“Hoe, you fucked my man? You fucked my man?” the woman kept asking as she damn near flew to Krystal.
She didn’t even wait for Krystal to respond before she knocked her right in her mouth. I swear it felt like I was at home, walking in on Shae watching that ratchet ass Love & Hip Hop bullshit that she liked to watch. The only difference was, these bitches weren’t throwing drinks and shit. These bitches were throwing hands, and security wasn’t around to stop them.
Maya was screaming and crying to the top of her lungs, and I had swooped her up in my arms in an attempt to get her out of the house. On our way out of the door, all we heard was…
Pow! Pow! Pow! Pow!
Four gunshots went off behind us. With Maya in my arms, I turned around, and the sight before me was gruesome. Blood from Krystal’s body was splattered on the walls, making it look like a different coating of paint.
“Mommmyyyyyy… Mommyyyyy!” Maya kicked and yelled, trying to get out of my arms, but I wouldn’t let her down.
I’ll be damned if I let her see that shit. She would need therapy for the rest of her damn life after seeing some shit like that. Because I was raised in projects similar to this one, this wasn’t my first time seeing a dead body, so honestly, this was nothing to me.
“Take her outside. Let me see what the fuck is going on,” I said and handed Maya over to Shae.
“Toddrick, no! That crazy bitch got a fuckin’ gun. I’m not leaving you alone in there. Let’s go. This don’t have shit to do with us,” Shae yelled over Krystal’s mother screaming at the top of her lungs and crying after witnessing the shooting.
“I got my piece on me too, Shae. Take her to the fuckin’ car, yo. I’ll be there in a minute,” I yelled back.
This time, she took Maya and got out of the apartment.
“Why would you do thissss? Whyyyy? Just get the fuck outttt! Get the fuck outtttt,” Krystal’s mother cried, down on her knees holding Krystal in her arms, but she was gone. She was dead.
Krystal was leaking blood from the dime-sized bullet hole in the middle of her forehead. Blood was leaking from her chest where the other three bullets had struck her.
“I let this bitch into my fuckin’ home! I let her come and live with me. Live with my fuckin’ kids. She was my first cousin, so I trusted this hoe around my motha fuckin’ man! I never thought that she would do this! I had to find out from my own motha fuckin’ son that he caught her in the bathroom fuckin’ his daddy. Why the fuck you think she brought her ass back down here? She knew I was going to be looking for her ass. Fuck your daughter!” she screamed, still with the gun in her hands, which I was pretty sure is the main reason why Krystal’s mom wasn’t talking big shit or trying to beat her ass.
At the same time, the whole living room was now filled with everyone who lived in this fuckin’ house. I wasn’t even sure who called the police because when you stayed in the projects and gunshots rang out, nothing ever happened because this was a community of people who didn’t believe in snitching. That type of activity generally happened in the white community.
As if the cousin in there with the gun was a black man, the cops came over to her and tackled her ass to the ground then put her in cuffs. Out of all the times that I could have brought Maya over there, I chose to bring her on a day when some bullshit like this had to fuckin’ happen. I was a witness to a fuckin’ murder. As badly as I thought of Krystal, no woman deserved to lose her life like that. Shit wasn’t even fuckin’ worth it.
If her so called nigga would even stoop to the level of fuckin’ her family, then she needed to walk the fuck away from a dog like that instead of killing her fuckin’ family behind that shit. I just listened to this woman mention that she had kids. Now, she was in a situation where she was going to be taken away from her children, all because she reacted to some shit way too fuckin’ fast.
I ran my hand over my face and released a sigh. All the fuck a nigga wanted to do was bring Maya down there to see her ole girl, and then after that, I wanted to take Maya and Shae to brunch. Now, look! Life was so fuckin’ crazy, I tell you.
Giovonni “Trip” Young
“How many of you little niggas in here for murder charges and serving a life sentence?” I asked.
