Chapter 1 ( Gabos )

Born into a Sinful World

Being born the only boy in a home, ’cause you couldn’t call the projects a house, with a mother and three sisters, who never knew the crown would fall on me to become a man so early in life. All fingers were pointed in my direction, at least that’s what I thought, to be the provider for the family. The wannabe baller, the shot caller. So with no real father or father figure around to give me guidance, I guess the streets were the next best thing to teaching a boy how to be a man. Though my momma tried to raise me, I still lacked a real man to teach me how to be a man. So I felt I had to provide for my mother and three sisters any way I could. My mother couldn’t find a job, so we always fell on hard times. Even though she tried, she never succeeded in doing so. I can’t say we were poor ’cause we always had enough to eat, mainly thanks to the government and the food stamps they gave out every month. So food wasn’t a problem. So here I am.

One Saturday morning, walking around the projects, trying to get into something that will make time go by. When outta nowhere, I hear, “Psst, psst, lil nigga, check this out.” I hear a voice but see no face. “Psst, damn, lil nigga. You deaf or something?” As I turn around in the direction of where the voice is coming from, I see a kid ’bout my size, my height, and age. Walking toward me with a mean mug on his face. Me being the cautious lil kid I am, I said, “What’s up,” with my hands balled into two tiny fists, ready for this strange kid to say something sideways, only to hear him laughing.

“Damn, lil nigga, what you got your fists balled up for? I ain’t gonna mess with you, I just came to say what’s up, ’cause you look like a new face that’s lost in the wrong projects,” the kid said, looking me up and down first off. I start getting defensive.

“My name ain’t lil nigga, it’s Fatboy. Or you can call me Fats for short. Other than that, keep in mind it’s not lil nigga.”

“All right, damn. My bad, calm down. I got you. I’ll call you Fatboy or Fats, but why you got a name like that is besides me, ’cause you skinny as a pole.”

“Look, man, what is it you want?” Fatboy said, getting aggravated.

“Look, Fatboy, my name is Pokey,” he said, giving me a some dap. I been seeing you walk around the projects all morning, like you done lost ya best friend,” Pokey said, laughing again.

“Yeah, and we all know looks can be deceiving. But I’m good, I’m a long ways from being lost. I’m just checking things out, if that’s cool with you, Mr. Officer,” Fatboy said, now the one laughing as Pokey’s smiles turned upside down. “Pokey, or whatever your name is, how come I been living here over a year now and I never seen you before? Answer that.”

“Oh, Your Honor, I went away on a trip, and I didn’t go to Hawaii either,” Pokey said, laughing again.

“Okay, where you went then?”

“Damn, fam, you ask a million and one questions. Who you is, Alex Trabek or somebody? I was locked up.”

“Yeah, and I can fly a plane with my eyes close, ’cause you too young to be locked up, so I know you lying,” Fatboy responds.

“Man, I wish I was, but you can do me a favor and tell them crackers in them courthouses uptown I’m too young to be getting locked up,” Pokey said, laughing.

“Real shit, why them crackers locked you up?” Fatboy asked.

“Oh, on some real petty shit,” Poker said,

“Like what, man?”

“I tried to rob a store and got caught up,” Pokey said, while looking down at the ground.

“How much time you did?”

“The first time six months in Leon County Boot Camp. This time I did eighteen months, damn near day for day. So that’s why you never seen me round here, but I’ve been here all my life, stuck in the projects, trying to live better, but the white man won’t let me. So I gotta do what I gotta do, to make ends meet. I also just came home and ain’t trying to go back up the road no time soon, feel me?”

“I feel you, dog.”

“Hey, Fatboy.”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“I need someone on my team who can think better than I can, and I know you just met me, but you talk like you can think,” Pokey said.

Just as I was about to reply, another young nigga I’ve seen around the projects and go to school with runs up to Pokey and gives him a hug.

“Damn, nigga, it’s been a minute,” Flick said.

