Chapter 1
Crew
“What are you talking about, Debbie?”
Gio asked, his brows knitted together, eyes narrowing like he was trying to replay a conversation in his head that never actually happened. My mama said they talked about everything, so why the fuck did they not talk about sharing a kid together? You would think that conversation would’ve come up first.
“Mama, I know you don’t think that will work. This snitch ass nigga is not my father.”
“He is Crewshon. I promise both of you that Gio is your dad.”
“And how do you know that, Mama?”
“Baby, everything about Gio reminds me of you. Plus, the time that Gio and I were together adds up to the time of your birth. You are hot headed like he was back in the day. The height, the smooth skin. A deep dimple in your left cheek that I feel every time I rub both of your faces. It’s true, Crew.”
“Mama, you think I give a fuck about smooth skin, a dimple, and some long ass legs and shit? Go back in your room so I can handle this nigga the way I planned to!”
Gio snickered, looking me dead in my eyes as I kept him pinned to the wall. The part that was making me so mad was that he really didn’t show much fear. Like he knew he was safe just because my mama was standing on his side.
“I’m not going to tell you again nigga. There ain’t shit funny!” I pressed him up against the wall even harder.
“You know, maybe you are really my son because I used to not give a fuck about what my mama said either.”
“Crewshon, please just leave, go calm down, and then come back and talk to me about everything in a civilized manner. This is not worth it. I love you too much to lose you.”
She pleaded, but I ignored every word coming out of her mouth right now. Reasoning isn't something I am on, and I want to see blood seeping from this nigga eyes and ears right now. According to how I usually handle shit, we have already been talking too long. I usually shoot niggas in the head after asking one last question, Anylast words?
“Don’t be upset, Debbie. Crew is the type of man who has to learn things the hard way.”
“And what the fuck is the hard way? There ain’t shit hard for me nigga. My life is easy because I make it easy without needing help from the cops like you. Yeah, I heard about you, rat.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, keep talking your shit, lil nigga. I promise one day you will learn. One day you may need to rat yourself to get out of some shit.”
I cocked my gun after hearing him refer to me as a little nigga, and my mama really started hollering like she was on the set of a fuckin scary movie.
“Crew baby, please don’t do this! Don’t do this. He is your father. Your parent. He helped create you.”
I stared him in the eyes, feeling this overwhelming sense of hate cover me. Her saying he was my father didn’t move me. It actually made me think the opposite. Shit, I’d wanted to look my deadbeat father in the eyes for years. Slap that nigga and kill him afterwards because that's always what I felt he deserved.
“If he is my father, then that means he wasn’t there for his child, and he deserves to die even more.”
I pulled the trigger once and sent a bullet into his chest, and then another and another. When he slid down the wall onto the ground, my mama started screaming even louder, and I’m sure this was one time she was happy that she couldn’t see.
“I’m sorry, Mama. I’ll get you a new house from prison if you call the cops. Now, if you don’t want me to go to prison, then you will leave and let me send my niggas over here to get rid of this nigga.”
“Leave Crewshon! Go! Get out of here! Get out!”
She screamed as her fingers trembled up to her lips. I was about to tell her that I was sorry again, but I know nothing I say to her right now will matter. I stepped over his body and walked out the door, only having remorse for what my mama just witnessed and the consequences that will be brought to me if she turns me in.
I jumped in my car and headed home in complete silence, which is unusual for how I ride. Usually, I like whatever song I’m hooked on at the moment blasting through my speakers, even after murdering folks, but it was something about today that had my mind fucked up. It wasn’t killing Gio; it wasn’t even the fear of going to prison at this point. It was the revelation that mymama made. Gio was my fuckin father? You mean Hov and I are actually cousins? Real family?
I hated to admit it, but this shit did kind of make sense. Me and Hov both had that same kill and survive instinct so maybe that was why. I for sure have to tell that nigga about this shit asap. I’ll call him as soon as I set foot in my spot and call Scotty for a clean up, but right now, I need silence. I need to think and prepare myself for the worst. Going to prison for murdering my supposed father.
When I pulled up in front of my condo, I killed the engine and sat there for a few more seconds because I couldn’t move. I looked out of my window at the snow piled up on the front steps, dirty and packed down from people in my building walking through it all day. I glanced up towards my bedroom window and thought about how I would potentially break the news to P about me going to prison. I know she wouldn’t like hearing that shit. Her ass would probably only hold me down for a good week before she had another nigga taking care of my daughter.Shit was stressful to even think about.
When that stress hit my chest, I knew I needed to smoke, so I reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a blunt, cracking the window just enough to let the smoke escape. I took a couple of slow pulls of the weed and blew the smoke out, watching it mix with the cold air outside before it disappeared. Those couple of hits took away the noise, but I know the real peace will come once I’m able to sit in my meditation room to really take the worry away.I have to get inside asap in case the cops are on there way over here. But nah, my mama wouldn't turn me in. At least I don't think so, but who knows how much this nigga has corrupted her mind.
“I guess it’s time to face the fucking music.”
