Chapter 6 ( Gabos )

Two Weeks Later: The Come-up

As all three boys exited their buildings to meet up, Fatboy had a funny feeling about something, but he couldn’t quite put his hands on what it was, until he reached his friends.

And Pokey said, “Fatboy, did you catch the news this morning?

“Noll, I got up too late, but why?”

“What happen now, dog, ya boy Maurice got fucked up last night over in the shores.”

“Doing what?” Fatboy asked, knowing now where the funny feeling came from.

“They said he tried to break into this cracker’s house, and while he was in there, cleaning the place out, the cracker came home and seen the door ajar. So they say the cracker got his gun outta the glove compartment, and that’s when he seen ya boy, trying to sneak out the window on the low-low. With a handful of jewelry and some money and said the cracker ran up to him. As soon as he hit the ground, and the man just opened fire on ya boy, like it was the Fourth of July.”

“Man, y’all playing right. I just talked to this nigga two weeks ago about that dumb shit,” Fatboy said. “Damn!”

“Listen though, Fatboy. They said ya boy got hit six times in the upper body and one time in the neck. He on life support as we speak. They said he may not make it, and if he do, he’ll never be the same again.”

“Damn, that’s some fucked-up shit, but I can’t do shit about it but send up a prayer for my nigga. I don’t know if it’s best he pull through or just give up the fight, throw in the towel, ’cause any way you look at it, dog, he gonna be messed up. And I would rather be dead than living a life behind bars,” Fatboy said.

“Dog, understand something. Sometimes that’s the chance people take when you fucking with other people stuff,” Pokey said. “Y’all know how the game goes, and I’m pretty sure ya dog knew the chances he was taking as well. We all know LGO. Life goes on. We also know if Maurice dies, it’s a sad story with tragic ending, that but was raw at basketball, Fatboy.”

“I understand all that,” Pokey said. “But people gotta eat to survive. And that’s all ya boy understood, live by, die by. Anyways, all we can do is hope for the best. ’Cause it’s better to be alive any day than dead and gone,” Pokey said, making the sign of the cross while looking up at the sky.

“Hey dog, you gonna be all right?” Flick asked his dog outta love.

“Yeah, dirty, I’mma be all right. I lost a friend, but someone else may have lost a son, brother, father that they can never get back,” Fatboy said, thinking ’bout his dog Maurice. “Damn, I’mma miss watching that nigga do them 360 dunks with ease though,” Fatboy said, thinking back to the days his friend was just clowning and having a good ole time. Now all that is in the hands of God either way. He gonna either be carry by six or judge by twelve unless God does a miracle.

“Y’all think I can go see my dog?” Fatboy asked.

“Really, dog, it’s no use, ’cause if he lives, you know them stinking-ass crackers gone be waiting at the door to take ya boy end, so you might as well just fall back and see what happens,” Pokey said.

“Hey dog, to clear ya mind a little, ’cause I know the pain is deep, let’s walk over to the park and see what’s going on over there,” Pokey said. “Let’s roll, ’cause ain’t nothing popping in the projects this morning.”

Seems like everybody either sleep or just stuck in the house but us three. As we made our way to the park, everyone was in total silence, thinking, “How quick one minute you here, the next minute you gone. It’s funny how the sun shines on the good and bad. I guess that’s how fucked up the world is.”

When they enter the park, it was crowded to be so early, you seen people already dancing, playing card, horse shoes, and even basketball. Like every Saturday, the park was crunk and the place to be. As we just walked around, the first person to catch our attention was Pokey’s uncle, Uncle Sico.

“Man, what’s up with you?”

“What you talking ’bout, nephew?”

“Unc, you look like you done lost some weight.”

“Na’ll, nephew, I been stressing,” his uncle told him, knowing he was lying. “Anyways, boy, a few more months you’ll be ready to make this bread like ya uncle,” Sico said, changing the subject.

“Yeah, Unc, I can’t wait. A nigga tired of being broke.”

“I got you, nephew. I’mma show you all the ropes when ya time comes.”

