The California Saga (21 page)

 

 

After talking to Calico I was fucking vexed. I had stood by that nigga's side for years, never deceiving him, stealing from him, or trying to shave off his profit. There was no other nigga that had his back like me, and this was the thanks I get? Not wanting to sit and dwell on him and his bullshit, I decided to go to the barbershop and kick it with some of my niggas and fuck with some of the freak bitches that hang up there.

“Damn, nigga! Fuck wrong with you? Coming in the shop like you wanna kill niggas and shit,” Mike, one of the barbers, said as soon as I walked in the place.

My feelings must have been written all over my face. “Ain't shit, man. Who in the chair next?” I asked, still a little aggravated.

“You.” Mike brushed the hair from the chair, using a cape, then threw it around me.

Once in the chair, and out of earshot of the public, I began to fill Mike in.

“Nah, duke, it ain't no beef shit. I just got off the phone with that nigga Calico, and that nigga be talking to me like I'm some little bitch. He needs to start respecting men. You feel me?”

“Right, right.” Mike didn't say much. Him, like most niggas, was too afraid to curse Calico.

The more I thought about things it really started to get under my skin. I had to wonder what the fuck this nigga took me for. After everything I'd done for homie, all the fucking wars we'd been through and I had this nigga back, this nigga was still talking to me like I was some little nothing-ass nigga. I'd been past the toy soldier status. A nigga had his wings now, but Calico couldn't see it. But whether he chose to see it or not, I knew I wasn't gonna be his “gofer” for too much longer. It was definitely time for change.

Although I'd never crossed Calico before, I was really considering it. I was making just enough money to get by working with him. It was time for me to make a come-up. I figured the next time that nigga gave me some shit to deliver, or some money to collect, I was gonna take that shit and flip and make a little money off of it, then pay him. As long as I did that shit quickly, he would never know the difference. After a few flips, I would have enough money on my own to start buying some weight.

 

 

My eyes opened suddenly as I was jolted out of my sleep from the nightmare that kept playing over and over in my head. I waited for my eyes to focus. Slightly disoriented, I could hear a constant beeping and faint voices in the background as well. I looked around, slowly focusing my eyes, and realized I was in a hospital.

That's when the realization hit me that I hadn't been dreaming at all. There really was an accident. I felt like I was beginning to live out my nightmare. I started to panic.
Had I been shot? Where is Touch?
I touched my head and screamed out in pain.
Oh my God! I was shot in the head! Am I retarded? Can I walk? I need a mirror! Oh my God! Please, where's the mirror?
I felt like I was going crazy. I looked around the room frantically for a mirror. I couldn't move due to all the different tubes that were attached to me, so I called for help.

“Help me! Please help me!” I began to yell out for a nurse.

Seconds later a nurse rushed in. “Hi, Miss Diaz. Glad to see you up and alert. I'm Misty, and I'll be your nurse today. Is everything okay?” she asked calmly.

“No. What happen to my head? Was I shot? I need to see a mirror,” I said, still in a panic. Months earlier I'd taken a nasty blow to the head, and it was not nice. I was all swollen and black and blue for days. I refused to go through that again.

“Just calm down, Miss Diaz. You were not shot. You were hit in the head with a bottle. You have been in a coma for two days,” Nurse Misty explained.

I asked the next most important question. “What about my boyfriend, Trayvon Davis? Where is he?”

“Your boyfriend isn't doing as well as you are. He's in our intensive care unit.”

“Oh God! This can't be happening,” I said, realizing again my nightmare was reality. “He was shot, wasn't he?”

“Yes, he was. He was shot in the stomach, and the bullet exited through his back, damaging quite a few vital organs in the process. He's currently in critical condition.”

As I listened to the nurse and registered what she was saying, my chest began to tighten, and I felt like I couldn't breathe. “I think I'm gonna pass out,” I said to her between pants, and the slow, constant, beeping sounds in the background picked up in pace.

Misty tried to coach me back to a normal breathing pattern. “You're panicking. Just relax and take some deep breaths.”

“I have to see him, please,” I begged the nurse.

“I'll see what we can do. Just give me a few minutes to talk with the doctor.” Misty then exited the room.

I watched as she walked out. Misty was a young nurse, a nice-looking black girl, dressed in Baby Phat scrubs, with a big phat ass to match. I'm usually good at judging character, and she looked liked one of those get-money chicks. With that in mind, I needed to keep her far from my man.

