The Lost Son
Enraged, Baby G yelled, “You ain’t goin’ at it alone. I gots to get a piece of that mark. Smiley was my nigga too. And besides,” he said as he checked the bandage on his shoulder that the bootleg doctor put on his wound where the bullet only tore a bit of his shoulder muscle. “I gotta put some lead in his ass cause of this shit.”
“We’ll I’m gonna dip over to that marks spot tonight, wait for that nigga to show or leave and put his ass to rest,” Ant said as he pounded his fist on the table.
“What T say?” Baby G asked knowing that Tavarious was hurt about his younger brother getting killed and pissed that Anthony had taken Smiley with him seeing as how he’d told him not to let him in on the heist.
Ant took a long pull on the blunt and let the chronic smoke take effect before saying, “He told me to get him his shit so I took the keys over to him. I expected him to trip but he didn’t say shit. His people were all there so he told me he’d holla at me about it later. I told him I knew who did it. He just told me to handle my business and closed the door in my face.”
“You know that ain’t the last of it. Don’t you?”
“Yeah, nigga. I know,” Ant said fearing that Tavarious was going to come at him seeing as how he had fucked up.
“Does he know I was with you?”
“Nah, like I said. I ain’t talked to his ass yet.”
“A’ight. Just needed to know if I had to watch my ass. A nigga’s hurt ’bout his blood. Neva know what a nigga plottin’,” Baby G advised his friend.
“I feel ya. I’m ’bout to go do this. You say you want in?” Ant asked as he grabbed the Tech-9 that he’d taken from the floorboard of the Bonneville.
The same Tech-9 Smiley had.
The same Tech-9 Smiley had purchased from Winchester.
Ant realized he’d made a mistake letting Smiley in on the robbery. Smiley was his boy but had a tendency to talk when it came to gangster shit. He was a pretty boy who had a knack for getting women but was never good at the gangster life. He knew Smiley had a tendency to brag whenever he was involved in something to make it seem as if he wasn’t only a so-called pimp but a gangster like his boys.
Baby G grabbed his 9mm and slipped it into the waistband of his Pelle jean shorts. He covered the weapon with his shirt and took a last long pull of the almost gone blunt. The smoke filled the air in front of his face and through the haze Ant saw the readiness in the gangster’s eyes that were tight when he said, “Let’s do this.”
Baby G slid in the Al Green cassette and pressed play. He slid on his black leather gloves as the song Love And Happiness began to play. He lit a Newport and put the stolen Olds Nine-Eight in gear and drove off. Ant looked over at him.
Baby G noticed the quizzical stare and the cigarette that was between his lips dangling up and down as he asked, “What, nigga?”
“You wasn’t lying when you said you play that shit when you on a mission.”
“Gets me in the mood, feel me?”
Ant managed to crack a smile even though he was torn apart inside. But he thought about his homey and what he had said to Baby G when they were on their way to steal the kilos. “Smiley was right.”
“What?” Baby G asked looking back and forth from the road to his partner in crime.
“When he said you got playing that cut when rollin’ to handle some business from the movie Menace to Society.”
Baby G paused for a moment. He knew they were right but he liked using it as his theme music when he was on his way to do dirt and so what if he’d copied it. It got him psyched to do the job and calmed to do it right—all at the same time.
G threw the butt of his cigarette out the window and answered, “You right.” He held his hand out as he kept his gaze on the road. “But you gotta admit, that’s the shit!”
They both laughed. And Ant who had a little nervousness was now calm—the cut did its trick.
The Nine-Eight came to a halt on the street where Anthony was just two nights ago only this time he was parked in a different spot. He and Baby G were about two houses down from Winchester’s spot. They had been sitting for about an hour waiting for the chubby man to enter or exit the house. And if the fat fucker was entering the home they were going to catch him and end his life before he got inside the dilapidated house.
“Man, where this nigga at? We can’t sit out here all night in this hot ass car waiting for this nigga to show. We might have to come at him another time,” Baby G told Anthony.
