Still Rumbling: The Rumble Series, #4

By Rayven Skyy

Rayven Skyy takes you back three years later to the Hampton Roads area of Virginia, into the lives of Milton "Milk" Woodhouse, the mother of his child, Sabrina Wright, and introduces you to Milk's younger brother, Terrell, who subsequently has a problem with keeping his hands off of other people's belongings, which in turn causes conflict between the two siblings. Milk balances being a single father to his special needs son as well as maintaining a relationship now that he has backed away from the streets with a vow never to return. Due to circumstances beyond his control, no matter how hard he tries to walk the straight and narrow path, Milk once again finds himself in the streets of the seven cities, STILL RUMBLING!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rayven Skyy
• Release date: Sep 14, 2013
• ISBN: 9781502255792

Book preview

Prologue

My Nigga!

2003 . . .

I sat patiently waiting for Tyke to play his hand. I could tell he was being cautious as to which card to let go of since he opted to pick up the ace of spades. Tyke glanced at me out of the corners of his eyes and then back down at his hand one last time before discarding the three of diamonds onto the pile of cards in the center of the table. Now, I was the one who was analyzing the cards in my hands. Not because I was uncertain as to which card to play, I just wanted to keep Tyke in suspense a little bit longer.

My poker face was replaced with a wide joker grin when I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I stood up. There go my shit! I slapped my spread down on the table. Tonk mothafuckas’, and pay me double!

Fuck! Tyke stood up and threw the rest of the cards in his hand down on the table. I should’ve ran on yo’ ass, he huffed.

Shoulda’, woulda’, coulda’ mothafucka’. Give me my got damn money, nigga! I held my hand out.

Tyke looked at me with a serious grit face. He shuffled through his money and then tossed five twenty dollar bills down on the table, which I wasted no time picking up along with the rest of my winnings.

House lady, can I get another shot of VSOP? Tyke sourly called out to Lisha.

I told you when I poured your last shot that was the last of the VSOP, she answered, walking into the room. Lisha then started to collect the empty beer bottles and plastic cups that were lined around the card table and on the floor.

Shit, I ain’t hard to please. Give me whatever kind of dark liquor you got, Tyke said.

I think I got some E&J left. As a matter of fact, I need to go to the liquor store before it closes up on me, she reminded herself.

Who got next? I asked as I got up from the card table.

Where you going, Rell? Tyke asked me.

Across the street to Sabrina’s house so I can catch Milk’s call, I told him.

Nigga, I’m coming with you!

Tyke followed me across the street to the apartment my brother’s girlfriend, Sabrina, shared with her friend, Yvette. He had expressed on more than one occasion that if given the opportunity to fuck Sabrina while Milk was locked up he would, and he never passed up an opportunity to see her. I kept telling him that he was never going to get anywhere with Sabrina because even in jail my brother had her on lock.

Damn, it look like the party gon’ be in here tonight for New Years, I said, looking around Sabrina’s apartment. What y’all do, buy out party city?

Sabrina started laughing and said, I am an Interior Designer in the making!

I see. I laughed, too.

What are you doing for New Years, Rell? Sabrina asked while stirring a pot of black-eye peas. I sat down at the kitchen table and grabbed a few pieces of chicken wings from the food platter.

I don’t know yet. It’s still early. Sabrina, let me get a few slices of bread. I needed something to absorb the alcohol in my stomach I had so far and sober up a little bit before Tyke and I went out to celebrate the New Year.

Damn, them black-eye peas smell good and I don’t even eat them shits.

Tyke sniffed around the pot, I’m sure just to get closer to Sabrina.

I don’t either. She laughed. My momma cooked them before the new year since I was little and so I’m keeping the tradition going. You want some, Tyke?

That ain’t what I wanna’ eat, he mumbled.

Rell, get the phone. It’s probably Milk, Sabrina said.

