Country Boy 2 (3 page)

"Wait.... wait.... wait a minute," June said while looking over at Baby Rasta as if asking him to intervene.

Baby Rasta simply shrugged his shoulders and kept repeating something in Spanish.

"El Diablo mun.... El Diablo mun."

"Alight Lil Sis you win," said June finally giving in.

"We win," Van stopped him saying looking over at the rest of the girls, who all nodded their heads in agreement.

"Okay look.... this is what we have to do first."

"Just say the word Big Brother.... It's our turn," Inga jumped in saying with a look that sent a chill down June's spine.

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Each member of the crew was furious once rumors got back to them about how these out of town nigga's had laid claim on their old set. Now people who'd been living there all their lives were now living in fear.

"What time did June "text" you this morning?" Q asked Van.

"That crazy mothafucka texted me before daybreak love."

Q smiled to himself knowing that June hadn't lost his street instincts, making moves in the cover of darkness.

"Did you find out what his plans were?"

"Yeah.... we all spoke with him a couple days ago.... he said that he planned to go get at them young 919 boys and find out where their heads were at.... afterwards Baby Rasta's was going to get in touch wit some of his people."

Q sat and listened to Van letting her words sink in.... within a matter of days his partner in crime would be back in the drug game. From the day he'd walked away from the hustle game, Q wondered how long it would be before his man took to the streets again, but what he didn't have an answer for was the amount of enemies June would accumulate in such a short period of time.

"Do you think them 919 nigga's got any heart or backbone to they young asses?" Q asked Van.

"I don't know how much heart they got Q, but I've been hearing a lot about them boys.... Game Tight, Gee and another one called Doe or sum'em like that."

Well they better be ready, a nigga in here told me them NY boys are out of Queen’s,The main nigga is this cat name Dame and he known for getting grimy. So you tell June and Baby to stay on top of their game, and you make sure you keep an eye on Tee and our baby. I know you won’t hesitate to put work in if you approach, but Tee ain’t never shot no one. And I almost lost my son once and I’m not taking that chance again."

East Washington Street was officially labeled as a War Zone. The young hustlers had retaliated against all out of town Hustlers. If you were'nt from "The Block" you were subject to get jumped on the spot.

It was Friday morning, the first of the month. "Mother's Day" some liked to call it. Game Tight, Gee, and Doe sat on the steps of the hole-in-the-wall club on The Block called "The Crooked Window."

"Pass the mothafucka blunt nigga," said Game Tight to Gee who had leaned back on the steps in a haze of smoke. After coughing for a few seconds he spoke.

"Fu.... Fu.... Fuck you nigga. I.... I.... bought this shit. It's some mothafuckin killa too homie. Got a nigga twisted."

Doe sat silently looking out into the middle of nowhere. His fifth of Wild Irish Rose was half empty. Gee was the oldest at twenty one, followed by Game Tight who was twenty. Doe brought up the rear at eighteen. Back in the day the P.G. Crew would give them dollars to buy candy from the local store before and after school. When the Crew closed down shop for good they saw it as their opportunity to come up.

Originally there were five of them, but within the last five months they had buried one of their lil soldiers while another had been confined to a wheelchair for life. All done by the same hands.

"Yo, is that him?" Game Tight said before reaching underneath his over sized shirt, touching his forty cal.

"I don't know," answered Gee who's own hand had disappeared from view.

Doe quietly stepped to the corner of the building where the sawed off Mossberg pump leaned against the wall.

They all waited nervously watching the black on black Yukon as it crept to a stop three parking spaces down from them. There was a deafening silence making seconds seem like hours.

Ring.... Ring.... Ring.... the sound of Game Tight's cell phone broke the quietness in the air.

"Yeah," he answered never taking his eyes off the Navigator.

"Sup, young nigga.... Fo dis shit get outta control y'all nigga's betta grow some hands fool," said June. "I got Mac looking right ‘tween yo motha fuckin eyes, young-gunner."

Game Tight eased his hand from beneath his shirt before speaking,

"Damn soldier, we didn't know who tha fuck you was creeping up on us like that. When did you cop that shit, nigga?"

"This wifey's shit," June said exiting the truck with his cell to his-ear. He had hit Game Tight on his pager the day before to set up this meeting. As soon as Baby Rasta contacted his people, within hours June had fifty joints dropped off at their meet up location.

As soon as he dropped the duffle bag of cash in the back seat to pay Rasta, he reached behind him grabbing the heavy bag tossing it back to June. He spoke.

"Y'all nigga's money don't spend wit' me, til my nigga home, we family mun," he said.

"Sup Gee? Sup Doe?" June said sitting on the steps next to them.

"What up June?"

"You nigga's got work?" asked June.

"We got a lil sum'em," replied Doe.

"Um, talkin bout some serious work nigga."

"Nuttin but that bullshit floating round here now homie. That bitch ass nigga Dame got that weak shit flooded on the block homie," said Game.

