Murder for Fun
Murder for Fun
By Dominic Brogsdale
Wisdom will
save you from the ways of wicked men, from men whose words are
perverse, who have left the straight paths to walk in dark ways, who delight in
doing wrong and rejoice in the perverseness of evil, whose paths are crooked
and who are devious in their ways.
(Proverbs 1:12-15)
Wickedness is a
wonderfully diligent architect of misery, and shame, accompanied with terror, commotion,
remorse, and endless perturbation.
(Plutarch )
(Gangbanger in the documentary
“Why We Bang“)
I was born in this
shit. Really, I was really born into gangbanging. I ain’t gonna say I was
gangbanging out the womb: you know what I’m saying. You adopt different
lifestyle. You know what I’m saying.
(Gangbanger in the documentary
“Why We Bang“)
Geroy, Adric, Trone, and Shan, members of the 99th Street gang, sat in the living room drinking Colt 45, smoking weed infused with PCP, and playing Call of Duty Black Ops. While Shan watched Geroy and Adric play the video game, Trone looked at Playboy magazines.
Taking a puff from the weed and focusing on the game, Geroy said, “Adric, get my right, shoot that muthafucka!”
“I got you, B!” Adric replied.
Geroy yelled, “Die, bitch, die!”
With his headsets on and speaking on the other line, Adric crowed, “Mark ass, bitch, that why we blasted yo bitch ass!”
The line went silent without response from their opponent. Adric called out, “Hello, hello?”
“Why he hang up?” Shan asked.
“Probably because you be cussin’ them out!”
Trone, took a long exhale on his blunt, coughed, then said, “Look at the ass on the bitches ... gotdamn!”
“Let me see,” Shan demanded.
Trone looked sucked at his teeth, then said, “Man, shut the fuck up. That ain't no ass, nigga. Hold on, I'll show you some ass.”
He pulled his cell phone out and said, “Look!”
Shan looked at the pictures on Trone’s cell phone, sucked his teeth, and said, “Man, them is fat bitches with the cottage cheese ass.”
Trone laughed and retorted, “I pull more than you!”
Shan looked at his Playboy magazine, raised his eyebrows, and drawled, “Okay.”
Geroy yawned loudly and complained, “I’m bored as fuck.”
“Read a book, nigga,” Shan shot back.
Trone smirked. “You know he can't read!”
Geroy threw his controller at Trone. “Fuck you!”
Shan sighed and suggested, rubbing both of his hands together, “Wanna go shoot some muthafuckas?”
Geroy shrugged his shoulders and grinned. “I’m wit’ that!”
Adric agreed. “I'm down with that!”
Rubbing the greasy sweat from his forehead, Trone mumbled, his speech slurred, “Man, this PCP got me fucked up! Ima sit right here and look at this ass!”
Shan’s good humor disappeared at his friend’s lack of enthusiasm. “Get yo bitch-ass up!”
Trone took exception to Shan’s rude demand and snapped, “Okay, muthafucka, keep talking that shit.”
Shan stood and met Trone’s bleary gaze. Angry, he yelled, “What's up then, nigga?”
Trone met Shan’s anger with his own. He lifted his shirt, exposing a 9mm handgun. He growled, “Step up then, you mark-ass bitch!”
Playing the peacemaker or perhaps just reluctant to clean the pending mess of bloodshed, Geroy inserted himself between the two and shouted, “All right, chill the fuck out! Take that shit out on the muthafuckas outside!”
Geroy headed toward his room. Adric, Shan, and Trone followed. Inside the cluttered space he claimed as his own, Geroy opened his closet and did not notice the stench of unwashed clothes piled on the floor. Above the dirty clothes hung a variety of handguns and a bulletproof vest. Four AK-47s leaned in the corner, stacked with a Ruger 10/22 sniper rifle , four Mossberg 590 Mariners , and a collection of sawed-off shotguns.
Geroy grinned at his buddies and waved a hand toward the lethal bounty within his closet. “Pick your poison, my niggas!”
Nodding with enthusiasm, Adric stared at the guns like a starving man looking at his last meal.
“Hell, yeah! This the fuck talkin’ ’bout!”
Trone smiled, clapped his hands, and rubbed them together. “Fuck, yeah!”
Geroy said to Trone who stood next to the mattress, “A-yo, grab that notebook with my raps in it.”
Trone picked it up, opened it, and started laughing as he read the lyrics. “A-yo, this shit trash, yo!”
He put his fist over his mouth, laughing, and read the lyrics aloud, “I’m like Flintstone, big Fred, bustin’ off head, yeah. I keep money stacked like a barosaurus ...”
Hearing the lyrics, Adric, Trone, and Shan dissolved into laughter, too. Irritated by his friends’ hilarity, Geroy muttered, “Fuck y’all, nigga, when my shit blow up and y’all sitting in this rat hole of a fuckin’ ghetto, don't ask me for no coin.”
Shan grabbed a pair of underwear stained with feces and urine and threw them at Geroy’s face. Adric, Trone, and Shan ran around, laughing. Infuriated by their taunting, Geroy pulled the dirty underwear off his head and grabbed the 10/22 rifle. He glared at them as he pointed it, swinging the weapon’s business end back and forth. He shouted, “Fuck around!”
Sobered by the threat of bullets, they settled down. Adric said, “Man, we fuckin wit’ you.”
Shan smirked and said, “If you wasn't so heavy, you'd be able to wash yo ass.”
Everyone except Geroy snickered at the comment.
POW!
A wisp of smoke curled from the rifle that Geroy pointed toward the ceiling. Everyone got quiet, darting glances toward the hole above.
Shaking his head, Shan said, “Nigga, you trippin’!”
With a wild look in his eyes, Geroy yelled, ”Get the muthafuckin’ score sheet and these muthafuckin’ guns, and let’s go have some muthfuckin’ fun!”
Smirking, Adric said, “Your rhymes still trash.”
Adric grabbed the AK-47s, Trone grabbed the Mossberg 590 Mariners, and Shan grabbed six pistols. Rifle in hand, Geroy got a Batman backpack and loaded it with ammunition. Grunting at the weight, he slung the backpack over his shoulder. Mimicking a badass vigilante from the movies, he asked, “Y’all niggas ready?”
Looking at the guns in their hands, they replied together, “Hell, yeah!”
Carrying their unwieldy armloads of weapons, they all walked into the living room.
“Hold on,” Geroy said and grabbed a lighter. He picked up a blunt laced with PCP, lit it, and started coughing heavily.
Behind him, Adric demanded, “Pass that shit, nigga.”
Geroy obliged. He took a couple puffs and extended the blunt to Trone.
“Nah, the only thing I’m smoking is this ass,” he declined and picked up the Playboy magazine.
Shan clucked his tongue and knocked the magazine from Trone’s hands, snarling, “Man, put that shit down!”
Outraged, Trone got in Shan’s face. “All right, nigga, keep talking that shit, I swear on this gang, B!”
Both enraged, they glared at each other.
Adric sighed and took his turn at playing peacemaker. “Damn, y’all niggas like two kids. Let’s go!”
They went into the kitchen where an older woman sat at a worn table drinking from a bottle of Olde English 800. Geroy clapped his hand on her shoulder and bent down to kiss her on the cheek saying, “Love you, Grandma.”
Grandma looked over the young men and said, “What the hell y’all up to now with that backpack and all them guns with the sun at its peak?”
Geroy drawled in reply, “Shit, about to go murder some muthafuckas!”
Grandma shook her head and, looking at the scarred tabletop, muttered, “Lord, have mercy. Again? And for what?”
Adric shrugged. “Because there ain't shit to do.”
The woman directed her gaze toward the grungy ceiling and called out, “Lord Jesus, help them!”
Geroy reached inside his pocket and pulled out a wad of one hundred dollar bills. He flipped through the bills and counted to $2000. Offering her the cash, he said, “Here, Grandma. Here's two gees for the hole I put in the roof and so you can get you some more Olde E.”
