Free Baby Brother by 50 Cent, Noire Page A

needed relief, as well as a little solitude. He walked through the doors of the Key Foods supermarket and headed straight for the refrigerated section along the back row of the store. He selected a quart of Tropicana in a smooth glass jar, then stopped in the medicine aisle and picked up a box of Sucrets.
    There was only one cashier open, but the line was pretty short. Priest stood behind a group of young thugs who were cutting up. Their whole demeanor reflected drug involvement, hood life, and street culture. They were loud and abrasive. Profanity-laced tirades spilled from their mouths and echoed throughout the store.
    Priest stared at them. At their clothing, their jewelry, and the cases of beer and bottles of alcohol they carried in each hand. They were a reflection of his younger self. A milder reflection, true, but if they committed enough crimes and crawled in the gutters long enough, they might be able to get half as grimy as he’d been.
    “Man, I’m ’bout to get me some pussy!” one of the young heads said, balancing his case of brew against the counter and rubbing his dick with his free hand. He was tall and light, solidly built with a shiny bald head. “I ain’t had a bitch since I got outta Rikers!”
    His boy looked at him and laughed. “Niggah, you been on the streets for two days and you ain’t got a piece of ass yet?”
    One of the others, a short yellow kid with a long ponytail laughed even louder. “He said pussy, niggah! He got him a piece of ass in the joint, man!”
    The bald-headed cat shrugged. “Yeah. I had to grin a niggah last week, yo. I’on’t be playing with dudes, ya know?”
    “Oh, man! Y’all shoulda seen that cat!” the short kid hollered. “That motherfuckah fought like hell! Stabbed my man Rant in the neck with a fuckin’ fork! Took him out! That was Borne’s lil cousin, yo! We ended up dragging that fool in the meat locker. I slammed him over the head with a frying pan, then Qui put that niggah in a throat-lock and dicked him!”
    Shorty with the lemon face laughed hysterically.
    “Y’all shoulda seen how that niggah bucked Qui off! My niggah had to deep smiley him to get him to lay down. Blood was running all outta that black fool. From his throat and his ass!”
    Priest staggered, losing his grip on the orange juice. The bottle hit the floor and exploded, sending yellow liquid mixed with glass shards all across the dirty linoleum.
    “What the fuck!” a brown-skinned youth in a red-and-yellow shirt turned around and hollered as the liquid splashed the back of his pant legs and his Ice Cream sneakers by Pharrell.
    “Yo, you stupid mothafuckah! What the hell is wrong with you, man?” He stepped up on Priest, embarrassed and swollen with anger. “Preacher or no preacher, I oughta fuck yo ass up!”
    Baby Brother, Priest raged inside, the graphic description of his brother’s murder ringing in his ears. They talked about it like his baby brother wasn’t shit. Like he didn’t have no purpose in this world, like didn’t nobody love him. No longer were his brother’s killers just some random inmates in a depraved criminal justice system. They had faces. Bodies. Their confession was in the air burning his ears. The brutal pictures Priest had tried so hard not to see were now permanently etched in his mind. His blood was full of ice as the young cat beefed in his face. There’s no such thing as a MONSTER. There’s no such thing as a MONSTER. There’s no such thing…
    Priest just stood there as the youngster based and his boys yeasted him up, encouraging him to action. He took the threats in silence. He was battling for his soul and he couldn’t even speak. There was a time when he would have bitten every last one of them. Bitten all of them at the same time. Buried their punk asses where they stood. Sent their mamas scurrying downtown to make funeral arrangements. But all he could do now was stare into their faces as he slammed his grief down and fought the