Chapter 20

Text Message

Ronnie-K and Dank let their controllers fall to the floor, the unpaused game continuing without them. Philly and I freeze, too. I’m hoping no one draws their piece at this point because the woman’s looking just crazy enough to discharge both of those barrels if someone upsets the balance of power in this room.

“What are you doing?” Tiff’s in a panic, staring at her aunt.

“What I should’ve done the first time I laid eyes on these filthy thugs!”

“Put that shit away,” Hyena barks at her. “Are you fucking nuts? We all got guns! What are you gonna do, blast us all?”

“If I have to,” Her gaze dances around the room, more than eager for an excuse to pull that trigger. “My Daddy taught me how to use this thing and he told me if it came down to it I better not pull it out unless I planned to use it. And I do.”

“Are you going to let us walk out of here?” I ask, sounding as bored as I can.

“That’s your only option.” She snarls, brave behind the firearm. “Unless you’re interested in getting a load of buckshot to fill that empty space where a brain ought to be.”

I stand up slowly, “Let’s go, boys.”

“Then I’m going, too,” Hyena tells her.

“You so much as think about taking a step towards that door and I’ll blow a piece of you off, too!”

“Aunt Jolene!” Tiff shrieks. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” the woman’s speaks slowly, “He’d better stay put until I can talk some sense into his head after these piles of trash get off my property.”

“You’d shoot me?” Hyena’s beginning to realize who he’s dealing with. “You’d kill my friends? I can’t fucking believe this.”

“Believe it,” Philly tells him, standing up slowly. “Bitch is crazier than fuckin’ Cujo.”

“Shut your mouth, wetback! And y’all keep your hands where I can see ‘em.”

“Listen, lady,” I stand by as the others file past me towards the door, “The boy just needs you to be reasonable right now.”

“Are you talking again, nigger?” She hisses, “The only thing ‘the boy’ needs is to get away from trash like you and get his life back to Jesus!”

If I thought this angry little troll had the intelligence to understand it, I might point out the hypocrisy of this entire situation. Since I don’t, I simply roll my eyes. Philly passes me, his jaw working in a way that tells me he’s grinding his teeth to hold his tongue.

“Follow him out,” she orders me.

“I go last.” I look her straight in the eyes. “I don’t trust you so I’m gonna make sure you don’t try shootin’ one of my men.”

“I wouldn’t shoot a person in the back.” She tells me. “Unlike you, I’m not a coward.”

If I didn’t give a shit about Hyena or his sister I’d not have any trouble dropping her out of principle. She certainly seems to be begging for it by constantly provoking us. Of course, no matter who’s fault it was since we’re gang-bangers and she’s a church lady we’d be the ones going to jail.

“Dank, Ronnie.” I let her break our stare-down before I look over to them. “Follow Philly out to the car. I’ll be right behind you.”

Aunt Jolene knows I’ve overridden her control of the situation, but she says nothing. Both men look at me as they pass by, their expressions showing that they’re more pissed off than they are scared.

“Good luck, Hyena,” I tell Sam before following my crew. “You too, Tiff.”

“Move, don’t talk!” Aunt Jolene orders, jabbing the gun into my back. “Once you’re gone don’t you ever come back or, Lord help me, I’ll go straight to the police.”

And tell them what, that she held us up at gunpoint? No sense mentioning that to her since she’s not acting on any sane impulses. Once we’re in the parking lot, I tell Philly to run down to Benton with the boys to make sure things are going smoothly there. I also make sure he remembers to meet with Kettle to inspect the cash the Knuckleheads gave us. Then I kick him hard in the shins.

“Ow!” he yelps. “Why the fuck did you do that?”

“I told you to keep your hands off Tiff, didn’t I?” Suppressing the fact that I find this humorous is tough, but I manage.

“Aw shit, man.” Philly’s rubbing his sore leg. “She came on to me last night, I couldn’t say no cause I didn’t want to piss her off and get us kicked out of there so we couldn’t guard the place like you asked us to.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers, I suppose.” He knows I’m mocking him. “Next time you do like I tell you or I’ll aim for the balls.”

“I didn’t fuckin’ beg her!” He protests loudly, causing Ronnie-K and Dank to burst into hysterical laughter. “Didn’t beg her aunt, either.”

“Nuh-uh!” Dank’s collapsing against the car while he says this. “You screwed both of ‘em?”

“Damn straight!” Philly scowls at him. “Why you think the old bitch got mad when she found out I balled her niece? I only did her while Tiff was in the shower, otherwise I was too busy bangin’ Tiff to fool with her.”

