As Don P. were about to exit the elevator, El got a funny feeling. He turned around to face this stranger and said, “Yo!”
That was all he got out of his mouth before he heard, chic-chic. Just like that, there was a huge shotgun poking him underneath his chin. He could do nothing but shut his mouth and peek down at the cannon that had just taken his breath away. He curled up his lip and looked his assailant directly in the eyes before spitting in his face.
“Oh yeah?” he simply said. He lifted the gun from under his chin and in one foul swoop, knocked the daylight out of El with the butt of the shotgun. He then pointed it in the direction of Poncho and made him carry his brother to his apartment and open the door. When they were inside, he made Poncho tie El to a chair with telephone wire. When he was securely fastened to the chair, still out cold, this stranger proceeded to tie Poncho to a chair as well. When they were both gagged and bound, they would find out how much history them and this stranger had together.
“Ma, can you believe it’s finally the year 2000?” Ginger asked her mother.
“It got here quick as hell, huh?” she responded.
“For real, right?” said Gin. “It’s just messed up that the weather’s so bad out. I really wish Michael could be here, though.”
For the past week Ginger and her mother had been having the best time with one another during their trip to Florida. Her mother had missed how much they used to hang out before she’d moved in with Spits, but she didn’t know how to deal with it before. This idea for them to go away for New Year’s was the best thing she could’ve done to reach out to her daughter to let her know how she felt. She’d previously just hinted toward how much she missed her only child, but she also didn’t want to drive her further away, so she kept most of her complaints to herself. In order to bridge the gap that was forming between her and her daughter, she’d planned for them to have this time just for themselves and it worked. Ginger and her mother were the inseparable pair they once were, and it made her feel exceptional. Unfortunately, it was now time for Ginger’s mother to explain her ulterior motive for bringing her all this way from home.
“Baby,” she said, getting her attention from the storm that had developed outside. “I have something that I need to tell you.”
“What is it?” Ginger asked, not really giving her mother her undivided attention.
“I have something to tell you about Michael.” She could feel the tension getting thicker the moment his name was out of her mouth.
“What do you mean? What about Michael?”
“I want you to know that I always knew what he was about. In the back of my mind, I always hoped that you’d do what was right. But I couldn’t just sit around anymore and wait for that to happen.”
“What do you mean, Ma?” Ginger asked, starting to worry.
Her mother took a deep breath and then continued, “I knew that he was nothing but a drug dealer for longer than you could imagine. Who did you think you were fooling, huh?”
Ginger began forming small drops of tears from her eyes. She made an attempt at hiding her emotions, but to no avail. “Well, what would you have wanted me to do? Was I just supposed to leave him?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what you were supposed to do,” responded Gin’s mom. “Immediately after he endangered your well-being, and sacrificed your safety, you should have stopped seeing him, plain and simple!”
“Is that what you did?!” Ginger yelled.
Her mother said nothing.
“It isn’t, is it? Do you know why?” she asked her mother. She waited for a second and then answered for her, “Because you loved him.”
“That’s right,” she admitted. “I loved him. But where is he now? That boy is nothing but a two-bit hustler. He is nothing like your father!”
“You’re right!” Gin yelled, interrupting. “He isn’t anything like my father. He’s still here. He’ll never be anything like my father because he would never leave me . . .like my father left you.”
“Don’t you ever!” Gin’s mother yelled with fire in her eyes. “How dare you?”
Ginger could do no more to hold herself back from letting her tears run. They began slowly, but then they ran as steady as a river. She couldn’t even speak anymore.
“Well,” her mother said in a softer tone. “All of that doesn’t matter anymore. Michael won’t ever get another chance to hurt you.”
“What do you mean by that?” Ginger asked. “What have you done?”
“I haven’t done anything,” she said. “But I’m positive that you won’t ever see Michael again and there isn’t anything I could do about that; not even if I wanted to.”
