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Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780986344367 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Rhodes Enterprises |
| Publication date: | 12/01/2014 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| File size: | 339 KB |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
Street Vengeance
By Evie Rhodes
DAFINA BOOKS Copyright © 2008 Eva M. Rhodes
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-7582-1668-7
Chapter One The last blow of the nightstick to Q's spine was the one that caused his paralysis. He was immediately incapacitated. Excruciating is too mild of a word to describe the pain that exploded through Q's limbs or the sparks of light that shot through his brain.
He saw a black boot descend through the air, speedy and vigilant, before it connected with his head. At the same time, he heard his friend Brandi's horrific scream followed by deadly accusations hurled at the LAPD. Her voice was filled with animosity, pain, and confusion. It was all she could manage from her restrained position to yell and make known to everybody within listening distance the police's mistreatment of Q.
Mercifully, Q blacked out. His mind was singed with dark, black waves of pain, and his body was unable to withstand even one more blow and still be alive.
There's a reason the Lord created unconsciousness.
Q's body seemed to drift to a place that distanced him from the pain and suffering. Like the surfing of television channels, his mind skipped around and finally settled on the time and place he'd been in right before his current predicament.
It seemed like only seconds before that he and Brandi had been jamming to the X-Masters with the rest of the hyped-up crowd. The group's suggestive lyrics and flaunting bodies danced across the stage, gyrating aerobically to every beat.
Brandi Hutchinson had been the bomb and she knew it. At eighteen years of age, she was smart, hip, and black as well as fabulously beautiful. She was dressed from head to toe in the hottest street gear. Her long, shiny black hair swung from the hip cap that she wore with the X-Masters's name emblazoned across the front.
Her hands were in the air, and her body became one synchronized movement to that phat beat the X-Masters had developed and then mastered, giving them claim to their name.
The X-Masters were considered musical masters, lyrical geniuses, and they were at the height of what music production was all about. As they rose up in the music industry and stacked platinum records, the group had had little competition. They were the crowned high princes of Hip-Hop with their sleek, sinewy rhymes and moves. And they held down the charts as though their very names were permanently engraved there.
Grooving to the X-Masters right on Brandi's hip was her best friend, Tangeline Parker. Tangie still held a grudge against her dead mother for giving her that stupid name. Who in the hell ever heard of somebody called Tangeline? And somebody black, at that? What had her mother been thinking?
So Tangie went only by Tangie-unless somebody wanted to be treated to one helluva nasty attitude. Almost always even-tempered, a shout of "Tangeline" was the one, surefire way to get her blood boiling.
Tangie was a close replica of Brandi in terms of their dress code. But Tangie had smooth dark skin and Brandi's was caramel colored. And Tangie was barely five feet tall, whereas Brandi stood five feet eight inches in her stocking feet.
Tangie was eighteen years old, too, but her attitude was eighteen going on forty. There was a maturity about her that belied her age.
The X-Masters's concert had been organized by Tangie's older brother, Fishbone, whose reputation preceded him wherever he went. Niggas were known to cross the street just so they wouldn't be walking on the same side as him.
He had once beaten a dude so badly with his bare hands that the dude was in critical condition in intensive care. It had been touch and go for a while, but the guy eventually pulled through. Fishbone stayed low until he was sure that he wasn't going down for no attempted murder rap. That was too much time.
But as fearsome as his reputation for physical violence was, he was even better known for getting in people's heads with psychological manipulation.
At twenty-eight years old, he was the head of the gang called the L.A. Troops, and he marshaled a small army under his leadership. The L.A. Troops were the ones bringing the noise at the concert and letting it be known that they were in the house.
Fishbone's public appearance at the rap concert was a bit out of character for him. He generally kept an extremely low profile and liked to stay under the radar. It was one of the main reasons he was still alive today. He had grown wiser as he'd gotten older, and he knew that illusions and appearances went a long way. That and paying off the right people. It was a simple strategy that worked.
But his boys were mostly young thugs and they needed to get out sometimes. There were a few at the top of the helm with him, like Maestro, who had been down with him since they were snotty-nosed kids. But most of them were young. The concert was a good way to release energy for them. Plus, he had wanted to keep an eye on Tangie and Brandi.
As word had spread on the street that the L.A. Troops would be putting in an appearance at the concert, some of the other gangs in the city decided to avoid this particular outdoor concert.
Brandi yelled over the noise to Tangie, "Girl, I told you this was going to be a slamming concert! It is da bomb!"
"You ain't never lied, girl."
Fishbone interrupted their conversation. "What you know about slamming, little buck?" He reached over and pulled Brandi's cap over her eyes so she couldn't see.
She slapped his hand away affectionately, pulling her cap back into place with the stroke of a young woman who knew exactly what she wanted.
