24th and Dixie

by Author Ron C

  “Chock you ain’t got none of that good caine?” Ron asked and proceeded walking over by the Caprice.

  “Of course I do,” Chock said.

  “Hold what you got let me take a piss,” Ron said and began to take a piss on the sidewalk.

  “Ron, cut that music down while you over there,” Fam said.

  Ron was about to fall over as he pissed on the ground. He held on to the car and started to piss on himself. “Damn,” he said and gain control of his balance. “I’m drunk as hell,” he said to himself.

  “What up now fuck boy?” A deep voice growled from behind.

  Ron could feel the warm steel touch the back of his head. Fuck nigga Treal, he thought.

  “Turn yo ho ass around before I slap you with this pistol and make you bleed,” Treal threaten.

  Fam turned around and got wind after hearing Treal’s voice. “Breze, y’all see this nigga?” He told the others. None of the other guys had their guns on them, but that didn’t stop them from trying to spook Treal.

  “Nigga, get that shit away from my head,” Ron spat.

  “Make me faggot,” Treal said and moved in front of Ron and had the pistol in his face.

  “What’s yo problem Treal? You ain’t bout that life you better make a run for it,” Breze said.

  “Get the fuck off two fo’ with that nigga,” Fam spat.

  Treal was a used to be friend of Ron until they fell out a couple months ago. Treal wanted Ron to loan him his AK so he could ride down on some guys he was beefing with and Ron refused to do so. An argument popped off, and bold words were exchanged.

  The next thing you knew Ron had Treal on his face with that same AK to the back of his head listening to him beg for his life. He humiliated him in front of the entire hood and made him strip naked. “Now run like Kunta Kinte nigga,” he told him.

  Treal was hesitant at first, but when the AK discharged, and a hot bullet flew past his head, he ran like a Mexican running from the border control. The streets laughed and cracked jokes on him for three weeks straight making him feel less than a man. He vowed to get revenge on Ron if it was the last thing he did. He now had his chance, and it was on Ron’s own turf. No one saw how Treal appeared out of the darkness until the barrel of his .40 Caliber was to the back of Ron’s head.

  “You bout that life,” J-Smith asked Treal.

  “He ain’t bout it,” Chock said.

  “I’ll show you better than I can tell you,” Treal said.

  Ron swung on Treal with a hard right and caught him on the chin. Treal stumbled and almost hit the ground then let his trigger finger go. The first two bullets flew past Ron’s face and barely missed him. He took off running like a wild man but hit the ground as he felt the third bullet punch him in the side. He screamed and went down for cover. Treal turned the gun on Breze and the other fellas and made them scatter like roaches. Six bullets rearranged the driver’s side of Chock’s Buick as he ducked down for cover. Treal ran out of ammo within seconds and knew he had to make a run for it. As he was running down the dark street, J-Smith was able to get to one of the stashed guns. He started firing at the shadow figure running and emptied a fifteen round clip to no avail. Chock punched the gas on the Buick and left sideways.

  As he neared the stop sign, he had no choice but to hit the brakes and came to a halt in the middle of the main street. He could see Treal running like a wild man on the lit street. He pointed his fully automatic Mack 11 out of the window and dumped a thirty round clip in three seconds. He cut Treal down like a forest tree and watched him hit the ground face first. He dropped it in reverse and sped back to the guys to see if everyone was okay.

  “Y’all niggas good or what? Man, I gotta go. I hit that nigga down the street. I gotta go,” he told them out of the window.

  Ron was the only one who had taken a bullet to the side, and everyone was debating whether to take him to the hospital or not. C-Brook returned from inside and was in total shock of what had gone down just that fast. Fam was holding Ron up because he was in a lot of pain. “My side burning, fuck. Damn bruh. I need a doctor,” he said.

  “Call the ambulance. He got shot bruh,” Breze said.

  “Is that a good idea though?” Phil asked.

  “What you think C-Brook? You think the cops gon’ wanna ask questions and shit?” J-Smith asked. “We were shooting too now. Chock just said the nigga might be dead up the street,” Fam said. “Fuck that, that nigga rolled down on us,” Breze said.

