Baby Brother had been murdered on The Rock, but they knew the streets still demanded a reckoning and they were both ready to get shit popping.
“It’s go to muthafuckin’ war time,” Finesse announced. Rage was in the air as they sat at their mother’s dining room table. “Somebody gotta pay for this shit, yo. The blade mighta been pulled from inside the joint, but the order came from outside the walls. My cats are out the streets with their ears close to the ground. A name is gonna fall outta somebody’s mouth before you know it. And when it does, we gone light these mothafuckin streets up with bullets and blood!”
Farad agreed. “Yeah. Any minute now,” he said, then nodded toward his brother Raheem, who sat with his elbows on the table and his face in his hands. “You still got them snitches behind the walls, right?”
Raheem looked ufl “Yeah. I’m leaning hard on Baby Brother’s cellie. That dirty bastard knows something and he’s gonna tell it. I think it mighta been that niggah whose nose I cracked last year. The one who tried to bite me.”
“Could be, but I been hearing noise about that fool Borne,” Finesse said. “He was breakin’ some of his new boys in the night Sari got popped. They was in the right area, son. And one of them cats dry-snitched and wrote a letter to his girl telling her somebody took down a Puerto Rican chick.”
Malik shook his head and crossed his arms. As a police officer he’d seen all kinds of shit on the streets. Black-on-black crime was ridiculous. It was the cheapest and most efficient method available for the white man to get rid of his problems. “I know for a fact Borne’s kids gotta slump somebody before they can get a tat and roll with him. And most of them be real young heads too. We’ve brought him in for contributing to the delinquency of a minor quite a few times, but he always manages to beat that shit.”
“But where was the fuckin’ C.O. who shoulda been holding down the kitchen!” Kadir demanded. He had made it in from A.C. and had been planning to ride with Antwan to visit Baby Brother as soon as Raheem gave them the word.
“Oh,” Raheem said quietly as a dark cloud came across his face, “don’t worry about that niggah. I’ma handle that. When I’m finished with that slime his bitch and kids ain’t even gonna recognize him.”
Priest sat at the head of the table with his hands clasped in front of him, praying quietly. He’d had to chase their dun-duns away from the front door, off of the stoofl They didn’t need no security, he explained. Baby Brother was gone, and now all they needed was the love of God and the strength to make it through.
He’d come inside and sat listening while his brothers vented, letting them talk their grief out. All of them had bloody hands. Farad and Finesse sold drugs, but they’d killed whenever the need arose.
And Malik. As happy as that cat was, he was still a black man with a gun. A couple of years back there’d been an Internal Affairs investigation that implicated him in some dirty business involving one of the top detectives in his precinct. Somebody had shot a young white man who was supposedly slumming through Brownsville to purchase drugs. The murder weapon was never found, but witnesses put Malik and the detective on the scene, although both of them denied any involvement.
Kadir was wild, like their father. He lived a dangerous life down in Atlantic City and probably had more bodies floating in the ocean than he’d ever admit. But Raheem…Antwan knew his brother like the back of his own hand. He walked a straight line when he could, but he was the most ruthless of them all when crossed.
“Leave it alone, Raheem. We gonna leave the retribution for the Lord, remember?”
Raheem snorted. “You the one preachin’, Antwan. Not me. I ain’t worried about my fuckin’ soul. All I’m worried about is not getting mines.”
“That’s what’s real,” Farad said, staring coldly at his
“It’s go to muthafuckin’ war time,” Finesse announced. Rage was in the air as they sat at their mother’s dining room table. “Somebody gotta pay for this shit, yo. The blade mighta been pulled from inside the joint, but the order came from outside the walls. My cats are out the streets with their ears close to the ground. A name is gonna fall outta somebody’s mouth before you know it. And when it does, we gone light these mothafuckin streets up with bullets and blood!”
Farad agreed. “Yeah. Any minute now,” he said, then nodded toward his brother Raheem, who sat with his elbows on the table and his face in his hands. “You still got them snitches behind the walls, right?”
Raheem looked ufl “Yeah. I’m leaning hard on Baby Brother’s cellie. That dirty bastard knows something and he’s gonna tell it. I think it mighta been that niggah whose nose I cracked last year. The one who tried to bite me.”
“Could be, but I been hearing noise about that fool Borne,” Finesse said. “He was breakin’ some of his new boys in the night Sari got popped. They was in the right area, son. And one of them cats dry-snitched and wrote a letter to his girl telling her somebody took down a Puerto Rican chick.”
Malik shook his head and crossed his arms. As a police officer he’d seen all kinds of shit on the streets. Black-on-black crime was ridiculous. It was the cheapest and most efficient method available for the white man to get rid of his problems. “I know for a fact Borne’s kids gotta slump somebody before they can get a tat and roll with him. And most of them be real young heads too. We’ve brought him in for contributing to the delinquency of a minor quite a few times, but he always manages to beat that shit.”
“But where was the fuckin’ C.O. who shoulda been holding down the kitchen!” Kadir demanded. He had made it in from A.C. and had been planning to ride with Antwan to visit Baby Brother as soon as Raheem gave them the word.
“Oh,” Raheem said quietly as a dark cloud came across his face, “don’t worry about that niggah. I’ma handle that. When I’m finished with that slime his bitch and kids ain’t even gonna recognize him.”
Priest sat at the head of the table with his hands clasped in front of him, praying quietly. He’d had to chase their dun-duns away from the front door, off of the stoofl They didn’t need no security, he explained. Baby Brother was gone, and now all they needed was the love of God and the strength to make it through.
He’d come inside and sat listening while his brothers vented, letting them talk their grief out. All of them had bloody hands. Farad and Finesse sold drugs, but they’d killed whenever the need arose.
And Malik. As happy as that cat was, he was still a black man with a gun. A couple of years back there’d been an Internal Affairs investigation that implicated him in some dirty business involving one of the top detectives in his precinct. Somebody had shot a young white man who was supposedly slumming through Brownsville to purchase drugs. The murder weapon was never found, but witnesses put Malik and the detective on the scene, although both of them denied any involvement.
Kadir was wild, like their father. He lived a dangerous life down in Atlantic City and probably had more bodies floating in the ocean than he’d ever admit. But Raheem…Antwan knew his brother like the back of his own hand. He walked a straight line when he could, but he was the most ruthless of them all when crossed.
“Leave it alone, Raheem. We gonna leave the retribution for the Lord, remember?”
Raheem snorted. “You the one preachin’, Antwan. Not me. I ain’t worried about my fuckin’ soul. All I’m worried about is not getting mines.”
“That’s what’s real,” Farad said, staring coldly at his
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