Hood Rat

by K'wan

  “Do you see what they did to her?” he asked without turning to let Rhonda see his tears. “They fucked her up crazy bad.”

  “Yeah, them niggaz did some sucker shit,” she agreed.

  “I asked her who they were, but she wouldn’t tell me. I swear to everything I love, I’d track them dudes down and blast them all!” He punched the elevator door.

  Rhonda couldn’t help but to feel fucked up for Jah. He was reacting to the sight of Yoshi much the same as she had, but what burned in Jah was pure evil. Rhonda remembered then how she begged God to give her a means to teach Yoshi’s attackers a lesson, and here he was …

  “Jah,” she said, leaning in to whisper in his ear, “I know who did this, but if I tell you, you can’t say where you got the info from.”

  Jah spun around so fast he scared her. “Rhonda, if you know something, don’t keep me in the dark.”

  The mad glare in his eyes told Rhonda that the tidbit of information she held meant the lives or deaths of several men. She reveled in her godly powers for a long moment before setting the wheels in motion. “It was Rel and them niggaz.” Pulling Jah closer to whisper, Rhonda went on to tell him the full story of Yoshi’s rape, including the details that Billy had omitted earlier. By the time Jah left, Rhonda was thoroughly convinced that she had set a mad dog loose in the streets. She smiled triumphantly and waited for the other shoe to fall.

  35

  “You just gonna sit there and get high all night?” Elaine asked, placing one hand on her hip. She was a piss-yellow dime that Spooky had on-and-off-again relations with. He dug her on a level above just being a fuck thing, but he couldn’t deal with her mouth. Like Rhonda, who was straight reckless when it came to knowing what to say out of her mouth, she could get a nigga tight to the point where he wanted to jap her.

  “Pretty much.” Spooky exhaled a dark cloud. He was draped lazily over his recliner, half playing a game of Major League Baseball.

  “I swear, you’re the laziest muthafucka.” She bumped the recliner as she passed it.

  “Shut up and bring me something to drink!” he yelled to Elaine. “Crazy-ass broad,” he mumbled.

  “I heard that shit. Don’t make me fuck you up!” she called from the kitchen.

  “Fuck are you, part bat?” Spooky whispered. Swinging himself into an upright position, Spooky began concentrating on the game. As soon as he got into it, someone knocked on the door. Spooky ignored it, but they knocked again. “You hear every damn thing but the door, huh?” Spooky called to Elaine.

  “How the hell am I supposed to be getting you something to drink and answer the door? Put the game on pause and see who it is, with your lazy ass!” she called back.

  “Bitch,” Spooky mumbled, going to the door. Once he was certain it wasn’t an enemy, he unlocked the door and went back to the game without bothering to open it.

  Jah came in and locked the door. He nodded a greeting to Elaine, who just finger waved. He walked into the living room and took a seat on one of the dining room chairs. His face was grim, but his eyes said that something was on his mind.

  “Okay, spill it,” Spooky said, noticing the look on Jah’s face.

  “I’m in a bad way right now, my nigga,” Jah admitted. “I got some shit on my plate and I really ain’t sure how I wanna handle it.”

  “Holla at ya boy,” Spooky said, putting the joystick down.

  Jah glanced toward the kitchen. “It’s kinda personal.”

  Spooky nodded in understanding. “Elaine!”

  “What, nigga?” she snapped, coming out of the kitchen with his drink in her hand.

  “Watch ya mouth,” he warned. “Go in the back and occupy yourself while me and my man talk.” He held his hand out for the cup.

  She thrust the cup in his hand so roughly that Pepsi splashed on his tank top. “Spooky, don’t be in here trying to talk to me like your name is Ron O’Neil because this nigga Jah is here. I’d hate to have to fuck you up.”

  “You ain’t gonna do shit but go back there and wash your hot-ass little box, so I can hit you wit’ this pipe.” He slapped her playfully on the ass.

  “I’ll wash my snatch when you wash your dick,” she said, heading toward the bedroom. “Cheesy-dick li’l nigga!” she called over her shoulder.

