Me and My Hittas (12 page)

“Yeah, nigga, that’s how I feel!” Fat Travon spat
, his
finger curling around the trigger of the small gun. “Now run
and tell your daddy that?” his head jumped from side to side
as he talked that shit.

Big Head was pissed off; he clenched his jaws so tight
that you could see the veins pulsating in his neck. He cursed
himself for forgetting his strap at home, because if he hadn’t
he would have left fat boy belly up and leaking where he
stood.

“Alright, my nigga,” Big Head rode off on his Beach
Cruiser.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, pussy! Kick rocks!” Fat
Travon flexed, feeling himself. He harped up some phlegm
and spat it on the curb, watching the little nigga’z back as
he rode off down the street.

Meanwhile

Pavielle and Gouch were in the front yard of their
grandmother’s house going body. Gouch took two solid
punches to the chest from his baby brother. The blows stung
like hell but he ignored the pain and moved in for some get
back. He set Pavielle up throwing weak jabs, which he
easily swatted away. He then countered with two solid
punches to his sibling’s rib cage and a hard right into his
gut. Pavielle staggered back, wincing in pain from the
devastating combination. The well placed punches nearly
dropped him but he quickly re-established his equilibrium.
Panting out of breath, but refusing to lose to his big brother,
he tucked his chin to his chest and balled his fists as tight as
he could.

“You done had enough, nigga, huh?!” Gouch asked.

 

“Fuck that shit, Blood! You’re gone come up outta
my mothafucking Dickies!”

Both of the brothers were exhausted from going from
the shoulders with each other, but neither of them was going
to throw in the towel any time soon. They were both
stubborn, so their squabbling usually ended with both of
them scrawled out on the lawn from exhaustion.

“I told you these are mine, Booby.”

 

“I’m not tryna hear that shit, nigga!”

 

“I was going easy on your ass ‘cause you’re my baby
brother and shit. But now the kid gloves are off.”

“Bring that shit then, homeboy!” Pavielle threw a few
jabs that but they fell a couple of inches short of reaching
hisGouch’s chest.

“What the hell are y’all doing?” Vayda yelled out
from the porch, holding the front door open. “Baby, why
are you fighting your brother?”

“Fuck this nigga, baby!” Pavielle yelled back, trying
to punch a hole through his oldest brother’s chest. “Blood
tryna gangsta my Dickies.”

“You mean your red Dickie shorts? I sent them to the
cleaners with the rest of your stuff.”

Pavielle dropped his arms to his sides and turned
around to face his woman. “And when in the hell were you
going to let me know this?”

“I told you yesterday that I was sending them to the
dry cleaners, weed head,” She pretended to take pulls of a
blunt, her way off letting her boo know he smokes too
much.

“See, I told your ass.” Gouch smacked him in the back
of his head. He swung back around throwing up his hands
and the two started slap-boxing. A sharp whistle came from
their left and the brothers’ heads snapped around. Beyond
the iron-gate they saw Big Head on his Beach Cruiser.

“Soowoo,” he greeted them.

 

“Soowoo,” Pavielle and Gouch retorted in unison, as
they approached the black iron-gate breathing heavily.

 

“What it two, my young nigga?” Pavielle asked,
resting his arms between the bars of the black iron-gate.

 

“Ain’t shit, y’all know Fat Travon posted up by y’all
way getting it, right?”

 

“Hell naw! Where is he at?” Pavielle frowned.

 

“Shit, right there in front of Ace’s mini-market.” he
informed the brothers.

“That fool knows that’s my territory.” Pavielle told
Gouch over his shoulder. “He thinks just ‘cause unc is on
lock that he can post up out here? It doesn’t work that way.
Unc’s territory is under my jurisdiction now. I’m running
this.” He smacked his hand up against his chest.

“I tried to tell ‘em but he wasn’t tryna hear me,” Big
Head confessed, looking dead serious. “He said, and I
quote, ‘Booby can eat a bowl of hot dicks!”

“Is that right?” Pavielle asked, raising his brow. He
couldn’t believe Fat Travon would show his ass like that.

 

This nigga knowI’ma ‘bout that life, fuck wrong with
Blood?
He thought.

