Even Sinners Have Souls TOO

by Joy, E. n.

  The cheering kids had now reached a fever pitch as I continued to pummel the Reaper into the pavement with no mercy. Still Baby was no punk, and although he'd taken a sound beating, he arose battered and bloodied to land several brutal shots of his own, one of which opened up a nasty gash above my left eye, temporarily stunning me.

  I saw an opening, a bare patch of earth along the cracked sidewalk, that provided me with what was needed to turn the fight in my favor. Without hesitation, I grabbed a handful of dirt, tossing it forcefully into Baby's face as he stood above me swinging wildly amid the pandemonium spectators. Baby shrieked, as the flying soil entered his eyes, nostrils and mouth, allowing me just enough time to cold cock him with a hard blow from my clenched fist to his jaw. As he tumbled to the pavement below, it was now my turn to unleash a barrage of fearsome punches to his head and face area as I straddled him.

  By the time my brother dragged me off of him, Baby's entire face was a bloodied, mangled mess. Even a few of the gun wielding gangstas who were present winced at the sight of his injuries. Baby himself was pretty much unconscious except for an occasional blood sputtering cough or two.

  Montel hoisted the battered teenager in his muscular arms, slowly carrying him through the human pathway given to him by the now silent mob. The adult Crips and Reapers followed him closely. Montel placed Baby carefully along the plush leather back seat of the brown El Dorado Low-rider parked nearest to his truck. As if on cue, the ten bandanna wearing thugs gathered around the ex-con whom they all held in reverence, awaiting instructions.

  "Take this li'l homie to Cedars-Sinai, 'cause I want him to get the best care he can get. He might have a broken nose and a few loose teeth. I know he's gonna need some stitches to close up these gashes along his scalp and cheek area, but other than that, he's awright."

  Suddenly, Baby stirred, mumbling something sounding like gibberish as he attempted to sit up in the backseat of the low-rider.

  "Relax, li'l homie, we got you," Montel assured him. "You gonna go see a doctor right quick awright? So, just chill for now." Montel quickly flashed the gang sign of the Reapers before placing his hand gently on Baby's curly head. "I'll be there a little bit later on to pay for his medical expenses and to bring his Mama up there to see him, if necessary."

  He then backed out of the vehicle, shut the rear door and waved the older gang members on as they all piled into the low-riders and headed toward L.A.'s famous Cedars-Sinai hospital. Montel then came over to me, carefully assessing my wounds. The cut above my left eye had swollen considerably into an ugly black and blue shiner, which though painful, helped stop the blood flow that had seeped down my forehead and into my eye during the fist fight.

  After checking me out all over, Montel was pretty much satisfied that other than a couple bruises to my knuckles and face, I was okay and not in need of medical attention. He then turned to gaze upon the silent multitude of Compton teens who stood around looking back motionless and silent.

  "Listen up," Montel called out. "What you kids saw here today was a fair fight between my brother and Baby. They fought with their bare hands. . .like men. There was no need for guns except to make sure that nobody in this crowd would dare use 'em." He focused his intense stare on Baby's group, who seemed to huddle together nervously as the O.G made eye contact with them." Things are gonna change here in this neighborhood," Montel barked with authority.

  The teens all seemed petrified to even move as they listened to Montel's husky booming voice preaching a reformed gangsta's sermon of change. "Yeah, I used to bang back in the day, but I've changed my life for the better. I still got Reaper homies and I got Crip homies. I even got a few Blood homies, but they just can't let it be known that we're tight with each other, that's all. And for what? Some stupid colors? Don't get caught up, li'l homies."

  With that said, Montel commanded the kids to leave, to which they obediently dispersed. As the both of us sat up against the truck, Mr. Lee came outside along with Mrs. Lee and carefully applied dressings to my wounds from the contents of a small, tin first-aid kit.

  Mr. Lee bowed, as did his wife, before Mr. Lee spoke. "So, so glad to have you back, Montel, only better now. Please don't take that the wrong way. It's a compliment."

