HitzSPB

Organized crime and police... I prefer the part in both that is without the usage of weapons.

I've been here since, like, 2010-ish. Some friends from college convinced me to join in, and we formed many factions together before I eventually went on my own. I got into BPL a few weeks before they became official, and later made a switch to LSPD. I got booted from LSPD as a PO 2 due to a family crisis that required me go inactive. After that, I roleplayed the life of a wealthy and lonely individual, doing roleplay with all sorts of folks.

The formatting got ruined on copy paste to the forum. So Graphics and formatting is being done slowly. "How much?" Wayne shrugged his hood further over his braided head and glanced up at the tall guy chewing gum. "Just a gram, kid." The suspicion was plain on his face. But Wayne was used to that look by now. It came with the territory. Dealing drugs when you were 9 was surprising, apparently. What did normal kids his age do? He had no idea, but he guessed it wasn’t handing out drugs and accepting cash, then running off to another spot in case somebody had seen. Normal kids probably spent their afternoons doing homework. Or playing baseball. Ah well, you had to do what you had to do. His dad needed the help, and Wayne ;s was no flake. He fished a baggie out of his pocket and made the exchange, sure to flash the .45 he carried in a holster under his jacket. The old guys always thought they could take advantage until they saw that. The guy flipped his cap backwards, snatched up the weed and nodded in respect. He shoved the bills into Wayne’s hand, then sauntered off, jeans hanging below his ass. He glanced back once and Wayne glared at his back and ran his thumb along the pistol’s muzzle. He’d never had to use it before. Thank God. He checked his backpack was all zipped up, then scurried off. He was done for the day. The sharp waft of tobacco smoke filled his nostrils as he passed bars and barber shops. He had to get to the meeting place before the sunset. His mom and dad always took the money, sent him home and came back a few hours after. Mostly they were high or drunk. They always moaned at him for being up late, but with two younger sisters who needed help with their homework, a big brother who spent his time pimping out girls on the corner, and an older sister who just plain didn’t give a damn, there was a lot to do around the house. "Eh, little brotha!" Wayne glanced around. Shit. It was Snoopy. He hated that guy. The short, squat black guy shuffled over and slid his arm around Wayne’s shoulders. "Your Ma and Pa said you should just head on home, aight?" Snoopy’s breath smelled like cheap bourbon. He was the worst of his parents’ lackeys. "Nah, I think I’ll go see them. Kinda a ritual, you know," Wayne answered, calm as could be. This guy made his skin crawl. "No, no man. Orders from the top, little dude." Snoopy’s grip tightened, and his yellow teeth swam into view. Wayne snapped his eyes forward and controlled his breathing. "I’m from the top, Snoop. Think I’ll just head on over there and see what’s happenin’." Wayne insisted, his mouth was dry as two week old newspaper. What was Snoopy’s deal? Why was he trying so hard to stop Wayne from seeing his parents? This was wrong. "Yo, little dude. Why don’t you gimme the bills and head on home. I’ll hand ‘em over." Snoopy relaxed for a millisecond and Wayne slid out from underneath his outstretched arm. "Piss off!" Wayne yelled, darting off down the street, his worn sneakers slapping against the rough tarmac. "Get back here, you shit!" Snoopy yelled behind him. He glanced back. The squat gangsta chased after him, chins wobbling, chain bouncing on his straining belly. He was easy to outpace. Wayne hopped over potholes, sped around corners, scattering groups of women and children playing jump rope. He turned the last corner and pulled up short. A pimped out black car slid down the road at a snail’s pace. Faces peered out above blacked out windows, the metal sheen of pistols flashed in the dying afternoon light. His mom stepped out of their hideout down the street. She didn’t see the car. She spoke over her shoulder to his father behind her. No. "Mom!" Wayne yelled as loud as he could. "Mom, get inside! Get inside!" But she didn’t hear. She didn’t see! The car slowed down as it drew level with them. Shots rang out, shattering his memories just as they shattered his mother’s body. She was torn apart, her screams of agony ripping at Wayne’s skin, at his mind. His father tried to pull his pistol out, but it was too late. He stepped forward, arms flailing as he was forced back by gunfire. Wayne ran forward – he had to stop this – but a massive black arm encircled his waist and held him back. "It’s too late, little boss. They gone." It was Snoopy. A chuckle jiggled