“Oh my god!” Ronnie-K’s wracked by a fresh wave of laughter. “You did the old chick, too! Oh my fucking god!”

“Okay, okay,” I jump in, impatient to get out of here so I can make a call. “Enough high-fiving over balling skanks. We’re all proud of you for scoring the world’s easiest lays. Philly, get to Benton with these two monkeys. I’ve got shit to do. Call me if you need anything.”

With that I get into my car and pull out of the parking lot. All this insanity has left me hungry and since I skipped breakfast I’m going to need some form of sustenance here real quick. I hate eating alone, so I reach for my phone to call around and see which of my females feels like a date. While I’m opening the phone, a text message comes through. It’s from Hyena.

“not going to texas. see you after they leave. stay true.”

I have to smile at the kid’s determination. Might be more difficult to get out of his predicament than he thinks right now, but my gut tells me he’s going to pull it off.

I fire back a message of my own: “do what u gotta do.”

Author’s Note: There it is.

Chapter 19

Hey, Jo, Where You Goin’ With That…

The sound of locks being undone comes right before the door swings open to reveal Philly aiming his .45 at us. “Who the fu– Oh, hey!”

“Goddamn, Philly!” My heart’s about to bash its way out through my ribcage because I fear being shot accidentally more than I do being gunned down by my enemies. “Put that shit away! Don’t you fools look out the window first?”

“Sorry, man,” He looks embarrassed, then calls back over his shoulder, “Hey, Tiff! Look who finally showed up!”

Tiff has evidently been waiting just around the corner because she flies out, nearly knocking Philly into the wall and seizes her brother up in a crushing embrace.

“Fuckin’ Christ, Tiff!” Hyena gasps. “I missed you, too, but shit!”

“Oh, Sam, I started to think I’d never see you again.” The make-up around her eyes is creating dark streaks down her face as it mixes with her tears. “Oh, god!”

She’s mouthing “thank you” to me over Sam’s shoulders as he struggles to end the hug that must be humiliating him to death. Next, I see a middle aged woman in jeans and a cream-colored sweater rushing out the door. She joins the hug.

“Samuel Clayton King!” she scolds him. “Don’t you ever worry your poor aunt like that again! Me and your sister though you’d been killed!”

“I’m fine!” Hyena’s trying to untangle himself from their arms and failing. “Perce bailed me out and nothing bad happened to me.”

“You!” Aunt Jolene glares at me with as much disgust as her tone conveys. “I know about you!”

“I did my best to protect him, ma’am.” I can be awfully calm and polite when I’m getting angry. “Came as quick as I could once I knew the young man was in trouble.”

“Oh, is that what you call making the morning headlines, now? Protecting him?” The whites of her eyes are flashing the way a dog’s will once it’s entered an attack frenzy. “An SUV shot full of bullets and bodies lying all over the street in front of the library?”

My jaw clenches involuntarily. “At least the boy is alive,” I say through gritted teeth.

“And scarred for life!” She’s shrieking now. “We’re going back to San Antonio where nigger thugs like you can’t–”

“Hey! Watch your fuckin’ mouth, puta!” Philly roars, stepping up behind her. “My friend risked his fucking life for Sam! You can’t talk to him that way!”

“Don’t you yell at her, you bastard!” Tiff screams, bursting into fresh tears.

Hyena breaks free of the women, shouting, “Hey! Everybody just chill the fuck out! I’m alive! I’m okay!”

This brings silence down on the group of us like a judge’s gavel. The boy’s eyes blaze with intensity, emotions rippling beneath his teenage face. Everyone’s looking at him, most of us unconsciously holding our breath. I’m not sure, but he’s got that look a person gets when they’re about to cry. I hope like hell that he doesn’t.

Instead he raises his shoulders, takes in a deep breath and announces, “I’m the one who brought all this drama down on my family. Not just my blood family, but my street family, too. It’s my fault things got this fucked up in the first place and I’m sorry for that, but y’all can’t be gettin’ at each other over something I did to myself. Perce ain’t responsible for me and neither are you, Tiff and Aunt Jolene. I never meant to drag my troubles into your home.”

“I wish you wouldn’t use such atrocious language, Sam,” his aunt chides, but she’s looking at him with more pride than anything else. “We aren’t angry with you, only worried. We know you just got mixed up with a bad crowd.” Her scowl touches first me, then Philly. “This is no kind of life for a smart young man like you.”

