by Nikki Turner
The mentioning of his girlfriend caused Mike B to raise an eyebrow. At that moment, he became more interested in the story than the name. He was eager to know how his girl’s name was tied in to the person responsible for killing Twan.
Jeff could see the puzzled look on Mike B’s face.
“Relax, nigga. Baby girl ain’t got nothing to do with this shit.” He let out a light chuckle. “But they’re the ones who found out who was behind it.”
Mike B was more confused than ever. “Bruh, stop beating around the bush and talkin’ in riddles. What’s good?” Mike B was not in the mood for charades.
Jeff shook his head. “You right, my bad big bruh. Bottom line is this, some li’l chick from the east end that get her hair done where Denise and Lenore go was up in Hugo’s. According to them, this chick comes over to where they sittin’ with their bottle and invites herself to a seat. You know Denise, she ready to pop off on the li’l chick. But the bitch start complimenting the both of them on how pretty they are, so on and so forth and says it’s her birthday. They offer her a drink, one turns into two and the next thing you know, she copping another bottle. Denise said she peeps the broads clutch and she was loaded, so she wound up asking her what she did for a living. This bitch start running her mouth. Talking about, she doesn’t do shit but stay fly and fuck with niggas that can appreciate her fly. She said she just start going in, bringing up the last nigga that she used to be fucking with on the low in the city, until he started beating her ass. Denise said, then out of the blue, she started pillow talkin’ about what a muthafucka supposed to been bragging about over the phone to somebody. Apparently, he was poppin’ off at the gums about a young boy he had to lay down from Third last week.”
Mike B listened attentively. He had already begun to start following Jeff’s point.
“We been in these streets, my nigga. The only young nigga from Third that got pushed is Twan.”
Mike B grimaced as he nodded and rocked on the couch. He had been siting erect the whole time Jeff was telling the story.
“So, who’s the nigga?” Mike B asked for a second time.
Jeff stared at him for a moment. Then out of nowhere, a snarl appeared across his face.
“My archenemy.”
Chapter Eight
Mike B’s mind was flooded with all types of thoughts the whole ride home. He played back the story Jeff had run down to him about who was behind the murder of his younger cousin. The name resonated in his mind. He knew the name all too well, just as he was all too familiar with the bad blood. He knew how much Jeff despised the owner of the name he had been given. As he listened, he weighed up the validity of the source and the story. Realizing that they had been running down on the wrong people and still got nowhere, Mike B was growing tiresome of it all. They had been shooting dudes in the legs and asses, looking for answers, but this was a different story. Mike B’s agenda was to kill the person responsible for his cousin Twan’s death. He knew there were casualties in war, but he just wanted to be sure he was killing the right person. Although Jeff was considered to be his right hand, after seeing him sniffing the drug that day, he felt he had to double check everything that Jeff brought his way. But the fact that Jeff mentioned his ride or die chick was present when the information was obtained, he felt Jeff’s story was solid. Mike B made a mental note to ask Lenore why she hadn’t come to him with the info herself, the way Denise had with Jeff. But now that he had a name and a face, Mike B was already contemplating when and where he intended to get justice for his cousin.
Chapter Nine
Three days later. Early Friday morning.
“Wake up, muthafucka!” a voiced boomed and echoed throughout the secluded area of Greenbrook Park.
A forceful slap accompanied the words. The blow delivered across the face of the man who laid sprawled out in the knee deep bloodstained snow brought him back to consciousness.
The man’s eyes shot open. He gasped for air. After taking a deep and long breath, the bleeding man tried to regain his vision. Blood shot out of his mouth as he let out a painful sounding cough. Although he couldn’t see it, he could taste the salty, thick liquid fighting its way back down his throat passage. He could feel the blood that managed to escape his mouth freezing up on his face from the winter chill. Trying to lift himself up with his elbows, he still fought to clear his blurry eyes as he attempted to focus on the two images that stood over him. He was stopped by a pressing foot in his chest.
