Alright ... here's the new cover for my ebook, Hot in Here, recently released with Silks Vault. I wrote this story last summer when it was hot as f**k for like two months straight. It's straight up freaky ... no violence or nothing. While it is a step in the right direction it's all about marketing still. Like my nigga Mystikal said, "90 percent of this shit is yo business ... 10 percent of this shit is yo talent." Show it some love at: www.countkrewpublications.com

Chapter 6: A New Hope

Gerald stood with his chest pumped, head held high with a prized smile. He hadn’t been this happy in a long while ... over three years to be exact. On this day of freedom Gerald believed the sun shined gloriously just for him, dawning the new beginning to a resurrected life. The weather was perfect, a wonderful seventy degree day in the midwest; just right for this born again convicted felon.

"This may be a terrible thing to say," started the friendly prison guard known as Mr. Jones. "But I hope I never see you again. Long as I’m workin’ at this place at least."

Gerald gave a warm hearted grin, taking no offense in the comment. "Don’t worry about that. I’ll die before I ever come back here. Or any place like it for that matter." He meant every word of it. Having one’s freedom seized meant being locked in confinement like savage animals; a life fit for no man regardless of race or gang preference.

"Take it easy Jones," said Gerald, shaking the huge hand of the most civil employee in all of the facility. The guard opened the gate and Gerald took his first free steps out into the parking lot. He observed the blue Explorer parked all alone, knowing it was the get away vehicle to spring him from the God forsaken place.

While approaching the truck Gerald was engulfed by the swamping impact of bass. It had been years since he felt such a powerful force; pleasing melodies pounding his ears, shifting soulful vibrations throughout his body.

"Look at this." Gerald stared over the vehicle with great admiration. It carried a color as blue as the crisp sky on a cloudless day, fresh factory paint without a scratch anywhere on the big body frame.

Gerald opened the passenger door and hopped inside. Behind the wheel sat Tai, cheesing wide like the happiest kid in America. "What’s happenin’ cuz," greeted Gerald, slapping hands with his friend then giving a heartwarming embrace.

"You got it," Tai replied. "Nigga all faded up and shit." He was rather shocked to see Gerald with his head close shaven, remembering a time when his old friend swore to never clip away the afro.

"Look at you," Gerald spoke, referring to Tai’s expensive wardrobe. The young man of twenty years old was dressed to impressed, topping off the look with a white Detroit Tigers hat, English style D colored a light blue. The nifty track suit was also blue, perfectly blending with the thick twenty four karats of gold which hung in the form of a herringbone around Tai’s neck.

It was rather apparent that young Tai had done well for himself. The expensive gear and new truck costed more than most made in an entire fiscal year. While proud of his friend, Gerald realized that Tai had to be deep in the game to acquire such funds; a factor that bothered him.
Gerald wouldn’t be too critical of his young comrade’s decision. Tai was indeed a man now and obviously possessed street skills and survival instincts.

Centrical force drove Gerald’s eyes to the tempting treat hanging from the ashtray. Just the mere sight caused him to lick his lips, giving his lungs that familiar feeling of anticipation.

Tai peeped Gerald’s infatuation and encouraged, "Gon’ head cuz. You know I’m gon’ smoke you out."

With no hesitation Gerald reached for the plump blunt and placed it between his anxious lips. The cigar paper had a sweet taste to it, perhaps strawberry. Regardless of the flavor he was simply appreciative of the pine like buds sealed beneath the wrap. Pedro often spoke of marijuana and other street drugs that floated throughout the prison but Gerald never saw a crumb. Had he been approached with the chronic he probably would’ve declined anyhow. Those three years were strictly dedicated to self preservation, getting his mind right to step foot back out into the cold, hard streets.

Tai handed him a blue lighter and the weed was sparked. Gerald wasn’t sure if this was the one hitter quitter but the initial pull gave him that old sense of nostalgia. It was such a pleasurable feeling, similar to his first time ... not when he foolishly wasted his cousin’s northern lights but more like when his lungs truly embraced the kind smoke with understanding, sending the message of mental bliss to his brain.

"Hell yeah." Gerald sat glossy eyed from the first hit as Tai smashed from parking lot. Damn. He almost forgot how much he enjoyed getting baked. Everything seemed so much more pleasant on the outside. If Gerald was to parish at any given second he’d die thankful for the current moment.

"Those the greens right there," Tai praised. "Fifteen hundred a pound."

Gerald stared down on the burning blunt with squinted vision, respecting it’s power. He would forever be in Tai’s debt for his continuous support over the years. While Gerald restricted anyone from visiting him Tai kept his commoncery account padded. He made sure his dear friend had the necessities to make his stay in confinement more tolerable.


"This shit sweet as hell." With his mind soaring the clouds, Gerald grooved to the banging tune.

"This nigga Pac got the game sewed up," said Tai, making a sharp left on Van Dyke.

When Tupac Shakur emerged on the scene with Digital Underground Gerald instantly recognized his talent. His freshman solo album, 2pacalypse Now was a hood classic, getting Gerald and his disciples through the toughest of times. Music was that powerful, capable of easing one’s soul and sometimes preventing acts of violence. Gerald was pleased to see the feisty young rapper getting the recognition he deserved.

Gloom filled Gerald’s heart while gazing from the window. "Damn. Shit done took the hood under." Perhaps he looked for some sort of miracle, hoping that the gang bug would’ve croaked by now. Gazing upon the graffiti covered walls of stores and abandoned buildings was evidence that the treacherous pastime lived on.

"Yeah," Tai spoke. "Niggas still bangin’. It’s a lil more on the DL wit us though. Niggas bout makin’ that cream in our camp. Believe me though ... nigga come through set trippin’, wearin’ the wrong shit ... he will fall off the face of this muthafucka."

Tai’s words caused mass disturbance. Gerald knew his friend meant every word of it. Young Tai appeared to be deep in the game; perhaps at the familiar point of no return ...

Chapter 5.5: A New Ally??

Around the time gangs flooded the streets like mosquitoes after a good rain. Teams of misguided, military minded thugs pledged alligience to one another, willing to die for what they felt to be sacred. Those who no longer infected the hood were residents of the prison system. Just a couple of hours into his first full day Gerald noticed several affiliates in the facility. Unlike many of them he didn't bring the bandana with him. Still the vivid images of pitchforks and devil tailed hearts covered his arms, letting everyone know the status.

Gerald stared down on the pasta goolosh compound with queasy eyes. He was actually famished but this looked worse than the county food. The apple appeared fresh though, green with the sticker on it. Perhaps he'd take a few bites of the bread, maybe a few swigs of the two percent milk. Gerald would certainly need all of his energy on the inside.

Walking nervous like a kid on the first day of junior high, Gerald searched for a spot in the cafeteria, feeling as if all eyes were on him. Several were as the inmates tried to survey his character. So far the day hadn't been too bad. Gerald ran into a couple of Folks, supposedly from his area back in Chicago. He gave that mutual respect but let it be known that he was no longer active. The most disturbing part of his morning was the fact that Pedro hadn't spoken one word. Knowing the true assassin that his Mexican foe was, Gerald watched his back with caution.

Gerald saw no need in forming any serious relationships with crews. They were all stupid enough to get themselves in the hardrock so why let the blind lead the blind? Even in that case there was still a need for acceptance on the inside. Many would be bangers were forced to prove themselves, along with others who thought they'd served enough. Gerald vowed not to let himself slip into that situation. He'd gladly perish before becoming entangled with anyone's shit.

Finally he noticed a free seat; not exactly but no one sat directly beside it. Gerald was far from the social type, even more now. He wished not to hear a damn word from anyone. If he carried out the sentence without speaking to anyone he'd be completely content.

Before he could turn into the aisle he observed danger approaching.

"Fuck." From head on marched a troublesome trio. The young man in front had a gold rag twisted around his head; a guy behind him had red rags tied around his wrists. Gerald instantly perceived them as members of the Peoples organization; what set he didn't know. They obviously had it in for him as their expressions displayed animosity.

After stepping into Gerald's face, the leader of the pack spoke, "This him?"

"Yeah," replied Will, the smallest one in the trio. He locked on Gerald with dreadful eyes, fists balled tightly.

The man upfront was simply known as V. He stood tall with a toned framed, famed for his vicious knocked out punch. Repping the CVL nation with pride, the attempted murder of an enemy on the south side of Chicago landed him a ten year stay. After a few months he was deported to Jackson, Michigan due to overcrowding in the Illinois prison system.
With eight more years in his term, V planned to live just as wreckless as he did on the outside.

"So you the nigga shot lil Marky?" This was too good to be true in V's eyes. They'd searched high and low for Gerald, vowing vengeance for paralyzing their partner, permenantly confining him to the use of a wheelchair.

