by Cash
As the blood dripped from Cheryl’s wrist down into the water, across town the one who had betrayed Youngblood the worst was feeling no guilt at all.
* * * *
The CO unlocked the cell door and six hardened convicts stepped inside. Every one of them were strapped with long, sharp metal shanks. “You snitch muthafucka! Your testimony got a thorough nigga the needle, and now your ass gonna die an even slower death,” threatened the biggest one in the bunch.
Lonnie wore the look of a snitch who knew that his reckoning day had arrived. He slowly backed into a corner and began to plead, “Man, I ain’t have no choice. Those white folks was gonna give me and Delina life without parole.”
“Stupid nigga, you ended up with life without anyway!”
“But I freed my girl.”
“If ya bitch couldn’t do a bid you should’ve never taken her on the lick. Snitchin’ is inexcusable. Because of rat muthafucka’s like you, a lot of good niggas have fallen.” His mammoth fist crashed into Lonnie’s mouth, causing his head to slam into the wall behind him.
When Lonnie tried to fight back, the others attacked. “CO! CO! Help me please!” he yelled like the bitch nigga he’d turned out to be.
“I’m not saving you!” the young CO yelled back.
The sharp tip of a shank pressed against Lonnie’s throat. “You’s a real pussy, and pussies get fucked!”
They threw him down and pinned him to the floor on his stomach, ripped off his pants and gripped his ass. “Man, please don’t do a nigga like this. Anything but my asshole,” he pleaded to no avail.
“You fucked one of the trillest niggas the ‘A’ has ever bred. Now I’mma fuck you literally, you rat bastard!”
As his attacker began his penetration, Lonnie screamed and bolted up from the nightmare he was having.
He swung his long legs over the side of the bunk and thanked God it had only been a dream. He allowed the muscles surrounding his ass to relax. “CO!” he called out from his cell in the protective custody housing unit. “I need some Tylenol.”
A young looking CO came to the door. “They executed ya’ man a few hours ago. It should’ve been you!” he snarled and threw two Tylenol pills through the tray hole. The pills rolled across the floor. “You’re more pitiful than his baby mother that helped sink him,” the CO spat over his shoulder as he returned to his post.
* * * *
Shan was indeed pitiful.
One of the trap boys at the house where she was getting high looked at her with disgust. “This dusty ass bitch over there sucking a glass dick and those pussy ass crackers just murked her baby’s daddy.”
From the small table in the kitchen where she sat getting geeked up, Shan overheard him. She didn’t give a fuck what he thought of her. If anyone expected her to shed a tear, they need not hold their fuckin’ breath. So what, they killed the nigga, she said to herself. He thought that his shit didn’t stink. Kept dissing her like she was a punk bitch. Who’s the punk bitch now? She chuckled as she continued smoking the pungent crack rock.
Did they understand that she dropped a dime on him because she would have rather seen him in prison for life than riding around with the next trick in his passenger seat? She knew they would never understand that, but she also didn’t expect him to be sentenced to death. It is what it is, she said to herself.
“A fiend will sell out their own mama,” Shan heard a second boy intone. “I don’t ride no nigga’s dick, but she brought a real nigga down. Trife ass ho!”
Shan drew back as he walked over to the table and snatched her up by her ponytail. Her dry, brittle hair threatened to break off at the constant pressure. “Your money ain’t no good in here no more.” He gritted, dragging her by the hair and throwing her outside.
“Get your goddamn hands off me! I’ma call the police and tell ‘em y’all selling drugs up in here.” She spazzed.
Clacka!
The boy pulled a strap from his waist, locked and loaded it, and put it to her head. “Bitch, if you ever threaten to snitch on me again I’ma do to your grimy ass what Youngblood didn’t get a chance to do.” He knocked her to the ground and spat on her.
Shan stumbled to her feet and headed around the corner to her apartment, hurling obscenities over her shoulder. “I’ll get my son to come around this muthafucka and kill all y’all!”
If Shan expected Lil T’s sympathy she was about to be in for a rude awakening.
