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Authors: Nichelle D. Tramble
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nightclub. The End Zone, so notoriously violent that it displayed handwritten signs that read LADIES PLEASE INFORM SECURITY IF YOU RE BEING HARASSED OR MANHANDLED, was not equipped for what they unleashed.
The details of the evening were sketchy, but everyone agreed that the fight ended bad for everybody but Reggie and Crim. The same thing was repeated at Geoffrey’s, the Caribe, and Silk’s. By the time they left northern California there were very few people who wanted to see them return.
Holly shook his head in response to Crowley’s suggestion. “Don’t nobody need to call them niggas out here.” His one encounter with them had left him spooked for over a week.
After their visit I had been grateful that my squareness saved me from their wrath. The fact that I fell into the athlete category spared me their violence more than any sort of loyalty to their sister. If the mood had struck them I could have just as easily fallen victim to their crimes, though I was too far on the other side to even consider. But Holly they recognized as one of their own, which left him with a rare sense of fear.
“I’m just saying”—Crowley stepped back from the car—“ somebody got to look out for Flea and nobody, not even Charlie, will fuck with her brothers. Peace.” He rejoined Black Jeff and Off-Beat as Holly and I drove away.
Silence accompanied us as I headed back to West Oakland. Holly finally broke it with a few reluctant words. “Crowley’s right. If you wanna help your girl, you gonna have to get her brothers out here.”
A fter dropping Holly at home I headed over to Bushrod Park. I was due to pick up my Little Brother, Scottie Timmons, from Little League practice, murder or not. An impassioned sermon by Harry Livingston had convinced me to become involved with Oakland’s Big Brother organization, and Scottie was the result.
“Maceo!” Scottie yelled when he spotted me.
“What’s up, waterhead?” I noticed Livingston at the end of the bleachers sitting with his daughter, Lisa. He was so busy stuffing his face with a hot dog he didn’t notice my arrival. I tapped him on the shoulder. “Pig’ll kill you if the white man don’t get you first.” I took a seat as his lips twitched into a laugh.
“Now what kind of nonsense is that?”
I pointed at the hot dog. “Pork will do you wrong, my brother.”
He laughed and nodded toward the field. “The boys arelooking good this year. Maybe we can finally put a hurting on Richmond.”
“Maybe. What about the big boys? A’s or Giants?”
“Neither one. I’m a Kansas City man myself.” I placed my hand across my heart. “You killing me, you know that. Up until this moment I had respect for you.”
“And now you don’t?”
“Not a bit.” I paused. “You heard about Billy Crane?”
“This morning. Any word from Felicia?”
“I haven’t heard from her. If she saw anything she’s probably laying low for a while.”
“Any clues?”
“No. Billy was only into dealing—”
He held up his hand.
“Only
into dealing? Do you
know
how that sounds?”
“I meant—”
“You meant that you’ve accepted this genocide without question if you can even put those words together in a sentence. And don’t think it ain’t genocide, this shit about to wipe out an entire race!”
“Billy was straight, man.”
“His straight was about as crooked as Lombard Street.”
“Alright, alright, I surrender.” I’d do anything to avoid one of Livingston’s long-winded sermons. But I could tell he was reluctant to let me off the hook.
“Everybody makes choices, Maceo. You may not pull the trigger, but if you have knowledge of the crime you’re just as guilty.”
“Let’s not get into all that.”
“Why not? Where else you got to go?”
“Right now, my only concern is finding Felicia and making sure she’s alright.”
“What do the police think?”
“Those idiots …”
“Y’all youngstas pick some curious enemies. Drug dealers should
The details of the evening were sketchy, but everyone agreed that the fight ended bad for everybody but Reggie and Crim. The same thing was repeated at Geoffrey’s, the Caribe, and Silk’s. By the time they left northern California there were very few people who wanted to see them return.
Holly shook his head in response to Crowley’s suggestion. “Don’t nobody need to call them niggas out here.” His one encounter with them had left him spooked for over a week.
After their visit I had been grateful that my squareness saved me from their wrath. The fact that I fell into the athlete category spared me their violence more than any sort of loyalty to their sister. If the mood had struck them I could have just as easily fallen victim to their crimes, though I was too far on the other side to even consider. But Holly they recognized as one of their own, which left him with a rare sense of fear.
“I’m just saying”—Crowley stepped back from the car—“ somebody got to look out for Flea and nobody, not even Charlie, will fuck with her brothers. Peace.” He rejoined Black Jeff and Off-Beat as Holly and I drove away.
Silence accompanied us as I headed back to West Oakland. Holly finally broke it with a few reluctant words. “Crowley’s right. If you wanna help your girl, you gonna have to get her brothers out here.”
A fter dropping Holly at home I headed over to Bushrod Park. I was due to pick up my Little Brother, Scottie Timmons, from Little League practice, murder or not. An impassioned sermon by Harry Livingston had convinced me to become involved with Oakland’s Big Brother organization, and Scottie was the result.
“Maceo!” Scottie yelled when he spotted me.
“What’s up, waterhead?” I noticed Livingston at the end of the bleachers sitting with his daughter, Lisa. He was so busy stuffing his face with a hot dog he didn’t notice my arrival. I tapped him on the shoulder. “Pig’ll kill you if the white man don’t get you first.” I took a seat as his lips twitched into a laugh.
“Now what kind of nonsense is that?”
I pointed at the hot dog. “Pork will do you wrong, my brother.”
He laughed and nodded toward the field. “The boys arelooking good this year. Maybe we can finally put a hurting on Richmond.”
“Maybe. What about the big boys? A’s or Giants?”
“Neither one. I’m a Kansas City man myself.” I placed my hand across my heart. “You killing me, you know that. Up until this moment I had respect for you.”
“And now you don’t?”
“Not a bit.” I paused. “You heard about Billy Crane?”
“This morning. Any word from Felicia?”
“I haven’t heard from her. If she saw anything she’s probably laying low for a while.”
“Any clues?”
“No. Billy was only into dealing—”
He held up his hand.
“Only
into dealing? Do you
know
how that sounds?”
“I meant—”
“You meant that you’ve accepted this genocide without question if you can even put those words together in a sentence. And don’t think it ain’t genocide, this shit about to wipe out an entire race!”
“Billy was straight, man.”
“His straight was about as crooked as Lombard Street.”
“Alright, alright, I surrender.” I’d do anything to avoid one of Livingston’s long-winded sermons. But I could tell he was reluctant to let me off the hook.
“Everybody makes choices, Maceo. You may not pull the trigger, but if you have knowledge of the crime you’re just as guilty.”
“Let’s not get into all that.”
“Why not? Where else you got to go?”
“Right now, my only concern is finding Felicia and making sure she’s alright.”
“What do the police think?”
“Those idiots …”
“Y’all youngstas pick some curious enemies. Drug dealers should
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