"Finesse The Game" by Rhugid Lee

The Bronx.

One of the toughest boroughs in New York. The proud home of the now multi-billion dollar movement called Hip Hop. The home of (arguably) the best baseball team in baseball, The New York Yankees. The original home of the late great Tupac Shakur. Yes, the Bronx was home to many great things. But it was also home to ruthless men that shot at cops. And greedy drug dealers, who robbed their own workers to avoid paying them. And drug addicted single mothers, who pimped their young daughters to support their own drug habits. Yes, this place was foul in every sense of the word. Mentalities were contorted and sadly twisted. But could you blame them? Could you blame a race of people that had survived slavery to be forced into inferior environments? Whose struggling inhabitants became hopeless zombies indoctrinated by a government that applied strategic forms of genocide through subliminal antics incorporated in its own oppressive structure? Not much hope appeared in its impoverished dilapidated neighborhoods. Its law was corrupted. Its schools employed principles that free based crack cocaine, and teachers who’d given up on the youth generations ago. Its parks had become a hanging ground for dangerous local gangs. Even if the gangs had been absent, what kids should have to play in playgrounds with missing swings, or on steel monkey bars that had no safety padding underneath and grounds littered with broken glass and various drug paraphernalia, like empty herion baggies, crack vials and marijuana bags. Drugs were prevalent in it’s streets, they infested it like maggots in a dead decomposing corpse.

Where there were drugs , there were dealers. Where there were dealers, there were wolves. Where there were wolves there were guns… and where there were guns there was bloodshed. Unfortunately, bloodshed was a part of the game.

Some dealers were slick… they tried to get in and out. Not many were swift enough to… FINESSE THE GAME.

FAST FORWARD

Dip lay helplessly on his back in the dark creepy cemetery staring up at his arch enemy, his Judas. A dead body lay slanted above him. It was riddled with bullet holes in the face neck and chest. Blood streamed down onto him. He couldn’t move he’d been shot five times. He was paralyzed.

“Fuck you.” He strained out in agony as his Judas clapped lightly, the same way someone would clap, unimpressed by a so-so performance. He had a big nickel plated forty four magnum fully loaded, in his hand. It was pointed at Dip’s head.

“Speaking of Lexo, looks like they’ll be a family reunion in heaven, eh? Ha ha ha. It’s sad. Oh well, here’s where the story ends. At least you’ll die close to ya’ man huh… tell’ im I said wadup” he concluded coldly as Dip closed his eyes in defeat. His entire life flashed before him quicly as everyone he truly loved flashed through his mind. Francis, his lovely Mother. Jaysun, his gangster Father. Treasure, his lovely, loyal sister, his only sibling. Tricia, his beautiful soulmate. Jaquan and Sailinda, his precious offspring. Damn. They’ll be heart broken.

Crushed deeply.

Torn.

The game had finally caught up to him. A game he had finessed up until this point. It had betrayed him.

See, Dip was a Baller, and that’s with a capital B. He was the head of a small team, moving kilos of herion through three different states. His moolah was long and for a 24 year old black male from the Bronx, New York’s slums.

He was a man with many toys. Like his cherry red 2000, SL 600 convertible Mercedes Benz with impenetrable dupont tires, and a built in smoke screen that shot out of his exhaust pipes. Or his 2000 pecan colored E-320 Mercedez Benz wagon that shot oil out of a hidden dispenser that was under it’s revolving license plates. Or his 1999 forest green 300 DT Mercedes Benz sedan that changed it’s color to black at night and was partially bulletproof, to name a few. Yes, he was truly doing him. All of his cars were bought with cash.

He didn’t acquire the nick-name “Dip” for sport. He was always a fly guy. Only a few could stand next to him when it came to dress code. He’d been crowned “best dressed” in high school and “jiggiest” in the streets. The ladies loved him, the dudes envied him and the game embraced him. He was a smooth humble guy. Very respectable loyal and intelligent. He was a thinker, but a killer if his hand was forced. Not a tall guy, only 5’ 9” but he walked like a ball player. Confident and proud. The ladies not only loved him for the simple fact that his money was right and his attire stayed flyer, but also because he was a handsome dude. He was cocoa brown, with thick curly-kinky hair that he could thank the genes of his Cherokee Indian grandmother for. He was not a big guy either but his medium build was muscular and well toned. Including a chiseled six-pack that drove the girls wild while making the guys jealous whenever he took his shirt off.

As a youth, Dip was the popular kid everyone knew and loved. He was always on his grind. At four his father Jaysun was arrested and sentenced to 25 years to life for the murder of an off-duty Rikers Island correctional officer. Dip’s mother Francis, became severely stressed and gave up on herself, treating her grief with daily doses of herion. It eventually left her strung out, unable to sufficiently mother Dip and his sister Treasure. Dip’s grandmother stepped in and took care of them as best she could. But at 70 years old she could do but so much. Dip and Treasure were forced to fend for themselves.

At 8 years old, he formed his own paper delivery crew, delivering newspapers with his child hood friend Haykim, also known as Hate. Neighbors and friends paid for their services. He was able to buy the latest clothes and footwear with his earnings while his buddy Hate was forced to turn his earnings over to his abusive parents. Dip wasn’t a fool… his grandmother had taught him to spend a little but save a little more. So he began to stash a portion of his earnings in a metal lunch box he had hidden in the dirt of his grandmother’s backyard. In time, that same stash accumulated into hundreds of dollars, loose change and all. It was from that exact same stash that Dip, now a teenager, financed the purchase of his first ounce of cocaine from his sister’s new boyfriend, Butta.

Butta respected Dip’s thirst to finesse the game. So he sold Dip the ounce for $400 dollars and schooled him to the attractive deathtrap we all call… The Game.

