Hood Misfits, Volume 1 (12 page)

Master Sun Tzu said in so many words, in order to survive the art of war, you gotta fake the game and support the other cat's arrogance. He also said, in the game of warfare, it was all based on deception and that opportunities grew as they were seized.

Learning that nigga Dame who was my boss, the man I devoted my skill set to, was the same who birthed me into this game of vengeance had a nigga feeling played like a muthafucka.

The power in the anger I felt had me leaving his spot to go get inked up, so that I wouldn't take that nigga out right then and there. It was each word of power and wisdom Sun Tzu said that was freshly inked on my body. I'd gone against my own rule of never getting inked, just to keep my mind at ease. Coded verses ran down my forearms and on the right side of my neck. Those words kept me cool in my plotting and reminded me of the foul shit that nigga had committed against me.

I was chilling listening to
The Art of War
while glancing at my inner arm to get encouragement not to barrel three bullets into that nigga's skull and slice his throat as he fell on his knees. See, that was my dreams and soon to be his fuckin' nightmare. The screams of every broad he ever hurt with his power echoed in my mind, the screams my moms never let out.

My pops schooled me on how to shoot and clean every gun you could think of, when to shoot, and why. At that time it wasn't 'cuz of hurt feelings. Naw, he taught me how to heal and take responsibility for what I put into this world, this game. My responsibility was to break Dame and end him all in the same moment. Those words repeated in my dreams.

Cold Glock. No pity. No shame. Just his blood coating my hands and my pops' as the Trap lost all power and the streets went black. I always woke up then. My chest was always heavy with that empty feeling that Dame was still breathing and that he was now my master. The shackles I got inked on my wrist were, no doubt, real.

Sun Tzu's words and that of the master Malcolm X always kept me grounded, and if it wasn't for Big Jake, I knew I wouldn't be here to handle my mission in life. To return the favor of what was done unto me and mine.

 

 

The block was busy as usual. Homeless cats slowly walked by looking for spots to chill or asking for whatever they could. Niggas and broads lost to the needle, bottle, dust, or all of the above and more stumbled by thirsty as fuck. My name popped off on some of their mouths, but they knew not to even come at me as I sat outside the house of one of Dame's PBs (product bitches). PBs were chicks who stashed small amounts of product and sold it under the guise of different businesses.

Minx's home was a salon with a barbershop in the back. I sat on the front of her porch only because her A/C was broken; otherwise, I never let myself sit out open to be shot or fucked up.

Ma's thighs were thick and amber, cushy-soft. Ask me how I know. 'Cuz I sat right there between them while her fingers played in my locks. My red Jordans rested on each step next to my glass of ice water. My dark jeans matching my black hooded leather jacket set off my checkered red button-up, which concealed my Glock. Minx had said she liked my style. I ignored her but appreciated the compliment.

I actually kinda dug her only because when she worked on my locks, braiding them back like she was doing now, she would sing, and her thighs always smelled like vanilla. Never understood why Dame didn't bring her into the house, but it was probably because she had a foul mouth and liked to fight a lot, which was annoying as fuck.

Made my mind think back to Dame's spot, where Ray-Ray (aka Diamond) was still housed. If this was supposed to be her life for now, stuck with that nigga Dame until I popped him or someone else did, then my hope was that she took what we schooled her on and worked it to get like Minx quickly for her safety.

Minx had a decent setup. She looked to be twenty-one or a little bit older. Tits sat high, ass round and lush. I know she had a clean pussy. Seen Dame hit it once or twice. But I didn't know for myself. Sometimes broads had to snatch up what they could to survive, just like niggas, and maybe Minx was like that and maybe Diamond would get like that too.

Diamond had hit me with a lot of questions about the plan. On some real shit, I didn't have time to tell her, and a nigga kinda didn't want to tell her shit, just in case Dame got to her and did some more crazy shit to her to make her talk. I knew she was a part of this team, so I needed to tell her something, just wasn't sure how much and when.

