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  A Gangster’s Code

  Lock Down Publications and

  Ca$h Presents

  A Gangster’s Code

  A Novel by J-Blunt

  Lock Down Publications

  P.O. Box 870494

  Mesquite, Tx 75187

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  Copyright 2018 by A Gangster’s Code

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in review.

  First Edition August 2018

  Printed in the United States of America

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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  Prologue

  The ghetto was alive: loud music, cars on chrome rims, females walking around in tight clothing, and niggas standing on porches trying to holla. The atmosphere changed when the white Lexus turned onto the block. A hush came over the hood as all eyes flocked to the car. It pulled to a stop in front of a house in the middle of the block. Two people were inside, a man in the driver’s seat and a female in the passenger’s.

  “What I tell you ‘bout that boyfriend shit? Let me catch you fuckin’ wit’ one of these bitch-ass niggas and I’ma body his ass.”

  “C’mon, cousin. I’m sixteen. When you was sixteen you had a girlfriend. Why can’t I have a boyfriend?”

  “‘Cause niggas ain’t shit.”

  “What about you?”

  He paused. “I ain’t shit, either.”

  “But if it wasn’t for you, we wouldn’t have a place to live. I know everybody scared of you, but I love you. What if I get a boyfriend like you?”

  “No boys, Shanice! I ain’t playin’. I don’t care what cho momma say. Now, take this money and get out. I got some shit to do.”

  After a hug, Shanice took the five hundred dollars and got out of the car. Before closing the door, she spun around. “Paul, do you think –”

  “Aye! What I tell you ‘bout that shit? Don’t call me Paul no more!”

  “Sorry. Pop Somethin’, do you think –”

  Bocca! Bocca! Bocca! Bocca! Bocca!

  Bullets tore through the Lexus’ tinted windows, one of them hitting Pop Somethin’ in the shoulder. He ducked, grabbing the Uzi from his lap.

  “Shanice, run!”

  The fully automatic machinegun bullets tore out the rest of the window as he fired the gun blindly at his attackers. More gunfire was exchanged as the luxury car sped away.

  “Bitch-ass niggas!” Pop Somethin’ cursed, the burning in his shoulder getting worse.

  Pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop!

  The Lexus’ rear window smashed as bullets tore through the car. A black Infinity was chasing the Lexus. Someone was hanging out of the passenger’s window, shooting wildly.

  “Oh, you niggas want drama!” Pop yelled, smashing the brakes and bringing the Lexus to a sliding stop. He jumped out of the car with his finger holding the Uzi’s trigger. The fully automatic sprayed bullets across the Infinity’s windshield, tearing into the driver’s face, neck, and chest. The black coupe swerved and crashed into a parked car. Pop knew whoever was in the car was in bad shape. He wanted to finish the kill, but his hurting shoulder and sirens in the background made him move back toward the Lexus.

  Pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop!

  A burning pain hit him in the back. His legs gave out and he fell to the ground. Pop tried to get up, but couldn’t. He could feel the blood pouring from his wounds, then blackness.

  Chapter 1

  Eight years later

  “C’mon, nigga. It’s yo’ move. Hurry up.”

  The big man ignored his friend’s prompting, taking his time like he always did. He combed long fingers through his thick beard, fully lost in thought. When one of his shoulder-length dreadlocks slipped into his face, he threw his head back, shaking his mane like a lion until he got the wild hair under control. When satisfied, Pop Somethin’ continued studying the chessboard. If he didn’t make the right move, it would be his last move, and he couldn’t let that happen. He ran the yard on the chessboard. B-Dog couldn’t win. Nobody had jackin’ rights on Pop Somethin’. Nobody.

  “You see how he stallin’ me out, Old School?” B-Dog asked an older convict who stood around watching the game.

  “Chess is a thinking man’s game, B-Dog. A strategic war game. You know Pop Somethin’ is a war general. Give him time to think. I got a box of soups that says Pop Somethin’ comes back and wins.”

  “Keep yo’ money, Old School. I don’t like takin’ from my elders,” B-Dog laughed.

  Pop Somethin’ finally made his move. “Three moves to mate.”

  B-Dog studied the board. He didn’t see what Pop Somethin’ was talking about. “Yeah right, nigga. You finna lose. Old School, we on for them soups. Fuck it. I got a few hungry niggas on the team that need to eat.”

  B-Dog made a move. Pop followed.

  “Aye, y’all. Look.” TK said, looking across the yard.

  Four men moved quickly across the rec field with serious looks on their faces. These weren’t average inmates. They were huge, looked like they ate the weights after they lifted them. They were known as ABK: Anybody Killas. They took what they wanted and preyed on the weak. In their line of sight were two squares slipping with their backs turned.

  “Fool an’ ‘em stay on that bullshit,” B-Dog laughed.

  Pop Somethin’ stood to his feet, tying his long dreads into a ponytail. “Them niggas some bitches.”

  “Nigga, whatchu doin’?” B-Dog asked.

  “Them niggas tried that same shit wit’ me when I first got here. Fuck ABK. I hate bitch-ass niggas. I told Buck Wild I was gon’ be on his ass from there on out.”

