Tales from da Hood (23 page)

“I thought so!” the kid spat out, then shoved Antwan hard as Antwan tried to maneuver around the gang members to his car.

It's said that old habits die hard, that instinct and unlearned patterns of behavior are hardwired into us at birth. Before Antwan could weigh the consequences, before he could even consider the odds, instinct took over and he was on automatic pilot.

Before Bilal's crew could respond, Antwan spun around and fired a hard right, catching the kid high on the temple and knocking him out cold.

“No, please,” Michelle screamed as she watched the crew move toward Antwan. And then out of the corner of her eye Michelle saw a gun. From that moment everything else seemed to happen in slow motion. As Antwan slipped under a roundhouse punch thrown by one of the kids and was about to throw a left hook of his own, three shots rang out. Michelle watched as Antwan's body pitched back and crashed into the car's door. The gang members immediately ran off in different directions.

“Oh my God, no!” Michelle screamed as little Carl began to cry. Michelle kneeled down beside Antwan as a river of blood poured from his chest. Antwan lifted his head and attempted to speak but a heavy stream of dark red blood poured from his mouth.

“Don't try to talk, baby,” Michelle said softly with tears flowing from her eyes. Antwan looked up at his wife and forced a smile. He wanted to tell her that he was alright, that everything would work out, that now more than ever before he understood karma and just how life worked out, that he even understood the kids that shot him. He wanted to tell her he loved her and to take care of the boys. But he couldn't. He tried to reach for her hand to hold it and look in her
eyes one last time, but the darkness was drawing him in and he was tired of resisting its pull. Then everything went black. Antwan's head rolled to one side and fell. Michelle released a scream that continued every night for the next three years in the psychiatric ward of Roselle Medical Hospital.

Little Carl began to cry when he heard his mother scream and that night he cried himself to sleep.

Antwan was standing next to his dad when the bullets exploded like firecrackers in his father's chest. He had tried to holler, to scream, but nothing came out. He would remain that way, unable to speak or cry, until he was eight years old. And for the rest of his young life he would have one recurring dream. And in it he would find them, kill the people that murdered his dad, and when he did he would show them no mercy.

Composed by Y. Blak Moore, understood by many

APRIL 17, 1991, 3:34 P
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THE OLDER
, TALLER
boy spat sunflower-seed shells on the cracked sidewalk, and his friend snickered as Danny Man approached them.

Daniel “Danny Man” Russell muttered under his breath as he looked over at Tom-Tom and his friend.
Damn, I knew I shouldn't have come this way to this store. I shoulda went to the candy lady. Tom-Tom and them stay on some bully stuff.

Danny Man looked up and down the street—no adults. At least none that would have deterred Tom-Tom from misbehaving if he wanted to. Danny Man could feel both of the boys’ eyes roving up and down his person. He felt rather than witnessed their eyes come to rest on the brand-new pair of Air Jordans on his feet. Silently, Danny Man wished that his feet weren't so big for his age or that
there was at least a smudge or two of dirt on his white-and-red leather basketball shoes.

Again Danny Man looked up and down the block, stalling for time.

“Shorty, check it out,” Tom-Tom said, summoning him over with a wave of his hand.

“Who, me?” Danny Man asked. Inside he was hoping and praying that Tom-Tom wasn't talking to him, but he knew he wasn't that lucky.

“Yeah, you little mutherfucker,” Tom-Tom said gruffly. “Who the fuck else you think I'm talking to?”

Danny Man dropped his eyes as he slowly drew nearer. “I didn't know you was talking to me.”

“W'sup with you,” Tom-Tom said, trying to lighten up the mood. “You don't know a mutherfucker since I left school.”

More like they put yo old ass out, seventh-grade dropout
, Danny Man thought. Without looking at Tom-Tom's face, he said, “It ain't like that. I just don't be seeing you no more since you left school.”

“You got some squares?” Tom-Tom asked.

“I don't smoke cigarettes,” Danny Man stated bluntly. Tom-Tom turned to his buddy. “Yo, Rell, gimme a smoke.”

“Aww, man. I only got one left. You done already smoked up all my pack.”

