me. Who? As best as I could, I tried to shield Trina and the baby
with my body. Just as quickly as the shooting started, it stopped.
My ears were ringing. I could feel the blood rushing from my
veins. I was hit several times. For some reason Trina stopped
screaming as I lay on top of her. In the distance, I heard one of the
gunmen say, “Shoot him in the head and let’s get out of here!” I
played dead. Prayed like a muthafucka. Someone walked up
and snatched the iced out platinum chain off my neck and then
placed the AK47 to the back of my head and pulled the trigger.
Click …Click …
The gun misfired.
I heard an urgent voice say, “Let’s go! Let’s go! Let’s go!” with
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the sound of footsteps retreating. I just lay there numb, scared to
death, soaking wet covered in blood. I could feel Trina shaking
underneath me.
Lil Man?
I thought. He was wedged between
Trina and me. My right arm was barely attached to my shoulder.
Them AKs ain’t nothing nice! Somehow I managed to pull myself
up off Lil Man and Trina. The gor y horror of what I saw tor-
mented me more then the pain that raked my body. The right side
of Lil Man’s face was completely blown off. All that was left was
skull with his brains spewing out. As I held him in my arms my
eyes filled with tears. His handsome face was gone, only to be
replaced with blood and brains. Then I remembered. Black Pearl.
I turned to look in the back seat. She was motionless, keeled over
on her face, crimson blood stained the interior. With it was an
awful smell that I will never forget.
DEATH. With my vision blurred, I looked over at Trina as she
got off the ground. A crowd of white people were starting to gath-
er around the car. Trina was crying hysterically as her hands trem-
bled, her face was spotted with blood. I could tell she was fighting
to take back control of what the armed gunman had nearly stolen
from her, her sanity.
“Are you hit?” I managed to ask her. She shook her head no,
and reached out to see if Lil Man had a pulse. I passed out to the
sound of sirens in my ears, thought about all the niggas I touched
on the jack tip and now it finally came back to haunt me.
Yo u’l l
end up dead or in prison,
the intrusive voice said inside my head.
*****
207
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Fifteen
“Game Over”
– Life –
I woke up in a hospital bed. My body was riddled with bullets. I
never experienced so much pain in my entire life. It even hurt to
breathe. My mouth was dr y, and my tongue felt like sandpaper. I
saw Trina sitting next to me. Her face was swollen and scarred, I
guessed from all the flying glass from the gun blast. I could hard-
ly recognize her.
“L, you aight?” Twine asked. At first I did not see him stand-
ing over me. His eyes were red and bloodshot.
“Where is Lil Man at?” My voice creaked barely above a whis-
per. Twine looked away and wiped at his eyes. In my mind I
prayed,
Lord, please let this all be a dream
.
Twine turned back toward me, “ They kilt Lil Man.” His voice
cracked. I closed my eyes and felt a piece of my soul die as I felt
Trina’s eyes bore through me. Her reservoir of love was gone, only
to be replaced by hate.
“L, Pearl is down the hall in a coma. I hope your ass is happy,”
she said and began to cry, the tears streaked her cheeks.
“Somebody robbed Gucci’s trap last night, and kilt his twins,”
said Lieutenant.
He managed to get away by jumping out the window and
crawling under a car.”
“He jumped out the third floor window?!” I yelled and tried
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body.
“Where in the fuck was Blazack at!?” I yelled at Twine.
“I dunno.”
Lucky for me, I had only been hit three times, mostly flesh
wounds, one in the ass and thigh. The most serious injury was to
my shoulder. A short Chinese doctor entered the room followed
by two huge burly white cops that looked like linebackers for the
Pittsburgh Steelers.
“My name is Doctor Wong,” the doctor said, his voice was
laced with a heavy foreign accent. He glanced at the clipboard in
his hands. “Your injuries are ver y serious. We’re going to have to
operate to repair your shoulder.”
As the doctor talked, I tried to listen, but like the rest of us in
the room, I couldn’t help but focus most of my attention on the
two cops. Finally, the doctor said the police wanted to talk to me.
With that he bowed his head slightly and left the room.
“Mr. Leonard Smith?” The plain-clothes detective asked as he
took a step toward me. His skin was pale white, eyes were pierc-
ing and he wore an expensive suit. Everything about him told me
that I’d had better be careful of what I said.
“Yes, I’m Leonard Smith,” I said, acknowledging my fake
name.
“I’m investigating the homicide and attempted murder of
three year old Shawn L. Bell and his mother Annie Bell.”
