by Erica Hilton
“You crazy as hell!” Fatman stepped up. “KRS One got that hands down.”
“What you been drinking? Lighter fluid? KRS One ain’t even in the same category as Rakim,” Butter defended.
“Naw, homeboy, I’m telling you,” Fatman countered.
Fatman wasn’t fat at all. He’d acquired the name when he was just a baby from his mother. He was a fat baby, so the name stuck.
Lil Nut looked over at the pair. Sitting on top of his broad nose was a pair of Cazal’s with the glass missing from the frames. You could see his gorgeous, expressive eyes sitting behind the frames. He sported a bubble Kangol hat.
He raised his now five-feet-ten-inch frame from the milk crate he had been sitting on. “Yo, y’all niggas kill that noise and get that dough,” he spit at the two.
Butter and Fatman simply looked at each other and walked over to the corner. As soon as they did several customers approached them and they began to do business.
Lil Nut looked up the street and his eyes narrowed as he squinted, trying to see who was approaching.
As the figure got closer he realized it was his new partner, Fuquan. Fuquan and Lil Nut had been friends since day one, but he had moved away a few years back to live with his father. He’d recently moved back into the neighborhood, and he and Lil Nut linked back up.
Since Fuquan came back, Lil Nut made him his partner in the booming crack business and they shared revenue. Lil Nut needed somebody watching his back, considering all the drama he’d recently been through. Last year was a trying time for him. His father was murdered and he had to kill his two former friends, Lamiek and Lite, and also his former boss, Blue Bug. Anybody who was somebody was big time when slinging rock cocaine. However, Lil Nut and his crew were young, small timers, and after he’d given most of his money to Princess, he was really just starting all over. But crack was such a popular drug that anybody who wanted to make a dollar was able to because it was enough bread on the streets for everybody to eat.
Fuquan was all about the paper, and Lil Nut had the brains and the muscle to complete a perfect partnership.
“What’s happening?” Fuquan shouted at Butter and Fatman, giving them both pounds and moving toward Lil Nut. “What’s up?” He gave his good friend a handshake.
“Yo, you ever find that package?” Lil Nut asked Fuquan.
“Naw, man, I’m telling you my brother got me for it,” Fuquan responded.
The package Lil Nut was referring to was the work that Fuquan was holding in his room. It came up missing and Fuquan didn’t know what had happened to it. It was no secret that Fuquan’s older brother was a hardcore addict, and he had stolen from the house before.
“So what you gonna do?” Lil Nut asked.
“What you mean?” Fuquan asked.
“About the dough we lost.” Lil Nut looked at him square in the eyes.
“Man, I ain’t fucking with Red like that.” Fuquan was serious.
He feared his brother, and so did just about everybody in the Brownsville section of Brooklyn. His brother was out of control. He was considered a crack monster.
“If you ain’t gonna say nothing, then I will,” Lil Nut said.
“That’s on you, homeboy. I ain’t fucking with Red like that. And you of all people know better than to fuck with him too.” Fuquan pointed at Lil Nut.
“You scared of him, but I ain’t,” Lil Nut said, plain and simple.
Fuquan was about to respond when someone called his name.
“Fu!” A crackhead walked up on them.
Fuquan turned around and looked the man up and down.
“I need three nicks, man,” the fiend with white, ashy lips said.
“See the boys over there.” Fuquan pointed to the others on the corner serving several other addicts. “Damn, that shit got niggas foaming at the mouth,” Fuquan said and laughed after the man walked away.
“Yeah, man, them cats beam up to Scotty every day, all day,” Lil Nut added.
“Beam me up, Scotty. Take me away!” Fuquan joked.
Lil Nut laughed at him while he walked over to a parked car and leaned against it.
“This is where it’s at, Nut,” Fuquan yelled. “Word up! Ain’t noting but cheddar out this bitch, and I’ma rat waiting to get a piece of that cheese!” Fuquan yelled with his arms spread apart. Lil Nut laughed at his friend.
