Mind Games: A Brick City Story, by Ikish Mullens

CHAPTER 8: His Niggas

Sitting on the hood of his car in the parking lot of Bradley Courts housing projects, Trey observed the children playing on the playground, and the residents walking back and forth, thinking to himself about Des and the argument the two of them had the night before.

Unlike Des, Trey isn’t experiencing any fuzzy feelings, because he’s furious at how Des belittled him in front of his peers. Moreover, if Trey didn’t before, he resented Des now more than ever. In addition, he didn’t care how wrong Des might’ve thought he was; because all Trey cared about is how Des made him look . . . WEAK.

“What up my dude?” Wes asked as he and Roc approached Trey. Showing Trey love, Wes continued, “What's good wit’ you?”

“I’m good,” Trey replied pretending that he’s okay.

“A yo, I heard Des ripped you a new asshole last night,” Roc added, “Even though you keep them bitchass niggas out of jail.”

“You know how he is,” Trey replied, “If it ain’t his way, it’s no way.”

“I know what you mean, but I don’t know how you put up wit’ his bullshit,” Roc said, “I know he's yo cousin and all, but if I was you, I would’ve been put him in his place a long time ago . . . Fuck that nigga.”

“Don’t listen to this drunk muthafucka.” Wes told him. “You know it’s the Two-Eleven talking.”

“Fuck what you heard, I’m telling it like it is,” Roc continued, “Des think he knows everything and treats us like shit. But if it weren’t for us being out here pushing this shit, he wouldn’t be shit. He ain’t making us, we making him.”

“He’s got a point,” Trey added.

“You just saying that because you pissed,” Wes said in Des’ defense, “You know Des looks out for everybody.”

“Nigga please, we all know who he really looks out for,” Roc blurted, “When it really comes down to it, if you ain’t Anth, Tone, Capo, or that bitch Mel, he don’t give a fuck about you.”

Turning up his nose, Wes replied, “I don’t want to hear that shit, Des a real nigga.”

“You must have amnesia,” Trey blurted, as he stood up off his car. Stepping to Wes, Trey continued, “I remember when I first brought you to the hood, Des treated you like shit, and yet you turned on me for him, even though I always stood up for you.”

“See what I mean?” Roc agreed, sipping on his beer. “Des treated you like his personal whipping boy. I remember that shit. He treated you like a clown ass nigga.”

“Man that shit’s old. We got over that,” Wes explained.

“Listen, Des is my cousin and I’mma put you D to some shit,” Trey said, sticking his finger in Wes’ chest, speaking his truth, “Des never liked you. In fact, I was the only one who stood up for you when everybody else looked down on you. I treated you like my equal, and not some pushover like they did, but you choose to roll wit’ them niggas just to fit in. And like Roc said, when it’s all said and done, Des only look out for his niggas . . . HIS NIGGAS.”

After Trey made his point, he and Roc walk off leaving Wes to ponder about what he’d just said. No matter how harsh Trey’s words may have seemed, everything that he’d said to Wes was the truth. Beginning with Des and Wes’ initial introduction, Des treated Wes as if he was beneath him.

Tormenting Wes every chance he’d get, going as far as stealing a few of Wes’ girlfriends just because he felt he could. In addition, each time Des would purposefully disrespect Wes, Wes would do nothing to defend himself. On occasion, Wes would have his slick comments, or wise cracks, but he would never get physical with Des, even as Des had gotten physical with him.

For instance, there was one rare occasion where Wes sat on his grandmother’s porch, while Des sat on Tone’s porch, and Wes spent an hour cracking jokes on Des. However, from his grandmother’s balcony, Wes felt safe, and began hurling insults at Des, causing Des’ blood to boil because he couldn’t reach him to shut him up. Moreover, the more Wes spoke, the more Des’ mind began to ponder about what he planned to do to Wes once he was able to get his hands on him, and as luck would have it, that day had come sooner than later.

Home from work early, Des sat in room watching television when he heard someone enter his home. Rising from his bed, Des lowered the volume of the television as he listened to the voices closely.

Lightly stepping over to his bedroom door, Des opened the door slowly as to not make a sound, as he eased his way into the hallway. He stood at the top of the stairs not making a sound as his visitors made themselves comfortable on the living room sofa. Then all of the sudden, everything changed. Flying down the stairs like a bat out of hell, Des locked the top lock on the front door, and turned his attention to his visitors.

Slowly approaching the sofa where his visitors were sitting, Des displayed a sinister smile on his face and said, “Talk that big Willy shit now muthafucka.”

“What you talking about?” Wes tensely replied, afraid of what Des was planning to do to him.

Adding fuel to the flame, Trey blurted, “You know what he talking about. Remember . . . You told me you were ripping (joking) him last night when he was at Tone’s shit.”

Not saying a word, waiting for Wes’ reply, Des reached for a trophy sitting on the wall cabinet and bashed Wes over the head with it. Screaming in agony, Wes felt the spot where Des hit him with the trophy, and quickly jumped to his feet when he noticed blood on his hands.

Unfazed by causing Wes physical pain, Des continued standing in the middle of the living room holding the trophy and laughing hysterically.