The Streets Bleed Murder Box Set

by Jerry Jackson

  Gangsta pulled the money out of the tote bag. He tossed four big stacks on the desk. “That’s 200 racks, and this is what I need from you.” Gangsta held a note up, then passed it to Swinn, who took it in return. He read the first couple lines, then looked up to Gangsta, skeptical.

  “You sure about this?”

  “I’m positive,” replied Gangsta. Mr. Swinn continued to read from the paper. Now he was confused, because Gangsta was asking him to do what no man had ever asked.

  The next place Gangsta went to was Ebony’s crib after calling to make sure it was safe to come there. She said it was cool. Ebony didn’t stay that far from the lawyer’s office. Gangsta got there in fifteen minutes, driving with both windows down and seatbelt on, because Cobb County did not play games with dope boy cars and tinted windows.

  Ebony was in her driveway when Gangsta pulled the 442 up behind her car. He left the cutlass running and jumped out. Ebony had a huge smile on her face. She hurriedly walked over to meet him.

  “Brother, how are you?” She hugged Gangsta with pure intent. It was good to see him holding up.

  “What’s up, sis?” Gangsta returned the love. They both walked toward the house. “Where the kids?” he asked.

  “With my parents. I’m in the process of moving.” Ebony opened her front door and they both walked inside. Gangsta noticed the living room was empty. Only boxes decorated the large space.

  “Oh, ok. You and Greg found a better place?” he asked and looked around.

  “Unfortunately no, just me and the kids. Greg and I are going through a divorce. Long story. I will tell you about it later. What’s going on with you, though?”

  “Here.” Gangsta gave her an address. “Her name is Ms. Griffin. She is the witness on Kash’s case. And here,” he gave her a folded paper. “I wrote down everything I need for you to do.”

  Ebony took everything he gave with a nod of her head that she understood. “I talked to Kash. He has a cell phone in there. Let me go write his number down. He is so worried about you.” Ebony walked away to get a pen.

  Gangsta smiled to himself because Kash always made shit happen, even in situations that seemed too impossible. It made Gangsta happy to know now he could talk to his peoples.

  Ebony gave him the number, then just as quickly as he came, he left. Gangsta made it to the highway safe, bumping music while his mind wondered about his son. He needed to know how the surgery went, so he pulled out his phone and called Ne-Ne. she picked up with her normal tone of voice, not the agitated one.

  “Hello?”

  “What’s up? Is surgery done?” he cut straight to the point. Since Ne-Ne was being extra with him, when he called or came around he decided to just let her have it at the moment. Indeed, he was still fully in love with her and she was the only woman that made his heart beat, but none of that mattered to him anymore. All that mattered to him was his son.

  “Doctor’s got to perform more surgery, but good thing is all his vitals have increased a bunch since the first surgery,” Ne-Ne was happy to tell him.

  “Is he still brain dead?”

  “Yes, he still is, and on life support. This is all I’ve heard so far, but your mother said that things are looking up for our son.” Ne-Ne sounded happy, and Gangsta liked that. He also felt good and silently thanked God for the work he had already started.

  “Good, and what’s up with you? Where are you? At the hospital?”

  “I’m good, and actually I’m at your aunt’s. We all decided to take some comfortable showers before going back to Grady,” Ne-Ne replied, then asked, “How are you, though?”

  It surprised him to hear that question.

  “I’m good. Just lurking in these streets, you know,” Gangsta shot back. “But yeah, I was just checking on Junior. I will get at you later, alright?”

  He caught her off guard with that one. He heard it in her voice. “Ok, be careful, Gary.” Ne-Ne was showing some kind of concern, something he hadn’t seen in awhile, dealing with her.

  “Yeah, I am,” he replied, then they got off the line.

  Gangsta gave God thanks one more time that Ne-Ne wasn’t so harsh with her tone. He guessed Junior’s status changing for the good was something to smile about.

