By Memorial Day weekend, the summer of '99 kicked off with urban tales of Baby's recent runin with a seemingly invincible foe. Word on the street was that Baby had emerged triumphantly, easily trumping his adversary in a show of gangsta bravado that caused the man he faced down to cower before him like the punk that he was. This blatant exaggeration of the incident, spread throughout the hood like a wildfire generated by the Santana winds.
The Reapers began harassing me with a renewed sense of urgency to join up with them. Redrum, being the set leader, seemed to take great pleasure in singing the praises of his suddenly popular cousin and went as far as warning me of the fact that Baby was still in pursuit of my brother.
After school Redrum did what he and the rest of the teenaged Reaper thugs always did; gather at the bus stop on Santana Street, which was down the street from Mr. Lee's corner store. I had decided to ride home with Fatima Smith, an upperclassman at Compton High who had a big time crush on me. I never really felt the same way about her because she wasn't really my type. She was far from ugly, just not my type. But she pushed a clean ride; a plum colored Buick Enclave that she let me drive on several occasions.
As we entered my neighborhood, Fatima begged me to stop at Mr. Lee's so that she could get a slushie and a bag of cheese puffs. Reluctantly, I agreed. I felt it was the least I could do for a lovelorn girl whose advances I'd spurned so many times each passing week. Upon arriving at the store, we exited the car and went inside. We were both walking through the cheap goods stacked aisles when three wise cracking ruffians dressed in the typical black Skull and Bones print garb brushed past us. While Fatima and I moved through the aisles in search of cheese puffs, we were followed closely by the thugged out trio.
"Pick up a couple bags of chips, some cookies, doughnuts and two or three liters of soda aiight?" the oldest looking dude of the three said loudly to his boys. "'Cause homie right there and his broad is gonna buy our stuff. Y'all feelin' me?"
"Naw, Black, we aiight for today, but we'll catch up with him again. Then we'll go up in his pockets," another said. I ignored them and just kept it moving.
"Hey, homeboy, your time's runnin' out," the oldest said. "You either gonna rep Skull 'N' Bones Reapers, or get dealt with. So if you know what's good for you, you'll make the right decision."
The three flashed me and Fatima evil looks before walking out of the store, nonchalantly cracking jokes with each other as if nothing ever happened. I would have to endure several more incidents similar to that one as the school year came to a close. Though I took more than my share of verbal insults, putdowns and direct threats of bodily harm, no one had resorted to any physical violence. Not yet anyway.
I, on the other hand, surprised myself with the amount of quiet patience I exhibited during those trying times. I guess a lot of what Montel had been teaching me had began to sink in somewhat because I truly began to realize just how childish and pathetic the whole 'bash Cee-Love' thing was. And even more importantly, I realized that as long as no one dared touch me, I could care less about their rude comments or childish behavior.
When it became clear that I wouldn't be moved by their actions or comments, the angry gang affiliated students began spreading vicious rumors around school that I was afraid to speak up for myself, much less fight back. Soon a large part of the student body in and around Compton High began to believe the hype, with even a few of my so-called close friends shunning me.
On the home front, situations were hardly better with Mama's hard drinking boyfriend Leon back in her life and acting a fool as usual. Even Leon himself, who'd learned of the incident from fellow co-workers down at the sanitation plant, began making little off color comments around the house in regards to me and Montel's supposed cowardice. It became increasingly evident that nearly the entire neighborhood felt compelled to ridicule and make fun of us.
Montel had grown up quite a bit mentally and spiritually during his time spent behind bars. He'd battled some of Pelican Bay's most violent inmates, winning some scraps while losing others. He'd been shanked and had shanked, other prisoners. In short, he'd gone through hell and high water during his ten year sentence. So there was nothing outside those prison walls that could possibly bother him out on the streets. Besides, most of the gossip was mainly from punk kids and wanna-be thugs anyway.
Most of the true riders like DiAngelo Lovett, Paco Lovett, Skippie "Dee" and Francisco were either dead or doing hard time in one of California's overcrowded penitentiaries. These cats were the founders of the Reaper Nation and would never stoop to the lowly status of being gossipmongers, unlike their contemporaries. However, when the neighborhood's growing disrespect reached out and touched Mama, it was a different story.
I had just turned the corner, headed home, after finishing a physical game of street ball early one Saturday when I observed two of the neighborhood kids sassing Mama as she confronted them near the entrance to our house. Mama sometimes slept in late on the weekends, particularly Saturdays. This happened to be one of those Saturdays. Two of my classmates, Toby Wilder and his younger brother Jeff, seemed to always manage to wash and wax their '74 Chevelle on Saturday mornings. They also blasted their car stereo for the full hour or so. Mama had grown weary over the past month awakening irritably to the thump of bass just outside of her window each Saturday morning.
"We ain't turnin' nothin' down, lady!" Jeff spat, eyeing Mama angrily. "You always complaining 'bout something. What you need to be doing is keepin' ya punk sons in check."
