“Easy. You have fresh wound and fifty-four staples we don’t want to bust open,” the doctor said while Ne-Ne pushed her hands out of the way, still trying to move and crying historically.
“No, no, no! Oh my God, this can’t be happening. God, no!” Ne-Ne pushed and pulled. The doctor asked the detectives to leave so they could calm Ne-Ne down. More nurses rushed into the room. As the detectives left, they put some sleeping medicine in Ne-Ne’s IV, and seconds later she was out cold.
Ne-Ne didn’t know if she was dreaming or not when she awoke and saw Erica standing by her bedside. Erica smiled when she notice her sister’s eyes finally flutter open. Ne-Ne saw Keshana and Terry also, along with Mrs. Jackson. Balloons, flowers, and bears filled the table by the window. Ne-Ne’s mouth was dry, her throat was scratchy, but it did not stop her from questioning, “Where is my son?”
Ne-Ne looked to anyone for answers, and her heart got heavy when she saw the sorrowful look on everyone’s face. She instantly started shaking her head, running back into her denial state. “No, no. Don’t tell me.” Ne-Ne began to cry. Gangsta’s mother stepped in as Erica also got up and took ahold of her sister’s hand.
“Nya, baby, Junior was shot in the head. He is brain dead, as it reads, so I need you to be strong for him, let God handle everything, ‘cause he can. I need you with a level head, baby,” Mrs. Jackson said, running her hand over Ne-Ne’s teary face, moving the hair that threatened to embrace the tears that rolled easily down her cheeks.
“Sis, you know I’m here, girl. I promise we will get through this,” Erica added the best words of encouragement she could muster. She was also devastated by the loss, but not as much as Ne-Ne must been. Everybody and their mom knew that Ne-Ne adored her son. Erica wasn’t a mother, so this pain she wouldn’t feel as her sister was feeling, though she vowed to cry with her, laugh with her, and was even willing to go crazy with her if need be. It was the least she could do. for the next ten minutes, they all just sat there in silence as Ne-Ne cried her eyes out. Mrs. Jackson dropped a tear also, because she wasn’t a stranger to the feeling of losing a child. Everything came to a stop when the head doctor walked in. She had a folder in her hand. She was a older white lady with a head full of white hair. She wore a warm smile on her face as she approached Ne-Ne’s bedside, opening the folder.
“Your surgery was a success. We was able to remove both bullets with ease—”
“What’s going on with my motherfucking son?” Ne-Ne’s voice became high pitched, her face turning red. she wasn’t trying to hear all the beating-around-the-bush tails. She wanted answers.
“Your son is brain dead, bullet shot to the head. There’s nothing we can do at this point. Because he’s just a baby, he will not put up the fight a grown-up would,” the doctor said, pulling a sheet of paper from the folder. “We need your consent to take him off life support.” She tried to give Ne-Ne the paper and quickly got it knocked out of her hand to the floor.
“Leave my son on the machine,” stated Ne-Ne with a mean scowl on her pretty face, nose at a flare, face going beat red. She was ready to hurt someone at that moment, preferably her baby daddy for even putting them in a situation so crazy.
The other doctor bent down to retrieve the paper, at the same time saying, “Ma’am, your insurance doesn’t even cover us to keep running the machine. It will cost you so much money to keep going when the results will be the same a month from now. Your son is suffering right now—”
“Leave the fancy machine running. His father will get it paid. Now get the fuck out of my room!” Ne-Ne demanded with a point of her finger.
Chapter 4
Gangsta
When Gangsta made it to Atlanta, he rode up and down Bankhead and Hollywood Road in search of anybody who would know anything or was connected to Bam in any way possible. He was looking high and low, but doing so in a smooth manner not to be noticed by anyone who wasn’t helpful. On the ride from Gwinnett to Atlanta, he heard over the radio that there was reward money out for any info on his whereabouts. Gangsta refused to be caught like that, because he wouldn’t be successful in getting to Bam. After an hour of driving the Westside streets, mind in limbo, Gangsta decided to pull up on Nikki, Terry’s best friend. She had an apartment in Dogwood, off Banked Highway. Gangsta knocked on the door, making sure to keep his head down, fitted cap pulled over his eyes. He wore all black clothing that mixed in with the night skies as time began to lap over. Gangsta heard the door rattle as it cracked opened, and his eyes met Poonie’s, Nikki’s deadbeat baby daddy who was in and out of jail. Poonie stepped to the side to let Gangsta in.
