Spring time in Watts can be excruciating, to say the least. But the sweat beading on the back of my neck was cooling. My preference to walk home from school rather then catch the air conditioned bus, stemmed from my lack of tolerance for childish games. Another spit ball or misplaced swear word and I might just lose my shit. So, I walked to keep my head leveled. "Yo! Lil Fella" a big dark man yelled from across the tree lined street. I don't consider him dark just because the color of his cocoa skin but by the shade of his demeanor. He looked over 35 but was dressed to seem more like 20. His shoes were worn but his jeans were crisp and by his clean recently lined beard, I could tell he took slight pride in his outer appearance. " You talkin' to me"? I asked "Yeah" He replied "Ain't you Rico's boy?" His cigarette almost fell out of his mouth. "Rico's My pops but I ain't nobody's boy, I ain't nobody's Lil' Fella Neither." I answered. No matter how big or how small you may be in any part of Watts, California You had to stand tall. "Whateva' Lil' Fella, I been Textin that Mutha Fucka all day. When you see himTell him to call Dex A.S.A.P." he continued "If he don't get the message I'm a blame you."
I heard the name Dex around the neighborhood hear and there, but to finally put a face along with the name was intimidating. The word on the street was that he was wanted for trafficking drugs, extortion, and murders from Long beach all the way down to Texas. He was a hustler from Dallas, which is where he got his name Dex short for Dallas, Texas. Down south he supposedly killed three cops during a drug raid, and fled to the sunshine state to setup a new Operation. Some of my closest friends were working for him, and was scared shitless of what he would do to them had they came up short on whatever duty they were assigned. The fact that my Father could be involved with this lunatic, had me very concerned.
The projects where we lived rested in the center of a large Industrial area. It was built in the mid 70's, mainly for the workers of the surrounding Plants, so they could live closer to work and also to keep the poor and black out of the more predominately white surrounding neighborhoods. My father told me never to walk down a dark alley, but I always cut through them during the day in order to shorten my walk. I climbed the tall fence at the back of our apartment and was home.
The Bricks of our building was a dusty drab tan with sprinkles of faded gang graffiti throughout. All the windows were barred and most of the inside window dressings were either bed sheets or tattered stained blinds. Back in the day the projects were probably really nice but drugs and gang violence had taken its toll on the exterior. The inside however was actually well kept and considerably clean. The neighbors were like family, and barbecues were feast's.
My father took pride in how up to date he kept our second floorapartment . The eggshell white paint on the walls was always fresh, and the light brown carpet was always plush and clean. My mother kept fresh flowers at the front door and Egyptian incense burning during the day. It wasn't much but it was home.
Whenever there was music playing when I got home from school, that mean't that my mother was home, But that day was different. The apartment was empty, as Sade's Lovers rock looped on the Ipod dock. Something felt out of place. I went into the light orange colored kitchen and there was a stainless steel pot on the stove, whose water had apparently boiled out and was burning. I turned off the burner and noticed my mothers cellphone was on the kitchen counter. The 5 inch LCD screen read 17 missed calls. They were all from 'Dex'. I felt light headed and took a seat at the table.