  “Y’all two are off the chain.” Jah laughed.

  “Yeah, that’s my boo, but I can’t fuck with that bitch,” Spooky said. “So what’s on your noodle, my dude? I know you didn’t come down to the mouth of madness to shoot the breeze. Tell me whose throat it is so we can make moves,” Spooky said, cutting to the chase.

  “Yo, it’s about Yoshi.” Jah went on to tell Spooky what had happened to Yoshi several nights prior. Though it still pained him to talk about the whole ordeal, being able to talk about it made the load easier to carry. When he was done with his story, all Spooky could do was shake his head.

  “That’s some punk shit. I got sisters, so I know how I’d react if it happened to one of them. This shit needs to be handled.”

  Jah nodded. “I know it, my dude, and I’m gonna take care of that. I just came by here to let you know what was popping and to snatch that vest, then I’m gone.”

  “You ain’t going nowhere without me,” Spooky told him.

  “Spook, this ain’t about business, this is a personal vendetta over a broad. I’d never even ask you to get caught up in this crazy shit. You know when I go in, I’m going for body count, and you don’t need that kinda heat on you.”

  “Jah, I keep telling you that you’re my fam, duke,” Spooky explained while tying his Timberlands. “These niggaz already violated by trying to do us in, now they raped a chick we fuck wit’. These niggaz gotta be taught the error of their ways.” Spooky slid an assault rifle from under the couch. “Let’s go show these cats how gorillas move.”

  * * *

  Marlene sat at her desk within her small home office, the phone pressed tightly against her ear. She listened intently while the caller spoke. Her face bore a look of shock at the information she had just received. In response to the date, all she could say was, “Are you sure?” The caller confirmed the facts and Marlene nodded. “Okay, fax it to my home office,” she said and hung up the phone. The whole conversation left her in a state of shock.

  “Mar, I’m about to drop P.J. off at his mom’s house,” Paul said, sticking his head into the office.

  “Paul, we need to talk,” she told him.

  Paul sighed under his breath. “Mar, I really ain’t in the mood to argue. I’m dropping my son off and I’ll see you later.”

  “Paul, I don’t want to argue, but we need to talk.”

  “Mar, I said not right now. I’ve gotta lot of stuff to do,” he told her.

  Before she could offer comment, his cell went off. “Hello?” he answered in an irritated tone.

  “Paul,” Marlene said.

  “In a minute, Mar.” He waved her off. “What do you want, Rhonda?” he said into the phone. “I’m brining him in a little while. Come on, don’t put me through this shit right now ’cause I’m not in the mood. What?” He looked at the phone. “Watch how the fuck you talk to me! You know what? ’Bye Rhonda,” he said and ended the call.

  “You know, I think that girl has got radar. Every time we’re in the middle of a conversation, her ass is on the line.”

  “What can I say? My baby’s mama is a professional pest. Let me get up outta here before she starts blowing my phone up.” He headed for the door.

  “Well, I’ve got some things I need to get off my chest before you skate out,” she told him.

  “As soon as I get back we can argue all you want, but right now I gotta go.”

  Marlene slammed her hand against the table. “Paul, why is it that you have time for everyone except me? Not communicating is going to hurt our relationship more than help it.”

  “See,” Paul said as he ran his hands over his face, “this is the kinda shit I be talking about. I told you that I’m trying to cram a w
hole bunch of shit into a small window of time. After I drop P.J. off, I gotta get the pieces ready for the show. I need a clear head for that, and going at it with you ain’t gonna help.”

  “But Paul…”

  “I gotta go, Mar.” He ducked back out of the office.

  Marlene started to get up and follow him, but decided against it. She was in a very emotional state and didn’t trust herself not to do or say something rash. Instead, she sat back down and fumed. She wanted nothing more than to throw a tantrum and wild out, but the grown woman in her kept her rooted to the chair. Placing her hands in her head, Marlene began to cry.

