Cut From The Cloth

By King Kenny

Los Angeles, California. For many, its where dreams are born. Known around the world for its Hollywood persona, movie stars, flashy cars and beautiful women. It’s a place to be desired.
But for two 12-year-old boys from South Central L.A looking for fame and glamour, it would cost them way more than they would ever receive.
Surrounded by murders, retaliations, cut throats and ghetto serial killers they were caught in the midst of deadly drive by shootings with bodies dropping at their feet.
When Popcorn became a victim of the hood like so many others had, choking in his own blood and left alone to die, Silky could visualise seeing himself in a pine box next to his friend, or spending the rest of his life in jail, like so many of his homies before him.
Understanding now he was just as indispensable as everyone else who was falling around him, Silky realised it was a hard lesson learned but dying wasn’t part of his plan. He wanted to live and fight again another day.
Now he was alone, scared and terrified he, or his family, would be next, Silky had to make a decision- run and live, or die trying.

• Language: English
• Publisher: ALLURIAN PUBLICATIONS
• Release date: Mar 9, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311556950

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CUT FROM THE CLOTH

BY KING KENNY

COPYRIGHT

All rights reserved© Allurian Publications 05/02/2016

All text written in this manuscript is copyright and protected under the Copyright Act 1968. All text written in this manuscript is strictly and solely owned by the Author Kennith Hall. No part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted in any forms or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher Allurian Publications.

Copyright© Kennith Hall 05/02/2016.

Full acknowledgements and contractual rights are asserted to the Author Kennith Hall & King Kenny (Publishing name) and are protected under copyright laws at all times.

Published by Allurian Publications 2016. All rights reserved.

Allurian Publications, Melbourne Victoria. Australia.

Book design Alana J McKenzie.

Cover design & Illustrations by Alana J McKenzie.

Cover art owned by Kennith Hall ©

I would like to say thank you to my mother, Ms. Jeanette Hall for your unconditional love. For being my teacher of life, and never turning your back on me, when I know that you should have. For not seeing the animal that many believed me to be. But the man that you raised me to be. I love and miss you always R.I.H. ma’am. Your wisdom guides my life.

I would like to thank my sons Keon, and Ali, for giving me the reason to smile when I felt unworthy of it. You guys have changed my life with your presence, you are my hero’s. You are the better part of me. The reason my world exists for the better. You are loved completely, and my biggest dreams for you is not, to be like me, but be a lot better than me. I’m proud to call you both my sons.

Also, I would like to thank the Author, Rachel Jane for taking time out to edit, and compose my book. And for seeing in me what many over looked. You are truly a blessing. I will never forget the push you gave me when I felt like standing still so many times. My baby girl you are loved and cherished.

Table of Contents

Chapter One – Stolen Innocence

Chapter Two – Pushing a Thin Line

Chapter Three – Bully Boy

Chapter Four – What Goes Around, Comes Back

Chapter Five – True Gangster, or Real Bitch

Chapter Six – When Fire Meets Flame

Chapter Seven – Mama Cock Blocker

Chapter Eight – Surprise, Surprise

Chapter Nine – Nothing Is As It Seemed

Chapter Ten – A Mother’s Fears, A Mother’s Tears

Chapter Eleven – After The Pain Hits You

Chapter Twelve – No Respect For The Dead Man

Chapter Thirteen – Behind The Closed Door

Chapter Fourteen – On The Edge Of Life

Chapter Fifteen – Bullets Have No Names

Chapter Sixteen – The Worst Day Of His Life

Chapter Seventeen – The Out Of Body Experience

Chapter Eighteen – Run Or Die Trying

CHAPTER ONE

Stolen Innocence…

Los Angeles, California is the cut throat gang capital of America most people believe. Although, as a child, life wasn’t bad for Silky personally. Unlike many of the children he grew up with, he was considered to be one of the more fortunate and blessed. Silky’s mother made a big effort to ensure that his little brother Jason and he were well taken care of, even though she had to work hard and long hours to do so. Silky’s father wasn’t in his life from day one, Jason’s father took over the role for both of them. He learned very young that in order to lose someone, you would have to know them and they were there before your life begun. Mama made life easy for Silky by never speaking his father’s name or showing photos of him in his presence. But every now and then, a name or photo from her past would fall through the cracks and spark his curiosity.

