MURDER GAME

It's a night out with my friends. Me and a few buddies had gathered. We weren't going anywhere particular. The plan was to drink and roll around town and do some damage. A bunch of 19, 20 years old. I had just gotten out of jail a few weeks before. And was still getting my 'street legs' back. The excitement of freedom had worn off. And now I was back to survival. Somehow, we ended up over this chicks house. One of my friends knew her. And knew that she was cool enough to let a bunch of hooligans chill in her house. The bitch was fine. White bitch. Big titties. She was in the middle of getting dressed for a night out herself when we arrived. I remember the little black dress she wore. Her bending over to put on here heels. And the view from there.

She had a kid. A little boy. The babysitter was already there. White chick. She was cool. Sitting in the living room chopping it up and laughing with us. She was decent looking. But nothing special about her.

Shortly after the big tittie white bitch left for the club, me and my entourage bounced. us guys left together. I don't remember why or were to. But soon after I got separated from the pack. I had run into someone I knew and started drinking with him, and by the time I'd left him I had lost track of the others. Since we hadn't settle on one particular place to chill, I knew those guys could be anywhere. The only place I knew to look was back at the white chicks crib.

It wasn't that far. So I walk back. I'm drunk from the liquor my friend and I shared. Not stumble drunk. But feeling like I could take on a bear drunk.

I reach the apartment and no one was home. I was surprised to find out that the back door was unlocked, so I let myself in.

The alcohol had me hungry. So I raid the fridge. But the only thing in there edible was a few eggs. I decided to boil them.

While I wait for the eggs to get done I sat on the living room and watched some TV. A few moments later I heard the back door open, then a females voice. I didn't hear all of what she said. But I do remember her saying something about the eggs on the stove.

Now I hear male voices. Two of them.

I stayed seated on the couch. I figured why get up? They'll see me eventually once they'd made their way into the living room. The first was one of the males. G.O.. I knew him. We didn't hang out together, but we hung out with a lot of the same people. I expected him to say 'Oh it's just you'. Or something along those lines. But instead, he angrily ask, 'WTF you doin here'? then called the other male into the room. I knew this kid too. But by face only. A whiteboy. I had seen him from time to time and knew that him and G.O. were real cool.

When the whiteboy enters the living room and sees me, he asked the same question in the same tone as G.O. had done.

I became angry. I stood up and said. dude, I was just looking for the crew and thought they came back here. 'How'd the fuck you get in?' The whiteboy asked. This made me even angrier. Not just his tone but for the fact that I knew he was just showing off for G.O. and the bitch. Which by this time I'd lost track of where she was. I got in the same way you did. I answered him. By the back door. 'How did you know that shit was unlocked'? G.O. demanded.

While he said these things he balled his fists and started walking around a circle like he was holding back aggression. That was it for me. No more questions. No more answers. I pointed a finger at him then said, Nigga I don't know who the fuck you think you are, but you better chill the fuck out cause you pissing me off!

O.G.s aggressiveness surprised me. Like I said. We knew each other. And never had problems getting along. So for him to act this way, through me off. So I surmised that he too was just showing off in front of his friend and the bitch. But at my expense. I took a step a step forward and said, I aint playin wit you G.O.. Calm that yelling and cussing at me the fuck out!. G.O. quickly pulls up his pants. Then throws both fists up and into a fighting stance.

This surprised me even more. But the fact that I was drunk calmed my nerves. Remember. I could take on a bear. So I knew G.O. wouldn't be much of a challenge.

And he wasn't. Before that insulate faggot could swing, I had already yoked him up and was pushing him backward. We both landed at the base of the stairs. With me on top and with G.O. struggling at the bottom. Now I go to work. I grab his shirt with my left and began to punch him in the face with my right. A couple of blows only grazed him because of his frantic head movements. But most found their mark. Just then. I felt a powerful blow on the back of my head. Then another, then another. I had no idea someone could hit that hard.