  While applying a liberal amount of Neosporin ointment to my bruised knuckles, Mrs. Lee smiled happily and agreed in kind with her husband. "Yes! No one has ever taken a stand against these hoodlums before, until now. We thank you for doing what you did today."

  "No disrespect, Mrs. Lee, but those kids ain't no hoodlums," Montel stated. "They're just misunderstood, that's all. And please don't thank me for anything. All I did was kick them some knowledge." Montel looked up to the heavens. "Now it's up to the man upstairs to put it in their hearts to take heed."

  I know that I, for one, hoped things would change for the better. Because if the cats in the hood decide not to take heed to Montel's words, with my getting the best of Baby, I know he wouldn't just let that go. I'd have to sleep with one eye open at all times in wait of his method of revenge.

  Chapter Seven

  Eventually June strolled around and I along with the rest of Compton High's class of '99, proudly walked across the auditorium stage amidst the raucous cheers and flashing cameras to receive our diplomas. All seemed to be well with the hood since Baby and I fought on that Saturday morning in May. The neighborhood kids showed me a new found level of respect, which they extended toward my mother as well. No longer did the Wilder brothers disturb the quiet of the neighborhood on Saturday mornings with their booming gangsta rap. As a matter of fact, they never again waxed or washed their car outside on the streets of the neighborhood period.

  Local boys who were once known to be rude, foulmouthed bullies, now greeted my mother and other elders of the hood with respect. Gang graffiti throughout our neighborhood was painted over on the strict orders of Montel himself who saw to it that the painstaking task was carried out by the local youths over the course of an entire weekend. Montel's former street creed was now paying off in a much different way. Soon miscreants such as drug dealers, pimps and prostitutes began leaving our neighborhood, realizing that their presence was no longer wanted.

  Montel himself at times seemed to be wrestling with his own inner demons, unlike when he'd first arrived from prison. He felt a need to mediate and pour over the pages of the Bible and Sun Tzu's Art of the War, in addition to working out four times a week. The events of the last few weeks had pushed the limits of his composure to the breaking point. He knew better than anyone how easily it would be to re-enter the turbulent world, which he'd worked so hard to distance himself.

  More often were the times that he was away than when he was at home amongst his family. And when he was at home, he was mostly there in body alone, because mentally he'd be consumed by his auto repair duties, which could easily take up most of the day. And finally, when he would finish his work with the cars, he'd simply dine, shower and retire to bed for the night, being far too tired for much else. His burning desire for self perfection was amazing to watch as he effortlessly bench pressed the heavily weighed bar several dozen times under the cool shade trees in our backyard. He'd stop for a moment's breather, take a sip of Gatorade and then direct me to add yet fifty more pound plates to the already impressive stack encircling both ends of the iron bar. He'd then hoist the weights once more.

  "Man, Montel," I stated. "You've already knocked out five sets of ten repetitions. I'm gonna start training like you, so the next time when I get into a fight I can knock a fool out with just one punch."

  Montel sweated through his final three reps before sitting up to face me with a sweat drenched, frowning face. "You don't train your body or your mind just to whup up on people, Cee. You do it because the body is God's temple, feel me?" Montel paused briefly to wipe the perspiration from his face and body. "These kids don't know nothing about being a gangsta. They have no idea what they're getting themselves into. So what I did was let you take on Baby who'd basically set
himself up as the ring leader of his li'l weak crew. By kickin' his butt, you pretty much let everybody around here know that not only are you to be respected, but not to give any ear to any of that flack Baby and his boys be spittin'."

  I simply nodded my head in silence. I had to admit that I was a little confused by my brother's conflicting rhetoric of passive aggression; however, in time I would eventually come to realize the truth of his words.

  Mama and Miss Shante acted as if everything was everything whether Montel was around or not. But over the passing weeks, Miss Shante seemed to be making it a point to try and find time to be alone with my brother. He knew it also, but unlike before, he didn't try to brush her off. He even seemed to enjoy the attention that he was receiving from our flirtatious next door neighbor.

