Bury Me a G 4

by Tranay Adams

  “Yeah, a gun,” Melvin nodded. “Something clean...no bodies. Should I get caught with the mothafucka I’m not tryna sit down for a couple of years on the account of someone else’s dirt. You follow me?”

  “I got cha,” the crackhead massaged his chin as he thought on it for a second. “Yeah, I can get chu a clean piece. No problem. Meet me back here, later on tonight...around eight o’clock.”

  “Alright, eight o’clock tonight, I’ll be here; you just make sure you are.”

  “Oh, I most definitely will be there. I love crack, she’s my bitch. And the only way I’m gonna get more of her is if I get my hands on the almighty dolla. Now, like I said, ‘be here eight o’clock sharp’. I’ll have your merchandise.”

  “You got it, boss. What’s your name,” he extended his hand.

  “Jerome,” he gave him a firm handshake and smiled, showcasing all gums where teeth should have been on the top row of his mouth.

  “Melvin,” Melvin cracked a halfhearted smile, seeing the smoker fool’s fucked up grill.

  Later that night

  Melvin spent the rest of the day picking up and dropping off folks until 7:30 P.M came around. Seeing what time it was, he made his way back to the alley where he was suppose to meet crackhead Jerome. He parked at the end of the alley, leaving the nose of his vehicle sticking out in the alley’s pathway so that he could keep an eye on it. The neighborhood he was in was notorious for having cars broken into and/or stolen and he wasn’t trying to become a statistic.

  Melvin made his way down the alley with a White Sox baseball cap pulled low over his brows and a jean jacket with the collar flipped up. His hands were inside of his jacket’s pockets. The occasional gust of wind caused the collar of his jacket to smack up against his chin. Reaching the center of the alley, he pulled back the sleeve of his jacket and glanced down at his watch. It was 7:59 P.M, but a moment later the time changed to 8:00 P.M. His head darted up and down the alley looking for the crackhead that had sold him the bulletproof vest.

  “Eight o’clock sharp my ass,” Melvin said to no one in particular as he rocked back and forth on his shoes, taking a deep breath.

  “Psssst!”

  “What the fuck?” Melvin looked alive hearing the noise. Drawing a Swiss army knife from his jacket’s pocket, he whipped around to where the sound had come from. His eyebrows were sloped and his nose was wrinkled. His fist was clenched at his side and he was ready to poke whoever up that posed a threat to him. He expected someone to be standing not too far behind him, but he didn’t see a soul. That’s when his eyes darted to their corners and he felt someone grab him by his shoulder. His eyelids stretched wide open and he whipped around, swinging his Swiss army knife.

  “Argh, fuck!” Crackhead Jerome belted out and grabbed his hand in pain. Melvin had just sliced open his palm and it was oozing blood, drizzling on the ground. A couple of droplets hit the tip of his tattered Reboc sneaker. He balled his wounded hand into a fist and tucked it under his arm. “Goddamn it, sssss, fuck that shit hurt! What the hell is your problem?”

  “You can’t be creeping up on niggaz like that, homie. I thought you were somebody trying jack my ass out here. You know this hood’s rep?” “Of course I do.” He said in pain.

  Crackhead Jerome squeezed his eyelids shut and clenched his jaws to fight back the fire in his palm. Afterwards, he peeled his eyelids back open and reached into the small of his back. He pulled out something wrapped in a red washcloth ans passed it to Melvin. A frowned up Melvin looked down at the cloth wondering what it was concealing. Figuring that it had to be the gun that he requested, he closed his knife and slid it into his back pocket. He then took the cloth and slowly unfolded it. Once he was done unfolding it, he had an old Colt Peacemaker in his hand. Creasing his forehead, Melvin looked back and forth between the vintage pistol and the crack fiend. He wasn’t really feeling the weapon. It looked like something out of the old western days.

  “Fuck is you looking at me like that for? You said you wanted a piece with no bodies on it, right? Well, there you have it.”

  “Where you get this from?” Melvin inquired, turning the Colt over and examining it in the cloth that it was given to him in.

  “What does it matter? Now, do you want the goddamn thing or not?” Crackhead Jerome asked. He was hostile now that he’d gotten his hand sliced. All he wanted was his money so he could get high. He knew that once he beamed up that he’d be okay. Tomorrow morning he’d take himself up to the emergency ward down at Martin Luther King hospital to get his hand sewn up.

  “Does it work?” Melvin raised an eyebrow.

  “Yeah, it works. Hell would I sell you a piece that doesn’t work for?”