* * * *
Lil T wanted to kill somebody.
His pop had been his idol and now he was dead. Angry tears stung his cheeks as he turned up the volume on his stereo. A fat cockroach crawled across the console. He knocked it to the floor and squished it with the bottom of his new Forces. “You thought shit was a game? I’m a muthafuckin’ killa!” He taunted the dead bug.
Exasperated, he sat down on the worn couch and stared at the digital clock on the coffee table. It read 4:03 a.m., and it had been four hours since his pops was executed. It felt like a pair of strong hands was squeezing his heart. He vowed that these were the last tears he would ever shed in his life. He was the thirteen-year-old son of the realest nigga the streets had ever seen. Ain’t no bitch in me. My pop might be gone, but I’ma show niggas that he lives in me. He retrieved his .380 from under the couch cushion. While wrapping his finger around the trigger, he thought about all the good times he had with his pops.
Youndblood’s voice boomed from the speaker on the stereo. He was spitting a verse on Swag’s latest CD, a verse that he’d recorded over the prison phone a month ago.
When I die the whole world gon’ remember me/ let ‘em ride in memory of a fallen G/nigga’s try but there will never be another me/ I’m only humbled by the cries of my moms and my five seeds/ on death row because a coward showed disloyalty/ that just show that my bitch had more loyalty/ when I go/ make sho’ my bitch get my royalties/ I’m a G ‘til I die/ bury me if I can’t fly/and let that be my eulogy
A sound at the front door jerked Lil T’s head around. He sprung up off the couch with the .380 ready to spit. If a fool was on some kick in the door shit, he was gonna dress ‘em in black.
“Boy, where the hell you get a gun from?” Shan asked Lil T as she stumbled in the door. Lil T ignored her as he’d done so many times in the past.
Shan blasted him with her words. “Don’t be bringing no guns into this fucking house! You gonna end up where yo black ass daddy at.”
Lil T’s nose flared. He noticed that his mother's hair was all over her head, her nose was running, and her clothes were torn, but he didn’t bother asking what happened. “Yo, my pop’s was executed tonight,” he grumbled, but instead of sympathy, he was met with a round of applause.
“Yaay.” His mother clapped.
“What did you say?” he snapped, appalled by his mother’s response.
“I said muthafucking yaay!” she repeated, clapping louder.
Lil T pointed the gun at her. “If it wasn’t for you, my pop would’ve never got caught. Now you want to stand there and say some dirty shit like that?”
“You little ugly bastard, don’t you ever talk slick to me! Either show me some respect or get ya lil grown ass out of my house!” She jumped in his face, ignoring the gun in his hand.
“You don’t respect yourself.” He hurled her words back at her.
“I may not! But I don’t care what you see me do, I’m still your mama and you’re gonna respect me!” She pushed him in the chest.
Lil T was tempted to push her wig back, but something stopped him. Still, he was hot. “You sold out my pops. I ain’t got no respect for you!” he spat.
“Get out!” She pointed to the door. “Let’s see if you’re man enough to make it on your own.”
Lil T didn’t bother responding, he just grabbed a few things, including his pop’s CD, and stuffed them in a duffel bag. He slung the bag over his shoulder and went into his little sister’s bedroom to awaken her and say goodbye. They had different fathers, but Lil T loved her
, nonetheless.
“Wake up, lil sis,” he whispered softly while gently shaking her. Eight-year-old Laquanda stirred awake. She wiped sleep from her eyes and sat up in bed.
“Quanda, I’m leaving,” Lil T said, choking back his emotions. “Shan is putting me out, but it’s all good. I don’t wanna be in the same house with her no more anyway. I just want you to know that I love you and I’ll be coming to check on you often.”
“No, I don’t want you to leave. You know Mama just be talking,” she said, pleading with her eyes for him to stay.
“It don’t even matter. This was something that’s been coming ever since she helped send my pop to death row. You know they killed him tonight. And the way I see it her hand was on that needle, too.”
Laquanda didn’t know how to respond. She wanted to defend their mother, but she knew that it would offend him. All she could think of to say came out in one gulp of emotion. “I love you, bruh-bruh.” She bawled, wrapping her arms around him.
