Bury Me a G 4

by Tranay Adams

  “I gotta get rid of this pistol; it’s hot as a fire cracker,” Melvin said from behind the wheel of his taxi. “The last thing I want to do is get caught with this bad boy.”

  “Yeah, pop, I know you not tryna end up in county fighting homicides, you liable to be down for years even if they don’t stick you with a case.” Tiaz informed him. “Shiiiit, man, I got homies that’s been on lock for three, four years fighting bodies that’s not even their’s. Shit crazy.”

  “Well, when I get rid of this piece I most definitely gone needa ‘notha one. You will too for that matter.”

  “You in good hands, OG,” Tiaz smiled and patted his old man on the shoulder. “I know somebody we can see, if it’s burners you need. My man Gatz got plenty of toys and at an affordable price, too.”

  “Affordable, huh?” Melvin capped with a smile. “I like the sound of that. We gotta get rid of this piece first, though.”

  “Pop, we can just toss that bitch into the gutter.” Tiaz stared out of the passenger side window, watching the streets pass him by in flashes. “Good idea,” Melvin grinned, snapping his fingers and pointing to his son.

  Melvin pulled up alongside a storm drain and handed Tiaz the murder weapon, which was wrapped up in a bandana. Tiaz opened the passenger door and looked both ways to make sure that there wasn’t anybody watching him. Once he saw that the coast was clear, he dumped the banga inside of the gutter. Afterwards, he shut his door and his father pulled off.

  “Now, about this friend when all the guns you were telling me about,” Melvin brought the conversation back up. “Oh, yeah, Gatz,” Tiaz remembered their discussion. “He doesn’t live to far from here. Make a right at this corner right here, pop.”

  Before Melvin knew it he was pulling up outside of a big ass house. Standing out front, on the bottom step, was a short big head nigga. He had a brown hue and six neat cornrows that were pulled back and tied off by black rubber bands. The braids were pulled so tight that they made his forehead appear larger. The twenty year old had acne scars on both cheeks and long chin hairs. He was dressed down in a white T-shirt which he wore underneath a green army jacket and leather combat boots. The thin gold necklace that hung from his chest was an AK-47 with a banana clip. The piece slightly gleamed beneath the sunlight provided from above. “’Sup, my boy?” Gatz smiled. He slapped hands with Tiaz and gave him a gangsta hug. “Ain’t shit, you know how I do. Getting it how I live.” “Right, right, right,” Gatz nodded as he understood where his homeboy was coming from. He was on the same shit that he was on. “’Sup, Mr. Petty? How are you?” The young gun merchant shook Melvin’s hand firmly. “I’m doing alright, Timothy, how about you?” Melvin released his hand and brought it back down beside him. “I’m maintaining, sir. I can’t complain.” “Glad to hear it,” he checked his surroundings, giving his son some time to spring on Gatz exactly what they were there for.

  There was an awkward silence as Gatz looked from Melvin to Tiaz scratching his chin. He wanted to ask them what they wanted, but he didn’t want to come off as rude. He had the utmost love and respect for Tiaz, and being that they were homeboys that same love and respect extended to Melvin as well.

  Tiaz looked back at his father to see what he was doing. He then turned back around to Gatz, nudging him and asking him to step somewhere out of the earshot of his father so that they could talk. The young man agreed and they stepped over near the bushes. “’Sup?” Gatz threw his head back slightly. “Well, me and pop needa see yo’ inventory, we tryna buy a couple of them thangs.” He answered in a hushed tone.

  “You and pop?” His brows furrowed. He looked from Tiaz to his old man. “Are you serious?” “Nah, nigga, for play, play, you gone look out or what?” Tiaz reached inside of his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills secured by a rubber band. As soon as Gatz saw the money before his eyes, a smile stretched across his lips. He then rubbed his hands together greedily. If there was anything on earth that he loved more than money, he hadn’t come into contact with it yet. “Oh, yes, follow me,” Gatz motioned for Tiaz to follow him before walking towards the back of his house. “Come on, pop.” Tiaz threw his head towards the back of the house, signaling for his father to follow him and his comrade.

  Melvin made his way towards the backyard on the heels of his son. When they reached the backyard, Gatz opened the garage door and walked inside. He flipped on a switch and light shined on everything present. There was an array of things scattered throughout the storage space. It was a lot of junk stored inside, but this wasn’t without purpose. Nah, you see, Gatz used the stuff to make shit look good. The garage was made up to hide the fact that he was running a very illegal business from his home. If the police came knocking, it wouldn’t look like he was selling guns out from out of the place.

