The Face That Launched A Thousand Bullets (The Cartel Publications Presents) (3 page)

“You ain’t suckin’ shit but my dick!” Cray retorted. He was dressed poorly for the winter weather with a think grey jacket but Cray was a cute little boy. He had the same dark chocolate skin as his parents but his eyes were cold black and held a lot of mystery. And it appeared as if he had a permanent frown on his face. What Cray hated the most about himself was his curly hair believing it made him look soft.

They were still laughing at the idea of Markise sucking Cray’s dick when they approached Cray’s house and stopped. When Cray looked up at his crib, he noticed all of the lights were off, with the exception of the one in the living room and his parent’s room. All he wanted was for things to be normal in his life.

“I’m comin’ in,” Jason responded. He wanted so much for Cray to like him that he hung onto his every word. Jason was the one person that thought everything about Cray was cool, including his insubordination.

“Me, too,” Markise added.

The group of friends was just about to walk into the apartment building when dirty,
pressed ass
Kris loped up and asked if he could come in too. Frankie barked at him so viciously that Markise had to grab him to prevent him from biting him. Kris had dry inky skin and was tall and disheveled, not to mention his hair was knotted and matted to his scalp. He was dirtier than Cray and Cray often ragged on him to make himself feel better.

He held his head down and walked off. When he was gone, Cray jetted up the steps leading to his door with the missing screen. The dog knowing the routine ran down the block. Once inside the run down building, the wooden floor creaked as they walked up the stairwell. He could hear his friends close behind. As he opened the door, he prayed for one indication that things were okay.

Once inside there was a cloud of condensation in the air from Pam cooking all day. The apartment smelled of fried chicken, green beans and the rice brewing on the stove. The moment they came in, she greeted them at the door. The living room was to the left and an old yellow couch sat in the middle of the floor. In front of it, a large wooden older model TV sat as a platform for a smaller one, with pliers sticking out of it as an antenna. Pam wore shades to conceal her bruised eyes and her busted lips still showed the evidence from this morning’s session.

“Take your coats off, boys,” Pam requested, trying to maintain
some
semblance of control over her household.

“Stop trippin’, bitch! We’ll do it when we get to my room.” Cray put her in check quickly. He had no respect for her whatsoever. “Where’s Dad?”

“In my room fixing Beverly’s clock radio.” She wiped her hands on her apron trying to rid herself of her only child’s emotional abuse.

“Dinner ready?” Cray persisted as he watched his friends grabbing cups out of the kitchen cabinets and pouring Kool-Aid from the fridge all without asking, something he couldn’t dare do at their houses.

“Soon,” Pam said, realizing she was no match for her son’s abrasiveness. She had been broken down so badly that she barely had enough strength to move around without being in pain, let alone defend herself. “I’ll let you know when it’s finished.”

When they got to his bedroom, Cray opened his door and flipped on the light switch. His heart dropped when he saw his father’s pants down by his ankles, with his hands on the back of his mother’s best friend, Beverly’s head, while she blew him off.

Markise and Jason covered their mouths. Although
they
were excited to see his father getting his dick sucked, Cray was furious. The thing about Cray was this; all he had was
himself
and
his things
. So seeing his father’s ass on his neatly made bed, with this woman in his room, upset him. He felt violated. If his father wanted to cheat on his mother, what the fuck was wrong with his own room?

“What ya’ll lookin’ at?” David yelled, as he pushed Beverly off his crotch and stood up to adjust his pants. “You ain’t neva seen a dick before?” He glared at the boys.

The shocked boys remained planted where they stood.

“Don’t talk to them like that.” Beverly replied, standing up, wiping her mouth before fixing her loose blouse that exposed a titty. “They just kids.”

“Woman, don’t tell me how to treat my son!” He pointed at her.

Her eyes widened and afraid, she lowered her head.

A part of Cray wanted to reach under his bed and shoot her with the gun he stole from Grimy Mike, who ditched it awhile back while running from the cops. Nobody knew he had it, not even his friends. But the other part of Cray, the angrier part, felt that if his mother wanted to allow a whore into her home to mess around with her husband, then he could care less.

When she was out of sight David placed his hand on his son’s head and said, “Some day you’ll understand this. And when you do, you’ll become a man. I’ll catch you boys later for Cray’s birthday.” With that he left them in the hallway.

It was quiet when they walked into his room, and they situated on the old blue quilt style rug on the floor. His eyes cold and filled with pain. Although he was focused in his friend’s direction, his mind was elsewhere. He had so much going on in his young mind. So many questions with no one he trusted to answer him.

“You a’ight, man?” Markise asked, waiting for his response.

“Yeah…just thinkin’ that’s all.”

What Cray didn’t say or know was that everything he was experiencing was turning him into a menace. And the world would soon find out how.

