Through the grapevine, Black learned of Mimi’s death and it was music to his ears.
Good riddance, he thought.
Someone had saved him the trouble. He wondered, who? Word on the street was Tone and Netta packed up shop and headed North, to New York that is. Black was disappointed he didn’t get a chance to kill them both. At the same time, he was feeling himself because he ran Tone out of Baltimore.
Now Black was busy concentrating on locking down East Baltimore. He wanted shit back like the old days. It’s hard accepting the fact that things can never be the way they once used to be, but Black was determined to try. He became a permanent fixture on 21st and Barkley, his main money-making block. When word got back to Tone that Black was showing his face regularly, Tone devised a plan to murder him and Netta was more than willing to be a participant. Fantasizing about killing him was what kept her alive; his death was her lifeline. Revenge was all she wrote.
As nightfall spread across Baltimore, Black’s silver S430 was parked down the block and couldn’t be missed. He was profiling and supervising his drug operation, which was still the in the infancy stages compared to the level Black was on before he went to prison. He had an all-night shop in an attempt to come up quickly. Wanting to upgrade to an S500 or maybe a six, he figured his presence would ensure his ship to run smoothly and it did.
The block was pumping. Black’s workers were busy catching an incredible rush of customers. In the alley, they were serving customers and running back and forth to the stash house, leaving Black alone at times. Down the block, two old dirty dope fiends pushed a shopping cart full of soda cans slowly up the street. Both were busy fanning out the different side of the street, checking the curbs for empty recyclable and refundable cans. Closer and closer they inched toward Black, as he busied himself talking on his cell phone. Sitting on the hood of his hooptie, Black was deep into a silent train of thought until they were right in front of him. By the time he saw who it was, it was too late.
This was the moment Tone had been waiting for, payback. Pushing aside his trench coat, he exposed what was strapped to his shoulder: a Mac 11 semi-automatic submachine gun. At the same time, Netta produced a 9mm Taurus with an infrared scope. Black’s eyes got big as half dollars. He knew immediately who this Bonnie and Clyde team was, Netta and Tone. They had the drop on him, but Black refused to go out like a sucker. Staring down the barrels of two guns, he looked death square in the eye and didn’t blink.
“Do what you gotta do, yo,” he said, gritting his teeth and defying human nature.
These were the last words of a dead man. Tone squeezed the Mac 11’s hairpin trigger, letting loose a barrage of bullets. The gun spit shells everywhere, each shot jerking Black’s body in a different direction, knocking him off the car. Netta moved in for the kill, running around the car to where Black had fallen. She pointed the pistol and put the red laser dot on his head. Then she pumped slug after slug into him until he was beheaded. Tone stood back and watched as Black’s head exploded like a ripe tomato.
“Come on,” he said over by her side. When Netta was done, she spit on him, desecrating his body, as he had done to her.
By now, Black’s workers heard the shots and came running. Seeing Black laid out in a pool of blood, they began firing at the two fleeing figures. Tone turned and let off a hail of semi-automatic gunfire, causing them to duck for cover. This allowed them to turn the cover, putting some distance between them and the crime scene.
Just as they left the block, Stink rode up on his motorcycle. Speeding, he’d heard the shots from blocks away. He pulled up where the crowd had gathered and there on the ground he saw his big brother.
“Black, noooo” Stink screamed as his mind went blank and he couldn’t think.
“They went that way, Stink!” a worker yelled, pointing into the distance.
“A guy and a girl,” another one yelled, as Stink took off after them, gunning his bike in their direction.
Making their way safely to the getaway car, Tone and Netta were home free as they drove down North Ave. They were careful to obey the speed limits. They didn’t want any problems making it to I-95. Traffic was unusually heavy for this time of night and they moved at a slow but steady pace.
Tone reached over and grabbed Netta’s hand signaling his approval of what they’d done. He had his reasons. For his cousin and for Netta, they did what they had to do. He’d do Black and she’d do Mimi. That had been his plan for his cousin’s revenge all along. Smiling, he reached over and kissed her.
“It’s going to be alright, you know. I love you, Netta, I love you, ma,” he said.
Gaining ground, Stink was helped along the way by innocent bystanders who had pointed out the getaway car. Riding his bike like a madman, he maneuvered in and out of cars, through the blocks and the streets, looking for them. With a gun in his waistband and his hands securing him to the bike, he was unable to wipe away the tears rolling down his face until he stopped at red lights and stop signs.
Is that them? Stink wondered. Up ahead, he could see a black Chevy at the red light. Stink slowly began to cruise between the stopped cars in front of him toward the traffic light.
At the light, Tone and Netta were contemplating their own thoughts. He was heading back home, I-95 North straight to New York. He had big plans too. He was ready to open a nightclub in his Bronx neighborhood. It was time to leave B-More and he didn’t want to wind up like his cousin, Mann. Tone didn’t want to die, and his family have to travel like that for him. B-More wasn’t his town and he certainly didn’t want to end up doing no time in prison for a murder rap, either. He didn’t know which was worse.
Meanwhile, Netta was in her own trance, thinking about her new life in the Big Apple. She wanted to get out of B-More and away from all her demons. There was too much pain, too much misery and too many old memories for her in this town.
Bringing his motor bike to a halt right before the light changed, Stink pulled up to the driver’s side window of the Chevy. Calmly, he stared at the sight of Netta on the passenger side. As the car pulled away from the light, he reached into his waistband and geared his bike. Stink screeched through the moving cars, down the white skipped lines in the middle of traffic, until he reached them.
