“Wan! Whassup folks?” he leaned through the window and shook hands.
“Damn, look at’chu, boy, what they don’t feed you at the Y.A.?”
“Barely,” he scoffed, “It’s all I did everyday was work out, crunchin’ out burpees and push-ups, tryin’ to get yoked.”
Wan sized him up, “Yeah, you look like you lost about a hundred pounds. Hop in” Dulo got in the car, and Wan continued as he backed out of the parking lot and drove down the street, “When you get out?”
“I just got out today.”
“No shit?”
“Yeah, I caught the Gray Goose back to county and they dropped me out in front. I had some cash left on my books, so I caught the bus down here.”
“Gray Goose? What, nobody picked you up?”
“Nah, I couldn’t get a ride.”
“Damn that’s fucked up. Why you didn’t call a muthafucka? I woulda came and gotcha.”
“I couldn't remember nobody's number except my mom's- all that shit was in my cell phone. My battery died and they wouldn't let me charge it when they gave me my property.”
“Why your mom didn’t get you, then?”
“You kiddin'? She wouldn’t even take my calls. She might’a moved across state for all I know. She basically disowned my ass when I got popped - started saying I'm an embarrassment, she's ashamed to go to church, this and that. I thought she'd get over it but I guess she never did.”
Wan shook his head incredulously, “Damn, I didn’t know it was like that. You could’ve at least wrote. I didn’t know where you were, or what happened, you just disappeared off the planet. My mom was askin' about you, if you were okay and why you weren't calling. You family as far as we're concerned - me and you go back to kindergarten.” They drove in silence for a couple of minutes, and then Wan continued, “Man, you really did all that time without nobody. That’s fucked up, Blood. I can’t believe that shit.”
“Well, don’t feel bad. I was gonna write your ass, too, but didn’t know the apartment address; I only knew the number” Dulo chuckled, “Besides, I ran into some of the homies in there.”
“Oh yeah? Who you in there with?”
“I was in there with Cupcake, P-Nut, and Yola. And you know how we do it, actin’ a fool, runnin’ shit! Cupcake had some bitches smugglin’ dope for him, so we were livin’ cool for a minute. Then one of them stupid ass broads got popped bringin’ shit in – fucked it up for everyone. I wasn’t trippin’ though; I saved a little skrill, so I was straight ‘til I got out, and I still had a couple stacks on my books.”
Wan laughed, “That’s what’s up!”
“Hell yeah! Oh – guess who I ran into over at Triple C?”
“Who?”
“Monty B!”
“Monty B? I haven’t seen that fool in hella long – I heard he was facing triple life for smokin’ a couple of them Crest Lames.”
“Yeah, he had just got sentenced when I saw him. We were in Four Hundred Pod over at Max for a few days. So I start rappin’ with homeboy, and he said he didn’t do it.”
“How long ago was this?”
“About three years ago. Then they sent his ass to Pelican, and that was the last I seen him.”
“So, if he didn’t do it, then who did?”
“He said it was some foo from Northside - Bantum Crew. Some cat named Pooky. B told me that he was locked up with his partner Skeet from Suisun, and Skeet told him that he heard it from his homeboy Jazz. I guess Jazz does business with him. Supposedly, Pooky and a couple of them foos robbed the house for some keys. Pooky got trigger-happy and lit them foos up.
“So Pooky sold the keys to Jazz. And when Jazz asked him where he came up on the junk, he started braggin’ about the lick, givin’ up details. Jazz told Skeet before he got busted, and Skeet told B. They just happened to be in the same unit while they were fightin’ their cases. Somehow during the discussion the issue came up and Skeet told him what he heard.”
“Skeet?” Wan thought for a second, “That name sounds familiar – what was he in for?”
“Possession. He got caught the day after he talked to Jazz. They caught him with a whole one.” Dulo continued, “So anyways, B said something about his fam tryin’ to raise money to hire an attorney; they're gonna try to appeal but you gotta have your own lawyer - the state don't provide one for appeals. Just as well seeing as how his Public Pretender was a truck, didn’t even call any witnesses.”
“You know a P.D. ain’t finna do shit for you, mine. All they wanna do is getcha to take a deal”.
“Yeah, I learned that the hard way. I started going over the case with my P.D. and he didn’t wanna hear shit about it. Started talkin’ about fifteen years, so when they offered me six, I jumped on it. I woulda got out sooner, but they kept takin’ away my good time. I’m surprised they even let me parole.” They pulled up in front of a house on the Westside, “Man, where the hell we at?”
