“Then your ass should start by raisin’ up out of that Scratch situation. ’Cause whether you realize it or not, that devil’s got you on your knees and you’re takin’ it in both ends.”
“I’m done with that shit, dog.”
“Yeah? We’ll see.”
Sitting there watching the clouds swallow the moon and stars and the darkness congeal into a solid wall of blackness, a turbid veil that hung between us, I began to wonder how I was going to make this big change and if it was even possible. Tank hadn’t thought so. He was sure that we would die in this game and he had been right, at least about himself. But did that mean that I was doomed too?
Killing wasn’t just something I did. Like I was trying to tell Huey, a killer was what I was. A metamorphosis had taken place within me as I sat cocooned inside the violence and desperation of my neighborhood and I had emerged from that cocoon as a monstrous killing thing. I was a predator of my own species, which somehow put me outside of it, made me something other than human.
Could the change be reversed?
Death was now a shadow that followed me wherever I went and that I animated with every gesture.
Yeah, though I walk through the shadow of the valley of death, I shall fear no evil…because I’m too damned ignorant to recognize it when I see it. Because the evil is me.
I sighed a long exasperated breath that emptied me of all my strength. The weight of my thoughts pulled my forehead earthward. I sprawled out on the ground and rested my head on the pillow made by my forearm and bicep.
Huey was so quiet that I wondered if he was still there. I had said a lot more than I had meant to say. I had attacked his faith like a mortal enemy. His faith would survive the beating though. The belief in a just and loving God isn’t based on any empirical evidence so no evidence can refute it. It doesn’t matter how many innocents suffer and die, the faithful will always believe in the love of God because it makes them feel safe and happy and the alternative is too horrible for them to contemplate. Better to be a happy fool than a suffering genius.
The marijuana and alcohol began to work their magic and spirit my consciousness away. Slowly Huey and I both succumbed to the somnolent effects of intoxication and passed out on the cool dewy grass, our heads resting on an unknown grave at the feet of the Virgin Mary.
As I snored and drooled on the freshly manicured lawn, I dreamt that I was lying in a casket. A light set in the bottom of the casket shone through the Swiss cheese hyper-profusion of bullet holes some overly enthusiastic assassin had put in my corpse. Huge sub-woofers thundered with rapid fire sound bites of various gangsta rap songs in a cacophonous stew of rumbling bass as if someone had entirely neglected to add treble to the mix. My casket vibrated and pulsed with the sound. Each truncated lyric seemed to be some commentary on the life I had lead. Every single one of them was about death.
Scores of Black faces crowded in to gawk and point at me. None of the faces seemed mournful. They all seemed to be having a great time celebrating my passing. I heard the voice of an usher, who sounded like a tour guide, tell the group of jubilant mourners to keep moving so the next group could file in. Someone who sounded like Malcolm X opened the casket and and placed my nine on my chest as he solemnly intoned: “The chickens have come home to roost.”
I thought he might have given me the nine to smoke the tourists who had started poking at me and posing for pictures with my corpse, but I couldn’t move. I heard one of the revelers say something that chilled me.
“He’s the bastard that started the race war. He’s the reason the White folks are hunting us down. His name’s Malik. They call him Snap because he’s crazy. He betrayed his entire race. He doomed us all.”
I tried to speak to them, to tell them that I was innocent, but I was paralyzed.
“Everyone’s dead now. His mother, his grandmother, he even got his best friend killed. If he’d had any balls he would have just killed himself. That evil nigger!”
I screamed out loud, but the sound never left my lips. I was suddenly being pulled out of myself. The earth literally dropped out from under me leaving me floating weightless a million miles in space. I could see heaven from where I was, but as I turned to it the pearly gates slammed shut. There was a sign on the door that said “No dogs or niggers allowed.”
The top of the gate was covered with razor-wire and had shards of broken glass cemented into the surrounding walls. I didn’t care. I charged the gates and began pounding on them until my fists bled from where they had been punctured and lacerated by the jagged glass. Slowly the gates opened and all these Brooks Brothers suits wearing white boys came spilling out carrying shotguns. Their faces all looked like Scratch. There were police officers with them dressed in riot gear, they grinned at me with teeth plated with gold.
“Can’t you read the sign, boy? Go home. We don’t want your kind around here.”
“I’m dead. Where am I supposed to go?”
“Go to hell, nigger!”
They all started laughing at me. I started firing my nine even as the first shotgun blast blew open my chest leaving a ragged steaming hole. I didn’t feel a thing except my rage. Even in the afterlife I was getting fucked over. I was going to get in there no matter how many of these motherfuckers I had to kill. I wondered how long I could hold out with my lungs and heart obliterated by shotgun slugs. I tried not to think about it. I just kept shooting, aiming right for the head and watching as they popped like balloons and sprayed blood and brains across the pearly gates.