“What’s up, shawty?” Poonie asked, surprised to see the man of the hour. Gangsta entered the crib, taking in the few people in the living room: Roxanne and another girl he didn’t recognize. Nikki was also there, and she stood to her feet as soon as she saw it was Gangsta at her door.
“What’s hap’, Poonie? What’s up, Nikki, Roxanne?” Gangsta spoke.
Nikki, on the other hand, walked over and hugged him, then looked at the big gash in his forehead before saying, “Glad to see you alive, Gangsta. You need stitches, you know?”
“That’s not important right now, but I’m good, thanks. Look, I can’t hang long, but I’m looking for Bam, and I need y’all’s help,” Gangsta said.
“So Bam behind all this?” asked Roxanne.
“Something like dat.”
“Shawty got a babyma who stay on Lucile Avenue that’s all I know.”
Poonie added, “Step and Monkey work for him. Them two niggas who the Feds ain’t snatched up, and they still eating around here when nobody moving.” He held a blunt in his hand, and he passed it to Gangsta. Gangsta in return looked at Poonie then took the blunt.
“Where can I find them?” was Gangsta’s question.
“Oh, them niggas got a spot on Cleveland Avenue,” replied Poonie.
“And his babymama, do you got the address to both spots?” Gangsta hit the blunt once and passed it back.
“Yeah, not the address, but I can explain or better yet point them shits out for you, my nigga. That was some fuck shit Bam pulled to shoot your son, plus me and you, we came up in these streets together,” Poonie said without hesitation, and Gangsta took notice. It earned Poonie some points in his book, because he didn’t have to say shit. True enough, him and Gangsta came up in the same hood, but he really didn’t fuck with Poonie like that. It was just how the hood was: everywhere it’s niggas and bitches that didn’t get spoken to or messed with, but now Poonie was willing to help him.
He and Gangsta jumped in the rental Loco gave Gangsta and flooded the streets. The ride over was mostly Poonie talking and Gangsta listening while his mind focused on his son. He also wondered how Ne-Ne and Erica were holding up. I’ma get revenge for y’all, Gangsta thought to himself as Poonie directed him through the Atlanta streets. The first stop was made on Lucile Avenue, where Bam had a young, stripper babymama named Goldie. When they got there, the house was vacated. Gangsta questioned two different people he met while lingering, and both said that Goldie just up and left, but only one said they had contact on her. Gangsta wasted no time buying the info and got her cell number. The very next stop was Cleveland Avenue to holla at Step and Monkey. It was a crowd of niggas posted outside when Gangsta and Poonie parked and approached the fence, entering the yard.
“Looking for Step and Monkey,” Gangsta said, not being formal, but straight to the point. One of the many guys in the yard walked up. He eyed both Poonie and Gangsta before speaking.
“Who y’all niggas is, pulling up asking police questions? Ain’t no Monkey or Step over in dis trap.” Dude was feeling himself, Gangsta noticed.
“Check this out, bruh, ain’t no beef, no disrespect, no nothing, bruh. I’m just trying to meet these two niggas and I’m out.”
“Well, you in the wrong place. Like I said, ain’t no Monkey—”
“Gary! Gary Gangsta motherfucking Jackson!”
Gangsta turned at the
sound of his government name being called. He saw the dude walking toward, him but couldn’t place his face. The smile the dude held assured him that everything was cool, or he hope so.
“It’s Jay, my nigga!” He held his hand out toward Gangsta, who shook it.
“Damn, bruh, what’s up?” Gangsta was surprised to see him, but also happy to know someone over here.
“Been out ‘bout two weeks now. Come on in, my nigga, it’s all love.” Jay began to introduce Gangsta to everyone, telling them him and Gangsta met in the pen. Gangsta quickly found out that Monkey and Step were two of the many niggas who were there, so after the introductions Gangsta wasted no time.
“Let me holla at y’all two.” Gangsta pointed both of them out. Without hesitation, Monkey and Step led him to one of the back rooms. Inside, after they closed the door, Gangsta turned around to face them.