He was talking about Lil Man and Black Pearl. If I could, I
would have bolted from the room, from that place that I had cre-
ated, my own man made hell, from the grim reality of what was
happening to me. The detective turned to Twine and Trina and
asked, “Do you mind if we speak to him alone?” All I heard was
the scuffle of chairs moving and feet shuffling distancing them-
selves from me. Twine and Trina hauled ass out of that room!
The two detectives played cat and mouse with me for nearly
an hour. I adamantly continued to tell them that I did not know
what happened. They let me know of their suspicions and prom-
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ised to come back and arrest me once they found out I was lying.
They knew that I lived in Quincy at the Chateau G.P., that told
me a lot, the spot was getting hot.
*****
Later on that night I got into a wheelchair and strolled down
to Black Pearl’s room. She was connected to so many wires and
contraptions. An episodic beep chimed in tune with wavy lines,
her lifelines. She wasn’t even breathing on her own. I fought to
restrain my emotions as I looked at her beautiful face and saw Lil
Man’s eyes. I would have given anything in the world to have both
of them back. What kind of monster could do such a thing?
Blazack’s face flashed in my mind.
Ain’t no longevity in the dope
game, stick and move, get out within a year
. I thought about what
Trina first warned me about that night in the hotel when we first
met. And now, for the past year or so, she had been begging me to
get out, and now ...
After I left Pearl’s room, I called the Chateau and told Major
to come and get me. Later on that day to the disagreement of the
entire hospital staff, I checked out of the hospital on crutches.
I was a sight to behold with all the stitches and bandages; I
could make a mummy jealous.
The first stop we made was to the liquor store. The whole time
Major just looked at me like I was crazy, but he kept his fucking
mouth shut. He too didn’t agree with me leaving the hospital in
my condition, but he also knew what was on my mind–187, mur-
der!
As he drove I was in agony. The pain was excruciating. A few
times I almost fainted. I rode in the car in a very awkward posi-
tion due to the gun shot wounds in my ass and hip, all on the
same side. Blood was starting to soak through my shirt from
where my shoulder was nearly torn off. The liquor helped a lot,
but not nearly enough.
I had Major drive to the house that I first rented for the crew
back in the day. Now it was nothing more then a stash spot or a
place to cut, get laid.
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Dirty’s brand new BMW was parked in the front yard. I sent
Major inside to ask about Blazack’s whereabouts.
I watched as Major walked inside. Someone left the door ajar.
Moments later Major reappeared, r unning like he was being
chased by the devil himself. He got back into the car, his words
inaudible.
“W-W-We gotta get the hell outta here. Dirty and some broad
are in there dead as a muthafucka!”
“Are you sure?” I asked grabbing his arm and wincing in pain.
Major turned and looked at me the way people do when they’re
being annoyed.
“Look, I did a tour of Vietnam, I done seen mo’ dead mutha-
fuckas than you have seen livin’!” Major had the old Caddy in
reverse burning rubber out the driveway.
“You bring my pistol wit cha?” I asked as suddenly the image
of the black SUV and armed gunmen jumping out flashed before
my mind. Major reached underneath the seat and passed me Jesus.
I took a long swig from the bottle of Hennessy and asked Major
if Blazack owned a black SUV. Major thought for a second and
then answered yes. He turned and looked me directly in my eyes
and asked if I thought Blazack had something to do with it. I did-
n’t answer, just took another long swig from the bottle and
caressed Jesus in the palm of my hand praying that I would have
enough strength when the time came.
As we approached my estate, the same yellow van that Major
had expressed suspicion to me a few days ago was still parked
across from my security gates. The guy wore dark shades. I
thought that it was odd for a man that worked out in the sun to
have skin as white as chalk. As we passed, I could have sworn he
looked at me and smiled.
Major had to nearly carry me inside, I could hardly walk. At
the top of the stairs Trina stood stately, poised as if she had been
waiting for me. The way that she looked down at my pathetic
body was humiliating for me. She wore a long gown with a revel-
ing split up the front. Her right hand was posed with a Black and
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Mild cigar smoldering. As soon as she spoke I knew that she had
been drinking heavily.
“I’m leavin’ you, BITCH!” she cursed, slurring her words mis-
erably. Wobbling she began to walk down the stairs, one step at a
time.
Major gave me a knowing look. “I’m going to check the
grounds, make sure that everything is aight.” With that he left.
“You fucked it up! What you thought you was Scarface or
some shit, L? We had it all, money, clothes and fine cars. Five or
ten millions dollars wasn’t enough for you?”
I raised my hand to slap the cowboy shit out of her. Once
again, I had underestimated her and before I knew it, Trina
reached into her bra and pulled out a small pistol and fired at my
head.