Now with that nigga being my target, my old plan was ready to go down. I just had to fit it around Jake, Gina, and now Diamond. Having worked for Dame for so long, growing up in the ranks, shit almost felt like destiny that I got set up right where I was. My Glock ready to rest against that nigga's head, shit kinda had me smiling.

The sound of my cell blazing “Trigga Happy Nigga” cut through my audiobook and thoughts. Right away, I knew it was that nigga Dame. He had been deep into working on something new with the Nigerian queen and Jamaican Kings.

Dame had been mad silent on any new moves for us all on the block and in the main house. With his right hand freshly murked by me, it was up to that nigga Pookie and me to handle business, which made my finger itch like crazy. Working with niggas you didn't trust really wasn't that hard when you knew you planned on taking the muthafuckas out real soon.

Anyway, Dame was back to handling house business. Since I was new to the role of being his right, I was learning some shit I had no idea about. And the fact that he was telling me to hit him up ASAP meant I had some more shit to learn.

As I headed out, Minx hit me with the ducats she made from her dealings and a fiyah plate of food for Dame and me—baked mac and cheese, ox tail, greens, and some soft bread. I quickly let her know I was on my bike and wasn't the fuckin' delivery, so she kissed my cheek, took the food, and gave it to one of her homegirls to bring to the house later.

Getting back to Dame's place didn't take long. I had my bike only because I was close to Dame's and wasn't trying to draw attention. I always flipped my routine, just in case. Feel me?

Dropping my hood, I dug my hands in my jean pockets and headed through the house to his office. One hard knock on the door let him know it was me. The sound of talking on the monitors greeted me while I walked through, closing the door behind me.

“Don't even sit, nigga,” Dame coolly ordered.

He stood at his full height, back facing me, dressed like a Miami don. Nigga had on all white, from the leather Italian shoes he sported, to his dress pants, on up to his open button-down shirt. Dude was on some extra shit, for real.

The desire to paint the walls and his clothes with his blood almost made my eyes roll into the back of my skull, but I kept my cool, sucking my teeth and curling my mouth, showing my teeth. Not sitting at the moment was good with me.

I walked forward then stood wide-legged, holding the straps of the backpack I sported. Glancing quickly to check my surroundings, because you never knew what might be up with a crazy nigga like Dame, I calmly pulled out his money for the day from my bag. I slapped down each stack neatly on his desk and put my all-black leather backpack neatly on the floor. It was then, as I sat the bag down, that I saw the frozen image of Diamond and me in the hallway on the screen.

Through all the fuckin' drama, I had forgotten he had eyes everywhere. I knew I had to think fast and remember to give props to Big Jake on how he handled me, because all the shit I spat out was not heard. Heading into Dame's room wasn't even shown, which was a close call. But I knew that nigga was pissed, the way he scoped the cameras, but I was slightly amused. Naw, I was most definitely deeply amused at the moment.

Dame turned to me, his high-yellow complexion tinted red in anger, his nostrils flared like a dragon from a cartoon.

“Tell me what the fuck you doing yakkin' up with my Diamond?” he growled. His eyes were the color of soot, and he was spitting fire. “And you tell me that shit in a way that doesn't have me cutting your nuts off so fast.”

Like on some real shit, that nigga growled like a fuckin' dog, sounding like DMX or some shit. This lame-ass nigga was crazy.

Anyone who knew me well, and that was no one, would have known I was ready to fuck with that pussy-nigga's mental, but because I had to keep this front up, a nigga had to keep playing like I was down for this punk, even though I wanted to murk that cat.

“Was word on the street 'bout ya stolen stash that was hidden. Found out that ya shawty may know more than she was letting on, so I had word sent to her to question her for you since you was strengthening ya house with the Nigerian queen, bossman. That was it, and that was all.” I shrugged.

It amazed me how fast I was able to twist this shit around and cover all of us in the process. The plan was to take the stash for ourselves and pin that shit on others, but things changed, and this nigga Dame was looking mad suspect.

Not only was dude looking mad suspect, but the nigga looked like he had been fucked up by a cat. Shit made me laugh on the low. Nigga was sporting several slashes across his face, and across his eye and eyebrow.