Even though Anthony wanted to handle his business he knew Baby G was right. G had been on many capers, from robberies to the continued help of keeping funeral homes in business. He was prepared to sit all night if need be, but reality was he knew they couldn’t sit on the block all night. A neighbor noticing the car could call the police to report a suspicious vehicle. Even though with the rise of the crack game and the violence that came with it, some of the residents weren’t afraid to call the police when they saw or suspected something and usually it was the elderly who had been witnesses of the deterioration of their neighborhood.
Dejected at the fact that they weren’t going to catch up with the man who caused Smiley’s death, Ant hit the dashboard and barked, “Fuck! You right nigga. Lets get the fuck outta here.”
Baby G was about to start the engine when Ant grabbed his hand.
Baby G asked, “What’s up?”
Ant nodded toward the house they’d been watching and Baby G saw the man walking up the walkway to the home.
Baby G said, “That ain’t Winchester. I’d know his old fat ass anywhere.”
Winchester wasn’t that old. In fact he was only twenty-eight but to eighteen year olds to even live that long was a lifetime.
“I know it ain’t that muthafucka, but he might be going somewhere. Let’s wait it out a bit.”
Baby G raised his shirt, adjusted his weapon and covered it again. It was as if he needed reassurance that it was there. He leaned back and kept watch and so did Anthony only he was leaned forward and more attentive. He was ready to kill Winchester.
A vision that he’d had the past couple of days.
A vision that he intended on turning into reality.
* * *
“Muthafucka what?” Winchester barked at the hype. “You ain’t trying to get a free cop, are you?”
“Nah, Winchester you know it ain’t even like that.” The drug addict said as he fidgeted with his hands. “I just saw these cats sitting in a Nine-Eight and thought they were the police. So I thought you should know.”
Winchester looked at the man for a moment as he took in what the hype had told him. He figured that Anthony or Tavarious would be coming for him but didn’t think that they’d make a move on his turf—he was dead wrong.
“Police don’t roll in Nine-Eights!” He pushed the crack head out of anger. “What they look like?”
“I dunno,” the dusty looking man shrugged his shoulders.
“They look young or older? You seen ’em!” he barked as he reached into a baggie and took out two dime rocks and handed them to the man who hungrily took them into his dirty palm. He put one in his pocket and held the other in his hand. Obviously he didn’t want his dope fiend friend to know he’d received two rocks for the information.
“Younger.”
“Where they at?”
“Down the block in front of Mrs. Morgan’s house.”
Knowing the Morgan’s only lived two houses down and across the street and that only young gangsters and old folks drove big ass Nine-Eights, it gave him a pretty good idea that Smiley’s people had come for him.
Winchester came up with an idea. None of his boys were with him at the moment and the ones he had working the corner had gotten picked up a few hours earlier by Detroit’s police gang unit who were out doing drug sweeps. He gave the geeker a burnt out cell phone and a bag of rocks. The hype smiled and so did Winchester, only his smile was wicked. He told the hype what he needed to do then sent him out th
e back door. Winchester grabbed his pistol and carefully peeked out the window into the night. He saw the vehicle sitting but couldn’t make out who occupied it. Nevertheless, whoever was in the Oldsmobile was about to be taken out the easiest way possible. Winchester smiled and left his post for a moment as he hurried to fix a bag of microwavable popcorn.
* * *
Baby G noticed the female walking toward their car. She was dark-skinned and attractive, but the young men in the car could tell that her better days were behind her. Her clothes were tattered and soiled. She scratched and twitched and they knew what she was looking for.
“Hurry up and get rid of her ass,” Anthony told Baby G as he kept watch on the house.
The woman leaned on the car and asked, “Y’all holdin’? I need a hit bad.”
Baby G answered, “We ain’t got shit. Go somewhere else.”
The woman leaned further inside the car looking at Anthony saying, “Come on baby. Police done rolled through and rushed all the corners and hauled er’body off. I ain’t tryin’ to cross eight mile to get a bump.”
Baby G mugged the woman. Pushing her by her face out of the car. She had leaned too far inside.
