Blow

by K'wan

  Diego paced through the wet grass, trying to gather his thoughts and plan his next course of action. As he paced, something caught his attention. It was so wet and horribly trampled by the parade of firemen on his front lawn that he almost didn’t notice it. Kneeling, Diego picked up a cigarette butt from the grass and examined it. Whoever had done this smoked Newports, a brand of cigarettes that weren’t common in the suburban neighborhood. Suddenly a light went off in his head. Though he might not have been the one to light the match, Diego knew Prince had a hand in what had happened.

  “I’m gonna whack your ass once and for all,” Diego growled.

  “What are you talking about?” Carmen asked.

  “Nothing, baby,” he kissed her on the forehead. “Listen, take little D and go stay with your mother until we get this mess sorted out. I got some things I need to take care of,” Diego started toward his car.

  “Diego, our house is ruined and there’s still paperwork to be filled out. Where are you going?” she called after him.

  He turned to her and said, “To take care of something I should’ve dealt with a long time ago.”

  CHAPTER 20

  “D amn, you the blackest ghost I ever seen!” Stone exclaimed, hugging Daddy-O when he walked through the door.

  Daddy-O had been arraigned the day before and formally charged with possession of an illegal firearm. His bail had been set at $75,000 and to the displeasure of the two detectives, posted the next morning. It took the combined efforts between he and Prince to raise it, but he was back on the streets. He had just enough time to shower the jail-stink off of himself before he got the phone call telling him where the meeting would be held. Prince decided to keep it a secret up until the last minute to avoid any preplanned surprises.

  “Fuck you, fat boy!” Daddy-O shot back. “Man, I ain’t been home for a whole day and you starting right in.”

  “Welcome home, my nigga.” Prince said with a weary smile. He and Daddy-O shared a pound/hug. It had been several days since they had seen each other, and having his right arm back gave Prince a sense of comfort.

  “You love throwing stones, don’t you?” Daddy-O said seriously. Everyone knew that Prince was hot and the police were looking high and low for him. Though they were on the Amsterdam side in an apartment that, to their knowledge, the police knew nothing about, it was still not the smartest move for them to be out in the open like that.

  “Can’t nobody run me from my hood,” Prince said in a tone that let Daddy-O, or anyone else who wanted to voice their opinion, that it wasn’t up for discussion. “Come on in, we got business to attend to.”

  Once he had their attention, Prince addressed his team, “I assume it’s no secret why I called you all here?” When no one answered he continued. “A few months ago we was all out here just trying to eat off Diego’s plate, and now we’re the ones doing the cooking and niggaz is hating. Diego trying to get at us and the police are on our dicks. But you know what, we knew it was gonna happen so we prepared for it. Let no one assembled here place himself above this union, lest he be consumed by this union, remember that?”

  Everyone was silent.

  “Well I remembered it,” Prince continued. “It was an oath that we all took, but not everyone stuck to the script,” his eyes swept the room. “Now, ya man Jay is gonna be the first of several casualties out this bitch by the time I’m done.”

  “Son, how we gonna get to the boy when he’s in PC?” Sticks asked.

  “Man, how many niggaz you know that’s locked up?” Prince asked. “I got a young wolf on the job right now.”

  “Speaking of snitches, what’s up with E?” Stone asked.

  It was a question that Prince had hoped to avoid. E’s sudden disappearance had everyone looking at him sideways. Prince wanted to believe that E’s Florida story was the real deal, but it didn’t sit right. To make matters worse, a young’n from the block had a court date at 100 Centre Street not too long ago. As he was riding the elevator, it happened to stop on the seventh floor and sure enough Killa-E was sitting there. For those not in the know, the seventh floor is where the DA’s office was located, so it didn’t take a rocket scientist to know what he was down there doing.

  “Fuck him. Knox can move the rest of what he’s got on the streets and then we’re cutting them Binghamton niggaz off,” Prince said. “I want everyone to get the word out that I got twenty grand on both them niggaz heads. Thirty if you finish ’em off before they can do any real damage. I want it to be known that in this camp, snitches will be put to death.” His eyes seemed to linger on Danny a little longer than anyone else.

