What's Really Hood! (16 page)

Business had picked up. He and Looney were making more money these days and, just like BoBo had told him, Jamal had caused
problems. He stayed in a Black Disciple neighborhood. They were another street gang that were opposite the Stones. They got
wind of Jamal’s selling in their hood and robbed him. It was as BoBo predicted. Jamal was not a Stone nor was he trying to
become one, yet, on the strength of Looney, BoBo found himself engaged in some out-of-the-neighborhood beef. In his eyes,
Jamal was a fat coward who was not worth a quarter.

Carla had proven her worth once again. She had lured the young baller into a hotel with a promise of not only some top-notch
cocaine but also some grade-A sexual satisfaction.

The plan had been for her to get the guy naked and comfortable. BoBo would bust in and pretend to have been watching her and
plotting on sticking her up for the longest. When he kicked in the door, Carla was on top of the young baller, moaning in
pure ecstasy as she rode him. Jealousy enraged BoBo and he played his part a little too well.

“Don’t move, muthafuckas!” he yelled, entering with his gun pointed at them. He walked over to them where they lay frozen.
The shock had scared the young baller’s hard-on away. BoBo punched Carla, knocking her to the floor. “Watch that bitch, breed.
She move, shoot her ass in the leg,” he told his masked partner in crime.
Breed
was a nickname that members of the Black Gangsters called themselves. They were yet another rival gang of the Black P. Stones.
If any retribution was to come for what they were doing, BoBo wanted it to lead in his enemies’ direction.

“I got her, Gangster,” the guy BoBo had brought along told him as he aimed his pistol in her direction.

They hog-tied the young baller and Carla. They were naked and defenseless, and a few smacks from BoBo and Carla pretended
to break down and tell where the imaginary drugs were at in her car. BoBo had to show the young baller, who was trying to
play the tough-guy role and not give up so easily, that it was not a game.

“Hand me that duct tape, breed,” BoBo asked of his partner. He went to the bathroom and got a face towel. He took it and stuffed
it into the guy’s mouth and taped it. He got down by the guy’s ear and whispered, “Now this is gonna hurt you more than it
hurts me.” He stood and let out a menacing laugh. The baller’s eyes widened as he wondered what BoBo would do.

BoBo grabbed his ankles and dragged him into the bathroom. Without any concern he lifted him and dropped him into the bathtub.
The muffled screams could be heard through the duct tape.

“Awww! Stop the bloodclot crying, tough guy,” BoBo mocked in a Jamaican accent. He turned on the cold water and plugged up
the tub. He flipped the guy over onto his back. He whistled the beat to the Game and 50 Cent’s “This Is How We Do” as the
tub filled. When the water rose above his legs, BoBo turned it off. “You cold, tough guy?”

The baller nodded his head up and down. BoBo took his hand and scooped water in his face. He jerked to the side, hoping to
dodge the cold water.

“Good! Now I’ma ask your ass one more time. Where’s that money?” He then snatched the duct tape from his face.

“Ahhhhhh!”

“Shhhh! Keep it down, muthafucka!” BoBo said sternly.

“M-m-m-m-man, I’m t-t-t-telling you I a-a-a-a-ain’t ga-ga-ga-ga-got no m-m-m-m-m-m-money,” he stuttered badly.

BoBo went into a rage. He hit the guy in the jaw and viciously began stuffing the towel back into his mouth. He wrapped duct
tape around and around his head as the guy gagged. “You still think this is a game, huh? Fuck it! Die then!” He pulled out
of his pocket a stun gun. He pressed the button and the current from the voltage showed. The guy shook his head wildly side
to side mumbling what sounded like “Wait.” The water was turning brown beneath him as the foul smell of human waste filled
the air.

“You stanking muthafucka! I should kill your ass. What? You got something to tell me?”

The guy nodded his head frantically.

“It’s about money, I hope.”

He was still nodding. BoBo unwound the tape from around his head and mouth. He was so shook up, he hardly stuttered while
telling BoBo how to operate the stash spot in his car to get to the twenty thousand dollars hidden inside.

BoBo dragged him back into the room. He took the guy’s keys and asked him which ones he needed. “Watch them. I’ll be right
back.”

