The Viper and his Majesty by Tiana Laveen

 

 

CHAPTER ONE

Party Crasher

Dominic stood in his long backyard as the Miami sun set behind wispy clouds. Sylvan Lacue’s, ‘Clam Chowda’ blared from two towering speakers set on the cobblestone patio about twenty feet away, with lights flashing in tune with the cold, hard beat. The woofers pulsed and vibrated; he could feel the music crawl within and strangle the depths of his soul. Smoke eddied from his cigar and the lingering taste of Don Julio clung on his palette as he bobbed his head, enjoying the music, while the cool grass tickled his bare feet. He watched the people in the near distance, milling under a canopy of black and gold balloons and colorful flags and banners. Three of his Pit Bulls, Chance, Sarge and Belleza, played in the yard and lazily rolled about around him, their glistening royal blue rhinestone and studded collars glinting in the light. Their wagging pink tongues lopped off to the sides of their wide-open mouths.

Chance’s eyes were glossy as wet, onyx jewels. Bending down, he gave a good belly rub to the blue Pit Bull in a playful mood, then stood to continue surveying the scene. A breeze caught his hair, and it felt good massaging his skin and hitting his sweaty T-shirt. He felt the buzz of his iPhone in his pocket but didn’t bother to check who was texting him. He’d been on the phone for most of the day, including an important call a few minutes earlier for which he’d needed the privacy of his backyard, so now he just wanted some peace.

His thoughts wandered like nomads. Sometimes it’s a good idea to step away, get a better perspective. He was always watching. Always on the lookout. Even at home. Viper’s guard was always up, like a teenage boy’s cock in the wee hours of the morning. He figured his behavior bordered on paranoia, but one could never be too careful. Everyone was a suspect; everyone could be paid to turn their back and do the unthinkable.

The world around him was usually loud, in stereo. Music, laughter, cursing and fighting. But he’d gotten used to the quiet lately. Still, it felt just fine to have the Kings and Queens close by after such a long time away. It almost felt normal.

His phone buzzed again. He pulled it out of his pocket, hit the red decline call icon, and put it back. I told her to stop calling me. I told her what the deal was when we met. Janet was a strange woman. Cute, overly bubbly, far too idealistic and totally not his type personality wise, yet the bar waitress had an incredible set of tits he couldn’t resist. He’d fucked her a couple of times a month ago and hadn’t spoken to her since.

His phone vibrated a third time. Now she seemed to be leaving a voicemail. He’d delete that later without listening to it. He’d made himself clear. It wasn’t his fault she didn’t want to listen.

He sniffed the air and smiled. The pungent smells of gun smoke and residual firecrackers, grilled barbecue ribs, a whole pig on a drum, roasted corn, and tender chicken filled the air. He’d eaten a hamburger and a couple of hot sausages on warmed buns earlier, but now the feast was really about to begin. His Reye, Jose, also known as King Brick, was cooking. Jose was sometimes called Chef because he could really throw down on the grill. He was stout, solid, and bald. Dark, bushy eyebrows hovered above slanted dark brown eyes. A thick black mustache covered the guy’s upper lip, making him appear permanently frowning, and his signature diamond stud earring caught the sunlight and sparkled just right. As if knowing he was looking at him, Jose waved his fist in the air and laughed. He was the man on the grill. Viper offered a smile and chuckle, and waved right back.

Jose’s prominent sun-braised gut was covered in prison tattoos and the depressed and reddened scar of an old stab wound. Dominic took a drag of his cigar, watching as his amigo slowly turned the meat on one of two bulky grills, all while keeping a steady grip on a chilled bottle of beer and a cigarette dangling from his lips. The swine kept on cooking, flavoring the air, until it was soon falling off the bone. The boisterous crowd of friends was clearly enjoying the ‘Welcome Home’ party of their recently released brother, King Stacks—birth name: Pedro—one of Dominic’s closest friends.

“Hey, Ashley. Relax. Chill,” Stacks called out to one of the women that most of them in attendance barely knew. The lady was clearly intoxicated, picking fights with some of the other women over her man, Pedro. A short, scrappy woman with dark brows and a red skunk streak down the side of her hair, she didn’t seem to realize she was playing with fire by getting mouthy with the queens. Stacks’ ex-girl, Gia, was there, and was no stranger to slicing a throat or beating someone into their next lifetime. Gia had served five years for drug trafficking and aggravated assault, but the crimes she hadn’t served time for were the ones that would make most strait-laced civilians’ blood curdle. He smirked as he watched the show. Craziness. The strange woman kept going off, saying reckless things… things that would promise her an ass-kicking, if not a trip to the E.R. or perhaps the morgue.

