Heart Of Da Streetz

Sex, Money, Murder: The Life of a Westside King

I knew the house. The whole neighborhood knew the house. Mama wouldn't even let us go near Parmelee Ave. Big Tank's spot was a hub for all the Bounty Hunters in Watts, not just Nickerson Gardens. Everything went on there from Blood business such as meetings and jump-ins (gang initiations) to the financial endeavors street life had to offer. I was already in trouble. As much hell as I knew I would catch for not making it home when I was supposed to, I'd take the ass whooping if it stopped a gang of Damus from showing up at my grandma's house. So I was on my way to the house where many firsts in my life would occur. I went down 3 blocks and turned the corner to see the police shaking down Shredder. He was bent over the hood in handcuffs while one cop was patting him down. The other had his hand on his neck, leaned in real close to his ear like he was going to whisper to him but instead shouted loud enough for the whole block to hear. "Where you hide it huh? Up your ass I bet. Tell us where ya ditched the dope or my partner's going in nightstick first to do a cavity search." I walked right past them without looking. It wasn't that I was nervous. I just didn't care to see what I felt was eventually coming to me from LA's finest. Before we were even in kindergarten we were taught that the police weren't there to serve and protect. They were there to terrorize Black folks in the name of "justice." Not one of them did a thing to prove us wrong. I felt Shredder's eyes on me the whole time until I turned the corner. I eventually ended up in the front yard where a skinny homie was struggling for his life to bench press what looked like 500lbs to me. The muscle bound gargantuan spotting him let him struggle for about ten seconds before he grabbed the bar with one arm and racked it. The homies around him were laughing and clowning him. The twig hopped up from the bench and hollered "Aye blood I had dat handled before you grabbed dat weight from up off me. You tryin to stop me from gettin swole like you huh? I see da bullshit you throwin in da game fareeltho (for real though)." One of the homies cracked "Nigga we call ya Skarekrow for a reason ole stick figga hunnit (one hundred) pound ass muthafucka. And who this lil nigga rollin up on da set bookbag on n shit? This one school you ain't ready for so bounce." I told him "I'm here to see Big Tank. Shredder gave me something to give to him. He just got hemmed up by one-time." All eyes were on me now as the jokes stopped. The hood hercules motioned for me to follow him as he opened the front door and went inside. The house was draped in red, from the couch to the walls. There was a big screen that took up the whole wall on one side. There was a bunch of homies playing Nba Live on Nintendo 64. The dank smell of the weed they were smoking hit me as soon as I walked in the house. I was led down a narrow hallway to a room that was an office and mini armory combined. There was a solid oak desk. Behind it was a small tv with a 4-way split screen of what looked like the backyard and other places outside the house. On one side there was a shotgun and a military style assault rifle. On the other side was a safe taller than me and probably weighed a hundred times more. An opened square shaped box sat on the desk with the shotgun shells in it as part of the decor. A pistol sat beside the box. A bald headed man in a Bulls sweatshirt and khakis was reclined back but sat up with a frigid look in his eyes, first at muscle man then at me. After the gargantuan relayed to Big Tank what I told him I put the bookbag on the desk. He got up from around the desk and stood right in front of me. He looked every bit of 300lbs even though he wasn't that much taller than me. He had a look in his face that would scare satan himself. "You took anything you wasn't supposed to lil nigga? Don't lie to me." I was scared but I knew I couldn't show it. I also was pissed off too that I was caught in the mix of all of this when I was only walking home from school minding my business so I preferred to show that. "I don't want nothing in that bookbag. I don't even want the books in there but my mama prolly (probably) whoop my ass if I came home with an empty bookbag." Muscle man laughed. Big Tank didn't. He went in the bookbag and pulled out the pistol then a ziploc bag full of vials with what looked like tiny white pebbles in them. I knew it was crack. This was my first time ever seeing it. There was a bankroll in the plastic bag too. I almost couldn't believe I walked past the police with all that money, dope, a gun on me and got even angrier as I thought "this fool done smoked muthafuckas left and right but when one-time roll up on him he ran off like a lil bitch." Its as if I thought him up since the same lil bitch came through the door. Big Tank shot that grim reaper's gaze his way making me think Shredder might not make it out of here alive. "Yo one-time was on me blood. I had to shake scene real quick like. Lil homie here solid. I know him n his lil brother from around da way they good." Big Tank bellowed "If one-time on you why you aint in cuffs?" "They aint find shit on me so they had to let me go. Aint no law said I can't run from em." I could look at Big Tank and tell he was even more pissed off than me. "So you gave your work and strap AND my money to a lil nigga that aint even blood then sent him here? Da fuck on yo mind blood? Aye Lil Tank fuck on dis nigga mind?" Muscle man just shrugged his shoulders then eased toward the door blocking it off low-key. Now I knew it was over for Shredder but I was wondering my fate as well. Shredder said nervously, "I had to give it to someone they aint gon suspect. Lil nigga always walkin home from school never wearin no colors. One time damn sho aint gon suspect him blood. Think about it." Big Tank's grim mask eased a little. He asked me my name and where I stay. He then told me I got a job and to meet him back here tomorrow when I got home from school...