Gerald maintained silence, gazing the hostile hoodlum straight in the eyes. The pressure was on, and once again he saw no way out of the situation. You don't walk away from a confrontation on the streets, definitely not in prison. He scanned the man's body for sensitive pressure points, thinking of where to strike first.

V then continued, "I swore revenge on you man. Now ... I spit on yo grave." He reached down deep within the bowels of his tainted lungs to form a most disgusting glob of saliva, spewing it right in Gerald's face.
Before the grin was completed V's forehead was bashed with the lunch tray, streaming pasta oozed down his face. The stinging shot took him by surprise, wobbling him back, weakening his knees then crumbling him to the floor.

The crowd roared in shocking ovation, impressed by Gerald's timely reaction. The red wrists man then rushed with haste, only to be flung over Gerald's back like a professional wrestler. He slammed down hard, on the canvas, grasping at his back.









Gerald then glared into the disturbed eyes of Will, daring him to follow the suite of his friends. The youngster wished to claim retribution but but stood stunned by Gerald's Chuck Norris imitation.

Loud "Uh Oh's" and "All shit's" came from the audience. Gerald looked up to find the intimidating figure of Big Lester approaching . The man stood tall at 275 lbs of frightening muscle, menacing twenty inch biceps capable of popping heads.

"Hell naw," Gerald thought to himself. He'd been in many competitive brawls but never had he stared into the eyes of such a beastly foe. Running was no option but pain was. Even if he happened to score an upset victory he would certainly leave this one battered and brusied.

Just for a split second Gerald took his eyes from the target at hand and noticed Pedro seated off to the side of him. He watched Gerald with intrigue as his partners were quite amped in preparation.

Will stepped aside and allowed his comrade, Big Lester to do the talking.
"I couldn't finish lunch fast enough," Big Lester spoke with intensity, bulging muscles of his neck stretching as he worked the vocal cords. "I been waitin' on this shit all day."

Gerald stared up at the towering man like David to Goliath. With his shoulder at far from a hundred percent he realized that chances were slim. Yet and still he would be punked by no one. The pride inside simply wouldn't allow it.

Why not take the first shot? Big Lester was just waiting. Summoning all his mite Gerald swung with a left, hoping his secondary punch would be enough. A fist connected solid with Lester's big chin, turning his head momentarily. Big Lester slowly tilted his neck back, staring Gerald in the eye. He cracked a disturbed smile then gave Gerald a swift backhand to the face, knocking him to the floor.

"Shit." The side of his face carried a horrible sting, leaving a welt across the cheek. He wished to grab and caress the wounded area but there was no time. Gerald had to get up fast. Before he could lift himself a devastating boot smashed into his rib cage.

"Ahh!" Gerald went to clutch his side when another hard boot damaged his ribs.

"Get up," Big Lester growled. "Fight like a man."

Gerald crawled over the hard floor in absolute anguish, clutching his ribs. He struggled to attain oxygen, like he'd just lit up a whole pack of cigarettes. This could be it right here. Never had he been so vulnerable. If Gerald didn't defend himself soon Big Lester was liable to beat him to death.

With all the confidence in the world Big Lester allowed Gerald to stand, eager to knock the man back on his ass. "That's it ... come on now."

Gerald wobbled to his feet, shaking the vision clear. Darkness filled the room as he saw nothing but Big Lester in his path, standing tall like a mighty red oak. But Gerald wouldn't quit just yet. He still had his wits about him, a pounding pulse displayed his life force. Destined to make an impact he rushed the enormous beast with lightning speed. A swift jab from the right crushed Big Lester's jaw, forcing him back a few steps. The quick blow caused a bit of damage to his foe but perhaps more to Gerald's shoulder. After hearing the crackling of bones he was sure he'd dislocated it.

That was it ... everything he had. Gerald stood slumped over, useless shoulder just hanging. He looked up to find Big Lester slowly approaching in a rage of his own. Gerald was then snatched up like a defenselss prey, hoisted into the air as a set of massive pythons choked his abdomen anaconda style. Seeping oxygen at a rapid rate he began to lose conscience. Big Lester clasped his huge hands at the top of Gerald's spine, squeezing the very life from his body. Acting on survival instinct Gerald lunged forward with his teeth and snagged a piece of Lester's skin from his nose.

"Ah fuck!" Watching blood rush down into his hands Big Lester dropped his enemy, puzzled at the unorthodox move. Furious, he slapped Gerald with another vicious backhand, dropping him hard on the back of his head.

The crowd went completely silent as Gerald hit with a gruesome thud. He stared up into the bright lights of the cafeteria ceiling, dazed and confused. An ear pressed against the filthy floor, singing a tune similar to the whistling of a sea shell.

Pedro watched in awe as Gerald lay there battered. Big Lester moved in for the kill, prepared to finish G Dogg off once and for all. Pedro leaped from his seat, knowing that too many more of the sized 15 boots could be Gerald's demise. As convenenient as it sounded Pedro just couldn't allow it. He grabbed a firm hold of Big Lester's tree trunk arm.

"Big Les ... that's enough."

"You defendin' this bitch?" Big Lester glared back at Pedro with angry eyes, almost daring him to defend Gerald's honor. He considered Pedro a true friend in the joint but as of now he was ready to tear the head from his shoulders for interferring.

"That's enough man," said Pedro. "What, you gone kill him? You need ten more years on top of the five you got?"

Pedro then looked down on his fallen foe with folded arms. "Ain't that a shame. Knocked the fuck out already. Couple more of Lester's big ass feet ... might have been the end of your ass bro." He leaned down into Gerald's face. "You know what I say? I say you owe me one."

Smith, a cock armed guard stood at the cafeteria's entrance with a partner, deceitful grin on his face. A failed college football player, Smith dished his misfortunes upon the inmates, one of the dirtiest employees from the Michigan Department of Corrections.

"I told you he was through," Smith extended a palm and accepted a few bills from his co worker. He made a small fortune betting on brawls in Jackson Prison, even igniting a few to sweeten the pot for himself.

Pedro looked over to the guards and shook his head. In a matter of minutes Gerald could've been killed by Big Lester's assault. Pedro witnessed enough murder in the streets ... he wished to see no more; even if it was a man he hated ...

Chapter 5.75: Eve of Freedom

1,050 days later ...

Gerald awoke in absolute fear, snapping up and staring about the dark cell. His shirt was damp, perspiration slid down his forehead. "Shit." He tried to calm himself, realizing that the horrific illusion was only a nightmare.

"What's goin' on up there," called Pedro from the bottom bunk.

Still sorting through the gruesome images, Gerald didn't reply. The dreamed appeared so real. He recalled gazing up at blurry images of his killers. Tai, Mark, G Loc and Tone hovered with semi automatic weapons still blazing at the barells. Similiar to a movie the view sank and Gerald saw himself laying deceased on the floor. Trails of bullets decorated his chest, forming a bloody six point star, the symbol of his once highly acclaimed gang nation.









"You straight man," asked Pedro, growing concerned.

"I'm straight," Gerald finally answered. "I was just trippin' for a minute."

"Alright. Take your ass back to sleep and stop shaking the bed."

Gerald took a deep breath in attempts to gather himself. In a matter of hours he'd be a free man yet he knew the demons wouldn't stop their pursuit. He just couldn't seem to shake them; so many memories, filled with so much sin.


Today was it; Gerald's last full day in the yard. He gazed around at the hopeless souls, not enving them in the least. The majority of the inmates still had lengthy sentences to carry out.

Standing beside Gerald, Pedro looked up at him and spoke, "I can't believe you cut your hair bro."

Somewhat insecure about the new look, Gerald ran a palm over his close shaved head. "I had to man. It's gon' be hard enough for a nigga to find a job. Braids and tatoos don't make it no better."

"I hear that shit," Pedro complied.

To their surprise Gerald and Pedro had grown close over the years. They discovered a common bond in Tee Santana, a member of the Latin Kings who befriended them both. They shared legendary stories of Santana's strong will and preserverence on the field. Both were pain stricken when the fearless thug was murdered in cold blood on the streets of Flint, Michigan. On a desperate mission for revenge, Pedro was halted by state troopers along the I-96 expressway where he was found with a large quantity of marijuana and a fierce AK 47, the illegal assault rifle that seized his freedom for up to seven years.

"So you're a free man tomorrow," Pedro continued. "What's on the agenda?"

"Hopefully some money," Gerald answered. "A lil pussy wouldn't hurt either." He and Pedro had a good laugh. Never in a million years could he ever imagine befriending an ex nemesis, a man he once wished to behead. But every since the incident in the cafeteria Pedro had been nothing but true. He informed his affiliates from the Bloods and Peoples organization that Gerald was off limits. Of course he took a bit of flack, some just couldn't find it in themselves to forgive and forget G-Dogg's wrong doings. But Pedro's words were to be heeded. Many realized that it was much more healthier to be aligned with the manical Mexican than siding against him.

