PROLOGUE
“Marcus . . . Marcus! You don’t hear Momma back there calling you,” said Chris, his younger brother, as they both sat on the steps of their front porch enjoying a nice summer morning in June.
“Huuuhhh!” Marcus responded to his mother’s calling as he snapped out of a trance
“Boy, you didn’t hear me back here calling you?” Sylvia yelled as she stood at the back door in her famous all-black satin nightgown. “Get in here and take out this garbage. You know it’s too damn hot to be letting this trash pile up like that!”
“A’ight, here I come!” Marcus replied, still not making a move toward the door. “Mannnnn, that nigga gettin’ money,” Marcus said in a hushed tone while staring at Smitty glide down their street in his drop-top cocaine-white ‘79 El Dorado Cadillac with maroon leather interior, bangin’ Al Green’s “Love and Happiness” on his sound system that was so loud that you could actually hear him coming from three blocks away.
Honk! Honk! Was the sound of Smitty horn as he acknowledged the two brothers by throwing up the deuce.
“Yeah, that nigga know who I am,” Marcus muttered out with confidence as he threw up the deuce while staring at Smitty slowly drive down their block.
“What make you think he knows you, you ain’t nobody,” Chris sarcastically blurted out.
“What! You saw how that nigga looked over here. He know wassup wit’ me.”
“The only reason he looked this way because he know Daddy stay here,” Chris said as he began to ease off the porch onto the sidewalk.
“Remember, that’s yo’ punk-ass daddy, not min,” Marcus replied offensively.
“Ahhhh! You mad ‘cause don’t nobody know you, dude!” Chris taunted in a teasingly fashion while heading in the direction of one of his friends’ house two doors down.
“A’ight, we gon’ see ‘who know who’ when I start gettin’ this money.”
“Don’t worry, that ain’t gon’ happen no time soon,” said Chris as he continued to pick at his older brother.
“Marcus!” Sylvia yelled harshly from out the house.
“Okay, here I come!” Marcus quickly responded with a slight attitude as he reached out for the door while looking back at Chris.
On his dreadful walk into the house, Marcus was mumbling some pretty unpleasant words under his breath until his mother interrupted his train of thought.
“How many times do I have to call your name for you to get in here and do what the hell I told you to do?!” Sylvia snapped as she stood in the kitchen with her hands resting on her hips.
Even though Sylvia only stood about four foot ten, she demanded her respect from anyone that associated themselves with her, especially men. Sylvia was determined not to allow her kids to disrespect her, but at times, she would show a little leniency toward their smart remarks.
“You should’ve asked that nigga to do it,” Marcus mumbled under his breath while grabbing the bag out the trash can.
“What’chú say?” Sylvia asked vigorously after seeing movement come from his lips.
“Nuttin’.”
“I told you ‘bout that smart-ass mouth of yours. You gon’ make me slap the taste out it! Keep on getting smart!” Sylvia threatened while mean mugging Marcus as he was leaving out the back door with the trash.
“Man, I can’t stand her ass. Soon’s I get me some bread I’m gettin’ the fuck out her house!” Marcus said in an aggressive whisper while carrying the trash bag over his shoulder on the way to the alley.
As Marcus continued to walk and talk to himself, he didn’t notice someone creep up behind him.
“Give that shit up, homey . . . ,” was a disguised voice coming directly from behind Marcus. “You didn’t hear what the fuck I said, give that shit up!”
“Damn, man, I ain’t got shit but some trash, homey,” Marcus nervously pleaded.
“Ahhhh! You was shook like a muthafucka!” Pee Wee said while tucking his pistol back into his waistline. Pee Wee was one of Marcus’s main buddies.
“What the fuck you around here playing like that for! That playing shit gon’ get'cho’ ass fucked up!” Marcus said while looking Pee Wee square in the eyes.
“Damn, homey, I was jus’ messin’ wit’chú, you a’ight?” Pee Wee asked with a smirk.
“I’m straight,” Marcus said while attempting to calm his nerves. “My momma jus’ blowin’ the shit out me early this morning.”
Marcus began to stroll back toward the house with a slight frown on his face from the thought of facing his mother again once making it in the house.
“What time you coming back out?” Pee Wee asked as he strolled behind.
“In’a minute,” he responded without looking back.
“Yea right. You know damn well Steve ain’t gon’ let'cho ass back outside,” Pee Wee jokingly commented, knowing that his statement would aggravate Marcus.
Marcus simply shook his head at what was said as he dreaded going back in the house. Once making it inside, Marcus instantly went to his room that he shared with Chris. He then grabbed his underclothes and headed toward the bathroom to take a shower, only to see that it was being occupied by Steve taking a shower.
“Shit!” Marcus sighed angrily. Any small thing that Steve did irritated the hell out of Marcus. “Ma!” Marcus yelled out for his mother in a sympathetic tone of voice as he began marching toward her room.
“What?”
“Can you gimme a couple dolla’s, please?” he asked, trying to sound sincere as possible.
“For what?” Sylvia countered irritably.
“When I get dressed, me, Marlin, and JR goin’ up to the arcade room on Sixteenth.” Marcus knew which ones of his friends’ names to mention. If he would’ve said anything about Pee Wee or Lil G, she might’ve rejected the whole idea, quick! Sylvia attended high school with JR’s and Marlin’s mothers, so they kept tabs on each other’s kid. Lil G and Pee Wee had only been around the neighborhood for a couple of years, and they already had long rap sheets. Sylvia knew about their troubles, so she never knowingly allowed Marcus to hang out with them.
