The Union (16 page)

NINETEEN

The one bedroom apartment smelled of soiled clothes that hadn’t been washed in months. The walls were filled with smoke and the carpet was full of dirt. Tyrell sat on the arm of the old ripped up sofa and reached into his left pocket. He pulled out two quarters, a dime and five nickels.

Eighty five fuckin’ cent to my name,
he thought.

“Tyrell!”

“What do you want, Ma?”

“Gimme some money.”

He looked down at the change in his hand and smiled, but he really wanted to cry. “I ain’t got no money.”

“So gimme some drugs then.” Ms. Michaels staggered out the back and into the living room. She was a tall, slim woman, who once was exceptionally attractive, but after smoking crack for 5 years, that beauty had quickly dwindled away. She had a grubby red scarf tied around her head to hide her bald spots and her T-shirt and sweatpants were unwashed and full of holes.

“I ain’t got nothin’ ma. No money, no drugs.” He pushed some old newspapers to the side and sat on the sofa.

She scratched at a dark spot on her neck. “Well you gotta get the fuck outta here. I don’t need you here if you ain’t got nothin’… you might as well go back to where you was.”

“I was at cousin Dana’s house, but she said I couldn’t stay there no more. I ain’t got nowhere to go.”

“Well you going outta here… bet that.”

“Ma, don’t do this to me right now. Please.”

“Please my ass, Tyrell. You wanna be grown, take yo’ grown ass out there in them streets.

Tyrell cast a hateful sneer at his mother. “Oh, so since I ain’t got no money or no drugs I gotta
leave
? You gon’ kick your own son out over some foul shit like
that
?”

Ms. Michaels picked up a half smoked cigarette out the ashtray and lit it. “Boy please...”

“Fuck you then… you crack head bitch!” He slammed the door as he left out.

“No, fuck you, Tye-rell! You no-good-son-of-a-bitch!” She ranted. “You ain’t shit and you never gon’ be shit! You just like yo’ ol’ punk ass father!”

It wasn’t the first time Tyrell had called her a crack head or a bitch. Their altercations started the day he found out she was using. His heart felt like it had gotten crushed and on top of that, he got ridiculed for it. That’s when the trouble started.

Two years ago, he solidified his hood credibility when he shot and robbed two dudes from out of town at a dice game in the hood. He remembered it like it was yesterday.

“Yo, that’s in the crack!”

“Everything good over here. I told you the rules before we started.”

Tyrell stood off to the side watching the local hustlers spar it off with the dice like he did every night in the hood.

Stacks of money, liquor, weed and women always set the scene for a summer night in the hood and the gamblers stayed out all night. Some nights, C-low games would go on for hours and then lead into the next day.

After about five straight hours, the only ones still going at it were Rome and two dudes from out of town.

“I’m not payin’ that. It’s in the crack. Let me roll over.” The short kid from out of town said.

Rome stuffed the dice in his pocket. “You not gon’ pay me? Nigga that’s a five hunit dolla ace. You gon’ pay that.”

The tall kid from out of town said, “My man said let him roll over.”

Rome gave Tyrell the head nod and he got off the bench. “Fuck you and your man. Gimme all that shit!” he pulled out an old .38 snub nose with black electrical tape wrapped around the handle.

“Yo, Rome wassup wit cha—”

“Shut the fuck up!” Tyrell slapped the tall kid from out of town with the old pistol and then went in his pockets and took everything he had. He did the same to the short kid, but when he went to take the chain off his neck, the short kid got bold and tried to grab the gun. He didn’t succeed. Tyrell shot them both right there in front of the building and from that day on, the hood would respect him as a certified G.

After his mother told him he wasn’t shit, Tyrell went and rolled his last bag of weed and sat in the park smoking and thinking of a come up. He was out on bail, no money, no work and no place to lay his head. The only thing he owned was that old, rusted .38 snub nose with the tape on the handle. He had to make do with what he had.

Halfway through the blunt, his homie Leo popped up. “Whaddup, Rell?” he took a seat on the wooden bench.

“Coolin, what’s good wit’ you? Wanna hit this?” He tried to pass the blunt, but Leo said no. “Oh, you quit smoking now, huh?”

“Yeah, I’m chillin’. I gotta get my shit together, Rell. I can’t keep doin’ the same shit. Yo, my moms said she gon’ kick me out if I get in any more trouble. Fuck I’ma go?”

“Nigga, my moms already kicked me out. You know how that goes… fuck it.” Tyrell inhaled a thick stream of smoke and exhaled through his nostrils. “What you got in the bag?”

“DVD’s and socks.” Leo opened the bag and took the contents out.

Tyrell laughed loud and the smoke caused him to cough. His eyes were watery. “Nigga, you sellin’ DVD’s and socks now, what the fuck is wrong wit’ you?”

 
“I ain’t tryna go to jail, that’s what’s wrong wit’ me. Fuck that crack shit. My uncle fronted me some stock and this shit is good money. Police ain’t gon’ fuck wit’ me for this shit.”

Tyrell just shook his head. “Nigga you trippin’… yo, come wit’ me to go see Rome real quick. He ‘pose to give me some bread.” They got up and walked into building 70. Tyrell was still joking on Leo’s hustle. “You a funny nigga, son. What door this nigga live at?”

“I think it’s 2C,” Leo answered. They walked up the steps and Tyrell knocked on the door.

A male voice shouted. “Who is it?”

“It’s Rell.”

The door came open. “What you want lil’ nigga?” Rome said. He kept the door cracked with his foot behind it.

“Yo, lemme holla at you for a sec, my nigga.”