Grandma’s shoulders sagged. “Sweet Jesus, that's all that noise I heard earlier?” Taking their silence as confirmation, she continued, “Well, while you out go get me some Olde E and some of that muthafuckin’ … um ...” Unable to recall the word she wanted, she snapped her fingers while rummaging through her mind and muttered, “… some muthafuckin’ um ... shit, what's that place called?”
Feeling helpful, Adric prompted, “You like them chicken drums, greens, hog maw, mac and cheese, and cornbread from Fatty's chicken joint”
Geroy said, “Damn, nigga, you know my grandma better than I do!”
Grandma grinned in appreciation, showing gaps in her teeth, and said, “Yeah, that's right!”
Geroy kissed her again and said, “I got you, Grandma. Ima get me some, too!”
Shan quipped, “Yo fat ass would get some!”
Geroy retorted, “Shut the fuck up!”
Grandma added, “Before you go, babe, get Grandma some of that upside down pineapple cake Grandma made for your sixteenth birthday, will ya?”
Geroy walked to the counter, cut a slice, put it on a chipped plate, and brought it over to her. “You want milk, Grandma?”
She curled her upper lip and shook her head. “Nah, I got this Olde E to wash it down.” Grandma paused to take a bite of the cake, then said before the boys left, “Look up in that cabinet up there above the fridge.”
Geroy did as she asked, then turned around with a smile and said, “See, that's why I love you, Grandma!”
Geroy grabbed four bags each of Grippos Hot BBQ Chips and Flamin’ Hot Cheetos and tossed a bag to each of his friends. Catching the snacks, they smiled and praised her, “Good lookin’ out, Grandma!”
She lit a Newport cigarette and took a puff. With the tobaccos stick dangling from the corner of her mouth, she replied, “Um hum.”
Geroy kissed her cheek again and said, “We out!”
Holding the cigarette between two fingers, she took a puff and pointed at the picture of Geroy’s brother on the wall and a stack of obituaries on the washing machine, each one for the men and women in their family who’d been killed. Voice hoarse with tobacco smoke, she said, “Don't end up like your brother Keith and your other family members now! I done warned you!”
Geroy said, “We be all right, Grandma. That’s why we got these toys here.”
Grandma’s left leg shook. Puffing on the cigarette, she pulled a 9mm gun from her purse and set it on the table with a coarse laugh. “Me, too!”
They all laughed and Adric cheered, “All right, Granny!”
“Thanks for the snacks, Grandma!” Trone said, remembering how to be polite.
Shan said, “Love you, Granny!”
The palsied trembling continued unabated as she puffed on her cigarette, took a sip of malt liquor, and said, “Um hum, you little bad muthafuckas!”
She raised her hand, the cigarette poised between two fingers, and added in an undertone as the four boys trooped outside clutching their arsenal and bags of chips, “I tried, Lord.”
Geroy walked out the back door towards an old Chevrolet Corvair. He started sweating and complained, “It's hot as hell out in this bitch!”
Adric said, “Hell, yeah, this killing season!”
Looking cool as a cucumber, Shan smiled. “Lose some of that weight!”
Geroy griped, “Okay, muthafucka, keep talking that shit and you ain't got no ride. You can be walking home, bitch!”
Shan smiled, enjoying needling his friend and knowing Geroy wouldn’t leave him behind, no matter what he threatened. Geroy pulled his keys from his pocket and popped the trunk. The boys dumped their firearms into the trunk, each keeping one gun to himself.
Geroy asked Adric, “You got the score sheet, nigga?”
Adric smiled and said, “I got yo tablet wit’ yo corny-ass raps.”
Geroy looked him in the eyes, turned his lip up and gave him the middle finger.
Geroy sat in the driver’s seat, Adric in the passenger’s seat, and Trone and Shan in the back. Geroy turned the key, revved the engine, and said, “Listen up, niggas! We gonna head over to 80th Street first. I want revenge on everybody in the 80th Street area for the muthafuckas that killed my brother and my fam!”
Trone cut the oncoming diatribe short, “G-money, pop the trunk!”
Geroy did so, and Trone hopped out. Walking to the back of the vehicle, he opened the trunk and grabbed the sniper rifle. Carrying it back into the car, he stroked the long steel barrel and said, “This for that bitch!”
Geroy looked back at him, squinted his eyes, and asked,”Yo bitch?”
Trone grunted and explained, “Yeah, I’m tryna eradicate all my baby moms. They all wanna try and get me for child support.”
Shan said, “You stupid for busting nuts in all them hoes!”
Trone glared at him. “Keep talking and I'll bust a hole in yo ass.”
Adric intervened, playing peacemaker again and diverting their attention. “A’right, here's how the game works: eighty points for any of them mark-ass bitches on any from 80th to 89th Streets. Anybody wearing the wrong colors that’s not our colors, which is 99th green, is ten points—”
Trone interrupted, “What about my baby moms?”
Shan smirked and said, “No, nigga, that's yo fuckin’ problem; you don't get points for that shit.”
Trone loaded the rifle’s magazine and snapped it in place. “I should get points for blasting yo bitch-ass!”
Adric intervened again. “All right, both of ya'll shut the fuck up and listen.” He proceeded with the point system and said, “Ten points for shooting down a whole block, 40th Street block is the Ese, so forty points—”
Geroy interrupted, “Why we murkin’ up the Ese?”
“They rival gangs, ain't they?” Adric countered.
Geroy shrugged his shoulders and said, “Yeah, but they ain't never did nothing to me.”
Adric said, “Them fuckers cut up my cousin and delivered his body on my auntie’s porch, so they got what's coming to ’em!”
Geroy nodded. “Okay, that makes sense.”
With an uneasy smile, Trone said, “I’m not killing no Ese, bro. I love they women too much. They women got them Oompa Loompas in the back, and I got a kid by one of them, too!”
Shan said, “Man, y’all racist as fuck. I’m not killing no Ese. Them niggas ain't did shit to me, and beside, your cousin should have never played with they money, and he would have never got murked.”
Adric looked Shan in the eye and said, “Watch yo mouth talking about my fam, nigga. That can cost you.”
Shan met him glare for glare and barked, “Pull up!”
Geroy returned the conversation to scoring. “We kill a cop, two hundred points. Now let's go.”
Geroy turned the radio on full blast as he put the vehicle in gear and pulled into traffic.
Adric turned the knob, lowering the volume, and yelled, “Damn, that shit loud! Turn that shit down!”
Geroy turned it back up. “Nigga, this my muthafuckin ride. Don’t turn my shit down, nigga. Have you lost your muthafuckin’ mind?”
“Karate Chop” with Future and Lil Wayne blasted from the speakers. Everyone’s head bobbed to the beat. Trone started rapping along with the lyrics, growing louder. He threw his hands in the air and moved his pelvis up in down in a blatant bump and grind.
Geroy paused the music and shouted, “Sit yo hyper ass down!”
Trone objected, “Fuck you, nigga, this shit go hard. I beat the pussy up like Emmett Till!”
Ever the smart aleck, Shan remarked, “That's why you got all them muthafuckin kids! And what, you gay now, nigga? You gonna fuck Emmett Till?”
Everybody started to laugh, except Trone, who retorted, “I get more ass than you, though!”
“Yeah, but I keep more money than you, nigga, because I don't have kids all over the ’hood,” Shan said.
Trone shrugged and nodded. “Okay, you got me on that one.”
Geroy put his index finger over his mouth and said, “Shh, be quiet and shut the fuck up.”
Geroy parked the car alongside the curb and peered down the street at two men and a pregnant woman walking up the sidewalk. The woman pushed a stroller with a baby in it.
In a quiet voice, Geroy said to Adric, “Pass me the AK, nigga.”
Adric handed him the AK-47 and Trone asked, “Yo, when Lil Wayne talks about Emmett Till, a-yo, who the fuck is Emmett Till?”
Nobody answered him.
“Yeah, I caught that nigga slippin’. That's one of the niggas that killed my brother. I remember seeing him as a li’l nigga; I don't forget a face,” Geroy whispered as he raised the rifle.
Taking aim, he bade his friends, “A-yo, look out for other niggas and cops!”
They started to look around. Adric whispered, “I don’t see nobody.”
Shan said with an anticipatory grin, “You clear, my nigga!”
