by Wahida Clark
“Aiight.”
As he got out of the car, a guy yelled out his name from the crowd of people surrounding the benches. “BoBo.”
BoBo nodded his head while keeping a serious look on his face. He walked over to the crowd, which was really broken down into smaller groups. A couple of his comrades comprised one group. He went to them first.
“All is well?” he asked while extending his hand.
The first one to shake his hand was Looney. His name spoke for itself. He was certified crazy. At six feet tall with a stocky build from various stints in prison, he had a dark complexion and body full of homemade tattoos that showed his allegiance to the Black P. Stones. The tattoos on his face were enough to cause even the most hardcore gangbanger to back off him. He was BoBo’s best friend. They had grown up together and become part of the backbone for Eighty-third. “Fa sho’, nigga!” Looney said.
They did their special handshake that was unique to their gang.
BoBo shook the other guys’ hands as well. “What’s that I smell?” he asked with his face turned up like he had smelled a soiled baby’s Pamper.
“What smell?” Looney asked him.
“You don’t smell that shit?”
Looney just shrugged his shoulders. He did not have the slightest idea what BoBo was talking about.
“Hey!” BoBo called out. “Hey, homie.” The guy he was calling was standing several feet away, puffing on a blunt. “What you smokin’ on?”
The guy did not answer. Instead, he walked over toward BoBo and handed him the half of a blunt cigar that he was smoking. “Here, BoBo. Go ahead and kill it,” he told him while smiling.
BoBo took it and smelled it. “It’s straight weed?”
“Naw. I sprinkled a lil’ salt on it,” the guy boasted, speaking of the powder cocaine mixed with the marijuana he had rolled into the cigar.
Before anyone had even thought he would, BoBo swung and slapped him so hard he literally spun around. Dazed, he went to run but BoBo’s guys were on him like hounds on a fox, catching him within a few steps. The people around all stared and wondered what the guy had done that quick and what would happen to him now that he had obviously pissed BoBo off.
A girl in the crowd mumbled, “BoBo is tripping!”
“My fault, BoBo, man. I didn’t know.” BoBo’s henchmen held dude tight, forcing him to his knees.
“Let that nigga up,” BoBo commanded. He waited for him to stand. “So you like getting high, huh?”
The guy said nothing.
“Huh?!” BoBo yelled, causing him to jump.
“Y-y-y-y-yeah,” he stuttered.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty.”
“Who made you put coke on this blunt?” He raised the blunt and blew on the fire to keep it lit.
“What?”
“Nigga, you heard me.”
“Nobody.”
“Well you see these shorties out here?” He pointed to the little kids who were on the nearby swings. The guy glanced over at them. “You ain’t finna make them smoke this shit you fuckin’ yourself up with. Plus, I told your ass before ’bout smokin’ this shit in this park. Didn’t I?”
“I know, BoBo. I forgot. My fault. I ain’t gonna forget no more. On everything I love,” he cried, the fear obvious in his eyes.
“I know you ain’t,” BoBo told him, lightly smacking him on the cheek. “Hold this muthafucka!” He reached for the guy’s T-shirt.
“BoBo, what you doing?” Dude was on the verge of panic.
BoBo ignored him as he tried to jerk himself away from the two guys holding him. “Looney, put this dope-fiend-ass nigga in a chicken wing.” BoBo began blowing on the blunt, making its flame glow brighter and brighter orange with each breath he gave it.
Looney took over by getting behind the guy and putting him in a choke hold. Upon seeing BoBo coming closer to his now exposed chest with the blunt, he began jerking wildly.
“Nigga, if you kick me, I’ma beat your ass half to death out here!” BoBo told him.
He knew BoBo would do just that and stopped jerking. It was no use anyhow. Looney’s grip was like vise grips.
“Now I’ma help you remember what the fuck I tell you.”
The crowd oohed and aahed as the guy screamed from the burning blunt’s flame being extinguished on his chest’s flesh.
“And for any other primo-smokin’ muthafuckas. Smoke that bullshit somewhere else!”
The guy fell to the ground in pain as soon as Looney released him.