She speaks like she’s stupid. She’s gotta be an idiot to let her jealousy make her speak to these women this way. She’s not even that attractive. What the fuck is Pedro thinking bringing her here? She’s going to get killed if she doesn’t shut up.

“I saw you! And you pulled his elbow, trying to get him to kiss you!” the woman railed, her voice carrying louder and louder. The crowd had thickened around them, making it hard for him to make out what transpired from such a distance.

Stacks had been talking to Ashley while in prison, and now, she wanted to piss on her property and mark her territory – let everyone know that Stacks belonged to her, and her alone.

Things began to die down, and the crowd dispersed. The lady wrapped her arm possessively around Stacks’ long, tattooed arm, her dark eyes darting back and forth, and held him close, as if on the lookout to beat up any woman who dared to even glance in his general direction.

Some of these women go crazy over my boy, Stacks. If a fight breaks out, I’ll have to have Marie or Charlotte break it up.

The music grew a bit louder. He hadn’t even noticed that someone had turned it down during the melee, as if to increase the tension. A lot of his brothers enjoyed a good cat fight. He imagined some may have even been instigating. All that was petty shit though, inconsequential. He looked past Ashley, and concentrated on the man of the hour. He’d barely had any time to speak to him. He’d bide his time and get with Stacks soon. Right then, Viper wasn’t certain what to make of him.

Stacks looked almost like a completely different man from when he’d last seen him. He was heavier, more muscular. He used to be rail thin. So much so, jokes were made about how if a gust of wind blew or someone farted too hard close to him, they’d never see him again. He’d looked like a kid when he got locked up the last time. Now, he appeared beyond his earthly years. Though he’d beefed up and now looked like a formidable opponent, prison had beat up any shred of innocence he had left. Time and struggles were etched across his face like book chapters with footnotes and scribbled quotes, and he had a vacant expression, the light was gone from his amber eyes, now adorned with crow’s feet and two teardrop tattoos. The man had just spent nine years in Union Correctional Institution. At one point, they’d been in together, along with several other Latin King brothers.

“Motherfucker, you can’t beat me at dominoes! I’ll take all of your money tonight. Lo prometo.” Nester chortled as he grabbed Pedro and hugged him tight.

“The cake is coming! We’re going to bring it out. Make way,” Marie called out from the open patio door of the kitchen. “Turn the music off.” She yelled and snapped her thick fingers, a vexed expression on her wide, rosy-cheeked face as everyone barely paid her any attention. “We’re going to sing to Pedro,” she added when no one moved or did a thing.

“Why? It’s not his birthday!” Javier smirked and shrugged. “Just cut the fuckin’ cake, Marie.”

“¡Vete a casa!”

“Go home? Why?” Ashley wasn’t the only one lit. Javier had had too much to drink, too. He often said the wrong thing when smashed. Tonight was no exception.

Marie ignored the man, sucked her teeth, and turned away from the door. Her salt and pepper hair was pulled taut in a ponytail, and dark red rose tattoos that extended up the side and back of her neck stood out against her light, golden skin. Marie was a revered Latin Queen, one of the few that had survived the decades of violence that had stirred like the beginning flames of hell, then had exploded into an all-out inferno in the late 1990s. She was treated like a favorite aunt by all in Little Havana, and came across as if she wouldn’t hurt a fly, but when the night fell, the whispers about her were true. She was dangerous when provoked, and would protect her own at all costs.

She’d paid her dues, had survived several bouts in prison, even took the rap for charges she hadn’t committed, all to keep her ol’ man safe. She was streetwise, and her tongue still curled with the heavy ethnic cream of a defiant Cuban accent that wouldn’t dare let go. She’d come to America with her sisters and father at the age of seventeen, from her hometown of Santa Clara. Yes, everyone knew Marie. Three of her sons had been gunned down in the last several years, and her revered husband, Latin King Kilo, an elder, was serving a life sentence in Chicago for the murder of two rival gang members from The Satan’s Disciples. She’d helped Viper several times, offering advice, letting him in on information that served him well, and treated him as well as her own children. At times, he needed that, regardless of his refusal to ever admit such.

