Me and My Hittas

by Tranay Adams

  Nightmare thought back to the time he was expelled from school for bringing a knife. The only reason why he hadn’t been caught with a gun was because his homeboy Knockout had gotten picked up with it the day before. To make a long story short, some kid snitched when they saw him practicing drawing hisknife in the boy’s rest room. Before his ass could grace the seat at his desk in the class room, the school police were hauling his black ass off. His old man had to leave work early to pick him up. Needless to say old David was hot as a firecracker.

  Flashback

  “I can’t believe yo’ ass, man, as hard as I work to make sure you and yo’ sista are taken care of. Plus, have all of the lil’ extra bullshit that ya’ll want. Sssssss,” Dave shook his head pitifully at his son, cutting his eyes at him. He was frowning and sneering, wanting so badly to sock his ass dead in his chest for having him have to leave work to pick his monkey ass up from school, “What the fuck you needa knife fa, DJ?”

  “You know what I’m into, pop, I gotta stay strapped at all times.” Young Nightmare told his old manwhat’s up. “I can’t be out here like a sitting duck. My enemies will pick me off out here.”

  “Enemies?” his face balled up and he bit down on his bottom lip hard. He balled his hand into a fist, looking back and forth between the windshield and his offspring, waiting his chance to fire on his ass. “What. The. Fuck. I. Tell. You. ‘Bout. Dat. Gangbanging shit, huh? Huh?” he punched him harder and harder with each word that sprung from his lips, making him duck down with his arms covering his head to shield him. “You ain’t gone be no mothafucking punk ass gangbanga, ya hear me?” he snatched the blue bandana from his back pocket and held down the button on the door panel that descended the window. He tossed the bandana out of the window and rolledthe window back up. “I love you too much, son. You hear me?” he looked from his boy to the windshield, trying not to cause an accident. “I love you too much to lose you to thesestreets.” David grasped the steering wheel with both hands and breathed huskily, chest rising and falling rapidly. His eyes teared up feeling like he had failed his son, because the streets held more sway over him than he did. Feeling wetness run down his face, he thought it was raining until he touched his cheeks. That’s when he knew that there were actually tears running down his face. Young Nightmare felt like shit seeing his father cry and knowing that he was the cause of it. His old man really was good to him. He worked twelve hour days, sometimes sixteen hours to take care of home. A lot of times he didn’t get to see him, but when he was home he was always spending time with him and his sister, occasionally dropping jewels on them. As much as a pain in the ass that he was, the little nigga really did look up to his old man.

  “I’m sorry, pop, I’ma straighten up and fly right, okay?” He said, opening the glove-box and removing a couple of McDonald napkins, passing them to his old man. He watched as he dabbed the wetness from his face away and balled up the napkin.

  “Promise,” He glanced at his son.

  “Promise what?” “That cho lil’ ass is gone do right by me.” David told him. “That you gone go to school, get good grades and take ya ass to a university. Hell, I’ll even take community college. Any place where you can expand yo’ education, and hopefully one day make a decent living. ‘Cause I’ll tell you, Junior, the white man’s working ya old man like a slave just to get these lil’ bit of money I’m getting.”

  “Okay, pop, I promise you.” “I’ll remind you that a man keeps his word now.” He lifted an eyebrow and pointed to him without taking his eyes off of the windshield. “I taught chu that. If you can’t keep yo’ word then you ain’t shit.”

  “I know, pop, and I’ma keep mine…on the set.” The youngster swore. This earned him a dirty look from his father. “I mean, I put that on me.”

  “Good boy.” He pulled him closer and kissed him on top of the head, keeping his eyes on the windshield. “I love you, son.”

  “Love you too,pop,” The youngling smiled, happy to be back in his father’s good graces. Dave took the time to slip a cigarette into his mouth and fired it up, puffing out smoke. “You wanna hit up the arcade and see a movie?”

  “Hell…I mean, yeah, let’s do it.” He said excitedly.