Silky, he was just a sperm donor. I’m your mother and father. She would say in a polite voice. He knew better than to believe that myth, but to look for a bigger piece of the informational pie from her past, could get his ass kicked. He chose to stay away from the subject. His mama said, he was born in a small town called St. Peters, Missouri, located somewhere in the Midwest. Cali is the only place he’d ever known and South Central is where his world evolved. Like many kids raised in the hoods around the city of Los Angeles, Silky became involved in get rich schemes and gangland activities. Never really understanding why or what it was all about. It was easy for him to embrace his gang whole heartedly. Everything about it felt like something stamped on his birth certificate.

Instead of his last name, it should have read Blood. Over those years, he realized what gang banging was for him, wasn’t the same for others. People joined them for many different reasons. Some did it out of despair and nothing else to live for, others did it out of fear of other gangs. Some people even joined gangs to get at the honeys in and around their neighborhoods and cities. Women seemed to love a thug, Silky noticed that it didn’t matter how ugly and grimy a nigga they were, many fine looking ladies would fuck with you just because of the gangsta movements. Silky felt that becoming affiliated, was his calling to man hood, riches and fame. It was all he ever saw when looking out the windows of his home every day and night. Gangs were everywhere, to ignore their presences could get you ghosted or hurt badly, or paid in full. The respect they commanded and the paper they made, even the flashy whips many of them drove, could influence any twelve-year-old kid in search of something bigger than himself. Most of all, he noticed how the ladies stood in line for their attention.

Many of the breezys he knew, were active gang members in their own rights. One in particular was Tina B. She was ranked below some, and above many. Considered a Queen in a neighborhood filled with servants aimed at pleasing her every need. For her, to have earned that kind of reputation and respect wasn’t a self-proclaimed deed. It was backed up with bloodshed and violence, projected on many people she knew personally, and more so if she didn’t know you and you weren’t her top priority. Meaning, ‘B could have a mothafucka erased with just a wave of a finger. There’s not many people around that could give that kind of order or ranked as high as she was in the hood. She believed in carrying knives and guns, and wouldn't be caught dead without at least one or two in her possession at all times.

‘B had no problem using them on anyone she considered to be her enemy. Even though she didn’t have to lift a hand to have people punished or killed, she preferred to do her own dirty work in a personal manner. ‘B jokingly called it binding with the people. She was also one of the best looking breezys in her hood. With eyes slanted like a Chinese woman and a perfect hour glass shaped body. When she walked past most men they were left with a, I wanna leave the one I’m with and go home with her expression branded on their faces. She commanded a first, second, and third look, even though she would rather be heard and not seen.

Every brother Silky knew, wanted to tap that ass at one time or another, including Busters and Squares that had no chance in hell with her other than to get their lives turned upside down. What impressed many people about her was how nice, smart and intelligent she could be. Seconds later, the bitch was out to cut your head off or pop off in your ass for a reason that only she could understand most of the time. She had that anger management thing going on. If you weren’t among her chosen friends, your ass could be gone in an instant and bad things were sure to follow.

She was seventeen years old when they first met her, six years older than Silky. They quickly became very good friends and over the years, he began to look at her more like family and thug adviser, if there’s such a thing. In the beginning, he developed a big crush on her nicer side, before he realized there were actually three sides to her. One side could kiss you and make you think that the world can be a better place. Another one could kiss you and shoot you with a smile on her pretty face. And the final side, could cut your fucking heart out and eat it for dinner.

Popcorn is his best friend and closest home boy. The pussy connoisseur, as he’s been called by the breezys they’ve come in contact with over time. With the exception of a few, especially ‘B, who would beat his ass or have him disciplined with vicious blows to his head and body by her crew of followers, if he even thought about her womanly assets in that way. Popcorn felt it necessary to sex up the female species of the world. His nickname was given to him by his mother, RIP. But anyone that ever met him, had no doubt in their mind why he would be called by such a nick name. With his hyperactive persona, Popcorn had a jumping and moving around problem from birth. He couldn’t control it, no mattered how hard he tried. He had to talk his way out of drama constantly because of his big mouth. With curly blonde, almost white, hair that he received from his bi-racial mother, his name fit him to a tee.