through the fat man’s body as Wayne struggled against him. He’d betrayed them. Wayne kicked back hard and his heel met with Snoopy’s balls. "Argh!" Snoopy doubled over, grabbing a his jewels, and Wayne sped off again, tears streaming down his cheeks. He had to get home. He had to make sure the rest of his family was safe. --------- Wayne snapped his maths book shut. Eighth grade wasn’t as difficult as he’d thought it would be. He got up to and poured himself a glass of milk, dodging the chipped edge with his lips. His big brother was passed out on the couch. Aisha, his big sister, was out hustling somewhere else. Looked like he’d have to make dinner again. He fished around in the cupboard and whipped out a box of mac ‘n cheese, then fumbled with some pots and pans. The phone trilled to life on the wall beside him, and his stomach did a gymnast’s backflip. What would it be this time? Keisha, his ten year old baby sister, was always in trouble. "Yo." "Wayne, is that you?" Yolanda, his 13 year old sister shrieked at him over the phone. The heavy thump of music in the background didn’t disguise the sheer terror of her tone. "What’s wrong?" He licked his lips, pushing the box of dried pasta aside. "It’s Keisha," his sister hesitated a second, "Wayne, she took something, and she’s not right. She’s falling all over the place." The words dropped from Yolanda’s mouth and into Wayne’s ear like word bombs. "Where are you?" He snapped, slipping on his shoes. "At Darryl’s." "Get her outside." Wayne hung up and dashed out the door, not bothering to wake Derik from his snoring. What the hell were his kid sister’s doing at one of the most drug-ridden hood clubs in the city? And Keisha had taken something. She’d never been the same since his parents had died. They’d been left to fend for themselves. He’d tried everything to appease his brothers and sisters. He’d carried them through it all. He was tired of it, but he couldn’t stop now. Wayne swiped his brother’s keys off the table in the entrance hall and slammed the door behind him. He drove three blocks then parked the car outside Darryl’s. The club was hopping, and that same heavy beat made his windows reverberate. He jumped out and rushed over to his sister who held Keisha up by the arm. "What did she take?" "I dunno," Yolanda replied, shifting her gaze from his face to the group of men a short way off. They were eyeing out her legs in her miniskirt. "You two are the biggest fools I’ve ever met," he grabbed Keisha and lifted her in his arms. "Get in the car." Yolanda scurried off and shut the car door behind her. Wayne carried Keisha to the back seat and fed her into it, but it was like trying to dress an octopus. She flopped down, unconscious. This was serious. Her face was pale, and her eyes had rolled back in her head. Wayne drove her to the hospital at breakneck speed. Thank God there weren’t any pigs on the beat that night. The Emergency Room hummed with the bustle of people. Coughs rent the air. The fluorescent lights played their tune above. Keisha was a broken doll in his arms. The nurse looked her over and called for a gurney immediately. They loaded her onto it, and she disappeared down a hall tiled in pale green linoleum. She still wasn’t conscious. She was his sister and they took her away before he could say another word. He tried to follow, but the nurse placed her red-painted nails on his forearm and dragged him into a chair in the waiting room. "You can’t go with. The doctor’s will be out to see you once they’ve stabilized her." "It’s drugs. I don’t know what kind, but it’s drugs." Wayne sputtered, searching for Yolanda in the mess of moaning bodies around him. She stood in the corner, guilty as sin, like a painting of a girl he used to know. "Don’t worry, the doctors will figure it out." And with that, the nurse disappeared, taking her pungent musk perfume with her. Wayne marched over to Yolanda, before she could shy away, "What was it?" "Wayne, it was just a bit of fun, I didn’t realize she would…" "Answer me, Yolanda." "Crack." Wayne swallowed and shook his head. "I didn’t mean to get her in trouble. One second she was next to me, next second she was on the floor. I dunno what happened." Wayne snorted at her, "You stopped being family, that’s what happened." He left her standing there, then asked the nurses at the station for a phone to call his older sister. She was their legal guardian. But Aisha didn’t answer her cell – missing in action, as usual. He gave up after the fifth try. Hours passed and the ticking clock on the wall rapped out his fears. Where was she? Why was this taking so long? He buried his head in his hands and breathed through his nose, quashing the anxiety the threatened to take him over. "Mr. Mccoy?" A male voice spoke above him, and his heart leapt into his throat. Wayne