Me and My Hittas (2 page)

***

Killa Dre and his mother were hunched down behind
a parked car. He’d ushered her there when the shots went
off that claimed Tramel’s life.

“We’ve got to see about your brother.” She told him
as tears dripped from her eyes. Her heart was reaking
havoc
inside of her
chest and
she
was
damn near
hyperventilating.

“Okay. I’ll check it out, you stay here.”
Killa Dre told
his mother. She nodded her head. He looked over the trunk
of the car through the back window and saw Reboc running
in his direction.

“Shit!”
“What’s wrong?”
“He’s coming!”
“Oh,God.”

There wasn’t any time for
Killa Dre and his mother to
run without drawing Reboc’s attention and possible
gunfire. Realizing this, the young nigga pulled his mother
behind him and prepared to use his body as a human shield.
He’d die protecting the life of his mother if need be.

Killa Dre frowned and clenched his teeth. His jaw
twitched with tension as he prepared for what was to be his
fate.

In what seemed to appear as slow motion, Reboc ran
passed Killa Dreand his mother’s hiding place. He pulled
his hood from off his head and gave Killa Dre a side profile.
Once the young nigga had gotten a good look at the side of
Reboc’s face, it seemed as if time had sped back up again,
like in the movie “300”. Once Killa Dre saw Reboc smash
out, he and his mother rose to their feet. They surveyed their
surroundings
and
found
bloody
bodies
scattered
throughout the street. Other survivors emerged from out of
their hiding places and moved to check on their loved ones
that were lying twisted in the street. Sobs and screams filled
the air once the survivors came to the realization that their
loved ones had been murdered.

When Killa Drew and his mother saw Tramel lying in
the street with red streams flowing from him, they took off
running in his direction.

***

As soon as Reboc bent the corner at the end of the block,
he slowed his ride down to a moderate speed and sat his warm
weapon down on the passenger seat. When Reboc pulled his
hand back after laying his Ingram down on the passenger seat,
he noticed that there were specks of blood on it. He pulled a
blue bandana from the inside of his leather coat and wiped the
specks of blood from his hand, stuffing it back inside of its
hiding place. He then picked up his cell phone and scrolled
through the contacts until he found the number that he was
looking for. Seeing Nightmare he tapped the screen, placing
the call and bringing the cell to his ear. He was high out of his
mind and needed assistance disposing of his ride and finding
a place to lay low for a while.

***

Nightmare, Nike and Supacrip kicked it inside of his
garage passing a smoldering blunt around and discussing
hood shit.

“That nigga Reboc fucked up behind his bro bro, Cuz.”
Nike announced, “That nigga howling for real.”

“True dat,” Supacrip cosigned. “He was in the middle
of the street getting shit faced and letting that thang go in the
air the other night. He told me and this nigga if he doesn’t find
out who slept Dizzy,then he’s gone ride on all of our enemies
until he feels better. The homie done lost it. We need to holla
at him before he goes off the handle and does some kamikaze
type shit.”

“I figure the best way to shut him up is to either kill him
or give him an enemy to ride on.” Nike said.

“Well, we can’t kill the homie, that’s Miss Graves’ last
living child.” Nightmare took the blunt from Nike. “He wants
a killa for his brotha? Then we’ll find him one.”

“Yeah, but who?” Nike asked.

“Whoever we choose it’s gotta
be a real head busta.”
Supacrip chimed in. “A fool that’s known for splitting niggaz’
wigs.”

Nike and Nightmare nodded in agreement.
“I’ll think of someone.” Nightmare took a pull from the
blunt and expelled white smoke. Just then his cell phone rang.
He dipped into his pocket and pulled it out. A picture of Reboc
and his number was on the screen. He tapped the screen to
answer it and placed the cell phoneto his ear. “What’s
cracking, Cuz? Shit, pull into the alley behind the house.” He
hung up and slipped the cell phone back into his pocket.

“What’s happening, Cuz?” Supacrip asked.
“What’s the deal?” Nike inquired.
“Reboc done got himself into some shit. Come on, that
nigga rolling up through the alley.”
***

“Noooooo, oh, God, not my baby, not my child,”
Killa
Dreand Tramel’s mother wailed at the top of her lungs. Her
individual braids hung loosely over her face and sprawled
over her shoulders. Her chocolate cheeks were slicked wet
with tears and green snot oozed from her nose. The Demos
jersey she wore was identical to Tramel’s and was splotched
with his blood. He lay at her side. She held his limp hand in
one hand while she used the other to caress it. Half of
Tramel’s face was blown off and a chunk of his head was
missing. The pain and horror he met before his death was
etched on face.