“What the fuck you think you doing? Lay your bitch ass still,” a voice and the owner of black Gortex boot planted in his chest growled.
The sound of a cocking gun followed the threat.
A chill ran through the man’s body as snow from the boot managed to find its way in the unzipped top part of his jacket. His teeth began to chatter from the coldness as the snow dissolved into liquid. It melted, seeping through his Polo sweater, tee, and wife beater, until it reached his bare chest. His heart rate quickened from the cold snow turned water, as it trickled downward.
The owner of the boot raised his foot from off of the chest of the man he and his partner had abducted. Gaining better balance, he plunged his boot back into the man’s chest again, only this time, he put more of his weight behind it. The impact nearly caved the man’s chest in.
The bleeding man’s body was already stiff and sore. Still, he managed to tense up in an attempt to minimize the pain he believed it would cause. The assault had only added to the pain he had already felt. He was torn between that, and the cold running through his entire body from laying in the snow for God only knows how long. He was still somewhat in a daze from the previous blows he had received that had knocked him unconscious. The cold made it difficult for him to think straight. He wasn’t sure whether he was freezing due to the snow he felt underneath him or because he was simply bleeding to death. His senses were now on high alert. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why he was in the predicament he was in, nor could he narrow down who was behind it. He recalled having a few run-ins and minor altercations with a few dudes in recent months, but nothing so major that it would warrant someone wanting to kidnap him or possibly want him dead, he believed.
Had it not been for the black, North Face jacket and the insulated socks he wore under his beef and broccoli, Timberland boots, he was sure he may have frozen to death. He remembered seeing on the news before he had stepped outside that the temperature was in the low thirties. As cold as it was that early morning, he had doubled back inside the building and retrieved his gloves. But none of that mattered now. The only thing that mattered was that when he opened his eyes, he saw silhouettes of the barrels of two guns pointed at him by two blurred images. They stood to the left and right of him. He knew that death could very well be his final fate. Especially, since he noticed neither of the two men wore masks.
At first Greg Livingston, known as Gee-Live to everyone in the street, couldn’t make out the images of the two faces that stood before him. He was still somewhat distorted from the blow he had taken to the back of the head. The last thing he remembered was coming out of building 540 where he could often be found around his housing projects. He was heading toward the back where he had parked his Suburban. His intentions were to head out to New York for the day. The twenty stacks that lined his pockets was strictly for shopping, balling out in one of the city’s known strip clubs and whatever else the night had instore for him. He had packed an overnight bag and had no intentions on returning back to New Jersey that night. But his plans were changed, rather interrupted when he grabbed the driver’s door handle after hitting the alarm and power locks on his key chain.
From there, everything else was a blur. Gee-Live had blacked out. Judging by the throbbing pain on the left side of his head and the two gun men who stood over him, it was self-explanatory what had taken place.
Gee-Live could feel himself choking on his own blood. He made a second attempt to try to sit up by using what little strength he possessed as he tr
ied to collect both his vision and thoughts, only to be knocked back down by the foot of one of his assailants.
“Nigga, don’t make me blow your fuckin’ face off. I told you before to lay your bitch ass down!” spat Jeff.
