Hood Misfits, Volume 2

by Brick

  “Wait, where Trigga and them?” I asked.

  “They’ll meet us back at the flat,” was all she said as pulled off.

  We rode in silence. No words passing between the two of us for a moment.

  “Who’s Chyna?” I finally asked.

  She glanced at me. “Nobody.”

  I could tell that was all I would get out of her on that subject, so I left it alone.

  “You did damn good back there,” she then said.

  “Thanks.”

  That was the gist of our conversation as we pulled in the parking lot. Nightfall was upon us. The hair still stood on the back of my neck. Maybe that was the reason I exited the truck with a bat in my hand. I grabbed it from the back seat as soon as we stopped. I found that anytime I killed somebody with a gun or knife, it sickened me. Still, I grabbed another 9 mm anyway. Then stuffed a small shank into my bra. Fuck dying. I wanted to live. Nobody was going to take my life away from me anymore.

  Chapter 4

  Trigga

  Diamond’s words played in my mind while chaos popped off around me. It had the night air feeling like electricity and the fine hairs on my forearms stood on end. Phenom and me had watched Anika and Diamond disappear into the darkness of these British Jamaicans’ spot. It was tripping me out how she was popping off at the mouth. Just yacking. Shit was starting to piss me off. Be mad and shit, but fuck. Me, Jake, Gina, and Ghost, ain’t Dame. Naw, scratch that, ’cause her anger felt like it was pointed at me. I wasn’t Dame. I ain’t did shit but bring her in this and protect her ass and she popping off all foul. A nigga ain’t a fucking psychic. A nigga can only guestimate the future and flip it to a nigga’s need. That’s it. Fuck the rah-rah.

  I wasn’t down with the shit she said. I wasn’t bullshitting. People live every day in the streets, ducking from bullets, but they’re still able to find a touch of peace, that’s all a nigga was meaning. Shit was deep but don’t fucking get in the way of what the fuck a nigga was doing, why? Because now, she was becoming a liability and that shit wasn’t cool.

  Never give niggas ammo to use against you, period. That was an old-school rule, one Dame tried to use against me, but shit didn’t work out in his favor. Now, I had to get back to doing me because if I slipped up, that meant I was weak and could get played, which I wasn’t about to let happen, or let that nigga Dante get a sniff of. So, fuck the bullshit; back to the agenda. A nigga was not about to let pussy drive him crazy, especially since I ain’t ever hit.

  The Bricks, I had learned, was a hot zone, kinda like the Southside of Chicago, or Watts or the Trap. Peeps of all ages and colors were running the streets. Some hood, some not, but mainly thugs was strumming the streets. From my perspective, it made sense to run business in this hood if you were on some criminal shit. Was a lot of people to manipulate, and a lot of ways to get people to run your dirty shit.

  So, there we were for my unk’s woman. We had waited only about five minutes before we jumped out the whip. My unk wrapped barb wire over his leather fingerless black gloves while shifting his shotgun against his back. Jake checked for his Glock and two metal pipe rods he had strapped against his back. Me, I had my Glocks with two silencers. The hit of weed with the scent of food filled the air while I sat on top of the roof of the restaurant building next to the Jamaicans’ spot. Music thumped and I watched my unk blend into the darkness.

  Ever since we had gotten to London, I saw a change in my uncle. Nigga was more tense and on edge. That cool and collected business owner back in the A seemed to slip slightly away. Shit, the same was with Anika too. They probably didn’t think I could catch that vibe but I did and it had me feeling like this shit was deeper than a blood feud, that there was another agenda going down. Either way it went, a nigga was just here to be done with the bullshit, and get some kills.

  Checking on the numbers that were down below, I could see that killing these goons was going to be simple from the outside. Crouching on the ledge of the building, I smirked when I saw one of the Jamaicans look up at me. Nigga stood there looking forever. Smoke circled him like a dancer, his matted chunky locs stuck up in the air like nigga needed dryer sheets pressed against him as he shifted on his feet digging his hands in his pockets. From where I sat I could tell that he wasn’t sure what he was looking at and how I sat had it looking as if I was nothing but a part of the roof. So, I was chill. I watched him watch me watch him, until a silver BMW rode up. Turning, nigga threw his blunt to the ground, curiously looked back up at me while stepping closer to get a better look then shoved it off.

