Ties to the Hood Page 2

  Shun finished adjusting his tie in the mirror and turned the water on high velocity. He smirked and wet his dry knuckles rubbing them carefully before looking The Suit in the face. “How much?” Shun replied after seconds of thought that ran in his mind for at least a minute.

  “A few pounds of weed and at least a brick of cocaine. Mark made manager for our Los Angeles office, that fuckin’ dick! We want to get him fucked up before he leaves.”

  Shun bellowed in laughter as he usually did at his colleague’s less-than-savory humor. The job emulated prison. He was forced to do the tasks assigned to others and wear a uniform suit and tie—orange jumpsuit, same thing. Life was choking the shit out of Shun, and in this very moment, he felt air.

  “You got $2,600 layin’ around?”

  “That and lots more,” Wade responded pulling out a huge roll of cash.

  “Ma man,” Shun said, shaking Wade’s hand.

  It was on.

  * * *

  Three Months Later . . .

  Shun’s BMW caught all the ladies’ eyes as he rolled into the entrance of Meadow’s Lake. He had a drop to make to some rather bigwigs in the upper-class white community of Bakersfield. Phil wasn’t at all happy about the choice Shun made to sell cocaine and heroin, but he had to admit he was paid. Soon, Phil asked to join Shun’s team.

  Money was good in the hood, but it wasn’t enough to be rolling around in Bavarian Motor Works, taking cruises and shit the whole nine. Made a nigga really mad. The green-eyed monster had undoubtedly reared its ugly head. Especially since he put Shun on. Here he was, still living in the hood, eating greasy fried chicken, drinking Kool-Aid and Hennessey, while Shun ate from the best five-star restaurants in the country and drank the finest wines.

  Phil knew Shun had a few issues about putting him on, but he felt like he could handle his crew. They hadn’t proved disloyalty thus far. Phil had to put a few knuckleheads in their place for overstepping boundary drug zones and talking out the side of their necks, but that was about it.

  Shun’s issue with Phil’s organization was quite simple, and he let Phil know about his feelings regarding the whole thing. Basically, Shun felt like Phil wasn’t worried about much of anything, like the police and the company he kept. Hell, he didn’t know or trust half the cats Phil rolled around. He was fresh out. There was no way he was going to leave his freedom in the hands of the unknown. He did the dirt, Shun was willing to face the consequences, but on his own accord. Phil’s folk may appear to be loyal, but that was only because niggas followed his lead. Soon, and this was almost always true, one of his goons was going to do one of two things. Either snitch to take him down, once caught, or plot to kill him. Set him up in order to take his spot. Goons may do the dirty work, but as they work, they learn, and soon, they get old and wise. They want to eat well and sit back too. Order would soon be disrupted if Phil didn’t tend to his flock appropriately.

  The thing with Shun was that after all he had been through, he didn’t follow a soul. He answered to and followed no one. He’d had enough of that in the service and in jail. Shun left the hood, for reasons he thought would prove him to be above the rules of the hood. Only the game don’t love you whether you are in or out.

  * * *

  Thinking Back

  My grandmother used to say it was not where you lived, it was how you lived. That, and there was no reason for me to accept the idea that because I was from the ghetto I was destined to be a product of it.

  So I played basketball while Phil sold weed at the gym’s door. I got my grades up while Phil watched my back. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t no pussy. I did my dirt too. Just didn’t label myself as no thug, you feel me? I did what was needed to survive.

  Phil only protected me because he knew my worth. That’s how people are, you know. Yeah, we fam, but his dad was a crackhead, and his mama was a ho. So it was like I was the sliced bread of the family, better than the rest.

  To me, Phil’s jealousy was warranted. I never got why I was so special. Phil was offered the same chances I was. Grandma would’ve taken him in as well, but he just couldn’t leave the streets alone. It was like he was possessed or somethin’.

  Phil was the one who bought me my first pair of Jordans. We were only twelve at the time. He came rushing into Granny’s with official red and white thirteens.

  “Try these on, nigga,” Phil ordered as he handed them off to me. I nearly tripped over my feet, trying to take off them Walmart shows Granny bought. Phil was cracking up as I pranced around clutchin’ma shit like I was that nigga. I felt like a real boss.

