The Streets Bleed Murder Box Set Read online

  ***

  He could hear them, but his eyes couldn’t even force themselves open. He was extremely tired. His body was numb. Gangsta felt as if he had just closed his eyes two seconds ago. All he wanted was a nice rest without being interrupted in any form. Last night he fell asleep on the couch, but for some reason he did not find comfort. Thoughts of what happened crossed his mind, leaving him to toss and turn throughout the night, and rest seemed nonexistent. Thoughts of his money and drugs helped him to get up. He noticed Erica, Kash’s girlfriend, and another female standing by the bar. Erica was cleaning the countertop while the other female stood off to the side, both talking in whispers until Erica saw him open his eyes

  “Good Morning. Do you want anything to eat?” Erica respectfully asked him.

  “Nah, I’m straight,” Gangsta said and sat up to get a better look at the other female.

  She kind of favored a light-skinned Halle Berry. Not the exact look, but she held that perfect pretty, the same as Halle did. She was slim with nice hips, and she was bowlegged.

  “How did you rest?” Erica asked.

  “It was okay. Where is Kash?”

  “He’s still asleep. Do you want me to wake him?”

  Gangsta stood up and eyed the female again. She was also looking at him.

  “Nah, let me just use yo’ phone so I can call a cab.”

  “A cab,” the girl spoke. “I can use da gas. Where are you trying to go?”

  Her voice was pretty, like her face. She had a high port personality, you could tell.

  “South Grand off Bankhead. Could you do dat?” Gangsta asked.

  “Yeah, I can do that,” the girl said and walked upstairs. “Give me three minutes,” she said over her shoulder.

  “That’s my sister,” Erica said and winked before following behind her.

  Minutes later, the girl came back down to get him. They walked out the front door and climbed into the 300C.

  “So, what’s yo’ name, Mr. South Grand?”

  “Gangsta.”

  “Your birth name, please. I am not about to call you Gangsta.” She laughed a bit.

  “Gary. And what’s your name?” he replied while looking over at her beauty.

  “My given name is Nya. My family and friends call me NeNe.”

  “Okay, and where’s yo’ nigga?” Gangsta asked.

  “Dang, you get straight to the point, huh?”

  “No time to flex.”

  NeNe laughed and pulled her 300C into the BP gas station up the street from their home.

  “How much you payin’ me?” she asked when she parked next to the pump.

  “Fill yo’ car up,” he said and watched her go inside the store.

  Gangsta took that time to get out and pump the gas for her. He watched her walk back over to the car, and he fell in love with the sway of her walk and her legs. He couldn’t take his eyes off the woman, and NeNe knew it, which kind of made her nervous and blush.

  For a minute they rode in silence. Gangsta, being street and physically captivated, could no longer hold his tongue. He was curious and wanted to know of this female.

  “I’ve got a question,” he said out of nowhere.

  “Huh?” NeNe looked from the road to him and quickly back to the road.

  “I have a question,” he repeated.

  “Okay,” she replied, eyes focused on the road ahead, but her attention was with him.

  “Are you single?”

  “I am, and yourself?” NeNe shot back as quick as she got it.

  “I’m very single and, just being honest, I find it hard to believe you’re single. Why are you single?” Gangsta asked.

  “My last relationship dealt with insecure actions, and he wanted to be too hands-on, if you know what I mean,” NeNe shot back.

  “And how long has it been since you and him were together?”

  “It’s been two years and four months.”

  Her statement made him burst out laughing. He looked at her with a yeah right look before saying, “So, you ain’t messed with a guy in two years and four months?”

  “Yes, it’s been that long, and that is nonstop,” she replied.

  “Damn.”

  “And why are you single?” Ne-Ne asked.

  “’Cause I just got out from doing three years and girls ain’t loyal.”

  “Dat’s so untrue.”

  “Dat’s real,” replied Gangsta.

  The rest of the ride they spoke no words. They both listened to the radio and grooved to the music until she finally made it to his mother’s house. NeNe pulled her 300C into the driveway next to a Honda Accord.