  The day after Father's day, I'd just slipped into the house through the back door so as not to alert anyone to my presence. Fatz had run out of twenty dollar sized zip lock bags to package the bud with, so I had to go into my shoebox down in our basement to supply him with a dozen or so bags to work with. That's when I overheard Montel and Miss Shante talking upstairs.

  Mama had gone out to dinner with Leon an hour earlier, according to Miss Shante, whose high pitched nasal-like voice chimed through the vents along the basement wall. Curiosity overcame me and I weaseled my way up the steps ever so slowly so that I might stare at them through the small crack in the basement door near the knob.

  They were both sitting arm in arm on the couch facing each other while watching television.

  "I want you, Montel. Can't you see that? I've wanted you ever since I laid eyes on you, baby. Why don't you want me?" Miss Shante asked, moving in so close to him that her lips were literally mere inches from his own.

  "Shante, you make it real hard for me, or any man for that matter, to show an interest because you come on too strong, too soon, that's all," Montel answered. "You're a very attractive woman. Any man would love to have you, but just slow your roll a bit. Let the men come to you for a change."

  "I don't want any other man, I want you, Montel Phillips. Let me be your lady. I'll be the perfect woman for you, if you'll just give me a chance."

  "You're sure about all that?"

  "Positive." Miss Shante ran her dainty fingers with long pink colored nails across his smooth bald head, staring into his eyes with the infatuated look of a lovesick teenager.

  "Girl, you know better than to wanna be down with somebody like me, don't you? You're on some ole good girl likes bad boy type stuff. I'm here to tell you that, that ain't cool."

  Before he could say another word, Miss Shante slowly and seductively pressed her thick, pouting lips against his in a sensuous kiss while draping her arms around his shoulders. The tender embrace was immediately reciprocated by Montel. When they at last broke free of their steamy lip lock, they held each other close while Montel gently caressed Miss Shante's cheek with his left hand.

  "Whatever happens, Montel; don't ever leave. And I don't mean me; I mean don't ever leave period. Cee needs you, Angie needs you and God knows I need you. As a matter of fact, this whole neighborhood needs you!"

  Montel stared into Miss Shante's moist eyes. I thought that I might have detected a teardrop form and slide down his ruggedly handsome face as well. Miss Shante leaned her head against Montel's chest while he ran his fingers through her long, silky hair.

  "I'm glad that you're here with your family, Montel, because something's gotta be done about Leon. Leon, as you know, is a very difficult man to deal with to say the least. I'm sure that your mama didn't tell you he puts his hands on her, not to mention the numerous times he's been caught cheating on her with the neighborhood hoochies. I know that Cedrick wanted to kill him more than once. I even stepped to Leon once or twice myself about hitting on Angie because I love ya mama like a sister and I wouldn't dare let anything happen to her. I know I'm a thick woman and all, but I'm no match for that big jerk but you are."

  Montel slowly raised Miss Shante's chin with his right hand so that she might look him in the eyes. He appeared to whisper something to her, which made her giggle lightly. "You're a special lady, Shante. Who knows? You might just bag me after all. But as for Leon; he ain't ever gonna disrespect my mama, Cee, or you, for that matter ever again. You can quote me on that one."

  Miss Shante sighed softly as she snuggled up against Montel's chest. "Baby, I don't want you to get into any more trouble, so please be careful about how you approach Leon."

  Montel kissed her on top of her head. "Quit your worry'n, 'cause ain't nothing bad gonna go down. I'm just going to talk to dude, man-to-man, awright?"

  I'd seen and heard enough, besides, I didn't want to keep Fatz waiting any longer than I already had, so I eased back down the stairs and left out through the basement door. As I walked away from the house, I could only feel a sense of anxiety about the coming confrontation.

  Chapter Eight

  For the entire month of June, the hood was pretty much quiet and drama free. Montel's old gangsta homebody kept the young, trigger happy riders out of the neighborhood, so the usual gang beefs that caused so much trouble on the streets now became a thing of the past. I wasn't aware of whether Montel had confronted him yet, but even Leon visited our homeless, to my satisfaction. Montel paid much more attention to home and to Mama, making sure that she had a newly refurbished '81 Monte Carlo, which eliminated the need for Leon to chauffeur her around.

