Gangsta Read online

  Gangsta

  K'wan K'wan Foye

  Triple Crown Publications (2002)

  Rating: ****

  Tags: Fiction, Urban Life, General, African Americans, Suspense Fiction, Gangs, Social Science, Short Stories, Criminology

  * * *

  Review

  Hot! Urban! Powerful! Unforgettable! --Urban Edition Book Reviews

  K'wan, do you, stay true and much success. ''Gangsta'' is a gotta read! --Author Vickie M. Stringer, ''Let That Be The Reason''

  'Lou-Loc is a character that comes to life. K'wan, I see you coming for my crown! --Author Shannon Holes, ''B-More Careful''

  Product Description

  For years, Lou-Loc - an efficient assassin and O.G. of the Crip organization - did dirt. After dancing on the razor's edge, he becomes weary of the street life that consumed him during his years of service to his set. He begins to wonder, Is there a better way to make a living? Lou-Loc and his sociopath counterpart, ''Gutter,'' leave L.A for the colorful streets of New York. Lou-Loc has dreams of becoming a writer. Gutter has dreams of becoming a King Pin. Conflicting, intriguing and suspenseful - this novel will keep you on the edge of your seat.

  Gangsta

  K'wan, K'wan Foye

  GANGSTA

  This is a work of fiction. The authors have invented the characters.

  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coinci-dental.

  If you have purchased this book with a 'dull' or missing cover---You have possibly purchased an unauthorized or stolen book. Please immediately contact the publisher advising where, when and how you purchased this book.

  Compilation and Introduction copyright (c) 2002 by Triple Crown Publications

  2959 Stelzer Rd., Suite C

  Columbus, Ohio www.TripleCrownPublications.com Library of Congress Control Number: ISBN# 0-9702472-1- Cover Design: Vickie M. Stringer Editor: Mustafa Martin

  Graphics: Apollo (Steve Berry) Pixel Consulting: Shannon Holmes

  Copyright (c) 2002 by K'wan K. Foye All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the author, except by reviewer who may quote brief passages to be printed in a newspaper or magazine.

  Second Edition Printing March 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 Printed in the United States of America

  "Thanks"

  First and foremost, I would like to thank God. It was you that planted the seeds, through which I gained the inspiration to write this lil piece. On many occasions I wanted to give up, and take the easy way out. But each time I doubted myself, you lit that fire under my ass and motivated me to push on.

  To my mother. I tried to be the best son I could be while you guided me down the road to manhood. I also thank you for passing on to me the gift of expression. The ability to put words to paper to create a story, is a beautiful thing. You were always supportive of my dream, and encouraged me to hang in there.

  To Nana. How you put up with me and my odd ways is beyond me? Yet you never turned your back on me, and I love you for it.

  Tee Tee, you already know so I ain't gotta tell you. You stepped up to the plate, and held it down when your sister fell on hard times. Your strength and good heartedness should be the mold to craft all human beings after.

  To my aunt Les, and my three uncles, Eric 'Uncle Elroy,' Frankie 'Crumb Louie,' and Darrell Foye. Told y'all all that drinking would pay off.

  To my pop's, I ain't salty with you no more. All I can do is learn from your mistakes and make sure I don't repeat them with my seeds.

  To my unborn, your daddy made something out of nothing.

  I will do any and all things in my power to make sure you do not make the same mistakes, or suffer through the same adversities as I have.

  To my baby mamma, if it wasn't for you, I'd have probably finished this book a lot sooner.

  To my family, Pop, TM, High Water, Queen, Coo-Coo Kilz, Killa Free, Swayze, Smiles Davis, TSC, and everybody else I might've forgot to mention. Love is love y'all. It took a while, but I'm up in here.

  Vickie, you get a special thanks. You saw something in me that nobody else did, talent. You gave me a shot, and this is what it has become. Let's make a million.

  A Special shout out to: Shannon Holmes, Jerome Howard, Mustafa Martin (Editor), Steve Berry, Apollo Pixell Graphics, Tracy Taylor, Tamera Fournier. A&B Book Distributors and Tei Street.

  Last but not least I would like to acknowledge the haters.

