Chapter 18
Passing Down Knowledge

Rain weeps from the clouds above Seattle this morning, like it normally does in the colder months. Every building, every house, no matter what color it’s painted seems to turn gray. It’s almost as if the city were an aging person. The palette of Seattle itself may not be vibrant, but it is distinct. Moss green, rust brown, fog gray and mold black. To me, the humidity seems to make everything feel colder than it probably is in reality. You may know about the haunted feel of New Orleans, but Seattle’s got that feel, too. Like the city’s crowded not just with the living, but with the dead, as well. Makes me feel comfortable knowing I’m never alone.

“Think I’ll be a shot-caller one day, Perce?” Hyena asks me over the thudding base of the Too Short CD we’ve got playing.

“Hell yeah, I do.” I feel relaxed and positive thanks to MadBlack’s pipe. “You handle pressure well for a young gun. If you live long enough I don’t see any reason you won’t become an OG, true Seattle elite.”

“That’s the tricky part, ain’t it?” Hyena’s watching the houses roll by out his window, deep in his own high. “Stayin’ alive on the streets where only the strongest survive. Sometimes I wonder, though, if I’m hard enough.”

“Well,” I’m trying to remember if it’s Cascade Boulevard or Lone Oak Street that’ll get us to Thunder Gate faster, “It’s a dangerous game you’re playing. Only way to know if you’re hard enough to make it is by passing the trials and tribulations you get thrown at you as you’re comin’ up. The higher up you go, the longer the fall is goin’ back down. A lot of men break when they fall. Only a few ever get back up and try again.”

“I don’t wanna die, Perce.”

“That’s a good instinct. Called self-preservation.”

He nods silently. Right now the best thing I can offer the boy is calm acceptance, a listening ear. For the rest of the drive he keeps to himself, watching the city as we pass through it. I doubt he’ll fully realize the depth of this lifestyle he admires so much for several more years. Many never do or maybe they do as they fade from this world staring up at a merciless sky, the interior of an ambulance or the nauseating fluorescent lights all hospitals seem to have. No one’s forced into this way of life. We all choose it. For some, no other pursuits offer quite the same shade of glory or thrilling reward as the path of the gangsta. I have a feeling this is the case for the boy formerly known as Sam.

Pulling into the apartment complex’s parking lot seems to cause Hyena to tense a bit. As bad as last night might’ve been for him, he’s probably far more worried about the reaction he’ll face from his own flesh and blood. He may well have an idea about his Aunt’s plans since he talked to his sister last night. Tiff’s never been a fan of his ambitions, nor mine. She can be understanding when she wants to, but after all the drama she’s gone through lately, there’s not a chance in hell that she’ll be receptive to anything other than her brother boarding that plane back to Texas.

“Coming in with me, Perce?” Hyena’s eyes are pleading in a way he can’t allow his voice to.

“I suppose I could.” (Although I’d rather be nearly anywhere else in the universe right about now.) “If you think you’ll need a little back-up.”

“You dated Tiff for a while, didn’t you?”

“I did, yeah.”

“‘Nuff said.” He smirks at me.

I let Hyena lead the way up to his aunt’s door. Though I could use a cigarette right now, I know Tiff dislikes smoking so I figure her aunt’s even worse about it. Although it would make a good excuse to stay outside during the opening salvos of the battle I’m sure looms ahead of us, I decide to be brave and hold off. The front door must’ve been replaced because it looks newer than the rest of the ones in this complex. Hyena reaches out and turns the knob, but it’s locked so he rings the bell.

Author’s Notes: Hold your breath……

Chapter 17

Birth of an Animal

“Holy fuck!” Sam’s shaking his head with admiration. “Seventeen of ‘em?”

He and MadBlack are sitting at the kitchen table scooping up mounds full of scrambled eggs covered in hot sauce. Apparently these two made it up before me. I figure Sam made the meal since I know MadBlack hates to cook.

“S’right,” MadBlack swallows some orange juice. “Only shot two of ‘em cause I don’t believe in shooting a man who’s not armed. Bad karma. Rest of ‘em I killed with my bare hands.”

I turn one of the table’s chairs around so I can straddle it. “You telling Sam about Atlanta?”

“Uh-huh,” he spears a sausage link from a steaming plate piled with them. “Tellin’ him about the time me and my crew busted up a dogfight going down in our hood.”

“Crazy shit, alright.” I nod respectfully.

“MadBlack sent those fools runnin’,” Sam takes a bite, still talking. “He ain’t into cruel shit like that, fighting pitbulls against each other.”

“Animal control came in after we left,” MadBlack frowns at his plate. “Killed every damn one of them dogs. Said they was too vicious for society.”

“Fucked up!” Sam scowls as he chews. “Good thing you iced those bastards while you had the chance. Man, people fuckin’ disgust me in this world!”

“World’s a fucked up place, son,” MadBlack shovels in some more eggs. “Hardly anyone willin’ to do right by anyone else. Gotta keep your head up, though. No matter what, never let motherfuckers influence you with their negativity. Ain’t good for ya. Do what you know you gotta do.” He points to his chest. “Follow this right here. Gotta have heart to make it as a man despite whatever surrounds you.”

“Deep, man,” Sam looks like he’s seen Jesus. “Inspirational, but real. I feel you.”

“So…” I try to cut in before Pastor MadBlack launches into another sermon.

MadBlack cuts his eyes towards me. “You hungry, Percy? Boy’s a fine damned cook. Fill your belly with some breakfast.”

“Oh, nah, that’s okay.” I give a broad smile so I don’t come across rude. “Had a real big dinner last night, you know. ‘Preciate the offer, though.”

“Whatever.” MadBlack leans back in his chair, eyes trained on me.

“Hey, Sam,” I try to shift the conversation. “Your sister called. She’s wanting you to come home. Misses you and all that. You know how women worry.”

Sam looks straight at me, swallows and says, “Whatever.”

