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The C.O. opened the cell’s door and he came waltzing out. He moved down the hallway toward his death as confidently as he could with his wrists and ankles in shackles. A host of correctional officers and a priest crowded around him walking with him as he moved down the mustard yellow corridor.
“Dead man walking! Dead man walking!”
He flinched hearing the officer’s voice sting his eardrums. He glanced over his shoulder with a scowl and twisted lips.
“Damn, homie, you all in my ear and shit,” he complained, heatedly.
Continuing on his way, he threw his head back at the other inmates on Death Row like ‘What’s up?’ Never breaking his stride. His face was one chiseled out of stone, void of expression and emotion. It was like he was taking an evening stroll through his neighborhood, taking in the sunshine and mingling with the people of his community.
“Alright now, hold yo’ head, bro!” A prisoner called out from his left.
“No doubt!” he responded.
“That’s the realest nigga to have ever walked the earth right there!” Another prisoner called out from his right.
“Balls of steel.” A third prisoner called out.
He locked eyes with him and said, “You mothafucking right.”
He knew the life he led would lead to either death or the penitentiary and it led to both. Cold world. But what the fuck could the nigga do? The streets were all that he knew. He played the hand he was dealt and came up short. He wasn’t about to bawl and cry about the shit though. He had a reputation to keep. He knew the streets would keep his legacy alive. Once he finally closed his eyes his name would be mentioned with some of the most gangster niggaz in history, he was sure of it. No one could tell him otherwise.
He was led to the room where his life was to end. He stared at the dark green leather cushioned gurney with all of the straps on it as one of the correctional officer’s unlocked the shackles around his wrists, waist, and ankles. After the C.O. removed the chains and shackles, he passed them off to the other officer who hoisted them over his shoulder. The officer then told the prisoner to lay down on the gurney. He obliged.
His head snapped to all of the areas of his body that the correctional officers strapped down. They made sure that the thick leather brown belts were pulled good and tight to ensure that their prisoner wouldn’t escape. Once the officers finished strapping him down to the gurney, they stepped back to allow the doctor through. He was a tall, white man with thinning hair. He wore glasses and a lab coat. He tied a tourniquet around the thug’s arm, cleaned it with a swab moistened in alcohol and tapped it until a ripe, juicy vein was visible. Once he did this, he inserted the IV then removed the length of rubber. He repeated this same routine with the other arm, as well. He then opened his patient’s shirt and attached the patches that would monitor his heart. This was done so that the time of his death could be recorded and confirmed.
When the doctor turned around walking off and pushing his specs back upon his face, he noticed a machine that housed three large syringes containing three concoctions. The first one was sodium thiopental, an anesthetic agent that would be used to render him unconscious. The second one was pancuronium bromide, a non-depolarizing muscle relaxant that would cause sustained paralysis to the skeletal striated muscles. The last one was called potassium chloride which would stop his heart, thus causing death by cardiac arrest.
Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump!
His heart was beating fast now because he knew that death was looming around him like a foul stench. But he wasn’t afraid of dying. Hell mothafucking nah, he embraced it, welcomed it even. The next thing he knew the curtains were pulled open from over the large windows surrounding the diagnostics room, leaving a host of people looking in on him. They sort of resembled the audience at a talk show like Jerry Springer or Wendy Williams.
One face stood out among them all though. He’d come to love it like he loved breathing. She was beautiful, but at that time her appearance was less than flattering. Chevy’s eyes were red webbed and pink. Her cheeks were slickened wet, making her face shiny. She swallowed the lump of hurt that had formed in her throat, her nostrils expanding and shrinking as she breathed angrily. He didn’t know if she was mad at him for what had happened or not. One thing for sure was that he didn’t care. Nah, he had other matters that had his attention, like all of the hoes he was going to get at once he got to heaven or wherever he was going.
He looked from her and took in all of the faces behind the thick glass. He figured that this was what an animal caged up at the zoo must have felt like. Most of the people in the audience wore solemn expressions. Some looked like they felt sorry for him, while others were crying. Not crying because they felt for him, but because they were happy that justice was being served for the murder of their loved ones. He cracked a wicked smile at them and they went ham, jumping to their feet and hurling chairs which deflected off of the glass. They talked shit and some of them even tried to rush out of the room to get to him. He chuckled and threw up his hood the best way he could with his arms being in restraints. It was his last fuck you to them.
After a couple of armed guards ushered the unruly guests out, kicking and screaming, the priest approached the prisoner with an opened Bible. He began reading off a passage when he shouted at him.
“Father, I don’t wanna hear that shit, God gave up on niggaz like me a long time ago!”