"Whatever you do ...," Pedro fired up a menthol cigarette. "Stay away from this shit. I mean the gangs, guns ... whatever's gonna get you back in this place. Unless you can do it safely that is. Even then ... don't be too greedy."

Gerald nodded. "I think I've had my share of greed. I've been done with this gang shit before I even stepped foot in here. It was just kinda hard to shake ... you know?"

"Trust me G, I know."

The time for change had come; long overdue in Gerald's eyes. Love and admiration for his Folks was deeply embedded within his heart, nothing could delete that. Yet and still the wreckless days of senseless banging were behind him; hopefully the malicious killing too. Gerald figured to do away some other bad habits as well. But as Pedro stood there blowing trails of hazardous smoke Gerald's lungs just couldn't contain themselves.

Never had he wished to give up the cancer sticks until a few days ago. Gerald found himself coughing up disgusting piles of flem lately, realizing what bad shape his lungs were in. He believed firmly that had he not been so winded there was a better chance of contending with Big Lester.

Gerald viewed Pedro's flaming cigarette with craved eyes, damning the addictive nicotine chemical that had him strung out like a fiend to a rock. His last puff was over twenty four hours ago and up to this point Gerald felt as if he did a swell job resisting.

"Hey Dro, let me get ya backs on that square."

Pedro took a deep puff and shook his head. "I can't wait until your ass gets outta here. You been smokin' me out all week."

"My bad," Gerald apologized. "I thought I could hold out. I ain't never been strong on that will power shit."

"No shit." Pedro enjoyed another toke then passed more than half of the cigarette to his partner.

Gerald accepted and embraced the smoke, bringing a false sense of satisfaction to his lungs. He then stared across the yard. "I should go holla at Gucci. That nigga owe me two packs."

"Good luck wit that shit," said Pedro.

Knowing Pedro's opinion of Gucci, Gerald simply walked off and approached the group across the yard. Gucci was one of the few Crip members serving time in the facility. His groups's association with Gerald's Folks introduced the two bangers back in 1990. The nationally organizations found familiarity in way of the enemy and assembled a powerful group that stretched fr0m Chicago through the small town of Benton Harbor, a treacherous borderline of Illinois and Michigan, notorious for gang actibity.

Gucci pranced pranced his way through the halls of Jackson Prison just over a year ago. He boasted highly of the convicted charge, savagely gunning down two Bloods members as they sat half baked in their vehicle, guard lowered with no warnings of an attack.

Gerald found Gucci posted with a flock of Folks at the weightlifting station. "What's up Gucci."

"G Dogg. What can I do for you?"

"Why don't you let me hold onto a couple of squares," Gerald asked. "I'm outta here tomorrow so a few'll do."

Gucci chuckled in Gerald's face. While he once carried loads of admiration and respect for his comrade in blue Gucci was far from fond of Gerald's relationship with Pedro. Even though Gerald saved him from the heionus attack of a few Vice Lords on the inside, Gucci just couldn't get over the color barrier. He hated and Bloods and Peoples for a valid reason, nothing could ever change that.

"Ya'll hear that," Gucci spoke to his crew. "G Dogg got one more day in the joint. Guess we should just let him ride out smooth." The gang laughed, feeding off Gucci's negativity.

Gucci carried on, "What's the matter G? Bitch boy won't share his smoke with you. Heard ya'll share everything else."

"You got jokes." Gerald tried to remain as level headed as possible.
"Look cuz, I'm overlookin' the two packs you owe me. Why you being all hostile and shit?"

Gucci gave a smug cackle, growing more arrogant by the second. He looked back at his clan of Disciples and Locs, tempting ole G Dogg into the battle. "Ain't that a bitch. G Dogg down wit us today. Guess he tied of hangin' them ole dread ass bitches."

"False flaggin' ass nigga," spoke a voice from behind Gucci.

"Here I go again." Gerald’s light brown skin was a magnet to drama. He just couldn’t seem to evade it, forever tagged thug due to his malicious past.

Gucci looked on with a twisted grin. "Damn cuz. Seems you ain’t too popular wit the G’s no mo." He and his band of caged misfits planned to send Gerald off with a bang, make him regret the traitorous affiliation with Pedro and his Peoples. Unfortunately for G Dogg, he walked right into Gucci’s trap.

Over three hundred pounds of Olympic slapped the weight rack with fury. On cue Gucci’s crew parted as Crazy Bear sat up on the bench. Like a raving mad man the long time L.O.C. member had been vigorously pumping iron in preparation of the inevitable battle with Big Lester; the irresistible force against the unmoveable object. While he wasn’t as huge as Lester, Crazy Bear was just as menacing. He’d constructed a thick, linebacker neck that appeared indestructible to hardest steel shot.

"Know what I say Guc?" Crazy Bear slowly ascended from the bench and approached Gerald with a glare of death. "I say this nigga always been a bitch." His chiseled mid section glistened from the intense iron pumping session. Monstrous veins bulged from bulging muscles as if in mutation.
Gerald shook his head, deeming himself foolish for believing that his final day of incarceration would be as peachy as the first. Crazy Bear looked rather pissed, as if he’d had it in for Gerald for sometime. Once again Gerald was cornered; not against the wall but there was no way he’d run. Gucci and the others were liable to fight dirty; would probably put the boots to him if he hit the pavement. Gerald had to be swift and as strategic as ever.

With the incredible reach of lanky prize fighter Crazy Bear struck with a thunderous fist, dropping Gerald on his ass in an instant. "Oh shit." His view in a scrambled blur, Gerald grabbed his nose, assuring that it wasn’t bashed from his face. He noticed Gucci and a few of his men circling like a flock of vultures.

"Come on G Dogg," antagonized Gucci, clapping his hands. "I know you got more than that in you. Rep yo nation nigga!"

Gerald distanced himself from the opposition and tried to gather his vision. Once again he’d been caught off guard, fists lowered, unprepared for an attack he saw coming from the start. He cursed himself while positioning in battle stance. Before Gerald could retaliate a rumbling herd rushed from behind.

"What the ...?" Gerald observed Gucci’s clan in retreat, slowly pacing backwards, concern in their eyes.

An energetic crowd zoomed past Gerald and clashed Gucci’s men with anxious fists, Big Lester, Will and several of Pedro’s associates. The gang brawl was on in fierce fashion, both sides pounding the hell out of each other. Gerald gasped when a mysterious hand clutched him at the collar.

"Get the fuck outta here," Pedro commanded, a devious grin on his face.
Gerald nodded and slipped from the madness as Pedro dashed into battle.

"Bout time," Gerald thought to himself as the prison guard unlocked the cell. He’d been awaiting Pedro’s return for over two hours since the bedlam occurred out in the yard. Due to the graphic nature of the altercation the entire facility had been placed on lockdown every since. Over thirty inmates interjected themselves into the chaos, several were badly wounded.

Gerald sprang from the top bunk and stood beside Pedro. "So what happened?"

"Aw, it ain’t shit," Pedro replied, tapping a fresh pack of cigarettes on his palm. "They was talkin’ bout throwin’ a nigga in the hole but they ain’t gon’ do shit." Pedro felt refreshed and reborn, sporting the black and blue shiner with pride.

"Good lookin’ out man," said Gerald with sincerity. "I mean that man."

"It ain’t shit." Pedro lit up a cigarette and handed Gerald his own. "You gettin’ outta here tomorrow. Gotta a chance to start over. Shit, it’ll be at least 2001 before they even think about lettin’ me see the free sun."

"How that appeal comin’," asked Gerald.

Pedro laughed. "Like the fine bitches come through this muthafucka. That’s how that shit comin’." He and Gerald both found humor in the comment. Pedro stuck his neck on the line for Gerald, realizing that had he been caught out in the yard it was bound to violate his parole and tamper with his release date. It was the least he could do. Gerald deserved a fresh start. Perhaps he could be an example to all of those who walked their shoes.

There was momentary silence as Gerald conceived Pedro’s loyalty. Never in a million years could he have predicated this; a man once viewed as the enemy had now become his truest friend. He would be forever grateful for the Latin man who was able to amputate the blackness of his heart and move on regardless of past disputes.

"Who would have ever thought," Pedro continued. "Gangsta Disciples and Latin Counts agreeing in harmony. Making the yard a safer place for gang bangers in a facilities across the nation." Pedro chuckled, realizing how far fetched the idea sounded.

Gerald shook his head. "I feel you. Trust me though ... it was a while before I let the shake lose at night."

"Don’t think I wasn’t ready for your ass, bro."