Mama nearly lost it after that snide remark. I thought that she was going to slap his face. "You're much too disrespectful for your own good, so I'm going to have to call the cops."
Jeff glanced over toward Toby who shrugged his shoulders before he went back to waxing down the whip. "I know you're familiar with the term 'snitches get stitches', aren't you?" Jeff asked. "Well, I'd say you'd just better leave well enough alone, if you know what's good."
By the time I walked up on them, Toby had decided to add his two cents and now both he and Jeff were yelling at my mama angrily.
"Back up off of my mama or you two are gonna need the Reapers and every other gang in L.A to get me off of y'all!" I was breathing heavily, more from building anger than the basketball games I'd just finished. I quickly stepped in between Mama and the two frowning Wilder brothers. I calmly asked Mama to go back into the house while I took care of the situation.
Mama left only after I promised her that there'd be no fist fighting between myself and the Wilders, and even then she went reluctantly, keeping a watchful eye on us from the living room window.
"Listen Jeff. . .Toby, I don't care what y'all think about me or my brother, but none of y'all bet not ever talk to my mama like you just did, feel me? The only reason we ain't going to knuckle up right now is 'cause I promised her not to. Now I'm going inside."
The two Wilder brothers said nothing as they slowly backed away across the street toward their car, mumbling audibly as they went. As I turned to walk toward my house, three neighborhood kids came swiftly up the adjoining sidewalk, yelling out to me at the top of their lungs.
"Cee-love, you gotta come down to Mr. Lee's," they yelled.
"Why? What's happening?" I asked.
"It's your brother. He's down there getting ready to do somethin'," one of them said. "I dunno, he looks pissed!"
"A'ight, let's go!" I bailed down the street swiftly behind my peers. I could see other kids from around the way racing at breakneck speed also in the direction of Mr. Lee's convenience store.
When we arrived, winded and sweaty from running, we all saw Montel sitting calmly on the hood of Mr. Larry's Ford pickup. Seemingly carefree and relaxed he sat clad in a white cotton tank top, and meticulously creased khakis with the bottoms cuffed up over his black and white Chuck Taylor's. The morning sun kissed the deeply bronzed skin of his brawny frame as he quietly munched on salted sunflower seeds, spitting the shell out indiscriminately on the cracked sidewalk.
"Hey, Cee-Love. S'up witcha? You mind getting me some more sunflower seeds?" Montel asked me. "These things are good. Boy, I'm tellin' you. Get ya self somethin' too if you'd like," he said to me as I approached him. He scanned the faces of teens who'd gathered by the dozens along the sidewalk. They were staring back at him and mumbling softly amongst themselves.
The next thing I knew, he was handing me some money. Not knowing what else to do, I went into the store and did as he'd asked. I came out of the store with his seeds and change and leaned up against the truck next to him, waiting for something, anything to pop off. Then a sharp gasp went from the assembled crowd as Baby and several other Black clothed Reapers emerged from around the corner of the store advancing with slow, yet determined steps toward my brother and I.
"Well, well, well. . .I see ya li'l cats are serious about reppin' yo' set, huh?" Montel stated. "A'ight then, you leave me no choice than to show you how real G's get down."
Everyone gathered along the sidewalk watched with bated breath as the baby faced thugs approached the muscle bound O.G. As the Reapers came closer, a pair of chromed out low riders screeched to a halt along the sidewalk next to the pickup truck. Immediately, ten black and blue bandanna wearing, machine gun toting thugs hopped from the insides. They surrounded the seated Montel as they faced Baby's startled set with drawn weapons at the ready.
Montel hopped down from the hood of the truck onto the sidewalk below. Slowly, he walked over to the teens who stood staring with uneasy silence at the cold, hollow barrels of the assault rifles pointed their way. "This here's gonna be a fair fight today," he started. "A whole lotta you kids been talkin' about me and my li'l brotha, Cedrick, behind our backs. Well, I'm here to tell you that today all that is gonna cease."
Baby and his crew just stood there in shock as Montel continued.
"See, my homies right here behind me rep Avalon Gangster Crip and Four Deuce Reaper gang. They're gonna make sure for an ole O.G like me that there'll be a fair fight, and afterwards, the winner will lay down the law to which everybody in the hood will adhere to. . .no questions asked. This is the way we did it back in the day and it's the way were gonna do it now."
I was sort of nervous, yet anxious to blow off so much needed steam, which had built up to the boiling point ever since the initial incident with Baby. So, I rolled up my shirtsleeves and trotted out onto the sidewalk to face Baby. The large group of teens gathered around the both of us, becoming loud and boisterous as they egged us on in anticipation of the inevitable fight to come.