The priest closed the Holy Book and cleared his throat with a fist to his mouth. “Very well, may the Lord bless your soul, my son.”
“Yeah, whatever, nigga.” His head whipped around to the warden, looking him up and down like ‘Fuck you doing here?’ “Can I help you?”
“Any last words, Savon?” he asked. The room had a PA system, so everyone outside of the glass could hear what he had to say.
“Once y’all done killing me, and it’s time to lay me to rest, y’all just make sure they bury me a G!” He said aloud, taking in all of the faces of the people in the audience, making sure he had everyone’s attention. “You hear me? Bury me a G, bury me a mothafucking G!”
With Savon’s last words having been said, the doctor went on to start the procedure that would eventually relieve him of his life. One by one, the large syringes containing the concoctions emptied. The last one, potassium chloride, was the last of the syringes to be released into Savon’s veins, its concoction coursing throughout his blood stream.
By this time, Savon’s raging heart had begun beating slower and slower. His eyelids narrowed into slits and he looked around at all of the faces of the audience. The one that stood out to him was the one that belonged to his sister, Chevy. She stared right at him with tears sliding down her cheeks. Savon read her lips as she said ‘I love you’ and he mouthed it back. Right after he laid his head back, his eyelids shut and he expelled his last breath. At that moment, the curtains swept around the windows that allowed the audience to see inside of the diagnostics room.
Chevy had met who she thought was the love of her life, Tiaz, through a website called, Penpals.com. Tiaz was a handsome, smooth talking, charming thug that romanced his way into Chevy’s heart and swept her off her feet. She agreed to let him parole to her house. At first things were rocky between Tiaz and her son, Te’Qui, but they eventually got tight. It wasn’t until Chevy found out her boo was fucking her best friend, Kantrell, that things fell apart. On top of that, Tiaz had given Te’Qui and his little homeboy, Baby Wicked, crack to sell. Baby Wicked ended up getting smoked by the niggaz whose corner he was slinging on. When Chevy confronted Tiaz about him given her son and his friend drugs, the mothafucka flipped out. He was about to harm Chevy, but Te’Qui shot at his ass, backing him down.
Tiaz had a beef with some of the most feared niggaz to have ever laid their claim to the streets. He was on their heads because they’d killed his road dawg, Threat, over a robbery they’d commited against one of their own. He laid a couple of them down, but there were two of them left that had yet to pay him in blood. He ran one of them down into a store. The nigga thought he was in a safe zone because he was surrounded by patrons and the police had just arrived on the scene. Little did he know, Tiaz was a reckless and ruthless type of nigga that didn’t give a mad ass fuck. Needless to say, Tiaz gunned the man down and earned himself a trip to the county jail where he’d await trial for murder. In the county he bumped heads with Savon whom he’d planted drugs and a gun on. At that time Savon was in the county fighting the drug charges and the murders on the gun.
Savon and Tiaz had a bloody shank fight that resulted in Tiaz’ tragic death. This was what led to Savon being sentenced to death by lethal injection.
Having seen her brother expire, Chevy broke down sobbing and shaking. Hearing someone applaud higher in the stands, she whipped around with a creased forehead, sniffling. She saw a woman with her hair braided back in thick cornrows clapping her hands loud as fuck, making a mockery of her brother’s death.
“Good! I’m glad that mothafucka is dead! May he rest in shit! I’ma make sho’ my black ass is there to piss on his grave!” the woman hollered out, moving her neck like hood rats do when they’re on one.
Instantly, Chevy’s eyebrows arched and she squared her jaws, top lip trembling. She jetted up the steps, leaping them two and three at a time. Her fists were clenched tight at her sides and she was ready to whop off in the bitch’s ass that was popping that shit.
“Bitch, you got me fucked up! You gon’ show up here today and disrespect me and my brother? Oh, that’s yo’ mothafucking ass hoe!”
“I knew yo’ ass was gon’ want some! Come on, trick!” the woman, Scrappy, threw up her fists and prepared to throw hands with a heated Chevy. Chevy reached Scrappy throwing Haymakers at her head. Scrappy ducked the wild swings. She came back up; slamming her fists into either side of her opponent’s ribcage and then uppercutting her. Chevy’s chin went upward as she fell backwards, tumbling down the steps and sliding down them on her stomach. She looked up at Scrappy wincing and aching. Scrappy broke loose from the people that were trying to hold her back from whipping off in Chevy’s ass some more. As soon as she did, she charged down the steps in long strides toward Chevy. Chevy shook off her dizzy spell and got to her feet. Once Scrappy reached her, she swung at her head but she ducked before her fist could connect. Chevy came back up and punched homegirl in the face, and followed that up with a left hand punch. As Scrappy was blinking her eyelids dizzily, Chevy kicked her in the stomach and tackled her to the steps, causing her to howl out in pain.
