He saw the attention his car drew. Niggas became more alert and stuck their chests out when his presence was made known. Real recognized real, and two of the city’s finest had hit the block. Ambrose tugged on the last of the blunt and exhaled. He tossed the rest of it into the ashtray and glanced at Finn. His eyes narrowed into slits taking in the boys on the block.
“This used to be us,” Finn acknowledged.
“Different era, Finn. These young niggas today ain’t got nobody like your pops or Max guiding them like we did. These niggas are stone-cold killers. They come out the house ready for gunplay every fucking day. Straight purge shit around here,” he conveyed. “Rape, murder, robbery. They don’t have shit to live for.”
Finn had to agree. Some motherfuckers were fucked off in the head. Too many of these kids out here were raised by the lowest of the low, so they already came up empty with the morality. Rose slipped out of his seat, nine millimeter tucked in his waistband and the AR-15 at his side. Finn joined him on the sidewalk, toting his weapon as well. Every young black man in the vicinity became alert. Montrez was the leader of this particular pack. It was obvious when he stepped between his crew, cocky as hell, with his locs swinging. At twenty years old he was already a savage. Rose hadn’t been too far gone that he hadn’t kept up with who was doing what in his city.
“Now what can I help you two with?” Montrez asked, gold grill gleaming as he ran his tongue over it.
Everything he wore was flashy, making him stand out. He threw his hands up because he knew the stories of the two men in front of him and how they got down. He eyed the personal toys in each of their hands.
“I don’t want no problems. So what’s the issue?” He tucked his arms across his bird chest.
Rose glared past him, taking in his crew. Some of them stared back, curious about what was going on. There were three in the back holding court amongst themselves and trying to ignore what was going on. Rose squinted, studying them. Tension clipped the air and they cut their eyes toward them when they thought Rose and Finn weren’t looking.
“We need to holla at a few niggas in your crew.” Finn eyed the trio in back.
“Yeah? About what?” Montrez queried, glancing over his shoulder.
“About some shit that jumped off today. We need answers,” Finn articulated.
Rose wasn’t intimidated by Trez’s young ass or none of those little motherfuckers. He stepped past him, leaving the scent of weed and cologne behind him. Pausing in front of the three young boys, Rose searched their faces, and they all perked up.
“What’s your name?” he asked the pretty nigga in front.
With a perfectly lined taper cut, he favored the singer, Chris Brown with wide eyes and full pink lips. Little nigga had the audacity to laugh at Rose and shake his head before flicking the tip of his nose and going toe to toe with him.
“Who the fuck wants to know?” the little nigga asked with some heart.
Rose thought the shit was cute and a half smirk filled his face. Inching forward, he immediately brought his hand to the nigga’s throat. Gently lifting him off his feet, he pressed his back into the brick wall.
“They call me Rose because I make mothafuckas see red.” Ambrose introduced himself through gritted teeth.
The young boy’s eyes bulged. He saw the pool of darkness that took over Rose’s glare, and it shook him.
“Don’t make me ask you again,” Rose declared.
“I’m Vice! Damn, ease up OG,” he choked out.
“What you know about Brenyn Carmichael?” Rose demanded while Finn came up behind him.
Every one of them tightened up. Rose caught them side-eyeing one another.
“I can’t fucking hear you,” Rose urged, shoving him again roughly.
“What about that little stuck-up bitch?” Vice shouted.
Rose’s eyes bounced around, anger fleeting through the darkness swirling.
“That little stuck-up bitch is somebody’s child, and she’s been hurt.” Finn stepped up.
“That ain’t got shit to do with me,” Vice countered.
“Oh yeah? You think so, huh?” Rose released him and took a step back. “Then you won’t mind taking a ride with me then, will you?”
“Fuck you! I ain’t going nowhere,” Vice spat, trying to get buck with Rose.
“You ain’t got a choice, my nigga.” Rose yanked him off the wall and shoved him down the sidewalk.