  “Close that door behind you for me, Mr. Petty.” Gatz turned around to a raggedy ass refrigerator. Once Melvin obliged him, Gatz motioned the father and son over as he walked to the refrigerator. Grasping the door handle of the refrigerator, he looked back at his homeboy and his old man. “Alright, ya’ll, shop’s open,” he pulled the refrigerator door open and removed the door’s panel. Inside there were handguns ranging from different shapes, sizes, and calibers, residing on hooks, “This just a lil’ something, something. You feel me?” He smiled delightfully. The young nigga was very proud of his inventory. He absolutely loved his job. The little nigga actually got a rush selling guns and other weapons of destruction.

  Gatz took the toothpick out of his mouth and leaned down, pulling open the drawers of the refrigerator. There were bullets, shotgun shells, and magazines stored inside. When he came back up, he opened the freezer door and exposed a variety of shotguns and assault rifles. Licking his lips, he stuck the toothpick back in his mouth and stepped aside, allowing his newest customers over take a look at all of his merchandise.

  Melvin and Tiaz picked up different guns, examining them and checking to see how many rounds they held. They ended up settling on .9mm Beretta handguns, a couple of other weapons and some silencers. They also copped some extra magazines and boxes of bullets.

  “Timothy, you wouldn’t happen to have any bulletproof vests, would you?” Melvin inquired. “Hmmm,” the gun merchant looked out the corner of his eyes and massaged his chin, thinking on it. “You know what; I thought I maybe had one left. But I’m sure I sold it a couple of weeks ago, sorry, Mr. Petty.” “Fuck,” Melvin looked off to the side, hearing the disappointing news. He then looked back up at Gatz. “Don’t be sorry, son. Don’t ever apologize about getting money, no matter how you getting it, ‘cause these mothafuckaz out here ain’t gone give you shit. You understand me?” He gave him a stern look as he wagged his finger at him, like a disciplining father would. “Yes, sir,” he nodded. “Good man.” Tiaz’ father patted the young man on the arm. This was his way of letting him know that they were good.

  “I like yo’ pop’s, man. He’s cool people,” Gatz told Tiaz.

  “He’s alright.” Tiaz grinned. He was just fucking around though. “Nah, my old man is the greatest, I’m lucky to have ‘em as my father.” Tiaz looked to his father and he grinned, tapping his fist against the left side of his chest. This is where his heart resided. “That’s love.” Melvin stated before paying Gatz for their merchandise. He and his son dapped the gun merchant up and turned to leave. They had just approached the garage door when Gatz called them back.

  “’Sup?” Tiaz threw his head back.

  “Gemme a sec’, I got something I want chu to check out. I just got these bitches in,” Gatz ducked off somewhere at the back of the garage amongst the other junk. Although Melvin and Tiaz couldn’t see him, they could see the boxes that he was lost amongst slightly moving. It wasn’t long before Gatz was rolling out an army green footlocker on a dolly. A smile was plastered across the young nigga’z face like he knew something that his homeboy and his father didn’t. Gatz stopped the dolly before Melvin and Tiaz, sitting it up. He then popped its locks and raised its lid, revealing a c
ache of round grenades inside. “Take a look at those babies, now how many niggaz you know got some of these on deck? You fucking with me or what, my boy?” Gatz looked from Melvin to Tiaz. Melvin and Tiaz exchanged glances and smirked. *** Melvin and Tiaz stashed the weapons under the spare tire inside of the trunk of the car. They then hopped in and peeled off. Melvin drove along the residential block with the wind blowing inside of the vehicle, ruffling him and his son’s clothing. The radio was on 92.3 The Beat, but they weren’t listening to the commercial that was playing at the time. “Well, pop, what do we do now?” Tiaz asked. “We gotta get chu a vest, son. We can’t be out here half cocked and shit. Fuck around and catch a chest fulla lead and that will be all she wrote. You picking up what I’m sitting down?”He looked back and forth between the windshield and Tiaz. “Yeah, I got chu, pop, but where are we gonna getta vest from?” “I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.” Melvin shook his head. He then sat quietly as he drove through the streets, thinking. Abruptly, he recalled something. “Well, I’ll be damned. Melvin, you stupid son of a bitch, how’d you forget?” He smacked himself upside the forehead and grinned. Tiaz’ forehead indented hearing and seeing his father. “What’s up, pop?” He questioned with concern. “This nigga I met, I bought my vest from him. He told me should I ever need anything else from him where I could reach ‘em. Hold on,” Still gripping the steering wheel, Melvin lifted his ass from off the driver seat and pulled out his wallet, handing it to his son. “Look where I keep the money at and see if you see a piece of paper with a number on it. Tiaz obliged his old man and held the piece of paper between his fingers, observing it. “Jerome?” Tiaz looked to his father to see if he’d gotten the right piece of paper that he’d requested. “Yeah, that’s him.” Melvin responded and pulled over alongside the curb after he crossed the intersection. He then took the piece of paper from his son. “I’ll be right back. I’m finna call ‘em and see if he can get his hands on a couple.” Melvin hopped out of his car and made his way upon the sidewalk, en route to the telephone booth. The booth was banged up and had torn stickers on the sides of it, from companies that were advertising their businesses on it. When Melvin stepped to the booth, he snatched up the reciver and wiped it off on his shirt. He then dropped a quarter inside of the slot. Looking back and forth from the piece of paper with Jerome’s number on it, he punched in the digits scrolled across it. Afterwards, he turned around and looked at his car, watching his son bobbing his head to the music playing on the radio. A smirk etched across Melvin’s lips as he observed his boy and listened to the telephone ring.

