After Pamela and Allen embraced in a long hug, they packed all the luggage in the van and climbed inside. Pamela sat up front, while Face sat in the back seat staring out the window at the passing lights and people.
As the van drove down Broadway Boulevard, going south towards South Central Los Angeles, Face was intrigued by what he saw. Police cars seemed to be on every street they drove by and a L.A.P.D. helicopter could be seen hovering over neighborhood buildings. Mexican illegal-immigrants were out on the street selling bags of fruit, while multiple colored low-riders:'64 Chevy Impalas, '75 Lincoln Continentals, '73 Cadillac Deville’s and '64 Mustangs, just to name a few, bounced their front and rear ends up and down the street.
Tall beautiful palm trees lined the streets and light smog clouded the air, giving everything a smoky, dingy look. From inside Allen’s van, police sirens could be heard in all directions. Ambulances raced past, emergency lights flashing. In the distance and over the sounds of chaos around them, Face thought he heard gunshots being fired.
As the van passed the neighborhood’s school yard, Face watched the young children playing outside. Seeing all the children running around, playing, and laughing made him think about Reese, D.J., and Tasha. He missed them terribly.
They drove by the 77th Street police department, heading towards Allen's home on 87th Street. His small three-bedroom house was right in the middle of Crip and Blood territory: Home turf to the 94 Hoover, 74 Hoover, 87th Street Gangsters and the Notorious Blood.
Pamela and Face had no idea they were moving into the middle of a war zone, where the colors red and blue were the only thing that mattered.
The van pulled up in front of Allen's house and parked. They carried their luggage inside. Standing in the living room was Allen's 26 year old fiancée Peaches. Her 11-year-old son Quincy sat in front of a floor model TV watching his favorite cartoon.
The two women greeted each other warmly and cordially. Peaches was not at all what Pamela had expected. Her outward appearance could be described with just one word: Hoodrat. She was short, dark-skinned, and pretty in an average way, but she had a thick hourglass body that could compete with the best.
It had been her gorgeous body that had first caught Allen's attention. Just three days after meeting, they had sex in the back of Allen's van. Two weeks later, Peaches and her son Quincy moved into Allen's three-bedroom home. They had definitely stepped up in the world by meeting Allen and leaving the grimy, violent, Jordan Downs Projects in Watts. For Peaches and Quincy, it had been like winning the lottery. The little gold-digger had found herself a pot of gold, and she made sure she pleased Allen in every way possible to keep him in her life.
Peaches knew that men like Allen were a rarity in L.A. and she was insanely jealous of other females coming around. She watched as Allen led Pamela and Face to a bedroom down the hall. Already, she was envious and her jealousy burned at Pamela's knockout-gorgeous, model-class body and exotic beauty.
Peaches sat on the sofa and lit a Newport cigarette. She inhaled deeply and exhaled twin streams of the silverblue smoke through her flaring nostrils. Hearing the laughter down the hallway near, or inside the bedroom, she began plotting on how to get Pamela and her brat out of her home.
Three weeks later…
Face was getting used to his new surroundings. The only problem he had had so far was Peaches. She was loud and disrespectful, and acted as if she was lord and master of the house. Other than that, things in L.A. weren't as bad as Face had thought they would be.
When Face and Quincy came back in from playing outside, Pamela was sitting on the sofa, talking on the phone. She motioned Face over with her hand.
"Come here, Baby," she said excitedly. Somebody wants to talk to
you."
Face raced over and took the phone as Pamela offered it to him. "Hello?"
"How's my handsome lil' man doin'?" a female voice said.
"Momma!” Face knew the voice immediately. "I'm doing fine, Momma" Face replied then gave her a rundown of everything he had been doing for the past three weeks.
"Hold on a minute," Momma said.
"Hey, Face," Reese said, sadly. "We miss you not being around anymore."
"I miss ya'll, too," he replied, his voice turning sad, then brightened, "but my mom promised we would come back to Philly one day!"