  Chapter 16

  FBI Agent Latrisha Williams

  “Regardless if you cooperate or not, you are going to prison. However, if you talk, you can get out sooner than a life sentence,” agent Trisha Williams informed Poonie, who had yet to speak or write a statement. All they had was one witness, an old man who said he knew Poonie personally and said he looked like one of the shooters. Poonie couldn’t believe Mr. Green had told on him after all the shit the hood witnessed Mr. green do with the young girls who were barley legal.

  “We can help you, Poonie, but you got to help yourself. Six people was killed, a nine-year-old girl was shot, and at least four more people got hurt, so tell us: was this a drug deal going wrong or what? Who is who? Who is head?” Ms. Williams pressed, seeing she had Poonie’s undivided attention with how he was looking at her chest.

  “I don’t know what y’all talking ‘bout,” was Poonie’s reply. He had gotten a visit from Nikki telling him what Gangsta said he would do for him, so he wasn’t about to get caught up with talking to the Feds.

  “We have a witness to place you at the scene of the crime. That’s all the government needs to place over ten violent crimes on you. Like I said before, I’m your best help, so you might as well play ball,” Ms. Williams said again, but this time walking around the table, giving Poonie a view of her nice body. Men were weak like that. All a female had to do was flirt a little bit, show a little skin, and a man would forget his name.

  “Like I said, I don’t know nothing. Ask my lawyer is what you do.” Poonie wasn’t a snitch, and everyone knew that. Jail was no stranger to him. It was all good as long as Gangsta held him down like he promised he would. Poonie was willing to ride it out.

  “I don’t see how young men can just throw their life away at the drop off a hat. You have what? Two kids who are not important, right? We have a witness saying it was you who did most of the shooting. You do not have to take all this wrap by yourself,” the agent said, looking across at Poonie.

  “I wasn’t shooting.”

  “Ballistics says you were. Ok, what about some of the guys’ names that was against you? Could you tell me that? Living or deceased, it doesn’t matter,” she asked. leaning on the table.

  “Listen, lady, I just told you I’m not the nigga you looking for. I’m the wrong guy. When you picked me up, I was at my mother’s house, chilling. Did it look to you like I was in a fucking war? That’s them lil’ gang members. I’m too old for gangs or games.” Poonie looked the agent up and down. He wasn’t breaking. He wasn’t talking.

  “How old are your kids?” she asked.

  “Grandparents, if y’all convict me for something I didn’t do. I’m pretty sure you will find your man, though, because I’m not him.”

  That statement made the FBI agent mad. He could see the fire in her eyes as she gathered her paperwork and stood to leave. She looked down at Poonie, determined to nail him and all who was involved.

  “Smart mouth, I see. Well, sir, let me let you in on a little secret.” She bent down to his ear and whispered, “I’m federal government. We always win.”

  And with that said, she left Poonie in the interrogation room. Trisha was heated, but she still had to be professional with her approach to others. She had more interviews today. While walking down to her office, she dug inside her purse, looking at her phone to check for any calls, but saw none. Trisha knew her biggest lead would come from the Robertson girls who promised to meet her today, so that’s where her hope stood.

  ***

  Kash

  Mad wasn’t the word once he found out what was going on with Gangsta. Kash was heated that they didn’t have a team to handle this situation. He knew Gangsta must be feeling helpless out there alone, going through this shit
with his son. Any man would be going nuts if it was them in Gangsta’s shoes. Kash knew himself. He would be killing any nigga that looked like Bam or even looked like they knew Bam. The game is crazy, he thought while working out in his tiny room, trying to ease the stress that had him by the ankles. He wanted to be there so bad with his friend, to have his back. Just the thought made him wish that bitch-nigga Dank would die in jail, or that he could get just one more chance to war with that nigga, just one more shot, and this time Dank would not be so lucky.

  Kash was doing push-ups when his phone vibrated under the pillow on his bunk. It was a phone he bought from Meco’s plug for 500. He did the last of his push-ups, then got up from the floor. He took out the phone to find a message from Ms. Berry, the CO who worked at Smith. She had sent some pictures, like he requested. Kash smiled at the mere sight of her and saved them to his phone. He sent her a nice little text, then finished working out before the showers started being run. It was shower day. In the hole in prison, they got three showers per week: Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Kash wondered what would be Ms. Berry’s reply to his question of them hooking up.

