24th and Dixie (3 page)

“See what I’m saying?” Fam yelled as if he knew the twins had gotten into something the reason they still hadn’t showed up.

“For real? How sure are you?” C-Brook asked.

“I’m just sayin’ that’s the word bruh. The streets talk so you know it’s gon’ come out. They say some old school nigga was tryna stunt on the twins, and they let that nigga have it,” Phil said.

“Oh yeah? Homicide huh?” C-Brook said.

“Ain’t surprised,” CJ said.

“You know them niggas got money bruh. They don’t care cause ain’t nobody gon’ tell on ‘em. If they attempt then they’ll just pay ‘em off,” Phil said.

“Young niggas got that long paper,” Ron said.

C-Brook nodded and kept his thoughts to himself. He was sick of hearing people brag about the twins and how much money they had. They were ass kissers for as he was concerned. “J-Smith, crank the music up in the Chevy nigga. It’s gon’ be a long night,” he said.

J-Smith turned on Pandora and put it on UGK radio. It became a regular night on the avenue as fiends dipped in and out to purchase crack, weed, and pills. C-Brook and J-Smith had traffic backed up at one point. CJ and the rest of the guys watched close as the transactions took place because fiend or not, no one could be trusted. In the past several potential buyers turned into robbers or dope snatchers. The guys also had to keep an open eye for other dealers they were in competition with, and niggas they beefed with for whatever reason. Anything was subject to go down on 24
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and Dixie after the sun had gone down. While doing their illegal activity they were still supplying their habit which was weed and alcohol. A couple hours had passed, and they all were tipsy and acting foolish. J-Smith started playing with the loaded M-16 and was pointing it up the street. He accidently dropped it and luckily it didn’t discharge.

“You fuckin’ fool,” Fam said. “Put that shit up before you fuck ‘round and kill all us,” C-Brook said.

“This that military firearm,” J-Smith said.

“Modified. You get caught with that bitch you doing military time. Put that rifle up and stop playing around J-Smith,” C-Brook warned him. He handed the rifle to Fam, and he sat it in the back seat of the Caprice. CJ got out of his chair and began approaching an oncoming car. It was his ex-girlfriend Quantina who was also the baby sister of Wild-Man.

“I’ll be right back, Y’all hold it down,” CJ told the fellas.

“Pussy whipped ass lil niggas,” Ron joked.

“What up?” Quantina spoke out of the window. She was very pretty, but you could tell she was just a pretty hood rat who liked petty hood niggas. CJ staggered and almost fell as he was getting in the car. “Stand yo drunk ass up nigga,” Ron told him.

“I know right. He tripping,” Quantina said. She reached over and opened the door for him.

“Quantina, where yo brother at?” Breze asked.

“I don’t know,” she said.

“You know he robbed us tonight right?” He said.

“No, I did not know that. Why would he rob y’all? I thought y’all were supposed to be tight?” she asked. “I don’t know about all that,” he said.

“What you want me to do about it?” She questioned.

“I don’t want you to do shit. I just want him to respect the game when it comes back to him,” he said. “Breze, keep me out of that,” she said

“Yeah. Gon’ and take that pussy whipped nigga with you,” he said.

“Fuck you,” CJ said from the front seat.

Quantina waved the guys off and drove off. As Quantina’s Accord neared the stop sign, the wild crowd on the other end of 24
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broke the silence of the night.

“Punch ‘dat bitch nigga! Hit ‘dat ho! Hit it nigga! Let me see what ‘dat bitch do!” A guy was screaming. The driver locked up the rear brakes in his 84 Grand National Turbo Regal and began smoking up the avenue. People from the crowd started hollering all kinds of things.

The driver went by the street name Chock. He was a local drug dealer and an ex con. He rushed up off the brakes and held the wheel as the Buick drifted side to side and sped down the avenue like a bat out of hell. As he neared C-Brook and the fellas, he began to cruise and the lyrics from the late Soulja Slim exploded from the subs.