  “Crackheads aren’t exactly trustworthy people, you know?”

  “Whatever, man. I’m not finna be standing here while you insult me and shit. Look, I even brought you some bullets for the mothafucka,” he pulled out a small black bag of bullets from inside of the hoodie he was wearing and passed it to him. Melvin took a peek at the bullets inside of the black bag. He then loaded the chamber of the Colt with rounds to make sure they fit. Satisfied, he tied the black bag up and stashed it inside the pocket of his jean jacket. “Alright, how much do you want for her?”

  “Gemme two large, man,” Crackhead Jerome said to him, then looked up and down the alley to make sure that they weren’t being watched by anyone.

  “One fifty.”

  “Nah, two hunnit, take it or leave it.”

  “Leave it,” he tried to hand him the pistol and bag of bullets back, but he wouldn’t accept them.

  “Alright, alright, alright,” Crackhead Jerome fell back from his firm price, “Gemme the one fifty.”

  Melvin tucked the pistol under his arm and reached inside of his pocket. He pulled out a small wad of folded dead presidents and counted out the money he’d made the deal for. Once he had the bills counted up, he passed them off to the crack fiend and watched him look it over. Once the smoker fool had figured out that he had the right amount, he stuffed the bills inside of his pocket.

  “Look, you know anyone that may wanna rocket launcher?” He asked in a hushed tone.

  Melvin frowned up and said, “Now, who the fuck would I know that would wanna buy a goddamn rocket launcher? Hell no, I don’t know nobody. Aye, man, nice doing business witchu, I gotta go.” He thanked him and held up the pistol which was still enclosed inside of the cloth. He then tucked it at the front of his pants and went on about his business down the alley. Reaching his vehicle, he jumped in behind the wheel and cranked it up. A moment later, he was driving off.

  As soon as he was out of sight, Jerome made his way out of the alley and headed down the block where the two niggaz in the doo-rag and fitted cap were earlier that day. He bought crack off the dude in the fitted cap that had threatened to pop his smoked out ass and went on his way.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Melvin stood before the mirror of his nightstand. He had a black bandana over the lower half of his face and a Colt peacemaker tucked in the front of his slacks. He put on his most menacing scowl and drew his pistol repeatedly. He tucked, pulled, tucked and pulled it, trying to shorten his draw time, each time he pulled it out and pointed it.

  “Bet notta mothafucka in here move!” Melvin drew down on the mirror once again and pointed his pistol at it. He then waved it around, like he was inside of a room with a few people. “Alright now, you right there in the beanie, I want chu with your hands high up in the air, reach the ceiling goddamn it, or so help me I’ll fill yo’ punk ass with some hot shit! As for the rest of you niggaz, I want chu on your stomachs with your hands on the back of your heads! Do that nice and slow, realllll nice and slow! That’s right, just like that! Now, you in the beanie, take me where ever you keep the money and drugs, and if you try anything funny that’s gone be yo’ ass!” He narrowed his eyelids at the imaginary person and squared his jaws. Afterwards, his shoulders slumped and he released the tension from his body. The hostility drained
from his face and he pulled the black bandana down around his neck. “I got it, I got it. I can do this. All I gotta do is make these mothafuckaz believe that I’ll pop one of ‘em, and the rest will be a breeze, like taking candy from a baby.” He said as he paced back and forth across the bedroom, removing and placing the hammer back into place over and over again.

  Knock! Knock! Knock! Knock!

  Hearing knocks at the door, Melvin hurriedly took off the black bandana that was around his neck and wrapped his pistol up in it. He darted over to the mattress and lifted it, stashing the weapon underneath it. He then stripped down to his wife beater and boxers, tossing his clothes on the floor beside his bed. Grabbing his remote control from off the dresser, he turned the TV on to some old western flick. Next, he ran over to the mirror on the nightstand, where he wiped the sheen of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand and looked himself over. After taking a deep breath, he shut his eyelids briefly and advanced to the door. He opened the door and found Tiaz on the other side.

  “You straight, pop? I thought I heard shouting in here?” Tiaz frowned, looking around the cracked open door.

  “That was the TV,” Melvin lied, wagging the television’s remote at him. Once his son took in the wife beater and boxers that his old man was wearing, he concluded that he was telling the truth.

  “Oh, okay, well, me and Cameron about to go see these girls from around the way.”

  “Alright, son, be careful.”

  “I love you, pop.”

  “Alright,” He shut the door behind his son and approached his bed, lying across it. He sat his remote control down on the dresser and interlocked his fingers behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. He couldn’t help thinking about how his first stickup was going to play out. The thought alone made butterflies come to life in his stomach.