“Get the fuck up and get from ’round here,” one of BoBo’s henchmen told him as he kicked him in the ass.
They laughed as they walked down to the food truck. The driver who had brought BoBo to the park had caught the end of the action, however, he was not surprised. He had witnessed worse. BoBo was unpredictable, he thought as he mingled with the crowd.
“Hey there, BoBo. What you want? Your usual?” the middle-aged woman in the truck asked.
“How you doing, Mrs. Brown? What’s up, Mr. Brown?” BoBo spoke. “Mr. Brown,” he said again.
Mrs. Brown turned around to see Mr. Brown had dozed off with headphones on. “Dee. Dee,” she called while shaking him.
Startled, he jumped, snatching off his headphones. “Huh? What? What happened?”
BoBo and Mrs. Brown laughed at him. He had to laugh at himself.
“I was saying what’s up to you, that’s all,” BoBo told him.
“Oh, hey there, BoBo. I was sitting here listening to my blues. You don’t know nothing ’bout that there, do you, boy?” Mr. Brown asked him.
“Naw. That’s before my times.”
“What can I get you?” Mrs. Brown asked again.
“Let me get two cream sodas,” he said, placing a five-dollar bill on the opening’s ledge that served as a counter. She handed him the two ice-cold cans and he walked off.
Mrs. Brown turned back around in time to watch him leave and called out to him, “BoBo, you forgot your change.”
“Keep it. Put it on my bill or something,” he yelled back.
Over by the basketball courts, he stopped to check out the dice game. Seeing him, the guys spoke to him.
“BoBo. My nigga. Let me holler at you,” one of the guys in the huddle said.
“What’s up?” BoBo asked as he finished his second can of soda.
The guy consulted with him about a problem he was having. It was a minor one he was having with a fellow Black P. Stone that he did not want to escalate into something big and end up getting them both a physical violation. Members were not allowed to fight with one another. Their punishment, or violation as it was called, could consist of their having to stand against a wall while an appointed member punched them repeatedly anywhere below the neck for a certain amount of minutes. It depended on the severity of the offense. BoBo gave him a quick solution.
A pearl-white ’75 Chevy Caprice convertible with its top down, twenty-four-inch chrome wheels glistening, sounds beating and vibrating, came riding past. Passing BoBo, it stopped and backed up. The driver was a light-skinned female whose hair looked as if she had just left the beauty shop. Although the top was down, she had the tinted windows up.
“BoBo,” the female hollered.
“Who is that?” he hollered back.
“Boy, quit playing.”
Hearing a female’s voice, he walked slowly toward the car. He saw what he thought was a familiar face. “Tasha?”
“Yeah, nigga. Who you thought it was? One of your hook hoes?” She and her passenger giggled. Her passenger was a dark-skinned girl in her late teens or early twenties. She seemed to be thick from where BoBo stood just looking at her top half. Her hair was freshly done as well.
“Pull over.”
“Un-uh. Come ride around the block with me.”
“Girl, what you on?”
“Nigga, get in.”
He walked around to the passenger side. The girl in the passenger seat got out and hopped in the ba
ck. He now saw that she was definitely thick. She wore a tight fitting T-shirt with some words outlined in glitter on the front. She had on some blue-jean shorts that barely covered her ample backside and sandals to show off her fresh pedicure that matched her manicure. He caught a whiff of her perfume and a look at her lower back tattoo as she climbed into the backseat. He got in and closed the door.
“I see you looking at her ass,” Tasha told him, although she was smiling.
“What you talking ’bout?”
Tasha was looking even better than she had the last time he had seen her. Her tight-fitting T-shirt had the words I LOVE ALPO in glitter on the front. She wore some tight short shorts as well. She pressed her Air Force 1s to the gas pedal and burned rubber as she took off. Almost everyone in the park looked at the clean classic as it sped off.
“So what’s up? Where you been and whatchu doin’ ’round here?”
“You ain’t happy to see me?” she asked.
“I’m always happy to see you. Where your man at? I see he got you ridin’ real slick.”
“I ain’t here to talk about him,” she said with attitude.
