Me and My Hittas

by Tranay Adams

  “Turn yo’ ho ass over, nigga!” Gangsta ordered him, leveling his banger down at his punk ass. Pussy slowly turned over moaning in agony. He looked alive once he found himself staring down his enemy’s hollowed barrel. He swallowed the ball of nervousness in his throat and shut his eyelids for a moment before peeling them back open. His heart pounded inside of his chest but he had to calm down, because he didn’t want to leave this world like a mark. The G in him was reborn. He would face his certain death with bravery.

  “I’ll see you in hell.” He scowled and squared his jaws. “Take these with you!” Gangsta snarled and pulled the trigger, causing the chamber of his revolver to spin. Each time his weapon fired a golden orange illumination shone on his scowling face.

  Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam! Pussy’s dome exploded like a rotten pumpkin hitting the ground from a fifty foot fall. There was no way in hell that the dope man would get an open casket funeral now. Gangsta took the time to admire his handiwork before stuffing his warm weapon into the front of his jeans. Hearing hurried footsteps and heavy breathing, he looked to the corner of the establishment. He saw Lil’ Gangsta’s shadow as he was running toward him. The young nigga darted out into the street motioning for him to follow. The O.G took off right behind him. They recovered their G-ride, busted a U-turn on the residential street, and left in the opposite direction of which they came.

  Just another 187.

  Chapter Five

  “Take this mothafucka over to those factories over on 11thavenue and torch it,” Gangsta told Lil’ Gangsta from the passenger seat as the Cutlass idled out in the alley behind his mother’s house. “Wipe them straps down and get rid of them. I don’t care if you toss’em in a lake or bury’em. Just get rid of them mothafuckaz, we don’t need anything connecting us to them bodies over there, you Griff me?”

  Lil Gangsta nodded his understanding. “Call me once this shit is done.” Gangsta handed him his strap and hopped out of the car. He made his way to is mother’s house as his little homie drove off down the alley.

  Turning out onto Central Avenue from the alley, Lil’ Gangsta smiled like the cat that had swallowed the canary. He was ecstatic about having carried out a mission with his big homie Gangsta, the urban legend. To him putting in work with the O.G was an honor, a memory to cherish for a life time. It was right up there with shaking hands with the president.

  Thirty minutes later

  Lil’ Gangsta ran down the block as the G -ride caught flames and then exploded, scattering burning wreckage everywhere. Turning the corner at the end of the avenue, he pulled the .357 from his hoodie with his bandana and dropped it into the gutter. A fire truck with its sirens blaring blew passed him in a hurry. He was just about to dump his Glock but then he saw an unmarked police car pulling up. He quickly sat on the bus-stop bench and played the role of a pedestrian waiting on his ride. The unmarked car pulled up and his stomach twisted in knots as his eyes met those of Detectives Arsenegger and Ortiz. He was familiar with the crooked law enforcers and their reputations as they were his.

  “What’s up, Jerome?” Arsenegger addressed Lil’ Gangsta by his government name with a sinister smile, showcasing all thirty two of his straight, white teeth. He had jet black hair, ocean blue eyes and a fiveo’clock shadow. You could tell by his sixteen inch biceps and washboard stomach that the gym was a second home to him.

  “What’s up, Blood?” Lil’ Gangsta responded behind a scowl. He was putting up a front though, because he was scared as shit.

  “Long time, no see,” Ortiz threw his head back like What’s up? He was half Scottish, half Puerto Rican but as equally as scandalous as his Australian partner. He sported a shaved head and a muscular physique.

  “Not long enough.” Lil’ Gangsta retorted under his breath, looking down the block as if he was waiting for the bus to arrive.

  “What chu got there, my nigga?” Arsenegger asked before taking a sip from his cup of coffee. He noticed the hoodlum had his hands stashed in the large pocket of his hoodie, which was odd because it wasn’t that cold outside.

  “Shit.” Lil’ Gangsta replied nonchalantly. “Oh, you got something, little man!” Arsenegger said, swinging open the passenger side door. As soon asLil’ Gangsta saw him plant a foot on the pavement, he broke up the avenue.“Mothafucka,” Arsenegger fumed, throwing his cup of coffee and hopping back into the passenger seat. Ortiz floored the Crown Victoria and hit the sirens, speeding toward their suspect.

