Me and My Hittas (4 page)

***

Buddy scrambled to his
feet,
his
jeweled hand
clutching a straight razor. His hairy chest jumped up and
down as he breathed heavily, cheeks huffing and puffing.
His usually curly hair was a mess, there was a swelling
under his right eye and his silk blue shirt was torn. He
wiped his swollen bleeding lip with the back of his fist and
swallowed the blood that had filled his grill. It tasted of
metal but he didn’t acknowledge it. Nah, his attention was
solely focused on Vayda who was crawling away from him.
Her eyes were set on her handbag which had her nickel
plated .22 hanging halfway out of it.

“Fuck you think you goin’ bitch? I ain’
t done witcho
mothafuckin’ ass yet, not by a long shot.” he swore, his
lethal eyes held firmly on her as he stalked after her, taking
his sweet time. “I’ma carve you up like a Christmas goose.”
He licked his chops and bit down on his bottom lip.

Tears floo
ded Vayda’s swollen face, mixing in with
the blood running from her nose. She moved as fast as she
could with a twisted ankle, trying to make it to her handbag
where she knew her piece was. Buddy had given it to her in
case some trick overstepped his boundaries and she had to
set him straight. Now she had every intention of using it on
his ass if she able to get her hands on it.

Vayda had just grabbed her handbag and gripped the
small gun, when she saw Buddy’s shadow eclipse her on the
carpet. Her eyes widened with fear and she gasped. His
grunting flooded her ears and she felt fire rip back and forth
across her back. Through the floor she saw his shadow
swinging his the hand which held the straight razor back
and forth across
her
back
causing her
narrowing
her
eyelids
into
slits.
She
to grimace,
shrieked
in

excruciation and tried to reach over
her
shoulder
instinctively to stop him, but he started slashing at her hand
as well, opening up a nasty gash on it.

Vayda howled in pain and looked at her ruined hand,
oozing with bright red blood. Her mind was quickly taken
away from the pain though, because he continued to hack
away at her rear, making it look like bleeding pastrami
meat. “Arghhhhh!” Tears flushed down her cheeks and she
bit down hard on her bottom lip to combat the excruciation
from the blazing fire in her back. Gripping the small gun
with both hands, she turned around on her back and pointed
the deadly end of her weapon at her attacker’s chest. He
froze where he stood, with his head tilted down, chin resting
in his chest. His eyebrows were lowered and he was glaring
down at her, lips peeled back into a sneer. His shoulders
rose and fell as he breathed, blood droplets falling from the
end of his blade, soiling the carpet.

“Now, just what in the
fuck do you plan on doing with
that, huh? Yo’ lil’ red ass ain’t built for no mur…” Pow! A
shot to his chest cut his shit talking short. His eyes widen
with surprise and his mouth hung open. He touched the hole
in his chest and his palm came away crimson. He couldn’t
believe it. That bitch had really shot him. “You...you...you
fuckin’ whore!” he roared and his eyes darkened with
hatred. Screaming in a rage, he charged at her with his
razor held above his head ready slice her down to the bone.
Squeezing her eyelids shut tightly, Vayda pulled back on the
trigger of her weapon. It kicked back when it spat back to
back, propelling him backwards with every bullet released.
Pow! Pow! Pow! Pow! Buddy dropped his straight razor as
he went staggering back getting tangled up in the curtains
and went crashing through the window’s glass. He hollered
out as he went hurtling towards the apartment complex’s
parking lot. Still clutching her gun and wincing, Vayda
slowly scrambled to her feet, clenching her jaws to combat
the sharp pains zipping back and forth across her back. She
crept towards the window with precaution and placed her
back up against the side of it. Carefully, she looked over
and out of the window. A surprised expression went across
her face when she only saw broken glass and the curtains
below. Figuring that she’d better get the hell out of there
before he or the police came looking for her, she packed a
bag and stole the money Buddy had stashed inside of the
speaker box in his bedroom. That night she hopped on a
Greyhound to Los Angeles where she found a job as a
cashier at Louisiana fried chicken and met Pavielle shortly
thereafter.