People ignored Marie’s request after she returned once again, demanding silence, so Dominic pulled himself away from his shady tree and the dogs lying at his feet, clapped loudly, then whistled. He had a whistle that was so loud, it rattled bones. The music immediately stopped. When he clapped and whistled, that meant everyone’s attention was needed right away. Anyone who kept fucking around would suffer the consequences. Now things were so quiet, he could hear a lawn mower in the distance, and the revving of a motorcycle engine as it zoomed down the street.

“Javier, apologize to Marie for how you spoke to her earlier.”

Everyone looked at the man, then at Marie.

“But I was just—”

“Motherfucker, don’t argue with me. Apologize.” Dominic crossed his arms and cocked his head to the side. Waiting. He was counting in his head. If he reached the three seconds mark, there was going to be a problem. A big one.

“Marie, I’m sorry.” Seeming to sober up, Javier quickly lowered his gaze, first to the ground then at nothing in particular. The silence was deafening.

Dominic snapped his fingers, and the music began to play again, then the talking and partying resumed. The exhale from held breaths filled the world once more.

Viper suddenly felt out of place, despite the smile he kept on his face. Something didn’t feel right. Something was missing. His home was beautiful, but he hated being away from Little Havana, where he still had family and friends. The people at the party weren’t in their element. They all had traveled to him, just as it had been planned. He craved the familiar crowd of Little Havana, his King comrades, family and brothers, the familiar restaurants, shops and nightlife, but for now, this would simply have to do. Things had gotten hot, but he had business to attend to, and the last thing he needed was to go back to prison. He’d been out for three years and never wished to return, though he had to admit, some days it seemed easier wished for than done.

“Marie and Pedro, stand together,” he ordered. People made way as the woman presented the big cake covered in layers of icing. She set it on the glass patio table, then wrapped her arms around Pedro who seemed to struggle to muster a sincere enough looking grin. He took a few photos of the two on his phone, then after Marie lit the flickering candles on the big white cake with black lettering and white and gold frosting, they all began to sing,

“Na, na, na, naaaaah! Na, na, na, naaaaah, Hey! Hey! Hey! Look who’s ouuut! Na, na, na, naaaaah! Na, na, na, naaaaah, Hey! Hey! Hey! Look who’s ouuut!” Pedro burst out laughing, showing a mouth full of gold before blowing out the candles. Everyone surrounded him now, holding and pulling him into vigorous hugs. When the man was finally able to come up for air, he raised his index, thumb and baby finger of both hands, overlapping them, forming a crown. The others followed suit to the rap tune of ‘Shooter,’ by Hector, which blasted through the speakers.

“Hey, we want to all officially welcome Pedro home,” Dominic yelled over the music, which was immediately turned down again to allow him to speak. “It’s been a long ass time. This, here is my brother.” He pointed to the man with his tattooed hand. “When Marie asked if we could have the party here for Pedro, I didn’t hesitate.” Marie was smiling from ear to ear. “You’re home now. I have your back. We have your back. Kings don’t die. One crown. One nation!”

“Amor dey Rey!” many began to chant as the music was turned back up. “Amor dey Rey!”

After a while, a second wave of food covered plates began to pass back and forth. The eating, carousing, and dancing was nonstop. Liquor, wine coolers, and ice-cold beers were replenished and people indulged in the decadent cake, big bowls of fresh berries and mangos, and ice cream.

As the night drew on, and the setting sun was replaced with the glow of the fire pit, tiki torches, and half-moon, he found himself sitting back on a lawn chair, a celebratory cigar in hand. It wasn’t long before Stacks approached him, puffing on a joint and donning his familiar tilted smile. This time, it didn’t seem hard to come by. The guy stood there for a bit, as if not certain what to do with himself.

“Sit down, man,” Dominic encouraged, pointing to the chair beside him. Chance barked at a passing car that was coming down the street. “Chance.” He whistled then stomped his foot. “No. Silent.” The dog immediately sat back down on his haunches, whimpering, then looked away sheepishly.

“How’d you train him like that, man?” Stacks took a drag of his joint and shook his head in disbelief.

“I learned the dog’s language.”

Pedro laughed. “I’m serious, Viper.”

“I’m serious, too.”

“Come on, man. Stop bullshittin’. I want you to teach me how you do it. I can’t be out here sellin’ anymore.”