I’m half-tempted to tell the old bag off – she’s clearly baiting us – but I resist. Philly crosses his arms over his chest and does his best to pretend he’s interested in the cement he’s standing on. Sam simply nods and walks into the house. I’m not sure whether I’m welcome inside or not as I watch the women follow him inside, but Tiff motions for me to follow. So I do.

The interior of the apartment holds nothing unusual. Typical white walls, beige carpeting and furniture that’s clean, but has seen its better days. Dank and Ronnie-K sit on the floor in front of an older model television playing some football game on Sam’s Xbox. If this were MadBlack’s place or nearly anywhere else they’d be trash-talking each other like crazy, but right now they’re quietly absorbed in the action on-screen. The eerie quiet in here fails to comfort me, making me want to walk softly or not speak at all. Sam heads back to his bedroom, his sister following him while Aunt Jolene disappears into the kitchen. Philly and I plop down on the couch, exchanging ‘man this is fucked up’ glances.

Today’s newspaper is laying on the coffee table so I pick it up and sure enough, the shootout in front of the Thunder Gate Public Library made the front page. The headline trumpets ‘URBAN MASSACRE’ and the teaser text reads ‘Eight Dead in Brutal Street Gang Turf War’. I’m almost used to reading about situations I’ve been involved with in the papers by now, but it’s always amusing to see how a reporter will spin things to come up with a sensationalistic story. The lady who wrote this one gives a brief sketch of the facts before diving into comparisons between what happened in Thunder Gate and the situation in Southern California that’s been emerging since the arrival of ‘increasingly sadistic’ gangs from Mexico and Central America. According to this story there were no witnesses because the residents in the area were too afraid of being hit by stray bullets from the ‘endless barrage of gunfire’ to go anywhere near a window. The police claim they’ve got no leads on who gunned down the ‘members of a notorious Seattle-based drug ring known as Smoke Money Family’ but ‘investigators are searching for clues to help them track down whatever criminal organization committed this vicious and brazen slaying.’ Maybe that’s true, but I know from past experience that law enforcement tends to withhold information to keep suspects confident and relaxed so they can be taken down more easily.

“Would you boys care for anything to drink?” Aunt Jolene’s calling from the kitchen. “I’ve got soda or coffee.”

“I could use a soda!” Ronnie-K yells back.

“Me too!” Dank adds.

“Percy? Philly? Anything for you?” she asks as she hands the cans to those who requested them.

“No, thank you,” I tell her as Philly shakes his head, probably still a bit steamed from earlier.

Just then Hyena comes stalking back into the room, Tiff close at his heels. Judging from the set of his jaw I’d say his sister has already informed him that they plan to leave for Texas tonight.

“No fucking way!” Hyena snarls, not bothering to look back at her. “I’m not leaving the Brotherhood behind, especially not with what went down last night. I’m not gonna live my life running like a scared bitch.”

“I’m sorry, Sam,” Aunt Jolene’s employing a gratingly false tone of empathy. “But I’m afraid you don’t have a choice this time. I’m your legal guardian now and I’m not willing to bend on this. This whole ‘gangster’ life could get you killed and there’s no way I can live with knowing that I could’ve done something to save you and didn’t. You’ll make plenty of new friends in San Antonio where it’s safer.”

“I don’t like it either, Sam,” Tiff adds. “But I can’t even stand the idea of seeing my only brother in a wheelchair or a coffin.”

“Perce!” Hyena’s eyes are begging mine. “Tell these two that I can’t go! I’ve got obligations here, people to look out for and I can’t go running off like this!”

Oh, how I wish I were somewhere else. “They’re just looking out for you is all. Really, it ain’t any of my business.”

“I’m trying to do right by your parents, Sam,” Aunt Jolene’s wearing her best poor-me expression, playing the martyr here. “My sister, God bless her, would never have let things go this far, but I wanted to give you freedom.”

“No offense,” Philly surprises me by jumping in, “But you don’t ‘give’ a person freedom. Everyone’s got it, only thing is not all of us choose to live how we want.”

“You mean like uncivilized barbarians?” Aunt Jolene snaps at him. “Killing people, doing drugs, probably even raping people!”

“Hey, I ain’t no rapist!” Philly tenses, ready to spring up from the couch. “I don’t have to beg or plead to get laid, much less rape the woman!”

“You begged and pleaded plenty last night,” Tiff gives Philly a smug smile.