Treasure, Dip’s older sister only had him by five years but let her tell it she was his Mother and Father. When she tuned sixteen years old their grandmother passed away and she became the official mother figure in Dip’s life. Their mother was still around, doing what she could but it wasn’t enough, the heroin had a grip on her. It was sad. Dip loved his sister with the deepness of a twin and was extremely over protective of her, like a bear of her cubs. He knew she was well protected now simply due to the fact that she’d met and became the main focus of the notorious killer/drug dealer known to all as Butta. So if Treasure was protected, you can bet Dip was too. Butta played no games. Well known for his ice grill glare and his one hazel eye. The other eye was brown. Not to mention his long dough and his itchy trigger finger. Rumor had it he’d castrated a few of his own workers before brutally murdering them for fucking his money up. He gave no breaks. You fucked up… you died. That was his golden rule. By the way he carried himself, the impassive face, the ice cold glare, the raspy voice, it wasn’t hard to believe. Dip looked up to him and wanted to be just like him, minus all the murder and mayhem. Dip was no killer by nature, only by force.

Now, things had taken a drastic change. It was the year 2000. He’d came so far, only to end up laying on his back, shot up, surrounded by death, scowling up at his Judas. He could see the cold dreadful barrel of his own pistol that was now in the hand of his enemy, inspiring a grim lonely death. He knew that the trigger would be pulled. Regret swept through his entire body as a tear escaped his left eye and slowl y streamed down the side of his face. He cold hear the warm flow of blood spewing from the face and neck of the dead body above him. He quickly prayed as his Judas knelt down placing the barrel of the large pistol against his forehead.

“God… please forgive me for my sins… and please, protect my family. That is all I ask. Amen.”

“It’s my time to shine.” His Judas said as he coldly pulled the trigger without remorse.

The shot shook Dip’s entire frame.

Darkness consumed him.

The game had finessed him.

CHAPTER ONE

A WISE MAN IS CAUTIOUS IN FRIENDSHIP, BUT THE WAY OF THE WICKED LEADS THEM ASTRAY.

– PROVERBS 12:26

REWIND. 1995.

The Bronx, New York

The scene was popping in a major way. E-classes, C-classes, S-Classes, drops, trucks and even a few bikes flooded the strip. Booming systems rattled the hot summer airwaves playing everything from AZ to Jay-Z. Shorties in flocks gathered around watching, winking, and smiling at the owners of the hot vehicles, the ballers , as they stood outside of their whips talking, laughing, and stunting hard.

Iced out ears, necks, mouths, wrists, hands, and fingers sparkled with every move. It was going down, and by the impoverished look of the area, anyone could tell these dudes were drug dealers or doers of some illegal hustle. Here they stood, at least fifteen deep, on one of the most notorious strips in the borough, flossing. It was summertime. Dip was eighteen and coming up in the game.

“Yo H, you see that niga Lodi’s Benz? That shit is ill, look at the wing on the back” Dip said as he watched all of the ballers light up his block with get money swag. He was sitting at the second floor window with his boy Hate smoking a long indo stuffed dutch. They were in Dip’s crib.

“Man, fuck them niggas…” Hate responded enviously passing the bud back to Dip, “We gon’ shine brighter… fuck them lemons.”

“That’s true, but we aint gotta hate yo.”

“Whateva.”

“Why you always hating yo?”

“Thatz my name, aint it?” Hate said as he spit out of the open window not caring if it hit someone.

“Yeh, but damn nigga, you don’t give niggas no props”

“Fuck them cowards… I’d stick all them lames if I ever got the drop on’em” Hate said with a grimey look that worried Dip.

“Dip!” Francis yelled from her room. She was kicking and needed a fix.

“Whassup Ma?” Dip responded respectfully.

“Yall smoking that shit shit up in there?!”

“Yeh Ma, we got that indo from Trevor!”

“Bring me some of that shit!” Francis yelled.

“Yo, ya Momz mad cool nigga” Hate said as he grinned and passed Dip the weed. “I wish my Momz was that cool” he thought to himself as he watched one of the ballers whose name was Monk stunting by his 5-Series Beamer. He began to hate to himself. “Them niggas iz birds with paper, they don’t deserve that shit. They don’t buss they gunz. They living off the rep of Butta… he da’ only official one on that set. That nigga Monk is ass, I’m ready to rob that nigga but I gotta do it alone, can’t let nobody know.”

When Dip went into his mother’s room it was disorientated. Clothes were scattered around on the floor. Empty beer bottles and containers laid on her end table. A used hypodermic needle, a black leather belt, and a few torn, empty glassine bags laid on an old, chipped bedtray. Dip shook his head in pity. He loved his mother to death, but he was upset with her because of how she let herself go when his father blew trial. Here she laid strung out, skinny, malnourished and sad. Her main drug of choice was herion but she was so caught up that anything would do just to keep her out of a sober state. She didn’t want to be sober, she didn’t want any parts of reality. She couldn’t face it. Too much pain was there. Too much loss, too much to face alone without Jaysun, the love of her life, and her only children’s father.

Francis Alexander Smith was once a dime. The baddest shorty on the block. Everybody and their momma was feeling Francis, aka Fancy. She was 5’ 3”, stacked in all the right places. And I mean “all” the right places. If she had to be compared to anyone it would have to be a mixture between Halle Berry and Janet Jackson. She was the kind of female that had her head screwed on tight. School, work, exercise and church, that was her regime. She didn’t hang out much, and when she did it was with family. She’d met Jaysun on day coming from school.

“Hey Cutie” Jaysun hollered from his kitted up Cadillac Seville.

“Hi” Francis responded as she went into her Christian Dior tote bag to get her keys.

She’d seen Jaysun a few times already bouncing through the neighborhood and he was well respected not to mention hansome and sharp as well.

She was blushing.

“Got a minute?” he asked as he cut the engine off and took the key out of the ignition to pursue her.

“Uh, uh I guess so” she said as she stood in front of her lobby door looking like eye candy. That was all she wrote, Jaysun hopped out and put that work in.

Francis did what she could to be there for Jaysun when he got arrested but they never gave him a bail, nor did they ever let him go. She brought the kids to see him almost every visit he could have and when she didn’t bring them she went alone. His commissary stayed full and he didn’t need for anything but his freedom. Francis held on for as long as she could, but when Jaysun blew trial, she fainted right inside the courtroom. Devastated.