  “C’mon, Pop. You finna go home in six months. You know what them niggas do ain’t got shit to do wit’ us.”

  “Yeah, it do. He know them lame-ass niggas ain’t gon’ fight back. They don’t do them white boys like that ‘cause they know them Aryans’ll be on they ass. I ain’t finna let ‘em do fool an’ ‘em like that.”

  B-Dog stood with his nigga. “Damn, Pop. You always gettin
’ us in some bullshit.”

  ***

  The ABKs moved fast, surrounding the two squares. The short, light-skinned nigga trembled as Buck Wild spoke. “Where that bag at, C-Note? I heard you went on a visit yesterday. Where my shit?”

  “C’mon, Buck. I gotta eat, my nigga. I’ma hit chu later. I thought we was good. I just hit yo’ hand last week.”

  “Nah, nigga. It don’t work like that. When you eat, I eat. I got a team to feed. Where my cut?”

  “C’mon, Buck! Damn, man!” C-Note whined.

  “You sound like a bitch, nigga. Gimme my shit ‘fore I get in yo’ ass and take the whole pack. See, my goons ready to bleed yo’ ass.”

  C-Note looked from Buck Wild to his boys. They wore mean mugs and flexed their muscles, ready to do damage as soon as Buck gave the word. C-Note knew they would break his bones if he didn’t give them what they wanted. He was about to dig in his underwear for the pack when another group approached.

  “Whatchu doin’, Buck?”

  Buck Wild spun around, mugging Pop Somethin’ and his boys. The ABKs were big and intimidating, and so was Pop and his niggas. Pop Somethin’ stood six-foot-six and weighed 240 pounds. B-Dog was six foot and 200 pounds. TK was six-foot-nine and 260 pounds. All of them were chiseled from gruesome workouts led by Pop Somethin’.

  “Get out my bidness, Pop,” Buck mugged.

  “You fuckin’ in my bidness. You takin’ food from my squad. I can’t let that happen.”

  Buck laughed. “Take that cape off, nigga. Me and C-Note got an agreement. Ain’t that right?”

  Everybody looked to C-Note, waiting on his answer, but he was stuck. ABKs were beasts. They wrecked shit and spilled blood if a nigga looked at them wrong, but Pop Somethin’ was a legend on the streets and in the joint. Nobody fucked with Pop Somethin’ unless they had a death wish.

  “You ain’t gotta answer that, li’l bruh,” Pop Somethin’ spoke up. “Whatever deal y’all had is canceled. I got a better one. Lemme holla at chu.”

  C-Note made up his mind and walked toward Pop Somethin’. One of the ABKs grabbed him by the neck and threw him against the wall. TK moved like he was going to help, and one of the ABKs upped a shank. As soon as Pop Somethin’ seen the knife, he punched Buck in the jaw, then it went up. Buck and Pop exchanged blows, neither of them ducking or dodging. It was a slugfest. They stood toe-to-toe and dropped bombs. TK pulled his own shank, him and the ABK dancing in a circle, taking knife swings at each other. B-Dog fought another ABK while C-Note stood against the wall getting choked as the last ABK dug into his pants, trying to find the dope.

  A siren sounded and a loud voice came over the P.A. system. “All inmates get on the ground, now! Stop fighting!”

  Most of the inmates in the yard followed the orders, except for the ones who were fighting. TK and the ABK with the shank had stabbed each other and were still swinging their weapons. They knew whoever put the knife down first would die. B-Dog and another ABK were rolling on the ground, still fighting, and Buck Wild and Pop Somethin’ were still going toe-to-toe until Pop landed a haymaker that dropped him. The ABK who was choking C-Note rushed Pop Somethin’. A hard right cross broke the ABK’s nose, knocking him out.

  A loud pop sounded as smoking canisters landed in their midst. White gas shot out, filling the air. As soon as the gas was inhaled, the choking began. In a few seconds the fight was over and everybody was on the ground. The guards rushed the yard wearing gas masks and riot gear.

  ***

  “Crabtree! Nurse wants to see you,” a guard called, banging on the cell door.

  Pop Somethin’ sat the book down and rolled over. “We got rec in twenty minutes. Fuck that nurse shit, I wanna go outside.”

  “You can still go to rec. Nurse wants to see you for a quick check-up. C’mon. Cuff up.”

  Pop Somethin’ slipped on the state-issued, soft-bottomed orange shoes and orange top before walking to the door. A slot opened and he stuck his hands out. After cuffs were put on his wrists, the cell door opened and the guards locked him in a waist restraint.

  “Jeez, man. What the hell do you eat?” the CO commented, intimidated by Pop Somethin’s size.

  “Everything. Y’all need to double up them trays, ‘cause I’m losin’ weight in this bitch-ass hole.”

  “Yeah, well, this is typically what happens when you break two guys’ faces.

  “C’mon, Winters. You know I’m a humble man.”

  “Right. And I’m the Pope.”

