Travon bolted from his bed. “Frog! What the fuck?” He quickly gathered his tennis shoes from the floor. “All right, here I come!”
Marcus smiled, and closed the door behind him. Travon retrieved his handgun from off of the floor. He was glad that Marcus had not noticed it, because he would have hated the questions that would have followed. He had no answers for them. Besides, yesterday was a day that he desperately wanted to forget.
Travon took several extra clips from his nightstand drawer, and stuffed them in his pockets. Then he reached beneath his mattress and grabbed four of the thousand dollar wads that he kept hidden there. He placed the money rolls into his already bulging pockets and then bounded down the stairs and out of the door.
“What’s up, Jr.?” Travon greeted his cousin. “What’s up, Ace?”
Robert Jr. turned to see who had spoken to him. “What’s up, kinfolk?” he asked, after seeing that it was Travon.
Ace nodded. “What’s up, Tre?” He greeted his friend with a broad smile.
“Shit, nothing,” Travon replied. “Where’s Frog?”
“He’s in the car,” Robert Jr. told him.
Marcus bounded out of the front door. “Y’all ready to bail?”
Robert Jr. nodded. “Yeah, let’s go.”
The boys walked down the front porch steps to Robert Jr.’s small gray Hyundai and climbed inside. Travon slid into the backseat.
“What’s up, my nigga?” Travon shouted to Frog, who was seated in the front passenger seat, fiddling with the radio.
“Shit, nothing, Blood!” Frog replied, turning and raising up in his seat.
Travon leaned forward and the two boys embraced.
“What have you been up to?” Travon asked.
Frog shrugged his thin, knobby shoulders. “Shit, nothing but chilling. Trying to get my shit straight.”
Robert Jr. started his car, and the boys headed for Caesar’s auto lot.
“Man, I ain’t seen you since you left the Courts and went to Cali,” Travon told Frog. “Man, how was it?”
Frog shook his head and smiled. “Shit, same as here. I liked it. Fine-ass bitches, and hardheaded-ass niggaz killing each other. You know how it is, the world is a ghetto, baby! Ain’t nothing changing but the location and the name.”
Travon nodded. “I hear you, fool. Trust me, I hear you.” He turned and peered out of the window. “So, how long have you been back?”
“For about a month now,” Frog told him. “I got me a little shorty now. He and his momma came back with me.”
Travon sat up in his seat. “Bullshit! You ain’t got no muthafuckin’ kid, nigga!” He slapped Frog across his shoulder. “I doubt if yo ugly ass even got some pussy yet!”
The boys laughed.
“Yeah, man, I seen his little shorty.” Ace nodded. “He looks just like this nigga.”
Travon shook his head. “Damn, that’s fucked up. Why you do that kid like that?”
“Nigga, fuck you!” Frog told Travon. “I’ma handsome muthafucka!”
The boys laughed and talked until finally; they arrived at the car lot. It was a small mom-and-pop car lot, consisting of a trailer, the surrounding parking lot, and about ten to fifteen cars ranging in ages from three to more than ten years old.
“I see that muthafucka now!” Marcus told them, pointing out the Oldsmobile.
“Damn!” Travon said excitedly. “That muthafucka is clean!”
“Hell yeah,” Robert Jr. added.
The boys climbed out of the Hyundai and walked to where the Oldsmobile was parked. They surrounded the car and examined the body for any dints or dings.
“He only wants two grand for it?” Ace asked, peering at the sticker. “Shit, Tre, that’s a win.”
“Man, it is on hit,” Frog added.
The door to the trailer swung open and a short chubby gentleman with an oily S-Curl strutted out. He was forty-something, with graying strands of hair interspersed within the black. He flashed a quick grin at his potential customers, displaying a rather shiny gold tooth sitting prominently in the front of his mouth.
“You like that one, huh?” Caesar asked.
“I’ll give you fifteen hundred dollars for it, right now,” Travon told him.
The salesman shook his head, declining Travon’s offer. “I can’t go no lower than two thousand for it. The A/C blows cold, has power everything, and it even has a power sunroof.”
Travon nodded. “All right then, I’ll give you eighteen hundred for it.”
