Mack Daddy Legacy of a Gangsta

by Darrell King

  There were three rings embedded with rubies and two that were topaz studded. They were gorgeous as they sparkled lustrously within my easy reach. I wasted little time in grasping them up. I immediately sprung for the bathroom door. I was fast but not as fast as that damn sheik. He, in that instant, stuck a foot out and tripped me. I went tumbling over near the urinals. He then clutched my throat, babbling in some strange Indian dialect. His hands were like steel around my throat. People in New York usually tend to mind their own business, so when other men came in the bathroom and saw a little black hoodlum kid who probably started the whole incident getting the shit choked out of him, they just watched. Some even offered encouragement to the sheik.

  Then I saw the scowling face of Paco rise up behind the Indian. “Get the fuck off my brother,” he growled, kicking the Indian in the ass. The foreigner wheeled around to face Paco. As soon as he turned around he was felled by a tremendous blow. He rumbled against the urinals with a loud crash. His face was a bloody mess. Paco helped me to my feet and asked me if I was okay. I nodded my head yes, although I could hardly breathe. We looked around on the floor for the valuable rings, but this being New York City, the rings as well as whoever took them were now history. We looked at each other dejectedly, then Paco said, “Come on, let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  As soon as Paco and I left the bathroom and turned the corner, there was Dad coming to search for us. “Where have you two been?” he asked us with a rare frown. “Your mother and I were worried that you had gotten yourselves into trouble or something.

  “Oh no Pops,” replied Paco at once. “Me and DiAngelo were just playing pinball and talkin’ to some girls.”

  “That’s all? You all sure about that?” Dad asked suspiciously.

  “Of course we’re sure Pops,” said my brother smiling.

  “Well anyway, let’s get a move on. We’re due to be on board right now.” We walked alongside our stepdad at a rapid pace and got in line to board the plane.

  When Mama returned from the ladies’ room, her eyes narrowed into slits and her nut brown complexion flushed red as she saw us. We both knew what to expect next, either an ass whipping number one or a harsh lecture about wandering off and nearly missing the flight. Lucky for us, we received the latter, because getting an ass whipping in public would have been quite embarrassing. However, Mama’s tongue-lashings were no less severe than her physical discipline when it came to our mischief. After giving us what she called a “piece of her mind” for about fifteen minutes we were finally allowed to board the plane. We were escorted to our seats by a fine looking flight attendant.

  We flew to L.A. first class, all courtesy of Aunt Jenny. The food was good and so was the service. The only problem I had was that me and Paco were not allowed to sit with each other. I had to sit with Mama and Paco had to sit with Dad. Even worse than that, they had both of us sit by the windows. This was their way of assuring that we wouldn’t wander off together while they slept. It soon became boring sitting there next to Mama. I did nothing but stare out of the window at the thick cotton-like clouds. I occasionally looked over at Paco and Dad. Once when I looked over, I noticed that they were both sleeping soundly. Mama herself had slowly drifted off and was now snoring lightly.

  I sat back and thought about our new life in Los Angeles. I had never been anywhere outside of New

  York City. The only other place I had been was New Jersey. The only thing I knew about Los Angeles was that Hollywood was there. But I felt that being a New Yorker was a great advantage for me, because you could and would experience anything and everything in New York. Even though I was only ten years old, I

  already had the knowledge and maturity of people twice my age. I had done more in my short time on earth than most men and women did in a lifetime.

  As I sat contemplating on all that had happened to me in the past and the new challenges that faced me in the future, I suddenly heard the monotonous drone of the plane’s engine. The dreamy surrealism of the surrounding clouds caused me to fall into a deep slumber. I dreamt that I was running from someone or something. Then I remembered hearing car tires squeal around the corner. I heard voices calling and yelling at me. I increased my speed until I nearly lost one of my sneakers in flight.