“Yeah, dog, but now the wait is over. And this time, I promise you, shit gonna be a whole lot different. Ain’t no mo’ fucking off,” Pokey said, giving Flick some dap, taking a step back to check his longtime friend out. “And the way you dressed, my nigga, I can tell you need the money,” Pokey said, smiling.

“Man, fuck that. I’mma be good in a minute. Nigga, just wait and see,” Flick said, getting angry that his own friend tried to clown him in front of this nobody nigga, with his curly-ass hair, Flick was thinking. “Anyway, nigga, when you came home, ’cause I thought you wrote and said you should be home in four months. That was six months ago,” Flick said.

“Yeah, dirty. I was acting an ape in that bitch. So those crackers maxed my ass out, day for day. But fuck all that, I’m here now, and I’m ready to get this shit started,” Pokey said. “I came home this morning though, ’bout two hours now,” Pokey said, watching Flick look at Fatboy like they had beef or some shit.

“Nigga, what the fuck you looking at me for?” Fatboy said. “Do I look like a bitch to you, nigga?” Fatboy said, stepping into Flick’s chest.

“First off, nigga, fuck you ’cause a nigga ain’t watching you,” Flick said, mean mugging, taking a step back, just in case this nigga wanna act stupid. As Pokey watched Flick and Fatboy about to tear shit up, his plan came into mind.

“I can use these two niggas on my team. If I can get them to be friends.” Pokey was deep in thought, and a smile spread across his face. “We gonna set this bitch on fire,” Pokey was thinking, when he heard a familiar voice boom throughout the projects.

“Flick, Flick! Boy, I know you hear me calling you. Bring your ass here right now, and come clean this damn room.”

“Damn, nigga, you lucky,” Flick said, yeasting Fatboy.

“Nigga, what you wanna do?” Fatboy said, yeasting back.

“Man, y’all chill with that guy shit!” Pokey screamed, getting tired of the back-and-forth bullshit.

“Look, Pokey, I’mma holla at you later. I gotta burn up. You know how my momma be clowning and shit. She already thinking she Bruce Lee,” Flick said, as all three boys bust out laughing.

“All right, dirty, go do you and tell Mrs. Brown I said hello,” Pokey said, watching Flick about to haul ass.

“Hey, Flick, before you go, this my new friend, Fatboy.”

“Dog, I know who this nigga is,” Flick said. “We go to school together. And can’t you see we stay in the same rat-infested projects,” Flick said with an attitude.

“Check me out, Flick.”

“What y’all beefing or something?” Pokey asked. “’Cause if y’all is, y’all need to go ’head and bump and squash that shit ’cause we got money to make. And if y’all wanna act like lil bitches, I’ll find some real niggaz who will roll with me,” Pokey said, looking back and forth at both boys.

Then Fatboy said, “Man, I don’t beef, unless I need to. This nigga just thinks he better than everybody else, like he ain’t living in the same bricks as me. Like his family rich or some shit. Fuck that, nigga,” Fatboy said.

As Flick was about to respond, Pokey cut him off. “Fatboy, my nigga, I just met you. And I'mma be honest with you. You tripping. This lil nigga right here is a soldier. Ready for war at any given time. It’s good the nigga smart and shit, ’cause at the same time, what would you rather have on your team, a dumb soldier or a smart soldier?”

“Shit, easy answer, a smart soldier to go to war with, a dumb soldier to take the first bullet,” Fatboy said and smiled.

“Okay then, you on point,” Pokey said.

Then Flick cut in. “And I don’t think I’m smarter than nobody. I just try to do better. If that’s a crime, send me to the chair,” Flick said.

“Real talk, Fatboy, Flick is one of the realest young nigga you’ll ever meet, but you’ll learn that with time. Anyways, nigga, I know you ain’t that lame. You should know, never judge a book by its cover.”

“All right, man.”

“Damn, one more thing, in order for shit that I have planned to work, we all gotta get on the same page. Y’all feeling me?”

“Yeah,” both boys said simultaneously.

“’Cause we gonna try and take over these streets. Piece by piece,” Pokey said.

Flick broke into his wishful thinking. “Dog, look, I gotta run. I already told you. When I enter the crib, I know I gotta be ducking karate kicks and shit,” Flick said, jogging off.