raised his head and glared up at the doctor, outfitted in blue scrubs. "Yes?" "Mr. Mccoy, I’m sorry to tell you that we were unable to save your sister," the doctor scrambled the words out, pain and pity etched on his features, "She’s passed on." Wayne’s world crumbled around him. Gone. Keisha was gone. Taken from him like his mom and dad. The throaty howl building in his chest waited until he got into the car. Yolanda was nowhere to be seen. Derik was still asleep on the couch when he got home. Aisha didn’t answer her phone. Wayne was alone. -------------------------- The grassy scent of weed lingered in the alley. Wayne wrinkled his nose and accepted the billfolds from one of his customers. Years of dealing and he’d never touched the stuff, not since Keisha’s accident. But money was hard to come by, and drugs weren’t. Selling them was the perfect answer. He strolled back into the two-storey he’d rented to run his operations out of. Aisha sat in the chair in front of his desk, waiting for him. "Come home," she chanted her mantra for the umpteenth time. "For what, Aisha? I’ve got everything I need here." He had more than she could ever dream of, and the jealousy was plain in her expression. The business had really taken off. "You can’t study here. You’ll mess up your grades and miss out on a shot at college. This is illegal." She shot word bullets at her, but he shrugged them off. His grades hadn’t budged up or down, and he illegalities were the stuff of legends. She wanted control and that was it. Keisha’s death had tripped some guilt switch in her brain, and she’d been trying to control him ever since. But for the wrong reasons. She didn’t care about anything but what he could do for her. How much he could make. "I’m staying, Aisha." "Then you can’t come home. This is your last chance. If you stay here, I won’t let you back in the house again, and you can kiss Derik and Yolanda goodbye." Wayne chewed the inside of his cheek. "Derik is long gone, and Yolanda is working another beat, so I hear. It’s just you, Aisha. And you, I can do without." He stood, placing his dark palms on the wood of his desk. It felt solid beneath him. Unshakeable. She reeled as if he’d slapped her, then struggled to her feet, brushing red curls out of her dark eyes. "Then this is goodbye." "It looks like it." He gritted his teeth. In the nine years since his parents’ deaths, he’d lost everything he’d loved. He watched her leave, knowing full well that it was the last time he’d ever see another of his family members. Wayne lowered himself into his chair and scrubbed at his eyes, wiping fatigue out and back in again. He needed a session at the gym. That would invigorate him. Besides, who knew when a rival gang would come crashing through the door, looking for a brawl. He grabbed his stuff and wandered out the door. "Yo, slice." Wayne turned and froze. It was the leader of his gang, Hustla, who’d called his name. He gave the customary hug-greeting and saluted. "What up, Hustla?" Wayne’s mind wandered back to his parents, to when it had all started. All he’d ever wanted was to be accepted. To be happy. To be part of a family. Now they were gone, snuffed out in one way or another. "Mccoy, brotha, I have a proposition for you." "Let’s talk in the office." They filed back into it and Wayne dropped his gym bag in the corner, reluctantly. Hustla placed himself in Wayne’s desk chair and nodded for him to take a seat in front of his own desk. He didn’t complain, he was the boss, after all. "A proposition?" Wayne prompted, licking his lips. "Yeah, a biznezz proposition, man." "I’m listening, big man." He nodded encouragement, hoping it wasn’t something he’d regret. "Gee was out on the town last night, and he managed to acquisate some ladiez." Wayne didn’t bother correcting his English. "We’d like to expand our interestz. So, howz about you become a fo real pimp?" Wayne gritted his teeth and bit back the instant negative response. A pimp? Prostitutes? That was the last thing he wanted to get involved in. But could he say no? There was no messing with the gang. You were either in or out and you never got out with your life. They were a ‘family’. You did what you were told or you suffered the consequences. Wayne’s long silence made Hustla raise a bushy eyebrow. "You dig?" "Yeah, for sure. Sounds like a good idea." Hustla nodded grim agreement, then clapped his hands once. Girls burst into the room, scantily clad. There was every type of woman imaginable. Short, thin, fat, tall, curvy, blonde, brunette, ginger and more. "With these gals, you’ll be able to take over the scene," Hustla grinned, "If you know what I mean." The meaning was obvious. Make the girls work, bring in the money, or he’d pay big time. And that payment wouldn’t be in dollars. "I gotya." Wayne replied, eyeing the ladies with