Trone reported what he saw: “They only thing I see is that pregnant bitch with the big Milk Dud titties, thick legs, and that ass sitting out to the side.”
Shan sighed. “Man, shut the fuck up. Is that all you think about, is ass?”
Stung by the criticism, Trone said, “Fuck you, I think about what I wanna think about!”
Geroy focused his gaze down the street, staring at his targets. “Shut the fuck up!”
Shan, sitting behind Geroy, said, “Switch me spots, nigga!”
Geroy got out and sat behind the driver’s seat, taking the AK-47 with him. He looked at his target and said as Shan put his hands on the steering wheel, “Drive normal speed, and then stop right where they are, so I can unload on they ass!”
Shan pulled out slowly and drove as instructed. Geroy closed his right eye and put the AK-47’s muzzle tip on the edge of the door. The two men saw him and stopped like deer in headlights. The gun spat bullets: rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat. They fell to the concrete. Geroy, still looking at the targets, ordered, “Hand me the shotty!”
Shan sucked his teeth and protested, “Man, no, let's go!”
Geroy reached over Shan and grabbed the shotgun in the front. He opened the back door and raced towards his remaining target. Skidding to a stop in front of the pregnant woman and the stroller, he looked over them, eyes gleaming with icy excitement. She trembled and cried and tried to plead with him, “Please don't!”
He aimed and shot her in the belly. Bloods and guts splattered on his sweatpants like spaghetti boiling in a pot. The woman crumpled to the ground, the force of her descent tipping over the stroller. He walked over to the man on the right, who wasn’t yet dead. The man shook and gasped for air. Geroy aimed the shotgun to his neck and pulled the trigger. Blood spurted and streamed onto the concrete.
The guys in the car banged on the sides of the car and yelled, “Come on, man, hurry the fuck up!”
The other man wasn’t dead either. Geroy walked over to the man crawling in the grass. He kicked the man over on his side. He pointed the shotgun at him and said, “I remember you, muthafucka, you killed my brother!”
Coughing up blood and gasping for air, the man said, “Nigga, fuck you, I done killed a hundred muthafuckas. I don't even know who yo family is.”
A tear formed in Geroy’s eye but did not spill down his face as he remembered watching his brother’s murder from the backseat of his brother’s car. They were getting food. He was only eight years old. Six men beat his brother and shot him with handguns. His expression tight with rage, Geroy aimed the shotgun at the man's heart and unloaded a shot in his chest. Then he quickly fired at shot at his victim’s head. It exploded like watermelon falling from a skyscraper.
Looking down at the gory remains, Geroy said, “One shot for the love of my brother and the other for you not knowing, nigga!”
Geroy’s chest heaved with each heavy breath as he stared at the bloody wreckage and the baby wailed. In the car, one of the boys yelled, “Muthafucka, let's go! Get out of your bitch-ass feelings!”
Geroy looked up and saw someone looking out the window of the house fronting the lawn where he shot his victims. That person realized he’d been seen and hid behind the curtains. Geroy raised the shotgun and shot into the window, then shot at another window. Glass shattered.
Geroy looked at the baby still stripped into the stroller, screaming at the top of her lungs so loudly that she could hardly gasp for air. He realized a bit of metal shot had pierced her left leg. He pulled her from the stroller with his left hand, holding the gun in his right, and ran back to the car. He jumped into the back seat and dropped the shotgun on the floor of the car. Shan peeled away from the curb, leaving behind a cloud of smoke.
Frantic, Adric yelled, “Man, bro, you is trippin’! In and out, nigga, in and out! You know it don't take long for five-o to come through!”
Geroy breathed heavily and, when he caught his breath, said, “Fuck you, I had had business to take care of.”
Shan added his two cents, “And you, fat as fuck, it took you longer to walk up to them and walk back to the ride!”
Geroy panted and looked at traffic ahead. “Okay, keep talking that shit!”
“Man, what you bring that baby for?” Trone whined, shrinking away from the injured infant. His nose wrinkled, smelling the odor of a soiled diaper mixed with the smell of blood.
“To take it to the hospital, so hit the freeway!” Geroy snapped.
Trone sucked on his teeth and raised his upper lip. “Aw shit, man, that PCP got you fucked up, my nigga.”
Shan drove the car onto the freeway. Puzzled at their direction, Geroy asked, “Nigga, where is you going?”
“To that cookout, nigga. We hungry and I know you hungry, too.” Shan replied over the baby’s wails.
“Bro, the hospital the other way!” Geroy said
“Man, we ain't about to take no baby to the hospital. It already won’t shut the fuck up. That shit annoying,” Shan reasoned.
Geroy held the baby in both arms. Bouncing the baby, he lowered his voice and said, “There, there, we gonna get you to the hospital.”
Without warning, Trone snatched the injured baby from Geroy’s hands. Holding on to the back of the front seat with his left hand, he threw the baby out the window as high as he could and shouted to Adric, “Pull!”
Adric raised himself in the seat and leaned out the window. Trone ducked and Adric fired the AK-47 at the baby. Her small body jerked as the bullets hit, and the baby landed on the hood of a white Mercedes Benz. The car swerved and came to a crashing halt, causing a pile-up on the freeway.
Geroy put both of his hands out and demanded, “The fuck you do that for?”
Trone smiled, looking behind at multiple accidents on the freeway. “Man, get the fuck outta here. There's all types of police at the hospital: you wanna get caught?”
Geroy spat, “Fuck the police. I got this heat for they ass, too.”
Voice dripping sarcasm, Trone said, “Okay!”
“Was you gonna keep it?” Adric asked, not concerned, just curious.
Geroy said, “I shot her, so it's my responsibly to take care of her.”
Adric sucked on his teeth and said, “Man, you sound dumb as fuck. Fuck outta here with that stupid-ass shit. You just shot the babymoms or aunt!”
Adric paused, thought about what he said, and then added, “Well, I dunno, because she was pregnant, and that baby was small!”
A sinister grin spread across Trone’s face. He looked at Adric and said, “Seen how I tossed its little ass?”
Adric matched his friend’s amusement and said, “Hell, yeah, that shit was funny as fuck!”
“Hell yeah!” Trone cheered.
Shan looked at Geroy in the rearview mirror and sneered, “Was you gonna feed it breast milk?”
Everyone but Geroy laughed. Expression sober, the boy said, “First of all, fuck all of you. Second of all, it's not a it, it was a her. You seen she had pink on!”
Trone shrugged, not caring about the dead child’s sex. “Whatever. I got a bunch of kids and they a fuckin’ headache, them and my baby mamas.”
Adric changed the subject. “Fuck all this baby talk, where this cookout at? I’m trying get these baby back ribs and shit!”
Shan said, “We fin to pull up now.”
When they reached their destination, Geroy told Shan, “A-yo, pop the trunk. You know niggas will steal yo shit out here.”
They grabbed their guns and stashed them.
Trone looked around at people standing in groups and walking around, smiled, and said, “Hell, yeah, this shit poppin’. I know some bitch giving up ass in here!”
“Get a life,” Shan commented.
Offended, Trone said, “Fuck you!”
They walked into the party. Music blared on the speakers. Aromas of barbequed chicken, ribs, and bratwurst mingled with the delicious smells of hot, buttery corn on the cob, green beans smothered in fatback, and creamy cheddar macaroni and cheese. Geroy, Adric, Trone, and Shan approached a guest whom they knew.
Anthony raised his hands in the air, a 40-ounce malt liquor in his left hand, and greeted them. “Oh, shit, my niggas. What’s up G-money?”
Geroy smiled and replied, “What's good, my nigga!”
Anthony directed his attention to Adric. “What's good, Ace dawg?”
Adric replied, “What's poppin’, homie!”
Anthony looked at Trone. “What it do, T-rock?”
Trone nodded and smiled. “What's crackin, money?”
Anthony frowned, then smiled upon remembering the fourth boy. “Oh, this shit-talking muthafucka, Shan!”
Shan smiled and said, “Yeah, yeah, fuck you, too!”