What set him apart from other kids he and Silky hung out with, was his big fetish for guns and ammunition. He dreamt to be recognized as one of the top players in the gangsta world they represented. Whenever he felt the need to pop off at someone or something, he wanted it to be known that it was him doing the blasting. He would yell out his name in a unique fashion, Pop! Pop! Pop! Corn!!! Like it was the theme song for his existence. Silky believed it was some kind of scare tactic, meant to defame or deter anyone looking for drama with him.

Popcorn was very dangerous and deadly. If he had been born back in the cowboy days, he would most likely have been a gunslinger or an outlaw blasting off at mothafuckas with his burner, like it was his job to do so. As his popularity grew with the breezys in our neighborhood, so did his drama. Mostly with the men and boys. With his pretty boy looks, he was sought after, often by women determined to have his first child, and hated on by the men determined to stop that from happening to their sisters, baby mamas or wives. His looks gave his gangsta persona something to challenge, but by mistaking pretty boy for soft boy, cost them dearly.

What other men would consider as a gift to look like him, Popcorn believed it to be a curse against his killer personality. He felt it necessary to prove to everyone around him that he was the worst of the worst in order to gain the respect he craved so desperately. It bothered Silky when they first became friends, but he got use to his fast talking and moving around after a while. They’ve been cool since preschool.

Sly G is Popcorns daddy, he took Silky under his wing and treated him like the other son he wished he had. Everyone thought Sly really was his daddy, because of their closeness. Popcorn and Silky set out to prove they were more than just best friends by hooking their parents up together as a couple. Sly was with it, but mama would have no part of their shenanigans. She kicked Silky’s ass good to get that point across to him. He found out later that Sly and his mother ran in the same circle of friends, mostly females. Sly had been with many of them. Sexually, breaking their hearts, pocketbooks and leaving them with tears in their eyes as he moved on to the next one soon after. Sly was a playa and his street smarts were legendary around the city.

In preschool, Popcorn could do no wrong, all the female staff were crazy about him because of Sly’s presence in his life. He had them wrapped around his little finger. They had their first real argument when Silky told Popcorn the only reason they were on him like that, was because of who his father was. Popcorn’s mother died when he was less than a year old. Murdered by a rival gang member high off PCP. Her death caused Sly to place his only son into something he called training mode. Something he would regret later in his life. When Silky was learning how to take his first steps as a baby, Popcorn was being trained and conditioned how to survive the mean streets of South Central LA. He was taught, to never trust what can’t be seen by his own eyes.

He never learned what it was like to live a normal childhood. His only reality was the gang life. Many things Silky learned about the street game, Popcorn or ‘B schooled him on. Mama said, by being raised in such a way, it made them much more advanced than they should be. She wanted him to find friends more like himself. Popcorn looked older than his twelve years of age, by age fourteen, he was taking down many of the honeys in the neighborhood. Young ones as well as older ones. Many of them were married with children even older than he was. It was normal for Silky to see a brother leaving out of his crib by the front door while Popcorn crept through the back door or windows on a mission to take his woman down before he returned home. Watching him as he scrambled out of women’s cribs with his shoes and clothes in his arms, running for his life, was always a funny sight for everyone in the hood to see.

In every neighborhood there are nigga’s that you would hate to see coming your way, Big Earl and Block Dog were those niggas’. Block Dog and Silky were good friends until he teamed up with Big Earl on a mission to terrorize and corrupt the city of Los Angeles. Earl was known as a senseless killer and a bully to all that met him. It never mattered to him if it was man, women or child that he chose to victimize. He believed that no one was protected from his twisted venom.

At twelve years old, Silky truly believed the older homie’s deserved all due respect, even though a few of them were shady in a cut throat kind of way. He still followed this code faithfully until he was crossed in a big and unbelievable way. ‘B said, in order for him to become a full fledge gang member, he would one day have to go through something called a gang initiation. What that consisted of at the time he didn’t have a clue. Turning twelve years old made him feel like a grown man and it was his time to shine and make his mark.

On his special day, Earl pulled up and parked his whip next to where he stood with nothing better to do but dream of becoming a true gangsta. Block Dog was riding shot gun.

