by Tiana Laveen
King Sting, his cousin on his father’s side and three years his junior, with whom he was on the phone, was running off at the mouth and he was only half listening. Catching his reflection in one of the storefront windows, he also noticed several women laughing and staring at him, pointing and blowing kisses.
He was dressed in Psycho Bunny white jeans and a black and white checkered tank top, adorned with two gold and diamond Cuban link chains around his neck and diamond studs in his ears. He rarely wore his earrings anymore but had felt in the mood to be completely blinged out when he’d jumped out the shower that morning. After sprinkling on some Versace cologne, one of Majesty’s favorites, he slid on his black and white Jordans and headed to the barber, then to Miami to take care of a few errands.
“No voy contigo.”
“What do you mean you’re not coming, Viper? You have to.”
“I don’t have to do a damn thing.” He paused briefly to adjust one of his bracelets.
“But it’s already planned out.” King Sting sounded desperate. “They’re doin’ the hit next week. There’s three kilos of coke, and they need—”
“I told you when I got out of prison the last time that I would no longer be involved in any of that.”
“But we’re not asking you to go in, or even to deal. Everyone knows you don’t deal! You’re too busy, and—”
“I’m not coming out there to be your muscle if something jumps off, either.”
“Awww, man! Viper, you’re losin’ it! This is big. No puedes abandonarnos. Nosotros hemos estado allí para ti.”
“Bullshit! I never abandoned y’all, and I’ve always been there for all of you, so much so I did time for it, and I never fuckin’ snitched. I’ve done cases for my own shit and for someone else’s, but not once did I try to save my own ass, even if a motherfucker deserved it. I was even in jail for three months once because Jugo snitched on me. After everything I had done for that bitch. No fuckin’ loyalty!”
“Viper I’m not talking about all of that though. You have a chance to make some serious money! I know those dogs ain’t bringing in six figures a year. All you gotta do is—”
“But dogs are loyal, and there’s no amount of money that can compare. My freedom also has no price.” I don’t want to be another statistic. Another brown man in prison with a life sentence…
“But Viper, we’re depending on you.”
“I never decided to do anything. In fact, I said the exact opposite. Depending on me…” He rolled his eyes and sucked his teeth as he made his way past a Coach purse and luggage store. “And that used to be my fucking problem. I couldn’t depend on anyone but myself. When I needed some of you the most, you weren’t there. I was always loyal to my Reyes, but some of y’all wouldn’t give me the time of day if my life depended on it, and I’m done with that shit, Sting.”
“Let me come through and talk to you in person about this. We gotta—”
“Coming and talking to me in person won’t change a fucking thing, man. You’ve known me your whole life. I don’t care if someone is across the world talkin’ to me on the phone with a gun to their head, or right in my fucking face, pleading and crying. The same answers apply. I swear you guys keep trying me, and you’re not going to like how things turn out. There’s bad blood being shed, and I’ll be damned if I let another motherfucker wearing a got damn crown, Amor de Rey, spill mine!” He paused, noticing he was attracting some attention as he went off. He turned away.
“Viper, I never really hear you talking like this, so obviously you’ve got some shit on your chest. But that doesn’t mean you turn your back on all of us. I had nothing to do with that shit they did to you back then. I’m asking you to do this. Just me, Sting. Forget about everyone else. This is a chance for me to bring in a big bank roll, and besides, Jaguar said it was fine. He gave his blessing.”
Fuck Jaguar. He doesn’t give a shit if any of them live or die. He just wants his piece of the pie. His cut.
“You are my past and present disappointment, man, and truly, it’s hard to disappoint me because I don’t trust anyone as it is.”
“Your disappointment? Man, Viper, I’ve always been down!”
“You didn’t do what you were supposed to do, either. Only my mother, father and stepfather on occasion, Marie of course, and some of the bitches who wanted to be with me when I got out came to see me when I was locked up all of those years. I never got any calls, letters, or emails from your ass. Nothing. The people I named were the only ones who checked on me and made sure I was straight, and behind those bars, I was still putting in work! I’m incarcerated working like a slave, while all of you were enjoying yourselves on the street. I had to keep the correctional officers quiet, the snitches in check, the brothers at peace, and our enemies flipped or dead, without leaving a trace. I know you heard about why I went to the hole.”