“All right, Unc,” Pokey said, giving his uncle some dap. Then his uncle turned and walked off toward his ride, jumping in, and leaving the park early.

“Damn, ya uncle leaving already.”

“I guess he is,” Pokey said.

“He gone, ain’t he, Pokey.”

“Look at Double D ask.”

“Where, oh, over there, I see—that fool, clowning, dancing with that fine-ass red bone, let that fool do him,” Pokey said. As they started walking around the park, looking for no one in particular until they happened to notice Mr. Big, sitting on the hood of his ride, with the same three fine ladies he had with him the last time, bringing him food, beer, and whatever else he may have wanted.

“This nigga living like a king, ain’t he?” Pokey asked his friends.

“Hell yeah,” they both said.

“Look, let’s go holla at this nigga!” Pokey said.

“For what? The nigga ain’t gonna do shit for us,” Fatboy said.

“Yeah, and as long as I been living, I know a close mouth ain’t never got fed.”

As Pokey started walking toward Mr. Big, he stopped and said, “Y’all niggas coming or what?”

“Yeah, we coming.” Catching up with Pokey as they reached Mr. Big, he pulled up his shirt, exposing something that looked like a nine, like they was supposed to be scared or something.

“Man, nigga, what you showing us that shit for? We ain’t trying to rob you,” Pokey said.

“Well, what y’all young ass niggas want then?” Mr. Big asked.

“Man, shit, we want to be eating like you,” Pokey shot back.

Mr. Big just laughed, “Y’all hear this shit, ladies? These young-ass niggaz said they wanna be eating just like me but don’t know the shit I went through to make it on top and the shit I go through to stay on top. That shit funny, ain’t it?” Mr. Big said, looking at the ladies. “Let me ask y’all a question,” Mr. Big said.

“What’s that?” they asked.

“What’s y’all name?”

“My name is Fatboy.”

“And mine is Flick.”

“And you?” he said, pointing at Pokey.

“My name is Pokey.” When Pokey said his name, Mr. Big looked at him again, like he seen a ghost.

“You said your name is Pokey?”

“Yeah,” Pokey said.

“And what’s your momma name?” Mr. Big ask.

“Mrs. Queen. Why, you the feds or something?”

“Just asking,” Mr. Big said, knowing why he was really asking. “Sico told me this lil nigga look just like me, and the way he talking seems as though he got his heart from me too,” Mr. Big was thinking. Back in the day, Mr. Big and Mrs. Queen used to mess around and ended up falling in love. The sad thing was, Mrs. Queen wanted Mr. Big to love her only, so they could be a family. But Mr. Big loved the street life more than anything, so after a few months of trying to convince him to leave the streets alone, she gave up and just left him alone and tried to keep it a secret that she was having his baby boy. But Sico knew the whole time. Even though Mrs. Queen told her son his father died a long time, when he was just a baby, she always knew one day he would find out that she lied to him because she didn’t want him to follow in his father’s footsteps.

“Listen,” Mr. Big asked, “y’all young cats know anything about the streets and the street life?”

“We know enough,” Pokey said, speaking for them all.

“Okay, since you know so much, hip me to game,” Mr. Big said.

“We know if we live by the gun, there’s a 90 percent chance we’ll die by the gun, and to never ever get high off ya own supply,” Pokey said, remembering what his uncle told him. “And last but not the least, keep ya friends close, ’cause you’ll always know how to deal with ya enemies,” Pokey said.

“I see y’all know a little something, but who told you that?”

“Never expose the one who put you up on game, game is to be sold, not told,” Pokey said, laughing at Mr. Big looking all stupid now.

“I know Sico told him that,” Mr. Big was thinking. And the reason why he knew it was his baby brother Sico, ’cause it’s the same thing he told him when he put him in the game.

“One thing y’all jits forgot,” Mr. Big said.

“What’s that, old school?”

“Now I’m old school.”

“Yeah, shit, you called us jits, we called you old school.”

“Young buck, I like ya sway, but always remember its two things to preserve in life, your health, followed by your freedom. You lose one, you lose both, and y’all got that?”

“Yeah, we got that. But what’s up, you talking like you ’bout to put us on.”

