Free Me and My Hittas by Tranay Adams

about
to knock. Scum was in the corners of the hoodlum’s eyes
and there was dry saliva around his mouth. You could tell
he had awakened not too long ago.
    Lil’ Gangsta was a skinny, brown skinned cat with
his
hood tattooed all over his shaved head. He was known for
playing with guns so niggaz gave him a wide berth.
    “Blood, where the fuck have you been?” Pavielle
fumed. “Your ass was supposed to have been here, you’re
fucking up our money.”
    “My fault, Blood, I over slept.”
“Nah, you over partied! You were over at the Fun-
Zone last night, getting high and fucking with the Swans.
And don’t try to lie, ‘cause niggaz already told me.”
    “Damn, who the fuck are you, my P.O?” Lil’
Gangsta’s forehead wrinkled, as he looked him up and
down.
    “Nah, homeboy,” Pavielle shot back. “I’m the
mothafucka that’s gonna guarantee you have a closed
casket if you don’t hold it down.” He lifted his jersey and
exposed the Tec .9mm nestled in the front of his jeans.
“Whatever, my nigga,” He waved him off and
brushed past him into the house.
     
“Whatever my ass,” Pavielle spat, “You betta keep
that shit moving to the back where unc is.”
     
“You don’t like Blood do you?” Gouch asked him.
     
“Hell nah, fuck that nigga!”
    Pavielle headed out of the front door with his brother
bringing up the rear. Gouch closed the door behind them as
they crossed the threshold.
***
     
When Lil’ Gangsta walked into Gangsta’s bedroom
his big homie was getting dressed.
     
“Good morning, big homie.” He greeted his O.G
homie as he plopped down on the bed.
     
“You’re late!” he told him, looking himself over in
the mirror.
     
“I know, Blood, I over slept, my bad.”
     
“Unh huh, you talk to that fool Pussy yet?”
     
“Man, hell naw!”
    “I called Blood bix times; hit both of his bontacts.
And he ain’t never hit me back. I’m telling you, old boy is
ducking us, real life. He doesn’t have any intentions on
paying us for that half a bird. You need to let me slide by
that fool’s house and put this thang to work. You know what
I’m saying? I don’t know why you front that fool some
work anyway, he’s a crab.”
    “Money talks and bullshit walks.” Gangsta
proclaimed. “I’ll do business with whomever if they
holding the right bag. Beef doesn’t pay the mortgage or the
car note.”
“I heard that, but I don’t know about doing business
with enemies, though.”
    “Right,” Gangsta replied, looping a gold necklace
around his neck after sliding on a beautiful gold and
diamond pinky ring. He studied his gear in the mirror while
rubbing his jeweled hands together, biting down on his
bottom lip. “We’ll I’ma holla at Pussy, if he doesn’t say
what I wanna hear then we bringing them thangs out, you
Griff me?”
    “That’s what the
fuck I’m talking about,” Lil’
Gangsta exclaimed excitedly, whipping out a long nose .44
Magnum and a Glock .40. He pointed them bitches around
the room, visualizing busting at Pussy. “Bang, bang.”
    Later that night Gangsta had put in one last call to
Pussy about the half of bird he had fronted him on
consignment. Calling from his cell, he didn’t receive an
answer so he waited about an hour before using one of his
workers cellulars; Pussy picked right up then.
    “Big Time, what it do, my nigga?” Gangsta aske
d
through the burnout cellular pressed to his ear. “You’re a
hard man to get in touch with.”
“A nigga been busy, loved one,” Pussy replied with
his lying ass. “What can I do for you, though?”
    Gangsta was taken aback by how Pussy was acting, surely this mothafucka knows he owes me for that half of
bird, he thought . There’s no way he forgot. What did he
think? Half a brick of coke fell from the sky and landed in
his lap? Nah, this nigga is tryna play me. It’s cool, though,
I’ma just play along.
“I’ve been trying to get a hold of you about that paper
for that half.” Gangsta