“Nigga, I don't recall asking you that,” Tom-Tom said with his eyes flashing dangerously. “What I said was gimme a mutherfucking cigarette. I don't care if it's your first or your last.”

“A'ight, man, calm down,” Rell said as he pulled a semi-crumpled cigarette from his pack. He tossed the empty carton on the ground and put the cigarette between his lips. As he was searching his pockets for a light, Tom-Tom snatched it from his lips.

Hoping they were distracted, Danny Man tried to slip away into the small neighborhood store behind them.

Tom-Tom turned back to Danny Man. “Little nigga, where you going? I wadn't through hollering at you.”

Danny Man wanted to run, but he knew that if he bolted, they would catch him easily. He paused with his hand on the door handle of the store. “I had thought that you was through talking to me.”

“Naw, man, I ain't through. Bring yo ass back over here.”

Danny Man took several small steps in Tom-Tom's general direction.

Tom-Tom laughed. “Man, what the fuck is wrong with you? Is you retarded or something? Bring yo ass over here, ain't nobody finta do nothing to you. I just want to ask you a question.”

“What?” Danny Man asked, his voice cracking slightly from fear.

Tom-Tom draped his arm around Danny Man's shoulder. Danny Man noticeably flinched when he did this, making TomTom laugh again.

“What you jumping for? I already done told you I ain't finta do nothing to yo ass, so quit acting like that.”

Danny Man grinned nervously as he hoped that someone, anyone he knew, would walk up to the corner or come out of the store.

As if he was reading Danny Man's mind, Tom-Tom said, “C'mon, let's get up off this corner before old dude that own the store call the law on us.”

With his arm still around Danny Man's shoulders, Tom-Tom begin maneuvering the slightly resistant boy around the corner. Rell fell into step behind them.

“Where we going?” Danny Man asked finally as they neared the alley on the side of the store. “I was finta go to the store. Where is we finta go?”

Tom-Tom looked over his shoulder at Rell, giving him a knowing look. “What was you bout to get at the store? You got some money?”

Danny Man thought about it quickly. “I only got two dollars. That ain't nothing. I was just finta buy some chips and stuff, but if you need it I'll give you one of my dollars.”

Tom-Tom stopped at the mouth of the alley and took his arm from around Danny Man's shoulder. He looked around and then he pushed Danny Man into the trash-strewn, broken-glass-covered alley.

“Fuck a mutherfucking dollar! I want them Jordans you got on, bitch! And all the cash in yo mutherfucking pocket!”

“Stop playing, Tom-Tom,” Danny Man said as he stumbled backward into the alley. “This ain't funny.”

Tom-Tom balled up his fist and whacked Danny Man upside the head. “What you think, this is a mutherfucking joke! I know I ain't said shit funny! Do you see me laughing, bitch? Nigga, what size is them shoes?”

“Y-y-you don't need to know my s-size,” Danny Man stammered. “I ain't finta give you my shoes. My big brother just bought these for me.”

Tom-Tom grabbed Danny Man by the collar of his jacket and slapped him across the cheek. “I wouldn't give a fuck if yo mammy bought them for you with her last dollar, I said take them off! Now!”

Snot began to run from Danny Man's nose and tears leaked from his eyes. “I can't give you my shoes, my brother just bought me these,” he whined. “I can't give them to you.”

“Rell, get over here and hold this bitch-ass nigga!” Tom-Tom ordered. “Oh, he finta run them there! I bet the fuck he finta take off those Mikes!”

Rell had been content to watch Tom-Tom's back.

“Tom-Tom, man, leave this little nigga alone,” Rell said half-heartedly. “He crying like a little bitch.”

“Man, you better bring yo faggot ass up in here and grab this
nigga! If you don't when I'm through with him, then I'ma get in yo ass, too.”

Rell approached. He got behind Danny Man and held his arms.

“Tom-Tom, it don't even look like you can fit this nigga shoes,” Rell commented.

“What the fuck you say? Nigga, you sound like a mutherfucking shoe salesman or something. Did I ask you what size I wear? Fuck that! Put this nigga in a nelson so I can get them Jordans!”