  ***

  Haa! Haa! Haa! Haa!

  Tiaz and Threat breathed heavily as they sprinted down the dark alley. Their faces were shiny and masked with perspiration. Their chests heaved up and down and their lungs felt hot. Their legs were aching having run so long but they dared not stop because if they did that would have been their asses.

  Threat looked to Tiaz as he lagged beside him. He was tired as shit and looked like he was about to collapse. However, the echoes of a thunderous crowd caused his head to snap over his shoulder. Those angry niggaz were hollering and yelling insults as they drew closer.

  “Come on, T, keep up.” Threat yelled over his shoulder to Tiaz.

  “Ahhh!” Tiaz fell to the ground, looking as if he was about to faint. He was so exhausted. “Haa! Haa! Haa! Haa!” He panted out of breath as he looked up at Threat trying to pull him up, all the while checking to see if their nemesis were still on them, they were.

  “Get up, man! We’ve gotta get outta here!” Threat struggled to get him on his feet and moving again.

  “Gone, Threat, I’m through! I can’t hack it no more.” Tiaz waved him along. “I’m done, go on without me.”

  “Nah, fuck that!” Threat pulled his comrade up to his feet and leaned him up against the brick wall inside of the alley. He looked ahead and their adversaries were still charging after them, their numbers swallowing up the dark path. They wanted blood, their blood.

  Threat’s head darted all around the alley trying to find something they could defend themselves with. He spotted an empty clear glass bottle of Captain Morgan on the ground beside a trash bin. Snatching it up, he shattered the end of it, creating a jagged edge and a lethal weapon. He tossed the broken bottle over to Tiaz, and he tested it out, jabbing it at an imaginary body and head. When Threat looked up he saw a 2 X 4 sticking out of the same trash bin. He pulled it out and practiced swinging it as if it were a baseball bat.

  “Here they come!” Tiaz alerted Threat before springing into action.

  Snikttttt!

  “Gaaaahhh!”

  One of them staggered back grabbing his face with both hands after meeting the jagged edge of Tiaz’ broken glass bottle.

  Sniktttt!

  “Arghh!” Another one grabbed his cheek, the meat hung and blood slicked his fingers.

  Crack! Whackk! Bwhackkk!

  The 2 x 4 broke in half and sent splinters and debris everywhere. Threat had lifted the last of the men off of his feet. He came flying down on his back, legs going up in the air and eventually falling back down. They fought on courageously and were holding their own until a loud noise stopped them all.

  Bop! Bop!

  The report from the handgun froze everyone in their tracks. They looked up to find a skinny light skinned nigga with a Mariner’s S tattooed between his eyes. He sported his long hair in pigtails and a barely visible goatee framed his mouth.

  “You two niggaz don’t move, cuz!” Pigtails moved his gun between Tiaz and Threat. His homeboys pulled their wounded to their feet and ushered them off to the sidelines. “Drop the bottle.” He ordered Tiaz and he obeyed. He and Threat stood there with their chests swelling and deflating as they breathed hard from the rumble. “Now y’all gone stand there while my Locs beat ya’ll asses or I’ma leave you in here stinking, feel me?” Although he didn’t receive a response, he knew the young hoodlums understood him. He gave his Locs the nod and they swarmed their prey.

  “Ooof!” Tiaz dropped to his hands and knees from a gut punch.

  “Ahhh!” Threat was slammed against the trash bin from a forceful punch to the face. Then he was slung to the ground beside his partner in crime. All they could do was ball up into fetal positions as they were kicked, stomped, and punched. Once they were handed down their ass whoopings, Pigtails tucked his banga on his waistline and approached them, unzipping his Dickies.

  He smiled fiendishly as his swept his limp dick between Tiaz and Threat pissing on their faces and bodies. After he was done, he stashed his meat and zipped up.

  “Marks,” He kicked Threat hard but Tiaz even harder. He threw up his set and motioned for his gang to follow him as he walked off down the alley, leaving both men unconscious.

  An hour later Threat was groaning as he was rubbing the back of his head. His eyelids peeled apart and the sky was a murky blue with the sun beginning to rise. He looked to his hand and it was slicked red. He looked to Tiaz and found him wincing and moaning as well. He scrambled over to him.

  “Yo, Tiaz, are you alright, man?” He hunched over him trying to shake him conscious.

  Tiaz eyelids slowly peeled open and he looked up at Threat. He then looked all around trying to figure out where the hell he was.

