Wrath White - Yaccub's Curse

“And how do you know all this shit?”

“’Cause I know the little Flip that he’s been fuckin’. We go to church together you might say?”

“Man, don’t start with all that Satanic shit. You know I don’t buy that crap. Just ’cause you ain’t crash the car don’t make you Mephistopheles.”

“Yeah, I know you don’t believe. But a lot of folks do and they’re loyal to me, which is good for both of us. Once we smoke this muthafucka we ain’t got shit to worry about. With the Gangsta Lords gone we own the streets. You won’t need to wear that Kevlar vest no more. Ain’t that shit hot?”

I peeled up my shirt and ran my hand over the vest I had strapped on underneath.

“Yeah, but them bullets is hotter.”

“You should really think about joining the faith, bro. There’s a lot more power to be had than what comes out of the barrel of a gun.”

“Yeah, there’s what comes out of a wallet. Now how much is you payin’ for me to do this shit?”

“Two gees. Same as always.”

“Naw, man. This here is too big for some measly ass two gees. You need to come up off like ten for this one.”

Scratch looked at me long and hard. He reached into his shirt and pulled out a dried cobra’s head that he had dangling from a necklace. He rubbed it, seemed to be fondling the thing as he stared right through me. I could almost feel his eyes in my chest fluttering around my heart. I could feel his breath inside my head crawling over my brain.

I wanted to yell for him to cut it out, but he wasn’t doing anything. He was just rubbing that nasty snake head. Still, if he didn’t stop I would blow his head off.

“Alright, playa, you got your ten gees. Now, is you ready to do this ’cause we almost here?”

We pulled off the freeway in North Philly and cruised down Columbia Avenue. Children, mothers, grandparents, hard working honest citizens, walked the streets right alongside gangsters, drug dealers, prostitutes, and pimps. Half-dead crackheads and junkies mingled freely with churchgoing Christians and killers and predators stalked unnoticed amongst their prey. Here crime was so normal that criminals blended seamlessly into the fabric of everyday life.

I was surprised when we parked the Beemer in front of a dilapidated row home with boarded up windows and crumbling front steps that could only have been a crackhouse. The front door was missing and shadows shambled about just beyond the light of day. I had been expecting to pull up at a motel or an apartment building or something.

“They fuck in here?”

“No. I just need to check something out first.”

Scratch hopped out of the Beemer and I quickly followed. I didn’t know what we were doing here, but it couldn’t be good. The smell of burning cocaine mixed with the rancid stench of unwashed bodies and surrounded us like a fog. I covered my nose and breathed through my mouth.

“Don’t act like a pussy, Snap. These people pay your bills.” Scratch hissed as he walked from room to room looking over every female in the place.

“Who are you looking for?”

“I’ll know when I see her.”

“Don’t tell me you lookin’ for some pussy up in here? I know you can do better than this.”

“Some of the best pussy you will ever find is right here rotting away in these places. Models, cheerleaders, porn stars, school teachers, doctors, lawyers, nuns. Yeah, they all wind up here and they do stuff for this rock that you’d be ashamed to ask a regular whore for. But no, I ain’t lookin’ for pussy. Let’s go.” Scratch looked around one last time and I could tell he was clearly disappointed about whatever he had been hoping to find in there. Then he led me back outside.

We crawled back into the Beemer and sped off. A few minutes later we were pulling up in front of the Richard Allen Projects.

“Man, you didn’t say nothin’ about going to the projects. This is where all those JBGL niggas hang. We gonna get killed before we ever see JahWarrior.”

“They don’t even come around this street. That’s why Jah had his little boy toy put here. Because he knew nobody would see him creepin’ way over here.”

It was a single story little cottage that was probably charming when it had first been built. Now it was piss and water stained, graffiti covered the walls, and weeds choked the lawn in front where the foliage had not been worn away by foot traffic and decades of neglect. The screen door hung from a single hinge and the screen itself was ripped and torn, defeating the whole purpose of having the door in the first place.

“This kid must have really come from the gutter to think this place is a step up.”

“Jah must not be here yet. I don’t see his car.”

“Damn, Scratch, you tellin’ me you ain’t never creeped before? You don’t park your ride in plain sight when you dippin’ in something you don’t want nobody to know you dippin’ in. Ain’t no way he’s gonna park his car right in front of the crib if he’s in there fuckin’ another dude.”

“True dat. Alright then, we assume he’s in there. So how do we approach?”

“We creep around back and listen for the sounds of passion. Once we know that he’s in there getting’ busy we go in blastin’ and catch his ass with his pants down. Let him die with his dick in that faggot’s ass or vice versa. That right there will kill the Gangsta Lord’s credibility in the hood when it gets out that their leader was a ’mo. If they ain’t fuckin’ we pose their asses like they was anyway.”

“I knew I liked you for a reason, Snap. I think you’re even more vicious than I am.”

Scratch killed the engine and we both stepped out of the ride and approached the little townhouse, careful to stand clear of the windows. I was nervous about not having the car running, but not nearly as nervous as I’d be if we had to make a fast retreat and we ran out to find that some kids had taken the Beemer for a joyride. I was even more nervous about Scratch’s personalized license plate. Why anyone would drive such a distinctive vehicle to a homicide made no sense to me, but I figured that Scratch wanted everyone to know who’d ended Jah Warrior’s life. More fodder for his considerable rep. The fact that his ride might alert the rest of the JBGL to his presence on their turf was a secondary concern for him. For me it was primary though. I didn’t like anything about this scene.

I didn’t like the way the dry grass and loose gravel crunched loudly under our boots as we walked around to the back of the house. I didn’t like the sheets that covered the windows preventing me from seeing what was going on inside. I really didn’t like not having Tank there to cover my back with the AK. None of that could be helped though. It was time to put in work.

The back yard was littered with garbage. There would be no way to cross the yard without making a racket. I held up a hand for Scratch to halt while I considered our options. Bottles and cans littered the ground everywhere along with old toys and car parts.

“Shit! We’re gonna’ have to do this like the PD. You go through the front and as soon as I hear you kick in the door I’ll come through the back blazin’. Don’t start shootin’ until I do. I ain’t tryin’ to get hit by no friendly fire. We cool?”

“You the man with the plan today, Snap. However you call it.”

“I just want us both walkin’ out of here alive.”

“I like that plan.”

I watched Scratch walk back around to the front of the house and poised myself so that I could get to the back door in seconds after Scratch came through the front. I crossed the yard slowly, tip-toeing in between piles of debris until I could go no further. I was right in the middle of the yard. Exposed. If someone looked out the window right now they’d spot me right off. The Berretta was in my hand and loaded with fifteen Black Talons I’d bought from a crackhead cop I knew. Even if Jah fucked with his vest on he was still a dead man.