G.G. had Erica on the ground. She stood over her with her fist clenched and wailed on Erica with a series of reckless blows, striking her in the face multiple times. “What, bitch, huh? What now, you stupid bitch?” G.G. screamed out.
Erica attempted to get up, but G.G. forcefully knocked her back down onto the pavement with a brutal kick across her face. “Touch my fuckin’ cousin again!”
The Triple P girls were wreaking havoc on the L.D. girls; they had them outnumbered and were fierce in battle. Erica lay against the concrete pavement with a mouth full of blood and a bruised face along with a bruised ego. G.G. proved to be the victor of the fight. She continued assaulting Erica wickedly with kicks and punches to her face and body.
Police sirens were soon heard blaring from a distance. T.T. ran over to G.G. and pulled her friend off of Erica, shouting, “G.G., we gotta go! Let’s get the fuck outta here.”
G.G. glared down at the defeated Erica and shouted, “Lay there and fuckin’ bleed, bitch!” She spat on Erica and ran off with T.T. and her crew.
The show was over, and many students quickly departed, leaving a few of the defeated L.D. girls lying on the ground, and licking their wounds. Erica was seriously injured. She couldn’t get up and needed medical assistance. Police were soon heavily on the scene, and Principal Palmer could only shake his head at the madness. He was clearly upset. He looked into the eyes of some of the students who lingered around after the fight and exclaimed, “What is going on with you kids? This hate and fighting among y’all needs to stop now!”
His students only looked at him nonchalantly. It was their world, and they felt that their principal didn’t understand where they came from.
G.G. and T.T. walked toward their projects with pride and respect. They glorified the fight and ass-whooping they gave Erica and her weak crew by laughing and mocking the incident. G.G. felt victorious. It was a relief for her to beat those bitches down—revenge for them was refreshing. The day was still fresh and the two girls were like lionesses as they moved through their hood on a sunny October afternoon. G.G. and T.T. strutted into the lobby. The girls wanted to rest up and smoke some weed in G.G.’s apartment. But the minute G.G. and T.T. entered the lobby and headed toward the stairway, Young J stopped the girls in the lobby and warned G.G.
“Nah, don’t go up there, G.G. You got cops up there right now knockin’ on ya door and lookin’ fo’ you.”
“What?” G.G. questioned. “Right now?”
“Yeah, they talkin’ about tryin’ to arrest you for some outstanding warrants on ya ass, and word is goin’ around about that fight in front of Martin,” Young J informed them.
Young J was fourteen. He was a sharp young kid who always had his ears and eyes open in the streets, knowing about people’s business. He had the strongest crush on G.G.; whatever she needed he was willing to do, or go get for her.
T.T. looked at her friend and said, “You can come stay at my place, G.G.”
G.G. looked lost for a moment. She refused to go back to jail. It wasn’t her place. She spent some time in Rikers Island and hated her stay there. She vowed never to go back to jail. G.G. looked at T.T. and replied, “Nah, they probably gonna hit ya place too. I can’t take that chance.”
“So what you gonna do, G.G.?” Young J asked.
“Fuck it, let’s bounce,” G.G. said.
T.T. and G.G. quickly exited the lobby with Young J following them. They moved far away from G.G.’s building and walked toward Linden Boulevard. Young J was still following them. G.G. spun around and exclaimed, “Go home, J ... We good.”
“But I wanna chill wit’ y’all,” he said.
“No, not right now. You don’t need to be around us,” said T.T. “Besides, what can ya young ass do?”
Young J smirked, lifted up his shirt, and revealed the .25 handgun he had stuffed and concealed in his waistband. “I can do a lot, fo’ real. I’ma be fifteen in two months. And fuck it, if 5-0 try to take you down, then I ain’t scare to pop one of them pigs,” he stated.
“It ain’t that kind of party, boo,” said G.G.
“Whatever!” he spat back.
“Just go home, J. I’ma be good, baby,” G.G. said, giving Young J a warm smile. “I got somewhere to go. You don’t have to worry about me.”
Young J looked at G.G. “A’ight,” he replied. G.G. was always able to warm his heart and talk sense into the young thug. Young J nodded. He turned around and went the opposite way.
