Ties to the Hood

by Aija Monique

“Yeah, okay! I hope you ain’t trickin’ yo’ chips on that bitch I just saw you wit’!”

  “What the fuck! You stalkin’ me now, Brandy?”

  “Naw, but yo’ name is deep in circulation. I’m curious to know what got your dick so hard you can’t think straight. I’m too through, ma nigga got his head so far up his ass he following up behind some bitch. Thought I would check this shit out myself.”

  “Man, leave that bitch out of yo’ jealous-ass issues. She don’t matter. She just a bitch from the club I got some head from.”

  “Nigga, I ain’t dumb! The hood talkin’, Phil. I hear they calling the two of you Bonnie and Clyde. Hell, you filthy rich.” Brandy gritted her teeth and turned her nose up, exposing her top grill. It became obvious to Phil that Brandy’s money-hungry ass wanted something from him. He couldn’t be certain she wouldn’t set his ass up.

  Phil pulled over to the side of the road. He was more than interested in what Brandy had to say. He honestly got to thinking about all the shit he and Porsha did and how she could easily roll over on him to the police or to rival gangs. He couldn’t trust a word she said.

  “So what you sayin’, Brandy?”

  “I’m sayin’ yo’ ass is slippin’. I’m way in Merced, nigga, and I’m hearin’ that ma baby daddy kickin’ it tough with this trick from the suburbs. Hood Robin, not Robin Hood, who steals from the hood. Where they do that at?” Brandy was more than disgusted at Phil’s bitchassness.

  Phil was hot under the collar. His mind was wandering. He caught only one or two words Brandy said.

  “I think I better make sure her ass knows what’s good for her.” Phil left it at that and told Brandy he would hit her later.

  “No worries, Daddy,” Brandy said to herself. She had a mission of her own to accomplish.

  * * *

  Cyrus was pissed. After perusing the blocks, he governed he found his goons cupcaking with everything that walked down the block instead of servicing customers. He ran up, busting a few heads as he gave his troops one final warning. Cyrus had plans on searching for Phil. He needed to find out where his head was at. He didn’t want to cross him or Shun, but he had one thing on his mind, and that was to get rid of Porsha before she got Phil killed. Cyrus knew just where to find his pussy-crazed ass. Right at Porsha’s house. Only when he got there he caught sight of her and Shun talking, so he ducked out of sight.

  Cyrus waited for Shun to get into his car before he pulled up a few cars down the block. Cyrus did a small canvas of the area before he was to make his way to Porsha’s home. He waited in the dark for another ten minutes to make sure all was quiet inside the residence. After the coast was clear, he bounced out of his car to approach the house. Only he caught sight of Phil bouncing outside the house slamming the front door behind him. Cyrus quickly retreated back to his car and watched Phil hop into Porsha’s car and drive off.

  Cyrus smiled excitedly. The bitch was left home all alone, and Cyrus was met with the perfect opportunity to clear shit up quick and easy. He waited a few minutes to see if maybe Phil was going to just round the block a few times before returning Porsha’s car. He put on his “murder one” leather gloves and checked his weapon twice. The sun was beginning to set. Cyrus was getting anxiously excited to kill, as if he had a hunger for blood.

  * * *

  Brandy hung up the phone with Phil and immediately put a phone call in to her mother to check on little Phil. After making sure he was fine, she hopped out of her two-door Toyota and headed straight toward Porsha’s crib. It was dark. She welcomed it. She didn’t want Porsha to see her coming. She wanted to have a small word with her about her dealings with her baby daddy.

  Cyrus saw Brandy walking rapidly down the block with a heavy puff coat and beanie hat on. At first, he thought maybe she was one of Porsha’s girls from the club, but he knew Brandy’s phat ass from anywhere.

  What the fuck is she doing here? Cyrus thought to himself. Brandy stopped suddenly when she heard a car alarm sound. Cyrus had to duck quickly before she caught sight of him.

  When Brandy felt the coast was clear, she continued on in her mission. Cyrus just shook his head and pulled out his cell phone, excited to see the catfight that was about to go down.

  Brandy didn’t hesitate to knock on Porsha’s front door as if she were the police. Porsha was startled by the knock but assumed it had to be Shun since Phil had a key. Excited, she hopped up and adjusted her lace boy cut undies as she trotted to the front door, opening it wide without hesitation.