She was never the same after that. She began to neglect everyone including herself and indulged heavily in drugs. Soon, she became a hardcore dope head and let go. She was too ashamed to face Jaysun, especially since she’d fucked up all of the money he’d left her to take care of the family. Jaysun had never prepared her for life without him, she felt cheated. Jaysun, sentenced to 25 years to life in a maximum state prison upstate New York, couldn’t understand how his Fancy could shit on him so bad. His bid became rough. The only thing that kept him focused was Treasure and Dip. Grandma Joyce made sure she took them to see him at least once a month. But now that Treasure and Dip were grown, they kept it 100 with their Dad. Making sure he was well taken care of, so that his bid would not have to be rough anymore. But Francis… she couldn’t face him. She felt like shit.

“Ma… when you gonna getcha’ self together?” Dip asked as he passed her the weed and plopped down on the bed beside her. She couldn’t even look him in the eyes as she grabbed the blunt and hit it.

“I know baby… I know” she admitted, “but it’s hard.”

“Why don’t you go to a program?” he questioned.

“For what? To get out and get higher?” she replied.

“No Ma, to get out and get your life back on track” he answered as emotions made his voice waver. It caused her to cut her eyes up to meet his. She noticed his pain. He loved her. She knew this. He also knew she’d done her best. At least she’d never abandoned him and his sister, and that stood for a lot.

“You know what baby?” she said after thinking real hard about what her baby boy was telling her. Then after a deep breath, “I’ll give a shot okay.”

Dip’s head snapped towards her as he searched her face for any sign of insincerity… there was none. She was serious, and Dip’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. He couldn’t believe it. He’d asked his mother to sign into a drug program on many different occasions. She’d never even gave any thought. But now, here she was, ready to fight. She had actually agreed this time. He reached in and gave her fraile body a warm hug. The tears began to flow as they rocked back and forth in unison.

Hate stood in the doorway unnoticed, watching everything. You would think he’d be happy for Dip and his mother, but actually, he became jealous of Dip because unlike Dip and Francis, he and his mother didn’t get along at all. Hate’s mother was a drunk abusive welfare recipient, who had beaten him and his sisters with everything from extension cords to broken table legs. He truly hated his mother, but he held it all in for years.

“Let me get my stuff together, I’m tired of living like this son, your father would be ashamed of me right now” she cried as she passed him the blunt back.

“You’ll pull through Ma, you’ll be alright you hear me?” Dip assured his mother, “I’ma call Treasure okay.”

“Alrigh t baby” Fancy said, as she sucked it all up and wiped her teary eyes, Dip helped her. “Here we go.”She exhaled.

Dip pulled himself together, he was now feeling much better. Fancy closed her eyes and began to pray… it was time for a change.

Jaysun would be proud of her. That is all she wanted.

Before Dip could place his hand on the phone to call Treasure shots rang aloud in the street. Multiple shots. People began to scream as car alarms went off and cars screeched away.

“WHAT THE FUCK!?”

“OH MY GOD!”

“OH SHIT!”

Dip, Francis, and Hate said in unison as they hurried to the windows to see what had happened.

“Look, I think that’s Monk!” Dip said as he chinned up towards the strip. He then took a quick look at his new Honda Accord wagon parked below.

“Aint that Butta’s boy?” Fancy asked.

“Yeh” Dip answered as they watched Monk laying in the street beside his BMW. He was leaking blood from what appeared to be his head and face.

“Yeh,” Hate muttered to himself remorselessly as a grin appeared on his face, “”But I woulda’ robbed him clean first.”

People began to crowd around watching Monk bleed out, and he wasn’t moving. From the looks of it, he was surely dead. Police and ambulance sirens could be heard in the distance. Monk’s jewelry came up missing by the time they arrived. He was dead, that was definite. Six slugs had torn through his face. One had blown his left eye completely away. Somebody had put that work in, but Butta wasn’t gonna take it lightly because Monk was one of his team players. The entire hood was expecting repercussions. Some people even looked forward to it.

“I’m going downstairs, so hurry up… take care Ms. Fancy.” Hate said.

“Cool.” Dip replied.

“Watch yourself out there and be safe Haykim, okay?” Fancy told him caringly, she’d known him since he was a baby.

“I definitely will Ms. Fancy.” He assured her before throwing Dip the peace sign and leaving.

“Let me holla at Butta real quick.” Dip said as he grabbed his big Motorola cell phone to get in touch with Butta.

When Hate got to the crime scene the police had the area where Monk laid dead, sealed off. People still crowded around talking and just being nosey. None of the ballers were around.

“Cowards.” Hate muttered lowly. Seeing Monk laying there aired out… holes in his face forced him to go back to a time he would’ve chose to erase forever if he could. The year? 1985. The place? Brownsville, Brooklyn. On the corner of St. Marks and Howard Avenue..

CHAPTER TWO

REWIND FURTHER

Little Haykim was only seven years old. His father had taken him with him to Aunt Betty’s crib. Haykim loved Aunt Betty’s crib, because he had six cousins to play with whenever he went there. There was David, who was nine. Tarvin who was eight. Leely, who was six. The twins Darin and Davin, who were only four. And Manny Man, the oldest at fifteen. Every last one of them were trouble. Bad asses to the highest degree! All of the boys together was drama. But Haykim had no complaints.

The apartment building Aunt Betty resided in was partially abandoned. Rats could be seen scouring through the litter filled hallways for food even in broad daylight. The steps were missing between landings in the staircases, windows were broken and covered with plastic garbage bags, lights were either busted, blown out, or stolen out or their sockets. The hallways reeked of old urine and the vile odor of decomposing rodent flesh. The only elevator in the building didn’t work, and hadn’t been working for years. All of the mailboxes were busted open, some missing the doors. Graffiti plagued ever square inch of the each wall on all of the floors. You would wonder how a mother and her children could live in such poverty stricken conditions but in the slums it was the norm. It was accepted. The children knew no better. And when they eventually did know better, they easily embraced crime as a means of escape out of their oppressive impoverished states. That in turn rewarded them with lengthy terms behind bars, or worse.

