TRUST NO MAN

CHAPTER 1

It was an unseasonably cool, late summer night in the ATL. The jackmobile came to a quiet stop two houses away from the targeted address. Lonnie and Shotgun Pete—dressed in all black, wearing ski masks, and packing heat—quickly hopped out of the vehicle and rushed up on the porch of the house they had been scouting out for the past two weeks. Terrence aka Youngblood, who was a virgin in the stickup game, remained behind the wheel of the jackmobile—a plain, black Crown Victoria—ready to mash out as soon as his partners returned. He was only sixteen, but he was a rider and was looking to make a name for himself on the streets.

Steve, an up-and-coming dope boy in the city, was chillin’ on the living room sofa with his wifey and their newborn son when the front door came crashing in. Steve’s wifey let out a scream before the back end of Pete’s shotgun wickedly slammed against her mouth, knocking out two of her four golds, sending a spray of blood in the air. Make another sound, bitch, and I’ll blow ya mafuckin head off! barked Shotgun Pete, standing over the crumpled woman.

Lonnie had his Desert Eagle trained on Steve, who had his hands up in the air as if he was surrendering to the cops. Pussy nigga, you know what it is. Where the money and dope at?

I ain’t got no dope, man, replied Steve in a frightened voice. But I got a coupla thousand dollars.

Whop ! Lonnie smacked him with the burner. Nigga, you better have more than a coupla stacks! he warned. Or it’s gon’ get real ugly up in this bitch!

But Steve wasn’t lying; all he had at the crib was pocket money. He was getting some decent dough, and handling a coupla kilos at a time, but he never kept money or drugs at the suburban house in Decatur where he and his family laid their heads. Lonnie and Shotgun Pete wasn’t tryna hear that, though. They led Steve, his wifey, and their infant into the kitchen, where they found the two thousand dollars inside a flour can.

Ain’t no way this all the money this nigga got around here , Shotgun Pete thought.

Nigga, you wanna play games? I bet this will make you come off that safe, wherever it’s at. He snatched the baby from Steve’s girl’s grip and put it inside the microwave that was sitting on the counter. He then shut the microwave’s door and reached as if he was about to turn it on and microwave the baby. He was so geeked up on dust it made him heartless.

Wifey screamed. It was instinctive; a mother’s fear for her child’s life. Her scream was drowned out by the loud kaboom of Pete’s shotgun, and the splacka, splacka, splacka that followed from Lonnie’s Desert Eagle when Steve reacted to his woman’s head being blown off. Steve’s body was lifted in the air by the succession of shots, and came crashing down to the floor next to his wifey’s.

Kaboom! Shotgun Pete blasted a hole in Steve’s chest just to be sure he was dead. Made me get blood on my shit! he remarked, looking down at his shoes.

Let’s go! said Lonnie.

Before they ran out of the house, at least Lonnie had the compassion to take the baby out of the microwave and put him inside his bassinette.

What da fuck happen in there? I heard a—

Just drive, nigga! Shotgun Pete snapped, cutting off Youngblood’s questions as they drove off in the jackmobile. Shotgun Pete really didn’t like Youngblood, and he wanted to get at Youngblood’s girl. But he kept all that on the down low and fucked with Youngblood anyway, since Lonnie was feeding him.

Youngblood hadn’t violated Shotgun Pete in any way. Shotgun Pete was just a hater. He was jealous of the thouroughness he could sense in Youngblood—a thouroughness he lacked.

Lonnie and Shotgun Pete, who were both twenty seven years old, had known each other since their early teens. They had been robbing together for the past two years, but lately Shotgun Pete’s snorting habit had become a serious concern. Lonnie felt that dust made his partner unreliable, so he took it upon himself to add a third person to their team.

From now on, Youngblood is gonna roll with us, he announced two weeks ago without consulting Shotgun Pete first.

Why? It’s been just the two of us all this time, and shit been gravy. We don’t need another nigga eatin’ off our plate! Shotgun Pete complained. But Lonnie didn’t waver, and eventually Shotgun Pete hand conceded to Lonnie’s decision, though begrudgingly. I’ma roll with it, but Youngblood bet’not step on my toes. If Lonnie tries to replace me with that nigga, I know something! How he know Youngblood is about his business? That nigga’s name don’t make no noise.