“Hey, Nut.” A brown skinned girl waved to him as she walked by.
“C’mere,” he said. He licked his full lips and smiled a perfect white smile.
She was walking with her friend, who followed her over to Lil Nut.
“What, y’all don’t see me?” Fuquan asked in a jealous manner, because the girls walked by him without speaking.
Both girls looked at him, sucked their teeth, and rolled their eyes.
“Well fuck y’all then!”
“Yo! Don’t disrespect the ladies like that! What the fuck is wrong witchu?” Lil Nut raised himself off the car, heated. He hated for any man to disrespect a female, especially in his presence. He had no tolerance for that.
He ice grilled Fuquan with hatred.
“A’ight man, damn!” Fuquan knew not to push the issue any further, so he walked over to the others.
“How you doing, Nut?” Sherri, the brown-skinned young lady asked.
She had a petite frame that had developed nicely. Her sandy colored hair was in a French roll that went around her whole head. She wore door knocker earrings and a small gold rope chain. Her friend was a little taller and much thinner. She was darker, and she wore her hair in corn-rows to the back with beads at the ends.
Lil Nut was still ice grilling Fuquan when Sherri spoke to him again.
“Nut?”
He looked at her and the evil look disappeared from his face. He smiled at her and grabbed her hand. He leaned back on the car and pulled her a little closer to him.
“How you doing, Sherri?”
“I’m good.” She blushed.
He spoke to the other young lady. “How you doing, Pam?”
“Hey, Lil Nut.” She waved.
“What y’all getting into?” He looked back and forth between the two of them.
“Nothing. We was just gonna go down to the store and get some red Blow Pops.”
“Here.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small knot. He peeled off a ten-dollar bill and handed it to Sherri. “Get whatever y’all want and keep the change.”
“Thanks, Nut. You so sweet.” She took the money, smiling, but he held on to her hand. She continued to smile.
“Lil Nut, you always take care of us. Thanks,” Pam said.
It was true. All the girls loved Lil Nut. Older women adored him as well. He was very respectful to women of all ages.
Sherri kissed him on the cheek.
“Where you gonna be later?” he whispered in her ear.
“I’ll be ’round the way,” she said, referring to the area where she lived.
“A’ight I’ll see you later,” he winked at her, still holding onto her hand.
“Thanks for looking out for us, Nut. I know Fu is your boy, but I can’t stand him.” Sherri frowned.
“If any nigga ever diss y’all, just let me know. I’ll put him on his ass,” Lil Nut said and meant it.
Just then shots rang out down the street from where they were standing.
“Get outta here, ladies. I’ll see you later,” Lil Nut said, letting Sherri’s hand go and shooing the girls to safety. They didn’t hesitate to make their way down the street away from the gunfire.
A rail thin man in a pair of dirty jeans was running for his life. The man chasing him was dressed in a black Adidas jogging suit with a red double stripe going down the legs and arms of the suit. He held on to his three hug
e rope chains with one hand while he popped off shots with the other hand. The man in the jeans was shot in the leg and limped badly, but he still managed to out run his hunter.
“Oh shit! That nigga finally got caught!” Butter yelled.
“Bust that ass!” Fatman added.
“Yo, ain’t that Sticky?” Fuquan squinted to see as he walked back over to Lil Nut.
“Hell, yeah, that’s his dumb ass. Somebody finally got with that nigga,” Lil Nut said.
No one on the street ran from the scene. Instead everyone watched, waiting to see a murder.
Sticky acquired his name because he was a master thief. He would take anything he could get his hands on. Sticky Fingers was his original name, which was ultimately shortened to Sticky. He was the worst kind of thief, because he was a crackhead.
Three more shots were fired at Sticky, all missing.
“That nigga can’t shoot!” Fuquan said.
“Give me the hammer. I’ll bust a cap in his ass!” Butter shouted at the trigger man, who whizzed past them.
Sticky dipped in between oncoming cars, allowing him to escape the shooter and certain death.
