Love For The Game: Book One

Book One

By

Willie Dell Davis, IV

KUUNTAAR MUSIC MEDIA & www.lulu.com

Love For The Game: Book One

Copyright © 2012 by KUUNTAAR MUSIC MEDIA

Love For The Game: Book One

by Willie Dell Davis, IV

Printed in the United States of America

ISBN 978-1-10554-694-5

All rights reserved solely by the Author. The Author guarantees that all contents are original and do not infringe upon the legal rights of any other person or work. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without the permission of the Author.

www.lulu.com

KUUNTARR MUSIC MEDIA

This book is dedicated to first and foremost God who sits watching over me with my Grandparents, Willie Dell Davis Sr. and Mary Davis, Clifford Wesley Walker Sr. and Thelma L. Walker, my Mother, Ms. Penelope Lee Walker,

my Father, Dr. Willie Dell Davis, Jr., my Sisters, Ayana K. Allen, Wendolyn Delores Davis, Kathie Smith, Jackie Smith, Lori Smith, Debra Roper (R.I.P.) and my Brothers, Eric Smith and Larry Smith.

It’s also dedicated to my Cousins, Mary Johnson and Family, Caroline Sterling and Family, Tonya Davis and Family, Anthony Davis and Family. As well as The Warren Family (Alice, Tammy, Kesha, Helena, Chara and Jamar), The Barragan Family (Gilbert, Eusebio, Julia and Mary Ellen (R.I.P), The Bennet (Chris,the best Mother-In-Law ever!!!), Fisk (Bill, the best Brother-In-Law, ever!!!) and Sprick (Cindy, my Ex-Wife and Sherry, the best Sister-In-Law, ever!!!) Family, my son William James Agnew, Jessifer Lee, Robert Slyter, DaWanna Conley, Keeli Rosser and Family, Eric Rolley and Family and everyone who has been with me and down for me. And a VERY SPECIAL THANKS TO Kischa Loree Peña whose pictured embodied the image of the character SHANNA that I had in my mind!!! I LOVE ALL OF YOU AND WOULD BE NOTHING WITHOUT YOU!

-Willie Dell Davis, IV

Love For The Game:

Book One

Prelude

The United States penal system holds the most inmates in the world. Some are there for crimes that never committed waiting for the miracle of DNA technology to exonerate them and set them free to a world that’s so much different than it was when they were initially incarcerated. Others are there for the crimes and atrocities that they did in fact commit. Some of us in here are lifers, folks that have no hopes or future of ever seeing the outside world. So those under that level don’t give a damn about anything. Life, death, mercy, forgiveness are all irrelevant. All the repentance in the world won’t set them free.

I wasn’t in that class and I did everything that I could to avoid it. In reality though, we were all convicts, inmates, guests of the American Penal System. We did all have that in common. A lot of us just didn’t want to either admit to it or acknowledge it. At the end of the day though, the truth was what it was. Being black in American made you an automatic inmate and there was always a cell somewhere in this land of the free, home of the brave place with our name on it. It was just a matter of time before we had the wonderful opportunity to fill it. What was that that the Geto Boys said back in the day? Took a nigga’s name and rank and gave his ass a number… Yeah, that’s their game but in order to play their game, they had to infiltrate ours. Every day was a challenge to see who played the game better. Us against the world every day, since we took our first breath.

Generations of men like me, Black Men kept the wheels of justice turning by allowing ourselves to end up here. A lot of us in here live, breathe and die by and within the environment that we’ve have now become a part of. Scores of us in this system end up as victims of rape, sodomy, murder, degeneration and degradation. This degeneration and degradation is a daily mental mindfuck to remind us that we belong to the system. They own us and they can fuck us any which way that they can, choose and/or want. We’re no longer faces, no longer people and in most cases no longer considered as human beings. Who used to John Smith, is no longer John Smith. He’s now #394857, 24/7/365 plus 1 in leap year. Once you enter this world, you’re inevitably put into a sense of hopelessness and lost faith. All that’s there in its putrid existence is the counting of days, the hopes that you’re able to hit the yard for some temporary sunlight and fresh air. A little exercise some sense of self somewhere within these walls to remind you that at least within your mind, you’re are still human, you still count, you still matter. All of that last until headcount and lockdown. The fantasy that we created out in The Yard to pretend that the guards and the wired fence aren’t there, are quickly dashed away with the sounds of the gates closing and confinement to your cell.