I knew It was the whiteboy but I couldn't do anything about it. Someone had told me that while getting jumped, don't try and fight everyone. Just focus on one mother fucker. But after a couple more of those sledge hammer blows, I couldn't take it anymore. I released G.O. and stood up. Now face to face with the whiteboy. I could feel that most of my energy was gone. I was expecting the whiteboy to continue swinging, but instead he said 'GTFOH'! I did not protest. And without even looking back at G.O. I turned then opened the front door. Walking out I was afraid. I was expecting one of them to knock me in the back of the head as a parting shot. But it didn't happen.

Now outside I didn't know where to go. Or what to do. I just walked. Anger had overtaken me. And the only thing on my mind was revenge. I could think of nothing but the events and sequence that had just taken place. The balls on G.O.. The mistake that I'd made by letting that whiteboy boy get behind me. My head still throbbing from his blows. My body, aching and weary.

I hear voices and car doors. I look up from my zombie walk to see that Im close to the local bar called Tags. In the parking lot I see my cousins gray Cadillac. My cousin Blast was a big time drug dealer in my hometown. Him and his two brothers had the streets envious of them for their money and cars. Blast is older than me and on a totally different social level. That made it to where could  never hang out with each other. But he and my older sister were real cool. And he always spoke to me whenever he saw me and asked if I needed anything.

O walk into Tags and see Blast sitting at the bar. I walk up to him. He turns and sees me and asks in a loud angry voice, 'WTF happened to you?! Who did this to you'? His concern for me made me feel good. But before I could speak he slid off his stool and told me to follow him to the restroom. 'To many ears out here'. he said.

The restroom was small. Once inside he asked me again what happened? And again before I could speak he interrupted me by telling me to wash my face in the sink. When I splashed my face with the cold water and cupped my hands to my face I could feel the lumps and bruises that I couldn't feel before. Between cascades of water to my face I told my big cuz what had happened. It was hard to fight back my emotions. I didn't want to look weak or cry in front of him.

When I finished telling Blast what happened he said. Stay right here. And he left the restroom. I grabbed some paper towel and started drying my face off. I dabbed at the bumps and scars and tried not to wipe too hard. By the time Id thrown the last wad of paper into the trash can, Blast opened the door and told me to 'Come on'.

I followed him to the bar and took a seat on the stool next to his. Blast tried to order me a drink but the bartender refused to serve me one. I was only 19 at the time and wasn't even supposed to be in there. But I could tell that the bartender did feel the seriousness of the situation. So he didn't tell me to leave. My cousin ordered me a ginger ale instead and we sat silently. 10 minutes past and we never said another word to each other. He was calmly smoking cigarettes sipping a long neck. While I nursed the ginger ale and listened to the music in the bar.

Out the corner of my eye, I saw a pair of headlights pull into the parking lot of Tags. Without looking at me, or knowing if Id even heard him my cousin says, 'Go get in that van that just pulled up out there'.

I climbed in the passenger seat and look over to see a familiar face. It was Rico. He and I had gone to high school together. On the bus rides home we sat next to each other. Rico was a big fat black dude. It had been a few years since I'd seen him and nothing had changed about him. We caught up for a minute or so. Then he told me 'I heard what happened'. And the mood got serious.

Before I said anything about it, Rico bent down and came up with a red handkerchief and began to unwrap it. When he handed me what was inside a sense of joy and excitement came over me. 'You know how to use one of these?' he asked. No. I said. Being from Kentucky I had shot long guns and different types of rifles but had never fired a handgun before. Rico began schooling me on how to work the gun. Showed me how to load it and how to cock the slide to load the bullet in the chamber. While he explaining this to me every few seconds or so he would pause to wipe the gun off with the red handkerchief. I didn't say anything about. I knew that he knew what was about to happen and did not want any of his prints on that gun.

