A corroded spotlight put a feeble yellow circle on the patchy grass, Michael Stokely in the middle of it holding the sawed-off Mossberg like a tomahawk. “Junior’s in the ICU,” he said, “but I talked to Booze. He took one in the hip, went right through him. His people was there, all crying and carrying on. His mama was yelling at me like I’m the one that shot his ass.”
The Crip Violators were gathered in Sedrick’s backyard, the membership scattered around where the light faded to shadow. The OGs were sitting together on the picnic table. Others were on the rusty swing set and on the stoop and leaning against the beat-up van with one headlight. A few were in that pose you see in every group gangsta photo ever taken. Hunched down with a forearm on a knee. Dodson was standing near the gate. A sheen of sweat on his face, wet rings under his arms, his body a solid block of pain.
“I feel like I’m responsible for this shit,” Stokely said. “I was Junior’s security, you feel me? I’m supposed to keep shit from happening but it didn’t come down like that. Booze say it was two of ’em that did it. He didn’t see the shooter, just the muthafucka who did the stickup part.”
“Did he say who it was?” Sedrick said.
“I’m getting to it, nigga,” Stokely said. “Interrupt me one more time and see if I don’t put the Mossy up your ass and blow your muthafuckin’ brains out.” Sedrick seemed to become part of the lemon tree he was standing under, brothers laughing at him. “Booze say the muthafucka had himself all covered up,” Stokely said. “Had on a mask and shit but he was short like Dodson. A li’l midget muthafucka.”
There was some chuckling. Dodson almost bolted but he heard something in Stokely’s voice that made him stay.
“Now you niggas listen up,” Stokely said. “This here’s the key part to the whole episode. Booze say the stickup man was a Mexican. Said he had a red flag on him. Said he was muthafuckin’ Loco.”
A tsunami of testosterone engulfed the backyard, the entire membership in gangsta mode. On their feet, waving their straps, throwing up signs, tick tocking their heads. Muthafuckas is going down. Let’s go pop them niggas right now. The fuck we sittin’ here for? It’s game on now, niggas, you feel me? Let’s go smoke some Mexicans, y’all. It’s time to get active, put a burner on them niggas, make they mamas cry. Dodson joined in, thinking, Thank you, Jesus. Thank you with all my heart.
Stokely held the shotgun high. “It’s payback time, you feel me?” he said. “We hittin ’em hard, scorchin’ the earth. It’s total annihilation by any means necessary. It’s war, muthafuckas. It’s a muthafuckin’ war.”
Amelio, Jorge, and Lil Genius came out of the Big Meaty Burger like they were in ankle chains. An XXL Everest Burger with bacon and a fried egg plus a large order of chili cheese fries tends to slow you down. They walked up the street to Jorge’s whip parked around the corner. They didn’t see the beat-up van with one headlight rolling up behind them until it was too late. The side door slammed open and two homies with blue flags over their faces and Tec-9 machine pistols emptied their clips, the sound like a couple of speed freaks pounding nails. Amelio took three in the back. Jorge caught one in the throat. Genius was hit in the forehead and died before he hit the ground. As the van sped off, a shooter yelled: “Yeah, muthafuckas, how you feelin’ now?”
The reporter with the comb-over was doing a standup in front of the Big Meaty Burger, his manner so detached he might have been thinking, Another shooting? Gimme a break. “The Hurston area of East Long Beach was the scene of a deadly drive-by,” he said. “Amelio Aguilar, Jorge Ochoa, and a third victim, a minor, had just finished eating at the Big Meaty Burger on Pacific Avenue when a van drove past them and an unknown number of suspects allegedly shot them with semiautomatic weapons. All were pronounced dead at the scene. Police suspect the drive-by was related to another shooting last Wednesday in Bluff Park. A police spokesperson said the situation had all the signs of a gang war and warned residents in the area to be extra cautious.”
More press arrived, some of them national; making their reports with the You Know You Want Some posters in the background. The two girls who worked at the restaurant were suspected of tipping off the Locos and wouldn’t go on camera for fear of reprisals. People who lived in the area were interviewed. They said the gangs were really bad, there’s too much violence, somebody should do something, and the neighborhood didn’t used to be like this.