  Dave took the square from his lips and released smoke, fanning it with his hand. “We rolling then.” Night fell on the city leaving the street lights and car headlights to keep Los Angeles lit. Young Nightmare and his father came strolling out of Magic Johnson movie threater. His old man had his arm over his shoulders and was sucking on the straw of his fountain drink while his son finished off his hotdog. Once the youngster was done with the dog, he wiped his hands off with a napkin and tossed it aside. After his father apprehended his vehicle, they pulled out of the parking lot. They were driving through the streets talking about the movie they’d just seen when the flashing lights sounded off behind them. The red and blue lights spun around in circles, flashing through the inside of their car.

  “Damn,” Dave pou nded the steering wheel with his fist, hating to have been stopped. Veins rolled up his neck and forehead, he was hotter than an African summer. This would make the forth time that he was stopped today. He was sure that the police were only pulling him over on the account of him driving a C-class Mercedes Benz. He was sick and tired of them fucking with him.

  “What’s up, pop?” Young Nightmare’s head snapped back and forth between his father and over his shoulder at the police cruiser. His old man ignored him and pulled over to the side of the street, unbuckling his safety belt. “Pop, what’s going on?”

  “I’m tired of this shit, stay here, Junior.” Dave picked up his cell phone and speed dialed his lawyer before throwing open the driver side door. He hopped out and turned to face the officers.

  “I’m getting tired of y’all fuckin’ with me now,” he hollered out to them, gripping his silver cellularphone. “I just called my lawyer and he’s…” The headlights of the police cruiser deflected off of the cell phone causing it to gleam and appea as of a gun.

  “He’s gotta gun!” One officer blurted out and they both drew their weapons. Bop! Bop! Bop! Bop! Young Nightmare watched in horror as his father was filled with holes and the driver side window exploded from a rush of bullets. His eyes were wide open and his mouth was the shape of an O. Dave slid down to the ground still holding his cell with his head at a funny angle. His eyes had a far away look in them and his mouth was ajar. He had expired.

  “Pop!” Young Nightmare screamed seeing his old man lifeless and bleeding, sitting in broken glass. Tears were running down his face as he was crawling over the driver seat and stepping out into the streets. He got down on his knees before his father and hugged his waist, ignoring the police’s ordered for him to get out of the way. With his face pressed against his old man’s chest he whimpered and slobbered, muffling some of his cries.

  Present

  After his father’ s death, Nightmare was off the mothafucking chain. He got into everything that there was to get into that was illegal. He jumped off the porch early as hell and made his bones whacking niggaz for profit; anything to put food on the table.My nigga even tried his hand at pimping. If it was a dollar that could be made off of it then he was with it.It didn’t matter what the fuck it was. That’s just how he was on it.

  Nightmare came from a house hold that had both parents. His father was a truck driver and his mother was a certified nurse’s assistant; most of the time neither of them was at home, which left him and his sister to do whatever they pleased. While his kid sister, Shantell, was hanging out with the older chicks on the block he was kicking it with the local criminals picking up game and earning his place among them. It took sometime but he eventually earned the label of a thorough young nigga that wasn’t to be fucked with. And this was when the little bastard was only twelve years old.

  Chapter Four

  A Bentley Continental pulled up to the curb outside of the Spanish restaurant, Chico’s. Gangsta exited his vehicle, walked around to the passenger si
de, and opened the door up for Vayda. After helping her from the car, Gangsta closed the door behind her and they made a beeline for the entrance of the restaurant. As soon as Gangsta and Vayda pushed their way through the double doors of the Spanish restaurant they were greeted by the loud music of the El Mariachi band playing on the stage. Standing at the door, Gangsta and Vayda took in the scenery. The Spanish restaurant was elegant and classy.

  Black Jesus was in his wheelchair on the shiny, black marble dance floor dancing The Salsa with a fine Spanish mami in a red dress with a rose behind her ear. She had bronze skin, big brown eyes, and long silky hair that reached her ass. With his crown full of dark raven curls, Black Jesus was quite handsome. The Latin drug lord was an attractive man; a pretty boy some would argue. Though he was Mexican, he had skin the color of a Hershey’s Kiss. In fact when first laying eyes on him, you would think he was the descendent of at least one African American parent until he’d opened his mouth and address you with that Deep South American accent.