Anthony snickered, reaching up to pat him on the back and shaking his hand. He ended the handshake with the thumb and the index finger together locked in to make a number nine, their signature gang handshake. Loud and welcoming, Anthony addressed all four of the young men, “A-yo, y’all niggas get some food. We got some Forties in the back, niggas smoking and shit, hoes getting fucked in the back. Y’all niggas have fun!”
“A-yo, where the hoes at?” Trone asked.
Anthony sipped his liquor and repeated, “In the back, nigga.”
Trone made a beeline to the back and, looking around, asked, “Fuck the food, where the hoes at?”
Geroy, Adric, and Shan shook their heads at their friend’s always-ready libido. With a straight face, Shan commented, “Trone here to fuck and G here for the food, because he fat!”
Geroy snorted. “Fuck you, I’m eattin’, my nigga. It's free!”
From behind them, Anthony called, “Get y’all some!”
Geroy, Adric, Shan walked to the back. The man and women there wore gang colors, green and white. They addressed each other by the gang names that Anthony assigned to them and greeted each other with signature handshakes. Geroy walked straight to the food and looked at a dark skinned, overweight, young woman named Trinity sitting next to the food.
He asked, “You fix this, Ma?”
Trinity smacked her bubblegum and answered, “Yeah, me and my girls did. Anthony and some of the niggas grilled; we made all the side dishes.”
Geroy grabbed a plate with his left hand and picked up a barbequed rib with his right. He took a big bite and, with his mouth full, complimented the cook, “Damn, this muthafuckn rib slaps!”
Trinity frowned. Smacking her gum, she looked Geroy in the eye and said, “Eww, nigga, use a fork. I don't know who you murdered today,with that blood splattered on yo pants. ”
Chuckling, Geroy replied, “My bad, boo.”
Trinity curled her upper lip and rolled her eyes.
Shan remarked in a loud voice, “She don't want your fat ass!”
Geroy retorted, “Nigga, she fat, too. I bet you I smack by the end of the night!”
Huffing, Trinity said, “No, you won't,” and walked away.
Adric and Shan laughed.
“Fuck that bitch, I'm getting some of this food,” Geroy grumbled and piled eight ribs, four barbequed drumsticks, and three cheeseburgers on a plate. Next, he retrieved a can of Colt 45 from melting ice in the cooler.
Looking at his friend’s plate, Shan said, ”Got damn, you fuckin’ elephant, no vegetable, no baked beans, no mac and cheese, nothing else?”
“I'm a T-rex, nigga, I only eat meat,” Geroy asserted.
Shan raised his eyes brows. “I can tell.”
Geroy, Adric, and Shan loaded their plates and sat down in lawn chairs. Shan saw movement in the back window. Curious, he set his plate aside, got up, and looked inside. He shook his head and snorted, “This nigga here!”
He referred to Trone having sex in the back room along with nine other men and six women. Shan smiled and said, “A-ya'll come, come look at this nigga.”
Adric rushed over and, looking inside, grimaced. “Fuck that, I don't wanna see him, I wanna see these hoes!”
Shan said, “Man, that muthafucka is a sex addict. He got some serious issues.”
Adric squinted his eyes “And he fucking ’em raw, too!”
“How many kids he got?” Shan asked, not surprised by Trone’s lack of protection.
Adric’s gaze was intense as he watched the orgy. “Shit, I don't know. Hell, he probably don't even know. He got kids all over the ’hood!”
Shan called back to Geroy, “Come look at this shit!”
Geroy, his mouth full of food, could barely make a sentence. “I don't wanna see that shit, I’m eatin’.”
Shan smirked. “Nah, you too lazy to get up!”
Licking barbeque sauce off his fingers, Geroy said, “Okay, muthafucka, keep talking that shit!”
Bored with watching the orgy and still hungry, Shan and Adric returned to their lawn chairs and resumed eating. Two gang members approached, Tyler, also known as Tech-9, and Nate, called Nasty Nate.
Tyler greeted them, “What's good, my niggas?”
Geroy looked at him and nodded in reply.
Adric said, “What's good, Tech? What's good, Nasty?”
Shan said, “What up, Tech? What up, Nate?”
Both boys raised their hands to shield their eyes from the sun’s glare and added, “Chillin’, chillin’.”
Eyes narrowed, Tyler asked, “What y’all niggas into today?”
Adric shrugged one shoulder and said, “Shit, chillin’ and killin’.”
“Word ... was y’all bored?” Tyler asked, one eyebrow raised.
“Hell, yeah!” Adric replied with a smirk.
“Shit, y’all tryna ride wit’ me to murk the muthafucka that killed my cousins?”
The three teenage killers looked at each other. Adric shrugged again and, affecting nonchalance, replied, “Yeah, we ain't doing shit.”
Tyler said, “Yeah, man, it was a triple funeral yesterday. Them niggas came and shot at the funeral, and the bullet hit a couple muthafuckin’ family members.”
Adric assumed an appropriately sympathetic expression and said, “I heard about that. We got you, my nigga!”
Tyler nodded. “Yeah, let me ride wit’ y’all niggas, because you know my ride got stolen again.”
Shan said, “Damn, nigga, don't you keep that shit locked?”
Tyler huffed a bitter chuckle. “Yeah, nigga, I do, and put the bar over the wheel; but you know how niggas be out here! And I don't fuck wit’ no police. Beside they not gonna do shit anyway. A lot muthafuckin’ cars get stolen out here!”
“Yeah, that's true. So, where we going?” Adrick asked.
“Um ... um ... to this nigga’s muthafucka's grandma's and mom’s house. You know they live right next to each other. If not the park, or we’ll ride around till we find those muthafuckas!”
Adric said, “Yeah, we got you. You know we keep score!”
Tyler smiled. “What you mean, my nigga?”
Adric explained, “Depending on how many muthafuckas you kill or the type of person it is, is the winner!”
Tyler smiled, putting his fist over his mouth. He said, “Oh, shit, I’m wit’ that, my nigga!”
Nate nodded and spoke for the first time, “I’m game. We get bread?”
Adric grinned. “Yup!”
“How much?” Nate asked.
Adric shook his head and shrugged. “Fuck, I forgot!”
“Who winnin’?” Nate asked.
Shan jumped into the conversation. Pointing at Geroy, he said, “This fat muthafucka over here.”
Tyler and Nate laughed. Tyler said, “Bet when you tryna bang out?”
Adric pointed at the back window. “In a little bit, as soon as the big nigga stop eating and man Trone in the back done fucking this hippopotamus.”
Tyler and Nate walked over to the back window and peered inside. Tyler put his right hand over his mouth and said, “Oh, shit, my man getting it!”
Adric shook his head in disbelief. “Damn, it's been like twenty-five minutes and he still at it?”
“Hell, yeah,” Tyler replied. “I know he hot in there with no fan and all them niggas and bitches in one tiny-ass room!”
Nate chuckled. “Man, Trone ain't changed a bit. How many little niggas he got running around?”
“Man, we just said the same thing. We don't even know. I don't think he know,” Adric answered.
Commotion in the back yard captured their attention. A man wearing a green bandana shouted, voice slurred from drinking, “Fuck that, muthafucka. I want my muthafuckin’ money, you cheating-ass bitch!”
Another man wearing a white and green bandana said, “Fuck you, nigga, you ain't gettin shit!”
Anthony walked in the back and raised both hands, a blunt held between his right thumb and pointer finger. He said, “Niggas, niggas, please hold the fuck up. What the fuck is going on?”
The first man with the green bandana said, “I won on that flush!”
Adric ran to the window and banged on it. The noise caught Trone’s attention. He looked up to see his friend waving frantically at him. Understanding the need for urgency, he pulled his pants up and ran towards the front door. With similar haste, Geroy rushed toward the food and threw three handfuls of ribs and six drumsticks in a bowl of potato salad. Wiping his hands, he grabbed two cans of Colt 45.
Shan got up and said, “Fuck this shit, niggas is ’bout to start shootin’, I know it.”
The man with the green bandana said, “Nigga, I know you was muthafuckin’ cheating!”
He walked over to the man in the white and green bandana and tried to reach for his pajama pants. The accused cheater smacked his hand away and yelled, “Don't touch me, nigga, I'll smoke yo bitch-ass!”
