Hood Misfits, Volume 1 (21 page)

Annoyed as fuck, I glanced around, making sure we were alone, then narrowed my eyes at her. I thumbed my nose then dropped my voice for only her to hear. “Kwame Kweli. Ride out, shawty, and keep that to yaself.”

Diamond stared at me then mouthed my name before saying, “I like that shit,” and then she pulled off.

My eyes followed her ride until it disappeared down the block.

I quickly ran back to the house, my feet crunching stone from Dame's driveway. Guns were still going off. I pulled open the door and moved through the back, dropping low as I snatched the gun from a dead nigga's hand then aimed it upward at another dude that came my way. I could hear Jake's loud hollering as he talked shit and fucked some niggas up with his hands.

“Dis giant-ass nigga thank he's gonna get out of here alive and take us all down,” Blackout's raspy voice echoed. “Fuck that Scarface shit! Nigga, dis ain't the movies, and you 'bout to die, homie!”

Jake had punched that dude in this throat, so every time he spoke, nigga would cough and try to get his voice back.

I stood hiding in a corner. Jake was now being held down on his knees over broken pieces of glass, his arms behind his back, and his face was covered in blood and cuts. His right eye was swollen shut from being fucked up.

Jake's shoulders shook up and down as he laughed. “Naw, nigga, we ain't homies. But I beat ya ass, didn't I?”

Blackout stood in front of Jake. “Fuck you did, nigga! You da one on ya knees. Ya da one in blood 'bout to die. You an' that dumb nigga Trigga fucked up. Can't believe you two turned on Dame! Where's dat loyalty that nigga always talk 'bout, huh? Where dat stupid-ass nigga anyway? I know he didn't thank this shit up.
A, B, C, D
ain't even in his vocab, ya dig.” He laughed

“
A, B, C, D
—ya dead, nigga.”

It only took one bullet from me to go through that punk-ass nigga's temple, exiting to take down another who stood next to him.

Moving from where I hid, I ran across the living room to get to Jake. Bullets ran down around us, and I flew backwards into the side of the wall, getting hit on my side and shoulder. I bit down on my lip as hot, sticky blood soaked into my hoodie and dropped down my body.

I gripped my side, glancing around the room, counting down all the niggas in it. I knew how many bullets I had left in my Glocks, and I could guess at how many was left in the guns I had snatched off some bodies.

Spitting on the ground, I pushed up and dropped my hood back, reaching into my pocket to pull out my cell. Then I texted my uncle and Diamond, before wiping out all the info then stomping on my cell.

Through the firefight, the niggas that held Jake's arms back were now on the floor. He slowly stood glancing at me. Nigga was covered in sweat and blood too, and the waves on his fade were shiny with sweat.

I told him, “Yo, Jake, why the fuck you couldn't just come, nigga? We brothers. You ain't have to die like this. I coulda killed ya in honor if ya had asked.”

Jake then pulled out the shotgun he had hidden against his back. “'Cuz, nigga, I ain't feel like it. Plus, I knew you wouldn't.”

So Jake and I moved in circles, talking shit to niggas we used to work and kill with, getting our hidden Glocks and knives ready. Now that Blackout was gone, them stupid fucks only had themselves to look after and ain't know what to do now.

Smirking, I rolled my shoulders then I dropped my bloody hand as I joked. “Well, nigga, now I'm shot 'cuz you wanna go down like a punk ass, when you don't even have to play yourself like that. You suppose to trust in a nigga, have my back. So damn, man, what you got to say about that shit, preacha? Huh, bro?”

Laughing, Jake glanced around at the niggas and broads that pointed their weapons at us. He shrugged. “All day every day, I got you covered. My bad for my mindset, just wanted to kill some niggas and to see Dame's dead body. Good look, bro.”

“Shoot them niggas!” one cat whispered.

Inching away, some other dude muttered, “Nah, that's Trigga and Jake.”

That nigga knew what was about to go down.

Jake held out his hand, and we slapped palms twice then three times.

“Oh yeah, though I walk through the valley . . . ”

Pain dug into my side and shoulder while Jake spat out his Bible verses. Meanwhile, the new bloods started trying to figure out what to do before others came up with more Glocks.

As my eyes roamed the place that used to shelter me, I saw my moms and pops dressed in all-white looking down on me from the upper walkway of the entryway with pride. It look like they whispered, “Thank you,” to me, while my pops glanced at my Glock and told me what to do.

Blood dripped in my eyes and made me blink, glancing back toward them. My baby sister stood between them, dressed in all-pink, bows in her hair. In her arm was a teddy bear, one that matched Gina's old bear.

I knew what was about to go down, and I welcomed it with a sharp laugh. “You know how I do it, but check it, we may die tonight, but you all coming with us. E.N.G.A., niggas!” I yelled

Jake let out a roar, pulling his guns and letting out rounds. “E.N.G.A.”

