a bemused smirk creased his face.
“How you know I won’t smoke your cracker ass right now?”
“You won’t,” he said flatly.
I punched Demetrious in the gut with the loaded .45 letting a little air out of his lungs, then I pointed the pistol right at Scratch.
“You want him that bad?”
“Yeah. That nigga owes me.” Even though he tried to remain calm, I could tell he was shaken by the quick efficient handling of his bodyguards. He was staring at Huey like he had just stepped out of a spaceship. Huey stared back at the white thug like he was a particularly large and unpleasant pimple that he was considering squeezing the puss out of.
Scratch’s cunning, televangelist, con-man smile resurrected itself, stretching nearly around to the back of his head and displaying each one of his platinum capped teeth. He looked like a great white shark about to swallow a boatload of sun worshippers.
“Ya’ll ain’t no killas. How about I let you keep the guns if you give that muthafucka over to me and I promise you won’t catch no static for fuckin’ up my bodyguards either. Punk-ass niggas couldn’t handle a bunch of freshman then they deserved to get broke up.”
“Well, that’s damned generous and all, but we keepin’ these gats anyway so that ain’t no deal. But I tell you what, you let us keep the cash he took from you and we’ll get the drugs back plus I’ll blast this nigga for you.”
“Naw! Naw! Ya’ll can’t just kill me! I’m just a kid! I ain’t did shit! I ain’t got shit, Scratch, and if I did, you know I’d give it up. I wouldn’t hold out on you, bro! I ain’t got no drugs.”
“You ain’t got shit, huh? Then what was all that shit you was talkin’ ’fore he showed up? And stop squirmin’ before you mess around and rip that jacket ’cause once you’re a ghost I own that shit.”
Demetrious still believed he could just talk his way out of this and walk away with his life. I smacked him hard with the heavy pistol opening a huge gash on his head that began dripping bright red blood. He slumped in Tank’s grasp, his eyes wild with fear. The bloodlust was vibrating in my nerves, churning in my stomach like physical hunger. I wanted to shoot the gun again. But this time…I wanted to kill.
“Get that fuckin’ jacket off ’fore you fuck it up! That shit’s mine now. And get them sneaks off too!”
Scratch seemed to relax then. He slid the sunglasses down his nose and looked over them at us shaking his head, finding our vicous greed both amusing and pitiful like lions in a circus. It was the way white people had looked at me all my life and it made me furious. Tank jerked the jacket off Demetrious’ shoulders and I punched the gun into his eye socket again.
“Don’t think about tryin’a break out cause I’ll cap your ass right tha fuck here! That’s my word, dog. Now try me!”
Demetrious stared meekly into my eyes and remained still as Tank removed the jacket.
“But I ain’t do shit!”
“Shut tha fuck up!”
I turned back to Scratch.
“We got a deal or what?”
“Word, little G. We got a deal. Just don’t bitch when it’s time to fulfill your end.”
“Fuck that. I don’t never bitch from no two gees.”
“Hah! You niggers ain’t never even seen two gees.”
I bristled at the way he pronounced “niggers.” I wanted to cap his ass just for that.
“So, how you gonna get him to tell where the shit’s at? You bad little thugs got the heart for torture?”
“I know where the fuck it’s at,” I said confidently, but inwardly uncertain.
“He had this gat just sittin’ there under that rock where somebody might have found it. I bet the rest of that shit’s right in his bedroom or…”
Quickly, I turned and smacked Meech with the gun again as hard as I could causing Tank to wince and step back as blood from Demetrious’ forehead splattered his face allowing him to slump to the ground. His eyes rolled back in his head and his forehead continued spraying blood from the fresh wound.
There was something I loved about head wounds. The blood was brighter, redder, and it pumped out more easily. It reminded me of Darryl’s war stories. When I got older I would be known for shooting fools in the head even though everyone knew the body was an easier target and that someday I would miss and wind up getting my ass killed. It was dumb and dangerous, but it became my thing.
A lot of wannabe gangstas carried guns, but few actually used them; still fewer of those who used them actually intended to kill. Often they would shoot a fool in the gut where they might be paralyzed if it hit their spine, but not killed. But if you flew some fool’s head it left no doubt in anyone’s mind that you meant the shot to be fatal. I bent down over Meech’s semi-conscious form and began pulling cash out of his pockets.
“Yeah! I knew that shit! This dumb muthafucka. I knew if he wouldn’t hide a gun in his crib he wasn’t gonna hide no two gees there.”
I unfastened his pants and pulled them down to his knees. There was more money and a big sack of white powder in his drawls.
“Little dick muthafucka! I should have known you wouldn’t leave this shit lyin’ around for your momma to find.”
“That little ass sack ain’t all of it though.”
I stopped and thought a moment. Had this kid started hittin’ the pipe and smoked that shit all up or had he sold it? If he’d sold it then where was the other money? Then Tank spoke up.
“Yo, right here man.”
He reached into the Sixers jacket and pulled two more fat sacks from the lining. The three sacks combined must have weighed five or six pounds.
“Well there you go, white boy. I guess that means this cash is ours then.”
“Nuh-uh, nigger. You ain’t finished.” Scratch said pointing to Meech.
“You know what, white boy. I don’t like no fuckin’ peckerwood callin’ me nigga.” I pointed the gun at his head again and that crazy look was back in my eyes.
“You stallin’ or what?” Scratch said with a smirk.
“Step back, Tank.” Tank dutifully stepped away from Demetrious who was just starting to revive.
The bodyguard I’d shot in the thigh started talking shit again and I swerved the gun away from Scratch and pointed it at him until I realized he wasn’t armed then I pointed it back at Scratch.
“He ain’t gonna do it, Scratch. He’s just a little bitch! And I’ma smoke him and his little faggot friends when…”
I swiveled like a turrent and aimed the gun at Demetrious who was now wide awake and staring at me in horror. I pulled the trigger.
The report from the .45 interrupted the tirade from the larger of Scratch’s bodyguards who now stood gripping his wounded thigh; squeezing it as if to force out the bullet. Blood was caked all over his face from his shattered nose. Demetrious’s chest had blossomed in an explosion of red like some great ghastly rose blooming. The kind that only bloomed in hell. His hands thrust out in front of him as if to ward off the bullet, fluttered limply to the ground with a jagged hole between the middle and index fingers of his left hand, and a long whistling exhalation issued from his lungs as they rid themselves of the now pointless oxygen. His pants were still down around his knees and his briefs turned crimson as his heart pumped his body dry trying to get blood past the ruptured arteries and pulverized organs and up to his brain succeeding only in spurting it out of his ruined chest in a steady fount.
I stuffed the money in my pockets in big handfuls and tossed the sacks of coke to Scratch. Snatching up the red Sixers jacket I started to retreat then paused to untie Meech’s sneakers and slip them off his feet. If I had seen how much blood had soaked into them I would have left them. Tank wrenched the half-carat diamond out of his ear and held it up to the sun grinning autistically as it refracted the light, then he shoved it deep in his pockets and turned to his brother who showed neither scorn nor approval. I removed the platinum crucifix from around his neck and tossed it to Huey. Huey held the necklace in his hands staring at the tortured effigy of Christ as if it were the most horrible thing he’d ever seen. It dripped with Meech’s blood adding a gruesome realism to the artistic rendering. It was as if we were witnessing the crucifixion in miniature. Huey stared at it a moment more and then