“No, no!” Danny Man pleaded.

Behind Danny Man, Rell slipped both of his arms under his and locked his fingers behind Danny Man's neck. Danny Man struggled impotently against the incapacitating wrestling lock.

“Hold this nigga!” Tom-Tom roared as he bent down to get Danny Man's shoes. “If this nigga kick me in my fucking face, I'ma beat yo ass after I beat his.”

Rell applied more pressure to Danny Man's neck, causing him to bend over as Tom-Tom slipped the shoes off his feet. Tom-Tom stood up and tied the Jordans together by the shoestrings and draped them over his shoulder. Before Rell released Danny Man, Tom-Tom dug through his pockets and pulled out some money. Quickly he counted it.

“Nigga, yo lying ass,” Tom-Tom said happily as he slapped Danny Man playfully on the top of his head. “I thought all you had was two dollars. This here is forty-two dollars. I'm finta get higher than a mutherfucka. Rell, let that bitch go.”

Rell let him go, causing Danny Man to fall to his knees at his sudden release. Tom-Tom was already leaving the alley and Rell jogged to catch up with him.

“Stop playing, gimme back my shoes!” Danny Man bawled loudly as he stood up. “Gimme my money! Gimme back my stuff! I'ma tell my brother!”

Tom-Tom abruptly turned and rushed back to Danny Man. Using his foot, Tom-Tom foot swept Danny Man's legs, making him fall again. He climbed onto Danny Man's chest and began wildly punching him in the face with both his fists. Danny Man tried to cover up his face and head as much as possible from the blows, but several of Tom-Tom's punches connected well enough to make Danny Man's head slam against the alley floor. The impact made him dizzy.

Tom-Tom stopped hitting him and leaned in close to Danny Man's face. “Now if you want to tell yo brother something, tell him that I whupped yo ass! Yo brother don't scare me! That nigga got to be a punk if he got a punk-ass nigga like you for a little brother! So fuck you and him!” He stood up and slung the shoes back over his shoulder. “Let's go, Rell.”

Danny Man laid on the ground sobbing and holding his head as the two boys left with his shoes and money. When he was sure they were gone, Danny Man jumped to his feet and ran home.

APRIL 17, 1991, 4:18 P
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DONNELL “DODO” COFFMAN
eased the 185-pound steel barbell back onto the weight bench cradle. He sat up on the padded bench and used his T-shirt to wipe the sweat off his forehead and chest. He looked across the basement at his friend Casey Russell. Casey was sitting on the edge of the couch. In front of him was an old wooden coffee table. Casey's attention was divided between the television set against the wall and a saucer with a small amount of cocaine on the coffee table.

Dodo got up and walked over to the concrete basement sink. He
turned the cold water tap on and let the water run for a while. He dipped his cupped hands under the stream of water and took a drink. He wiped his wet hands on his pants. He looked over at Casey again on the couch and shook his head.

“What's up, man?” Dodo asked. “I thought you was about to lift some weights with me. You must be scared of this steel. Nigga scared to hit some of this steel.”

“Nall, nigga, I ain't scared, but the only thing I'ma hit is some of this here coke,” Casey said. “You need to get off that swole shit and take you a bump or two.”

Dodo walked across the basement. He stopped in front of an old, cracked wall mirror and looked at the reflection of his brown chest. He flexed his biceps several times. Satisfied that his workouts had been paying off, he walked back over to the sink and took another long drink of cold water. He joined Casey on the couch. For a while he just sat and watched some talk show.

“Casey, why do you even watch this stupid shit?”

Casey grinned. “Man, I love this shit. Crazy-ass chicks-with-dicks, I-slept-with-my-brother's-wife dudes, and I'm-a-man-butmy-boy-friend-don't-know shit. I mean look at this show. These mutherfuckers is on here to admit to their boyfriends that they is really men. That shit is crazy! How a mutherfucker don't know he dating another man for three months? Man, if a mutherfucker did fool me on some drag queen shit, I would go bananas when that shit came out! The funny thing about watching this show is that you don't never know how the other mutherfucker gon’ react when he find out that the person you thought was a girl probably got a bigger dick than you.”