“Ouch!” A streaking pain ran through my head, diverting my attention back to my injury.

I couldn't believe what was going on. I couldn't understand how we went from a night of celebrating the New Year, to Touch being shot and me in a coma. The more I played that night over and over in my head, the more the pieces of the puzzle began to come together. Before long I'd recapped the entire night in my head, and I knew exactly what had gone down. I was sure Calico had shot Touch, and Sasha had hit me in the head. Now that I knew the deal, I knew exactly what I had to do. Calico and Sasha had to pay.

Misty returned to the room with a wheelchair. “Miss Diaz?”

“Yes?”

“I'm gonna take you to see Mr. Davis. The doctor wanted you to wait until he was able to come in and do a quick examination, but I convinced him to let me go ahead and take you to see your boo.”

We both laughed at her usage of the word
boo
.

“Thanks, girl,” I said to Misty as though we were longtime friends. “I really appreciate it.”

“Oh, trust me, I understand. I was in your place once. Me and my man were in a car accident, and when I came to, all I wanted to do was see him. So I feel your pain.” Misty parked the chair next to my bed and began to prepare me for my trip.

My opinion suddenly changed about her. Instead of looking at her as another greedy street-bitch, I actually saw her as a pretty cool female. She helped me out of bed, and minutes later, I was comfortable in the wheelchair.

Misty swept me off to Touch's room. As we entered the room, I instantly felt the same tightness I'd felt in my chest earlier, and again, I began to struggle to breathe. The sight of a lifeless Touch with tubes coming from every direction and constant beeps of the monitor and inflation of the breathing machine was just too overwhelming for me.

“Why are there so many tubes? What's going on?” I asked Misty between my tears and pants.

Misty rolled me right next to Touch's bed, and I grabbed his hand as she explained his current state and what the different tubes were for. My heart literally ached as I watched the love of my life lay before me unconscious.

“Just leave me here,” I said to Misty. “I want to spend some time with him alone.”

“No problem, but I must tell you. Detectives have been up here several times to speak with you and Mr. Davis.

They asked that we give them a call when you all regain consciousness.”

“I'm really not interested in speaking to no DT right now, or ever for that matter.” I kissed my teeth and rolled my eyes simultaneously.

“Well, I'm not going to call them, but I just wanted to make you aware.” Misty smiled.

“Thank you so much. You are so understanding. I owe you.” I smiled back and then diverted my attention to Touch.

“I love you so much, baby.” I caressed his hand as I spoke to him. “I know you can make it out of this. Come on, Touch. I need you here. Your twin girls need you here. Too many people are depending on you, baby.” I knew Touch loved his daughters with all his heart, and if anyone could inspire him to fight, it would definitely be them.

I laid my head beside him on the bed. I could still smell the fresh scent of his Vera Wang cologne. “I love you, Touch,” I constantly whispered to him until I dozed off to sleep.

The next day I was discharged from the hospital with enough pain pills to sedate a horse. I had fifteen staples straight down the center of the back of my head. When I got home, all I could think about was Touch. After calling his mother, situating things at home, and taking a much-needed shower, I got in my car and headed back to the hospital, no more than two hours after I'd left. That's where I spent each day—by Touch's side—until he regained consciousness.

 

 

“Aaaahhh fuck!” My body ached with so much pain, and it throbbed as though I'd been hit by a fucking bus. I slowly opened my eyes and struggled to figure out where I was.

I heard a familiar voice say, “Touch, baby,” and felt a gentle touch on the side of my face.

I turned to my left side to see Jewel sitting next to me. “What?” I struggled to talk but noticed something was preventing me.

“No, no, baby, don't try to talk,” Jewel said to me. “There's a tube in your mouth.” She then called for the nurse.

I noticed I felt extremely thirsty, as I took the time to examine my body and things started to register. It seemed like I had tubes coming from every hole in my body. I had tubes coming from my mouth, arm, and even my dick.

Shit was really starting to sink in. I remembered getting shot at the club. Although I was shot in a matter of seconds, the events seemed to have occurred in slow motion. I remembered seeing Calico dip in his waist and me thinking,
This nigga got a fucking gun
, knowing he was going to shoot me. My first instinct was to push Jewel to the floor to get her out of danger. The last thing I remembered was locking eyes with her, and then feeling extreme pain to my stomach. And from the way things were looking from that hospital bed, Calico had really fucked me up. But the one mistake that bitch nigga made was to leave me breathing.