“You put yo muthafuckin’ hands on me and I swear to God,
I’ma send you to your grave next to your dead-ass Mammy,” she
said coldly with the gun still aimed at my head.
“Girl, what da fuck wrong with you?” She just looked at me
dead serious, and then on a second thought she just shook her
head and walked away. I followed her to our bedroom. Louis
Vuitton bags sat in front of the bed. This time Trina was fully pre-
pared to leave me.
She whirled around to face me, her eyes optic slants of con-
tempt.
“I let you be the man with your balls and super ego while I
sat in the background and played my part, let you get all the cred-
it for being the brains –”
“Trina let me –”
“Don’t fuckin’ interrupt me!” she said pointing the gun at me.
“When you first star ted out hustling, in the first two weeks you
made millions. I made that happen. And when you couldn’t find
a supply for coke, I made that happen, too. I bet your punk ass
didn’t know that it was I that went to my uncle and got you put
on. I made all of this happen!”
Perspiration was starting to form on my forehead as I listened
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to Trina, a woman I realized I never really knew.
She continued, “I let you be the head, the lead, because a real
thorough bitch knows the neck moves the head.” Then in one of
her mood swings Trina lowered the gun, her eyes cast down at the
floor. “Lil Man is dead. DEAD!” She screamed at me. “... And his
momma is in a fuckin’ coma about to die, and Lord only knows
where the hell poor Evette is. She never made it back from
Baltimore.”
I hobbled over to the bed and lay down on my stomach. I was
in too much pain to talk. Trina came and stood over me with the
smoldering Black and Mild in her mouth, gun in one hand, and a
large suitcase in the other that looked big enough to put a small
body in.
“Just so you know, I’ve already drafted the paper work to have
the Chateau, cars and jewelry placed into a shell corporation in
the event that the feds come at you. I’m outta this bitch.”
With all my meager strength I reached out and took hold of
her hand with the luggage in it. She pulled away, the contents of
the luggage spilled onto the floor. For a moment we just stared at
each other. I could not believe what I was seeing. Money. Lots of
it! Nicely wrapped hundred dollar bills in bundles of twenty-
thousand dollars. Finally she said, “See what you made me do?”
For the first time I heard the panic in her voice, saw the fear in her
eyes as the guilt was written all on her face. All those years she had
been stealing money from me. Fifty thousand here, ten thousand
there. Trina, the Brooklyn chick.
I watched as she bent down and retrieved the money. Her eyes
darted from me and to the door like a thief making a hasty get
away. It felt like I was being robbed.
“Bitch! You been stealin’ from a nigga,” I said and tried to get
up.
“Naw trick, I been preparin’ to do me, ME. You think I’m
gonna let you bring me down cause you don’t know when the
games are over?” Trina spat the words at me as I watched her tote
that heavy-ass suitcase to the door. I couldn’t even get out the bed
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and we both knew it. Opening the door she turned and called my
name.
“L.”
“What?” I answered disgruntled.
“Nigga I loved you with everything I had. We had the Bonnie
and Clyde chemistry but not enough for me to do a lifetime in
prison for you.” She began to cry from deep within. “I tried to tell
Big Mike the same thing, like you, he wouldn’t stop.” Trina wiped
her face with the back of her hand and for some reason smiled at
me through her tears. “You were a better hustler than Mike. You
knew how to listen to me.” Then she added, “A better lover, too.
Bye.” She mouthed the word with no sound and closed the door
on our lives forever.
*****
That night I was awakened in the still of darkness by a soft rap
on my bedroom door. My entire body was covered in perspiration
and blood had soaked through my bandages. I tried to move from
the fetal position I was sleeping in. “Oooh, oooh!” I shrieked in
pain. That AK had torn chunks of flesh from my body and now I
was feeling it big time. The medication that they gave me had
finally worn off.
“Come ... in,” I groaned.
The door opened and the silhouette of a woman appeared. In
the backdrop of the hallway a luminous light shined making it
hard for me to see who it was.
“Trina! Trina? I need a doctor. I’m fucked up bad!” I croaked.
No answer.
The feminine figure approached me, slowly sashayed and
turned the wrong switch on the wall panel causing the surround
sound system to my stereo to come on. Keith Sweat’s song with
the girl group, Kut Klose “Get Up On It” filled the room. An
exotic light shinned. She walked up to me, close. Wiped at the
sweat on my brow affectionately and cooed in my ear. “Poor baby,
let me help you,” she said in a sultry voice and licked my earlobe.
Instantly I recognized that voice. It was the lesbian Tomica,
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