  The Crown Victoria mowed down a water hydrant and sent a geyser of water into the air. A stray cat shot out from the path of the speeding car like a bolt of lightning, looking like a blur. A homeless man pushing a shopping cart saw the car heading his way; he dove out of its way, missing it by a foot.

  Boom! The shopping cart went up in the air, spilling its contents. All of its items came raining down upon the pavement. Lil’ Gangsta bent the corner of the block and ran into an alley, with the Crown Victoria in hot pursuit. The unmarked car lit up the trashy alley as it barreled after the hoodlum, trying to catch up to him.

  “You want me to mow this mothafucka down!” Ortiz looked to Arsenegger, the alley walls looked like flashes of gray they were moving so fast.

  “Nah, just s hake his little punk ass up,” Aresenegger told him. Ortiz quickly closed the distance between his vehicle and their suspect.

  Boom! “Ughhh.” Lil’ Gangsta went over the hood of the Crown Victoria and rolled off it, crashing to the ground. His Glock went spiraling across the ground in in circles until it bumped up against a pile of black trash bags. Arsenegger and Ortiz hopped out of the unmarked car and casually made their way over to their suspect who was sprawled out on the ground, groaning in pain.

  “Uhhhhhh,” Lil’ Gangsta moved his head from side to side wincing. He was hurting like a mothafucka. “Where were you off to in such a rush, Blood?” Arsenegger smiled and kicked him in the side causing him to grimace. He rolled over holding his side groaning.

  “Well, look what we’ve got here.”Ortiz smiled evilly. When Arsennegger looked to his partner he was holding up their suspect’s Glock by the trigger guard with an ink pen.

  Lil’ Gangsta raised his head to see what the crooked law enforcer had on him. Once he saw it was his gun, he let his head drop to the ground.

  “Ah, fuck me!” he spat.

  Arsenegger smiled and saidto him, “That’s yo’ ass!”

  Right after, he was pulling his handcuffs from around his back to cuff him.

  An hour later

  Gangsta sat on the couch watching ‘ The Godfather’ on cable TV, while eating a bowl of Cookies & Cream and Rainbow Sherbet ice cream. He was in his sleep wear: a black Pro-Club, tan Dickie shorts and black corduroy house shoes. He glanced up at the cable box; its digital clock read 2:00 A.M; well into the next morning. Lil’ Gangsta was supposed to have called him after he got rid of the guns and disposed of the G-ride. Four hours had passed since his little homie had dropped him off and he hadn’t heard a word from him. He’d been blowing his cell phone up for the past two and a half hours but never received an answer. He had a feeling something was wrong but he hoped that it was just paranoia.

  “Man, I wish you would have let me and Gucci get down on that lil’ situation with Pussy for you,” Pavielle said from the reclining chair as he took pulls of a Kush blunt; his eyes were bloodshot red and glassy. “You’re a boss; you’ve got soldiers in these streets to put that work in.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Gangsta sat the empty bowl onto the table. “But that mothafucka was so disrespectful, I had to getat ‘em myself, or I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night.”

  “I Griff you; what’s done is done. All you can do is put this shit behind you and move on.” “No doubt. I just wish Lil’ Gangsta would hit me back though, gotta nigga on edge. I should have sent you or Gucci with him.”

  “Yeah, ‘ cause niggaz like that will fuck up a wet dream,” Pavielle blew smoke rings into the air. “I never did like that lil’ mothafucka, man, it’s something a
bout his lil’ punk ass.”

  Silence fell between the two men and before Pavielle knew it, his uncle was fast asleep. Seeing this, he murdered the TV with the remote control, draped his jacket over Gangsta and killed the lights before heading into his bedroom.

  Early as shit the next morning

  Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Gangsta awoke startled, hearing the front door rattle with such brute force. “Who the fuck is it?!” he called out from the couch.

  “Police, motherfucker!” a voice boomed from the opposite side of the door. “Open up!” Gangsta sprung to his feet, hobbled over to the window as fast as he could and took a peek out of the curtains. There were about eight police cars outside on the street. A dozen police officers were on the lawn, some of them had K-9s but they all were packing some very serious firepower.