Sting got quiet. His silence said it all.
“I know you know what happened. Everyone does. I killed that motherfucker. He was a fucking Chomo, and this wasn’t rumor or speculation. I saw the proof. The details of his case. He was fucking disgusting, and I took him out because I was told to by higher ups in the ranks, and to help keep myself established in there. You know our adversaries love trying Warlords! And I’m a two-for-one, because in our chapter, I’m also the Cacique. Anyone can get status if they take me out. It’s like a game of chess. King Viper is a top prize. So, that move helped. It reminded people what I was capable of. It took planning and perfect execution. That’s how I got my name. Viper. I’m patient as a motherfucker, and I lay low, blending in with the brush, then go for the jugular. I strike when everyone else has forgotten, underestimated me, moved on, or gone to sleep.”
“I heard about it. I look up to you, Viper.”
“You’re missing the point. I’m not saying it to you to brag or to get your admiration. It’s a cautionary tale. If one thing had gone wrong, that would’ve been it for me. I refuse to return to that hell. It was risky because he was protected. He had money. Elite. Thankfully, they couldn’t prove that I was the one responsible, so that was that, but no one else had the balls to do it because it was like a guaranteed death sentence, and maybe, in some way, that was the smarter choice, you know? I didn’t have shit to prove, but I was prideful and wanted my respect at all costs.
“I’m no longer willing to risk it all. You guys are planning something that if one of you does anything wrong, you’re blown. If anything happens that is not accounted for, you’re blown. For all you know, they may be onto you. Don’t underestimate people, primo. You’ll be in prison for possibly the rest of your life, Sting. I was built for that, you’re not.”
“Viper, that’s bullshit, nigga! I got balls! Fuck you, man!”
Viper stopped walking and gripped the phone harder.
“What the fuck did you just say to me?”
“I’m sorry. I just, uh, I felt offended by what you said.”
“I don’t give a shit about how you’re feeling, what premenstrual emotions you may be going through! I’m giving you some knowledge, telling you my story, some shit very few people know the details of, and you turn this around and want your ego sucked. I’m not suckin’ or soothing shit. I eat pussy, but I’m not one. Watch who the fuck you’re talking to. I’ll flip my own cousin, beat your ass one step away from ‘Peace,’ in R.I.P. I’ll beat you like I don’t even know your fucking name. Don’t get it twisted. Cousin or not, don’t you ever say ‘fuck you’ to me again. Do you fuckin’ understand me?”
“Yeah. I apologize.”
Viper started to walk again, his temper cooling down just as quickly as it had flared up. Sting was family, but that was a huge pet peeve of his. Someone saying ‘fuck you’ to him. Everyone knew not to say it, except Majesty. With her, he let it slide. Plus, he knew she never meant it maliciously, and it would escape her mouth most often when he was making her cum. That, he could forgive.
But not the rest. He may have been triggered by it becaus
e that was the last thing he’d heard at the age of sixteen, right before someone blew his friend’s brains out right in front of him one day while they’d been sitting in the park. To this day, he still recalled the smell of the gun smoke and the feel of brain matter, bits of shattered skull, and blood all over his arms and chest.
“Wake the fuck up, Sting. You’ve got a two-year-old daughter and your girl is pregnant with your son, man. Think twice.”
“Viper, you know this is how we make our money. No one is going to hire us to make the kind of cash we could robbing these guys. Besides, they deserve this shit! They invaded our territory. We’re taking all their stash, and we’re going to sell it and triple the profit. Who in the fuck is going to pay any of us that kind of dinero, huh? It would take a lifetime to achieve that, to make what we can make in one hour of work in the streets.” Sting had a point, but it still didn’t matter.