“I love you more.” He held her tightly. When it was time for him to go, he had to pry her arms from around him.
Lil T held in his own tears as he kissed his sister goodbye and walked out of the bedroom. He went into his own bedroom and gathered a backpack of gear. That was all that he needed. He planned to get the rest just like his pop had gotten it—the ski mask way.
On the way out the door he grilled Shan. “I got the blood of a street legend pumping through my veins; I’ma be all right!” He snarled as he stepped into the mean streets of Fulton County as a thirteen-year-old manchild.
Outside, the hood was in flames. Street niggas were rioting, looting and busting their guns in reaction to the execution of Lil T’s pop. Youngblood had been a street legend, and now his son was turned loose on the streets of the “A” to carry on his father’s legacy.
Chapter 1
The Present…..Six Years Later
After just three days of watching the constant traffic going in and out of the record store in East Point, Lil T knew that the spot did big numbers. Now it was time to make the niggas who ran the spot pay taxes because they were selling more than CDs.
Last week he had observed a sexy ass chick catch a flat right in front of the house. She stepped out of her peach cobbler colored Ford Freestyle in denim booty shorts, a beige wife beater that provided a hint of her dark nipples and high heeled open toe Steve Madden sandals. In no time at all, her flat tire was being repaired by four trap boys who’d been admiring her from the window.
The chick focused her attention on Saadiq, the one that she knew was the shot caller. His high yellow complexion, long, sandy brown locks, pretty boy features and athletic build easily stood out from his clique. He was checking her out, too. She stood about 5’7”, although at least three of those inches cold be attributed to her heels. He loved the way she stood back on her legs—that shit was a turn on.
Saadiq’s eyes traveled up her body. Her waist was small and her hips were wide. Her titties set her wife beater the fuck off; they were just a bit more than a handful and they pointed at him.
Saadiq ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth. Ooo la la, he thought.
Her hair flowed down past her shoulders. A Chinese bang added flavor to her style. Saadiq couldn’t quite guess the color of her eyes, but they were just as beautiful as the rest of her. He wanted to tell her that she resembled the model Amber Easton, but that wouldn’t have done her justice because shorty was one of a kind.
By the way the boy stood speechless, Lil T knew she had the nigga at Hello.
While his boys changed her tire, Saadiq spat his mack game hard to her. She listened with a dimpled smile, and when the tire was repaired he gave her his number. “Hit me up,” he said.
“I will, boo,” she said, eyeing him like candy.
The next day she called him and asked if she could come through and take him out to the ESPN Zone sports bar for a light meal and a few drinks. Saadiq was with that, and he hoped she would get a little tipsy and come off the booty.
He dressed in his beige linen short set, ready to show her how his dress game stayed on point. He slid into his orange and beige Prada sneakers before splashing on a little Jean Paul Gautier cologne on his way out of his grandmother’s door. As soon as he stepped onto the block where he hustled, the girl pulled up in her truck and scooped him up.
“’Sup, baby girl?” spoke Saadiq as he slid into the passenger seat and closed the door.
“You, Daddy. Mmm, you smell so good.”
“Not as good as you look. ‘Cause for real, you’re gettin’ your pretty on something serious,” he said, rubbing her thigh.
“Aww, thank you,” she cooed, pulling away from the curb.
Saadiq’s dick was already jumping inside his pants. He could hardly wait to get up inside of those thighs. He wasn’t going to rush the night though. Baby girl was a dime that he wanted to bag and keep. “You’ll be thanking me for a lot more before it’s all said and done because I’ma make you mine and treat you real good. Real talk, you won’t have a worry in the world. Just fuck with me, baby girl,” he said.
“Wow!” Her smile told him how impressed she was.
As they headed toward I-75, Saadiq was already formulating in his mind the many places he would take her and profile with her on his arms. Niggas are gonna be hatin’ stupid hard. My trap is pumping, my gear is tight, and I’m about to bag this bad ass bitch. He was so busy stroking his own ego he did not realize that he had been targeted.
