Street Fam

By Jason J. Williams

In this riveting first novel, Jason Williams grabs his readers and pulls them on an exciting, fast-paced, gripping ride through the complex, complicated, sexy, violent life in his Street Fam.  

The narrator’s best friend, his Street Brother Low, is dead. Closer than DNA or blood and bones could have made them, Low is the main member of his Street Fam. The narrator is determined to find out and find out fast who did it.   Fully focused on delivering justice in the form of revenge for his murdered brother’s life, he knows the answer is right there in front of him among the many mourners in the mortuary who came to pay their last respects to a real soldier. 

Street wise and savvy, he and Low both knew that a life in the streets doesn’t last long, but it was his responsibility to have his brother’s back and protect him in the game.  He slipped. Now he has vowed on his own life to find and murder the man who took his brother’s life.  That’s what Street Fam is about.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Real Grit Press
• Release date: Jan 7, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386999423

Jason J. Williams

Jason J. Williams is a young entrepreneur and writer, who was born and raised in the Greater Kansas City area. The father of 3, his focus is to raise strong, independent children. But he knows what a Street Fam and street life are all about.

Book preview

Chapter 1

  My man Low looked so fly lying in that fucking box. Not that I’m a fucking fag or any of that bullshit. I ain’t about that. It’s just that him and me were close. Just like brothers. And we used to compliment each other on how good we looked.  Hell, my masculinity wasn’t threatened by telling another dude that he passed the test. Especially Low.  Hell, I used him and the rest of my crew to gauge myself on how much better I looked than the rest. Low gave me a run for my money though. He was the only nigga who could. The nigga was cut and kept himself together. But if you let me tell it, I was the baddest looking nigga in the group.  My ego didn’t need it. It was just how I rolled. You know.

But not today. Today ain’t about me. This is Low’s day. He is the center of attention and I am going to make damn good and sure he gets his props. My man deserves it. This shit is unbelievable, but it is what it is. I could go through all that bullshit about how I just talked with him and I never would have guessed that it would be the last time we talked. Shit. This was our life. We knew that shit could get ugly in a minute. That’s why a nigga had to stay prepared.  I still ain’t figured out what the fuck just happened and why it went down like it did though. There’s definitely some trickery involved in this shit or one of us would have seen it coming. I bet my life that I’m going to find out who took his. But right now is right now.  I got to get through this shit and help his moms get through it.  If tomorrow comes, it will be a new day.

Chapter 2

  I got to hand it to the folks in this fucking funeral home. They laid him out real nice.  I hate to sound like a damn stereotype, but he does look like himself. His face is smooth and clear.  His hands are down right fly with his well manicured nails crossed over his stomach.  His chocolate brown hands stand out next to the dark blue Armani suit he just bought last week. That’s a helluva lot of cash to be putting in the ground, but my man earned it, he bought it and he deserves it.

Once a week without fail he went to the nail joint and got a manicure and a pedicure. I used to tease him that that was the bitch in him.  He’d laugh and say Naw mothafucka, that’s why I’m all up in these bitches. Women like well-groomed men. You can catch a bitch who’s a doctor or a lawyer if you look like you love yourself and take care of yourself. Yeah, he’s right. Women do like that shit.  And ain’t no bitch in that nigga. None at all.

We could kid each other like that.  I gave him a lotta shit and I took a helluva lot of shit off him, too. But it didn’t take long before Low had convinced me that a little extra attention did a nigga good. He got me going with him to the fucking shop. Fuck it. I ain’t no pretty boy like Low, but I do like to look good all the time. Oh well. What the fucking difference does it make?  It could just as easily be me in that fucking box. Pretty nails and all. The end is the same for all of us. You know what I mean.

That shit-eating grin pasted on his face now is the same one he always wore when the nigga was up to no good. Flashing dimples and that crooked half-ass smile.  He could’ve melted Iceland with that smile and he had charisma out his ass. Low was something to see in action. A bitch didn’t stand a chance against him.  I’ve seen many of ‘em fall for that bullshit.

  Now I got to watch this bullshit combo wake then funeral as one by one these bitches try to wish some kind of life back into his body. Kissing and touching him and shit. Hell, if that’s all it took, I would be sprinkling some goober dust or some other shit like that to bring my man back. I owe him that. 