  Brandy’s head was down, and her hands were buried deep in her pockets.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Porsha asked with an attitude when she realized it wasn’t dick at the door.

  Brandy lifted her head to look Porsha dead in the face. “Your worst fucking nightmare!” she responded, as she quickly pulled out her .22 and shot Porsha in the chest. Porsha backed into her living room. Brandy bolted past her into the house to get Phil’s bags and then left the scene like a gust of wind.

  After the shot rang out, Cyrus scooted down in his old-school Camaro and put the pedal to the metal, cussing the entire way back to Shun’s apartment.

  “Shit shit shit!” he was pissed. First of all, it was his job. Second, it was done so sloppy he would have to do something to make sure Brandy wasn’t implicated in the murder. Brandy was a druggy, but she was still his boy’s baby mama. She was under the protection rule. Cyrus couldn’t tell Shun because his intentions were to kill Porsha himself, and his presence was fishy. Cyrus stopped by the liquor store so he could grab some blunt wraps and a few beers. There his wheels began to turn.

  Perhaps Brandy wasn’t there to check Porsha at all about Phil. Her intentions were to rob Porsha of the loot from the gate. How much did Phil know about this? Cuz how else would Brandy know what to retrieve from Porsha’s apartment?

  CHAPTER 8

  The Culprit

  “What the fuck!” Cyrus said to himself, rolling himself a blunt. He thought about following Brandy to let her know that he saw the shooting. She needed to keep her mouth shut. Only, he couldn’t say shit because he had no business being at Porsha’s in the first place. Part of Cyrus’s conscience tugged at his heart. He felt like his deceptive ways would destroy his relationship with Shun. His intentions were good. Porsha was endangering the lives of both Shun and Phil. She was driving a wedge between the two of them. Cyrus knew he should talk to Brandy before her stupid ass went to Phil talking shit about poppin’ Porsha, but he didn’t. Brandy knew Phil was a hothead, but damn near didn’t understand the complexity of the situation.

  After all, Porsha was Shun’s girl to begin with, another piece of the puzzle that didn’t look good on Brandy’s end. Just because Shun felt some type of way presently about the woman didn’t mean he wouldn’t ride or die for her. Cyrus could tell that he loved her.

  * * *

  Brandy hopped in her car, desperate to flee the scene. She was nervous and shaky. She had to get the hell out of Dodge. Her initial plan was to rob Phil, but when he didn’t have the time to lounge, her plans changed. Brandy had to admit she was relieved he wasn’t at Porsha’s place, because she would’ve been forced to take the father of her son out as well.

  Brandy knew the codes of the hood. She was born and bred there. However, with her present financial situation, her code of ethics were gray, at best. She couldn’t return home without the money she owed to the bounty hunters collecting for drug and gambling debts.

  Brandy hurriedly took off down the road. She was driving at least twenty miles over the speed limit. Sweating like a pig, she struggled to take off her puff coat. Weaving down the road, she snorted a line of coke while coasting down the avenue.

  Cyrus could see how wide Brandy’s eyes were in passing traffic. He pulled out of the parking lot and proceeded to follow her as she drove straight out of Kern County.

  Brandy was driving so crazy, Cyrus knew she would cancel herself out. She was heading straight for a car accident. Somehow, she made it off
the freeway and pulled into a quiet neighborhood just under the bridge of the highway.

  Cyrus pulled up right behind her. She was so on she hadn’t noticed Cyrus at all. He sat back and waited as he watched Brandy stash the duffle bag, puff coat, and gun in the trunk of the car. She wanted to get rid of all the evidence quick, fast, and in a hurry. When she was finished concealing her dirty deed, Cyrus jumped out of his car to corner her.

  “Brandy!” he said, with a deep bass and rasp in his voice. She was visibly shaken and refused to turn around to face him. “It’s okay. It’s me, Cyrus.”

  Brandy let out a sigh of relief and fell into Cyrus’s arms crying hysterically. “I did it! I don’t know what came over me, but I did it. I couldn’t stand how smug that bitch was just standing there as if she was the innocent one in all this. She has Shun and Phil bickering like they’re the worst of enemies.”

  “I know. Now I have to clean this shit up, though, Brandy. You just basically killed this bitch unauthorized. I was there. I saw you.” Cyrus noticed that Brandy failed to mention the rather large duffle bag in the trunk of the car.