“I’ma be honest with y’all, my nigga. Right now I got a death wish. I’m on some kill-me shit at this moment. Bam, he’s y’all connect, I know and I respect that, but Bam’s ass finna die. See, my son ain’t but two, and my nigga sitting on life support ‘cause he took a bullet to the head. I’m being real when I say I never had beef wit’ that nigga. He just hot ‘cause I didn’t get on his team, next thing you know my family is kidnapped. Look, like I said, he’s your connect. Well, I will do y’all better prices, better dope. cause I’m the plug in Atlanta, ‘cause this nigga gotta go. I need some info on this sucka. I got four kilos right now, and I will connect y’all niggas so your money won’t stop when this bitch on ice.”
Both Monkey and Step looked at each other, then back to Gangsta.
“Four bricks?” Step asked.
“Right now, bruh. I just wanna murk this bitch for what he did to my son.” Gangsta was desperate, and they saw it in his eyes.
“My nigga, I’m not gone even lie, I feel where you coming from, but we gotta think about this shit. I mean, you just want us to give up a sweet connect for a sweeter mojo, but it’s not that simple, bruh.” Monkey spoke.
Then Step added, “Yeah, ‘cause we don’t know you from a can of paint, and you asking us the unthinkable.”
“Shawty, just put yo’self in my shoes. This nigga Bam is a rat, bruh. He a crossout artist, my nigga, and the streets know. I’m telling y’all niggas first hand that I will give y’all better prices and dope. The nigga gon’ die anyway, whether now or later,” Gangsta pressed.
“Just let us give this shit some thought,” Step said.
Even though Gangsta felt defeated, he still managed a smile. He wanted to do the both of them badly, but spared them for two reasons: they was way too deep in the house and Poonie wasn’t on point. This is where he missed Kash, ‘cause if Gangsta popped it off in the back, Kash would pop it off in the front. Gangsta left the trap spot with plans to return, but when and if he did it would not be nice. He dropped Poonie off and headed to meet his mother.
Gangsta pulled up an hour late, but she was still there waiting for her son with his daughter. When Keshana saw her father, she screamed and jumped from her grandmother’s lap, running to her Daddy. Gangsta scooped her up and kissed her jaw and nibbled her neck. Keshana giggled under her dad’s attention. His mother also got up to embrace her baby boy. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders. It was a hug he needed, the love he was missing, and Gangsta broke down in tears. He was hurt beyond words, and she knew it. The only other time she’d witnessed her son cry like this was when Cool died.
“It’s ok to cry, baby.” She rubbed his back as his daughter wiped the tears that fell. Every time Gangsta dropped his head, Keshana would push it back so she could see her dad crying. It made Gangsta laugh at her effort, but the tears still kept flowing.
“I feel helpless, ma. I don’t know what to do. I wanna help my son, but I can’t. Ne-Ne’s mad, probably hates my guts. I didn’t protect them, ma,” Gangsta said through the tears
“Well, baby, Ne-Ne isn’t mad at you. She loves you. She is just stubborn and hurt, just as much as you are. Junior will not make it, though. Baby, the both of y’all gotta let the baby rest. I know it’s hard, but it’s a decision y’all are forced to make,” Mrs. Jackson spoke, but Gangsta shook his head, still in denial. He put his daughter down. Life had never been this harsh for him.
“Call my lawyer, ma. Tell him money is sent, but go ahead and start working. Go get statements from Erica and Ne-Ne. I’m not turning myself in until I get this nigga though, ma, or I’ma die trying,” He spoke through his anger.
“Don’t say that, baby, and I’ve already talked to Swinn. He’s on his job. You just be safe, Gary, and do not get caught doing nothing else. And you need stitches, baby.” His mother reached for his face, but Gangsta moved out of reach like he was a lil’ kid again.
“I’m good, ma.” Gangsta gave his mother some money and a tape recorder. That made her raise an eyebrow until he assured her it was for the detectives when they questioned her or Ne-Ne.
“Gary, I’m not about to let my son walk around with a big-ass gash in his face. I have the things in my car to stitch you up. It will only take a minute.”
Gangsta wanted to put up a fight, but knew he would lose, and that would be more time wasted. He let her do her motherly duties while his daughter helped, then Gangsta headed back to Gwinnett County to think up a master plan.