  “Nah, I’m fucked up. I think my fucking ribs are broken.”

  “Come on, we gotta get chu to a hospital.” Threat pulled Tiaz up to his feet and threw his thick muscular arm over his shoulders. Holding him about the wrist and waist, he walked with him down the alley.

  “You didn’t leave me, Threat. You coulda bounced on a nigga but chu didn’t. That’s love.”

  “You’re my brother; I’m always down for you. Like you’re down for me, right?”

  “Right. ‘Til the death of us.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  After the beating Tiaz and Threat were given by the hands of the sixties, instead of going to the hospital or home, they decided to spend the remainder of the night getting high. After they’d finished, they dapped one another up and went their separate ways. Tiaz came through the front door of his home looking like he’d been through hell and back. He shut the door behind him and touched his bottom lip, coming away with blood. Fuck, he cursed under his breath and removed his jacket. Having hung it up on the coat rack by the door, he made his way inside of the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. The first thing he grabbed was one of his father’s ice cold Genuine Drafts and placed it on the growing lump on the side of his head. Shutting the door, he turned around to find the back door opening and his father stepping through it. He could tell that he’d just finished smoking because he was blowing smoke from out of his nose and mouth. Melvin closed and locked the door behind him. When he turn
ed around and saw his son, he was taken aback a little. A line creased his forehead as he approached him. He grabbed him by his chin and turned him from left to right, examining his injuries, carefully. “Lemme guess, I don’t wanna see the other guy, right? Oh shit, son, you smell like hot piss.” Melvin took a step back, frowning up and pinching his nose shut.