The onlookers clowned the gunman while he made his way back in the direction from which he came. The look on his face told them that he was pissed.
“Yo, how much he get you for?” Lil Nut shouted to the gunman.
“One cap,” the gunman shouted back, out of breath.
“You chased that nigga for one cap?” Lil Nut screwed his face.
“Fuck you, man! Sticky is a dead man next time I see him,” he shot back.
Lil Nut laughed and the rest joined in.
“Oh, so you think the shit is funny?” The gunman made a sudden stop, turned around, and headed toward the corner where Lil Nut and the others stood. He was ready to take his frustrations out on the young boys, mainly because he was embarrassed that he didn’t catch his target. But what he didn’t know was that Lil Nut and his crew weren’t your average young boys.
Sensing an altercation, Butter and Fatman walked over to their boys to act as backup.
Lil Nut began to approach the gunman while placing a hand on the butt of his weapon, which he carried in the waistband of his jeans. He gripped the handle.
“What’s up?” Lil Nut asked with confidence showing on his face. “You don’t want it.” He challenged the man.
“You must be high. You don’t know who the fuck I am?” the gunman asked.
“I don’t give a fuck who you are,” Lil Nut spat. “But what I do know is, you must be dumb as shit to let Sticky get you.”
The gunman stopped short several feet in front of the crew. Although he had a weapon, he could see that Lil Nut had a gun too, and he didn’t know what his boys had. Staying at that distance would give the gunman the leverage and the jump on them if he had to pull out his gun.
“Oh, so you got a slick mouth?” The gunman smirked at Lil Nut, looking him up and down. He opened up his Adidas suit jacket and postured. “So you think you big shit, standing there with your fake-ass gold rope chain.” He laughed.
“Naw, nigga, ain’t nothing fake ’bout my shit. You the one frontin’ like you big time, chasing Sticky down the street for one cap, wild’n out shooting, and ain’t hittin’ shit!” The crew burst into laughter. “Talking ’bout fake, I see you copped you one of them fake-ass Izod shirts, ’cause ya horse only got three legs.”
His boys burst into more laughter. The nosey bystanders had eased their way over to see the show, and they were laughing right along with Lil Nut’s boys. This pissed off the gunman.
“I see I’ma have to teach yo’ young ass a little lesson, ’cause you obviously don’t know who you fucking with,” he threatened. He looked over at Butter and recognized him. “Ask ya man. He know me.” He pointed to Butter.
“Like I said, I don’t give a fuck who you are, and as far as teaching me a lesson, think again. ’Cause I ain’t the one to be taught by some wannabe,” Lil Nut assured him. “The only man who could teach me shit is six feet under.”
“Tell him who I am, Butter,” the gunman instructed, not letting Lil Nut’s last statement offend him.
“Yo, Nut, man, that’s Prodigy. He work for Snookie,” Butter whispered to him.
Lil Nut didn’t move a muscle. He continued to grip the gun tightly while he clenched his jaw. He knew who Snookie was. Hell, who didn’t? Lil Nut had idolized Snookie when he was much younger. His name was well known in Brooklyn. Lil Nut had heard a lot about him from the older cats in the projects when they sat around and told stories of the pull Snookie had. Not to mention all the police he had on his payroll from the Dirty Seventy-three cops stationed at East New York Ave.
But what Prodigy didn’t know about Lil Nut was once the beast inside him was triggered, it didn’t matter if Malcolm X himself tried to stop him, he did whatever he had to do, by any means necessary.
“Did I ask you who this clown worked for?” He scowled at Butter. He looked back at Prodigy.
Prodigy looked at the young man and then began to laugh. “Yeah, a’ight kid, I’ma let you slide on this one. Learn to respect your elders,” he said and began to walk away, thinking he was sparing Lil Nut’s life.
“Show me some respect and you might just get some!” Lil Nut yelled out after him.
“Go fuck ya mother, young boy!” Prodigy kept walking and never looked back.