As they dropped Youngblood off in front of his girl’s crib Pete said to himself, at least I’ll get more chances to holla at that nigga’s baby mama. They say she got some good pussy and a fool ass head game. He felt Youngblood’s baby mama wanted to give it up to him when he’d run into her in the hood, but the timing had never been right.

Youngblood stood outside of the apartment door in the Englewood projects in Southeast ATL, where he lived with his sixteen-year-old baby’s mama, Shan, her mother, and three younger brothers: Zack, age five; Lamar, age four; and Donte, age two. Youngblood took off the black sweatshirt and stuffed the ski mask inside his pants pocket. He didn’t want Shan all in his business. Poochie, Shan’s base head mama, let him in almost as soon as he knocked. He knew that Poochie was geeked up, as usual, because her eyes were big like saucers, and she kept licking her dry ass lips.

Loan me ten dollars, she begged as soon as he stepped through the door.

I ain’t got no money, Poochie, he said as he walked pass her.

Yo’ ass ain’t never got no damn money! You and Shan ain’t gon’ keep lying up in my shit making babies! cussed Poochie, mad because Youngblood wouldn’t give her any money to buy more crack.

Youngblood ignored Poochie and headed down the hall to the bedroom. Shan stirred awake as soon as Youngblood slid into bed. She angrily pushed his hand away when he tried to ease it between her thighs. I ain’t fuckin’ you, nigga. I know you been out ho hoppin,’ she accused, scooting damn near to the edge of the bed, away from him.

"Girl, you trippin’. Ain’t nobody been out ho hoppin’. You must be creepin’, ‘cause you always accusing me."

Whatever!

Oh, it’s like dat? You ain’t my bitch no more? he asked, pulling her back close to him. But she snatched away and scooted back to the edge of the bed.

If I’m a bitch, you a bitch nigga! said Shan. She was tryna start an argument so that she’d have an excuse to go hookup with her girls, Cita and them, tomorrow and go kick it with some ballers from the Westside. Shan was trifling like that.

When Youngblood had come home from the Youth Dentention Center almost a year ago, his moms, Ann, had already married some ex-military guy who Youngblood hated on sight. G.I. Joe had moved Ann and Toi, Youngblood’s younger sister, out of the hood. Two weeks after coming home from YDC, Youngblood had gotten kicked out the house by his mother’s new husband. Having no other family in the city, he went back to Englewood; those projects embraced him no matter what. That same day he bumped into Shan, his little childhood sweetheart. Back when they were little snot-nosed kids, Shan had enticed him to put his weener in her bun. He’d heard that she was out there now—legs open all-night like a drive-thru. But when he saw her on her front porch, looking like Serena Williams, Youngblood discounted all the rumors, he had to hit that.

Shan was game, too.

Her mom was a base head even then and let her teenage daughter have all-night, boy company. So, Youngblood layed up with Shan that first day, got sprung on the pussy, and never left. Ten months later, Shan had his son, Lil’ T—Terrence Jr.

A’ight, you still my boo? Youngblood asked, whispering in her ear while scooting over closer, reaching around and rubbing her nipples through the sheer nightgown.

Don’t be touchin’ me, boy! That other bitch must wouldn’t give you no pussy tonight.

Youngblood said to the back of her neck, still whispering in what he considered his sexy, thug tone, See, that’s where you got the game all wrong—you’re my one and only. One hand gently pinched a nipple, the other rubbed her thighs, and his dick was pressed hard against that junk in Shan’s trunk. He nibbled on the back of her neck and shoulders while his fingers opened her pussy lips. Damn, you’re hot, shawdy.

Stop…I…told…you…

You told me what? pressing two fingers down on her clit and rubbing in a circular motion.

Stop…nigga, Shan moaned.

Open your legs. Yeah, just like that.

Boy, you… finna… make … me… cum.

And? he whispered in her ear, still playing with her clit like she had taught him.

I should’ve…never…taught…uh…uh…shit…uh…

You gon’ come for me?

Yes.

Tell me then, he was rubbing her clit faster now.

I’ma…cum…for…you, Shan moaned. Then she came, shaking all over.

I thought you wanted me to stop, Youngblood teased.

Shut up!

Want me to eat your pussy from the back, like you taught me?

Yeah, you so nasty, she cooed, getting into position.

