Authors: Tranay Adams
“Alright, good,” Nightmare gently patted him on the
cheek and turned around to his comrades, pulling a chrome
Desert Eagle from his waistband.
“Ahhh,” Irv yelled out in agony as a bullet tore
through his
small intestine and
dropped him to the
basement floor. He’d been lurking in the shadows of the
basement the whole time. He was so quiet that everyone had
forgotten that he was there except the young man ducttaped to the chair. He’d been snarling and giving him the
evil eye warning him not to say anything about the money
they’d stole from one of the stash houses.
“He was with Dizzy when he
robbed us, said it was
all his idea.” Nightmare informed him. “Where’s our
money, Irv?”
Nightmare blew a hole through Irv’s hand and he
hollered out in excruciation, cradling his mitt. “You got
some more smart shit to say, tough guy?”
“Yeah, suck my dick, bitch!” Irv roared back
defiantly. That was the last words he’d ever speak, a bullet
through the skull guaranteed that. Irv hit the floor bug eyed,
leaving a splatter that was a combination of blood and
brain matter scattered over the floor.
Nightmare pulled a
gold Desert
Eagle from his
waistband and turned around to the young man duct-taped
to the chair. Seeing the gleam of something shiny and gold
caused the youth to snap out of his daze. He was about to
plead his case when a bullet sent him to a place where it’s
always hot.
“That’s what I wanna know.” Cas added, you could
tell he was pissed but he was trying to hide it. He was
normally a man who kept a cool and calm head.
“Dizzy told me they used the loot to pay a debt to some
Haitians before I slept him.” Nightmare lied. “I just asked
Irv to see if he’d lied.”
“Think, young brotha,” Cas pointed a finger to his
temple. “A war is only gone cost us more paper…maybe
more than we’ve already lost.”
“Before we started this union we all agreed that we’d
be responsible for whoever we brought onto thefold. If my
memory serves me correct, it was you that brought Dizzy
and Irv on.”
C-Note looked around at all of the faces in the
basement; everyone seemed to agree. “Alright, fuck it, y’all
got that. I’ll have Crow bring y’all that paper tomorrow
evening.” C-Note hated to take the blame but it was true
they all agreed on that very ruling. “That ain’t nothing but
a lil’ short paper anyway.”
“Cool,” Nightmare tucked his Desert Eagles in his
waistband. “Nike, Supa, y’all get rid of these bodies. I got
some place I gotta be.”
Nightmare pressed his ear against the dusty wood
floorboards and listened for an area that wasn’t shallow as
he knocked around on it with a crowbar. Finding an area
that wasn’t shallow he smiled wickedly and drove the
crowbar into the slight openings between the boards. One
by one he popped the boards up and removed them until he
revealed a dingy beige sack beneath them. He opened up
the sack and found it loaded with wrinkled rubber-band
stacks of cash. He smiled like The Grinch that stole
Christmas.
Nightmare was one of the sleaziest and cleverest sons
of bitch’s to have ever breathed air. He’d gotten Irv and
Dizzy to rob the spot where the money was collected at the
end of the month from crack sales with promises that they
could split $500 grand two ways while he kept the other five
for
himself.
The
deal
sounded
too
sweet
for
the
knuckleheads to pass up so they went through with it not
knowing they were dealing with the devil reincarnated.
Nightmare had always planned to walk off with the money,
only he was going to off the twosome back at the condemned
house. When Nike ran back the surveillance footage in the
spot he found that it was Dizzy that robbed them, it threw a
wrench in Nightmare’s plan but he still managed to turn the
table in his favor.
“You find it, daddy?” Bobby Blue turned around from
where she was peering through the boarded up window,
gripping a Russian Ruger.
Bobby Blue’s leopard
print red bottom Christian
Louboutin’s echoed on the wood floorboards as she
approached Nightmare, blowing pink bubbles out of her
Bubble Yum. She was in a leopard print spandex shirt and
matching skirt that hugged her body.
Bobby B
lue was Nightmare’s ride or die chick; his
numbre uno. She had been with him since she was fourteen
and he was eighteen. While other whores had come and
gone old Bobby Blue was still around holding the gangster
crip down.
She was quite the vision with her long, wavy hair,
smooth coco skin and light brown eyes, all of which were
compliments of her Ethiopian heritage. The dimples in her
cheeks and chin were the perfect marriage to her baby face.
Her balloon breasts and shapely round ass was all natural,
though most swore she had some work done. Standing at
five ten, she was one Amazon of a woman.
Bobby’s father named her after the lead singer in the
jazz band he played with back home. Ms. Bobby Latoya
Blue died of a heroin over dose. Her band mates found her
in the back bathroom of the club they were performing at
that night dead. She was slumped upon the commode with
a syringe needle in her arm.
While Nightmare began putting the floorboards back
in place, Bobby picked up the sack and carried it out
towards the backdoor. Most men would have been leery
about having their woman go off with so much money, but
Nightmare had complete faith in his game. He’d trained
Bobby well and knew she’d be loyal to him without a fault.
Nightmare lay in bed taking pulls of a blunt with
Bobby asleep beside him. The lights were out and the blue
glow of the flat-screen was reflecting on his face.
The
Honey Mooners
were on but he wasn’t paying the show any
mind; his conversation over the telephone had his sole
attention.
“Not
hing, ma, I been good.” he blew smoke up into
the air and licked his lips. “Oh yeah, where’s Shantell and
Lil’ Tay? That boy getting big than a mug, he’s gone be
taller than me in a minute. Who? Oh, Bobby,” he glanced
at her and she grunted and smacked her lips, rearranging
herself in bed. “She’s knocked out. I’ll tell her you said hey.
