"How many times are you’re going to tell that story?” I snapped at Poke.
“Fuck you. you’re just mad because you only get to vamp toys. Duster is a legend!”
“Get off Duster’s dick.”
“I’m not on Duster’s dick. If I was on his dick, I wouldn’t have vamped him!”
“Fuck Duster.”
“Duster’s dope.” West added.
“Yeah, he is. But still.”
Poke, West and I walked uptown on a pleasant winter night. We were heading towards 110th street, which was S.W. territory. SW was a toy crew that wrote on the one line. We liked to say that it stood for Shitty Writers. Vike SW dissed a lot of West and Poke tags and pieces, including a top to bottom.
“That nigga Vike lives around here. If I ever catch him, I’m going to crack his head open.” Poke declared.
“I don’t know what I’ll do, but it won’t be good.” West added.
The only reason why I had beef with Vike was because he had beef with two of my best boys. I was obligated to fuck him up if I ever had the chance. As we passed by a Burger King, Poke pointed at a Latin guy sitting with his girlfriend behind the window. He was about our age, 15 or 16.
“That’s Vike!”
“Are you sure?” West wanted to know.
“Yeah, I’m sure.” Poke confirmed.
All three of us marched into Burger King right to the suspect’s table.
“Ay-eee bee, you write Vike?” Poke questioned the nervous, looking Latin kid.
“What the fuck?” his pretty girlfriend asked.
‘Shut up, bitch. We’re not talking to you.” I informed her.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about?” The kid hesitated to say.
“Don’t play stupid. You’re Vike!”
“Come on guys. I’m just chilling with my girlfriend.”
Poke took out a 007 knife. “Ay-eee bee, I should stab you in your eye for going over my shit!”
“What the fuck? We’re in Burger King. You can’t stab him here.” I told Poke.
“You’re right.” Poke agreed and put away the knife.
The kid we suspected was Vike held up a bandaged hand and showed us that he had many stitches keeping his hand together.
“Look, I’m all fucked up. Show me some mercy.”
“You ain’t show my pieces any mercy.” Poke barked at him
“You’re talking about the one with the purple fill-in’s. That was a classic too!” I instigated.
“I’m sorry!”
“So you admit you’re Vike?” Poke snagged him.
“No!”
“Then what the fuck are you sorry for?” I leaned my face close to his, looking him in his scared eyes.
“I don’t know.”
I snatched a whopper out of his girlfriend’s hands and took a big bite.
“What the fuck, you asshole?” She snapped at me with Latina attitude.
“Shut the fuck up, hoe! You go out with a toy. You ain’t shit!”
West grew impatient. “Yo, are you Vike or not? We’re not going to hit you if you fess up.”
“Yeah, I’m Vike but I don’t even write anymore!”
“So that makes everything okay?” I asked.
All of a sudden, West cracked him in the jaw with his fist. Everybody in the resturant looked. I gave them crazy eyes, most of them looked away. Vike bent over holding his jaw. I was sure it broke.
“You’re lucky, if you ever go over me again, I’ll kill you!” Poke warned Vike before smashing his wounded hand by pounding his fist on it. Vike screamed at the top of his lungs. Blood leaked out the sides of his bandage. His girlfriend screamed at us.
“You’re animals!”
“I said shut up!” I told her as I reached over and helped myself to her onion rings. “He’s very lucky. It could always be worst. You don’t even know who we are!”
Poke and West were heading out the door. “Yo, come on, Psycho!”
“You have any money?” I decided to ask. Vike tried to go in his pocket with his fucked up hand, but it was too painful for him to do so.
“Oh, forget it! I turned my attention to his girlfriend. “You have any fine friends like you that you can hook me up with? I’m really a nice guy.”
The Latina just looked at me like I was crazy.
“Oh, forget that too. I’m out!”
Posted on November 08, 2007 at 10:24 AM | Comment (5 comments)