Sex, Money, Murder: The Life of a Westside King

August 3rd 1987 I came into this world at Good Samaritan Hospital Los Angeles. It was said I almost died before I came out ofmy mother's womb. I had already cheated death before I could even walk or talk. It was me, my older brother Antoine and my mother. We lived in Imperial Courts housing projects originally but moved to Nickerson Gardens in Watts when I was 9 to be with my grandmother. My father was in and out of the picture most of the time. I was told he went away on business trips. I would later find out he was in/out of jail and rehab. We had a floor model tv with foil twisted around the antennas. I spent more time fixing those antennas so everyone could see the tv than watching it. My mother worked at Woolworth's on South Broadway so I was lucky enough not to have to wear my brother's hand-me-downs like the other kids in the neighborhood. My brother Antoine, who was 3 years older than me, always got into fights around the neighborhood and at school. So did I. Imperial Courts was Crip territory and the kids in Nickerson Gardens picked fights with my brother and I because of that since it was a predominantly Blood neighborhood. The Bounty Hunter Bloods were the type to shoot first ask questions later. Look at em wrong it was on. We weren't into gang bangin. Mama made sure of that. We couldn't wear any other colors besides black, white, or gray. I was a Chicago Bulls fan because of Michael Jordan. When I got a Bulls jersey for my birthday from my aunt she threw it away. "You know wearin them colors gonna cause trouble; I don't want my house shot up!" That was the end of the discussion. Her word was law and that thick leather belt she kept with a huge round buckle was order. She didn't mind us getting into fights for the most part. She understood we were in the jungle and you were either predator or prey. Granny always had breakfast ready before we woke up, a paper bag with lunch as we headed out the door and was starting on dinner by time we trekked back from school to home. We didn't have much but we had food, shelter and each others' backs. Walking home we would always see junkies, dealers and the LAPD on the prowl. We did our best to stay away from all of them. One day my brother was sick and stayed home from school which means I had to walk to and from school by myself. Leaving school I seen a roller (cop car) lights on speeding down the street looking for a bust. One of the Blood homies I seen around the way, a dealer named Shredder, was running full speed and hopped a fence. He ran up on me put his stash and his gun in my bookbag while it was still on my back. He told me "Aye take this to Big Tank's spot of E. 114th and Parmelee. I got $100 more for you when I shake da scene." He put a bunch of crumpled up bills in my hand and told me, "if that don't make it to Big Tank da lil homies comin to visit your mom's house of Willowbrook." The icy look in his eyes told me he meant business. He ran down an alley and hopped another fence then was out of sight. "Aw shit," I thought to myself. Here I was just walking home from school when shit just came out of nowhere and hit the fan. Little did I know there would be many more times where chaos would come out the blue while I was minding my business...