Ever since they had gotten the word that Gee-Live from the projects was who they were looking for, Jeff had been itching to slump the kid he hated with a passion. It took a whole lot of reasoning and sternness for Mike B to prevent him from killing Gee-Live when they first rolled down on him. Jeff was assured that he would get his wish when the time was right. Mike B knew how much Jeff disliked Gee-Live. The animosity and tension between the two stemmed back to their childhood before Mike B and Jeff were even a team. Jeff was originally from the New Projects, the same projects as Gee-Live. They had practically grown up together. From what Jeff had told Mike B, for as long as he could remember, Gee-Live was very competitive in any and everything he got involved in. Whether in school or in the neighborhood, from sports to girls. Jeff was the total opposite. He was more of a get by type of dude, like an average Joe, but he didn’t mind how Gee-Live was because that was his boy, his friend and ace-boon-coon, up until the time they both decided to experiment in the drug game, for similar but different reasons. Gee-Live’s was because his mother couldn’t afford to keep buying him all the latest fashion which he had become accustomed to. Jeff’s reason was because his mother simply couldn’t afford to buy him anything, at all. So, they decided to get down together. To get on, they stole a couple stashes from some of the careless hustlers around their projects, who made the mistake of stashing the packages and taking their eyes off of them one minute too long. That’s when the problems started to occur. Initially, the two of them had jumped into the game head first as partners, fifty/fifty. But as time progressed and money started rolling in, Gee-Live, being the competitive individual that he was, sometimes spent more than his share of their weekly take. That bothered Jeff. He confronted Gee-Live about his spending habits. Gee-Live assured him that he’d slow down and make it up to him. Jeff was cool with it and everything was back to business as usual. That is, until the next problem arose. Because Gee-Live liked to dress and party so much, Jeff felt it necessary to at least step his wardrobe up and start hitting the scene with him being as though they were a team. But unbeknownst to him, everyone was under the impression that he actually worked for Gee-Live. At least that’s what one of the girls he took to the Loop Inn Motel one night after a party, told him. At first, it hadn’t registered to him what the girl actually said until she was asked to repeat herself.
“I said, Gee-Live treat you better than a lot of other niggas treat their workers.”
Jeff laughed hysterically and asked the girl what made her think that he worked for Gee-Live.
“That’s what he tells everybody,” she stated going on to say how Gee-Live always bragged about his boy Jeff being a go-getter and how he keeps his pockets laced.
Hearing the girl’s words had Jeff fuming. For some reason, he believed the girl because she had no reason to fabricate such a story. Jeff felt like he had just been shot in the heart by his best friend. He had been nothing but a loyal friend and partner to Gee-Live, and in return his kindness had been taken for granted and as a weakness. For all Jeff knew, his reputation in the streets was nothing more than being Gee-Live’s flunky, and the thought of his man playing him like that infuriated him more. Jeff cut his night short with the young, tender redbone that had given him information that was more valuable than she could ever imagine. Just before she got out of his rental car, he handed her three hundred dollars.
“What’s this for?” the girl had asked, puzzled.
“You deserve that. Get yourself something nice,” replied Jeff as he pulled off.
After making it to the projects in record time, Jeff had confronted Gee-Live about what was told to him by the girl. Needless to say Gee-Live took the nonchalant approach and laughed it off. Neither denying or admitting the allegations, his laughter was enough to convince Jeff of the evident. Jeff shot a quick, short but effective right hook to Gee-Live’s jaw, knocking the smile clean off of his face. A fight erupted. Massive punches were thrown. Punches turned into grabbing as the two friends continued tearing up the little two-bedroom apartment. Gee-Live was very athletic and strong for his size, but he was no match for Jeff, who was naturally cock strong. As they tussled, somehow Jeff got up under Gee-Live gaining good position. All in one motion, he scooped him up off of his feet and dirt slammed him, while coming down on top of him.
“You fake-ass nigga!” barked Jeff.
He choked Gee-Live with both hands.
Gee-Live lay there helplessly.
“If I ever hear you breathe my name again or even look at me sideways, I’ll kill your punk ass!” threatened Jeff.
What he wasn’t aware of, was that he was already close to taking Gee-Live’s life. The pressure he applied was cutting off his air passage. Had it not been for Gee-Live’s mother coming in from her sunrise service at church, Jeff may have surely caught a body that day. Hearing his name caused him to release Gee-Live’s throat and climb off of top of him.
He got up and walked out the door, leaving Gee-Live’s mother standing there bewildered at him lying on the floor gasping for air. That was the last time the two had ever come in contact with one another.
It wasn’t until three months later that he and Mike B linked up after Jeff’s hooptie had stalled on him in New York. He had just purchased an eighth of a kilo of crack and couldn’t afford to get caught out of pocket by NYPDs finest or risk taking the train back to Jersey, knowing police accompanied by K-9s would be floating through Newark Penn Station.