“Yep, he told me to eat a bowl of dicks, too.” Big
Head added. “I’m telling you big homie, if I would have
had my banger, I would have bucked his fat ass down.” He
extended his hand and pulled an imaginary trigger, making
gunshot sounds with his mouth.

“Would have served him
right,
disrespectful
mothafucka,” Gouch’s face balled up.

“Aye, Gucci, I gotta see this nigga. Yo, Y.G,” Pavielle
addressed Big Head. “Post right here for a second, Blood.
I’ll be right back.” He ran off into the house and came back
out loading pool balls into a black dress sock, tying it up at
the end.“Roll me to where blood at.” He hopped on the
handle bars of Big Head’s Beach Cruiser, his legs dangling
as they rode off. His face was balled up and his neck was
on a swivel as they moved.

Gouch snatched up an old rusty pipe from off the curb
and was stalking after his brother and their homeboy.
The Hood brothers were about to fuck a nigga up.

 

***

Fat Travon had just finished making a sell when he
looked up the block and saw Big Head, Pavielle, and Gouch
approaching. He tensed up a little, realizing he had let his
mouth write a check that his asscouldn’t cash. But it was
too late now, he had to soldier up and hold down the fort.
Readying himself, he put on his game-face and tightened
his grip around the .32 resting in hisjacket’s pocket. He
took a deep breath and then blew hard.

Big Head’s Beach Cruiser
came to a stop in front of
Fat Travon and Pavielle hopped of its handle bars. Holding
the sock of pool balls behind his back, he approached the
husky curb server wearing a hostile expression.

“What’s up, fat boy? What chu doing out here?”

 

“Nothing,” Fat Travon replied nonchalantly. “Tryna
get this money.”

“I ain’t mad at chu, pimp. You can get your money,
you just can’t get it over here,” Pavielle told him, tightening
his grip on the sock of pool balls. “Gangsta’s locked up and
this here has been passed down to me. And the only niggaz
that’s living off the fat of my land is the ones that are getting
money with me. Ya Griff me?” he spat on the sidewalk,
wearing a scowl that dared Fat Travon to challenge his
authority. “So you gone have to bounce.”

Fat Travon’s looked over Pavielle, Gouch and Big
Head, they were all wearing scowls. Outnumbered, he felt
like a lamb among a pride of lions.

“Or get bounced!” Gouch added his two
cents. He
was posted under the telephone pole with the rusty pipe
resting over his shoulder like a baseball bat.

Big Head sat on his Beach Cruiser laughing at Fat
Travon, taunting him. Pissed off, the beefy corner hustler
drew his pistol. Before he could get off a shot, he felt
something hard strike him dead smack in the face. A sharp
pain shot through his face like a bolt of electricity. He
grabbed his face with his meaty hands and dropped his
weapon, right beside Gouch’s rusty pipe.

Pavielle swung into action, assaulting Fat Travon
with the sock of pool balls. He struck the beefy hustler’s
back, shoulders and head. He tried to make a run for it, but
he tripped him up and he fumbled to the sidewalk, busting
his mouth. The crack rocks spilled from his jacket pocket
onto the pavement. Two crack heads came out of nowhere
snatching up the tiny pieces of poison. One of them scooped
up his .32 and tucked it, running off with his partner.

Gouch caught up with his baby brother, while Pavielle
continued to beat Fat Travon with the sock of pool balls, he
kicked and stomped him. Growing tired of the sock of pool
balls, Pavielle tossed
it to the side and
snatched an
aluminum trash can from the curb. He motioned for his
brother to get out of the way and then he slammed it on their
victim’s head, hard as a mothafucka.

“Uhhhhh,” Fat Travon moaned, his eyelids flickering
white.

“Stay the fuck off my blocks!
Haa! Haa! Haa! Haa,”
Pavielle managed to say between breaths, his chest jumping
up and down. He was winded from the beating he had laid
down. He harped up some phlegm and spat it on Fat
Travon’s temple. The disgusting goo oozed over his eyelid,
dripping to the ground.

Chapter Eight
The next day

Pavielle had gotten a phone call from a blocked
number while Vayda was braiding his hair on the front
porch. He started not to answer the call, but something told
him that he ought to.

“What’s bracking?” He said into his burn
-out cell
phone before taking a pull from his blunt, unleashing
smoke. Afterwards he tapped the L, dumping ashes on the
step.

