***
Monkey
“Nigga, you sure this the spot?” Monkey asked Step while looking at the large, gated house sitting far back from the streets. They were far out in Smyrna, Georgia. It was a place thugs weren’t seen, and when or if they were seen, it was a red flag. Both guys were strapped, both on papers, so they had to be extra careful. The police lay in wait in this area. Any day a thug could get booked.
“Yeah, Feds never knew Zay had this place. It’s where the bitch Terry lives. You know that’s Zay’s ho, but she got a kid by Gangsta. If we can snatch her up — or better yet, get the kid — then we good. Fuck around and run into Gangsta, and that’ll be perfect,” Step boasted while Monkey just listened, still searching the large home for a way in but seeing nothing at all, no way to get in without being seen.
“So how we ‘posed to get in this place?” Monkey pulled a Newport out to smoke. He needed the smoke bad. He was still in shock about what happened to Jay. He didn’t know that once he told Bam that Jay knew Gangsta that Bam would flip. Monkey was only doing what he thought was right in order to get in better with Bam, but it seemed the plan backfired, because Monkey didn’t want Jay dead. He was their homeboy, and he was Monkey’s older sister’s baby daddy. It was a fucked-up situation to be in, plus he put his self at fault, because he was the nigga who told Bam Gangsta showed up. “I don’t see no way.”
Step kept looking. “I guess we lay ‘bout an hour or two and see if any traffic come through,” Step said.
“Lay where, Nigga?” Monkey said, noticing every house on the block was gated and far apart. Step cranked up and pulled off the scene and into traffic. Monkey passed him the cigarette. Step said they would post up at the Racetrack gas station where they could watch the street with its heavy activity. He said, “Maybe we will see Terry riding through, or better yet, Gangsta.”
The gas station was hardly packed, so Step quickly pulled over by some payphones and the air-pump machine. He passed the Newport back and cracked the tinted windows.
“Bruh, what you think ‘bout that shit Bam pulled on Jay? I mean, don’t you think the nigga was being over the top with how he did shawty?” Monkey wanted to know Step’s thoughts because he trusted him like a brother.
“To be honest, bruh, naw, he did what any boss would have done. Violence is for order, my nigga, and that’s just the code of these wicked streets. He meant to make a statement, and he definitely did.”
Monkey was disagreeing with the shake of his head, then he cut in. “I can dig that, but we been knowing Jay since way back when, my nigga, and we just started rocking with Bam, what, ‘bout three months now? Come on, shawty.” Monkey thumped the butt of the cigarette out the cracked window and blew a huge cloud of smoke toward the windshield. Step caught on to his partna’s sudden attitude.
“Monkey, my nigga, I feel you, but look at how Bam got us living. We can be rich in no time fucking with dude, for real, bruh. Yeah, I know Jay, been knowing him a lot of years, and he a good nigga, but this game you lose some, you win some. And right now we winning, shawty.” Step had his mind made up. It was all about the money, and nothing else mattered to him. Just a couple months ago he didn’t have a pot to piss in and no window to throw it out of, and then they ran across Bam, who instantly showed them love by dropping weight on their petty grind. Step was with Bam. Monkey needs to get with the program before it’s too late, Step thought.
“Man, I’m just saying, you never can tell with this nigga. You don’t know if he gon’ flip or not. I’m just speaking the facts, bruh, that’s it,” Monkey stressed, because he saw where this conversation was headed with his childhood friend. Step could be very difficult at times and was almost always stubborn. He was stuck in his ways, as they said. Monkey had dealt with him because they were raised on the same block, went to the same schools, and fucked hos together. He had true love for Step, but Monkey was never the fool.
“I’m with the winning team, shawty. Let that shit go, ‘cause Jay gone, my nigga. It is what it is,” Step replied, looking at his partner in crime, then added, “We just got a fresh hundred pounds in that we ain’t pay a dime for. If we can pull this move here off, I know this nigga Bam will fuck with us heavy, my nigga. Just ride with me. I got us.” Step started fumbling with the radio. Monkey looked at him sideways, then replied while pulling out some weed.