“Tone,” Netta screamed as she saw Stink pull out a .44 magnum from his waistband and began blasting. The automatic spit bullets, shattering the glass and hitting Tone in the side of the head, as his chest slumped over the steering wheel. Death reflexes caused his foot to mash down on the accelerator, sending the car flying into the path of a Metro Bus. The black Impala hit the bus head on. The car flipped over twice, then slid down the street upside down. It was moving backwards, heading towards Stink where it all started.
“Oh, shit,” Stink said, as he revved his engine and tried to get out the way of the flying Impala. Unable to, he rode the front tire as the back tire went up in the air. He spun around in a circle as he watched the car hurdle itself into a utility pole where it rested upside down.
The jarring sound, screeching bus wheels and the two vehicles colliding could be heard for blocks. All traffic came to a standstill, as did all the people walking down the sidewalks. There was no movement as a great silence fell, before a motorcycle could be heard traveling off in the distance.
“Someone call for help, someone call 911,” a woman screamed. She had gotten the closest glimpse of the two figures trapped in the Impala, which was a total wreck. A sick piece of twisted metal, blood and glass.
Game Over
Epilogue
In the aftermath of Tone’s death and car crash, the “Jaws of Life” was all Netta could remember of that night. She didn’t remember the crash or the days leading up to it, but she did remember her last conversation with Tone. He was so excited. He came back for her after the car stopped moving. She didn’t want to go with him though. Even though she was in pain and had nothing to live for, she wasn’t ready to give up quite yet.
I love you baby, she whi
spered to him, before falling into an unconscious state.
Other than a minor head concussion and a few broken ribs, Netta emerged from the accident unscathed. Once again, she had cheated death. While in the hospital, after undergoing a series of examination, it was discovered that Netta was two months pregnant. New York Tone would have been a daddy. Her unborn child held her future and her past, causing her to reevaluate life. She wanted nothing more than to avenge Tone and seek out Stink. But she quickly abandoned anymore thoughts of murder. Instead, she would put it in God’s hands as the old folks say, especially since he had now put a more important responsibility into hers. She broke the vicious cycle of revenge. She cut her losses and moved out of Baltimore, vowing never to return.
Netta is currently residing in Atlanta, George, and enrolled in Clark University. However, she had to take a short leave of absence from school to give birth. Netta had a healthy baby boy, who she named Anthony Thompson, Jr., affectionately known as Lil’ Tone, in honor of his father. She’s raising him in an isolated environment where he is safe and can have the childhood she never had. However, as soon as he comes of age, Netta has every intention of telling him about “the game.” She doesn’t want Lil’ Tone to be delusional in any way. Netta is determined to school him about street life without him ever having to experience it for himself. Financially secure, they are living quite comfortable down south.
As of this writing, the other members of the Pussy Pound are still deep in the game. Rasheeda, Petey and Fila are still playing Russian Roulette with their lives, taking chances with AIDS and the men they deal with. To them the whole situation—the fate that befell Mimi, Black, New York Tone, Mann, Netta and her mother, Renee—was just unfortunate fate. When it comes to death, nobody ever really thinks it could happen to them, until it does and then it’s too late. Death is always a reality in the game.
Ms. Tina, Mimi’s mother, is currently raising Lil’ Timmy as best she can by herself. She has her hands full living in West Baltimore. She has big plans of moving down to the Maryland Eastern Shore, near Ocean City, before the streets get hold of Lil’ Timmy. She doesn’t want him to even get a teeny tiny taste of the street life. She’s doing everything she can not to lose another one of her babies to the streets.
Willie Johnson, a.k.a. Dollar, Mimi’s dad, is still living in Baltimore and he’s still doing his thing. He helps Tina out with his grandson from time to time. Rumor has it, he has a contract out on the life of the killer (or killers) of his daughter.
After Black’s violent death, Stink took over the reins of his brother’s drug operation. Eager to establish his own reputation, he began putting his murder game down. Systematically, he knocked off rival drug dealers and anybody from New York in his town trying to get money. This lead to his subsequent arrest and conviction on triple-homicide charges. He is presently serving three natural life sentences running wild. While thuggin’ it out in the penitentiary, Stink stabbed another inmate to death over a card game and has since been transferred to the Maryland Super Max. In an attempt to control him, he has been confined to his cell twenty-three hours a day.
Nard copped out to fifteen years with the state. But, while serving his time in Maryland Corrections, a.k.a. The Cut, he continued to mastermind an elaborate drug operation from jail. He was indicted on Federal kingpin and conspiracy charges. Nard ran one of the biggest drug rings inside and outside the joint that the Maryland Authorities had ever seen. Several high-ranking Correctional Officers were also arrested as a result of the lengthy investigation. Nard had to be removed from the Maryland Correction system. He had too much power. He is currently serving his Maryland State sentence in Arizona. After he’s paroled or released, he will be transported to a Federal Penitentiary to begin serving his life bid. Nard will never see the light of day again, unless he escapes.
If life was fair, there wouldn’t be any ghettos or any Netta’s, Mimi’s, Black’s or Tone’s. But since life isn’t fair, the ghettos turn out more black youth everyday like the ones you just read about here. A simple twist of fate here, or a break in life there, and these characters could have been anything in life they wanted to be. But a cruel fact of life is circumstance. The majority of circumstances dictate the course in life we take. Circumstances dictate our choices in life. Only in theory do we control our own destiny. So right or wrong, left or right, good or bad, life-altering decisions are made like these in the ghetto, every day. At an early age, if placed in the same situations, do you think you’d make it? How? Think about it before you rush to pass judgment or condemn someone else.
Thank You
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