“Not just anyone can train dogs well, Stacks. They have to respect you. That’s not something you teach. You either have it or you don’t.” Their eyes settled on one another. After a while, Stacks looked away and shrugged.

“You train these dogs like it isn’t shit. Been doin’ it for years. Glad you’re able to make a business out of it now. Maybe I can get into it, too.” The man reached down and ran his fingers along Sarge’s head. “You’re like the dog whisperer. Nothin’ but a thing. I know you make nice cash doin’ it, too.”

Dominic nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, it’s decent money. People come to me when they’ve got a dog no one else can break. That language thing though, sounds funny but yeah, I’m serious.” He looked at his pets, then back at Pedro. “Everything and everyone has a language, my man. Even grasshoppers and fleas.”

“So the dogs tell you how to talk to them?” Pedro burst out laughing before he could even finish getting the sentence out.

“Nah, that’s stupid. That was a dumb thing to say.” Pedro’s smile immediately faded. “It’s not up to anyone to teach someone else how to rule over them. Ya know, someone who wants to be their master will know their native tongue, and that’s what I am. It’s up to me to figure it out.” He pointed at himself. “Trainers are a dime a dozen. If you learn and understand what drives a beast to act, to obey, to do everything you say, then you rule them. That’s what makes me a master.”

Stacks stared at him long and hard, then smirked. Dominic mirrored the expression.

“I see you’re on that Mr. Miyagi shit today.” They both burst out laughing. “Thanks for havin’ this party for me, man. I really appreciate this.” They knocked fists together, then Stacks looked away, running his hand across the stubble on his cheek.

“Of course. Tu eres mi hermano.”

“Yeah, we’ll always be brothers, man. No blood needed. No prison bars can keep us away from each other for long, either.” Dominic nodded. “I got your birthday card.”

Dominic gave him a quizzical look. “Birthday card? It’s not my birthday.”

“Nah, man. Not that birthday card.” Stacks grinned as he dug in his jeans pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. After unfolding it, he handed it over. Dominic took it from him, and burst out laughing. It was his old mugshot and charges. The very first time he was sent to prison.

“Ahhh, man!” He chuckled. “Where’d you get this shit?”

“From Juvey.” His chest filled with warmth. “He gave it to me last year before he got moved out of my cell. Told me to give it to you.” King Juvey was dead. Good dude. He’d been killed in prison. The guards had found him in his bed, his neck slit. No one around. No snitches. No witnesses. No one was certain what had happened, but he had his suspicions. They’d all been close, grew up on the same street.

Dominic placed his cigar down in the black and green sugar skull ashtray he’d placed on the arm of the lounger, and read the prison intake information.

“Damn, this is so old… Let’s see.” He read the info.

Name: Dominic Martinez

Hair color: Black

Eye color: light hazel

Age: 22

Height: 6’3

Weight: 235 lbs.

Gang Affiliation – Latin Kings

Nickname – King Viper/Viper…

It was then that he noticed that it was not just his first charges listed, but everything was up to date. He continued to read the penal laundry list.

Rank in gang – Warlord – (LKs call this 3^rdcrown.)

Notable Tattoos – Cross on forehead, Crown on chest, ‘Viper’ on upper chest, Eagle wings on chest, Cuban black hawk on left side of chest, Christ crown on lower neck, Cuban flag on back of neck, ‘L.K.’ on side of neck, ADR on front of neck, Aztec structure on neck, Diamond on abdomen, large viper snake wearing crown on back – covers entirety of back, ‘L.K’ written beneath it, five black dots denoting five point crown on left shoulder, war symbol – Trojan with shield on left arm, large lion on right shoulder, skull with third socket for eye, three point and five point crown on hands, money signs on upper hands… and so it continued.

Prior incarcerations: 7

Prior charges: Aggravated assault (13), resisting arrest (2), 2^nddegree manslaughter (2), 3rd degree manslaughter (1), larceny/theft (2), attempted bribery (2), breaking and entering (1), 2^nddegree murder (1), firearm use (13), motor vehicle theft (2)

Dominic continued reading the list of his transgressions, then turned the sheet over and checked out his old mugshot. He didn’t feel anything when he looked into the eyes of a guy who’d been pretending to be tougher and harder than he was at the time, just to survive. But now, he truly was. He at times had to remind himself to smile. To feel. To simply be. The young man standing there in that creased, old photo had a look of death in his eyes, but on the inside, he’d been falling apart for years prior to that first incarceration. His first time going to prison had been a living nightmare. Viper had been afraid after sentencing, but he couldn’t show it. He recalled so well how he knew he had to find his people in that institution once he got in there, or he’d be a target. He’d already been told what to expect from his brothers in the Nation. Prison wasn’t a matter of if for his kind; it was when?