The next day people in the hood was talking about Steve and his lady being robbed and killed. Steve wasn’t from Englewood, but he was well known in the A because he was a flosser. Everybody in the projects was talking about the double murders, particularly, as it was reported in the news that the couple had been shot gunned to death. The whole hood knew that the use of a shotgun was Pete’s MO. People whispered their suspicions, but Shotgun Pete didn’t catch any heat from police about it.

The next lick went smooth. The three-man crew struck for thirty Gs and a quarter kilo of crack. For driving the get away car, Youngblood got five Gs and three ounces of hard. He took Shan and the baby shopping, and gave Poochie three-hundred dollars for food and bills. Then on second thought, he also gave her a half ounce of crack, otherwise, she would’ve bought some with the bill money. Youngblood hit his homey Murder Mike off with the other two and a half ounces at the low price of a thousand dollars. He could’ve broke the ounces down in five dollar rocks and made triple that amount, but slangin’ sacks wasn’t Youngblood’s hustle. He liked to get his money the fast way, the ski mask way.

Youngblood stashed a grand up under the dresser in Shan’s bedroom for hard times. A week later he tricked off most of the grand with a stripper at Club Nikki’s. When he was broke again he couldn’t remember what he had spent all of his loot on.

CHAPTER 2

The Popsicle blue BMW 325i was phat. Youngblood had just picked it up from being customized at Godfather’s; they specialized in bringing out the best in fly whips. He’d bought the used Beamer and put it in the shop to get tricked out and a new paint job. He’d just picked that pretty whip up from the shop an hour ago. Shan was in the passenger seat, Lil’ T in her lap. A coupla weeks ago, he and his stickup crew had done a home invasion that had netted him fifteen Gs and a whole bird. Just to get it off real quick, Youngblood sold the bird for fifteen, growing his stash to thirty stacks. Lonnie and Shotgun Pete had split much more between themselves. But Youngblood was satisfied with his smaller cut from their capers, for now. After all, his partners cased out the licks, and ran up in the houses; all he did was wait outside in the jackmobile, engine running.

Youngblood wanted to drive through dope traps and show off his new ride and his two-month old son to his dope slangin’ homeboys, but Shan said, Crazy ass boy, you ain’t taking my baby in no trap.

Shit, retorted Youngblood, my lil’ man ain’t scared to go in no trap, he’s gansta, he exclaimed proudly. He reached under the driver’s seat and retrieved a gat and laid it across his infant son, saying, You already strapped, ain’t you, lil’ man? Shan punched him in the shoulder.

Boy, move dat gun off him! You so damn crazy, she declared, smiling.

They were leaving Englewood, headed to Youngblood’s mother’s house in Haperville, so that she could finally see the baby. Youngblood honked his horn at Rich Kid, who was seated on the hood of a candy-painted ’64 Chevy Impala. Rich Kid was twenty-two and already Englewood-famous in the dope game. He was always tryna get Youngblood to slang dope for him. He peeped in Youngblood a thoroughness that few young niggas possessed. So far, Youngblood had declined to get down with Rich Kid’s crew of young trap stars.

Youngblood pulled up next to Rich Kid’s ’64 and rolled down his window. What’s up, big homie?

Must be you, shawdy, replied Rich Kid. I see you’re riding good.

Just tryna build my weight up.

I hear dat, lil’ pimp. What’s up, Shan?

Hey, she beamed like a bulb.

They pushed on to Youngblood’s people’s house out in the burbs. Shan had kept badgering Youngblood to take the baby to see his moms, until he had reluctantly given in. But he wasn’t enthusiastic about visiting his peeps, with the exception of his sister, Toi, who was younger than him by a year and a half. He didn’t fuck with Raymond, his mother’s husband, at all. And he was upset with his moms for taking sides with Raymond over him.

When they reached their destination, Youngblood didn’t bother turning down the loud, thumping gangsta rap music as he turned into the driveway.

Fuck Raymond.

They were met on the porch by Youngblood’s mother and Toi. The front door slammed shut, and they heard Raymond say, He ain’t welcome in this house! So they stood on the porch while his peeps got their first look at the baby.

Girl, how old are you? Youngblood’s mother asked Shan.

Sixteen.

