As C's glanced the faces of his homeboys seated in his living room, he shuffled his thoughts, attempting to decide exactly where to begin. There was so many things needed to be addressed and cleared out that it figuratively fucked his mind. How did one ask there compadres' since knee high, to fight, bleed, and possibly die in the streets with him? There were no words that would make anyone in that room forsake peace just to gain ground by starting a game positioning war, which would no doubt drench the block in blood. Blood that would assuredly belong to not only their enemies, but also their friends and loved ones. He shook his head as he squared his shoulders, while locking his hands in front of his chest. There were just no words.
Impatience saturated the air in the room, manifesting itself in moving limbs, finger tapping, and bouncing knees. There was enough nervous energy to power the block. It pulsed from his hombres like a downed power line submerged in water. They would not wait much longer without knowing what the lick was. He had to get his shit together, fast.
A dude name Tigo, who'd reached his limit, shoved himself from the wall he'd been leaning on. Plunging his hands in his pocket, he cleared his throat. "You got us all here," he said, waving his hand around the room. "Plan on telling us what's this all about, bro?"
"He right, folk." Putt added from his spot on the love seat. "Can't lie, this vibe is starting feel just a little dramatic. Wouldn't be surprised if Nino Brown came strutting out the kitchen walking a Doberman."
All eyes flew to the entrance of the kitchen. After a few tense moments of waiting, a round of laughter cut the air and released some of the tension from the room.
"Boy, if Nino falls through here, he better hope that ass is Teflon blessed," C's said, as his laughter died down.
"Know that's right." Julio pounded the side of Ant's fist with his in dap. "Holmes will definitely catch his cut up in here today."
"Hell yeah." Juan agreed, from his spot at the table.
"Okay," C's said, nodding his head. "Glad to see you still 'bout that life."
"'Bout that life?" Jose questioned, a vato with a facial tick, eyes crossed. "Homey I live that life day to day. So stop trippin' and just tell us what this is all about."
C's came to a stop in the center of the room with several pairs of unblinking eyes trained on him. "A call to arms. All hands on deck are needed for a move." Slowly, his gaze connected with every pair of eyes in the room. "If you not 'bout these problems, let's get this shit straight right now. There's the door, and an out." He nodded toward the door, without looking in its direction, waiting a beat, he surveyed the room through hooded lids. When no one moved, he continued. "Since the time of our Papis' the block has known peace. Blood has rarely ever had to be shed, and we've been able to maneuver around our yards without the hindrance of fear."
Roberto, the vato from next door, tsked. "That's because vatos out here in these street recognize."
"It's because they tolerate," C's swiftly replied. "We stay in our lane and rarely ever switch gears, holmes. Putt you hold the same territory your pops held before he went to prison. And Tigo last I check you were still reping the Yard like Big Pay did before you."
"Yeah we all hold the same ground our pops held, except you," Tigo snapped with an attitude. "And your point is?"
"Slow your motherfuckin' roll, T," C's countered through clenched teeth, his hands fisting at his sides as he drilled Tigo with a unit. "This ain't that. I'm not callin' any of y'all out or tryin' to check your..." His voice trailed off, while his mind got in his ass about being soft on his hombres. Closed mouths didn't get fed. "You know what, fuck that. Yeah I am. Because there is no excuse as to why we not runnin' P'Cola, and most of the surrounding areas. Instead of being beasts around this bitch, we stuck spinnin' D's on the same turf, while we got the Haitians coming in lockin' spots down left and right, and don't even get me started on the Argentinian takeover. Their game is so smooth they're runnin' their product through my licks transport system."
"The fuck?" Juan sputtered, pushing the slipping red bandana back up his forehead.
"Psst." C's swatted the air in front of him as if he were waving away a fly. "Been doin' it for months, they're just now findin' out 'bout it. Matter fact, my peeps want me to handle their fuck up. Run up on the Argentinians' spot, glocks blazin' and shit, but I say they can eat a dick. What I look like puttin' down their troubles for piece of something that's ours by right anyway."
