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Hood Chronicles and Raquel Williams 2013-11
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Byron sat alongside his best friend, Jemarkus, as the two passed a blunt back and forth. The television screen in Byron’s home was on, yet it appeared to be watching the sixteen year old boys, rather than the teens watching it.
“Fam, what the fuck you waitin’ on? Let’s go take care of this shit now!” Jemarkus exclaimed.
Releasing a white cloud of weed smoke into the atmosphere, Byron turned to face his friend, “I can’t keep doin’ shit just to be doin’ it, my nigga. I got a baby on the way now,” Byron acknowledged.
Jemarkus shook his head in disbelief. “What that got to do with anything? That nigga slim violated! You can’t just be lettin’ niggas wild on you and not muthafuckin’ straighten your business! When the fuck did Chicago niggas become weak?”
Byron studied his friend, and the words he spoke penetrated his heart.
“Calm the fuck down! It ain’t about being weak! Chi-Town niggas could never be that! Shit, this the city of Hoover, Barksdale, and Capone,” Byron said, while standing with pride.
Jemarkus began to smile, while unleashing his three-fifty-seven magnum, “Fucking right! Chiraq Killinois, fam, and you gotta live up to this city’s requirements or die down with a banana stuck in ya’ ass!” Jemarkus insisted.
A slight smirk spread over Byron’s face as he studied his friend. Jemarkus was a real piece of work. Proud of his allegiance to the Murda Gang, he kept his purple bandana hanging out of his back pocket; he claimed it was his purple heart, ‘cause he was no less than a street souljah.
Byron belonged to the Murda Gang too, yet he was never as flashy as some of the rest of his gangsters; purple shoestrings, belts, or simple purple attire is how he chose to represent the family he loved so much.
Although the pair was often perceived as two peas in a pod, Byron often preferred to do things a lot less messy than Jemarkus. Being the child of a crack-head prostitute, Jemarkus never knew who his dad was. With his mother in and out of rehab and jail, the young boy quickly turned to the gang life to help him maintain in such a cold world. Surrounded by people he felt would die for him, because they were ever-so ready to kill for him, Jemarkus pledged his undying loyalty to the Murda Gang and lost his soul in the process.
What appeared to the world as a misguided teen was simply a demonic spirit over-lapped with flesh. Jemarkus had killed so many of his fellow people it had become second nature without an after-thought, and all he cared about was his team remaining on top.
In a city filled with multiple gangs and violence, the only way to do that was to be the most ruthless ... and Jemarkus was just that; not so much the case with Byron. Between the two, Byron was the thinker, and Jemarkus was the doer.
Raised in the suburbs on the south side of Chicago until the age of ten, Byron was accustomed to the good life, having both his parents in the same household. His father was a hard-working man, who slaved hard to provide for his family what he lacked growing up in the projects. Likewise, Byron’s mother was old fashioned, believing that a woman’s place was keeping up the home; therefore, she was a home-body who taught her child daily. Well versed in different cultures and beliefs, she would teach little Byron about the importance of putting God first and to love all of His creatures.
Byron cherished her philosophy, until the day his worst nightmare became a reality. As usual, his father had taken the family out on a Sunday night, for dinner and a movie. With his stomach filled and having been entertained, Byron had fallen asleep in the back seat, while his father stopped to get some gas.
The sound of his father’s scream had abruptly awakened the child to a horrendous sight. Byron looked on, as a man with a green bandanna tied across his face beat his father to the concrete, before sending three shots into his head.
Fear gripped Byron’s young heart, as he slowly turned to face his mother, attempting to fight off her attacker in the front seat. Within seconds, he heard a loud boom, as his mother’s blood splattered all over him.
“Shit, the police!” one of the perpetrators yelled, as he commenced to shooting at them. Gunfire erupted from all angles, as Byron fell to the floor of the vehicle in tears.
Before long, the authorities had gunned down both men and were disheartened to find Byron in the back-seat trembling. Looking from his mom and dad to the two robbers, his views of the world had drastically changed just that fast. How could there be a God, and how was I to love His creatures if they were to do things like this? He began contemplating.
Ending up in the projects with his dope-fiend auntie, Byron was also now in a position where he had no other choice but to fend for himself.
Eventually, he became a part of the Murda Gang, due to their hatred of another gang known as the Riverview Mafia. Their gang colors were green, and the look of those green bandanas infuriated Byron on sight.
Four years into the Murda Gang, and Byron had acquired a criminal record a mile long; petty crimes became serious offenses. Carjacking, carrying concealed weapons as a juvenile, battery and possession of controlled substances were just a few of his crimes. Although Byron was a menace to society, two things kept him wanting more out of life; one, his dread of juvenile detention centers, and two, Nafeesa.
As soon as Byron landed in the projects he and Nafeesa had become buddies. From buddies, they had become intimate, and Nafeesa was now eight months pregnant with his child. He’d made a promise that he would get his child and Nafeesa out of the projects somehow, but until then, all she wanted was for him to keep himself out of jail. Knowing that fact was what brought Byron to his conclusion when he dealt with Slim.