I’ll slide through there later on tomorrow. Okilla, cool, I
love you, too.” He disconnected the call and sat the cell
phone down on the nightstand. Having wrapped up the
phone call, Nightmare went to light the end of his blunt
again and found that the lighter wouldn’t strike a flame. He
shook it up and tried it once more but it still didn’t work.
Pulling open the top dresser drawer, he fished around inside
until he found another lighter. He’d just pulled it out when
he saw something that caused his forehead to indent. Sitting
the lighter aside on the dresser, he picked up an old photo
of him and his father.
The man known as David Grant Sr. looked to be about
twenty-one years old and holding a four year old Nightmare
by his hand, while standing beside an old Cadillac Deville.
The gangsta crip cracked a grin remenising as he took
casual pulls from the roach end of his L, eyelids narrowing.
His thoughts drifted off to his father and the day that he had
lost him. He’d been murdered in cold blood right in front of
his eyes and he’d never forget how it all went down in a
million years.
Nightmare thought back to the time he was expelled
from school for bringing a knife. The only reason why he
hadn’t been caught with a gun was because his homeboy
Knockout had gotten picked up with it the day before. To
make a long story short, some kid snitched when they saw
him practicing drawing hisknife in the boy’s rest room.
Before his ass could grace the seat at his desk in the class
room, the school police were hauling his black ass off. His
old man had to leave work early to pick him up. Needless
to say old David was hot as a firecracker.
“I can’t believe yo’ ass, man, as hard as I work to
make sure you and yo’ sista are taken care of. Plus, have
all of the lil’ extra bullshit that ya’ll want. Sssssss,” Dave
shook his head pitifully at his son, cutting his eyes at him.
He was frowning and sneering, wanting so badly to sock his
ass dead in his chest for having him have to leave work to
pick his monkey ass up from school, “What the fuck you
needa knife fa, DJ?”
“You know what I’m into, pop, I gotta stay strapped
at all times.” Young Nightmare told his old manwhat’s up.
“I can’t be out here like a sitting duck. My enemies will pick
me off out here.”
“Enemies?” his face balled up and he bit down on his
bottom lip hard. He balled his hand into a fist, looking back
and forth between the windshield and his offspring, waiting
his chance to fire on his ass. “What. The. Fuck. I. Tell. You.
‘Bout. Dat. Gangbanging shit, huh? Huh?” he punched him
harder and harder with each word that sprung from his lips,
making him duck down with his arms covering his head to
shield him. “You ain’t gone be no mothafucking punk ass
gangbanga, ya hear me?” he snatched the blue bandana
from his back pocket and held down the button on the door
panel that descended the window. He tossed the bandana
out of the window and rolledthe window back up. “I love
you too much, son. You hear me?” he looked from his boy
to the windshield, trying not to cause an accident. “I love
you too much to lose you to thesestreets.” David grasped
the steering wheel with both hands and breathed huskily,
chest rising and falling rapidly. His eyes teared up feeling
like he had failed his son, because the streets held more
sway over him than he did. Feeling wetness run down his
face, he thought it was raining until he touched his cheeks.
That’s when he knew that there were actually tears running
down his face. Young Nightmare felt like shit seeing his
father cry and knowing that he was the cause of it. His old
man really was good to him. He worked twelve hour days,
sometimes sixteen hours to take care of home. A lot of times
he didn’t get to see him, but when he was home he was
always spending time with him and his sister, occasionally
dropping jewels on them. As much as a pain in the ass that
he was, the little nigga really did look up to his old man.
“I’m sorry, pop, I’ma straighten up and fly right,
okay?” He said, opening the glove-box and removing a
couple of McDonald napkins, passing them to his old man.
He watched as he dabbed the wetness from his face away
and balled up the napkin.
“That cho lil’ ass is gone do right by me.” David told
him. “That you gone go to school, get good grades and take
ya ass to a university. Hell, I’ll even take community
college. Any place where you can expand yo’ education,
and hopefully one day make a decent living. ‘Cause I’ll tell
you, Junior, the white man’s working ya old man like a
slave just to get these lil’ bit of money I’m getting.”
“I’ll remind you that a man keeps his word now.” He
lifted an eyebrow and pointed to him without taking his eyes
off of the windshield. “I taught chu that. If you can’t keep
yo’ word then you ain’t shit.”
“I know, pop, and I’ma keep mine…on the set.” The
youngster swore. This earned him a dirty look from his
father. “I mean, I put that on me.”
“Good boy.” He pulled him closer and kissed him on
top of the head, keeping his eyes on the windshield. “I love
you, son.”
Dave took the time to slip a cigarette into his mouth
and fired it up, puffing out smoke. “You wanna hit up the
arcade and see a movie?”
Night fell on the city leaving the street lights and car
headlights to keep Los Angeles lit. Young Nightmare and
his father came strolling out of Magic Johnson movie
threater. His old man had his arm over his shoulders and
was sucking on the straw of his fountain drink while his son
finished off his hotdog. Once the youngster was done with
the dog, he wiped his hands off with a napkin and tossed it
aside. After his father apprehended his vehicle, they pulled
out of the parking lot. They were driving through the streets
talking about the movie they’d just seen when the flashing
lights sounded off behind them. The red and blue lights spun
around in circles, flashing through the inside of their car.
“Damn,” Dave pou
nded the steering wheel with his
fist, hating to have been stopped. Veins rolled up his neck
and forehead, he was hotter than an African summer. This
would make the forth time that he was stopped today. He
was sure that the police were only pulling him over on the
account of him driving a C-class Mercedes Benz. He was
sick and tired of them fucking with him.