Tampa Black: Part !

Tampa Black

Part 1

AUTHOR: JIHAAD

Copyright © 2016 Author Jihaad

All rights reserved.

ISBN-10
:
1518797946

ISBN-13: 978-1518797941

DEDICATION

This offering is dedicated to the struggle. To all the Prodigal sons and daughters experimenting with the streets, or doing time inside of the industrial prison complex; know that change begins with a choice. No matter what the obstacles may be, always remember that every breath that you breathe is another opportunity to succeed. Make the most out of it…

Sincerely,

~Jihaad~

CONTENTS

DISCLAIMER:

This is a work of fiction. all of the characters, organizations; and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

                                                                                                                                                          ~J
ihaad
~

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

First I want to thank The Most High for blessing me with the talent and opportunity to pursue my dreams. I want to thank my Queen Pinky for supporting me, and encouraging me to push my pen even when it seemed like the world was falling down around me. I want to thank the entire Original Souls family for pushing our vision. I pray that we’re blessed in all that we do. I want to thank my family: Meeka, Tonya, Carlos, Bryce and the rest of my loved ones for being my muse. You will forever be a part of me. And last but not least I want to thank the streets of Tampa Florida for the many lessons it taught me. Tampa will always be my home…

      ~Jihaad~ 

CHAPTER 1

The jamaICan hit

Tampa Florida was the epitome of the modern day degenerated social state of urban America, and west Tampa was just one of the many government housing projects ravaged by desperation, drugs, and violence.

From the broken glass that cluttered the streets and the basketball courts of the parks, to the broken street lights that left residents in the dark; was a testament to the fact that times were hard. Some nights the tension in the air was so thick that you could feel the pulse of the streets in the pit of your stomach. More often than not, that feeling meant two things, either death or police were right around the corner and tonight was no different…

As semi-automatic gunfire roared like a hurricane through the city streets, Trion was so close to the wet work that he not only witnessed the bullets from Zoe’s A-K blow the face off the lifeless body that now lay in front of his porch, he also witnessed the dark rivers of blood as they escaped from the multiple holes in the bullet riddled body. Almost as if it was trying to grasp its last thread of life, the nerves in the corps began to twitch sending it into violent convulsions.

“Man what the fuck?!...”

Before he could finish his thoughts, Trion’s body moved with military precision maneuvering him into the apartment that he shared with his mother. Housing authority was known for its brick structures that everyone complained held heat in the summer and were cold in the winter, but on nights like tonight, those bricks were a life saver.

Now in the dark shadows of his living-room window, Trion breathed a sigh of relief seeing the Jamaican hitmen jump into a black Dodge Charger and speed off. The fog of the gun smoke still lingered in the air as the tail lights from the getaway car disappeared into the night.

“Damn…that dumb junkie ass nigga almost got me wet up.  He should’ve known better than to try to run off with a nigga’s work.”

As a small crowd of people began to circle the dead body, Trion thought to himself,

“fuck it man, I’m about to burn this kush before my old girl gets home …”

Laying back on an old beat up recliner in his cluttered room, Trion allowed his six-foot frame to relax as he fired up a blunt of what the streets called blueberry kush. The moment the smoke hit his lungs, neither the police sirens blaring in the distance; nor the close call that he had just experienced mattered. Idly twisting his dreads, Trion allowed his mind to relax until he heard the keys jiggling in the front door. As alert flooded through his veins, he rushed to put out his blunt; and made sure that the 40 cal. that he kept with him faithfully was safely tucked away under a pillow before the door opened…

“Yea as I walk through the valley of the shadows of death, I shall fear no evil…  Trion!... Trion Napper were you at boy?... Got all the lights out in here like we live in a damn cave or something …”

Evon Napper was a beautiful dark skinned woman that stood about five foot five, and had a smile that could light up heaven. Although she was only about a hundred and twenty pounds and small in stature, she was no non-sense; especially when it came to her son. As Evon’s footsteps grew closer to Trion’s bedroom door, he knew what was coming,

“Trion! Boy I know that you aint smoking that shit in my damn house!... All these damn police everywhere, boy I swear you aint got no sense in that big ass head of yours...”