  “What we gonna do about that nigga Diego? He acting like he want it, kid,” Stone said.

  “Man, I heard he’s out there smoking any and everybody on this side. He ain’t playing by the rules, Danny added.

  Sticks shot him a disbelieving look. “Rules? My nigga, ain’t no rules in combat. They hit us and we hit them, except we gotta make sure we hit them way harder than they hit us.”

  “Sticks is right. All this tit for tat shit ain’t getting us nothing but hot,” Daddy-O added.

  “And that’s why we’re gonna finish this shit once and for all,” Prince told his team. “Being that he and his bitch ain’t got that big house to lay up in, there’s only one logical place for him to move his family to. He’s got a brownstone off 128th and Lenox.”

  “You mean to tell me that nigga was stupid enough to let you know where he rests his head?” Stone asked.

  “He took me down there fronting like it was one of his lady’s cribs that he kept work and guns in, but I peeped his government on some mail that was laying out on the counter.”

  Sticks rubbed his hands together greedily. “I can’t wait to wax that skinny yellow nigga.”

  “Nah, that’s my kill.” Prince shook his head. “You and Stone are gonna handle Manny. I hear he’s been a busy boy lately.” Prince was referring to some information that he had gotten through the grapevine. It seemed that Manny wasn’t so sure that his boy was gonna win the little tug-of-war with Prince and was trying to set up a connect with this young kid from out of Brooklyn who was looking to do his thing uptown. If Diego died, Manny planned to slide right into his spot.

  “Prince, you’re already hot as hell, man. You can’t go and try to take out Diego on some Rambo shit. That’s what you got killers for, son. Let us do our jobs,” Sticks argued.

  Prince placed a hand on Sticks’s shoulder. “Young boy, you and your brother have always handled business for me on some grown man shit, and I love you for it, but this is something I gotta do. I want Diego to see my face when I relieve him of his brains.”

  “I’m coming with you too. If I let you go alone, you’d probably fuck it up.” Daddy-O smiled.

  Prince looked at his man. “Fo sho,” he nodded. “Just make sure your ass don’t get in my way,” he teased him. “Danny,” he turned to the youngster. “Your job is gonna be one of the most important.”

  “Me?” Danny almost jumped out of his skin. “Prince what do you need me to do?”

  “The projects are too hot to sit on, so we gotta take this show on the road. I want you to round up what we got inside 845 and 875 and move that shit to 96th street. Guns, drugs, I want everything up outta there. Get Steve from down the steps to help you move the shit in his minivan. My man Chino is gonna hold it at his spot until we can establish another base. Danny, them people is about to shut the whole projects down, and I don’t wanna lose one gram more than we already have, understand?”

  “Sure thing, P,” Danny said, thrilled that he wouldn’t be asked to kill anyone.

  Wayne was one of the young boys in the projects who was dying to get a rep. He had finally gotten his wish when a stray bullet from his gun hit a Chinese delivery man who was just trying to get home to his family. Wayne was currently in Rikers Island where he was awaiting trial on manslaughter charges. With his record he wouldn’t be going home any time soon, so he decided to make the b
est out of a bad situation.

  He was honored when Keisha had him and Prince on a three-way call. Since he was a shorty, Prince had been one of his ghetto heroes, and he was down to do anything for him. Though Prince never came out and said it directly, he knew what he was asking and was only too happy to handle it. It had been a snitch that pointed him out as the shooter so he did any and everything he could to make their lives hell. He had already stabbed two suspected snitches since he had been locked down, so one more was really no trouble. Besides, Prince was going to give him five thousand for the job, which went a long way in the joint.

  Getting into protective custody was easier than Wayne had expected it to be. During lunch he had gotten into a fight with another inmate, leading to him getting cut. It was a minor cut, but Wayne told the guards that he was in fear for his life. They promptly moved him to protective custody, two bunks down from Jay.