In a spitting rage, the two men stared at each other like two wild animals about to fight.
The man in the green bandana snarled, “What's up then, nigga? Bust then, muthafucka!”
Anthony fixed them with a hard stare and warned, “Not at my mama's house. Y’all niggas gotta go ... now.”
The man with the white and green bandana started walking backwards towards the driveway. Calming his voice, he stared at the other two men. “I respect you, big homie, this your mom's crib!”
As he continued walking backwards, a bunch of cards fell from inside the legs of his pajama pants. Reacting, both men pulled out Glock 19s and started firing. A bullet went right through Anthony's head. His eyes rolled back and he fell to the ground. The two bandana-wearing men ran in different directions, not looking where they were shooting as they ran.
Geroy, Adric, Shan, and Trone raced for the Corvair. People screamed, scattering like cockroaches as they tried to get away from the flying bullets. Tyler and Nate followed the boys to the car like they were running for a touchdown.
“Damn, what the fuck happened?” Geroy whispered as Trone ordered him to pop the trunk and he obeyed.
Tyler pointed at the man with the green bandana, and said, “That nigga right there, or one of them niggas, killed Ant, brah!”
Trone grabbed a shotgun from the trunk and set off in pursuit even as he tried to hold up his sagging pants. Nearing the fleeing man with the green bandana, he fired a shot. The blast blew open the back of his head, splattering brain matter and skull fragments into the bushes. Trone raced back to the car and hopped in as Geroy put pedal to the metal.
As the tires squealed and the car sped away, Adric asked, “The fuck you do that for?”
Gasping for air, Trone answered, “Because he messed up my nut. Now write my points down!”
Geroy, Adric, Shan, Tyler, and Nate tilted their heads back. Adric sucked on his teeth, shook his head back and forth, then sighed, “This nigga here.”
Shan shook his head. “Ass over Ant, that's a damn shame!”
Geroy kept looking in his review mirror, fearing pursuit. “Let's switch cars.”
Adric agreed with that idea. “Yeah, let's do that!”
Geroy scoffed, “You got gas, nigga? You know how you keep no gas!”
Adric said, “Yeah, brah, I filled up last night.”
Geroy drove back to his grandma’s house. Everyone, except Geroy, hopped out of the car and busied themselves with loading their arsenal into Adric’s black 1966 Chevrolet Camaro. Carrying the bowl of potato salad up the driveway, Geroy yelled, “I'll be right back! Ima give this food to my grandma!”
Trone ran up behind him and snatched a rib and a drumstick from the bowl. “Let me get a piece, nigga. I didn’t eat!”
With a disgruntled look, Geroy moved the food away from him. “Man, I don't know where your nasty, nutted, asshole-sticking fingers been, bro. This is for Granny, so get the fuck outta here!”
Trone sucked at his teeth and said, “Yo grandma can't eat all that, nigga. That's for you!'
Geroy entered the house and saw his grandmother sitting in the same spot at the kitchen table. He put the bowl on the table and grabbed a plate from the cabinet. “What's good, Granny, got you some food!”
“What you get me?” she asked.
“I got you some barbeque drumsticks and ribs and some potato salad.”
Puzzled, his grandmother squinted at the bowl. “Why you got it all in this one bowl? You didn't go by Fatty's?”
“Nah, we went to a party and I grabbed what they had left.”
His grandmother looked at the slimy potatoes and the meat covered with barbeque sauce. She took her index and middle fingers and rubbed them on the ribs and through the potato salad and put them in her mouth. Tasting the combination, she said, “Not bad. Make Grandmama a plate, will ya?”
Trone entered the kitchen and said, “Me too, nigga.”
Geroy said, “The fuck outta here!”
Grandma ignored the exchange. “Make the boy a plate, I can't eat all this.”
Trone smiled and locked eyes with Geroy. In a sarcastic tone, he said, “Do what your grandmama says, boy!”
“Man, I will beat yo ass,” Geroy warned.
“Boy, make that boy a plate,” his grandmother repeated loudly.
“Granny, you got your teeth?”
She looked at Geroy and said, “Boy, don't you see the white in my mouth?”
Geroy smiled and said, “My fault, Granny. I wasn’t thinkin’.”
Geroy served his grandmother a large portion and handed her the plate.
She said, “Thank ya, baby. Whyn’t you up, get Grandma another one of them Olde E's out the fridge. As a matter of fact, get me one out the freezer.”
Geroy opened the freezer and grabbed the Olde English 800. He opened it up and started chugging it. Trone took a plate from the cupboard as his friend drank.
Grandma fixed a steely-eyed glare at Geroy and warned, “Boy, do I have to get my belt?”
Geroy let out a loud burp, then said, “My fault, Granny, I was thirsty.”
She smiled, chuckled as he handed her the bottle, and said, “I see. You drank damn near half the bottle.”
“You need anything else, Granny?”
“Granny good, just remember to pick Granny up some Olde E, because I’m running low.”
“I got you, Granny!”
Geroy’s grandmother looked at Trone. “Come get some of this, boy. As skinny as you is, you need some of this potato salad and ribs.”
Trone said, “Good lookin’ out, Granny!”
Trone reached for a rib, suddenly and cried out when she smacked the back of his hand with a spatula. She gave him a hard stare and said, “Boy, you know better. Get you a muthafuckin’ plate and fork and act civilized!”
Cheeks darkening with the heat of embarrassment, Trone said, “Oh, my fault, Granny!”
While his grandmother focused on her food, Geroy met Trone’s gaze and jeered, “Ha-ha!”
Trone smiled and put up his middle finger. Grandma raised her head, but Trone quickly put his finger behind his back before she caught him and whacked him with that spatula again. Turning that smile at her, he said, “Good looking out, Granny!”
Geroy walked to the living room, Trone following. He hissed, “Eat fast. I'm grabbing some stuff and we out!”
Trone didn't respond. Geroy went to his room, opened the top drawer of his dresser, and grabbed five Ziploc bags, one with four rolled-up blunts, two filled with PCP, and two containing weed. He went back to the kitchen, grabbed four bottles of Olde English, and handed two to Trone, saying, “Hold these. We out!”
Geroy’s grandmother yelled from the kitchen, “Don't take all my muthamuckin Olde E now!”
Geroy headed out the back door, followed by Trone scarfing down his drumstick. He shouted back, “The fridge full of Olde E, Granny. Love you!”
As they walked down the driveway, Geroy’s grandmother shouted, “Bring me back some Newports while you out there!”
Geroy yelled back, “I got you, Granny!”
Geroy slid beside Adric in the front passenger seat of the Camaro. Trone jumped into the back seat with the two bottles of Olde English in his hands, squeezing in with Nate, Tyler, and Shan. The four of them made for a tight fit in the Camaro’s cramped back seat.
“Damn, man, watch what the fuck you doing, climbing all over me and shit!” Shan grumbled as he, Nate, and Tyler squirmed out of the way.
Unrepentant, Trone said, “My fault!”
He wiped barbeque sauce from his sticky fingers on his pants. Adric looked in the rearview mirror and said, “Bro, the fuck, man? So, you just gonna fuck my ride up with the barbeque sauce?”
“Calm y’all crybaby asses down, I’m wiping my fingers.”
Adric shook his head, turned his car on, and slowly drove off. Geroy said, “So, who we murkin’, Ty?”
Tyler said, “Shit, let's go by the park, because that's where them 80th Street niggas be hanging out at!”
Tyler directed Adric, “Go up on 89th Street, bro.”
Adric asked, “You know where dude's mom's and granny live?”
Tyler said, “Yeah, side by side.”
“How you know?” the driver asked.
“You know, the streets talk,” Tyler answered.
Adric raised his eyebrows and didn't respond. Tyler then said, “A-yo, Nate, switch me spots, my nigga, so I got room to blast on these muthafuckas!”
Tyler grabbed a rubber band from his pocket and pulled his long, thick hair into a bun. He looked between his legs to the floor of the car and said, “A-yo, Trone, hand me that TEC-9, my nigga! This bitch loaded?”
Trone handed him the TEC-9 and said, “We stay loaded, brah!”
