What's Really Hood! (17 page)

Still holding it, she squatted over him and let him fill her pussy. Its tightness was consoling. Tired and exhausted, he fell
asleep a few minutes after his orgasm.

LaLa, grabbing her cordless phone, went to the bathroom. She soaped up a towel and cleaned up the stickiness from between
her legs. Locking the door and turning on the faucet, she went by the tub and dialed.
“Yeah, this me. Call me when you ready.” She then disconnected the call. She sat there and thought for a moment. Taking a
deep breath, she gathered herself and went back into the bedroom. She took a towel with her.

“What the?” BoBo said, jumping up from feeling the warmth of the towel.

“Ssssshhhhhh. It’s just me, baby. Get your rest.”

He lay back down. She joined him as he went back to sleep.

“So it’s favoritism going on? That’s what y’all saying?”

“Naw. It ain’t like that.”

“Why y’all niggas scared, then?” Andre asked angrily. “I got violated for the same thing. I’ll be goddamn if this muthafucka
slide! And that’s on my mama!”

“Hold on now, shorty. Calm down,” said the older guy who was trying to reason with him.

“Well, check this out. If that’s how y’all gonna play it, then let me tell you how I’ma play it. If y’all don’t violate him,
I will.” Andre started to walk off. “Let’s ride, y’all.” Rooster and a few others walked off.

“Your ass is crazy!” Rooster said, laughing.

“Man, fuck them old muthafuckas. It’s our time and they in the way.”

“Yeah. That’s what I’m talking about,” yelled Rooster, banging on his chest.

They went and got into Rooster’s beat-up ’84 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme. Just as Andre was about to turn up the radio, his
phone rang.

“Hello.”

Almost as quickly as he answered it, he ended it.

“Hey. Drop me off at the crib. I’m onto something.”

“Damn, baby. I thought he was suppose to be your guy?” Tracey said.

“Fuck that bitch-ass nigga! He gonna get his. That’s on my mama!” Looney said, hitting his fist into the palm of his hand.
He was still upset. Every time he moved, the soreness kicked in and he would get mad all over again.

Tracey tried to comfort him. She rubbed and kissed him. When he heard his phone ring, he practically tossed her to the side
to answer it.

“Hello?… Aiight.” He pressed END and got up to leave.

“Where you going?” Tracey asked.

“Not now, Tracey,” he said, aggravated by her question. “I’m taking your car,” he informed her as he left.

“Bitch!” Slap.
“You still fucking with that hook-ass nigga, huh?”
Slap. Slap.

“Alpo. Baby, please stop. You’re hurting me,” Tasha pleaded.

“Hurting you? Bitch!” He punched her in the eye, making her fall to the floor. “I’ll kill your ass, ho. You wanna floss my
shit for that hook?”

Tasha stood up holding her eye. “Alpo, I’m sorry,” she cried.

“Alpo, I’m sorry,” he mimicked her. Suddenly, he reached out and grabbed her by the throat. She wrapped her hands around his,
trying to pry them from around her neck.

As she gasped for air, her life seemed to pass before her.
How in the hell did he always find out?
she wondered. The lack of oxygen plus the fear of not knowing how far he would go had her blacking out. Alpo’s phone rang,
luckily for her. He released her to answer it. It was a quick phone call.

“Bitch, have your shit packed and ready to go by the time I come back,” he ordered as he left.

Smoking cocaine-laced marijuana joints always made Carla a hard person to deal with. She sat on the couch with a large amount
of cocaine sitting on the table in front of her. She estimated the value at over twenty thousand dollars if sold wholesale.
After she broke it down to smaller quantities, it would be worth even more.

Many times had she broken down packages for BoBo. After all, she was the one he trusted. Tonight she was breaking down a kilo
into eight balls, quarter-ounces and ounces. There were also four and a half ounces of cooked cocaine that he wanted bagged
up into dime bags. It was a tiresome job they used to do together.

As the poisonous fumes of the two drugs she’d mixed together burned and inhaled their way into her bloodstream and found their
way to her brain, good thoughts and bad thoughts battled in the core of her mind.

The nerve of BoBo bringing this shit over here. Why he couldn’t keep it over there with him and that bitch? She too good to
take a chance on the police kicking her doors down and hauling her funky ass to jail?