  Melvin lay in bed beside Kimberly listening to his walkman and rubbing coco butter on her stomach. While he applied lotion to her protruding belly, she happily painted her finger nails with purple polish. As soon as she was done with the nails of her hand, she held her hand before her eyes and blew on them. She did this so they would hurriedly dry. “So, what chu hoping for, babe? A boy or a girl?” Kimberly asked, painting the nails of her other hands now. When she didn’t get a response from him, she looked up to find him lip singing the words to the song he was listening to as he rubbed lotion on to her pregnant belly. Chuckling, she plucked the headphones from off his head and repeated herself. “I said, ‘what chu hoping for? A girl or a boy?’” “Now, you know I got my fingers crossed for a baby boy. The king gone need a prince to be the heir of his throne,” Melvin smiled and took the headphones from her, planting them back on his head. He left one of the earpieces off so that he could engage in conversation with his lady. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she sang, still painting her nails. “All men want boys so they can be just like them. I know the deal.” “How ‘bout chu? What chu won’t? A baby girl?” He oozed more lotion out into his palm and applied it to her protruding stomach. “Yep. But I’d want her to be a daddy’s girl, like I was. God knows I loved the hell outta my daddy. He couldn’t do any wrong in my eyes as far as I was concerned.” She smiled, showing off her beautiful set of pearly white teeth and the small gap that she had between them. “Yeah, I like that idea,” Melvin claimed, finishing up the rub down that he was giving to her belly. He then took the nail polish from her and began on her toenails, painting them one by one. “You make having a lil’ momma not seem so bad. I could see her now, my baby looking just like my baby,” he smiled at Kimberly and she blushed, turning her head. She didn’t want him to see how much he had her wrapped around his finger. “Look at chu blushing, look at my baby.” He sat the headphones aside and switched hands with the bottle of nail polish. He crawled over to her and kissed her all of her face. This caused her to laugh and giggle. “Look at chu, babe.” “What?” She looked up into eyes smiling and showing off her dimples. “All the love in your eyes; I can’t believe after all these years you still look at me like the girl in high school with the crush on the captain of the football team. That’s amazing. Truly, truly, amazing, and I hope that never changes.” “It won’t,” she cupped his face with her hands as she stared up into his eyes. “And I can guarantee that ‘cause I have never loved someone like I love you. When I think about it, it don’t make no sense how much I love you. I think about you all day every day. When you go out to get a pack of smokes or to go for a walk, although, you only be gone for like an hour, I be missing you. I be missing you like you flew outta town to another state or something, or like you locked up and you not coming home for a minute. For real for real, I got it bad for you, babe. I don’t got no holla for another nigga, I got the man I want to be with...for life.” When she said that, she kissed him romantically and the diamond in her gold wedding band gleamed. She then pulled her lips back from him and said, “I love you.” “I love you, too.” “You sure?” “I have never been so sure of anything in my life.” “Awww,” she showed him that smile that always seemed to make his heart skip a beat. They then hugged and kissed again. Afterwards, he went back to painting her toenails. “I tell you what, if it’s a boy you’ll name ‘em, but if it’s a girl I will name ‘em. Is that okay by you?” “Fa sho’,” he said, without looking up as he painted her toenails. “You got any girl names in mind?” “Hmmmm,” she smiled as she bit down on her bottom lip and looked up to the ceiling, thinking of names, “How about Brishae?” “Brishae? I like that.” He smiled and nodded his approval. “And for the boy?” At that moment, Melvin stopped painting her toenails and looked up at her. A serious expression crossed his face and he said, “If it’s a boy then I’m gonna name ‘em after my brother from another and best friend...Tiaz.” Melvin was still smirking and looking at his son when Crackhead Jerome finally answered the telephone. “Chelllllo, Casanova of the Ghetto speaking,” the crackfiend came on the phone jovially.