I suggest you go here first, then come back…
I’ve had a gun pointed at me on a few occasions. Every time though, a strange sense of calm washed over me, as if God were in my head telling me that I’ll be fine; it’ll be over soon. No bullshit. The same feeling I had almost 2 years ago, as I lay dying in an ICU cubicle. Doctor’s were telling me, in so many words, that I probably wouldn’t leave there the way I WANTED to, & perhaps it was the cacophony of meds being pumped into me every minute, of every hour, but I was never scared, word to T.I. & Bonecrusher.
Anyway…
*no dry-snitch* was the type of kid that, when on high alert, allowed his fight-or-flight mechanisms to take over. Not surprisingly, this time it was fight, which I personally saw him do several times over the years, so I understood when I’d heard what happened.
Rightfully so, as fast as valley cat drew the weapon, it was snatched from his hand. I’ve seen Keanu Reeves do that move a couple of times, but whodathunk it worked in the real world. Just that quickly, the aggressor became the aggressee. *no dry-snitch* kicked him away, so that the same thing wouldn’t happen to him, & kept the nozzle of the handgun stubbornly pointed in valley kid’s general direction.
All this, while shorty watched wide-eyed on the sidelines.
Knowing the plight of the over-eager, hard-headed young street soldier, I’m positive that several words were exchanged & some variation of a scene from ‘Menace To Society’ was acted out before the following took place:
Pop.
Pop.
Pop.
Within a 5 minute window, *no dry-snitch* had become a “man”, a survivor, & was hoofing it back to his relatives’ locale. Out of bounds, & out of options, his aunt, uncle & cousin jettisoned him to his mom’s apartment, who in turn took him to another aunt’s, where he lived in L.A., around the corner from me. After all, how much thicker is blood than ‘harboring a fugitive’ when you really think about it? His moms gave him a few dollars & the best advice the mother of a murderer can give to her hell bound son; (& I quote, because I know her-more on that later) “STAY THE FUCK IN THE HOUSE, *no dry-snitch*!”
Young & stubborn, he showed up on my porch early the next morning, with a bag full of clothes & a smile on his face. I opened the door & snatched him in, looking around before I slammed it shut, & began the “Furious Styles” rant & rave routine. Fuck that. I’ve been a huge part of a chain of command in this boy’s life for years. Best believe I was going to get in his ass [||] about this incredible stupidity. He’d cry & go turn himself in before he’d even think about yelling back, word to strong male figures worldwide. You can tell a lot about a person by the people they respect. Just saying. He told me his version of what happened, which was pretty close to what had already been leaked to the streets. Bad news travels fast, nah’mean? I rolled a blunt, & as we got high & mellow, I could smell the fear, paranoia & remorse, which by now was more pungent than the dirt weed we set ablaze.
The chick-a-dee had relatives out here, of course, & word of valley boy’s death hit the city before *no dry-snitch*’s dusty Fila’s did.
His aunt, a very nice but stern lady, wasn’t ready to let a demon reside in her home. He’d been there all this time, so I didn’t see what the big deal was, but nonetheless, he was on the run, & now homeless. So guess who extended their back house?
Oddly enough, I’ve never felt as safe as I did with a killer living with me. It was better than having a gun. Anyone with a wild younger brother or an psychotic rotweiler knows exactly what I mean. Except, this was beyond wild; *no dry-snitch* took a man’s life, with that man’s own stolen gun. In the movie ‘Juice‘, Bishop was a character brought to life by a great actor. But *no dry-snitch* was who that character was based upon, if you smell my cologne. So, his mom paid me weekly rent, & thanked me often, dropping off cigarettes & booze every couple of days like a good enabler should. In hindsight, her gratitude wouldn’t have meant shit had the police ran up in my house. & best believe, they were looking for *no dry-snitch*, even went to his aunt’s crib applying the pressure. Little did they know he was in my backyard, listening behind the wall. But, that kind of thing doesn’t register to a monster. He’d walk to the store, stand on the block, & pretend that all was normal, gang-banging as usual, completely oblivious to the 5 minute factor.
Eventually, the summer was over & he concluded that the heat had simmered, even though Black & Whites stayed canvassing the neighborhood daily. One afternoon, he said somebody owed him so money, & when I offered to give it to him so he wouldn’t have to leave, he mumbled & started walking away.
“I’ll be right back, TG! In 5 minutes.”
To be concluded tomorrow…
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