  “Okay, so what I owe you?” Gangsta said while opening the door to get out.

  It was bright and early. The sun wasn’t even out yet. The grass was misty with the morning dew.

  “You gave me $50 for gas, so I’m straight,” she replied.

  Gangsta smiled it off while reaching into his pocket, where he pulled out a few bills. He peeled her off five twenties.

  “Here, and thank you, NeNe. Now, can I call you sometime?” he nervously asked.

  “If Erica says it’s cool, then yup.”

  “Yo’ sister?” he asked, confused.

  She started laughing.

  “Boy, I’m only joking.” She wrote her number down on a piece of paper and passed it to him.

  Chapter 2

  “Gary, you need to come on if you want to be on time.” He could hear his mother yell from her bedroom.

  Gangsta grabbed his ID, phone, and a few hundreds for pocket change. He also made sure not to forget his money order for the condo he was about to lease near Buckhead Paces Ferry.

  He was dressed down in simple attire consisting of Ralph Lauren with the shoes to match. He met up with his mother at the door as he was leaving the house. When she saw her son, she just shook her head because she knew he was a handful and some more. Ms. Jackson knew that no matter what, Gangsta would always be street. His actions would always show he was street. He would always get some money and did not mind a fight, rumble or war.

  She was happy to not have raised a bitch boy, but she could’ve done without most of his street ways. Gangsta stood 5’11”, 190 pounds with a light brown skin tone and wavy hair. He was cut due to working out in prison and was far from ugly.

  “Let’s go, Ma,” he said while looking down at her 5’2” frame.

  Gangsta and his mother had a beautiful relationship. He was her only living son and had never met his father. He grew up on South Grand and was raised by the west side of Atlanta. His mother loved their four-bedroom house passed down to them through generations, and over the years growing up Gangsta fell in love with the house, also.

  No matter what, Gangsta knew he had a place to rest if all else failed. Since his brother was killed, he and his mother had a very close relationship. Though she could not keep him from the streets, Ms. Jackson still spoiled her only living son with attention and love.

  Gangsta held a great amount of respect for his mother and always took heed to her wisdom. She was always behind him, right or wrong.

  It did not take them long to do the paperwork for the condo and for him to deposit five grand into an account set up to pay the $1,600 rent every month. His mother did not understand why her son chose to live in such an expensive condo, but Gangsta reassured her.

  “Ma, you raised a hustler.”

  Gangsta took her to a Steak ‘n’ Shake a few blocks away from the condo so they could eat something before he took her shopping. He wanted to show her around the area he planned to stay in so she would see he wasn’t in the hood.

  The food was great, the people were nice and well mannered, and the atmosphere was humbling. Gangsta and his mother laughed over dinner and spoke about her new position at her job working at Grady Memorial Hospital as head nurse.

  “It’s just something to keep my bills paid. I mean, don’t get me wrong, when I first started my heart was in it. I was full of passion for the job bac
k then, but over the years it has turned into just a job,” his mother said over dinner, and Gangsta understood exactly what she meant.

  They finished the meal and Gangsta left a nice tip as they walked side by side toward his truck, and then they headed to the jewelry store.

  ***

  Kash

  He couldn’t imagine being in a better place in life as he took two big hits off the loud blunt. He inhaled deeply and held the smoke while looking around at the many pounds of midgrade weed he scored from a Mexican plug in Buford, GA.

  Kash was downstairs inside his girl’s basement with fifty pounds of weed — half he paid for and the other half he was given on consignment. He had plans to cop a couple times, and then he planned to wipe the Mexican’s nose clean for every crumb he could get his hands on.

  It’d been two weeks since the murder, and the streets were talking. Mostly the streets were pointing fingers at his group because the guys wasted no time pushing ounces of loud the very next day. Dank upgraded from a Caprice to a Range Rover super sport, Kash upgraded to a Suburban, and Gangsta was pushing a black on black Ram truck with super black tint, though nobody dared say anything out loud.