The girls continued toward Linden Boulevard
“Damn, li’l nigga got it bad for you, G.G., fo’ real,” T.T. said.
“Young J got some heart.” G.G. laughed.
“Yeah, he do ... Shit, I probably fuck him ... in like three more years when he’s legal,” T.T. joked.
“Bitch, you nasty.”
“Yeah, but that li’l nigga is gonna grow up and be somethin’ serious on these streets. And that young stallion gonna need a cougar to calm his wild ass down, and my pussy is gonna be that right thing for him to feed on,” commented T.T. humorously.
The two girls laughed, forgetting about their earlier trouble with the police and the fight at August Martin. When they reached Linden Boulevard, they walked into the corner bodega and purchased a pack of Newports. The afternoon sun was fading with evening creeping above. They lit up on the corner and lingered on Linden and Guy Brewer Boulevard for a moment.
T.T. took a drag from the cancer stick and asked, “Yo, you spoke to Baby? You know where she at?”
G.G. shook her head. “Nah, I know she around, though ... probably with J. Rock.”
“She stay wit’ that nigga ... got that bitch Erica buggin’ out over that shit.”
“Fuck that bitch. My cousin better than that whack bitch. What J. Rock need to do is stop messing around wit’ my cousin’s feelings and just wife her up, and dump Erica to the fuckin’ curb. She a trash-ass bitch anyway,” G.G. proclaimed with conviction.
G.G. took another drag from her cigarette and exhaled. The corner was busy with traffic. With the local clinic and Gulf gas station across the street, the hood was bustling with activity with a few young teens milling about, people exiting the buses, coming home from work and stopping at the local bodega. The cool fall breeze was blowing in the air as the sun was about to cast away behind the horizon.
“I’m about to go see my boo, Jason. Shit, wit’ all this shit happening, it got my pussy throbbing. I need him to tame my kitty cat,” T.T. said. “You gonna be good, G.G.?”
“Bitch, I’m always good. Go do you. I’ma go check Dwight.”
“A’ight.”
The two girls said their good-byes and went their separate ways. T.T. walked back to the Baisley Projects and G.G. went the opposite way. Home wasn’t an option for her at the moment. But she was worried about her sick mother. She had no one to care for her and G.G. was all she had. It sickened G.G. that cops were at her apartment looking for her. But it wasn’t the first time they came looking for her. Her constant run-ins with the law had become a routine thing. And G.G. was used to being on the run. She knew the tricks and trades of the streets and the game.
G.G. walked toward 112th Road. When she got to the corner, a black Yukon with chrome rims and its system blaring came to a sudden stop near G.G. She already knew who was in the truck. She stopped in her tracks and watched the driver quickly exit his ride. He stormed over toward G.G. with a menacing stare and shouted, “Yo, G.G., where the fuck is my shit at?”
“I’ll pay you back what I owe you, Echo,” said G.G.
He approached G.G. harshly, pushed her against the wall, and towered over G.G. like a high rise. Echo stood six two, and was wide like a doorway with a strapping physique. He was clad in sagging denim jeans, a black T-shirt, and fresh Timberlands. He sported a bulky, long white gold chain with a diamond 9 mm pendant. Echo was a cold-hearted, scheming, and wicked crack-dealing thug. G.G. worked under him moving or selling packages in the streets. She needed the money. It went to paying her rent and
helping with her mother’s medical bills. The last package she fucked up and got hit by stick up kids in her building, and her arrest a month ago didn’t help her business relationship with Echo, either.
“You fucked up that package last week. That’s two stacks you owe me, G.G.,” Echo argued.
“You think I don’t know that? I’ma get you your money,” retorted G.G.
“You better, G.G. This ain’t a game wit’ me, fo’ real,” he warned.
“I got you, Echo, you ain’t gotta fuckin’ raise up on me like this. You know I’m always good wit’ that paper. This is my one fuckup, and you actin’ like a straight bitch,” G.G. shouted.
“Bitch, who the fuck ya talkin’ to like that!” Echo screamed, suddenly grabbing G.G. by her neck firmly and thrusting her against the wall. “You fuckin’ cunt, you better fuckin’ recognize, fo’ real ... I’ll get deep in ya ass wit’ no fuckin’ Vaseline, G.G., if I don’t get my money by next week. You hear me?”
