24th and Dixie

24
th
and Dixie

A Short Story

By

Ron C

Copyright © 2016 LaRon Coleman

Published by Ron C Presents

Editor: Latarsha Banks

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without prior written consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Any references or similarities to actual events, real people, living or dead, or to the real locals are intended to give the novel a sense of reality. Any similarity in other names, characters, places, and incidents are entirely coincidental.

Acknowledgements

I want to thank all of my readers for supporting me and spreading the word, and I will continue to deliver it straight gutta and grimy as possible. Special thanks to my editor LaTarsha Banks. You are a great editor and I really appreciate all you’ve done. Special Thanks to my cover designer Anita Davis. You always present ‘em perfect and gutta the way I like them. To all of my family I love you and I’m grinding for a purpose!!!

It was just another crazed night in the city of Sarasota, Florida as Kane and his identical twin brother, Able, cruised the late night streets in their black Range Rover Sport. It was tinted with five percent limo and sat on 22” black Lexani wheels. Kane was the driver and Able rode shotgun. Able was texting a female friend named Roslyn.

“Bro, see if her and Quanita tryna hook up. Tell her we tryna fuck tonight,” Kane told him.

“I got’cha bro,” Able answered.

Kane and Able were two young thunder cats that stayed in a lot of shit. They were known in the streets as ‘Da Ghetto Twinz’. They were two young ass seventeen-years-old hoodlums who already had enough street clout for their names to ring from Sarasota to Manatee to Tampa Bay. Neither was anonymous in the streets, and there were plenty breathing victims to testify.

“This ho crazy,” Able said with a smile.

“What is she talking about?” Kane asked.

“She said her and Quanita gon’ fuck with us tonight,” he said.

“Bet ‘dat up. Call that nigga C-Brook and see if they got some loud over there on twenty-fourth,” Kane said.

“Muthafuckin’ AC ‘bout to freeze a nigga. You ain’t cold?” Able asked and looked over at Kane. Kane turned the air down on low. “Roslyn said to give her and Quanita about thirty minutes to get ready,” Able said.

“Shit, bet ‘dat up. Once we pick them up we locked in for da’ night,” Kane stated.

“I’m about to call C-Brook now,” Able answered.

Kane turned off of 41
st
onto 27
th
and MLK and cruised down the avenue slowly. He always tried to drive the speed limit because the cops knew his vehicles and often harassed him and his brother for no reason. Able got C-Brook on the phone and told him to have at least two dub sacks of loud for him.

“Okay, I got’cha lil homey. Hey, swing by da’ corner store for me and bring me a pack of grape blunts and I got’cha ya when you get here,” C-Brook requested.

“A’ight. We coming down 27
th
now so give us a few minutes, and we’ll be through. The avenue ain’t hot with 5.0 is it?” Able asked.

“Nigga, hell nah. You know I would tell you if it was. Twenty-fourth is clear right now homey but you know I can’t speak for later. Y’all know how these hatin’ ass cops be,” C-Brook said

“No doubt. We’ll see you in a minute,” Able said and ended the call.

They made a quick stop at Morris Corner Store to grab a pack of Newport’s, the grape blunts C-Brook requested and then jumped back on 27
th
. The avenue was packed like any other Friday night. Niggas stood around in herds doing whatever they wanted to do. The cops weren’t out yet, but it was never long before they made their presence known. As the Range Rover rolled down the avenue, a lot of people began noticing the twins. It was like they were celebrities.

“Twinz, I see ya,” one thug yelled. “Kane I see ya boi!” Another yelled.

“Ghetto Twinz, fuck with me,” another yelled and swung his arms out. The twins acknowledged the homies and threw their hands up. When they spotted three hoochie mamas hollering at them, they instantly stopped in the street.

They were all dressed in short miniskirts that came well above their thighs, and it made their plump asses stick out. Two of them had on red halter tops that fit right underneath their breast, and the other one wore a black top that exposed one side of her shoulder.

“Damn boo, y’all looking good as a ma’fucka. What y’all finna do?” Able asked out of the window.

“Not shit. Tryna chill and smoke sumthin’. What y’all finna do because we free right now?” The with the black top said.

“Shid, we always available for Da’ Twinz. What’s up? Can we roll with y’all or what?” One of the red tops said. “I know y’all not gon’ pass up three pieces of good pussy. Hell, y’all can have us all night,” the other one offered.

“Oh yeah?” Able excitedly said.

“Bro, man we already got some hoz lined up. We can’t pick them bitches up now,” Kane reminded his brother.