  Kash finished his blunt and picked up his phone to call Dank, who picked up on the third ring.

  “Yo.”

  “Shawty, help me jump this mid, and I got bags for 950.”

  “You caught a lick, fool?” Dank’s deep voice boomed through the phone.

  “Nah, I copped dis.”

  “Okay, I got a lil’ ho on Simpson and we can set up at shawty spot. That’s where I got off my whole network.”

  “Sound right to me,” Kash replied.

  He left the fifty pounds in the basement and walked upstairs where Erica was cooking his two kids something to eat.

  “So, is you fuckin’ wit’ zips?” Dank wanted to know.

  “I tell you what, I’ma bring you ten for seven bands. That means you will score something like five racks free money if you slang zips, right?” Kash said, walking up behind Erica at the stove.

  He kissed the back of her neck and pushed up on her phat ass.

  “Yeah, that’s straight. I’m waiting on you,” Dank replied, and they disconnected the phone call.

  Kash took a seat at the table with his two kids, Charles Junior and Unique, whose mother was a police officer. Kash did not fuck with the police, so when Ebony decided she would go into law enforcement, they quickly broke up. The two of them were still cool, but they did not kick it at all.

  Kash was only 23 years old. His real name was Charles McCants, the son of Susan and Jeffery McCants, two successful business owners with plenty of money. He was the only child, and as a kid he always rebelled against his parents’ commands. He always strayed into trouble for all types of reasons, and his parents couldn’t understand what was going on with their child.

  His parents placed him in the best schools, spoiled him with anything he wanted, and took him any place he wanted to go, and still Kash found trouble. He seemed to get a rush from the drama of being a badass kid. It had gotten so out of control that Kash’s mother and father sent him to doctors and schools for kids who are overly hyper and need special attention. Nothing seemed to work for Kash, and with every day that passed his attitude got worse and his parent’s couldn’t deal with it any longer.

  They kicked Kash out of their home when he was arrested for burning a cat alive. He was sentenced to five years, but only served two years on good behavior. He was released to the streets because his parents refused to open their home to him again. His mother went as far as renting him an apartment and kept his bills paid until it got raided for drugs.

  It had been six years since he’d reached out to them for any type of help. All Kash did was drop his kids off to his parents when they had time to watch them. His relationship with his parents was rocky, but still on okay terms.

  Erica sat a plate down in front of him and a plate for both of his kids. She joined him at the table.

  ***

  Gangsta

  Gangsta was at the four-way red light of Bankhead and Hightower in his black Ram truck beating Monsta Swole, a zone four west side cat who was hot in the city. He was feeling great as he nodded his head to the music. He made a left on Hightower and then quickly turned into the gas station for some blunt wraps.

  The Texaco Gas Station was crowded, though he managed to find a spot to park and quickly jumped out. Gangsta was draped down in a blue and lemon-colored Duckhead shirt and the heavy-duty Duckhead jeans with the duck face on the pockets. He wore all white Mari tennis shoes and an Eso Movado watch. He got all types of strange looks from people because Duckhead had long ago played out, though his clothes were fresh off wax. Gangsta made it his business to wear all throwback clothing, no matter what the day.

  Out of all the looks and whispers Gangsta saw and heard, he noticed a familiar face of a known hitman out of Atlanta named Glock. Gangsta saw him from a distance watching him, but Glock tried to play it off as if he wasn’t looking. Gangsta played his role also, but silently wished he had the .45 on him instead of in his truck. He paid for the blunt wrap and a can of soda, and then walked out of the gas station. He saw Glock pulling up when he made an exit. Gangsta eyed the money green Crown Victoria and watched for any type of movement from Glock. He didn’t see any, and Glock pulled off into the streets as he blasted his music.

  Gangsta was elated that no drama unfolded on Bankhead, but was still fairly paranoid. Gangsta jumped in his truck and smashed off in a different direction. Glock did not like Gangsta, and his feelings were the same. Glock was a older head in the streets, a hired hitman. Word was that Glock was paid to kill Cool to get him out of the way. Gangsta was only a kid back then, so he never really gave it thought, plus he asked his mother one day and she said it was all rumors. Even though Gangsta just got out of prison, he knew to be on point, ‘cause when someone saw Glock’s face, someone would unfortunately die soon.