"I know you was," Gerald admitted.

"It is what it is. We was able to see past the bullshit. This fuck ass color barrier that’s killin’ off our kind man. You got the green light though G. You gotta chance to get out this shit. Live for life man ... for your kid."

"Fa sho," Gerald agreed. "I done looked death in the eye so many times it’s ridiculous. Gotta mean something."

"That’s real. Get out here on your feet broa. And if you ever need any help, give me a ring. I got peoples that’ll look out for you."

"Fa sho." Gerald extended his hand and he and Pedro completed a newly formed handshake, bringing the symbolic five and six point stars together in a meeting of unity, hoping one day it would promote peace throughout their organizations and those similar throughout the nation ...

Chapter 5: The Other Side Of Hell

Much to Gerald's chagrin the sentence was much more lenient than he anticipated. While the prosecutors originally tried to place the murders of G Loc and Tone on his head, they had no concrete or liquid evidence. They couldn't locate the murder weapon nor did they have a motive as the law coudln't connect Gerald with the victims, even though they were heavily affiliated via the gang world. Most importantly they had no witnesses. None of the residents from the complex could recall Gerald ever being there before.

Although Gerald was caught on the scene surrounded by rottening corpses the law just couldn't stick it to him as they pleased. With no weapon, reason or relation to the deceased he was nothing but a victim, just another marijuana fiend as he pleaded to the judge. There was enough dope on the premisce to draw a felony conviction so they blamed Gerald for being in the wrong place at the wrong time; the fact that he owed thousands in child support didn't help the cause either.

After five days of recovery Gerald was rushed out of the hospital. He had no form of insurance so they wished not to carry his burden. From there he was transported to the Wayne County Jail, where he awaited a measly five days to be sentenced for the crime. After the prejudice man in the black robe laid down the law Gerald was immediately shipped off to the infamous Jackson Prison Facility.

Walking through the dark halls with the menacing guard trailing, Gerald started to regret not fleeing the scene. He received a few nods but mostly cold stares from the neighboring prisoners. He realized the symbolic tatts over his body would give him an unwanted label, one that would stir up drama within the walls. The bandaged shoulder was liable to make him an easy prey for the opposition.









The stocky guard jiggled the keys inside and the cell door clinked open. "Hey essay," the guard spoke. "Your new fuck buddy's here." He smiled then closed the two inmates inside.

Gerald viewed his new roomate from the rear, watching as he sparked his cigarette with a match. "Oh shit." His heart suddenly raced at a bullet's speed, perspiration formed underneath his arms. He knew his enemies from anywhere, from all angles.

The inmate turned to face Gerald, cigarette hanging cool in his mouth. Recognizing his long time foe, Pedro smiled. "Well well. If it ain't G Dogg. This is just too sweet. Gonna be an interestin' day out in the yard tomorrow."

Gerald turned away and glared through the lonely bars. Being caged with an opponent who'd wounded him on the battlefield with intent to kill, he realized that the next three years of his life would be absolute terror, consequences of the life he led on the streets, the other side of hell ...

Chapter 4: Gerald's Way Out??

"Man that shit was live." From this day forth Tai was convinced that he wanted to live the life of a bonafide gangster. Already a problem child, he'd now evolved into a ruthless soul with no hope of return.

When the gang returned back to the Young Manor Tone was there waiting. He now sat at the table with Tai, Mark and G Loc.

"That's how we do it cuz," Mark bragged. "That crack shit a bad muthafucka. Shit'll turn ya most trusted customer straight to informer."

In the dark livingroom, Gerald chilled in an old recliner. He watched the foursome through worried eyes. Something about G Loc and his mysterious brother just wasn't right. He peeped straight through shady characters and G Loc defined it. Darkness filled his heart; Gerald detected mass treachery in his eyes. Apparently Tai and Mark weren't aware of it. Or maybe they were all in on it and he was the object of betrayal.

Gerald suddenly realized that he could no longer live life for a set or a so called "nation". Though he was never one to take orders from anyone, he played a major role in influencing many. Several looked up to him, simply carrying on the senseless tradition because of his glory. No more. His brother had already been taken, as if bitten by Dracula and awaiting his first kill for the full fledge effect. Gerald had to take hold of the curse, end the murderous tradition; for the sake of sweet Kayel. He thanked God she was too young to realize the monstrous man her father truly was.

"This just the beginning folks." G Loc took the floor, flaming cigarette between his lips. "From here ... the world is ours." On the floor beside G Loc's leg sat the most recent winnings. Under the vanity in the bathroom, Tai stumbled upon two ounces of Afghan marijuana and a quarter ki of cocaine.

"You done fucked up boy," Gerald thought to himself. He surveyed each character at the table with caution, studying everything from features to oral expressions. Wiggling himself from this wedge would be difficult. Gerald wanted no part of their "lets do this together" scheme. This struck him as a sign of maturity, finally able to think of himself. He bled so many tears, shed so much blood over supposed allies, giving his life when many of them wouldn't argue on his behalf.

"We gone do it right from here." Mark spoke in content. He always knew so much more existed than the slums of the Chi. The same opportunities existed their but he'd established so much of a buzz in the gang world that his identity had become terribly blemished. Mark was infamous for ruthless tactics, dreaded by his foes and envied by his associates.

"Hey G, what's up on this spade table?!" Mark was amped, ready to continue a victory roll into the next day with a crushing celebration of cards. He loved the sport of card gambling, even if there was nothing but pride on the line.

'Hell yeah, I want my rematch. Me and my brother."

Tone just nodded, a load of thoughts swimming his brain.

G Loc rocked his head to a set of imaginery drums, moving in his chair while toking hard on a cigarette. "Shii ... iit!" He banged his chest with a Tarazan fist, coughing up his lungs.

"Shame shame shame." Mark shook his head, shuffling the blue deck of cards. "I don't see why you even smoke that shit ... know yo ass got asmtha. All ya'll niggas need to quit them squares. Don't know what the hell they really put in that shit."

Tai spoke up, "Nicotine fool."

"Nigga ... what the fuck is nicotine? Tell me the active ingrediant in that shit."

Tai glanced around for a second, shrugged his shoulders and replied, "Smoke. Shit I don't know. What the fuck? Yo ass always tryin' to get all scientific and shit."

Mark smacked his lips. "I'm just tryin' to tell ya'll fools ... that shit ain't no good."

"This muthafucka been bangin' all his life, go around shootin' people and shit ... now he wanna play surgeon general and shit." Tai laughed at his cousin's warning.

"Hell yeah." G Loc attempted join in the roasting but was impeded by another pounding cough to the chest.

"There you go," said Mark, recalling so many familiar incidents. "Ole half a lung ass nigga."

"Man that shit hurt." G Loc pounded the right side of his chest, gurlging up mucus.

"Man," Tai spoke up. "That shit don't sound healthy cuz."

"I'll be back." G Loc left his chair, coughing his way into thin air.

Na, this ain't right at all. Gerald reached to his side for the secret weapon, the thunderous 357 that none of them knew about. In James Bond mode his thumb set back the hammer, giving an anxious slug the headstart.

"Man. We ain't gone have to worry bout the Vikki's ... this nigga gone have a damn lung attack in the middle of the field." Mark proceeded to shuffle the cards blindly, cutting them up a thousand different ways.

Not long after G Loc's departure did his huge brother, Tone disappear. Gerald sat back in discomfort. Shit was about to get hectic. He struggled with the issue of informing Tai of his suspicions. Before the decision had been made G Loc returned up front gagging hard, sneaky hand behind his back. With a sly grin puffing his cheeks he crept behind Mark's chair.

"Shit." Gerald grew more panicked after noticing Tone's menacing shadow in the dark kitchen. He wobbled his way up front with a deadly assault rifle in hand.

"Man ... you don't get that shit out my ear I'ma slob slap yo ass." Mark heard the revolver click in his ear but was worried in the least. He and the boys often played sick tricks with guns, pulling them out and scarying each other shitless.

"Sorry cuz, but this ain't no game here. Hands in the air." G Loc pressed the barell to the back of his friend's head, indicating the seriousness in the matter.

Mark wished to look behind him but didn't in fear of his brains being splattered. He couldn't believe it ... double crossed by his bestfriend. The worst part of it all was the fact that he now had his little cousin and Gerald caught up in his shit.

"What's up wit this shit Loc?"

G Loc answered, "It's the wool over ya eyes cuz. Sorry man but it just ain't enough of the cream to go around."

Tone now stood in front of the table, aim locked in on Tai's chest. He took immense pleasure in watching the youngster shiver in fright.

"Long as ya'll cooperate," G Loc continued. "Ya'll might just walk away from this shit. That go fa you too smooth. I ain't forgot about yo quiet ass." He then pointed the pistol in Gerald's direction. "Get ya muthafuckin' hands up."