"First chance I get I'ma slump that nigga, June. That bitch nigga kilt Peanut for nuttin."

"Yeah, I heard," said June. "But I'm bout to take all this shit back in homie. Them nigga's done made all the money they gon make on our set. I got all the work y'all nigga's need.... If you young nigga's fakin wit them pistols, I suggest y'all get out tha way."

All three gave June a fucked up look.

I’m just telling you nigga’s what it is, no disrespect..

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It was 10:00pm June sat in the parking lot across the street from the Chill Grill. He watched quietly as his lil gangstas put their work on the streets. From his own experience in the game June knew that within twenty-four hours the garbage on the streets would be almost impossible to sell.

Van sat across from June watching the gleam which had returned to his eyes.... The streets were his way of life, and as far as he was concerned he was only returning home.

"You trying to eat?" asked June, breaking Van's thoughts. Mrs. Janie still got them Oxtails and Rice, ya know."

"Only if you buying, Big Brother," Van answered reaching for the door.

She slid her 380 down inside her waistband then concealed it with the Ed Hardy Jacket she wore. A lot of the fiends were still the same ones from the Crews old hustle days, but Van noticed how the new junkies were becoming so much younger. She also spotted the four look-outs spreaded out in different locations on the Block. She was impressed with the set-up. She spoke.

"I see you still on top of yo game."

Van nodded in the direction of one of the look-outs posted up letting June know what she was referring to.

"Yeah Lil Sis, I was taught by one of the best," June responded before entering the Chill Grill in front of her. Mrs. Janie greeted them with hugs and kisses before scolding them for staying away so long. She gave them the whole scoop on the Block since the Crew had left and was almost in tears when she told them the havoc the New York nigga's were causing on the streets. The City Council was even threatening to close down the whole block.

Van looked into the eyes of Mrs. Janie, she was like a mother to the entire P.G. Crew. Cooking was all she lived for, now these nigga's were trying to fuck up her hustle.... A legal hustle at that.

"It's gonna be alight Momma," said Van pushing a gray strand of hair from her face. "We'll take care of the problems if we ha...."

Loud voices caused her to stop in mid sentence. Two of Dame's workers barged through the door. They made their way to the bar, only three stools down from where she and June sat.

"Yo son," one of the men said to the other one. "We ain't sold a gram in two days B. Sum'em up wit these country ass bamas, son."

Van cut her eyes at June who was slowly rising from his stool. She shook her head causing him to ease back down.

June did a quick survey of them both, each one sported hoodies. Nothing unusual, even though it was the middle of April. New York nigga's wore hoodies year round. Down South their dress code was a dead give away. The one doing most of the talking wore dreads, "Pasta-style". They were matted together making only four or five large dreadlocks. But his accent put his ass right back in the states. The taller one was a little more on point, June noticed it right away.

'Dame's second man, he thought to himself.

The tall one sat quietly for a moment listening to the dread without responding.

"Our peoples will be back tonight Scar."

"Yeah, I know," said Scar. "That nigga gon be in his joint, Son. Word up."

June made a mental note of the name he'd over heard the dread use. He was about to continue his conversation with Van and Mrs. Janie when the dread yelled from the other end of the bar.

"Hey, Old Lady, can a nigga get a drink or what?"

Mrs. Janie glanced at June and Van....

"It's alight Momma, serve them and let 'em know it's on the house." June cut in saying.

"Then let them know it will be their last time drinking here."

Mrs. Janie nodded then turned and walked towards them.

"I got the tall nigga on the right," June mumbled to Van.

She didn't respond, but kept her eyes glued to the mirrors in front of them.

"What would you like to drink?" Mrs. Janie asked.

"Two Coronas, grandma," the dread said in a disrespectful tone.

He reached in his pocket to pay, but she stopped him.

"Oh no, it's on the house," she said.

"Word, Gramps?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Bout time these country ass bamas showed us some hospitality, Scar. The next ti...."

"There won't be a next time," Mrs. Jaine said cutting the dreads last statement off. "Make this your last time coming up in my place. You and your disrespectful ass friends."

"Bitch, I'll...."

Mrs. Janie's hand was a blur flashing in and out of her apron. Within the blink of an eye the dread was looking down the barrel of her .38 Special. His partner thought of making a move, but was quickly cut short when he felt the cold steel of June's gun at the base of his skull. He froze.

"What do you do when a nigga got that chrome on you?" asked June in a deadly whisper.

With two quick strides Van reached the loud mouthed dread, and it looked as if she'd broken his neck when she yanked him off the bar stool by his locks. Before she spoke she pressed the barrel of her 380 against his forehead.

"Apologize or die, mothafucka." Van heard the sounds of hammers being jacked back, but never took her deadly stare away from the dread boy.

Mrs. Janie was like their second mother and to a lot of the hustlers and addicts who came through she was considered the mother they never had. Now these cowards had disrespected her by calling her out of her name. Not only had the dread seen death in her eyes, Mrs, Janie noticed it also and quickly spoke. "Van don't...."