Even Sinners Have Souls TOO

by Joy, E. n.

  Redrum smiled wickedly, nodding his head slowly in appreciation as he listened intently to my fabricated tale of thuggish violence. "That's what I'm talking 'bout, Black." He'd said it louder than he meant to, causing the substitute to once again look up from her book. We both buried our heads down with pencils in hand until the sub resumed reading.

  "It's all about Santana Black Skull, 'N' Bones Reapers for life, Pahtna," Redrum continued in a low whisper. "Widow Maker should have blasted on that punk. I know I woulda."

  "Yeah, he woulda peeled his cap back, but you know our Mama was right there, so he didn't want to do her man in front of her. You feel me?" I said, quickly finding a reason for Montel's reluctance to murder his enemy. "Plus, Mama was getting all scared and whatnot, so Widow Maker just let him go with a straight up butt whippin'."

  Redrum smiled with proudness. "Ya brother's a true 'O.G', Cee-love, you do know that right?" he whispered. "He's a legend out here on these streets, homie, and there ain't nothing that the homies in the hood wouldn't do for him-ever."

  Just then, a known Reaper entered the room and went and sat at his desk several rows to my rear. He looked up at the clock and then at the substitute. "Sorry I'm late," he said, knowing there was only fifteen minutes of class left. The sub just shook her head and returned to her reading.

  About a minute went by before a piece of scrap paper was handed to me. It read, "Now that your brother Montel, A.K.A. Widow Maker, is back home, it's about time for you to get with some real cats who put in work and get money. Blood in, blood out. Santana Block SNB Reapers 4 ever!"

  I looked back at the dude who had just entered the classroom late and he flashed the infamous gang sign of the feared Reapers.

  As April came to an end and May began, Montel was home less often, as he'd begun working whatever odd jobs came his way. And came they did. Almost every week he was repairing or detailing someone's car, or carrying out minor carpentry, flooring or drywall duties for Mr. Larry, a long time Santana Block resident with a small carpentry business. I also found myself hanging out much more with my homeboys out on Crenshaw Boulevard. Though I ran the street with my Reaper homies as often as possible, I always made sure I completed all of my household chores as well as any home- work, work which I knew Mama would check. And if either of those two responsibilities weren't met, I'd be in for a long, unpleasant night to say the least.

  I made it a point to be sure to walk across the street to my man Fatz's crib where we'd make a beeline out back to his tool shed. Inside we were growing three marijuana plants that we called Sally, Sue and Jane. We'd been growing the plants since September of the previous year and all three had yielded us a fine crop of high grade Cali weed that we both smoked as well as sold.

  Fatz was a seventeen-year-old high school dropout who lived with his aunt Reba. His mother had died shortly after giving birth to him and he never knew the identity of his father, neither did anyone else. His aunt Reba was a long time welfare recipient who did little more than sit around the house eating cheap carryout food, gossiping on the phone, and surfing cable channels. She was also a major pothead whose appetite for indo rivaled even that of Snoop Dogg's. So therefore, we never had a problem doing business out of her place. As a matter of fact, Aunt Reba helped us to plant and cultivate the illegal crop as well as weighing, packaging and selling the resulting chronic harvest.

  After a particularly tedious evening of harvesting, weighing and bagging the weed for distribution, I bid farewell to my fellow hemp farmers and took off for home. I'd lost track of time and didn't want to arrive too late, because Mama would most definitely let me have it. She knew all about what most of my peers were into as did everyone else living in the city of Compton. She feared for my well being whenever I was away for long periods of time, but always prayed that God would protect me. Thus far He hadn't let her down.

  No sooner than my keys entered the front door did Mama snatch it open, nearly dislocating my shoulder in the process. "It's dang near eight o'clock at night. Where were you, Cedrick?" she said seething. "If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times to stay away from those hoodlums you call friends. They ain't nothing but a bunch of criminal thugs that I don't know why you insist on being around. I be worried sick about you."

  "But, Mama, you always say, 'Why pray if you just gon' worry?'" I responded.