  It took him fifteen minutes to pull up into Hollywood Courts Projects on Hollywood Road where Dank stayed with his oldest son’s mother. Gangsta also knew a couple dudes from the projects that he dealt with on different occasions.

  The projects was full of its daily activities: grownups on their porches having beer and playing spades, kids running around playing or riding their bikes, the older crew playing basketball while the girls their age flirted every chance they got.

  He pulled up next to Dank’s whip and noticed Kash’s car out there as well. Gangsta parked and got out. He saw both his partnas and showed them love.

  “What’s up?” Gangsta spoke.

  “Shit, fool, we were ‘bout to smash to yo’ spot. We thought you were scared to come outside,” Kash said, laughing.

  “Nah, nigga, I just been coolin’. What’s up, though? What da play is?” Gangsta replied.

  They all walked to the Range Rover and got in. Gangsta began to roll a blunt in the backseat as Dank informed them of his newfound trap spot on Simpson. He quickly painted a beautiful picture and threw extreme numbers out that sounded good to his two partnas. Even though it sounded nice, Gangsta still liked taking money better than hustling.

  They smoked two Kush blunts and went over plans to rob Cris and Dinky, two of Bowen Homes Projects’ weight men with powder and weed. Kash was super cool with Cris through doing business. He could see in Cris’ eyes he wasn’t built to control the type of money he had. Dinky had to be pussy as well, because two birds of a feather flock together.

  Dank agreed to the plot as well as Gangsta. Dank wanted to kidnap Cris or Dinky and ransom the other. It seemed crazy at first, but Gangsta was down, so Kash set a date to strike.

  After leaving Kash and Dank, Gangsta decided to ride to his first cousin’s house on Johnson Road. It was a major drug spot in Atlanta’s zone one area. Johnson Road was a family hood, a rough place to live, but those that lived there adapted to the ins and outs of how it rolled. Everybody knew everybody. Most of the people who stayed on Johnson
Road were either family or childhood friends.

  Everybody was in the yard like always when he pulled his truck up behind his cousin’s Impala. Nobody knew it was Gangsta until he jumped out super clean in his throwback gear. The first person to spot him was his long ago ex-girlfriend Terry, whom he heard was messing with Zay, a weed and crack slinger with a mean hustle game.

  “Hey, Gary, come here,” Terry said, standing next to her two friends, Nikki and Roxanne.

  Terry was light skinned like Lisa Raye with that same player’s club shape. She was considered one of the baddest females on the Westside. All types of dudes tried to get with her, but failed. She just had a thing for west side cats, and that’s why she was in love with Gangsta.

  The two of them broke up when he did his first bid, and they never got back together. He was her first love and her first sex partna, and that had a big hold on her. She didn’t stay down the few months they were together, and she knew Gangsta didn’t respect that.

  Gangsta acted as if he didn’t hear her as he walked up to where his cousin was seated. He was on the porch with a few goons on call. He gave everybody dap, then took a seat.

  “What’s up, boy?” Gangsta spoke to his cousin and pulled out a blunt wrap as Terry strolled over.

  “Nigga, I know you heard me,” she said with one hand on her hip.

  She wore a pair of jeans that looked like they were painted on her slim waist.

  “What’s up, shawty?” Gangsta acted surprised to see her.

  He poured a gram of Kush into a wrap.

  “Come here,” she demanded, looking at him with her grey eyes looking good as ever, but he wouldn’t let her know that.

  His cousin Eric jumped in and said, “Man, get out my yard with that ghetto shit.”

  Everybody knew Terry would get stupid if she didn’t get her way, so Gangsta got up to see what she wanted.

  Gangsta stood up to walk down the steps toward her.

  “What’s up, shawty?” he asked, and she grabbed one of his hands and pulled him away from his friends and family.