a pity and disdain. This wasn’t what he wanted. When would he get his life back? Hell, when would his life start? ---------------- There were two men in the black Cadillac. That wasn’t so unusual, but these guys gave him the creeps. Maybe it was the blacked out windows, maybe it was the equally black car, maybe it was their greedy faces. They peered out at the girls on the corner, covetous. His memory flashed back nine years. Mom. The word whispered in his head. Mom, no! He shook his head. What was wrong with him tonight? He hadn’t thought about that day in ages, but there was something about this night, this line of work, that made the anger in him double up. He flexed his hands on the wheel of his Bentley, widening his eyes to keep from falling asleep. He normally sent one of the other guys out to keep the girls – and their customers – in check, but tonight he’d wanted to do it himself. Like a sober reality check, he guessed. Wayne hadn’t been the same since Aisha had disowned him. No matter how much he tried to tell himself that he didn’t need her or his family’s issues, he still craved their acceptance. The only bright spark was that he’d been accepted into a school. A damn good school. Harvard Law. The late nights of extra school work had paid off, and the money he’d earned would cover any costs the scholarship didn’t. But that didn’t matter. Hustla and the gang would never let him escape them alive. They’d never let him follow a true dream. One unsullied by dirt, crime, poverty and violence. Janice sidled up to the black Cadillac, plastering a smile on her bright red lips. She swayed her chunky hips and leaned over, sparing a quick glance for him. She was one of the best. She never tried to cheat her pimp out of money. Janice chatted to the men in the car, giggling and batting her long fake lashes. A threesome cost extra. She knew she’d make a packet out of this, and she wanted these men bad. The sickly smell of trash drifted from the alley nearby. The dumpster there overflowed. The Cadillac’s door opened, and Wayne tensed automatically. The guy reached out and grabbed a handful of Janice’s ass. Trouble brewing. "Pay first, big boy." Janice tittered, shaking a manicured finger, teasing but serious at the same time. The guy in the car didn’t like that one bit. He charged out, closely followed by his buddy on the passenger side, and tried to stuff Janice into the back seat. Wayne reached for his pistol, cocked it and got out of the car. He walked right up to the bigger of the pair and placed the gun at his temple. "Put her down." He made himself sound bored. That always scared them. Sounding bored was more intimidating than yelling or getting angry. It made them think you knew something they didn’t. "This aint none of your business, fool." The shorter guy cocked his own gun. Wayne laughed at him, "That’s exactly what this is." Was Janice in some kind of trouble? She stared up at him, terror creeping from her gaze. She shook her head at him. That was when he saw it. The tattoos on the backs of their necks marked them as members of the rival gang. She was involved with them somehow. Pity. "Get lost." The tall one grated at him. Janice mumbled the word ‘daddy’ and shivered. Ah. She’d belonged to them. He wracked his brains for details of her acquisition, but couldn’t find any. A spy? "I see," Wayne mumbled. Anger bubbled through his core at her betrayal. At the life he lived. At the knowledge that this moment was kill or be killed, because of a greedy hooker who played both sides. The tall man reached up and scratched at that tattoo, and the flicker of the street lamp illuminated it. A memory scratched at him. The tattoo on Snoopy’s neck had been the same. The same group who’d killed his parents. "Let her go." Mom! No, mom! He couldn’t stop the flashback. He was nine again, his mother walked down the stairs. The gunshots rang out. Terror in her eyes. Pain in his chest. The gun in his hand. This time he pulled the trigger. The tall guy crumpled to the ground, Janice fell with him. He turned the gun and fired at his buddy. He dropped too. Janice ran away. Wayne turned and walked back to the car. He wiped the gun and tossed it. Then he got in the Bentley and drove to his office. He walked in, sat down and broke into pieces. Wayne was gone too. ---------------- "You did good, homes." Hustla nodded approval. Janice sat in the corner, holding a hand to her cheek, denying the welt that rose in the shape of his hand beneath it. "Dem niggas got what was comin’ to ‘em," Gee perked up beside Hustla’s desk, then scratched his balls. Wayne didn’t answer. He walked to the window and looked out. Inside, he was alive with agony. Inside, he screamed his lungs out and tore at his hair. He wanted nothing to do with this. Killing those men hadn’t brought his parents