“Is this Booby Loc
o?” A voice asked from the other
end of the phone. It sounded like it had been chopped &
screwed.

“Yeah, who is this?” His face balled up.

Ignoring Pavielle’s question, the voice went on to
give him the location and time he was to meet his charge.
Shortly thereafter, the phone was being hung up.

“Who was that?” Vayda asked, making a part down
his head with a skinny comb.

 

“My destiny,” Pavielle replied before taking another
pull from the blunt.
That night

Eleven thirty rolled around and Pavielle and Gouch
found themselves pulling up at the address the weird voice
had given him. The address belonged to an old warehouse
that used to manufacture Mattel toys.

Entering the mouth of the enormous warehouse, the
headlights of Pavielle’s Chevy Impala shined on the faces
of Tango, Bullet and Black Jesus. The trio was posted
outside of a white on white Rolls Royce Phantom. The
luxury vehicle’s headlights were shining behind them to
provide some sort of light within the dark warehouse.

Pavielle left the headlights of his Chevy on and
grabbed the duffle from the back seat. He jumped out of his
ride with Gouch on his heels, approaching the drug lord and
his company. Pavielle looked over the faces of the three
men before him. He had no idea who the older Dominican
gentleman was in the fancy suit and shades. But from the
bulge near his left breast he knew he had to have been
packing, which would make him Black Jesus’ body guard.
Hecouldn’t have been the plug, because men of his caliber
never carried a gun. They always had someone with them
to hold them down.

Homeboy standing on the opposite side of the man in
the wheelchair couldn’t have been Black Jesus either. It was
the shaved head, tattoos and gangster apparel that gave him
away. His threads and appearance definitely wasn’t one of
a drug lord. From what Pavielle heard from Gangsta, his
coke connect was a man who adored tailor made suits. He
was into silks, suedes and linens. You would never catch
him in Dickies and a Pro-Club.

The Spanish cat in the wheelchair had to be Black
Jesus. He looked just like Gangsta had described him; a
good looking, dark skinned Latino, with a Superman curl.
Pavielle thought if the drug lord hadn’t chosen the dope
game; the pretty mothafucka could have made his living as
a supermodel.

“You must be Black Jesus?” Pavielle guessed right
.
Black Jesus cracked a grin but never answered. “I’m O.G
Booby Loc, and this is my older brother, Gouch.” He gave
a slight nod to his big brother, who was standing beside him.
“We’re Gangsta’s…” Pavielle’s words died in his throat
when Tango and Bullet drew down on him and his brother.

“Ain’t this about a bitch?” Gouch’s forehead
wrinkled, looking to his little brother.

 

“My man,” Pavielle
scowled and addressed the
wheelchair bound man. “What the fuck is this?”

 

“Place your guns on the ground, kick’em over and
take off your clothes.” Black Jesus ordered.

“What?” Gouch snapped. “I’m not upping my strap
and I’m for damn sure not taking off my mothafucking
clothes!” with that being said, Tango and Bullet cocked the
hammers of their weapons.

“Take. Off. Your. Mothafucking. Clothes,” Black
Jesus gritted, arching his eyebrows. “Now!”

“Go ahead and do as he said, Gucci,” Pavielle told his
brother as he removed his banger and dropped his duffle
bag at his sneaker. Gouch blew hard but went along with
his little brother’s request. As the brothers placed their
straps on the ground and kicked them over, Gouch stared at
Black Jesus with a burning hatred. He swore to himself if
he lived through whatever the drug lord had planned for him
that he was going to put a bullet through his head and each
one of his nigga’z as well.

“Now your clothes, gentlemen,” Black Jesus told
them and steepled his hands in his lap. The brothers stripped
down to their boxers. “And your boxers,” Pavielle and
Gouch exchanged glances and then they dropped their
boxer briefs to the ground. They stood facing the Mexican
drug lord, with their dicks and balls hanging. Black Jesus
then motioned for them to do a 360 degree turn with his
finger. They obliged.

“What’s up with your man?” Gouch asked Pavielle as
he turned around. “He’s some type a fag or something?”

“No, I am not
some
type of
fag.” Black Jesus
answered, overhearing the eldest of the Hood brothers.
“You don’t get to play in this game as long as I have without
taking precautions. Besides, I don’t know you two from a
can of paint. For all I know, you could have been wearing
wires.”