  “My bad, pop.” He looked to the clock on the stove and saw that it was 9 o’clock in the morning. “OG, you been up all night?” His brows furrowed. Melvin bowed his head and took a deep breath as he rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah, gotta lot on my mind, son.” “You wanna talk about it?” “Nah, I’m good. Anyway, you wanna tell me what happened to you?” His father changed the subject. Tiaz gave his father a quick rundown of what had happened that night. Afterwards, he had him take a shower. The young nigga found himself standing up inside of the tub with his head bowed. The hot liquid sprayed against his head and ran over his muscular form. The water rinsed off the soap that masked his body and sent it swirling down the drain. “I bet that shower is doing your body some good, ain’t it?” Melvin said, stepping back inside of the bathroom with a news paper tucked under his arm. He lifted the commode’s lid and pulled down his pajama pants, plopping his bare ass on the seat. “Yeah, it does help a lil’,” Tiaz replied, sweeping the excess water from off his face. His nose twitched and he frowned up, smelling something foul in the air. “Damn, pop, that’s you smelling like that?” “Sorry, son, I had enchiladas today, you know how that goes.” Melvin sprayed some Glade Lavender air freshener into the air. He then set it down on the bathroom sink and unfolded the news paper and looked it over. “When you done, I’ma tend to your wounds. After that, I’m taking my tired black ass to bed.” “I hear that, OG. I’ma lay it down too. I done had one hell of a night.” “You sure have. And don’t worry about them ol’ punk ass niggaz that jumped you and Cameron either. Y’all gone catch up with one of ‘em. Trust me. The universe always balances everything out. You just watch and see what I tell you.” “I hear you, pop. May the Lord have mercy on them fools souls when I catch ‘em ‘cause I’m sure as hell not.” Tiaz winced having touched the lump at the back of his head. “Oh, I believe you,” Melvin said, flipping through the news paper. “My boy doesn’t play that, and neither did his godfather. My street brother may have beena square, but there wasn’t too many that could see ‘em with the hands. It’s funny ‘cause you remind me of him in some ways. Y’all not only share some of the same personality traits, but the same name as well. Hell, he’s probably living through you.” Melvin gangsta leaned in his ’76 Cutlass Supreme, nodding his head to George Clinton’s ‘Double Dutch Bus’. He had on an apple jack and a wife beater, which he wore suspenders over. Melvin was smiling from ear to ear. It was Friday; he had a pocket full of dead presidents and the baddest broad in the city. Niggaz couldn’t tell him nothing. As far as he was concerned, he was most definitely the fliest nigga there ever was. The sun was beaming brightly, shining light on his ride. Although the vehicle was old, the mothafucka looked brand spanking new. Its last owner, a white dude that thought he was cooler than the other side of the pillow, kept up with the maintainence of the automobile. It ran like a champ. The only reason why the white dude had sold the car was because he was locked up and needed money for an attorney for a charge he was fighting. Melvin took in all of his surroundings as he cruised through the streets, smiling and waving at niggaz that he knew from off the streets. Women were giving him the eye and trying to flag him down, but he already had a lady, so he didn’t have any holler for them. A block and a half later, Melvin found himself sitting up and narrowing his eyelids. He thought that he saw someone that he knew coming up at a bus stop, on his right hand side. “Hold up,” Melvin turned down the radio and peered closer through the windshield. He turned the volume down like it was going to help him see better or some shit. “I know that ain’t my nigga Tiaz.” He smiled harder. “That is that nigga. Lemme swoop up on ‘em, right quick.” Melvin hit his turned signl and made a right turn. He pulled up on Tiaz who was in the middle of talking to a little brown skinned honey. He could tell from the way she was smiling that she was feeling what Tiaz was saying. This didn’t surprise Melvin though. His homeboy had always been a ladies man. “What’s happenin’, homeboy?” Melvin smiled and threw his head back like What’s up? When Tiaz turned around and saw his right-hand man, he smiled from ear to ear. “What it is? It’s beena minute, my nigga.” Tiaz said, hunched down so he’d be at eye level with his homie. “I know. Take a ride witcho nigga one time, let’s catch up.” “Fa sho’, family, gemme a second,” Tiaz pulled his backpack from around his shoulders and unzipped it. He pulled out a spiral notebook and an ink pen. He opened the notebook and passed it to the girl he was spitting his G at. Right after, he handed her the ink pen and told her to scribble down her math. Once she was done, he placed the items back inside of his backpack. Next, he took the girl’s hand. Looking her square in her eyes, he kissed her hand tenderly. This caused her to blush. He then promised to give her a call, so that they could set up a time and day for them to hang out. “Take it easy, beautiful.” He rubbed her hand as he stared into her eyes, licking his lips and biting down on his bottom one. He caressed the side of her face and then jogged over to Melvin’s ride. He opened the front passenger door and hopped it, slamming the door shut. “What’s up, loved one?” Melvin smiled jovially as he gave his homeboy a complicated handshake. “Ain’t ‘bout nothing. You know me, maintaining and hanging. Nigga, on his school boy shit, so you know how that go.” “I’m proud of you, my nigga. You know what I’m saying?You coulda been out here like me and the rest