I picked up the cordless phone and laughed to myself when I saw the caller’s number. Not only was this nigga fucking with Lisha, the girl whose crib I was just at across the street, this nigga got, Squeaky, another one of his side chicks, calling Sabrina for him on three-way. Milk ain’t shit!

Yo’, I spoke into the phone half-way still laughing. What up, nigga?

What’s up, man? he said with excitement. You a hard mothafucka’ to catch up with. I thought you was coming up here with Sabrina to see me this weekend?

Yo’ man, I was. I fucking overslept and by the time I got to Sabrina crib she was already gone.

Whatchu’ say, Rell?

I said, I’mma’ make it up there to see you next weekend for sure, man, I raised my voice.

I still ain’t heard shit you said, aye . . . yo’ . . .

Milk’s irritated voice trailed off but I still heard him when he told some nigga named Londo to shut the fuck up and to stop making so much noise. After he got back on the phone I caught him up on what had been going on around the way, and told him about all of the niggas who ended up on a rest-in-peace t-shirt so far this summer as discreetly as I could knowing that our call was most likely being recorded.

After the brief conversation Tyke and I bounced. It wasn’t until I went to start my car that I realized I left my keys in Lisha’s house, and since Tyke said he had to piss we both got out of the car to go back inside. As we approached Lisha’s apartment building I saw that there were two niggas posted up on the porch. One of them gave us a chin up but the other one looked the other way. Milk always told me when people don’t make eye contact with you they don’t mean you any good, and right now in the trunk of my car was not a good place for my gun to be.

The blinking porch light made it damn near impossible to get a good look at their faces, and when I looked over at Tyke I could tell by his facial expression that he was thinking the same thing I was. They could have possibly been somebody we’ve robbed. I may not have had my gun on me, but Tyke’s gun never left his side. Instincts told the two niggas on the porch what was about to go down and their guns appeared just as Tyke put his hand under his shirt.

Go, Rell, run! Tyke said as he took aim, but I wasn’t about to just leave my nigga like that.

I lunged for the one closest to me before he was able to get a shot off and forced him down to the ground while the other nigga traded shot for shot with Tyke. The nigga had me by a good twenty pounds. After a fierce scuffle I was able to break free from the hold he had on me and crawled as fast as I could to get his gun, but by that time they both took off running. I looked over and saw Tyke laid out on the ground and I was determined to get at least one of them mothafuckas’, so I turned around and started blasting.

Still Rumbling

Trick and Treat!

Present day . . .

I’m telling you, man . . . the best way to go is to take 64 to 664 and hit 58 down to 95 South toward Rocky Mt., he said loudly while nudging me on the arm to better get his point across. That will ease you right into Georgia. Shit, that’s an eight hour haul all day long! Tyke took the rest of his drink to the head and then sat his empty glass down on the bar.

Man, how the fuck is you gon’ tell me? I matched his tone and scooted my chair closer to the bar. I take that ride at least once a week. I guarantee you you’ll lose up to an hour of haul time if you go that way. Now I was with you all the way up until you said get on 95 South but 85 South will get you there quicker, I said confidently, shaking my head.

Bullshit! You can ask any trucker in here which way is quicker, he proclaimed. I’ll bet you fifty dollars, and you can pick who you want to ask!

Man, don’t fuck around and get yo’ lights turned off trying to show out ‘cause I ain’t given you shit back, I told him.

Don’t try and play the shit off with no joke. Put yo’ motherfucking money where yo’ big ass mouth is! he shouted as he came back at me.

Fifty dollars? I dismissed his meager bet with a hand wave. Shit, that ain’t no bet!

A’ight then, you call it. He sat back in the bar stool awaiting my response.

And I get to pick who I want to ask? I said, looking at Tyke sideways.

That’s what I said didn’t I?

I got two Ben Franklins that says you’re wrong.

Shit, you talking ‘bout my light bill? You better be trying to take that two hundred down to child support enforcement before they lock yo’ ass up, nigga. He laughed.