Pokey screamed, “Hey, Flick!”

“Yeah, man, what’s up?”

“Damn! When you done doing, you meet us at the park. You know shit jumping, or should be since it Saturday, all right? Whatever.”

Flick said, “Burner rubber.”

“Come on, lil nigga. I mean Fatboy, let’s roll. Hold up, check this out. How you just gonna volunteer me to be down with y’all?”

“Dog, I ain’t taking orders from you or nobody else,” Fatboy said.

“Dog, chill out. Either you wanna make this money with us, or go against us, or get ran over, your choice, if you just listen. I bet you won’t regret this decision. Hardheaded-ass nigga, ain’t you tired of struggling?” Pokey asked.

“Hell yeah,” Fatboy said.

“Then ride with us, and let’s make this cheddar!” Pokey said.

“Well, in that case, count me in,” Fatboy said, extending his hand for some dap.

“Listen,” Pokey said. “Dog, you sure you gonna be ready for all this?”

“Man, I’m ready for anything at any given time,” Fatboy responded.

“In that case, let burn up.”

As they began their walk through the projects, they saw lil kids playing around, doing backflips on a used mattress, and just making the most outta the shit they had. The older people were either staring off into space, wishing for better days, or just chilling, listening to some Marvin Gaye. Every now and then you heard some other old-school beats. But mostly you could count on it being Marvin Gaye. Pokey came out of his zone when he heard Tupac screaming from someone’s ride.

“Damn, that shit clean,” Fatboy said. “Dog, who dat?”

“Shit, from the looks of it, it look like my uncle Sico crazy ass. As a matter fact, that is him, ’cause there go his baby momma, dumping in the ride. Anywayz, like I said, that’s my uncle. The nigga told me, before I got locked up, he was gonna put me on my feet, but I had to wait till my sixteenth birthday, so shit. As you can see, that time ain’t come yet! And at the same time, I ain’t asking for no handouts. So I’mma always make away, outta no way, feel me?” Pokey said.

“I feel you, dog,” Fatboy replied, while looking back over his shoulder at the nice whip.

“Anyways, I got seven more months till I turn sixteen. What, the nigga expect me to want and just starve to death? Yeah right,” Pokey said, patting his pockets empty but not for long. Pokey said, “’Cause at the same time I’m trying to get up, out the projects.”

“I’m feeling that. ’Cause I ain’t trying to be staying in these small-ass buildings all my life either. These shits too small for me, my momma and three sisters to be resting our head,” Fatboy said. “My goal is to get my family out the hood. Even if I die trying.”

“Now you talking,” hollered Pokey.

“What’s up, though? We been walking like twenty minutes now, and, nigga, it’s hotter than a bitch out here, and we still ain’t made it nowhere,” Fatboy said, wiping sweat from his face.

“Chill, we almost there,” Pokey said.

“Almost there. Man, a nigga ’bout to pass out, and all you screaming is we almost there. What we trying to do, walk to the end of the world?” Fatboy said, smiling.

“While looking up at the sun, just be patient, ’cause when we get to where we going, and you see all the finer things in life we can have, you won’t be complaining,” Pokey said, with a serious look on his face. “We almost there, though.”

About ten more minutes of walking, the niggas started smelling BBQ and all types of other shit black people were cooking.

“Damn, that shit smell good. It’s been eighteen months since a nigga had some real food,” Pokey said, rubbing his stomach.

“Where we going through? ’Cause to me, it smell like we going to a cookout ’n’ all, dog.”

“We headed to the park. Before I left to do that lil time, this shit used to be jumping on Saturdays and Sundays, where all the ballers and major dope dealers hang out and show out. You ever heard the saying show up and show out? Well, if not, you’ll soon see what I mean.”

“So what brings us here?” Fatboy asked. “’Cause we broker than a motherfucker,” he said laughing.