  Y'all know who you are. The people who had no faith in my dream. Without you I couldn't be here. I thank you for all of your doubts and negative words. Look at me now.

  'For my folk' Dolores 'Auntie' Yarrell: I miss you, and if heaven got a liquor store, put me a fifth on hold.

  Donald 'D-Black' Best: I stayed outta trouble long enough to amount to something. You said I could, and who am I to make a liar outta you?

  Jamel 'El Jamel' Johnson: Ya jello pudding pop eating mafucka, I'm still hanging in there.

  Michael 'Mizo' Mack: This is what I've always talked about, and now I've done it. I only wish you were here to see the finished project. There's a new product in town, and I got that weight, feel me?

  This here goes out to my loved ones lost in the struggle we call street life. For every one of y'all they take, two more of us pop up. For my niggaz that's still here, keep ya heads and let's make something outta nothing.

  "For you mommy. I told you I'd do it." Brenda M. Foye

  October 1955-September

  Gangsta

  An Urban Tragedy

  A word to the reader

  The tale I'm about to run down to you is deep, so please pay close attention. It is a tale that reflects a lot of what we go through today as being young men of color. We struggle every day trying to make ends meet, in a world that doesn't have a whole lot of love for us. We do what we can, when we can in hopes of a better tomorrow that never seems to come. We do what we have to in order to get the things we need for ourselves as well as our loved ones. Whether you hustle, pimp, whore or heist, I feel you. It's all in the name of survival. I feel you because I am you. The endangered species; the young black man.

  Whether this book sells one copy or one million, it is what it is.

  Only God can dictate fate. But if I can help somebody by putting my thoughts to paper, then I've accomplished something. To those who came up under me, peep game. To my elders, I've learned from your mistakes, so your lessons weren't wasted nor your warnings unheeded. To those who feel misunderstood or unwanted, walk with me and know that you're not alone. To those who feel that life has only given one option, there's light at the end of every tunnel. I don't knock nobodies hustle cause survival is rule number one. But you gotta understand that we do have options. All we have to do is look. To a lot of people this probably sounds like some ol' bullshit, but I'm speaking from the heart; a heart just like yours. The heart of a man who has fallen time and again only to rise and continue on, so you know it's possible. Walk with me, my niggaz, as I tell you about my peoples.

  ...THEY CALLED HIM LOU-LOC, AND THIS IS HIS STORY

  "The Beginning"

  "Lou-loc," a female voice boomed from the other side of the door. "Lou-loc! Don't even try to play like you don't hear me. St.

  Louis Alexander, are you awake?" Slowly Lou-loc pulled his head from under the pillow. His long wild hair was all in his face as he tried to wipe the sleep from his eyes. The first word that popped into his mind was "drama." Whenever Martina called him by his full name, it meant drama.

  Drama was the last thing he wanted at that moment. His head was still throbbing from the party the night before. He knew that he would be no match for Martina in an argument, especially in his drunken condition.

  All the homeboys and girls from the hood got together and threw a welcom
e home party for Pop - Top. Top was an older homeboy who ran with the PAC (Park Avenue Crips). He had just come home from a three-year bit. Lou-loc didn't know Top that well. He had only met him a few times when Top came through California a few years back. That still didn't deter him from going to the party.

  A lot of people thought Top got his name from those damn 50 cent sodas he was always drinking, but that wasn't the case.

  Top got his name for his ill temper. The boy was certified nuts.

  The day Top caught his bid he was only in court on a steering/directing drug traffic charge. The public defender wanted Top to plead guilty and take one year on probation. Top wasn't trying to hear that.

  The "lip" Lawyer didn't listen to Top and pled guilty anyhow.

  That was a bad mistake, at least for the public defender it was.

  Top lost it. He started beating on the lawyer right there in front of the judge and the entire courtroom.

  Out of nowhere Top just went off. It took three bailiffs, the D.A. and Top's sister to get the boy off of him. The judge wanted to throw the book at Top, but he had papers documenting that he was crazy. Top did a little over a year on Rikers Island. There he stabbed a Blood over a chocolate chip cookie. The rest of his time was spent in a nut house on Staten Island.

