I released Porsha’s hand and she silently stood back behind all of us.
“So what gave you the bright idea to come and fuck with me?”
“You just a music nigga now, right? You know what kind of street cred I’d get for taking out the two of you? Shiiit, that’s nothing but respect right there even if y’all are going legit.” The one on the floor was probably no older than Poke but the shit he was saying didn’t make sense.
“Can’t be too legit if your Black ass is the one in the chair we put you in. Shit, I’m about to kill you. Ain’t nothing seeming toolegal about that is it, Trigga?” I wished Porsha was the type to be scared about all of this but her ass was standing there with a stoic look on her face. I understood why she and Lyric were such good friends, they were cut from the same cloth.
“Nah, City.”
“You don’t run shit no more.” The driver was now talking shit to Trigga, which was a terrible idea.
“I don’t run shit no more? Let me school you real quick. What’s my muthafuckin’ name bitch? Who’s the legend that you trying to get your cred off of? Whose streets you trying to take over?”
The passenger spoke up as he rolled over from where Poke was dribbling his head with his foot. “But Street Law—”
“Street Law? Them muthafuckas handing out contracts for taking niggas out now? Stupid ass. All you had to do was come to us. For either side you wanted to work on. But you want to run to a muthafucka that will gas you up instead of setting you straight. Who would happily fill your head with dreams instead of helping you hit goals. And your damn pockets still empty. What was he gone do? Pay you when it was done? When he saw I was dead? And then what? Take the gun and get rid of it for you? Your stupid ass don’t even realize that even if they did sign you, they’d have dirt on you for the rest of your life. They would’ve raked your ass over the coals.”
“City—”
I could hear the fear in his voice but he was the main one hanging out the passenger side shooting at us like he was a bad ass.
“Nah, I’m just the music nigga, right? Probably think you gone see me in a video. WRONG. I earned this shit. Brick by muthafucking brick. Literally. Me and this nigga been in the trenches for years. Finesses’ first hit was a beat I made. My chapbeen grinding the whole time I was sent up but you wanna act like I ain’t really do this shit? Like we ain’t earn every stripe?”
“Crazy work.” Porsha was still way too calm about this shit especially when she was gassing me up from behind.
“It would’ve been fine for you to shoot at me, but this dumb fuck saw my girl in the car and opened fire, anyway. Let me tell you something, bitch. That one there that you shot at? Wooo, ain’t no stopping me when it comes to me going after someone who’s tried to hurt her. And God forbid that you’d done more than just break the glass with that bullet. Whew, but you put a scratch on her face. And knowing that you got that close to her, close enough to harm her? It doesn’t sit right with my soul.”
“How we gone handle this, C?” Travis was looking too happy to have something to kill and I was wondering if he’d gone back on his idea to hang this shit up.
I matched his energy and turned to Poke. “Oh, we finna torture this bitch. Y’all got his address?”
Poke nodded and tossed two wallets toward me. I caught them and flipped both open. “Yeah, his people stay off Oliver.”
“Not a nigga from English Ave moving like this.”
I shook my head looking at both their addresses. Too many niggas over there that worked the blocks who’d be ashamed for him to be claiming them.
“Damn, they normally don’t move sloppy like this. Bet they wouldn’t put this nigga on.”
Trav was taking their measure and he saw what I did: they weren’t pros and probably hadn’t done any street shit. It was something wild that they’d fallen into this life. But any sympathy I would’ve had ended when they aimed at Porsha.
The passenger, a brown-skinned kid who looked like he’d given up spoke up again. “Y’all can do whatever you want to us—”
I rubbed my hands together as I nodded my head. “Cool. We’ll send her a body part every day. A pinkie. A toenail. One little mole or birthmark that you’ve had since you were a kid that she’ll be able to recognize. Since there ain’t a woman dumb enough to let you claim her, we gone have to make the one that birthed you suffer. Maybe send her your throat as a souvenir, since she should’ve swallowed your ass instead of birthing you and raising you to be an abject failure.”
Porsha giggled from behind me and I was ready to get outta here and get her looked over.
“Not my mama, dog!”
The driver stood up and I sat his ass back down with a punch. He hit the concrete hard as fuck.
Poke pulled a burner and passed it to me, and I aimed it at the driver. “Fuck you and your mama. Be glad I don’t send some young niggas over there to light her shit up and let the chips fall where they may. Cause you ain’t give a damn about me and mine when you were shooting at my shit.”
The passenger started crying and I wasn’t moved. “City, I’m sorry—”
“Fuck your sorry! Your sorry ain’t gone make my girl unstressed because she was in a shootout. Your sorry ain’t gone undo whatever mental anguish my fucking seed might be feeling because they mama was wound up. Although quiet as kept she had a good ass time. Shawty a rider and proved that shit today. She just shouldn’t have had to. See my job as her man is to make sure that she’s prepared for situations like that but that she never has to experience them. And you got me looking like I can’t protect what’s mine. So I’m about to have a little fun and you’re going to hell missing pieces. Seems like the best way to salvage this fucked up day.”
Poke was laughing as I pulled a knife out of my back pocket. I turned to Porsha with a grimace.