“You right, bruh,” was the last thing Monkey said. He began rolling the blunt while watching the streets. He didn’t want to miss nothing or nobody. He still wasn’t feeling Bam, and now he started feeling some type of way about Step, but he would keep that to his self.
Chapter 7
Gangsta
He was looking out the window, lost in deep thought as the SUV rental cruised down the Miami streets, headed to the condo Loco had arranged for them. The sunlight was bright because it was early and beautiful. It was one of them humble mornings when not a lot of people was out. The regular nine-to-five workers were coming and going, the hustlers and all-day petty criminals were among those that walked the streets, but mostly everyone was in the comfort of their beds, dream-chasing.
Today Gangsta felt free — hurt, but free — from the situation with the cops. He felt different being in Miami, unwanted with no pressure. He just prayed Bam’s babymama was indeed down here. Gangsta needed Kash out badly. He missed his brother from another mother and knew that if Kash was out, shit would be better. He needed to hear Kash’s motivation. He had always known how to get Gangsta on track. Even in an emotional state, Gangsta knew Kash would know what to do in a situation like this. While driving from Georgia, he got a call from Loco saying some of his people found where Bam was located. He was in Mount Zion in a mini-mansion, but the Feds were watching his home from the outside. Gangsta wanted badly to turn around and head back to Atlanta, but he knew that would be a foolish idea, because the last people he wanted to see were the police. Gangsta wanted to stay as far away from the cops as possible. He would deal with the cops face-to-face once he got Bam, but until then he had to remain low key and move swiftly.
It took a twenty-minute drive for them to reach the condo from the highway. The condo was laid when they arrived. It was laced with some of the best furniture, and everything was there for their comfort. Longo tossed the bag of guns on the sofa and went into the kitchen, holding a folder. Jeter closed the door and set the alarm. Gangsta pulled out his phone. He called his mother.
The phone rang a few times and she picked up.
“Son.”
“Ma, what’s up? Where y’all at?”
“We’re safe, at your aunt’s house. How about you, though? Are you ok? How is your head feeling?”
“I’m good, ma. What’s up with Ne-Ne?” Gangsta asked. “She good?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I just got off the phone with her. She’s in a room with a phone line now. She is healing, and lord, cranky! But that’s Ne-Ne for you,” his mother said, and Gangsta liked what he heard, but was afraid to ask the next question. It was an answer he wanted, but was scared to know, because his hope said this, but his heart said different.
“And my son? Any good news?”
There was a pause so silent it seemed like the both of them stopped breathing. Gangsta’s insides turned and his eyes closed when he heard his mother’s voice begin to crack as she spoke.
“Baby, nothing has changed. I wish it would, but it’s not looking good. Doctors said it’s no chance, Gary.”
Those words crushed him. No real man could swallow that pill, could take that news in stride. It would break the hardest man down just as it was doing Gangsta.
“Ok, ma, give me Nya’s number. Is she asleep?” Gangsta quickly changed the subject because he was breaking on the inside, and if it wasn’t good news, then he didn’t care to hear it.
Once he got Ne-Ne’s number, he wasted no time calling her privately. It rang what seemed like a thousand times before her voice came through the speakers, irritated.
“Hello?”
“Gary”
“Yes, listen—”
“Our son is dying,” she cut him off. She instantly broke down crying.
That took Gangsta by surprise, so many different emotions rushing out of her. Even though Ne-Ne was acting stubborn to everyone, she was scared and hurt. This wasn’t her type of lifestyle. She had never been through any of what Gangsta had going on. Ne-Ne was crying so hard that Gangsta said nothing. He just listened to her cry her heart out, heartbroken himself, but he didn’t want to show her he we losing it. He wanted to show her strength.
“Gary, you didn’t protect us. You jeopardized us for them fuckin’ streets, and now my son has a twenty percent chance of living ‘cause the choices you made. You didn’t protect us. You brought that shit right to our doorstep, Gary. Why?” Ne-Ne cried harder.
“Baby, listen, it’s not ev—”
“No, you listen,” she cut him off. “The hospital is trying—”
“Don’t pull the plug, no matter what they say,” Gangsta cut her back off.