Nyzon Peat

Washington, D.C., 1988

Popcorn Love

T
welve-year-old Nyzon was in the mirror singing, “Don’t Be Cruel” by Bobby Brown, on WPGC 95.5, as he got ready for school. He had just gotten a shape up with a part on the side and was checking it to make sure it was perfect…it was. He’d brushed his hair so much that you could get seasick just looking at his waves. A fresh haircut was all his mother could afford to keep him in style. So Nyzon took full advantage.

After he was dressed, he ironed one of the three pair of jeans he owned. The crease was heavy in the middle of the pants. He didn’t have much but what he did have he kept neat. After he got dressed he kissed his two fingers and pressed them against the boxing poster of Muhammad Ali. Nyzon was a natural when it came to boxing and looked up to him greatly.

Believing he was almost too fine for words, he remembered he couldn’t leave without placing a gold chain he found a few months ago on. Nyzon felt it made him look smoother. Living in George Washington Carver apartments off of Benning Road in Southeast D.C., some fucked-up ass projects, made him appreciate the little he had.

Walking toward the kitchen, he hesitated for a second. Mustering up enough energy, he finally walked inside. Nyzon sat down at the kitchen table preparing to spend another uncomfortable moment with her.

“You hungry, baby?” Debra asked her son as she sat a plate full of pancakes on the table in front of him. Nyzon tucked his chain in his shirt so that it wouldn’t dip into the extra syrup he was getting ready to douse his food with.

“Jive like,” he said, a forkful of pancakes already in his mouth.

“Are we going to watch a movie tonight on Cablevision?” she asked with hopeful eyes as she adjusted her red, pink and orange flower housecoat before taking a seat in the chair across from him.

“I was gonna play Metal Gear on Nintendo with my friends.” Nyzon never looked at his mother. All he could think about was how long it would take him to down his food and get out the door. Everything he enjoyed about life existed
outside
the confines of his home. And with them having no living relatives, outside of his friends, he felt alone.

Debra Peate was an average looking woman. She was mixed with black and white while Nyzon on the other hand had light brown skin with sexy, slanted eyes. Every time he looked in the mirror and than at her, he couldn’t find one similarity. Often times, he wondered if she was really his mother. And every time he’d ask, she’d swear that she lied on the table for hours giving birth to him, and that his father abandoned them both when he was just six months old.

“Okay…maybe I’ll bake you guys some cookies then,” she said as she came behind him and rested her hands on his shoulders. “While you play the game. Would you like that?”

He shook his upper body causing her to remove her hands. Still chewing, he rose not facing her at first. Guilt rested on him and he slowly turned around and planted a kiss on her face.

“The cookies will be tight, Ma.” He smiled. She smiled back. “My friends love your food. I’ll see you when I get home.” He grabbed his red Trapper Keeper off the box next to the door. It had been there ever since they moved in five months ago because Debra never unpacked. Nyzon and his mother moved twice a year so he never felt settled in. With his notebook in hand he barreled out the front door.

At School

Once at school Nyzon met up with his crew. He had two friends he rolled with no matter where he was going. They were Royala and Lazarick Quick, fraternal twins. Royala was a cute girl who dressed like a boy, and everything in her soul told her she was. People were so used to seeing her dressed boyishly, that they playfully referred to Royala as Lazarick’s
identical
twin brother.

Nyzon was closer to Royala than he was to Lazarick because she was the only one who could spar with him and keep up in the boxing ring. She was almost as good as he was. The only thing about Royala that he couldn’t handle sometimes was her temper. It was as if she had something to prove to the world. She’d been put out of school at least ten times since he first met her a year ago. As bad as she was, she only put it to people who fucked with her family or friends, so Nyzon could tolerate her fighter spirit.

Lazarick on the other hand looked like a young Al B. Sure with hazel brown eyes like his sister’s. But Lazarick had a mouth and a tendency to run it. Lazarick hated on him a lot and for a while Nyzon thought he wanted to be him. But because he fucked with Royala, he dealt with him too.

“Man, shut up!” Lazarick said, unconsciously checking Nyzon’s fresh haircut with the part down the middle. “I see you got that bush taken down.”

“Yeah…you rides with this joint don’t you?” he said, smoothing his hair with his hand. “Everybody can’t be as fine as me.”

“You always thinkin’ somebody bitin’ your style. I got my own flava!” Lazarick brushed his shirt with his hands.

“Damn! Who’s the new girl?” Lazarick interrupted, looking in her direction, away from them. All jokes ceased. And she had their undivided attention. Her thick, phat ass filled her Guess jeans out fully, as she switched in their direction. To be twelve she had a body like a woman but a face like a baby. “Cause I’ma hit that if it’s the last thing I do.”