back. Instead, it had destroyed a piece of him. He’d retracted within himself. He’d found the small black hole he’d filled up on his parents’ deaths, and emptied it out. Then he’d crept inside and buried every last bit of himself inside it. It was cold and empty. It was dark. It was nothing. Just like him. He was inside the devil’s den, and there wasn’t an escape. He nodded to the pair of thugs and left the room. Janice whimpered behind him, but her fate was no longer his priority. She had betrayed them, and she would suffer the consequences. Just as he had. Wayne returned to his ‘office’. Days passed, then weeks, and finally months. The pain faded but was replaced by the numb darkness. He ignored the letters of acceptance from the Colleges and Universities. On his twentieth birthday, the phone rang. "Yo," he intoned, locking the safe behind him and covering it with a blanket. "Hello?" A woman’s voice responded. Probably someone looking for work. "Yeah?" "Is that Wayne?" He hesitated. They never asked for him by name. "Yeah." "It’s Yolanda." Silence stretched between them. It yawned even as the phone line crackled in his ear. "Hello?" "Yeah, I’m here." "Wayne, I just wanted to say Happy Birthday." She grinned on the other end, he could hear it. "Thanks…" What could he say to that? Tell her he wished he’d never been born? Not likely. "And I just wanted to say sorry. I know I can never change what happened, but I know that I was part of the reason that shit went down. I want you to know I loved you, and I’m proud of you, bro. I always looked up to you, I just didn’t know how to handle mom and dad’s deaths properly. Man, I’m so lame. This is probably not what you want to hear on your birthday." Wayne cleared his throat and blinked tears away. He hadn’t felt anything in years, but this was hard. This was real. "Thanks." "Everything good with you?" "Yeah," Wayne rifled through the papers on his desk, absently, "yeah, everything’s good." "That’s good, bro. Anyway, guess I’ll see you around some time. Good luck!" She hung up. Wayne swallowed a couple times. Then he opened his desk drawer and drew out an old paper. His acceptance letter from Harvard Law. It was way past due, but he stared at it for a good few minutes. He’d been a fool. He’d been drawn in by his own pain and his expectations of himself. Wayne stood, hope buoying in his chest. Could he do this? He had no choice. --------------- Two months later, Wayne straightened his tie and knocked on Hustla’s door. His wife opened up. "You look like a lawyer," she smirked at him. "That’s the idea," he replied with a proud grin. He’d come straight from his interview at the University, and he was more nervous for this meeting than that one. Hustla sat in the lounger, swigging beer and shouting at the TV. There was boxing on. The two men squared off against each other, fists raised, snarls and focus. "What up, Mccoy?" "I came to talk to you about the future, Hustla." The boss looked up, then shut off the TV. "Whaddya mean?" "I can’t be part of the gang anymore, man." Hustla shifted and eyed Wayne out, then glanced to where his gun lay on the coffee table in front of him. "Choo crazy?" "I just got accepted into Harvard Law." "Shiiiaaaat," Hustla whistled under his breath. Gee appeared in the open doorway which led into the kitchen. The boss shifted forward on his leather settee and shared a look with Gee. He shook his head incrementally, then turned back to Wayne. "You been good to us, Wayne. You was loyal and that. But this is not something I let my peeps do, ya know." Wayne nodded. "I know," he took a deep breath, "but this is what I want to do with my life. I’d rather be dead than be denied that." Gee touched his gun at his side, but Hustla raised his hand to stay him. "If that’s the case…" Hustla sighed, "well, I cain’t kill ya. You’s been too good to the family, man." He lurched upward and closed the distance between them in a few short steps. He was a head taller than Wayne, but he didn’t allow fear or intimidation to enter him. Hustla reached out and offered him his hand. Wayne took it. "Good luck, big man," Hustla muttered, "You cover my ass once you’s a lawyer, and we all square." Relief and satisfaction erupted in Wayne’s chest. He was finally free. Free from his parents’ legacy, and free to pursue his own dreams. Three weeks later, Wayne bought himself a house and two cars in celebration. A month after that, he had his first class. He was 21 and the world was finally his for the taking. This was what freedom tasted like. This was who he was meant to be. He knew his parents would’ve been proud, and Aisha would’ve been jealous. But somehow, that didn’t matter anymore. It was time to start a fresh life, out of this environment. It was time to move on, get an education, and be on the right side of the law.