Okay, so this isn’t going quite as well as I’d hoped.

“Tiff needs you, man,” I try playing to his pride, “She’s scared by herself. Your Aunt Jolene, too. They’re afraid to be alone, you know?”

Sam shrugs. “Philly’s over there.”

MadBlack stretches lazily, then offers, “Percy’s right, son. You gotta be there to comfort your family. You the man of the house, don’t forget that. Can’t go dodgin’ your duties to your loved ones.”

Sam sighs, finishing his last bite of breakfast. “Yeah, you’re right. Somebody’s gotta look out for those two. Weren’t for me they’d never have had those Smoke Money punk-asses kicking down the door, huh?”

“Don’t you worry about Smoke Money no more,” MadBlack states firmly. “Kingfins take care of that. We allies with your Brotherhood, now. Ain’t that right, Perce?”

“Sure!” I’m more surprised than I am enthusiastic since this is the first talk of an alliance I’ve heard. “Smoke Money fools fucked with the wrong crew. Absolutely.”

“Me and my boy Sam here,” MadBlack nods to the kid, “We discussed things like businessmen and decided our crews could mutually beneficiate each other.”

I love when MadBlack makes up new words. ‘Beneficiate’? Reminds me of the time he ordered a room full of us to ‘murderize’ a pimp who’d taken to ‘whoifying’ local junior high school girls. None of us laughed in front of him that night, but for weeks we’d crack up whenever one of us brought up the story.

“Sounds like a productive morning y’all are having,” I’m wishing I’d agreed to some breakfast as I eye the last three sausage links. “You ready for me to take Sam home?”

“Uh-huh. Best get you back to your family for now.” MadBlack lights the bowl of a pipe he had sitting by his plate earlier, inhaling before he finishes. “Have you some of this before you hit the road though, boys.”

We pass the pipe around, each of us doing our part to turn that sweet green into ashes. No one feels the need to speak, especially me, who feels like a third wheel to these two new pals. So much for being Sam’s mentor.

“Hyena.” MadBlack announces proudly, a huge grin surfacing to show his ivory white teeth.

We’re too high for such a cryptic form of communication. Both of us smile pleasantly at MadBlack, doing well at hiding our complete confusion.

“That’s what you gonna be called from now on.” MadBlack’s grinning in a way that makes me wonder if there’s a woman under this table giving him head, “Bravest motherfuckers in Africa. Run lions off their kill. Seen that on the Discovery Channel.”

“Hyena.” Sam’s forehead creases from concentration. “Hyena,” he suddenly breaks into a wild grin. “Yeah, yeah. Shit, yeah! I’m Hyena, motherfucker, fucking braver than a lion and crazier, too!”

MadBlack throws back his head, booming with laughter. “Hell yeah! Crazy underground king of the jungle, that’s you, boy!”

Eventually things calm down after another twenty minute bullshitting session and a call to my phone from an irate Tiff. The newly christened ‘Hyena’ and I clean up the kitchen and head out to the Cutlass for the cruise to Thunder Gate. I decide not to tell Hyena that his sister and aunt are bent on taking him back to San Antonio. I’ll let Tiff handle that herself because I have zero interest in upsetting MadBlack. Besides, Hyena and MadBlack exchanged numbers since they’re now bosom buddies, so they can see how they fare coming up against the two ladies.

Author’s Note: We are still humming along with chapters going up as quickly as possible. Still MUCH of the book left to come so I hope you are enjoying it.

Chapter 16

It’s All in the Money

“What is it, Philly?” I growl.

“Just got a call from Kettle.” He’s verbally tip-toeing, I can tell. “Sent him to Benton to make sure the Knuckleheads were cleared out by the time they told us. All of ‘em gone except for this dude, Hulk.”

“You mean Hurk.” I sit up to fish around in the ashtray beside the bed for a roach worth smoking. “What’d he want?”

“Well, Hurk or whoever, says the Kobra dude wants the park for another night.” I can almost hear Philly holding his breath, awaiting a negative response.

“Really?” I touch the flame of my lighter to the roach and suck in the smoke. “They plan on paying?”

“Yeah, Hurk gave Kettle five grand.” Philly relaxes noticeably since I’m not angry. “Said we know they’re good for the rest. We can pick it up at some place over in Cherry Hill called Lanky Joe’s. A bar, I’m guessing.”

“Lanky Joe’s? Yeah, I’ve heard of the place.” I blow out the smoke lazily, taking my time with this conversation. “Knucklehead owned & operated for a decade or so now. They hold meetings and shit there, real honky tonk.”

“Oh yeah?” Philly’s as confused by my response as he is cheerful. “So you wanna go over there later or what you thinkin’?”

“Thinking they don’t plan to pay us.” I let these words drop like lead.

“What do you mean, man?” There he goes getting nervous again. “They already gave us five grand. Why give us that and then bail on the rest?”

“Cause they plan to kill us later today when we go pick up the money,” I tell him, relishing the opportunity to show my street smarts. “Get us out of the way so they can have Benton for as long as they like. Whatever they’re looking for is too valuable for them to stop. They figure we’ll refuse to let them use the park a second night, see? Figure we’ll pocket the cash they gave Kettle, then tell them no at Lanky Joe’s.”

“Tell you the truth, that’s what I thought you’d do, too, Perce. I know MadBlack’d be pissed the fuck off if we let them have another night in Benton.”

“Damn straight he would.” I have to grin at Philly’s honesty, but frown at the roach burning my fingers. “So we can’t ask him, not even gonna try. Besides, did you check that cash Kettle got handed?”

He’s hesitant. “No.”

“Did Kettle tell you he checked it himself?”

“Nuh-uh.”

I can’t help but laugh as I light a second roach I’ve found. “Old tricks, Philly. Knuckleheads didn’t get where they’re at by playin’ it straight. They also aren’t going to be forking over twenty grand to their rivals, either. So one of three things is going on here: the envelope doesn’t have any money in it, it’s got fake money in it or, and this is my bet, it’s got the cash in there because they plan to ambush our asses at Lanky Joe’s.”