My aim was uncannily accurate. Each shot caught one of the suits flush in the forehead. But there were too many of them. They started to overwhelm me. I was taking so many hits that my body was coming apart. I heard a familiar sound coming from behind the gates, the stuttering staccato of automatic weapons fire. The suits began flying to shreds as bullets raked through them. Behind them I could see Tank with that big AK in his hands covering my ass as usual. He laid waste to the entire heavenly host and then turned a forty oz. up to his lips and winked at me. He walked over and passed the forty to me. I lifted it to my lips without bothering to wipe his spittle from its rim. We were brothers. Tank started to head back toward the gates while jamming another banana clip into the AK. He stopped and waved for me to follow.
“Come on, dog. We got to finish this.”
I ejected the spent clip from the Beretta and popped in a fresh one as we passed through the gates into heaven.
When Huey and I finally awoke the darkness was absolute. I couldn’t see a foot in front of me. Lights from the road helped us find our direction as we strained our eyes and made our way, mostly by memory, back to the car. It was past midnight when I dropped Huey off at his house.
“Yo, dog, you welcome to crash here if you want.”
“I just live around the corner, bro. I’m cool. Do you need me to stay?”
“You’ve helped a brother out enough today. Thanks for getting’ me out of that whack-ass funeral.”
“Yeah, is your Mom gonna be cool with that though?”
“She’ll understand.”
“My Mom won’t.”
“You can still stay here if you need to, dog. My door is always open.”
“Naw, brother. I’d better get my black ass on home.”
“See you tomorrow then, Snap.”
“Later, dog.”
I didn’t tell Huey about the dream or premonition or visitation or whatever it was I’d had. As I drove through the deserted streets, the image of Tank up in heaven still puttin’ in work and covering my ass soothed my mind a little. I pulled up to the twenty-four hour convenience store on Washington Lane and Germantown Ave and called Christina from my cell phone while I filled up my tank.
“Hello?”
She picked up on the first ring and her voice was bubbly and expectant.
“Yeah, it’s Malik. I’m coming over.”
“I thought you was gonna stand me up again. It’s damned near one o’clock in the morning.”
> “Don’t sweat it. I’m on my way now, unless you don’t want me to come now?”
“Just get here and I’ll make sure you cum.”
I jumped in the Impala and flew down Wayne Avenue. I slowed the big Chevy to a crawl as I made the sharp turn onto Lincoln Drive and then floored it again as I exited Lincoln Drive onto Kelly Drive. I inhaled the sweet smell of pine trees as I sailed pass Wissahickon Park remembering when my mother and I used to go down there to swim in the creek, catch crayfish and salamanders, and hike through the woods. I missed my mother. I missed that close relationship we once had. The only way to get it back was to extricate myself from the evil shit I was involved in.
The smell of the trees and the cool breeze coming off the river helped raise my spirits as I headed down Kelly Drive and onto the Parkway. By the time I made it to Christina’s house I wasn’t thinking about anything but sex.
“Damn, that was quick. It seems like I just hung up the phone.”
“Don’t worry. Getting here is the last quick thing that’s gonna happen tonight.”
My boys would have been ashamed of me that night. That white pussy turned me out like a trick. I acted like some lovestruck punk instead of the bonafide playa that I am, but that was the best pussy I’d ever had. Even though I had swore to myself that I would never do it to any woman except the woman I married, I went down and licked Christina’s sweet pussy like it was a coke spoon. Her tremendous breasts heaved as her breath caught in her throat and her hips ground against my face, her pelvis thrusting up to meet my eager tongue. Her body moved like electricity was coursing through her. I felt like a sucker, but I was enthralled by her. I had never seen a woman so beautiful outside of a movie. After her own orgasm tore through her making her buck like a wild stallion, she threw herself on me like a wolf lunging for the throat of a deer.
She made love to my dick with her mouth like it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. She was adoring of it, lavishing her affection upon my manhood as if it were an object of worship. When I came she lapped up every drop of my seed, gobbling it up like it was her only source of nourishment.
I fucked her in every orifice and she seemed to enjoy every position equally. She came with me in her ass as easily as she did with me in her vagina and even seemed on the verge of climax while giving head. There wasn’t a moment during the course of the night when she wasn’t stimulating me in some capacity. If I withdrew from her vagina she guided me straight into her mouth. If she took me out of her mouth she jacked me off between her luscious breasts. If they came out from between her breast she would guide me into her ass. On and on it went until we had more than half a dozen orgasms between us.
I roared like a lion when I came and she screamed like a murder victim and burst into tears. It was the most passionate sex I had ever had. When it was over I had the strongest urge to tell her I loved her. But my pride and my better sense kept me in check. I didn’t know shit about her no matter how well our bodies had communicated. Still, I felt something tender and powerful when I held her and it scared the shit out of me. Love at first sight was for punks and love at first fuck was for tricks. I needed to put as much distance as I could between me and Christina. I hopped out of bed and gathered up my clothes, dressing in a hurry and trying not to look at her flawless body. It was bad enough that I was working for a white boy without falling in love with some snowflake bitch too. I was pulling my Timberlands on my feet when she reached out and grabbed my arm.