  She had her hands on her hips and her eyes narrowed with ire as she berated me further. "Don't get smart with me, boy. I've got a good mind to take a belt to your narrow li'l hind parts, or better yet, punch you in your doggoned chest for being so disobedient!" She made a sudden move, which made me flinch, wincing in anticipation of the smack across the face I was sure to receive.

  Fortunately for me, that blow never came. Instead, she simply said, "Boy, get outta my sight before I lose my Christianity."

  I hung my head shamefully and walked away as my mother leaned her head back against the couch, sighing with both exhaustion and relief. Once I reached my room I pushed through the door angrily before sitting on the edge of my bed, staring across the room at the wall covered with posters of curvy swimsuit models and Tupac. I picked up a football from the floor and flipped it around while lying on my back. I began reflecting on the recent events of the day and wrestling with the truth of my mother's heartfelt, albeit harsh, warning about my peers against my own burning desire to fit in with Redrum and the rest of my Reaper homeboys.

  It was but a matter of time before I would be given a final ultimatum to join the neighborhood Reaper set, but would I be ready? What would happen if I turned down the offer? I already knew the answer though, and it wasn't like I'd have a choice once I was given the invitation. Street gangs never take no for an answer, and the Santana Block Skull 'N' Bones Reapers were no dif- ferent. My only question was when I'd be officially presented with the inevitable.

  Chapter Four

  The next day, I arrived home from school earlier than usual, only to find a slew of yellow stickies attached to the door of the fridge. They each detailed various chores I was to complete before Mama got in. I grumbled angrily to myself as I went about dumping the garbage, washing the dirty dishes, and vacuuming the carpet. It seemed as fast as I completed one chore, there were three or four others that needed to be done. It would be dusk by the time I finally finished up.

  When Mama arrived later that evening, the house was spic and span. I had worked my butt off cleaning it from top to bottom just as she'd instructed me to on refrigerator notes.

  I was upstairs in my room, when I heard Montel's husky voice, mingled along with Miss Shante's girlish giggling, following Mama into the living room down stairs. I went down stairs to greet them. Mama had been grocery shopping and my brother and Miss Shante had brought in the majority of the bags already, so I went to work helping Mama unpack them and stock them into the fridge and cabinets.

  Montel and Miss Shante joined us in the kitchen, playfully bantering each other as they removed and stocked groceries from the plastic bags. Giggling and laughter filled the room as Mama joined them in the humorous cross talk. Through the joking and laughter, I silently went about my work not saying a word to anyone nor reacting to the humor one bit.

  "What's the matter with you, Cedrick? You being antisocial tonight. Did you break up with a girlfriend or something?" Miss Shante asked me.

  "Naw, I'm aiight, just kinda tired that's all," I answered, hardly looking her way as I placed a box of Frosted Flakes into the cabinet. "Besides, I ain't got time for no girlfriends. I'm too busy to be tied down to one chick."

  Miss Shante snickered loudly. "Well excuse me, Bishop Magick Don Juan."

  "Cee-love ain't no playa. He's just saying that he's too young right now for a serious relationship, right Cee?" Montel playfully grabbed me up in a headlock, which caused us to tussle about the room for a bit before Mama lightly scolded us about horseplay in her kitchen.

  "My bad, Mama," Montel apologized. "Tell ya what, y'all wanna have something different for dinner toni
ght? Like say, Mexican maybe? Or how about a really exotic Moroccan dish? I'm telling you, I can do it all now."

  "Let's just have some regular old soul food like every other black family in America. Is that alright with you, Chef Montel?" Mama chimed in while placing several carton of eggs into the fridge. "I'm in the mood for chicken and dumplings myself. How 'bout y'all?"

  Miss Shante and I nodded in agreement with Mama as we put away the final grocery items.

  "Well, in that case, I'll just run over to Inglewood to Roscoe's Chicken and Waffles and pick something up," Montel said, grabbing a set of car keys off of the kitchen countertop.

  "I thought you wanted to cook something, not go get carryout," Mama said, turning around to face Montel.

  We all stared at Montel, expecting an answer. Montel stopped just short of the doorway and slowly turned back around to reenter the kitchen area. Mama placed a checkered apron around her waist as she stood up against the stove.