  It took him another hour to finish and prepare for the shower. Since he was on high max, it took two officers to escort him to one of the shower stalls. Kash made sure to have his phone with him, wrapped up in his towel inside his net bag tossed over his shoulder.

  “Fifteen minutes, McCants,” one of the COs said when Kash was secured inside the shower and the door was locked. He still wondered what Gangsta’s plan was with this lawyer stuff. What could possibly happen but a bunch of court dates and motions? It had been a moment since he’d seen the streets. Just the thought of being free again made him nervous. Kash didn’t have a plan because he was sentenced to life in prison, but now Gangsta had something going on, something that could only be good.

  The shower was quick and he was placed back in his room. Kash waited until the officer left before he pulled his cellphone out and powered it up. He tossed it on the bed and started putting on deodorant and the necessary things to get fresh. The phone started constantly vibrating, meaning it was someone calling. Kash picked it up.

  “Yeah?”

  “Whoa, what’s hap’, foo’?” Gangsta’s voice said, which made Kash sit down on the bed, glad to finally hear his partner, his brother, his best friend.

  “Nigga, what’s up? You ok, bruh? What’s going on out there, shawty?” Kash wanted to ask a million questions.

  “Shit rough, shawty. This nigga Bam tried me, tried to kill da kid, but failed. And now the bitch-nigga running for his life, tucking his tail. My son on life support because of this nigga, bruh.”

  “Why the nigga try you though, foo’?”

  “Shawty, I wouldn’t fuck with that lame, and he got mad ‘cause I didn’t take up a six-man hit for him and Zay’s bitch-ass, so the nigga had wifey door kicked in. Long story short, it went down in a major way,” Gangsta explained.

  “So what’s up with this lawyer shit? You got me going to court and all. What’s up?” Kash wanted to know.

  “We trading places, bruh. My sacrifice, your freedom. You ‘bout to be free, my nigga, and it’s finna be laid out for you out here when you do.”

  “Da fuck you talking ‘bout, foo’? I’m confused. What sacrifice?” Kash stood up.

  “Bruh, you trust me, my nigga?” Gangsta asked.

  “It’s not ‘bout that—”

  “Bruh, do you trust me?” Gangsta cut him off.

  “With my life, my nigga, you know this,” Kash admitted.

  “Well, my sacrifice, your freedom, foo’. So get ready to take over this shit I’m laying out for you. Love you, foo’. This my line, so lock me in and we’ll talk some more later,” Gangsta said.

  Kash sat back down, shaking his head because it wasn’t enough information. It wasn’t what he was looking for. He really didn’t want to let Gangsta end the call, but he had the number now.

  “Say no mo’, foo’. Love ya, too.”

  Chapter 17

  Gangsta

  He was sitting inside the 442, watching the nurses and doctors come and go as the day turned into night. Gangsta was waiting for the right one to approach before he showed his face. He had to use his judgmental eye, his common sense, his street smarts before pulling up on anybody. His face still was on every news channel, his name was fresh in every radio host’s mouth, so Gangsta had to be extra careful not to alert the cops by approaching either a nurse or doctor who would get scared and scream versus help him, as he needed the help. He had a lot on his plate to deal with, but not seeing his son was eating him alive. He had to see his lil’ man one way or the other, then he could continue his plan.

  Life was hard for him. Gangsta was losing it day-by-day, trying desperately to remain sane, not knowing who to trust, who to go at, or where to start. But first things first, he needed to see Junior.

  Gangsta noticed one particular nurse climbing out of her car with a phone glued to her ear. She had a colorful hairdo and Air Max Nikes on with her scrubs, rings on most of her fingers. This meant only a few things: she was ghetto, a dope boy’s girlfriend, or was just into fashion. Either way, this was the one. Gangsta would try, do or die. He smoothly got out of the cutlass and caught up with her before she entered Grady.

  “Excuse me. Excuse me, Ms. Lady. Lemme holla at cha,” Gangsta said and she stopped, looking at him up and down, then to his face again.

