The Streets Bleed Murder Box Set

by Jerry Jackson

  He made his way around by G building, then passed H until he reached his pod. Ms. Riley was working the control booth while Ms. Frazher worked the floor. He hit the booth window so she could let him in.

  “213,” Gangsta told Ms. Frazher when he entered the pod.

  She was seated up front at her mini desk. She wrote his room number down as he went straight to the TV room.

  After count cleared, Gangsta signed out to the kitchen for detail. His weed high was gone and he needed something a bit more powerful than mid. He needed loud to get him going.

  Officer Green, who was a very cool young officer, let him into the kitchen. He liked Ms. Bell, but she didn’t give him any play either for some reason. Gangsta walked to the back where Ms. Smith was on the phone with a mean expression on her face. She pointed toward the bakery when she saw him, which made Gangsta stop and smile before doing an about face.

  “Okay, Ma.”

  “’Bout time,” she said with an attitude.

  “I know, right.”

  He began to take off his shirt, because he was about to get down and dirty. Ms. Bell took him into the back where they got some more bread to serve for dinner, but she also wanted him to cook the pancakes for breakfast.

  “Grab fourteen racks,” she said.

  He did as he was told and began to push them toward the exit.

  She stuck the key into the lock and opened the door. Gangsta pushed past her.

  Today, Gangsta just stood back and watched the other guys feed the prison as Ms. Bell directed them. She moved from inmate to inmate making sure they gave the correct amount of food and didn’t overload their plates for their so-called homeboys. Every time she went to the next guy, she would cut her eyes at Gangsta. He made sure not to pay her any attention at all. Each time she looked and noticed he wasn’t looking, she would make him go and grab the spoons and cups. Each time she made sure to work him. Gangsta did so with no problem. He laughed to himself each time.

  After chow was served, Gangsta went out into the dining room to kick it with the other inmates and eat before they had to clean up and leave. Then Ms. Smith called his name.

  “Jackson.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Gangsta got up from the table.

  “Ain’t you cooking the pancakes?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Well, go and get started, ‘cause Ms. Bell has got to go home as early as possible,” Ms. Smith said while putting her bag on her shoulder and getting ready to leave.

  “Okay, I gotcha, Ma,” Gangsta said and walked toward the bakery.

  He saw Officer Green leaning up on the fence talking to Ms. Bell like he was getting his mack on as she smiled and pulled the flat pans out for the pancakes. Gangsta walked into the bakery while putting gloves on and turning on the oven. A few moments later, Officer Green said his goodbyes to Ms. Bell. She smiled in his face, but just as quick as he turned around to leave her smile turned into a frown and she playfully rolled her eyes.

  “Stop fake kickin’ it,” Gangsta said with a laugh.

  “Shut up.”

  “Where is the pancake mix?

  “The warehouse, dang.”

  Ms. Bell took a deep breath and shook her head, then sat down on the stool.

  “You doing so much fake kickin’ it yo’ ass done forgot how to do ya real job, wow.”

  “Honey, hush.”

  “Let’s go get it.”

  “I’m tired,” she said.

  “Yo’ ass the one that’s gotta go home, not me. I stay right down the road.” He laughed and he walked out.

  Ms. Bell tiredly got down from the stool and followed him to the warehouse. There wern’t many inmates left in the kitchen, just the ones who needed to do their last minute clean up.

  The next day, Gangsta signed out of his pod for pill call. He needed to meet Jay on the walk by the gym and store. He saw Jay posted, so he walked over and gave him some dap, and then the both of them walked off toward the pods as Jay lit up a joint.

  “So, what’s up?” he asked Gangsta and passed him the joint.

  “We need to link up,” Gangsta said as he hit the joint. “I can get whatever, bruh. The money ain’t the issue.”

  “Okay, I see. Well, look, I got a ho, bruh, but she is not about to drive to Atlanta.”

  “That’s not a problem,” Gangsta replied as he passed the joint back. “What does she want, or do you handle everything?”