The money was where the guy had said it would be. Taking it, BoBo put it in their getaway car. When he returned to the room,
he thought about the torture he had wanted to inflict upon the guy. It was more to soothe his jealousy than anything else.
Having gotten what he came for, he and his guy left with Carla and her friend still hog-tied. But not before giving his stun
gun a test run. He placed it to the baller’s nuts and laughed
as the guy shook until he passed out. While laughing, BoBo then placed it on Carla’s ass and gave her a couple of volts.

The sun was out and beaming. Since it was a Saturday, the park was the place to be. It was not packed, however there was a
nice amount of people out. BoBo stood under a tree kicking it with a few other guys. They were cracking jokes and reminiscing
about how it was back in the day. A group of young guys walking a couple pit bulls came past them. BoBo had his back to the
guys with the dogs. The first person in the crowd of youngsters he noticed was Andre. An uneasiness came over him. He was
not sure why. It was as if Andre had crept up on him.

“All is well?” one of the guys sitting under the tree asked the group of teenagers.

They all gave each other the Stone handshake. Everybody except Andre and BoBo.

“What y’all lil’ niggas on?” one of the older guys asked.

“Shit. Just walking the security,” one of the guys with a dog answered.

They made small talk for a minute.

“It’s hotter than a muthafucka out here!” Andre said, then raised his T-shirt to wipe his face. The butt of his pistol showed,
sticking up from his waistband.

“That’s from all that heat you carrying,” another older guy joked.

Andre as well as the rest of the youngsters laughed. “Let’s ride out, y’all,” he told the group.

They said their good-byes and walked past. BoBo was mad but did not feel he could show it. He felt like Andre was silently
taunting him. Which he was.

Hours went by and more and more people came to the park as the sun set. It was almost dark outside when the ground began to
vibrate tremendously.

“Damn! Who is that?” a female asked.

“I don’t know, but they beating,” her female friend answered.

BoBo and his crew wondered too. These sounds were louder than anyone’s around the neighborhood. They were getting closer and
closer. A moment later, a Cadillac Escalade EXT with a sky-blue metallic paint job and twenty-six-inch spinning Davin rims
turned the corner and all eyes were on the truck. It slowed down by the crowd where BoBo and a group were standing, then stopped
right in front of it.

The tinted window eased down as the music was turned down. A dark-skinned guy with a bald head and a face that would remind
you of a chubby Michael Jordan spoke to the crowd. “Is BoBo out here?”

Guys reached under their shirts and in their pants.

“Who the fuck is you?” one of them asked.

“Whoa. I ain’t on nothing.” He showed both of his hands. “I’m just trying to get up with him. Tell him Alpo came through.”
He then raised the window and drove off. He pumped the music back up.

Everybody watched the truck turn the corner. They were so entranced by the truck that the late-80s Buick Regal now riding
past was not noticed until the guy
standing up and out of the sunroof snapped them back to reality with the first release of bullets from the TEC-9, as he was
squeezing the trigger in their direction.

Everyone hit the ground. A woman’s shrill screams could be heard. The Regal slowed, then sped off after about thirty rounds
had been spent.

Making sure the coast was clear, some guys jumped in their cars to give chase but the Regal was long gone.

As BoBo got up to survey the scene, a young woman by the swings behind him started screaming. A crowd quickly gathered around
her as she held her four-year-old son’s limp body in her arms. His small T-shirt was covered in blood. Others had scrapes
and bruises from diving on the pavement. BoBo was furious! He figured it was no doubt Alpo was behind this. He had some big
balls to pull this after leaving his name. BoBo barked out a few orders to his guys. They left before the police came.

Through all the commotion, someone called BoBo’s name. He turned to see Jamal of all people.

“Hey, homie. Looney around?”

“You got that money you owe, muthafucka?” BoBo yelled.

Jamal’s face went from a smile to a confused look of fear. “N-n-n-n-naw. I told Looney—”

BoBo punched him in the mouth, knocking him down. He tried to get up and another guy hit him. They both kicked him repeatedly.
He curled in the fetal position to protect his head and face.

“Stay your fat ass from ’round here and get that money. Fat muthafucka!”

BoBo and the guy left Jamal lying there dirty and bloody.

“Daddy, can you buy me a Barbie Jeep?” Charisse asked.

“For your birthday. Okay, baby?” BoBo told her.

“Okay, Daddy,” she agreed, smiling.

