The Players & the Played

Four

Lincoln

"I don't know what you see in that bitch," Lincoln told DJ, his best friend since eighth grade.
DJ grinned, showing a mouth full of gold. "Nigga, how you gon' tell that lie! You know exactly what I see in her...ass, titties, and that's her real hair. " DJ was slightly shorter than Lincoln, at 6'2", with curly black hair that he usually kept back with a headband. He had bronze skin, and dark, probing brown eyes.
"Yeah but she got a bad attitude, and she always running her damn mouth. She not a down bitch, that's all I'm saying." The two friends were in DJ's car, a beat up Corvette, on their way to the trap house. In Lincoln's opinion, it was a White boy car, but you couldn't tell DJ nothing. He had bought the car when it was little more than four wheels, and patiently pieced it back together. It was his pride and joy.
DJ looked at him incredulously, momentarily taking his eyes off the road. "Nigga you think I'm stupid? I know Shauna's broke, gold digging ass ain't good for nun besides sex. Fuck you mean!"
Lincoln just shook his head. He never had any problems with women. They knew their place and stayed in it. When you were running one of the biggest drug games in the Westside of Atlanta, a nigga couldn't afford to let a bitch trip him up. But he didn't want to stay in the drug game forever. It was only a matter of time before someone caught him slipping, and slapped cuffs on his ass.
In addition to that, his momma was constantly pestering him to settle down, get married and have three kids. He was twenty-five years old, which to her meant ripe and ready to tie the knot. But Lincoln knew he couldn't trust these hoes, especially the ones with pretty faces and bomb pussy. So he fucked when he needed to, and that was it. There was no friendship, no dates, no relationships. He had to stay focused and watch his back at all times.
"Yo, but there's this bitch that's always at Wet & Wild that seems like your type. She's one of those girls who ain't looking for a title or a relationship, and shit, she bad as fuck," DJ remarked.
"She one of the strippers?"
"Nah, she don't need money. Adrian said she had some rich uncle type shit, you know, old man died and she got everything." Lincoln scowled, thinking on Adrian. He personally couldn't stand the man, always tryna act like some kind of phony ass gentleman, like his ass wasn't working out there in the streets too. But he was efficient, so he was still on the payroll.
Back when they were young, Lincoln's father ran the streets of the Westside. Lincoln and his mother had whatever they could ever want. He met DJ in eighth grade, when he first moved to Atlanta. DJ lived with his mother, who drunk her problems away. Whereas Lincoln always had the latest video games, True Religion, and Jordans, DJ would show up to school in clothes that barely fit, with bruises, black eyes, and broken limbs from his mother's abusive lovers. They were an unlikely pair, DJ who was always half starved, and Lincoln, who even at a young age was a natural leader. He brought DJ home to his mother, who would spend hours making home cooked meals for DJ and for Christmas, Lincoln made sure his new dawg had new gear. Now that DJ was his right hand man, he had plenty of money, but he liked to stay low key, cuz he told Link he never wanted to forget where he came from. Or what he had to do to get this far.
Link thought back to the day he found out who was responsible for DJ's many beatings. It was something they never spoke about, and Link's gaze darkened as he thought back to that day.
They had their first basketball game, and DJ was supposed to meet him at his house so they could walk over to the school together. Link swore, looking at his watch. If DJ didn't get to his house soon, they would be late, and coach would be pissed as fuck. He threw on a jacket and hopped on his bike. DJ's apartment wasn't far, just four blocks away. Every block the houses got worse, until there were no more houses, just dejected looking apartment complexes, package stores, and crack addicts asking for fifty cents. But he had seen it all before and just pedaled furiously until he got to DJ's.
The place was dark, which he found odd, but he stormed up the steps furiously. If DJ made them miss the first game, he was going to kick his ass. But then he heard a crash. The door to the apartment was open which was odd, and he could hear a woman screaming. "Leroy, nah, nah, it's not his fault!" There was another crash and more screaming, followed by a loud thud. It sounded like a body falling.
Link ran into the room, his hands up in case he needed to defend himself. Mary, DJ's mother was on her hands and knees, her glazed eyes pleading with a man Lincoln assumed was Leroy. The apartment was trashed. There were broken bottles everywhere, a lamp was smashed and DJ was laying on the floor, not moving. Leroy was kicking him, but DJ didn't make a sound, which scared Lincoln the most. Besides jerking every time, the grown man stomped on him with his Timberlands, DJ didn't react.
Lincoln hoped it wasn't too late. He pushed past Mary and went for his friend. "Who the fuck is you?" Leroy snatched him up real quick.
"Get your motherfucking hands off me," Lincoln growled, showing his gun. Even though he was only 14, he never went into DJ's neighborhood unless he was strapped. Leroy recoiled at the sight of the gun and stormed away.
"I don't know who this nigga thinks he is, but he needs to get the fuck outta my house," he yelled.
Mary was on the floor, shaking and crying. She crawled over to DJ. "My baby, my baby," she kept moaning.
It didn't look good. DJ's face was covered in blood. There was a huge gash in his forehead, and he was unconscious. One of his rib bones jutted out awkwardly. Lincoln guessed he had broken ribs and passed out from the pain. Right next to DJ was a cordless phone, laying there an innocent witness to the crime. Lincoln looked at Mary in disgust. Her only son was bleeding on the floor and she made no move to help him. He picked up the phone. "Hello? Yes, Imma needa ambulance..."
By the time the ambulance came, Leroy was gone.

Nobody ever saw Leroy again, or so the story goes. But DJ and Lincoln knew the truth. When they were in the eleventh grade, Leroy made a reappearance. But this time he was beating on DJ's momma. Even though his mother never did much to protect him when he was younger, DJ beat Leroy to death. Then Lincoln helped him get rid of the body. That was another thing they never spoke about. After Leroy's death, Link's dad was shot. He had to take over the drug business, and DJ was his right hand man.