  Then as I turned my head I could see a dark shadow wheel around the corner. It kept coming nearer and nearer until I could see clearly that it was a car. The car was a black Buick, which easily overtook my rapid gait. It was so close now that I could see the faces and motions within the moving vehicle lucidly. I couldn’t tell how many cats were in the car, but I could see that most of them had colorful bandannas on their heads. Some even had them covering the lower half of their faces like old Western outlaws.

  One dude leaned halfway out of the open window on the passenger’s side. I could see that he had a double-barreled shotgun that had been sawed off. He stuck the gun out of the window and drew a bead on me. I could hear his homeboys laughing and taunting me as I ran for my life. I was hauling ass, but it seemed like I was moving in slow motion. I ran into a dead end alley and simultaneously the damned Buick pulled up behind. I turned and faced my pursuers, and hurled every known insult at them. I saw both hammers cock back on the gun. Then the gunmen squeezed the two triggers of the shotgun. There was the momentary flash of light followed by a deafening boom. At that point I jumped out of my sleep drenched in perspiration. I was trembling as I looked around nervously. I saw only my family and the other passengers on the plane. At that point I was greatly relieved to realize that I was only dreaming. Suddenly a bright flash of lightning lit up the interior of the plane. That was followed by a loud thunder, which shook the entire frame of the jumbo jet. I was so glad to be awake from the dream that I was having that I didn’t even think twice about the storm that was brewing outside.

  Little did I know that this weird nightmare that I

  just had would become the harbinger of a chilling future reality. The airline pilot came over the intercom and assured nervous passengers that there was nothing to fear with the storm and that we would soon be rising above the thunderheads. I had been sitting for quite some time and I was starting to feel cramped, not to mention that I had to take a leak. So after hours of confinement, Mama allowed me to leave my seat. When I returned I glanced out of the window expecting to see the vast flowing white mists or the occasional bird flying past, but instead my eyes beheld a mighty sun-soaked metropolis looming below. I could distinctly make out the rolling, lush green valley and the huge white letters “Hollywood” in the distance illuminated by the auburn glow of the sun setting below the Pacific horizon.

  The city itself seemed just as large as my old home New York. It just seemed to be more spaced out in Los Angeles. I could feel my heart racing with excitement as our plane came in for a landing at Los Angeles International Airport, or LAX as it is known. We were the first to get off the plane of course, because we were in first class. When we got off, we went to the baggage claim area to get our luggage. Dad told us to wait in the terminal while he made a phone call to his brother. After that we waited for about an hour or so.

  Finally, a medium-sized green and white van pulled up. A tall slender dude with a grimy mechanic’s outfit got out. “What’s up people?” he said, coming over to us and hugging Mama and Dad. Then he looked at Paco and me. “So these are my rugged little nephews I heard so much about,” the tall man said staring at us.

  “This guy here,” Dad said pointing, “is your uncle Henry.” The man handed us five dollars a piece.

  “Welcome to L.A. boys, have fun while you’re here, which will be for a long, long time,” he said smiling.

  “What do you say?” said Mama, looking at us fixedly.

  “Thank you,” we both echoed at once. I looked at Paco with a sly grin. Knowing how much money we had on us at the time, we both knew that the five dollars was chump change.

  We all piled into the van and took off. We went to Uncle Henry’s house in Compton. He lived alon
e and his house was kinda junky. But it was still comfortable and spacious. We ate TV dinners and played cards; I won all eight hands with ease.

  “Where the hell did you learn to play cards like that DiAngelo?” asked Uncle Henry with amazement.

  “I just watched old people like you,” I said honestly. Uncle Henry and Dad chuckled. Then Uncle Henry playfully put me in a headlock and asked,“How old are you?”

  I told him ten. “Do you want ta see eleven?”

  “Yeah man!” I yelled. He let me go and mussed up my curly hair with his long thin fingers.

  “Boy, you’re somethin’ else,” Uncle Henry

  grinned. “I know,” I said, “I know.”