Haykim’s father Kentell, was truly a grimey dude. If you were to look up the word “grimey” in the dictionary his picture would be there to illustrate it. Yeh this dude was trife. One glance and you knew it. He was a tall cat, 6’3”, 205 pounds solid. With long arms that everyone knew would put a motherfucker in a choke hold before sending him straight into unconsciousness in seconds. He had a dark complexion, a narrow almost skeletal structured face with high cheek bones. A nose that you could see had been broken at least twice already. No one trusted Kent. His eyes were a dead give away. They were low and beady. Where the white was supposed to be was now an unhealthy yellowish color. He’d double crossed every friend he had and was now on the run from his own cousin Nappy Black. He’d set Nappy up to get robbed for $20,000 racks, buty Nappy got shot in the process and the word got back to him that Kent had set it all up. Nappy was no slouch, and his name rung bells. He was strong enough to put paper on Kent’s head… and so hie did. In the Bronx, hits were carried out regularly, so Kent took little Haykim to Brooklyn where he was basically unknown. You would wonder why Haykim would have his son with him at such a dangerous time. But the truth behind the reason was so vile that it would force you to sort of understand why Haykim turned out so trifling. See, being that Nappy Black was Kent’s cousin, Kent knew that by having little Haykim with him, he had a better chance at survival. Putting his own son in harm’s way didn’t bother him one bit. Too bad little Haykim didn’t understand that, yet.

“Listen Joyce, I gotta gee for you just let me lay low here for about a month or so, I’ll be relocating outta town soon” Kent lied as he sat at the kitchen table smoking a Kool.

“It aint about the money nigga, I just aint tryna’bring no drama up ova’dis way” Aunt Betty said as she braided Leely’s hair tightly. She was lieing too.

“Ahh ma… it’s too tight” Leely cried as his mother ignored his cries and kept twisting small bunches of his hair into neat greasy cornrows. He was sitting on the floor beween her thick legs twisting and turning.

“Trust me Betty, I’ll be gone before that” he lied again, blowing smoke out of his mouth and nostrils. You could hear Luther Vandross “Glow Of Love” playing in the living room as they spoke. Although the building was disgusting, Aunt Betty’s apartment was surprisingly well kept and sort of luxurious. Wall to wall carpet laced every floor except for the kitchen and bathroom. The living room boasted a three piece velvet living room set in cream, that was covered with thick vinyl that squeaked every time someone sat in it. Two large block party speakers in each corner thumped out hundreds of watts from the Fisher record/cassette player that sat in its console complete with glass door and remote control. The walls held mirror tiles in attractive positions and the drapes matched the carpet.

In 1985 not many households in the hood possessed floor model televisions, but you can bet Aunty Betty had one thanks to her illegal dealing.

“Awright’ you can stay for a month” she said looking at him surely, “ but I’m telling you Kent, no bullshit… and the only reason I’m doing it is because I don’t want Haykim in the street.”

He believed her.

“It’s appreciated Sis, don’t worry… I’ma put things in order” he said as he handed her the grand in cash.

“We good” she said as she stopped braiding Leely’s hair to his relief and grabbed the bills, tucking them safely under one of her large breasts. Kent chuckled sneakily. The kids were making a lot of noise in their rooms so the twins woke up and started crying. Haykim was having a ball with David and Tarvin. They had a lot of toys. Toys were something Haykim didn’t have much of.

“Shit!” Betty let out, “Boy get up!” She told Leely as she pushed her thick frame up and went to check on the twins. Leely stayed in the kitchen with his uncle.

“You staying with us, Uncle Kent?” he asked innocently.

“Shut the fuck up boy, and don’t ask me no god’damn questions or beat some skin off of your little hide” Kent told the boy as he raised his hand as if preparing to smack him. Leely took off running behind his mother crying. “Maaaaaaa” he whined. Kent was a cruel man.

Meanwhile downstairs, in a black Aspen with tinted windows sat Nappy Black and his triggerman Rawls.

“Are you sho’dats his cah?” Rawls asked as he cocked his 21 shot Remington Co. nine millimeter handgun back loading it’s chamber with a cold metallic sound.

“That’s it.” Nappy said scoping the scene.

“So, we gon’ wait.”

“Yeh, this is my cousin’s house and she has a house full of kids” Nappy explained, “so aint nothing happening up in there.”

“Alright so we wait.” Rawls agreed.

“Listen, this foul mothafucka might have his son with him cause he know I won’t kill’im with little Haykim wit him” Nappy said.

“So, how you wanna do it?” Rawls asked.

“Let’s wait it out… if his son is with him don’t do it but if he’s alone, whack’im!”

“No doubt. Done.” Rawls assured him.

Meanwhile back up in Betty’s house.

“Yall wake those twins up again and ima’ whip some ass up in this bitch, ya undastan’me?!” Betty yelled at all of the kids. They knew she was dead serious and was not approachable on the issue. They were witnesses to some grim ass whippings she’d imposed on each of them including the time when Haykim punched Leely in the throat and almost killed him. She almost murdered little Haykim. But sad as it sounds, he was already immune to the abuse. The harsh whippings of the highest degree. His own mother had abused him regularly, so in that light Aunt Betty wasn’t so bad he figured.

“Listen Kent,” Betty said as she entered the kitchen and plopped her overweight sized frame in her chair and proceeded to twist Leely’s brains out, “I need some cigarettes and stuff, why don’t you run to the store for me real quick?”

“Ight, give me a minute.” Kent said, as he went into the bathroom. After locking the door he took his thin Members Only jacket off, and hung it on the door knob. He was packing an old Smith & Wesson .32 caliber six shooter. It was fully loaded. He glanced in the cabinet mirror and like always, didn’t like what he saw. He saw grime. He saw years and years of betrayal and getting over. Rarely did he sleep well. Haunted by nightmares and the unsettled state of a guilty conscious, which he ignored. It ate at him daily, causing him to become even more vile and scandalous. He knew that he was drowning in his own grime. It was a matter of time before some fatal misfortune befallen him in a nasty way. He thought about Haykim, the boy looked just like him. But his cold heart couldn’t bring him to any reason why he should care a great deal for the youth. Why should he? It’s not like his own father had cared for him and his mother. Kent’s father was a creep who repeatedly beat him and his mother, brothers and sisters. He had children by several different women and they all received the same treatment. Until one day, Florence, one of the baby mammas got fed up and lost it… literally blowing his brains out with his own gun. No one mourned the bastard and no one attended his funeral. So naturally Kent had not fallen too far away from the tree. He had a lot of anger inside of him and he’d never found a positive way to release it. If you took a look at his past there was very little love shown his way and you could almost feel sorry for the man. Almost. Any form of empathy or sympathy came to a cease when watched him in motion. He was a snake. He’d even crossed Aunt Betty once in the past but she didn’t know for sure, so he thought.

