Array 50 Cent - Baby Brother

Acqui grinned. A cold breeze seemed to come from his direction. He had been itching to pump lead into Farad and Finesse for a while now. Them niggahs had a tight circle, though, and kept their strap on at all times.

But he would never forget the doggin’ they’d put on him. Them niggahs had got him and Rayz in the middle of a crowd of niggahs and bitches and shit on them in the worst possible way.

“Get yo mothafuckin ass over here!” Finesse had demanded, the blade of his knife still dripping with Rayz’s blood. They’d been chillin’ in a little joint called The Bad Ass. Hoes and dice were being tossed in the back room, and them Davis twins had busted Rayz and Acqui flipping loaded dice.

Rayz had gotten the worst of it. Physically, that is.

“Don’t even step toward that fuckin’ door!” Finesse had warned Rayz when he tried to dip out the back room. They shouldn’ta had their asses up in there no way. They were from Brownsville, but had gone to Jeff High School back in the day and straddled the line between Brownsville and East New York. But still, even though they were technically still in The Ville, they were way out of Borne territory, and just about every niggah up in there was down with the Davis crew.

Rayz had kept on moving. He was only a few feet away from the door, and he coulda got through that shit too, but a thick-necked niggah named Dolla stepped in front of him and checked the door.

That was all the time Finesse had needed. He crossed the room in four long strides and snatched Rayz up in a headlock. Without saying a word, that mothafuckah yanked out a blade and sliced, and the next thing Acqui knew Finesse was holding up a bloody ear, niggaz was laughin’ and wildin’, and Rayz was on the floor bleeding from the head and hollerin’ like a punched-out old lady.

And then it was Acqui’s turn to suffer. The club owner, Jed, kept pit bulls in the back for security purposes. But Farad wasn’t satisfied with mutilating Rayz. That niggah wanted to humiliate them too.

“Get on your fuckin’ hands and knees!” he had ordered Acqui. “Crawl over there and stick ya face in that fuckin’ dog bowl!”

Rage had surged through Acqui, but survival was in him too. Ignoring the jeers from the cats in the crowd and the squeals of disgust coming from the jawns, Acqui doggy-walked across the room to where Farad stood by the three dog bowls. Once there, it was hard to lift his eyes. He was so consumed with killing somebody that his whole body trembled.

“Lap it up, bitch.”

Finesse had passed his twin the torch. Farad mighta been quieter than his brother, but he was just as grimy. “Put ya face down and lap up every fuckin’ ounce.”

Acqui looked down and almost got sick. There was all kinds of shit floating around in them foul-smelling dog bowls. Bits of pit hair, trails of slobber, soggy crumbs of food. And who the fuck knew what else. Tears of fury rose in his eyes and he had to force himself to stay on his knees. His Glock was under the seat of his whifl It didn’t matter. Lunging for Farad’s throat while he was surrounded by his crew woulda been suicide.

It had taken every ounce of control Acqui had inside to make himself chill. To wait for a better day. And now, watching that black niggah with the unmistakable Davis eyes stroll down the walkway toward an end cell, it looked like the day he’d been waiting for had finally arrived. He headed toward the phones to place a call to his niggah Borne and get permission to put in work.

Baby Brother had been assigned to work in the kitchen.

He had only been locked down for a day and didn’t think they would give him a job so soon, but he didn’t question it. Anything that would keep him outta his shit-smelling cell was cool. It wasn’t that he was anxious to get out there with the crazies or nothing, but almost anything was better than sitting up in that tiny-ass jawn with his cellie.

That cat was bugged. Something had happened to him that sent him off the radar. He’d been locked up in reception for three months already and according to the guy in the cell next to theirs, the niggah hadn’t washed his ass the whole time.

The stench coming from the cell had almost dropped Baby Brother at the door. His eyes had watered and his stomach turned over. No human being could smell this fuckin’ foul, and once he ventured more fully inside the room he saw what the true problem was.

His cellie was a shit-thrower.

Hard clumps of tossed shit stuck to the walls, the floor, and even the ceiling.

“Yo!” Baby Brother wilded out on him. “What the fuck is wrong with you, homey!” All the feelings he had been holding back came rushing out in rage and disbelief. “You gonna clean this motherfuckin’ shit up, man! How the hell you living? Look, niggah. Take a fuckin’ shower. Wash your fuckin’ ass ! And clean this shit up or get fucked up!”

The cat had given Baby Brother a sullen look, then reluctantly began scraping shit off the walls. He pulled some unused cleaning supplies from under his bunk and started cleaning. “You gonna see, man. Just watch. You gonna see. You gotta keep these niggahs offa you some kinda way.”

Baby Brother was so mad he couldn’t hold still. He paced two steps up and back, trying hard to hold his breath while his cellie slung shitty water around the room with a dirty mofl

He couldn’t believe they had put him in with this fool, and when he thought back to when one of the guards called out his cell number, he remembered everybody laughing like that shit was a joke.

It took over three hours before Baby Brother was able to fully enter the room to put his belongings down and make up his bunk. He’d made his cellmate work up a sweat. He had given him directions while he scrubbed the floors, the walls, and the ceiling. Then Baby Brother ordered him to go take a shower.

The young man started trembling.

“A shower?” He looked around the cell and started shifting from one foot to the other nervously. He wiped his face on his sleeve. “I—I—I…man, I don’t think I can do that.”

Baby Brother got swole. He was tired, he was angry, he was locked up, and he was innocent. He was also ready to hurt some fuckin’ body.

“Man, I ain’t playing with you. You either wash your ass or get took down.”

Cellie shrugged. “Do what you gotta do, niggah. I rather get took down than get ass-fucked.”

Baby Brother stared at him. This fool was serious. Fear was in his eyes, but it wasn’t because Baby Brother had put it there. He was a pretty niggah. Green eyes, wavy hair, dimples and pretty lips. Damn right he was scared. But the thing he feared was much bigger than the eighteen-year-old accused murderer standing in front of him.

Baby Brother put his gear down and got up on his bunk. He stared at the ceiling as his heart pounded and his mind raced. This place was a cesspool. A motherfuckin’ sewer. Niggahs shit on each other up in here all the time. In more ways than one.

He sat alone at lunchtime. The food was grim. Sliced turkey, peas, lumpy potatoes. Baby Brother dug in without looking at it. Survival was paramount and he had to eat to live. He was surprised when an inmate sat down across from him.

“We cool?”

It was Dirtbag, his stank-ass cellie. Fouling up the air.

Baby Brother ignored the fool and kept eating. He was on a mission. He knew his brothers were on the outside working like hell for him. All he had to do was stay cool and mark down the days until they got him out.

“I heard you popped a Puerto Rican chick,” his cellie said, his eyes scanning the room. “That means you better watch your back around these P.R. cats in here.”

Baby Brother gulped from his carton of milk like his cellie wasn’t even there.