G.G. gasped. He was too strong to fight off. G.G.’s eyes started to water with tears. She felt fear. It felt like a pair of vise grips was around her neck. Echo almost lifted her off of her feet with his strength and rage. G.G. managed to speak. “I’ll get ya money.”
He continued to choke her. Echo’s cold black eyes stared into G.G.’s fading eyes as she struggled to breathe. She gripped and scratched at his thick wrist. She tried to fight him off, but it was like a puppy trying to attack a lion. He was crazy to commit a violent act on the corner in public. But Echo wasn’t a sane person. He dominated the hood with pure fear. No one dared to fuck with him. He was crazy—a straight lunatic.
“Yeah, I can snatch ya fuckin’ life right now, right here, bitch ... snap ya fuckin’ neck like a twig for fuckin’ up my money,” he growled.
He released his grip around her neck and pushed her in a hostile way to the pavement. G.G. fell on her side. She was hurt. She caught her breath, but the tears wouldn’t stop flowing. Echo stood over her. He lifted his shirt to reveal the Glock 17 in his waistband.
“I don’t give a fuck who you are or about ya pussy pack; I’ll do them bitches too. You know I will, G.G... . So don’t fuck around wit’ me. Get me my fuckin’ money,” he warned through clenched teeth.
Echo walked back to his truck and jumped inside. He sped off, leaving G.G. picking herself up off the concrete. It was an embarrassing moment for her—just a few short hours ago, she was the domineering and feared one with the fight with Erica and her clique, and having the respect from her crew. But for that moment, G.G. felt weak, scared. She dried her tears, collected herself, and walked away.
Chapter 5
Baby’s three-day suspension from school went by fast. She strutted into the school like everything was okay—acting like the fight with Erica never happened. She carried a book bag with a few books, but she wasn’t there to learn. School had become a fashion show along with a business for her. Students owed her money—she was there to collect, and besides, it was fun to hang with a few of her homegirls and flirt with the boys in the classroom or the hallways.
Baby strutted by security in a pink, ruffled-edge skirt, a tight white shirt accentuating her tits, and a pair of fresh, new, white Nikes. Baby had her hair styled into two long pigtails, looking like the trashy and naughty schoolgirl. She had all the boys’, and some grown men’s, undivided attention as she walked down the hall and went into her first period class. Principal Palmer was there to warn her sternly about acting out or fighting. He said it was her last chance with him. If Baby was involved in any more serious incidents, then Palmer would expel her from his school like G.G. Baby took his warning lightly, but she promised to behave.
The first period class went by fast for Baby. She didn’t pay any attention to Ms. Sunnier, who taught social studies. She slouched in her seat and messed around with her smart phone, texting friends and looking at pictures.
Ms. Sunnier didn’t bother to disturb Baby as she sat in the back of the classroom. Baby had cursed her out a few times, and Ms. Sunnier didn’t have the time or the courage to fight with the delinquent student. Baby made her class difficult to teach with her attitude and antics. Ms. Sunnier knew she was no match for the student. Ms. Sunnier was a middle-aged white woman from Long Island. The only time she saw the ghetto was when she was passing through it on her way to work. She didn’t know what poverty was. She came from money, but loved teaching. It was her passion. While Ms. Sunnier taught her lessons, she avoided eye contact with Baby and focused on the kids who wanted to learn.
Baby smirked at Ms. Sunnier, knowing she had her teacher shaken.
The school day was going by in a blur for Baby. She remained low-key and quiet for the day. She mingled with her homegirls and tried to stay out of trouble. Baby had heard about the big fight with her cousin and Erica the day she got suspended. She loved how her cousin and her clique had wild out for her. It showed a sign of respect and love. Baby wished she’d been there when the brawl went down. Three days later, the students in school were still gossiping about it like it happened yesterday. A few friends showed Baby some video of the fight on their camera phones, and Baby got to witness the beat down that G.G. gave Erica in the middle of the street.
“Yo, G.G. went ham on that bitch, fo’ real,” said Tiny.
Baby smiled as she watched the video.