Within these walls is a world unlike many of us have ever seen or would want to see, much less experience. What we see in the movies comes nowhere near close to the reality of what goes on within those walls that we, you on the outside, continuously hope and pray will protect us, you, from what lies inside. That lost bit of existence that’s truly inside each of us that we don’t want to accept or acknowledge exists in the dark recesses of our psyche. Truthfully, are we afraid of them or are we afraid of becoming them and how far are we really from that transition?

Those that do their time are granted what you call parole. That’s just the system’s way of saying that, You’re still not free. We’ll keep the light on for you because we know that you’ll be back. Unfortunately, so many of us men, especially Black Men, excuse me, I apologize, African American men keep returning to these hellholes of existence. That includes yours truly as well. I was a longstanding resident of this system and their hospitality.

We’ve all heard that New York has 8 million stories to tell. Guess what? So does jail, so does prison. The epic story starts from the first day that you’re processed and put in GenPop, that’s General Population for those of you that act like your ass don’t know. Personally, I think you’re full of shit for that. We all know somebody if it ain’t us personally, that’s been a resident of the county or state hotel. I don’t give a damn if you‘re from the hood or the suburbs, so stop fronting. I ain’t worried about that though. Wanna know why? Because today is my day. I get to kiss the sky and see the world. Today I get that wonderful thing called ‘parole’.

Hard to believe that it’s been 7 years since I seen the outside, but damn it feels good to be on this side of the wall. What got me there was bull but for now it’s done and over with. It’s time to regroup and start over. Oh, you thought since I was off the block that I lost my spot? Homeboy, only the faces change, game is still the same. Just make sure you know the rules. That little lack of knowledge could be deadly in the wrong situation. Particularly, anything that involves me. I know some niggas forgot about me. You know that out of sight, out of mind shit. Too bad for them because they’re about to get a rude reminder that I ain’t forgot a damn thing. What was that line that Jack said in Batman, ‘Wait ‘til they get a load of me’, right? That’s how I feel about this whole thing right about now. These fools are about to shit on themselves. I told them that I’d be back. By the way, the name’s D’Artagnan, D’Artagnan Marquis, ghetto nightmare reborn you feel me?

Time to get back in the game.

I stepped out on to the curb and looks around taking in the scenery for a minute. The sun hits my eyes as I reach for my shades. A car roars in squealing to a stop just barely missing a couple of pedestrians attempting to cross the street. One of the pedestrians flips off the driver and shouts a few epithets as he approaches the vehicle. The door opens and a hulking figure steps out on to the street. The pedestrian takes one look and decides to continue on his way as the driver laughs. He looks around for a minute then his eyes focus on me.

He steps to the curb and throws his hands up in the air,

What up, nigga!

I couldn’t help but to smiles as I walk over to the vehicle. As we approach one another, we exchange pounds and hugs. The driver grabs my shit and tosses them in the back seat as we laugh and talk.

What up, my nigga? What’s the business?

Business is what the business is, homey! How it feel to be home?

I paused for a minute then looked over at G,

I ain’t home yet, dawg.

Bet…You ready to hit the set, my nigga?

I been ready.

We both get into the car and ride off down the street with the stereo banging and again making pedestrians jump to avoid being hit.

When we got to the crib, I wasn’t expecting much. I had seen how much the hood had changed in the time that I was out of action. All I could do was look around and be amazed at what was and what wasn’t around anymore. My nigga driving, that’s G-Mann, we been tight since we was what, 15, 16 years old? This nigga had been my roaddawg damn near forever. He always had my back no matter what. His fam became my fam and it’s been like that ever since. Hell, nigga showed up to every court date and made sure my fam and my books was kept tight. Real nigga, no doubt, to this day. So who better to be at the gate on my release? I trust this nigga with my life. He trusts me with his.

Anyway, we don’t speak much on the ride home. We just let the music play. I’m peeping out the honies on the block. One thing about the spring and the summer that never changes…all the honies hit the Ave. And what the femmes wearing, damn, what it do to a nigga that ain’t had no pussy in 7 years. This shit’s got me going crazy. Tight shirts, fat asses, I gotta hit the clubs tonight. Somebody gonna feel my pressure, for real. Hope she ready for it, whoever she might be.