Them motherfuckas’ can’t get shit from me but a middle finger. I sat my money down on the bar, guzzled down the last of my Heineken, and then sat it down on top of the money to keep it in place.

One thing Tyke was right about was that most of the patrons that were in Ike’s Sports Bar were truck drivers being that it was located next to Charlie’s truck stop. It was just the matter of picking the right one to settle our dispute. I looked to my right at the white dude sitting next to me. I could tell by his five o’clock shadow and the clothes he was wearing that he was a driver, plus the heels of his fake Timberland boots were slightly worn out which told me he did a lot of driving.

Aye, my man . . . you mind settling a bet between me and my friend? I questioned.

He’s right, he said in a thick southern accent while nodding his head toward me. I could tell he was from down south. Way down south. 85 South is the best way to go. I’m sorry, I overheard you two talking, he admitted.

What the fuck I tell you! I loudly boasted. Tyke had a sour look on his face. He still hated to lose money to me. What’s yo’ name, man? I asked the white dude.

Hunter. He nodded, still smiling.

Good to know you, Hunter, I said patting him on his back. Miss, refresh my man Hunter’s glass on me, I told the bartender.

No, you don’t have to do that, he said, declining the drink.

Man, that’s the least I can do. Shit, you helped me win some money.

No he didn’t ‘cause I ain’t giving you shit, Tyke sulked.

No, really, you don’t have to do that, Hunter said, declining my drink offer again. I just came in here to get me something to eat and this is just Pepsi. He tilted his glass a little.

I ain’t mad at you, Hunt. You got to be alert when you pushing freight up and down the highway or you will fuck around and kill you and somebody else, too, I said, reassuring him.

A’ight man, I’m getting ready to head back over to the truck stop and lay it down. Tyke put some money down on the bar to pay for his drinks.

You forgetting something ain’t you, man? I said, rubbing my two fingers together.

Man, ‘I’mma’ give you yo’ damn money, he said harshly. I got to go to the ATM. I shook my head and started laughing.

You telling a black ass lie! You keep a grand in yo’ pocket. I held out my hand again.

Here, man. He rummaged through his pockets and then shoved two, one-hundred dollar bills into my hand. Hunter, next time mind yo’ own damn business, he said jokingly before walking out of the bar.

Okay, you had the eight piece boneless chicken tenders and fries? the server asked, setting a plate of food down on the bar in front of Hunter. Can I get you anything else?

Just some ketchup and some more Pepsi, Hunter said, cramming a couple of fries into his mouth.

Are you ready for another Heineken? she asked, looking directly at me.

As a matter of fact you can get me one, and put Hunter’s food and drink on my tab, too.

No, seriously . . . you don’t have to do that. He put both of his hands up rejecting my act of kindness a third time.

Naw, man! I insist.

He thought about for a second and then reluctantly gave in.

Sure, why not?

Okay, just give me a second and I’ll be right back with your ketchup and beer. She smiled and then walked away.

Thanks a lot . . . sorry man, I didn’t get your name.

No problem, and it’s Terrell, but everybody calls me Rell.

Hunter wiped his hands with a napkin before shaking mine.

It’s nice to meet you, man. How long you been hauling?

Not too long, I told him. What about you?

Ten years now, long distance, he responded as he seasoned his fries with salt and pepper.

That long distance money is good, ain’t it, man? I asked. He nodded his head as he chewed his food.

Yeah, it’s good but there’s a tradeoff that comes with it. I’m on the road more than I am home. He wiped his mouth with a napkin.

Hey, Rell.

I turned around to see who had just spoken to me, and in the typical white people nosey fashion, Hunter turned around too. His eyes instantly widened at the sight of the woman scantily dressed in a black mini-skirt that left nothing to the imagination.

What’s going on, Cookie? I smiled at her. Looking good, Ma.