Vayda wiped her eyes and face with her hands and
then looked back up at her reflection smiling. The
nightmare that she had experienced back then was over and
now she was living a dream come true with the man that she
deserved. Meeting Pavielle had been the best thing that had
happened to her. She was sure that once she told him about
the baby that he would be just as happy as she was. Having
been in and out of foster homes all of her life, Vayda didn’t
know what it was like to have a family and a stable place to
call home. So she couldn’t wait for the day to come for her
to have one all of her own. Something told her that this was
it. This was the time to finally settled down and get the one
thing she’d been missing all of her life…a family.

After plugging up the curling iron so it could get hot
so she could do her hair once she’d gotten out of the shower,
she turned on the dials that operated the shower. Hot water
came spraying out of the showerhead, quickly filling the
bathroom with a fog that masked the medicine cabinet’s
mirror. She pulled her curly hair back up in a ponytail at the
top of her head and tangled a rubber band around it so that
her hair wouldn’t get wet. Afterwards she stepped inside of
the tub and grabbed a loofer, soaping it up with Dove body
wash. She smiled and sung as she lathered her form,
masking herself with white foam from her neck on down.

***

 

Pavielle knocked on his uncle’s bedroom door.

“Come in.” Gangsta called out from
the other side of
the door. As soon as Pavielle crossed the threshold into his
uncle’s bedroom he was struck by his attire. Gangsta was
razorsharp. He was G’d up in a feathered brim, cream
tailored suit, tie, baby blue button-down and two tone
snakeskin Stacy Adams. Gangsta was a ruggedly handsome
man with a caramel hue. He wore his hair in a fade that
blended in perfectly with his thin goatee. He was six feet
tall and had the physique of Lou Ferrigno. He had diamond
earings in both ears. His eyes were hidden behind gold
frames and a Presidential Rolex hugged his wrist. On his
pinky finger there was an icy ring worthy of a mafia don.

“Damn, unc, don’t hurt’em!” Pavielle said, plopping
down on the king sized bed.

“This is
that O.G shit. What chu know about it, young
nigga?” Gangsta asked as he adjusted his cufflinks and
struck poses fit to bless the cover of GQ Magazine.

“Whoo! Is that O.G Gangsta from The Bottoms that’s
killing them
fools
in that tailored and them Stacy’s?
Get’em, unc.”Pavielle smiled proudly, looking on at his
uncle.

“Shiiieet, I’m fresh to death, niggaz can’t tell me
nothing.” he adjusted his tie in the mirror.

 

“Aye, unc, what was it you wanted to see me about?”
wonderment crossed his face.

 

“Got a couple pounds of Kush I want chu to break
down and bag up into twenty-fivedollar sacks.”

Gangsta’s father died of a heart attack when he was
seventeen years old, leaving him the man of the house.
Seeing his mother struggling to keep a roof over their heads
and food on the table, he took it to the streets to “Get It How
He Lived”. He started off selling drugs hand over fist but
eventually became the neighborhood dope man. From there
he had his section of The Low Bottoms on lock. A nigga
couldn’t get money by his way if h wasn’t copping from
him or kicking up money for taxes. That’s just how it was.
His word was law and if anybody went against the grain
they faced certain death. Straight like that.

Pavielle and Gouch’s
parents were murdered when
they were little, leaving Gangsta the man of the house and
the only male in the boys lives. The O.G knew his nephews
praised him as if he was a holy figure, and therefore they
would hold onto his words as if they were gospel. So, he
took it upon himself to administer some kind of guidance.
He was helping his mother raise his nephews as best as he
could. He loved the brothers as if they were his sons. He
knew the dangers of his lifestyle and how alluring it could
be to his nephews. He found himself playing tug-of-war
with their lives, with him pulling them in one direction and
the streets pulling them in the other. It was a battle he ended
up losing.

“Where is it?”

 

“Under the bed there.”

Pavielle reached under the bed and pulled out a duffle
bag. He sat it on his lap and unzipped it. He pulled out two
pounds of Purple Kush in Ziploc bags. The weed was so
potent that he could smell it through the Ziplocs. He knew
that this was that fire. Pavielle unzipped the Ziploc bags and
inhaled the odor of the rich green buds sprinkled with
purple crystals that were inside. He flinched as the strong
aroma came into his contact with his nasal passages.