“Bro, you trippin’. Three bitches better than two,” Able joked.

“Man, we can get ‘dem ghetto ass bitches anytime,” Kane said.

“We can get Roslyn and Quanita anytime too,” Able made his point.

Kane just shrugged with a smile like whatever.

“So y’all tryna roll with us or what?” Able asked them. Before either girl could respond the sound of a loud horn blaring interrupted everyone’s thoughts.

“What the hell?” Kane said and looked through his rearview. There was a car close on his bumper, and the driver was honking his horn like he was a stone fool.

“Get the fuck out the road nigga!” The man rudely yelled. The man was dark-skinned with a bushy, nappy beard, and a head full of nappy hair. He looked to be in his early forties, and it was obvious he had zero respect for youngsters.

He continued honking the horn in his big Buick LeSabre. “Get the fuck out the road young niggas! Don’t make me get out this got damn car!” He threatened.

“Man, tell ‘dat fuck nigga to go around!” Kane spat angrily.

“Drive around nigga!” Able yelled out of the window and gestured with his arm.

“I ain’t going around shit! Get out da’ fuckin’ road! You young niggaz ain’t got no respect! I oughta cut ya balls off and give ‘em back to ya pappy! Apparently he’s a sorry muthafucka too!”

The girls found the fool to be pretty funny and burst into laughter. Kane and Able were shocked at the man’s bold mouth and could not believe what he was saying.

“This nigga got a lot of mouth,” Able said to Kane.

“Bold,” Kane said.

BONK! BONK! BONK! BONK! BONNNKKKKK!!!! The man held the horn and literally began to piss the twins off.

“Man, what the fuck wrong with you nigga? Go yo ass around fool!” Able yelled out of the window.

“Fuck you!” The man fired back and threw up his middle finger. “You young punk ass similac babies ain’t worth a damn! Ya mama should’ve choked you with the umbilical cord and threw you back in her funky coochie!”

The girls burst into laughter again as the fool continued to throw degrading remarks at the twins.      

“Bro, you wanna smoke this muthafucka?” Able asked.

Kane grabbed his Glock .40 from under the seat, and he and able got out of the truck simultaneous, each with a .40 Caliber in hand. “What’s all that tuff shit you talking nigga?” Kane growled at the man. Shots erupted and sounded like a gun range as bullets pumped through the windshield and changed Carl Casper’s life forever. He was hit at least twelve times in the chest area and was dead on arrival.

“Y’all ain’t see shit and y’all don’t know shit!” Able told the girls who were laughing earlier.

“And we mean that Kiera,” Kane added calling out one of the girls’ real name. The Range Rover sped off, and the girls ran off not wanting to be witnesses. A man had lost his life all because he chose not to drive around someone who was blocking the street.

$$$$

Back on the avenue on 24
th
and Dixie, C-Brook and his crew were hanging out by the curve shooting dice when they heard the gunshots. Besides selling drugs all day this was all they did because their life didn’t consist of much at all. C-Brook was the self-proclaimed leader on the Av. and had a few simple minded flunkies under him. It was the regular crew hanging out. J-Smith, Breze, CJ, Ron, and Wild-Man. A lot of people often thought C-Brook and J-Smith were brothers because of their similarities. They were both twenty-eight, long dreadlocks, dark-skinned, and a slender build. Wild-Man was the oldest of the crew. He wasn’t really a part of their crew but hung out on the Av a lot, so he blended in with them. He was thirty-two and looked like his nickname. He was very dark with an unkempt beard, a long nappy goatee, and a mouth full of bad gold. He was tall and lean.

CJ and Breze were both under twenty-five and appeared to be the main followers of the group. CJ was fresh out of the County after a ninety-day bid. He had been out for two days. He was now back on the avenue dressed like a thug in his too big shorts sagging and his wife beater showing off all of his jailhouse tats. His hair cut was fresh, and his waves were pressed. His footwear was Jordan’s of course. Breze was tall, slender, and light skinned with freckles. He sported a low cut and a short goatee. Ron was his half-brother. They had the same mother but different fathers. CJ appeared to be calm and collective but his split second decisions always proved him to be the opposite. He was tall like Breze but brown skinned and wore his hair bushy but freshly edged. Tonight was just another night of bullshit for them.

“Y’all niggas heard ‘dem shots just then?” Breze asked. “What ‘da fuck going on?” He added.

“Ay? Y’all heard that? I know y’all heard that! I was way in the house, and I heard it,” a guy named Fam said walking up. He was a good friend of C-Brook’s. He was another dread head that looked like the worst of them.