  Gangsta turned around and found Pavielle, Vayda, and Gouch standing behind him, they all were groggily from sleep.

  “Blood, who the fuck is that?” Gouch asked, wiping the scum from his eyes.

  “Shhh,” Gangsta hushed his oldest nephew, holding a finger to his lips. “Be quiet, it’s the mothafucking cops!”

  “Ah, shit!” Gouch cursed.

  “Say what?” Pavielle asked, hearing the police mentioned snapped him out of his grogginess.

  “Booby, Gucci, y’all niggaz stash the straps. Vayda,” Gangsta addressed the redbone. “Go get momma up.” The pounding continued on the door, as the trio split up to complete their tasks. Pavielle and Gouch stashed the straps that they kept in the house in a secret stash spot inside of the attic. They then returned to the living room where they found Vayda, G-momma and their uncle waiting.

  “Alright, mommy, Vay, Booby, Gucci,” Gangst a addressed his family. “Everybody put their hands up and keep’em up. When these people bust up in here, don’t make any sudden moves. Do exactly what they say, when they say it!” he looked to his mother. “You got it, mommy?”

  “Yes, but I wish someone would tell me what’s going on here, Cha Cha?” G-momma called him by his childhood nickname, a pleaded with a worried expression.

  “No time to explain, ma.” He kissed his mother on her forehead and headed to the door. Looking back at his family he took a deep breath before going about the task of opening up the door. As soon as he finished unlocking and unchaining it, the police came flooding in over the threshold. They directed everyone down on their bellies with their hands behind their backs so they could cuff them.

  The police tore the house up looking for guns and drugs, but they found neither. Once they were done with their search, the place looked like a tornado had been through it. The police released everyone from their metal bracelets except Gangsta; they were bringing him down to the precinct. He was wanted for questioning behind a few homicides. Hearing ‘Homicides’ mentioned made the O.G heart skip a beat. He already knew what was up; Lil’ Gangsta had gotten pinched and had dropped a dime on him. That’s why he never called him back last night. It was just too coincidental.

  When the police led Gangsta outside in handcuffs the entire neighborhood looked like it was out. You would have thought the president of the United States was going to roll through the hood that gloomy morning. Gangsta kept a broad smile on his face as he was led to a police car. As the police car pulled off, he looked out the back window to his mother and mouthed “I love you”. G-momma wiped the tears from her eyes and mouthed the words back.

  *** Lil’ Gangsta stepped out of the Newton Division precinct a nervous wreck. He pulled his hoodie over his head as he made his way down the steps of the police station. Making his way upon the sidewalk, he observed all of his surroundings before lighting up a Newport. He pulled smoke into his lungs and unleashed it into the world in the form of a cloud.

  Arsenegger and Ortiz had his nuts in a vice grip so he had two choices: keep his mouth shut and ride the bullet, or turn state’s evidence. Lil’ Gangsta took the ladder. He opted to become a witness for the state and in exchange he was promised a shorter sentence.

  Being a rat was frowned upon in his hood and many hoods across the globe, but to Lil’ Gangsta, it was a small price to pay for his freedom. He could live with being a snitch but he couldn’t live with spending the rest of his life behind bars. Though he did sign the affidavit, it was no way in hell he was getting on the stand to testify against Gangsta. He couldn’t bring himself to look him in the eyes after stabbing him in the back; especially after all he had done for him.

  A forest green Ford Escort pulled up in front of the police station. Lil’ Gangsta took one last pull of his cancer stick, flicked it and hopped in. The little car pulled off, taking the Y.G with it and leaving his misdeeds behind.

  Meanwhile

  Gangsta sat in the claustrophobic interrogation room down at Newton Division police station, picking the scum out of his finger nails. For the past three and a half hours Detectives Arsenegger and Ortiz had been hitting him with a barrage of questions, to which he shrugged his shoulders and answered “I don’t know” to.

  “Like I told y’all the first fifty million times,” Gangsta began. “I don’t know shit about any bodies dropping way over on the westside. I’m from the eastside, baby.”

  “Bullshit!” Ortiz called him on his lie, slamming his fist down on the table. He was trying to scare the O.G but had been failing miserably since the interrogation started.