“Motherfucker!” Philly’s got his volcanic anger back. “You really think so? What are we gonna do?”

“First thing you do is have Kettle check that envelope.” I snuff the second roach out before it scorches me. “If it’s empty or has fake bills, then they expect us to arrive angry which means they’ll meet us with lots of armed troops. If it’s genuine cash then they’ll be waiting to surprise us once we get there to collect the rest and won’t expect us to be ready to get jumped. We need to have an idea of their plan before we make our move.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Philly’s getting the hang of this way of thinking. “That’s fucking brilliant, man. I’ll call up Kettle and see what’s poppin’ with that envelope. You want me to call you back?”

“Nah, man,” I yawn. “I need a shower before I give a Sam a ride over to Tiff’s aunt’s place. Just wait for me there and you can fill me in once I show up.”

“Ok, so stay here and chill for right now?”

“That’s right. Besides,” I let a little evil creep into my tone. “I don’t want you running off anywhere. I owe you an ass-kicking for getting busy with Tiff.”

“But I–” is all he has time to try replying with before I hang up, laughing to myself. Though I couldn’t care less if he shagged the girl or not, Philly’s always fun to wind up.

Author’s Note: From here, things are bound to get more interesting….

Chapter 15

I Dream of Saltwater

Waking up never has been one of my favorite activities. It’s a terrible way to start the day if you ask me. Unfortunately, it’s a ritual we’re doomed to repeat our entire lives. I like being woken up even less. If a man hasn’t gotten himself to wakefulness under his own power, he surely won’t be wanting you to help him along with the process. That damned Afroman is singing again. I need a new ringtone.

My hands fumble to open the phone as my eyes struggle to stop crossing each other. I see it’s Tiff calling.

“Hey baby,” I gaze at the poster of Jamaica I’ve got tacked up on my wall. “How you holding up?”

“Not good, Perce,” her voice feels like an icicle jammed into my ear. “Not good at all. My front door got broken down, my brother damn near got killed. How the hell do you think I’m doing?”

The digital clock radio’s telling me it’s nine in the morning, which is far too early for this shit. “That’s definitely fucked up, I feel you. Important thing is that he’s alive. Boy’s been through a lot and I know you worry about him, but listen to me, if there’s–”

“No,” she cuts me off. “You listen to me. I want Sam back here with me. You about got him killed last night. I’ve been worried this fucked up city would get to him one day and I can’t take the stress any more. I want him home.”

“Now wait just a god damned minute, Tiff,” now I’m glaring at Jamaica. “I didn’t get him into this shit with Smoke Money. Matter of fact I risked my life trying to save him!”

“Right,” she scoffs. “That’s not what I’m talking about, Percy Straight, and you know it! You’re the one who got him interested in all this ‘gangsta’ bullshit. Dealing drugs and starting fights! My little brother was a good kid, a smart kid. Now look at him, just another low-life thug headed for a prison cell or a cemetery plot.”

The ice in her tone has melted away, giving way to gut-wrenching sobs. You’d think Sam died last night.

“Hey, hey now,” I try to sound comforting and not show that I’m offended. “I made sure he knew this life isn’t for everyone. I told him about the dangers and the risks, I didn’t try to sell the kid on life as a banger, you know that.”

“He’s just a baby!” she moans, nearing the hysterics I’m working to avoid here. “MY little brother!”

“Well, he might be young,” I try to be delicate in getting my point across. “But he’s no baby. Sam’s becoming a man now and what a man wants is respect. That’s why these kids fall in with gang life. They want to be treated with respect, like they’ve got dignity. You go talking like that to Sam and he’s liable to push you away.”

“Oh God!” she wails, causing the phone’s signal to fuzz a bit and me to wince. “I can’t stand it here, Perce. Sam and I are going back home to Texas with Aunt Jolene. She bought the tickets online this morning. We leave tonight.”

“What?” I sit up in bed, suddenly far more alert. “You can’t just run off like that! What about all your stuff?”

“Ladies from Aunt Jolene’s church are going to pack the rest of it for movers after we’re gone,” she sniffles. “We can’t sleep in this house anymore, Perce. I feel like my whole world’s been shattered. Seattle’s too dangerous.”

My jaw about drops. “Oh and Texas suddenly becomes an oasis of peace? Come on, Tiff! You said you hated it there. Sam hated it there, too. What about you and me?”

“I never got my front door kicked in back in Texas.” She seems to view this as something other than dumb luck. “I may not like it, but it’s home. As for you and me? What the hell are you talking about? You’ve never cared about me as anything more than another one of your easy lays so don’t make it sound like we were engaged or something. You’ll find new girls to fuck. You always do.”

‘Hell hath no fury,’ I think to myself before responding. “Far be it from me to cast judgment on you and your Aunt’s decisions, but I think you’re being a little hasty here. You got Kingfins looking out for you and that’s the best security money can buy, even though it costs you nothing. That’s cause I care about you and about Sam, too. I know this whole mess is stressful, but turning and running away isn’t going to solve your problems.”

“It’s awfully sweet of you to be looking out for us and I have enjoyed having Philly around,” she jabs me with that sly statement, “But what about a week from now? What about a month from now? Are they going to escort us to the grocery store? Go to school with Sam? It’s just not safe enough for us here anymore, Perce. Thugs like that hold grudges for a long time. We may not be tough like you and your ‘homeboys’ but we’re at least smart enough to get out of a building when we know it’s on fire.”

I let silence answer her before I respond, forcing my irritation back down. “Do what you have to, I guess.”

“So when are you bringing him home?” she asks.

“In a few hours.” I know I’m not going to win this disagreement now. “I need to sleep some first. So does Sam. I’ll get him to you later today.”

