Black Lives Matter

by De'Kari

  “Mothafucka! Have you lost yo rabid ass mind?” The first slap Clark didn’t expect or at least wasn’t ready for.

  The stinging in his face had him on high alert though. So, when she swung again, he was ready.

  “Come on, Mama, damn! You tryna knock my head off.” He said while catching her arm in his hand as she tried to smack him again.

  “Boy, I should bust your mothafuck’n head open.” She swung at him again. This time with less energy and force in her swing.

  He stepped into it and hugged her again. He guided her into the apartment, neva breaking their embrace. Mama Beckum was so happy that her baby, her favorite son had returned to her. To God she would forever be grateful because her prayers were answered.

  While she was in that hospital bed she’d prayed constantly to a God she hadn’t talked to since she was a child and her father was a reverend at Open Bible Baptist Church. That was a lifetime ago, and she had traveled so far away from the church. She hadn’t given the church or God a thought since her father was alive. As she lay in that hospital bed, Mama Beckum prayed. She was so desperate due to her pain that she’d told God that she would dedicate the rest of her life to Him and she would do His will if he would just grant her one wish and bring her son back.

  “Mama, I’m sorry. I didn’t have no choice.” She felt his sincerity in her heart.

  “Boy, shut up and tell me everything!” As they made their way to the couch she added, “and I mean everything.”

  Mama Beckum was as gangsta as they come. Back in the day, she did a bid in federal prison and in state. Women in Chowchilla State Prison still told stories about her up until Chowchilla was closed as a women’s prison. So, he didn’t have a problem with telling her everything.

  After all, this was his mama and she deserved to know what would make him break her heart like that. She deserved that much.

  “God damn, boy! Ain’t no coochie that good to make you that mothafuck’n stupid! Look at me! Forgive me Father for my mouth.” What he’d just told her would make a Catholic nun curse.

  He couldn’t respond. He’d had long enough to reflect on his careless actions and poor decision making.

  “So, what are you going to do now?” She asked him as she pulled a cigarette out her pack and lit up.

  Clark looked at his mother like she was crazy as fuck. “I’m bout to get this dough! What you mean what am I going to do?”

  “Clarence, you don’t think God is trynna tell you something?” She asked after blowing out a cloud of smoke.

  First, he wrinkled his face then he leaned back. Her question had caught him off guard. “God? What you mean God?” He asked.

  She briefly told him about all the praying she had done, her promise and deal with God and how she believed it was all connected somehow.

  “Mama, I’ma keep it 100 wit cha. If God is talking to you, I think that is wonderful and you should listen…” he stood up and kissed her on the cheek making sure to get out of her way before saying, “Cause, Mama I been talking to God for a minute now and He told me to get up and get dis money.”

  “Boy, I’ma slap you.” She couldn’t help but laugh with him. Inside she was praying for him once again.

  “Oh, Mom, listen, I know you. Don’t get on the phone letting the world know I’m back. Let me stay low for a while.” He knew how his mother was and he didn’t need his name ringing.

  “Boy, I’m not gone call nobody! Go-on and do yo thang!” She yelled at him as she waved her hand in good riddance at him.

  He gave his mom a look like he wasn’t playing with her before heading out the door. The air temperature had dropped a full eight degrees by the time he left. The moment her door was closed and locked, Mama Beckum activated her alarm system and sat back on her couch. She said a silent prayer thanking God for bringing her baby home to her and declaring that she would change her life.

  That quick she forgot all about La’Mont being in a coma. She picked up her IPhone X and scrolled through her contacts. The moment she found the name she was looking for she pressed send. Her heartbeat raced with anticipation while she listened to it ring.

  “Hey Bernie?” Finally, Christine answered.

  “Gurl, hut Up! Guess what?” Mama Beckum couldn’t wait to spill the tea.

  **** N. D. ****

  Clark sat inside his Challenger waiting for his phone to ring. He’d only walked down from his mom’s apartment five minutes ago, but he hated sitting in cars. He and his brother shared similar paranoias about parked cars. His iPhone rang. He looked at the caller I.D. and answered immediately.