  He walked right past where Jake was hiding. Nigga must have had glaucoma or some shit because he was a fucked-up watcher. Or he was on that good shit. Little Kevin Hart with locs–looking cat gave a chin up to his homies, one who called him Ditz. Ditz moved at a clearer angle for me and I focused my Glock while I waited.

  For whatever reason I always had a good sense of hearing and in that moment, it was coming into use. I could see Jake hiding and I signaled for him to remember faces while I listened. The spike loc’d-up cat walked to the car and greeted the person who stepped out of it. Dressed in a gray trench coat, this dude tucked his shades away and crossed his arms over his slightly muscled chest. Something about him had me feeling that he was five-o or whatever the Brits called cops. I knew my intuition had been right when he moved his trench back to show his Glocks and badge.

  Shifting where I sat, I listened as this Iron Man–looking dude asked Ditz if he had his payment I had to assume.

  “You pricks tryin’ to shive me. Eee?” he asked Ditz.

  The rude-ass busta turned to the side with a loud snort before spitting on the ground then snapped his fingers and pointing in the Jamaican’s face with a stretched-out finger. I swear some niggas were extra. Let that had been me and that fool would have been dead. Nigga, I don’t know where your hands been.

  Anyway, this cocky bastard continued poppin’ off at the mouth as Ditz kept his eyes on that finger while dude drawled low in a thick British accent, “Cor! Listen, I don’t like waitin’, an’ you and yours ’ave had me waitin’ for months, dim.”

  The end of a steel Glock pressed into the rude cop’s chest; both men stared each other down before the Jamaican spoke up. “Now yuh don’t be wanting to do that eh? Get irie with all that and remember that we got yuh gen. We run dis shit, not yuh. Now mi man dun said to check yuh spot tomorrow. It will be dere, bruv, on mi word. Swear down, yah.”

  Malicious laughter from the other guy had Ditz stepping back before a bullet went straight into his skull. My eyebrow rose up when I saw that shit; nigga dropped a card on Ditz’s dead chest then hopped in his ride pulling out his cell speaking loud as he shouted on his cell while leaning out his window while other Jamaicans came out.

  “On your word, mate? You act arse about face and you get done proper. Like I said, don’t fuck with my stuff. Get me my boon, or the protection is done. Your note is . . .” With that, that nigga drove off and I didn’t hear anymore.

  A crowd of those goons spilled out in the small alley like roaches. The scene below was interesting as fuck, something I tucked into the back of my mind. For now, I had other shit to handle and get down to. Quickly aiming my gun, I shot off clean rounds. Jake stepped out to use his pipe, sending it into the stomach of approaching goons. I knew Phenom was already inside handling business because the sound of nigga’s screams spilling out from the opened back door.

  Shifting onto my feet, I stepped back, ran forward, then jumped off the roof onto their main rooftop in a roll. Bouncing back up, I kept sprinting until I got to the roof’s ledge where I swung down to scale the side of the building and land on the ground. Phenom had told Jake and me to take the stash of money that they had taken from Anika. So that was what we did. Ducking reaching niggas, I let them know I was a different type of thug as they whipped out their homemade shanks.

  My fist found the face of a Rasta horse-looking dude. His bucking teeth almost scraped my fist but I shifted my sta
nce and sent my elbow into his temple stunning him. The tip of his shank tried to slice at me, but I was too quick. I leaped back then shifted behind him to sharply pull his neck back toward me, folding him back in an arch until I left his neck exposed and gripped his shank-fisted hand.

  Snatching it up, I connected metal to his jugular, piercing it and watching blood gush out like a sputtering geyser. The high-pitch yell he gave had me almost dropping him and looking sideways at him. Yo, I wasn’t ready for that soprano sharp scream he gave. Dude looked like he’d have some bass, but yo. Anyway, because of that, I twisted his shank from his hand and sent it slicing into him like a Thanksgiving turkey, before pushing him into a wall.

