Lighter Shade of Brown (Urban Fiction) BWHM

Chapter 38

Smoke blurred C's vision as the scent of cooked yay climbed into his nostrils. The blaze which rose from the dumpster set fire to the inky sky and cast his latest sins in distorted light and moving shadows. The burden of the havoc he and his squad wrought stooped his shoulders and tainted his already filthy soul. Tearing his glare from the dumpster, he glanced his surroundings. The scene could only be described as ground—motherfucking—zero.

Blood stained the cracked sidewalks. Broken bodies lay twisted like human pretzels as moans and wails gave the madness an unforgettable sound track. Hell had set up shop in Happy Hills and he was the devil who presided over it all. He'd wrecked shit. The bleeders of the block had given him no other choice though. They're actions had violated all the laws of the game. Street justice had to be swift and ruthless. None of their fuck ups could be pardoned. Not if his rep was to remain intact. If motherfuckers smelled pussy on him now, then he'd might as well put on a dress because he would be fucked left and right by other block soldiers looking to level the fuck up.

That's how shit went down on the front line. There could be no game without competition. And the game was a slut who betrayed vatos daily. What the hell could he do though? He loved the chick and all of her trife ass ways. She was his first love. Had turned him on to the new. Besides the first time he'd split it and she nutted, she'd damn near drowned him in green. His nose was so wide, he'd blow the back out of anyone who came between them. Leave her? Man get the fuck out of here! He was about ready to say—until death do us part—to this bitch. Knowing the game, it was the only vow she would accept. No half-stepping from him, while no real commitment from her. An unholy matrimony.

"Found this one hiding behind the office building in some bushes," Miguel said, knocking one of the local trappers to his knees a couple of feet in front of him. "Bitch ass hid while his homies got stomped."

The vato stared at C's with hatred, fear, and knowledge blended in his watery brown eyes. So dude had a ring side seat to the madness. What kind of puto watched his compadres get dragged without bustin' a move? Was this all of the talent that resided in the Hills?

"Which one of y'all bad asses made the call to flood my yard with Haitian babage?" C's asked, using his red bandana to wipe off the Louie Ville slugger. "Know it wasn't you. This took balls and you smell like pussy. So who shot callin' around this bitch? That's the pendejo the slugger needs to holla at." 

A sneer slowly inched across the vato's supersized lips. A hacking noise sounded right before blood and phlegm shot from dude's mouth and landed on the toe of his J's. Miguel gripped the vato by his braids and flung him at C's feet face first. When dude's nose was pressed against his right sneaker, he jammed the slugger down on the crown of vato's head.

"Oh, so your bitch ass wanna come out hard, huh?" Grabbing a fist full of corn rows, he attempted to wipe his sneakers clean with dudes face. "Aw 'ight. Let's see how long it takes before your soft ass fold like you gotta slit. Take him to the Wilcox house and stretch his ass out. Go with 'em, Teeze. Make sure jit stays conscious until he runs his mouth."

Ortiz nodded once before helping Miguel drag the jit in question back to one of the hoopties waiting at the front gate. As C's watched them leave, Putt came to stand next to him.

"That all of the Haitian Caine?" C's asked, jerking his head in the direction of the blazing dumpster.

"Right down to the dubs, dimes, and nickels. You'd think the FEDS and Nancy Regan had been through this bitch," Putt assured.

"Let's wrap this shit up then. The sun is about an hour or two away and there's still some more shit that needs handling," C's said as he gazed at a sobbing hood rat and runny nose jit helping one of the local bleeders to his feet.