We fell backwards, both of our Glocks aiming for every nigga that ever turned on us, every nigga that blindly followed Dame and hurt good people in this house. Then I glanced at Jake as he followed me to the back. I picked up the trip wire that lay in water, debris, and furniture, then chucked the deuces at every stupid nigga in the house that tried to fuck with us. Niggas had to learn—You don't take Trigga out, Trigga takes your ass out.

Then, like that, the Trap was on fire. Dame's kingdom was no more. Every nigga that was part of that house died where they stood as the house exploded then burned down while the sun rose.

“You gotta keep driving 'til you get to Exit 235, then you get off on the exit and keep straight, across to Frontage Road.”

I looked at the kid sitting on the passenger side of the car Trigga had pushed me in. I couldn't really tell if it was a girl or a boy. He was dressed like a boy but at times had very girly features. I followed the directions the kid gave me, but the fear in my heart made my hands tremble against the steering wheel.

“If Trigga don't make it, you gotta say you my mama. You gotta say you twenty-one, and say I'm seven, but I'm really nine,” Ghost said.

The words “if Trigga don't make it” kept playing through my mind. I could tell the kid had been schooled on this for a long time. There I was, a kid my damn self, responsible for another kid. At least for the moment I was.

Traffic was light, and I was thanking God that my high had come down enough for me to drive right. Didn't see a cop anywhere in sight at first, and when I did, I had to wonder if they were rushing to where we had just left.

“You know Trigga is my daddy? That bitch-nigga Dame killed my mama. I was hiding in the walls when he did it. Saw him do it. So, I'm glad Trigga killed that faggot.”

My eyes widened. I looked at the little kid again. He didn't look like Trigga. Damn. Trigga had a nine-year-old kid? I tried to do the math in my head but didn't really know how old Trigga was to begin with, so I couldn't really count up the figures.

“You don't look like Trigga,” was all I could manage to say, my voice still shaky from emotions and the tears.

“Well, Trigga is my new dad. Dame really my daddy, but Trigga be taking care of me and shit.”

I glanced at Ghost then back at the road. I knew it was fucked up, but I was glad to know Trigga wasn't his daddy. And now that I really looked at the kid, he did look like his father. He had on a hoodie like Trigga, but those light eyes, that skin tone, and those thick lips were all Dame.

Ghost pushed the hood back from his head, and long curly black hair fell around his shoulders.

“I ain't no boy either, I'ma girl. But my mama dress me like a boy, so if Dame saw me, he wouldn't try to sell my pussy.”

My eyes widened. He was a she and had seen way too much already at nine years old. I said a prayer that her mental wasn't too fucked-up, and that she could have a normal life. I couldn't believe Ghost's language. She was talking like she was a hood misfit just like me. And, really, she was. I didn't know what else to say to the kid.

My mind was all over the place.
Is Trigga okay? Is he alive? Is Big Jake alive? Would they make it on the plane with me the next day? How did I take this kid with me without any questions?

I got off on the exit she told me to. The light was green at the next stop, so I kept straight across to Frontage Road like directed. The area looked familiar to me because my mama and daddy used to run down this way, Clayton County, Zone 3. Dame had control over Zones 1, 3, 4, and 6. I wondered what would happen to them now.

We passed the Farmers Market and a big billboard for a gun range.

“When you see the sign for Pink Pony South, you gon' turn in there then get out and close the gates behind you. Then you gotta park the car all way round the back in the big garage,” Ghost told me.

I saw the big pink-and-white sign that said Pink Pony South. It had an actual pink pony on the sign. It was an old strip club.
Trigga's safe house is an old strip club.
It looked deserted. Weeds and tall grass made it seem inhabitable, and there were big cracks and potholes in what used to be the parking lot. The building itself looked like it was about to fall apart.

I turned in then got out of the car to close the gates behind me, just like Ghost had told me.

When I got back in the car, she said, “That's gon' let our contact know we in there.”

Her soft voice told me she was just a baby, but her mouth told me she had been tossed into the wild and had adapted.

I moved the car around back and did just what Ghost said to do. She got out with me and showed me where and how to move the blue tarp so I could get to the garage. I was shocked at the big car shop/garage that sat behind the place. It showed that Trigga had always wanted to get out of the game and had been working toward it.

Once done, I parked the car inside, and Ghost walked me up a flight of rickety stairs that led to a door with the faded letters VIP on it. She punched in a code on the door and then used a key to unlock it.

While the outside looked like it was about to fall to pieces, the inside was the exact opposite. It wasn't extravagant, but it reminded me of the lobby of a luxury hotel or a loft. There was a kitchen with all-black accessories with a bar laden with liquor. A big 70-inch flat-screen TV sat against a brick wall. The floor was stained cement, and plush furniture with different earth-tone colors sat around. The stripper poles were still there along with the stages, but it just looked like a part of the décor.

Ghost hopped on the sofa, turned the TV on, and grabbed the PS3 Controller. She was comfortable, right at home, but I was scared shitless.

I dropped the backpack Trigga had left me and sat at the bar to look through the contents. I pulled out a silver box with my name on it and opened it. There was my birth certificate, social security card, cash, and my mama's locket that she had on the day she died. Inside was a picture of me, her, and my daddy. Trigga must have gone back the day they had killed them. Tears burned my eyelids.