  TRAGEDY

  We began school in Watts that fall. Mama and Dad moved into a small house in the same town. The house was okay, but it was not as big as Uncle Henry’s. Paco and I really liked Dad’s brother. He was cool as can be and very down to earth. He didn’t mind if Paco drank a little wine or brew around him. He’d even tolerate Paco’s marijuana habit. Once I remember coming home from school and going over to Uncle Henry’s. I rang the doorbell, expecting Paco because Uncle Henry’s house was his first stop on his way home from school. Of course he was there. He opened the door with a pair of dark shades on. After looking around the corners outside, he let me in.

  “Hey man, did you see Uncle Henry anywhere outside?” “Naw, I didn’t see nobody,” I returned.

  “Okay then, have a seat and chill out,” said Paco going over to the couch and plopping himself down on it.

  When he removed the shades, I saw that his eyes were glassy and slightly red.

  “What the fuck’s wrong with you man?” I asked him.

  “Ain’t nuthin’ wrong, just been getting’ ‘nice’ that’s all,” he said nonchalantly. I shrugged my shoulders and went into the kitchen. I made a sandwich and got a can of soda. By the time I re-entered the living room I heard the sound of Uncle Henry’s van pulling up in the driveway. I threw open the curtains and peeked through the blinds. Sure enough, Uncle Henry was walking slowly up the path with his toolbox in one hand and a case of beer in the other.

  “Paco! Yo Paco!” I yelled, “here comes Uncle Henry!” Paco leaped up from the couch, spilling the reefer all over the rug. He ran toward the bathroom, grabbed the air freshener and started spraying like crazy.

  “Don’t just stand there fool,” cried Paco, “go distract him or somethin’!”

  “I ain’t doing’ shit,” I said definitely. “You got yourself in this shit, get yourself out!” Paco gave me a dirty look and mumbled something under his breath.

  We heard the keys at the front door, and before we knew it, Uncle Henry stepped in and shut the door behind him. He turned and sniffed the air. “Well… well… what’s this I smell, weed, huh? And from the aroma, that’s some pretty damn good shit, too.” He turned to look at us with mock anger in his eyes. “I’m pretty goddamned pissed!” Uncle Henry spat. “Don’t nobody smoke weed in the ‘castle’ without first offering some to the ‘King,’” he exclaimed. We both looked at him in dumbfounded silence. When he blurted out , “What are ya gonna do Paco, stand there looking stupid or roll us up a jay?”

  “When DiAngelo told me you were comin’, I jumped up and spilled the little bit I had left on the floor,” Paco said as if he were embarrassed.

  “No problem bro’,” said Uncle Henry as he walked over to the coffee table. He picked up a silver container and opened it. He then took out a large brown bag full of marijuana. They both immediately began rolling separate joints so they could get high. I didn’t want to be thought of as oddball, so I asked Uncle Henry to let me take a few puffs of his joint. He did, and I copped a light buzz after two or three tokes. Uncle Henry’s place was a popular hangout for many in the ‘hood, both young and old. Because he did mechanic work you could almost always find him out back working on someone’s hooptee or tuning up his own ride. His backyard was filled with old cars, engines, and tires. Sometimes his tool shed was used by the neighborhood kids as a clubhouse. Whenever Paco and I skipped school we avoided truant officers by hiding out in the shed.

  Uncle Henry, also known in the neighborhood as Junebug, also sold dope. Paco would get some reefer from him and sell it at school. But Junebug would never allow me to sell the stuff. Niggas came from near and far to Junebug’s place, especially on weekends. They’d buy coke and PCP laced with reefer called “Angel Dust.” Uncle Henry strictly forbid Paco to sell the Angel Dust.