  “Hmmm, I beg to differ.” Gangsta grinned. All this shit that the crooked badges were trying to pull he had been through it a hundred times already. Needless to say, he knew how to handle himself in such a situation.

  “Listen, asshole,” Arsenegger began, rolling up his sleeves and then sitting down on the table. “You’re not fooling us with this line of bullshit you keep trying to feed us, we know for a fact that you were involved with those murders. Your little homeboy, Lil’ Gangsta,” Gangsta’s eyes wandered up from his nails and met the detective’s. “I thought that might ring a bell, told us everything. We threw some numbers at him and he gave it up faster than a Thai hooker.”

  “Is that right?” Gangsta said nonchalantly, one eyebrow lifted. “You bet,” Arsenegger said. “His little punk ass gave you a death sentence. You hopped in the electric chair, we strapped you down, but he for damn sure raised the lever.” Gangsta blew hard and rolled his eyes to their whites. “Luckily for you I’m feeling very generous today. I’m in a good mood. So,I’m gonna give you a chance to confess so we can see about working out some kind of deal here for you. What do you say, big man? Help me to help you.”

  Gangsta looked like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. He blew hard and said, “Think I can bum a cigarette off of you detective?”

  Upon hearing the O.G ’s request, Arsenegger and Ortiz exchanged shit-eating-grins. A suspect asking for a cigarette during an interrogation usually meant he or she was ready to confess their sins and needed the nicotine to calm their nerves. Arsenegger gave Gangsta a cigarette and lit it with a struck match, fanning out the flame of it. He tossed the used match into the waste basket and posted up beside his partner. They watched as Gangsta took two long pulls of the cancer stick and then blew smoke, polluting the atmosphere.

  “What kind of deal do you think you can work out for me?” Gangsta looked from Arsenegger to Ortiz. “The sweetest one you’ve ever heard of, big dawg.” Arsenegger assured him. “I’m talking about two, three years…tops.”

  He lied through his fucking teeth. “Alright,” Gangsta said, taking two more pulls of the cigarette he was given. He mashed the Joe out in the ashtray on the table, clearing his throat. The snake ass detectives smiled and gave each other a pound. “You two crooked ass mothafuckaz can suck my dick!” Gangsta started off, looking between the two devils. Detective Arseneggers smile gave way to a mask of hatred and he found himself clenching his jaws. “Y’all got me fucked up, I’m Big Gangsta from Eastside 20s!Lock me up and throw away the key, but when it’s all said and done, they gone bury me a G!”

  Arsenegger leapt over the table and st
arted choking Gangsta,but Ortiz pulled him off. The interrogation room’s door swung open and four uniformed officers rushed in to help Ortiz restrain his partner.

  “Hahahahahahaha,” Gangsta sat in the iron -chair laughing his ass off, he got a kick out of getting under the detective’s skin.

  “You fucking, nigger,” Arsenegger shouted, spit flying from off his lips. His eyes were bloodshot and glassy as fuck. Veins were webbed on his temples and neck. “I’m going to see to it that they gas your black ass! Then I’m going to go after your entire fucking family! And I’m going to bury them in the fucking ground! And then I’m going to go after your whole crew! You hear me, you black son of a bitch?” he screamed, struggling to break free from the uniformed cops and his partner.

  “Hahahahahaha,” Gangsta laughed harder and louder, taunting the racist detective.

  “Get this piece of shit out of here!” Ortiz told the uniformed cops. Two police officers pulled Gangsta to his feet, handcuffed him and led him out of the interrogation room laughing like a maniac.

  “Hahahahahaha.”

  Chapter Six

  “You ever hear back from unc?” Gouch asked Pavielle from the kitchen, he was sitting at the table practicing rolling with a pair of red dice.

  “Not yet,” Pavielle answered. He was sprawled out on the couch taking down his hair. “He said he was going to call once he got his hands on a burnout. He doesn’t wanna talk on the jack they have in there, you know they be recording niggaz conversations and shit.”

  “Yeah, I know, has anything changed with his bail?” Gouch schooled the dice.

  “Hell naw, they haven’t set a bail amount.”

  “Man, I swear to God, Blood, if I ever run across bitchboy I’m a split his shit to the white meat.”