  “What’s up, rogue?” He spoke into the phone while checking his mirrors.

  “What’s up, dad. Everything copasetic out there?” The caller asked into the phone.

  “I don’t know yet, rogue. Gimme a few days to be sure. You know I’ma hit you if I need you.” Clark responded to the question while eyeing some nigga who’d just walked out to the dumpster with a garbage bag in one hand and a cellphone in the other up to his face talking.

  “A’aight, dad, it’s yo play. You know where I’m at if you need me.” The caller hung up without hearing a response. There was no need for one, they already knew how each other rocked.

  The nigga carrying the garbage bag had already dumped it and was heading back to whichever apartment he came from. Still, Clark kept his .50 on his lap as he started the Challenger and pulled off. One of the things he was doing while he was waiting on that phone call was rolling a blunt of some Platinum Cookies. As he drove down the freeway, he lit that blunt while listening to the new Mozzy.

  It took him damn near an hour to reach the Koffee Shop. It was a little past 10 p.m. It was normal for the shop to be open and still doing business at this time of night. After all, the Koffee Shop was the best aftermarket upgrade/detail shop in California. Not to mention, it carried the hottest used cars on the West Coast, both Domestic and Foreign.

  Clark pulled into the side gate leading to the back parking lot. There was another door that led to the main building back there. This was the door that Gunz used for late night meetings. Parking the car, he wondered what this place looked like in the daytime, it was so busy now. There were niggaz running all over. He climbed out the car and made his way to the door, only stopping briefly to speak to a couple of guys he knew.

  Apparently, there was a new nigga, who was supposed to be somebody important, who Gunz wanted him to meet. Clark wasn’t into meeting no new niggaz, important or not. To him a new nigga was just that, a new nigga. At the same time though, had it not been for Gunz, he knew he’d be in Lompoc or Herlong Federal penitentiary waiting for canteen or some shit. He would’ve been in the cell with some old Italian mobster wannabe. Just on the strength of that, Clark owed it to Gunz to at least have a talk with the nigga. But that was as far as owing a nigga would go, as far as Clark was concerned.

  The door to the office was open, so Clark just walked in. He could hear a conversation going as he approached the office. To his surprise, the conversation didn’t stop when he entered. Some light skinned nigga was talking to Gunz. Clark noticed A.J., whom he nodded his head what’s up to, as he took a seat on one of the plush, down, stuffed leather chairs that furnished the office. Two young niggaz, who he had neva seen, one standing the other seated, were both over by the nigga who was talking. Something about the little niggaz made Clark feel uneasy. He couldn’t tell if it was their demeanor, the way the one that was seated was staring at him or what.

  “…and once we’ve got all of the Elysian Fields up and running, then we can focus on the day care centers and other ventures that will help not only our people and communities, but are going to also help us out tremendously.” Dok finished going over some of his plans with Gunz and A.J.

  “Clark, what’s going on, Cuzzo?” Now that Dok was done, Gunz addressed him.

  “Shit, you know me, ready to get to dis money.” Clark spoke fruitfully. All the community shit and kumbiyah. shit could be left to niggaz like
his brother. Them niggaz were the Martin Luther King “I have A Dream” type niggaz. He was the Malcolm “Get it by any means” type. Thinking bout his brother brought the guilt and hurt again.

  “We all ready to get to that money…” Gunz gestured his hand over to the light skinned nigga that was just talking. "But first, let me introduce you to who I wanted you to meet. This is Dok Holliday."

  Taking his cue, Dok raised one hand with three fingers up, ring finger down with thumb, in a hood salute, "How you do, brotha," he inquired.

  "What's up, rogue?" The tone in which Clark returned the greeting left none in the dark about his feeling towards the nigga.

  "Aside from your brother and T'Rida, Dok is the third link in the chain that is Neva Die. Actually, the entire concept of what Neva Die was his idea and dream. So, in a way he's thee founding father out of our three founding fathers..." Gunz was speaking before Clark interrupted him.

