Eastside

by Caleb Alexander

  “Travon, you go upstairs and look in Freddy’s room, and see what you want out of there. Anything you want, you keep.” Mrs. Davis waved her hand from side to side. “Don’t tell me, just take it. As a matter of fact, I want you to search his room real good for me, and take everything out that you think I shouldn’t find. I’m afraid to go in there and look around. When I clean his room, I’ll need you and the rest of the boys to come over and help me.”

  “You don’t want to keep none of his stuff for memories?” Travon asked.

  “I remember my baby,” Mrs. Davis told him. She touched her hand against her heart. “I’ll always remember my baby. Plus, I’m bringing my son home. We are going to set up a shelf in the family room for his urn. It’s going to have his pictures all around it, and pictures of his friends. I’m gonna have it so that all of you boys can come over on his birthday, and holidays, and be able to pay your respects.”

  Travon’s eyes were wide with shock. “You’re gonna cremate Frog?”

  Mrs. Davis nodded solemnly. “Yeah. The family talked about it, and we all decided this morning that it would be best.”

  Travon smacked his lips and turned away. “Aw, man. Why you gonna do that?”

  “Well, for one thing, it’s a lot cheaper,” Mrs. Davis explained. “We’ll be able to give him a nicer funeral this way. We won’t have to pay for a burial plot, or any of that kind of stuff. Tre, I didn’t have any insurance on Freddy. I’m already having a hard time as it is, and now I have to pay for a funeral?”

  She began sobbing again. “Plus, I just want my baby home with me. He was always running the streets and living here and there, and so now, I just want him home.”

  Travon clasped her hand. “It’s okay, Mrs. D. We are gonna help you with everything. We are all gonna put in and help you.”

  Mrs. Davis tilted her head to the side and nodded. “Thank you, baby,” she told him, gently patting his hand. “Thank you.”

  Travon stood. “Well, I’m gonna go and holler at everybody and start getting everything together. So, when is the funeral?”

  “Three days from now,” she told him. “The wake is the day after tomorrow.”

  Travon leaned forward and kissed Mrs. Davis on her cheek. “I’ll be by tomorrow.” He turned to leave, and she grabbed his hand.

  “Travon, remember what I said,” Mrs. Davis said softly. She shifted her gaze toward the baby. “That’s what you can do for Freddy. Nothing stupid. Don’t ruin my son’s memory by trying to get revenge in his name.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Travon replied. He slowly walked out of the kitchen and into the living room.

  “Have something to eat, baby,” an aunt told him, pointing to a table filled with food.

  Travon lifted his hand and shook his head. “No thank you, ma’am. I’m not hungry right now.”

  She nodded. “Okay, baby. You be careful, and tell Elmira that I said to call me.”

  Travon nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” He turned to leave, but heard his name being called. It was Sheila.

  “Tre.” She clasped his arm, interlacing it with her own. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

  Sheila wore a large T-shirt, some blue jeans, and a pair of slippers. Her hair was braided into a scrunch, with large gold butterfly clips pinned in a row down the front. Even though she had been through hell over the last twenty-four hours, she was still extremely attractive. She and Travon headed out of the front door and down the pathway toward his vehicle.

  “Tre, I know my mother is talking all of this peace shit, but I want you, and Darius, and Robert Jr., and Lil Fade to kill the rest of them muthafuckers. Tell Darius that if he ever loved me that I said he would do this for me.”

  Sheila halted and faced Travon. “You know what happened between me and Darius? Tre, we were both young and scared. I know that I shouldn’t have gotten an abortion, but I didn’t know what else to do. Tell him that I still love him, and that I know he still loves me. Tell him to please just accept my calls.”

  Travon lifted his hand. “I don’t want nothing to do with you and Darius’s problems.”

  “I know, I’m sorry.” She shifted her gaze toward the concrete pathway. “Just tell him that I said to do this for me. I need for y’all to get the niggaz who killed my baby brother.” Tears began to fall.

  “We gonna handle our business,” Travon told her.

  “Good!” Sheila leaned forward and hugged him. Travon held her tightly, comforting her. After a few moments, Sheila pulled away from him, and then pulled from beneath her T-shirt a submachine gun.