  Brandy stood and watched Cyrus’s eyes for a few moments trying to gauge what type of repercussions she would have to endure in order for him to keep his mouth closed about the situation.

  “What do I do now?”

  “Nothing. Just keep your mouth closed. But first, you’re going to tell me what’s in that duffle bag.”

  * * *

  Shun got back to his apartment and felt the pang of his injuries burning his back so profusely he thought about checking himself back into the hospital. Cyrus was nowhere to be found, and Phil had yet to pick up his phone. After much thought, he decided he didn’t want to be alone, so he took the trip back to Porsha’s apartment. He drove past first to check things out. He didn’t want things to be awkward, him showing up knowing she and Phil were involved and him actually being there.

  As he drove by, he noticed that Porsha’s door was wide open and a figure seemed to be lying in the doorway. Shun quickly spun his car around and jumped out as fast as his body would allow. He didn’t make it past the bottom stair before he noticed it was Porsha lying breathless. He fell against the rails of the porch and began to cry. How could Phil allow this to happen to a girl he was supposed to be dating? Shun was furious. He called Phil once more and was sent straight to voice mail. He didn’t bother to leave a message. He quickly hung up and called 911.

  Shun thought about the fact that he broke out of the hospital unauthorized. The bullet wounds suggested he was a criminal. So he made sure to let the medics know all the details and got out of there before the police came. Shun was speeding down the road. He didn’t notice Phil breezing by him as he drove down the highway. Phil caught notice of him, but since Shun didn’t acknowledge him, he didn’t bother to do the same.

  Phil slowed a few houses down the block when he saw all the commotion. He crept up slow. He didn’t know exactly whose apartment the medics were at. When he noticed it was Porsha’s apartment, his stomach completely dropped. All he could see was a gurney and a body covered with a sheet. He couldn’t stop. He didn’t know what the circumstances were. He had no choice but to keep going before anyone took notice of him. He was also driving the woman’s car.

  Phil’s mind raced as he drove. He watched as his phone showed two missed calls. He noticed it was Shun. His first inclination was to return his call; however, he didn’t know how he was going to explain Porsha’s murder, being that he stormed out on her and took her car. Phil couldn’t be sure who killed Porsha.

  * * *

  Shun hit the corner to the bar and pulled his car in haphazardly. The day had turned into evening and the dark clouds formed into a thunderous rain. He turned his car off and just sat staring at the rain beating upon his windshield. Tears began to well in his eyes. He couldn’t think straight. He loved Phil but hated him at the same time. Perhaps Porsha revealed how she truly felt about him, and it set Phil off. Still, that was no reason to kill her. Could Phil have killed Porsha just to spite him?

  * * *

  Phil knew that Shun loved Porsha, but to kill her based on the fact that she chose him was some ole bitch shit. He picked up his phone and dialed Shun’s number. He shook his knee waiting anxiously for him to pick up.

  Shun felt his phone vibrating, but couldn’t pull himself together enough to answer it. “Fuck. I gotta get ma head togetha’.” Shun shook off his worries and proceeded to open his car door—only to be met by a nigga standing dead in his face with his gun drawn.

  * * *

  Brandy was tweaking out of her mind. Her body was moving in all kinds of directions involuntarily as Cyrus stood waiting for an answer about the contents of the duffle bag.

  “Nothing, just some clothes.”

  “Bitch, you gon’ stand here and lie to me? How long you been on that shit again? Who you owe? How did you know where to get it? You do know that you just signed a death wish, right? You just stole the bread from all the licks Porsha and Phil pulled around Kern County. You just implicated yourself. The only thing here is that somebody was gon’ get Porsha regardless. It was just a matter of time. Phil maybe, but he would never have involved the mother of his child, Brandy.”

  Brandy just stood with her eyes shut, as if in some diluted trance.

  “Go get the duffle bag from the car and give it me.”

  “I can’t. I have to get that money back home before they kill my son.”

  “Nothing is going to happen. You just do what I say, and I will make sure you have something for that itch.”

  Brandy grew anxious at the thought of drugs in her system. She calmed and walked quickly to the trunk of the car and pulled out the duffle bag. She handed it to Cyrus. “What now?”

  “Go home!”

  Cyrus was trying desperately not to blush at his come up. He needed the money just about as bad as Brandy. He had an issue with gambling, and he owed a substantial amount of money to a very dangerous man named Tommy.

