Lighter Shade of Brown (Urban Fiction) BWHM

Chapter 33

"C's," Putt growled through gritted teeth, no doubt ready to defend his bitch made cousin.

"It's not Taz, my...my...d-d-dog." Chubbs stuttered through gasps.

"Know like hell it wasn't my, Primo. He fucks pussy not plot up robberies with it," Putt said.

Pissed, C's placed the tip of the blade in Chubbs' left nostril. "Run everything from the gate that popped with Estevan and this vato. And don't leave out even a syllable. I wanna hear it all. Even the shit you don't think is important." When Chubbs hesitated, he pushed the knife further up his nose. "Look...me and you both know your fat ass is gonna die tonight. There's no gettin' around it. Your clock's stopped, and there's no controlling time." Another whimper slipped passed Chubbs' chattering teeth at the reminder of his impending death. Stepping back he snatched the blade away, purposefully slicing at the flap of skin that separated his nostrils. "What you can control is how long it takes you to die. You can catch your cut with one to the dome, or I can finish carving your ass up and leave you at the edge of the pit for the bobcats and coyotes to fight over. It's on you."

Chubbs gulped, and the fat at his throat moved up and down like an ocean wave. " 'Bout seven months back I got jammed up with a couple of pounds of hydro." Pausing, Chubbs chanced a look at him. When he only stared, holding all facial expressions in check, Chubbs continued. "Boeman and Friendly was talkin' crazy double digit time if I didn't set up a vato called Fat Pat from Ensely."

That sounded like Boeman and Friendly, badge carrying, doughnut eating asses. Their lazy culos loved to sit back and let a hood vato who'd turned snitch, do their jobs for them.

"So this bitch workin?" Ant spit on the ground and reaimed his magnum at Chubbs head. "Man you need your dome rocked for that shit. Can't believe your lil' soft ass turned snitch behind a couple pounds of weed. I don't give a damn if you love to eat. If you couldn't stand the blaze crack-a-lackin off in this motherfucka, why the fuck you bring your wide ass in the kitchen?"

"Chill," C's said, attempting to get his wild ass back on the leash. Ant's mouth snapped closed, but the punishing grip he had on the handle of his gun bust open his mental and put the inner workings of his mind on blast. He was ready to put Chubbs ass in the dirt without the benefit of anymore questions asked. Ant hated snitches. But hell, who the fuck didn't? He returned his attention back to the fat motherfucker at hand. "Heard about Fat Pat's fall a while ago. That was you, huh?"

"Had to do, what I had to do. I got a daughter who-,"

"Save all that hood story blues shit," he said cutting him off by waving the blade in front of his face. "Your baby mama be the first bitch at HRS when the doors open in the morning. If you were doin' so much she wouldn't have her hand stretched out for foodstamps, a check, cheese, or whatever the hell else the government is offerin'. You worked the hell out of your dick sucker for you, not her or your jit. All because you was too scared to go sit your ass down for those couple of years and run your time. Now all irrelevent shit to the left, what the hell do your hoe tendencies have to do with me being set up to be robbed?"

"Estevan and the other vato found out about me snitchin on Fat Pat. Claimed they saw my name on his deposition papers," A tear slipped down his cheek and Ant hocked up something yellowish-green and foul. He spit the shit in Chubbs' face. As if the mess happened everyday Chubbs smeared the sputum around his face as he attempted to wipe it away. "If I didn't go along with the set up, they threatened to tell you that I was workin. So I..."

"Once again you chose self over everyone else. It's cool, though. A weak ass nino like you is suppose to, how the hell else would you have survived in the game this long," C's plunged the blade into the surface of his gut, making another shallow cut. "Answer me this. Who the hell else did E run with 'sides Taz? Make me know this motherfucka Chubbs. Which one of my blocks do he serve on?"

Chubbs openly sobbed this time. "Don't know. All I know is he's Latino and got these crazy ass silver caps in his mouth. And he swoll too with cell block tats, like he just jumped from prison off a seven year bid. That's all I know I swear. Please-,"

Before he could finish begging for his bullshit life, C's snatched his glock from the waistband of his jeans, aimed the iron at Chubbs face and squeezed the trigger twice. Blood and brain matter blew back on him and Ant. Using the sleeve of his Polo sweater, he wiped most of the filth away.

"Get his ass in the ground, yo," he said to Tigo and Julio before spinning to face in Putt's direction. "Did you know the vato his fat ass was goin' on about?"

Putt shook his head. "He gotta be new on the block. Holmes probably did just jump from prison."

Rage shot through his body and he damn near sparked flames. If it wasn't one bullshit thang it was a motherfucking other. After dealing with E timid ass and Chubbs' snitching ass, he now had to turn around and show a bitch from the bricks what the hell was up. That time didn't stop on the streets just because he'd got locked the fuck down. Whether your dead or counting calendars in prison, life moves the fuck on. Every hombre thugging, hustling, and grinding needed the code of the block tatooed across their skulls. It would keep redundant bullshit like this down. He didn't have the fucking time to school—stuck in time—dudes on hood politics. Not while he was attempting to buckle down another block.

"Ay," C's yelled, snaking his squads attention. The sound of the shovel hitting the ground paused as ten pairs of eyes flicked towards him. "Ten g's and a key to whoever brings me dude's head."