Me and My Hittas

by Tranay Adams

  “I told you these are mine, Booby.”

  “I’m not tryna hear that shit, nigga!”

  “I was going easy on your ass ‘cause you’re my baby brother and shit. But now the kid gloves are off.” “Bring that shit then, homeboy!” Pavielle threw a few jabs that but they fell a couple of inches short of reaching hisGouch’s chest.

  “What the hell are y’all doing?” Vayda yelled out from the porch, holding the front door open. “Baby, why are you fighting your brother?”

  “Fuck this nigga, baby!” Pavielle yelled back, trying to punch a hole through his oldest brother’s chest. “Blood tryna gangsta my Dickies.”

  “You mean your red Dickie shorts? I sent them to the cleaners with the rest of your stuff.” Pavielle dropped his arms to his sides and turned around to face his woman. “And when in the hell were you going to let me know this?”

  “I told you yesterday that I was sending them to the dry cleaners, weed head,” She pretended to take pulls of a blunt, her way off letting her boo know he smokes too much.

  “See, I told your ass.” Gouch smacked him in the back of his head. He swung back around throwing up his hands and the two started slap-boxing. A sharp whistle came from their left and the brothers’ heads snapped around. Beyond the iron-gate they saw Big Head on his Beach Cruiser.

  “Soowoo,” he greeted them.

  “Soowoo,” Pavielle and Gouch retorted in unison, as they approached the black iron-gate breathing heavily.

  “What it two, my young nigga?” Pavielle asked, resting his arms between the bars of the black iron-gate.

  “Ain’t shit, y’all know Fat Travon posted up by y’all way getting it, right?”

  “Hell naw! Where is he at?” Pavielle frowned.

  “Shit, right there in front of Ace’s mini-market.” he informed the brothers. “That fool knows that’s my territory.” Pavielle told Gouch over his shoulder. “He thinks just ‘cause unc is on lock that he can post up out here? It doesn’t work that way. Unc’s territory is under my jurisdiction now. I’m running this.” He smacked his hand up against his chest.

  “I tried to tell ‘em but he wasn’t tryna hear me,” Big Head confessed, looking dead serious. “He said, and I quote, ‘Booby can eat a bowl of hot dicks!”

  “Is that right?” Pavielle asked, raising his brow. He couldn’t believe Fat Travon would show his ass like that.

  This nigga knowI’ma ‘bout that life, fuck wrong with Blood? He thought. “Yep, he told me to eat a bowl of dicks, too.” Big Head added. “I’m telling you big homie, if I would have had my banger, I would have bucked his fat ass down.” He extended his hand and pulled an imaginary trigger, making gunshot sounds with his mouth.

  “Would have served him right, disrespectful mothafucka,” Gouch’s face balled up. “Aye, Gucci, I gotta see this nigga. Yo, Y.G,” Pavielle addressed Big Head. “Post right here for a second, Blood. I’ll be right back.” He ran off into the house and came back out loading pool balls into a black dress sock, tying it up at the end.“Roll me to where blood at.” He hopped on the handle bars of Big Head’s Beach Cruiser, his legs dangling as they rode off. His face was balled up and his neck was on a swivel as they moved.

  Gouch snatched up an old rusty pipe from off the curb and was stalking after his brother and their homeboy. The Hood brothers were about to fuck a nigga up.

  *** Fat Travon had just finished making a sell when he looked up the block and saw Big Head, Pavielle, and Gouch approaching. He tensed up a little, realizing he had let his mouth write a check that his asscouldn’t cash. But it was too late now, he had to soldier up and hold down the fort. Readying himself, he put on his game-face and tightened his grip around the .32 resting in hisjacket’s pocket. He took a deep breath and then blew hard.

  Big Head’s Beach Cruiser came to a stop in front of Fat Travon and Pavielle hopped of its handle bars. Holding the sock of pool balls behind his back, he approached the husky curb server wearing a hostile expression.

  “What’s up, fat boy? What chu doing out here?”

  “Nothing,” Fat Travon replied nonchalantly. “Tryna get this money.” “I ain’t mad at chu, pimp. You can get your money, you just can’t get it over here,” Pavielle told him, tightening his grip on the sock of pool balls. “Gangsta’s locked up and this here has been passed down to me. And the only niggaz that’s living off the fat of my land is the ones that are getting money with me. Ya Griff me?” he spat on the sidewalk, wearing a scowl that dared Fat Travon to challenge his authority. “So you gone have to bounce.”