  “I’m bleedin’ like fuck man. Get me to a doctor,” Ron said.

  “Chock take the homey to the hospital. We’ll handle the cops don’t worry. We got that end covered,” C-Brook said.

  “Bet. Put him in the car,” Chock said. “Fam, ride with me and C-Brook get rid of this,” he said and handed him the Mack 11.

  “I’ma hold this weed til later,” C-Brook said.

  “Bet,” Chock said. Fam put Ron in the back seat, and he took the front seat.

  “We out,” Chock said and sped off. C-Brook ordered all the guns to be put up just in case the cops came through. He handed the Mack 11 to J-Smith and told him to make it disappear.

  They cleaned up all the evidence and moved fast and were surprised the cops hadn’t arrived. About thirty minutes past and they were just chilling when they heard loud reggae music. It was Dread coming down the avenue. He pulled up and stopped in the middle of the road with the music blasting. He didn’t even look in the guys’ direction. The window was down, and he was just sitting there.

  “What up Dread?” C-Brook said.

  There was no response as he sat in the car sweating in the face like he had just finished working out. He looked like his adrenaline was pumping, and his eyes were wide. C-Brook looked over at J-Smith, who was smiling.

  “Dread?” C-Brook called.

  “Is he okay?” J-Smith asked.

  “Dread?” C-Brook called and got out his chair.

  “That nigga high as fuck,” Breze said.

  “He on that shit,” Phil said.

  “Whatever it is I don’t want none of it,” J-Smith said.

  “Be careful approaching that car C-Brook,” Phil said. C-Brook got to the window and just looked at Dread. The fool began nodding his head in slow motion.

  “What the fuck?” C-Brook said. The other guys were laughing. “Dread? Dread?” He called. “J-Smith come here,” he ordered.

  “Dread?” Breze called and waved his hand in front of the window.

  “What this nigga on?” C-Brook asked J-Smith.

  “Meth,” J-Smith said.

  “Dread? Dread? Oh, now Dread?!” C-Brook called out his name. Dread sat there and didn’t even look his direction. J-Smith was dying laughing. “You ever seen this nigga like this?” He asked.

  “I ain’t ever see nobody like that,” J-Smith said.

  “Oh no, Dread?!” C-Brook screamed over the loud music. Dread still didn’t even attempt to look his directions. His eyes were locked in a world of their own, and he was now dripping sweat.

  “Nigga sweatin’ like ma’fuckin’ bull,” J-Smith said. C-Brook looked over in the passenger seat and saw a Mack 90 Machine gun. “Nigga ridin’ dirtier than Clint Eastwood,” he said.

  “Nigga gon’ have a heart attack C-Brook. Look at how he sweating,” J-Smith said.

  “Dread?! Dread?” C-Brook screamed to the top of his lungs. The fellas were dying laughing. C-Brook attempted to open the door, and Dread snapped out of his zone and punched the gas almost running over C-Brook’s foot. “I got him my brether! Jesus is the way,” he screamed going down the street”.

  “I gotta get the hell off two fo’!” C-Brook said. The guys were dying laughing.

  As midnight approached, 24th had calm down a little, and the crowd on the far end had vanished for the night. Breze, J-Smith, and Phil were the only ones out on their end. C-Brook was inside his apartment. He had become spooked after the shooting of Treal because shortly after Dread sped off cop cars and an ambulance flew down
the street in the direction where Treal had fallen after being shot. It was confirmed by the other guys on 24th that he was dead. The cops never came to 24th to question anyone, probably because they knew none of the guys were going to cooperate.

  As the guys stood out on the curve in the hopes of more clientele pulling up, they got the pigs from earlier. Brad and Finley appeared like a ghost in a black unmarked car and were out before the car was stopped completely. J-Smith tried to cuff a blunt behind his hand, Phil dropped a bag of rocks, and Breze backed away from a pistol stashed in a dumpster.

  “Don’t move! All of you get over here now and keep your hands so we can see them,” Brad demanded. Finley drew his pistol and was pointing it at them. “Y’all ain’t gotta point ya gun at us, though,” Breze said.

  “Shut up. Get your ass over here and don’t fuckin’ move. You move the wrong way, and it will be your last,” Brad said.