“Why?!” Ginger spat. “You can’t do anything to keep me from him! He’s going to be my husband!” She finally put the words together. She hadn’t even realized what she’d said until two seconds after it was out of her mouth. She’d shocked herself, as well as her mother. They both just sat there in awe at what Ginger had just said. Spits had been waiting months to hear it, and he wasn’t even there.
“Over my dead body!” her mother said coldly.
El Don was awakened from the disturbing feeling of ice-cold water splashed into his face. He quickly assumed the manner he was in prior to being rendered unconscious. “You pussy ass mu’fucka,” he said. “You gonna get ya shit twisted backwards as soon as I get loose. You better kill me, nigga!”
“Don’t worry about that,” he responded. “You ain’t gotta worry about that at all, you little bitch-ass nigga.” He approached El until he was within arm’s reach and then smacked him with an open hand across his jaw. “You gonna get yours.”
After smacking El once more with even more force and anger, he momentarily left them alone bonded to chairs in the middle of the living room. While he was gone, both Don and P. simultaneously began searching the room for a possible escape. When they found no visible escape from the torment this crazed unknown had in store for them, they searched their memory banks for potential diversions and again, they came up with nothing. They wouldn’t let him see it, but they were actually growing somewhat afraid of what he was capable of; especially because they had yet to find out where he knew them from.
When he returned, he simply sat on a sofa positioned in front of them. He put his hands under his chin and rested them on his lap. He looked at Don, and then Poncho. Then, he looked back at Don. “Which one of ya’ll mu’fuckas actually lit the match?” he asked the both of them.
They didn’t understand. They just stared at him, and then at each other with bewilderment.
“Which one of you lit the fuckin’ match?!” he yelled at the top of his lungs as his patience grew thin. “What, you don’t remember now?”
An awkward calm fell on the room until Poncho broke the silence. “What the fuck you talkin’ ’bout?”
“Oh, you don’t know what I’m talkin’ about, huh?” he asked. “Well, which one of you bastards killed Drew, and that nigga Pone then?”
“Drew and Pone?” they both asked in unison. They thought he had to be absolutely insane. “Who?” they said once again at the same time.
“Is ya’ll mu’fuckas tryin’ to piss me off?”
After a few more questions that didn’t make any sense to neither Don nor P., they ultimately found out that this stranger was no stranger at all. In fact, they had coincidently bumped heads in the streets on a number of occasions, with him always ending up with the shitty end of the stick. Most recently, and probably what had pushed him over the edge, was when they were granted bail earlier that morning. He’d been sitting in the back of the courtroom when the judge had said the words, “Bail granted,” and he couldn’t even control himself. He’d stormed out of the courtroom abruptly and could no longer contain himself. Earlier than that morning, they were directly responsible for his aunt’s untimely and savage killing. They didn’t know it then, but this was the same Dwight that was on the floor cradling his Aunt Nester’s lifeless corpse after two shots came tearing thr
ough her door. As quickly as the chance was given to them to get rid of the only living witness to the murder, it was taken from them as Poncho shoved El down six flights of steps to make their getaway.
Just before this incident, he thought that someone representing their organization was to blame for his cousin Reggie’s bloody murder. All that was left was a clutter of shells surrounding his body, but he figured who was responsible. This feeling was only confirmed when he saw them through the holes in his aunt’s door. All roads were leading back to the Time Bomb Family.
Of course, he hadn’t even known about the events that had led to his boy Bobby’s a.k.a. Tec’s death but he’d subsequently blamed Spits. He’d spent the rest of the whole day trying to figure out ways to get back at them. The loss of his friend would also have to be taken out on Don and P.
“Ya’ll some bitch-ass niggas!” Dwight said in a loud tone before he paused to give a chuckle. “You heard? Ya’ll some bitch-ass mu’fuckas. Why the fuck didn’t ya’ll merc that nigga Ceelow when Roscoe told ya’ll that he was stealing from ya’ll?”
A surprised look came across the faces of El Don and Poncho. “How the fuck did he know about that?” they asked themselves over and over again but couldn’t complete the equation. It wasn’t making any sense yet.