Philly’s “What the fuck?” and Aunt Jolene’s “Tiffany Ann!” both happen at the same time. The older woman’s face has gone from the pink shade of frustration to a darker crimson flush of anger. Tiffany herself looks a bit surprised at the reactions she’s evoked. I’m not too terribly surprised by any of this, it’s a typical inter-family spat. Mainly I’m hoping no one babbles to the police about my role in last night’s shootout. Not that they’d be able to prove anything, but I despise the hassle of even the clumsiest shakedown.

“I’m not going back to Texas,” Hyena’s states flatly. “Period.”

“Oh,” Aunt Jolene’s voice turns low and mean. “Yes, you are, the both of you! I’m taking you both out of this sinful city for good!”

“No,” Hyena shakes his dreadlocks. “You can’t force me to go.”

“Sam, please!” Tiff tries her calmest voice. “Please think of the people who love you. We can’t stand to see you in danger like this. Please?”

Aunt Jolene strides out of the room, apparently fed up with all of us. Hyena continues shaking his head at his sister, his stiff posture indicating that he’s prepared to stand his ground, but he says nothing more. Tiff’s face falls and tears well up again.

“Perce?” She looks to me for support. “Can’t you tell him how serious this is?”

I shrug. “Already have. Not my place to be making his decisions.”

“Sam, you have to!” She’s nearly sobbing. “We can’t stay here!”

Hyena’s voice holds steady. “I don’t have to do shi–”

“Out of my house!” Aunt Jolene appears from the back rooms, double-barreled shotgun raised to her shoulder. “Get out, ever one of ya!”

Author Notes: We still aren’t to the action part, yet…. it’s coming…

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 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 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.

Chapter 8

From Skateboards to Shootouts

My foot’s crushing the gas pedal. I’m doing over fifty miles an hour through residential streets, but that’s not how I feel. In my mind, I’m crawling towards my destination in slow motion. Tiff’s aunt lives out in the Thunder Gate district about sixteen miles from Dizzy’s studio. I’ve got Deep Kut riding shotgun. He’s bracing himself against the dashboard with one hand. Since I’ve already driven down the train tracks a short stretch to save time, he knows that right now I’m capable of breathtakingly risky maneuvers that could flip this Lincoln Town Car at any moment. He’s fumbling with my cellphone.

“The hell you want me to do with this?” he asks frantically trying to open the phone.

“Call Philly!” I know turning my head to look at him right now could end up with us taking out a telephone pole so I don’t look over. “Tell him to get his ass over to Thunder Gate!”

“I don’t know his number, man!” Deep Kut’s normally low voice becomes tinged with what sounds to me like whining. “Come on, man. You dial him!”

“You don’t need the goddamn number,” I blow past a stop sign, praying that there are no cops around right now, “Go to the menu, his name’s right there! Just dial the shit and put him on speaker phone.”

“What menu? How do I get to it?” his brow knits together above his sunglasses as he concentrates, shaking his head. “Man, I’m no good with technology. I don’t see any menus.”

My nostrils flare. My face heats up, “You can read, can’t you? It’s right there on the screen! Then you hit send on Philly’s name. It’s not rocket science, you bitch.”

After more fumbling by Deep Kut, and yelling by me, we finally get Philly dialed and on speaker phone. He answers in three rings.

“Philly!” I have a tendency to raise my voice even though the microphone works just fine and the car’s not all that loud. “We got a problem on our hands. Where you at, son?”

“At home, man,” he fails to stifle a yawn. “Watching videos, you know? Something go down in Benton?”

This is a poor time to raise my stress level.

“The fuck did you just say? Didn’t I tell your ass to keep tabs on Benton tonight?”

“Of course, man,” his tone grows worried. “I got six guys down there right now and there haven’t been any calls or nothin’ all night.”

“How would you know that if your bitch ass is sleeping?” I swerve around a bike that seems to have randomly appeared in the middle of the street, causing our Lincoln to nearly jump the curb.

“Voice mails, Perce,” so he did fall asleep then like I thought. “Our boys know to call me if there’s action anywhere in Doyle Heights, much less Benton. I was down there a few hours back and it’s just fine. Everything’s flowin’ real nice.”

Arguing about the situation only prolongs Philly getting to Thunder Gate so I drop it.

“I got a big problem, Philly. A real bad situation is going down with Tiff’s little brother. You remember that kid Sam?”

“Sure, man. His sister’s that blond chick who wears all the goth makeup? Moved up here from Texas a few years ago?” I think I just heard him zip his pants up. Motherfucker must’ve been in bed.