“That’s fine,” she’s lies. “Thanks again for sending Philly, he’s surprisingly quite the gentleman. A pleasure to hang out with.”

Bitch. I hang up on her, roll over and drift back to sleep.

As I sleep, I dream deeply. I dream, as I often do, of the sea. Clear blue skies over shimmering waters dark with mystery. I see a boat, rising and falling to the rhythm of the waves. I feel far away, watching this scene like an outside observer. The boat has billowing sails, pregnant with strong winds which drive it forward across the ocean. I spot a man, high up in the crow’s nest. He’s peering through a telescope back across the rear of this proud ship. I’m moving towards him, seeing the bandanna tying back his hair, the leathery features of his face and the sweat rolling down his brow. Suddenly, I can see what he sees through his telescope.

At first it’s a shape, but as I watch, its details unfold before my eyes. A ship looms forward across the horizon, a ship with a black flag snapping in the breeze. A pirate ship, I remember thinking. Then the dream fuzzes out and I can’t remember what happens between this realization and the next part I remember: smoke and fiery blasts. The ships are firing volleys from their cannons at each other, salt water splashing with each miss. Each score crashes through the timber of the first ship and the pirate vessel manages to avoid any damage at all. Men from both boats are screaming at each other, preparing their swords for the inevitable showdown. Then I see one of my friends. I can’t tell who he is, but I know that I know him. He’s not with the pirate ship, but as the pirates begin to cut down his mates, he fights valiantly. Musket balls are being emptied into sailors left and right, men going down everywhere.

Then a dark-bearded pirate steps out from the fog of smoke. A tall, thin figure who’s surely the captain of the pirates if pirates ever had captains. He’s majestic as he surveys the battle, looking down a classic Roman nose as his men savage the ship’s crew. There’s a shot fired by my friend and the captain’s hit, but no blood comes out. This is because, I realize slowly, the crimson amulet he wears around his neck deflected the musket ball. The amulet shatters and he seems shocked.

Things fade to black and once more Afroman serenades me from sleep. I try to hold onto the memories of this dream as tightly as I can before I pick up my cell.

Author’s Note: Dreams are such strange, strrange things…. More tomorrow.

Chapter 14

Eventually It Catches Up to You

I decide to ask Deep as we’re pulling out of the parking lot, “Got a little weird at the end, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, you noticed that shit, too?” he asks as he adjust the heater so it’s blowing on him. “Like maybe they got some bad news or something. Just real quiet. Kinda angry looking, too.”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe the big dude got chewed out by Kobra or something,” Deep offers. “Called someone while we were looking around the park. I saw him on the phone, but we were too far away for me to hear what he was saying. Whatever it was sure changed his attitude quick.”

I’m annoyed that I missed seeing Big Doug get the call, but I try to play it off like I saw it, too. “Hard to say. Could be anything, I guess. You want me to take you to your place or Dizzy’s?”

He tells me Dizzy’s, so that’s where we head after putting a CD on. The ride to Dizzy’s is quiet because both of us are tired from the whole craziness of this night and I’d bet Deep’s turning things over in his mind the same way I am. He thanks me for the ride after we get to Dizzy’s and out of habit I wait for Jezzy to open the door to him before driving on home. On the way back I catch myself dozing a little. It doesn’t feel like I should be as tired as I am, but the stress of the day chewed my energy up faster than normal. After parking the car in the garage I head to MadBlack’s living room, planning to update him on what all’s gone down. Terminator 2 is still blaring from the big TV, but neither MadBlack nor Sam are watching it. MadBlack’s asleep in his recliner, head tilted back and snoring away. Sam’s curled up on the couch, oblivious to the world around him.

I know better than to wake MadBlack up. Instead, I head up to my room, undress and collapse onto the bed. In less than a minute I’m sound asleep.

Author’s Notes: Short chapter this time More tomorrow

Chapter 13

All About the Bikes

We’re pulling into the Benton parking lot now. I’m surprised to see how empty the place looks without its regular commerce taking place. Just two pick-ups and a half dozen Harley Davidsons. Knuckleheads must be doing their thing. I can see shadows moving around out there, but I can’t quite make out what it is that’s going on. As Deep and I are getting out of the car, two of them come stalking in from the dark section of the park.

“Hey, man,” the smaller of the two calls. “Park’s closed tonight.”

Deep looks at me for my reaction. “It’s cool,” I tell the big guy, “We’re Kingfin. Here to check things out.”

Both men keep walking towards us, stopping once they reach us. The smaller guy has long, auburn hair spilling down over his black leather motorcycle jacket. His jeans are faded, but smeared with dirt and grease which I take to mean he actually rides one of the bikes parked out here. His companion’s wearing the same general outfit, except instead of a leather jacket he’s sporting some military issue coat and he’s put his hair back in a ponytail. The larger man crosses his massive arms over his chest, eying us from beneath dark, bushy eyebrows.

“Kingfin, huh?” his voice is raspy and softer than I’d expected. “Well, I don’t think we need any checking up on. Y’all can go on home, now.”

“Yeah,” the smaller guy pipes in, “We paid you guys fair and square for the privacy.”

I lick my lips before speaking so I can reign my temper in. “I’m Percy Straight,” addressing the larger one since I figure he’s in charge. “I’m the man who arranged this deal with Kobra.”

“That so?” the big guy’s beard shifts about as he works his jaw, thinking.

“It is,” I give him direct eye contact, “We’re not here to interrupt your gig, Mr…?”

“Big Doug,” he extends a hand, which I shake firmly, “Member of the Diamondknuckle Saxons. Our boss spoke highly of you, Mr. Straight. That’s rare.”

I nod, “Everything working out down here tonight? Any trouble?”

“Not a bit,” Big Doug relaxes into a less guarded stance. “Your boys are keeping all trouble at bay, so far. Not that we couldn’t handle it ourselves, but it’s good to see they do their job.”

“Mind if I take a look at the proceedings?” I ask, glancing towards some of the shadows moving around out under the trees.

