Shelton Family Saga

Chapter 2

Hoochie 1972

Between Hollywood and myself, there was no other young cat who stood a chance. We were the most blood thirsty young bucks around, and everyone knew it. Everyone knew Cong and I were cool, too; cause, it was Hollywood who introduced us. Shit, there the brother go right there.

"Eh Cong?"

Hoochie edged his brand new four wheeled bespoke machine over to the side of the street. It was quite arcane the way the sun glistened off the brushed metal hub caps that rested inside the thin striped white wall tires, and the body paint oozed its glaze of color like a freshly dipped candy coated apple; except, the candy painted body was all white and the tufted square panel leather interior was red like a delicious apple with a convertible red rag top to match. The padded dashboard was upholstered in the same red color along with a red steering wheel that held the signature Cadillac logo in the center of a three part wood grain backing. The chrome grille on the Eldorado slowly crept forward leading the way for its occupant along the curb before it. Using a terrycloth hand towel, Hoochie took a quick wipe of his forehead to sop up the sweat that had collected there from the sweltering heat inside the car. He had an a/c, just not enough freon to constantly keep it blowing. He casually let the dampened towel lay across the back of his neck and hang forward loosely down the front of each shoulder as he calmly rolled his window halfway down.

Prince Usambia Raphael Dejinic Akeem Kasongo was Cong's real name and he was first in line to the royal throne back in the Democratic Republic of Congo. His daddy was the current king, but his days were beginning to fall short of his duties. This meant in just a short time to come, Cong was going to be assuming the throne, thus being known as King Cong. Well, not really, but that's what he told everyone. It kept everyone laughing, because no one believed him anyway. To the boys around the block, he was just another young buck. You know, somebody like them. An around the way type brother who spoke with a thick African accent. Cong recognized Hoochie right off and started walking toward his car. When he made it there, he crouched down by the driver side window with the cheesiest grin spread across his face.

"Eh brother, you're alone I see. I thought you would have your boy Hollywood with you."

"Man Cong, yo black ass play too much," Hoochie quipped. "You know he's still locked up."

Cong burst out laughing. "Awe brother, I was just checking. Thought maybe you had busted him out of that place by now. I don't put nut-TING past you and Hollywood."

Although Hoochie and Cong got along quite well, fate would have it that Hoochie and Hollywood were the best of friends. With all the ugly messes that went down over the years, it was still hard for Hoochie to believe his fall partner had already been on lockdown for the past eight years. They had been inseparable, and bonded together through blood, sweat and tears. Literally. It was on Apr. 01, 1963 that a scrape across the middle of their forearms with the wide edge of a razor blade accompanied by a pact that this street life gonna remain our secret for life is what solidified their friendship and consummated them from friends to brothers. Becoming blood brothers was a big deal especially since Hollywood's momma was a Jehovah Witness who didn't believe in the mixing of one's blood with another. He never told her about what he'd done with Hoochie. They had experienced a lot together; and, they go way back. Speaking of way back, let me take you there.

As Hoochie's head began to slowly roll back, he let the blow out real slow. Potent as it was, it didn't slow him down or give him the munchies. Mary Jane tasted like sugar to him; and, it was exponentially sweet the way he laced it. After chopping it up with Cong, he'd edged his prized Cadillac away from the curb and headed off toward more familiar territory. Slowly creeping toward the section, he turned the steering wheel of his new Cadillac with his middle finger real slow as he rounded the block down by Smokey Joe's Cafe. He was about to cut every block through the flats as many times as he needed to make sure everyone saw him. He was the type of young brother that strutted around like a king. He actually was a king in an unorthodox kind of way. A kingpin off the streets of Helmsville. It may have just been a little speck on the map in the northern part of Wyoming with trash filled, dusty streets throughout the town, and one small grocery store, but it was home. The only home he'd ever known, so he was very familiar with it and claimed it as his own a long time ago. He didn't have much, so whatever he felt was for him, he staked claim to it and challenged anybody to prove otherwise. Hoochie had been running that town since he was a kid. A little, young, street hustler whose shoulders flung back and swayed side to side when he walked. He had started early, right after his momma died, getting his feet wet in the world of street hustling. Everything he ever got, he got for himself, and by himself. There wasn't another soul, living or deceased, who could stake claim to that honor. It was something Hoochie took a great deal of pride in. He had started early and learned the game in a way that didn't allow him to teach it to you, but undoubtedly he could show you. He thought of it as a game of show and tell, something he could show you better than he could tell you. Behind his back, his peers called him Showtime, for to them he was something like a big event waiting to happen. Whatever he was involved in usually resulted in him putting on a show. The young brother had a penchant for business and did his best to make it known to everyone around him that when you die and they pat that spade in your face, that's the end of the man's good grace, so you better "git ya paper sooner than later." He'd gotten that from Reginald. That being the whole ideology of getting rich or dying trying, as well as the nickname Hoochie. Most people referred to him by varying accounts of it such as Hoocha or Huthie; however, he never hesitated to correct anyone who mispronounced it, and he'd do it right there on the spot. His momma had been dead and gone so long the only real steadfast thing of valor that remained was his daddy, so Hoochie made sure you were going to know his name AND get it right! He really thought he was something, and left up to him, his opinion was that he was slicker than a can of Pennzoil. Ever since his momma died, he had to make his own way through life and really get it out the mud for himself. He had to make all of his own hustles with no added support and pull himself up by his own boot straps, which was the only way an authentic O.G. knew how to do. And, an O.G. or Original Gangsta, was a term befitting him like a custom made Tee, especially since everyone knew he owned the Helmsville streets. The streets were just a temporary, albeit rough beginning, cause he eventually maneuvered his way from the ruggish streets into an upper echelon of society filled with a higher caliber of associates. But, you see it was his best friend Hollywood who put him on game with running the numbers. And, man did Hoochie amass some phenomenal numbers over the years. Today those numbers are managed by the trustee of his estate, which is overseen by his longtime childhood friend, Noochie. Noochie's real name is Nicholas Andros, and he's a big time corporate tax attorney with his own wealth management firm; although, he didn't start out that way. In the beginning, he used to be a lowly fellow like all the other young boys, just hanging around the ghetto of Helmsville, looking for a way out. Everyone was pretty sure he would make it too; because, he had something none of them did, his white skin! Even so, to this day they have nothing but respect for Mr. Andros seeing how he never forgot his humble beginnings.