“Yeah, we is light now, but I promise we won’t be for long,” Pokey said. “Look,” pulling his shirt up to reveal an all-black 8 mm. “Listen, lil dog. The way to make money is to be around those who got money. Its a few things you gotta learn in this game we about to jump in. If a nigga don’t wanna help you make money, number one it’s because he don’t owe you shit. So number two, sit back and come up with a scheme and just take his shit.”

“Easy work, if you got a plan, but that’s how the business goes.”

Pokey replied, “Dirty, you crazy as fuck.”

“But I’m ’bout that shit,” Fatboy said.

“We here, dog,” Pokey said, tapping Fatboy on the shoulder. As Fatboy looks up, he sees fine-ass bitches everywhere, dressed in tight skirts or barely nothing at all.

“Damn, this shit got a nigga wanna some pussy, badder than a motherfucker,” Pokey said, looking over at all the shit that was going on. As he was about to say something else, they hear a female screaming.

“Pokey, hey! Pokey, come ’ere,” this red chick screams, while signaling us to come over with her finger.

“Damn, what she want,” Pokey said. “Come on, dog.” And the two friends walk over to this chick.

She starts screaming, “What you doing here, and when you came home?”

“Look, Kecia, I came home this morning, but why you so concern now? You ain’t write a nigga or send a nigga one cent, so why be worried now?”

“For one I asked ’cause ain’t nothing but grown-up here, that’s why. Your lil ass should be somewhere playing with some toys or something,” Kecia said, showing she was angry.

“Kecia, fuck you and that bullshit you talking. The same reason you here, me and my lil homie here.”

“Ain’t that right, dirty.”

“Hell yeah,” both boys said at the same time. “To make some money, baby!”

“Boy, look, with your ugly self, I just ask you a question.”

“And I gave you an answer. So what’s the problem?”

“Ooh!” Kecia screamed and started to walk off.

But before she could, Pokey said, “The truth hurts, doesn’t it?” Sticking his middle finger up, and Kecia turned back around and stormed off.

“Damn, dog. Who was that you snapped on?” Fatboy asked.

“Oh, that’s my sister. She be acting like she be so worried ’bout a nigga when they home. But when a nigga doing time, it’s a different story. Look, the bitch ain’t even tell me she was glad I made it home safe.”

“Dog, ya sister fine as fuck, looking like Halle Berry. She should be a model,” Fatboy said.

“That’s what everybody says. But she love being a hoe. So fuck it. It is what it is,” Pokey said. “Come on, dog.”

Just as we were about to walk off, we see Flick coming through, breathing hard, and shit, like he was running from Popo or somebody.

“What’s up y’all?” Flick screams.

While holding his chest, “Nigga, what’s up? You okay?” Pokey asked.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m cool. I just ran all the way here. Trying to get ready for the track meet next month, that’s all!”

“Shit, for a minute, we thought Jason was chasing your ass with his machete or something,” Pokey said. And all three boys start to laugh.

“All right now that you here, let’s handle business,” Pokey says, as they start walking round the park. They are in a trance state of mind. Walking ’round, looking at all these bad bitches, nice-ass whips, and all this money being thrown in the air by niggas betting on the crap games, basketball games, and whatever else there is to make a dollar out of! One thing in particular though that caught all their attention was the two twin Mercedes sitting on dubs with three of the baddest hitches a nigga will ever lay eyes on.

“Damn, these niggas balling,” Fatboy said.

“I told you, dog. You would see what I was talking about. I had to let you see for yourself the things we can have if we play our cards right,” Pokey said. “Listen, it’s only a matter of time before we be riding around flossing and shit,” Pokey said. “It’s just a matter of time. Y’all, listen, when I was doing those eighteen months, an old-school cat name Tony Black said in order to do it big, you gotta do big thing, and in order to do all that, you gotta be around the niggas who’s already doing it big and decipher all the game you can and learn from their mistakes. And once we are strong enough, we can knock him out the boy and sit on the throne,” Pokey said, smiling at the remembrance of the game TB gave him. Now him to his friends. “Look, like I said, I been gone a minute, and in that time I know a lotta shit, done changed ’round this bitch. Once I get back in tune, to who’s who and who’s doing what, that’s when my plan will come into effect. Until then we just gonna scope shit out, ’cause I just got out, and I can’t let these crackers catch me slipping like before behind some petty, chump change. ’Cause I already know next go round, these crackers gonna be playing for keeps. They already got more niggas locked down than a bitch can count,” Pokey said, thinking of the time he spent behind them razor-wire fences. Interrupting him from his train of thought was Flick speaking out.