  “You stick with the reefer and let me handle the heavy duty shit,” Uncle Henry said, putting an arm around my brother. “You never want to get carried away with dope and money because the two are a real bad combination, just like gasoline and fire,” Junebug continued. “You’re too damned young to try to be superfly. Every muthafucka wants it all and every nigga thinks a Cadillac, nice threads, and fine chicks make him God Almighty. But you know what?” Junebug said, pouring himself a glass of gin and tonic. “You ain’t shit unless you got somethin’ up here,” he added a light thump against his noggin. “Yeah, I know you and DiAngelo see me use and sell drugs, but you all also see me work a legit job everyday, and I finished school a long time ago.”

  Junebug took down his drink with a quick gulp, wiped an oily hand across his mouth, and again filled the glass with alcoholic beverage. “It’s alright to have a little spendin’ money on you, being that you all are young and all, and you want to have fun. But stay in school, get that education and leave all that other dumb shit alone. Because being black is no joke. We have had to struggle for four hundred years. Getting too involved with drugs and shit leads you nowhere but in jail or dead.” Our uncle took another swig, grimaced from the bitter taste and placed the then empty glass in the sink. He then pulled out three chairs from the kitchen table.

  We each sat down. “After you’ve gotten that diploma in yer hand, you’ve already made a step in the right direction. After that, the sky’s the limit.” Uncle Henry went on, “You can get yourself a job or go to college or whatever. Whatever you plan on doing after that is totally up to you.” After about fifteen minutes of the lecture, the telephone rang and Junebug got up to go answer it. When he came back, he told us that Mama wanted us to come home for dinner.

  Yeah, to this day I still remember that little speech Uncle Henry gave us that day. But it didn’t do me any good at that time. I didn’t care about shit like that back then. Mama worked as a meter maid in downtown L.A., and Dad had landed a pharmaceutical job at the local drug store. They both got home much later than we did, but they always made sure that they put notes on the fridge telling us what chores we had to do or what was for dinner. When we finished our homework and chores, me and Paco would always hit the streets. Even though we had been in L.A. for only two months, we were pretty much already well known, mostly because of Junebug, after all almost every citizen in Watts knew Junebug.

  While we were in the streets, we both sold reefer that we bought with our own money because Junebug wouldn’t let us have any of his stuff. I took the money I brought with me from New York and bought my first pound of the potent “Panama Red.” I made a killing off the stuff. Paco had some shit too, but he didn’t have “Panama Red,” so all the niggas wanted my reefer. There was one dude that I sold weed to named Ernie, but everybody in the ‘hood called him Skippy or Pee Wee. He was an O.G. back then and the coolest mothafucka I’ve ever known. This nigga was so cool that I believed ice water ran through his veins. He was about five feet seven, with an athletic build that all the hoochies adored. Although he was as black as the ace of spades, he was a handsome son-of-a-bitch. Man, the little muthafucka could hoop. Pee Wee was all that on the court, half court, full court, one-on-one, you name it. Every time he shot the ball, “Swish,” that’s all you’d hear. A crowd would gather around to watch him play. Pee Wee and Junebug were good friends and hung out together all the time.

  Junebug was in his early thirties, while Pee Wee was only twenty-one, but that didn’t matter;
they were still good friends. Pee Wee used to pick Paco up after school in his old beat-up “Bug” and then they’d pick me up afterwards. We’d spend time with Pee Wee hustling in the evenings until our parents came home. Pee Wee often brought along members of his Reapers gang to watch our backs while we hustled. Back in ’74, gangs didn’t have the heavy artillery that they do now; but they were still ruthless because they fought with baseball bats, knives, and sometimes shotguns or small handguns. There were many members of the Reapers. But it’s been so long that I’ve forgotten a lot of their names.

  On Saturdays we would get together and shoot hoops or get high or do both. One Saturday we were all together smoking some Angel Dust and drinking some cheap fortified wine, when this tall lanky nigga named Fishbone started bugging out. Obviously, he had never gotten high off PCP before, and he was jumping up and down and yelling and trying to undress himself. Everybody was laughing at his big dumb ass; everybody that is except for Pee Wee.