“Look, she wild on that bitch ...”
It was fun to watch. Baby was happy to see Erica get fucked up. She wasn’t in school and had been absent for a few days. The word on the streets was that Erica was staying home and recovering from her injuries, but her brother and his goons were talking reckless about revenge on G.G. and Baby. Baby was far from worried about any get-back coming her way. She had goons who were ready to ride out for her too. Baby felt she rode too deep and was too well known to get caught out there. But her beef with Erica was escalating—niggas were talking about getting involved, and that meant things could soon get carried out of hand. That meant gunplay if the situation didn’t get dissolved. Baby knew things were far from over, though. With the beat down that Erica received, she had to come back on her rivals just to salvage her reputation.
After watching the video, Baby left the cafeteria to head upstairs to the third floor. The hallways were quiet. It was sixth period. Baby lingered on the stairway for a moment, waiting and hoping security didn’t come passing through. She kept a keen eye out. Soon, Tameka trotted up the stairway to greet Baby.
“You got that for me?” Baby asked.
“Yeah,” Tameka replied.
Tameka handed Baby a knot of money—mostly wrinkled tens and twenties. Baby snatched it from Tameka’s hand and started counting it.
“It’s all there, Baby. You know I wouldn’t fuck wit’ you,” said Tameka.
Baby didn’t answer her. She quickly counted what was owed to her: $500. Baby was satisfied.
“We good,” she said. “I got another package for you tomorrow after school.”
Tameka nodded.
The transaction was quick and discreet. Tameka nervously went down the stairway. Baby picked up her book bag and was planning to stuff the cash inside. She unzipped it, but before she got the chance to conceal her money, she heard, “What the hell you doing?”
Baby looked up and saw that Samson had snuck up on her in the stairway. Baby clutched the cash in her fist behind her back, snatched up her book bag and tried to hide the money from Samson.
“I’m on my way to class. What the fuck you think I’m doing, Conan?” she spat.
Samson gave her a hard look. He approached closer; Baby took a few steps back.
“What’s going on? What you trying to hide from me?” Samson asked.
“None of ya fuckin’ business, nigga! Go toy cop somewhere else,” Baby exclaimed.
Samson became upset. He hated to be disrespected. He was a military man. He refused to be slighted by a young teenage girl. Baby gripped her book bag firmly. She thought about running. She wanted to run and planned to. Before Baby
could leap to her escape, Samson rushed forward, grabbing Baby by her arm with force, and snatched the book bag out of her hands.
“Give it back to me,” Baby exclaimed, trying to snatch her bag back from him.
“What’s in here?”
Samson unzipped the bag and removed the wad of bills from her bag. He was stunned by the contents inside—money and a few dime bags of weed.
Baby was furious. He was in her business.
“You selling drugs in this school?” he asked.
“No!”
“You think I’m stupid?”
“Look, you ain’t gotta say shit to no one. I’ll hook you up,” she said. “I can take care of you. I promise. But I can’t get caught out there. I can’t get arrested and expelled right now.”
“You didn’t care about it a few days ago.”
“That’s different ... Look, Conan—”
“My name is Samson,” he interjected.
“Okay, Samson, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you ... but, just look the other way,” she pleaded.
“I have a job to do. C’mon, you’re coming with me,” Samson said, grabbing Baby by her arm and pulling her toward the stairs.
Baby wasn’t going to the office willingly. She jerked her arm free from Samson’s strong grip and shouted, “Get the fuck off me! Please, don’t do this to me ... I’m sorry, a’ight? I’m begging you, don’t turn me in.”
Samson was surprised by how strong she was. Baby was reluctant to go anywhere with him. She was ready to put up a fight, even though he outweighed her heavily and towered over her.
“I’m not playing with you, Baby.”
“Look, if I get locked up, then there won’t be anyone to care for my grandmother. She’s sick, dying of cancer and, right now, I’m all she has. She can barely move, and I’m the only one that can go down to the pharmacy and get her medication. I do this ’cause we can’t fuckin’ afford it. Her medication is too expensive. And we don’t have health insurance,” Baby stated convincingly.
Samson stared at her. He had his doubts about her story. He figured her to be scheming and manipulative.
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