vibe that all the guys felt. “You boys enjoy the rest of your night,” he said in a tone that the guys understood well.

  “First we were guys and now we boys, huh?” J-Smith said. He gave Brad a cold look of his own that indicated maybe he needed to hurry up and get the hell off of 24th. “Like I said…you boys enjoy the rest of your night,” he repeated and drove off giving the guys a hateful look.

  “Crooked as crackers,” C-Brook said. As soon as the cop car was out of sight there were about twelve shots up the street that came in a continuous rhythm. The fellas looked up the street and could see people running and screaming in all directions. This was a normal thing to them, so they acted as usual. “Just another muthafuckin’ night on two fo,” C-Brook said. They sat out chairs by the road and prepared for the rest of the night.

  $$$$

  Kane and Able got rid of the Range Rover and jumped into their black Mercedes E-550. They took it to a late night scrap yard and had it crushed just because. This wasn’t the first luxury vehicle they crushed, and the scrap yard owner knew them as regulars. He never questioned why they crushed such good vehicle, but he knew of them, so that was enough. Besides, before they got them to the scrap yard they had already packed the gas tank with sugar. This was a way to keep anyone from trying to buy them or keep them for themselves. Able adjusted his rearview mirror, and they prepared to head back in town. They weren’t fearful of anyone snitchin’ on them but if anything they were sure the cops had gotten a statement from at least one witness that provided them with the type of vehicle the shooter was driving.

  A lot of the people in the hood liked the twins and showed them love. Everyone knew they had plenty money, and they would spend lots of it to maintain their freedom.

  So if anyone did snitch on them, they would probably be dead before the trial date came around. Before the twins’ father was killed by a well-known drug dealer ten years ago, he became very ambitious and went on a state to state robbery spree and robbed twenty-seven different banks in nine different states. He got away with more than fifty million dollars combined according to bank tellers and police. One month before he was killed by a drug dealer, whom he’d robbed more than three times, he gave his son’s an early birthday present and their mother a special anniversary gift. The twins opened a safe and counted out six million dollars’ cash and had to help their mother count another nine million that was in a safe of her own. That was the three of them little secret, and they all vowed not to flaunt and spend money on crazy things that attracted lots of attention. Janet, the twin’s mother, owned two bowling alleys and had been holding them down for twelve years strong, so it was no secret they were wealthy. They kept all of the money from the robberies concealed in a second home out on Siesta Key by the beach. They would have been fools to put it in the bank. Although their bowling alleys did well, they didn’t gross near 6 million or nine million a year.

  “I called C-Brook and that nigga J-Smith and neither answered,” Kane said.

  “What you wanna do?” Able asked.

  “Shit, I don’t know,” Kane said.

  “You wanna just hit the Av and see if they out there? I’m sure they out there. You know how them niggas are,” Able said. Kane was hesitant and shook his head.

  “Let’s just go pick up Quanita and Roslyn first and then we’ll go over there and get the weed,” Kane said.

  “Bet,” Able agreed.

  “Remember…if we get questioned
by the cops’ bruh we were at home the time of the shooting. We don’t know shit,” Kane said.

  “Bruh, you act like I’m new to this shit. C’mon man. You know I know better. That nigga on the Av. ain’t the first ma’fucka we don’ smoked,” Able said.

  “I’m just sayin’. Long as our stories match, they got nothing, regardless of what a witness say. They gotta prove it,” Kane said.

  “True,” Able agreed.

  “And to be honest with you I don’t trust them niggas on the corner no more than I trust C-Brook and the rest of them niggas on 24th,” Kane said.

  Able looked over and gave his brother a look. “You don’t trust C-Brook?” He asked.

  “I’m just sayin’ I get a bad vibe with all of them niggas for real. It’s just a feeling bruh. Nothing to trip about. They been loyal from day one right?” Kane said.

  “Well you already know Quanita, and Roslyn don’t like going on that side of town anyway so we’ll make it quick. Get in and out and just be sure to tell them to keep their eyes open in case niggas be on something foul. They got Phantom’s number, so they know what to do,” Able said.

  “Right. That’s call thinking ahead” Kane said.