My mind started drifting back to the past 7 years. How I ended up as State Property, the events that led up to that point and all the crazy drama surrounding the whole chain of events. What you have to understand, is that on our side of the line, the rules are majorly different than those on Wall Street, those suburbanite rules that you folks follow. Over here, it’s all about survival of the fittest to the highest degree. You keep one eye open and your heat close. These schemimg bastards want to catch you slipping. They hope to catch you slipping because everybody wants your spot. The ‘Life’ ain’t much different than the Wild Wild West. When you’re the top dawg, they all want a piece of you. There aren’t any rules to this. Ain’t no gentleman’s respect or anything like that. The bottom-line is that you either take or you get took. That’s what got me stuck. I was one of those that chose to take, no matter the cost, by any means necessary. Some things never change.

CHAPTER I

D’Artagnan

I guess that I was about 10 years old when I got blessed into the set. I had a reputation for being able to hold my own. Funny thing about it was that I didn’t know that I had the reputation, didn’t care too much about having one either. I was young, dumb and just loved to fight. What happened to get me the notoriety was that some cats in the hood saw this little runt of a scrapper take down some kid twice his size. I don’t remember what it was for but at the time, I remember everybody wanted to jump on me, the little kid. For some reason they had it in their heads that I was a punk.

Everybody had to find out because for the longest time, I stayed to myself. I only spoke when I had something to say and I stayed out of business that didn’t have anything to do with me. I went to school like every other kid on the block but for some reason, I was just the designated target of misplaced hostilities. Now here I am beating this monster of a kid in my face trying to prove he’s a tough guy.

Eventually, somebody broke it up. I think it was one of those brothas. He didn’t really say anything and nobody asked what the fight was about, they just liked his style. A ‘natural’, I heard them say, ‘naturally violent’. At the time, I didn’t know what it meant nor did I care. I just knew that this established MY reputation as one of the baddest on my block and the other scrubs feared and respected me because of it. Who would’ve known the things that were coming my way?

A few days later on my home to the crib from somewhere, I noticed this van following me. I wasn’t sure who it was but I had my guard up. I figured maybe it was somebody from the shop I’d just left. Not only was a hell of a street fighter, I also had a penchant for borrowing things from established places with no thought on returning them. You politically correct folks would more than likely utilize the term stolen or stealing in your explanations but I like my terminology better.

The van initially rode past me but I noticed the passenger giving me a hard as hell look on the ride by. I didn’t think anything of it. Drive-bys weren’t a common thing in those days. I watched the van as it hit the corner and made that right only to come up behind me once again only this time, it was rolling a little slower. As they crept by me the second time, I got a real good look at them as well as them getting a real good look at me. I recognized them from the fight the other day, Fats and G.T.

They were known around the hood for their own set of exploits. It was rumored that Fats was like a hit man but no one could ever say for sure. G.T. was straight hood. Foul-mouthed, hardcore, in-your-face type brother who didn’t give two shakes on you or your fam. I heard he was just flat out crazy like that. A real people person.

Like I said before, they were both at that fight the other day, so I’m figuring that even though they broke it up, maybe the kid was related to one of them and they wanted to get some payback. Whatever’s, whatever. Now, these same guys rolled up on me and blew the horn like I was supposed to stop. Me being me, I kept on walking like I didn’t see them. They paused for a minute then they sped up on me and blew their horn again. I stopped, looked around and grabbed this tree branch from the last storm we had, whipped around dropping my bag ready for whatever. If they was going to get me, then dammit, I ain’t going out like no punk.

I LIKE this little nigga here!

Hollered G.T. as the van came to a stop,

This young buck got a lotta heart in him!

I gripped my tree branch weapon tighter and positioned myself into a swinging stance,

What the hell you niggas want, man? Why ya’ll followin’ me?

G.T. stepped out of the passenger side and walked up to me all hard and got in my face.

Watch your mouth young star, we like you but we ain’t gotta take that mouth of yours.

He stood up and backs a few steps. He smirked a little as he looked over at Fats. Then he turned his attention back to me.

We been seein’ you knockin’ these little bastards around like it ain’t shit and…

So? What? You want to take a shot, too?

Fats got out the driver side laughing his behind off,

This little man got it bad, G! He ready to beat you down, now!

He came around and pushed G.T back toward the van,

Man, go get back in the ride and let me holla at the little soljah…

G.T. scowled at me then slinked back to the van muttering a lot of words under his breath. He slammed the door and sunk in to the seat as Fats continued talking to me.

You gotta excuse my partner. He ain’t much for conversation. What’s your name, kid?

Who wanna know?