Damn near every hand in the room went up. I took the things that Raynell had told me into consideration, especially her telling me to go to the warden and propose the new club that I was thinking about creating at the prison. She was for real when she told me that there were a lot of younger boys in this prison who looked up to me.
It was no secret that I banged Miami Boyz, and a lot of the boys who came in there wanted to be down, even if that meant being down while incarcerated. Crazy how they came in and thought that shit was cool to be out there killing motha fuckas, robbing, and all of that other dumb shit that comes along with being young and dumb. Back then, I was like them too, which is why it meant a lot to me now to get knowledge instilled in them before it was too late.
I didn’t have anyone in my life to pump knowledge into me. My own mama had pretty much written me off once she realized what I was choosing to do with my life. By the time I was eight, she had pretty much already guessed what my future was going to consist of. I hate to say it, but she was right. She’d been telling me for years that I was going to end up gunned down in the street or a permanent member in somebody’s prison. There was no daddy in my life to teach me how to be a man, so, of course, I was going to naturally run to the streets.
I also hate to say this, but everything that happened to be needed to happen in order for me to change. I needed to be sentenced to life, I needed to lose my son, my girl, all of that. This was the only thing that would force me to sit down on my ass and realize my fuck-ups. The past couple of weeks, I had been thinking really heavy. The thing that took up a lot of the space in my mind was the escape that Raynell and I were supposed to do. I would have died right there on the fuckin’ spot trying to run out of this fuckin’ prison, and my mama would have been burying me the next week.
That part of my life was now over, and that chapter was closed. Finally, I could say that I was glad that Raynell had switched out on me. I was looking at a room filled with boys as young as eighteen and as old as twenty-seven. I looked at these young, black men, and I saw Vonte. This could have easily been Vonte, and the same way that I wanted to save Vonte from everything, I wanted to somehow save these boys, although I didn’t have much to give but a story and some good advice.
“And how many of you little niggas got kids? A woman at home? A mama who raised you on your own?” I asked another question, and this time, every hand in the room went up.
I didn’t necessarily know which question pertained to each individual, but it didn’t matter because we pretty much all had the same damn story.
“I got with my shorty at a young age. I was thirteen, and she was eleven. I was a little ass nigga who didn’t give a fuck about nothing but selling that little dime bag of weed to help my mama out with the groceries and shit. I don’t know what it was about Jashae, but I knew I loved her. That girl saved me from a lot of shit. I would have been involved in way worse shit than what I was already involved in, but then her face would pop up in my head, and I would talk myself out of it.
“I got her pregnant when she was thirteen, and I was fifteen. I didn’t know shit about being no damn daddy. I didn’t have one, so right off the bat, I knew that I wouldn’t be a good father. Neither she nor I was talking abortion, so our son forced us to grow up. A son who I only got the chance to spend seven years outside of these fuckin’ walls with because I committed a murder, killing an innocent little girl with my bullet, and for that, this is my present and my future. Y’all like y’all kids having to come down here and visit y’all? What about your shorties? Y’all know women can be sensitive as fuck, so those visitations ain’t easy.
“I had to give the birds and the bees talk to my son over the damn phone. I had to hear about his basketball games and shit over the phone.
When my son graduated from middle school, I wasn’t there. When he went to homecoming and all of that other shit, I wasn’t there either. Y’all can think that street shit is cool all the fuck you want to, but guess who doesn’t think it’s cool? Your motha fuckin’ kids. When my son got older, I could tell by the way he would look at me that he was disappointed in me. Although he never voiced that shit out loud, he didn’t have to because I could see that shit in his eyes.
“What did it for me is when I lost my son a year ago. These motha fuckas in here couldn’t care less about me needing to attend that funeral either because straight up, they told my ass no without even batting a fuckin’ eye. For some of y’all who still have a chance at freedom, this shit is not too fuckin’ late for y’all. Don’t be like me. Y’all see these Miami Boyz tattoos on my hands and my neck, and y’all think that shit is cool, but look deeper into this shit. Think about the fact that I done spent eleven Christmases in this bitch, eleven birthdays in here, eleven of my son’s birthdays.