  Before he was the drug lord that he was today, young Jesus Arturo was an active gangbanger running around reckless in the streets of South Central, Los Angeles. Back then thirteen year old Jesus was known for carrying twin black revolvers, both of which helped him garner the reputation of a killer; between him and his little brother, Bullet, the two had accumulated enough bodies under their belts to fill a cemetery. But that was a long time ago; the drug lord had put his guns away and picked up the hat of a business mogul. He was now over seeing a multimillion dollar drug empire.

  Bullet sat with his back to the bar peeling an apple with a switchblade. He was so busy watching his brother out on the dance floor that he didn’t notice Gangsta and Vayda had walked in. Although the youngest Auturo brother was Mexican his skin held the complexion of a white man. He had hazel green eyes and a trimmed mustache. The back of his shaved head advertised his gang affiliation like a bill board on Hollywood Boulevard. He possessed a menacing appearance even when he was smiling. While Black Jesus adopted more of a casual look, his little brother held to his street attire: oversized white Pro-Club under a gray hoodie, starched Ben Davis jeans and gray Nike Cortez. Black Jesus was the businessman and Bullet was the enforcer. He preferred to stay in the streets along with the rest of the soldiers, making sure the drug lord’s presence was felt.

  Before Gangsta could start over in Bullet’s direction, Black Jesus’ Dominican bodyguard, Tango, cut him off and gave him a thorough pat down that produced a chrome .9mm.

  Bullet greeted Gangsta with a smile and a hug.

  “What’s up, papi?” He gave him the once over. “Looking all fly and shit.”

  Gangsta struck poses for Bullet, modeling what he was wearing.“Aye, what can I say?” he smiled brightly.

  Tango offered Bullet Gangsta’s gun but he waved him off. “Fuck are you doing, dawg?” Bullet asked him. “This man has been doing business with us for manyyears. He’s family. Give‘em his mothafucking gun back.” Tango gave Gangsta his banger back. “Sorry about that, G, my bad. You know how this mothafucka is.” he referred to the bodyguard’s behavior.

  “Don’t even worry about it, B ullet,” Gangsta stashed his burner on his person. “You know you’re good money.” He gave the young Vato a pound.

  “And who is this?” Bullet asked, giving Vayda the once over. “Your date?”

  “Yeah,” Gangsta smiled like a shady cars salesman.

  “What’s your name, Gangsta’s date?” Bullet inquired, kissing Vayda’s hand.

  “Vayda,” The redbone replied.

  “Pleasure to meet you, Vayda, you wouldn’t by any chance have a twin sister, would you?”

  “Nope, sweetie, I’m one of a kind.” “If it weren’t for bad luck, I wouldn’t have any luck at all.” he said regretfully and turned his attention to the dance floor. “Aye, Jesus! Look whose here, homes! Check it out!”

  Black Jesus spent around in his wheelchair and rolled over to his guests. He greeted Gangsta with a firm handshake and Vayda with a kiss on both cheeks. He then ushered them over to a table. “Wine?” Black Jesus asked Gangsta.

  “Yeah, white,” Gangsta replied, pulling out a chair for Vayda and then himself, sitting down.

  “Ladies?” Black Jesus asked referring to the wine.

  “White is fine,” Vayda said.

  “Okay, by me.” The bronze skinned mami answered.

  Black Jesus snapped his fingers and the waiter approached.

  “Uh, Miguel,” he addressed him. “White wine, quarto glasses, please.”

  He held up four fingers.

  “Coming right up, boss,” The waiter replied before turning to leave. “Gracias,” Black Jesus thanked him before turning to Gangsta. “So, Charles, how’s business?” He addressed the O.G by the name on his birth certificate.

  “Business is alright.” He replied nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders. “A lright? Business is a lot more than alright. This is the millionth time I’ve met you in a suit; tailored at that. Calogero’s, no?”

  Gangsta nodded yes.

  “Italian,” Black Jesus exclaimed. “Expensive too, $5,000 dollars a suit, but what’s money to guys like us?” The waiter returned with a bottle of white wine and four glasses as requested. He sat a glass in front of each guest present at the table and poured the glasses half full.

