When It All Falls Down 3 - Somebody is Gonna Die: A Chicago Hood Drama (A Hustler's Lady) by Tamicka Higgins
Authors: Tamicka Higgins
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information than that shit, nigga. Tell me what you know about Byron. How you know him and shit? Do you know where he be at?”
“Man, I used to live down the block from his granny and shit,” Damon said. “She used to stay over on Holston before she died. I think he rentin’ the house out and shit now, but I don’t know. I ain’t talked to the dude in like two months or some shit now, since like the summer. He also hang out at this bar I know downtown, but I don’t know the name. I ain’t never even been in there. Me and Byron just cross paths sometimes, but it ain’t like we friends and shit.”
“This granny’s house you just said, nigga,” Tramar said, still pointing the gun at Damon. “Where the fuck is this shit?”
“I just told you, man,” Damon said. “It’s over on Holston.”
“Nigga, I heard you say that,” Tramar said. “But what block and shit? You act like that street isn’t so many blocks long or somethin’.”
“I don’t know,” Damon said. “I used to live at 2146 Holston Street. His granny’s house was across the street and two blocks over. I swear, that’s all I know. Last time I was over that way, I thought I’d heard that Byron had somebody renting the place or something. But I really don’t know, man. Shit, I just don’t fuckin’ know.”
Tramar looked at Jackson before asking, “You up for a little ride?”
Jackson shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah,” he answered. “We can drop that nigga back off and go ride over there.”
Tramar looked back at Damon and smiled. “Naw,” he said. “We not gon’ drop him back off. You really try’na be some help and shit?”
Damon nodded, willing to say anything to get the barrel of the gun off of him. “Hell yeah,” he said. “Just tell me what you gotta do.”
“You gon’ ride with us over to this place, wherever it is, okay?” Tramar said. “And once we find out what house you talkin’ bout and shit, just to be sure, we gon’ drop you back off, okay?”
Damon nodded. Remaining in the backseat, Tramar kept an eye on Damon as Jackson pulled off and headed over to the southwest side of the city. Interestingly enough, where they were headed to wasn’t too far from where this Damon guy lived. After cautiously driving through a couple of hoods, Jackson tried to stay on the busy streets until he got to the specific neighborhood. Under the guidance of Damon, who Tramar watched to make sure he didn’t reach into his pockets, Jackson drove down the street.
“Right there, right there,” Damon said, pointing up ahead. Tramar and Jackson looked at an older style, small house with a yard that was cluttered with dead, unkempt bushes. There was no doubt in their mind that the house was empty. However, as Jackson rolled down the block, they found that wasn’t really the case.
“Slow down, nigga,” Tramar said. “Slow down.”
A van was coming from the other end of the block, directly at them. Before they were face to face with the van, it pulled over and parked in front of the house. Jackson slowly rolled by while he and Tramar looked up at the house. Once they rolled past, Jackson slowed down to practically a crawl. Tramar positioned himself in the backseat so that he could look back at the block through the front, passenger side mirror. He watched as two men climbed out of the van, appearing to be carrying food, and maybe a pack of beer in their hands. They walked up toward the house.
“Go around the block, nigga,” Tramar said. “Go around the block.”
“You sure that’s the
“Man, I used to live down the block from his granny and shit,” Damon said. “She used to stay over on Holston before she died. I think he rentin’ the house out and shit now, but I don’t know. I ain’t talked to the dude in like two months or some shit now, since like the summer. He also hang out at this bar I know downtown, but I don’t know the name. I ain’t never even been in there. Me and Byron just cross paths sometimes, but it ain’t like we friends and shit.”
“This granny’s house you just said, nigga,” Tramar said, still pointing the gun at Damon. “Where the fuck is this shit?”
“I just told you, man,” Damon said. “It’s over on Holston.”
“Nigga, I heard you say that,” Tramar said. “But what block and shit? You act like that street isn’t so many blocks long or somethin’.”
“I don’t know,” Damon said. “I used to live at 2146 Holston Street. His granny’s house was across the street and two blocks over. I swear, that’s all I know. Last time I was over that way, I thought I’d heard that Byron had somebody renting the place or something. But I really don’t know, man. Shit, I just don’t fuckin’ know.”
Tramar looked at Jackson before asking, “You up for a little ride?”
Jackson shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah,” he answered. “We can drop that nigga back off and go ride over there.”
Tramar looked back at Damon and smiled. “Naw,” he said. “We not gon’ drop him back off. You really try’na be some help and shit?”
Damon nodded, willing to say anything to get the barrel of the gun off of him. “Hell yeah,” he said. “Just tell me what you gotta do.”
“You gon’ ride with us over to this place, wherever it is, okay?” Tramar said. “And once we find out what house you talkin’ bout and shit, just to be sure, we gon’ drop you back off, okay?”
Damon nodded. Remaining in the backseat, Tramar kept an eye on Damon as Jackson pulled off and headed over to the southwest side of the city. Interestingly enough, where they were headed to wasn’t too far from where this Damon guy lived. After cautiously driving through a couple of hoods, Jackson tried to stay on the busy streets until he got to the specific neighborhood. Under the guidance of Damon, who Tramar watched to make sure he didn’t reach into his pockets, Jackson drove down the street.
“Right there, right there,” Damon said, pointing up ahead. Tramar and Jackson looked at an older style, small house with a yard that was cluttered with dead, unkempt bushes. There was no doubt in their mind that the house was empty. However, as Jackson rolled down the block, they found that wasn’t really the case.
“Slow down, nigga,” Tramar said. “Slow down.”
A van was coming from the other end of the block, directly at them. Before they were face to face with the van, it pulled over and parked in front of the house. Jackson slowly rolled by while he and Tramar looked up at the house. Once they rolled past, Jackson slowed down to practically a crawl. Tramar positioned himself in the backseat so that he could look back at the block through the front, passenger side mirror. He watched as two men climbed out of the van, appearing to be carrying food, and maybe a pack of beer in their hands. They walked up toward the house.
“Go around the block, nigga,” Tramar said. “Go around the block.”
“You sure that’s the
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