“Damn, unc, this is that Oooh wee!” Pa
vielle declared
closing the Ziploc and shoving it back into the duffle bag.
“So, where are you headed? You gotta hot date tonight?”

“It’s that time of the month
again; I gotta go see my
boy.” Gangsta said. That “
Boy
” he was referring to was his
cocaine connection, Jesus Arturo, known in the streets as
Black Jesus. He was meeting the Mexican kingpin at a
Spanish restaurant where they were to make a drop off and
exchange.

“So who are you taking, Shafonda?” Pavielle
inquired.

 

“Nah, she can’t make it so I’m taking Vayda.”
Gangsta told him, fixing his brim on his head.

 

Pavielle’s face gave to a scowl hearing that the
woman his uncle was taking out was his own.

 

“Who?” he frowned, trying to make sure he had heard
right.

 

“Who did you say?”

“You heard right. Vayda…
your girl,” Gangsta said
again. “Shafonda cancelled on me at the last minute;
something about her mother being sick or some shit. But
I’m not complaining. Shafonda’s fine,but she don’t have
shit on Vayda.” He tucked the chrome, pearl handle .45 into
the small of his back.

Pavielle flashed his uncle a slight grin to hide his
jealousy, but the O.G could tell that taking his lady out
didn’t sit too well with him. He knew firsthand how jealous
his nephew could get; many of men had lost their lives
trying to get next to Vayda.

“Vayda, saved my life.” Gangsta confessed. “I
offered to lay afew dollars on her…”

 

“But I wasn’t having it!” a female voice said from the
doorway.

Pavielle and Gangsta whip their heads around to the
door way; their eyes doubled in size and their mouths
dropped open in awe, seeing the gorgeous redbone before
them. Vayda’s curvy frame filled out a strapless white
Dolce & Gabana dress. Her small manicured feet were in a
pair of pink Steve Madden high heels. Her hair was pulled
back in a bun to show off her pink diamond earrings
Pavielle bought her for her twenty-second birthday. A
platinum & pink diamond necklace adorned her neck and a
Jaeger Lecoultre watch with pink diamonds surrounding its
face graced her wrist. The dress and all of the accessories
complimented Vayda’s beauty well. She looked like she
was ready to attend The Ball with Cinderella.

Gangsta whistled as he took in the sight that was the
gorgeous Ms. Vayda Perry. He looked over to Pavielle who
still had his mouth open, saliva had pooled in his mouth and
drool threatened to drip from the corner of it. Vayda was
even more beautiful than the day he first met her.

***

 

“Man, I’m hungrier than a hostage!” Panic pushed the
champagne Suburban through the streets.

 

“Shit, what chu tryna grab to eat?” Pavielle asked.

 

“I don’t know. I could go for some Cantonese food;
you tryna fuck with Paul’s Kitchen.”

 

“I’ve gotta taste for some chicken and fries.” Pavielle
said.

 

“What about some Church’s?”

“Blood, you the only nigga I know that like that nasty
ass Church’s Chicken!” Panic said, shaking his head. “I
don’t really have a taste for no bird, but I’ll tell you what,
though. There’s a Louisiana Fried Chicken spot on the
corner of Manchester and Normandie. They have chicken
and Chinese food there.”

“Bool, but ain’t that Eight Trey hood?”
“Yeah, but we’re good, though. I know a couple of
Treys,” Panic told him. “Some of my family is from their
set.”

“I Griff you, but that ain’t enough insurance for me.”

Panic reached over him, popped open the glove-box,
and produced a Glock .9mm. He tossed the compact gun
onto his lap and smacked the glove-box back shut.

“There! Is that enough insurance for you?” the big
man grinned.

“Nah,” Pavielle examined the Glock in his lap. “But
this is…” he brandished a banger of his own. It was twice
the size of Panic’s weapon.

They both laughed.

 

***

When Panic and Pavielle hopped out of the Suburban
and approached the chicken spot they noticed there were
mostly old people and females inside, which was fine by
Pavielle because he wasn’t looking for trouble. He just
wanted to grab a bite to eat. The entire way over to the
chicken spot his stomach was talking to him like that plant
in
The Little Shop of Horrors movie.
Feed me, Booby! Feed
me!