  "Hey, if you got something else to do, then go ahead, baby," Mama told Montel. "It's all right. I'll fix a li'l something for us. Your plate will be ready for you when you get back."

  Montel smiled his usual easy going smile as he stood in the entrance way of the kitchen. He walked over and planted an affectionate kiss on Mama's cheek.

  "Naw, Mama, I ain't gotta go nowhere. I just thought that maybe y'all wanted something different for a change, that's all. But, hey, if y'all want chicken and dumplings and not chicken and waffles, then so be it."

  "That's what I'm talking 'bout," Mama said, draping her arms around Montel in a warm hug. "I would've loved to cook, but I just got back from Leon's house, dropping off a plate of left over pot roast for him 'cause the poor man's been working overtime each and every day this past week. I figured that was the least that I could do for him." Mama removed her apron.

  Both Montel and I stared at each other for a quick second. Each of us recognized the disgust in the other's eyes behind hearing that Mama had taken that lowlife boyfriend of hers back after all that had recently went down.

  "Some things just never change, boy, I'll tell ya," I grumbled under my breath, turning to leave out of the kitchen and into the living room.

  "Mama, I don't mean no harm nor any disrespect," I heard Montel say, "but I just don't like dude, ya know? But you're an adult and you're my mother, so I'm gonna have your back no matter what."

  Mama smirked while sucking her teeth. "I'm a big girl, Montel, and you know good and well that I can take care of myself."

  "Aiight, Ma. I just want you to be happy, that's all." Montel slowly eased up against the kitchen counter next to his mama.

  "Well, are you gonna cook dinner or what?" Miss Shante finally interrupted the family moment.

  "All right, already. I got you. But if y'all want me to hook something up real quick, y'all gonna have to vacate the kitchen."

  Everyone, except me, hugged Montel for his decision to prepare dinner. I, instead, dapped him up as he went toward the upper cabinets for ingredients.

  "That's right, get it together, Mister. You've kept us waiting long enough to eat, don't you think?" Miss Shante rolled her eyes mischievously.

  Montel shook his head, grinning all the while staring at Miss Shante as she sashayed out of the kitchen.

  Mama, Miss Shante and I enjoyed the hilarious antics of Chris Tucker and Ice Cube in the movie Friday, while the delectable aroma of Montel's cooking wafted from the kitchen. Within the hour we all enjoyed a mouth watering chicken and dumpling meal, compliments of Montel. As we ate and laughed together, I was thinking deeply about what Montel had said to Mama concerning Leon. I knew that it was but a matter of time before the two of us kicked Leon's drunken tail once and for all. The thought made me smile a truly wicked smile.

  Chapter Five

  On the afternoon of May 22, 1999, I had just finished helping Montel out with one of the various neighborhood clunkers sitting in Mr. Larry's cluttered backyard. It took us both the better half of two hours to overhaul the transmission of a 92 Plymouth Sundance. Mr. Larry, who was also something of a part-time grease monkey himself, offered Montel the lion's share of his auto repair gigs whenever possible, which was nearly all of the time. Montel had proved to be an invaluable asset to Mr. Larry's carpentry company, so as a favor, Mr. Larry allowed Montel to use his property to repair the cars, which originally were to be his projects. Mr. Larry also allowed Montel to keep the money he earned from the auto repair jobs he completed each week.

  "Hey, Montel, I'm gonna need some more drywall, paint and plywood from Home Depot for that job out in the Valley tomorrow morning," Mr. Larry told him. "We're looking at one of our biggest paying jobs yet, so there's no way I'm gonna let something as simple as a lack of supplies sabotage that." Mr. Larry went into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. "Here," he said. Mr. Larry handed over a ring of jingling keys to Montel. "Take the pickup downtown and do that for me, okay? I would do it myself, but I gotta make a couple of calls and round up a few more workers for tomorrow's job."

  Montel slathered his grease-blackened hands with a citrus scented cleaning solution before wiping them free of engine scum. "I got ya," he replied, placing the keys in his pocket.

  Mr. Larry patted Montel on his back, smiling at me as I wiped my dirty hands on the soiled towel given to me by my brother. "Oh yeah, just charge the supplies to my credit card, aiight?" He reached over to Montel and placed a platinum Visa card into his palm. "See you two in a few."