  I remember walking home from the neighborhood store. It was me, Phil, Cyrus, and Man-man. Shit! Them niggas approached me like, “Come up outta them Jordans.”

  I was like, “You gon’ have to take these from me body.” I was so proud of them shoes. I’d be damned if someone tried to punk me for ’em.

  “Naw, fish ain’t bitin’,” I said before I threw a slew of punches. Me and my boys swarmed those eighteen- and nineteen-year-old boys like it was nothing. From then on, the hood feared me and Phil. When Phil got his gun, it was really on. Niggas wouldn’t even look Phil in his eyes, for fear he would draw his weapon and bust on ’em.

  That was the beginning to the madness, though. Phil was a fucking ticking time bomb, and it was only a matter of time before somebody popped him—or me.

  CHAPTER 1

  Pinched

  The sirens rang through the streets of Kern County, Bakersfield. A high-speed chase was in progress, and Phil was the leader.

  “Hurry up, nigga, get rid of the dro. Throw it out the back, mane. We gotta move,” Phil yelled at one of his goons in the backseat of his ’73 Capri on 24z. Phil was biting his bottom lip cussing through clenched teeth as he cut the corner of Monroe heading toward The Bear Mountain Project. Phil cringed as he heard his newly polished rims scrape the curb.

  “Fuck, bro, fuck those pigs, man. As soon as we hit the freeway we smooth sailing. Where the fuck is Shun at?” Phil felt around the lap of his jeans for his phone. He needed Shun for backup if he wasn’t too good to come to the hood side of town. He’d been fucking with white bread for the last two months and still had yet to put a nigga fully on. Phil understood, but it was about loyalty and family and, as of late, he was starting to feel like the foster child that was court awarded for the money. Only, he was hungry while Shun ate.

  “Nigga, where the fuck you at, bro?” Phil tried to speak loud and clear. He had Shun on speaker, but the boys were close behind.

  “I’m at the tilt, where the fuck you at? You in a high-speed chase or somethin’, or you watching a flick on the big screen?” Shun asked, laughing and choking on his weed.

  “Naw, nigga, I’m in trouble. It’s hot as fuck out here. Had to get rid of the dro. I got the Yola on me too, bro, and I ain’t tryin’a ditch that shit. That’s ma bread, cuz.”

  “Yeah, but the boys in blue on you. So you know what you got to do. You fucking around riding hella deep, like the boys ain’t lookin’ to pinch yo’ ass. This the shit I’m talking about. You be straight jumping in shit and can’t get out. Yo, you gon’ have to pull over and let them pigs do what they do. We need to keep a low profile.”

  “You know I know the rules, nigga. You trippin’. I brought yo’ ass in the game.”

  “Man, just pull over and let them drugs go. It’s plenty more where that came from, but it’s coming out of your royalties. I’m in the house, not floating the streets getting pinched by them thirsty-ass pigs. The cops ain’t gon’ report nothin’. They gon’ flip that shit on the streets. How much bread you rollin’ wit’?”

  “Aww, not much. I got a couple of Gs. Had to rock with enough to make my dollas roll, you feel me?”

  “No, I don’t, actually. Cuz to be honest, like I said, I’m at the tilt, and you rolling hot. Get on my hype; then we can make these moves. Pull over and take the rap. You’ll be out by morn. But you staying the night. I got a bad one here, and I ain’t about to leave
that pussy alone.”

  “For real? You gon’ let me rot for some pussy, ma nigga?”

  “Naw, you gon’ simmer for some pussy. And like I keep saying, pull over. See yo’ ass in the morning.” Shun shook his head and hung up the phone.

  “Who was that, baby?” Shun’s girl asked.

  “My stupid-ass cousin. I got to go to county jail in the morning to bail his ass out.”

  “Well, you don’t have time for that shit, baby. You got work to do over here. I’m talking now and in the morning. So whatever this cousin of yours is talking about is going to have to wait,” Shun’s girl said, licking her thick lips and swaying her legs open and closed to expose her freshly shaved pussy and hardened clit.