“My Mes'kin homeboy, Rider - straight Westsider.”
“Who?”
“You know, the weed man. Been buyin’ from this cat for a while. He got some bomb-ass shit. C’mon, I’ll introduce.”
As they walked up to the house, a car full of bald cholos slowly passed by in a dark sedan. One of the passengers wore a black bandana and locs; he yelled out “Eastside!” and then they sped off.
Dulo looked at Wan, “What was that all about?”
“Vandals out in the east area. Foos got deep these last couple years. Used to be nobody but Southside Crest Lane bothered with them, but they’re gettin’ brave now that they got some numbers.” He rang the doorbell, “They ride with the Woods over in Toontown, hookin’ them foos up with Meth and guns and shit. Word is they got connected with some Cartel. Fuck them foos!”
A stocky, tattooed chicano sporting a fade and a wifebeater answered, “Wan, whassup?”
They hugged and then Wan turned to Dulo, “this’ my homeboy Dulo.”
Rider looked at him and then he reached out his hand, “Whassup, they call me Rider; mucho gusto”. Rider invited them in. “You here to get some yesca?” He closed the door behind him.
Wan smiled, “hell yeah. My boy here just got out today, so we need to get a smoke session.”
Rider appeared relieved as he looked at Dulo, “is that right? You just get out?”
“Yup.”
“What were you in for – if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Attempted Robbery. I got six, but did four.”
“All right, all right. Well, check it out, Wan’s like family to me, so any friend of his – ” Rider gestured towards the interior of his apartment.
“I appreciate that, folks.”
Rider looked at Wan, “You in a hurry? I just rolled a blunt if you wanna blaze.”
“Naw I ain't in no hurry - spark that shit” Wan answered gleefully.
Rider led them to a back room that had two sofas and a chair with ottoman. A video game console was connected to a television set, both of which sat upon a stand. There was a glass coffee table that had marijuana contraband scattered about with loose papers. Dulo noticed the glow in the dark posters that had cartoons that endorsed marijuana use. Rider sat on the chair, while Dulo and Wan each sat on a sofa.
“This shit is Kush, right here” Rider lit the blunt and took a drag, then passed to Dulo.
“You been havin’ problems with them Eastside Vandals, mine” Wan asked Rider.
“I ain’t got no problems with those lames, they have a problem with me. Nothin’ I can’t handle, though.”
“I’m just askin’ ‘kuz a carload of them passed by when we came up just right now. Givin’ hard looks and shit. One yelled ‘Eastside’, then they mashed off.”
Rider chuckled “Yeah, they wanna get our asses and control the West. But they know me and my homeboys got heat and we put in work - they found that out the hard way. We already blasted four of them this last year - tryin' to come out here and take over our spots. They thought just because some Wabs hooked them up everyone's gonna be scared. Tryin' to punk people by waving around guns. I don't care how many guns you have - don't mean shit if you're too scared to blast. Know?"
Wan nodded, "yeah I feel you, mine."
"What kind of heat you packin'" Dulo asked, passing to Wan.
“I got an A.K. and a Shotgun that I keep here, and my homeboy has the Thompson. I used to have a .45 but my stupid ass brother got caught with it.”
Wan looked at Dulo, “What, you lookin’ for heat already? You just got out, relax for a minute.”
“I’m just sayin’ – I’ma need to get strapped at some point.”
Rider looked at Dulo “If you need some heat, I have a friend who knows a friend. How much you lookin’ to spend?”
“Maybe two or three.”
Wan passed the blunt to Rider, who took a drag and thought for a second. Then he spoke as he passed to Dulo, “I don’t know. I can get you an AR-15, but it’ll cost you at least six – and that’s if he still has any. For three I'm sure we can get you a .38, but it’s clean. If you want, I’ll keep an ear out for something, but I can tell you right now that any cuete less than two’s prob'ly gonna be dirty.”
“I don’t care. I don’t plan on gettin’ caught with it, if you know what I mean.”
“Alright then, I’ll see what I can do.”
Wan read Dulo, “What you thinkin’ up over there?”
“Makin’ money how I know how to make money.”
Wan laughed, “You goddamn jacker! Just got out, already tryin' to go back in.”
Rider chuckled, “ Speakin' of jackers, you ever hear of some fool named Pooky? I think he's from Bantum Crew out in the Northside.” Wan and Dulo got serious and looked at Rider, “From what I hear, he’s out jackin’ fools sick. I have a conecta who deals with him. He told me that he only goes after fools that slang. For a second I thought it was you, but you’ve been locked down and I know that Wan don’t get along with Bantum.”