Sex, Money, Murder: The Life of a Westside King

The shooting rivaled a 4th of July fireworks show. Even though the sig 9mm I had ran out of ammo, my homeboy in the backseat was still letting off from the ak-47 while ducking and reloading the 2 extra clips from the backpack full of .762 shells. Some of those empty shell casings were hitting me, a couple even went down my shirt. As hot as they were I knew they were better than a bullet. We were in their neighborhood looking for trouble and boy did we find it... The Crips were now 2 cars deep. We didn't notice the 2nd car which eased up on the corner waiting for us as I kept going in a circle trying to get out of this neighborhood. Out of the trouble we asked for. As I bent the corner tires screeching the 2nd car which looked like an Oldsmobile started letting off shots while the Chevy caprice behind us was still shooting after the hood being riddled with bullet holes. I felt the wind of a bullet whiz past me, go through the soda bottle in my console and into the woodgrain dashboard of my Cadillac. The sound of the shots hitting my lac sounded like thunder and lightning having a 12-round bout. The impact of those shots had my car swerving, forcing me to control the wheel like I was Dale Earnhardt at the Daytona 500. Adrenaline was working overtime. I could still hear my thoughts over the gunshots and my homie in the back screaming "Get us the fuck up outta here ! Left muthafucka stop goin right!" The caprice was smoking as I turned out the neighborhood. The homies in the Olds didn't chase. We took the backroads avoiding police. J-Drip hollered out "Damn we almost died but that shit was fun." We were good, or so we thought. I pulled into an abandoned lot behind an old building. We both got out and looked at the damage. There were 3 bullet holes in the left side of my car, a couple feet away from the driver's door. Not counting the bullet in the dashboard. "How the fuck am I gonna explain this to my mama?" I thought. J-Drip was still hype as hell. "Ay boi I was lettin off on dem bitch ass niggas! Them niggas was duckin tho but I know I done hit mo than wunum (one of em). That car toe up too. I tried to make dat mufucka explode. Damn blood look how close dem slugs wuz to hittin yo azz. God wuz wit u 4 real tho." I looked back inside the car. The back and front of my lac was littered with shell casings, enough to fill a hefty trash bag. I didnt even notice the ones that came out the car as we both got out. There was an old dumpster where we cleaned out all the evidence. I looked in the bookbag and there was barely enough ammo left to fill the 2 clips. "Bruh all dem niggaz 'posed to be laid out as much as u let off. N what bout that otha car that creeped up on da low? Them da ones that hit my shit blood." "Mannn we wouldn't even ran into them fuckbois if yo ass woulda went left instead of keep goin right all da damn time. Ya bout had bofus (both of us) fucked up in da game blood 4 real tho." "Yea dis nigga crazy 4 real." I thought to myself. "And I gotta be crazy too 2 be fuckin wit him." As I pulled out da lot a car was drivin straight n slowed down as they passed us. We both got a glimpse of the niggaz ridin 4 deep blue rags round they faces. Me and the driver even made eye contact. Me n Drip knew what it was. He yelled "haul ass my nigga da flu tryna catch us," as he loaded up the rest of the .762s in the clips. As drained as I felt after knowin I barely ducked the grim reaper's clutches the adrenaline kicked back in again and I revved up the lac past a stop sign. I tried to mash the pedal past the floor hittin 90 on this backroad. The turn I made into this neighborhood was sharper than a samurai sword. I thought the car was gonna do a 360 the brakes screeched so loud. I gunned it past a bunch of houses that were just being built. The neighborhood was brand new with most of the houses already built with for sale signs on em. We went all the way to the back of the street and I made a right where it was a dead end. "Damn we might die here tonight." I thought. And I aint even got no ammo to go out shootin...