“Sting, there’s always a loophole, a way out. I’ve done my own thing to get my money, and it was no better than what you’re trying to do. In fact, in some ways, I’d say it was worse, but it’s up to us to find the best way.”
“I’m not like you though, Viper. I’m just not. I guess you found God… You’re judging me, man.”
“It’s not about judgment or morals, and I can’t find God if I never lost Him. It’s not even about right or wrong, motherfucker. You think I give a shit about those guys getting jacked? They’re scum. I don’t give a fuck about them, but I do give a fuck about you, so this is about keeping your ass alive and out of prison. Oh, and another thing. I’m not saying you don’t have any juice. You’re a tough motherfucker, okay? You are. If you were a pussy, I’d say so, but long prison terms will change you, man. They make what’s hard harder. The crazy gets crazier. I was still on the Nation’s clock. Body drop. Twenty-four-seven.” He opened a restaurant door for a woman struggling to get out with a large carry-out bag and purse in her arms, along with shopping bags.
“Thank you so much,” the older, attractive White woman said with a smile. “That was nice of you.”
“Está bien.”
He continued on, checking out the various displays in the stores he passed. Fat Larry’s Band’s, ‘Act Like You Know’ played out of some old Black man’s car as he sailed by in a long, gold Cadillac. Something about the guy reminded him of his father. He raised two fingers at the old player, and the man waved back.
“How’d you get to do what you did?” his cousin asked after a long silence.
“How’d I get to do what?”
“Start over.”
“Before I got out of prison, I knew I needed to figure out some things. I was looking back on my life, and I was torn. With all the time I had, I’d just sit and think. I don’t believe in regrets, but change needed to happen. So, I started writing down what I wanted in a notebook, my goals and plans, shit like that, and I wasn’t going to let anyone stop me. No excuses. I knew, like you said, the chances of me landing a good job with the criminal record I have were slim to none, so that made me even more determined to start my own business. I wanted property, too, my own place. I wanted to help support my family, and to eventually get married as well. At the time this wasn’t at the top of my priorities, but I’m a long-term planner.
“So, the idea of getting married meant I’d need to be able to support myself and my wife. Regardless of whether I married a Latin Queen, which wasn’t out of the question but not guaranteed, my future wife would need protection. She’d need me by her side for mental, financial, emotional, sexual, spiritual and physical support, and if I’m incarcerated, I can’t be there for her to the same extent as if I were free, now can I?”
“Yeah, yeah, I hear you.”
He could tell his cousin was truly paying attention. Soaking it all in.
“So, those were my driving forces, the framework to push me forward. Money and business. Family. Future wifey. As soon as I got out the joint, Sting, and got my money right, I invested whatever I’d saved before I got locked up, see? And then I was able to buy a home, pay off my mother’s house and get her a new car, pay off some of my father’s debts for his car repair business, and start my own business that I had been writing down the plan for in prison. Once I was able to put work on it, I realized just how big of an undertaking it was, but it was worth it, and no one helped me. I did it on my own. I’m self-made.”
“But see, that’s just it, Viper. You had money already to help you. I don’t have anything.”
“You don’t have to steal and sell dope though, man, to make it. You’re an amazing rapper, and you can play the guitar. I want you to record your songs and put them on iTunes and Spotify, man. I want you to do gigs in the city for free to get your name around, then start charging. Start a podcast to discuss music and things you know about. I want you to start teaching guitar lessons. You can advertise online for free on social media. It doesn’t matter how you start, just start! There’re so many ways to make money now, Sting. With the way technology is now, you can make money in your sleep. Get you some. Stack your currency.”
“You really think people would buy my music?”
“Like I told you, you’re so fucking talented, you can do this. I know you can. You just gotta be patient, and you’ve got to be resourceful. Go get a trade if you want while you do it at the same time, so you can get a house for Gloria and your babies, man. Sting, I’ve been where you’re at. My brother…” Viper felt a migraine hit him as soon as his dead brother entered his thoughts. “My brother was where you are, too… and now, he’s not here anymore.”