“That’s really not up to me,” he reaches into the side pocket of his coat, pulling out a cellphone. “I can call and ask the boss if it’d be alright with him, though, if you want?”

“Go ahead,” I say, noticing Deep Kut standing over by the bikes. “Mind if I check out your rides?”

“Help yourself,” Big Doug grins slightly, “Just don’t touch nothin’.”

I can hear Big Doug making the call as I stroll over to Deep Kut, pulling out and lighting up a smoke as I go. Deep’s got his hands in his pockets, taking in the beauty of the bikes, their paint jobs glittering even in this low light. They really are a sight to see and in a good deal better shape than the more banged up pickups they’re parked near. Squatting down, Deep seems to be studying the machines, which amuses me.

“You into bikes, Deep?” I ask between drags.

“Huh?” he seems startled as he turns to look up at me. “Oh. I don’t know, I’ve always kind of liked the individuality, you know? Sort of like back in the day when a man rode a horse around to get where he was going. Wild, free kind of thing.”

I suppress a chuckle. “I guess you’re right about that. These bikes sure do speak for themselves. Can’t really picture myself riding one, but they’re good looking machines, aren’t they?”

“Hell yes.” Deep’s tone is one of awe. “Look at the paint job on this one,” he reaches out to touch the bike, “Looks like red wine poured over-”

“Hey!” I whisper. “The man told you not to touch that shit! They get real territorial about these bikes.”

“Oh,” Deep snatches his hand back like the thing was hot. “Sorry, man. Kind of hypnotizing.”

“I feel you.” I, too, am thoroughly impressed by these iron horses. One of them’s a deep shade of maroon with some sort of tribalistic design painted in silver along the body, the other’s metallic forest green up front, fading back into a pale blue towards the rear.

“Like ‘em?” The short guy seems to have materialized behind us because I don’t recall hearing him walking this way. “The Softail’s mine, the one with Polly written down low above the engine. Other one belongs to Big Doug. Rode mine up from L.A. to get here. Four day trip.”

“Nice looking bikes,” Deep says as he stands up. “Must’ve cost you some serious change, huh?”

“Oh yeah,” the biker replies. “My last bike damn near fell apart so I needed a new one, anyhow. Seabeard brothers pitched in and help me get this one custom.”

“Polly the name of the bike or your name?” I ask.

He laughs, “Nah. That’s my old lady’s name. They call me Hurk.”

“You put your mom’s name on your bike?” Deep’s eyebrow’s arching up over his shades.

“Saxons call our girlfriends our old ladies, you know?” Hurk seems highly amused by Deep Kut’s question. “Traditional thing. Goes back to the Hells Angels and all that.”

“You bring her up here with you?” I ask, glancing over to see Big Doug still talking on his cell.

“She always rides with me, wherever I go,” he speaks solemnly which draws my eyes back to him. “In my heart, you know? Passed away a few years back, but I’ll never forget her.”

“Sorry to hear that,” wishing I’d left that subject alone. “Must’ve meant a lot to you.”

“Yeah,” Hurk’s tone is wistful. “We rode all over Southern California. Together for eight years, me and Polly. Stuck with me through a lot of bad shit.”

“That’s the kind of woman to have, for sure.” Deep Kut’s sympathy is genuine, “Stick to you when things get rough. Hard to find a lady like that.”

“Sure is.” Hurk’s making me uncomfortable with this kind of talk, so I’m glad to see his partner heading over our way, at last.

“Kobra says you’re free to take a look around as long as you’ll be quiet,” Big Doug tells me. “What they’re doing takes some concentration so we don’t want them distracted. That cool with you?”

“No problem.” I step on the last of my cigarette since it’s finished. “Just need to take a look around and we’ll be out of your hair.”

With that, Deep Kut and I head towards the park. It’s so cold the grass has iced over and it crunches under our feet. I try to minimize the sound as I take a look around. There’s several big dudes out here, clad like their pals back in the parking lot. Two of them are leaned up against trees keeping a watch over things and a few are wandering around slowly, holding Y-shaped branches out in front of them.

“The hell they doin’?” Deep Kut whispers to me.

“Dowsing,” I keep my voice as low as possible. “Looking for something below the ground out here.”

“Crazy shit,” Deep shakes his head slowly. “Any idea what they’re after?”

“Not a clue,” I respond. “Now keep quiet like the man asked us to.”

We continue on, scoping the place. Over by the bathrooms there are some candles arranged over a chalked symbol on the concrete. More symbols have been chalked on the outside wall of the bathroom, too. One particularly heavy-set biker is watching over the temporary shrine, smoking a cigarette. He eyes us suspiciously, but doesn’t move from his position to approach us. Satisfied that the Knuckleheads aren’t tearing the park up, I head back to the parking lot with Deep Kut in tow.

“Everything check out for you, Mr. Straight?” Big Doug calls as we’re stepping into the parking lot.

“Looking good,” I nod to him. “Except for the writing on the walls outside the restroom. I don’t mind the chalk but I want it off there before you pull out.”

“I’ll let ‘em know,” the large man’s eyes darkened only slightly. “I’m sure it’ll be cleaned up by the time you see it next.”

“Best of luck with your dowsing out there,” I offer. “Hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for.”

Both men nod quietly. It’s something of a standstill because none of us want to be responsible for sparking any sort of war between our gangs. MadBlack would come down on my head like an anvil if I stirred up trouble at this point, so I’m trying to operate with that in mind.

Social etiquette demands that Deep and I excuse ourselves politely from the park these Saxons are renting, so we do that and head back to the Cutlass. The ambiance of Benton seems to have changed. Somehow, things feel different to me right now, but I’m unable to put my finger on it.

Author’s Note: Okay, to anyone still reading I am back after some serious upheaval in my life. I am going to post every day for a while here to get back on track so be sure to check back frequently so you don’t miss out. I apologize for the 2 months of skipping!