“Daddy” Haykim yelled as he knocked on the bathroom door. He had went into the kitchen and noticed Kent wasn’t there. He became a little scared. Hoping is father hadn’t left him like so many times before.

“Shit!” Kent cursed to himself before yelling out to his boy, “Hol’ on lil’nigga! I’ll be out soon!”

Relieved to hear his father’s voice Haykim ran back into the room and continued to play with his cousins. Kent went into his pockets and took out all of the cash he had. Seven-thousand, and fifty dollars in big bills. He counted it again to make sure of the amount. He thought about stashing some in Betty’s bathroom cabinet, but he knew better.

“My sister aint no angel” he thought outloud as he dismissed the idea. He put all of the money back into his pockets and took a leak. As he pissed he could hear Betty’s phone ringing. He immediately wondered who it could be. He was such a trifling individual that he always assumed the worse possibilities. He sook off, grabbed his jacket, and exited the bathroom without even flushing the toilet or washing his hands. Truly a nasty dude. He slowly eased up towards the kitchen and listened in on Betty’s conversation.

“Hold on, Terry.” Betty spoke into the phone before moving it away from her ear covering its mouth piece and yelling out Kent’s name, “KENT!

”What? Who is it?” Kent asked with his eyebrows crinkled as he entered the kitchen.

“Terry nigga.” Betty replied holding the phone down.

“Tell her ass I aint here.” Kent insisted.

“Listen, she worried about her son.”

“That trifling bitch aint worried bout shit but if I got some dough.”

“Well, Haykim is her son, so you gon’talk or what cause I’ll ha ya ass is here with im.”

“Gimme da’damn phone then.”He said as she passed him the phone sucking her teeth,”What?!” he asked Terry as he lit a Kool.

“Where’s Haykim?” Terry yelled into the phone, “Where my boy!”

“Listen bitch, lower your tone, who the fuck is you yelling at?” Kent barked into the phone ordering her to respect him.

Terry immediately lowered her voice. She was crazy but she wasn’t stupid. Although she was drunk, she knew Kent would beat white meat up off her ass for sure. He had done it so many times before and didn’t have a problem forcing her to have sex right after. She knew Kent was as foul as his father.

“Bitch stop acting like you care about him, he still got fresh marks on his little ass from you beating him senseless, so don’t be calling around asking about him, or me… you hear me?!” Kent spit at her as he inhaled strongly on his Kool.

“Baby, the kids are hungry over here.” She said as her voice changed up. She now sounded genuinely concerned. She was good.

“So! Didn’t I leave you $300 dollars about three days ago? Huh?”

“No, you only left $200 and I spent that to keep a roof over our heads.”

“Listen, you alky’ hoe heifer, you listening?

“Yes.”

“Four of them snotty nose saggy diaper ass kids aint even mines, so you need to spread your blows, dig? You needz to give them other fuckas a call too, ya hear?”

Aunt Betty listened as she continued braiding Leely’s hair. She shook her head at how disrespectful her brother had turned out to be. She felt chills run down her spine because he was a spitting image of their Father.

“Leely, get up and go in the room with your brother… go head,” Betty told Leely. She didn’t want him hearing how foul families could be… especially not his own. But as he got up and ran into the back she knew inside that in due time when he became old enough,h he’d learn on his own.

Oh, and how he would learn.

“Fuck You!” Terry yelled into the phone before hanging up on Kent.

Terry was no saint, she was a vindictive broad that drank more than a pirate and sucked too much dick. She got used and abused by men all of her life and took her misery and pain out on her children. She was the type of female that lived welfare check to welfare check, playing numbers and gossiping all day with other sorry single mothers who could tell you every detail of the daily soap opera, from All my Children to General Hospital.

”Yeh, like I thought” Kent said to himself while handing Betty the phone.

”Youre one heartless muthafucka”, Betty told her brother as she took the phone and layed it in it’s cradle.

”Yeh, and what’s new”, Kent said as he walked towards the door, ”So whatchoo want from the store again?”

“Some Newports, a Pepsi, a light bulb and some E-Z Wider.” Betty said.

“Don’t even think about digging up under that big ol watermelon you got there, I got it… and listen, I don’t give a hell who calls… I’m outta town, dig?” He told her.

”Dig.” Betty agreed, but the plan was already in motion. Kent left and Haykim heard the door slam so he ran out of the room. He ran into the bathroom, he didn’t see Kent. He ran into the kitchen, he didn’t see Kent. He became worried and scared.

“Where’s my Daddy?” He asked Aunt Betty.

“He’ll be back Haykim, he went to the store ok” Betty responded. But Haykim was not trying to hear that. His father had left him behind in many different houses so many times before and he refused to be left again no matter how much he enjoyed playing with his cousins. Little Haykim panicked and ran to the door his father had just exited. It was unlocked so he turned the knob and it opened. Aunt Betty attemted to jump up and stop him but being over wheight prevented her from moving as fast as she need to so Haykim, only eight years old, was out the door. In hot pursuit of his father.

“Oh my God, no Haykim, come here!” Betty yelled.

“Daddy!” he yelled, “Daddy!” ignoring Betty, he ran down the stairs jumping over missing steps.

Meanwhile downstairs.

Kentell was exiting the buildings entrance.

“No one knows I’m in Brooklyn, so I’m good for a day or two the most, before I breeze to New Jersey. I’ll leave Haykim with Betty, he’ll be okay… fuck it.” Kent thought to himself as he gripped the six-shooter inside his jacket pocket. He wasn’t expecting any drama from Nappy Black, he was just on point for the simple fact that he was in the slums of Brownsville, one of Brooklyn’s most dangerous areas.