  Paul didn’t understand how much he hurt her when he closed himself off that way. It made her feel like her needs weren’t as important as his. She was in his corner about any and everything, but she didn’t feel he was giving the same of himself. What he failed to realize was that Marlene was a woman in her golden years and needed more attention than the average female. She had gone through the days of angry walkouts and not speaking when she was in her twenties and didn’t have the strength to repeat the process with Paul. Some serious changes would have to be made if she intended to go all the way with him.

  Marlene didn’t know how long she had been sitting there, but by the time the doorbell rang she had a splitting headache. At first she thought it might be Paul, but he had a key and therefore would have no reason to ring the bell. Audrey wouldn’t come over without calling, so she wondered who it could be.

  As quietly as possible, she made her way to the front of the house. She peered through the curtains and saw a young Mexican man standing on her doorstep. He was dressed in a gray uniform and holding a cardboard tube and a rectangular box. Marlene opened the door and gave him a “what do you want?” look.

  “Delivery,” he said in a heavy accent, holding out an invoice bearing her name.

  Marlene handed him a five-dollar bill and accepted the packages. Strolling to the kitchen, she shook the tube, trying to figure out what it could be. There was a low, shifting sound, but it still didn’t reveal the contents. Placing the box and tube on the counter, she opened the envelope that held the card. There was no signature, but the note read:

  Thank you for a wonderful evening.

  Look forward to seeing you again soon.

  Marlene didn’t need a signature to know where it had come from. She placed the card down and opened the tube. Inside was a rose the color of blood on a stem that extended nearly two feet. Sniffing its sweet fragrance, Marlene smiled. The rose was beautiful, but what was inside the second box was the kicker.

  It was a necklace made of sterling silver and woven to look like two snakes wrapping around each other. The centerpiece was a sapphire so clear that Marlene could see her hand on the other side. Marlene held the necklace to her neck and the sadness she had been feeling a few minutes prior faded a little. She was still pissed off at Paul, but her new gift took some of the bite out of it. With the way he was acting and what she had learned on the phone testing her strength, she wasn’t sure how long she could take it. Though she loved the young man, she refused to sell herself short. Sadly, it was like her mother had always told her about Michael: “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.”

  * * *

  “Yo, you seen this shit in the paper?” Groovy walked up, flashing a copy of the Daily News. The evening air was soothing, so Rel and Slick decided to play the benches. Though they were out in the open, they hadn’t forgotten about their beef with the elusive Jah. Rel had a hammer tucked in his Crunch ’n Munch box, and Slick’s P89 was in the bushes beside them.

  “Fuck is you talking about?” Rel asked, sipping Henny from a plastic cup.

  “Mo money, mo murder.” Groovy tossed the paper on Rel’s lap. When Rel began reading, his jaw dropped.

  “Up and Coming Harlem Rap Stars Murdered,” Rel read the headline out loud.

  Police arrived at the scene of what turned out to be a slaughter yesterday morning. Two drug crews turned the front of a popular Manhattan diner into the Old West, in a gun battle where as many as fifty shots were fired. Witnesses reported the young rappers Terrence “Pain” Pane and Raheem “Lex” Stewart of the group Bad Blood and an associate Jason “Jay” Brown got into a verbal exchange with a group of unidentified gunmen that turned deadly when a shot was fired. The rappers, whose gangsta anthem “Slap Ya Self “ is quickly climbing the charts, had just come out of the diner when they were approached by the rival gang. Sources reported seeing one of the rappers pull a gun, which sent bullets flying from both sides. When the smoke cleared, two of the group’s six members and Brown lay dead in the streets. No one knows exactly what sparked the shooting, but some say it may have been a dispute over drug turf.

  “If that ain’t a crock of shit.” Slick sucked his teeth.

  “We was wit them niggaz just before that shit happened!” Groovy recalled.

  “Lucky y’all left when you did,” Slick said.

  Rel shook his head. “Yo, that’s some wild shit, son. On the real, if we had been there it wouldn’t have gone down like that, word to mine. But see, that’s what happens when you wanna be the man,” Rel said, as if he was schooling Groovy. “I could tell them niggaz wasn’t built like that, it’s just sad they had to get their food ate to prove it.”

