Me and My Hittas (3 page)

The brown skinned fellow posted at his left who wore
his hair in six neat cornrows that curled like snakes at the
middle of his back was the seasoned killer’s younger
brother, Pavielle, also known as O.G Booby Loco. He
wasn’t as trigger-happy as his brother, but he’d have a
fool’s momma buying a black dress in a New York minute.
You didn’t get to be an O.G before you turned twenty-three
without busting a few heads. Like his uncle Gangsta before
him, he was all about a dollar; he breathed to hustle. He
often joked that all he needed in life was G.M.B: Guns,
Money and Bitches.

“Where you get that shit from, Killa?” Pavielle asked
of the L he’d just taken from him.

“That Rasta that be slanging them bootlegs out in
front of Superior market.”Killa Dre answered, throwing his
hood on his head and sticking his hands inside of pockets.

“For real?”

 

“Yep.”

“I just copped an ounce from ‘em, but the shit fiya,”
he informed him. “Nigga said if I’m tryna fuck with
something larger than that then he’d have to get with his
people. I got his contact. I know yo’ unc been looking for a
better plug on the shit than he’d got, so I figured maybe they
could work something out.”

“Good looking out.” Pavielle nodded, taking the card
that his little homie passed him. “The shit we be getting
from the eses ain’t got shit on this.” He admired the blunt
that was pinched between his fingers, smoke rising from it
and evaporating into the air. Pavielle kneeled down and
stroked the black shiny coat of his Rottweiler.

“Yeah, we gone have to rush that, fa’ sho’,” Gouch
nodded, blowing smoke from his nostrils after taking a
couple of puffs of that shit.

“Y’all hogging the mothafucka all up and shit,” Panic
complained, having just taken the L from him.

“Relax, fat
boy, it’s enough for everybody.” Gouch
chuckled. “Killa said he gotta ounce, right?” he looked at
the young head bussa.

Killa Dre spat on the ground and looked back up,
nodding. He pulled an ounce from out of his pocket and
passed it to Gouch. He smiled happily and held the Ziploc
to his nose, taking a deep inhalation.

“How you been holding up, my nigga?” Pavielle
asked him of his dealing with his brother’s death.

“I’m solid, big homie.
I would be doing a lot better if
I could put the tool to the fool that smashed my big bro
though.” His eyes bled his truth. He knew that he could not
rest until the nigga that had popped his sibling was six feet
under.

Pavielle threw his arm around the little nigga’z
shoulders and said, “We gone find this nigga, I promise you
that. Mel was just as much my brother as he was yours.” He
spoke sincerely. Pavielle felt bad when he’d heard that
Tramel had been claimed by the streets. He’d known him
and Killa Dre all of their lives. Sometimes he’d give them
rides home from school, or play football in the streets with
them and their friends. The Johnson Boys reminded him of
himself and Gouch coming up, which was why he’d taken
such a liking to them. Although Killa signed up for the
troubles that the life brung, Tramel was headed down a
completely different path. He had a bright future a head of
him, but that all came to a tragic end when he was shot
down like a goddamn rabid dog in the streets.

“Fa sho’,” Killa Dre gave him a complex handshake
and pounded the Blood gang sign against his chest.

 

Hearing a man’s soulful voice and a shopping cart
being rolled brought everyone’s attention to the black gate.

“New school, I got something for you.” A
venue
smiled as he moved his way into the yard pushing a
shopping cart loaded with junk he’d collected throughout
the day.

Woof! Woof! Woof! Woof!

Paviel
le’s Rottweiler went ham when it saw Avenue,
struggling to get loose from its owner. He growled and
barked viciously causing spittle to fly from its mouth. He
leaped forward but Pavielle yanked back on the chain of his
spiked collar, pulling him down. If it wasn’t for the beast
being on the leash he would have surely tried to rip the
junky limb from limb.

“Damu, sit your ass down!” Pavielle smacked the dog
on his ass and it calmed down, sitting on its hind legs.

Avenue was an older cat; about sixty years old. A tall
dude with a slender frame, he rocked a shabby afro that
looked like tangled barbed wire and unkempt facial hair.
His smoked out ass used to be the lead singer of an R&B
group called The Mesmerizers. The quartet was a group
whose talents rivaled The Temptations. The singers were
internationally known and were well acquainted with fame
and fortune.