  By the time the Fourth of July came around, Mama, along with Miss Shante and a few of the other neighborhood mothers, prepared a cookout at a local park. Mr. Larry gathered some of his workers to set up all of the fancy firework kits, which would bring a spectacular ending to the annual midsummer's holiday. Still, everyone knew that summertime in Compton was a peak season for gang violence, so no one was taking the peaceful period for granted, especially Montel.

  Crenshaw Boulevard was hopping with activity on the holiday. It was the number one hangout spot for teens and young adults from all across South Central. My homies and I loved hanging out on Crenshaw, especially on the Fourth of July, because we knew that all of the sexiest hoochies would be posted up there by the dozens.

  I prided myself on my macking skills as I hopped out of a whip with my boys at the entrance of Crenshaw, while making a beeline for the first group of giggling hood rats we'd lay eyes on. I set my sights on Fatima's cousin, LaToya. It was just my luck, though, that Miss Shante happened to be cruising past Crenshaw when she spotted me and my friends gathered together along with the girls. I tried my best to play it off as if I didn't see her, but unfortunately she'd already seen me long before pulling up to the curb. I knew that Mama had to have sent her out looking for me because I was sup- posed to be at Compton Community Park for the cookout. Few teens, if any, ever went there for the celebration, because to us it was boring, with only old folks, little kids and parents in attendance. This meant restrictions on everything and anything us teenagers deemed fun.

  Miss Shante parked her Toyota and exited with Mama and Montel in tow. I had been so focused on spotting Miss Shante's car that I didn't even think about the passengers.

  "Cedric, don't act like you don't know we're here, boy! Don't play with me!" Mama barked out.

  Reluctantly, I stepped out from among the suddenly silent crowd. Montel stepped forward, wrapping his arm around my shoulder all the while convincing our infuriated mother that everything was under control and that she and Miss Shante could wait back in the car while he talked to me. Several of the girls eyed Montel with the wanton look of hormonal craving. Montel stood among the blunt smoking teens laughing and talking without giving much attention to his young, flirtatious admirers. He was offered the smoldering blunt by a youngster beside me, but he declined it with a smile. He simply seemed to enjoy being in the presence of his brother's peers, in a place, which he'd frequented with his own homies long ago.

  Mama and Miss Shante waited back at the car for a short time before Montel waved them on. Hesitantly, they both d
rove off back to the park, but not before Mama berated me a bit more to the amusement of my peers as well as Montel himself. A few short minutes later, a '58 Plymouth Fury low rider came roaring up on the curb, bouncing like crazy from the driver's manipulation of the switches. Once parked, the hopping, swaying chromed out whip settled down onto its sparkling Dayton rimmed tires. A group of seven bandanna wearing thugs, grasping forty ounce bottles of old English malt liquor and smelling heavily of marijuana smoke, stepped out onto the sidewalk. Among the hard looking gangstas was Redrum, decked out in full Reapers' regalia. His sinewy arms were covered with grinning skull tattoos, while a thick platinum chain bearing a diamond and X encrusted Grim Reaper pendent swung loosely from his neck. His black jean shorts hung way below his skull print boxers in which the handle of a nine millimeter protruded near the small of his back.

  Another young Reaper initiated named 'Petey', whose mother was a math teacher at Compton High, walked with a confident, thou rough stride next to Redrum. He belched loudly after downing a mouthful of malt liquor. Petey was Baby's best friend who seemed to share his homeboy's love of armed robbery and had done four years in the Los Angeles county Juvenile detention center after dropping out of school in the ninth grade for just such a crime.

  The other five cats weren't recognizable to me from either school or the hood, but it was my guess that they had to be from either another part of Compton or Inglewood. All of my friends, along with the chicks at our sides, suddenly went silent as the seven Reapers approached us from the opposite side of the boulevard. I stood my ground while my homies, who were mostly high school jocks, faced the oncoming thugs with unspoken courage. I could feel an uneasy sense of apprehension all around me. The girls drew closer to those of us who stood next to them, or embraced each other as they fearfully watched the gangstas step into our personal space.