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Crackhead Jerome stood out on the corner with a piece of cardboard hanging around his neck by a length of twine. The cardboard sign read Help! Homeless and Hungry. In his hand he held a Styrofoam cup that was partially filled with coins and a couple of one dollar bills. He wore shades that blind people wore and held on to a walking cane. Occasionally, a vehicle would pull up to the stop light and the driver would stick out their hand offering change or a one dollar bill. An old silver, curly haired white lady had just dropped a five dollar bill into Crackhead Jerome’s cup when he heard the telephone at the raggedy phone booth ringing aloud. As soon as Jerome heard the telephone ringing, he lifted his shades upon his head and darted over to the phone booth. As soon as he reached the booth, he snatched the telephone from its lever and rubbed it off on his shirt. Afterwards, he cleared his throat and placed the telephone to his ear. “Chelllllo, Casanova of the Ghetto speaking,” Jerome answered the phone jovially, sounding like J.J Evan from the Good Times television show. He then smiled and showcased his decaying teeth. “Heyyyyy, what’s up, main man? What chu need?” He dumped the contents of the cup into his palm and shoved it into his pocket. Next, he sat the cup down on top of the telephone booth and propped his cane up against it, “Oh yeah? How many you need? I’ll tell you what; I’ll see what I can do.
I ain’t making no promises. Now, should I be able to fill this order where should I take it?” Jerome switched hands with the telephone and propped his elbow against the phone booth. He looked at the dirt that was caked up underneath his fingernails and flicked it out with his thumb. “Alright now, I got it. Bye.” He disconnected the call and pulled out an ink pen and small black book from his back pocket. Having pulled off the cap to the ink pen, he placed the book against the telephone booth and wrote something on the page. That night “Damn, man, you was only able to get one?” Melvin said to Crackhead Jerome as they stood inside of his living room. While he was talking to the smoked out thief, Tiaz was standing off to the side trying the Kevlar bulletproof vest on. “Yeahhh, man, them bitches just don’t fall outta the sky. I went through hell trying to get my hands on that one, so consider yo’ self blessed that I was able to make it happen.” Crackhead Jerome told him. Melvin took a breath and ran his hand down his face. “Alright, how much do I owe you?” “Gemme what chu gave me for the first one, chief.” Melvin pulled a folded wad of money out of his pocket and peeled off the same amount of money that he’d paid Jerome for the first bulletproof vest he’d bought off of him. Jerome took the money and shoved it into his pocket, smiling. He didn’t even bother to count it because he didn’t believe that Melvin would try to beat him out of some money. “Look here, if you need anything else, you got my number.” “Indeed, I do.” Melvin slapped hands with Jerome and patted him on his back. “Thanks, bruh.” “Don’t mention it.” Crackhead Jerome made his way to the front door, hearing Tiaz chopping it up with his father. “Tiaz, I was really counting on homeboy coming through on that second vest,” Melvin said disappointedly. “Don’t wet that second vest, pop. With me watching yo’ back out there in the field, won’t nothing happen to you...trust.” “You that confident, huh?” “Yep. I get it from my old man.” “Alright now,” he threw playful jabs at his son and he threw a couple back at him. “Nah, for real though. Them niggaz out there ain’t ready for what’s about to hit ‘em. They ain’t ready for Melvin and Tiaz. I’m telling you, pop, we ‘bouta be the reason drug dealers and hustlers can’t sleep at night. Fools gone be waking up in cold sweats ‘cause of us,” Tiaz pulled out his Beretta and pointed it at something across the room. “Shiiiiit, as far as I’m concerned, OG, anybody can get it on our road to riches...anybody.” Jerome had just walked out of the house and pulled the door shut. He made his way down the stairs, licking his thumb and counting up the money he’d earned fucking with that nigga Melvin. I’ma ‘bouta get high. Realllll high and real fast, Jerome thought to himself. Unbeknownst to Melvin and Tiaz the crackhead had overheard their conversation. And it was a chance that one day all that they had said would come back to haunt them.