  Thumbing my nose, I laughed when I saw a white guy with thick caterpillars of locs rush toward me sporting a bat with a machete in it. I kind of liked that shit, so I made a note to cop it once I had his head on a post. Cocky I never was. Clever and assured of what I was going to do was who I was. So, it was nothing to me to let that nigga body block me. The purpose of that was to get close enough to send my knife into his ribcage, which I did. I twisted it deep into his side, where the quickness of it had him staring at me with shock before hitting me with his fisted hand. Pain ripped through my skull but I bit down hard, and kept my balance turning to slam his head into the side of a brick wall. Teeth and brick dust went everywhere with trickles of blood.

  Sweat dripped from down my hooded face. My heart was pumping in overdrive. Though I wasn’t a big dude like Jake, I still had muscle and could handle my shit, like using my speed then relying on my power and strength. Like now, my fist rested on the pavement of the street holding the bat I had taken from the cat I had just taken down. It was batter up and the goon who was rushing me down, his chin met the end of the bat.

  Velocity had me holding tight as the blades sliced through that nigga’s chin. I rammed him, dug in my pocket quickly to bring out my keychain blades made by Speedy and I finished the job. My blades tucked between each finger were now coated in blood. Hair from that dude’s long beard went flying and my Glock finished the rest, walking away at the sound of his gurgled hiss falling to the ground.

  More guttural grunts sounded around me and I saw Jake body slamming dudes. Though he got shot up in his legs and it missed paralyzing him, for some reason, it seemed like it only helped him move better. Jake’s thick, muscled arm jolted outward to snatch a passing Jamaican by his throat. We both locked eyes on each other as he squeezed.

  “What you see, man?” I asked.

  The struggling grunt of the dude Jake held had Jake’s face contorted while he squeezed. A vein popped from his forehead as he bore his teeth like a pitbull under stress. “Got that punk’s numbers from his plate. The card I kept there . . .”

  Pushing my locs out of my face and tucking them back in my hood, I nodded so Jake could know I was still listening. “What it say?”

  “Shit, this nigga is a fighter, hmph,” Jake hissed and kept squeezing until he heard a snap then pop and the goon he held stopped his struggle. “Had cash amounts on it and just the letters S.B., whatever that shit means.”

  Dropping that dude, Jake paused to breathe for a moment then wiped a hand down his glossy face. While slightly bent with my hands on my thighs, I noticed out the corner of my eye at the same time as him another enemy coming our way. Tiredly, Jake reached behind him, pulled a pipe, and threw it at that cat, as I hoisted my Glock and let off a round. One round between the eyes, and a pipe in his head killed him in mid-run and we kept on talking.

  “Dude looked and smelled like five-o or a business dude with a fake badge, what you think?” I asked.

  Jake tilted his head to the side and paused thinking before hitting me with knowledge. “Nah, not a business dude because at my angle I got to see that nigga’s badge. It was real. He flashed it too hard for it not to be. Nigga was really feeling himself before taking down little Mikey or whatever that fool’s name was.”

  Scowling as I thought. I wondered what the fuck was up. So the Jamaicans had a cop in their pockets? It had me wondering if Anika or Phenom knew what was up.

  “A’ight, man, that’s business, let’s break, and finish this shit,” I said while pounding fist with Jake giving him dap.

  He adjusted the black bandana mask he wore around his mouth then disappeared around the corner heading toward the ride.

  My back covered thanks to Jake, niggas pushing up daisies at my feet, I pulled out my Glocks and walked into the back office. Light washed the whole room, causing me to blink for a second before seeing blood and more bodies everywhere. To my left was a corpse who lay against a pillar. The pillar I could see through the gaping hole in his stomach.

  Phenom was nowhere to be found but his art was everywhere, so I took the time to retrace his tracks and look for the safe box. Bloodied papers stuck to my feet while I cautiously walked through. It looked like the Jamaicans were on that drug shit, but from what I was seeing as I crouched low to see their notes, they had units growing in something marked S.B. BONDS. Whatever that shit was. The only reason I was tripping off of it was because Jake had just mentioned that S.B was on that nigga’s calling card and second because it was serious ducats on the papers. Since Anika had her ducats ripped from her, she just might be interested in returning the favor and taking these bonds, so I snatched up the notes and tucked them in my jeans.