Chapter 5
Gangsta
“I need to take a trip to Miami,” Gangsta announced once he walked into the house in Gwinnett. Loco was seated on the sofa, piles of money covered the table, and stacks were on the floor. Melody and another Mexican girl were wrapping red plastic around the money. Jeter and Longo were over in the den stuffing pounds of weed into boxes, moving at a rapid pace. Nobody but Loco looked up at Gangsta’s statement.
“I take it you need me to get you there?” Loco questioned.
“Most definitely would be grateful,” honestly Gangsta admitted. He was pressed for time. He needed the help now.
“I have people who can check things for you first, that’s if you want, so that your trip won’t be in vain. Plus I got intel that Bam is still in the city. Word is he can’t leave until this trial is over, but until then he’s under FBI supervision. I’m not saying he will not strike or that he’s not pushing the work, ‘cause all that’s possible, it’s just he’s not on the scene. And where he’s at is the big question for both of us, my friend,” Loco said. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a rolled blunt. He put some fire to it, hit it a couple times, then passed it to Gangsta.
“So, can you find out if this nigga’s baby’s mother in hiding down there?” Gangsta asked. He wanted to be sure he was hearing right. He hit the blunt also and instantly felt the high he needed. He needed his nerves calmed. Loco stood.
“Just a phone call away, that’s it,” he said. Gangsta passed the blunt back. He hoped Loco could pull that move off. He also hoped there was truth in Bam being in Atlanta still, because it made it all the much better, but first things first, he needed to know the truth.
Loco and Gangsta walked into the den. Loco started helping Jeter and Longo load pounds of loud weed in boxes. Gangsta followed lead after only a second. It took them over an hour to pack sixteen boxes and for the girls to wrap two mil and also pack them into boxes. Gangsta helped load everything into a van inside of the garage. Within the time spent around everyone, Gangsta got introduced to Loco’s younger sister, Mya. She was far prettier than Melody, she just wasn’t as thick, but she proved to be just as cool.
“Ok, it’s confirmed that Bam’s baby mother is indeed in Miami at her parents’ spot. Jeter and Longo will take this trip with you, give you the support you need. I will have a change of cars for you there in Miami and a place to lay low at until this issue is resolved, but do not get comfortable and think he won’t pull one of his stunts, so get in and out of Dade County,” Loco spoke from the driver seat of the van.
“‘Preciate it,” Gangsta said, and he really meant that. Loco left with both of his sisters, lea
ving the three of them to devise a plan on what they needed to do before they even took the trip. Longo was the thinker. He was the one almost always saving the situations as they occurred. Jeter was the hothead and hardly ever socialized, all he wanted was money. Jeter was the youngest, and Gangsta could tell by the many tattoos that covered his body and face. Gangsta learned that Longo was on the run from Mexico for a string of murders he committed just to prove himself to Loco’s father, Chavez, a major drug kingpin. After talking a minute about Miami, Gangsta excused himself to use his cellphone. He dialed his mother’s number. She picked up just as quickly as he called.
“Ma,” he didn’t give her a chance to say hello, “Ma, where you at?” Gangsta asked. Both Longo and Jeter were preparing to leave, waiting on him. Gangsta grabbed his gun from the table.
“On my way back to the hospital,” she replied.
“Ok, listen, ma, do not by any means go back home. I’m sending someone to escort you to auntie’s house, ‘cause this nigga is still in the city and he may try to come at you.” Panic could be heard in his voice, and his mother peeped it. Gangsta loved his mom, and if something was to happen to her on his account, he wouldn’t know what to do. It was already almost impossible for him, dealing with his son being on life support. He couldn’t take another blow.
“Ok, son, that’s fine by me. I’m at South Fulton Hospital. Erica is being released today, too. Should I take her along?”
“Yeah, ma. Keshana and Terry, too,” Gangsta said.
“Ok, ‘cause Terry is at the hospital with Ne-Ne, so we will be waiting for our escort.” After hanging up the phone, he went to retrieve his duffel bag, where he took out a brick of cocaine. Longo and Jeter looked at each other, then to Gangsta as if he was crazy.
The Streets Bleed Murder Box Set Page 25