Chapter 1 - Blood in the Streets
SOUTH CENTRAL LA
“Where is he, Jackson?!” exclaimed Tyrell.
“He’s coming man, chill.”
“We have to get this deal done or we both dead!”
“You didn’t tell anyone about this right?”
“No! I isn’t no damn snitch!” retorted Jackson.
“Good cause if you do our handler is going to put us both in the ground. With the black lives matter protests going on downtown, all the cops in the city will be on high alert.”
“Not over on this part of town stupid.”
In the wake of all the police brutality throughout the state, with the system failing,
and the cops exhibiting the “Ferguson Effect,” crime is at an all-time high.
The police are so on edge, they don’t want to arrest anyone for fear of the repercussions with the liberal media and the people they are supposedly trying to protect.
“Dude?! Where is he, you said he was reliable Jackson!”
“Where did you meet him anyway?” added Tyrell.
“Over by UCLA, he said that he could run this stuff through the college,” replied Jackson.
“Yea I hope so.”
“He better not be a cop. Is he some white fool?”
“Yes, but he is on the football team so he will be able to distribute to all the players.”
“Yeah, yeah. His money better be good, that’s all I care about,” said Tyrell.
“Why did we do this meet on this corner anyway?”
“Cause it’s our turf stupid. You want me to go to rich white
sunset by the college and have the cops blast us for being in a white neighborhood?”
“Oh, that’s good thinking.”
Five minutes later the red BMW came around the corner and shut off the lights for fear of looking suspicious. The football player got out and started to walk in the direction of the dealers.
“Well you got the stuff or what? Why the hell did I have to come all the way over to this crappy part of town? I don’t belong here!” said the football player, annoyed.
“Shut up and let’s do this alright.”
“So, what do we call you?”
“Fine, Bob. Where’s the cash?”
“Where are the goods, Jackson?”
“In the bag behind this wall.”
“Today would be amazing…” sighed Bob impatiently.
No sooner did Jackson reach behind the wall, a black SUV came screeching around the corner in the night, which only could mean that they had been there the whole time either listening or waiting and watching the drop.
“What the hell Bob! You brought the cops?”
“I ain’t no cop!” said Bob.
The SUV stopped in front of the group making the deal.
Jackson and Tyrell immediately reached for their weapons they had hidden in their waistbands - as often drug dealers did. Immediately, the back tinted window exploded. One of the individuals in the SUV shot through the glass with a shotgun blast hitting the two dealers instantaneously. Both hit the ground in pain. In a panic, not used to any of this. Bob started for his car, but before he could make it there another shot rang out from the backseat hitting him in the back. The shot knocked Bob to the ground killing him instantly.
“Any cops?” asked the driver of SUV.
“No, we good. Let’s finish this,” replied one of the SUV passengers.
Four of the inconspicuous men got out of the black SUV and headed towards the dealers. Not knowing what was happening, Tyrell and Jackson were disillusioned and couldn’t understand how this meeting was known by anyone. Be that as it may, they could not move or flee so they lay there like helpless prey.
“What the hell man!” gasped Jackson holding his chest due to the enormous amount of blood that was now starting to come through his shirt.
“Did our handler send you? We ain’t rats! We told no one.”
The men laughed! “Shhhh,” said one of the men, who seemed to be the one in charge.
“Don’t speak, you will wake up the neighborhood. Just lie there, shut up, and bleed. This is now our turf, yeah?”
“Hell no, man! We called it, we own it! Our handler is going to find you, and his money!” insisted Tyrell.
They all laughed. “What is he going to be looking for exactly?” At that moment Tyrell and Jackson knew that since they had no idea who these men were, neither would their handler.
“Are you from a gang?” asked Jackson.
The man in charge decided to entertain their questions due to the fact that they would not be around much longer anyway.
“We are a subset of the Crips,” the man in charge said.
“Look we might be pissant bangers on a corner but we know our people in this area, and you ain’t familiar,” argued Jackson.
“Oh, you caught me…” said the man in charge. As he stood up he fired one round into each of their heads and left them to die in a pool of their own blood.
“Get the money and let’s go.”
The others listened to the command and grabbed the bags. They all got into the SUV and speedily drove off into the night.