Ann wanted to say, That’s a shame! but she was a teenager herself when she had Terrence and Toi. So, she shut up and looked hard at the baby, making sure it resembled her son, knowing young girls were quick to put a baby on a boy. But Lil’ T looked just like his daddy.

Raymond cracked the front door and called Ann back inside without acknowledging Youngblood or Shan.

Nice meeting you, Shan. Y’all leave y’alls phone number with Toi, she said, and then darted in the house.

Let’s go sit in the car, suggested Toi. It’s too cool out here for the baby.

Nah, we finna bounce, Youngblood said with attitude against his moms, not Toi. He gave Toi the phone numbers at Poochie’s house and slid her two hundred dollars, and advised her not to tell Raymond or their moms.

When they were headed back to the projects, Shan said, Your stepfather is sooo meannnn!

He’s my mama’s husband, but he ain’t shit to me! Youngblood made it clear.

He hated Raymond. He didn’t give a damn that Raymond was the first man to treat Ann good after a long succession of no-good, woman-beating niggas. Youngblood’s and Toi’s pops being the first and worst of them before he got murdered in the streets when they were still snot noses. It didn’t matter how good Raymond treated her. Youngblood felt his mama shouldn’t have chosen a man over her own son.

Over a three-day period, Youngblood splurged up the remainder of the thirty Gs he had left after buying the Beemer and having it tricked out. This time he had something to show for it. Besides the car, he had bought him and Shan a wardrobe, a new bedroom set, and a flat screen TV; some jewels, his name tattooed on his arm and on Shan’s behind; toys for Shan’s three little brothers; weed, shooting dice, and splurging at the strip clubs, using fake ID to get in. He spent thirty Gs faster than fall could turn into winter. He enjoyed it though, living Big Willie-style at age sixteen. His BMW drew the attention of all the young hoochies in the hood. Even the older chicks sweated him when he cruised through the city. It didn’t matter to them that he was but a juvenile; the mentality of the streets is if you get cheddar and take care of yourself you’re a man. Age ain’t nothing but a number.

Youngblood was at the crib chillin’, high of some bomb ass weed. He had let Shan use the Beemer to go to the mall with one of her dope boy chasin’ friends. Before she left, he had made her change out of stretch pants that fitted too damn tight, and showed off her stuff, into a pair of jeans. He didn’t really trust her with her friends, who he believed was always tryna hook her up with dudes behind his back. Plus, he couldn’t forget Shan’s reputations for having her legs open all night like a Quick Stop, before they had hooked up.

To play it safe, he made her take Lil’ T and her three little brothers to the mall with her, figuring they would cock block Shan from creeping.

Poochie came into the bedroom without knocking and sat on the bed where Youngblood lay. Loan me twenty dollars.

He could tell that she was geeked up. I ain’t got no money, Poochie.

Boy, stop being stingy and loan yo’ mother-in-law twenty dollars.

I told you, I ain’t got no money.

Gimme some money, I’ll do something for you, she said in a whisper, and then began rubbing his dick through his boxers as he lay across the bed.

You trippin’! He sat up, looking around to see if Shan was somewhere peeking to see if he was gonna take her mother up on her indecent offer. They had to be tryna test him.

But no, Poochie had his dick out and was stroking it, whispering, Let me suck it for you.

Before Youngblood could protest she had him inside her warm mouth, weakening his resistance. Slurping the dick like it was a Popsicle, Poochie asked, Does it feel good to you?

Instead of answering, Youngblood grabbed the back of her head, encouraging her to continue. With money to buy crack at stake, Poochie stepped to her business like a pro, proving that when it came down to giving up head she, like most base heads, had the game on lock. Poochie sucked the dick so good, Youngblood not only paid her twenty dollars, he tipped her an extra dub.

The next time Youngblood and Poochie found themselves alone in the apartment, he went into her bedroom after hearing her just getting out of the shower. She was drying off in front of her dresser mirror when Youngblood came into the bedroom.

Can’t you knock? she turned around, facing him, while covering with the towel. But Youngblood had gotten a good look at her thirty-three-year-old naked body.

Damn, Poochie, you phat down there! he commented, smiling like someone who was up to no good. He wasn’t lying, though. Poochie still had a fat pussy, even though crack had taken away her thickness and curves.