of the knuckleheads breaking bad, but chu chose school. My main man ‘bouta be a doctor and shit.” He dapped him up. “Thanks, man. This school shit ain’t easy, but I’m making it do what it do. You feel me?” Tiaz let the sunvisor down and revealed the rectangle shaped mirror. He took the black power fist comb out of his unkempt afro and forked it out; making sure that it was fluffly. Afterwards, he patted it down to make sure that it was perfectly round. Satisfied, he put the sunvisor back up and stuck the black power fist comb back into his afro. “It’s ‘bout time you cut that shit, bruh.” Melvin said, looking back and forth between his homeboy and windshield. Tiaz looked at Melvin like he was bat shit crazy. “Nigga, pleeeease, I’ll never cut my hair. If a nigga cut my hair off, I’ll lose all my power and shit. Just like that nigga Samson outta the Bible.” Melvin busted up laughing as he held his fist to his mouth. “Yo’ ass is extra’d out, my nigga. What chu gone lose if yo’ wig get split?” “Shiiiiit, my ability to fuck all these hoes,” He laughed and did the complex handshake he’d done with his man earlier again. “You something else, man. I ain’t laughed this hard in a while. That reminds me,” Melvin scowled and punched Tiaz in the arm. He instantly grabbed the sore area of his arm and looked at him like he’d lost his mind. Tiaz balled his face up and said, “Oww, nigga, what the fuck wrong witchu?” “I ain’t heard from yo’ skinny black ass in a while, fool. You ‘pose to be my ace. How you just gone up and disappear on me for two weeks and shit. Punk ass nigga, you ain’t even answer my calls.” Tiaz stared at Melvin for a while, never uttering a word. Suddenly, he busted up laughing and smacking the dashboard, rocking back and forth in the passenger seat. This caused Melvin to frown up at him. “Fuck is so funny?” “You, nigga, you sound like a scorned lover and shit. Why you ain’t been answering my calls? I ain’t seen you in a while.” He laughed harder and held his stomach as he doubled over. Melvin went from frowning to smiling and laughing. “Fuck you, fool. You know I don’t roll with too many niggaz like that.” “Oh, yeah, what about that fool Ralph?” “Man, that nigga always shacked up with Thelma. With his ol’ pussy whipped ass, he don’t ever wanna come outta the house. Nigga done turned into a hermit and shit.” Tiaz nodded and said, “But, nah, I been busy with school and dipping off with these broads when ever I getta chance. Mom’s been telling me you been calling, and every time I say I’ma call yo’ ass back, I win
d up doing something else.” “You ain’t gotta tell me, I know how it is.” “Glad you understand, man. I fucks witchu though. You still my nigga if you don’t get no bigger.” He dapped him up. “If you tryna kick it there’s this party tonight off 111th and Normandie.” “111st and Normandie, huh? I can dig it. What time?” he fished out a half smoken joint from out of the ashtray and sparked it up. He then blew smoke out the side of his mouth. “Nine, but you know how we do. We gone fall through that bitch ‘round eleven o’clock, if you rolling with me.” “Bet.” He took another puff of the joint and passed it to Tiaz. He watched as his homeboy took it to the head a couple of times before blowing out a cloud of smoke, polluting the interior of the car. “This that shit, right here,” Tiaz passed the joint back. “I know. I gotta couple ounces I’m moving. Be sure to tell whomever you know that’s tryna buy.” “Off top.” Melvin indulged in the joint and made smoke waft around him. “Watch oooout!” Tiaz shouted. “Oh, shit!” Melvin’s eyes bulge and he dropped his joint. Gripping the steering wheel with both hands, he slammed on the brake pedal and caused the vehicle to screech to a halt. He stopped right at the bumper of a Buick and sighed with relief. He lay his head back against the headrest and took a deep breath, heart racing. “Shit that was close.” Melvin said and looked at Tiaz. “You straight my nigga?” “Yeah, I’m good.” Tiaz nodded, heart beating fast. The Buick pulled off and Melvin went right behind it. Seeing something on the floor on Melvin’s side of the car, Tiaz looked over and saw a .44 Magnum revolver. The weapon gleamed under the faint rays of sunshine. “That’s you?” Tiaz nodded to the revolver he spotted on the floor. “What?” Melvin frowned and looked down, seeing it. “Yeah, that’s me. You wanna check her out?” “Yeah.” “Go ‘head.” Tiaz picked up the .44 Magnum and examined it. He kept it out of sight of anyone that may have been watching him as he opened its chamber. Inside he found hollow tip copper bullets. With the flick of his wrist, he snapped the chamber of the pistol closed and aimed it down at the floor, closing one eye. “This a bad ass piece, man.” Tiaz complimented his friend. “I know, homeboy, that’s why I bought it.” He capped with a smile. Right then, a police siren went off and startled the two friends. Their eyelids stretched wide and their jaws dropped. Their hearts thudded inside of their chests and a million thoughts went through their mind. The fearful expression on Melvin face quickly morphed to one of determination. His eyebrows sloped and his jaws squared. He gripped the steering wheel and looked over at Tiaz. From the look in his eyes Tiaz knew that his best friend was thinking about sending the police on a high speed chase. Had it been for him not having so much to lose, he would have given him the okay to do it. But since he had a future he’d be gambling with, he shook his head no and squashed any chances of escape. Coming to an understanding, Melvin pulled over and waited for the police. One by one they ordered them out of the car with their hands where their eyes could see them. They then had them place their hands on the back of their