"Why would you think that was me?" Dulo responded.
Rider pointed to a tattoo of a twenty dollar bill on Dulo's neck, "I heard he has a tattoo just like it. Same exact spot and everything. I also know people go by different names when they're known and they don't wanna be known. Especially when they're up to something - no offense Wan."
“None taken - you gotta stay on your pounds and quays, it's part of the game. Your connect - wouldn't happen to be some cat named Jazz, would it?”
“How'd you know?”
Wan and Dulo looked at each other; Dulo asked, “Is he some Bay Area foo?”
“Yeah, North Bay. I’m not exactly sure what part - Suisun, Richmond or whatever, but I know he’s from somewhere out there. He lives on Lytle Avenue, where those Bantum foos kick it. Right there in the Hamburg apartments.”
Wan sensed that he may be stepping on toes, “You tight with this cat?”
“Who Jazz?”
“Yeah.”
“No, not really. I just buy shit off him every now and then.” He read the expressions on their faces, “Why, you gonna get that foo?”
Dulo shrugged, “maybe. Do you think he's holding?”
"That foo? I'm pretty sure he's holding. Has to be. He just got some Woods for a P last week. He couldn't have got that shit off that fast - and if he did, he couldn't have spent all that cash that fast. Know?"
Dulo thought for a moment, then stated his case, "You know where Jazz lives, but he don't know that you know us. We'll need to borrow some heat, but we can cut you in for an equal share if you're interested and nobody will know you're participating. Here's the plan".
The morning rain gave way to a thunderstorm. Pooky was smoking a joint in the living room of his apartment. The room was dim with the only light spilling in from the kitchen. He was about to crack open a beer, when he got a call on his cell from Jazz, “What up, Loc?”
“Hey, what’s on the menu?”
“Same shit as yesterday - white girl” Pooky replied.
“How many?”
“I still got six from the Woods.”
“How much?”
“How much you lookin’ to spend?”
“Two.”
He thought for a second, “I can let a couple whole ones go for two. Come down.”
“I’m downstairs, be right up.”
“Alright then.”
Pooky put his joint in an ash tray on the coffee table and picked up the pistol lying next to it. He checked to make sure there was a round in the chamber and switched off the safety. The doorbell rang and he went to the door, looked through the peephole and saw Jazz. He unlocked the door and opened it with his left hand while keeping the pistol clutched in his right. Jazz came in, and he saw the barrel of a shotgun come from behind his back – it was a setup!
Pooky backed up, letting off rounds from his pistol. Jazz was hit twice in the chest and once in the face – he fell forward. The man with the shotgun let off a volley of rounds. Pooky was hit in the chest – he was dead before he hit the ground, but managed to hit the shooter in the thigh. Another man appeared in the doorway, dressed in black – it was Wan.
“Dulo, you okay?”
“Yeah I’m alright. C’mon, let’s get this shit and get out of here!”
They searched the house and found a black bag with money, a couple of guns and six ounces of Crystal. Dulo was bleeding badly, but stood by the door in case anybody came in. Thunder rolled as the storm picked up.
"Got it!" Wan yelled, "C'mon lets go!" He helped his partner down the stairs of the apartments to the parking lot, where Rider was waiting. He noticed Dulo hobbling. Wan and Dulo jumped in the back seat.
“What happened” Rider asked.
“Dulo got shot” Wan replied.
“Is it bad? Do you wanna go to the hospital - you're bleeding pretty bad bro.”
“Nah! To hell with that!” Dulo answered, “Let’s just get back to your place so we can divvy this up. Every cop in town's gonna be looking for people at the hospital with gunshot wounds. I’ll be alright.”
“Alright, man.” Rider reluctantly kept driving towards his place in the Westside. Nobody said a word. Dulo looked at the raindrops bead on his passenger window. He thought about his mother and his future. Wan was counting the money and doing math in his head. Rain continued to pour heavily but the storm was subsiding. The ride took twenty minutes.
They pulled up to Rider’s apartment. Wan looked at Dulo, “C’mon let’s split this shit up – time to get paid!” Dulo didn’t say anything or move. Wan shook him, “Dulo, wake your ass up, boy!” but he didn't move. The bullet severed an artery and he bled to death. Wan turned him over and he saw the blank expression on his best friend’s face: his lifeless eyes were open and there was neither pain, nor joy. It was part confusion, part peace, and part resignation – it was the look of struggle and as Wan took it in, he was overcome with grief, burying his head in Dulo’s chest – he hadn’t cried like that since before kindergarten.
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