C’mon, Poochie, said Youngblood. Move that towel. Let a nigga see what you working with. You know I’ma break you off. He flashed a bankroll.

Boy, you better get yo’ ass out of my bedroom, Poochie rebuked. She had already told herself that she wasn’t fooling with her daughter’s baby’s daddy like that no more. She felt so bad about what they had done two days ago. She hadn’t touched the pipe since the day she sucked Youngblood off. After she came crashing down from her high, she cried over her indiscretion with her own daughter’s boyfriend.

Poochie had been so distraught over what she had done; she vowed to quit getting high. But that crack gorilla is not an easy one to get off your back. The past two nights Poochie had dreams about smoking a crack rock as big as a basketball, with a glass pipe the size of a saxophone. Now, the crack jones was calling her. But she wasn’t tricking with her daughter’s baby daddy again just to get money for a hit, she told herself.

Oh, it’s like that, huh? prodded Youngblood.

"Yep, just like that", Poochie retorted, tryna stand strong.

A’ight, Youngblood said.

He left the bedroom with visions of Poochie’s nakedness still fresh in his mind. He then left the house and went down the block to the dope trap. When he returned, he flashed two small baggies in Poochie’s face; each of them contained a twenty dollar rock.

Here you go. He tossed one of the baggies on the bed next to where Poochie sat in her bedroom lotioning her legs.

What’s this for? she asked, looking at the small baggie of crack, licking her lips. I told you I’m not finna do nothing with you.

It ain’t even like that, Poochie. That’s just on GP, ‘cause you a’ight with me.

And I ain’t gotta do nothing for it? she asked, suspicious of his sudden generosity.

Naw, you good. Youngblood gamed, knowing that after she took that first hit for the day she would do just about anything for the next one.

He watched as Poochie got out her glass pipe and did what she do. When the first hit was gone, Poochie sat there geeked up and wanting more. Lemme get that other sack in your hand, I’ll pay you for it when I get my check on the first.

Youngblood smiled, We can work something out right now.

Poochie didn’t respond at first, he guessed that she was wrestling with whatever morals she had left. But that crack jones pushed morality out the door. Poochie started taking off her shorts.

You bet’ not tell Shan, she said.

Youngblood was leaned up against the kitchen counter smoking a blunt as he chiefed it up with Lonnie inside the apartment of Lonnie’s lady, Delina, who lived in Englewood with her four year old twin sons, Byron and Ryon. Youngblood’s pants sagged off his boney ass the way young thugs sported ‘em. He looked like the rapper Tupac with braids. Shotgun Pete was at the table snorting coke. He’d been at it for a minute. The raw was so potent it had torn the skin inside his nose; blood ran from his nostril, but he was steady snorting.

They were going over last minute plans before they rode out on a caper. Youngblood kept tryna get one of his partners to switch roles with him tonight; he wanted to run up in the vic’s house while Lonnie or Shotgun Pete waited outside in the jackmobile. But neither Lonnie nor Shotgun Pete wanted to trust their life to Youngblood if something went wrong once they kicked in the door and ran up in the spot. Shotgun Pete had recounted several of his own foul-ups to Youngblood, just to hear how Youngblood would have handled shit had he been in his shoes.

You slippin’, Lonnie told Shotgun Pete. You talkin’ too damn much.

Win, lose, or draw, Lonnie never discussed capers once they were completed. To his way of thinking, what was done was done, and the only thing that could come from loose lips was an indictment.

That powder must be fuckin’ up this fool’s judgment , Lonnie mused. However, he had to admit, when it was time to pull out that steel and lay someone down, Shotgun Pete had never failed him.

Youngblood was so persistent about going inside on the caper that Lonnie promised he’d let him do it soon. But tonight, Youngblood would again be the driver.

Thirty minutes later, Lonnie knocked on the vic’s side door, and then he and Shotgun Pete, both ski-masked, stepped to the side, out of the vision of the peephole. If this ruse didn’t work they were prepared to kick in the door.

The sixty-year-old lady cracked the door. William? That you? her timid voice beckoned. William was her drug dealing, youngest son, the target of the caper.

Lonnie forced his way inside pushing the lady to the floor. He was followed closely by his partna who closed the door behind them. They stood in the kitchen where William’s twenty-year-old pregnant girlfriend stood at the sink startled.