They drove around a few blocks and caught up with each other. It had been months since they had seen each other. The last time resulted in Tasha’s being seen by one of her man’s friends and getting a beatdown. The black eye she had gotten made her go into hiding.
She drove back to the park.
“So when we gonna hook up again?” she asked him.
“I don’t know. Sometime soon,” he told her, not wanting to seem pressed.
She leaned over to kiss him. They shared a brief passionate kiss, then he got out. Her girl got back in the front seat, Tasha cranked the music back up and they drove off as the bass made the ground vibrate and alarms go off.
“Damn, BoBo. Who was that piece?” one of his guys asked him.
“This lil’ broad I be fuckin’ with.”
“Ain’t that one of the opposition’s car from the Wild 100s’ neighborhood?” another one asked.
“Who, Alpo?” BoBo asked him.
“Yeah.”
“Probably so. That is his girl.” BoBo laughed at his own sarcasm.
“Nigga, you crazy!” the guy said, laughing with him.
BoBo and his guys hung around at the park until the sun went down. Many dudes and females had come through to hang or do some business with him. It was a typical day in the Trey.
Andre was a young Black P. Stone who was now fifteen years old and destined to make a name for himself. His name was ringing around the neighborhood for his love of squeezing the trigger. He was a freshman at Bowen High School. Five feet ten and barely a hundred and fifty pounds, caramel-colored skin tone that he draped in baggy clothes. He was known for toting guns, even to school. He seemed to always be getting into something.
A couple of weeks ago, he got into a scuffle with another Black P. Stone from a different neighborhood called Terror Town. The guy was a part of the Maniac P. Stones. They were a branch of the Stones but still governed by the same rules. It started over a female from Terror Town whom Andre had tried to talk to. She paid him no mind. When he reached to grab a handful of her womanly butt cheeks, she slapped his face. Reflexes caused him to punch her in hers. One of the guys from Terror Town happened to be walking by and jumped in.
“Nigga, you don’t be putting your hands on no sista,” Lil’ Sam told Andre. He had pulled him off of her.
“Nigga, you don’t fucking be getting in my muthafuckin’ bidness. Fuck this stuck-up bitch!”
“Fuck you, nigga!” Lil’ Sam said right before punching him.
Damn! Out of all the days to not bring a gun to school. Lil’ Sam whipped his ass! Andre seemed really small as he was being tossed about. Lil’ Sam was not trying to really punish Andre but he kept coming back for more so Lil’ Sam had no choice but to keep dishing it out. A crowd formed. Some of the other Stones broke it up. Andre seemed to be going crazy.
“Let me go! Get y’all fucking hands off me!” Andre said, trying to snatch away from the Stones who were holding him. He was out of breath and pissed off.
“Calm down, Dre!” his guy Rooster told him.
“Fuck that! I’m killing that muthafucka!”
There was only one guy holding Lil’ Sam back but a few restraining Andre.
“Come on. Let’s get outta here,” Rooster told him, pulling him in the opposite direction.
Word had gotten back to BoBo. He had heard several versions of the story. After Andre’s version, he and the guy in charge of the Maniac P. Stones in Terror Town decided to give both of the guys violations. The violation did not sit well with Andre.
“That ho-ass nigga wanna side with them niggas, he can die with them niggas,” Andre told Rooster on his way home after receiving his violation.
“You straight, nigga. Let that shit ride.”
“Fuck that shit! This shit ain’t over!”
“Whatever. You know I’m down for whatever,” Rooster told him.
Since that incident, it seemed that Andre had been doing things just to aggravate BoBo. His latest stunt had been beating down a guy who was visiting his family in the neighborhood. Andre had claimed that he was wearing his hat to the right, which was the side to which their enemies wore theirs. He had heard that somebody had run to BoBo telling him. He was waiting for BoBo to come to him about it. The guy was not a Stone, so what could he do or say?
“Andre, BoBo came by here looking for you,” his little sister, Anita, told him when he came in.
His eyes lit up. “Oh yeah?” He was headed toward their basement to bag up the half an ounce of rock cocaine he had just brought. “How long ago?”
“Earlier.”
“What he say?”
“Nothing. Just to tell you that he was looking for you.”