I pulled out passports, one for Jackson Hawkes, and one for Chasity Orlando. I cast a quick glance at Ghost. Her real name was Chasity. Then I pulled out the one for Gina, and my chest got heavy. Her smiling face looked up at me and made me remember those rare occasions that she genuinely smiled in that house. She was supposed to make it out with me. We was supposed to run away from this place together. I was so pissed at myself, mad that I didn't rush to try to stop her.

I looked up and saw my mama.

I kinda understood what my mama was saying, but I wanted to tell Big Jake that it was possible Gina was carrying his baby, and never got the chance to.

I wiped my eyes and pulled out Trigga's passport. Kwame Kweli. I would have never guessed that was his name. He was a killer, so I just wasn't expecting a name attached to the motherland.

“Oh, God, please let him and Big Jake make it out. Please,” I found myself pleading, in a muttered whisper, and crying.

I thought back to the way shit had gone down back at Dame's. Every last one of them niggas got what they deserved, even Sasha. As I was running through the basement to get to the car, I saw her fate. She was laid on top of a table, a pipe stuck down her throat and one shoved clear up her rancid pussy. I figured Jake or Trigga did that for Gina.

“That was for Gina, bitch!” I had said and spat on her lifeless body.

I was glad Pookie got his too, but nothing gave me more satisfaction than cutting Dame's dick off. He used his dick as a weapon, so I was more than happy to disarm him.

I didn't know how long I had been sitting at that bar praying and crying when I heard Ghost's soft voice.

“Ray-Ray.”

I slowly looked up at her through blurry vision. “Yeah.”

“Is Trigga coming?”

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat threatening to choke me. “I don't know.”

She looked down at her Jordan-clad feet then back up at me. “Will you make me something to eat? Can you cook? Trigga can. I like his fried bologna sandwiches best. Can you make me one?”

I smiled down at her and nodded. “Yeah, I'll make you one.”

She smiled. Her smile was innocent. She still had that about her, and in that moment, I wish I had the same.

“Make sure you toast the bread like he do and burn the meat on one side, and don't forget the mayo,” she said.

“Okay.”

She skipped back over to the red sofa.

It didn't take me long to fix her sandwich. I made it just how she wanted it, and she ate it, saying, it was almost better than Trigga's.

For the rest of the night neither Ghost nor I slept much. After showering and nursing my wounds as best I could, I would doze off then jump awake at the slightest noise hoping it was Trigga and Big Jake. It never was.

I changed channels on the TV to see that the news of Dame's kingdom falling had already been reported. They showed his mansion up in flames and were reporting that there were no survivors. My lips started to tremble.

Ghost looked at me then dropped her eyes. In that moment I felt in my heart what I didn't want to accept. Ghost walked over and crawled on the couch with me. She pulled the covers up to her chin, and I felt her tears drip on my arms.

“Trigga coming,” she said, her little voice trembling. “He said he wasn't gon' leave me and stuff, so he coming. You just watch.”

I held her tight. She was a little girl, and so was I. The game had stolen everything and everybody away from us. We had no one. I didn't want to accept that, but my life was what it was.

 

 

The next morning Ghost and I woke up to a coded knock at the door. She skittered to the door and knocked in code to whoever was on the other side. Once she was sure it was safe, she opened the door, and in walked two females in black suits that hugged their curves. I knew who they were because I'd seen them with Anika.

“You two ready?” one asked, while the other one stood guard at the door.

Her voice was buttery soft. It didn't seem like she was anyone's bodyguard, but I knew she could kill a nigga with her eyes closed.

Ghost and I nodded and grabbed our shoes and hoodies. I made sure to grab the backpack.

As they led us to a black Lincoln MKZ, I looked at all of the cars and trucks passing by, hoping that Trigga would be in one. I even asked the guards to wait a few more minutes, trying to keep the last little bit of hope alive, but after fifteen minutes they said they couldn't wait anymore, that they had to take us to the airport.

For the first time I looked up and saw the big sign for the Airport Hotel, rooms twenty-five dollars a night and up. I couldn't help but think it was a ho trap. Dame's hanging body flashed in my mind, and I gave a slight smile through my pain. The devil was dead.

Once at the airport, I expected people to ask me more questions, since I knew I looked young as fuck, but nobody asked me shit. Ghost and I walked through security and to the Delta gate without as much as a glance from anyone, except the occasional dude looking at my ass in the shorts I had on, or someone glancing at the bruises I couldn't hide.

When the call came to board first class to London, me and Ghost didn't move. We didn't move until they made the last call for boarding, still hoping that Trigga and Big Jake would somehow show up. We finally stood and walked toward the attendant, and then Ghost pulled on my arms and pointed.

For a second we both got happy when we saw a guy with locks and a hoodie walking toward us. From a distance he looked like Trigga, but the closer he got, the more our reality settled in. The tears I had been holding in rolled down my face as I handed over our first-class tickets and boarded the plane.