“Look, there he is.” Nappy Black informed Rawls,”I don’t see any kids with’ im”

“Great… get this don.e” Rawls said as he pulled his black ski mask down over his face,”I’m outta here.”

“Make sure you smoke’im!” Nappy ordered as Rawls exited the black Aspen.

“I got this.” Rawls whispered back as he began creeping up on Kent.

Haykim was at the second floor with one to go before he reached the buildings landing. Betty was frantic as she quickly went to her front window raised it and stuck her head out.

“”Kent! Kent!” she yelled.

Kent and Rawls were caught off guard by Betty’s yells. As Kent stopped walking to look up towards Betty, Rawls popped up from behind tan old station wagon and opened fire. The shots scared little Haykim as he ran out of the building seeing his father draw his six-shooter while taking a shot in the chest. Kent was hit, but he wasn’t down, he managed to get off three shots at Rawls as he ran back towards Haykim. Pain clutched his frame.

“No Kent… no!” Betty yelled. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Neither could Rawls or Nappy Black, who was watching nervously from behind the Aspen’s tinted windows.

“Daddy, Daddy!” Haykim screamed out as he ran to his father amidst the gunfire. He was a brave little kid. Rawls continued to blast rounds at Kent and that is when Kent did the most dishonorable morally detestable heartless act a man can do. He grabbed Haykim by his coat and scooped him up in front of him using him as a shield. To shield himself.

Nappy Black’s stomach flipped in his abdomen as he suppressed the urge to vomit. “Fuckin vermin” he let out in disgust. Rawls eyes opened in disbelief.

“Oh my God!” Aunt Betty cried out. All of the kids were now in the windows peering down at the scandalous act as it played out… even little Leely. How soon he learned.

“What the?” Rawls let out in disbelief as the shots ceased. Haykim was now crying and screaming.

“Daddy? Help me Daddy!” He pleaded with his father in a confused manner. He was unable to break out of his father’s grip. He couldn’t even comprehend why or how his Dad could place him in harm’s way like this. In front of a scary man, shooting a gun his way. He was extremely scared and trembling as Kent struggled towards the buildings entrance. He had caught a slug directly in his chest, which had crushed his sternum. He was bleeding uncontrollably, blood was spouting out of his chest and on to Haykim’s back. Rawls knew the shot was fatal. He ran back to the Aspen.

“He’s dying.” Rawls said as he got in the car.

“You sure?” Nappy asked as he snatched the gun from Rawls and pulled his own 357 Magnum out.

DOOM!

Quickly blowing Rawls brains out against the passenger seat’s window. Then he pulled his own ski mask down over his face and got out of the car.

“Run Haykim… RUN!” Aunt Betty cried from the window. Kent had collapsed, he was losing too much blood and had gone into shock. He still held Haykim’s clothes tightly as Haykim tried to pull loose. Nappy Black ran over to Kent and placed the nozzle of the magnum on Kent’s forehead at an angle where the slug wouldn’t rip through his head and hit Haykim.

“Please don’t… please don’t kill my daddy mista.” Haykim pleaded to the masked man as he cried and shivered.

“Your Daddy is a bad man. Never forget that… you trust no one. Now cover your ears!” Nappy told him as he waited until Haykim covered his ears fearfully.

Doom!! Doom!!

Haykim didn’t cover his ears good enough because they were ringing in pain as he screamed as loud as he could watching his father’s brains ooze out of his head onto the littered pavement. His grip immediately loosened.

Nappy Black vanished.

Aunt Betty wept.

“What have I done?” she moaned as she dropped her head in shame. She’d sold her own brother out. And almost got her nephew murdered right along with him.

And to think that he’d trusted her.

Wow. Grimy indeed.

“Hay… ayo Hay!” Dip yelled as he stood back watching Haykim stare at the slain body of Monk, “Snap out of it, yo!”

Haykim just stood there.

“Yo, you ight?” Dip said breaking him out of his trance.

“Yeh, yeh, nah… I was somewhere else.” Hate said as he shook his head to get his thoughts together.

“Listen…” Dip said as Hate walked towards him, “I spoke to Butta.”

“So what’s up?” Hate asked as he lit a Newport.

“He wasn’t ackin’ too moved by it”

“Word?”

“Yo, I’m figuring Butta condoned that shit”

“I wouldn’t put it pass no man.” Hate expressed,”I know betta’.”

***********************************************************

Dip noticed Tricia walking down the block looking like Keri Hilson. He was really feeling her, unlike all the other shorties in his area. He hadn’t slept with any of the females on his block, he was mindful of who he slept with. He wasn’t trying to be a victim of the STD game, even worse, AIDS. Being that he was coming up in the game he knew he couldn’t trust the sincerity of too many chicks. So he kept his squallies limited. Tricia noticed that, so it lured him into her radar even more. She hadn’t seen him in a few days and was missing him a little.

“Wassup Dip?” She said in a sexy tone, looking him over. He was freshly dipped of course. Sporting a blue and white printed Girbaud pique knit polo, with blue denim baggy Girbaud shorts, some ankle length Ralph Lauren socks and some 996 blue and white New Balance running shoes. He rocked a solid 18 carat 30” bullet link gold chain that hung low, holding a solid 4” St. Lazarus pendant that had white gold hues on it. It wasn’t the illest shine out but it was the factual statement of a young cat eating and coming up quick. Tricia didn’t really care about all of the accessories, she was more about Dip. She was feeling him for him. For who he was. She loved his personality, his character..

“You.” Dip replied to her as he watched her scan him. He was rubbing the back of his bald head.

“Where you off to?”

“Nowhere, I’m waiting for my sister.”

“Where is she?”

“She’s on her way over here to pick my Moms up.”

“How’re they doing?”

“They’re cool, how about ya’peeps, whadup wit Abby?”

“She went to see Cutt, I was gonna go but I had to go Uptown.”

“You looking good.” Dip said smiling at her.

“Not as good as you.”

“Kool, but knock it off, cutie.”