"Can't believe this shit," Mark barked. "Nigga you now how many times I done save yo life?"

"Lets not live in the past cuz," said G Loc, still locked in on Gerald.

Gerald lifted one hand as the other situated the magnum. With the haste of Quick Draw he unleashed the steel and fired, rolling to his right and out of the recliner. The first bullet struck Tone in the side of the head, sending the ogre crashing over like an oak tree.

"Fuck!" G Loc took a few steps back and fired at least five rounds at Gerald. Mark seized the opportunity and freed his weapon from the front of his pants. He swung the chair back, hopped up and sent one right to his partner's forehead.

G Loc crashed against the wall then slowly sank into a seated position, arms twitching. Mark then pumped bullets into his chest, squeezing the trigger until G Loc ceased all movement.

"Shit." Tai glanced in the livingroom and saw Gerald stretched on the floor, clutching his shoulder. He dashed over to his fallen companion and kneeled down at his side.

"G ... you hit dog!"

Though he had been shot in the leg before this was never a feeling Gerald could get use to. The pain settling in his shoulder seemed to be even worse. "I'm sure I'll be alright," he tried to convince Tai.

"Come on man, we gotta get you out of here."

"Naw ... ya'll go ahead." Gerald saw this as his way out; an exit from a life that had been filled with nothing but violence and chaos. He'd killed men over pennies and meaningless colors, he'd taken from people just as poverty stricken as he. Why run anymore? Apparently he was destined to the path of ruins, a road that he knew would eventually lead to prison or his premature death.

"What?" Tai stared at his friend in confusion, tears forming in his eyes.

"Gone and get the fuck outta here man!" Gerald hardened his tone, hoping Tai could somehow comprehend his actions.

Sirens went off in the backgroud, rapidly approaching the scene. Mark stood at the table gathering all the contraband into the duffel bag. "Come Tai ... one time on the way."

Tai shook off the tears, terribly devastated. He realized that if Gerald was caught at the Young Manor the law would do everything in their power to charge him for the grizzly murders. Against his will he left Gerald' side and dashed for the exit.

With the duffel bag over his shoulder, Mark paused at the living room entrance, gazing down on Gerald with remorse. "You a true soldier G Dogg. I hope you doin' the right thing." He threw up his hand and formed an upward pitchfork with his fingers, showing Gerald a symbol of his respect.

Gerald returned the gesture and nodded. Mark then left him all alone. Gerald would simply lie there on the floor, waiting for the men in blue to rescue him from the crime scene; put an end to his ways of havoc ...

Chapter 3.75: In the Wake Of Betrayal

Twelve hours of not smoking went sailing down the drain as Gerald stood out on the balcony. He hadn't opted the idea of quiting, there was only three menthol cigarettes left in the pack and up to this point he couldn't afford another. But right now he stood there smoking like a fiend, burning the cancerous fire down to the filter.

"What's up man." Tai joined his friend on the balcony. "Why you actin' all shy?"

Gerald shook his head, amazed that he was foolish enough to tag along. After retreating back to Mark and G Loc's spot at the Young Manor they dumped the contents of the mysterious duffel bag onto the floor ... a thousand dollars in cash and a quick spitting Tec-9.

"Man you got me up in this bullshit," snapped Gerald. "We just split a gee five ways. That's two hundred dollars cuz. We damn sure can't share a fuckin' gun. I ain't in fuckin' high school Tai."

Tai had grown tired of Gerald's complaints and resistence. "Come on man. That's a easy two hundred. Shit ... yo ass ain't even do nothing."

For a quick second Gerald actually thought of launching Tai over the rail to watch him plummet the full five stories. "That shit just ain't worth me standin' right in front of a murder. They could've handled that shit and kept the change for they self."

"Look at you man. You talkin' like you rich or some shit. Last I heard yo ass was strugglin'. Anyway man ... the big lick goin' down tonight. Some slob ass niggas on the east side. You down or what?" Tai walked inside having said his piece. He hoped his partner wouldn't bitch up on him. It would be next to impossible to convince Mark and his gang to just let Gerald walk away.

Three hours flew by and the sunshine began to wrap up it's role for the day. Once again Gerald had been persuaded into another dangerous mission; one Tai called the ultimate come up. According to the group a team of bangers had recently migrated from the west coast to set up shop. In very short time they established a small following as crack clients flocked to the rocks.

Gerald's disdain to the Bloods organization made it that much easier to accept. He hated the very ground they walked, each and every last one of them. The majority of his wars back in the Chi were against Lords and Kings but the YBG's got the best of Gerald and his disciples on a few occasions. How could he forget that horrific day when the red station wagon rolled undetected down Halsted in the midst of an open fire hydrate hosedown? His best friend Rodney took six rounds to his chest, ceasing his life just like that. Gerald swore vengeance but never came upon the accussed again. Now he would dish sweet retribution to their kind.

"Come on, drop it," Mark dared. "Ya'll about to be set anyway." He played the spade game with intensity, adrenaline flowing in preparation for the upcoming heist. His toned arms pumped as he held his card in anticpation, joint dangling from his mouth.

Tai dropped a ten of spades to the table and watched it crushed by the mighty king.

"Ah shit," Tai whined as he and G Loc had been defeated again. It was only four of them now; Tone took off with no explanation. Loc said his brother wasn't needed for the job, joking that Tone's fat ass would only slow them down. Of course this made Gerald paranoid about their motives. But as of now he was knee deep within the shit.

"Ya'll sorry." Mark gathered the blue playing cards together. "Enough whippin' on ya'll ass ... it's about that time."

"Let's do it," said Tai, eager.

Gerald sighed and fired up a borrowed cigarette from G Loc. The moment was now ... time to kill again.

The destination called for a trip to east Detroit. Gerald had been in the city for almost two years now and had never been in the area. But he was well aware of the gruesome tales. People from the west spoke of their neighbor's land as if it were some forsaken turf, cursed by the devil himself, just as those from the east prejudged the west.

The clan of devious, money starved bangers parked Tai's raggedy Horizon around the corner on Chene St. Like St. Nick, slick and swift in the night they swept through the Martin Luther King housing project and found the targeted residence ... apartment number 311.

Gerald and his newfound assailants were up for the task, black masks covering their faces in the outlaw style of Jesse James, accept G Loc who elected to where blue. The 12 gage was held firmly against Gerald's leg, barrel touching the ground. Mark was armed with a Glock 17, Tai strapped up with a small 25 caliber and G Loc concealed the 9 millimeter in the front of his khakis.

The silohoutee of a naked, shapely female enticed them through an unsuspecting shade, halting all movement as she danced seductively.

Still young in the game, Tai stood mesmerized, knowing he'd be distracted at the sight if he didn't get it together real soon. He snapped himself free of the tempting image to get his head right.

The gang huddled together and Mark whispered, "It's on now cuz. All we gotta do is kick the door down and the future's in our hands."

Feeling no need in any further procrastination, Gerald took charge. He grasped the gage in firing position then kicked in the door with authority as if he were a member of the narcotics squad; in a sense he actually was.

Mark and the others stormed in behind him. The first unfortunate soul in Gerald's path was the lovely young girl. So deathly shocked at the sight of the intruders she didn't even bother covering her nude frame. Before a good scream escaped her mouth Gerald dished out a pair of violent bullets. From the barell of the shotgun spewed a shell and out of it spat a team of buckshots that spread out before blasting the girl's body with vicious inpact, blowing her back a few feet, dismembering a forearm with ease.

Bobby sat on the couch with his cousin June, mouths open as they'd been caught completely off guard.

G Loc and Tai headed for the rear of the apartment while Gerald and Mark manned the situation up front. Red bandana wrapped on his head, jeans unbuttoned, June sat there trembling in fear. Just like that his life was in crave jeopardy. He, Ben and Bonny were all speaking of the move one day. Intuition told June to stay with his clique back in Inglewood. But Detroit was the proper lick; they had connections; family.

Bobby on the other hand wasn't so shaken. As a dedicated soldier of the streets he had stared death directly on numerous ocassions. To say they'd been caught with their pants down was a major understatement. Yet and still even in the eye of the reaper Bobby would go out with the honor of decorated hood hero.

"What the fuck is this about?!" Bobby wouldn't change regardless of the circumstances. In the face of death he wished to make his final statements.

"Fuck it look like?!" Mark represented his nation to the fullest. Just gazing down on the opposition in their flaunting colors disgusted him. He and his crew snatched the advantage for their side in the nationwide battle. In his eyes Bobby and June didn't deserve to breath the same air as his kind.