Brandi exuded a powerful presence for one who was so young.
Tangie stretched out her arms between the two of them as though warding off a war. "Hold up. Chill with that noise, will y'all?"
She knew those two could go on all night. They were similar in personality, and they loved to rile each other up at times.
Brandi always refused to come up short just because Fishbone was older than her. She was not feeling that. Age wasn't nothing but a number. Her mama had taught her that.
Fishbone looked over at Tangie, shaking his head in the negative. "I'll be calling the shots here, shorty. Don't forget I'm your big brother. Now shut up before I have to spank you in front of all these people and send you home. And I know you ain't feeling that," Fishbone joked with his younger sister.
Tangie gave him her sassiest look and poked him in the chest. "I ain't no baby and you ain't gonna be doing no spanking or sending anybody home. You ain't got no kids up in here. I don't think so. Do you feel that?" She poked him harder this time.
Brandi howled with laughter, unable to resist kicking it off with Fishbone.
"See," she said, instigating. "He shouldn't have gone there, but girl, yes, he did. It wouldn't be me."
She turned to Q, who was seventeen years old and who had been her very best friend since they were running around the schoolyard in elementary school.
They had also lived next door to each other for as long as they could remember.
Q was tall, lean, wiry, and good-looking.
Q had the girls chasing because he had curly hair, light skin, and green eyes fringed with alluringly thick lashes.
He also possessed a penchant for being extremely childish at times.
His mental age was about thirteen, and at times it showed. It still didn't put him at a disadvantage with the girls, though, because what he lacked in mental maturity, he more than made up for in looks.
Heck, Q, he had young women older than Brandi and Tangie trying to hit on him. Yet, he was loyal to a fault-at least when it came to Brandi. And Brandi loved him as if he were her blood brother. She couldn't have loved him more if he was, and vice versa. That was just the way it was with the two of them.
Brandi pointed to Fishbone. "Fishbone ain't right. You know that, Q. He done dissed my girl. And not in private, either. You heard it, right?"
Q laughed. "Yeah. And you know that. Even over all this noise I heard that dismissal. Tangie, you better get straight chasing for home, girl, before you turn into a ghetto pumpkin. Cinderella ain't got nothing on you!"
They all joked at Tangie's expense. She joined in their laughter good-naturedly, and poked her brother in the ribs with her elbow for bringing the noise and starting the mess in the first place.
Suddenly, Lyrical, the lead rapper for the X-Masters, ran to the front of the stage. He immediately drew everybody's attention with his lyrical mastery. He was a very fascinating rapper and knew how to entrance a crowd.
In fact, Lyrical was one of the few coveted rappers with a voice that the microphone loved in the studio as well as on-stage live. Lots of rappers had one or the other, but Lyrical had both. You couldn't pay for that. You couldn't learn it, funk it, or fake it.
He was a music producer's and engineer's dream. And he knew it. That sensual, gritty quality to his voice made record label executives see dollar signs, and that was no easy feat in itself.
In the studio his voice as well as his lyrical flow (hence his current moniker) was as smooth as silky cream. He was magically able to carry that cream mixed with a hard-edged grit live onstage, transmitting it to very excited audiences.
When it was his turn up to the mic, the crowd went wild at the sound of his voice. He pumped them up, sweating and prancing across the stage.
He lashed out lyrically:
"Blood spilled Another killed Trigger happy Yeah They didn't chill Like a hunter Stalking the scent of his prey Once he has the scent Hey it's payday."
"Another metal coffin It happens too often Or a plain pine box Another series Of locks and blocks Jump on the beat Yeah it's the heat Bullets with no names Danger without shame Friction."
The crowd was straight up jamming. They were caught up in the beats of the music that flowed like butter. Low-riding cars raced their motors in excitement, bouncing the cars up and down in the park although there were signs strictly forbidding low riding.
Security was on high alert as the crowd got even more hyped. A lot of police hated rap concerts because of all the hyped-up behavior they produced in their audiences. Not to mention straight up belligerence.
The concerts were like a religion to a lot of the kids who attended them. A lot of the rap groups had a cultlike following.
Police helicopters appeared over the park, circling low, caught up in the vibe of the crowd.
Lyrical was pumped by the size and excitement of the crowd. He could see himself on the monitors. He was psyched. After all, he was in L.A.
He shouted his lyrics with a depth of feeling that was hypnotic in its effect on the crowd. His delivery was transmitted with the speed of a silver bullet:
"Quest for power Thirst by the hour Hunger for control Trying to get you told As I rap another tragedy unfolds quicker than I can pull the trigger on my Uzi A drive-by another shooting A few days later dirt and flowers Didn't I tell you it's thirst by the hour."
The crowd veered out of control, jumping in the air.