Fats just laughed. The whole thing was funny to him. I didn’t see a damn thing funny so I tried to swing at him. Fats stepped back to avoid the swing but lost his balance and fell back against the light pole behind him. He frowned up and rose up quick but he never tried to rush me. I was standing my ground though. If this was going to be a fight, I was going to do my best to win but damn, Fats’ name was well placed and well-deserved. Fats, for his size, was one fast son of a gun. Before I could blink he had both of my hands and arms wrapped around me so that I couldn’t move. Not trying to hurt me I guess, just to restrain me. I hated that. Nobody had ever been able to grab me like that.

Slow your role, soljah. We didn’t come here for all this. It’s just that somebody wants to meet you. Offer you a little somethin’.

Somebody like who and what they want me for?

James T. wants you to come by his place that’s all. He heard about you skills and wants to holla at you a minute.

I froze in mid-struggle. Everybody knew James T. was the baddest motherfucker on the block. Even the police didn’t mess with him. I had heard all of these folks say how he hooked them up and looked out for them but I also heard how mean and dirty he was but in doing so cost a bitch of a price. You know, them late night parties that the grown folks had when we were supposed to be asleep. Well, me I was always in there somewhere picking up everything about the game, the streets, the hustle, all of that until my moms caught me and beat my little black behind all the way back to my room. The whole thing had me drawn in though. I didn’t know anything else, never saw anything else. I guess my path was already designed for me at that point...

Man, it was what it was and is what it is. My whole family was pimps, hustlers, criminals and dealers. That was my world. That was the life and everyday it called to me. My moms she was a straight soldier, stayed on me all the time. She wanted to be something more than your average everyday street thug. Moms had high hopes for her baby boy. Must be nice to have those kinds of dreams. I guess every parent does. She held it down though, after my pops got killed in a bar fight when I was 6. Taking care of me by herself and my sister was a hard ass job, I know. Somehow though, she managed. And she loved her kids. We never saw her break down, hardly saw her worry, nothing like that. She was my hero.

James T. always managed to come up in the conversations, though. I had seen the man a couple of times; his reputation was legendary to a kid like me. To hear his and mine in the same sentence threw me off guard for a minute. When it seemed that I had settled down, Fats let me go and handed me a piece of paper with some writing on it.

Just be here at this address when you out and about, little man.

I pushed Fats’ hands away from as I took the paper and shoved it in my pocket. Little did I know then that 24 hours from now, my life was going to drastically change in a way that a 10 year old could ever imagine.

The next morning went as usual. I got up, got my kid sister up ate and headed out for school. Moms had already left for work. Yeah, we were those kids back in the day. What’d they call us? Oh yeah, latch-key kids. That was us in every sense of the word. Every kid on the block damn near was a latch-key kid. Life was so much better then. Today was the day, though. I was going to be face to face with the legend himself, James T. I was nervous as hell, maybe a little scared. Who wouldn’t be? The whole day, I just thought, what does he want with my little ass? What’d I do to get his attention and send his boys out after me?

All I could think about was the fight. Dude had to be related somehow, and now I done gone and pissed off this nigga. Whatever was the deal, I had figured was just going to be. Forget them and all that they come with. I was so tripped out on the day, I hadn’t even noticed my boy Mike.

Hey D'Artagnan, what’s up?

Nothin' much. Just chillin', you?

Same game different day. My mama still trippin' on me as usual. Can’t wait 'til I’m old enough to move out like my brother.

Ha! Ha! Ha! You stupid. What you got?

Mike pulled out a little bag of weed.

That’s why yo’ mama trippin' on you, punk! You always stealin' her stash. Light that up, man.

We hid behind the school and smoked up the weed and got so high. What? Don’t act like didn’t know! If you think for a second your kids ain’t trying this stuff out of your sight, then who are the real stupid suckers? Hell, we learned it from y’all ! Let’s be real about it! Everything we do, everything we say, we get it from ya’ll so face the real for what the real is. Little Dick and Fast Jane been doing more than running, jumping and skipping for a long time now.

I heard on the streets that James T. been askin' about you.

Yeah, the nigga sent his boys after me, the other day. Said he want to meet me.

Wh-what you gonna do?

I don’t know man, shit, this is new to me. Don’t know why.

Think it had something to do with that nigga, Ant?

I don’t know, for real. I was thinkin' the same thing….I was thinkin' too of just flat out not showin'….

I wouldn’t.

I looked at Mike for a