"Maybe this'll get ya mind traveling." To Gerald's surprise Mark let off a round and caved in June's skull, sending him toppling over on the couch. "Now can we get to business?" Mark held the smoking pistol with his arm slightly trembling.

Tai searched the hall closet and bathroom while G Loc paused at the bedroom entrance. There he found a young beauty reaching underneath a mattress on the floor, probably in search of a weapon. Even in loose fitting jogging pants her bottom made it's presence, shining with pride in the flaming red color.

"What's the rush baby girl?"

G Loc's sadistic tone startled her beyond belief. At seventeen years of age April thought she was pretty tough. The ghetto chicks at Kettering high were on a rampage and she'd had enough. Aligning herself with some original gangsters from California was just the thing needed to ascend her to an authorative status. All she had to do was get plastered and plugged by a few gang members; certainly much more affection than the walls of her home provided.

"Stand yo ass up," G Loc used the menacing weapon to lift April to her feet. She looked so innocent, so sweet. He would've loved to manipulate her tender emotions and transform her into a G-Queen. She wouldn't have to fuck anyone but him and G Loc could make it happen. Young April would get all the respect in the world ... at least within their set.

"You comin' wit me." He tilted his head, motioning the young girl 's presence before him. How could April resist? She heard the gunfire up front. More than likely one of the cute thugs she found so appealing was lying in a pool of blood; possibly even her girl Jessica.

"Stand yo ass up." Time elasped quickly and Mark felt they were getting nowhere.

Relucant, Bobby stood to his feet, his expression sour.

"I ain't got time to play wit you cuz," Mark began. "Where the muthafuckin' dope at?"

Bobby giggled long and hard, perhaps in frustration, knowing his death was in the near future. "What dope? You niggas came here fa dope?!"

Mark found no humor in the comment. He cocked his arm back for a deep swing and bashed Bobby in the nose with the frame of his gun.

"Fuck." Bobby fell back on the couch. Blood poured from his nose in the fashion of a fountain. He wiped some of it on his hands then smeared it across the breast of his red and black checkered flannel.

"Gone and kill me muthafucka," said Bobby. There was no defending himself, no talking his way out of this one.

Gerald observed G Loc escorting the young girl up front, gun shoved in her ear. Tai then dashed into the livingroom area with two shoe boxes in hand. "Jackpot." Tai's ear to ear grin indicated success. Something of extreme value must've been in those boxes.

"Nuff said." Mark glanced at Gerald; their eyes carried a similiar glare of evil. Gerald then rocked and pumped one into Bobby's chest, Mark sent one to his dome, bringing his thoughts to the surface.

"Alright. We out." Mark spoke with authority, gazing down on the corpse with twisted pleasure.

Tai sprinted outside, Gerald followed. "Hey Loc ... we out." Mark looked over to find G Loc occupied with his own sick fetish. He simply shook his head and walked out of the apartment.

April sopped the wall with tears as G Loc pressed hard against her back, erect penis poking at her spine. "Oh yeah. You's a fine lil slob bitch ain't you? With the gun in one hand G Loc unbuckled his belt and unleashed himself, slapping it against her naked rear as her pants were pulled to the ankles.

"Wish I could take you with me," he continued, spewing his sickness into her ears. "But ya time is up baby girl." He then eased away slowly, dry stroking himself while peering at April's ample bottom. Like a heartless cadet on a foreign firing squad he lifted and splattered her brains against the wall in one shot ...

Chapter 3.5: In the Wake of Greed

Gerald and Tai cruised the boulevard with tremors shifting their stomachs. They'd just drove pass a clan of young hoodlums posted on the corner, rivals to their set as indicated by the flaming red colors they daunted. A few of them waived their hands, forming signals of representaton after noticing Gerald's hard stare. He couldn't help but feel as if his shotgun wasn't close enough sitting wrapped up in the backseat.



"Man you gone fuck around and get us killed over here," Gerald complained, staring back at the group of hostile thugs.

After reaching a safe distance Tai's heart began to beat at a normal pace. "Shit. I ain't know he was stayin' over in a dread ass neighborhood."

They came to a halt in front of the Young Manor, a run down apartment complex that housed low income families and individuals. Located in the infamous Zone 8, the area was notorious for gang relations, robbery and homicide, and this all occured in the confinement of the building; the neighborhood was even worse.

Mark approached the vehicle with a smirk. He wore a stretched wife beater, forming the frame of his chiseled upper body; a black bandana twisted around his smoothly faded head, knot tied in the back.

"What's up cuz," Mark greeted Tai with their symbolic handshake then embraced.

"Man you crazy," asked Tai. "You know you over here in a hood filled with Lords and Bloods?"

"I don't give a fuck." Mark shrugged off the question. "I'm in town for a few days. Anybody really want that drama they can bring it."

Tai proceeded with an introduction, "Man you crazy. Anyway, this my homeboy G Dogg, I was tellin' you about. He real as they come cuz. G, this my cousin, Mark."

Mark and Gerald completed the handshake then gave a quick embrace.

"What's up Mark."

"G Dogg. The man himself." Mark and Gerald were similar in their ways of destruction, equal thirsts for blood. Both hailed from the dangerous streets of Chicago under the same nation. Though their sets parlayed just miles from each other the two had never come in contact. But Mark had heard the stories, like many in the town had. The legend of G Dogg ran so wildly that several began to think it was all a myth, no one set claiming thug could be that bad.

"Heard a lot about you man."

Gerald normally found that as a compliment but as of now he wasn't sure. He'd claimed fame in the streets for his courage and will to fight off the opposition, praised for the killer instinct that made him feared by even his peers. Even in Detroit Gerald couldn't shake a violent past that had been carved with broken bodies.

"It's a young cat out there tearin' up the game now," Mark carried on. "They call him Lil G-Dogg ... heard it's yo brother."

The mere thought delivered chills down his spine. Just before Gerald left for Detroit his little brother, Kev had stepped a foot deep into the game. He recalled the bruises on little Kevin's face after he had been beatened into the set. Kevin's glare of satisfaction was disturbing. Gerald had no one to blame but himself. He introduced Kev to the life when he was an immature fifteen year old, luring the boy's taste for thugged out fashion with matching blue and black everything, embedding symbolic hand gestures and stacking patterns into the youngster's brain. Gerald had even been bold enough to take little brother along for a driveby. Kevin was fortunate not to witness a murder that evening yet the echo of blasting bullets would haunt his once innocent ears forever.

"Shit, that ain't my brother," Gerald lied. He didn't know Mark from Swifty McVeigh at the time. Sure, Tai may have praised him but that didn't mean shit to Gerald. For the sake of his family back in Chicago he kept knowledge of his brother's affiliation a secret.

"Guess it's just something bout us G's then."

Tai grinned and gave a proud pose, stacking a few signs with soulfoul rhythm. "What's up big cuz? Good to see ya ass again and all that but what's up wit this lick? We bout ready to see some dough."

"Right, right." Mark nodded in agreement. "Look at yo lil ass. Tryin' to be a soldier. Glad you said somethin'. I was bout ready to jump on it by myself for a minute."


The time of havoc neared and Gerald felt very uneasy about the situation. Mark informed him that the shotgun's presence wouldn't be required, said he had everything under control. Gerald didn't sit well with that suggestion at all. For the most part he trusted Tai's instinct in his cousin; disciples of their kind were said to be able to rely upon one another.

The three of them walked the alley as Mark explained the scheme ahead. "Alright now ... this shit simple as hell. We hooked up wit a few G's round here a few months ago ... found out them niggas was shady. So today the double cross goin' down ... wit them on the losin' edge."

"How many of em is it," Tai inquired, kicking a crushed beer can along the glass riddled pavement like a hockey puck.

"It's gone be three of em," Mark answered. "The one holdin' the duffel bag ... he the unlucky bastard. The other two wit us."

Gerald nodded. It sounded pretty simple. His side certainly held the number advantage.


After crossing a residential street the trio started into another opening of the alley. They then spotted the opposing three down at the other end. "Alright," Mark began. "That's them right there. Remember ... my man's wit the bag is the target."

Gerald's finger iched with anticipation, disappointed that it had no trigger to squeeze. As of now he would have to rely on the haste of Mark and his comrades; that's if they could be trusted.

"It's about time you showed," Tone Barked. Bulking in at over three hundred pounds he was certainly the physical enforcer of the set. He often carried a mean expression with an ugly face even a loving mother had trouble accepting. His neck was thick and solid with rippled layers of sturdy skin.

"We was just about to call you from the Coney," continued Tone.

"Good thang ya'll didn't," said Mark. "We would've never got this business settled. He sniggered at the sly comment made towards his parnter. Tone was notorious for his barbaric appetite.

"Who the newcomers," asked G Loc, suspiciously staring over Gerald and Tai.

"This Tai and my homeboy G," Mark answered.