  "Ok. Him being the founding father and all that's beautiful, rogue, but what that got to do wit me?" He asked sounding like a young, dumb, cocky kid.

  "It's got a lot to do with you. Just as we all moved to the cadence of T'Rida's drum or how everyone moved to sound of Voorheeze or my beat. There is a hierarchy within our organization or family. There always has been, always will be. This brotha sits at the head of that hierarchy.” Gunz told him, not too much liking his attitude or the fact that he’d rudely cut him off.

  Lil Scooter didn't have to question or wonder what page his brother was on. All of their lives they'd been in sync . No doubt, as his right arm went to his waist band, he knew that his brother was doing the same thing. .There wasn’t any room for talking when that Dragon reared its ugly head. Just ask Samori Toure and his people. Samori may not be able to attest to these two but his people surely could.

  “Peace be still. Let there neva be strife and feuding whenever brothas are gathered. For the betterment of self and one’s people is always foremost on the agenda…” Peace be still, to some sounds like a greeting, but to his killas it’s a command not to act. “Brotha, Clark I don’t come to cause dissention nor cause any controversy. The brotha is right as far as Neva Die being my dream and vision. But, it’s our family. But, let it not be lost upon you. Building our community instead of destroying it and our people are upmost and will not be stopped nor hindered by anyone.” As the last sentence was spoken, Dok’s entire persona and demeanor changed. If Lil Rell and Lil Scooter made him uneasy, the look Dok was giving Clark, made him think to be sure that he had his banger on him.

  “You keep talking dis community and our people, Martin Luther King, Harriet Tubman bullshit. Rogue, I’m Smack Mobb, always have been and always will be. And as far as E.P.A. is concerned, I worry about my city. You can worry about whatever the fuck you want, but not P.A. All you gotta worry about is supplying me with the work and I’ll worry about getting you yo money! All that other shit, that shit is for the birds and them BGF niggaz on the prison yard that my brotha fuck wit!” Clark could give a fuck how Dok took what he said. Clarkola wouldn’t bow down or tuck tail for nobody!

  Fuck hearing a pin drop in a room. It was so quiet in the office you could hear a drunk mouse piss on cotton. A.J. had to respect the size of the balls that this East Palo Alto nigga had on him. Shit, his little brother was just as crazy!

  Scooter and Rell were both waiting for the sign to go! A word, a head nod! Fuck! Anything and they would pop off. No matter how deadly the duo was, their discipline came before and above all else. So, they wouldn’t move unless given an order to do so. Then the Dragon would surface and breathe fire.

  Dok just looked at the fool in front of him. He could tell that the man was scared. What some saw as him showing bravado in the face of fear, Dok knew it was just more fear. A greater fear. This was the fear of being perceived as coward. Unfortunately, every year thousands of brothas are killed because of that “false pride.”

  When Dok looked at him though, he also saw himself and Voorheeze. They both were filled with that false sense of pride way back when they’d first met. Back in Santa Rita they were the only two Guerrillas in the POD with nine other Kumi niggaz who’d tried bully tactics with the rest of the pod. Against those odds, they’d stood together against the immortality and unfair treatment that was going on. They didn’t care. They were ready to “Die Bout It.”

  It would be too easy to kill him. Dok was sure that every gun in the room would back his play. But, his heart wouldn’t back him from the pain he would cause Voorheeze and his family. They had been through enough heartache and grief. Like a father grizzly with his cubs, Dok exercised more patience and spoke again.

  “Peace be still my brotha. For the respect I have for your brother, I will excuse the outburst and disrespect, but my brotha, we will not supply you the poison, which you will kill and poison our people with. This family is moving on to greater things than crack and heroine.

  I would love to still have you as a part of this because it will be glorious. But if not, then I wish you well.” Dok was all diplomacy, no feelings or emotions.

  “I just told you, patna, you ain’t gone tell me how to eat especially in my city.” Clark stood up. He was eye balling the little nigga sitting down when he said, “And if anybody got a problem wit what I do in my city, den it’s whatever.” After waiting a second to see if anyone had a problem he turned and headed toward the door.