  “Yeah, you just buy the work and drive it down here and we split whatever it is,” Jay said.

  “We’ll try four zips each.”

  “Bet dat, bruh.”

  “She’ll bring it down tomorrow.”

  Gangsta knew he had plenty of options to make the play happen.

  “Check.” Jay passed the joint, which was getting smaller, back to Gangsta. “Let me know when everything is ready.”

  When he got back from talking with Jay, he started making a bombay: coffee, Kool-Aid, and drink all mixed down and grinded into a smooth drink. It was a prisoner’s alcohol, a drink mix almost everyone drank if they could afford it. He walked from his cell and down to the phone to call Terry to see if she was free.

  “Hello,” she said after she accepted the call.

  “What’s up, pretty?”

  “Nothing much, baby. Just a little tired. I’m over my momma’s house.”

  “Okay, good. Walk outside right quick. Look up New Road and see if Veedo is out there.”

  “Let me just call him,” Terry replied.

  “Bet.”

  A couple minutes later, she clicked back over and Gangsta could hear Veedo barking orders to somebody before his voice boomed through the speakers.

  “What’s happenin’, Gangsta?”

  “Shawty, what’s good?”

  “Man, coolin’. I’m down here in Albany making it do what it do,” Veedo said, and Gangsta knew the move.

  He was glad Veedo did as told and did not push the pills in the city.

  “Good, so they like you down there?”

  It was code for the pills.

  “Boy, they adore me.”

  Both the guys fell out laughing.

  “So, look, I need some gasoline by Friday, bruh. I need eight zones.”

  Zones stood for ounces.

  “Ok, cool, I got that in the bricks. Terry can go grab it soon as I make the call,” Veedo said.

  “Bet, and what’s the ticket?”

  “Man, bruh, you straight.”

  “Nah, bruh, this bizness, and you don’t owe me shit. Always keep your bizness in order,” Gangsta said.

  Before he turned himself in, Veedo had given him eight racks for the four pounds of purp, and all he asked for off the pills was forty racks, so as of now, Veedo’s weed debt was clear.

  “You right, bruh. Just give me twelve hunnid. That’s what I paid. It ain’t in my heart to get nothing extra from you, fam.”

  They both agreed to exchange the money once Terry got the product, so Gangsta ended the phone call and retired to the TV room where the guys were watching the news.

  ***

  Veedo

  Veedo was sitting on the porch of LisaPay’s house counting his bankroll. They called her LisaPay because she charged for everything under the sun. She spared no one, and it was something he liked about that country girl.

  LisaPay helped him by pumping the pills out of her crib. In the two weeks he’d been posted, people knew him from slanging pills in the club for eight dollars a pop. They were some of the best pills people had ever had. Veedo’s name quickly elevated through Albany, Cordel, and Macon counties.

  “You still riding shotgun, LisaPay?” Veedo asked once he pocketed the ten bands she just handed him.

  He wanted her to help him find another spot that his customers on the other side of town would stop complaining about the drive. Veedo knew he had to stay low key, but he also wanted to get off the pills as fast as possible.

  “Yup, I’ma roll wit’cha,” she repli
ed.

  Veedo reached and grabbed his phone. He placed a call to his partna Chan from Bankhead Courts. He set up an eight-ounce deal and arranged for Terry to pick it up. Chan agreed, and being Bankhead born and bred, Chan knew Terry because she, too, was from the bricks.

  When Veedo hung up, LisaPay was ready to leave. She had packed all her shit up in the house and locked the door. He stood up from the worn down Lazyboy that sat on her porch and walked down the few steps it took to get to his Dodge Ram F250.

  Veedo climbed in, followed by LisaPay, and both of their bodies sank into the black leather seats. He cranked up the truck and adjusted the radio low so they could ride and talk.

  The pills had sold very well down in Albany, and he only had sixty thousand pills left, so he knew he would need a connection on the pills fast if he wanted to keep the money flowing. Plus, Veedo was about to invest in another trap spot, so he definitely had to have more pills. He thought for a second about what he needed to do, and then he pulled off.