  “The best thinker win bro,” Able said.

  “Exactly…exactly,” he said.

  Able lit a Newport and took the stereo off pause. “Right,” he said. They cruised down 301 blasting the Webbie Album ‘Savage Life’.

  $$$$

  Back on 24th Breze and Fam had returned with the beer, blunts, and a few other products. C-Brook was talking to Dread, who was parked on the sidewalk in his orange 71 Chevy Chevelle.

  Dread was dark skinned with long thick dreadlocks. He was a marijuana addict and would try just about any drug he was offered. He was known for spazzing out and doing abnormal things.

  He once flagged down a policeman and claimed he was robbed by Barney and Bugs Bunny. When the officer asked if he were on any kind of drugs he replied, “Almighty God is against drugs of any kind. Jesus is the way”.

  Upon investigation, it was clear that Dread had been snorting bad heroine. The fellas kept a close eye on him when he came through 24th because he was subject to change in a split second.

  “If you see that nigga Wild-Man tell him I got some hot shit for him,” C -Brook said.

  “Wild-Man is a bitch. He’s not bout any drama my brether. I almost blew his fuckin’ testicles off a while back. And that was before CJ stopped me from beatin’ ’dat ass,” Dread said.

  “Any nigga got balls with a gun, though,” C-Brook said.

  “Yea but not all will shoot my brether,” Dread said. He lit a fat blunt and pulled on the drug deeply. As it took effect, he sat back and closed his eyes as if he was relaxed. He let all the smoke slowly blow from his nose. “Yes. God is good my brether,” he said.

  Silly muthafucka, C-Brook thought. “He good but I don’t think he gon’ approve of you smoking dope Dread,” he said. “Let’s not get religious, my brether,” he said and passed the blunt.

  “This that Haiti green?” C-Brook asked as he was hitting it.

  “If that was Haiti green you would already be at the moon, afraid to come down,” he joked.

  “I heard that,” C-Brook said. Dread held up a chrome .357 magnum and check the cartridge. “What you got going on Dread?” C-Brook asked while keeping his eyes on the fool.

  “Midnight is approaching my brether. Almost time for my first victim,” he said. C-Brook handed him the blunt and was done hitting it. He was ready for the fool to get off of 24th. “What that mean?” He asked.

  “I must find sum’body to rob. You brethers take it easy,” he said and bumped fist with C-Brook. “You too. Don’t end up as the victim,” he said. Dread let out a silly laugh and replied, “My brether, only if it’s God’s will. I am always successful,” he turned up his Bob Marley music and punched the gas spinning off. “Jesus is the way,” he yelled out the window.

  “Silly ass dude,” C-Brook said.

  “C-Brook, that nigga Dread crazy as hell,” J-Smith said.

  “Ignorant,” C-Brook said.

  The guys had chairs sat out by the road with the beer cooler out. CJ and Ron were rolling blunts, and J-Smith was making sure they had weapons concealed in stash spots just in case. It was always something surprising going down on 24th so they had to be sure they were able to get to a firearm quick. He concealed one pistol in his waistband. A guy from 23rd named Phil came through and told the guys that the twins name had come up in a homicide early on the corner.

  “See what I’m saying?” Fam yelled as if he knew the twins had gotten into something the reason they still hadn’t showed up.

  “For real? How sure are you?” C-Brook asked.

  “I’m just sayin’ that’s the word bruh. The streets talk so you know it’s gon’ come out. They say some old school nigga was tryna stunt on the twins, and they let that nigga have it,” Phil said.

  “Oh yeah? Homicide huh?” C-Brook said.

  “Ain’t surprised,” CJ said.

  “You know them niggas got money bruh. They don’t care cause ain’t nobody gon’ tell on ‘em. If they attempt then they’ll just pay ‘em off,” Phil said.

  “Young niggas got that long paper,” Ron said.

  Chapter Three

  C-Brook nodded and kept his thoughts to himself. He was sick of hearing people brag about the twins and how much money they had. They were ass kissers for as he was concerned. “J-Smith, crank the music up in the Chevy nigga. It’s gon’ be a long night,” he said.