Quickly doing a once-over, I noticed that it looked like something tried to bite that nigga's neck, and I heard my mom's words in my mind,
A queen is a jaguar, and a jaguar can never be made pussy
.
Damn, Diamond!
That muthafucka deserved what he was sporting and more.

“I found out some shit that had me pissed off about who you keep 'round you, bossman. Shit was not a good look, not at all. I learned that ya nigga Pookie was linked up with ya diamond, Ray-Ray's parents. Shawty told me that she had just remembered that she heard him in the house. You weren't here to tell, so I got lucky and was able to find out for you.

“Ya diamond is devoted to you just like all ya dolls are now. You got her right where you need and wanted, bossman. Because she wanted to show you her loyalty by telling you what she had heard from Pookie's lips about the location of the stash. That's what you see”—I pointed at the screen of Big Jake holding me back, stepping closer to his large, dark oak desk, not even fazed by the way his soulless eyes tried to dissect me.

“I was 'bout to take that nigga out. Then I knew I had to question your property to see what she knew, so I didn't murk that nigga.” I paused to lick my lips, rubbing my fisted hands in front of me. I played my role, making sure to lace my words with hints of shielded fear, when in reality I felt nothing.

“I got ya coins back, bossman, all of it, and checked the safe houses out, since I had to wait, bossman. Pookie needs to be handled. Nigga's grimy as fuck. Everything else is icing.”

Now the waiting game was on. It was like some
Jeopardy
bullshit in the flesh.

I could oftentimes read Dame's moves. If he was about to kill you, his light eyes would go dark, but not before they lightened. If he was gonna play you, his middle finger would start tapping either on his thigh or on whatever was near his finger. If his lips turned into a quick scowl and his eyebrows dropped, you knew to duck and ride the fuck out.

Right now his face was blank. There was nothing to read, which meant the nigga was thinking. I knew even that could be a trick because if he leaned right, just even by an inch, shit was about to drop off.

He moved to the left then leaned back. I watched him in caution but not fear.

“Everythang is icing. You must not be scared of me, nigga, huh?” he asked, his voice dangerously low. He had a flash of a crazy look in his eyes for whatever reason. Like nigga was on some shit, paranoid, hearing-dead-people type of crazy. Shit was getting real.

I said nothing. Knew not to even respond.

“Naw, I see ya are, sweat on ya brow. Boo, nigga! Boo!” Dame's voice rumbled. He swiftly shifted then jerked forward, bucking at me. Laughter spilled from his contorted face while he clapped both hands together. That nigga was cracking himself up, as if he knew something I didn't.

Man. I almost busted that nigga in his fuckin' throat. My jaw ticked in annoyance, hidden by my hood. I rolled my shoulders to keep cool and played the game. Inside though, a nigga was battling with himself. I wanted to bash that nigga's head. All I did was step back and not flinch at that monkey muthafucka.

“You da the only loyal-ass nigga to my name, and that's how it should be. You question her, but you already know, you touch what's mine again and it's ya life. Understood?”

I knew to answer then. “It ain't even something to question me about, bossman. I don't want your world. Know what I mean? Don't want ya jewels or dolls. I'm here to be ya gun and protect your kingdom. You never gotta worry 'bout me ever touchin' what's yours. My word is bond. This is why I went through the right ranks to get to her, Big Jake then Gina. Niggas like Pookie seemed to want more than they can handle. Might be time to give him what he can't swallow, if you trust me, bossman.”

Dame moved around his office, noticing the stacks that lay on his desk as if checking for them for the first time. He picked up and fanned through each one.

“Now this is what I trust—my ducats. Any man who brings me my dollars and does not undercut me earns my respect, and you . . . are my prized property, Trigga. Took you from the gutter, polished you into my weapon, watched you bring me mad stacks and keep my shit in line as my eyes, sometimes seeing more than I do. Never was my intention to bring you into my world as my right hand so soon, nigga, but shit happens. You talk about not wanting what's mine. Nigga, well, I'm grooming you to get your own kingdom, this one, once I move on to bigger, better thangs. So don't disappoint me, Trigga. Don't. Because it ain't shit to kill what I most prize.”