“I don’t have it. You know the first of the month jus’ passed and I had to catch up on my bills. Knock on the bathroom door and ask Steve for a few dollars. I’m sure he’ll give it to you.” She said all of this while looking in the mirror, combing her long wavy sandy brown hair.
Marcus left the room sucking air between his teeth from his mother’s request. Out of all people, Steve was the last person on earth that he wanted to ask for something from; even though there was a possibility that Steve would give it to him. There was something about Steve that Marcus wasn’t feeling.
What the hell. All he can say is no, Marcus thought to himself.
“Hey, Steve, you think I could—”
“I ain’t got no money,” Steve cut him off from making his statement as he walked toward their mother’s room with just a little towel wrapped around his waist.
Marcus walked back to his room, cursing Steve out under his breath, “I knew I shouldn’t have asked that nigga for shit. I don’t even fuck wit’ him like dat.” Marcus muttered out in a low-pitched tone of voice.
Marcus didn’t let his mother or Steve spoil his plans to go outside. After jumping out the shower and making it to his room, he impatiently brushed through his dresser drawers, looking for something fresh to wear outside. Everything he pulled out, he threw back into the drawer because either he had worn a certain outfit too many times or it simply wasn’t intriguing enough to him.
“Damn, man, I ain’t got shit to put on!” Marcus said aggressively while picking out his cleanest pair of shorts and shirt that matched. “I don’t even wanna wear this shit!” he continued to complain to himself, obviously feeling frustrated from how his day had already begun.
Once Marcus put on his clothes, he proceeded to go outside. He managed to get over being denied money because it wasn’t the first time
he had been turned down when he asked for something. You could tell from Marcus’s reactions lately that he was growing tired of being rejected.
When Marcus stepped foot out the front door, he looked around to see that the block was filled with everyone who lived on Hamlin. Marcus began strolling down the street going toward Cermak Road, heading in the direction of the Twenty-first Strip, which was five blocks down from Cermak and Hamlin. Before he could make it to Cermak, Marcus saw his little brother sitting on one of his friends’ porch, eating some snacks from the store.
“Where you get some money from?” Marcus asked while rudely snatching a bag of chips out of Chris’s hands.
“From my daddy, why?” Chris asked with a frown.
“When he give it to you?”
“Just a few minutes ago befo’ he jumped in the car wit’ Big C.”
“How much he hit'chú wit’?” Marcus asked curiously.
“Twenty dolla’s,” Chris replied mockingly
“Let me borrow a fin?”
“A’ight . . . ,” Chris said as he reached into his pocket. “You better pay me back my five dolla’s, too!” Chris demanded as if he was the older of the two.
“I got'chú,” Marcus responded as he was accepting the money from his younger brother. Of course Marcus had no intentions of paying Chris back anytime soon.
Just when Marcus cooled down, his frustration arose again once he had to borrow money from his little brother.
“Ain’t this some shit, here I am the big brother gettin’ money from my little brother. Man this some straight bullsh—”
“Aey, Marcus!” a loud voice from afar yelled, breaking Marcus from his train of thoughts.
Marcus squinched his eyes to see who was calling him. “Awe, that’s Lil
G . . . ,” Marcus said to himself. “Wudd up!” he hollered down the street with his arms raised in the air. As they continued to walk, they met up with each other halfway down Cermak on the corner of Lawndale. “Wassup, Jo,” Marcus greeted Lil G by performing the IVL handshake.
“Shhit . . . Tired than a muthafucka. Been on the block hustlin’ all night,” Said Lil G as he stretched and yawned. Lil G was a couple of years older than Marcus, and he was full-fledged in the streets.
“Where you was on yo’ way to?” Lil G asked.
“I was fenna’ walk over on Twenty-first to fuck wit’ y’all.”
“Everybody up at the arcade room. You know that’s where all the hoes at right now,” Lil G said, shaking his head up and down with a smile.
“A’ight then . . . I’ll jus’ catch up wit’ y’all later on,” Marcus said in an upsetting tone as he began walking off.
“What’chú mean?” Lil G asked while looking puzzled. “You ain’t coming up there?”
“I’m fucked up, Jo. I ain’t got no bread.”
“Maaannn . . . come ‘ere, lord!” Lil G called Marcus back as he continued to walk.
“Wassup.” Marcus turned around and slowly walked back.
“You know as long as I got it, you straight,” Lil G claimed as
he entered both of his front pockets, pulling out a thick stack of cash from each pocket. Lil G looked through both stacks of money while whispering to himself as if he was sorting out which stack was for what.
“Okay,” Lil G mumbled to himself as he put one stack back in his pocket. “Here you go my nigga.” He peeled off six twenty-dollar bills to give Marcus.
“Nah, I can’t ‘cept yo’ hard earned money, Jo.” He reacted by shaking his head.
“Listen, man . . . If you ain’t gon’ accept my money and we homies, then you need to get out here and get it yo’ self. Even though we young, I still hate to see a real nigga like you out here strugglin’ when I kno’ you got this street shit in you. Shhiiit, you prob’le stronger than all us put together.” Lil G laughed, forcing a smirk upon Marcus’s face as he stuffed the money into his hand.
Marcus stood there in a daze for a minute as he thought about the promise he made to himself after his father was murdered. He promised himself that he would never get caught up in the street life. He was now contemplating on whether or not the early choice he made in life was the best fit for his well-being.
“Marcus, Marcus,” Lil G repeated, attempting to get Marcus out of a deep thought. “Ya a’ight?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m straight,” he said with a confused expression upon his face as he stuffed the money into his pocket.
“Come-on, Jo, let’s go get us some weed and get up on these hoes down here at the arcade.”
“Yeah I’m wit it, let’s ride,” Marcus said while still looking confused.