“Oh, trust and believe I won’t.” Ne-Ne was still crying. “Insurance won’t hold up, though, and—”
“Nya,” Gangsta said as humble as possible. He was in love still with her and didn’t like to see her like this.
“What, Gary?”
“Don’t worry ‘bout no money for my son. Just get better and pray, baby, ok? I love you, ok?”
“Bye, Gary.”
“Nya?” Gangsta spoke, but there was nobody one the line. She was gone, and he couldn’t say he blamed her, but right now wasn’t the time for them to be falling apart. She was supposed to be his number one fan, because when a person’s girl, wife, family believe in them, it makes them go harder. It gives them reasons, and that’s what he longed to have from the woman he was in love with. Gangsta tossed his phone over on the sofa next to the bag of guns. He went into the kitchen where Longo was looking over a printout of Bam’s babymama’s mom’s house. There was also a map and a host of pictures sprawled out on the countertop. Gangsta took a seat on the stool next to him.
“Ok, so what are we looking at?” He was truly interested.
“Everything, my friend. A route to get in and out. A time to check every street for a hidden camera. We must study the traffic, the cops. Everybody and everything should work together if we plan to pull this off without being noticed down here. The last thing Loco wanted was bad blood between his people in Miami,” Longo spoke, not taking his eyes from the paperwork he had prepared.
“Ok, so just let me know when you ready to go handle this issue. I need to get me a lil’ mental rest, feel me?” He patted Longo’s shoulder while getting to his feet.
“Hey, way?” Longo caught him before he left the kitchen.
“What’s up, way?” Gangsta stopped and turned his attention back to the Mexican.
“Loco really likes you, has vouched for you. You know, that’s the reason we are here with you. Thus far, I like you too, way. You’re smart and humble with your shit, amigo. After this ordeal is over, you will become a very rich man with power, and my friend, you deserve it.” Gangsta only looked at Longo, who turned away first, looking back over his handout.
“‘Preciate it, way. Real talk, brother.”
Gangsta grabbed his phone en route to finding a room with a bed. He lay across it and dialed a number.
“Hello,” she answered.
“Ebony, what’s going on?”
There was a pause on the other end, then Gangsta heard her sitting up before she spoke. “Who is this?”
“It’s Gangsta.”
“Ok, I figured that. How are you holding up?” she asked, concerned because he was like a brother to her and was an uncle to her kids.
“I’m good, Sis, just tore up ‘bout my son, you know.”
“Yes, I’m following the case now. I just hate how the media is making Ne-Ne out to be an unfit mother because she refuses to remove your son from life support. And charging you with murder instead of self defense is crazy.” Even though Ebony was a homicide detective, she would never turn on her brother. She was more loyal to her love than her job.
“Yeah, shit is crazy, and the world is against me right now, but not for long. Once I handle my business, I got a plan. So how are the kids? Have you heard from Kash?”
“The kids are great, and I looked Kash up. He’s on maximum security at Jackson State Prison. I wrote him, but haven’t got a reply,” Ebony shot back.
“Cool. So listen, talk to Kash’s mom and pops about getting him another lawyer so he can withdraw his guilty plea. He gotta go through some different courts, but it can happen. Also, I need you to check and see exactly what they got on me.” Gangsta had something up his sleeve.
“I will make the call to Kash’s parents, but you know my district is Cobb County. Well, I got a best friend at front desk in Atlanta, so yeah, I got you, bruh.”
“Bet that, Sis. I’ma keep in touch,” Gangsta replied, and he got off the phone.
He got up off the bed and searched the room until he found what he was looking for. Once he got the book, Gangsta opened it to the far back until he found Hebrews eleven and read the entire scripture. He read slowly so he could take in exactly what the verses were saying. Gangsta was broken down, and he needed the faith of some of those he was reading about. Tears slowly rolled from Gangsta’s eyes as thoughts of Junior wouldn’t leave his mind, plus Ne-Ne being stubborn wasn’t helping at all. It crushed his insides not to have her love anymore, and for her to say the things she said about him. No matter what, Gangsta felt like they should come together, rather than being apart. They needed to be strong for their son.