Chevy straddled her and started raining blow after blow down on her face. Scrappy grabbed her by both of her wrists and wrapped her legs around her neck, forcing her to the steps. She then grabbed the wrist of her right arm and twisted it as she choked her out, locking her legs around her neck. Chevy’s eyes filled with tears and she gagged violently. Scrappy looked down at her, eyebrows arched and jaws clenched.
“You stupid, high yellow bitch, I’ma send yo’ ass to join yo’ punk-ass brotha!” Scrappy frowned and clenched her jaws harder, causing the veins on her forehead and temples to pulsate. “Ahhhhhh, get off me! Get the fuck off of me!” Scrappy hollered out over and over again, as she and Chevy were pulled apart by correctional officers, kicking and swinging at one another.
“You fucking skeeza!” Chevy kicked Scrappy square in the face, launching her head backwards. “I’ma find you and fuck yo’ ass up, bitch! Mark my goddamn words!” Chevy struggled to break loose from the piles of arms that she was wrapped up in.
“Oh, this ain’t over! This shit far from over, hoe!” Scrappy swore as blood oozed out of her nostrils and over her lips. She was trying to pull free from the piles of arms wrapped around her too, but they were too strong for her. “Yo’ ass is dead! You hear me? Dead, bitch!”
Scrappy sat low behind the wheel of her car, peering up at the rearview mirror as she dabbed her bloody nose with balled up Kleenex tissues. Looking at her reflection, she could already see that she was swelling from her fight with Chevy, and vowed to make her ass pay for her injuries.
That’s okay, bitch! You gon’ get cho’ issue, I ain’t letting shit slide. I put that shit on my nigga. You and that bitch-ass nigga Faison gon’ get y’alls. That’s on my daddy, rest in peace.
Scrappy wiped away the little blood she saw left, which was peeking out of her left nostril and then snorted back. Afterwards, she balled up the tissues and threw them out of the window. As she rolled the window up, she clocked Chevy walking through the parking lot, touching her lip to see if it was bleeding and holding an ice pack to her head. She was frowned up and talking shit about how she was going to whip off in Scrappy’s ass should she ever run into her again.
Scrappy slumped down low in the driver’s seat when she saw Chevy. She watched her like a lioness watched her prey, a sneaky smile spreading across her lips. The police had held her and Chevy at the prison for a while after their brawl, and agreed to let them go home once they’d calm down. They reasoned that the women were emotional and tensions were high during Savon’s execution since they’d both lost loved ones and they didn’t want to lock them up. The law allowed Scrappy to leave first. They then waited thirty minutes before letting Chevy make her departure. Scrappy knew she was supposed to take her fiesty ass home, but she refused to slide to the house without getting some get-back. Fuck that! That bitch Chevy earned what was coming to her.
Scrappy watched as Chevy hopped into her whip and pulled out of her parking space. She waited until Chevy was out of the parking lot before cranking up her ride and pulling off behind her. Once she was out on the street, she followed behind her from what she deemed was a safe distance. Without Chevy having noticed her, Scrappy had followed her all of the way to her house. Once she was there, she parked where she wouldn’t be seen. Still slumped behind the wheel of her whip, Scrappy observed Chevy pull into her driveway and hop out of her vehicle. She then saw Faison pull into the driveway in a Benz truck and hop out. As soon as he did, Chevy rushed into his arms and broke down, sobbing loud and hard. He held her firmly and kissed her on top of her head, rubbing her back soothingly. Having seen enough, Scrappy pulled out from where she’d parked and busted a U-turn in the street. Driving off, she stared back and forth between the windshield and the rearview mirror, watching Chevy and Faison grow smaller and smaller, until they disappeared before her eyes.
Scrappy picked up her cell phone and looked at the time. It was two o’clock.
“It’s almost time for my babies to get outta school,” Scrappy said to no one in particular, sitting her cellular on the passenger seat and then turning on the radio. Surprisingly, P-Diddy’s Missing You was playing. Instantly, her eyes watered and tears flooded her cheeks, thinking about the loved one she’d lost to violence. She found herself wiping her dripping eyes with her fingers and thumb, as she continued to drive. She was going to make sure Chevy felt all of the pain that she felt inside after the tragic death of her nigga. If she thought losing her brother hurt, she hadn’t felt anything yet.