T.H.U.G. L.I.F.E.

by Sanyika Shakur

  On October 3, Lapeace went to his preliminary hearing, a minitrial where the prosecution presents the state’s evidence and the judge alone must determine if there is enough evidence to bind the defendant over for trial in a superior court. Lapeace’s counsel had already filed a motion to override Prop. 115, which allows for a police officer to simply read the police report and from this scintilla of “evidence” bind a defendant for trial. He also filed a 995 Motion to Dismiss on the grounds of no eyewitnesses and no evidence (gun, tape, etc.).

  Sweeney’s notes, given by jailhouse rat Bennie Weems, were resoundingly rejected by the judge, who said they were “scandalously gathered.”

  “After careful observation of the factors presented before this court today, I am not convinced that there is enough evidence presented by the state to determine beyond a reasonable doubt that Mr. Shakur is complicit in the crimes charged. Therefore, I am granting the defense motion to dismiss.”

  The judge cleared his throat, shuffled some papers, and that was it. The courtroom buzzed with disbelief. Lapeace stood motionless for several seconds before looking back at Tashima and Aunt Pearl and mouthing I love you. He was then led out of the courtroom by a deputy.

  Lapeace was driven quickly back to the jail in a sheriff’s van. The sunshine outside, as the van moved through downtown L.A., never seemed so bright. His heart was light as a feather. At the jail, even the old filthy holding tank he had to wait in pending an escort back to High Power didn’t phase him. He paced the small space to and fro while thinking of all the things he needed to do. Especially follow up on the bloodline issue. His interest had been piqued and nothing was going to deter that. His sons were uppermost in his mind. Certainly he didn’t want them to grow up like him, not knowing. So that and their parental custody was his main priority.

  Back in the module he conveyed to Lil Blue Ragg his good fortune.

  “That’s the shit right there,” exclaimed Lil Ragg, smiling in spite of himself through the bars at Lapeace.

  “Hell yeah it is.”

  “Eh, Peace, what you gonna do when you touch down? I mean, like what you gon’ eat?” asked Lil Ragg, serious as hell about it.

  Lapeace at first thought the question odd and curious. He would think that most long-term prisoners thought about sex, about running up in something. But here was Lil Blue Ragg asking about food. And then it dawned on him about the actual length of time that Lil Ragg had been down in the county: four years. He could with just his month or so truly empathize with him. So why not indulge Lil Blue Ragg’s fancy?

  “Well, my girl—I gotta get out of that habit—my lady can cook like a champ, you know? So, it’s all about the green, red, and yellow stuffed bell peppers. Ground beef, turkey, and more ground beef. Seasoned with onions, tomato sauce, cheese, the works.”

  “Hell yeah!”

  “Then, I want some potatoes. French fries made from whole potatoes with the skin still on ’em. You feel me?”

  “Man, like a muthafucka. What you gonna be drinkin’ on, Peace?” asked Lil Blue Ragg, sounding like a starving man. He was holding on to the bars for dear life.

  “With my food, I’ll be sippin’ on some cherry soda. You know, that’s my favorite soda. But then after that, it’s blunts and booze, you know?”

  “Yeah,” said Lil Ragg, “but I don’t drink or smoke. I’ll knock a hole in some food, though.”

  Both Lapeace and Lil Ragg got a good laugh out of that. They chatted on until Lapeace remembered about the business at hand. He was so caught up in the revelry regarding his pending release that it had totally slipped his mind. Safi had confided to Lapeace that the district attorney had revealed that he was in possession of handwritten letters from Lapeace supposedly regarding the generals of the case. Lapeace knew immediately where those letters had come from. Luckily the kites gathered by Bennie were ruled inadmissible evidence by the judge. Still, he was in major violation, use or no use. He scribbled a quick note to Lil Blue Ragg. Having learned his lesson, he asked for the kites back once Lil Ragg had finished. Lil Ragg nodded his acknowledgment and sent the kite back. Lapeace tore it up and flushed it.

  “Shakur, roll your property up, you’re being released,” resounded the deputy’s metallic voice through the speaker system on the narrow tier.

  Lapeace said his so longs and was cuffed up by deputy Madrid to be escorted to booking front for release. As he passed Bennie Weems’s cell Lapeace looked in but Weems wouldn’t even venture a glance. His head was down as he pretended to busy himself with an imaginary task. No matter, his goose was cooked.