Lastly he said, 'Here's the safety. Here's the trigger. Now go do what you got to do.' He wipes the piece of one last time before I got out of the van. I placed the Roscoe in my back pocket and headed in the same direction from where I came. Back to the place where they jumped me.

While walking, I start thinking about my plan of revenge. I'm quickly thinkin murder. I'm like yo I gotta put the murder game down. Cause a small town.

I knew that news like this travels quick. I have the reputation of getting busy. G.O. and the whiteboy were not street dudes like me. They didn't break the law. They didn't fight for sport. And nobody knew who the fuck they were. Myself on the other hand had a reputation to keep. People knew me as J-roc. Tippy Lewis's son. My father was a legendary tough guy in this town. And for a long time after he was killed, I felt that I had to live up to his reputation. That's why I couldn't let this one slide. These. Compared to myself, these guys were unknowns, nobody's. When people found out what had happened they would be somebody's.

Owensboro's a small town. So I knew that word would spread quickly about the fight. I knew that the only way to stop the grape vine, is to change the ending in my favor.

Jumping a guy like me was big time braggin rights. Not necessarily because of the outcome. But because they actually had the nuts to do it to me, J-roc, Tippy Lewis's son. They were about to find out why I had the rep that I did. And they were about to realize, that when it come to this street shit, there is a big difference between them, and me. And a big difference between us in how far I am willing to go to in order to protect it.

But about a quarter of the way there I realized that I had no idea how I was gonna do it. All these ideas started swirling around in my head. Mostly they were scenes from movies that I knew wouldn't work in this particular situation. But then can a moment of clarity. I don't need all that complicated shit. Just cover the peephole and knock on the door like I was an old friend coming by for a visit. And if they asked who it was, just say the name of someone me and G.O. both knew.

For some reason I imagined that once the front door opened both G.O. and whiteboy would be standing there together. Still alert from the fight just to back each other up. Or maybe it was wishful thinking. Because the plan I had settled on was to shoot them both once in the chest. But it didn't really matter. Because as soon as anyone of them opened the door, they were for sure gonna get it.

I'm halfway there. At the risk of being over dramatic it had started to drizzle a little. I can remember the fluorescent light of the street lights spread out along the road. The moment and I were calm. My walk is a steady pace. Not too fast. Not too slow. But steady. I can feel the weight and density of that four pounder tugging my back pocket down. It's been almost an hour since the fight. So I had time to relax. To think. My buzz is nearly gone. And I'm cold. It's late April here in Owensboro. Around 10,10:30 at night. What's worse I had left my jacket in that chicks house. I wore only a t-shirt.

I get to the projects where she lives. I shit you not it has a white picket fence. The housing authority had recently renovated the area. Every apartment got a backyard patio and a nice white picket fence. It was like putting pearls on a pig.

I get through the gate and pull out the 3.80 as I approach the door. I stand sideways with the piece aimed down to the ground. Then just as I planned gave a regular knock on the door. I wait a few ticks. Nothing. I knock again and wait. Same. This time I knock a little harder. Nada.

I know they're still there. The shades are closed. But I can still see the living room light on through the window.

I walk to the rear of the house and climb the few patio stairs. The thing was made of cheat material that made a thud with every step I took. But I didn't care. I just wanted my revenge.

After knocking on the back door several times, I make my way back to the front lawn. This is getting ridiculous I say to myself. My patience is wearing thin. And I know that I can't stand out here for much longer. Holding a gun in my hand in the middle of the projects. But I wasn't going anywhere.

Now. After assessing the situation. Not only has my patience ran out completely, I am enraged to see that the living room light just on, now out. Id had enough. I walked back to the door and started banging, screaming and threatening like I was a cop. I did that in order to increase my chance to dictate the ending of the matter. That in the end, who is superior, who is scared, who is hiding. I said these things through the door. Knowing all of them no me.