BoBo loves you. You just too difficult to deal with sometimes. You ran him off.

Oh, so it’s all good when he wants some ass or his dick sucked, huh? He comes over here, fuck us, then go and lay up with
that bitch. Hmph.

Stop it! Soon as he comes over here, who really is all over who? Huh? Who is so quick to put they mouth on his ho-stick? We
have to give him a chance. He really is a good man. He just needs a good woman. It’s obvious he trusts us.

Bitch, please! If he trusted our ass, we’d be looking at stacks of money like that bitch he lays up with has and not this
shit. We set niggas up for this muthafucka! Sometimes it seems like he gonna shoot our stupid ass too. Look at us. Sitting
here, getting high.

Shut the fuck up! BoBo loves us! That’s why he get mad when we don’t do right.

Both of y’all bitches shut the fuck up! Damn! Y’all blowing our high. Let’s just get high and forget about BoBo. We should
be thinking of a way to kill that muthafucka. Fuck him! Go get that weed pipe and put a piece of that rock cocaine on it.
Let’s see what muthafuckas be going crazy for. Plus it’ll shut you hoes up so we can relax.

Carla, already in flight, leaned up to grab a piece of rock cocaine. The voices in her head were starting up again. She got
up to get her weed pipe. Before they could start their heated argument, her phone rang.

“Hello.”

*   *   *

The ringing of her phone caused LaLa to take a deep breath. She reached over to grab the receiver, then turned back toward
BoBo so he could hear. “Hello,” she said in her sleepy voice. She nudged him, acting like she was lying on his chest. “What?
Right now?” she said loudly, jumping up. “I mean, well, where you at?… Naw, boo. I was ’sleep.” She was now shaking BoBo,
who got up lazily. She motioned for him to get up. “Why the fuck would I have a nigga over here? Look, don’t start. Bring
me something to eat… I don’t know, anything… Aiight, in a minute.” She hung up before the dial tone came through the receiver
showing that her caller had hung up.

“Who the fuck was that?” BoBo asked.

“My man! You gotta go.”

“Go? Fuck that nigga!”

“No! Fuck you! He paying the bills. All you giving up is dick.”

BoBo looked shocked. Never before had a female spoken to him like that. Seeing the look on his face, LaLa cleaned it up a
little.

“Look, baby, we both know what this is. No attachments, right? I mean, I never say nothing when you go home to Serena or any
one of your other hoes after taking your frustrations out on my pussy. Leaving me with a wet spot in the bed and a funny walk,
now do I?”

He could only laugh. She was right. Bold and up front, but right.

“Come on now, BoBo. I done stalled his ass already. Don’t fuck up mines. Please.”

He got up and got dressed. Before fixing his pants, he turned to face her. With his manhood in his hands, he told her, “Come
give little BoBo a kiss good-bye.”

“Come on now, BoBo.”

“You want me to leave, don’t you?”

She jumped off the bed and knelt before him. She replaced his hand with hers. She placed a long kiss on the tip of his limp
member, which was now awakening. She put it in her mouth and gave it a couple of quick up-and-downs, ending with one slow,
long suck as she exhumed it all the way from the back of her throat.

“Gone ’head and finish,” he told her.

“Uh-uh. I already gave you more than a kiss. Now go,” she told him, smiling, as she stood up.

She leaned up to kiss him. He tongued her with a fury while palming her cotton-covered backside.

They walked to the door.

“Make sure you tell that nigga me and lil’ BoBo said hi. Give him a kiss soon as he come through the door.”

She laughed.

“I’m serious!” he said with a straight face.

“Boy, bye.”

BoBo left out the building with his head in the clouds. He was the man and no one could tell him different. He exited the
building and fished for his keys to activate the automatic starter on his two-month-old Chrysler 300C. The sound of it starting
was music to his ears as he made the trek toward the corner. He never parked
directly in front of her building. Not even if space was available. Seeing his car parked around the neighborhood was common
but he did not want to bring any links between him and LaLa.

Lurking in the dark shadows, someone crouched aiming a .22-caliber semiautomatic pistol. The assailant was creeping fast between
the cars parked adjacent to BoBo’s.