Minutes later, the nurse walked in. After checking my vitals and a quick exam, she removed my breathing tube from my mouth. My first request was water. After quenching the severest case of cotton mouth a nigga could ever experience, I began to ask the thousand questions that had been plaguing my mind.

“How many times was I shot?” I forced out the first question.

“Once,” Jewel answered right away.

“Where?”

“In the stomach and exiting out your back,” Jewel said, confirming exactly what I'd suspected.

“So, how bad is it?”

I watched Jewel's expression change after I asked that question. That was a sure sign a nigga was fucked up.

Jewel came with some bullshit answer. “Baby, don't worry about all that. You're alive, that's all that matters.”

“Yo, this me you talking to, Jewel. Don't give a nigga the runaround. What's the deal? Am I paralyzed or something?”

“No, you're not, but you're gonna have to go through extensive rehab to learn to walk again.” Jewel dropped her head and began to cry.

There was nothing I could say. So many emotions were hitting me at one time. I was so fucking vex that I let this nigga Calico take so much from me. I was hurt that Jewel had to see me go through this. I felt like shit because, at the time, a nigga was like a fucking baby. Somebody had to feed me, bathe me, change me, and I even had to learn to walk again. What good was I? I didn't know if you could even consider somebody in that state as a man.

“I'm gonna kill Calico,” I said, pure hate in my heart and eyes.

Jewel tried her best to divert my anger to positive energy. “Baby, please don't talk like that. Don't even focus on him. Put your energy into your health. We just need to get you better.”

“Matter of fact, why are you even here? I can't do shit for you. If I can't walk or even feed myself, I definitely can't fuck you. Plus, we both know how you love money. If I can't grind, the money will be gone soon, which means you'll be out looking for the next cat. Ain't no point in waiting. Just leave now. You ain't gotta stick around because you feel sorry for me, or because you feel like it's the right thing to do. Haul ass!”

“Touch, why are you acting like that? I've been here by your side every day and night for an entire week while you lay here unconscious. I love you and I'm not giving up on you, no matter what!” Jewel cried.

“Did you not hear me? Get the fuck out, Jewel!” I then began to yell for the nurse. “Nurse!”

The nurse rushed in. “Yes, Mr. Davis?”

“Could you have her leave?”

“Mr. Davis, she's been here by your side every day and night.”

“So what? Are you gonna make her leave, or do I need to call security?”

Misty hesitated before speaking. “I'm sorry, Jewel. I have to respect his wishes,” she said reluctantly. “I'm afraid I'm gonna have to ask you to leave.”

“Misty, I'm not going anywhere. He's just upset right now. This is a lot for him to handle.”

“Jewel, if he calls security, you won't ever be able to re-enter the facility.”

With tears in her eyes and hurt written all over her face, Jewel gathered her things and headed toward the door. “I love you, Touch, and I refuse to give up on you, even if you give up on yourself. I'm standing by your side, no matter what.” Her words were followed by the sound of the door closing behind her.

 

 

The next few weeks were filled with intense rehabilitation and constant questioning by detectives. At times, I didn't know if the DTs were trying to find my shooter or get up in my business. On the real, this one detective was making me feel like I was the fucking criminal instead of the victim. They kept asking if I knew my shooter.

Of course, I lied and said no. Shit like this had to be handled on the streets. There was no getting the cops involved. But they just weren't happy when I told them I didn't know my shooter. From there they tried to insinuate it was drug activity that provoked my shooter to come after me, like a drug deal gone bad or some shit. These niggas had to be crazy if they thought I would admit to something like that. Needless to say, after two or three of these bullshit interrogations, all contact was off when it came to the police.

Jewel and I had made up. She didn't give up on me. I swear, if she hadn't done just like she promised and stayed by my side the entire way, I would have fucking lost it. In fact, she showed me more love than I'd ever expected. She'd shown me so much that I knew I had to give her all of me. I had to give her a part of me that no other woman ever had. There were times when I felt like shit, less than a fucking man, and I took that frustration out on her, but no matter what, she still was there encouraging me. She was at my bedside each day, feeding me at mealtime. Although she had no proper training, she would beat the nurses to giving me a bath and assisting me to the bathroom. I always knew Jewel was that down-ass bitch, but now I felt like I owed her big time.