Black Lives Matter

by De'Kari

  Clark waited patiently for the line to be picked up. No matter what was on his mind, his heart rate still quickened and his dick throbbed in her mouth at the sight of her fifty plus inch ass. It was just the right everything. Size, complexion, firmness to soft ratio, just enough cellulite. Shit, Spiritual was fuckin angelical.

  Finally, the other line was picked up “A.B.C.G.” Four simple letters were all it took. Not even a phrase, just four simple syllables. One letter uttered in each syllable. That was all he said into the phone.

  At 11:15 p.m. on Friday, March 17, 2017, Clarkola uttered four letters that would begin the domino effect for all Hell to break loose!

  East Palo Alto

  11:56 p.m.

  “Even though dis ain’t splittin’ a niggaz wig Shawty, Mayhem is still Mayhem.” Man-Man said to the driver as he hit end on the call he’d just had. “Let’s get it, Shawty.”

  The driver neva spoke. He just put the truck in drive and headed to their destination. That new Gucci Mane was bumping in the speakers. Bone agreed Mayhem was Mayhem, but Murder was Murder. The navigation told him to make a right on University Ave. The sight of a McDonalds reminded him how hungry he was.

  At 6’4”, 305lbs, Bone was always hungry. Man Man was thinking how nice the area was compared to back home. Cali niggaz had it sweet. He couldn’t imagine the city he been seeing being the murder capital for three years. Not with the IKEA and Target and fucking Facebook. Nuh-uh, these niggaz had it sweet.

  They made a right onto Bell St. and the navigation said that they’d reached their destination. They weren’t’ going to stay long, so there was no need to park. Bone stopped in the middle of the street.

  Both of them climbed out of the all black Durmax Diesel. Bone had a Mack 11 with an extended clip. Man climbed down holding an AK-47. In the pitch black of night, they were barely visible.

  “Well Cali, meet Hotlanta, Shawty.” As if those magic words were a wake-up call. The night sky lit up like the skies in Baghdad.

  They both aimed their perspective tools of mayhem at the newly finished “Elysian Field Youth Center” and just swept their arms back and forth.

  It only took seconds for both guns to click on empty chambers. They were back in the Super Duty truck and pulling off before the red light behind them on University ever turned green. They’d caused a shit load of damage to the building though.

  “Well, shawty, that mothafucka won’t be open for business on the a.m. and dat’s foe damn sho.” Bone knew even though it was said seriously that Man Man was joking.

  The two of them had grown up together since grade school. They knew each other as well as brothers knew one another, maybe even better. The navigation wasn’t needed. The directions were pre-given and were too simple to mess up. At the first corner they made a left. Drove all the way to the corner and the freeway was straight ahead to the left.

  Once on the freeway, Man Man typed the address for their next destination in the navigation. Mayhem is Mayhem, he thought as he reloaded the weapons.

  “I’ma use the choppa on the next one, Shawty.” When Bone said Shawty it was so drawn out it sounded like an old school cassette take getting caught in the player. Plus, his deep baritone voice made the late Barry White sound like Michael Jackson.

  Forty-five minutes later they were driving through the streets of East Oakland. Coming down International Blvd., which used to be E14th St., the looks on both of their faces said it all. This was worse than back home. The run-down buildings and filth in the streets were one thing – and boy was it filthy- but here it was almost 1:00 a.m. and the streets were lit up with activity.

  On first look, it appeared that these were everyday citizens. Well, at least from a distance it did. These were zombies. The worst of the worst of dope fiends. The kind that spent every second of every minute lurking and scheming on a come up so that they could score their next hit. They were the dope fiends that the legends “will kill you for five dollars” or “will sell their soul for a hit” spoke of. The dope fiends and hookers both looked like night of the living dead. Most looked like they hadn’t showered or changed clothes in weeks. Some looked like they hadn’t done so in a year.

  They reached their destination, but it was on the other side of the street, so they had to drive to the next set of lights and bust a U-turn. Two things about ‘Elysian Fields East Oakland’, the first was it’s located directly, in the middle of the busiest street in all of East Oakland. Second, there were so many crack heads and prostitutes on the porches and around the building, it looked like an early 90’s house party.