Just ‘cause I’m a black man, push a 2G Lac an

Mouth fulla golds an my neck & wrist frozen

They label me a drug lord supplyin’ the 3
rd
ward

When I only push some Ghetto D wit Master P & my tank dog

Money in the bank dawg, dem haters don’t like that

Bitch this ain’t the slave days, us niggas gon’ fight back

You crackers can write dat all up in the magazines

Put me on the T-V screen & I’m gon’ say the same things

You can call me racist, black man in this white world

I’m sick of seein’ sell out niggas married to these white girls

Knowin’ they the enemy, can’t never be no friend of me

I just get my dick sucked, nut in they mouth instantly

“What up, though? What’s good on the block?” Chock said as he stopped in the street and turned the music down.

“Chock. What it do boi? Tell me sum good?” C-Brook said and embraced him with a handshake. “I need three ounces of loud,” he said and handed C-Brook a wad of cash. “Make it happen and don’t run out the back door with my money,” he joked.

C-Brook chuckled and replied, “You know I’m too real for plays like that. I got what you need homey. I’ll be right back.” He walked off and entered his apartment.

“Chock you ain’t got none of that good caine?” Ron asked and proceeded walking over by the Caprice.

“Of course I do,” Chock said.

“Hold what you got let me take a piss,” Ron said and began to take a piss on the sidewalk.

“Ron, cut that music down while you over there,” Fam said.

Ron was about to fall over as he pissed on the ground. He held on to the car and started to piss on himself. “Damn,” he said and gain control of his balance. “I’m drunk as hell,” he said to himself.

“What up now fuck boy?” A deep voice growled from behind.

Ron could feel the warm steel touch the back of his head.
Fuck nigga Treal,
he thought.

“Turn yo ho ass around before I slap you with this pistol and make you bleed,” Treal threaten.

Fam turned around and got wind after hearing Treal’s voice. “Breze, y’all see this nigga?” He told the others. None of the other guys had their guns on them, but that didn’t stop them from trying to spook Treal.

“Nigga, get that shit away from my head,” Ron spat.

“Make me faggot,” Treal said and moved in front of Ron and had the pistol in his face.

“What’s yo problem Treal? You ain’t bout that life you better make a run for it,” Breze said.

“Get the fuck off two fo’ with that nigga,” Fam spat.

Treal was a used to be friend of Ron until they fell out a couple months ago. Treal wanted Ron to loan him his AK so he could ride down on some guys he was beefing with and Ron refused to do so. An argument popped off, and bold words were exchanged.

The next thing you knew Ron had Treal on his face with that same AK to the back of his head listening to him beg for his life. He humiliated him in front of the entire hood and made him strip naked. “Now run like Kunta Kinte nigga,” he told him.

Treal was hesitant at first, but when the AK discharged, and a hot bullet flew past his head, he ran like a Mexican running from the border control. The streets laughed and cracked jokes on him for three weeks straight making him feel less than a man. He vowed to get revenge on Ron if it was the last thing he did. He now had his chance, and it was on Ron’s own turf. No one saw how Treal appeared out of the darkness until the barrel of his .40 Caliber was to the back of Ron’s head.

“You bout that life,” J-Smith asked Treal.

“He ain’t bout it,” Chock said.

“I’ll show you better than I can tell you,” Treal said.

Ron swung on Treal with a hard right and caught him on the chin. Treal stumbled and almost hit the ground then let his trigger finger go. The first two bullets flew past Ron’s face and barely missed him. He took off running like a wild man but hit the ground as he felt the third bullet punch him in the side. He screamed and went down for cover. Treal turned the gun on Breze and the other fellas and made them scatter like roaches. Six bullets rearranged the driver’s side of Chock’s Buick as he ducked down for cover. Treal ran out of ammo within seconds and knew he had to make a run for it. As he was running down the dark street, J-Smith was able to get to one of the stashed guns. He started firing at the shadow figure running and emptied a fifteen round clip to no avail. Chock punched the gas on the Buick and left sideways.

As he neared the stop sign, he had no choice but to hit the brakes and came to a halt in the middle of the main street. He could see Treal running like a wild man on the lit street. He pointed his fully automatic Mack 11 out of the window and dumped a thirty round clip in three seconds. He cut Treal down like a forest tree and watched him hit the ground face first. He dropped it in reverse and sped back to the guys to see if everyone was okay.

“Y’all niggas good or what? Man, I gotta go. I hit that nigga down the street. I gotta go,” he told them out of the window.

Ron was the only one who had taken a bullet to the side, and everyone was debating whether to take him to the hospital or not. C-Brook returned from inside and was in total shock of what had gone down just that fast. Fam was holding Ron up because he was in a lot of pain. “My side burning, fuck. Damn bruh. I need a doctor,” he said.