“Just let it go,” he said to Jemarkus.
His friend couldn’t muster his ideology. “Bruh, that nigga runnin’ around talkin’ about fuck you and everything you stand for! Last I checked, that mean he dissin’ Murda Gang!” Jemarkus yelled.
“So what, you gonna go kill him?” Byron asked his friend.
“You muthafuckin’ right!” Jemarkus replied.
“Jemarkus, the nigga bumped into me at the movies and didn’t say excuse me ...you want him dead for that?” Byron probed.
“Don’t make it sound stupid, nigga! It’s the principle. You asked that nigga to say excuse me, and he pushed you and started poppin’ off ‘cause them cops was nearby. My thang is, he obviously want beef!” Jemarkus assured.
Byron shook his head. “Well, I don’t. I’ll catch you tomorrow, fam,” he said, while ushering his friend to his door.
“A’ight, I get it, but I’m tellin’ you, these niggas out here be lookin’ for a reason and I might be wrong, but he want it with you! It ain’t about no damn bump or shoes! He just want a reason to end ya’ life, so be on point,” Jemarkus insisted.
“You be on point on ya�
�� way home, nigga,” Byron said, while closing his door.
Jemarkus chuckled and turned to make his way down the hallway and outside. A stranger almost brushed against him, which caused Jemarkus to become alert. Bundled in a skullcap, bubble jacket, and baggy jeans, it was senseless to guess at who it could be. Jemarkus knew almost everyone in the projects, and everyone in the projects knew not to cross him.
Heading outside into the freezing air of the city’s nightlife, a great thought popped into Jemarkus’ head, on a cold night like this, some hot pussy would balance me out with warmth. He chuckled. Remembering that one of his play-things lived right around the comer, he decided to give her a call before making a wasted trip in such brisk weather. Patting himself down, he suddenly realized he’d forgotten his cell phone upstairs, due to being rushed out. “Muthafucka,” he said, while heading back inside.
Plopping down of the sofa, Byron checked his watch. His aunt Charlene worked two jobs, day and night. They very rarely saw much of each other
although they lived in the same space. During the day Charlene would do hair at a nearby salon, and at night, she was a waitress at a nightclub. The few hours she would be at home would be to rest, bathe and eat, and most of the time Byron was usually out and about.
Byron felt that with her constantly being occupied with work, it would help her with her crack addiction. Over their years together, he had seen the worst in her and grew to hate her because of it. At one point, he had even become her supplier. In return, she lost all real authority over him in both of their eyes, and the young boy Byron instantly became Byron the man of the house.
Reading a quarter past eleven on his watch, Byron looked over at Jemarkus’ cell phone. Suddenly, a loud knock
came at the door. Figuring it was Jemarkus returning back to retrieve his cell he grabbed it and headed for the door.
“High ass nigga! You’d forget ya’ head if it wasn’t screwed on,” Byron teased, as he opened the door.
To his surprise, Jemarkus wasn’t behind it, but instead the stranger whom his friend had passed on his way out.
“What the………,” was all the intruder allowed Byron to get out before smacking him across the forehead with his nine millimeter Beretta.
“You thought this shit was a game?” the intruder asked angrily. Byron heard a familiar voice speak as he collapsed to the floor.
Crashing his boot into the boy’s ribcage, Byron flew over onto his back and stared up into the eyes of his attacker. He was astonished to find Slim in his home with a pistol drawn down in his face. For the life of him, he couldn’t understand what had driven Slim to such lengths.
A small-time hustla on the South side of the Chi, his name rang a few bells. Yet, up until last night, the two had never had a run in. Slim was known for fighting religiously and notorious for shootouts, but they were never just senseless acts, and to be in a man’s house, about to kill him over a bump in the movie theater, was as senseless as it could get.
“Yeah, lil’ nigga! Thought you was just gone take that huh? Don’t nobody take what belongs to Slim!” he exclaimed, while cocking his pistol back and preparing to shoot.
“Oh, hell nah!” Jemarkus cried out from behind, as he stumbled upon the scene. Turning to view Jemarkus as he reached in his pants to retrieve his weapon, Slim focused his pistol in on him. In fear for his friend’s safety, Byron took his feet and interlocked them between Slim’s. Off balance, Slim let off a shot, as he fell backwards on top of Byron. As the bullet whizzed by his head, Jemarkus unleashed his weapon and headed toward the action.
Byron now had his arms around Slim’s throat, as he struggled on top of the teen. Desperately fighting for his life, he was losing his grip, as Slim elbowed his sides with vicious blows.
“I don’t think so, muthafucka!” Jemarkus smiled, releasing two shots into Slim’s chest. Byron felt the fight leaving Slim’s body, as his dead weight grew heavier.
“I know you didn’t just kill this nigga in my crib?” Byron said, while pushing the body off of him.
“What you mean? Would you rather I let him kill both of us?” Jemarkus questioned.
Byron stood beside his friend, looking down at Slim’s lifeless corpse.
“We gotta get rid of this nigga’s body,” he replied.