He had to find his niche, and if punked, he had to put in work. No insult or disrespect could go unpunished. He’d spent several initial days in the hole for fighting, and he’d made sure he won each and every combat. Later in life, after his third stint, things were more hectic, but he had a reputation to uphold. He’d climbed the ranks in the Nation by age twenty-seven. This brought a new set of problems behind bars. Most notably, he’d been jumped by three Crips all at once.

At one point he’d even temporarily lost his hearing in his left ear after being punched so hard on the side of his face. Once word spread that he was a Latin King Warlord, all bets were off. If you could take down a LK Warlord, that gave you big ass prison stripes. A badge of honor. You were considered the shit. After all, warlords were the ones that put in work. They were the enforcers. The muscle. The brawn. The best fighters. Fastest shooters. Quickest to stab. The tanks of the army. A one-man wrecking ball.

His enemies came unarmed that day, nothing but their fists. That was their first mistake. They knew his title, but not what he was about. He’d earned that shit, fair and square. You couldn’t be a weak motherfucker, or stupid, to get the title of Warlord. One thing he was taught on the streets was to always know your opponent. Study him from a distance, bide your time, then strike like a viper. They’d done none of that. They also didn’t understand him down to his black, rotten core. He didn’t like to fight. Dominic loved it.

The pent-up energy residing inside him from years of emotional and mental torment had reached a head. He’d been prepared to unleash on anyone tempting fate. After all was said and done, he’d ended up with two minor scratches and a black eye, yet all three of his assailants got a trip to the infirmary. He fought three motherfuckers at once, with nothing but his knuckles, machismo, and strength, and that went down in history. He knew he couldn’t keep at this shit forever, though. Unlike some of his comrades, he never got comfortable in the joint. That was no way to live. He needed his freedom. Vipers need room and space to roam. To hunt… and they preferred to work alone.

Dominic had to work hard to get out of that place, but also make his way up the Latin King levels. He was smart. He knew a hell of a lot about the law, so he imparted his knowledge to those in need. He knew the best Miami lawyers to hire, and which ones to avoid due to his mentor’s affiliations. He knew about the judges, and how to impact, intimidate, and divide witnesses and juries should a case go to trial. He knew what prison guards from various slammers could be bribed or blackmailed. He knew all of this and more from his stints in jail, before he’d even served his first time in prison. He’d then perfected his knowledge once he’d entered the penitentiary.

Having murder charges definitely helped him establish a reputation, versus some of the guys in for petty drug charges or domestic violence. Over time, his enemies appreciated he wasn’t afraid to kill. Regardless, that first second degree murder charge was bullshit. He’d killed far more before that, and certainly afterwards. That was just the charge the cops knew about. The one that had gotten messy. Snakes rattle, but never roll. Kissing and telling was for suckas. Fucking jealous ass snitches…

Dominic shoved the birthday card in his pocket. He casually picked up his cigar and took a long drag.

“How’s that money? You good?” he asked Stacks, wanting to ensure his friend was okay.

“Oh yeah. I collected a lotta money tonight, too.” Pedro jammed his hand in his pocket, pulled out a wad of crisp cash and flashed it proudly. “Should be enough for me to get my own spot if my parole officer lets me change my address from my mother’s house anytime soon. I’m sure someone will take cash.” The guy looked down, as if needing to work out the plan in his mind right then. “My girl tried to get me to come with ’er, but I don’t think that’s the right move. She’s kinda possessive. Likes to yell and hit ’nd shit when she’s drunk. If she hits me, it’ll be a problem, man. I could fuck around and end up right back in prison so I think being on my own right now is the better option.”

Dominic leaned forward and held his breath, but it was short-lived. He burst out laughing so hard that his chest burned with heat.

“Possessive, huh? Is that what they call that shit I saw tonight?” He laughed so much, his cheeks hurt. “That chick is crazy, man.”