“Aiight. I’ll see his punk ass later.”
His little sister giggled at his remark.
“I’m telling you, girl, that nigga jumped in the car with some ho.”
“Who was she?”
“I don’t know, but the bitch was riding slick. One of them old-ass cars. Bitch had the top down, sounds beating.” LaLa was giving Serena the lowdown.
Serena was BoBo’s babies’ mama. One of many, nevertheless the one he was with at the moment. She had been the faithful girlfriend of one of BoBo’s workers, who had mistakenly introduced them. He’d gotten stuck on her beauty and moved in on her.
BoBo had set him up to get robbed of the work BoBo gave him, then got angry and threatened him. Now in debt to BoBo, the worker was treated as a personal flunky. BoBo constantly belittled him while making advances on Serena. When the guy caught on to BoBo’s agenda he relocated, leaving BoBo with the prize. Serena was upset at her boyfriend’s cowardly exit and had decided to give BoBo a chance.
Now the mother of two beautiful girls, two-year-old BaBa and two-month-old Fatimah, she still maintained a 36-24-38 frame. At five feet four with honey-colored skin tone, light brown eyes, and natural shoulder-length hair, Serena was fine. She never got a chance to show it, seeing that BoBo never allowed her to go anywhere. She knew he was not faithful, but hearing about his infidelities angered her.
“I can’t wait ’til that nigga brings his ass home. He expects me to sit up in this muthafucka like I’m on house arrest or something. Then he got his ass out there tricking off,” she said angrily. She called his cell phone again. It rang until the voice mail picked up.
“What happened?” LaLa asked.
LaLa was her one and only friend, and acted as her informant. Her older sister, Bianca, had been a Black P. Stone until a hail of gunfire took her life. Now LaLa hung at the park with some of the girl Stones who dated the guys BoBo hung with. Her young beauty received no looks from any of them. To them she was Bianca’s lil’ sister. The younger guys who tried their luck got nowhere. She dressed in baggy clothes in a tomboyish style. She was five feet seven, dark-skinned and wore braids, a cross between Foxy Brown and Quee
n Latifah in Set It Off. Revealing clothes were not her style. Had she worn them, it would have shown off her 36C cups and twenty-six-inch waist complemented by thirty-eighty-inch hips.
“Shit! Fucking answering machine picked up.”
She and Serena sat talking for a while. They talked about things other than BoBo but his affairs lingered in Serena’s mind. She loved him, yet this part of the relationship she could do without. If she went out for a walk with the kids and one of his friends saw her, he would throw a fit. And God forbid some unknowing guy pull over to try to talk to her and try his luck. One unlucky guy had done just that. He had gotten out of his car to speak with who he thought was a girlfriend candidate sitting alone on the porch. Before she could get him to leave, BoBo and his goon squad happened to ride past. BoBo went into a rage and dragged her into the house by her hair. The whipping she received was nothing in comparison to the brutal and fatal beating that guy received. His charred remains were found on the other side of town in the trunk of the car he had driven up in. She had read it in the paper BoBo had intentionally left out, turned to the page with the story on it. Before that incident, Serena had just thought that BoBo was crazy. It was no longer just a thought.
That was the first time he had put his hands on her in a threatening manner, and it had proven his point. In fact, whenever they had arguments it was how he proved his point. He would always tell her she could attempt to leave him and see what would happen. As bad as she wanted to try sometimes, knowing about the murder, she decided against it.
“Who is that calling like that? Your bitch?”
“Girl, watch your mouth!” BoBo warned. “I’m finna go.”
“Un-uh. No you ain’t gonna just hit it and run. Fuck that bitch!”
This was the part BoBo hated about coming over to his baby mama Carla’s house. She was the mother of his five-year-old daughter Charisse. Carla was tall and thin. Five-eleven barefooted. She had lost all her weight that she had gained from the pregnancy years ago. The cocaine-laced marijuana joints had played a part also. Okay-looking in the face, she wore many scars from fights with males and females. BoBo liked their physical relationship. It was he who had made her the fighter she was. She seemed to love when he beat her. The worse, the better. The sex they would have afterward would be off the charts! So much so, he still came back for more.