The sky was the limit for old Avenue. That was until
he managed to get hooked on crack cocaine. In a couple of
years he pissed away his publishing, his houses, his cars,
and his jewelry. The crack guerilla came with a broom and
swept away all of his assets, including his position in The
Mesmerizers.

The D-boys christened him Avenue because he would
break out in song and dance at any given moment on the
avenue where they were slinging. High out of his mind,
Avenue would imagine that he was back on the stage at the
Apollo with his old group performing one of their many hit
songs. His performance would be so good that the hustlers
would bless him nickel and dime rocks.

“What chu got for me, old school?” Pavielle asked,
switching hands with the chain that held Damu.

 

“Top secret, for your eyes only,” Avenue claimed
proudly.

“Alright,” Pavielle said before chaining Damu up to a
tree. He turned to Avenue, placing his hand to his back.
“Step into my office.” He led him into a darkened area on
the side of the house where they wouldn’t beseen. “Now,
what chu got that’s especially for me?”

Avenue held up a finger before stepping around his
shopping cart. He took a cautious look around before
moving about some of the junk inside of the cart until he
found what he was looking for. He pulled out something
wrapped in a tattered sky blue blanket and sat it on the hood
of Pavielle’s Chevy Impala. He un-wrapped the blanket and
revealed the AK-47 it was concealing. Pavielle’s eyes grew
big, he whistled when he saw the assault rifle. He stepped
to it, gently sweeping his hand up and down the length of
it.

“There you go, baby boy, aint she a beaut?” Avenue
asked, smiling from ear to ear, putting his beige, rottening
teeth on display, “Brand spanking new, straight outta the
box.”

Pavielle picked up the AK-47 and slowly swept it
back and forth, imagining cutting his enemies in half with
it.

“Where’d you get this big mothafucka?”

 

“Never mind that, do you want her?”

“Hell yeah, I want her.” Pavi
elle said, like ‘
Nigga, you
don’t even have to ask that’.
“How much you want for me
to walk off with her?” he looked from the assault rifle to
Avenue. He saw his mouth biting to the right. This meant
that he was fucked up in the game and needed a blast of
crack badly. There wasn’t any telling when he had his last
hit. Seeing this let Pavielle know that he could take the AK47 off of the crack head’s hands for a little of nothing.

Avenue scratched his nappy facial hair as he thought
on a price. Pavielle cringed as he imagined flea him a dog
with fleas.

“I’ll tell you what, since I fuck with you hard body,”
he tapped his fist over his heart, “gone throw me four of
dem dead white men and gone ‘bout ya business.”

“Three.”

 

“Three? Come on now, new school, you tryna beat me
like I stole something, man.” He balled up his face.

“Nigga, you show up outta nowhere with a choppa, I
know you done stole it.” Pavielle angled his head and
twisted his lips. He looked at him like ‘
Come on now. You
know that I know better’.
“I’ll drop you three, homie, for all
I know this mothafucka gotta couple hot ones on it.”

“G, I told you that bad boy clean. Trust me, folks.”
“Nigga, I don’t trust nobody,” He spoke from the
heart, “Either take the three or bounce with this mothafucka
and risk getting caught with it and catching ten.”

“Man
nnnn,” Avenue blew hard and massaged his
chin as he thought on it. “You know you robbing me
without the ski-mask and gun, right?”

He looked away rolling his eyes and running a hand
down his face. The nigga was tired of the back and forth
spat with old head. “What’s up, fam? You gone let me get
this off of you or what?”

The crackhead sighed and said, “Yeah, G, gone and
run me that for I start to regret it.”

Pavielle sat the AK-47 down on the hood of the car
and reached inside of his pocket. He’d just pulled out a roll
of dead presidents when Avenue held up a hand.

“Wait a minute, new school, what cha doing?”

 

“I’m ‘bout ta break you off.”

 

“Naw, you know how I
get down, I
need my
prescription filled.”

“Oh, alright,”
he stuffed the roll of dead presidents
back inside of his red Dickie’s pocket. “Gone and see my
nigga Debo on the seven, tell him I sent chu. He’ll hook you
up.”

