Chapter 18

“Even when your hustling days are gone, she’ll be by your side, still holding on. And even when those twenties stop spinning and all those gold digging women disappear, she’ll still be here!” I sang along with the Lyfe Jennings slow tune as I sped into the District of Corruption.

The level of frustration and tension I felt inside increased by the minute and so did my fear of returning to prison along with the urge to kill. I had never had so many bullets coming my way so fast in my entire life. I had to release this frustration or I’d blow up on the wrong person, which I didn’t want to do.

About nine o’clock, I finally made it around Langston Lane in Southeast, looking for Danny Anderson:  a piece of shit-ass rat who snitched on a little guy named Pierre Mercer that I knew. Shorty could rap his ass off and didn’t deserve to be wasting away in a West Virginia Federal Penitentiary because of a rat.

I wondered, did the guys he hung around with know about his betrayal to the game? And if so, why hadn’t they crushed his ass? Was it because they condoned snitching? Could they be on some bullshit where they felt like he didn’t snitch on them so he was cool just as long as they didn’t fuck with him? All that was bullshit in my eyes, and I was about to straighten this shit.

I been meaning to get around to this shit, but raising my son and trying to stay low hampered my movements for a minute. Plus the fact that my face was on the front page of the Washington Post two years ago as a person of interest being sought for questioning in connection to a kidnapping and a shooting played a major part in my delay from killing all snitches, rats, informants, and lames who ruined the game in D.C.

I pulled up to mingle with the guys out there on the drug strip on the Lane – a.k.a. Da Lenchmob. I viewed how their illegal business was jumping off only a few yards away from the 7th District Police Station, which was right across the street on the other side of Alabama Avenue. This was a bold move, but that crooked cop had me so mad that I was moving recklessly on this one. I spotted Woo, Pierre’s little partner who came home a couple years before him. I called him over to Markita’s Beamer.

He was all smiles, the type of smile one gives you when they haven’t seen you in a while. I shook his hand and gave him a manly hug.

“Fuck is up, Moe?” he greeted with a smile while twisting one of his long dreads. “I ain’t seen your ass in years, Moe. Kill…I thought you had an elbow for that body you had?” 

“God is good,” I replied, making him laugh. “Naw, I got back on appeal.”

 “Oh yeah? So what brings you across the Anacostia, Moe?”

“I’m tryna see that bitch-ass nigga Danny.”

“Oh, Slim up there in Woodland over this little bitch house he be fucking,” he told me like everything was kosher.

“Slim, you mean to tell me he snitched on Pierre and he’s still walking around here in one piece?”

“Moe, I told everybody ‘round here about his hot ass, but the nigga jive-feeding a rack of niggas with that work, so you know how that goes.”

“Naw, I don’t!” I retorted. “Niggas compromise their principles, morals, and beliefs for some money?”

“Yep,” he nodded

“You know where this bitch lives at?”

“Hell yeah!” Woo smiled and I figured he wanted to get down with the get down.

“Let’s go,” I told him and climbed back in the BMW.

After Woo got inside, I pulled off, heading for Woodland Projects to exterminate another rat and release some pent-up frustration that the crooked detective put on my shoulders.