  ***

  Gangsta

  “Say, Mr. Green, call my pod and tell her to put me on out count,” Gangsta said to the young officer.

  Gangsta was going to cook the brownies for dinner that night.

  When he got to the bakery, Ms. Bell was already putting butter on the pans. He noticed the brownies already mixed and ready to be laid.

  “It must be finna snow, ‘cause Ms. Bell is working?” Gangsta said while pulling off his state shirt and grabbing an apron.

  “Don’t start.”

  “What’s up with you?”

  He stood on the side of her.

  “Nothing, but I’ve gotta get this shit done ‘cause I gotta leave at six.”

  “Okay, let’s get you out, then,” Gangsta replied and started working.

  He also wanted to hurry and finish up because he wanted to catch Jay on the last yard, because Jay sent word that the bomb landed. It only took a few days and the play was made. That was something Gangsta liked.

  Ms. Bell and he bounced around the bakery until every pan was filled with brownie mix and most of them were already in the oven on preheat. Ms. Bell was writing on a pad as she leaned over the counter. Gangsta, who was on the opposite side of her, snatched the pen with a smile. She reached for it, but he quickly pulled way so it made her come around the counter to face him. Then he put the pen in the air. Ms. Bell decided to punch him in the stomach, but it didn’t make Gangsta budge, so she just stood there looking up at him. Gangsta looked down to her, then looked up and around them before he leaned in to kiss her. She leaned back and pushed him in the chest.

  “Stop,” she spoke. “Give me my pen, boy.”

  Gangsta placed the pen in her palm. He locked eyes with her. He saw her understanding and noticed she was nervous.

  “I was just joking wit’ yo’ scary ass,” he finally said while taking a seat on the stool.

  “Honey, please. If I kiss you, half the prison will talk about it.” Ms. Bell said and started back writing.

  “Yeah, ‘cause you gonna let them see. Me, I know how to move,” Gangsta replied, and he meant every word that came from his mouth.

  “Yeah, right,” she shot back and walked back toward him. “Plus, yo’ lil’ girlfriend comes to see you every weekend faithfully, I hear.”

  Then she walked off.

  ***

  An Hour Later

  “Yard call! Yard call,” Ms. Perry yelled into the pod.

  Gangsta was the first one out the door.

  “213,” he said as he slid past her slim frame.

  She had a stance like NeNe, but she wasn’t nearly as pretty. She was definitely fine, though. When Gangsta made it to the yard, he was met by Jay and Nardo. They all gave each other a pound before walking off together.

  “Shawty, I got mines off top,” Jay spoke low enough for only Gangsta to hear.

  “Cool.”

  “I didn’t know it would be da loud,” Jay smiled.

  “That’s all my people got, bruh,” Gangsta shot back as Jay passed him a circle of loud still in a wrap.

  Gangsta grabbed it and stuck it in his back pocket, and then let his long white tee hang down over his pockets.

  “’Preciate it.”

  Gangsta walked a couple laps around the yard with Jay until he was ready to fire up some of the new loud. Gangsta decided to workout by the basketball court and stay away from the crowd. Fuck being caught up.

  Anther-forty five minutes passed, and he was in his cell rewrapping the loud smelling gas. He only took out one zip and stashed the rest in his room vent.

  “Gary Jackson! Gary Jackson,” he heard the female officer call his name. “Room 213T.”

  He wondered what she wanted as he opened and stepped out of his cell.

  “Yeah.”

  Ms. Perry looked up and then back down to her paperwork. She looked back at him again, then started walking in his direction to get closer so she didn’t have to yell.

  “You need to report to the kitchen,” she said.

  “I just got off not even two hours ago.”

  “The officer called for you,” Ms. Perry said and walked off.