"Man, C's," Putt said, eyeing him carefully as he moved to the edge of his seat. "We've been through a lot of crazy shit together, but I don't know about this shit you hintin' at niño. Maldonado wants you to hit the Argentinians, the same Argentinians that even Juan Alejandro give flexin' distance? With what fuckin' Navy Seals? Ya crazy?" With huge eyes, he shook his shaved head, while others in the living room grumbled their agreement. "Uh huh, I don't know about this shit at all. A straight up hit on them would be suicide."
"Who said anything about a straight hit?" C's question with a cocked eyebrow.
"You said-," Putt began.
"I said that Reyes wanted me to. Come on now, Putt. Do you really think Maldonado would trust a vato from around the way to handle international disturbances? Man this shit's a set up." C's dragged his fingers through his hair. He watched Ant bob his head from the corner of his eye. "There ain't no way those fuckers could've ran those bricks through Maldonado's pipeline without Reyes knowing about that jack move. This I know better than my next breath. What I'm not sure of though, is why he wanna pull me in the mix?" He muttered to himself as he glanced away.
"Damn, C's. What the fuck you do?" Juan asked.
C's narrowed his gaze and stared at Juan as if he were the dumbest shit he'd ever seen. What the fuck did he do? Was vato serious? "Perfected my hustle," he said, shrugging. "Cemented my grind. Who the fuck knows? Who the fuck cares? I got a target on my back, and Reyes' ass put it there. But if he think I'ma stand still while he takes aim," C's shook his head, his voice never raising even an octave. "Then he's got life tilted."
"So what," Tigo asked, scrunching his face as he glanced around the room. "Now you want us to bang it out with Maldonado's crew too? Why, because your shit's in a sling? Naw." He shook his head, pushing off the sofa. "You my niño and everything, but your problems ain't got jack to do with me. I'm out." Crossing the room, with his head down, Tigo yanked open the door before anyone could respond, and left.
A calm settled over C's as he watched the remaining crew stare longingly at the door. This was their choice. There was no need to nut up if they decided not to ride with him. Yeah it would make the move he had planned that much harder, but what the hell could he do?
"Like I said," C's waved his hand after Tigo. "If you don't want these problems there's the door. Feel free to continue on as you've been doin' since you picked up your pops piece and went to work." Bodies shifted in their seats as if they wanted to take the out to get the hell out. Julio stood and took a step in the direction of the door.
C's cocked his head to the side as he surveyed Julio's slow progression towards the exit. "Go ahead and continue to enjoy the calm, while you can. But make no mistake while you're chillin' that, that's all it is, a calm. A piss poor substitution for peace that others have allowed you to have, for the time being. Because the shit won't last. Anything given can be snatched the fuck back, believe that. When? Who knows?" C's asked, his shoulder bobbing.
"Could be when the Haitians finish carvin' up everybody else's block and decides to come for ours. Or maybe it'll be when Vargas gets tired of circling the hood like a shark who's got blood in his nose and finally lunges for the attack. Either way they're comin', there's just the matter of time and who moves first." He became silent, giving everyone time to marinate in the cold blood of their shared doubt. Shit was filthy, but it was what it was. Truth. After they had only a fraction of a second to consider what he'd said, he forged forward. "But hey, fuck what the shit starter gotta say. He just wanna cause trouble and fuck up your peace...oops I mean calm, because there will be no peace, unless it is taken. That's how it's always been and that's the way it will always be. I don't know about y'all, but I'm in a taking kinda mood." Swaggering over to the exit, he yanked open the door. "And if you not on my level, then be the fuck out, yo."
Wide gazes ricocheted from him, to the door, and then back, weighing the decision to leave in loud silence. Each knew that if they stayed there would be blood, and lost the likes of which the block had never known. Fresh to death gear would be traded for orange jumpsuits and if shit really went sideways, fly whips would be exchanged for coffins. Their position was wedged between prison bricks and chalk outlined concrete. They had everything to lose and everything to lose if things got twisted. But, if Luck decided to bend her sexy ass over and give them a piece, an entire city and then some would be gained. After a moment of deliberation, bodies began to sag in their seats, while heads hung in resignation. Wrong or right, a choice had been made. The calm would be abandoned for the storm.