“We heard that shit,” C-Brook answered.

“C-Brook, where ‘da twinz at?” J-Smith asked.

“I don’t know. Call ‘em CJ,” he said.

CJ called but didn’t get an answer. “They not answering.”

“Can’t smoke with no blunt,” J-Smith said.

“Wild-Man, go to the store and grab some blunts for us. Make yourself useful,” CJ playfully ordered.

“I got warrants. Didn’t you just hear all those fuckin’ cops up there? That means they are on 27
th
nigga! You go get the shit!” He spat.

“You better leave Wild-Man alone,” Fam said with a smile. Wild-Man was known to get stupid, and his patience was thin.

“Nigga you act like it’s one store on 27
th
. It’s a few, so nigga choose one and go cop the blunts. You wanna smoke don’t you?” CJ said.

“Nigga I got my own blunts! You choose one fuck nigga! What the fuck I look like? I got three felony warrants, and they don’t carry probation. If I look like a fool then slap the hell out of me,” he spat. Ron imitated as if he was slapping someone and made a silent ‘Pow’ sound. CJ laughed and shook his head.

“You got three felony warrants and you out here standing on the corner where the cops roam every day? Shit, you might as well gone head and walk into the county jail and turn yourself in. That’s what I would do,” CJ said. He first questioned Wild-Man’s loyalty and then tried to make him look stupid. “That’s ‘cause you a dumb ass lil fuck nigga!” Wild-Man growled. The atmosphere on 24
th
and Dixie never did really give off a good vibe. It was more like death was descending and seeking for its designated man to be the chosen assassin. The guys often joked, and lip wrestled, but it was clear when things were serious by the tone of their voices. “Y’all niggaz kill me with all that tuff guy shit,” he added.

“Bruh, who is y’all?” Ron asked wanting Wild-Man to be a little more specific.

“What?” He barked at Ron.

“Nigga, who you talking ‘bout? Who ‘da fuck is y’all?” Ron spat back.

“Who was I talking to nigga?” He spat.

“This nigga talking ‘bout you CJ,” Ron Said.

“You got me fucked up homey,” CJ said.

“All I know is he ain’t talking to me homey,” Ron said.

“I’m talking to both you bitches then how about that?” Wild-Man said with boldness.

“Damn,” J-Smith said instigating. He was known for trying to escalate a situation to its worst, and Ron and CJ knew it. Ron didn’t reply, but CJ’s ego was too big for him not to. “I ain’t got nuthin’ to prove nigga. Ain’t no sense of arguing. Y’all know me,” he said.

“And you know me! Wild-Man Nigga! It’s a reason they call me that. They don’t call me that ‘cause I like to play with animals. Nigga, I am an animal!” He spat.

He was pumped and acted as if he was ready to explode. Ron and CJ gave each other a look that second guessed Wild-Man’s hype. “That nigga sound mad,” CJ said being funny.

“Real mad,” Ron added.

“Who he think he foolin’?” CJ began talking to Ron about Wild-Man. “Nigga I know you. You ain’t about ‘dat life, you feel me? So why is you talking like you Mr. Untouchable? You just a flute. I’m the one who saved Dread from beating that ass. It’s all understood here homey and niggas know ‘bout me in these streets, ya feel me? I’m out here deep!”

“Real shit, though,” Ron said and bumped fists with CJ. The two continued carrying on and on running their mouth talking about Wild-Man as if he wasn’t standing there to defend himself.

“Nigga you ain’t in jail where you can be what the fuck you wanna be. Now he can probably tell ‘dem niggas in jail that bullshit and they’ll believe it,” CJ said.

“Fuck nigga mad ‘cause he got warrants but he out here posted up on the Av. like it’s cool. Shit, you might as well gon’ up on 27
th
and jump in the back seat of the cop car,” Ron said.

“Bitch ass nigga,” CJ said. The other guys looked at Wild-Man and were surprised that he was letting the two big mouth youngsters run off at the mouth like that.

But Wild-Man was only letting them hang themselves. If there was one thing he hated that was a bold mouth nigga who didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. Yeah, in the past CJ had stopped this guy named Dread from attacking Wild-Man with a baseball bat, but just recently Wild-Man had stopped Kane and Able from shooting CJ and Ron for trying to sell them some fake Lortab pills. So as far as he was concerned it was a favor for a favor, and he didn’t owe them shit. As for them running their mouth talking tuff guy shit, he was sick of them, and his patience had run out.