“What?” Dwight asked condescendingly. “Was ya’ll mu’fuckas scared or somethin’?”
“Fuck you!” El Don yelled. “I ain’t scared of no-fuckin’-body, not even ya punk ass.”
“Well, ya’ll must’ve been scared if ya’ll let that nigga keep breathin’ after what Roscoe told ya’ll.”
“Fuck Roscoe,” Poncho bluntly said. “Fuck Ceelow, too. Let’s talk about your punk ass. Why don’t you stop playin’ this bullshit game and tell us who the fuck you are?”
“I’m the one that told Roscoe to tell ya’ll dumb ass mu’fuckas that shit about Ceelow,” he said as if he’d been waiting forever to tell someone. He then waited for a response, but there was none. “Is it startin’ to make sense yet, dummies?”
When they could do nothing but carry blank looks on their faces, he knew that he had to continue.
“You see Roscoe was just some bitch nigga that owed me,” Dwight said. “He was expendable, so I ain’t care when ya’ll niggas sent him back to his essence. I ain’t get tight until I realized nothin’ was gonna happen afterwards, ya na’mean. Now, does that mean that our boy Roscoe’s death was in vain?”
“Why?” Poncho asked. “What the fuck made you want to fuck with us? What was worth how much work you put in to wage an all-out war against us?”
“What?!” Dwight yelled as his eyes grew larger. “What the fuck you mean?! You don’t know yet? Maybe that summer night didn’t mean as much to ya’ll mu’fuckas. Maybe you can treat a double-homicide like a walk in the park.”
“Hold up a minute,” El said aloud as he began realizing where they’d first met. “That was you?” he asked.
“Yup,” Dwight answered with a silly, but devilish, grin on his face. First, he felt a bit of contentment with the idea that they hadn’t completely forgotten about that late-summer night in the park, four summers ago. But when El Don let out a chuckle, that feeling quickly transformed into a fit of rage. He got up out his seat and approached El with his shotgun cocked and pointed directly at his chest. “What’s so funny, mu’fucka?”
El looked him straight in his face and said, “You’s a bitch-ass nigga.” El said it with so much conviction that it sent a shiver up Dwight’s spine. “You mad ’cause you ain’t have enough balls to jump out the fuckin’ whip and get buck for your boys? You just a pussy.”
All of the emotions that Dwight had felt after that night came rushing back to him. He hadn’t spoken about that night once since it had happened. He was always afraid of what someone might say about the way he’d left his boys without any assistance. He was so sorry for his cowardly behavior but had yet to get an opportunity to express these feelings. After everything, he wished nothing more than to go back to that night. He wanted so much for a second chance. He knew that if only this one wish could be granted, that he could’ve changed the outcome of that night. It was his fault that Drew and Pone got killed, but he couldn’t admit that to himself. He kept telling himself otherwise, but he’d later come to the realization that had he not left them alone the way he had, they might have had a chance. They might still be here today. He had no idea that this night would be a pivotal point in his life.
Immediately afterwards, he couldn’t yet find it in himself to go after his friends’ killers. It only made it worse when they got so big and well-known in the streets. The fear only grew deeper and deeper. Finally, he’d come to the conclusion that he’d be justified in getting back at the Time Bombs in otherwise non-conventional methods. In other words, he did what the average bitch-ass nigga not thorough enough for the game would do. He started ratting. His first experience with the Federal Bureau of Investigation led to the arrest of Peter “Trigger” Beckford, and the unfortunate death of Mikey “Pop” Black. Things started to look a little bit better for Dwight after that, but that all quickly came to a halt once Trigger disappeared.
Now, he could no longer play the background while they screwed up the numerous attempts they had to apprehend the key members of the Time Bombs to bring them down. With this final example of how incompetent the police were, he’d decided to take the law into his own hands. He couldn’t sit back anymore and wait for them to settle his beef. Now, he was prepared to handle his own.
