Eastside (16 page)

“You can say it, Re-Re,” Marcus said. “C'mon, let's hear it. BSV is on top.”

“Say BSV is on top, Blood,” Travon repeated.

Marcus pointed to Travon's weapon. “Can you imagine the size of the hole from that thing?”

Re-Re cut his eyes toward the gun, and then shifted his gaze back to Travon.

Travon leaned forward. “I'll tell you what. If you can say BSV is on top, we might let you make it.”

Re-Re, who like most Crips was scared to death of Robert Jr., shifted his gaze to the floor and relented. “You on top. You got me, it's BSV.”

“That's good,” Travon told him. “That's real good to hear you say that. Now, can you say East Terrace ain't shit, Blood?”

Re-Re looked at Nikki, and then back at Travon. “You know me can't say dat, Tre.”

“So, you do have some nuts somewhere,” Marcus told him.

“I guess I'll let you make it,” Travon told him. “You gave us a pass, so now I'm a give you one. But no more passes, Re-Re. If I see you again, it's on!”

“Don't get caught slippin' again, Blood,” Marcus told him. “And to make sure that the message sinks in, break yourself!”

Re-Re removed his jewelry and emptied his pockets onto the table. Marcus raked the jewelry and money off of the table and put it inside of his pockets.

“Say, baby, you want something else to eat?” Travon asked Nikki.

“No,” she replied shyly.

Travon stood and placed his gun in his waistband. He turned to leave.

“Tre, you slippin'!” Robert Jr. told him. He turned toward Marcus. “Y'all supposed to be teaching him what's up.”

Marcus was puzzled. “What are you talking about?”

Robert Jr. turned back to Travon. “Rule number one, never trust a crab bitch!” Robert Jr. rose, and walked to where Nikki was seated. “You's a cute bitch, but you're still a crab bitch. Give me the muthafuckin' purse, ho!”

Nikki lifted her purse into the air and Robert snatched it. He seated himself and began to ramble through the purse. Inside, he found a Lorcin .380 semiautomatic pistol. Robert Jr. stared at Travon, and then at Marcus.

“The reason why this nigga ain't packin' is because his bitch is.” Robert Jr. held the pistol in the air, allowing it to dangle loosely between his thumb and forefinger. With his other hand, he tossed Nikki her imitation Dooney & Bourke purse and turned to Travon. “Shake the ho down.”

Travon pat searched Nikki. “She's clean.”

“This could have been one of us, as soon as we turned our backs to leave,” Robert Jr. told them.

“It would have been for all y'all slobs!” Nikki shouted.

Robert Jr. punched Nikki in her jaw, sending her crashing back onto the table. Re-Re stood, but Travon, Marcus, Frog, and Ace all drew their weapons. Re-Re plopped back down into the booth.

“Let's go,” Robert told them.

The boys concealed their weapons, turned, and walked out of the restaurant.

“Say, Tre,” Robert Jr. called out to him, as they were climbing into their respective vehicles. “I'll see y'all back in The Jungle in a little while.”

Travon rolled down his car window and closed his door. “All right, kinfolk. We'll get with you later.”

The boys pulled out of the restaurant parking lot, and Travon headed for Custom Sounds.

“Man, did you see that dude's face when we sat down?” Marcus asked.

Travon laughed. “Yeah, I thought he was gonna shit himself.”

“He almost did when I nudged him!” Marcus laughed.

The rest of the boys joined in the laughter, as they continued toward their destination.

The Stereo Shop
Two Hours Later

Bass notes resonated loudly throughout the area.

“Is that my shit?” Travon asked.

A short young white guy peered out of the shop's large glass window. “Yeah, I think that's yours.” He turned back to Travon. “The Oldsmobile, right?”

“Yeah,” Travon answered proudly.

“Boy, Tre, your shit is hittin'!” Frog told him.

“I think your shit might be louder than Fro-Dog's,” Marcus added.

Travon beamed proudly. A slim Asian installer with a white T-shirt, a pair of blue jean shorts, and a white baseball cap turned backward walked in. He pointed at Travon.

“We are just about finished with your alarm system,” he informed Travon. “The stereo system is done.”

Travon walked out to his car, where he marveled at the loud, crisp sounds emanating from the speakers. Another young Asian technician was lying on the floorboards, working on something beneath the dashboard. A tall, slim white technician was working beneath the hood. Travon could tell that it had to do with the alarm's siren, because of the intermittent chirps that pierced the air. He walked to the rear of the car, where he peered into the trunk and watched the subwoofers work.

Inside the trunk sat four fifteen-inch subwoofers, mounted in what the technicians called an isobaric configuration. In this configuration the subwoofers were mounted facing one another, and one of the speakers within each pair had their polarities reversed, so that they could help one another push and pull. The effects were tremendous.

In addition to the subwoofers, the trunk also played host to four amplifiers, on very large electronic crossover, and a twenty-disc CD changer. Travon marveled at the seemingly built-in installation, shook his head, and then ventured back into the waiting area.