“Call the ambulance. He got shot bruh,” Breze said.

“Is that a good idea though?” Phil asked.

“What you think C-Brook? You think the cops gon’ wanna ask questions and shit?” J-Smith asked. “We were shooting too now. Chock just said the nigga might be dead up the street,” Fam said. “Fuck that, that nigga rolled down on us,” Breze said.

“I’m bleedin’ like fuck man. Get me to a doctor,” Ron said.

“Chock take the homey to the hospital. We’ll handle the cops don’t worry. We got that end covered,” C-Brook said.

“Bet. Put him in the car,” Chock said. “Fam, ride with me and C-Brook get rid of this,” he said and handed him the Mack 11.

“I’ma hold this weed til later,” C-Brook said.

“Bet,” Chock said. Fam put Ron in the back seat, and he took the front seat.

“We out,” Chock said and sped off. C-Brook ordered all the guns to be put up just in case the cops came through. He handed the Mack 11 to J-Smith and told him to make it disappear.

They cleaned up all the evidence and moved fast and were surprised the cops hadn’t arrived. About thirty minutes past and they were just chilling when they heard loud reggae music. It was Dread coming down the avenue. He pulled up and stopped in the middle of the road with the music blasting. He didn’t even look in the guys’ direction. The window was down, and he was just sitting there.

“What up Dread?” C-Brook said.

There was no response as he sat in the car sweating in the face like he had just finished working out. He looked like his adrenaline was pumping, and his eyes were wide. C-Brook looked over at J-Smith, who was smiling.

“Dread?” C-Brook called.

“Is he okay?” J-Smith asked.

“Dread?” C-Brook called and got out his chair.

“That nigga high as fuck,” Breze said.

“He on that shit,” Phil said.

“Whatever it is I don’t want none of it,” J-Smith said.

“Be careful approaching that car C-Brook,” Phil said. C-Brook got to the window and just looked at Dread. The fool began nodding his head in slow motion.

“What the fuck?” C-Brook said. The other guys were laughing. “Dread? Dread?” He called. “J-Smith come here,” he ordered.

“Dread?” Breze called and waved his hand in front of the window.

“What this nigga on?” C-Brook asked J-Smith.

“Meth,” J-Smith said.

“Dread? Dread? Oh, now Dread?!” C-Brook called out his name. Dread sat there and didn’t even look his direction. J-Smith was dying laughing. “You ever seen this nigga like this?” He asked.

“I ain’t ever see nobody like that,” J-Smith said.

“Oh no, Dread?!” C-Brook screamed over the loud music. Dread still didn’t even attempt to look his directions. His eyes were locked in a world of their own, and he was now dripping sweat.

“Nigga sweatin’ like ma’fuckin’ bull,” J-Smith said. C-Brook looked over in the passenger seat and saw a Mack 90 Machine gun. “Nigga ridin’ dirtier than Clint Eastwood,” he said.

“Nigga gon’ have a heart attack C-Brook. Look at how he sweating,” J-Smith said.

“Dread?! Dread?” C-Brook screamed to the top of his lungs. The fellas were dying laughing. C-Brook attempted to open the door, and Dread snapped out of his zone and punched the gas almost running over C-Brook’s foot. “I got him my brether! Jesus is the way,” he screamed going down the street”.

“I gotta get the hell off two fo’!” C-Brook said. The guys were dying laughing.

As midnight approached, 24
th
had calm down a little, and the crowd on the far end had vanished for the night. Breze, J-Smith, and Phil were the only ones out on their end. C-Brook was inside his apartment. He had become spooked after the shooting of Treal because shortly after Dread sped off cop cars and an ambulance flew down the street in the direction where Treal had fallen after being shot. It was confirmed by the other guys on 24
th
that he was dead. The cops never came to 24
th
to question anyone, probably because they knew none of the guys were going to cooperate.

As the guys stood out on the curve in the hopes of more clientele pulling up, they got the pigs from earlier. Brad and Finley appeared like a ghost in a black unmarked car and were out before the car was stopped completely. J-Smith tried to cuff a blunt behind his hand, Phil dropped a bag of rocks, and Breze backed away from a pistol stashed in a dumpster.