  Fat Travon’s looked over Pavielle, Gouch and Big Head, they were all wearing scowls. Outnumbered, he felt like a lamb among a pride of lions.

  “Or get bounced!” Gouch added his two cents. He was posted under the telephone pole with the rusty pipe resting over his shoulder like a baseball bat.

  Big Head sat on his Beach Cruiser laughing at Fat Travon, taunting him. Pissed off, the beefy corner hustler drew his pistol. Before he could get off a shot, he felt something hard strike him dead smack in the face. A sharp pain shot through his face like a bolt of electricity. He grabbed his face with his meaty hands and dropped his weapon, right beside Gouch’s rusty pipe.

  Pavielle swung into action, assaulting Fat Travon with the sock of pool balls. He struck the beefy hustler’s back, shoulders and head. He tried to make a run for it, but he tripped him up and he fumbled to the sidewalk, busting his mouth. The crack rocks spilled from his jacket pocket onto the pavement. Two crack heads came out of nowhere snatching up the tiny pieces of poison. One of them scooped up his .32 and tucked it, running off with his partner.

  Gouch caught up with his baby brother, while Pavielle continued to beat Fat Travon with the sock of pool balls, he kicked and stomped him. Growing tired of the sock of pool balls, Pavielle tossed it to the side and snatched an aluminum trash can from the curb. He motioned for his brother to get out of the way and then he slammed it on their victim’s head, hard as a mothafucka.

  “Uhhhhh,” Fat Travon moaned, his eyelids flickering white. “Stay the fuck off my blocks! Haa! Haa! Haa! Haa,” Pavielle managed to say between breaths, his chest jumping up and down. He was winded from the beating he had laid down. He harped up some phlegm and spat it on Fat Travon’s temple. The disgusting goo oozed over his eyelid, dripping to the ground.

  Chapter Eight

  The next day

  Pavielle had gotten a phone call from a blocked number while Vayda was braiding his hair on the front porch. He started not to answer the call, but something told him that he ought to.

  “What’s bracking?” He said into his burn -out cell phone before taking a pull from his blunt, unleashing smoke. Afterwards he tapped the L, dumping ashes on the step.

  “Is this Booby Loc o?” A voice asked from the other end of the phone. It sounded like it had been chopped & screwed.

  “Yeah, who is this?” His face balled up. Ignoring Pavielle’s question, the voice went on to give him the location and time he was to meet his charge. Shortly thereafter, the phone was being hung up.

  “Who was that?” Vayda asked, making a part down his head with a skinny comb.

  “My destiny,” Pavielle replied before taking another pull from the blunt.

  That night

  Eleven thirty rolled around and Pavielle and Gouch found themselves pulling up at the address the weird voice had given him. The address belonged to an old warehouse that used to manufacture Mattel toys.

  Entering the mouth of the enormous warehouse, the headlights of Pavielle’s Chevy Impala shined on the faces of Tango, Bullet and Black Jesus. The trio was posted outside of a white on white Rolls Royce Phantom. The luxury vehicle’s headlights were shining behind them to provide some sort of light within the dark warehouse.

  Pavielle left the headlights of his Chevy on and grabbed the duffle from the back seat. He jumped out of his ride with Gouch on his heels, approaching the drug lord and his company. Pavielle looked over the faces of the three men bef
ore him. He had no idea who the older Dominican gentleman was in the fancy suit and shades. But from the bulge near his left breast he knew he had to have been packing, which would make him Black Jesus’ body guard. Hecouldn’t have been the plug, because men of his caliber never carried a gun. They always had someone with them to hold them down.

  Homeboy standing on the opposite side of the man in the wheelchair couldn’t have been Black Jesus either. It was the shaved head, tattoos and gangster apparel that gave him away. His threads and appearance definitely wasn’t one of a drug lord. From what Pavielle heard from Gangsta, his coke connect was a man who adored tailor made suits. He was into silks, suedes and linens. You would never catch him in Dickies and a Pro-Club.