"Well, I can't wait," Reese said. "Things just ain't the same since you left. I heard," he continued, "that Chub is still mad at us over what we done to him at the playground." He laughed.
"I'm not afraid of Chub," Face chuckled. "He's nothing but a big ol' bully. That's why he got a beat-down.”
"Well, he told Tasha that he was gonna get us one day for what we done to him. Me, you, and D.J." Reese said seriously.
"Well, if he tries, the next beat-down will be a lot worse than the first," Face said, and they both laughed.
"Reese, put Tasha on the phone."
After a short but audible sigh, Reese asked Face, “Is Tasha your girlfriend?"
"I can't tell you," Face replied.
"Why not? Ain't I still your best friend?"
"Yeah, but me and Tasha made a promise to each other." "What promise?" Reese asked curiously.
"I can't tell you."
Reese paused for a few seconds and said, "I wanna take our bet off." "Nope. A bet's a bet. Now, can you put Tasha on the phone?"
"Alright," Reese said, passing the phone to Tasha, who was seated right next to him.
"Hey Face," Tasha said excitedly.
"Hey Tasha."
Pamela watched as Face got up and walked to another chair. He started whispering quietly into the phone. She smiled, knowing he was happy and content being able to talk to his friends.
After Face hung up the phone, but before he could walk over to his smiling mother, Peaches barked disrespectfully, "'Bout time!” then walked away.
Pamela led Face to their bedroom. They could hear Allen and Peaches arguing down the hall. Face stared at her with a sad expression, his happiness destroyed by Peaches' abrasive behavior.
"Don't worry, Baby," Pamela assured him. "We won't be putting up with this too long."
Face smiled. He knew his mother never said anything that she didn't mean.
Face walked from the bedroom to go and play with Quincy. Pamela remained seated on the bed, her mind racing with thoughts: Face, the baby, Norman, Veronica, Momma…and that no good son of a bitch, Hood.
Chapter Sixteen
Five months later...
South Central Los Angeles wasn't anything like Pamela expected. She had never seen so much gang violence in her life. Crips and Bloods were killing each other on a daily basis. And the L.A.P.D. was worse than both gangs combined. South Central was a war zone and Pamela and Face were now stuck right in the middle of it.
Despite her pregnancy, Pamela was getting a lot of attention from the young men in the neighborhood. Hustlers, pimps, and gangsters would approach her every time she walked down the street. They all wanted the same things: a beautiful woman; and, if they got lucky, a piece of ass.
But Pamela wasn't interested in any of her pursuers. Relationships and sex were the last things on her mind. She needed space and time to evaluate her young, troubled life. Being seven months pregnant was a hardship like no other she had ever faced.
At night she laid in bed thinking about her unborn child's father, who he was, and she’d cry herself to sleep. Unrelenting anguish filled her soul both night and day. The only thing keeping her sane was her son, Face, whom she cherished. He was her reason for living, the escape from all the troubles that invaded her confused life.
Since Allen was a 5th grade teacher at Manchester Elementary School, every morning he and the two boys would get in his van and drive to the nearby school.
Quincy and Face shared a bedroom and got along just fine. But the relationship between their two mothers was the total opposite. Peaches did everything in her power to make Pamela feel miserable. Most times she would do things right i
n Allen's face, as if daring him to defend his sister. Allen acted as if he saw nothing wrong at all.
Peaches would take much longer in the bathroom when she knew Pamela had to use it, smoke at the kitchen table during supper, and use foul language like a drunken sailor.
Pamela had told her many times about using cuss words around her child. It did no good. Their arguments had become so heated that a few times Allen had to step in to keep them from coming to blows.
In the day-time when everyone was away, they tried to keep their distance from each other. It was no secret they hated each other and had nothing at all in common. And Allen had no control over either one of them; Peaches had him pussy-whipped and Pamela had his brotherly love.
Every morning after Allen and the boys would leave for school Peaches would get dressed and leave the house for a few hours. A few times Pamela watched from a window and saw her climb into the front seat of a blue Cadillac. She never saw the driver's face because of the tinted windows, but her intuition told her that Peaches was a sneaky, no-good bitch. She had seen her type many times before, and knew what was what with no-good women.