  “I want you to use this,” she said excitedly. “It belonged to my brother. He loaded it at my apartment the day before he died. When the police check the fingerprints on the bullets, they will be Frog’s. It will be like my brother killed them niggaz from the grave.”

  Travon nodded, and carefully removed the weapon from her hands.

  “Sheila, promise me something,” Travon said softly. “If I do this for you, will you do something for me?”

  Sheila nodded.

  “I want you to go inside and get some sleep,” Travon told her. “After this is all over with, I want you to go and talk to somebody. I want you to let somebody help you deal with all of this. Those are my conditions, and I want you to swear to me that you’ll do it.”

  Sheila shifted her gaze to the ground and nodded. “I will.”

  Travon leaned forward, kissed her on her cheek, and turned and headed for his vehicle.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Later that Night

  Denver Heights’ New Dope Spot

  “This is for my nigga Frog,” Lil Bling announced. He took his forty-ounce bottle of Bull and poured some beer out onto the curb.

  “Yeah, this is for my homie,” Suga said as he followed suit, pouring some of his beer onto the street.

  “This is for all of the homies who ain’t here,” Capone added, as he and all of the others present joined in the ghetto ritual of offering libations to their lost comrades.

  Ace kicked a rock, sending it scampering across the street. “Fuck! I can’t believe he’s gone! Me, him, and Robert Jr. was just kicking it the other day.”

  “I’ma get my nigga’s name tattooed on my back, along with the names of the other dead homies,” announced Tate, a slim, freckle-faced Blood from the Rigsby. “I’ma put it inside of a scroll, like it’s some kind of ancient list. I’m a hook it up clean.”

  “Say, I went by his T-lady’s house and she says the funeral is in three days,” said Charlie, a tall, slim Bounty Hunter Blood from the Westside. “We need to go to the mall and get some T-shirts made for the funeral.”

  “Say, y’all, I called Sheila today, and she says that the family is hurtin’ for cash to bury the homie,” Darius announced. “We need to dig deep, plus whatever cash we make tonight, we need to just put it in the pot.”

  “Nigga, you didn’t know?” Suga asked rhetorically. “That’s automatic. That’s why we all out here.”

  Darius turned to Marcus. “You and Tre been collecting; how much y’all got?”

  “We got three Gs so far,” Marcus answered. “Tre put in five hundred, Missy and the ladies at her beauty shop all put in five hundred, Mrs. Chang gave us a thousand, plus other people been throwing money our way.”

  “Oh yeah, Bull, Lil Bling, and Big Pimpin brought me fifteen hundred today,” Travon told them. “So really, it’s a little over forty-five hundred, because I also got a couple of loose twenties from other people.”

  “Y’all know they planning to cremate the homeboy?” Red asked.

  “Bullshit!” Lil Fade exclaimed. “Man, fuck that shit! Them niggaz is gonna pay for this shit!”

  “Why they tripping like that?” Lil Bling asked.

  “Mrs. D says that she just wants her son home,” Travon answered.

  “Man, that’s fucked up!” Charlie said.

  “We gonna serve them hoes good tonight!” Lil Fade declared.

  “Maybe we should wait until a
fter the funeral,” Travon suggested. “Mrs. D say that she don’t want that shit. She don’t want no revenge on the part of her son. We need to respect her wishes, and then serve them niggaz after the funeral.”

  The group shifted their gazes toward Travon, and silence fell over the entire assembly. Lil Fade was the first to speak.

  “What, nigga?” he shouted. “Are you afraid or something?”

  Although Travon was afraid of Lil Fade, at that moment he felt more angry than afraid.

  “Nigga, fuck you!” Travon shouted. “Frog was my muthafuckin’ partner! Me, him, and Marcus went out like soldiers! We popped three of them muthafuckas. I ain’t afraid of nothing, or nobody!”

  A frown shot across Lil Fade’s face. He started to reach for his weapon, but instead glanced to his right. Robert Jr. was staring directly at him. Lil Fade quickly weighed the odds. It would be Suga, Charlie, and himself against Robert Jr., Capone, Travon and Darius. He decided to let Travon’s remarks slide.