Tyler ejected the magazine and pulled back the slide. Satisfied the magazine was full, he snapped it back into place and chambered a round. “Hell, yeah!”
Adric announced, “We on 86th Street, we ’bout to pull up. You got that shit ready?”
Tyler said, “Hell, yeah!”
Nate said, “Give me that other TEC-9. I want a piece of that action!”
Tyler looked at Trone who still clamped an unopened bottle of malt liquor between his thighs. “A-yo, let me get a swig of that Olde E, my nigga.”
Trone twisted the cap off the bottle of Olde English 800 and handed it over. Tyler took a couple swigs, then chugged about half the contents.
Nate snatched it away. “Save some for me, nigga.”
Nate chugged the rest. Watching them guzzle the drink he had purchased for his grandmother and himself, Geroy said, “Y’all niggas owe me a dollar-fifty apiece!”
Getting into the spirit of recompence, Adric chimed in, “Y’all owe me twenty dollars for getting that shit on my seats!”
Tyler and Nate said nothing. Tyler saw the street sign and pointed his finger. “There they houses, go right there, my nigga!”
Adric turned onto 89th Street and slowed down, staring at the houses lining the street. “That pink house and that white house, with the prison bars on them?”
Tyler said, “Yeah, that soft-ass, pink-ass house down there!”
Adric asked, “Y’all loaded?”
Tyler’s lips peeled back from his teeth in a savage smile. He looked down the street and growled, “Hell, yeah!'
Adric decelerated. As the car crawled along the cracked asphalt, Tyler’s sinister expression lit with evil glee. He whispered in rhyming verse, “The house may look real gay / there children outside today / no more words to say / after this gunplay!”
Sobering, he whispered, “Hold up, Adric. Go around back, my nigga. I see smoke in the air. They may be having a cookout.'
Adric drove past, the car rolling at a snail’s speed. Tyler and Nate lowered the TEC-9s as they looked at a woman with gray hair tending to the flowers while eight children played ball in the front yard. The children noticed the slowly moving car and stared. Either recognizing the car’s occupants or the malice within it, they ran into the house.
“Turn this corner, my niggas, and make a left in this alley,” Tyler instructed. “When you get to the houses, stop in the middle. Nate you take the left, I’ll take the right.”
“Yup,” Nate said with a curt nod.
Adric obeyed Tyler’s instructions. When the car halted, Shan, Geroy, Trone, and Adric all ducked. Tyler got out of the car and shouted, “Remember me from the funeral, Eighty Street bitches?”
Biting his bottom lip, Tyler unleashed a barrage of bullets upon the pink house. Standing on the other side of the car, Nate shot into the white house. Women and children screamed in panic. Bodies dropped. Gun barrels flashed return fire from the windows, and the loud sound of metal piercing metal clanged as bullets struck the Camaro. A glancing bullet sent cracks streaking across the windshield. The back window exploded in a shower of glass. The rival gang fired back as they scrambled and ducked. One stray bullet hit Nate. Nate grabbed his throat in a futile effort to stop the blood that poured out.
Eyes wide, Adric yelled, “Dump that nigga!”
The Camaro’s tires screeched as it sped to the end of the alley. Shan and Trone dashed out, grabbed Nate, laid him on the trunk. The second that Shan, Trone, and Tyler jumped back in the car, Adric drove off. The tires spat gravel and Nate's body rolled off the car and landed on the ground. Adric looked out his rearview mirror as rival gang members poured out of the houses[. They didn't bother wasting bullets by shooting at the disappearing car, but eight men kicked and stomped on Nate's body. As Adric made a right turn, all of them heard gunshots.
Sweating, shaking, and breathing heavily, Tyler demanded, “Turn back around, bro!”
Adric refused. “Fuck that, that nigga is dead, bro: a neck shot and them niggas whooped his ass. You heard those fuckin’ gunshots!”
Geroy sighed and murmured, “Rest in peace to the nigga, Nate. He was a real nigga!”
Enraged, Tyler yelled, “Fuck, why ya'll dump him like that?”
The voice of reason, Adric said, “What we gonna do, send that nigga to the hospital? Besides, I don’t want him leaking on my shit. I just got this bitch cleaned. Now I gotta get the body fixed and windows replaced, too.”
Shan opted for candor. “It's a wrap for that nigga, bro, he's dead.”
Vibrating with fury, Tyler snarled, “Fuck you, Shan, you ain't have to say it like that!”
“It's the truth,” Shan snapped.
Tyler tilted his head back, put his hands over his face, and let out a long growl. Making a visible effort to contain himself, he said, “I know one of y’all got some weed.”
Geroy pulled a blunt from a Ziploc bag and a lighter from his pocket. He lit up the blunt, took a puff, and said, “Here you go, my nigga.”
Tyler took it and held it to his lips. He took a deep inhale as he rocked back and forth. Exhaling a cloud of smoke, he felt the chemicals begin to work their magic and said, “Good looking out.”
Shan’s eyes gleamed with greed. “Let me hit that?”
Tyler stared into the horizon and answered, “Fuck you, you talk too much shit.”
To forestall fisticuffs in the car, Geroy withdrew another blunt, lit it, and said, “Here.”
Shan took the blunt, saying, “Good looking out, since Ty wanna act like a little bitch.”
Tyler puffed and didn't respond to the remark. Instead he asked, “How many points I get, though?”
Adric replied, “We don't know how many niggas you got.”
Tyler took another puff “I need that money.”
Shan spoke, “Nigga, no car, no nothing, you stay broke!”
Tyler took a puff and exhaled, smoke blowing into the wind. Ignoring Shan’s comment, he spoke to Adric, “Head to that 80th Street park, my nigga. Ima show them that 99th Street gang ain't no joke, B.”
“Where is we going anyway?” Geroy asked the driver.
Adric shrugged and replied, “I was just driving, bro.”
Geroy looked out the window. “We've been driving for, like, twenty minutes.”
Adric turned a corner and headed towards the 80th Street park. Tyler’s bloodshot eyes focused upon the sky. His voice slurred, he said, “See them clouds, y’all?”
The others glanced at the sky and looked at each other, puzzled.
Tyler continued to speak between draws on the smoldering weed in his hand, the hard consonants turning mushy and the words running together. “That's where Nate is, my uncle murdered, my three cousins, that nigga buckshot, that nigga baby tooth, that one nigga that died at that cookout today!”
Trone looked down at his lap. “Damn.”
Tyler’s verbal diarrhea spewed forth. “Shit, I dunno. I just know that God watching all them niggas now. They wrappin’ in his love, y’all!”
He giggled and they looked at him in horror.
Adric announced their location as he parked at the curb. “We here, and it's a whole slew of them Eighty Street muthafuckas!”
Tyler blinked and peered over the park where children played, people cooked food on the grills, and rival gang members wearing all white played cards, kickball, and basketball.
In the front seat, Geroy laughed. Bewildered, Adric asked, “G, what the fuck is so funny?”
His philosophical mood gone, Tyler grabbed the AK-47 rifles from the backseat, stared at the sky, and yelled, “I'm gonna go take care of God's demons!”
He flung himself from the car and ran to the middle of the park. Lifting a rifle in each hand, he fired into the peaceful crowed, shouting, “I'm one of God's angels!”
Adric swallowed a lump of dread at the uncontrolled spray of bullets. “This nigga is trippin’, we out!”
He pressed his foot on the accelerator pedal. Tire smoke scented the air. Geroy dissolved into hysterical laughter, rocking back and forth in his seat as the car sped away.
“What the fuck is so funny?” Adric demanded.
In the back seat, Shan and Trone smiled. Shan replied, “He gave him that shit!”
“What shit?”
Shan explained, “That PCP shit.”
Adric sucked on his teeth. “Oh, you trippin’, you gave him the heavy dose shit to smoke on?”
Geroy coughed, trying to catch his breath, and replied, “Yeah.”
Shan and Trone started to laugh, too.
Shan said, “That shit funny as fuck!”
Clenching the steering wheel in anger at his friend’s failure to recognize how the prank could have gone all wrong, Adric said, “Man, that shit ain't funny. What if he started hallucinating and smoked us?”