  The blood of young black men had been spilled on the streets yet again, and Rel was talking out of his ass. Slick had finally had enough. “Yo, why don’t you shut the fuck up!” he barked. “All you ever do is talk about how you do, and how someone else is built. What the fuck are you built like?”

  “Son, how you gonna get mad at me for telling my truth?” Rel defended. “Niggaz know who I be and what I represent, so my hood stripes could never be in question, you underdig me? I ain’t trying to shit on they character, they went out like straight Gs. That’s how I wanna go out, kid, word up.”

  “Rel, you can’t be that fucked up.” Slick gave an insane chuckle. “Those three cats was about to make it up outta this shit.” He motioned at the projects around them. “And now they asses is stretched out. What the fuck is so glorious about dying in the gutter?”

  “On some real shit, son, you need to fall back with all that Pastor Mase shit you’re talking. Them niggaz knew what it was when they hit the block, fam,” Rel said seriously. “Slick, I love you like my fam, but you ain’t got no understanding of this here.”

  Slick gave him a puzzled look. “How the fuck you figure? Ain’t I out here holding it down right along side you? When your gun go off, do mine ever stay quiet?” Slick asked seriously. “Don’t try to downplay my street credibility, son.”

  “See, that’s just what I’m talking about. I would never question your G, but your schooling was different,” Rel pointed out. “You’ve always had your uncles, so you were able to learn the game under some true soldiers, but you didn’t really have to put in no work. You think on shit too much, instead of acting on animal instincts. Me and Groovy,” he pointed at his partner, “we ain’t never had shit. We come from straight fucking trash, and that’s why we think like goons. Everything we know about the game came from hands-on education. Niggaz know Rel is a solider, ’cause I was a beast in my day.”

  “Well, this ain’t ya day, and the beast has gotten a lot uglier,” Slick shot back. “You keep running around with the fucked-up mind-set that your name is gonna protect you and somebody’s gonna wake you up from that little dream.” Slick got off the bench and walked away.

  “Sensitive-ass nigga,” Rel mumbled, finishing his cup.

  * * *

  True sat within the darkened recording studio thinking. An unreleased track from their album played softly through the speakers. Haze wafted from his nose and swirled around his head like a ghostly crown. He took another swig from the fifth of Jack Daniel’s that was dangling at his side, but could only feel its burn as it went down. The potent whiskey had paralyzed his taste buds an hour prior. With his eyes closed, it felt like he could feel the darkness caressing
his face as a lover would, and he welcomed it. At that moment, he felt like the absence of light mirrored his own existence.

  True had read the bullshit Daily News article, and he knew the cat who had written it had no idea what the real deal was. Lex had given up robbing when he joined the group, and had gone harder than all of them when it came to making songs, so it was highly unlikely that he had beef with anyone. Jay was a notorious asshole, but didn’t have the guts to piss off anyone who might’ve killed him. No, this had to be a result of Pain’s bullshit. If he guessed correctly, it was over drugs. In that case, it was the only thing they’d gotten right.

  True’s lips moved along with Lex’s verse as he spit on “Draw Arms,” which was slated to be their next single. Almost his whole team had been taken out in one shot. Pain, Jay, Lex, they were all gone. Not only were they the core of the group, they were his family. True had his differences with all of the members, but they were still like his brothers. It would be hard to do without them.

  A sliver of light coming from the door caught True’s attention. With the details of his comrade’s deaths still unclear, he wasn’t taking any chances. In a less-than-fluid motion he grabbed his .45 off the floor beside him and drew on the door. When Don B.’s face became illuminated, he lowered it.

  Don B. was startled when he noticed True huddled in the corner holding a gun. “Fuck is you doing?” he asked, turning on the lights. He looked at True and was a little disturbed by his appearance. His eyes were rimmed red and swollen. Even True’s clothes were ruffled as if he had been sleeping in them.

  “Sorry, I didn’t expect nobody to come through here.” True sat back on the couch. “What you doing around here this time of night?”

  “Looking for you, kid.” Don B. took the seat beside him. “Ain’t nobody heard from you in like three days. What da deal?”