She decided when the time was right, she would expose her without hesitation.
Chapter Seventeen
West Philadelphia, 1:32 AM...
Inside a small row house on 39th and Folsome Street, Hood and his crooked cop friend, Ron Perry, had their guns cocked and aimed at the scared elderly couple. The man and his wife sat on the sofa with their hands tied together. Both of them had bruised faces from being pistol whipped by Hood's .38 pistol. Blood mixed tears covered their faces and clothing while the fear of dying was clear in their eyes.
Hood had heard a rumor, that Jay, the elderly couple's son, had something to do with him being shot. Another rumor stated Jay was in fact the masked man. Since he couldn't find Jay, Hood had used Ron’s police connection to find the two most important people in Jay's life; his parents.
"Please Mister, please!" the old man cried, blood running from his nose and mouth, and the cut over his eye. "We ain't seen Jay in months!"
"Stop fuckin' lyin'," Hood said with an evil gleam in his eyes. He loved to hear people beg him for their sorry, worthless lives.
Ron walked over to a window and peeked through the curtains. It was dark outside and the street was empty. They had gotten in the house through a back window. The house had no alarm system to warn them of outside intruders. So Hood and Ron Perry gained entry and had the old couple cornered before they knew anything was wrong.
Hood reached under his shirt and pulled out another pistol; this one a Browning Hi-Power .9mm automatic. It had been threaded for a silencer. Hood pulled the silencer from his pocket and carefully and slowly screwed it in place. He smiled evilly at the old couple all the while.
"If ya'll don't tell me where that motherfuckin' son of ya'll's is stayin', I swear that neither one of ya'll will see tomorrow!"
They could only sit in silence. Both of them were scared more than they had ever been in their lives. Truth was, neither of them had seen or heard from their son in months. Jay very seldom came by the house. Most times he would just call and check on them to make sure they were all right.
"Hurry up, man! Let's get this shit over with!" Ron said,
peeking out the window again, then back at Hood.
Hood pointed the .9mm at the old man's head and looked straight into his tear filled eyes. "Don't worry, I'm gonna make sure your son will be joinin' ya'll soon," he said, then he squeezed the trigger sending the silenced bullet right between the old man's eyes. His dead body slumped over onto his wife's legs.
Before she could scream out for help, Hood shot her once in the head, killing her instantly.
Hood stood staring at the carnage he had caused and grinned. The only thing he enjoyed more than making them beg for their lives, was denying their request. For him, murder was better than sex.
Hood and Ron left the house the same way they had gotten in, went to their waiting car, and drove away. It was as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Hood's message had been loud and clear: you fuck up his money, and you were dead. If he couldn't get you, then your loved ones would suffer the consequences for your actions.
Ron dropped Hood off at his condo. He entered, closing the door behind him and walked straight to the bedroom. A big smile came across his face. Britney and a beautiful dark skinned woman named Carla were both naked and locked in a avid kiss in the middle of Hood's bed. He wasted no time stripping out of his clothes to join them.
Hood had Britney wrapped around his fingers. She would do anything Hood told her to do. Tonight he wanted her with another woman, and Britney had no problem with granting her black lover’s wish.
Los Angeles, CA.
Early the next morning...
"Come in," Pamela said, hearing a knock on the door. Face opened the door and peeked inside. Pamela was dressed, sitting on the edge of the bed, holding a picture of Norman. Face stepped inside and closed the door behind him quietly, then walked over and set beside his mother.
Seeing his young handsome face brought Pamela a much needed smile. Every time she looked into her son's eyes, she saw a smaller version of his father.
Black Scarface
"What's wrong?" she asked, seeing the look on his face.
"Mom, I found something," he replied.
"Found what?"
Face reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a small clear plastic bag. It contained a white, rocky substance.
As soon as Pamela saw the bag and its contents she knew exactly what it was. Crack cocaine.
"Give me that!" Pamela said, nervously.