heads and lay down flat on the ground. As the cold metal bracelets were snapped locked on Melvin’s wrists, he saw his life flash right before his eyes. This was because he was a two time loser and looking at life imprisonment thanks to California’s three strikes law. Later that day Melvin sat in the small interrogation room with his wrist handcuffed to a metal table. He had been sitting there for hours, so his ass had fallen asleep on him.Occasionally, he’d adjust himself in his seat trying to get comfortable, but it would only help for a couple of minutes. His buttocks falling asleep were the least of Melvin’s concerns though. He had a life sentence looming over his head like a black cloud and it had him stressed out. In fact, if you saw him earlier, you would have sworn he’d aged ten years in the past four hours. But who could blame the poor bastard though? The way things were looking for him, it was possible he’d never see another sunrise again. Melvin had everything from assault & battery to breaking & entering on his record. If he was hit with the weapon’s charge it would be the final nail in his coffin. The only thing that could save his ass now was a miracle. And he was hoping for just that as he smoked on what was his fifth Newport. Melvin had just taken another puff of his cigarette when the door of the interrogation room opened. Detective Hoit came waltzing in over the threshold with a fixed scowled on his red face. He was in a sand colored shirt and a striped tie that hung loosely around his neck. He wasn’teven within five feet of Melvin, but he could smell the nicotine and coffee seeping from out of his pores. The stench on the stock built man made his stomach churn almost as much as his impending imprisonment. Detective Hoit, the mean son of a bitch that he was, wanted to bury Melvin’s ass under the prison. He had it in mind to just give him the gun charge since he was a felon and the car was in his name. The only thing stopping him was the fact that his African American partner, Detective Reignhart, was an ex street nigga himself. See, Detective Reignhart left it up to Melvin and Tiaz who was going to take the charge for the gun. At this moment, Melvin would find out whether his homeboy was going take the charge for him or let him ride it out. Hoit came around the table and snatched the Newport from between Melvin’s fingers and mashed it out in the ashtray. He then pulled up his pants and sat on the edge of the metal table, mad dogging Melvin. “You have got to be the luckiest son of a bitch to have ever been pushed out of a cunt that I’ve ever seen. I mean, your black ass must have a genie or a lucky fucking rabbit’s foot or something,” Hoit waited for Melvin to respond, but he didn’t. He just stared up at him with hatred dripping from his moist, red webbed eyes. Seeing that he wasn’t going to say anything, he continued on. “Your friend in there, The L seven square that’s going to school to be a fucking doctor,” he pointed to the wall, which Tiaz was on the opposite side of in the other interrogation room. “Well, he’s gonna take the bull by the horns for you. Now, I done all I could to try to convince him to tell us that the piece was yours, but the little fucker wouldn’t budge, stupid fucking kid.” Hoit looked away and shook his head. He couldn’t believe that Tiaz was going to flush his future down the toilet for his friendship. “You know, Melvin, if you were any kind of friend, you wouldn’t let your buddy there throw away his life over your charge. I mean, you’re a street guy, am I right? You guys claim to believe in a code of honor, respect and loyalty. So, tell me, where is the honor in letting your friend do your bid for you, while you walk away a free fucking man?” He leaned over to Melvin, his hot breath blowing into his face. There was a long silence between the two men until Melvin decided to speak again. “If we’re done here, I’d like to go, detective,” Melvin held up his shackled wrist and caused the chain of it to jingle. Hoit looked at him like he wanted to punch him square in the face, but he managed to calm himself. Reaching inside of his pocket, he pulled out the handcuff key and unlocked the metal bracelet. Melvin stood to his feet, rubbing his aching wrist, which had a bruise around it from the cuff being on too tight. Six months later Tiaz made his way across the prison floor giving what’s up’s to the niggaz that he knew and ignoring the rest. He was on his way towards the phones. He’d gotten halfway there when he locked eyes with a hefty correctional officer by the name of Chief Jackson. The two of them had a beef so they were mad dogging one another. Using his meaty hand, Chief swiped his hand across his throat, letting Tiaz know he was a dead man. “Suck my dick, you fat sloppy body ass mothafucka!” Tiaz grabbed his bulge and shook it at him. Chief scowled and twisted his lips, saying, “Yeah, you gone get yours, watch and see, you lil’ bitch. You just watch and see.” He promised with a dead serious look dripping from his eyes. Tiaz held up his middle finger and kept it moving. He found himself standing in line along with the other inmates waiting to use the telephone. His afro was now braided into six frizzy cornrows and he had swelling underneath his right eye, which he’d told the correctional officers he’d gotten from a slip and fall. Truthfully, he’d gotten the black eye from his many squabbles since he’d been on lock. Mothafuckaz tested his gangsta and found out that he wasn’t anything to play with. See, Tiaz had always been nice with h