Empty shell casings hit the pavement faster than BoBo’s body did as two of the projectiles entered his skull, a couple his
neck and a few his back.

As he lay on his back, looking into the sky, his executioner’s face sent his heart into cardiac arrest. The face had been
familiar to his vicious life. He had departed before the .22 spit one more bullet to his frontal lobe. Whenever the ambulance
came to pick up his carcass, it would be leaving the scene without its sirens blaring.

The executioner took off into the night.

A month after Beau Bodine aka BoBo was laid to rest, the mystery of his murder still lurked with many assuming what had happened.
The police were backlogged with unsolved murders just like his. It was just added to the piles on homicide detectives’ desks.

Word on the street was a better source of information, but had proven to be inaccurate. Many fingers pointed in Andre’s direction.
On the night in question he had received a phone call while he was riding around with the guys from the park after swearing
to handle his
business on BoBo if nobody else did. A call from a local neighborhood female made him put his plans on hold. She had alerted
him that her mother had left to go work her night shift at the nursing home and the coast was clear for him to come over.

Some fingers pointed in Looney’s direction. A lot of people had witnessed their brawl and heard what they were sure was a
death threat from him to BoBo. His leaving out of the house after his quick phone call, then switching cars, even had Tracey
doing some pointing his way. He was never one to tell his business. Not even to BoBo. Since they were at odds, Looney was
left to go for self. Little did Tracey know that her 2002 Honda Accord was not only very good on gas mileage but also equipped
with electronic hiding spots he had installed in it for the purpose of transporting his dope, guns, and/or money. On the particular
night in question his new connect had let him know that he was ready to meet at their agreed-upon location for a transaction
to take place.

Alpo did not know he was figured into the equation. The move he had pulled earlier on the day in question was definitely gangsta!
A little bird had informed him of his girlfriend’s infidelities and with whom. They say that all black people are related
and his messenger was a cousin who lived by Eckersall Park and who sought revenge for BoBo’s slapping him and putting out
a laced blunt on his chest. Alpo was pissed off about his girlfriend and the fact that she had disrespected him, not only
with another man but with a rival at that. He
had no intentions on killing either Tasha or BoBo. He wanted them to know though that Alpo was not to be fucked with. A call
from a schoolteacher he was also having a relationship with had saved him from torturing Tasha to death accidentally.

Also suspect was Carla, BoBo’s crazy baby mama. Throughout their relationship they had always fought. She had actually believed
that if he did not beat her, he did not truly love her. She would provoke him until he did. Mostly, he would do so in self-defense.
She might not have been crazy in love, nevertheless, she was definitely crazy! Her drug addiction made things no better. It
drove her already demented mind into crazier thoughts. It is known that thought is the cause for everything. Her actions proved
that. On the night in question, voices in her head told her to call up the baller whom she had last set up and tell him she
knew who had robbed them. She could then use him to kill BoBo. The voice telling her to get high got the most attention. Her
access to the drugs made sure she listened solely to that one. A phone call from one of her “get high” homegirls stopped her
from possibly overdosing.

Serena had not taken it well. BoBo’s death had left her financially stable but emotionally wrecked. She decided to move not
only out of the neighborhood but out of Chicago.

The movers had packed the last of her boxes and headed toward Atlanta, Georgia. The black mecca. She climbed into her Chrysler
300C. The same one BoBo had recently purchased in her name. Her mother had
her two daughters until she could get settled into her new house without having to juggle two small children. She drove off,
thinking how this neighborhood would not be missed by her.

Before leaving, she had one stop to make. She stopped in front of a building by the park and blew the horn. A moment later,
a female ran out. She threw her huge duffel bag in the backseat and got in the front passenger seat. She leaned over and gave
Serena a friendly peck on the cheek.

“You ready?” Serena asked as she drove off.

“Hell yeah! Let’s roll!” LaLa told her.

Serena looked ahead as she drove, smiling. As she drove past the spot where BoBo had met his maker, her mind went back to
the night it happened.

BoBo had been mentally and physically abusive toward her. She was not to go anywhere. All her time spent thinking about her
situation started her to plotting and planning her escape. After seeing how far BoBo would go when the guy was found murdered
for merely talking to her, she knew there was only one way out.