* * *
After the concert, Q drove Brandi's car down Crenshaw Boulevard in an elevated state of excitement, still feeling the adrenaline from the concert.
He raised the car up and down as everyone had been doing in the park.
Brandi changed a stack of CDs. They were pumped from all the action. The X-Masters boomed out of the stereo speakers and Brandi felt just as if they were back at the concert.
The base from the music was booming so loud and hard the speakers were pumping like the beat of a heart.
"These niggas ain't taking no shorts on the stage. Holla if you hear me!" Brandi said.
Tangie high-fived her from the backseat of the car.
Q reached under the seat.
He pulled out a bottle of beer. He swigged from the bottle. "You better be straight up glad that I put some hydraulics on this heap for you, Brandi. You ain't had no power before that. I don't know how you drove this thing."
Brandi forgot that Q was driving. She pushed him. Tangie sat forward, laughing from the backseat. She pushed Q's head from the back, causing beer to spill all over him.
At that precise moment, they heard the sirens. In the same instant they saw the police cruiser flashing the lights for them to pull over.
Q decided in the flash of a second to try to outrun them. He pushed his foot to the gas pedal, hitting the floor. The car jerked forward. It shot a car's length out in front of the police.
Total chaos broke out in the car.
Brandi and Tangie yelled at the top of their lungs in unison. What the hell was wrong with Q? Why the hell was he running from the police?
They asked him this question as though they were twins in a psychic link. Q was so caught up in the chase that he didn't answer.
Adrenaline pumped through his veins. A false sense of power soared through his body. He mashed the gas pedal to the floor once again.
He pushed the car to its maximum speed, generating theatrics that might have made NASCAR fans smile, but only pissed off the police.
When he had gone a few blocks, making everybody mad as hell because of the chase, a different set of cruisers flew out of an alleyway. They crisscrossed from out of another boulevard.
They pulled in front of the car Q was driving, causing it to crash into the side of one of the police cruisers. Come hell or high water they meant for him to stop. That maneuver brought the car Q was driving to a screeching halt. The police jumped out of their cruisers.
The backup team, SWAT, and the snipers, positioned their weapons, drawing down on the car. There was a sea of cops covering the area.
The police bore down on the car with their guns drawn and nightsticks positioned. They yanked open the driver's door and pulled Q from the vehicle without hesitation, then ordered Brandi and Tangie to get out of the car.
Brandi and Tangie screamed, fought, struggled, and yelled for them to leave Q alone, especially Brandi, but some of the other officers physically subdued them. Their screams were in vain.
The heat of the situation was out of control, on its way to escalating out of order.
"Yo, get the hell off of me, you pig!" Q yelled out as he kneed one of the officers in the groin with all his might. The officer doubled over in pain; that single stroke kicked off major chaos. That was all she wrote.
The cops beat Q. He was vastly outnumbered. Brandi and Tangie screamed. They both struggled valiantly to get free so they could help their friend, but it was no use.
The streets filled up with angry mobs of people. The crowd got out of hand. They were mad as hell.
They started to throw rocks, bottles, and whatever else they could get their hands on.
The helicopters swung low as the police struggled to get the crowd under control.
By this time, Q was lying on the ground unmoving. Because of the size of the crowd that had gathered on the street, along with the madness and chaos that was swirling around, no one knew who did exactly what.
Even those with the wherewithal to pull out their cell phone camcorders and record, due to the crowded conditions and chaos, they couldn't totally capture the truth.
An ambulance skidded to a stop, pulling up next to Q after struggling to get through the crowd. In an effort to help bring control the EMTs quickly did their job to medically assist Q.
This was no easy feat, considering the circumstances. They loaded him into the ambulance on a gurney in hopes of diffusing the situation by removing him from the scene.
By the time Brandi and Tangie arrived at the hospital Q was being treated in intensive care.
Tangie huddled in the corner with her legs pulled up to her chin. Brandi paced the waiting room area with a dangerous glint in her eyes.
The look in her friend's eyes frightened Tangie. And Tangie had seen a lot in her time, she didn't scare all that easily. After all, her brother was the leader of one of the most notorious male gangs in Los Angeles.
However, Brandi's look bordered on the edge of insanity as though she were teetering on the very edge of her own locked-in reality.
Tangie had never in her life seen Brandi look like that. In fact she wasn't sure if she had ever in her life seen anyone look like that.
Brandi's face was actually twisted in rage. Her eyes had a cold, calculated eeriness about them. And perhaps the worst thing about Brandi was her total calm. It was painted on her like a veneer.
With the exception of her pacing she was being held in tight control, like a live electrical wire about to spring loose, waiting for just the right moment.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Street Vengeance by Evie Rhodes Copyright © 2008 by Eva M. Rhodes. Excerpted by permission.
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