“I hear you, Viper. I’m kinda surprised that you feel like this. You’re so high up, you know? I mean, you’re a Warlord, man.”
“I’ve got more to me than just being Warlord. You think anyone gives a shit about me being a Warlord outside the Nation, law enforcement, and gang affiliation, huh?” He was met with silence. “If anything, they’d use it against me. Say that I was beyond rehabilitation or see it as a reason to try me, to get points.”
“People look up to you though. Everybody knows who King Viper is, man. That’s power.”
“And I like the power. I’m hungry for it, I’d be lying if I said otherwise. I wanna be paid. I like nice shit. Expensive shit. I like nice looking women, high-powered cars, and I enjoy knowing that people want what I have. But I’ll tell you something. I will never be broke again, Sting, and by broke, I mean my mind and my spirit.” He tapped his temple. “I’m done with the crazy shit. I would rather be chillin’ with my dogs in my backyard, partying hard in Miami or L.A., in some amazing five-star hotel eating steaks as big as my face, or screwing the shit out of my beautiful girlfriend all morning and night long, than trade in my freedom just to prove what a badass I am again. Real talk.
“ I’m sick of all of these simps, pretending to be pimps. All of these actors pretending to be real McCoys, all these betas pretending to be alphas, and all of these disasters pretending to be someone’s blessing. I have nothing to prove to anyone, but to myself. Same for you. That’s right… it’s about me now. People want to act funny when I try to focus on myself for a change, improve things for mi familia. Funny how when that shit jumped off in the Union Correctional Institution, everyone wanted me to fucking fight and kill with them. No problem. But when I needed help, they stayed behind me and let me get stabbed.”
He’d had a faint stab wound scar on his shoulder for years to prove this, now covered and blended in by a crown tattoo. “Wasn’t the first time, but it definitely was the last time. My allegiance to the Nation is stellar! Don’t you ever put that shit on me. Now that I’m getting older though, I want to distance myself from some of these… activities,” he looked around, making sure nobody was listening, “but not my brothers. If someone doesn’t like it, that’s not my problem.”
I paved the way. I walked the mile on broken glass, so motherfuckers like Sting could crawl a mere yard on sand. Intact. Three of our boys are still in the pen for that fuck shit from six years ago. Gio h
as a life sentence. Javier is a fucking vegetable. Monopoly will never walk again. That could’ve been Sting. That could’ve been me.
“I get what you’re saying, I do, and I mean no disrespect, Viper. I know you give me more of a pass because we’re cousins, and I can talk to you differently. I didn’t expect to have this heart to heart with you. This is the most you’ve spoken to me ever. Probably to anyone. You’re the quietest, and yet most treacherous motherfucker I know. That’s called sneaky.”
They both laughed at that. It was true. For some reason, Viper felt like expressing himself right then; perhaps in an effort to spare Sting some of the pain he’d endured in his lifetime. He wasn’t convinced the young man would listen, but at least he tried, and that gave him peace.
Three fucking prison stints, countless jail stints, sending money to the families of our dead brothers and sisters, sometimes when I didn’t even have it to spare. Attending each and every meeting. Squashing internal beefs, righting wrongs, trying to bring peace when one of my Reyes got into it with one of our allies. It was I who was called on, I who was trusted. This shit just last month, when they had to clean up the apartment? I got that shit squared away. And then, I was the one who found out exactly who was involved and made sure they were wiped off the map. People like to jump in after I’ve done all the heavy lifting, all the dirty work, then put their name on it like it’s theirs. I say nothing. I’m sick of this shit… I’ve paid my dues. I want a life that doesn’t always include having to merk, rob, stab, beat, flip, or hide a fuckin’ body. Let me fuckin’ live…
“We’ll never let you go,” his cousin said.
Viper looked into the window of a store selling classy men’s apparel.
“I have no intentions of leaving you or the Nation. I just move differently now. I’m always going to be Viper. I’m too far entrenched in this to ever be anyone but me. I’m always a Latin King. Amor de Rey.”
“Amor de Rey. You’re damn straight, and I don’t want you to forget that.”