Killa Dre was on his knees on the opposite side of his
older brother. He stared at Tramel’s mutilated face as tears
cascaded down his cheeks. The tears seemed to come nonstop
but he tried to keep himself from breaking down like his
mother. He knew that he’d have to be the stronger of the two.
With his brother and father gone, he’d have to step up to the
plate and be the man of the house now.

A hand grasped Killa Dre
’s shoulder. He looked up and
saw a police officer there. He knew that his time had been cut
short with his brother and that it was time to say goodbye.
Killa Dre gave the police officer a nod and he left him be. He
then whispered something into Tramel’s ear and kissed him
on the temple. He got to his feet and helped his mother to hers.
She embraced him tightly, sobbing into his chest. Killa Dre
rubbed her back soothingly and watched as a white sheet was
draped over Tramel’s body. His blood quickly spotted the
sheet red. At that moment Killa Dre knew that his life would
never be the same. From that night forward he wouldn’t rest
until vengeance was his.

***

Reboc sat on the end of Nightmare’s bed, staring up at
him as he straightened out the collar of his shirt. Once
Nightmare had finished straightened out his homie’s collar,
he smoothed out the wrinkles in his shirt. He then cupped
Reboc’s face in his hands and stared into his bloodshot and
glassy
eyes.
Nightmare
pressed
his
forehead
against
homeboy’s and held it there for a second. “I love you, Cuz.”
Reboc said it back. Nightmare kissed his forehead and turned
around to Bobby Blue. She was at the opposite end of the bed
snapping closed the locks of of some luggage.

“You got everything in there?” Nightmare asked.
“Yeah, the whole kit and caboodle,” Bobby nodded.
“Good.”
“Yo,” Reboc stole Nightmare’s attention, holding the
blunt up to his face.

Nightmare received the cough medicine and took a few
puffs that made white smoke clouds surround him like he had
appeared out of thin air.

“
Bobby, hit up Nike and see what’s taking him and Supa
so fucking long.” Nightmare said before taking a pull from
that calm down.
“We’re here.”

Nightmare turned around to find Nike and Supacrip
standing in the doorway.
“Y’all dumped that M.C and set it on fiya?” Nightmare
asked.
“Yep,” Nike answered. “Help me grab Reboc’s shit so
we can scram, Supa.”
Nike and Supacrip grabbed Reboc’s luggage and
headed out of the door, leaving the men to themselves.
“Where you setting me up at, Cuz?” Reboc asked.
“My big sis’s crib.”
“Shantel’s spot? Aint that in The Junglez?”

“Yep, don’t worry about it though, you’re straight.”
Nightmare assured him. “Her baby’s daddy, Tay Rock, is a
reputable over there,and he assured me that you’re in good
hands. I’m laying a few racks on him to guaranteethat.”

“Still, I’m not feeling The Junglez.” Reboc took the Jack
Daniel’s bottle to the head. He brought the bottle down and
wiped his lips with the sleeve of his leather coat.

“Me
neither. But it’s the best I could do on such short
notice. Just lay low a couple of weeks over there until shit
blows over and I’ll send for you.”

“Alright, Cuz.”
“Gimmie some love, man.” Nightmare opened his arms.

Reboc sat his bottle Jack Daniel’s bottle down beside
the bed and embraced his brother from another with a gangsta
hug. Afterwards he broke their embrace and picked the Jack
Daniel’s bottle back up. He gave Nightmare dap and
staggered out of the bedroom.

Nightmare hung his head and massaged the bridge of
his nose. Bobby approached him from the rear, rubbing his
back.

“Are you alright, daddy?” she asked.
Henodded and said, “I’ma thousand.”
Chapter One
A month later

Killa Dre lay back behind the wheel of his Dodge
Charger, blowing smoke from his nostrils, eyes hooded
from the exotic weed. He sat up in his seat having been
zapped back from the night that his brother had been
murdered in cold blood. His recalling was so real that he
had to pat himself down and look around to make sure he
was where he last remembered. Garnering looks from his
homeboys, Woo and Big Head, he sighed with relief and
silently thanked God that he was in one piece.

