Red Bull

Chapter 2

Red Bull, Chapter 2

For we know in part and we prophecize in part. That's what the bible teaches us. Who knew I would end up here after seeing Meek at my house. I guess I did. See there were some lines you didn't cross with old school gangsters like me. Meek was pressing into my territory.

I press my face up against the coldness of the 2015 Acura, eyes squinting, heavy breathing and heart beating through my chest as I pull upon him. He doesn't see me coming. The block is chock full of badass kids having a rap contest on their way home from school, fiends trying to look for their next hit, prostitutes carrying on for every white man foolish enough to wander the streets on Rosecran's.

"What the?"

Meek is standing there. He has his pants sagging, which I don't understand unless he wants to show everyone in the hood how fat his ass is in his gray Calvin Klien shorts. He has a dutch hanging from his pink lips and he flashes a white smile to every shorty that walks past him. They seem to be checking him out especially when he keeps digging in his draws pulling at his dick.

That's when I see him, "Ayo, Meek...lemme holla at you..."

He flashes me that sweet-boy Meek smiles. I'd seen it a million times when he'd show off that dimples of his and get of trouble. It didn't hurt that his skin was the consistency of milk and his eyes were the color of deeply steeped Herbal tea. Then there was his breath. The way it smells like licorice even though he doesn't have any candy in his mouth. It's a strange fuckin thing that I remember from when we were kids.

"Red Bull. That's you?" he asks.

He tries to reach for me but I catch him off guard right there on the side of the street. All he sees is the Red Bull. I was legendary in the hood for runnin' upon my enemies regardless of their size. He doesn't realize I'm there until it's too late. I'd spent all night looking for him. Rolling down Rosecrans in Compton, L.A. hip-hop's Main Street.

"Ayo what-the- fuck man."

He tries to reach for his gat but I pull it out of his pants. I manage to have his pin downed. He is a tough son-of-a-bitch and kicks up. For some reason when he kicks up he from his waist in an attempt, I believe, to buck me off of him. I push my abdomen forward to kick him pinned down, and we do this continuously, making it look like we were straight up fuckin'.

"Y'all niggas gay," somebody's badass neighborhood kid says.

I fake-pump at the lil' kid causing him to run away and leave us alone. Now that Meek's stopped, I manage to push my crotch up from his ass area enough where none of this is awkward.

"What the fuck were you doing at my family's crib?" I ask him.

He doesn't hesitate. He had to know this was coming sooner or later. He had to know that I was going to find out. He doesn't seem all that angry.

"Your sister. She wanted some dope..."

I choke harder. I'm seeing red again. That bull. It comes out when I don't expect it. I hit him a couple of times, thrashing him as hard as I can.

"I should break your fuckin arm."

He doesn't flail like most guys. It's kind of weird how he just takes the pain. Silently. He doesn't mouth out a single wince of pain or anything when I'm fucking him up on the ground. He just takes it. He struggles a bit to get up and when he realizes I have his pressure points he just grits his teeth and bears it.

It's almost hard not to respect the guy. I think about maybe letting him go.

Until he opens his mouth and says, "This ain't about Jamila...is it...it's about that day."