“Here's your receipt, Mr. Robinson,” the clerk said, handing Travon a yellow slip.

Outside, the alarm system blared loudly as the technicians put the final touches on it. Inside, the boys fiddled with the stereo systems on display until they were finally told that the car was ready.

Travon was the first one out of the store. He strutted to his car with all the pride of a victorious fighting cock and climbed inside.

“Say, I know y'all hungry,” Travon told Marcus and Frog. “So we gonna go and get something to eat, my treat.”

“Shit, yeah!” Marcus replied.

Frog nodded. “Cool.”

“We'll go to Bob's barbecue,” Travon told them. He started his car and pulled into traffic.

“Oh, hell yeah!” Marcus told him. “Bob's is on!”

Travon cranked up the volume on his new stereo system, and the noise became deafening. The boys sank down into their seats, and began bobbing their heads and throwing up gang signs to the music.

Travon exited the highway, turned down W.W. White Road, and headed for Rigsby Road, home to South Texas's most famous barbecue eatery.

“Combo plate, here I come!” Marcus announced, rubbing his stomach.

His fuel light blinked on. “Damn!” Travon exclaimed.

He had gone straight from the car lot to the stereo shop, and had yet to visit a filling station. The needle on his gas gauge was now pleading for him to do so. He maneuvered into a One Stop filling station and convenience store, and pulled up next to a gas pump. He peered into the backseat at Marcus.

“Say, kinfolk, you pump and I'll go pay,” Travon told him. “Do you want something outta here?”

Marcus shook his head. “Naw, I'm cool. Besides, I'm a try to break your ass when we get to Bob's.” Marcus laughed, climbed out and headed to the gas pump.

“Stop it on fifteen dollars,” Travon told him, as he and Frog headed for the store.

“Damn, T,” Frog said, as they walked into the store. “Your shit be hittin'. Man, my ears are still ringing.”

“I'ma try to enter into that bass contest that the radio station be having on Fridays and Saturdays,” Travon told him. He headed to the beer freezer, pulled three bottle of Bull from it, and then returned to the counter where he handed the clerk a twenty-dollar bill. “Put fifteen in the tank.”

“He stopped the pump at fifteen twenty-seven,” she told him with a flirtatious smile.

Travon nodded. “Okay, that's cool.”

The clerk rang up the total and handed Travon his change.

“Thank you,” he told her with a smile.

“Thank you,” she told him seductively. “And thank you for shopping at One Stop.”

Travon stepped to the side and waited, as the clerk rang up Frog's merchandise, and returned to him his change. Together, he and Frog walked out of the store.

A dark blue Honda Accord pulled up just as the boys were exiting. As Travon walked past the car, he glanced inside. The occupants looked familiar.

Travon's memory served him poorly for several moments, and then it struck him. He picked up his pace toward his own vehicle. He could hear the doors to the Accord slamming.

“It
is
him!” a voice called out. “That's the little nigga from the park!”

Travon dropped his bag of beer, pulled out his Desert Eagle pistol, and spun. Frog did the same. Marcus had pulled his weapon as soon as he saw the boys exit the blue Honda. Gunfire erupted.

Travon and Frog fired in the direction of the Accord as they raced back to Travon's car. Marcus used the car as a shield and took his time. His aim was deadly.

“Aaaargh, I hit!” one of the boys from the Accord cried out.

Marcus aimed again.

“Aaaargh! Fuck, cuz, I'm shot!” another boy screamed. “It burns! It burns!”

Travon and Frog leapt over the trunk of the nine-eight and hunkered down. Travon immediately reloaded his weapon, by slipping in another clip. Screams echoed from the other side of the nine-eight, as Marcus continued to fire with deadly accuracy. Soon, the sound of screeching tires filled the air, and Marcus stopped firing.

“Fuck, Blood!” Travon rose. “I hope they didn't hit my shit!”

“Say, Frog, they gone,” Marcus said. “You can stand up now.”

Frog shook his head. “I can't, Blood. I'm hit.”

Travon smiled. “Bullshit!”

Marcus walked to where Frog was crouched down and helped him stand. Frog's once pristine white T-shirt, turned crimson red.

“Fuck!” Travon screamed. “Aw, fuck!”

Frog fell back into Marcus's arms. His pink lips were now pale blue.

“Go on, Blood,” Frog told them. He grabbed Travon's hand. “I'm not gonna make this one.”

Travon's mouth fell open and he shook his head.

Frog let out a half-smile. “Leave now,” he told them. “The po-po is coming.”

Frog tried to smile again, but this time a cough interrupted him. Blood shot from his mouth and nose onto Travon. Marcus stepped back and gently lowered Frog to the ground. Travon dropped to his knees and lifted Frog's head into his lap.

“Naw, Blood, fuck this shit!” Travon shouted. “Fuck this shit!”

Blood poured out onto the concrete and soaked Travon's pants.

“You gonna make it, just breathe,” Travon said nervously. “Breathe!”