  Breze and the guys gave Brad a look. It was dark on the street, and there was no one else out to witness anything. They were sure the cops would kill them within a split second and cover it up. They didn’t want to die this way, so they knew the best thing to do was to obey.

  “What we do?” Phil asked as they held their hands up.

  “It’s always ‘what we do’?” Brad repeated.

  “What haven’t you guys done? All the bullshit that has taken place over here in the last few hours and I assume you guys are gonna swear you have nothing to do with it right?” Finlay said.

  “Right,” Breze said.

  Finlay and Brad literally shoved the guys to their car and began searching them thoroughly. They didn’t find anything on them but noticed how the Caprice had been riddled with bullets. They cuffed all the guys and told them to sit on the ground.

  “Are we under arrest or what?” J-Smith asked.

  “Y’all puttin’ us in handcuffs and stuff. What’s all this about?” Breze asked.

  “Sit over there and keep quiet,” Finley ordered. He and Brad began searching the ground for evidence and discovered several different kinds of shell casing. Some were from tonight, and some were from days ago and some from weeks ago. The fellas just knew they were going to jail when the search was over.

  Brad made his way to the Caprice and began searching it, and it wasn’t long before he found the assault rifle, two boxes of ammo and two loaded magazines. Finley looked over the hidden gun in the dumpster, but he was fortunate to find two bags of Lortab pills and a bag of crack rock.

  “Fuck bruh,” Phil whispered.

  “We going to jail,” J-Smith said.

  “Ain’t tryin’ to go to jail,” Breze said.

  “Looks like you boys were fully prepared for the storm,” Finley said.

  “That shit ain’t ours,” Breze said.

  “Really?” Finley said.

  “Y’all didn’t get that off us! Y’all got that off the ground,” J-Smith said.

  “Is that your story? Finley asked.

  “It’s the truth,” J-Smith said.

  “The truth is you guys are out here committing every crime under the sun. Do you have any fuckin’ idea what kind of time you guys are looking at? With this shit, you would never see daylight again. It’s all fun and games until you get caught. Then no one wants to claim the shit. I tell you what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna give the three of you some time to think about it and decide who wants to take the rap for this. I could care less.

  “It would certainly make me and my partner’s day to book all three of you bastards on every single charge and watch the judge sentence you to life!” Brad said. It was something about the way he said it that put fear in all three of the guys.

  They knew Brad was serious as hell. J-Smith knew they stood a small chance in court considering none of the drugs and weapons were actually taken off of them. But the amount of time they were facing if found guilty made him curious about both Phil and Breze. He felt, at least, one of them would turn on him if not both. It was obviously what the cops were trying to do. “You got two minutes,” Brad told them, and he and Finley began boxing all of their hardcore evidence. “Fuck these crackers tryna say bruh?” Phil asked.

  “Nigga, you know what these crackers doing? They playing mind games,” J-Smith said.

  “They didn’t get none of that off us bruh,” Breze said.

  “Don’t matter. It’s possible all of it will stick in court. Y’all know how they play,” J-Smith said.

  “That’s bullshit,” Breze spat. As the guys were going back and forth trying to figure out a plan, C-Brook opened the front door to come out but quickly withdrew at the sight of the cops. “Oh, shit. What the fuck?” He said and closed the door back. He pulled the curtain and began looking from the living room. “Them boys ‘bout to go to jail,” he said. He could see the cops placing all of their evidence in a square box, but Brad was holding on to the Rifle. “Damn, what done happened?” He asked himself.

  After a couple minutes, Brad and Finley began talking to the guys, and it looked as if they were debating about something. Brad was making all kinds of hand gestures as he spoke. J-Smith was the primary mouthpiece, and Phil and Breze looked to be agreeing with whatever he said.

  While they were talking Dread rode through and was about to stop but punched the gas after seeing the cops. “Fuck the police my brether. Kill all cocka roackes. In Jesus name my brether!” He screamed.

  “That nigga Dread crazy!” C-Brook said.