  Lapeace went through the tedious waiting process—the rigorous criminal index code searches for wants or warrants and then the degrading strip search before finally, some eleven hours later, he walked through the electronically operated door leading out onto Bauchet Street and Freedom. Ever the faithful, Tashima was parked right outside the door.When she saw Lapeace making his long strides up the sidewalk she bolted from the Lexus and started screaming Lapeace’s name.They embraced tightly, Shima up on her tiptoes, Lapeace bending forward to finish the embrace. Neither spoke. Shima had her face buried in Lapeace’s muscular neck. His face hung over her back.

  “Let’s get up outta here before they change their minds, huh?”

  “Yeah, you right about that big head,”Tashima chided, “but they gonna have to kill me to get you away from me again.”

  “I know that’s right. Let’s bounce.”

  After the meal and the wine and weed, the lovemaking came easy. No awkwardness or neglect.There was total involvement—complete satis faction. To Lapeace, Tashima was as lovely as ever. Her body was voluptuous, tight, and inviting. His to her was strong, muscular, and enduring. They lay spent, listening to (It’s the Way) Nature Planned It by the Four Tops.

  Lapeace spoke first.

  “Shima, I love you. I don’t want to live in this life without you. I need you. And you know I think, or rather I feel, we should get married. I mean, it’s just that . . . well, will you marry me, Tashima?”

  Tashima pulled herself up on her elbows to stare down into Lapeace’s face. She pulled back her tangle of braids.

  “Love, of course I’ll marry you. I am in love with you. But look, I don’t want to be married and registered with the state like a car. Or possessed like a thing.”

  “Do I treat you like that?” Lapeace quickly asked.

  “No, you don’t. But that’s how society tends to regard it. Which is why I want to have a private, personal wedding exclusively engineered by us.”

  “Okaaaaay . . .” Lapeace answered, indicating he was lost a bit.

  “What I mean is, we write our own vows, we have just our family there, and we jump the broom like our ancestors used to. What do you think about this?”

  “That sounds like a winner, love. But can we do it soon?”

  “How about this weekend?” Shima asked excitedly, breasts jiggling seductively.

  “Yes, this weekend will be just right. Sekou can come, right?”

  “You know Kou family.”

  “Cool.”

  On Saturday, October 5, another bright, sunny day in California, Lapeace and Tashima stood facing each other in Tashima’s backyard.They were dressed in ordinary clothes, those they’d wear every day—just like their love. Two exceptions: they both wore crowns and they both were barefooted. The crowns symbolized their Afrikan heritage, the bare feet their connection to Mother Earth. Aunt Pearl was the flower woman who spread red and white rose petals around lavishly. Sober and with a healthy sheen to her, Aunt Pearl beamed with pride and love. Sekou, their best friend, stood with his chest out, hands clasped right over left delighting in Lapeace’s freedom and happiness. His brown eyes sparkled with respect and admiration. Lapeace had shown him so many things—had given him such an example to follow that he could never not stand firm under any circumstances.

  Tafuta and Sundiata, ever the little child soldiers, were chain boys. After Tashima and Lapeace had read to each othe
r their handwritten vows, the boys stepped up and handed over two chains—a bracelet for Lapeace with Tashima’s name on it and an anklet for Tashima with “Lapeace” written on a small tag.

  Kody and Ramona stood as sentries. After Lapeace and Shima jumped the broom, Aunt Pearl walked up to both and planted kisses on their cheeks. She smiled pleasantly and then without warning jumped the broom.This prompted Tafuta and Sundiata to jump the broom. Kody and Ramona needed little encouragement. They sauntered up side by side and stepped all fours over the broom. Not to be left out Sekou, with his cool ass, strolled over to the broom and hopped over smiling. Everyone clapped and said “right on!”

  “Now,” Aunt Pearl said, “we are family for real. Let us rebuild and free the land!”

  Anyhow’s life hung dolefully in the balance at General Hospital. He was alive but not conscious. He could breath, but not on his own accord. He’d wasted away. He was not even a shell of his former self. And so it was that on that Saturday morning, October 5, Bingo, accompanied by Blain, came to visit their old friend one last time. They stood on opposite sides of the hospital bed staring down at the emaciated remains of their comrade. It had all come out that what the murdered messenger in the park had said about Any being tortured and then telling was true. Anyhow, a trusted member of their chapter of the Damu Nation had broken his oath and informed on a rival street combatant. Enemy or not, that was not the business. True to the game, Damu Ridahs didn’t swing it like that. Nor could they tolerate such weakness.