  “What’s up?” was her reply. Gangsta instantly peeped the hood in her. She even wore colorful contacts in her eyes. She was looking as if she recognized him, but it didn’t matter no more.

  “Ms. Lady, I need your help. I got a nice check for you to sneak me in to see somebody—”

  “Oh hell no! You wanna try to kill a motherfucker in here? Hell naw!” She was trying to walk off, but Gangsta stepped in her path.

  “No, listen, it’s not like that. It’s a family member I’m trying to see, and I know visiting hours are over,” Gangsta pressed.

  “Honey, do I look like Boo-Boo the Fool? I’m not new to this. I’m not slow, and I’m definitely not about to jeopardize my job for a total stranger,” she said, about to walk around him, but failed when Gangsta grabbed her hand.

  “All bullshit to the side, my son in there on life support, Ms. Lady. I’m that nigga on the news everyday.” Gangsta pulled the Gucci frames off his face and removed his hat. “If you was a parent, then you would understand. All I want, shawty, is to see my son, give him strength, pray with him, just lend my support. A father’s support. Here, I got ten grand to get me in there for twenty minutes, that’s it.” Gangsta was nearly begging. He pulled out a fat wad of cash. He pushed it toward her, but the nurse looked down to the money, then back to Gangsta’s face. She now knew who he was, and the fear quickly spread across her face. She took a step back.

  “Uh, I’m— I’m sorry, but I can’t h—”

  “Please, Ms. Lady. My son dying in this place. Just tell me how to get in without being noticed and don’t put the police on me. You can have the money.”

  “I don’t know. I need my job.”

  “And I know this. Just like you said, you not new to this. You know how to maneuver, so help a brother out, baby girl, please.” Gangsta would hate to force his way. His mother worked here, so the last thing he wanted was to make a scene at her workplace. But if she saw Gangsta here, she would probably faint, and he didn’t want that either.

  The nurse had to see the desperation in his eyes, because she took the money, stuffed it into her bag, then said, “I got kids myself. I pray this don’t backfire on me.”

  “In and out, I promise,” was his reply.

  “Come on. Just follow me, and put your disguise back on. It makes you look different, ‘cause I didn’t have a clue who you was, honey. Make sure you stay on my heels,” the nurse said, and they both entered Grady.

  It was crowded like every other hospital with people coming and going, crying and joyous, doctors, nurses, cops, and whatev
er else filled the place, making it easy for him to blend in as he and the nurse got on the elevator. He was kinda nervous because if seen by the wrong person — or worse, the cops — then it would go down in a major way, a way he did not want to see.

  The nurse led him to the sixth floor. “Wait in here until I come walking past, then just follow me, ok?” She took him to a waiting room. Gangsta didn’t trust it, but there was really nothing he could do but comply. The nurse saw him hesitant. “I just got to clock in and play normal. Don’t worry, I’m not the police.”

  “How long I got to wait?” Gangsta was looking around to see if he saw the cops anywhere. The ICU floor was nearly empty because visiting hours were over.

  “Two minutes, tops. You have trusted me thus far, might as well keep trusting,” the nurse said, then walked off, leaving Gangsta without a chance to reply. He watched her closely, seeing her vanish down the hall and around a corner. Gangsta left the waiting room. He walked in the opposite direction, into another waiting area that had two people there, both laid across the chairs asleep. Gangsta stood halfway in, halfway out of the threshold, giving him a clear shot to see the nurse so if she did alert the cops, they would go the wrong way and he could make an escape as fast as possible.

  Her two minutes turned into five, and Gangsta was getting worried now, feeling like the police were on their way. He was strapped, so he was prepared to shoot his way out of this place. But that was not the plan, and it would take every ounce in him to pull a trigger on the cops — or better yet, the heroes.

  Gangsta’s mind was thinking so much negative that he almost missed the nurse when she appeared and walked into the waiting room she left him at. She quickly came back out to see him headed her way. She smiled, shaking her head.

  “I feel you. Come on, follow me.” She led him down the hall, passed a couple rooms, then they stopped at a door. The nurse looked left, then right. “Twenty minutes. You got twenty minutes. I will be back. The doctors will make rounds in a while, so make it quick, please.”