  J-Smith turned on Pandora and put it on UGK radio. It became a regular night on the avenue as fiends dipped in and out to purchase crack, weed, and pills. C-Brook and J-Smith had traffic backed up at one point. CJ and the rest of the guys watched close as the transactions took place because fiend or not, no one could be trusted. In the past several potential buyers turned into robbers or dope snatchers. The guys also had to keep an open eye for other dealers they were in competition with, and niggas they beefed with for whatever reason. Anything was subject to go down on 24th and Dixie after the sun had gone down. While doing their illegal activity they were still supplying their habit which was weed and alcohol. A couple hours had passed, and they all were tipsy and acting foolish. J-Smith started playing with the loaded M-16 and was pointing it up the street. He accidently dropped it and luckily it didn’t discharge.

  “You fuckin’ fool,” Fam said. “Put that shit up before you fuck ‘round and kill all us,” C-Brook said.

  “This that military firearm,” J-Smith said.

  “Modified. You get caught with that bitch you doing military time. Put that rifle up and stop playing around J-Smith,” C-Brook warned him. He handed the rifle to Fam, and he sat it in the back seat of the Caprice. CJ got out of his chair and began approaching an oncoming car. It was his ex-girlfriend Quantina who was also the baby sister of Wild-Man.

  “I’ll be right back, Y’all hold it down,” CJ told the fellas.

  “Pussy whipped ass lil niggas,” Ron joked.

  “What up?” Quantina spoke out of the window. She was very pretty, but you could tell she was just a pretty hood rat who liked petty hood niggas. CJ staggered and almost fell as he was getting in the car. “Stand yo drunk ass up nigga,” Ron told him.

  “I know right. He tripping,” Quantina said. She reached over and opened the door for him.

  “Quantina, where yo brother at?” Breze asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  “You know he robbed us tonight right?” He said.

  “No, I did not know that. Why would he rob y’all? I thought y’all were supposed to be tight?” she asked. “I don’t know about all that,” he said.

  “What you want me to do about it?” She questioned.

  “I don’t want you to do shit. I just want him to respect the game when it comes back to him,” he said. “Breze, keep me out of that,” she said

  “Yeah. Gon’ and take that pussy whipped nigga wit
h you,” he said.

  “Fuck you,” CJ said from the front seat.

  Quantina waved the guys off and drove off. As Quantina’s Accord neared the stop sign, the wild crowd on the other end of 24th broke the silence of the night.

  “Punch ‘dat bitch nigga! Hit ‘dat ho! Hit it nigga! Let me see what ‘dat bitch do!” A guy was screaming. The driver locked up the rear brakes in his 84 Grand National Turbo Regal and began smoking up the avenue. People from the crowd started hollering all kinds of things.

  The driver went by the street name Chock. He was a local drug dealer and an ex con. He rushed up off the brakes and held the wheel as the Buick drifted side to side and sped down the avenue like a bat out of hell. As he neared C-Brook and the fellas, he began to cruise and the lyrics from the late Soulja Slim exploded from the subs.

  Just ‘cause I’m a black man, push a 2G Lac an

  Mouth fulla golds an my neck & wrist frozen

  They label me a drug lord supplyin’ the 3rd ward

  When I only push some Ghetto D wit Master P & my tank dog

  Money in the bank dawg, dem haters don’t like that

  Bitch this ain’t the slave days, us niggas gon’ fight back

  You crackers can write dat all up in the magazines

  Put me on the T-V screen & I’m gon’ say the same things

  You can call me racist, black man in this white world

  I’m sick of seein’ sell out niggas married to these white girls

  Knowin’ they the enemy, can’t never be no friend of me

  I just get my dick sucked, nut in they mouth instantly

  “What up, though? What’s good on the block?” Chock said as he stopped in the street and turned the music down.

  “Chock. What it do boi? Tell me sum good?” C-Brook said and embraced him with a handshake. “I need three ounces of loud,” he said and handed C-Brook a wad of cash. “Make it happen and don’t run out the back door with my money,” he joked.

  C-Brook chuckled and replied, “You know I’m too real for plays like that. I got what you need homey. I’ll be right back.” He walked off and entered his apartment.