Mike B saw Jeff and offered to give him a jump, thinking that his battery had died out on him. Mike B knew who Jeff was because he made it his business to know all the people in his town that either got money or did stickups. His motto was, know your surroundings. From what he knew about Jeff, it was enough to decide to help him despite the fact that he himself was dirty, traveling with ten ounces of coke. Had it been the other way around, he would have wanted someone to shoot him some bail too, and based on the reputation that Jeff had in the streets of their hometown as being a good dude, there was no doubt in Mike B’s mind that Jeff would have done the same for him.
Realizing that it wasn’t the battery, Jeff left his hooptie and rode back to Jersey with Mike B. And just like that, the two hit it off. Merging Jeff’s new spot with Mike B’s old one, the two became a team along with Mike B’s younger cousin, Twan. That was seven years ago.
Now, Jeff was faced with his archenemy, once again. Gee-Live had violated, according to the rules of the game.
Gee-Live fell back into the snow as his vision began to clear. The first voice he heard when he first regained consciousness was unfamiliar to him, but the second one who had just kicked him back down again was unmistakably familiar to him the second time he spoke.
“Jeff?” he asked surprised as he now gained his full eyesight back.
Without having to look over to his right, he knew the other party involved was Jeff’s new right hand man, Mike B.
Disgusted by his name being said by Gee-Live, Jeff ran down on him and grabbed him by the throat. He forced the silencer of his 9 mm Beretta in Gee-Live’s mouth. He shoved the gun so hard into Gee-Live’s mouth that it knocked his two front teeth out. “Didn’t I fuckin’ tell you if I ever hear you spit my name again, fuckboy, I’d kill you!”
Gee-Live’s eyes widened as blood leaked from his mouth. Seeing Jeff again put him in a state of panic, remembering Jeff’s words clearly as if it were yesterday.
For years, Gee-Live had gone out his way to avoid Jeff, as the two came up in the game. He contemplated many of times about having Jeff killed, especially since he heard how Jeff’s guns had been going off like crazy. He always believed that it was just a matter of time before Jeff’s guns were directed at him. But still, he couldn’t bring himself to go through with it. Truth be told, despite how he shit
ted on him back in the day, he still had love for Jeff. But for not going with his first instinct, he was now faced with his biggest nightmare coming back to haunt him. He knew the right thing to do was to swallow his pride, put his ego to the side, and apologize for disrespecting his former right hand man. Instead, he let them drift apart and never spoke Jeff’s name again, good or bad. Since then, they had seen each other in passing and in local spots, but never said a word to the other.
His only question now was, why? For the life of him he couldn’t think of anything he had done to Jeff, or Mike B for that matter, who he had figured had to be the other gunman, because the two had been inseparable for the past seven years. Why was he in the predicament he was in, he wanted to know. He knew Mike B was a money getter and had a reputation for being a force to be reckoned with. He had never done business with him personally, he was sure of and to his knowledge, he doubted if he had bumped heads with Mike B or Jeff when it came to females.
Gee-Live’s eyes widened as Jeff squeezed the side of his face with his left hand and stuck the barrel of his gun deeper inside of his mouth.
“Yo, Jay, chill,” said Mike B placing his hand on Jeff’s shoulder.
Against his better judgment, Jeff let up off of Gee-Live who was grateful for Mike B intervening.
Gee-Live figured that he had a better shot at saving his life by trying to clear up what he had to be a case of mistaken identity or a misunderstanding, because he was now 100 percent positive that he had done no wrong or spoke no vain to or about Jeff or Mike B.
“Mike B—Mike B, what’s good? What I do?” asked Gee-Live almost in a crying manner, referring to Mike B by his street name.
Despite that, an instant smirk came across Mike B’s face. If looks could kill, Gee-Live would already be dead. The murderous look in Mike B’s eyes was enough to make Gee-Live second guess his decision to choose dealing with Mike B over Jeff. Whatever he was being accused of, Gee-Live knew that it was some heavy shit, judging by the facial expressions both Mike B and Jeff wore.