  Gangsta stepped back into his cell so he could finish what he started. This time he did it with a fast pace so he could make it to the kitchen before count caught him. If Gangsta would’ve had some help, he could’ve been done, but he trusted no man to be in his business. This far he had dealt with everything solo. Plus, in prison, the less people see, the less they will have to tell. When one person peeps your move, nine times out of ten you’re dead because secrets are hardly kept in prison.

  As fast as he could he handled his business and sprayed his room down with bleach to kill the weed smell. Then he was walking and heading to the kitchen. He still hadn’t smoked any of the new loud, but he had plans to go down through there when he got back to the pod.

  When Officer Green let him into the kitchen, the time read 7:15 p.m. He had beat count by fifteen minutes. Gangsta walked into the office to find Ms. Bell at Ms. Smith’s desk.

  “We’re missing knife #0031,” she said when she looked up to see Gangsta’s face as he walked in.

  “I don’t use them,” Gangsta replied.

  “I already had everyone but you checked. I gotta take you in the bakery to see if it’s in there. I’ve already missed my homegirl’s party, and I’m too mad.”

  “Let’s go, then.”

  “Come on,” she shot back and led the way to the warehouse.

  They made it in the back and started looking around. He was on one side of the warehouse and she was on the other side looking for the knife.

  “I’ve got it,” she yelled to him.

  “You do?” Gangsta asked and stood straight up from his bending position.

  He saw her holding up the knife with a smile on her face.

  “Man, your ass could’ve been did this.” Gangsta started to walk off, but he felt her grab his shirt.

  “You forgot something,” she said nervously, and then looked down to the floor.

  Gangsta took her hand into his.

  “I forgot something?” he asked and pulled her toward him.

  She willfully came into his embrace and their lips met for a quick peck.

  “I don’t wanna get in trouble messing with you.”

  “Shawty, I’m not trouble.”

  Gangsta allowed the hand that was holding her lower back to slide down over the curve of her butt.

  “I like you,” Ms. Bell spoke.

  “I like you, too,” Gangsta replied, and they broke from their embrace.

  Ms. Bell led the way out of the warehouse while holding the knife.

  Chapter 14

  Kash

  Dear Big Bruh,

  What’s happenin’, fool? Man, me? I’m just coolin’ it and keepin my head up and mind focused. I got a lot to take on when I hit the street again, so I must stay in tune. This jive won’t be long. This is just something to let you know that you thought of at all
times, my nigga. I will never break the code like dat sucka did us. I’m straight with money, bruh, so if you need something, then holla. Oh yeah, NeNe finna have my seed, fool. Yeah, bruh, I’m ‘bout to have me two lil’ soldiers. Okay, love ya, big bruh. Hit me back when you coolin’.

  Always,

  Gangsta, yo’ lil’ bruh.

  Kash placed the letter down and took the picture that Gangsta had sent out of the envelope. He knew of two of the females from school, and the rest were pictures of Terry from Johnson Road and her friends. He saw Terry was indeed pregnant. Kash just smiled.

  Kash started daydreaming about a time him and Gangsta walked the streets of Atlanta. He remembered the day he saved Gangsta’s life. That was a special day for both of them. They vowed to always have each other’s back and to never cross each other. The same went for their brother, Dank, who was due to get out back then.

  That day Gangsta picked Kash up from the spot on Simpson in a car that was stolen, and Kash didn’t care. Kash jumped off the porch once he saw Gangsta pull up.

  “What’s up, shawty?”

  “What’s happenin’, fool?” Gangsta shot back. “I got a sucka and I’m strapped.”

  Kash smiled and climbed into the car. He pulled out two bags of weed. Gangsta had a 9 mm laid across his lap as he backed out of the driveway.

  “It’s a nigga named Lemon from College Park, but he got the work. He got plenty of dope and money.”

  “How many folks he roll wit’?” Kash wanted to know.

  “It’s just him, bruh. Dat’s it,” Gangsta said with a smile, and then he pulled off.

  The radio was already missing, so they both smoked and discussed the whole set up with this dude Lemon. Kash listened attentively while searching the car for anything of value.