  Chapter Four

  He turned his attention back to the scene in his front yard and seen Brad pulling the guys up off the ground. Finley uncuffed them and then the next thing that happened threw C-Brook for a loop. Each of the guys handed their ID card to Finley, and he looked over them before placing them in his pocket. “What the…I’m lost,” C-Brook said out loud.

  “Are we clear on what we gotta do here?” Brad asked the guys.

  “Yea. We clear,” J-Smith said. Phil and Breze nodded.

  “You got exactly twenty-four hours. Don’t fuck with us!” Brad said with base in his voice. No one replied, and the cops returned to their car with all the evidence and drove off. C-Brook rushed outside once the pigs were gone. “Yo, what the fuck just happened?” He asked. Phil shook his head, and Breze threw up his hands and shrugged. “J-Smith, what’s up?” He asked.

  “Crackers got a nigga in a bad situation,” he said.

  “I could see that from the window,” C-Brook said.

  “It ain’t bad as it seems,” J-Smith said.

  “I be damn!” Phil said.

  “What’s up?” C-Brook pressured. Before J-Smith could respond there was a car pulling up on the sidewalk. “There go the twins,” Breze said.

  “Tell you about it later. But we need a plan…fast,” J-Smith told C-Brook.

  C-Brook shook his head like yeah, a’ight.

  “What up though?” Able said out of the window.

  “How long are we gonna be over here?” Roslyn asked from the back seat.

  She hated this side of town, and so did Quanita. “Right, because this is not a safe location to be hanging out,” Quanita added.

  “Chill. We copping the weed and we out,” Kane said.

  “Twins, what up? I was wondering where y’all lil ass was. Get out and fuck with me,” C-Brook said.

  “I heard it’s been poppin’ over here on two fo’ like Vietnam,” Kane joked as he and Able was getting out.

  “Hurry up,” Roslyn told them.

  “You know how the Av. be. Death can be a walk outside,” C-Brook said and embraced the fellas with a handshake.

  The twins embraced everyone as usual and began talking about a little of this and a little of that. It was clear the twins had heard about the drama on 24th and the guys on 24th had heard about the shooting on 27th.

  “Shooting? What shooting?” Kane joked.

  “I know nothing about it,” C-Brook said.

  “Man, it’s getting late. I’m about to call it a night. I’ll catch up with y’all tomorrow,�
�� Phil said. J-Smith gave him a look but didn’t say anything.

  “A’ight,” C-Brook said.

  “Twenty-four hours Phil,” Breze told him. Phil ignored him and left walking. Breze looked over at J-Smith, and they shared at look.

  “Where the bud?” Able asked C-Brook.

  “I’ll be right back homey,” C-Brook said and walked off to his apartment. Roslyn and Quanita sat in the car feeling uncomfortable. They looked around the ruthless looking neighborhood and wondered how some people would settle for so less. This was their first time ever actually stopping on this street. There were too many bad stories about all of Dixie Avenue, so they knew they had no reason to be caught on this side of town.

  “There is no way in hell I could live over here. Girl, look at how dirty the yard is. That is crazy. People don’t even have the decency to pick up paper out of their yard,” Roslyn said

  “I know right. You can smell weed from three blocks away,” Quanita said and laughed. As she looked around toward the guys it was like Breze was looking straight through the limo tints staring at here in the back seat. The thought of her being right made her shiver. “I wish they would hurry up,” she said referring to the wins.

  “Y’all want a beer?” J-Smith asked.

  “Nah, we good homey,” Able said.

  “What y’all got planned for the rest of the night?” He asked.

  “Pussy,” Able joked.

  “Can’t be mad at that,” he said.

  “Kane?” Roslyn called from the back seat.

  “You in trouble nigga,” J-Smith joked.

  “Got me fucked up,” Kane said. He walked over to the car to see what Roslyn wanted. “What’s up?” He had his head in the window.

  “Can we go do what we had planned, please? I don’t like this area,” she said

  “We,” Quanita corrected her.

  “In a second. We waiting on C-Brook to come out and then we leaving,” he told them.

  “I wish he would hurry up,” Roslyn said.

  “Don’t panic baby girl. I got’cha,” he said and walked off.

  “Phil gone, huh?” Breze said to J-Smith.