As she burst through the bed room door, Trion could see the stress and anger written on her face.

“Lord have mercy…  Did you see what they did to that poor boy out the door?... They didn’t have to kill that boy like that. Jesus Christ.…”

Noticing her son about to settle into his recliner, Evon honed in.

“Boy get your ass up and help me put these groceries up. What have I told you about smoking that shit in my house?”

Getting up to oblige his mother, Trion smirked to himself.

“Boy what is so damn funny?”

Passing Evon on the way to the kitchen, Trion gave her a hug before stepping back to look at her.

“Okay ma, I got you, but now how are you gonna pray and mention Jesus’s name then curse me out in the same breath?”

Knowing that her son was right, all Evon could do was smile and playfully slap him on the back of his head, before she burst out laughing.

“Because I’m grown that’s why. Now go put those groceries up so I can start cooking.”

Knowing that the munchies had his stomach in a headlock, Trion fell in step and did what he was asked…

When he woke up the next day it was about 12:30AM. Almost as if he was in a trance, Trion fell into his everyday routine.  Stumbling to the restroom to relieve himself and brush his teeth, he grabbed the half of blunt left over from last night’s intrusion by his mom before stepping out onto the front porch. The first thing that met his line of vision as he ignited the loud aroma of marijuana was the deep red stains of blood saturated into the grass not even ten feet from his front door outlined in white chalk.

“Damn this shit is crazy, one minute you’re here, and the next you’re talking to God in person.”

As the thought sunk in, Trion finished his blunt before realizing that he was out of Black & Mild’s.

“I need to go see if Ms. Easter got some Blacks.”

Ms. Easter was a short grey headed woman with the spunk of a twenty-year-old, although she was now at least three times that age. Heading up the street to see the candy lady, Trion bumped into a neighborhood wino named Porkchop. Now Porkchop was known throughout the projects by everybody.        

He was a good spirited old head who knew and spoke to everyone.  His only problem was that he liked to almost drink himself to death every day.

Porkchop drank to ease the pain of losing his only child who was burned to death in an apartment fire started by her junkie mom who had nodded off after a hit, killing them both.

As Trion passed by, Porkchop revealed his crooked dingy smile; so Trion spoke.

“Yo what up Porkchop?”

Giving Trion the same reply that he gave everybody, Porkchop continued to smile.

“Hey there hamburga…”

Porkchop’s response always made Trion laugh, and today was no different.

“You’re crazy old head.”

“Yeah hamburga I might be crazy, but I got enough sense to know these streets aint safe at night. That young boy who just got killed down yonder. That aint nothing but the devil’s work. You be safe out here hamburga, you hear me?”

“Yeah, I hear you Porkchop. You do the same.”

Reaching his destination, Trion knew he was at the right spot when he smelled fish plates and boiled peanuts cooking in the kitchen. Feeling his stomach kick into overdrive, Trion knocked on the screen door. Opening the door to let him in, Ms. Easter gave him a nurturing yet stern look.

“Boy come on in here and stop knocking on my door like you’re crazy.”

Ms. Easter who everybody called mama, had known Trion since he was born, so not only did he get his Black & Mild’s, he also walked away with a full stomach. Thank God for the candy lady…

On the other side of the harbor in a section of town called Port Tampa, the two Jamaican hit men from the night before stood in front of their boss Zion; who was the head of a blood thirsty Jamaican cartel associated with the infamous Zoe pound. Unpleased with the night’s events, Zion critically eyed his two henchmen with unbridled disdain as his gigantic muscle-bound body-guard stood beside him silently.

Having heard too many excuses, Zion addressed the two.

“Now what you say youth!? You almost let de thief get away only to murder de mon in de middle of de street in front of a million witnesses? Now de fucking law-mon is looking for de blood clot car wit de tag number...”

Zion was becoming irate as his fists clinched and pounded his mahogany desk top.

“In my whole life I’ve known no such idiots! Tecko give me my ras clot pet. These pussy clot idiots are about to play a game of chance.”