  “Baby, you two fine ass niggaz looking to get into some freaky shit?” A high yellow prostitute as thick as The Body XXX and as ugly as Shanaynay asked. Her breath smelt like some new type of hybrid monkey shit.

  Man Man looked over at Bone, “If you could see the ass on shawty den you’d know why I would consider that.”

  The look Bone gave him said he was wondering if Man Man was crazy or not.

  Man Man turned his attention back to the Barewolf that had propositioned him. “Come here, Shawty. Now don’t talk ,just listen, okay.” She nodded her head up and down. Her disease filled pussy was getting wet from the way he was taking charge.

  “If I wasn’t here on business, I would love to bend you ova and fuck you in that big ass dinosaur booty you got just to see how tight it is. But, Shawty, you listening?” She licked her cracked lips and eagerly nodded her head again. “If you wanna live, beautiful, I would get outta here fast.”

  “You o’le bitch ass, no pussy getting, faggot ass n…” she stopped and shut the fuck up while scurrying backwards, the moment she saw him lift the AK off his lap, Bone was already out the truck carrying the Calico.

  International Blvd was the complete opposite contrast of Bell St. in East Palo Alto. International was very busy and it was lit up. That didn’t stop them.

  “Crazy ass country bumpkins!” The prostitute yelled as she was in a full sprint down International.

  The rest of her cronies weren’t that lucky. Man Man sprayed the left side of the building and swept in, knocking chunks out of the building the glass window and the bodies. They had nowhere to run because Bone did the exact same thing on the right side. It was a slaughter! It took Bone a little longer to run out of bullets because he had a drum on the Calico.

  Most people that drove by minded their business. Most of them were hood niggaz doing hood shit. The rest were just so used to this type of shit it was just another night to them.

  But, one woman who just happened to be a social worker, almost home after responding to a client who had an emergency that took five hours to finally get resolved. She saw the senseless massacre and began crying as she sped away.

  “If Black lives truly mattered, somebody should’ve told them two fools that.” She said out loud frantically speeding away.

  As Bone got them the fuck out of dodge, an Man lit a blunt and handed it to Bone. He then lit one for himself. Next, he reloaded all the guns. If the police got on them, they could get it, too. Once that business was taken care of he picked up his phone and sent the following text.

  “1236.”

  1236 or 1.2.3.6 which when translated to the alphabet meaning A.B.C.G.

  In the span of roughly an hour and a half, they’d successfully shot up two buildings, prevented the grand opening of two Youth Centers, killed seventeen people and wounded twelve others. Which would make anybody wonder “Do Black Lives Really Matter?”

  **** N. D. ****

  Milpitas

  Batman was sitting on the couch eating a fat turkey, ham and cheese sandwich. It was loaded with the works: lettuce, tomato, pickles, everything. He was watching the news coverage about him killing Deputy Horsely.

  “Well, Robin, it looks like I done messed around and fucked up.” He said out loud. He was speaking to Voorheeze even though he wasn’t there.

  For Voorheeze, declaring war on the police had been personal. Their little killing spree was all ab
out revenge for T’Rida’s death. But for Batman, it had been something else entirely. It was so much more than the death of one brotha. He’d long since grown tired of the plight that his people were suffering and forced to endure since the death of 12-year-old Tamir Rice, from Cleveland, Ohio. Tamir was shot and killed on Sunday, November 23rd while playing with a BB gun at the park by his house. The police shot the little boy repeatedly and afterward they watched him die instead of giving him medical treatment.

  Deep down, Batman was a spiritual man. Though he knew what he was doing was wrong, he convinced himself that Voorheeze’s phone call was God’s way of telling him to do something that would shine the light on what was being done to his people. He may not have been as crazy as Voorheeze, but he wasn’t all the way there either.

  He finished his last bite of the sandwich and washed it down with a Heineken that he’d grabbed from the refrigerator. Now that he was nice and full, he would be able to work.