She spat, “Muthafucka, fuck you bitches!”
“Ho, I’ll fuck you up!” the quick-tempered Baby G yelled as he grabbed the butt of his pistol.
Anthony grabbed his arm. G calmed down and threw a ten at the woman yelling, “Here, now get.”
The woman picked up the money and moseyed away happily.
“That’s why we ain’t seen shit goin’ on. The police done rolled through. That’s why his boys ain’t been around,” Anthony said.
“I guess. You see that shit. That bitch acted like she was about to take a swing at me.”
“Let’s roll, this ain’t right. We’ll get his ass another time.”
G started the car and before he could get it into gear two unmarked squad cars turned the corner and swooped in on them. One car came to a screeching halt blocking Baby G in. Anthony jumped out the car and attempted to run but was tackled on the only plush grass on the block by one of the Gang Unit cops. Mrs. Morgan looked outside her window at all the commotion. Anthony could see her standing in her picture window as a muscular brotha handcuffed him while one of the white officers kept his pistol pointed at him to make sure Anthony thought twice about resisting. Mrs. Morgan shook her head. Not at the way her grass had been ripped up during the tackling of Anthony but how she had seen too many young black males doing what she considered to be throwing their lives away.
“Don’t do it! Get the fuck out the car. Raise your hands. Your motherfucking hands, let me see ’em!” a young Irish cop yelled. He had his shotgun pointed directly at the corn rowed head of Baby G. He was ready and wouldn’t hesitate to take the young black man’s life. Just like most of his partners who were dressed in all black tactical gear.
The two officers were lifting a cuffed Anthony from the ground when he yelled, “G don’t do it.”
G slowly raised his hands. He’d take his chances being judged by twelve rather than being carried by six. And with that he was snatched from the vehicle. Two cops slammed his torso onto the hood of the car while one cuffed him. They dragged a cuffed Anthony to the other side.
Once both men were safely secure the officers began their search of the vehicle and that’s when Winchester strutted his fat ass out of his house. He had the bag of microwave popcorn in one hand and was reaching in with the other to pull out some more popped kernels to eat. He walked up as close as he could. As close as the police were letting the citizens who were watching the show. Anthony noticed him smiling.
“Fuck you smiling at fat bitch, both them my guns,” Baby G yelled at him and then to the officers as they took the weapons out the front of the car.
Anthony knew Baby G’s play. He was seen with both weapons in hand when he was thinking about busting his way out. Anthony would get a lesser charge and wouldn’t serve much time where he could get out sooner to settle up with Winchester for Smiley. All those thoughts were broken when the officer held up a baggie filled with crack.
The masked officer who obviously was a narcotics detective said, “You going to claim this also, tuff guy?”
Anthony and Baby G stared at each other and it seemed as if time stood still when the detective held the bag of all day jail time in the air. Anthony had hoped the hazy orange glow from the streetlight was playing tricks on his eyes because he knew that neither he nor his partner had any crack on them. Then it dawned on them both—the dope fiend. She had dropped the bag in the car when she had leaned in. They had been caught slippin’ and when they both looked over at Winchester, who had set them up; he was laughing and eating his popcorn.
“Just watching the show!” he yelled as he tossed his bag toward them.
Even though he was cuffed, Baby G broke free from the cops who had relaxed. He rushed toward Winchester but was tackled by an officer.
Baby G squirmed on the ground as the officers roughed him up a bit. “I’ma get you muthafucka. If it’s the last fuckin’ thing I do, mark. Count yo muthafuckin’ days, bitch! Count ’em.”
Anthony stared at Winchester. A burning stare that made one thing clear to Winchester that it wasn’t over. No matter how long it took, Anthony would get his revenge. Winchester thought of the two teenagers who had come to get him as young punks that he could outsmart. Little did he know he had just created a monster.