Prodigy heard the sound, but before he could turn around to see what happened, he felt the heat and then the unbearable burning sensation in his back. He stood there, not able to move. The muscles in his legs began to feel light as a feather, and he could no longer hold his body upright. The pain in his back became more severe by the second. He realized he was shot because he could smell burning flesh, and he could feel the wetness of blood running down his back.
The onlookers all had looks of shock on their faces as they stared at Prodigy. He went down on his knees hard. He felt his knee caps crack when he hit the cement ground, but he didn’t feel the pain because his focus was on the pain in his back. It felt like he was on fire. His vision became blurred. He placed his hands on the ground, trying to keep himself from falling farther.
“Oh, shit! Did you see that shit!” someone yelled.
“Yo, that little nigga is ruthless!” another yelled.
“Yo, come on, Nut, let’s roll out.” Fuquan tried to motivate his friend to move.
Lil Nut stood there, staring at Prodigy, waiting for him to die.
Butter and Fuquan both grabbed Lil Nut by the arm and practically dragged him away from the scene.
Prodigy finally fell face-first to the ground, no longer able to remain conscious. A male fiend slowly approached Prodigy’s body. He quickly began to search his pockets and pulled out a knot. This made another male fiend run over and assist with the search.
Two young boys ran over and began to remove his jewelry. The fiends began to protest and an argument broke out. Someone called the cops because a patrol car blared up the street, and the robbers scattered like roaches when the light was turned on.
Lil Nut stayed in the house for a week after the very public murder. He was lying low as a precaution, and at Fuquan’s request. Everyone out there that day knew he shot Prodigy. The crew wasn’t taking any chances on Snookie coming after Lil Nut. But Lil Nut didn’t care. He feared no one. He’d already been to war and came out on top. This shit was lightweight to him.
As the days passed, Lil Nut began to go crazy sitting up in the crib doing nothing. Although he loved the streets and the hustle, he was actually very book smart. While lying low, he read every book in the house at least twice. He read the newspaper every day from front to back, and played every vinyl record his mother owned, and every cassette he had.
Lil Nut was eating Cap’n Crunch cereal out of a mixing b
owl when someone knocked on the door. He put the last spoonful in his mouth and walked over to the door. He looked out the peephole and then removed the chain, unlocking the top and bottom locks. He pulled the door open to see his boy Fatman standing there.
“What up?” Fatman asked, slapping hands with Lil Nut.
“What up?” Lil Nut asked with a mouth full of cereal.
Fatman walked in and locked the door. Lil Nut was already back at the kitchen table when Fatman walked into the kitchen.
“What’s buzzing on the streets, man?” Lil Nut asked.
“Yo, man, your name is ringing out, man. I’m saying, nobody popping shit ’bout what happened. They saying some respect shit ’bout you,” Fatman said with admiration.
“Like what?” Lil Nut asked. He put the bowl up to his mouth and drank the milk, making slurping noises.
Fatman walked over to the refrigerator and opened it.
“You don’t live here, nigga,” Lil Nut said with milk covering his top lip.
“I’m saying, I’m thirsty and shit. It’s hot as hell outside.”
“So what? Ask first.” Lil Nut continued to slurp the milk from the bowl.
Fatman ignored him and removed the pitcher of Kool-Aid from the refrigerator.
“What they saying about me?” Lil Nut asked again.
“Oh, yeah, they saying you a bold motherfucker to fuck with one of Snookie’s boys.” Fatman drank the glass of Kool-Aid he had poured.
Lil Nut sat back in the chair and burped loudly.
“And peep this, Snookie ain’t even gonna come for you, ’cause word is he was gonna do Prodigy anyway, because he was always fucking up the work.” Fatman poured another glass of Kool-Aid. “And check this shit out, word is Prodigy was getting high smoking up the work and then blaming it on other niggas, saying somebody stole the stash and shit like that.”
“Niggas is stupid. I’m telling you, if you want to last in this business, you can’t be getting high on your own supply,” Lil Nut schooled him.
“Word, I hear you.”