“Sho’ ya right. My man,” He slapped hands with
Pavielle and swung his shopping cart around. He bopped
off pushing the shopping cart and singing a song he and his
group performed back in the day.

“What chu got there, baby boy?” Gouch approached
with Panic by his side.

Pavielle picked the AK-47 back up and swung it
around, pointing it at Gouch and stopping him in his tracks.
“A choppa.”

“Whoa!” Gouch held up his hands in surrender.

 

“Be easy, nigga.” Panic spoke of Pavielle’s handling
of the AK-47.

Pavielle
chuckled and
smiled
before turning the
weapon over to Gouch, who gripped it and aimed it at
something across the way.

“How much this mothafucka run you?” Gouch asked,
barely audible with the cigarette hanging from his lips.

 

“Three yards,” Pavielle answered.

 

“So that’s what that smoker fool had for you.” Panic
said. “At three B-notes that was a steal.”

 

“Real spit,” Pavielle agreed.

The sudden burst of
automatic gunfire ripping
through the air caused Pavielle and Panic to duck. Their
hands went to grab the bangers on their waistbands, but
when they saw that it was Gouch letting off the AK-47 in
the air they dropped their hands.

“This mothafucka chunky, Blood, on me,” Gouch
claimed. He used one hand to take a pull from his cigarette
and used the other to palm the AK-47. He ogled the lethal
weapon with admiration.

“Let me see it, Gucci.” Panic took the AK-47 into his
large hands.

“Y’all alright out here?” a voice rang out from behind
the threesome. Pavielle turned around and found a dark
figure clutching what looked like a gun from its shape.
“We’re straight, unc, just playing with my new toy.”

“
I suggest you put cha lil;toy up, ‘cause Binem gone
be sliding through here any minute.” Gangsta told him.
“When you handle that come up stairs I need to holla at
chu.”

“Alright,” Pavielle said. He turned around to Panic
who was about to let the AK-47 off in the air again. Before
the chocolate giant could pull the trigger, he snatched the
weapon free of his possession.

“Gimmie my shit, man,” Pavielle wrapped the AK
-47
back up in the sky blue blanket and bopped off to stash his
new toy.

“Youz a stingy ass nigga, Blood,” Panic watched his
road dawg walk away.
Chapter Two

Vayda stepped inside of the bathroom closing the
door
shut
behind
her. Standing before the
medicine
cabinet’s mirror, she removed her bra and panties, allowing
them to drop into a pile at her feet. With her hands firmly
on her hips, she smiled as she looked herself over, admiring
her curvy form. Now, don’t get it fucked up, light skin did
have her flaws and all just like any other woman, but still,
her body was remarkable. Her melon like breasts sagged
and she had a pudgy stomach and stretch marks on her
thighs and butt, but that’s what made her so sexy. A person
could tell that she was a real woman and real women
weren’t perfect like those chicks that they had on the cover
of magazines, all airbrush painted with accessories and shit.
Nah, real women had flawed bodies just like Vayda, and
that’s what made them desirable. Hell, it wasn’t like her
man was complaining. He loved everything about her,
including her body. So as long as boo was happy she was
happy.

Vayda patted her stomach and rubbed it, thinking
about the life that was growing inside of her. She hadn’t
told Pavielle that she was expecting because she didn’t
know how to break the news to him. For that matter, she
didn’t know how he would take it. He could totally flip out
on her and try to convince her to get an abortion, or he could
be just as excited as she was. Her heart told her that hubby
was going to be joyous once she told him that he was going
to a father, so she figured that she’d break the news to him
soon.

Vayda turned to walk away from her reflection when
she saw something in the mirror that caused her face to ball
up. She turned to the side and looked over her shoulder at
her reflection. Along down her back she saw several keloid
welts that overlapped each other. She didn’t know how she
could ever forget that they were there, but from time to time
she managed to do just that. Tears built up in her eyes and
obscured her vision making it seem as if she was looking
through a crystal. Her pain came running down her face in
buckets and she whimpered, quickly smacking her hands
over her mouth. Her shoulders shuddered as she stared at
herself in the mirror. She’d never forget the night that she’d
gotten such ugly scars, or the man that had given them to
her. She remembered them scrapping over her trap being
short. Although she’d gotten in a few good punches, it was
his blow to her jaw that left her on the receiving end of a
possible loss.