Chapter 12

Smoke, Talk and Drive

I head to the den so I can get MadBlack’s viewing experience readied. He and Deep Kut chat with Sam while I set things up. By the time I’m ready to take Deep home they’re all getting along pretty well. Almost natural. Deep and I say our goodbyes and get into an ‘88 Oldsmobile Cutlass Classic that MadBlack keeps in the garage. It’s chromed up, lowered and painted a gorgeous shade of indigo. A choice ride with an expensive sound system. Deep Kut throws on some Ludacris for the ride over to Benton before I take him back to Dizzy’s studio for the night. Smooth sailing, set to some serious smoking of premium weed, courtesy of Kingfin supply. I can feel my adrenaline-tensed muscles relaxing under the good herb’s spell.

“Crazy shit Sam pulled back there, ain’t it?” Deep asks while it’s my turn to toke.

“Yes, indeed,” I can still talk with lungs full of smoke. “Damn near ended himself up in the city morgue instead of MadBlack’s. Brave little bastard, though, I gotta say.”

“You’re right,” Deep’s nodding thoughtfully to this song’s bass line. “To tell the truth, I felt pretty sure he’d end up dead, pulling a stunt like that. Seen alotta niggas fall tryin’ to stand tall.”

“Glad we changed cars before we got pulled over,” glancing over at him I read from his smile that he’s going to turn this situation into another song. “A shootout of that magnitude is going to end up on the front pages of the papers tomorrow morning. Smoke Money Family’s liable to hunt our asses down if that last dude they had standing recognized me as Kingfin. Hope Philly doesn’t end up fielding a second visit tonight – by SMF thugs.”

I take a few drags while I let Deep Kut unroll what’s in his head, “I ever tell you about my Pops? I was about Sam’s age when he got shot. He rolled with the Harborside Crips back in the day. Not after I was born, though. He quit the gang life cause my momma didn’t want us kids growing up that way. Thing is, you never really quit the streets. It’s like a magnet in your bloodstream. If you ain’t drawn to them, they’re drawn to you. Pops worked on the docks since that was all that would hire him. So he’d been doing hard labor making a way for our family, not messin’ with gangs at all. Then one day, on his way back home he’s waiting on a red light at an intersection. Some punk ass crossing the street jogs over to his window and sticks a gat in face. Carjacking.”

Funny I’ve never heard this story, even having known Deep so long like I have. He takes another toke before I smash the roach out in the car’s ashtray, reminding myself to dump it once we get to the park.

“So, Pops acts real cool,” he continues, his voice lower than I’m used to. “Another kid comes up on the other side, gun in hand, ready to back his partner and take Pops’ ride. What does my old man do? He reaches out quick, grabs the guy on the driver’s side’s gun and yanks his arm into the car so he can get control over the weapon. Well, that guy starts pullin’ the trigger all rapid-fire. Bullets go into the seat, the passenger-side door and then through the window while Pops and this little bitch are wrestling for the gun. Shot that goes through the window hits the other jacker, drops him dead on the pavement. Once Pops has the gun away from the one guy, he floors it out of there. Now he’s stuck with a gun that shot somebody and even though it’s got no prints on it, Pops wasn’t a man to take unneccessary risks. He drives over a bridge and tosses the gun into the Duwamish River. Next day, he and I are going down to the Circle K to get him a pack of smokes and this car rolls up alongside us, goin’ too slow. Window rolls down and Pops screams at me to get down. Shoves me to the sidewalk as the shotgun fires. Missed me, but it hit him. Died instantly, they told us. One shell, that’s all it took. See, the carjackers were Southtown Red Kats, Blood-affiliated. Jacker that lived told them about my Pops and they remembered he was Harborside Crips. The situation became a colors game. The jacker blamed the death of his homeboy on Pops and less than 24 hours later, us kids lost our old man. Streets get sick, don’t they Perce?”

“They fuckin’ do,” I nod, feeling sorry for Deep. “Harborside ever get even for that?”

“Nah, they didn’t give a shit. Said Monkeywrench, that’s what they called Pops, was dead to them already. None of ‘em even came to his funeral, man.”

“Fucked up,” I find myself a bit angry at hearing this. “Kingfins don’t operate that way. Unless you cross us, once you’re in we stick by you for life.”

“No shit, that’s the way it should be. I took it upon myself to settle the score. Made up a Molotov cocktail and tossed that fucker into a party they were having. Three of ‘em got to roast that night. I figure that’s even enough.”

I give a low whistle before saying, “Nasty way to die, but sounds like it suited the nature of their crime, blasting your Pops like that. Red Kats around any more?”

“Nope, they all either shifted allegiance, got busted or wound up dead. Doesn’t hurt my feelings, though. Nasty crew. Stupid violent and most ‘em were hopped up smokin’ rock all the time.”

Author’s Notes: Still playing catch up, next chapter goes live in a day or 2 until we get back on track!

Chapter 11

Man of the House

“Smoke Money Family,” MadBlack’s talking to me, but he’s looking at Sam. “Those brothers Chinaman and Corvette?”

“Camaro, but yeah,” I instantly regret correcting the man. It’s too late to take it back. “That’s them. They’re pushing cheese at Louis Carver, the high school over there in Thunder Gate? Sam’s school. He and his boys roughed up a few of their dealers so they came after him for revenge.”

MadBlack’s leaning back against a wall, his blue silk robe exposing a bit more bare skin than I’m comfortable with. He likes these awkward silences and even though he’s still wearing his dark shades, I can tell he’s visually appraising Sam. He’s met Deep Kut before, but not Sam. Hopefully he likes him or he won’t be staying here tonight. I try to help Sam’s cause along.

“I don’t like that cheese bullshit,” MadBlack’s shaking his head. “Came outta Dallas, Texas. Nothin’ good ever came outta Texas.”