My brain fought through my rage and logic reappears. WFT am I doing? standing here, in the fuckin projects, bangin on this bitch door at damn near 11:30 at night, holdin a 380 fully loaded, cocked and ready to fire. Plus these cowards could be in there calling or could have already called the cops. Especially the babysitting chick. You got to do something now bro!

But what?! These niggas is not coming out. What else. can I do. I got it! Just shoot through the door and the windows. If I'm lucky, I'll at least hit one of those cowards. I raised to the up to the project door. I knew the were made of metal. But a weak hollow metal. Any caliber this close can get through. But then I remember the kid the chick was babysitting. I had a look at him before. he was about 7,8 years old. Nice looking boy.

Shooting into the house was now out of the question. I had no idea where the lid was in the house. And couldn't live with myself if he got hit by mistake.

I’m thinkin, thinkin, thinkin, with the gun in my. had in the bitches yard with my plan going all to shit, with not many options.

But then out of the corner of my eye. I see the white boys car parked several yards ahead of the house. I walk to the rear of the whip. I point my gun at the rear view window and fire. It sounded like an M80 had gone off. And I felt a bunch of glass fly off my hands and wrist. I fire again. But nothin. The thing jams. I go through the motions Rico showed me. Slide the clip out, checked the bullets, popped that bitch back in with some authority, then cocked that slide back to put the bullet in its chamber.

I lift up the bitch again to the rear window. Which is now heavily cracked with a small hole in the center. I let loose and squeeze the trigger to let the automatic feature do its job. All this lasted a lil over a minute. I was able to knock off 4 more rounds through the white boys back window until the gun jams again. But this time I don't fix it like Rico had shown me. I knew it was

time to go. I had been banging on the door, yelling, threatening and blasting this white boys car for almost 20 minutes.

I gave one last look back at the house. The living room lights were still off and not a sound came from the house. I felt...satisfied, disappointed, I felt fortunate for them for not opening that door. But instead, hide like the cowards they are in order to saved their lives. I felt vindicated, restored. When and if they tell the story of jumping Tippy's son. They will have to include the aftermath of their insolent, foolish decision. I also felt that my father would've been proud.

The next few weeks were like a victory lap. Everybody and they momma had found out what happened just as I expected. My best friend had talked to G.O. after it happened and told me what he had said. They were indeed in the house saw me, and did not want to come out. He also cot the account of the damage of the whiteboys car. Air conditioning, radio, bullet hole in the glove department, an not to mention a totaled the back windshield.

Over the next few weeks the story spread like wildfire. Some of them were exaggerated like most gossip. But the man point was G.O. and the whiteboy were lucky to be alive. I started getting visits from people. Individuals who hung out with my cousin blast. Shooters. Cats that had body's on their records. People who'd never spoken to me before or knew who the hell I was, now gave me head nods of acknowledgment.

Even my sons mother found out about it. And a smart ass way showed some type of renewed respect. The girls around town spoke to me the most about it. They loved that type of gangster ish. As for my  homeboys, they were proud to hangout with me and show me off. That shit was cool. As for me, I felt like I'd failed at my mission. So whenever I received any accolades for the work I'd put in. I played it cool. Not saying much, And made it a point to say as little about the encounter as possible. and absolutely made sure not to brag.

I never saw that whiteboy after that. But I did see G.O. like six months later during the summer. I was in another projects playing catch with a couple of youngins that I knew. One of them threw a pass over my head. And I had to run a few yards to retrieve it. I bend down to pic up the football. And when I look up 8 see G.O. sitting on top of one of those project backyard project patios. When he turned around, I stood told with the ball in my and looked him straight in the eyes. He was kicking his feet back and for against the patio walls. We eyed one another for only a moment. He broke eye contact. Then turned back around without saying a word. I said as well. No words were necessary. It was established who was the real gangster, the real shoot, who not to be fucked with. Me.

I lingered in the moment for a while. Tossing the football back and forth in my hands. Still looking at him. Waiting to see if he would turn back around. But he didn't. So I walked off and continued playing catch with my youngins.

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