  “Clark!” Dok called out.

  Clark didn’t respond, he just stood there half expecting a bullet to the back of the head.

  “The YMCA on Bell street. I don’t know if you know or not, but we bought that a little while ago for the kids. I understand that’s your City and all, but I would appreciate it if your workers kept a two-block radius away from the center, I would like that to be a drug free zone. After all it’s for the kids. Elysian Fields is BGF property. You know them penitentiary niggaz your brother runs with.” No matter how subtle he worded, it the threat was understood.

  When Dok finished speaking, Clark didn’t even honor him with a response, he just walked out of the office.

  “Okay, now I’m not one to question shit when it ain’t my business, but this is my business cause it’s gone bite us all in the ass. So, I gotta ask why we letting this nigga walk outta here instead of bodying him?” He asked the question to everyone, but A.J. was looking directly at Gunz.

  It was Dok who spoke up. “Because his brother is my brotha which makes him my brotha, and I won’t kill my brotha unless I have to.” Dok informed him.

  Scoot and Rell hadn’t bothered asking because they already knew the answer.

  As Dok thought about Voorheeze, he hoped that it wouldn’t come to that. But, if he had to, he wouldn’t hesitate. Even though he wanted to, A.J. didn’t say anything else. He knew Clark was going to be a problem. He was a street soldier, made Lieutenant and became a Capo. Now he would resurface as a General. Damn right, they should’ve killed him. If he had been an Oakland nigga, A.J. would’ve bodied him, no questions asked.

  Clark made it to his car, thankful that a hail of bullets hadn’t cut him down. He started that shit up with the quickness and got the fuck out of dodge. The moment he was on the street, he picked up his iPhone and scrolled to the last received number and pressed send.

  “Calling kind of late, dad. What’s up, everything good?” The caller asked. You could hear the sleep in his voice. Clark had awakened him from a good sleep.

  “It’s time for you to come home, rogue.” Clark let him know.

  “So, everything’s all good?” he asked sensing there was something he wasn’t being told

  “Shyyyt, we ain’t even get around to dat. There’s some other shit that we’ll discuss when you get here though.”

  “So, you need me ASAP?” He was wondering if he needed to drop everything and get there.

  “Naa, ain’t dat serious, just come home.” He told him.

  “A’aight, dad, I’ll see you in a minute.”

  “A’aight.” Clark clicked
the phone off.

  When he’d gone on the run, Clark wasn’t the only one. He knew his lil cousin was as worried about the feds as he had been. He was supposed to get a feel for shit and move around before he made that call. Unfortunately, after tonight he might have another war on his hands!

  **** N. D. ****

  Milpitas

  Urena was in his office with the door closed looking at his new watch. Should he have bought it? No. Was it too much? Absolutely! Did he give a fuck? Hell no! it was a stainless steel Aude mars Piguet that featured a Royal Oak offshore chronograph. At no time in his life would he have a need for an offshore chronograph. At no time in his life would he have a need for an Aude mars Piguet, but he didn’t have the worries that someone in his professional capacity had. Hell, he was in bed with the Mobb and life was great at least that’s how he saw it.

  His very expensive watch was a striking contrast against the dull, pale poverty of his small office. The Dell computer that sat above his old tarnished desk was the only thing remotely of any worth in his office. Everything else was second hand or could’ve passed for second hand.

  “Ah such a lovely watch”, he thought. Today would be a good day, he could tell.

  A knock on his door took his thoughts away from that good day.

  “Come in” his tone reflected his feelings. He didn’t really want whoever it was to come in.

  The door swung inward and the last person whom he wanted to see, Officer Hedgecock was at his door. His complexion was very pink, standing there in uniform. He had a look on his face like he’d smelled a rotten egg or swallowed it.

  “Leu, we got a problem, sir.” Hedgecock told him as he walked into the office.

  Urena thinks to himself “there goes that good day” and then he responded, “What kind of problem?”