Streets of New York. Mark Anthony

a gun before. The young thug sticking her up looked no older than sixteen and he was acting scared.

      Denise was damned if some pussy-ass-broke-hood-nigga with a gun was gonna rob her of something so sentimental to her. She didn’t even think that the gun was loaded. They fought and Denise was whooping his ass for a minute until the gun went off, the explosion caused her to grasp her chest. Shocked at the impact of getting shot, Denise suddenly collapsed to the ground.

      That young fool snatched her diamond necklace, darted down the block and disappeared into the night leaving Denise dead. A neighbor on the first floor of Denise’s building heard the gunshot and she looked out her window. She saw Denise lying face down on the concrete in front of the building with blood oozing from her gunshot wound, and immediately called the cops.

      The next day, Promise heard she was murdered. He cried in front of his peeps, collapsing to the floor. Squeeze, his main nigga, tried to console him but couldn’t understand the pain he felt. After all Promise wasn’t living with Denise and for the most part was over her.

      Within a week, Squeeze and his niggas set out for the Brooklyn streets looking for Denise’s killer. They even put word on the streets that there was a $5,000 reward for any bitch or nigga willing to come forward and give information on who did it and where they were hiding. The following week, they got their results. There was a young nigga named Muddy, who was known for sticking up muthafuckas in Bushwick. He earned a deadly rep out there.

      Soon after receiving the info, Squeeze and his crew caught up with Muddy. They put three shots in his head, one in the eye and two in the back of his head. They even found Denise’s necklace on him—stupid muthafucka.

      Promise hit the Belt Parkway doing 65 in his X5. He was on his way to Bed Stuy to meet Squeeze, Show, and Pooh, his niggas from way back when they used to wrestle each other on the playground.

      Pooh was the youngest at twenty-one and he had a short temper and could be very loud and violent. He grew up in Brownsville but spent the majority of his youthful years in Bed-Stuy. To him, that was more his home than anywhere else. Pooh was 6-1, slender nigga rocking a baldy and the only nigga in the hood with hazel eyes. Bitches used to love that nigga for his eyes. He got a lot of pussy when he was young and he was still fucking.

      Show, he was a big dude pushing 250 pounds. Solid muthafucka and tall too, 6-5 and looking like that nigga, Eric Sermon from EPMD. Shit, Show was always the biggest. When he was twelve, he weighed 200 pounds. They called him Show because when he used to play high school football, he used to sack the quarterback so fucking hard, it was always a show to see. People came from all corners of Brooklyn, Manhattan, and even Queens to see Show play football. It was even more of a thrill to see when he put the quarterback on his ass and tackled the breath out of his opponents on the field.

      He got a scholarship to play for Virginia Tech his senior year but fucked that up. A month before his high school graduation, he was caught dealing drugs on the corner of his block.

      Squeeze, was the wild and crazy nigga. He was born in Jersey and moved out to Brooklyn when he was ten. He had lived there with his moms ever since. Squeeze was twenty-five and he was the type of guy that always had to be seen and heard wherever he went. Squeeze was rowdy in the club and was always scheming.

      Bitches and niggas gave him love because he was strictly street mentality and he sported a don’t-give-a-fuck-about-life attitude. A nigga fucked with Squeeze, a nigga better come correct or don’t come at all because Squeeze didn’t forget shit. He didn’t forgive easily and held grudges. Squeeze was not a big dude, 5’9, 157 pounds with gentle features and a little bit of well-groomed facial hair. He was a slim nigga with short hair but was real gangsta.

      Then there was Promise, the fourth member. He hooked up with Squeeze, Show, and Pooh when he was thirteen after he moved to Brooklyn from Queens. It took him a while to fit in but he eventually did and the four guys had been like brothers since. They mostly hung out over on Fulton and Throop. Promise always had a nonchalant attitude being a cool ass nigga. He got lots of respect from niggas for being Squeeze’s boy and he looked out for many niggas back in the day when they got into trouble.

      Promise put in his Ashante CD and cruised into Brooklyn. Under the driver’s seat, was a loaded silver .32 which had never been used. He just kept it under his seat for protection. No bodies, no nothing. Promise had kept the gun closer for a year now.

      For some reason when he hit Atlantic Blvd, Promise started thinking about his life and the man he had become. He didn’t hold a nine to five like most average folks. He didn’t run the streets on a daily basis like his nigga, Squeeze, and the others. Promise didn’t fuck around with many women like he used to do back in the days. Ever since he got custody of his daughter, the flow of pussy had slowed. He spent more time with his daughter, and loving every minute of it.

      Promise tried to live a normal life but that was difficult when raising a child and at the same time being a Brooklyn stick-up kid. It was how he made his money. Promise was robbing niggas in the hood, pimps, hustlers, and drug dealers. Shit, if they were balling and flashing then they would just get got.

      Squeeze played the game like that and brought the others in. He was always plotting and scheming, finally he put his niggas on.

      “We can make some real money,” he had told them. “Real money, real soon,” Squeeze had said.

      Lately Promise had been feeling a change of heart about what he did. He had Ashley to take care of and didn’t wanna take a chance of losing his daughter by getting got out there or, getting locked up, worse, being killed by robbing one of the wrong niggas in the streets. He’d been having a change of heart lately wanting out but the money was too good.

      Squeeze and the team had been doing what they do for years now. They had their ups and downs in the game but on the real, shit paid off for niggas. They were all pushing nice cars and flossing nice jewelry and clothes. In one month, niggas might make up to $25,000, maybe $30,000 if shit flowed right for them and that’s if they caught a true baller lapsing.

      They might catch that nigga for a few bricks and then they’d go out to Jersey and hustle them same keys for a wholesale price, hooking niggas up out there lovely. And if it came down to it, they might occasionally go out and do some B & E’s, hitting up homes in Long Island, Staten Island, and even New Jersey. Squeeze got his niggas into all kinds of shit because he was a money nigga, a hustler willing and ready to get that money by any means necessary.

      The one good thing about Promise’s track record in his life of crime was that he had never killed anyone. Too bad he couldn’t speak for the rest of the fellows in his crew especially Squeeze. Promise might have been an accessory to murder, assault, and other shit like that but the nigga never took a life, never pulled the trigger therefore, the nigga can sometimes sleep easy at nights. Lately, even being an accomplice still fucked with his conscience.

      He planned to meet with Squeeze and the rest of the guys around 8:30 at Squeeze’s uncle’s crib. Squeeze’s uncle was an ol’ school hustler who’d been in and out of prison since he was fifteen. He stayed in the basement with his girl in a brownstone on Kingston Ave. His girl’s family had the rest of the crib upstairs.

      Promise was late pulling up in front of the place at 9:15. He rushed out his vehicle and dashed down the steps, ringing the basement bell. Squeeze’s Uncle Junior answered the door in dirty jeans and a torn wife-beater.

      “Nigga, you late,” Uncle Junior stated with a cigarette dangling from his lips. “You got my nephew waiting for your punk ass. We got work to do, nigga!”

      Promise looked at Uncle Junior not even acknowledging his presence and walked right by him. Promise entered the basement apartment and saw his niggas sitting on an old green couch smoking trees and talking.

      “Damn, Promise. What da fuck, yo? You got us waiting down here forever,” Pooh shouted.

      “Nigga,