I’m hoping Sam doesn’t mention that he moved here from Texas. Luckily, he’s not doing anything more than letting his eyes roam around this kitchen. With black marble counter tops, state of the art appliances and expensive slate-gray floor tiles, it must appear pretty posh to him as a young buck who’s only ever lived in low-income housing.

“Bad news, for sure,” I agree. “Trashy dope made to make new junkies out of young folks who don’t know any better. Predatory. Sam’s crew only slangs ganja. Right, Sam?”

Sam nods, fidgeting with his pockets.

Deep Kut’s still working on those sandwiches when he turns to ask MadBlack, “Where y’all keep the mayonnaise?”

“Fuck mayonnaise,” MadBlack’s irritated by this seemingly unimportant intrusion to our conversation. “I ain’t French. I don’t eat that nasty shit. Miracle Whip’s in there. Mustard, too, but I don’t fuck with nasty mayonnaise.”

“It’s cool,” Deep Kut finishes up the sandwiches, handing one to each of us before approaching MadBlack. “You want a sandwich, too?”

“Nah,” he tosses his reply at Deep before refocusing on me, “How’s Benton Park doin’?”

I take a bite of my food to avoid wincing, “Good. I had Philly watching over it while I went to Dizzy’s. No problems.”

“Ain’t Philly in Thunder Gate?” this question comes out low like a roll of thunder before the clouds rip open.

I nod, chewing busily.

“So,” he let’s that word linger. “Who’s watching over it now, then?”

I swallow the dry sandwich hard, “I am.”

MadBlack crosses the floor, depositing his empty glass in the sink. “Don’t look like you’re watching it. Looks like you’re standing in my kitchen. Eating.”

I hate when he gets this way, means he needs sleep. “We got three cars full of our boys patrolling it right now. Figured I’d head on over soon as I updated you on the situation at Thunder Gate and found Sam a place to lay low for a while till this blows over.”

Kissing ass sucks, but sometimes it has to be done.

“You do that,” he’s aware of what I’m trying to get him to say so he decides to draw it out longer the way he likes to do. “Where’s the kid gonna stay?”

“Hoping he could stay the night here if that’s alright with you.”

“We can do that,” he’s watching Sam slowly eat the sandwich. “But get this numbskull outta my house before he empties my fridge.”

“Aw, man!” Deep knows he’s playing. “Why you gotta do me that way? You know I draw my musical inspiration from the way you handle business, man.”

“Don’t insult me like that,” MadBlack’s not serious, but anyone who didn’t know him wouldn’t be able to tell by his deadpan delivery. “Blamin’ that shit you write on me.”

Deep Kut laughs, shaking his head.

“Kid want a joint or something?” MadBlack’s watching Sam with the closest thing he has to an expression of concern. “Been through a lot, sounds like. Reefer’ll calm the nerves and build the appetite.”

Sam doesn’t seem to hear this so I ask him myself, “Hear that, Sam? MadBlack’s offering you some of the finest bud in this country. You up for a smoke-out?”

“Sure,” I worry Sam’s going to seem nonchalant towards MadBlack’s generosity, which is a bad idea. “Thanks, man.”

“It’s nothing,” MadBlack tells him, then says to me. “I feel like a movie. You got any suggestions?”

“Terminator 2,” Sam tells him. “If you got it.”

“Course I got it,” he sounds pleased. “Arnold motherfuckin’ Schwarzenegger! Damn fine choice.” He looks at me, “Load that up for me before you head out. Pack me a fat bowl, too.”

Author’s Notes: Late posting again, next post goes up tomorrow to speed things up. Will try to get back in sync soon!

Chapter 10

Shellshocked & Shaken

A crack in the night tells me one of those SMF pieces of shit managed to survive. Not only that, but the fucker is shooting at us. The shot must’ve hit the Lincoln, but I don’t have time to fret over that. I swing the steering wheel hard around the next corner and we’re screeching off down 181st Avenue back towards MadBlack’s place. I could call Philly at this point to update him, but I’m more worried about getting Sam to a safe place before I go doing that. Besides, SMF may send more of their troops to Tiff’s aunt’s house. We’re also guaranteed to encounter incoming police cruisers if we don’t exit this area of town fast enough.

“My God,” Deep Kut’s lighting a cigarette with shaky hands despite sounding calm, “I thought for sure those fools were gonna ice our asses. Musta been what, a dozen of ‘em?”

“Eight, I think,” I’m craving a smoke myself right now. “Important thing is we bailed our boy Sam out and they didn’t hit a single one of us. Goddamn lucky for that, too. They fired off enough lead to more than wipe us out.”

“Hell yeah, boy,” Deep’s passing his cigs to Sam but Sam’s not really responding. “Motherfucking Kingfins are down for life! Here, take a smoke, Sam. Make you feel better, son.”

“Gimme one, too,” I don’t feel like fishing my pack out, “Light it for me.”

“Aight,” Deep does what I ask first, still watching Sam. “You gonna be okay, Sam?”

“I ain’t ever shot anyone before,” is all he can manage in a voice that sounds far away.

“Well you did tonight, son,” Deep says as he leans up to hand me my smoke. “Killed his ass, too.”

“He died?” Sam’s still staring at the back of the passenger seat, his face showing no expression, his eyes wide.

“Damn straight he died,” Deep holds the pack of cigarettes out towards him again. “Dead is the best condition for those who’d shoot at you. You did what you had to, son. No shame in it. Have a smoke, it’ll calm your nerves.”

I’m watching Sam pick out a cigarette with what seems to be great concentration.

“Sam,” I tell him between drags of my Camel, “The streets are like this. Deep’s right, you did good. Next time, though, I don’t wanna look over and see you walking towards ‘em. Never stand up in a situation like that. Look for cover. You gotta give your enemy a smaller target to shoot at.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam’s still staring at the cigarette he chose.

“S’alright, Sam,” I’m worried the boy might be too shaken to act normal if we get pulled over so I try to bring him out of the shock. “You’re just learning. Won’t be too long till you’ve got your shit down.”