“Why you cut your hair, Dip?”

“It’s too hot for all those braids, gotta switch up sometimes, feel me?”

“”Of course I feel you… lol… Oh, you see what happened to Monk?

“Yeh, that’s fucked up… I aint see it though, I heard the shots.”

“Yeh, me too. Them shits was popping off, but you know niggas is always acting up around here.”

“Yeh.”

“Dip,” She said in a caring tone, she was looking him in his eyes, seriously concerned, ”Please don’t ever get yourself into something that will jeopardize your life, you hear me?” She was sincere, and it was no mystery she really cared for him. He knew it. Felt it. They’d never made love or kissed but they’d spent a lot of time together growing up together in the hood. They always felt each other but lately it had been developing into something more.

“I won’t Trix, I aint going out like that.” Dip assured her.

“Promise me.” She ordered him, as she stepped in closer to him. Her lovely scent massaged his nostrils. “I promise you.” He said as he kissed her on the forehead. She was worried but the kiss brought peace.

The block was hot and everybody and they Momma was in windows, looking at the crime scene. The ambulance had finally taken Monk’s corpse where gun downed corpse usually went, the morgue.

“Yo Dip!!” Hate yelled from the corner payphone. He was waving for Dip to come down there.

“Go on Dip. I’ll see you later, I gotta go uptown, I’m going with Kawana. Call me tonight okay, and remember what you promised me, ”She said as she placed a soft kiss on his lips.

“Oh, it’s like that?” Dip said as he smiled, flashing his well kept rows of white teeth.

“Calm down Tiger.” Tricia said, walking away.

“YO DIP! YO DIP!!” Hate called urgently.

Dip back tracked as he watched her walk away throwing that donkey donk from ass side to side, jiggling it with each step, it was art in motion. He knew that she knew he was beaming in on it.

“One day.” He promised himself, “Um um um, one day I’ma tap dat.” He turned around and jogged down to see what was popping , holding his gold charm against his chest with one hand and his skypager to his waist with the other.

“Whadup?” He asked Hate as he hung up the phone. Hate’s eyebrows were crinkled down hard. Dip knew it was nothing good. Hate looked up at him with a look he couldn’t decipher.

“Niggas hit Link up!” Hate said clinching his teeth together, flexing his jaw muscles where you could see them through the skin.

“What?” Dip asked in disbelief.

“Our boy… our boy is down nigga, I just spoke to Tonya, she didn’t have your new pager number. and she’s a mess, she said he got hit in the back like six times. She talkin bout I betta not have anything to do with it, I’m like what the fuck this chick talking bout. She bugging.”

“Fuck outta here… what? Fuck!” Dip cursed as he raised his head to the sky, closed his eyes, and placed both of his hands over his face, letting them slide down off of his face slowly. His eyes were watering but he held back. He was stuck. Lincoln was his boy, they were extremely close. Even closer than he and Hate were eventhough he knew Hate longer. Lincoln was a tall smooth cat, half Jamacian with long cornrows. He usually kept a piece on him so Dip knew whoever hit him had snuck him. Or knew him.

“Nah.” Dip said, he wasn’t trying to accept it.

“He ain’t dead tho… ” Hate said as he lit a Newport menthol. Dip shook his head up and down, taking a deep breath of relief.

“Thank God!!” He said.

“Nigga, fuck God! Don’t start that bullshit!” Hate cursed. He was an atheist.

“Yeh, whateva’ nigga, you can bet I’ma pray for my boy, you can bet dat!” Dip assured him, “Where he at?”

“Bronx Lebanon.”

“Come on.” Dip said.

“Hol’ up aint ya sister coming through?” Hate asked.

“Looks like her whip pulling up right now.” Dip said as he looked up the block.

“Yeh, that’s her... I know that truck anywhere.”Hate said as he watched the big suburban swerve up.

” Come on.”Dip said as they jogged up the block to Treasures’ SUV holding their pockets and beepers. She was parking. Dip was happy to see his lovely sister, especially after all of the drama going on. He was still worried about his boy Lincoln. Dip looked up to his Mom who was looking out of her window waiting for Treasure. Francis was a mess. The heroin had almost destroyed her. Although her addiction opposed the choice she’d made to sign into a rehab, she knew it was something she had to do. To live. It was about time. She hadn’t had anything in her system all day and her nerves were screaming for a fix. She was agitated and her eyes watered with every yawn.

Hurry yo ass up or I’ll relapse up in this bitch before I even quit!” Fancy yelled down to her offspring.

She wanted to get it over with. At least get to the rehabilitation center and get something into her system to treat her withdrawals and calm her down. Hater stood there scanning the area for anything out of the ordinary. He was a sneaky dude, so he was always looking out for things. Always on point for drama.

“Hey handsome,” Treasure complimented her brother as she got out of her truck, grabbed her LV bag and slammed the big heavy door. Dip smiled as he admired her.

“If u weren’t my sister boy I te’ya.” Dip joked as he hugged his sibling warmly. His only sibling. “So what u saying Dip? You giving me the green light?” Hate asked as he gazed at Treasure. She was no doubt beautiful. She always had been since they were young. Hate was secretly feeling her from day one. But not only would Dip flip out, she would too. Not to mention Butta. Butta would have him beheaded for sure. Plus, she’d never given Hate the time of day. He didn’t know it but she didn’t trust him much. She only tolerated him because he was Dips’ friend.

“Niga don’t play ya’self!” Dip shot out at Hate seriously. He meant it. He’d kill anyone over his sister. Hate knew it.

“Damn kid, u know I was just messing wit’ha.” Hate said,” No disrespect, no disrespect yo.”

“ I know Haykim, I know.” Treasure intervened, “Wassup, how u?” She said as she slapped him five.

“I’m good... I’m good.” Hate replied,”And you?”

He kept his eyes at a respectable level, he wasn’t stupid.

“Surviving.”She answered as she looked up and entered the building.

“That’s gd... and ain’t we all.” Hate expressed, knowing she couldn’t hear him.

She was gone.