  The Spanish cat in the wheelchair had to be Black Jesus. He looked just like Gangsta had described him; a good looking, dark skinned Latino, with a Superman curl. Pavielle thought if the drug lord hadn’t chosen the dope game; the pretty mothafucka could have made his living as a supermodel.

  “You must be Black Jesus?” Pavielle guessed right . Black Jesus cracked a grin but never answered. “I’m O.G Booby Loc, and this is my older brother, Gouch.” He gave a slight nod to his big brother, who was standing beside him. “We’re Gangsta’s…” Pavielle’s words died in his throat when Tango and Bullet drew down on him and his brother.

  “Ain’t this about a bitch?” Gouch’s forehead wrinkled, looking to his little brother.

  “My man,” Pavielle scowled and addressed the wheelchair bound man. “What the fuck is this?”

  “Place your guns on the ground, kick’em over and take off your clothes.” Black Jesus ordered. “What?” Gouch snapped. “I’m not upping my strap and I’m for damn sure not taking off my mothafucking clothes!” with that being said, Tango and Bullet cocked the hammers of their weapons.

  “Take. Off. Your. Mothafucking. Clothes,” Black Jesus gritted, arching his eyebrows. “Now!” “Go ahead and do as he said, Gucci,” Pavielle told his brother as he removed his banger and dropped his duffle bag at his sneaker. Gouch blew hard but went along with his little brother’s request. As the brothers placed their straps on the ground and kicked them over, Gouch stared at Black Jesus with a burning hatred. He swore to himself if he lived through whatever the drug lord had planned for him that he was going to put a bullet through his head and each one of his nigga’z as well.

  “Now your clothes, gentlemen,” Black Jesus told them and steepled his hands in his lap. The brothers stripped down to their boxers. “And your boxers,” Pavielle and Gouch exchanged glances and then they dropped their boxer briefs to the ground. They stood facing the Mexican drug lord, with their dicks and balls hanging. Black Jesus then motioned for them to do a 360 degree turn with his finger. They obliged.

  “What’s up with your man?” Gouch asked Pavielle as he turned around. “He’s some type a fag or something?” “No, I am not some type of fag.” Black Jesus answered, overhearing the eldest of the Hood brothers. “You don’t get to play in this game as long as I have without taking precautions. Besides, I don’t know you two from a can of paint. For all I know, you could have been wearing wires.”

  “Fair enough,” Pavielle retorted. “Now can we put our clothes back on?” Black Jesus gave them the go ahead and they put their clothes back on. He then had Tango kick their guns back over to them. The weapons went spiraling in circles en route to their owners.

  “Now,” Black Jesus began. “It’s our turn.” He

  flashed a smile. Tango and Bullet stripped naked, while Pavielle and Gouch held their heats on them. They spun around slowly to let the brothers see that they were not wearing any wires. They then got dressed and stripped Black Jesus down to his nakedness. They took the drug lord under his arms, lifted him from his wheelchair and spun him around so that the brothers could see that he wasn’t wearing a wire either. They then got him dressed and sat him back down in his wheelchair.

  “My apologies,” Black Jesus told the brothers as he buttoned up his shirt. “But I enjoy my freedom. One man’s humiliation is a small price to pay for it; no hard feelings, huh?”

  “No hard feelings.” Pavielle agreed. “Like you said, you have to take precautions.”

  “And your brother?” Black Jesus asked Pavielle, but kept his eyes on Gouch.

  “No hard feelings.” Gouch reluctantly agreed. “Now can we get down to business? A sharp whistle from Black Jesus brought forth the humming of an engine and the crunching of gravel. Next, came the tail lights of a U-Haul truck backing its way inside of the warehouse. The large vehicle stopped beside the connect and his people. Its driver side door opened and a gent in a Dickie’s uniform and cap jumped down. Black Jesus motioned the Hood brothers over and they came right away.

  “Your drugs are inside of here, thirty kilos as agreed upon.” He knocked on the steel shutter. The driver of the U-Haul tossed Pavielle the keys and he snatched them out of the air.

  “I’ll take that.” Tango took the duffle bag from him and slid the strap over his shoulder.