“Awww, come on, Viper.” Stacks laughed lightly as he ran his hand along his knee.

“She’s a fuckin’ psycho. Real talk. You’ll catch a case, just like you said. Drunk or sober, makes no difference. Mujer loca!”

“Yeah, she’s a little crazy but she’s aiight, Viper. She held me down when I was away.”

Dominic understood that. He reached for his beer bottle and then realized his precious beasts had left him, seemingly all at the same time. He peered towards the patio, and could make out two of their forms. Then the third one came into view. The three Pit Bulls were lapping water and downing chunks of steak he’d bought for them the night before. Marie must’ve filled their bowls.

“I met her online,” Stacks continued. “Always had money ’cause of her, and you… and she’s been there since I got out. My family sure as fuck wasn’t holdin’ me down.”

He got the double meaning behind the words…

Dominic shrugged, not wanting to discuss a woman that he knew would be gone in a matter of months, if that long. No one would ever remember her name or face once Stacks kicked her to the curb. Life was a revolving door of women who either stayed during a jail or prison term, left, and then were replaced by prisoner groupies, vulnerable ladies, or lonely women looking for love. They’d visit. Put money on their books and if the prison was set up right and the guards fraudulent enough, these girls would let them get in a quick fuck, fill them full of cum then send them on their way.

“That shouldn’t be a problem. The whole change of address to your mother’s…” He pulled on the cigar as he shook away the wayward thoughts. “If it is, let me know.”

Stacks ran his hand over his spiky buzz cut.

“So how’s it been livin’ out this way, Viper? Out in Boca Raton? Jesus, man. You fancy now, huh?” he teased.

Dominic shook his head.

“Just tryna resist temptation, man.” He sucked his teeth. “I’m less than 50 miles from Miami, but close enough to get there whenever I want. Same with Pequeña Habana.”

“Little Havana has been changing a lot. I got out and was shocked… All the new construction. Too many fucking tourists now. It’s not how it used to be.”

“It’s okay. Bound to happen,” Dominic said. “Not just in Havana, but all over the city. More people from up north are movin’ here lately. My boy up there in Yonkers said the jobs are sparse, some restructuring and urban flight did a lot of damage to smaller businesses. Didn’t help that they had a rough winter.” Stacks nodded. “Everybody wants to move to Miami now. We’ve got the nice weather, the jobs, the beaches, the nightclubs, the food, the sexy women… We’ve got it all.” He leaned back and reflected on his own words, stroking his chin as a nice, sweet breeze bathed his face. “You know I’ve got a lot of family in Chicago, some in New York, Pennsylvania, and Jersey, too. Been all over the country. I will always come right back here, though. Miami. Where I was born and raised. This is home.”

“I feel you on that, Viper. Miami is where it’s at. I wish I could travel more though, like you did. Now that I’m on probation, I can’t go any fuckin’ where for a while.”

“Just relax. It’ll come your way. Opportunity always knocks, sooner or later.”

Stacks seemed unconvinced. “So, how have you been doing here? One minute you’re in Havana, then the next, King Torque tells me that you moved way out here, almost an hour away. Nobody is sayin’ much. It’s like you’re under a protective order.” The guy chuckled nervously.

“I’m tryna make moves, Pedro, this time more discreetly.”

“You were always discreet.”

Dominic tapped his cigar, letting ash fall into the tray.

“Apparently not enough. The FBI had been on my ass, right before my last stint in Coleman.”

“Man, Sumterville can eat a dick!” They both laughed at that.

“Yeah… It was fuckin’ ridiculous. Anyway, I’m always on top of my shit, makin’ money. I don’t have to report or anything, no tether. Ankles free. I decided that uh…” he ran his hand along his jaw, choosing his words wisely, “that I needed some different scenery. To get out of the element for a bit until things simmered down. I can’t give the police or anyone else anything to make it easier. Just tryna get paid and laid without an FBI raid and being made.”

“King Golden Boy just went in, Viper. They got him for bein’ a lookout. Then he got tossed with tampering with evidence charges on top of that. Trumped up bullshit.”

“Yeah, I heard. He got five, right?”

“Yeah. He got into it with a couple MS 13s, too. Lost a lotta blood and a tooth. Shit’s been bad.”