Jemarkus hurried over to the front door and closed it. “A’ight, let’s move the sofa and wrap this nigga up in ya’ auntie carpet. I’ll do that, while you go get some duct tape,” Jemarkus said. Frantic, Byron did as instructed. Once he’d retrieved it, the pair wrapped up both ends of the carpet as tight as possible.
“Okay, now where we gonna put him?” Jemarkus wondered.
“We gotta get him to your car and……,” Byron started, before his friend quickly interjected.
“You got me fucked up! I ain’t puttin’ no dead bodies in my car!” he informed his friend.
“Jemarkus, we can’t walk down the street with a dead body in our arms,” Byron pleaded.
The two sat down on the sofa and both began thinking of what they would do.
“I got it!” Jemarkus said, “I’ll go get us a car!” Byron knew exactly what that meant ...he would go and take somebody else’s car. Byron didn’t like it, but at this point, he just wanted the dead corpse out of his home, and he wanted it out now.
“Go ahead, I’ll be here figuring out how to get Slim from point A to point B without being seen,” he said.
Fifteen minutes had passed when Jemarkus spotted his victim. The young man exited his vehicle and headed inside to get his girlfriend her favorite candy. The young couple had just experienced a wonderful time together, and they were completely oblivious to the disastrous way their night would end.
Watching from the darkness, Jemarkus studied the woman on the passenger’s side. Her window was down and other than her boyfriend who had just went inside the store, she appeared to be alone in the vehicle. Without a second thought, he made his move in haste.
The poor woman turned around in just enough time to see a gun bash her face in, before everything went black. Jemarkus drug the woman’s unconscious body into the shadows of the night and left her behind a dumpster.
Arriving back at his vehicle, the young man immediately noticed his woman’s absence. “Tammy?” he said looking around.
“Hey man, help! I think this woman is dead!” Jemarkus called out, while guiding the man to the alley. The man immediately dropped everything, hoping that it wasn’t his Tammy the boy was referring to.
As soon as he spotted her body propped up beside the filthy dumpster, he became hysterical.
“Please! No… you don’t have to do this!” The man began begging for his life. “What is it that you want?” he asked in a panic. He stood trembling in a fear he’d never known, with his hands held high in the air, as if to say, I surrender, but at this point, Jemarkus had no plans on sparing the innocent victim any mercy.
With his pistol in hand, Jemarkus approached and began beating the poor soul down. The thrill of violence had always sent a jolt of excitement rushing through Jemarkus’ veins.
The man lay barely breathing hoping and praying the devil before him would let him live.
“Young man, you’ve already beaten Tammy close to death, why are you doing this?” he managed to ask, just above a whisper.
Jemarkus stared him directly in the eyes and for a split second, he felt remorseful, but living the life he’d chosen to live, that feeling quickly vanished.
As the two young bodies lay sprawled against the dark wall of the alley, the vicious teen began to snatch their jewelry, money and anything else off of their person of value.
Once he was done, he took the man’s car keys, before looking down both ends of the dark streets. With no one in sight, he looked at the man once more and said, “You ask why? ‘Cause you just like me, a casualty of war in a fucked up world! Welcome to Chiraq, muthafucka!”
With that, he aimed his weapon and fired two shots; one between his eyes and the other between h
ers.
Racing back to their car, he prepared to meet back up with Byron with a devilish smile plastered across his wicked face.
The stench from Slim’s corpse was beginning to emanate through the carpet and Byron thought if he didn’t remove it from his place soon, he would literally pass out. Hearing a knock, he was relieved to find Jemarkus had finally returned.
“Damn, that nigga smell like two hundred pounds of baby shit!” he joked upon entering.
“A’ight, this is how we gonna do this …. get him to the laundry shoot and drop his ass all the way down to the lower level, then we go down there, put him in the trunk, drive him away and leave the car somewhere across town. I’ll follow you in your ride and once you’ve found where you wanna dump the car, we just get the fuck outta dodge,” Byron informed.
“Sounds like a plan to me,” Jemarkus agreed. Carrying out the plan the boys grew relieved that all of the chaos was now officially behind them.
On the way back to the projects, Byron pulled over in the convenient store parking lot to make a stop.
“What you comin’ here for?” Jemarkus questioned, growing antsy.
“For a Hawaiian punch if you must know nigga.” Byron joked.
“Well, just make it quick,” Jemarkus replied. Byron paid close attention to his partner in crime.
“Are you alright, man?” he inquired.
Forming an uneasy smile, Jemarkus said, “Yeah, I just got some shit to do. I ain’t tryna spend all night with you. Fuck I look like Nafeesa or something?” Both boys burst into laughter, as Byron got out of the car.
Jemarkus lay back in his seat and fired up a Newport cigarette. He could see the blue and red flashing lights from the Cook County police department cars on the side of the store. Before he knew it, Byron had returned and was ready to ride.
Passing by the crime scene where Jemarkus had claimed the young couple’s lives, Byron saw the homicide squad laying out the yellow tape.
“Damn, just another ghetto day in a gangster city huh?” Byron said.
Chiraq Killinois (America's Nightmare) Page 1