Marcus heard the sirens in the distance, and gently tugged at Travon's shirt. Travon yanked away and began crying heavily.

“Stay awake!” he told Frog, shaking his head slightly. “C'mon, Frog, fight!”

The store clerk ran outside. “I saw what happened,” she told Marcus. “Those boys started shooting at you first.”

Marcus pointed at Frog. “Stay with him!” he told the clerk. He pulled at Travon's shirt again. “C'mon, Tre, we gotta go! You hear those sirens? Let's go!”

Travon gently lowered Frog to the ground and rose. He held out his arms and examined himself, only to find that he was covered from head to toe in his friend's blood. He turned to the store clerk. “Lady, don't leave his head like that. Get his head outta the dirt, please.”

Marcus grabbed Travon and shoved him into the car. He turned back toward the clerk. “Tell the police what you saw. Forget about our car, our names, our descriptions, and our license plates. But tell them that Frog was innocent. Thanks, lady.”

Marcus quickly climbed inside of the car, cranked the motor, and raced away.

The boys drove through the Skyline residential area instead of taking the main street. Marcus knew that the police would be crawling all over the place.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Travon screamed. He began kicking and banging on the dashboard of his car.

“He'll make it, Tre,” Marcus told him.

Travon continued bawling.

Marcus glanced over at his cousin. “Let's just get back to the hood, posse up, and go and serve them muthafuckas.”

The boys headed back to the Heights as fast as the streets could take them. The trip home was a silent one.

Before Marcus could bring the car to a complete stop, Travon leapt out of the vehicle and ran upstairs to his room, stripping his clothes off along the way. Marcus parked and ran into the house after him.

“Tre! Tre!” Marcus followed him. “Say something! Speak to me!”

Travon ignored his cousin's pleas and continued to strip. When he finished, he bolted into the bathroom. Marcus listened as the shower went active, and then turned and shouted down the hall.

“Darius! Darius!”

“What's up?” Darius shouted back from his room down the hall.

“Come here real quick,” Marcus said nervously. “Let me holler at ya!”

“Where you at?”

“I'm in T's room.”

Seconds later, Darius appeared at Travon's door. “What's up?”

He followed Marcus's eyes down to the floor, where he spied the pile of bloody clothing.

“Fuck!” Darius said. He stepped into the room and quickly closed the door behind him. “What in the hell happened?”

“We stopped at the gas station to get gas,” Marcus explained. “Me, Tre, and Frog.”

“What happened to Ace and Robert Jr.?”

Marcus shook his head. “They weren't with us. Tre bought this nine-eight and we split up. Anyway, we stopped at One Stop on W.W. White to get some gas.” Marcus began pacing. “Tre and Frog went in, while I pumped. We was getting ready to leave when Mike Vay drove up in a little blue car.”

Marcus stopped pacing, stared at Darius, and shook his head. “Them fools just started busting at us.”

Darius tilted his head to one side. “Where did Tre get hit?”

“He didn't get hit, Frog did.” He swallowed hard. “I don't think he made it.”

Darius shook his head. “Fuck! Where's Frog now?”

“We had to leave him, because the po-po was coming.”

Darius leaned forward. “Y'all left him?”

“We left him with the lady at the store,” Marcus explained. “The ambulance and police was coming. We had to! We had to get the fuck outta there! The ambulance was almost there, plus he was hit bad.”

Marcus twirled his index finger toward his body. “I think he was bleedin' on the inside, 'cause blood didn't come out 'til he stood up.”

Darius pounded the air with his fist. “Shit! Are you sure it was Mike Vay?”

Marcus nodded rapidly. “Yeah! I think I shot BK, Pooh-Pooh, and Lacy. I'm not sure, but I think I hit one of them fools in the head, and the other two in the chest.” Marcus pounded his fist into the air. “Fuck, D! They just came outta nowhere.” He held up his hand. It was trembling.

“It's okay.” Darius extended his hand in a calming motion. “It's okay, just sit down and take it easy.” He turned and walked to the bathroom door. “Tre, are you all right?”

No answer.

“Tre?” he called out again.

Silence still.

Darius opened the bathroom door, and was hit with a tremendous wave of steam. He fought through it, walked to the shower, and pulled back the curtain. Travon was scrubbing himself with a steel wool pad, in steaming hot water.

“Got to get the blood off,” Travon mumbled. “Got to get the blood off.”

Darius cut the cold water on and turned the hot water down. He removed the steel wool pad from Travon's hand, causing Travon to acknowledge him.

“Got to get the blood off,” Travon repeated. “Got to get the blood off!”

“Tre! It's all off!” Darius told him. “Tre, it's all off!”

Darius tossed the steel pad to the floor and grabbed Travon by his arms. He shook him. “Tre! Tre! It's over. It's over! All of the blood is off!”

Travon shook his head. “No, no. I'm still sticky. It, it's sticky.” Travon broke down into tears. “It's sticky. The blood is so sticky.”

He raised his hands and stared at them. “They killed Frog. They killed him, Darius. They killed my friend!”