The dogs made their way back to him from the open patio door, roaming the yard before settling back down around them. Pedro reached down and rubbed Chance’s head. They continued to talk about some of the fam that was locked up or dead. Everything from the corrupt prison guards who were bringing in cartons of cigarettes and selling them for three hundred bucks, the cellphones being bought and sold like candy, and the guys going crazy from living in a cage for so long, including the lifers. The kings pushing up daisies now lived on in their graffitied names gracing the back walls of abandoned buildings or inked along brokenhearted women’s breasts and thighs. Such was life. The graffiti and ink would fade, regardless how everyone promised they’d never be forgotten.

“Ma told me she doesn’t want me going back to prison, Viper. Said if I go back in, it’ll kill her. Said she needs me. I gotta make some money though, man. This’ll only last me so long.” He patted his pocket.

Dominic got ready to respond, when he heard a sudden crash.

“Bitch!” someone screamed out.

“Awww, damn, man.”

He and Stacks got to their feet and looked in the direction of the house. King Torpedo squeezed his head out the open patio doors, a look of frustration on his tattooed face. “Ashley is in here wildin’ out. Control your bitch, Stacks.” He flipped his thumb towards the back, then disappeared quickly out of view.

Dominic grabbed Chance, Sarge, and Belleza when they jumped to their feet barking and snarling, ready to tear inside and sink their jaws into someone fast. As he and Stacks entered, he heard Marie yelling at Ashley, as well as some of the other women, all clad in their gold and black attire, glossy lips and long dark hair in various styles.

“Take your woman home!” Aleja yelled. Aleja was like a little sister to him, and was known to pull a knife faster than lightning. Ashley was on the ground writhing about, moaning after the number she’d done to her. Her right eye was red, swelling fast and angry like pasta sauce bubbling from a pot. She’d been punched so hard, some of the vessels and capillaries were broken.

“Get ’er up and take her home. Let Pedro stay,” Viper demanded.

“Oh naw, man. Viper, I’ll take her home,” Stacks offered, obviously feeling sorry for the lady who’d come in there drunk on courage. Now she was molly-whopped and brought back to reality. Aleja dog walked the fuck out of her. Viper shook his head.

“No. You stay here. It’s your party.” He turned back to the crowd.

“Aleja. Drive her straight home and don’t do any silly shit.” Two women, including Aleja, reluctantly dropped down on their knees, hoisted the woman up, and dragged her to the front door like they would soggy trash that had been left out in the rain.

“I should take her home, Viper.” Anger and what Viper perceived as pure, unadulterated disappointment flashed in Stack’s eyes.

“No, you shouldn’t. She’s drunk and that knockout will wear off, and then she’ll be combative again. Aleja took it easy on her. What if she tries to provoke you? Worse yet, hits you with something, maybe shoots you because she’s not thinkin’ clearly. What if you get a DV charge, huh? You don’t need that kind of problem.”

“Aleja and I used to have a thing, though. This isn’t going to be good. You know how women get, and I’m fresh out. Aleja and her guy broke up… She’s been wanting to spend some time with me.”

If Viper didn’t know any better, he’d think Stacks was entertaining it.

“She’ll be fine.” He patted the man’s shoulder. “Bianca and Marisa will make sure of it.” Stacks nodded, and a few moments later, everyone was back to partying and drinking. Later in the evening as he caught up with some of his brothers and sisters he hadn’t seen in months, he noticed the lights on in the house across the street. It had been dark for weeks.

What’s going on over there? Is it up for rent again?

The house had been vacant twice during the ten months he’d been living there. A large white truck was parked in the driveway now, the kind used for storage and deliveries. He leaned in closer, trying to figure out what was going on. The last thing he needed was nosy neighbors, people in his business. After a few moments, he observed three Black men dressed in jeans and oversized white T-shirts getting out of the truck, two of them hoisting cumbersome furniture from the back of the vehicle into the sprawling ranch home while the other dawdled, a cell phone to his ear. A little boy sporting a bright red Transformers shirt appeared from the house’s front door, bursting free, running down the slightly sloped front lawn, laughing and barreling back towards the guy on the phone.

I guess that old White guy rented it out again. Maybe he sold it this time. Who knows? I like to know who’s around me… I’ll get their names eventually.He turned away, walked over to the stereo, and turned it up. Trick Daddy feat. Lil Jon & Twista’s, ‘Let’s Go’ boomed throughout the house, causing a ruckus as the crowd got hyped. Once the song ended and he’d gotten in on the action, dancing, drinking and yelling out the lyrics so loud, his throat burned, he made his way back into the kitchen to toss a beer bottle away. Marie was in there wrapping up a few pieces of leftover cake in cellophane. They’d eaten all the rest.