“Dog, you act like you just did a million and one years,” Flick said, laughing. But Pokey didn’t see the humor in the lil jokes. “Besides, dog, I kept you up-to-date about everything containing to the streets. Every time I wrote you a letter,” Flick said.

“Yeah, you did that. You held a nigga down, but like I said, a lot of shit can change without you even knowing it,” Pokey said. “The streets gonna only talk so much, that’s why I ask you to keep ya ears on the streets at all time. But you couldn’t, and lil dog, I ain’t mad at cha, ’cause now I’m home, and I’mma run these streets before long.” Pokey said. “Anyway, Flick, who that is?”

“Who?” Flick asked, looking around.

“Over there, the nigga who just pulled up, in the all-black Rolls-Royce, with the gold grill on.”

“That’s, that’s—shit, I don’t know,” Flick said in defeat.

“That’s what I thought,” Pokey said, playfully slapping Flick upside the head.

“Shit, I can’t know every damn baby,” Flick said, laughing.

“It don’t matter though, ’cause one way or the other I’mma find out,” Pokey said, walking off then stopping and turning around. “Y’all coming or what,” Pokey said.

“Oh yeah, dog, we coming,” his two friends said, falling in step.

About three minutes of looking around, Fatboy said, “Damn, nigga, who we looking for?”

“Just chill, I know he ’round here somewhere. That nigga always be here. Ever since I can remember,” Pokey said to himself, but at the same time scanning his surrounding, looking for this particular person.

“Oh, nigga. You must be looking for Double D basing ass,” Flick said.

“You know it,” Pokey said, looking back at Flick.

“Look,” Flick said, pointing in front of them, “Here he comes now.”

“What this nigga riding?” Pokey asked, busting out laughing.

 Fatboy said, “A motherfucking pink Beach Cruiser with a plasma screen TV on the handle bars. This nigga gotta be tripping,” Fatboy mumbled under his breath, as they all watched.

Double D rolls up to the nigga in the Rolls-Royce and jumps off his bike with TV in hand and asks the nigga do he wanna buy it. At first the nigga was looking all crazy, then a smile slowly appears on his face, when Double D starts shaking.

“Man, you wanna buy this brand-new heavy-ass TV or what?” Double D asked, looking around for another potential buyer, just in case this fool didn’t want the TV.

“Nigga, what you trying to get for that shit?” Mr. Big, a.k.a. Sterling, asked.

“Oh, not too much. Just give me five dimes and three hundred dollars in cash,” Double D said, showing a mouth full of rotten teeth, “That’s chump change to you,” Double D said, stroking Mr. Big’s ego to get what he wants. To Double D’s surprise, Mr. Big just turned around and started vibing on his cell phone, like Double D didn’t just ask him a question.

“Oh well,” Double D said. “Fuck you too, nigga,” Double D mumbled under his breath, as he scooped up the TV from off the ground, as he was placing the TV back on his handle bars. He felt a tap on his shoulder. Scared to turn around thinking it was Mr. Big, he said what’s up, without turning around. At the sound of a female’s voice, Double D turned around, to be standing in front of one of the finest females he ever saw, with his mouth hanging open. Double D looked this sexy red bitch up and down, and as he was about to say something, she cut him off.

“Nigga, you trying to sell this TV or what?” the chick said.

“Oh yeah, yeah,” Double D stuttered.

“Well, here you go. Five dimes and three hundred. Petty-ass dollars,” she said, throwing the money at him.

“Damn, it’s like that?” Double asked.

“Just like that,” she said and put the TV over there by the car. “We’ll handle it from there,” she said.