  “We gonna serve them hoes tonight, with or without you,” declared Killa B, another Bounty Hunter Blood from the city’s Westside. Killa B wore his hair in an enormous afro, and sported a muscle shirt that showcased his dozen or so tattoos, as well as his numerous scars from various bullet wounds. He had almost as many teardrops tattooed down his back as Lil Fade.

  “Big Pimpin, Quick, and Fro-Dog are getting the straps ready right now,” Lil Bling told them.

  “As a matter of fact, they should already be here to pick us up,” Killa B told them. “What time is it?”

  “Nine thirty,” Tate answered.

  “We gonna hit them niggaz at ten, when the po-po’s changing shifts,” Charlie announced. “Then we gonna bail to the club where the rest of the homies are, and just blend in like we been there. We gonna have to change clothes in the parking lot.”

  “Marcus, what kinda cars did y’all lil niggaz steal for us to use?” Red asked.

  “Don’t worry, we got some clean-ass shit.” Marcus smiled. “I stole a Maxima for me, Capone, and D to ride in.”

  Travon examined the crowd of boys and finally realized that he was the only one not wearing all black. Darius noticed the look on his cousin’s face, leaned over, and whispered in his ear.

  “You was over Frog’s house when we got all of this shit together. Here.” Darius handed Travon a black T-shirt and a black bandanna. “I brought you some shit to wear after the hit too. It’s in the back of Fro-Dog’s car.”

  Four cars turned the corner trailing one another.

  “There them niggaz go right there,” Lil Bling announced.

  Marcus squinted and examined the approaching cars. “We ain’t steal none a them cars,” he told the others.

  The cars quickly sped up and extinguished their headlights.

  “Get down!” Marcus shouted. “Drive-by!”

  Gunfire erupted, and the sound of automatic weapons quickly filled the air.

  “This is for Pooh-Pooh and Lacy, muthafuckas!” voices shouted through the sound of the gunfire.

  The Bloods were armed, but pistols against fully automatic AK-47s and SKSs were futile. The boys remained under cover.

  Bullets peppered the car Travon was hiding behind. The assault rifles that were being fired turned the house in the background into something resembling Swiss cheese. A fragment from the concrete leapt up and stung Travon on his forehead. For a brief moment the blood pouring down his face led him to believe that he had been hit. He lifted his hand to his forehead, and felt the cut from the chunk of cement. He thanked God that it hadn’t been a bullet.

  After the shooting continued for more than a minute without any signs of letting up, some of the Bloods began to fire back. Travon removed Frog’s Uzi from his waistband, lifted the weapon over the hood of the car that he was hiding behind and began firing. The gun burped rapidly, and to his surprise, he realized that the weapon was fully automatic. He had to insert another magazine.

  The sound of handguns and other small-caliber weapons returning fire, started to fill the air. It was then Travon felt his pants leg jerk, and felt a sudden burning sensation in his left leg. He stopped firing and quickly examined his leg. There was a small black hole inside of his pants, but there were no visible traces of blood. Still, he hunkered down behind the car, and this time, he stayed down.

  The sound of automatic-weapon fire lasted for more than three solid minutes. Now, for the first time in his life, Travon wished that the police would come. Unfortunately, he knew that they would wait until the shooting stopped, and then come in and pick up the bodies. He didn’t want to become another statistic, he turned to prayer.

  Soon the sound of automatic weapons ceased, and several of the boys stood, while others continued firing their weapons down the street at the fleeing vehicles. Travon stood, pulled up his pants leg, and examined his wound. The fabric pulled away from his bloody, mangled flesh, causing him to wince.

  There was a deep gash on his leg where the bullet had burrowed through his flesh. The wound burned immensely; it felt as though someone were raking a fiery hot coal back and forth over his leg. But the important thing, he told himself, was that he was alive. He turned and spied his cousin Capone lying balled up in the middle of the yard.

  “Capone! Capone!” Travon cried out. With great pain and effort he hobbled over to where his cousin lay motionless.

  Travon dropped to his knees and began to shake his cousin. Not again, he told himself. Oh please, God, not again. “Capone! Capone!”

  “What?” Capone shouted. He leapt to his feet and dusted himself off. “Gotcha!”

  The others laughed uproariously. Travon frowned and lowered his head.