  Lou-loc rolled his sleepy eyes over to his clock. Ten thirty-three a.m. is what the digital numbers read. Once again, Martina had broken his sleep. He knew the only way for him to possibly get any further rest was to simply listen to her and not argue.

  "Damn, fool, you deaf?" she shouted as she burst into the room. "I been calling you 'cause you got a phone call." Martina tossed him the phone and went back the way she came. "And tell your stupid ass friends to have some respect when they call my house!" she said as she slammed the door.

  "Bitch," Lou-loc mumbled under his breath. He loved Martina, but she was a pain in the ass. He couldn't figure out why he even got with her in the first place.

  Martina was a typical hood rat; no job, no education and a foul mouth. Though she had faults, she was fine as hell. Even at six months pregnant, the girl was gorgeous.

  Martina was a Dominican girl born and raised on 149th between Broadway and Amsterdam. She was a shorty, but not real short. She stood about five feet five inches in flat shoes. Her skin was a reddish brown, which blended well with her straight brown hair. She wasn't built like the regular Spanish chick either.

  She was built straight from the island.

  Her legs were firm and muscular from her days of running track back in high school. She had nice round breasts and a slim waist. To cap the package off, she had an ass that men would die to be next to. A few almost did thanks to Lou-loc.

  Martina was definitely the bomb. By looking at her you could hardly tell she was pregnant, let alone had two more kids.

  Martina was a pain in the ass indeed, but she was his pain.

  Lou-loc cradled the phone and spoke sleepily into the receiver. "What's cracking?" Lou-loc spoke.

  "Brims, blunts and bottles," replied the voice on the other end. Lou-loc recognized the voice immediately.

  "My nigga, Gutter. What it be like, cuz?" Lou-loc said.

  "Every thing is blue, homeboy." Gutter replied.

  Gutter and Lou-loc grew up together as children in Los Angeles. They were crime partners as well as best friends. When Lou-loc made his move to New York, Gutter was right there with him. Lou-loc came out east because he wanted to become a writer and give the street life up. Gutter came because he wanted to be a kingpin.

  Upon their arrival they found out that there were Crips in New York. The only thing was, the Crips on the east coast didn't know a thing about being Crips. Gutter and Lou-loc thought it their civic duty to set them straight so they started their own chapter of Crips. They called it Harlem.

  "What you on today?" asked Gutter.

  Lou-loc paused to light his Newport. "Can't call it fool. How

  'bout you?" he said.

  "Glad you asked," Gutter replied, "I gotta go see the boy Roc out in Brooklyn. Roll wit a nigga, cuz?"

  "I don't know, Gutter. I got a mean hangover, and I had just planned on kicking it on the local side of things." Gutter burst out laughing. "What the hell is so funny?" Lou-loc asked confused.

  "Ain't nothing," Gutter said trying to catch his breath. "I'll understand if Martina won't let you out. I'm your boy. You ain't got to lie to me."

  "Man, fuck you crab," Lou-loc shot back. "I'm grown, fool. I do what I want when I want. Just because Sharell be kicking yo punk ass don't get it twisted." The two friends enjoyed a laugh.

  "Nah," Gutter said a little more serious, "I need you to watch my back. You know how these New York niggaz is, especially in Brooklyn. Shit they worst than them fools in Compton. I'd end up having to blast one of them fools for trying to jack me."

  "Okay," Lou-loc moaned finally having enough of Gutters snow job. "I'll roll with you, 'G'. Pick me up in two hours, not one hour, not one and a half. Scoop me in two hours Gutter. You hear me?" Gutter repeated the instructions and hung up the phone.

  He and Gutter had been down since they were both just lil shorties. Gutter was already a full fledge banger while Lou-loc was still trying to get in. Shortly thereafter, Lou-loc's father died and he started getting into all kinds of shit. He figured if he caused enough hell the homeboys from the local Crip set would notice him.

  After hearing about the wild ass lil nigga from up the street, the G's decided to approach him.

  It was Gutter and his uncle, Big Gun, who stepped to the young Loc. Lou-loc was in an alley with some local hard heads shooting craps. When he saw Gun he got all excited. He knew who the O.G. was, but he had to play it cool.

  "What up, homey?" Gutter asked mugging Lou-loc. "Where you from?"