  A sharp whistle from outside let me know Jake had it covered, and a second had me following it into another room where my uncle stood. A huge bank safe stared me in my face, framing the wide-legged gait of my unk. Blood dripped from his barbwire-gripped hands onto the linoleum gray floor as his shoulders rose up and down. Getting closer, I saw it was empty. Powder covered the floor, random dollars lay around, but the bulk of it was gone.

  “They cleared shit out,” he greeted me once I got closer.

  The tone in his voice was that of a man who lost something greater than money and it had questions forming in my dome.

  “A’ight, so let’s bounce. I got more bodies to take down and Jake is still in the alley,” I told him as I pushed at a desk and looked through it for whatever I could.

  “I don’t like being fucked with. See, that’s that kinda shit that makes what they thought was fucked up even worse, nephew,” Phenom growled low.

  Something in how he said that had me glancing up for a moment. My unk looked like he was on one. I noticed in his other hand that he had a black USB flash drive and I wondered what that shit was for or came from because all the computers here looked like they came from back in the old days.

  “Whaddup with that, fam?” I asked as I walked up to him to see just how fucking crazy this nigga was.

  Maybe the apple really didn’t fall that far from the tree. The barbwire move was pretty dope, one I planned to use myself since working with my hands was more so my vibe.

  Phenom tossed me the drive, stalking away from the huge bank safe. “Part of the game. The second in command had it on him as I ripped that nigga’s head off from his shoulder. I know you good with tech shit, so it’s time you show me how good you are with it. I’m not even going to call my own team because I want to see you work, nephew. So check that shit out and show me what you find out a’ight?”

  My mouth opened to ask him how he even knew that I could work some tech shit. Damn, not everyone knew that and Dame wasn’t even hyped on the fact that I could hack some shit sometimes. I wasn’t the best, but it was something I learned back when I was going through foster homes. Used to jack phones, reprogram them, and sell ’em back to other kids. Then I used to take over the computers at school just because I was bored and wanted to play around. But the fact that Phenom knew had me tripping on how long he really had been watching me.

  Stuffing the flash drive, I walked up to my uncle studying him from under my hoodie. My eyes narrowed and I fisted my own hands, standing at my full height while I addressed him.

  “A’ight, but check it, this shit ain’t really about money is it? I know it�
��s not so come correct. I’m your blood and I guess your right hand and shit but this ain’t about to be some Dame shit again trust. I got a stake in this shit too so don’t fucking use a nigga just because I’m young.”

  His low chuckle surrounded me as he pushed me to the side. “We’ll speak on that shit later, just trust in an OG a’ight? Now get ya body count.”

  The sound of feet approaching had me realizing what was about to go down, as I went sliding into a nearby wall. Quickly maneuvering around, my Glocks came out with a swiftness. Bullets ejected from their barrels while opposing bullets came my way causing me to duck down.

  In front of me lay a broken table, so I reached for it, used it as a shield then threw it at a group of renegade Rastafarians while shouting out, “A’ight, I got you!”

  I realized music was still thumping and it had me suddenly hype as fuck. Phenom was in front of me, landing blows to niggas’ heads. Every Rasta who came into the room was of different shades and hues, which tripped me out. London was very eclectic and it seemed that sometimes with these thugs, color came second unless they were out-and-about racist skinheads or some crap, but even with that I heard they had other races in it sometimes, too. Shit was rainbow over here, but I didn’t give a damn at all, because my Glock, blades, and bat never discriminated.

  Moving from where I sat, I ran forward and worked up some cats getting bashy at the tune of the music thumping with a sardonic expression on my face. Phenom threw a nigga my way and I took that bat and let the blade slash his side open. Blood and pieces of skin, clothing, and guts burst out to hang like a backpack. Nigga was so dazed that he slipped on his own blood, fell backward, and cracked his own neck. My uncle gave off a laugh that sounded like me then brushed his coat off and stepped over dude.

  He hunkered down low with a glowering stare, moved back and forth as if he was dancing then sent his leg straightforward, swiping upward then down on the neck of another goon. I watched that dude jerk back then try to hit my uncle with a left and right hook, holding a blade in hand, and miss. Phenom quickly moved to his side. He stopped his hits and just stood there, letting that guy slice him across his chest before he countered back and grabbed the goon by his neck. He lifted in him the air with a loud growl then slammed him down into an exposed pole.