“All right, no problem,” Double D said, carrying the TV over to the car. With a big-ass ole smile on his face, turning and heading back toward his bike. Double D said, “All in a day’s work.” Pokey watched Double D hop on his bike.

He said, “Damn, I need to holla at that nigga, but I already know it’s gonna be hard to catch that nigga, now that he got him something to smoke.” Just when Pokey was about to say fuck it and turn around, Double D yells out, “Young blood, young blood, what’s up? I see you don’t let them crackers lock your ass up again, and this time, you was gone, what five years?”

“Hell naw, I ain’t do no five years, nigga,” Pokey said.

“Well, it seems like it to me,” Double D says. “Boy, I done told your ass. You ain’t got but one life to live. If you trying to spend it behind bars, keep fucking with them crackers shit, your ass gonna catch a zillion years.”

“Man, basing-ass nigga, how you gonna tell me something, and your ass done been to prison, what, seven times,” Pokey said.

“Yeah, and I ain’t did no more than three years all seven times either. ’Cause I don’t rob and all that dumb shit. Y’all young niggas do, that will get you a life sentence. I do the petty stuff, that’s why I’m out now.”

“All right, nigga, damn. I hear you. You preaching to a nigga like you all high and mighty,” Pokey said.

“Boy, I’m just trying to tell you, life is a gift. So you better watch how you use it. ’Cause these crackers don’t mind taking it away from you.” Even though Pokey was tired of hearing Double D preach to him, he knew if he fucked up, those same words would one day haunt him, so he kept in mind, “This time I gotta get shit right.”

He was thinking, when he heard Fatboy say, “Yo, Double D, if life is so good and one to be treasured, why you keep tearing your temple down smoking that shit,” Fatboy said, watching his new friends laugh, but really wanted to know the answer.

“Look, lil nigga, for one you don’t know what you talking about. I see them crackers got you believing the Holy Bible too,” Double D said, laughing, at the same time reaching in his pocket and pulling out the crack. “Young blood, for your information, this right here, is what keeps me in heaven all-day long.”

“Yeah, and I bet your basing-ass go through hell to get it too,” Flick said, as they all laughed, including Double D who started looking all stupid, when he heard someone say, “Nigga, you gonna always be a baser.”

Looking at Fatboy like he said it, Double D snaps, “Lil young-ass nigga, you can call me baser, crack head, old junky, and smoker, whatever you want. But I bet you can’t call me broke!” Double D yells and pulls out the money he made for the TV and pushes the money in each boyz’s faces and says, “Smell them dead bodies. I bet these motherfucker don’t stank in ya pockets now!” Double D says, sticking out his tongue, “How you like that, call me baser. At Double D’s last remark, we all bust out laughing.

Then Pokey gets serious. “Hey, Double D, all jokes aside I need to holla at you, its business!” Pokey says.

“Well, in that case what’s up?” Double D said, hoping to make a quick come-up.

“Look, I need to ask you a favor,” Pokey said.

“Boy, you been knowing me all your life, and you know how I rock. Ain’t nothing in life for free? So before you ask your favor, let me ask you a question, do you have some money to pay me for my services? I ain’t got a pot to pee in.”

Pokey said, “But I’ll be straight in a minute.”

“In a minute!” Double D yells, “Man, boy, I can die today, then I’ll die broke all cuz I let you owe me. Oh hell na’ll, I can’t go out like that!” Double D screams. “I’ll tell you what though, when you get ya paper right, holla at me. Until then, I can’t do shit for ya, that’s my rules, and I ain’t breaking ’em for you or nobody else. I hope ain’t no ill feelings, and before I go, when you get ya shit together and start making money like ya ole boy? I mean these balling-ass niggas out here. I got something to stress at you about, till then be E-Z, you know where to find me.”

“Yeah, in a crack house,” Flick said.

At first Pokey was thrown by the last comment Double D made but remembered his mother said his father died when he was just a baby. So he chalked it up as nothing and told his friends, “Well, I guess we won’t get the info we need until we get our cheddar right. But maybe, just maybe, we’ll hear something sooner than we think.”