“Look, young bucks, always remember patience is a must. I didn’t get here overnight,” Mr. Big said. “Now this what I’mma do for y’all, and this on the strength I see the same thing in y’all I had in me, what’s that, determination, so I’mma give y’all a pound of weed and see how y’all handled business. You don’t owe me nothing, but when something is free, you should always be able to come up,” Mr. Big said.

In the back of Pokey’s mind, he was thinking, “This nigga think we lame, ain’t nothing in this world free but the air we breathing. So like I was told, always pay your dues,” Pokey was thinking.

“Hey baby, bring a pound of that good good out the stash box for me.” As the girl did what she was told, Mr. Big was thinking, “Is this young nigga my son, and do I really want my own son in the game? If it is, fuck it. If I don’t, somebody else will.” Just as he was finished thinking, the girl came with a black book bag and handed it to Mr. Big. Mr. Big took the bag, opened it, and looked in it, then said, “Here y’all go,” handing the bag to Pokey. “This what I want y’all to do. In two weeks meet me back here, and let me know how things went, all right?” Mr. Big said, leaving his presence and walking back to the PJ’s. But instead of leaving empty-handed, this time they had something that could put them on, just as soon as they hit the project grounds, Pokey said, “Damn, I hope Uncle Sico don’t find out and be tripping and shit.”

“Dog, all we gotta do is keep the shit on the low-low,” Fatboy said.

“What he don’t know won’t hurt him, right? All right, where we gonna keep this shit at?” Flick asked.

“Look, I’ll just keep it in my room,” Pokey said. “And we’ll see what we can get off in the projects and the rest at school.”

“Word,” Fatboy said. “All right, take some of that shit out and let’s roll a blunt.”

“Man, look, y’all know Mr. Big said we can’t get high off our own supply, as bad as I wanna burn, we gotta make this bread. Keep in mind this nigga could be our meal ticket out the hood if we handle this right. So what we gonna do is go to Mrs. Jones’s house and see if she will sell us some baggies and bag this shit up in dimes, ’cause we’ll make more money that way, then selling quarters and ounces,” Pokey said.

About two hours later, everything was done and ready to go.

“Now that we finish with that, let’s see what we can sell before it gets too late.”

“So how we gonna do that?” Fatboy asked.

“We don’t know too many people ’round here who gonna cope from us, ’cause they all straight with Mrs. Jones,” Flick said.

“You right ’bout that,” Fatboy said. “I guess it’s our luck though, here comes ya boy Double D on that beat-up ass bike. He know everybody that knows somebody.”

“All right, let me holla at him. Double D, hey Double D!”

“What, young blood? What you calling my name all out loud, like I’m the damn president or somebody? What you want? I can’t even sneak in the projects without you telling a motherfucker I’m here. Now what you want, young blood?” Double D says.

“I need you to do something for me.”

“What’s that, young blood? I ain’t killing nobody, and I ain’t robbing no banks.”

“Man, shut up. We ain’t talking ’bout no shit like that.” All three boys laugh.

“Oh, ’cause I ain’t doing no time for nobody.”

“All right, man. Damn.” Pokey said. “I just need you to let people know we in business on the weed tip.”

“That ain’t my drug of choice, but I’mma see what I can do for you. Where y’all gonna be posted at, man?”

“We just gonna be out back, right behind the projects.”

“All right, I got y’all,” Double D said. “Just remember my services ain’t for free. For every person I send, I want a dollar in return.”

“All right, bet, we got you. Just go spread the word on. And, Double D, don’t let my Uncle Sico know about this all right?”

“Boy, do I look like a snitch? I thought so,” Double D said, hopping on his bike and peeling off.

Not even an hour later, we had people coming and coping from us, left and right, like we the only ones who had weed.

“Dog, let’s close this shit down for the day,” Pokey said.

“Why, dog, we on fire right now.”

“’Cause we ain’t trying to make this spot too hot. You know how niggas is in the hood, they see something, they want in. Plus we ain’t trying to get caught. With all these people coming behind the projects, a bitch gonna know something going on. Anyways, we done sold half the shit already, so that’s good for the day.”