The salesman folded his arms, lifted his hand to his chin, and thought about the offer for several moments. “I think I can swing eighteen hundred. But you have to pay for the title change and get it done yourself.”
Travon shrugged. “Cool.”
“What’s your name, son?” the salesman asked.
“Tre.”
Caesar nodded toward the trailer. “C’mon inside and we’ll do some paperwork. Do you wanna take her out for a spin first?”
“No,” Travon shook his head. “My kinfolk says that it’s all right.”
“Do you wanna start her up and hear how she sounds?” Caesar asked. “That motor is so quiet, you’ll forget that the car is running.”
Again, Travon shook his head. “Naw, it’s cool.”
Caesar led Travon into the trailer, leaving the others to look around and examine the other vehicles on the lot. Caesar seated himself behind his cheap faux-wood desk, while Travon took the metal folding chair opposite him.
“You look kind of young. Whose name are you gonna put this car in?”
“My aunt’s,” Travon told him. He pulled out his money, counted out eighteen hundred dollars, and handed it to Caesar.
“Okay.” Caesar stood. “That’s about all the paperwork we really need to take care of.” He pulled a pair of keys off of a key holder that was mounted on the trailer wall, and tossed them to Travon. “I want you to take this title and the bill of sale that I’m going to give you, and go down to the title office. There, pay the tax on your vehicle, and the fee, and then you’re straight. But you’ll need to take your aunt down there with you; don’t forget that.”
Travon nodded and rose. “All right, cool. Hey, I appreciate your help. I’ll holler at you another time.”
“Thank you,” Caesar told him. “It’s good doing business with you. If you have any other partners looking for some wheels, shoot ’em my way.”
“I’ll do that,” Travon told him, exiting the office.
“Hey, you forgot your bill of sale!” Caesar told him.
Travon turned and hurried back to the trailer door, where Caesar handed him the sales slip.
“You’ll need to take that with you, don’t forget,” Caesar told him.
“Alright,” Travon replied. He turned, and hurried over to his newly purchased vehicle, beaming with the pride of a new father. “I’m going to put some humps in it right now!”
“Aw shit!” Frog shouted. “Don’t do it like that, Tre! Look at my homie Tre balling!”
“I’ma roll with you,” Marcus declared.
“Me too,” Frog told him.
“Say Jr., when you hear me coming through the hood pounding, just pull your shit over and cut the stereo off,” Travon told his cousin with a gigantic smile.
Robert Jr. smiled back, and then shot Travon the finger.
The boys piled into their vehicles, and Travon headed for the stereo shop, just off of Interstate 35. Robert Jr. followed just behind. The boys were caught by a traffic light at the intersection of New Braunsfels and Houston Street. On one corner of this busy thoroughfare sat a liquor store, on another sat a pawn shop. An H.E.B. grocery store occupied one of the corners, while a Jack in the Box fast-food restaurant sat on the other.
“Tre! Tre!” Marcus tapped frantically at his cousin’s shoulder.
Travon peered over his shoulder at Marcus. “What’s up?”
Marcus pointed. “Look who just got out of the car at Jack in the Box!”
Travon turned toward the hamburger joint. It was Re-Re, with a female companion.
Travon rolled down his window and waved his hand frenetically, in order to get Robert Jr.’s attention. Robert lifted his hand into the air asking his cousin what he wanted. Travon activated his right turn signal, turned, and then made a quick left up into the parking lot of the restaurant. Robert Jr. followed.
The boys parked, climbed out of their vehicles, and met in the parking lot.
“That’s the muthafucka from Pletz Park,” Travon explained. “He’s one of the ones that pulled straps on us and made us catch out.”
“If it wasn’t for him, Romeo wouldn’t have gotten shot, because we wouldn’t have had to wreck shit,” Marcus added.
“What do y’all want to do, kill that nigga in broad daylight?” Robert Jr. asked.
“We can make it look like a robbery,” Ace suggested.
Travon shook his hands like an umpire calling an out. “Naw, we still one up on them niggaz. I just want to make him bow down and catch out, like he did us.”
Robert Jr. knew that they were about to play a dangerous game. He lived by the maxim, “You don’t pull out a gun, unless you’re going to use it.” He was the most experienced of the boys present, and he far outranked them. But still, he acquiesced.