  The exam room was next to the officers’ station. Pop Somethin’ seemed to fill the small room when he walked in. A smile spread across his face when he saw Ms. Raccara. She was the finest woman who worked in the prison. Everybody with a Y chromosome was checking for the Columbian beauty. The tight-fitting pink scrubs showed off her banging body.

  “Glad you could make it today, Mr. Crabtree. Are you behaving yourself?”

  Pop Somethin’ held her dark brown gaze as he was helped onto the nurse’s table. “C’mon, Ms. Raccara, you know I don’t cause no trouble.”

  “Sit back and relax. If you don’t cause trouble, why are you in segregation?”

  “I had a disagreement.”

  “Why is it every time you have a disagreement, guys get their bones broken and stabbed?”

  “I plead the fifth.”

  “I bet. So, I called you in to check your bruises and get your vitals. Do you have any pain?”

  “Yeah. You makin’ my heart hurt.”

  The nurse blushed as she took his blood pressure. “Besides your heart, are you okay?”

  “I am now.”

  She turned red, shaking her head. “You have this big beard, so I can’t tell if your bruises have healed. I need to touch your face. Tell me if this hurts.”

  When the nurse stepped between his legs, their bodies touched. The guards stood at the door, watching her examine him. Since they were behind the nurse, they couldn’t see Pop Somethin’s hands squeezing her breasts.

  “Does this hurt?”

  “Nah. It feels good.”

  She pressed his cheekbones. “What about this?”

  “Nah. I’m good.”

  The nurse forced herself to step away from him, her face and body flushed from the excitement and danger. Pop Somethin’s lap showed how excited he was. “Everything looks fine. You need to stay out of the hole and out of trouble.”

  “Shit, I’ll do you one better. I get out in six months. Then we won’t have to worry ‘bout the hole or C.O.’s watchin’. I’ma be at chu fo’ sho.”

  The smile on her face and in her eyes told him what her lips couldn’t say. She was feeling him. She wanted to fuck. The only reason they hadn’t was because she needed her job and didn’t want to risk getting caught, but she always let him get his feel on. Always.

  ***

  “Good lookin’ on savin’ my ass, bruh. I don’t know why you did it, but good lookin’,” C-Note said, staring out of the cage he was in. He was at segregation rec. Twice a week everyone in the hole got the opportunity to spend an hour outside in a small dog cage. Pop Somethin’ was in a cage across from him, doing push-ups.

  “That wasn’t about you, C-Note. I don’t stand up for niggas that don’t stand up for theyself. Me and Buck got history. Them niggas tried that same shit to me when I first got here. I fought back, and them niggas fucked me up. When I got my weight up, I brought pain on them niggas. Been on ever since.”

  “I still appreciate what you did. Them niggas savages. I don’t stand a chance against them. I’m five-foot-seven and 160 pounds. I go home in three weeks. I don’t wanna go home wit’ my shit fucked up.”

  “If a nigga don’t stand up, niggas gon’ stand on ‘im.”

  “Yeah, I hear you, bruh, but I ain’t cut out for this prison war shit. I get money, fuck bitches, and fire iron.”

  Pop laughed. “They took the guns at the front door.”

  “I know. That’s why I ain’t neva comin’ back to this shit. I spent my two years in the
m books. I’m finna go home and do it big. Turn that dirty money clean and live like them rich white boys. I heard you gettin’ out soon. I got a spot on my team. You did me a favor, so I owe you one. Favor for a favor.”

  Pop Somethin’ eyed C-Note, sizing him up. “Fuck you talkin’ ‘bout, nigga?”

  “Niggas say you was a legend in Houston. Had the whole city shook. I wanna nigga like you on my team. I’m from Dallas. I get money, bruh. When you get out, fuck wit’ me.”

  “You gon’ offer a nigga you don’t know a slot?”

  “Like I say, favor for a favor.”

  Pop Somethin’ blew him off. “Whatever, nigga.”

  “I’m serious, fam. Tell you what, when I get out, I’ma prove it. I get out in three weeks. Gimme yo’ info and I’ma get at chu.”

  Chapter 2

  “Broke niggas to the left! Rich niggas to the right!” C-Note called as he and his niggas walked in the strip club. It was his second day out, and for the second day in a row he was partying.

  “We gotta find that bitch from last night. What that ho name was?” Artie asked as the small clique walked in the club like they owned it.

  “Skittlez, my nigga. Skittlez,” Lucci answered.

  “Grab us a table. I’ma hit up the bar,” C-Note said, eyeing the bartender. “Lemme get three bottles of Moet.”

  The curly-haired cutie looked him over from head to toe. C-Note was dressed fresh in Ferragamo. “Stop playin’, shawty. I got bandz!” he bragged, slapping three crisp hundred-dollar bills on the bar.

  After grabbing the bottles, he went to find his team. They were at a booth surrounded by strippers. “Hold on! I the one that just got out! Bring that ass over here!”

  C-Note partied, threw money, and drank Moet like it was water. The stripper on his lap was grinding her ass on his tool as he felt up her body. Skittlez was bad. Long hair, yellow skin, tall, and thick. And she was tatted up.