“That’s her,” at least his memory’s working even if the rest of his brain is on vacation tonight. “About fifteen minutes ago she called me. Some of those Smoke Money assholes tracked Sam to her aunt’s place. Kicked the door down, but Sam went out the back. She heard shots a couple minutes later so she called me.”

“Holy shit!” Philly’s paying full attention now. “Smoke Money play hardball out there. How the fuck did Sam get mixed up in that shit? They gunnin’ for Sam only or his whole crew?”

I explain the situation to him as best I can. I dated Tiff a couple years back when her family moved up here from San Antonio and I took a nearly instant liking to her little brother, Sam. She may’ve been blessed with the looks in the family and she certainly can be a sweetheart, but Sam’s got heart and the brains to match. When I met him, the boy had a knack with computers and phone equipment, but he didn’t have the temperament to be a geek – too wild in his ways. Once he found out I was a Kingfin, he started quizzing me about the streets and life as a banger. Since I’m not a public service announcement, I went ahead and answered his questions. I gave him advice about how to handle situations and turned into something of a mentor for Sam. That didn’t sit too well with his sister and led to our breaking up, but we’ve still kept in touch so she can get a little Percy Straight-style love when she feels like it.

A year or so ago, Sam started his own crew – Brotherhood of Lost Souls. More like a clique, really, since they’re all still in high school. About a dozen or so skater kids in dreadlocks who spend more time smoking joints between classes than they do listening to their teachers. When they’re not at school, they’re blasting reggae and giving each other jail-style tattoos with sewing needles and whatever ink they can find – for authenticity, you understand. They all go to Louis Carver High School in Thunder Gate and as a crew their main gig is selling herb to their classmates. Since Sam learned everything he knows about the dope game from me, they sell a hell of a lot of it. Probably pushing a pound or two a week last I heard. That’s big money for high school kids and they’ve developed a taste for life’s finer things now. They’ll probably do alright if they can avoid juvie long enough to expand their game by getting a larger customer base and recruiting people to deal on their behalf. However, as you rise up the ladder of the drug game, you eventually encounter problems. Smoke Money Family is the problem they encountered.

In the early 1990’s, two brothers, Ivy and Darnell Patterson, set up shop down in Phoenix, Arizona. On the streets they were known as Camaro and Chinaman, respectively. Both are former Crips. The brothers got heavy in the heroin trafficking business, pulling in shipments that they’d drive down from San Francisco to Phoenix. Instead of the low-grade Mexican brown, they were pulling in high potency China white from Asia which got them a lot wealthier clientèle. They made money fast, but they got brought down even faster because when addicts start kicking it in hotel rooms in significant numbers, law enforcement gets interested real quick. The FBI nailed Chinaman during a sting operation, but they couldn’t pin anything on Camaro because the boy was too damn slick. Camaro had enough cash squirreled away to afford an ace legal defense for his brother so Chinaman didn’t serve too much time before he got released on technicalities involving how the feds conducted their sting.

Once Chinaman got released, both brothers got the fuck out of Arizona and came north to Seattle. They kept a low profile here for a while, but once you sling dope for a living nothing else quite compares to the thrill or the cash flow. They got back into the hustle. This time they did things differently, though. Camaro discovered the rave scene just as it was peaking, and he convinced his brother they could make a killing selling pot and ecstasy to the party kids. Within a few years they had a nice wide distribution network called Smoke Money Family that still functions within this rainy city. They’re not so much a gang, really, as they are plain old thugs. There’s zero loyalty among these dudes beyond the bond between the brothers who run SMF. Everyone who works for them is dependent on the brothers’ supply which means the pair maintains absolute control over the whole Family. They’re a disgrace to the streets, but because they have so much money, they’re well-armed and most of their rivals have decided to give them time to hang themselves. Nothing that grows as fast as the SMF has, while not having roots in the environment it’s trying to take hold of, is going to last too long. That’s the theory, any way.

Recently, SMF has shifted its focus from the clubs uptown, straight into suburban high schools. Selling drugs to high schoolers is like shooting fish in a barrel – nothing to it, especially when you buy off every rent-a-pig working security on campus and some of the administration, too. Lately, they’ve been selling a new concoction they call ‘cheese’, a nasty little drug. They make it by crushing up Tylenol PM’s with a dab of heroin. It’s about eight percent pure heroin per batch, and a hit only costs two dollars. Cheap and effective, like crack was back in the day. This shit is snortable and they can get rid of it quicker than free beer on a college campus. Louis Carver High happens to be one of the schools these SMF dudes have started selling cheese in. Sam and his Brotherhood don’t like the idea of their operation getting taken down, along with the others at Louis Carver, once those at the school who haven’t been bought off start noticing that half the student body got hooked on cheap smack. Apparently, they took some pre-emptive action against the SMF boys. What I mean by that is that they cornered a couple of them and beat the teeth out of ‘em.