  Tommy was well-spoken, educated, and ran a few clubs in Bakersfield. That was his cover. He was a cool cat, until you fucked with his money. Cyrus’s gambling addiction took form in one of Tommy’s most elite clubs. A few weeks later, Tommy loaned Cyrus the money to clear up his life. The mortgage was due, his wife was pregnant, Cyrus was desperate. He was in over his head.

  * * *

  Shun gingerly dragged his other leg out of the car to look directly in the face of the man standing with the gun.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “Where’s Cyrus? Where’s my money?”

  CHAPTER 9

  Sole Proprietorship

  “You don’t remember me, do you? Naw! How could you? You and Phil run the streets, right? We bottom-feeders don’t matter. But you gon’ learn today! I may be a goon, but I ride or die in all aspects of the word. This is how niggas get caught up. Sad, this truly don’t have a thing to do with you and Phil. Though I reckon one of these cats gon’ get they chance at poppin’ the both of you. It’s all about the almighty dolla, but I guess you already know that. Ya boy owe my boys some money. I ran fa him, so ma man’s got a fuckin’ bulldog on me, ya feel me? It’s a fuckin’ dog-eat-dog world. So now, you gon’ have to cough up the bread fa ya boy because you vouch fo’ ’im. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be on ya team.”

  “Yo, he rock wit’ me, but his debt is on his helmet.”

  “I didn’t ask you for an explanation or a question, at that. I’m tellin’ you. You got forty-eight hours to come up with fifty stacks. Cyrus owes ma people. And if I were you, I’d watch ma back. Because he got a problem. This gambling shit will get you smoked fast.”

  “Gambling? This nigga trickin’ his chips on bets?”

  “To each his own.”

  Right, Shun thought as he looked down the barrel of a gun. At least, this time, he had a moment to contemplate the situation. He was given a chance to look back on his life and view some of the good with the bad. The truth was, his only
desire was to be comfortable. Escape the gnawing the hood had on the hem of his coat. It was like every time he tried to pull out, the bitch pulled ’im in deeper, trapping him. Then, boom: pregnant baby mama, drugs get a nigga caught up, do a bid in jail. Get out! Same fuckin’ routine. A circle of disease, depression, and frustration.

  Shun couldn’t think straight. He couldn’t believe this nigga wasn’t man enough to confront Cyrus about his shit eitha. Except he knew exactly why he chose the wounded to take care of things. Cyrus was a fuckin’ shoota all day. He didn’t ask no questions. Period—before or after. That was the main reason the man was on the team. Now, this gambling shit could be a potential problem. Because if shit heated up, he could fuck around and steal from the hand that fed ’im. Thus far, he hadn’t been confronted with such an issue. Just a man with misplaced anger and fear for his own life. So Shun thought better to give him a pass and simply let the man know he would relay the message.

  “I’ll let him know,” Shun chimed in as the man was busy on the phone talking to a bitch. Shun couldn’t believe it. How you a stickup king and takin’ calls while you supposed to be robbin’ or checkin’ a nigga? Shun twiddled his thumbs as the man pointed a finger as if to quiet Shun as he finished his conversation.

  “Yo!” the winded gun holder said after a full five-minute argument with his girl. He’d called her so many “bitches” and “hoes” that the “I love you” before the “good-bye” was insulting. “We clear?”

  “Crystal!” Shun shut the door to his car and limped into the bar as planned. He’d had a long day. The best part of it, at that point, was he’d dodged anotha bullet.

  * * *

  Cyrus jumped into his whip and headed back to Shun’s to meet up with the nurse. She was supposed to stay the night. Shun was getting better at caring for himself but needed fresh stitches on the wound on his clavicle that burst open during his exercises. He was determined to get full use of his right arm back. He felt like a cripple.

  Cyrus accelerated as he got off the freeway. He sped through Kern County like he owned the place. The bag of money was sliding across the backseat, disturbing his thoughts. “I’ma pay this man this money, and then I’m not fuckin’ wit’ this shit no more. Do this run wit’ Shun, then I’m straight,” he said to himself as he noticed the money sliding about through his rearview mirror. It was like it was hypnotizing Cyrus, the back-and-forth motions calling out to him—calls he desperately tried to ignore. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to get his gambling under control.