“I’m only telling y’all this shit because when I was y’all age, I would have killed for somebody to stand in front of me and tell me some shit like this. I swear to God I would have listened,” I said, telling them the God honest truth.
I saw the good that came with doing bad, like the respect in the streets, the money, the bitches, all of that, and that’s what I wanted. At the time, no one was worried about the cons, like the fact that my ass could actually end up behind bars for the rest of my life if I kept doing what I was doing.
I stood up for another five minutes or so, telling my story for a little bit longer. Then I took my seat right in the middle of the circle since I was the one hosting the class. One by one, each boy in the class stood up, and they all told their story. Crazy how pretty much every one of our black asses had the same story. Hustling for us first started out as just something to do to survive and to help out our single mothers who were doing this shit on their own. Then, it progressed to us doing it because everybody else was doing it, and all we were trying to do was live in the American Dream, but in the midst of us trying to do that, we’d lost our freedom.
“That’s a good thing that you’re doing for these young men, Mr. Young. They need this. I saw the look in each and every one of their eyes, and I can tell that somebody has finally gotten through to them,” Warden Smith came over and said it to me.
She was an older, black woman, maybe in her sixties. She was mean as a motha fucka, always walking around this bitch with a frown when I saw her, so it was a big surprise that she actually had somewhat of a smile on her face today.
Mahogany Brooks
“Bae, guess what?” my husband asked me through the Bluetooth of my car.
I was on my way to the grocery store with Jamaria in the backseat because I needed to pick up a few things. I had one of those mirrors on the backseat, so I was able to look through the rearview mirror and have the perfect view of her. She was sleeping so peacefully, which caused a smile to form on my face. Like everyone had promised me, motherhood had definitely gotten easier. If anything, I was probably used to my baby now, so I knew what to expect.
In the beginning, this was all new to me, so I was just overwhelmed. Besides, so many things had changed with my sleeping schedule, my hygiene schedule, hell even the schedule for me to go and get my hair done. Jamaria was three months old today, and truth be told, I was in no rush to get back to work.
My husband was taking care of the home front, and I couldn’t be any more appreciative of that because not every woman had that type of luxury. As much as Jabari wanted me home forever being a housewife, that wasn’t a goal of mine. The degrees that I had weren’t earned for me to be a housewife, so in due time, I planned to take my ass back to work. I just wanted to continue sucking up all these moments with my daughter.
My mom had already let it be known that she didn’t mind watching Jamaria for me while I worked, but the new mom in me didn’t want Jamaria around somebody else longer than me because I feared that she would need them more than she needed me. I know, I know, I’m probably crazy for even thinking like that, but that’s just me.
Speaking of my mom, she and I were closer than we’ve ever been in my entire life. That had a lot to do with the fact that all the truth was now out, and any grudge that I had with her had been let go. She was a great mother and an even more amazing grandmother. I was thankful for her because she helped out a lot when it came to Jamaria.
“What, Jabari?” I questioned, really not in the mood to play the guessing game with him.
“Guess, shorty. Damn, play along with a nigga for once,” he said.
“Oh, trust me, I play along just fine. Playing along is how I have a car seat in my back seat. I don’t know, Jabari. What? Please don’t tell me you about to go out of town on business or nothing like that. Aren’t we supposed to go to Jamaica next week?” I questioned.
“Nah, a nigga not getting ready to go nowhere. I just left the store, and Kenyatta got a sign on her door that says for sale. I don’t know where her ass is going, but it looks like she’s getting her ass the fuck from around me. I told you that beating you put on her was going to send her ass right back to Atlanta. Let’s just hope that a nigga is right,” he vented into the phone.
“Yeah, let’s just hope. Stay or go, it don’t make me no never mind. I’ll beat her ass any time I see her for talking crazy to me,” I said in all seriousness.
“Alright, shorty. You won one little fight, and you think you Muhammad Ali. Sit your ass down somewhere,” he said, and as bad as I didn’t want to laugh, I still ended up doing so.