“Come on.” Dip said as they walked to his brand new 1994 Honda wagon. He’d just copped it a month ago from another hustler named “Row” for $7,500 cash. Dip was doing him a little something. He had “work” up in Binghamton NY as well as out in Hackensack NJ that was pulling in about 10 grand a week. He had a weed spot uptown that he ran with Lincoln and Hate that was pulling in at least a grand daily. Now Lincoln was hit up and nobody knew if he would make it. Dip didn’t even know the half. But he would find out. And when he did, it would not sit well with him. That’s for sure.

“Damn, u ain’t thrown that shit on chrome yet?” Hate asked as he noticed Dip hadn’t purchased any hot rims yet.

“Nah, not yet, I may keep it low key,” Dip answered as he went into his Girbaud shorts pocket and retrieved his keys, pressing the button to unlock his doors and spark the ignition. The wagons’ motor growled smoothly as the thumping system blazed out Jay-Z’s “Dead Presidents.” “I’m feeling that.” Hate said as they both got in..

“I knew you would,” Dip nodded before merking off with a screech, ͞I knew u would.” Dip maneuvered the wagon uptown with expertise. People in the streets watched as the wagon breezed by blaring out thousands of watts of Jiggamans slick linguistics over neck snapping beats. It was 86 degrees, Dip had the windows down and the sunroof wide open. The wind ventilated through the vehicle as they both nodded their heads. Dip turned the volume up and increased the bass. Hate pushed the lighter into its chamber and pulled out a Newport menthol. Dip didn’t smoke cigarettes so he went into his ashtray and withdrew half of a blunt he’d clipped earlier. It was full of that fire all the way from Rochester NY. The lighter popped out, Hate grabbed it and lit their materials.

“Yo, that’s that fire!” Hate said as the smell entered his nostrils. Dip smiled and took a long drag. He was trying not to show that he was stressing. A lot was on his mind. Like Lincoln... his Mother... his Father and his own life. He wondered how long it would be before some enemy tried to get at him? He was coming up, and he’d be purchasing a few kilos soon. He knew the weight wasn’t the problem. It was the bullshit that came with the money and drugs. The greasiness. The part not many spoke of until someone’s brains were hanging out somewhere. As the black Honda wagon pulled up beside the hospital Dip noticed Tonya and Jermaine, Lincoln’s brother, standing outside of the emergency entrance. Tonya was crying uncontrollably and even Jermaine was noticeably weeping. He held Tonya to console her.

“Ah shit.” Dip said as his heart skipped a few beats, “It don’t look good.”

Hate turned the music off and flicked his cigarette bud out of the window. Tonya noticed Dips’ wagon and shook her head in grief.

“Ah man.” Dip said as he double parked, cut the car off and got out rushing over to Tonya and Jermaine. Tonya was frantic. Jermaine was trying to remain as calm as possible as tears streamed down his cheeks.

“Where’s my boy?” Dip asked as he hugged Tonya and gave Jermaine a pound-hug.

“He’s gone!” Tonya cried as tears dripped from her chin.

“What?” Dip asked in disbelief.

“My baby’s gon’ dey don’kilt my baby Dip!” tonya whined in sorrow, “Why Dip? Whyyyyy?”

Jermaine was crushed, he couldn’t even speak, he just cried. Just tears, and shock.

“Damn.” Hate shot out.

“Nah, my nigga aint dead! Where is he?” Dip demanded as he walked into the hospital. Lincoln couldn’t be dead. They were just together last night, and Lincoln was good. They were counting thousands of dollars and was about to cop their first set of kilos next month. They were about to set up shop inPhilly, Ohio, and North Carolina. They were about to seal a deal with Mitch the white boy from Arizona that handled tons of Hydro-green. It was about to be on. Nah, his boy couldn’t be dead. They’d just blew some bud together, laughing, and sipping Dom, predicting their positions years from now, owning boats and jets and their own legitimate businesses. Oh hell no, his boy couldn’t be gone. He just couldn’t.

“Hate! Hate! I know you had something to do with it! I know you did you grimey mutha’fucka!” Tonya shot out at Hate. He was shocked by her outburst.

“What?” Hate said as Tonya charged at him. But Jermaine grabbed her, restraining her gently.

“Calm down Tonya, it’s gonna be alright, its gonna be alright ok, we’re gonna find out what happened, trust and believe… but know I had nothing to do with it. Remember that. Link was my dude, I’d never harm him, if anything I’d just stop fucking with him before I’d hurt him.” Hate said as he said something else in his mind. His true thoughts were, “Bitch if you don’t stop insinuating shit I’ll slap your face real hard.” But he didn’t dare say that.

Tonya was so overwhelmed with sadness that she broke down crying deep convulsive sobs. She loved Lincoln with all of her heart. Jermaine held her and did his best to console her as he dealt with his own grief. He’d heard what Tonya said, but he knew Hate had nothing to do with it. At least that’s how he felt about it. Plus Tonya was distraught, so he dismissed her accusation for the time being anyway.

“She’s buggin.” Hate said to Jermaine as he walked away to follow Dip. Tonya gazed at Hate scornfully as he walked away. She just felt he had something to do with Lincoln’s murder. Hate immediately made a U-turn and noticed Dip walking towards him with two detectives. Dip was speaking to them as they conversed.

“So, was he your boy?” Detective Reyes questioned.

“We were cool.” Dip lied. They were more than cool, way more than cool, they were comrades. Partners.

“Any idea who did it?” Det. Baptiste, the other detective, asked Dip.

“Nah, but if I hear something you’ll be the first to know.” Dip lied. He was thorough and cooperating with the police wasn’t a part of his script. He was a thinker, and he knew that if he were to act difficult then the po-po would become suspicious and watch him close. So he threw them off with his false impression of a man willing to provide the law with information leading to the arrest and conviction of his buddy’s murder. The detectives fell right into his plan.

“Good, here’s my card.” Det. Baptiste said as he handed Dip his card. Dip was furious, but held it in. His boy was dead. Shot in the back. Six times. So many questions ran through his bald head.

(Note: I didn’t submit my entire book for my own protection... if anyone is interested in finishing it... just contact me at:

1-800-862-8490 - Rhugid Lee)