G Loc's expression spoke against his approval to their guest. He was labeled a lieutenant to his set back in the Chi-Town; tall, cocky and vain as ever. G Loc possessed loads of confidence, often leading him to believe that he was in deed the baddest man on the planet. Devotion to his gang bled deep throughout his veins; blue bandana tied around his head, blue khaki shirt and pants; he wore the look to a tee.

"What's up Mark? We gone make this transaction or what?" Terrance stood shaky in the midst of the other five. He didn't know G Loc and Tone that well, had barely any knowledge of Mark and knew didly about Gerald and Tai. Their only connection was the gang nation.

Though he wore the black bandana with assumed pride Terrence was in no way or shape shifting form cut out for the life. Those able to peep through the fine lines of game would label him soft. But those times were fast and if you didn't roll with one side you normally chose to ride with the other. Either that or get trampled over in the heinous crossfire. His neighborhood hatched baby gangsters at a rapid race and the proud colors of black and blue stretched mile upon mile down Joy Road.
Though his hood crawled with Gangsta Disciples, Terrance was simply pleased to be aligned with a few real G's from Chicago, where the nation originally evolved.

"You know it," Mark replied, slapping Terrance's palm and guiding him into the handshake. "You got that inventory?"

Terrance lifted the duffel bag. "Fa show. You got the trade off?"

Mark placed a finger underneath his chin as if in thought. "Let's see ... I think this where we might run into a problem." In a flash he unleashed the ghastly automatic pistol from the back of his waistline, locked in on Terrance's forehead.






Terrance clutched the bag into his chest, gazing at G Loc in hopes of an explanation. "What the fuck G? What's up wit ya boys?"

G Loc shrugged his shoulders. "Shit ... I don't know." With a swift draw he unveiled his pistol and placed the barrel to Terrance's temple, blowing his brains through the side of his head.

Gerald was no stranger to crime and gore but even he stood appalled at the site. These fuckers were heartless. They did this to someone they once considered an ally. He just imagined what could happen to him if things got out of hand.

"Fuck," Tai gasped, staring down at the mangled corpse, damn near ready to spew the cafeteria breakfast all over the concrete. In his mind Tai was one of the truest walking the streets. Yet and still he had never witnessed anything like this, terribly shaken.

Scanning the area for witnesses, G Loc commanded, "Don't just fuckin' stand there, get the bag!"

Closest and the most composed of his group, Mark grabbed the duffel bag and dashed off. The others followed, making a winded get away by hopping over a fences and cutting through a few backyards ...

Chapter 3: In the Wake of Death

The banging of the door snapped Gerald from the gruesome nightmare. He feared sleep, realizing it was his most vulnerable state. He came to the conclusion that year upon year of wrong doing was the liable cause for those haunting visions.



Gerald sat up on the couch, vision scrambled, head spinning from last night's fight with the blunt and beer. Another irrating knock struck the door, drawing a displeasing frown to the face.

"Hold the fuck up!" He then cleared the crust from his eyes and approached the door in yesterday's clothing. Gerald opened the door with attitude, not surprised to find Tai standing on his porch.

"Ain't yo ass suppose to be in school," asked Gerald, somewhat bothered by Tai's presence.

"Man fuck school," Tai replied. "They doin' the MEAP test. Ain't no need in me takin' it. I already got over a hundred abscences ... that's in one class."

Gerald shook his head, stepped aside and allowed Tai's entrance. Tai was certainly another one of America's troubled youth, a model of what every parent wanted their kid not to be.

Tai was rather popular with the girls, light complexion, short curly hair, always dressed to impress. But he never gave them any respect, changing any defined word of females to that of a bitch. Due to his cousin's status back in Chicago, Tai claimed affilation. Meeting Gerald helped his cause as he eventually rallied troops of youth and formed his own clan of disciples, infecting his high school with the disease of gang banging.

"Man it's almost noon and yo ass still sleep." Tai flopped down on the couch.

"Man fuck you," Gerald retaliated. "I ain't got no fuckin' classes to attend."

"Me neither, so what's up for the day?"

Gerald shook his head and sat on the arm of the couch. "What you mean?"

"I'm sayin ... what's up? You still on that job shit or you down to make some real money?"

He hated for Tai to run around the bush. Gerald was three years older than his friend and it was displayed in their behavior. Even with that factor he developed admiration for the youngster, partially kindled by Tai's interest and devotion to his set.

"What you talkin' bout man?" Gerald stumbled into the nearby kitchen. He certainly missed Terri in the cleaning department as the cooking area was a wreck. With working and roaming the streets on a frequent basis it was hard for him to tidy up the place; at least he believed it. Gerald opened the squealing door of the refrigirator and growled in dismay. There was no way he could concoct a filling meal with two eggs, a box of baking soda and the half full carton of milk.

"I'm talkin' bout a serious lick G." Tai took out a lighter and sparked the blunt tail that gave a tempting stare from the coffe table. He took a serious toke, smoke seeping up and stinging his eyes. "We need to move on to big and better shit cuz. Fuck those lil B and E's. Remember my cousin from Chicago I was tellin' you bout?"

"Yeah," Gerald replied, leaving the fridge with a rumbling belly. He then sat down beside Tai.

"That nigga got in town a couple days ago. He on it already man. Got a few connects here ... got some shit lined up fa us ... if you interested.

Gerald accepted the crippled roach, knowing there was only about two to three hits remaining; and that's if he was swift on the toke. He took one deep drag and tossed the ashed cigar paper beside an ashtray on the table. "Listen Tai ... I ain't tryin' to fuck around today. Shit serious round here. Don't have me out here on no lil kid ass bullshit."

"What?" Tai took offense, as he often did when Gerald played the card of maturity. "Look G ... this my family man. He ain't gone have us out here on no bullshit. I care about us comin' up cuz ... that's why I'm puttin' you up on it."

Considering the fact that he'd gone through so many allies, many of whom he couldn't trust, Gerald found it difficult to even trust Tai. But his pockets wouldn't lie for him, his conscience wouldn't conceal the truth. He murdered a man last night in the coldest of blood yet his need for cash had yet to be fulfilled.

Gerald gave in with little help from the silent angel on his shoulder. "What we gotta do cuz?"

"I'ma be real wit you man," admitted Tai. "My cuz told me a lil on the phone ... he ain't really wanna go into detail. He said come and see him so he can put us up on it."

In an instant Gerald was sold on the idea. What did he have to lose? His life was in shambles, identity pursued by the state of Michigan for an outstanding child support balance that quickly ascended over ten thousand dollars.

"Get up," Gerald instructed, tossing the three cushions of the couch to the floor. He then grabbed the twelve gage from the battered spring, his latest treasured piece of artilery. Laws were somewhat less strict in those days so he was able to legally purchase the firemarm even with a felony offense.





"That's I'm talkin' bout," Tai encouraged, often amazed at the site of destructive weapons. "Now you on my level."

"I ain't got all day," said Gerald in a stern tone. "Let's get on it."

Tai stepped out of the house onto the cracked concrete of the porch. Gerald followed, shotgun wrapped in a black garbage bag strapped over his shoulder.

"Good Lord," Tai complimented as an enticing woman passed his view. She had about five years on him but it wouldn't stop Tai. He gave his best attempt to snag every striking female that crossed his path. This one didn't have the most appealing face but her top half and lower portion stood intact, tight jeans perfectly scultping a beautiful bottom.

"I can't believe you man," Tai carried on. "All these hoes round here and you be in the crib beatin' ya meat ... wrapped up on Terri ass."

"Shut up," Gerald defended himself. "I done had mo pussy than you done dreamed about ... young buck." He had no choice but to divert his attention from Tai to the pummeled piece of shit sitting along the curb. The eight year old sky blue Horizon looked at his if it had spun it's last wheel, puffed it's last breath through the tail pipe. Gerald would've have swore he saw a few rusting fragments from the door shed before his eyes.

"Man," Gerald began a roasting of the car. "You talkin' bout doin' dirt in this muthafucka ... I swear I ain't pushin' this bitch down the street."

"Come on G. Baby blue gone be alright. I just got her tuned up yesterday."

Gerald found that rather hard to believe. The last he'd hard Tai couldn't even change a tire. "Whatever man."

He starred through the spider designed crack of the windshield with only a ray of hope. The tired vehicle turned over but just wouldn't start. Gerald believed the stressed out engine may have finally threw in the oil doused towel.

"Come on baby." Tai turned the key with force, mashing down on the gas pedal. "She was just ridin' smooth on the way over."

"Man. I can't believe I'm fuckin' around." Deep within Gerald saw this as a loud speaking omen, telling him to turn back and avoid the drama. Before he could protest any further the car started.