  Just after count, Wayne had struck up a conversation with Jay. They had never hung out but knew each other by face from the projects. Wayne confided in Jay that he was an informant against Diego, which was a lie, while Jay confessed to being an informant against Prince, which was the truth. Before you knew it, they were swapping stories like two old buddies. It was all good until Wayne pulled out a length of coil from the bedspring that he had sharpened to a fine point.

  Jay never even saw the first blow coming. When the coil tore into his kidney, it sounded like biting into a ripe plum. Jay tried to cover the wound with his hand, leaving his throat exposed. Wayne tore Jay up from gut to face and back again. By the time the COs pulled Wayne off the boy, there was barely enough of Jay’s face left to identify him. The COs beat Wayne damn near within an inch of his life, but in the end it was worth it, because Jay’s punk ass would never see the inside of that courtroom.

  CHAPTER 21

  T he first thing that alerted Manny that something was wrong was the change in Greg’s facial expression. He had gone from laughing to casting a shocked glare over Manny’s shoulder. He had hit the ground just before bullets tore through the corner store window and Greg’s chest.

  Manny stayed crouched on the ground, scanning to see where the danger was coming from. Twenty yards south, he spotted two men on a motorcycle. Stone was yanking on the handle bars of the Yamaha, trying to bring it around into on-coming traffic. Sticks’s emaciated form was perched on the back of the bike cradling a Mac-11. Manny had a serious problem.

  The time for logical thought had passed as Manny’s survival instincts kicked in. At the exact moment Sticks’s finger depressed the trigger, Manny was in motion. Glass shattered and people screamed as bullets tore through Columbus. Manny darted across the bike’s path, firing his 9 mm. He had hoped to hit Sticks or Stone, but only succeeded in ruining the light on the front of the Yamaha. The upside was that Stone lost control of the bike, spilling himself and his brother onto the street. By the time either of them had managed to get to their feet, Manny was bolting west on 104th street.

  “Damn it, you’re letting him get away!” Stone shouted as he tried to crawl from under the bike.

  “You’re the dumb shit that lost control of the bike,” Sticks shot back. “Next time, I steer and you shoot.”

  “Man, stop running your mouth and go get that nigga!”

  Sticks was reluctant to leave his brother, but Manny’s death was their number one priority. Swapping the Mac for his brother’s Desert Eagle, Sticks took off after Manny.

  Steve sat in his car, which was idling in the parking lot on the Columbus side of the projects. Prince had called him earlier and said that Danny would be contacting him about moving their stash, but he had been waiting for almost a half-hour and there was still no word from him. He figured he would give Danny another ten minutes before calling Prince to tell him about the no-show.

  Steve was about to light a blunt when he noticed flashing lights in his rearview. He tossed the blunt out the window thinking that the police were about to swoop in on the parking lot, but to his surprise they rolled right passed him. He turned around in his seat to get a better view and his jaw dropped. At least five police vehicles were speeding through the narrow walkway between 865 and 845. He wondered where the hell they were going, but he would find out before it was all said and done.

  A bullet shattered a car window mere feet away from Manny, spraying him with glass. His chest burned, and he felt like he would collapse from exhaustion at any moment, but the sight of Sticks closing the distance drove him.

  Sticks popped two quick shots, both missing Manny. He cursed and ran faster, hoping to catch up to Manny before he crossed the street. Stopping briefly he drew a bead square at Manny’s back. Just before he pulled the trigger, the dirty son of a bitch wove between a group of women pushing strollers.

  “Cocksucker!” Sticks shouted as he continued the chase.

  When Manny crossed Amsterdam Avenue, he poured on the speed and was crossing Broadway in no time. His logic was that if he could make it to Riverside Park, he just might live through it. There was always heavy police presence in New York City parks, and this was one time he welcomed seeing the boys in blue.

  Manny had made it to the park entrance when pain ripped through his calf. He tried to keep moving but the bullet had shredded a muscle and his leg could no longer support his weight. In a last attempt at saving his worthless life, he tried to roll over and draw his gun only to have it kicked away. As he looked up into Sticks’s midnight eyes, a warm trickle of piss ran down his leg.

