Read Online The Dying Ground by Nichelle D. Tramble - Free Book Online
Authors: Nichelle D. Tramble
Ads: Link
straight.”
We sat in silence for a minute and considered the truth of the statement. “I heard his girl got in the cut.” Crowley nodded toward me.
“Ain’t nobody seen her.”
“She knew the drill. Saw that gun and got ghost. Heard she left her shoe in the car and everything.”
“Charlie been looking for her?”
“Charlie looking for anybody. Stay away from that fool.” He tapped his head. “He ain’t right. You know Billy had started to cut him loose ’cause Charlie was acting too wild.”
This was news to me—and Holly too, judging from his expression.
“Since when?” he asked.
“Since Charlie fucked with those white boys.” I remembered then that Charlie had started dealing in strict-as-hell Marin County, bringing heat into Billy’s quiet territory. “Soon as white boys start muddying the pool, Feds ain’t too far behind.”
“And they’ll snitch in a minute.” Holly had a hard and fast rule against teaming up with white boys.
“You know that’s right,” Crowley agreed.
“Billy and Charlie weren’t cool anymore?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t say that. You know Billy didn’t like static. He just kind of shut down for a while and let Charlie go on his own.”
“Think we can find Charlie at the Caribe tonight?”
“Probably. You know his ancient ass can’t give up that dead spot.” Any club that played anything other than rap was useless to Crowley, and Caribe was all island music.
“This murder don’t make no sense when you think about it. Who would take Billy out like that?” Crowley seemed as confused as we were. “There’s always Smokey, but he’s a chump deep down.”
“He woulda had to have somebody wit’ him that Billy trusted.” I could tell from his words that Holly somehow suspected Felicia.
“That brother was sweet!” Crowley continued. “’Member back in the day he went through that party in Richmond and tore things up?” Billy had a fierce reputation as a street fighter, and the Richmond party lived on as his best bout. “He was slaying people left and right. Went in there to get his boy Charlie out. Shit, I can’t believe the man is gone.”
“I hear ya. Chaos on the streets. Sign of the times.”
“Holly, baby, niggas gone crazy in the eight-nine, losing they minds. You know I got three—not one, but three—kids in my class named Corleone. First name. And one Montana, and you know damn well they ghetto-ass parents didn’t mean the state. Corleone! Now … what … the … fuck … is … that?”
Crowley ran an after-school program at Bushrod Park. The neighborhood had grown used to seeing him lead his motley crew of kids through the streets like the Pied Piper.
“And you two fucking wit’ Smokey. That fool worse than Charlie ’cause he think he got something to prove.”
“We handlin’ it.” Holly stopped the direction of the conversation.
Crowley motioned backward over his shoulder. “You know Off-Beat was slangin’ rock for Billy?”
Off-Beat looked toward us eagerly but Holly grimaced.
“I hate that clown. What was Billy fuckin’ with him for?”
“He ain’t all bad. Just took the Beastie Boys too serious.”
“You think he knows anything useful?”
Crowley shrugged. “He might.”
“Check it out and let me know.”
Crowley caught my eye. “You better watch out for your girl, Maceo. People, ’specially Charlie, talkin’ big shit about findin’ her.”
“I hear ya.” I popped the ignition.
Crowley started to back away from the car. “Somebody need to call her brothers to get her the fuck up out of Oakland.”
Felicia’s older brothers, members of Los Angeles’s infamous Eight Tray Gangsta Crips, had made an unforgettable impression on Oakland when they visited the city. Flea and I were kickin’ it when Reggie and Crim—short for Criminal—came out to see her. Reggie had been shot more than once and lived to retaliate each time. He was loud, fearless, and quick with a gun. The younger brother was
We sat in silence for a minute and considered the truth of the statement. “I heard his girl got in the cut.” Crowley nodded toward me.
“Ain’t nobody seen her.”
“She knew the drill. Saw that gun and got ghost. Heard she left her shoe in the car and everything.”
“Charlie been looking for her?”
“Charlie looking for anybody. Stay away from that fool.” He tapped his head. “He ain’t right. You know Billy had started to cut him loose ’cause Charlie was acting too wild.”
This was news to me—and Holly too, judging from his expression.
“Since when?” he asked.
“Since Charlie fucked with those white boys.” I remembered then that Charlie had started dealing in strict-as-hell Marin County, bringing heat into Billy’s quiet territory. “Soon as white boys start muddying the pool, Feds ain’t too far behind.”
“And they’ll snitch in a minute.” Holly had a hard and fast rule against teaming up with white boys.
“You know that’s right,” Crowley agreed.
“Billy and Charlie weren’t cool anymore?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t say that. You know Billy didn’t like static. He just kind of shut down for a while and let Charlie go on his own.”
“Think we can find Charlie at the Caribe tonight?”
“Probably. You know his ancient ass can’t give up that dead spot.” Any club that played anything other than rap was useless to Crowley, and Caribe was all island music.
“This murder don’t make no sense when you think about it. Who would take Billy out like that?” Crowley seemed as confused as we were. “There’s always Smokey, but he’s a chump deep down.”
“He woulda had to have somebody wit’ him that Billy trusted.” I could tell from his words that Holly somehow suspected Felicia.
“That brother was sweet!” Crowley continued. “’Member back in the day he went through that party in Richmond and tore things up?” Billy had a fierce reputation as a street fighter, and the Richmond party lived on as his best bout. “He was slaying people left and right. Went in there to get his boy Charlie out. Shit, I can’t believe the man is gone.”
“I hear ya. Chaos on the streets. Sign of the times.”
“Holly, baby, niggas gone crazy in the eight-nine, losing they minds. You know I got three—not one, but three—kids in my class named Corleone. First name. And one Montana, and you know damn well they ghetto-ass parents didn’t mean the state. Corleone! Now … what … the … fuck … is … that?”
Crowley ran an after-school program at Bushrod Park. The neighborhood had grown used to seeing him lead his motley crew of kids through the streets like the Pied Piper.
“And you two fucking wit’ Smokey. That fool worse than Charlie ’cause he think he got something to prove.”
“We handlin’ it.” Holly stopped the direction of the conversation.
Crowley motioned backward over his shoulder. “You know Off-Beat was slangin’ rock for Billy?”
Off-Beat looked toward us eagerly but Holly grimaced.
“I hate that clown. What was Billy fuckin’ with him for?”
“He ain’t all bad. Just took the Beastie Boys too serious.”
“You think he knows anything useful?”
Crowley shrugged. “He might.”
“Check it out and let me know.”
Crowley caught my eye. “You better watch out for your girl, Maceo. People, ’specially Charlie, talkin’ big shit about findin’ her.”
“I hear ya.” I popped the ignition.
Crowley started to back away from the car. “Somebody need to call her brothers to get her the fuck up out of Oakland.”
Felicia’s older brothers, members of Los Angeles’s infamous Eight Tray Gangsta Crips, had made an unforgettable impression on Oakland when they visited the city. Flea and I were kickin’ it when Reggie and Crim—short for Criminal—came out to see her. Reggie had been shot more than once and lived to retaliate each time. He was loud, fearless, and quick with a gun. The younger brother was
Similar Books