“Nice party for Pedro,” she said with a proud smile.

“Yeah, besides his girlfriend, it’s been good. You did a great job.” Her cheeks plumped up and grew rosy. He made his way over to the kitchen window once again to dump some melted ice from one of the coolers into the sink. As he casually looked back out the frame, he paused. There in the yard, holding a cardboard box in her arms, was a gorgeous woman with long, wavy black hair parted down the middle, skin-tight mesh black leggings that hugged a ridiculously round and high ass, and a black crop top. Her silver and white sneakers practically glowed under the streetlight, as did her large silver and diamond hoop earrings. Who the hell is that? The stranger walked to the house after talking to one of the men. Look at that ass… Mmmm, mmmm, good… Damn. Not too many Black people on this street. Hell, in the entire neighborhood. I bet the stuck up neighbors are gonna flip out when they see this shit. He chuckled to himself. The woman came back out, bent down, and retrieved a box. She moved leisurely, as if in slow motion, and he found himself swallowing hard and enjoying the show…

He practically growled at the sight of her. Cleavage gleamed and shined like buttery biscuits. Her tits were practically leaping out, inviting him for a look. Women came in and out of Dominic’s life as if he were a revolving door of a department store having a half-off everything twenty-four-hour sale. He’d had his share of gorgeous girlfriends since age thirteen, and had some decent relationships too along the way that just didn’t work out for one reason or another. In a couple of rare cases it was because the fucking woman was wacky. He tried to steer clear of chicks like that. But surprisingly, the nutjobs were always the ones with the best pussy. A catch 22. Perhaps that’s why Stacks couldn’t let Ashley go just yet? Regardless, he was certain that he was hard to deal with at times, too.

He supposed he was too ambitious, always put stacking his cash above everything else. If he was earning money and performing his duties as a Warlord, then he couldn’t be with a woman all damn day. Sacrifices had to be made. It was at times difficult to balance that with his voracious sexual appetite, but his self-discipline allowed him to accomplish the feat nevertheless. Women were like art to him, but sometimes, they were far too worrisome to deal with. Better left hanging on a wall and admired from afar.

The sound of the dripping faucet on the unwashed dishes, playing an out-of-tune song, interrupted his thoughts. He turned the cold water handle, putting a stop to it, then returned to his thoughts. Sometimes, he couldn’t keep women off his mind despite his best efforts. I don’t need the aggravation right now… I really don’t. And though he was able to handle staying away from relationships, he found himself changing. He used to be indifferent. Now, he wanted companionship, but his life was complicated. Even dating one of his own didn’t seem to scratch the itch.

If he dated a Latin Queen, they usually understood his circumstances, his frequent absences, but then there’d be inner-circle fights, jealousy, rumors in order to cause a rift. If he dated just a girl from around town, one who was not gang affiliated as they’d say, it was rare that it ended well. Sometimes he surmised these women were only with him for the thrill of it. Some chicks just dug gangbangers. He was a fetish in some circles, and he knew it. These type of women liked to fuck them, flaunt them, use them as threats – a flesh weapon walking on two legs with a big dick to drill their mouths and pussies behind closed doors. He got tired of that shit, too. It wasn’t as fun and exciting as it used to be. Now that he’d was in his thirties, he wasn’t in the mood for any more bullshit.

“Viper… Yo, Viper!”

He quickly turned and found himself looking into Jose’s pink, hooded eyes. The man was high as the moon and stars.

“I’ve been calling you for like ten seconds. You all right?”

“Yeah… yeah.” He wiped his hands on the dish towel and faced his friend. “What’s up?”

“Wanna play dominoes? We’re starting a game.”

“Yeah, I’ll be in.”

Jose nodded and left. When he resumed looking out the kitchen window, the truck was taking off from the house across the street. The lights remained on, and out of a front window, the blinds moved. The same little boy that had been running around appeared at the window. Seconds later, a taller shadow stood behind him, ushering the child away. This was followed by the blinds being completely closed, one window after another. He pulled out a kitchen drawer, reached for a fresh cigar, lit it, and made his way into the living room. It was time to win a game of dominoes, and take all of these bastards’ money…