Wheezing, coughing, and crying, Geroy didn't respond. Adric shook his head and muttered, “Dumb muthafuckas!”
Geroy calmed down. He smiled and said, “Aw, shit, that’s funny.” He paused and then said, “Let's go to the corner store.”
Hands relaxing on the steering wheel, Adric nodded “I'm with that. What you need?”
Geroy answered, “Some Olde E for Granny.”
“You got that fake ID?”
Geroys shrugged. “You know they don't check me, homie.”
Shan couldn’t let that opportunity pass by and interjected, “That's ’cause you look like a fuckin’ wildebeest!”
Geroy scowled at him meeting Shan’s gaze. Shan smiled and turned his head away.
“So, we just gonna leave Ty hangin’?” Trone asked.
Adric sighed and said, “Bro, there was a whole set of 80th Street muthafuckas. He jumped out the car. You think that man livin’?”
Trone shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, you right. He was seeing God before he died, so I guess he all right!”
“The sun’s going down. Let's add up the score soon,” Adric suggested to relieve the somber mood that settled over the vehicle’s occupants.
Geroy said, “Shit, we really didn't do much.”
Adric sighted a convenience store and headed toward it. He whispered, “A-yo, cop’s right there. How ’bout this, ten gees for whoever knock them off?”
Shan giggled, clapped his hands, and rubbed them together. With a smile, he said smoothly, “My turn.”
Not wanting to forfeit that kind of money, Geroy objected, “Nah, nigga, that's me!”
Ignoring their haggling over who got to kill the cops, Adric whispered, “There's two in the car and two outside.”
Adric turned into the parking lot and slowly pulled into a parking space near the main entrance of the convenience store.
Adric whispered, “Y’all got a plan?”
Geroy snorted. “Fuck you, I'm not telling you my plan if I have money on it.”
Shan jumped out the car and said, “Thanks for the ride home. I'll see y’all later.”
The boys exchanged confused looks.
“Oh, so he pussin’ out,” Adric reasoned.
Upper lip curling in a sneer, Trone said, “Fuck him, he talk too much shit anyway.”
Adric and Geroy both stuffed Glocks in the back of their pants and got out the car. Stepping onto the sidewalk, Geroy smiled at the officers and said, “How you doing this evening, officers?”
The two white police officers smiled and replied, “Good, and yourself?”
Geroy’s smile widened as he saw Shan creeping toward them from the opposite direction. “We’re good, thank you.”
POW! POW!
Smoke curled from the pistol Shan held in his hand. The two white officers crumpled, landing in a mess of blood, skull fragments, and brain matter. The officers in the car yelled into their radio, “Man down! Man down!”
Rat-a-tat! Rat-a-tat!
Firing an AK-47, Trone approached the patrol car, aiming at the policemen in the front seat. They ducked. Shan scrambled to the driver's side and shot several bullets directly into the car. Pandemonium reigned. People yelled, running around the gas station. Cars drove off as fast as they could.
Adric and Geroy exchanged glances and said, “Oh, shit!”
Adric ran back into the car and Geroy ran into the store.
Shan looked into the back seat of the patrol car and smiled. “Oh, shit, what up y’all? Ninety-ninth Street G's right here.”
He opened the back door and waved his arm in grand gesture. “Oh, shit, it's unlocked.”
Four skinny, young, dark skinned males without shirts and sporting tattoos of the 99th Street gang all over their bodies jumped out of the car. Although their hands were handcuffed behind their backs, three of them ran off as fast as they could. One lingered long enough to say, “Good looking out, my nigga!”
Sweating, Adric yelled, “Let's go! Fuck!”
Shan ran back to the car and asked, “Where's fat boy?”
Geroy rushed from corner store, money dropping from his hand as he carried bags of chips and four bottles of Olde English 800. One bottle slipped from his grip and shattered on the concrete.
Shan yelled, “Hurry up, fatty!”
The boys leaped into the car. In the driver’s seat, Adric revved the engine and shifted the car into gear. He floored the accelerator and, tires squealing, sent the car crashing into the side of the patrol vehicle. Cracks spread further across the windshield.
“Fuck!” Adrick shouted in anger. “I just got this bitch, too!”
Shan said, “Don’t stall, nigga!”
Adric put the car in reverse and backed onto the street. Oncoming traffic honked and skidded to a stop to avoid a collision. Adric shifted again. The tires squealed, the powerful engine roared, and the car shot forward through a red light, swerving and sliding.
The vehicle sideswiped another parked car before Adric finally wrestled it under control. He let out a big sigh, then realizing the damage to his prized possession, screamed, “Fuck, shit, how the fuck did I do that?”
Biting his nails, Shan looked out the window, checking for law enforcement in pursuit. He saw nothing. Relaxing, he laughed and said, “A-yo, Biggie Smalls, hand me one of the Olde E’s, a bag of chips, and one of them blunts—and not one of them fucked up blunts you gave Ty.”
Adric directed a mean look at Trone through the rearview mirror. Geroy met Trone’s gaze in the rearview mirror and they both nodded in mutual understanding. Geroy passed a bottle of Olde English to Shan as Adric slowed down for the red light. He looked at Trone and said, “Red light.”
Geroy tossed the bag of chips over the back of the seat and said, “Catch!”
“Why you throw th—” Shan began to whine.
POW!
Breathing heavily, Trone lowered the sawed-off shotgun and wrinkled his nose at the gore splattered throughout the car.
“Man, fuck the gang code, that nigga talks way too much shit!” Trone said, directing a disgusted look at his dead friend.
Adric rushed from the car, yanked open the back door, and grabbed Shan’s body by the shoulders. What remained of Shan’s head lolled back, dripping gobbets of blood and brain matter. Trone grabbed the corpse by the feet. Together, they dumped Shan’s carcass in the gutter. Adric kicked Shan hard on the remaining side of his face, knocking out the one remaining eyeball. With another kick, teeth flew from the right side of his mouth. The left side was gone.
He looked back at the wrecked body of his ride and his anger swelled. Walking away from the body toward his car, he muttered bitterly, “Shit talking-ass muthafucka!”
A car pulled up behind Adric’s Camaro which hadn’t moved although the light had turned green. The driver honked the car’s horn. Adric’s expression twisted with rage and he looked at Trone.
“Reload that AK and throw it to me.”
Afraid of his friend’s uncontrolled fury, Trone reloaded it without question and threw the AK-47 to him. Adric leveled the weapon at the car behind his. A petite white woman, her husband, and their three children in the back seat watched in horror. The white woman let out a bloodcurdling scream. Adric sprayed bullets into the hood of the car, then into the windshield, and then through a front seat window. He moved to the back seat, smiling as the children’s screamed, and unleashed a barrage of bullets into the car. Lowering his weapon, Adric looked at his victims and said, “No witness.”
He returned to his car and took his place behind the steering wheel. Gunning the engine, he ran over Shan's lifeless body, crushing what was left of his skull on the pavement. Blood trickled into a nearby sewer drain. With a wild laugh, he shouted, “Can't talk that shit now with no mouth, bitch!”
Trone looked out the back window at the bullet-ridden car behind them and he said, “Damn, A., look like a pitcher of red Kool-Aid in the bitch!”
Adric said nothing and the three boys lapsed into a tense, jittery silence. Geroy broke the quiet. “Take me home, G. This weed, drink, PCP, and killin’ got me tired, and it’s dark out!'
Geroy picked up the notebook from the floor of the car with the score sheet for the most murders.
Trone asked, “Shit, who won?”
Adric snatched the notebook out of Geroy's hands and threw it out the window. “Nobody won, nigga. Nate dead, Ty dead, Anthony dead. We got three funerals this week. Nobody won. Man, fuck that game, it's stupid anyway!”
Trone smacked his lips and said, “Nigga, you trippin’!”
Adric’s lip lifted in a sneer. “Nigga, you barely did shit today, except fuck that hippo and shot that nigga because you couldn’t bust yo nut!”
Trone shrugged his shoulders. “Shit, he deserved it.”
About ten minutes later, Adric dropped Geroy off at his grandma's house. After getting out of the car, Geroy leaned into the open window and asked, “Y’all niggas coming through tomorrow?”