  Lieutenant Josephine Sullivan was butt ass naked, just where he left her strapped to a table, before he raided her refrigerator for food and caught the news.

  “Now Lt., tell me are you gonna give me what I want or do I gotta get it the hard way?”

  “P…please…please don’t rape me.” She was so scared she could barely beg.

  “Rape you?” Batman was offended, “Woman, I ain’t gotta take no pussy! Rape you! Na na, what I want is information. But first, I gotta show you that shit is real.” He tried to stuff a dish cloth in her mouth. Fear of the unknown made her buck up and resist.

  The force of him butting his head against hers as she raised up, made her eyes roll to the back of her head.

  “Yeah, I gotta show your stupid ass. Don’t rape you.” He mumbled to himself as he attempted to gag her with the cloth again. Like most dumb mothafuckas, she learned after pain.

  Once the dish cloth was stuffed nice and tight in her mouth, he walked over to the counter and picked up the scalpel he’d placed there earlier.

  “If you don’t gimme what I want, I promise you that you’re gone be begging a mothafucka to rape you.” Lt. Josephine Sullivan had no idea just how true his statement was.

  “On New Year’s 2009, a young 22-year-old black man was enjoying a night out with some friends”. As she was talking he grabbed one of her breasts. Fear froze her as she peed on herself. “This young black man was only a child!” In one swift motion he sliced her nipple off with the scalpel.

  Her screams and cries were muffled. Her attempts to wiggle out of the straps were humorous.

  “I would ask you if you know his name, but I’ll just go ahead and tell you.” He squeezed her breast harder causing blood to run down the mound.

  He pushed the scalpel into the flesh at the base of her breast and sliced his way around the breast as he spoke to her. “His name was Oscar Grant and he was murdered.”

  The pain was far beyond anything she had ever felt. She was shaking so hard that the table was moving. Her mind was racing, how could she get herself out of this? She needed to get away from this crazy man. She wished her husband could save her. That wish would neva be answered and she knew it. Not with the two bullet holes in his head. He lay on the floor seven feet away staring lifelessly at nothing.

  When she finally simmered down enough he removed the gag out her mouth. She was smart enough not to scream. But her sobs and murmurs were uncontrollable. He used the dish cloth from her mouth to wipe the blood off of the scalpel in front of her, fucking with her mental. The violation she felt was worse than the pain.

  “You’re going to tell me exactly how to get inside of your Police Department. Every key code, every access point, shift rotations, officers on duty, everything! I want you to act like I’m your boss giving you an annual audit. Do you understand what I’m telling you?” When she didn’t answer he slapped her so hard he bruised her face.

  “Yes. Oh God, why are you doing this?” She cried out. In all her years on the force Sullivan have neva mistreated anyone. She treated everyone fair and equal.

  “Why am I doing this? Did you just ask me why I am doing this?” The moment she opened her mouth to speak, he shoved the rag back in her mouth.

  “Fucks wrong with you? Asking me some dumb ass shit? Did you ask any of the thousands of cops that killed innocent blacks why they did it, huh?” Losing his temper, he took the scalpel and went to work. Batman started by slicing her other breast off. He took the scalpel and made an incision from one side of her collarbone to the other. Then, he started at the base of her neck and sliced down until he reached her panty line. She was passed out.

  When he was done her body looked like she had been in a fight with the X-men and Wolverine had won.

  He walked to the kitchen and grabbed another Heineken. Batman woke her up by pouring half of it in her face.

  “There’s a statewide manhunt for me right now so I ain’t got time for games. Ask me another question or don’t tell me what I want, I’ma slice your pussy up next.” He made cutting gestures with the scalpel. “Lip by lip.”

  Thirty minutes later Batman realized three things; pain was greater than fear, but the fear of pain was the ultimate. He also realized after everything that she’d told him that his plan would not work. Not with all the cameras and facial recognition. Lastly, he realized it was truly hard to kill a woman. That’s not who he was, but he had a job to do and doing his job is what he did. Her naked, dead body still on the table was proof of that!