“I got to call my sister,” he’s smoking the cigarette like it’s a joint. “She’s worried about me. I hope they didn’t hurt her.”

“Nah, man,” I assure him, “Tiff’s doing fine. I got Philly Mako and some boys over there watching out for her. Go ahead and call her if you want to. Might make her feel better.”

“They busted into my aunt’s house.” There’s a sort of metallic ring to the words as Sam speaks them. “Fuckin’ Smoke Money assholes wearing masks. Said they’d shut down the Brotherhood. Said they came to even the score. I ran for it. Went out the back.”

“That’s right, man,” Deep’s sounding nervous, watching Sam closely. “Did what you had to do. Can’t keep your boys alive if you yourself end up dead. You did good, son.”

For the rest of the ride Sam talks quietly with Tiff. We don’t spot a single cop on the way home, which is good. I’m itching to get the Lincoln parked in MadBlack’s garage for the night in case anyone took down my plates and went to the police with them. Unlikely, due to the speed of the shoot-out, but I don’t feel like taking chances. We get into the house and find MadBlack in the kitchen, sipping some orange juice. I fill him in on what went down at Thunder Gate. He nods as I tell him, after he instructs Deep Kut to make some sandwiches for us. Food calms the nervous system he tells us, keeps the body busy so it worries less.

Author’s Notes: Late post again, but next post goes up December 9th

Chapter 9

Yukon Blood

It doesn’t take too long for us to locate the library. I’m not sure exactly which bush Sam’s hiding under, so I send Deep Kut out after him while I wait inside the car at the curb with the lights off and the engine idling. Deep isn’t too thrilled to be chosen for this duty, but he knows better than to argue with me right now, keeping his displeasure restrained to a disappointed tightening of his lips. I don’t blame him for getting huffy because the library’s exterior has next to no lighting. He’s going to have to walk around, calling Sam’s name as softly as possible.

As I wait, I see a vehicle headed towards me. An SUV. When it’s almost on me, I can tell it’s a Yukon. My nerves fire off rapidly, instinct driving me to reach for the .45 I’m carrying down the front of my jeans. I don’t make eye contact with the driver, but I’m pretty sure these are the same thugs who were sent for Sam. They roll right past me, and in the rear view mirror I can see them round the corner of Rosewood, heading away from the library. I exhale in relief. For a moment there, I worried those dudes might spot either me, Sam or Deep Kut and decide to blow off a few rounds at us for good measure. After all, they’re probably stoned out of their minds on free SMF dope they got for taking this job.

Minutes later, I see a couple dark shapes emerging from behind the library. Deep Kut’s got his hand in the front pocket of his hoodie, holding his pistol, walking faster than he normally would. Sam’s dreadlocks frame his face, but I can see his shaken expression from here. Poor kid. This is a lot for a young dude to handle. I doubt he realizes yet how lucky he is to be alive. He must be half-frozen in his baggy camo pants and wife-beater. Even though it’s above freezing right now, the wind’s active. That alone will chill you to the bone in Seattle.

I, too, experience a chill when I see the Yukon coming back around the block, apparently making another pass by the library. Sam and Deep Kut spot the vehicle, as well, and they freeze like deer on the library’s lawn. The Yukon’s speeding up. As I watch, I see one window, on the side closest to me, rolling down. Deep Kut yells something I can’t hear and both of them drop to a crouch, their guns flashing in the light from the street lamps.

Everything begins to flow by in slow motion for me at this point. I’ve lived through situations similar to this so I’m experiencing a strange sort of deja vu as I unfasten my seatbelt, jumping out of the car. If I could hear anything beyond the thudding of my own heart, I’d hear the booming that accompanies the bright flashes erupting from the pistols being held out the SUV’s side windows. Dirt sprays up from the lawn around my two boys and clots of grass jump into the air. I’ve got my gun raised. I fire several shots, in rapid succession, at the front windshield of the vehicle. I can see the side of the Yukon taking the bullets from my friends, but I’m too busy hoping they’ll scramble for my car to hope any of their shots are accurate.

“Get in the fuckin’ car!” I’m screaming full force, “Now! Move!”

I can’t see Sam or Deep, but I figure they’re making their way towards our ride now. Just then, I spot the barrel of a shotgun swinging out of the driver’s side window. One of the men has crawled up over the dead driver and trying to aim at me. That one takes a couple rounds from me and the shotgun falls back into the vehicle, never having been fired. Two pistols bounce off the pavement next, their owners hanging partway out the side window of the Yukon, blood rushing down over its white paint job. Taking a quick glance towards the library’s lawn, I see Sam. He looks like a character in some ghetto movie. He’s stalking towards the vehicle, gun arm outstretched, firing shot after shot into the Yukon. For a moment, I’m in awe of his sheer backbone. He shows zero fear. Then I realize he’s still pulling the trigger, but no flashes come from the weapon’s muzzle. He’s out of ammo.

Deep Kut’s coming up behind Sam, springing onto his back and bringing him down hard into the grass. More shots ring out from the SUV. I spot one of the SMF assholes with a bandanna tied over the lower half of his face walking out from behind the rear of the vehicle. Two of my rounds leave him lying on the street. I repeat my order for Deep and Sam to get in the Lincoln so we can get the hell out of here. Now they’re scrambling up and running towards our car. Once they’re in I get back in, too.

“You two hurt?” I ask them, stomping the gas to squeal off, rocketing us away from the scene. “Anybody need a doctor?”

“We’re okay,” Deep offers from the backseat. “Nothin’ hit us. We’re cool.”

Sam’s staring into space, his eyes dark with shock.

“Gonna be okay, Sam, don’t you worry,” I’m vibrating from the adrenaline rush. “We got away this time, no more–”

Author’s Note: Late again! Still sticking with the every 3 days schedule.. trying to get back on track after personal crisis. Thank you for reading.