Adric shrugged and replied, “Man, we’ll see, bro. I gotta find someone to drop pee for me, especially smoking that PCP and weed. My PO talking about puttin’ me back in juvenile and shit, maybe even prison. I dunno, man!”
Trone said, “Shit, man, I got to go to court for this child support shit, and I’m supposed to meet this new bitch later on, so we’ll see, bro!”
Geroy said, “All right, I'll be here, chillin’ and shit.”
Adric smiled. “Nigga, take yo ass to school.”
Geroy returned his smile and retorted, “Nigga, you ain't been to school as long as I have!”
Trone chuckled. “Grandma whoop yo ass!”
“Yeah, right!” Geroy smirked.
Smile dimming, Adric hooked his index finger and thumb finger with Geroy's index finger forming a nine for their 99th Street gang signature handshake, and Trone did the same. Eyes cold and hard, Adric bade his overweight friend, “Happy sixteenth again, my nigga.”
Geroy said, “Yup.”
Trone echoed, “Yup, happy sixteenth, G.”
Geroy snorted and quipped, “You have as many kids as my birthday.”
Adric and Geroy laughed while Trone grinned and twisted his nappy, dark hair. Teeth flashing in the dwindling light, he said, “Hell, yeah, I might have three more on the way!”
Adric and Geroy looked at Trone and shook their heads. Together they commented, “This nigga!”
Geroy backed away, raising his hands and connecting his fingers to form an O. He called out, “Ninety block!”
Adric and Trone called back, “Ninety block!”
As Adric drove off, Geroy cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed, “Bring my guns back, nigga!”
Adric honked his horn to indicate he’d heard. Geroy walked up the driveway, watching the Camaro disappear around a right turn. He thought nothing of the red 1965 Impala that slowly followed the Camaro until seconds later when he heard the distinct sound of an AK-47 spitting bullets.
Blood running cold, he muttered under his breath, “Shit!”
Realizing he’d had a narrow escape, he took a deep breath and fumbled in his pocket. “Fuck, my keys in the house!”
He hurried up the driveway and stepped onto the front porch, skipping the second step from habit, knowing the board was rotted. There were two black trash bags beside the front door. He walked over to them and saw a handwritten message on lined paper. Picking it up, he read it: “80 may be a lower number, but 80 got more members than 90, pig boy.”
Gulping, he opened the first bag. Unable to see the contents due to the darkness, he dumped the bag on the porch. Gagging at the stench, he backed away, feet scrambling. Tattoos identified Nate's body: both arms, both legs, torso, and penis.
Shocked, Geroy choked, “Fuck!”
Steeling himself, he opened the other bag and dumped it on the porch. It was Tyler butchered in the same manner. Geroy backed away so the blood wouldn’t stain his Air Force Ones.
Breaking out into a cold sweat, he ran to the side of the house, pulling the Glock from the back of his pants. He yanked open the door and yelled, “Granny! Granny!”
She was not in the kitchen. He ran into the living room, and then to her room, yelling again at the top of his lungs, “Granny!”
He went into the bathroom and saw his grandmother hanging, lifeless, by a rope strung through a hole in the ceiling and over an exposed truss. Her black body had turned a dark purple. Blood stained her dress near the crotch and oozed thick as sludge down her leg and dripped onto the floor. He saw another note on the counter beside the sink. His hand shook as he picked it up and read it: “80 had fun on your 80-year old grandma!”
Geroy screamed, “Fuck, Granny!”
He didn't bother to cut her down, but went straight to his room. It had been ransacked: the rival gang took all his guns, cash, and drugs. He started pacing. He pulled his cell phone out and typed in “Ace-dawg.” Adric’s phone began to ring, and someone on the other end said, “Yo.”
Geroy heaved a sigh of relief and said, “Man, I thought you was dead.”
The voice on the other end said, “I am dead and you gonna be in a body bag next, fatty! We making flanks and pork-chops out of you fatty.”
Geroy heard a click. Fearing for his life, he grabbed a spare key in his closet and whispered to himself, “How did they know it was us?”
Geroy thought about his day and what had transpired. He whispered to himself, “I knew I should’ve wore a ski mask today, but, fuck, it was too hot!”
He ran to his car just as six police cars pulled up to the front lawn. Policemen crouched behind their doors and pointed their guns at him. One called out, “Put your hands on top of your head. You’re under arrest!”
Groaning, Geroy thought, “Damn, I forgot they got videos on them police cars and on poles all over the ’hood!”
He dropped the Glock, put his hands up, then placed them on top of his head. He let out a big sigh. He would not die that day! The policeman approached him with his service pistol aimed at him and read him his Miranda rights as another officer followed close behind, wrenched Geroy’s arms behind him, and cuffed his wrists.
With a pinched expression, Geroy said, “Arson, kidnapping, the fuck?”
One of the police officers advised, “Best to keep your mouth closed, fatty, if you know what's good for you. We know what you did today!”
Geroy spat, “Man, fuck you! I didn't do shit! I want a lawyer!”
As the cops escorted Geroy to a police vehicle, he saw the red Impala drive down the street. Five, skinny, black adolescents in the car stood up and put their index fingers and thumbs together to make an 8. They waved their gang signs in the air, and one yelled out, “Eightieth Street, bitch!”
Another one yelled out, “Fuck the bitch-ass police!”
Still another yelled, “That's why we put yo niggas and granny to rest, you fat-ass muthafucka!”
Two men slapped him in the back of the head, and the car sped off and took a right.
One of the police officers muttered to his partner, “Fuck, these gangs are like rats and cockroaches: they won't go away.”
The cop shoved Geroy into the back seat of the police car and whispered in his ear “We’re gonna make sure you spend the rest of your life in hell for what you did to our gang, buddy!”
Geroy yelled, “Fuck you, pig!”
The cop leveled a gaze filled with icy hatred at him and hissed, “Look who's talking.”
He closed the door and got in the car’s front seat. Holding up the discarded notebook with the boy’s record of murders, he looked at Geroy and said, “No more murdering for fun, huh?”
Breathing heavily and sweating profusely, Geroy said nothing. He got a last look at his grandma’s house as the police put Nate's and Tyler's remains back in the bags. A solitary tear ran down his cheek as the car transported him to the county jail.
At the extreme of the street-oriented groups are those who make up the criminal element. People in this class are profound casualties of the social and economic system, and they tend to embrace the street code wholeheartedly. They tend to lack not only a decent education—though some are highly intelligent—but also an outlook that would that would allow them to see far beyond their immediate circumstances. Rather, many pride themselves on living the “thug life,” actively defying not simply the wider social conventions but the law itself.
In their view, policeman, public officials, and corporate heads are unworthy of respect and hold little moral authority. Highly alienated and embittered, they exclude generalized contempt for the wider scheme of things and for a system they are sure has nothing but contempt for them.
Members of this group are among the most desperate and most alienated people of the inner city. For them, people and situations are best approached both as objects of exploitation and as challenges possibly “having a trick to them,” and in most situations their goal is to avoid being “caught in the trick bag.” Theirs is a cynical outlook, and trust of others is severely lacking, even trust of those they are close to.
(Code of the Street: Decency, Violence, Moral Life of the Inner City by Elijah Anderson [pp 36-37])
Bibliography
Anderson, E. (September 17, 2000). Code of the Street: Decency, Violence, and the Moral Life of the Inner City. W. W. Norton, 2000.
Edwards, Tryon (Compiler), Catrevas, C. N. (Compiler), Edwards, Jonathan (Compiler), Browns, Ralph Emerson (Editor). The New Dictionary of Thoughts: A Cyclopedia of Quotations from the Best Authors of the World, Both Ancient and Modern, Alphabetically Arranged by Subjects. Standard Book Company; Revised and Enlarged edition (July 1, 1960).
Jordan, Clifford, Myricks, O., and Holmes, C. (December 3, 2006). “Why we Bang” retrieved from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O2x4KAAN27k. Ghetto Logik Entertainment. Ghettoflix Productions. 3 December 2006. Compton, California
NIV Study Bible, Hardcover, Red Letter Edition. (October 29, 2011). Zondervan.
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