  “So that’s it?” Pavielle asked. “This will be the last time you see me and drugs in the same place together.” Black Jesus told him. “From now on you will go through Tango.” He placed a hand on his bodyguard’s shoulder. Playing bodyguard for him was more so a front for the Dominican man. His main job was making sure that his boss’s shipment got to and from its destination. As well as taking in to account that the cliente got what they asked for once a deal was brokered.

  Pavielle was given a burn-out cell phone with one number in it. He was to use it whenever he was ready to reup and then discard it. He would be given a new cell each time he was done with the old one. After he was given these specific instructions, he stashed the burn-out in his pocket. He and Gouch climbed into the U-Haul and made their departure.

  It was on now.

  Chapter Nine

  Pavielle had assembled an All-star dream team. The seven man crew hustled all day every day. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. From sun up to sun down the crew was at it, pulling in every dollar that they could.

  Pavielle’s crew was bringing in so much paper that he was running out of safes and stashes to put it in. Business was good and everybody was happy. The dream team was hood rich and loving it.

  Black Jesus had taken a chance on Pavielle and it had paid off. The young kingpin was making him a lot of money. When the damu would come and cop he would bring bags of money so large that it looked like he was going to do laundry. As time progressed the Arturos and the Hoods grew closer. Black Jesus and Pavielle’s relationship had become like his and Gangsta’s. The two were business associates as well as good friends. They would hang out when ever their hectic schedules would allow it.

  Pavielle was lying in bed asleep, when he was awoken by a combination of delicious aromas escaping from the confines of the kitchen. His nose alerted his empty belly to the scrumptious morning breakfast awaiting them. His belly growled at being teased and he licked his chops. Sitting up in bed, the young kingpin yawned and stretched. He looked over to Vayda and found her fast asleep. He smiled, kissed her on the forehead and threw the covers from over his person. He pulled a red homemade stocking cap down over his corn rows, slipped on some red basketball shorts, and slid his feet into some red corduroy house shoes. He then headed into the bathroom, where he washed his face and brushed his teeth. After giving himself a once over in the bathroom mirror, he made a beeline for the bedroom door.

  *** G-momma had just pulled a pan of biscuits from the oven and placed it on top of the stove. She turned the fire off of a sizzling skillet of bacon and laid all ten strips on a plate covered by three paper-towels to absorb the grease. On the kitchen counter was the rest of the morning breakfast: scrambled eggs, pancakes, grits, hash browns and sausages. There were also glass pitchers of milk, orange juice and apple juice.

  Crossing the threshold into the kitchen, Pavielle found Gouch with his face buried into a plate of food. Pulling his head up from his plate to suck
his fingers, Gouch gave his baby brother a nod of acknowledgement. Pavielle chuckled and shook his head at the sight of his big brother. He looked like a baby with all of those grits and eggs around his mouth.

  “What’s cooking, good looking?” Pavielle asked G - momma as he wrapped his arms around her and pecked her on the cheek. She was taking a sip of orange juice when he had crept behind her.

  “It’s all on the counter, Booby,” She smiled, taking another sip of orange juice. “Mmmm,” Pavielle said , looking over the feast his grandmother had prepared. “Smells good, looks good,” He told her, popping a strip of crisp bacon into his mouth. “Momma, I’ll tell ya, if I was just a lil’ younger I’d have to go ahead and wife it up.”

  “Oh, stop it, I bet you tell that to all of the girls,” G- momma said, acting smitten and batting her eyes.

  “Only the ones I fall in love with,” Pavielle replied as he popped the other half of bacon in his mouth. “You better stop it now, before Vay come out here.” she laughed. “Good morning family!” Vayda said, crossing the threshold into the kitchen. She playfully smacked Gouch upside his head and he looked up at her like she had lost her mind. “Good morning, Vay,” G-momma replied, fixing a plate.

  “Good morning, momma,” Vayda pecked her man’s grandmother on the cheek as she received the plate of food from her. “Thank you.” She said in a very upbeat voice.

  “Oh, so your man don’t get none of them kisses?” Pavielle asked, pretending to be jealous.

  “Oh, my man gets all of that and then some,” She told her boo before they locked lips.

  “Aye, man, don’t chu bee me and momma eating over here?” Gouch said, with a mouthful of food. “Oh, leave them alone,” G -momma said, looking at the two lovebirds. “Can’t you see that they’re in love? Me and your grandfather use to be just like that. We could never get enough of each other.”