is hands. Hell, he had to. This was because at five foot six he was always the smallest of his company and niggaz was always trying to chump him. Once it was Tiaz’ turn at the telephone, he picked up the receiver and wiped it off on his jumpsuit. He then placed the call he had in mind and introduced himself once he heard a familiar voice pick up. “What’s up, homeboy?” Tiaz grinned. Melvin stopped playing Nintendo and took the joint from out of his mouth. He then said excitedly, “Yooooo, what it is, loved one?” “Ain’t shit, my nigga, maintaining. Holding on like a hubcap in the fast lane.” “Glad to hear it, my boy. You got that change I dropped on yo’ books?” “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I got that. Good looking out.” “You ain’t gotta thank me. For what chu doing for me, it’s the least a nigga could do. You feel me?” “No doubt. So, how’s the fam?” “Oh, they straight, Kim waddling around here like a duck and shit.” “Shut up!” Kim mushed him and kissed his lips. “Who is that?” “Tiaz.” “Oh, tell ‘em I said hey, and we gone do it big when he comes home. We gone throw him a nice lil’ get together soon as he touches down.” She said excitedly. She knew what he’d done for her family and she wanted to show him just how much they appreciated it. Melvin told Tiaz exactly what his lady said and vise versa. “He said he’s looking forward to it.” “Okay. Well, lemme gone in here and whip my baby up something to eat.” “I’m not hungry, babe.” “Not chu, silly, my baby,” she corrected him and placed her hands on her round belly. “Girl, gemme a kiss and get on outta here.” They kissed, and he smacked her on her ass as she proceeded toward the kitchen. “It’s nice to hear y’all getting along over there.” Tiaz smirked. “Yeah, man, we’re both excited about the new addition. We gotta start thinking of baby names.” “You know what y’all gone have?” “Not yet. I’ll let chu know once we do. You most def’ gone be the godfather though.” “That’s what’s up. It will be an honor.” “We gone do a ceremony and everything to make shit official.” “Cool.” Melvin and Tiaz chopped it up a little while longer. He told him everything that had been going on with everyone on the outside since he hadn’t talked to him for a while. The conversation took a turn for the worse not long after though. “I love you, Mel.” Melvin’s forehead creased and he said, “I love you too, my nigga. But what’s up? That’s like the fifth time you told me you love since we been on the jack.” “Ain’t nothing wrong, homie. What, a nigga can’t tell his ace he got love for ‘em? Damn.” “Nah, it ain’t like that. You know you and me go back like foe flats. It’s just that...never mind.” “Yo’,man, if anything should happen to me in here, I want chu to make sure I’m dressed to the nines for my funeral. I wanna be buried in an all white suit, hat and cane. I want my body rode through the hood in a horse and carriage. I want my coffin to be made up to look like an old school Cadillac Deville, perferably the 1972 model. And I want like a hunnit doves released after my ceremony. Send a young nigga out in style. You feel me?” “Whoa, whoa, whoa! You talking just a lil’ too crazy for my taste. You’re starting to scare me. Where has all of this shit come from about chu dying? I don’t like that, Tiaz. Don’t talk like that.” Tiaz chuckled and said, “Bruh, you taking shit just a lil’ too seriously. I’m just saying this shit in case something happens to me. You never know what could happen, especially in this hell I’m in.” “I hope that’s all it is. I really do.” “Just so you know, I don’t regret doing what I did for you. I know that if the shoe was on the other foot, you woulda done the same.” “In a heart beat.” “I love you, my nigga. Don’t ever forget that.” “I won’t, and I love you, too.” Melvin disconnected the call and mashed out what was left of his joint inside of the ashtry on the coffee table. Lying back on the couch, he stared ahead as tears pooled in his eyes. He read through the lines. Today would be the last time he spoke to his best friend again. “Baby, what’s wrong?” A frowned up Kim asked from the kitchen doorway with her hand on her belly. When he didn’t answer, she sat down on the couch and rested his head on her breasts. She then kissed the top of his head and caressed his back lovingly. He cried and cried, never uttering a word to her about the conversation between him and Tiaz. Melvin stared ahead at nothing. He looked like he was in a trance as he rubbed his hand up and down his tattooed arm. The ink he’d gotten was of a block styled cross with a crown sitting on it sideways. At the bottom of it was Rest In Paradise Tiaz Montgomery. As he stared ahead, Melvin’s eyes slowly manifested with tears. He looked to be on the verge of crying until he blinked his tears back. He bowed his head and Tiaz gripped his shoulder firmly, looking down at him. “You okay, pop?” He asked his old man. Melvin took a deep breath and looked up at his son. Although he looked sad, he still managed to muster up a smile. “Yeah, I’m good, son.” He said to Tiaz as he picked up the news paper he’d dropped during his recalling of his best friend’s final days. “Okay, well, I’ma let chu wrap up in here. I’ma go get dressed so you can tend to my injuries.” Tiaz adjusted his towel on his waist and headed out of the bathroom. His upper body was covered with beads of water. Melvin wiped himself and flushed the toilet. Turning on the faucet, he lathered up his hands with soap and began rinsing them off. As he did this, he looked up in the medicine cabinet’s mirror at his reflection. His reminiscing made him remember why he never told his son he loved him. It seemed like everyone he told that died. His parents, who died in an automobile accident once he moved to Killa Cali, his wife, Kimberly, Tiaz and a host of friends. They all died, and he couldn’t help believing that it was because he told them he loved them and cursed them. Life could be ugly sometimes.