Baby was relieved of his pistol and switchblade before he was allowed to step to me. We circled each other, each one of us looking for an opening to strike as we bounced around upon the concrete, throwing punches while bobbing and weaving amidst the frenzied yells of the ghetto crowd. Seeing an opportunity, I struck with cat like quickness, landing a solidly thrown punch on the right side of Baby's bandanna wrapped head. The blow caused his knees to buckle instantly as he simultaneously slumped forward to the pavement below. Baby broke his fall with his outstretched hands, but as he crouched on all fours trying to shake his head free of the cobwebs into unconsciousness, I again struck him forcefully with yet another blow to the head and two or three sharp kicks into his ribs.
The cheering kids had now reached a fever pitch as I continued to pummel the Reaper into the pavement with no mercy. Still Baby was no punk, and although he'd taken a sound beating, he arose battered and bloodied to land several brutal shots of his own, one of which opened up a nasty gash above my left eye, temporarily stunning me.
I saw an opening, a bare patch of earth along the cracked sidewalk, that provided me with what was needed to turn the fight in my favor. Without hesitation, I grabbed a handful of dirt, tossing it forcefully into Baby's face as he stood above me swinging wildly amid the pandemonium spectators. Baby shrieked, as the flying soil entered his eyes, nostrils and mouth, allowing me just enough time to cold cock him with a hard blow from my clenched fist to his jaw. As he tumbled to the pavement below, it was now my turn to unleash a barrage of fearsome punches to his head and face area as I straddled him.
By the time my brother dragged me off of him, Baby's entire face was a bloodied, mangled mess. Even a few of the gun wielding gangstas who were present winced at the sight of his injuries. Baby himself was pretty much unconscious except for an occasional blood sputtering cough or two.
Montel hoisted the battered teenager in his muscular arms, slowly carrying him through the human pathway given to him by the now silent mob. The adult Crips and Reapers followed him closely. Montel placed Baby carefully along the plush leather back seat of the brown El Dorado Low-rider parked nearest to his truck. As if on cue, the ten bandanna wearing thugs gathered around the ex-con whom they all held in reverence, awaiting instructions.
"Take this li'l homie to Cedars-Sinai, 'cause I want him to get the best care he can get. He might have a broken nose and a few loose teeth. I know he's gonna need some stitches to close up these gashes along his scalp and cheek area, but other than that, he's awright."
Suddenly, Baby stirred, mumbling something sounding like gibberish as he attempted to sit up in the backseat of the low-rider.
"Relax, li'l homie, we got you," Montel assured him. "You gonna go see a doctor right quick awright? So, just chill for now." Montel quickly flashed the gang sign of the Reapers before placing his hand gently on Baby's curly head. "I'll be there a little bit later on to pay for his medical expenses and to bring his Mama up there to see him, if necessary."
He then backed out of the vehicle, shut the rear door and waved the older gang members on as they all piled into the low-riders and headed toward L.A.'s famous Cedars-Sinai hospital. Montel then came over to me, carefully assessing my wounds. The cut above my left eye had swollen considerably into an ugly black and blue shiner, which though painful, helped stop the blood flow that had seeped down my forehead and into my eye during the fist fight.
After checking me out all over, Montel was pretty much satisfied that other than a couple bruises to my knuckles and face, I was okay and not in need of medical attention. He then turned to gaze upon the silent multitude of Compton teens who stood around looking back motionless and silent.
"Listen up," Montel called out. "What you kids saw here today was a fair fight between my brother and Baby. They fought with their bare hands. . .like men. There was no need for guns except to make sure that nobody in this crowd would dare use 'em." He focused his intense stare on Baby's group, who seemed to huddle together nervously as the O.G made eye contact with them." Things are gonna change here in this neighborhood," Montel barked with authority.
The teens all seemed petrified to even move as they listened to Montel's husky booming voice preaching a reformed gangsta's sermon of change. "Yeah, I used to bang back in the day, but I've changed my life for the better. I still got Reaper homies and I got Crip homies. I even got a few Blood homies, but they just can't let it be known that we're tight with each other, that's all. And for what? Some stupid colors? Don't get caught up, li'l homies."
With that said, Montel commanded the kids to leave, to which they obediently dispersed. As the both of us sat up against the truck, Mr. Lee came outside along with Mrs. Lee and carefully applied dressings to my wounds from the contents of a small, tin first-aid kit.
Mr. Lee bowed, as did his wife, before Mr. Lee spoke. "So, so glad to have you back, Montel, only better now. Please don't take that the wrong way. It's a compliment."
While applying a liberal amount of Neosporin ointment to my bruised knuckles, Mrs. Lee smiled happily and agreed in kind with her husband. "Yes! No one has ever taken a stand against these hoodlums before, until now. We thank you for doing what you did today."
"No disrespect, Mrs. Lee, but those kids ain't no hoodlums," Montel stated. "They're just misunderstood, that's all. And please don't thank me for anything. All I did was kick them some knowledge." Montel looked up to the heavens. "Now it's up to the man upstairs to put it in their hearts to take heed."
I know that I, for one, hoped things would change for the better. Because if the cats in the hood decide not to take heed to Montel's words, with my getting the best of Baby, I know he wouldn't just let that go. I'd have to sleep with one eye open at all times in wait of his method of revenge.