“Nigga, give me my fuckin’ credit. I beat a bitch ass that’s damn near thirty pounds heavier than me. You hate on me more than these bitches out here,” I said with a roll of my eyes as I whipped my car into the parking lot. I heard Jabari laugh on the other end of the phone.
“That’s a motha fuckin’ lie, and you know it. I hype you up so much that you would think I’m doing it just to get some pussy from you. You went and got your toes painted pink yesterday, and those bitches looked so beautiful that I tried to put your whole fuckin’ foot in my damn mouth. Since you got in the gym with me, ain’t I’m telling you every day how sick your body is? You tripping, shorty. Where my baby at? I don’t hear her,” he said.
“That’s because she’s in the back sleeping. I’m pulling up to the grocery store now—”
“The grocery store? Shorty, I thought you were home. Turn back around. I’ll get what you need me to get. Why you ain’t just order the groceries and have the people deliver it to the house like you always do?” Jabari said, and I sighed.
“Because I wanted to get out of the damn house, Jabari. I’ll be in and out. I’ll call you when I’m back in the car. I love you,” I said and quickly hung up the phone, not even giving him a chance to say anything because he would try his best to talk me out of it.
I swear, this man acted as if I couldn’t go any damn where without his ass. Granted, he’d always been like this since we’ve been together, but it got worse whenever I went somewhere with Jamaria, which was hardly.
I shut the car off and quickly started my routine to get Jamaria out. I popped the trunk and pulled out the stroller that was so convenient and easy to assemble. It was a gift from Shae. She’d purchased both the car seat and the stroller. Once the stroller was out, I went around back to unhook the car seat from the base, which was also super convenient because I wouldn’t even have to wake Jamaria up.
I had a wraparound purse around my body, and just when I heard the car seat click, letting me know that I had unlatched it from the base, I felt someone behind me. In broad daylight, this man was trying to rob me. He looked to be no older than twenty-five.
“I want this fuckin’ purse and that Gucci diaper bag that you got on the floor,” he said, holding a small handgun in his hand that he had pointed in my side.
I wasn’t even scared. If anything, I was angry that this nigga had a gun pointed at me
while I was with my fuckin’ child.
“So, in a parking lot filled with people and cameras, you going to try and rob me? Little nigga, I’m not giving you shit! You better get the fuck out of my face!” I said, turning around to look at him.
“Bitch, you think I give a fuck about these people out here? I can shoot your ass right fuckin’ here because with the silencer on this gun, ain’t nobody going to hear shit! Them bullshit cameras that you hollering about don’t even face this way. I like to consider myself lucky right now because you parked in a perfect spot. So, like I said, give me that fuckin’ purse and that diaper bag. Since you want to be a smart ass, I’ll take that ring off your finger too, bitch. Now, let’s go before I take your motha fuckin’ baby and I try to sell her next,” he heartlessly said.
I could hear it in his voice that he didn’t give a fuck about nothing, so instead of trying to lose my life over material things, I quickly removed the wrap around purse. Just as I was about to hand it over to him, I heard…
“Mahogany?”
It was Jahir. He was holding two grocery bags in his hands. His eyes quickly went down to the gun that was pressed into me, and he dropped the bags then rushed over to us.
“Old man, you better—”
Pow! Jahir ended up punching the boy right in his face, making the gun drop to the floor.
“This a fake ass gun too,” Jahir said, picking the gun up and holding it in his hands.
When he punched the scrawny ass boy, his body dropped to the ground. He tried to stand up, but Jahir placed his foot on his neck and kept it there, not letting him move. My stubborn ass hated to even say this, but I was actually happy to see Jahir. But, of course, I wouldn’t dare show it.
Here I was, about to hand this boy over my purse, which had cash in it, all of my debit cards and stuff, then I was going to hand him over a two thousand dollar Gucci diaper bag along with my wedding ring. I didn’t even know how much Jabari spent on it, but I could only imagine that it was a grip.
Down With the King of the South 4 Page 13