  Bingo pulled his red flag from his right back pocket and wrapped it twice around his right hand. Blain went to stand watch at the door. Bingo quickly smothered the little remaining life out of Anyhow’s wasted body. There was no struggle, no resistance. Bingo uttered a small final prayer to Satan as he folded and retucked his nation’s flag.

  Out in the noonday sun Bingo and Blain headed toward the San Fernando Valley. They caught the westbound Santa Monica out to the 405 North and exited at Palm and hung a right. At Orchard Street they slowed in the middle of a residential block momentarily and then came to a gliding stop. They quickly strapped up and exited the black Nissan Maxima.

  They approached the well-manicured house as if they’d been there before, walked up the flagstone walk to the potted porch, and rang the bell.

  “Just a minute,” intoned a masculine voice from within the dwelling. Moments later the door was pulled open and the look was truly a Kodak moment.

  “What . . . ?”

  Bingo and Blain rushed forward like Lawrence Taylor used to in his prime. They bumrushed Sweeney to his carpeted floor, beat him into submission, and bound him with duct tape. Sweeney kept crying and trying to bargain for his life, so Blain taped his mouth shut tight. He offered them drugs and money, guns and immunity—all to no avail. The Damus came for blood and soul. But first, they wanted to introduce him to a close friend of theirs called pain. Once Sweeney had met pain—unlike any he’d ever felt—he longed to embrace death. Though death was never to be rushed. So Blain and Bingo, knowing his fate, left Sweeney there in his bathtub dying an agonizing death—conscious the whole time.

  Mendoza sat in the same diner, at the same table he and Sweeney had always sat at, reading the morning paper. He sipped his strong coffee and tugged absentmindedly on his mustache. The main item was still the shocking discovery of homicide detective John Sweeney having been discovered murdered in his San Fernando Valley home the previous week. Though little was being said in print it was stated that the murder appeared to be the work of a deranged group of devil worshippers. The slaying appeared to be ritualistic.

  Mendoza tipped his coffee cup, drained the last bit, folded his paper, and readied himself to leave. His new partner, Michell Anderson, an African American, stood and folded her arms into her coat.

  “You know, partner,” mused Mendoza, “this life is often what we make it to be.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Bulletproof Love is extended to the Monster Nation (Lil, Tiny, Sista, and Young) ; China, Erica, and Tray; Omar (Chico) Dent; Lil Sidewinder, Big Skull, Lil Cavey, Water, Tybud, Boom and Young Quentin; Big Flip; the Dog Fam; the Menace Crew; Big, Lil, Baby, and Sista Sodi; the Stag-Nation; Big and Lil GC; Big, Lil, Baby, and Tiny Diamond. The West, North, Bacc, South, Far, Deep, and Hanford.

  Bulletproof Unity is extended to the Provisional Government-Republic of New Afrika; the Spear and Shield Collective/ Crossroads Support Network; the Black August Kollective and All New Afrikan Political Prisoners and Prisoners of War. The August Third Collective and all other forces active in the New Afrikan Independence Movement. Free the Land!

  Bulletproof Appreciation is extended to Thomas Lee Wright —Friend Extraordinaire (Thanx for everything); Jay-Z (you shot that homie!); Willie D, Scarface, Bushwick (good lookin’); Nutty Brain, Lil Mad Dog, Garland, Shaggy (Keep it Moving!); my editor Andrew Robinton (the smooth operator!); my publisher Morgan (thanks for having faith in a cat); Danny Osborn (South Bay’s finest); Teri Woods (my favorite writer). My attornies H. Russell and Stacie of Halpern and Halpern (the Dream Team—thanx). D-Rocc from DuRocc (Eternal Love); Snoop Dogg, Tray Deee, Goldie Loc, C-Style (i Love Your Life). Antoine Fuqua (a true friend, thank you!) Nitra (thanx for the three-way calls), Big Oso Azusa (Right on for the “you know”), and my dearest Comrad-Sista Thandisizwe Chimurenga—perfect love.