  "C'mon, Cee, let's dip," Montel ordered.

  We made our way to Mr. Larry's big, red Ford F150 that was parked beneath a long, slender palm tree at the corner. Montel pressed down on the key chain's button, releasing the locks. We both stepped up into the plush leather seats of the truck, then shut the doors behind us. Montel revved her up and we started on our way.

  "I'm getting kinda hungry, Cee. How 'bout grabbing a fat burger after we pick this stuff up?" Montel asked me.

  Of course, I agreed, being that I hadn't eaten since breakfast. We spent nearly forty-five minutes at a downtown L.A. Home Depot gathering up, buying, and finally loading up the truck with the building supplies. Shortly afterwards we drove back uptown toward south central in order to get a quick bite to eat. We went through the drive-thru of a local greasy spoon and ordered us thick, juicy, double-cheese fat burgers. I dug into the sloppy, succulent sandwich with gusto, hardly paying attention to my brother as he parked the truck and then stepped out.

  "What's up?" I asked with a mouthful of food.

  "I need to go exchange this sandwich. It's only a single cheese burger."

  As Montel headed toward the carryout window, the pavement rattling tunes of D.J. Quick blared from the loud bass heavy speakers of a midnight blue '64 Impala. It bounced from side to side on switches. Its rowdy occupants whooped it up to the explicit gangsta lyrics before pulling into the restaurant's parking lot. I recognized the driver right away as Terrell Bush, A.K.A, "Baby," who was no more than maybe seventeen or eighteen years old.

  Baby was Redrum's first cousin and a newly initiated member of the Santana Block 'SNB' Reapers. He had dropped out of high school two years ago and was now constantly running from the law for one thing or another. Armed robbery and car theft were his specialties, and it was these criminal skills that had gained him membership into the Reapers' evil fold.

  Once the car came to a halt, an older cat exited the car from the passenger's side. He was a tall, lanky, dark-skinned hoodlum with a wicked looking scar etched across his narrow right cheek. He appeared to be between twenty-three to twenty-five years old. He, too, wore the typical black and white of the Reapers. A thick, shiny silver necklace with a diamond-encrusted skull and cross hung from his neck. His various tattoos, par- ticularly the half empty hourglass and the symbol #13 tarot card which stood for death was tatted on his forearm. This suggested that he was not only a high ranking member, but also an accomplished murderer.

  The booming bass of the Impala suddenly went silent as did the e
ngine. Baby got out of the car and the two gang members crossed the parking lot in route to the carryout window. The two thugs chatted and laughed loudly among themselves as they both approached the open window and stood behind my brother.

  Both individuals ceased their chatter as they observed my brother slowly counting a wad of money before peeling off a bill. I assumed he was buying something extra, or they had only charged him for a single burger and he had to pay the difference for the double. Nonetheless, Baby's eyes narrowed and he pulled the older hoodlum over toward him, whispering into his ear.

  The long, lean dude listened for several seconds, but seemed to be disagreeing with his homeboy as to what it was that was being told to him. Almost as quickly as they had arrived, the two Reapers were once again snaking their way back across the partially empty parking lot toward their vehicle, fussing with one another each step of the way.

  Our pick-up was parked not far from where the Impala sat, so I heard the entirety of their conversation once they'd distanced themselves a ways from the carryout window.

  "C'mon, Black! We can do this!" Baby spat. "So what, he's a little bit swoll; the two of us can take him. Plus, don't forget I got the sawed-off right here in the trunk if you just wanna bleed him before we roll."

  "Naw, that ain't gon' happen. I'm tellin' you, dude is one of us. . .Skull and Bones Reaper black!" Baby's partner stated. "I seen my man before. You gotta read them tatz he got on them guns of his. That '86 on the hourglass tat, it means that he got jumped in the year 1986. And the barbed wire tats around his forearms means that he did time behind bars. That man is an original gangsta, Baby, and you don't mess with them; you show respect."

  Baby defiantly threw caution to the wind, despite his partner's warning. "I don't care who he might be. I don't know him and I've never seen him before. As far as I know, he could be some ole busta perpetratin' a fraud."