Lil T popped up from the floor of the backseat and pressed a banger against Saadiq’s head. The hair on the back of Saadiq’s neck stood up. “Y’all niggas eating good, Saadiq. It’s time to share the wealth. Now, before you do something stupid, like reach for the strap that’s on the right side of your waist, this is just an extortion—don’t make me turn it into a homicide.”
Saadiq stiffened. “Bruh, who is you?” he inquired.
“I’m the nigga that’ll splatter ya noodles all over the windshield if you don’t cooperate. Now put ya hands on the dashboard.”
Saadiq did as commanded.
Lil T’s boo, Kamora, reached over and removed the glock from Saadiq’s waist. He shot her a look of death, while trying to avoid his own. “Dog, I’m just a worker. I don’t call no shots,” he explained needlessly. Lil T had done his homework.
“I already know who you pump work for, so you’re gonna call ya dude and let me holla at ‘im. And if you pull out anything besides a cell phone, I’ma give ya loved ones a reason to get all dressed up and sing a slow song.”
Kamora bent a corner, and they drove down a quiet residential street as Saadiq pulled out his cell phone and called his man.
“Put that shit on speaker,” barked Lil T.
Saadiq complied just in time for his connect’s voice to come out loud and clear. “’Sup fam’?” his connect answered.
“Yo, a nigga snatched me up and made me call you.”
“Say what?”
Saadiq explained his predicament.
“I tried to tell you that sniffin’ up behind pussy was gonna get you fucked up. Who is the nigga? I ought to hang up and let him slump your stupid ass!” snapped his supplier.
“My bad, big homie.”
Lil T cut in. “Yo, Zeke. This is Lil T. You probably know me by my street name, Trouble. If you recognize my name then you know how I get down.”
Zeke recognized the name. It was ringing loud in the city. Trouble was pressing all the dope boys, snatching niggas up and leaving them face down. But ‘a fish’s pussy wasn’t waterproof if he was gonna let some teenage baby gangsta extort him,’ he told himself. “I know who you are, youngin. But do you know who I am? I’ve been in the game since the nineties and you tryna press me? You betta check my profile!” he warned.
“Miss me with the rah-rah shit. You either kick me ten stacks a week or I shut you down.”
“I’m telling you, you’re out of your league.”
Lil T chuckled. “I f
eel you. Now you’re about to feel me.” The sound of two gunshots reverberated through the phone. Saadiq’s head splattered like a busted pumpkin. Blood splashed all over the seat, passenger window, and the dashboard. Kamora didn’t even blink. She’d become used to Lil T putting his murder game down, so all she was concerned with was where she’d get her whip detailed. She picked up Saadiq’s cell phone that had fallen between the seats and passed it to her man.
“Buy a bunch of caskets, nigga, if you plan on testing my gangsta. And when you pick out your own, don’t put the bitch on layaway.”
*****
“You know that shit turned me on, don’t you?” said Kamora, straddling Lil T’s lap on the sofa in their living room an hour later.
“What turned you on about it?” he asked, blowing Kush smoke into her face.
“The way you didn’t hesitate to smash Saadiq when his people started talking all of that killa shit.”
“You ever known me to hesitate?” Lil T inquired. Without a second thought, she shook her head, and then put her arms around his neck.
“You’re a G, bae,” she gushed.
“And you’re my gangsta bitch.” He palmed her ass as she looked deeply into his eyes. She smiled as she always did at his uncanny resemblance to C-Murder. Of course, she would never say to Lil T that he resembled anyone but his pop.
“For life,” she purred. Kamora took the blunt from him, hit it, and then placed it in the ashtray on the coffee table next to the couch.
Wrapping her arms back around his neck, she covered his mouth with hers and slid her pierced tongue inside his mouth. He cupped her ass and adjusted her on the bulge in his jeans. “This what you want?”
“Mmm hmm. You already know.” She was always hot for him.
“A’ight, let me take a quick shower. I think I got that nigga’s blood on me.”
“Can I join you?”