“Don’t believe that shit ’til you see it, ReeRee,” Carla told her.

“Don’t be telling her that. And what I tell your ass ’bout cussing ’round her?”

“Nigga, you her daddy, not mines.”

His phone rang, stopping the argument between them.

“Damn, nigga! Where the fuck you at?” he yelled at Looney. He had seen his number on the caller ID. “Meet me at Jihad’s crib.
Niggas done shot up the park.” He hung up.

“Where you finna go?” Carla asked.

Not in the mood for her games, he left without answering her.

There was a large crowd in front of Jihad’s house, everybody talking about what had happened. Looney pulled up shortly after
BoBo. He got out of his truck and walked over to where BoBo stood. Without warning, he drove his fist straight into BoBo’s
jaw, catching him off guard.

“Yeah, nigga! Didn’t I tell you to let me handle mines?” He swung again, this time missing, but barely.

“What the fuck is up with you, nigga?”

“You didn’t have to do Jamal like that. That was my business.” Looney got into his fighting stance.

Everyone was in shock. These two were inseparable. Both were certified killers and here they were duking it out. No one wanted
to get involved by breaking it up.

What started out as a boxing match soon turned into a wrestling event. They swapped moves. Looney would slam BoBo, followed
by a few blows to the body. BoBo would work his way back to his feet, slam Looney and return the blows. Neither of them was
in any shape for fighting. In fact, had it been anyone else, a pistol would have surfaced.

“Break it up, y’all. Y’all ain’t even fighting no more,” one of their comrades told them since they were too tired to do anything
else.

“You give, muthafucka?” Looney managed to say in between breaths.

“Fuck you, nigga! We can go to the death!” BoBo said back. He kneed Looney in the ribs.

This only made their wrestling last a few more minutes. Pride and ego were their only fuel.

“Man, grab Looney’s ass and I’ma grab BoBo. This shit is over with,” a high-ranking member of their gang suggested.

They separated the two.

“You ain’t did shit, nigga!” BoBo said as he looked at the scratches and scrapes he had acquired.

“Stay out my business, homie. Worry about these niggas whose hoes you fucking,” Looney rebutted.

“Y’all cool out,” someone said from the crowd.

“Naw. Fuck this ho-ass nigga!” BoBo snapped.

“Ho? Ho? Nigga, you see a ho, slap a ho.” He began walking toward BoBo.

A guy jumped in between them. “Whoa. Y’all gone head-on. Clean up and chill out. I’ll handle this situation.” Business had
to be taken care of and this guy held just as much rank among the Stones as they did.

“I got your ho,” Looney said as he was walking off.

“Give it to me then.”

“I’ma see you in the streets. I put that on my mama!”

Everybody knew his mother had passed away when he was younger. His putting it on her was like notarizing a copy. Knowing how
Looney was, it sounded like he had just given BoBo a death threat. Seeing that it was Looney, it was more of a promise.

“I’m telling you, you better keep the ice on it or it’s gonna be swollen tomorrow.”

“That shit is cold.”

Not wanting to go home and let Serena see him with his face swollen with cuts and bruises all over, BoBo went where he knew
he could relax and be attended to: LaLa’s apartment. Serena would think he had gotten beaten up, the way he looked. His pride
and ego would not allow that to happen. LaLa knew how the streets were and would look at him no differently. She tended his
wounds silently.

LaLa was BoBo’s type of woman. She had proven to be very streetwise. Serena seemed to be none the wiser to their affair. She
would call sometimes when they were in the heat of passion. LaLa would take the call, see that it was her and come up with
a lie so fast it sounded like God’s honest truth. BoBo would even look at her twice.

BoBo loved Serena but she was not a challenge. She did what he said, when he said, where he said and how he said without asking
why. She was a good girl and good to come home to. All other women just fulfilled his need for sexual variety.

LaLa was there for him. Wounds, bruises, whatever. After she nursed his body, she sought to satisfy him sexually. She eased
him on his back gently and placed delicate kisses on each part of his body, removing the clothing she had not already. Pulling
off his boxers, she smiled. She held his now hard dick. “I’m glad he wasn’t injured.” He looked down at her and smiled also.
Getting head was his favorite sexual desire.

She put her all into this blowjob. Not wanting him to come too soon, she applied pressure to the base of his dick as she sucked
it, not allowing any blood flow for the moment.