“At least we know we in business,” they said walking off.

“Dat shit go fast as fuck too. Just think if we had plenty of this shit, we’ll be balling in no time.”

“Yeah, I know,” Pokey said, “But one thing at a time, y’all already know when my birthday come, we gonna move up from this petty shit to the big boy shit that these niggas will sell they own momma for.”

“Yeah, but ya b-day four months away,” Fatboy said.

“That’s nothing, dog. As long as that nigga keep giving us this shit, we gonna be good. Feel me?” Pokey said.

“That’s what’s up,” his two friends said, turning around, to hear Double D yelling.

“Hey Pokey, boy, where my money? And don’t say you ain’t got none, I seen all these people come back there, like y’all was selling crack instead of weed. Y’all ain’t got no crack, do y’all?”

“Hell no, but here go your money. I know you thought we was gonna shit on you, but you did your part, now we gotta do our part,” Pokey said, removing forty dollars from the book bag and handing it to Double D.

“All right, that’s what I’m talking ’bout. If you niggas had some hard, I would’ve let y’all make y’all money back, but since y’all don’t, I gotta be moving,” Double D said, jumping on his bike and speeding off, like he trying to win a race.

“Pokey, ain’t that your uncle over there in the car sleep?”

“It looks like it. Let’s go see, ’cause if it is, I know he seen all the shit going on.” When they reached the car, Pokey’s uncle was knocked out.

“Uncle Sico, man, what’s up? You all right?”

“Huh? Oh yeah, nephew, I’m good. Just taking a lil nap, that’s all.”

But little did he know, Pokey finally realized the reason for his uncle losing so much weight. “This nigga was getting high off the same shit,” he said. And Pokey would’ve never believe it if he wouldn’t have saw the pipe his uncle tried to cover up on the sly. Filled with anger and disgust, all Pokey could do was tell his uncle, “I’mma holla at you later,” while looking at him with hate in his eyes, instead of the love he used to have for his uncle. They say it’s a thin line between love and hate.

“Let’s roll y’all,” Pokey said. “Look, I’mma tell y’all something, and this stays between us, ’cause out here in these streets, we all the family we got.”

Fatboy and Flick looked kinda thrown by the sudden change in Pokey’s attitude, but they listened anyways.

“If we ever come up big in this game, and either one of us gets hooked on anything but money, it’s over, life must end. So let’s stay true. We in this for money and to try and help our families up out the hood, nothing more, nothing less,” Pokey said.

“Dog, we hear you, but where all this shit coming from?” Fatboy asked.

“The heart, dog. As of now, we all bleed the same blood, we in whatever together, and my reason for saying this is because my Uncle Sico told me he’ll never let the same game he running be his downfall or take him under. And if it did, he told me to promise I’ll put a bullet in his head, ’cause he’ll be better off dead ’cause a junkie ain’t shit. And since I’m a man of my word, when the time comes, I’mma do just that.”

They never thought Pokey was talking about killing his own uncle, but seeing him use that shit really fucked Pokey up, and he would rather see him dead than lose his crown or his freedom behind some stupid shit like that. So our saying is fuck with nothing that will cause you death, and all three boys gave each other dap.

“Dog, we gonna take this shit to another level, and we gonna have to turn our hearts cold in the process. If we wanna make it to the top, that’s what’s up,” they said, walking off, feeling different already. “The beast is in every man. I do not understand what I do, for what I want to do, I do not do, but what I hate to do . . . As it is, it is no longer I myself who do it, but it is the beast living in me.” With that thought in mind, they knew in order to win this game, they couldn’t fear anything and had to always remember GABOS. Game ain’t based on sympathy. Ain’t no love in the streets, so why should we show it? It’s every man against us. The first to make it to the top and stays there wins.

        “And if we handle business right, we’ll be looking down at all our haters,” Fatboy said, smiling.

                                That’s how it is.

        GABOS, they all said. And it doesn’t mean “God, angels, bless our streets,” ’cause if we have to, we’ll turn these streets BLOODRED. They said this, walking off! With one thing in common taking over.