  “Capone! Capone! Oh, I love you kinfolk, don’t die!” Capone teased.

  Travon rolled his eyes at his cousin for several moments, before a smile slowly crept across his face. He imagined how dramatic he must have looked.

  “Anybody hit?” Lil Bling asked.

  “Yeah, me.”

  The boys turned. Red was standing in the middle of the yard holding his arm.

  “Shit, me too,” Charlie declared.

  “Where?” Darius asked, thinking it might be another practical joke.

  “Here.” Charlie grabbed the hem of his shirt and lifted it. There was a large bloody hole in the center of his stomach.

  “Fuck!” Darius leapt back.

  “Sit down, Blood!” Lil Bling told Charlie. He, Marcus, and Capone rushed to where Charlie was standing, grabbed him, and gently lowered him into the grass.

  “Naw, y’all bring him over here,” Tate told them. “I’ll watch him.”

  “What’s wrong with you, Blood?” Lil Fade asked Tate.

  “Shit, they wounded me in my pride,” Tate told him.

  Lil Fade peered down and examined himself. There was a grass stain on his shirt from where he’d slid down into the yard. “Fuck, we really gonna kill them muthafuckas now, this is my best black T-shirt!”

  “Shit, they grazed my leg,” Travon announced.

  Darius walked to where Travon was standing, dropped down to his knees, and examined Travon’s wound.

  “Yeah, you need to go.” Darius told Travon. “C’mon, I’ll take you home.”

  “Naw, leave him here with me, I’ll watch him,” Tate told him. “Y’all niggaz go on.”

  “You ain’t coming with us?” Killa B asked.

  “Naw, nigga!” Tate shouted. “They shot me in the ass!”

  Laughter broke out amongst the boys. Travon turned and stared at Tate, who was lying in the grass on his side. Lil Fade, who stood just behind Tate, peered down and examined his friend’s derriere.

  “Yep, they got this nigga right in his left butt cheek,” he declared.

  Again, the boys laughed.

  “Y’all hear them sirens?” Tate asked. “Them hoes’ll be here any minute now. Y’all take our straps and we’ll say that they was shootin’; at us. We’ll keep the po-po here as long as we can.”

  “What if th
em crabs come back?” Marcus asked.

  “It’s cool,” Travon told him. “Just hurry up and blaze, them sirens is getting louder.”

  “We probably won’t even be able to find them niggaz,” Lil Bling said. “They riding around here somewhere.”

  “Fuck it!” Lil Fade told them. “We’ll hit they hood and do a muthafuckin’ walk-through. Any crab we see, we kill!”

  The boys filtered into the streets and piled inside of various vehicles and drove away. Travon limped to where Tate, Charlie, and Red were lying. He sat down in the grass next to the others, and waited for the arrival of the police and the paramedics.

  “Think we going to jail tonight?” Travon asked.

  “For what?” Tate asked. “We was just minding our own business, when all hell broke loose.”

  “Besides,” Charlie added. “What are they going to charge us with, bleedin’ to death?” Charlie began to laugh, but quickly stopped because of the pain.

  Tate noticed the pained expression on his friend’s face, and leaned over and placed his hand on Charlie’s chest. “Be cool, Blood. Just lay back and chill.”

  Travon turned away from them and glanced toward the street. “Oh my God.”

  There were thousands of shell casings lying around.

  “They must have had at least twelve to sixteen AKs with hundred-round drum clips in them, to do that,” Red told them.

  “Just what we was gonna use on them tonight,” Tate said, shaking his head. “They just beat us to the punch.”

  “We forgot that two of their homies got killed too,” Travon told them. “We should have known that they was gonna come for revenge.”

  Tate shifted his gaze toward the corner, where the flashing red lights and bright spotlights of the police cars could now be seen. “Here they come.”

  A patrol car turned the corner, followed by another, and then a third. Soon, there was a line of patrol cars approaching from every direction. The police cars stopped just short of where the boys were lying, and shined their spotlights on them. The whole area was bathed in bright light, as the police officers exited their vehicles with their weapons drawn.

  “Put your hands up and lie down on your stomachs!” one of the patrolmen shouted, using his patrol car’s public address system.