Thank you. Is this seat taken? she asked, looking at Hunter.

No! He feverishly shook his head. Please, by all means, he said, inviting her to sit down in the empty seat next to him.

Just let me run to the little girl’s room first, she said, winking at him.

Hunter’s face turned beet red.

Sure, he agreed, continuing to gawk at her as she walked away.

Check her out, I nudged Hunter with my arm, she ain’t got no drawls on!

She’s fucking gorgeous, dude! Hunter said while nearly salivating.

Whatchu’ know ‘bout that, man?

Nothing, he shook his head, but I damn sure would love to find out!

I know a well traveled man such as yourself done had you some black pussy before, I said.

No, I haven’t . . . but I don’t discriminate. Hell, all of its pink inside! He laughed heartily.

I know that’s right, and Cookie ain’t no joke! I gripped the middle of my jeans. Every time we come through Virginia I make it my business to stop by Ike’s ‘cause I know she gon’ come through here sooner or later. Its money very well spent if you know what I mean.

The bartender returned with Hunter’s ketchup and my Heineken. Hunter then leaned in close to me and whispered with his eyebrows raised in disbelief.

What do you mean by money well spent? Is she what you call a trick?

Man, what! She trick and treat like it was Halloween and she loves to be skull fucked!

Don’t bullshit me, Rell. Hunter looked at me as if I was lying.

I lie to you not, I assured him. Holler at her when she comes back before somebody else in here snatches her up, man.

I thought you said you were waiting for her, he said, glancing down at his watch. Plus, I got to get ready to pull out within the next two hours.

I’m not pulling out until morning. I got plenty of time to get with her. Shit, the night is still early. The only thing is you gon’ have to get yo’ shit off somewhere other than the truck stop. Vice be all up and through there this time of night and you don’t want to get hemmed up by the police, I warned.

I don’t have time to get no room or nothing.

You don’t have to. Take her ass back up in Burton Station, I told him.

Burton Station? He had a confused look on his face.

Oh, that’s right, you not from around here. Burton Station is a neighborhood down around the corner from the truck stop that has a lot of dark streets. I’ll set it up for you if you want me to when she comes back, man.

I told Hunter to get his food to go, head back to the truck stop, and wait for Cookie as not to arouse any suspicion, which he more than happily agreed. Within twenty minutes I got the text I had been waiting for from Tyke telling me that everything was a go and the lick went off without a hiccup.

I’ve always had a problem with taking shit that doesn’t belong to me and I never discriminate between who I take it from. It’s the easiest job on earth if you do it right. If you ask my brother, Milk, he will tell you that I am a natural born thief and that I’ve been stealing since I could talk. My philosophy is this, ‘why do we all have to be hard workers?’ It’s people like me that give all of the good, honest, hardworking folks something to gauge themselves against to make them feel like upstanding citizens.

Most niggas come home from prison with the mindset that other niggas are supposed to make sure they get right and back up on their feet, but not me. It’s written right there in 2 Thessalonians 3:10 in the Bible, the New International Version, the one who is unwilling to work shall not eat. By no means are my actions driven by faith. I just pick and choose which parts of the Bible I want to adhere to just like the rest of you Bible totting hypocrites.

Trust me, after being in prison for over ten years there ain’t a version of the Bible I haven’t read, along with the Quran, the Hebrew Bible, and the Torah. But in all actuality you really can’t believe everything it says in the Bible no matter which version you read. For example, in Job 1:21 KJV, that’s means King James Version for those that are not up on their biblical game, it says, and I quote, There’s nothing God can give you that man can take away. That may be true in most instances, but when you have a chrome-moly steel, Remington pump semi-automatic staring you in your pupils you don’t even have to open your mouth and utter a sound because your gun becomes your mouth piece and does all of the talking for you. Fear becomes written all over their faces with an unspoken signal that says you can have anything they got just like it did on my new friend Hunter’s face.

I was a little skeptical at