Gangsta closed the Bible and got down on his knees. The only person who could help him now was God, so that’s who he was going to.
God, you said all I need is the faith, all I have to do is ask and it would be given to me. Lord, my son is lying in a hospital bed eighty percent dead, twenty percent living, and his mother hates my guts. God, I ask you to fix this.
Tears fell rapidly down his face now.
God, I know I’m no saint, and in your book my sins are great, but Junior, he’s just a kid. Lord, please spare my son. God, please heal my son with a miracle, because he deserves a shot at life. He’s only two. God, please hear my cry, and I got faith that you do hear me and he will be healed. God, he’s barely even two yet. His sins are not sins. He’s innocent, God. I’m begging you.
Gangsta broke down harder than he ever had. His emotions had gotten the best of him as the cries rushed out of him. He was helpless, didn’t know what to do. Just the mere thought was eating up his insides. He did not want his son to die. He could not bury him.
God, please spare my son, Nya, my daughter, and mom and auntie. Please protect them all, Lord. God, please lighten the heart of Nya. God, I need her. Lord, I pray and ask all these things in Jesus’ name. Amen.
Gangsta got up and wiped his face with his shirt. He lay across the bed, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. His mind was in overtime. Something had to give, and fast.
***
Monkey
They finally left Racetrack after being there three hours. Monkey had to talk Step into driving to the Westside where Gangsta was from. Monkey stressed that it was better than just sitting in College Park with little chance of finding anybody linked to Gangsta. Monkey knew a couple folks on the Westside who would side with him before they would with Gangsta, so he decided to take a trip over after convincing Step. Once they made it to Hollywood Road, Monkey ran into a smoker he knew named Randy, who was willing to help. They rode to Do Drop In, a hood store. Step sent the dude Randy inside to get blunts and sodas. When he was out of the car, Monkey looked over to Step.
“Did that pack make it to the spot?” Monkey asked about the new shipment of loud.
“Yeah, I told you that already, bruh. But look, I�
��m focused on this move, my nigga, when we knock Gangsta off,” Step replied, rubbing both his hands together with a slick smile on his face.
Monkey ignored his comment. While texting on his phone, he stated, “I got two niggas want twenty apiece.”
“Them niggas can wait. We got bigger fish to fry.”
“Bruh, what the fuck we look like, turning down a forty-pound jump off? Let’s get this money, then we lurk the city,” Monkey spoke, aggravated.
Step didn’t respond because Randy was walking back to the car. They pulled off when he was inside. Monkey clipped his phone to the sun visor. They rode up Hollywood Road listening to Velt, an un-signed rapper that was hot in the streets, then down Johnson Road, but saw nobody worth talking to. Monkey was getting more aggravated, because Step’s mind was not on the money.
“Say, bruh, I’m finna make the play for them forty,” Monkey said out of nowhere.
“Bruh, get yo’ mind off that, my nigga. We trying to handle business. You need to stay focused,” Step said back, now looking at Monkey.
“Naw, nigga, you need to get focused. I just got another play to the phone, and we riding around chasing a ghost. I guess that’s more important than the next day re-up,” Monkey shot back. He was heated. Step turned in his seat.
“You know I want the money, but I want the position I know we gon’ get if we pull this off,” Step boasted. He knew Monkey was right, but his greed for more wouldn’t let him admit it, so he continued to make up excuses. Monkey shook his head.
“Shawty, this Nigga is on the run for triple homicide. We out here hunting for this nigga like we the police. We have turned into some overnight hitmen, missing out on stupid racks. We got plenty of shooters and niggas that will die for us, but this, what we doing here, will put us out there.” Monkey was tired of explaining the importance of their money. Step was being stupid right now, and Monkey wasn’t with it. “Ride over to Baker Road, bruh. My lil’ cousin probably know some shit,” was the last thing Monkey said. He was pissed, and Step knew it, but he didn’t care, as always.
The Streets Bleed Murder Box Set Page 27