They quickly duct tapped both women’s hands and feet, laid them on the kitchen floor. Shotgun Pete cracked open the pregnant girl’s forehead when she claimed not to know where William kept his stash. Ma got her old head cracked too, ‘cause she acted like she didn’t understand what a stash was. He then gagged their mouths. Shotgun Pete didn’t give a fuck that she was elderly, even when it appeared that she was on the verge of having a heart attack.

Lonnie searched the house while Shotgun Pete looked out of the living room window, in case William unexpectedly came home. Youngblood was parked a couple of houses down, but Shotgun wanted to watch his own back in case Youngblood wasn’t on point.

Youngblood was on post outside in the non-descript Crown Victoria, blending in with the night. While watching the block, he was thinking about the way Shan’s mama had put that pussy on him the other day. Yeah, Poochie was a crack ho, but she still had some good sex.

Damn!’ he said out loud when he saw William’s SUV pulling up in the driveway. He eased out the jackmobile, nine in hand, and hurriedly creeped up on the unsuspecting dope boy.

Lonnie heard a car pull into the driveway and hurried back downstairs to join forces with his shotgun-packing road dawg. They waited inside the darkened living room ready to surprise their prey.

Just as the discreet drug dealer put his key into the front door lock, William heard a rustle behind him and instinctively turned around. He saw a black-cladded figure ominously approaching. Not wanting to chance taking trouble inside the house, where his mama and lady were, and not strapped, William dashed to his right, leaped over the porch banister, and ran like hell.

Fuck! Youngblood cussed. He hadn’t even squeezed off a shot.

Yo, dawgs! Open up, it’s me! he furiously banged on the front door.

Recognizing Youngblood’s harried voice, Lonnie snatched opened the front door, dumbfounded.

Where’d he go? whispered Lonnie.

Youngblood pointed towards the backyard.

Lonnie looked towards the two duct-taped and gagged women. Watch them! he instructed Youngblood. Come on! he said to Shotgun Pete.

While Shotgun Pete and Lonnie raced behind the house to search for William, Youngblood robbed the two women of their jewelry. He had just stuffed the jewels inside his pockets when Lonnie ducked in and screamed, Let’s get out of here, shawdy!

When they got back to Delina’s apartment in the projects, Shotgun Pete was furious. He cussed and yelled at Youngblood so fiercely that they almost came to blows. Lonnie stepped between them, but minutes later they were at it again. Fortunately Delina and her sons were away.

Stupid ass, nigga! You fucked up the lick! Shotgun Pete stormed.

Fuck you, ugly ass mafucka! Youngblood retorted. I already said it was my bad; what you want…blood?

Back up, ‘fo I dump on you!

We can do this, nigga! they stood facing each other, cowboy style.

Chill! barked Lonnie. Both of y’all niggaz gimme y’all burners before y’all kill each other.

Shotgun Pete gave up his sawed-off.

Youngblood said, Shit! I’m scraight folks. Fuck that.

Once Lonnie calmed them both down, he explained to his young protégé how he had blown the lick, adding, You should’ve just let William come on inside, we was waiting on him. I told you how to react in that situation before I took you on the first lick with us, he reminded Youngblood.

Days later, Shotgun Pete was still heated. Youngblood had blown a lick that had taken months to scout out. Even though the stash hadn’t been inside the house, Lonnie and Shotgun Pete was sure that William had major coke stashed somewhere. Had Youngblood not frightened him and made him run off, once William came inside the house Lonnie and Shotgun Pete would’ve snatched him up and made him take them to his stash, leaving Youngblood at the house, holding William’s mother and his girl for ransom.

Well, it’s over now, dawg, Lonnie sighed, smoking a blunt. William gon’ be on alert from now on.

He probably done moved out that spot already, guessed Shotgun Pete, laying out a few lines of coke on a mirror. Man, that nigga Youngblood pussy! He ain’t even bust his gun.

Naw, man, Lonnie defended his protégé. Shawdy just fucked up, that’s all.

I’m telling you, that nigga ain’t ‘bout it, he tried to convince Lonnie as the two sat on Delina’s steps.

If Shotgun Pete really believed that their young partna was pussy or afraid to bust his gun, Youngblood squashed those concerns a few months later. Since the night of his fuck up, Youngblood had driven the getaway car on two other small capers without incident. He even