  "Ah...," Lou-loc began nervously, "I don't claim no hood, cuz. I just hold down where ever I'm hanging."

  "I hear that," Gun added in. "Say, we been checking you, homey. We see you out here kicking up dust and shit. Even heard you cut up some nigga from Cabbage Patch Piru."

  "Can't stand them, marks," Lou-loc said spitting on the ground.

  "Slobs blasted on my old man a while back. I bust on them niggaz every time I get a chance. Kinda personal you know?" Lou-loc said.

  "Sure you right," Gutter said giving him some pound. "Say man, how old is you?"

  "Thirteen, homey."

  "You just about the right age to join up. Ain't nobody crack on you yet?"

  "Yea, a few niggaz. Too many hos done got at me though. I ain't really feeling they style. Them niggaz like chasing them bitches. That ain't really my thang, cuz."

  "Oh, yea? So what's yo thang, homey?" Gutter asked.

  "I'm trying to get money and blast slobs," Lou-loc replied.

  "I hear that. You talk tough, but can you hold yours?" Gutter asked.

  "Man, I get down. The hood know about Crazy Lou."

  "That's what you call ya self?"

  "Yep."

  "A'ight, Crazy Lou. What if I gave you a chance to belong to something big?" Gutter asked.

  "Man, what you rapping bout?" Lou-loc questioned.

  "Homey, they call me Lil Gutter. I'm claiming Harlem Gangster," he said flashing his set. "This hear is my uncle, Big Gun, from Hoover 107."

  "I know who the big homey is, but your set, never heard of it," Lou-loc said nonchalantly.

  "Most square ass niggaz haven't," Gutter capped. "We small now, but we on the rise. Banging and slanging, cuz."

  "Man, what the hell make me wanna joint yo set?" Lou-loc asked.

  "Cause, lil nigga, we more than a gang. We ain't like these other mafuckas. We a family," Gutter affirmed.

  "I got family, thanks," Lou-loc said.

  "Nigga," Gun said, "who you think you fooling? I see it all in your eyes, Loc. You been through some shit in ya life, as have most of us. You out here kicking up dust causing all this shit and for what? You ain't gonna do nothing but get yo ass locked up or bodied," Gutter said.

&nb
sp; "Listen, youngster. Ain't no shame in being lonely. Yo daddy gone and I know ya mama don't understand how it is in these streets. Instead of being destructive about it focus that energy and make something of ya self. My nephew and his little shit kickers is doing big thangs. Hear him out," Gun added.

  Lou-loc pondered what Gun was saying. Since his father's murder, Lou-loc had always felt like there was a piece of him missing. His sister was younger than him so it was like he was alone in the world. He longed for a sense of kinship amongst his peers. This could be what he was looking for.

  "A'ight, homey," Lou-loc agreed, "let's talk about it."

  "Listen," Gutter picked up, "we putting it down in Cali. We Gangsta

  got allies from Hoover 107, 83, East Coast Block Crips and Victoria Park. Harlem gon' have it sewed."

  "A'ight then. What I gotta do?" Lou-loc asked.

  "Listen," Gutter said leaning in to whisper, "Meet me out by the Ikea mall around 10:00 p.m. Can you do that, stud?"

  "Yea," Lou-loc said sounding surer than he actually was. "I can do that."

  "Come prepared to scrap, cuz. We fixing to see if you as cold as you claim?" Gutter stated.

  "Ain't nothing but a thang, cuz. Ya boy gets down," Lou-loc said.

  Lou-loc stood there trying to look hard as, Gutter and Gun strutted away. Inside, his tiny little heart was beating out of his chest. Getting down with Harlem would definitely put him in the big leagues. No more of this petty shit, strictly paper. With a small army behind him, he could avenge his father.

  For the rest of that day all Lou-loc could do was sweat and ponder. He wasn't no coward, in fact he had whipped some of the older kids in the neighborhood. This was different though.

  See, there's different ways of proving ya self to get, "Quoted", more commonly known as getting in a gang; a.k.a "jumped in".

  Lou-loc knew he had to put his thang down. He knew damn well what Harlem Crip was. Them niggaz was rowdy as hell. He figured he'd have to square off with at least 5 other niggaz. That's if he was lucky.