Face handed the bag over and watched as she walked to the dresser and placed it inside. She turned and walked back to the bed and sat back down beside Face.
"Where did you get it?" she whispered, glancing nervously at the
door.
"I found it under a pile of clothes next to the washing machine," he replied honestly.
"Whose clothes was it under?"
"Uncle Allen's and Peaches’," he replied.
"Did you say anything about this to anyone else?"
"No, Mom. Just you." He turned serious when he saw the expression on his mother's face. He knew something had really upset her about the bag and its contents.
"Don't say nothin' to nobody! You hear me?" Pamela ordered.
Face nodded his head. After Face and Pamela talked for a few more minutes, she smiled and kissed him. She watched as he stood and left the bedroom to play.
As soon as the door shut behind him, Pamela's smile turned upside down. This was something she would not put up with. Her anger was beyond words. Somebody in the house was a crackhead and she knew it wasn't her or Face. That meant it had to be either Allen or Peaches. For now, she thought, she would keep the disturbing discovery to herself, knowing that sooner or later the truth would come out.
It always did.
Philadelphia, PA...
After receiving an emergency phone call from a female cousin, Jay got in his car and rushed over to his parents’ house. When he pulled up on the block, he saw two police cars and an ambulance parked outside of his parents’ small row house. He quickly got out of the car and rushed through the gathered crowd to the front door. He noticed most of the people were in tears, and that they wore looks of disbelief.
He spotted his cousin standing to the side all alone, fear and trepidation filled her shaking body. He knew then that the news was not going to be good. "Tina, where's my mom and dad!" He shouted, beginning to lose control of his emotions.
Tina shook her head sadly, wiping tears away with a trembling hand. "Jay, they're dead," she said, bursting into a bawling fit. "Somebody killed 'em last' night!" she cried even harder, seeing the pain in Jay's distraught face.
"Noooo!" he screamed in anguish, refusing to accept what he had just heard.
The crowd of onlookers, like ghouls, watched an anguishtorn Jay run to the ambulance li
ke a man possessed. Two police officers grabbed him in an attempt to calm him down; he broke loose and quickly ran back to his car. He jumped in, started the engine, and roared from the scene of his creation.
Tears fell from his face like dripping rain. Both his parents were dead and he knew it was his fault. Now, all he could do was plan his revenge on the man he knew was responsible. Hood!
Chapter Eighteen
March, 1989 - Los Angeles, CA...
On March 3, Face happily turned 9 years old. Three days later, on March 6, Pamela gave birth to his 6 pound, 8 ounce baby brother. Her labor lasted for almost six pain-filled hours. Afterward, the doctor cleaned the baby's naked body and wrapped it in a soft cotton blanket, then carried it over to Pamela. She stared into its face and instantly began crying. He was the spitting image of his father; dark-skinned and dark-eyed.
Pamela ignored the doctor trying to pass her the newborn. All she could do was cry. She refused to accept the infant. All through her nine-month pregnancy, she had refused to allow herself to love the baby inside her. And now that he was here, her feeling for him had not changed.
She could not refuse the child a name, so she named him Robert Anthony Foster. And even though everyone who saw the baby claimed he was the cutest baby they had ever seen, her feelings for it would not change. Even she had to admit the baby was beautiful, but she didn't care. Whenever she looked into his brown eyes, all she saw was Hood. The man she hated with all her being.
As the months passed Pamela's attitude didn't change. Even Allen and Peaches noticed her dislike towards the baby. However, no one but Face knew the reason behind her actions; and they thought her feelings would pass. They were wrong. She only did mandatory things for the infant; fed it, cleaned it, and kept it clothed. Nothing in the book said she had to love it. And nothing said she had to breastfeed it, therefore she didn't. She bought milk and formula at the corner store and the baby survived.
Most days the baby would lay in his crib and cry out loud. Pamela sat on her bed and ignored the terrified, lonely, infant‘s pleading. Tears of frustration ran from her hazel eyes. She was lost in a world of confused darkness.
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