“Okay.” Robert shrugged.
“Let’s mob,” Marcus said, leading them inside.
Re-Re and his girl were just sitting down with their food, when Travon and the boys approached. Travon took the seat next to the girl, while Marcus seated himself next to Re-Re. Robert Jr. seated himself at the table directly across from them, Ace found a seat next to Travon, and Frog occupied a booth just behind Re-Re. They had him surrounded.
“What’s up, Re-Re?” Travon asked. He placed his arm around the shoulder of Re-Re’s female companion. “Hey, baby, what’s up? What’s your name?”
“Nikki,” she replied bashfully.
Re-Re had been stunned into silence. His eyes bulged from their sockets and his mouth hung open. Fear prevented him from speaking.
“Close your mouth,” Frog told him. He too was a former classmate of Re-Re. “You’re attracting flies.”
“What’s in the bag, Re-Re?” Marcus asked. He lifted the sack from the table and began rummaging through it. “Ooooh, fries! I love Jack in the Crack’s fries!” Marcus began to eat the French fries one by one.
“Don’t be rude, Marcus,” Travon told him. “Give the lady her food.”
“What’s yours?” Marcus asked her.
“The chicken sandwich and some fries,” Nikki answered. She lifted her drink from the table and sipped from it.
Marcus rumbled through the bag and found her food.
“This one must be yours, Re-Re,” Travon said, reaching for the remaining cup on the table. He lifted the cup and swirled the contents around. “Mmmm, milkshake. I’ll tell you what. If it’s strawberry, I’ll let you eat your food before I kill you. But if it’s chocolate, we’ll eat your food before we kill you.”
Marcus leaned over and spoke directly into Re-Re’s ear. “Either way, you’re gonna die, ass wipe.” He handed Nikki her food.
Travon lifted a straw from the table and removed the paper wrapping from around it. He inserted the straw into the cup.
“I hope that it’s chocolate, Re-Re, because I am kinda hungry.” Travon lifted the cup to his lips and sipped. “Bingo! It’s chocolate!”
Marcus took Re-Re’s hamburger, tore it in two, and handed Travon half. They immediately began to wolf the burger down.
Robert Jr. rose, walked to where Re-Re was seated and began searching him. Re-Re had no weapons on him, so Robert Jr. reseated himself. Travon and Marcus devoured the burger and then Travon leaned to his side and kissed Nikki on her cheek. He turned and faced Re-Re.
“Who’s on top now, muthafucka?” Travon asked. He pulled from his waistband the massive fifty magnum Desert Eagle he carried, and placed the weapon on the table just in front of him.
Robert Jr. pulled out his Taurus nine-millimeter and held it in his hand, just in case Re-Re managed to grab hold of Travon’s weapon.
“Can you say BSV is on top?” Travon asked Re-Re. “Come on; let me hear you say BSV.”
Marcus, who was seated next to Re-Re, nudged him in his side. Re-Re jumped and passed gas loudly.
“You can say it, Re-Re,” Marcus said. “C’mon, let’s hear it. BSV is on top.”
“Say BSV is on top, Blood,” Travon repeated.
Marcus pointed to Travon’s weapon. “Can you imagine the size of the hole from that thing?”
Re-Re cut his eyes toward the gun, and then shifted his gaze back to Travon.
Travon leaned forward. “I’ll tell you what. If you can say BSV is on top, we might let you make it.”
Re-Re, who like most Crips was scared to death of Robert Jr., shifted his gaze to the floor and relented. “You on top. You got me, it’s BSV.”
“That’s good,” Travon told him. “That’s real good to hear you say that. Now, can you say East Terrace ain’t shit, Blood?”
Re-Re looked at Nikki, and then back at Travon. “You know me can’t say dat, Tre.”
“So, you do have some nuts somewhere,” Marcus told him.
“I guess I’ll let you make it,” Travon told him. “You gave us a pass, so now I’m a give you one. But no more passes, Re-Re. If I see you again, it’s on!”
“Don’t get caught slippin’ again, Blood,” Marcus told him. “And to make sure that the message sinks in, break yourself!”