"Hell yeah," Tai shouted with excitement. "I knew you wouldn't let me down."

Gerald shook his head, bracing himself for the ride of his life as the Horizon sputtered down the block ...

Chapter 2: Amerikkka's Nightmare

Gerald sat in the confinement of his shack of a home with his mind in a prison of tortured thoughts. He could only hear the television due to the colorful squiggled lines dancing on the screen. If he wacked it on the side any harder the monitor was liable to fall from the frame.

He heard the anchor, Sherry Margolis wrapping up the news cast, bidding goodnight to the city. Gerald was a bit disappointed that the man he robbed and killed didn't make the airwaves. It was difficult to devote the deserving deceased their attention with all the chaos surrounding the city of Detroit. Oh well ... perhaps the big guy would make the early morning broadcast.

Gerald had his own woes to contend with. Thinking he could make a few grand off the sale of the expensive car, he drove over to Marti's chop shop. The boy's agreed of the vehicle's value but Marti couldn't risk retagging it ... not with all the blood stained over the door. They helped Gerald wipe away the prints and he was forced to ditch the car on the side of the road.

He then gave the best attempt at soothing his troubled soul. The last of his salvation sat before him on the battered coffee table. Gerald somberly crumbled the popcorn buds, unable to relish the wonderful aroma. Maybe this could ease the pain ... just a little. The 40 ounce bottle of beer certainly couldn't handle the depression. It just made him feel worse, damning himself for taking the stranger's life.

It had been a while since Gerald last fired a pistol ... even longer since he'd committed murder. It occurred back in Chicago, a city he felt blessed to leave. He actually didn't have much of a choice. After catching two stinging slugs in the leg, Gerald looked death directly in the eye, straight up the barell of Pedro's magnum. The ongoing, intense fued between their gangs finally boiled over to a deadly slugfest. Gerald's Folks weren't too accurate that day but Pedro's People were. He couldn't escape, left behind by his crew to die at the hands of another. For some reason compassion filled Pedro's heart. He glared Gerald directly in the eye, unable to pull the trigger on an enemy he dreaded more than any other.

With the pistol firmly locked on Gerald's chest, Pedro warned, "Crawl your ass outta here man. Don't let me see you anywhere. Not in my hood ... not in the streets ... not anywhere in the Chi."

A coward in the least but Gerald was also no fool. Pedro and his peeps were cruel enough to knock on the door and shoot him dead just for answering it. He could no longer place his life jeopardy. He especially couldn't continue to place his grandmother in harms way.

Though reluctant, his uncle Jesse in Detroit offered Gerald a room at his home. As they drove down the main roads it looked as if he were staring into a mirror image of his former city. The year was 1992 and gang banging spread like the plague to savagely sweep the streets of the midwest. Damn near every building on every corner in Detroit had been tagged with graffitti of numerous sets, very familiar to Gerald.

It was difficult but in the beginning Gerald was able to stray away from the life that caused him so much pain. He acquired a few new contacts in the form of affiliation but for the most part kept to himself. Within two months he found himself a decent gig as a dish washer at a popular restaraunt in downtown Detroit. The work was tedious; Gerald saw it as a form of modern slavery. Yet and still it gave him a sense of worth and inpedendence. More importantly it kept him from the malicious streets.

As the employment stint continued Gerald met Terri, a bright eyed, short haired hostess. The two of them hit off with at ease and in no time became a couple. Together they saved their hard earned funds and moved to a home in west Detroit. Truly in love, Gerald and Terri made plans of a prosperous future, filled with joys, wealth and children as their first born was on the way.

Young Kayel was only a little over a year old before chaos conlicted Gerald's relationship. His recent involvement with a few gang affiliates drove Terri the arms of another; actually a few, eventually leading to domestic disputes, some which became quite violent.

One too many black eyes and busted lips resulted in Terri packing up and taking their child to live with her mother. From their she and Gerald became bitter enemies, entangled in a brutal custody battle. Terri had no problem proving that Gerald wasn't a suitable parent for Kayel. His criminal record was blemished with several unfavorable charges, labeling him a career fuck up in the eyes of the Friend Of The Court.

Shortly after the judge spoke the final world Gerald received his first paycheck. In a blinded rage he confronted the manager, blaming him for the shortage of funds. But his boss was innocent of the crime. Over half of the normal sum had been thieved by the court, spitting towards the value of his hard work. There was no way he could survive at this pace, slaving for pennies while Terri reaped the benefits, knowing she wouldn't truly dedicated the entire child support check to little Kayel.

Gerald quit the job and elected to take it to the streets. But where would he start? Who could he actually turn to? He was never the prolific dope slanger like many of his thug friends. Back in Chicago he'd been arrested for possession of three grams of marijuana, promising to never take the route again. So Gerald figured to get his the best he knew how ... taking from the next; man or woman, young or old, strong to the feeble; he would get his.

Tagged as G-Dogg by his gang nation, Gerald stood as the true portrait of Amerikkka's nightmare; young, brown skinned, sagging pants, frizzy cornrolls or even worse the nappy afro, more fearful than that of Ben Wallace with gang tatoos and an incriminating rap sheet to match ...

Gangland Assassin - Chapter 1: Another one Bites the Dust

The rain's constant tapping of the pavement tamed his heart, silencing the piercing pound in his ear. Gerald laid eyes upon the perfect victim, the third in the past ten minutes. Rattled nerves drove him beyond the traditional wreck. He stood concealed within the dark shrubs, trembling in fear and the frigid sensation the rain brought forth.

"Come on ... this is it," he tried to convince himself. Gerald had already allowed two possible targets to drift off into their world of prosperity. This one sat paused at the exterior ATM machine for sometime; perhaps his account was overdrawn. If so he'd be not the least worthy of Gerald's time. But who knows? He may have just been slow, perhaps sluggish from attending a lavish party of expensive drinks and mingling.

"Come on G. This the one ... right here." Gerald was suddenly motivated by the growling of his stomach. He hadn't digested anything but water since earlier this morning. It wasn't the newest diet sensation but the lack of his pocket content. Three dollars and thirty cents didn't provide the most fulfilling meal. But after paying Mr. Taylor his four hundred and fifty dollars in rent that was all he had left ... still a month behind according to the lease agreement.

Convincing himself that he had no other choice Gerald sprang from the bushes, chrome 357 magnum swinging freely in his right hand. Like a professional thief he unveiled a slim jim from the back of his slacks and
jammed it in between the surface of the passenger window and door. He pulled up the lock mechanism with ease, opened the door and hopped inside.

"Alright now ... take it easy!" Gerald pressed the heater against the stranger's dome with nervous tension. He had been out in the parking lot for over an hour, cautiously hawking a probable victim. The grace of God allowed a few of them to drift away but he wouldn't blow this one.

"Hold on now," spoke the driver, holding up his hands in surrender. "You caught me at a bad time. I was just comin' to empty out my last twewnty dollars." He was a mammoth man, dressed in an expensive suit, snappy tie undone at the collar. Due to a set of massive hands he could probably snapped Gerald's puny neck. But the revolver placed the trumps in Gerald's palm, giving him the ultimate authority.

Gerald sniggers. "Yo last twenty dollars huh? Man y0u think I'm stupid?! As you were! Gon' and empty out the account!"

The driver groaned and pulled a platinum status debit card from the pocket of his expensive suit jacket. He fumbled and slid the plastic into the machine outside of the driver side window.

"Hurry up man," Gerald demanded.

"I can't make the machine go any faster." The driver became firm with his hijacker, almost convinced that he'd sail away more in debt but free of harm. He then punched the appropiate keys on the screen to withdraw as much cash as his account would allow. The driver accepted the cash, counted out ten twenty dollar bills and handed them to Gerald.

Gerald stared the money over with a look of insult. This measly change would barely get the electric company's attention. "Come on man ... stop bullshittin'."

The aggravated driver growled, "Jesus man, I gave you all I had. Why don't you just get the hell out of here!"

This man had nerves constructed of the strongest steel. How could he bad mouth an armed hooligan with a such a demanding tone? Gerald couldn't figure it either. Before he could respond the brave soul reached out for the pistol with a huge swiping paw.

"Shit! You crazy mutha ..." Gerald struggled with the massive man, finally freed the gun then fired!! The quick slug sent the enormous guy toppling to his right, brains hanging from his head.

"Shit." Gerald tried to calm himself but couldn't catch the pace of his heart. He breathed deeply, quickly. This was the last thing he needed or wanted to happen. What a big idiot! Why couldn't he just cooperate like the average sane vitim?

Thinking fast, Gerald reached over the dead man, opened the door and nudged his massive frame out onto the concrete. He slid behind the wheel, tossed the car in drive and mashed out, leaving the carcass behind in a cloud of precipitated fog ...