  “You ready, baby? The pussy is calling.” Her wet fingers massaged over her clit and dove into her center. Porsha’s juices squirted down her fingers. She was so excited by Shun’s attentiveness. Porsha continued to watch Shun as he watched her intensely as she licked her fingers and urged Shun to come and play.

  Shun felt his dick rise and jump at attention to Porsha’s erotic display. “I’m coming, baby. You ready to back that ass up?”

  Porsha flipped over in a hurry and twerked her ass so that Shun could get a good visual of what she was working with. “I’m always ready, Daddy.”

  “Oh yeah,” Shun said, climbing into bed and situating himself behind her. He slapped her ass before diving right in.

  * * *

  “Man, Phil, what you wanna do? The boys got the helicopter out. I can see the lights. Man, we gon’ fuck around and get shot out here. Like you really with the shit tonight, Phil. Let’s just get rid of this shit. The car, the dope, all this shit. I got kids.”

  “Man, shut yo’ bitch ass up! I ain’t about to turn over no cards. I went and got this dope and shit, and Shun just expect me to throw my money in the wind, while he eatin’ steaks and potatoes. Naw, fish ain’t bitin’. I got rid of four pounds of weed, I ain’t gettin’ rid of shit else. I’m just lightening the load for the run, ma nigga.”

  “Run?”

  “Yeah, run. Now!” Phil screamed as he drove the car straight into the gate of an abandoned steel mill. Phil jumped from the car and ran like the wind with two duffle bags on his back. He didn’t bother to look back to see where the hell Dré was. He just hoped he wasn’t dumb enough to get caught. He would be sure to keep his mouth shut. Phil hit every backyard he knew of where there were no dogs and ducked to one of his girls’ homes before hitting the main streets.

  The police lights were flashing all over the neighborhood at this point, and there was no sign of Dré. “Fuck, they got his ass, I just know it,” Phil said to himself as he stashed the drugs and money in an abandoned doghouse in his girl’s backyard. She would know to check it and put his shit up for safekeeping. She didn’t live square in the hood slums of Kern County. She lived on the outskirts in middle-class suburbia. If he was even caught in the area, the cops would just assume he was there to rob someone. After all, a nigga driving with big rims and loud music was an automatic threat to society.

  Phil felt free. He had managed to stash the drugs and avoid jail. He took a huge sigh of relief as he hit the main street and walked down toward the liquor store at the corner. He buttoned his leather bomber and rubbed his hands together as he took a quick look at his surroundings. “Whew!” he said to himself as he entered the liquor store, smiling from ear to ear.

  Phil greeted the store manager with a chipper, “Hello, how ya doin’?” and headed straight to the freezer. He was thirsty as shit after running damn near circles around the entire city of Bakersfield. Phil opened a can of Sprite and guzzled it before grabbing another one and heading toward the counter. He was well on his way to freedom when all of sudden, he heard the liquor store’s bells chime to indicate a new customer had come in. Shortly after, loud screaming followed. Phil immediately ducked around the corner and slid behind a few unpacked boxes to conceal himself.

  “Take what you want! Just get out of my store,” the owner yelled at the intruders, obviously unmoved by the gun waving around his head.

  “Empty the cash register,” one of the robbers demanded. “Man, what you doin’?” the gunman spoke just as he was demanding the cashier’s earnings. He noticed his partner shopping instead of watching the door.

  “I’m getting some candy, man. Might as well. We robbin’ the place, right?”

  “Nigga, watch the fuckin’ doe before you get us caught up in here, bro.”

  The gunman had lost his focus and wasn’t watching the cashier’s moves. He was too busy waving his gun around the room talking shit to his partner to notice that the cashier had a rifle raised to his left temple. As the gunman turned to continue on with his demands, he was met by the barrel of a gun.

  “Get the hell out of my store!” the owner demanded as he cocked his rifle back. The gunman’s partner dropped his chips and soda and skirted out of the store without a second glance at his partner in crime. He just bolted out the door and ran.

  “Fuck this shit,” the robber responded and ran out of the liquor store just as quick and fast as his no-good ditching partner.

  Phil rustled to get up from his seated position in the back of the store knocking over a few of the unpacked boxes as he tried to stand to his feet.

  “Who’s there?” the owner yelled, his rifle still in his hands. “Show yourself!”