  With an audible grunt, Stone shoved the bike and was finally able to free himself. For the most part he was unharmed, but when he tried to stand it felt like his leg wouldn’t support his weight. There was no way he could catch up to Sticks and Manny, so his best bet was to make an exit and hope his brother could finish the job on his own. No sooner than Stone turned to make his exit he found himself staring down the barrels of half a dozen guns.

  “Drop the gun or I drop you!” the first officer barked. He had a nervous look in his eye and couldn’t seem to quite keep his gun steady.

  Stone weighed his options and figured he’d have a better chance beating it in court than holding court. “A’ight,” Stone said, slowly lowering the gun. “Be easy.”

  No sooner than the gun touched the ground, the police officers were on him. They beat him with nightsticks, pistols, fists, and feet until Stone could barely move. As unconsciousness took him, he wished that he could see the look on Manny’s face when Sticks killed him.

  “Pop that shit now,” Sticks taunted Manny, aiming the gun at his chest.

  “Fuck you!” Manny shrieked, still trying to crawl into the park.

  “That leg looks pretty bad,” Sticks said, stomping on Manny’s wounded calf. Manny let out a yell that sounded like a tortured cat.

  “You pieces of shit, Diego’s gonna kill you!” Manny threatened.

  Sticks laughed wickedly. “I doubt that, since Prince is in the process of putting that nigga in a bag. Don’t trip though, with all the money we’re gonna make in the hood, we’ll make sure your mama has the prettiest black dress you ever did see.” Sticks was about to finish Manny when two police cars screeched to a halt a few yards behind him.

  “Looks like you’ll have to wait on that black dress,” Manny burst out laughing at his narrow escape from death.

  Sticks looked from Manny to the police who were filing out of their cars. After all they had gone through and overcome, it couldn’t end like this. Manny would go to jail as surely as he would, but the judicial system couldn’t punish people like Manny. He was a child of the streets, and only she could call him home.

  “Fuck it!” In a blur, Sticks popped two shots into Manny’s grinning face and bounded over the wall into the park. The police opened fire, but Sticks was already halfway across the open field. A bullet hit him in the shoulder, knocking him off balance and sending him crashing to the floor, and his gun flying into the brush. Pain shot through Sticks’s shoulder, but his legs worked just fine as he tr
otted through the park, in the direction of the highway.

  The blood loss caused Sticks to see spots, but determination wouldn’t let him pass out. He had long ago vowed that he would rather die than spend the rest of his life in someone’s prison, and Sticks considered himself a man of his word. Cars blared their horns and swerved as he hobbled across the highway. As he neared the edge of the water the horrible realization set in that he was trapped.

  “Go ahead, I want you to run!” An officer sporting a buzz cut yelled, advancing on Sticks with his gun drawn.

  “Take it easy, man. I ain’t running,” Sticks huffed. He raised his good arm and kept the injured one at his side. The officer with the buzz cut moved in on Sticks with a murderous look in his eyes. Sticks held no illusions about what waited for him. When officer buzz cut reached for him, Sticks swung as hard as he could with his injured arm, slicing the officer’s throat with the box cutter he was concealing.

  Riverside Park was lit up like the Fourth of July as the officers all opened fire at the same time. Sticks got hit at least five times before he went sailing over the guardrail and into the Hudson River. His chapter in the game had come to a close.

  CHAPTER 22

  T he block was quiet, too quiet in fact. Since 128th Street had been transformed from junkie heaven to up-and-coming Harlem real estate, the traffic had slacked up. You could still find an occasional cluster of people posted up, especially in the summer. But this night the block was still. There was movement in the shadows…scratch that…the shadows themselves seemed to move with the blowing wind. A man-sized figure peeled itself from the darkness and crept down the block in a crouch.

  Prince made sure no one was watching him before closing the distance to Diego’s brownstone. For the most part, all of the brownstones on the block looked roughly the same, but Prince retraced the route to Diego’s brownstone with little effort. Maybe it was the barred windows, or it could’ve been the guard laying low in an unmarked car directly in front, but Prince knew he was in the right spot.