Life Without Hope (37 page)

was your first month salary and I’m payin ya one grand a week,

not two,” I said as the smile died on his face.

“
I’ll take fifteen hundred a week or I’m taking your black ass

down to the station.”

He took the bait

, I thought as I tried to my best to look disap-

pointed, frowned like he was taking advantage of me. I looked at

him, saw all the greed of his ancestors in his little beady eyes. I

went for the evident, this white man wasn’t no earthly good.

“
You got a deal,” I said, and looked at the bed at the pile of

cash. For some reason he did not take all of it; that only meant

that he was serious about wanting to be on my payroll.

There was a knock at the door. Startled, he flinched.

Scary-ass

cracka

, I thought to myself as he waved his gun and told me to

answer the door. I walked to the door, and while I tried to keep

my eyes on him, he picked up my gun emptying the bullets out

on the rug. I looked out the peephole and saw Black Pearl stand-

ing there. She looked worried, and continued to glance over her

shoulder. I opened the door. Spitler rushed by me out the door,

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damn near knocking Black Pearl down. That white man scared the

hell out of her. She walked with one hand on her stomach, the

other over her hear t. She grabbed my hand holding it tightly.

“
Lawd have mercy! Pah-leez tell me that was not that nasty-ass

cracka police, Spitler,” she said, exasperated. I could feel her hand

trembling. “Look outside the window,” she said. Her voice was

barely above a whisper as her starry eyes searched mine asking me

what was going on. I pulled the curtains back in the window just

as a huge bolt of lightning lit up the sky. Eerily, I saw my reflec-

tion, jagged edges of a man. Down below in the parking lot, six

black unmarked police cars sat idling. I watched as Spitler scurried

out into the pouring rain and signaled a thumbs up and dashed

into the car. One after the other, the cars trailed out of the park-

ing lot.

Black Pearl tugged my shirt. “You’re going to have to leave

here. I know a place you’ll be safe.” To the average hustler, a preg-

nant woman is about the purest form of good luck a man can

have. So as the thunder and lightning clapped, I was listening to

this pregnant woman like Moses did the Ten Commandments.

We packed in a hurry. Jumped into the hoopty and drove

forty-five minutes outside of Tallahassee to a small rural town

called Quincy. For me it was love at first sight. As country as you

can get but the town had a serene peacefulness about it. As I con-

tinued to drive, I was overcome by the beautiful landscapes, like

the ones you see on a postcard–peaceful and serene with a dazzling

sun that bathes the scenic green pastures. In the distance, I saw an

old mansion with plantation style shutters and sprawling green

landscape that must have dated back to the seventeenth centur y. I

slowed the car down, looked at the “For Sale” sign hanging askew

in the wooden fence. It said, “Twenty acres for sale.” I turned to

Black Pearl and dreamed out loud.

“
I’ma buy that place, fix it up real nice, name it Chateau G.P.,

short for Gangsta Paradise.”

In response, Black Pearl hitched a ride to my dream and asked

excitedly, “Oh please! Please let me do the decorating and interior

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design.” She was a true-to-heart sixteen-year-old. Anyone else

would have told me I was crazy. The place was not worth a rusty

nickel.

*****

I drove back to town and rented two rooms, one for myself

and the other for Pearl. Dirty hit me on the hip. I checked my

beeper, 911. I called him and he said it was an emergency, some-

thing to do with Blazack. I agreed to meet him at Denny’s

Restaurant. When I got there he was seated all the way in the back.

He looked like a nervous wreck, chewing on his fingernails. As I

approached, he smiled up at me wearily.

“
Whuz up yo?” I said, sliding into the booth with him. A

waitress with a foreign accent and a nice figure gave me a menu

and said she’d be right back. I watched her hips as she walked

away.

“
Man, you gotta stop this fuckin’ nigga Blazack! He done lost

his fuckin mind and some shit,” Dirty said. I sat there and listened

to a horror story about how Blazack murdered both T-Bone and

Jackie Boy in cold blood. In the early morning, Blazack went to

Jackie Boy’s mother’s house and shot him in the head right in front

of her and two younger brothers. That same day, the entire crew

abducted T-Bone from the work release center and took him down

to the basement of the house that we rented. To everyone’s utter

shock and dismay Blazack appeared with an ax and made T-Bone

bow down to his knees and began to hack his head off with the ax.

After ward, Blazack threatened all of them, if they told, they would

be next. Then he showed them how to cut up a body. The art of

making people disappear. Now for the past few days Blazack had

been driving through Frenchtown with T-Bone’s head in a bag

showing it to all the hustlers, not just as evidence of revenge for

robbing a member of his crew, but also a means to intimidate dr ug

dealers for their money. I was reminded of Stevey D’s earlier call.

