Monster by Sanyika Shakur

Author:Sanyika Shakur
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Grove Atlantic
Published: 1993-12-20T05:00:00+00:00

A week later, word was out that the police were looking for me and Crazy De for robbery. Which robbery, I wondered? Shit, we had done so many robberies that I was at a loss to figure out which one we were wanted for. With the police out for us, I’d wake up early, get dressed, and be out of the house before 6:00 A.M., because that’s their usual raiding time. I’d gravitate around homies’ houses until their parents went to work, and then we’d kick it until the rest of the ’hood started stirring. Then I’d try to lose myself in the sameness of the community. I ran, ducked, and hid every time someone yelled “Rollers.” I became so engrossed in escaping capture that my military performance slumped a bit.

The most frightening thing about being hunted as a banger is that you never really know what it is they are hunting you for. The banger’s position is far from static, so one day you could be a robber and the next day you might be told to commit murder, only to be asked the following day to spray paint a wall. Controlled freedom—democratic centralism. The gang was all that.

De and I were both eventually captured and hauled off to jail. De was eighteen, so he went to the county jail. I was still sixteen, pushing seventeen, so I went to juvenile hall. At my first court appearance I was remanded to the custody of the sheriff’s department and sent back to the juvenile tank.

Upon arrival I quickly saw that things had changed. Bennose and Levi were gone. Both had been sent to Youth Authority. Taco was still there, and so were about fourteen other Grape Street Watts Crips, all tight allies of Eight Tray. The difference was that Tangle-Eye was parading around there like a stalwart member of the community, as if his drinking of urine and set jumping was all in some other life. Cyco Mike had somehow regained his position as lord of the fiefdom and all the other bangers were catering to him like a bunch of oppressed serfs. And to top it all off there was an N-hood living on Charlie row!

The N-hood was Lucky from One-Eleven. He had two homies downstairs on Able row. After greeting Taco and the others I immediately went about the task of procuring a weapon to stab Lucky with. I wanted to make a strong point that I was back and shit was gonna be dealt with swiftly and harshly. After I had secured some iron—a steel flat of metal sharpened to a double-edged point—I told Taco of my intent and my utter hatred for all N-hoods.

“You ain’t gotta stab cuz. If you say move, he’ll move. But really, cuz is awright,” Taco said.

“Fuck that,” I told Taco. “This will send out a message to the rest of them punks.”

The next morning I stepped to him and caught him asleep. I crept up, climbed on the stool and then the desk, raised my weapon like my fist was a hammer, and began my downward motion.

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