BOOM . . . chic-chic . . . BOOM! Dwight hit El with two shots in his chest at close range with the 12-gauge he was gripping. The first shot hit El with so much force that it pushed his chair over on its back. He then stood over him to give him the second shot and said, “That’s for my Aunt Nes, you bitch-ass nigga!” When Poncho heard the first shot go off, everything else just went silent. His eyes grew larger and his face got so red that you could see veins bulging out of his neck and forehead. He couldn’t contain himself. He tried with all his might to get free from the wire that had his hands and feet bounded but to no avail. His numerous attempts to get up simply looked like a pointless rage to Dwight. He looked at him and smiled, then smacked him across the jaw with the butt of the shotgun. “You want some, too?” he asked, and then stood up behind Poncho’s chair.
“Yeah, mu’fucka!” Poncho yelled helplessly. “Let me out of this chair, nigga. Please, let me out of this chair and I swear on everything I love, I’ma buss you right in ya shit!”
Click-clack . . .Dwight cocked back a chrome .9 mm pistol, just like the one that Cee had used on his boys that dark summer night, and put it to the back of Poncho’s head. “This is for Pone and Drew . . .you bitch-ass nigga,” he said before pulling the trigger seven times. He put two in the back of Poncho’s head for Pone, and when his body fell lifelessly over on the ground, he put five more shots in his back for Drew.
“I can’t believe that you could even say a thing like that, Ma,” Ginger said to her mom as a river of tears continued flowing down her face.
“Well, there isn’t anything that anyone can do about this now, baby,” she said, trying to reason with her daughter. “Michael is going to be going to prison for a very long time, and all the money in the world couldn’t stop that from happening.”
“You’re a liar!” she yelled. “That can’t happen. He would never leave me.”
“Listen to me, baby,” she said as she walked over to console her only daughter. “It’s already happened. The FBI picked him up at the Marriott Hotel in Manhattan last night.”
“That’s not true,” Ginger said, still in denial. “How could you possibly know all of this?”
“I know because they told me, out of respect, to keep you as far away from that party as possible.”
“What?” Ginger asked.
“They knew for months that they were going to move in on Michael, a.k.a. Spits, and the rest of the Time Bomb Family the night of their New Year’s Party. Purely out of the
respect they had for my dedication to the police force, was I informed of their plans ahead of time. If I could get through to you, it might not be too late for you to put this horrible person behind you and do what’s right for you.”
“I don’t know what that means, Mommy,” Ginger said helplessly. “I wouldn’t know what to do without Spits. I love him with all of my heart, and I can’t do anything to change that.” She paused for a second. She cried, and cried, and cried until she could form no more tears. It was hopeless for her to even consider a life without Spits. She would rather die.
FINAL CHAPTER
As the afternoon hours set into the first day of the New Millennium, I was finally convinced. I knew now that I wasn’t at all the same person that had begun this business only four short years ago. After all of the ups and downs, the good times and bad, I had gotten to a point in my life where I just didn’t give a fuck about all of the same things anymore. My priorities got thrown all out of order that summer of ’96, and now I had gotten in too deep to make a reasonable recovery.
As fucked up as everything seemed, it possibly went from bad to worse. My cell phone let out an indication tone that meant that I had a new voicemail message waiting. It surprised me that I would even be getting a message, as my phone hadn’t been receiving a signal all night. My first feeling was genuine happiness as I listened to the message, but as it continued, I suddenly became numb. A single tear formed from my eye as I decided that I’d had enough. All of a sudden, I felt all alone in the world. I felt like there was no one left for me to even imagine talking to about my deepest and darkest feelings. I was lost. That one tear would soon turn into more, and those tears would turn into an uncontrollable wave of emotions. Wave after wave of deep emotions would be buried for no longer. “Why the fuck is all of this shit happening to me?” I asked myself that question over and over again but found no answer. My life was lost. Years and years of burying my feelings deep inside me was now in control of my actions. This is when I called it quits, but as with most of my decisions, it came just a bit too late.
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