“You have to leave?”
“I gots to get tha fuck out of here.”
Her eyes looked hurt. There was so much emotion in them that I felt something flutter in my heart. I turned away and continued pulling on my boots.
Maybe she had felt something too?
I dismissed the notion. This White girl didn’t know shit about me, besides, the way she fucked she probably had boyfriends all over the place. She damn sure wasn’t no virgin. Just another ho with some exceptionally good pussy. Nothing to get your emotions all twisted over.
“I love you, Malik. I hope you don’t mind me saying that?”
She looked up at me with those big emotion-filled eyes that seemed to implore me not to hurt her. I stared back at her speechless. I wanted to fall back into her arms and tell her I loved her too. I wanted to make love to her all over again and my flesh was signaling its own readiness with an urgent swelling that was almost painful after so much use already. Emotions were swirling within me like a maelstrom. For right or wrong, my pride won the battle.
“Get over it.” I finished lacing up by boots and walked out.
— | — | —
Chapter 16
“It is strangely ironic that the American white man is not really free. He is the victim of his own insanity. The free man is the man with no fear.”
—Dick Gregory, “Write Me In!”
««—»»
Scratch watched passively as fire consumed the decrepit old building. Soon it would collapse and disintegrate into little more than a pile of ash. Scratch leaned against his arterial-red BMW with the gold rims and grille, watching the human shapes within the flames writhe in agony, trying to escape cremation. One burning form flung itself out of the second story window, hit the concrete at Scratch’s feet, and lay still. Scratch nudged it with his boot to make sure the char-broiled body was dead. Another figure braved the front door.
Scratch raised his .44 and pointed it at the burning man as he staggered out of the house completely engulfed in flame. His lips parted wide as if he was trying to scream and fire erupted from his open mouth and poured from his nostrils and eyesockets. The drug-dealer lowered his weapon when the figure stumbled and fell onto the other bullet riddled corpses piled up outside the front door. No sense wasting a bullet. The fire had already killed him. The other smoldering carcasses re-ignited when the flames, still greedily consuming the burning body now convulsing on top of them, crawled down to devour their flesh as well. Scratch had shot each of them dead as they tried to escape the flames and still the fire had found them. Their skin bubbled and ran like frying lard, the subcutaneous fat popping like boiling oil.
Smoke billowed up into the night sky blotting out the stars. Scratch frowned in disappointment. Burning the entire house down had been extremely reckless, perhaps even careless, but Scratch was starting to lose his patience. He couldn’t afford to let that baby live. It would ruin everything, and he’d been almost positive that the bitch and her whelp would be here.
The smell of burning flesh was overpowering. It made Scratch’s mouth water. There were still screams coming from inside the crackhouse, but no one else had attempted to leave. Anyone still inside was already a corpse. Yet, still he could feel the baby’s presence. He’d failed again. Scratch climbed into his BMW and drove slowly away as sirens wailed in the distance heading for the fire.
He had managed to narrow things down a bit though. He’d raided every crackhouse in G-town now except one. Scratch was positive that she had to be there, unless she knew he was coming for her and had already left the neighborhood. Then he would be fucked.
If someone assassinated him while that kid was still alive it would be over, there would be no resurrection. He couldn’t allow that to happen. If man’s sins were forgiven then all his efforts would have been in vain. No matter what, that kid had to die first, but he was running out of time.
He didn’t know why he was so sure that it would be a crack baby. He just knew. It fit the profile. He also didn’t know why he was so positive that it would happen in Philly, in G-town, but over the centuries he’d gotten good at predicting these things. He recognized the patterns, the subtle nuances in the chain of cause and effect that inevitably led to His coming. He was in the right place, at the right time, and he was going to crucify that little fucker again, and again and again. Every time He reappeared, Scratch would be waiting to send Him back to his maker. He’d get him. He always had, always would, and that uppity little nigger, Snap, was going to help him. Th
is time, he wouldn’t even get his hands dirty.
“But where the fuck is the baby!” he shouted as he slammed his fists into the cherry wood-grain dashboard.
Any day now members of the Junior Black Gangsta Lords would be coming for him, to avenge their leader’s murder, and as long as that baby was safe in its mother’s womb Scratch was vulnerable. Once the little bastard was dead Scratch would be almost invincible. It wouldn’t matter how many times he was killed. He’d just keep coming back. Dr. Yaccub had made certain of that. The infernal energy that animated his flesh was eternal. He wasn’t a devil or a demon, but he was the next best thing.
— | — | —
Chapter 17
“Pass me the gat. I gotta stay strapped. I ain’t goin’ out on my muthafuckin’ back!”
—Brand Nubians, “Pass Me the Gat”
««—»»
“Yo, Snap? Yeah, dog. This is Scratch.”
“Da fuck do you want?”
Yaccub's Curse Page 24