Killa Dre had been fucked up ever since the day he
lost his big brother, Tramel. All he did was play football,
talk to girls and work his part-time job at Jon’s Market. He
was
a nice kid with
a good head on his
shoulders.
Everybody in the neighborhood had love for him; they just
knew he was headed for N.F.L stardom. When hewasn’t
playing football, you could catch him with some of the
neighborhood kids tossing a pigskin around. He didn’t
gangbang, but that didn’t stop someone from staining the
streets burgundy with his blood.

As Tramel lay dead in him and his mother’s arms,
Killa Drepromised him that he’d bring his killer to justice,
street justice. He vowed to never stop until he murdered the
crip that killed him; even if it meant he’d be lying in a grave
beside him when it was all over. Tears threatened to spill
down theyoung nigga’z cheeks as thoughts of his late
brother stirred up emotions inside of him. Not wanting his
homeboys see him so vulnerable, he shut his eyes for a
moment and drew them back within.

“You straight, my nigga?” Woo asked before sucking
on the end of a blunt. He was a tall cat with dark caramel
skin and hazel green eyes. He wore a short unlempt afro that
always had a red pick in it. Woo was a dangerous fella who
lived his life by the gun.

“Yeah,” he nodded, feeling the fog rise from his brain.
His high was coming down having relived that experience.
Taking a deep breath, he ran his hand down his face and
exhaled.

“You sho’?” he raised an eyebrow.

 

“Yep.”

Woo took a couple of puffs from the blunt and smoke
wafted around the confines
of
the vehicle.
After his
indulgence he passed that shit to the back where that nigga
Big Head was perched, watching the streets from the back
window.

“Yo, Big,” he passed the blunt to the the little nigga
in the backseat.

Big Head leaned forward and took it from between his
homie’s pinched fingers. Big Head was a short, big head
nigga that wore his kinky hair in a Mohawk. He was lethal
behind the trigger, but what he really loved to do was fight.
He held the title of
Knock-Out King on his
block,
successful laying out niggaz twice his size. The little dude
was like a wild pit bull when set loose from its chain, ready
to get it in. His record was thirty-four and owe. He was with
the shit wherever, whenever for whatever reason.

Big Head was about to take a pull from the blunt when
he noticed that it was wet at the end. He frowned and pulled
out a Bic lighter of his own. “Damn, Blood, you done wet
the mothafucka all up!”

So what?” he flipped the sunvisor down, scowling at
him through the rectangular mirror.

 

“So what? Nigga, I don’t know who’s pussy them big
ass lips been sucking on.”

“They been sucking on yo’ mammy’s
nigga,” He
chuckled and nudged Killa Dre who gave a half hearted
smile. Big Head twisted his face up and held up the middle
finger. Woo saw him through the mirror’s reflection, still
laughing.

Seeing their destination up ahead, Killa Dre pulled
over alongside the curb and murdered the engine. He
hopped out of the whip first, followed by Woo and Big
Head. The threesome mobbed towards the black gate of a
white two story house with a charcoal gray roof. As soon as
they entered the yard they were greeted by a collective of
four men who were shooting the shit until they arrived.
These men ranged from their mid to late twenties and held
affiliation to
the infamous
Eastside
Outlaws
Rolling
Twenties Bloods.

There was Big Panic, a six foot two, three hundred
pound man with a shaved meaty head and a thick beard. He
was built like a refrigerator with hands the size of boxing
gloves. He was no joke, and he made it his business to make
sure no one ever thought so.

The six foot one mahogany
complexioned
dude
beside him, stroking his nappy beard with an unmanicured
hand was Gouch. This man was a stone cold killer with a
fierce reputation. He was a mothafucking beast with his
twin Berettas
he
nicknamed The Girls.
Under no
circumstances was he to be played with.

Gouch had been studying the Nin Jit Su style of
fighting since he was six years old. Seeing him in front of
the television set mimicking the martial arts moves he saw
in Kung Fu flicks, his grandmother decided to enroll him
into a dojo in downtown Los Angeles. The lanky killer got
real nice with his hands. In fact, he had never lost a fight.