Blazack had him shook, scared to death.

Now shit was starting to make sense, the mystery phrase,

“
Your homeboy missing, Ax Blazack.” For the past few years,

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secretly, Blazack had been making people disappear, including his

own baby mama and her boyfriend. Now as I sat there in the

booth, it dawned on me like I’m sure it must have dawned on the

rest of the heads of the crew, I was going to have to step to him. I

knew that I could not underestimate him, but there was one thing

that stood out in my mind back there in his room when he

described having to kill Dre’ with his bare hands. All killers have

a weapon of choice. Knives, guns, axes. As I remembered, Blazack

was not good with his hands in battle, at least I hoped in prepar-

ing for the confrontation.

Perplexed, I frowned and asked Dirty, “Damn, you don’t think

the nigga smokin’ or sometin’ do ya?”

“
Hell yeah he smokin’,” Dir ty shot back.

“
Huh, smokin’ what?”

“
Smokin niggas wit dat 12 gauge shot gun,” Dirty retorted.

“
Man you ain’t hearin’ me! Dude out there on a killin’ spree.

When you find him have your burner witcha, I ain’t one to be

startin’ shit, but not just dude, but the whole crew been grumblin’

bout all that fuckin money you been makin’.” With that, Dirty

raised his chin like it was connected to his pride, his way of telling

me he too was pissed about the money I was paying him. I walked

away from him wondering when the shit went down between

Blazack and myself, just whose side would the crew roll with.

*****

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Chapter Thir

teen

Chapter Thir

teen

“
A Deadly Confrontation”

–
Life –

As soon as I walked into the house, I knew that something was ter-

ribly wrong. All I saw were somber faces. Gucci, Mad Ball and

Twine. The kind of faces you see at funerals. Twine looked up at

me as he stopped rolling a blunt.

“
Why the fuck ya’ll niggas ain’t at work?”

“
Ain’t no work!” Gucci shot back in disgust, throwing up his

hands frustrated. “Cats been coming out of town to buy our shit

and taking it back and reselling it. The dime bags of powder, too.

Shit selling like hot cakes my nigga.”

It was Trina’s idea to sell the dime bags of powder. On just a

Friday alone, we could sell five bricks or more. That was over a

million and some change.

The vibe in the room wasn’t right. I reflected back on what

Dirty warned me about at the restaurant, the crew being unhappy

about the chips I was paying them, so I tried to read each man’s

face, and they all looked the same, like mutiny waiting to happen.

Then I heard a blood-curdling scream come from the basement.

“
What da fuck was dat?!”

“
That’s crazy-ass Blazack!” Gucci said. “Look man, shit getting

crucial. We thinking about bailing back to the crib, a nigga ain’t

making no money and Blazack runnin’ round here actin’ like he

psycho, cuttin’ muthafuckas up with an ax and shit.”

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“
Where in the fuck he at now?” I asked.

“
Down in the basement, he got Major down there, said he

stole a bomb of rocks from him.”

I took off in a hurry down the stairs to the basement. Major

was our all-purpose man. Every crew had one. If it was broke he

could fix it, whether it be a motor or installing a car stereo system.

I had a lot of respect for Major; even though he smoked he still

carried himself like a man, always wore clean clothes and took care

of himself.

As I walked down the darkened stairway, I felt for the .380 pis-

tol in my pocket, thought about what was about to go down with

my confrontation with Blazack as the smell of death and Pine Sol

reeked in my nostrils. It kind of made me want to vomit. At the

bottom of the stairs in the dimly lit loft I saw Blazack standing

over Major holding a hot iron, one of them old fashion kinds used

for ironing clothes. Major’s shirt was torn off, he was bleeding

badly, his face was discolored and bruised. Blazack had him tied to

a chair. I walked up without either of them hearing me. I was fully

prepared to kill Blazack. I had to be, because I knew without a

shadow of a doubt, he would kill me just for the sport of it, if the

time suited him right.

“
Yo, that’s enough Blazack! Untie him!” Blazack spun around

to face me. I saw something in his eyes, wild and untamed.

“
Fuck dat! Dis nigga done fucked up a package. I’ma havta

make an example out of him, too!”

“
L, pleeeese man, stop him,” Major pleaded through swollen

lips. His skin was pink and red from the burn marks from the hot

iron.

I walked up to Blazack. “Let him go!” I said louder this time.

“
What part of no you don’t understand?” he asked with in

venom in his voice. I was conscious of him swinging the iron at

me. In my mind I was thinking

, this nigga ain’t never been known

to be good with his fists

. I thought about how he damn near cried

when he was telling me about how he had to kill the snitch Dre’

with his bare hands. Take away his gun, he probably wasn’t shit. It

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