  “What will you fine people be having for dinner this evening.” The waiter asked. “Do you all mind?” Blac k Jesus raised a hand, looking around the table for anyone who objected him ordering their meals for them. Everyone agreed to let him order for them. Seeing that no one minded, he went on and ordered their meals in French. The waiter scribbled down the orders on a small tablet and then he headed off into the kitchen.

  “Fucking show off,” Gangsta leaned over and whispered to the drug lord before taking a sip of his wine.

  “What?” Black Jesus asked, playing dumb.

  “Mothafucka, you ordered our food in French and this is a Spanish restaurant.”

  “I’m afraid I have no idea of what you are referring to.” He tried to contain a smile. “Vayda, this nigga been doing this shit for years now; ever since we were in high school. Pretty Spanish mothafucka with the dark skin, and the Superman curl, laying down French, it was always enough to get this mothafucka laid.” He took a sip of wine. “Rico Romance is what this fool use to call himself back in the day.”

  “Aye, what can I say?” Black Jesus said. “The chicas could never get enough of the Latin lover.” He did a funny little dance in his wheelchair. Everyone at the table busted up laughing. This rest of the night carried out just like this, two old friends reminiscing about old times and shooting on one another. When the food came they barely took two bites of it. The waiter had warmed their food up twice, but everyone was having such a good old time that they didn’t pay any attention to their plates. Seeing that his guests weren’t going to be getting to their meals any time soon, Black Jesus requested two doggy bags to go for them.

  Usually Gangsta and Black Jesus never met up to make their exchange, but the drug lord wanted his old friend to come out to see his new restaurant so he obliged him. They both showed up in identical rentals. After the outing, Gangsta would leave in the car with the bricks stashed inside and one of Jesus’ men would leave in the car with the money hidden in it. The transaction had been made like this for years.

  Tipsy and thirty kilos richer, Gangsta and Vayda said their goodbyes and made their way for their vehicle. Vayda pushed the whip while Gangsta played the passenger seat. He placed a call to his nephews and told them that everything had gone smoothly and they were on their way back.

  Forty minutes later

  The front door of the trap house swung open and Gangsta and Vayda came dancing in over the threshold, hand and hand. They hummed the tune of the Spanish music that the El Mariachi band played back at Chico’s. The pair moved around the living room as if they were competing in Dancing with the Stars. Unbeknownst to them, Pavielle stood in the bedroom doorway w
atching them as he took swigs from a bottle of Hennessy. He was shit faced drunk.

  “I see y’all had yourselves a good old time.” Pavielle’s spoke, startling the dancing duo. “Yes, we did,” Vayda said, breaking her embrace from Gangsta. “It’s been a long time since you’ve taken me out dancing. Why don’t you dance with me?” she questioned, taking her man by the hand and moving from left to right, trying to get him to dance along with her.

  “Gangstaz don’t dance!” Pavielle told her, taking her by the face and locking lips with her. The entire time they were kissing he was staring at his uncle like ‘Yeah, nigga, this is my bitch and don’t you ever forget it.’ Vayda took the bottle of Hennessy and took a long drink before passing it back to her man.

  “Alright, boo, I’m finna go hop in the shower.” She told Pavielle and waved to his uncle, as she headed to the bedroom. He returned the gesture.

  Gouch came out of his bedroom stretching and yawning with his head back, showcasing his teeth and every cavity in his mouth. He was in a wife beater and tan Dickies, rubbing his flat, hairy stomach.

  “I’m bored as fuck, y’all niggaz tryna get in a game of dominos?” he looked between his brother and uncle. “Yeah, I could go for a game of bones.” Gangsta replied. His forehead crinkled when he saw Pavielle eyeballing him and taking the occasional swallow of Hennessy.

  “What about chu, bro?” Gouch tapped his sibling.

  “I’m with it.” He kept his eyes on their uncle as he took another swallow from his bottle.

  “Bool, I’ma get the bones.” He retreated to his bedroom to get the dominos so that they could play.