Re-Re removed his jewelry and emptied his pockets onto the table. Marcus raked the jewelry and money off of the table and put it inside of his pockets.
“Say, baby, you want something else to eat?” Travon asked Nikki.
“No,” she replied shyly.
Travon stood and placed his gun in his waistband. He turned to leave.
“Tre, you slippin’!” Robert Jr. told him. He turned toward Marcus. “Y’all supposed to be teaching him what’s up.”
Marcus was puzzled. “What are you talking about?”
Robert Jr. turned back to Travon. “Rule number one, never trust a crab bitch!” Robert Jr. rose, and walked to where Nikki was seated. “You’s a cute bitch, but you’re still a crab bitch. Give me the muthafuckin’ purse, ho!”
Nikki lifted her purse into the air and Robert snatched it. He seated himself and began to ramble through the purse. Inside, he found a Lorcin .380 semiautomatic pistol. Robert Jr. stared at Travon, and then at Marcus.
“The reason why this nigga ain’t packin’ is because his bitch is.” Robert Jr. held the pistol in the air, allowing it to dangle loosely between his thumb and forefinger. With his other hand, he tossed Nikki her imitation Dooney & Bourke purse and turned to Travon. “Shake the ho down.”
Travon pat searched Nikki. “She’s clean.”
“This could have been one of us, as soon as we turned our backs to leave,” Robert Jr. told them.
“It would have been for all y’all slobs!” Nikki shouted.
Robert Jr. punched Nikki in her jaw, sending her crashing back onto the table. Re-Re stood, but Travon, Marcus, Frog, and Ace all drew their weapons. Re-Re plopped back down into the booth.
“Let’s go,” Robert told them.
The boys concealed their weapons, turned, and walked out of the restaurant.
“Say, Tre,” Robert Jr. called out to him, as they were climbing into their respective vehicles. “I’ll see y’all back in The Jungle in a little while.”
Travon rolled down his car window and closed his door. “All right, kinfolk. We’ll get with you later.”
The boys pulled out of the restaurant parking lot, and Travon headed for Custom Sounds.
“Man, did you see that dude’s face when we sat down?” Marcus asked.
Travon laughed. “Yeah, I thought he was gonna shit himself.”
“He almost did when I nudged him!” Marcus laughed.
The rest of the boys joined
in the laughter, as they continued toward their destination.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The Stereo Shop
Two Hours Later
Bass notes resonated loudly throughout the area.
“Is that my shit?” Travon asked.
A short young white guy peered out of the shop’s large glass window. “Yeah, I think that’s yours.” He turned back to Travon. “The Oldsmobile, right?”
“Yeah,” Travon answered proudly.
“Boy, Tre, your shit is hittin’!” Frog told him.
“I think your shit might be louder than Fro-Dog’s,” Marcus added.
Travon beamed proudly. A slim Asian installer with a white T-shirt, a pair of blue jean shorts, and a white baseball cap turned backward walked in. He pointed at Travon.
“We are just about finished with your alarm system,” he informed Travon. “The stereo system is done.”
Travon walked out to his car, where he marveled at the loud, crisp sounds emanating from the speakers. Another young Asian technician was lying on the floorboards, working on something beneath the dashboard. A tall, slim white technician was working beneath the hood. Travon could tell that it had to do with the alarm’s siren, because of the intermittent chirps that pierced the air. He walked to the rear of the car, where he peered into the trunk and watched the subwoofers work.
Inside the trunk sat four fifteen-inch subwoofers, mounted in what the technicians called an isobaric configuration. In this configuration the subwoofers were mounted facing one another, and one of the speakers within each pair had their polarities reversed, so that they could help one another push and pull. The effects were tremendous.
In addition to the subwoofers, the trunk also played host to four amplifiers, on very large electronic crossover, and a twenty-disc CD changer. Travon marveled at the seemingly built-in installation, shook his head, and then ventured back into the waiting area.
“Here’s your receipt, Mr. Robinson,” the clerk said, handing Travon a yellow slip.
Outside, the alarm system blared loudly as the technicians put the final touches on it. Inside, the boys fiddled with the stereo systems on display until they were finally told that the car was ready.
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