Rome opened the door and let Tyrell and Leo in. “Damn, this shit is nice, Rome.” Tyrell looked over the nicely situated apartment. Rome had been doing fairly well for himself these past few years. He was one of a handful of hustlers in the projects who were really getting some money. He ran a profitable dope spot on the other side of town that had been in business for the last three years and sometimes he would get Tyrell to do a few things for him. Rome recognized the thirst in his eyes and took advantage of young Tyrell because he was easily swayed. He fed him just enough to keep him hungry and coming back for more, but Tyrell wasn’t as stupid as he thought.

Rome knew he came to ask for something. “So wassup, what you wanna talk about?”

“I need to hold somethin’?”

“You always need to hold somethin’ my nigga. Every time I give you somethin’ you fuck it up.”

Tyrell tried to reason. “I’m sayin’ my nigga… I know I fucked shit up before, but right now shit is real. I ain’t got nowhere to rest my head. I ain’t got no bread. I need your help, for real.”

Rome wasn’t giving in this time. “I ain’t fuckin’ wit’ you like that Rell. It’s too much of a headache.” he looked at Leo. “What the fuck you lookin’ at? What you got in the bag, Leo?”

“DVD’s and socks.”

Rome looked in the bag. “Oh, word… lemme get a couple pair of them joints and that new shit that came out friday… wit’ Denzel.” Leo gave him the DVD and two pairs of socks. “Okay, I see you Leo. You gettin’ money huh? So, this is what you need that paper for Tyrell?”

“Man… fuck them DVD’s Rome. I need some real money.”

“Nigga you tryna be Pablo Escobar
tomorrow
. That shit ain’t gon’ happen. You gotta start at the bottom and put that work in. You know the old saying, ‘Rome wasn’t built in a day’,” he laughed. “Hold up y’all… I gotta go check on my daughter. She’s in the back sleep.” He walked to the backroom.

“Yo,” Leo whispered when he saw Tyrell snatch the pistol from his pants. “What the fuck you doing?”

Tyrell palmed the weapon, looked at it and then eyed Leo. “Jus’ shut up and do what I tell you to,” he said.

“But—”

Rome came from out the back and as soon as he entered the living room, he saw Tyrell holding the gun. “What you doin’?” his eyes were on the old taped up gun. “Fuck you got that for?”

Tyrell was nervous. He quickly aimed the gun at Rome’s head. “Where the fuckin’ money at Rome?”

Rome grinned. He didn’t think Tyrell was serious. He looked at Leo and noticed the panic on his face, so he took a step toward the gun. “Stop playin’ wit’ me Rell.”

Tyrell took a step forward and gripped the handgun tighter. He wasn’t playing at all. “You think it’s a joke?” He pulled the trigger and shot Rome in the foot.

Leo jumped at the sound of the gunshot. “Rell what the fuck are you doing!?”

The impact from the bullet broke Rome’s ankle and he fell to the floor in agony. The look he gave Tyrell was a confused one. “You buggin lil’ nigga… chill!” Blood was spilling out the hole in his foot.

Tyrell stood over him and put the gun to his head. “Where that bread at nigga?”

Leo was scared to death. “Rome, I ain’t have nothin’ to do wit’ this,” he pleaded.

“Shut the fuck up, Leo before I shoot your dumb ass too.” He brought his eyes back to Rome. “You got five seconds to tell me where that money at. Five…” he started counting down.

“Rell don’t do this, my daughter is in the back. Please.”

“Three… Two…”

Rome had to make a swift decision. “Aight… aight.” he took a deep breath and looked at all the blood coming from his foot. “The money is in the deep freezer, all the way at the bottom.” The pain was worsening. “Ta… take it and get the fuck outta here.”

“Leo… get that.” Tyrell ordered.

His adrenalin was at its peak. Every time held that gun in his hand he felt powerful. The power was so intense, it stimulated his mind and made him believe that he was everything he ever wanted to be. It was magician like, and the gun was his magic wand. He could make things happen with just a wave of his hand.

A loud baby’s cry echoed from the back room and right away, Rome’s neck turned. It was his 3 year old baby girl, Essence. She had been asleep the whole time.

“C’mon Rell, let me get my daughter, man.” Rome tried to stand up, but his body weight was too much pressure for his wounded limb. He slouched back down to the floor. He attempted to crawl to the back room, but Tyrell stopped him with a harsh, soccer player kick to the ribs and Rome curled into a fetal position on the cold tile.

Leo came from out the kitchen holding two giant Ziploc freezer bags filled with money. He was sweating and agitated with terror. “Rome,” he whined, shaking his head. “I didn’t have nothin’ to do wit’ this.”

Tyrell turned the pistol on Leo. “Shut yo’ stupid ass up and wait by the door,” he tossed him a shopping bag. “Put the money in that bag.”

The baby’s cries grew louder as the minutes passed, and Rome continued to lose blood. “Yo, Rell you got everything, man…” he cried. “Jus’ go… please let me get to my daughter.”

Tyrell glanced down at the blood on the floor and then looked at Rome begging for his life. There was no way he could leave this apartment without killing him. He knew if he let Rome live, as soon as he was able to walk, he would come gunning for him. He raised the revolver and leveled it to Rome’s head. He bit down on his bottom lip until he split it and tasted his own blood. He was so focused he didn’t hear Leo’s cries for him to not shoot.

“Please, don’t shoot him,” he begged.

Tyrell strangled the pistol’s hair trigger and unloaded a slug into Rome’s head and then he pumped the last three in his chest. Besides the gunshots, the only sound was Essence in the back room, screaming her baby lungs out.