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…

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……

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….

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.

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 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!