“So they came in there with guns and masks and shit?” Philly’s in his car now, bringing a couple boys out to Thunder Gate, but we’re still talking. “That’s fucking crazy! Neighbors probably got their plates. Fucking amateurs.”

“Actually, they worked pretty smart considering they’re just Smoke Money hired thugs,” I slow down so as not to miss my turn. “Pulled up in front of the apartments in a Yukon, let the masked dudes out to rush the door, and sped off around the corner. Probably took about ten seconds. Then the thugs went out the back door after Sam. Probably had the ride ready to meet them back there because that’s the direction Tiff heard squealing tires coming from.”

My call waiting beeps so I tell Philly to hang on and tell Deep Kut to switch over to the other line.

“How do I do that?” he stares at the phone. “There’s no call waiting button or nothin’.”

I knock him upside the head and take the phone since we’re stopped in front of the apartment complex now.

“Gimme that, you fool! Hang it up, then turn it back on. Fucking children use these things everyday and you, the ‘Lexus of Lyricists’, can’t figure it out? Damn!”

“Hey, come on!” Deep sounds more offended than angry. “I ain’t good with shit like thi–”

The line switches over and I raise the phone to my ear, but the caller starts talking before I can say hello.

“Perce!” it’s Sam whispering loudly. “You hear me, brother?”

“I can hear you,” I tell him.

“Listen, I got a problem,” he’s panting as if he just ran a marathon. “Smoke Family’s after the Brotherhood. Me in particular. We fucked their shit up at school the other day and now they’re looking to settle the score. Showed up at my Aunt’s house looking for me. Four dudes in masks kicked the door in, but I made it out the back and I’m runnin’ for it.”

“Where you at right now?”

I’m glad he called because this’ll make bailing him out a hell of a lot easier.

“Hiding in some bushes outside the library,” I can tell by the pauses in the conversation that he’s also having a cigarette. “Shootin’ at me, Perce! Motherfuckers tried to run me over in that SUV they got, too. I ran like a bitch because I got my piece on me, but I had the clip in a different pocket. Take too long to load up before they’da popped me.”

I start backing the car out of the parking lot rapidly, heading over to the library, “What I tell you, Sam? You gotta stay prepared! Handle your shit! Be ready at all fuckin’ times because that’s the thing about gang life: if you’re not with your boys, you’re vulnerable and your enemies wait until then to jump your ass. Let this be a lesson for you. You’ve got to stay aware at all times and–”

There’s a loud crash followed by an irritating and rather high-pitched beeping. I’ve backed the Lincoln into a parked minivan behind us that I didn’t see.

“Perce! You ok?” Sam’s panicky, “What was that?”

“Nothin’,” I glare at Deep Kut who’s shoulders are shaking from the snickering he’s trying to subdue. “Don’t worry, we’re on our way. What street is the library off of?”

“Corner of Rosewood and 182nd,” Sam assures me. “I got my piece loaded up now so don’t go surprising me, aight?”

“You hang tight, man,” I’m out of the parking lot before the mini-van’s owners can come flying out their front door. “We’ll be there before you know it. You see them, you stay hidden. Only shoot if you have to.”

“Ok, Perce,” is all he has time to say before I flip back over to the other line.

“Philly, listen up,” I feel a little calmer now that we know where Sam is. “Sam just called, and he’s alright. Hiding out down at the library and we’re going to pick him up, me and Deep Kut. I want you to sail on over here to Thunder Gate and stay in the apartment with Tiff and her aunt for at least for a few hours in case those punks come back. We’re gonna run Sam over to MadBlack’s place so he’ll be safe until we get this shit sorted out proper. After I drop Deep back at the studio, I’m gonna sleep for a bit since things at Benton are going okay.”

“Got it, boss,” he’s confident, “I’ll call you if I get any static from those SMF fuckers or hear of anything going down in Benton. Count on it.”

“Make sure you stay awake this time,” I remind him. “One of us has got to keep watch over all this. And that’s you.”

“I know. I will,” the resentment’s easy to catch in his tone.

“And Philly, one more thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t go playing the hero role and getting busy with Tiff. You know how I feel about her.”

After firing this parting shot, I hang up before he can protest.

Author’s Notes: Check back December 1, 2009 for Chapter 9!