  He thought about cleaning up after himself, his fingerprints and what not, then he remembered they already knew who he was. At least they knew who to look for. They had no idea who he was! They about to learn though!

  **** N. D. ****

  Oakland

  “The events of last night may seem pressing, my brotha, but they’re not. That’s just the street mentality of retaliation trying to take over and cloud your judgement. We know who it was already. What we don’t know is exactly what these Weupi’s (white people) know. Thus, that takes precedence. As you said, that cat on the screen is brah’s peoples. You were gone when they had the funeral for Clark and Big Brah got shot. So, what you don’t know is that was that same cat that killed that Sutton kid and saved brah’s life. It’s only going to be a matter of time before they connect him and then we’re all under the radar.” Dok was talking to Gunz, who was irate over the stunt Clark pulled with the Rec Centers.

  To Gunz it was a personal slap in the face. They’d broken bread together. Neva Die put that ungrateful mothafucka on and this was how he showed his appreciation. Gunz wanted to flat out murder the mothafucka, but he knew Dok was right. Still, his anger wouldn’t allow him to verbalize his feelings.

  “That decision you made to shut shit down was a wise one. I think the best play right now is to focus on the Elesian project until we get a feel for what’s known. It ain’t like we’re hurting for the money or nothing”. Dok shared with him. The two of them were alone in the back office of the Koffee Shop.

  “Yeah, that’s a good look. But, I’ma check with Hawaii 5.0 and get us some light shed on what’s what” Gunz finally replied using the analogy of the early 90’s tv. sitcom as a reference to Lt. Urena.

  He pulled out his phone and punched Urena’s number in. Technically, Gunz didn’t take orders from Dok, after all he himself was a founding father. But out of respect for his name and what he’d done, Gunz was willing to listen to the voice of reason and follow logic. When that shit was over and done with Gunz would teach that mothafucka Clark exactly who he was fucking with.

  “We need to talk,” he spoke into the phone once Urena picked up.

  “Uh, now’s not really good for me…”

  “Listen, be at the spot in an hour. I don’t care what you’re doing, be there!” All that now’s not a good time shit, Gunz wasn’t trying to hear none of that.

  When he got off the phone he looked at Dok. “Blood, you good? I got some shit I need to take care of before I meet up with this mothafucka.” He asked Dok as
he got up and prepared to take off.

  “I’m straight, my brotha, I’ma finish up these designs, then I’ma check in with the little ones to see how everything is coming along.” He answered knowing that Gunz wasn’t going to leave the issue alone.

  “You know what, I’ma have to link back up with you and go over a couple of ideas.”

  “What you talking bout?” Gunz was curious

  “For the Satin Doll affair. I think I need to bring something new out” The sly grin on his face said Dok already knew what he wanted.

  “That’s cool hit me. But, I need to let you know something.” He tilted his head down and looked down his nose at him. “You might be big brah and all, but I’m not about to let you shit on me in dat whip department.

  “Then, my brotha, I advise you to come saucy, cause the kid gonna come wet.” Dok was serious as a heart attack.

  Gunz left Dok in his office and walked out of the Koffee Shop, wondering what Dok had up his sleeve. He pushed his Austin Martin through the streets of the East thinking about what he wanted to stunt with. It ain’t no secret niggaz in the ‘Town’, Oakland’s nickname, were known for their whip game. It was nothing to see a teenage nigga pushing something foreign, just look at them “Stubby Ent.” Niggaz. A young nigga in a Porsche or Jag truck was the norm. So, when it came to shutting shit down, a nigga really had to step his game up!

  The momentary distraction was good for his mental, but as he was nearing the corner of 85th and E14th. He had to throw his game face back on. The flow of traffic was stupid. When they were selling crack, he clientele was off the hook. 85th was the biggest money-making spot in the East. Once they made the switch from crack to crystal, it was a whole different ballgame. Their chemist had shit so pure and clean that they couldn’t burn their bubbles if they tried. While the snorters, every time they snorted a line their nose bled. The shit was that potent. If you held a shard up it looked like pure glass. No fog whatsoever!