* * *
Anthony had been in Jackson State prison for almost ten years. He received a ten-year bid and Baby G eleven and a half. After taking a plea for the dope, the gun and the stolen car, charges were dropped. They hated copping to the drug charge seeing as how they were innocent on it but getting the gun and stolen car charges thrown out was a gravy deal. A lot of times they would end up on the same cell block, and if not, they would see each other in the dining hall or at rec. They both stayed occupied by working out. Anthony had swollen up. He was told that the rapper, 50 cent looked just like him. Not the other way around since Anthony had been with the inmates in Jackson before 50 was on the scene rapping. Baby G was still gangster. Hanging with his gang members and getting sent to the hole, often. When he wasn’t in the hole he and Anthony would walk the yard and talk about what they were going to do when they got out. Baby G had hoped that the cocaine he and Anthony had stolen would still be good. It had been almost a decade since they had hidden it in the false wall in the house he was staying in, and unless the senior citizen couple who moved in the house eight years ago did some heavy remodeling, it should be there. Anthony was going to get it next week when he got out and hold on to Baby G’s share until he was released.
Ant was sitting on the bench looking over the rec yard at nothing in particular when Baby G walked over looking pissed.
Ant raised his fist ready to play fight then asked, “What’s up, nigga? I know you ain’t pissed that I’m getting the fuck out of here next week.”
Baby G looked dejected when he said, “We fucked, fam. We broke.”
Ant’s brow furrowed, “What the fuck you mean, broke?”
Baby G handed him the newspaper. It was already folded open to the section that he wanted him to read. When Anthony saw the headlines he wanted to throw up. ELDERLY COUPLE DIES IN FIRE. The article explained that it seemed to have been accidental, caused by a pipe that the old man fell asleep smoking. Anthony couldn’t believe it. The come up they had hoped to have when they got out had just gone up in smoke—literally.
Anthony threw the paper to the ground as he cursed. It was bad fucking timing. He had a place to go but no money. A girl from the hood he’d grown up in had been writing and visiting him the past three years and he was to move in with her when released. He really didn’t want to kick it with her but felt kind of obligated since she rode out half his bid with him. His plans were to lay his head at her spot while he got with some of his and Baby G’s old connects who now had their feet in the game. He had also planned on paying Winch
ester a visit. He heard that the now forty year old had moved to the east side, still selling guns and a little dope. Soon he wouldn’t be selling shit.
Anthony griped, “Now what the fuck am I supposed to do?”
“You, nigga what about me? I ain’t got shit. Moms and pops dead. Both brothers doing life in the fed joint.” Baby G lit a Black & Mild then continued. “You at least got your Pops. Anyway that nigga from the Chi over on C block said that your father is doin’ the damn thang. Got major paper. Call his ass, holla at him and get your release to there. You got a week before you get out so these bitch ass counselors got the time. Put that fat muthafucka to work.
“I haven’t talked to my pops since the day my mom packed and left. She didn’t want me around him and that life.”
Baby G waved his arm toward the rec yard saying, “And what do you call this shit. Boy Scout camp?”
Anthony gazed at the rec yard. He noticed every walk of life and race—young and old. For the first time he thought about how his mother had taken him and left her boyfriend, his father, to get away from the lifestyle his father was leading. How ironic, he still ended up living the life of crime. And now he was stuck with a felony. He had never worked a job and didn’t desire to. He had always thought about his father and wished that his mother hadn’t taken him away. He loved his mother and a part of him left when she passed a year ago. He wanted to call his dad to tell him, but he didn’t know much about him, only his name.
While at rec one evening, he and Baby G were kicking it with an older cat from Chicago who caught an attempted murder case while visiting a woman in Saginaw. The man recognized the name and asked Anthony if he had a dad in Chicago. Ant was defensive at first, but when the man told him that they had some of the same features and the same name, it was obvious. A few days later the man had a number to give to Anthony. He had made a phone call and got the number since he needed some items from the commissary and never had any money coming in. Anthony had some stacked on his commissary account. Money that the woman who’d been visiting him would send and he wouldn’t spend. Just in case something went wrong and he couldn’t move in with her he’d have some loot to work with. After receiving the number Anthony put it on his list and on the next commissary trip he stocked the man’s locker for the favor.
The Corner II Page 3