  “Aye, it’s me, sir, remember? I came in, just walked back to the freezer to grab a few sodas, but I hid when the men came in the store.” Phil tried to look sympathetic about the whole mess, but he could care less. He just needed to get the hell out of Dodge. Phil held up his two soda cans and started to move toward the front of the store, all the while assuring the gun-carrying owner that he had every intention of paying for the sodas.

  Phil had made his way to the counter and attempted to put a few dollars on the counter when he saw the police lights flashing in the window of the liquor store. The owner had hit his panic and emergency assistance button over ten minutes ago. The police, late as ever, finally showed up.

  “Look, I’m just gon’ pay you for the two sodas and get outta your store. You won’t have to worry about me coming in here ever again.” Phil was nervous and shaky, and the money in his hands was beginning to dampen from the sweat of his palms. “Look, man, take the money, take the fucking money.” Phil was becoming increasingly nervous and agitated by the store owner’s mannerisms. “Fuck it!” Phil said, and threw the money at the owner and walked toward the doors of the liquor store. It, unfortunately, was too late. Two officers ran up to the window of the liquor store, waving their guns, instructing Phil to get down on his knees and surrender any weapons he may have had on his person.

  Phil shook his head and dropped to his knees yelling, “Okay, okay,” and saying that he didn’t do shit. He turned to the owner of the store and demanded he tell the cops that it wasn’t him who had attempted to rob him blind.

  The owner of the store put his weapon down and, with a look of pure evilness, said, “Officer, arrest this man. He and two other thugs tried to rob my store. What took you so long? Two of them got away.”

  “Fuck. Pinched! Ain’t this ’bout a bitch!” Phil said to himself. He shook his head and put his hands behind his head. “Damn, Shun, this all your fault.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Fumble

  Shun’s phone interrupted his sleep just in time. Porsha had managed to stay the night, and that was definitely against his rules.

  “Hello.”

  “You have a collect call from a Phil Daniels. Do you accept the charges?”

  “Yeah, put ’im through.”

  “Man, I didn’t rob no liquor store,” Phil started in before Shun said a word. He was so upset about the whole situation he could barely contain himself. “Aye, nigga, you there? I need you to swing by my girl’s house and pick up that loot and the bread. I don’t want her moms to find that shit in her tilt, you feel me? Plus, that nigga Dré rolling around wi
th either a bag full of weed or a bag of my money. I didn’t have the time to divide the bags. I know he didn’t get caught, cuz, well, his ass would be in here with me.” Phil took a moment of silence as he kicked himself for not listening to Shun in the first place. “Cutty, you there, nigga? Feel like I’m talking to God or my conscience or some shit.”

  Shun just sat on the phone listening to Phil dribble about the happenings of the previous night. “Yeah, I’m here, but I don’t feel shit. I told you what to do. You still got caught up. Only now, you have to wait on this man to drop the charges. If he decides to do so.”

  “Shun, I would’ve been in here period if I had listened to you, and you know it. Part of me thinks you want my ass locked up. I want to eat and make money too. You forgot I—”

  “You put me on, right?” Shun interrupted. “Man, go somewhere with that bullshit. You gave me a pound of weed. I got it off. I graduated and came up with my own game plan, which I then offered to teach you, but you with that shit. Man, I got to go. I have some people I have to meet about some real money. You sit tight. Don’t worry about the dro. If he yo’ real nigga, the shit is already put up.”

  Shun hung up the phone without waiting for a response from Phil. Phil was partly right about his assumption. With him locked up, Shun didn’t have to worry about Phil fucking up his money or being killed. If Phil got hurt in the game, it would weigh heavily on his heart because he didn’t wish him any harm. He loved Phil and, if needed, he would take care of ’im. He just wished he’d listen sometimes and start using his brain. Phil was always talking that hood shit, and he couldn’t stomach it anymore. Sure, he left the hood and still ended up in trouble, but it wasn’t because he did something illegal. It was because he was down for his team, and he wasn’t no snitch.

  Shun pulled out some weed from his drawer and collected the items for his meeting. He laid out his suit and tie, his gun holster, and two weapons of choice. He was heavy in thought when he was interrupted by a woman’s voice that should’ve been long gone.