Baby Brother by 50 Cent, Noire Page A

mighta been quieter than his brother, but he was just as grimy. “Put ya face down and lap up every fuckin’ ounce.”
    Acqui looked down and almost got sick. There was all kinds of shit floating around in them foul-smelling dog bowls. Bits of pit hair, trails of slobber, soggy crumbs of food. And who the fuck knew what else. Tears of fury rose in his eyes and he had to force himself to stay on his knees. His Glock was under the seat of his whifl It didn’t matter. Lunging for Farad’s throat while he was surrounded by his crew woulda been suicide.
    It had taken every ounce of control Acqui had inside to make himself chill. To wait for a better day. And now, watching that black niggah with the unmistakable Davis eyes stroll down the walkway toward an end cell, it looked like the day he’d been waiting for had finally arrived. He headed toward the phones to place a call to his niggah Borne and get permission to put in work.
     
    Baby Brother had been assigned to work in the kitchen.
    He had only been locked down for a day and didn’t think they would give him a job so soon, but he didn’t question it. Anything that would keep him outta his shit-smelling cell was cool. It wasn’t that he was anxious to get out there with the crazies or nothing, but almost anything was better than sitting up in that tiny-ass jawn with his cellie.
    That cat was bugged. Something had happened to him that sent him off the radar. He’d been locked up in reception for three months already and according to the guy in the cell next to theirs, the niggah hadn’t washed his ass the whole time.
    The stench coming from the cell had almost dropped Baby Brother at the door. His eyes had watered and his stomach turned over. No human being could smell this fuckin’ foul, and once he ventured more fully inside the room he saw what the true problem was.
    His cellie was a shit-thrower.
    Hard clumps of tossed shit stuck to the walls, the floor, and even the ceiling.
    “Yo!” Baby Brother wilded out on him. “What the fuck is wrong with you, homey!” All the feelings he had been holding back came rushing out in rage and disbelief. “You gonna clean this motherfuckin’ shit up, man! How the hell you living? Look, niggah. Take a fuckin’ shower. Wash your fuckin’ ass ! And clean this shit up or get fucked up!”
    The cat had given Baby Brother a sullen look, then reluctantly began scraping shit off the walls. He pulled some unused cleaning supplies from under his bunk and started cleaning. “You gonna see, man. Just watch. You gonna see. You gotta keep these niggahs offa you some kinda way.”
    Baby Brother was so mad he couldn’t hold still. He paced two steps up and back, trying hard to hold his breath while his cellie slung shitty water around the room with a dirty mofl
    He couldn’t believe they had put him in with this fool, and when he thought back to when one of the guards called out his cell number, he remembered everybody laughing like that shit was a joke.
    It took over three hours before Baby Brother was able to fully enter the room to put his belongings down and make up his bunk. He’d made his cellmate work up a sweat. He had given him directions while he scrubbed the floors, the walls, and the ceiling. Then Baby Brother ordered him to go take a shower.
    The young man started trembling.
    “A shower?” He looked around the cell and started shifting from one foot to the other nervously. He wiped his face on his sleeve. “I—I—I…man, I don’t think I can do that.”
    Baby Brother got swole. He was tired, he was angry, he was locked up, and he was innocent. He was also ready to hurt some fuckin’ body.
    “Man, I ain’t playing with you. You either wash your ass or get took down.”
    Cellie shrugged. “Do what you gotta do, niggah. I rather get took down than get ass-fucked.”
    Baby Brother stared at him. This fool was serious. Fear was in his eyes, but it wasn’t because Baby Brother had put it there. He was a pretty