Silky, what up with it Blood one? Block Dog yelled from the car window to him.

Nothing, what’s up Block Dog? He replied hesitantly, happy to be acknowledged by the big home boy’s finally, after trying so hard to get their attention before that day. Just hearing those nigga’s speaking to him was exciting enough, they were famous as far as he was concerned.

We’re on our way over to the City to gas up on some trees and drinks. You wanna roll with the big boy’s Blood one? Damn!!! Did he hear them right? They called me Blood!! Silky thought to himself. He couldn’t believe his luck and on his birthday of all days. It felt like the big homies were now recognizing him for the down ass gangsta that he truly believed he was. Unlike many of the kids in the hood, Silky never got into drugs and drinking. Just to be in their presence was a dream come true. He didn’t mind them smoking that nasty shit, as long they acknowledged who he was, that’s what mattered to him.

Get your lil skinny ass in the back seat, Silky Blood. Block Dog said while smiling at him. Earl watched Silky closely with a sneaky glare in his eyes, making him have a look of confidence. Reluctantly, he got in the car, not wanting them to change their minds or think he wasn’t about that life they lived. When Silky sat down in the seat, there was a brother sitting next to him that went unnoticed threw all his excitement. He seemed to be in a deep sleep with his hat and hoody covering his head and half of his face. He leaned back in his seat and chilled, enjoying his new found fame, while Earl and Block Dog gassed up on their trees and drinks.

They seemed to be in a happier mood then he’d ever seen them before. Bullshitting around with each other, yelling out the window at every honey they passed by. They were laughing in the loudest voices that they could muster it seemed to him, it was unnatural for them to be laughing like that. Every so often, Earl would look through his rear view mirror at Silky and frown for no apparent reason. Then he would start back on some bullshit conversation with Block Dog, paying him no attention again.

For no particular reason why, Silky decided the brother sleeping next to him was being disrespectful. Not in words but in actions. The gangsta part of him believed that the nigga should wake up and greet him like a true gangsta is supposed to be greeted. Ignoring him and his gangsta presence wasn’t an option as far as he was concerned. This nigga needed to recognize who he was riding next too Silky thought.

Hey Blood, what’s up with it? Silky spoke to the sleeping nigga sitting next to him with authority in his voice. Block Dog or Earl turned down the sounds they were listening to so they could hear him fuss dust. Being the focus of their full attention again was not welcome, Silky didn’t like the vibe they were giving him. Earl pulled his whip over to the side of the road and turned around to fuss dust at him for his sleeping friend.

Hey lil nigga, chill out and let that Blood sleep. He’s tired, can’t you see that? We been partying all night long fool. He laughed. Silky was confused and wondering how this nigga was sleeping through all the loud music and bullshitting around him. Never moving a muscle or making a sound to show it affected him in anyway. He must be really high and drunk, Silky thought to himself. Earl turned back around and continued to drive up the street with a sneaky look of frustration directed through his rear view mirror at Silky.

Silky sat back in the seat again trying to figure out what was up with Earl and why he was tripping on him in this manner. On the way over to the city, Silky began to smell a foul odor. From experience in dealing with ‘B and others, he knew that most trees had a nasty aroma to it and the stinkier it smelled, the better people seem to enjoy it. Believing he was getting high from the strong contact, Silky began to feel dizzy. This let him know that he never wanted to smoke that shit, ever. Remaining silent about the smell was the best thing for him to do, not wanting to give Earl another excuse to kick him out of his whip so far away from his crib.

Finally, they made it to the City Stone Park. Silky banged with the Black Stones, he believed the two sets were linked by the stones in their names. He knew many of the City Stone homies from rolling around their hood with Tina B. Earl drove up to a group of niggas hanging out, drinking and selling dope, they were shooting dice. As he parked his car, Block Dog jumped out the car while it was still rolling, holding his nose. Earl parked and soon followed, imitating his actions. Walking around the car and blocking his exit, Silky waited for Earl to move away from the door to step out also.

Hey Silky Blood, chill out in the car with the homie for a few minutes. We have to kick some game with these fools. Earl smiled his sneaky smile at Silky, hoping he would disobey their order. He didn’t wanna stay in the whip any longer. Being so close to the guy seated next