With a devilish grin shadowing his face, Tecko handed Zion his nickel plated revolver. Everyone inside of the circle knew that the price for failure was death, so it was time to pay the piper. Zion’s revolver held six rounds, so he opened the cylinder and emptied five hollow tips onto his expensive desk, then pulled an old silver dollar out of his pocket as he made his way over to the two nervous men.

“Now youth, I have one judgment in de cylinder of dis pistol. I will give you both a chance to choose a side of de coin. If you choose de wrong side, I will place de barrel of my pet to your forehead and pull de trigger.”

With a slight smile, he added;

“if no one is dead after dree rounds, den all is forgiven. Now youth, choose your fate …”

Nervously the taller of the two chose heads, leaving the short man to accept tails by default. When the coin rose into the air, it was as if time stood still. When it landed, the coin rested on heads. Quickly Zion raised the pistol to Koran’s head and pulled the trigger, click; dry chamber. Spinning the cylinder again, both men began to sweat, this time it was Zah’s turn to tempt fate. Again there was another dry click. Beginning to lose his patience with the lack of bloodshed, Zion decided to spice up the game by adding another shell, and spinning the cylinder. The two men wanted to protest, but they knew that their lives were solely in Zion’s hands; so they remained silent.

Knowing that this was his last chance at survival, Koran closed his eyes, said silent prayer; and chose tails. This time as fate would have it, he would remain alive. As the coin landed on tails, Zion raised the revolver; and it exploded sending blood and chunks of Zah’s brain matter flying out of the back of his head as his lifeless body dropped to the floor. A moment of euphoria filled the air until Zion broke the silence.

“Now youth, when you’re done cleaning up dis mess, I want de head of de witness on my desk before de sun comes again…”

CHAPTER 2

TRAGEDY STRIKES HOME

As Trion and his team worked the block with precision of a used car salesmen, they did major numbers and were loving it. Trion’s mentor Jago had taught him well. He had the biggest sacks and the best coke, so not only did his street team love him for keeping them ahead of the game with plenty money to burn, the streets also blessed him because he showed love to the elders and the have nots. Jago always use to tell Trion,

“the king who is hated by his court is not a true king, he is a tyrant and

will soon become de author of his own demise.”

It was jewels like those that fortified Trion’s street demonstration and made him one of the best at what he did, getting money…

As the sun began to set, Trion’s IPhone began to play Future’s “L.O.V.E.”  It was a Tango request from his new cut buddy Keona who was trying to get some face time with the young trap star.

Keona was every dope boy’s dream; she was a thick bow legged chick with long wavy hair that came down to her plump perfectly round behind. Her redbone complexion, and brown eyes could melt the heart and pockets of any hustler, Keona’s only flaw was the fact that she had four bad ass kids by four dead beat baby daddies. Never the less, word on the streets was that she had the wettest treasure in Tampa; and Trion wanted to see for himself.

Touching the screen of his phone, Trion accepted the Tango request. When the call connected, he could see Keona laying on her bed in a wife beater and some boy shorts. Her perky breast demanded his attention as her erect chocolate nipples peaked through the thin fabric of her shirt. Summoning him out of his trance, Keona cleared her throat with a slight exaggeration and smiled.

“Damn bae, what do I have to do to make you come give me some of that dick?”

Laughing at Keona’s remark, Trion watched as she began to playfully pat her plump pussy lips through the fabric of her boy shorts. Tired of their little game of cat and mouse, Trion was ready to test Keona’s waters to see just how wet her pussy really got.

“Okay listen ma, I got a few more plays to make, then I’m on my way.”

Slightly squirming as she giggled, Keona smiled at the screen,

“okay I’m waiting on you boy so hurry up…”

Getting back to the money, Trion facilitated a few more plays before giving his team some last minute instructions. The block was beating, so “The Family” as Trion called his team had ran through almost a whole kilo broken down into fifty slabs in the last few hours. Although he hated to leave while the trap was biting so hard, Trion wanted Keona so bad that he could almost already taste her.