If I had been with him, this shit never would have gone down like this. I’m convinced of that. Now my fucking punishment for letting him down is that I got to watch these ho’s crying and slobbering, trying to kiss and rub on him and shit. 

The ushers from the funeral home keep pulling them back from the box. I know they’ll be glad when this damn visitation is over and we move on to the funeral. They’re gonna close the lid on the fucking box then. Until that happens I guess I got to watch these bitches kicking and screaming and falling all out in front of him like Low can see them or something.  Some of them bitches need to get on some real panties. Those thongs in a spread eagle on the floor ain’t covering shit.  Maybe that’s what they want.  To give Low one last shot before they close the lid on him. Since he ain’t here, I might have to go on and share the love with these ho’s. They already know how we get down.

One big, fine ass red-headed bitch Low banged for a while last year was rocking the casket while singing "Amazing Grace".  Bitch got a voice too, but I had to go over and stop that shit myself. I can’t let my boy end up dumped out on the floor in this mothafucka. I heard they cut the clothes down the back to dress the body and I can’t have my man Low on the floor showing the world that his shit was all cut up. That kinda shit would really piss him off. Hell, he wouldn’t let that shit happen to me.

  One thing I can say for Low is he had good taste.  Every one of them bitches he fucked is fine. Low wouldn’t have it no other way. Used to say that if a bitch won’t take care of herself, she sure as fuck won’t take care of you.  Got to agree with that. Low’s thing was rough hands. He couldn’t stand a bitch with rough hands. Even had a remedy for them--lots of lotion and sleep with white gloves on at night. I’ve seen Low take many a pretty girl’s hands and give her his advice about the lotion and gloves.  Until she remedied that shit, she could forget about Low.

  I know what he meant. I’ve seen some women look good until you get up on ‘em. Then they smell ripe or their skin looks dry or a dirty bra strap is showing, or something about them let’s you know they just a rat trying to front.

  A bitch is a bitch man, I used to tell him. The only thing that makes any of them attractive to us is the fact they have a cunt. But Low didn’t like us calling them bitches, at least not to their faces.  They Low’s babies, he always said.  The smile on his face faded into his dimples like he was enjoying a flash back when he said it.  But just plain bitches is what they were to me.

Women loved Low because he had lots of bread and was generous with his grip. He didn’t consider it trickin at all. The nigga had so much money that to give a bitch a hunnid meant nothin, and by the time the bitch saw him again with her hand out she done spent three to five hunnid on him in  bottles of Remy and indo sacks. You know, just milking a bitch, give a little, get a lot.  Did they love him for real? Like normal ass men and women are supposed to love each other? Maybe. But ain’t nothing normal about the life me and Low been living.

I know one thing, he ain’t gonna be tossing and turning in his grave over none of them bitches. Low ain’t no fool.  Didn’t trick easy. Just loved the ladies and let them love him back.  I say they loved his grip. Fuck em.  Soon as another nigga with swole pockets or a good game comes along, her grieving just stopped. I’ll bet the sun don’t set on the cemetery before them bitches are busy trying to con some other nigga into thinking that she loves him.

Chapter 3

  Look at em. Each one trying to out do the other.  Beauty shops must have been packed this morning.  Gail told me she was going to start doing hair at six this morning.  Had appointments back to back.  That had to be some sight. All of Low’s bitches lined up next to each other under the hairdryers. Getting their fuckin weaves sewed in. Getting fried and dyed. I know the boosters made a bundle on that gear, too. These bitches are all laid out in their club clothes.

All of them bitches are alley rats. Not that they stand on corners or any of that bullshit, but they know the life. They’re in the life.  One of them ho’s should have warned him. Somebody had to know what was going down.  As much fuckin talking as those bitches do with each other, I know at least one of them knew what the fuck was poppin.

Damn it! I know they knew. Hell, I should’ve known.  I prided myself on having my ear to the ground. I could feel trouble brewing. Like bad fucking vibes. I thought I knew every damn thing that was going on, especially the shit that affected Low and me. But not this.  I didn’t have a clue that my bro was in trouble.  Only heard about it late in the night about three in the a. m.

Tasha, the bitch in the hot blue low-cut dress, was the one come knocking on my door screaming some bullshit all hysterical-like about Low being dead.  Sucking in air so hard I couldn’t understand a damn thing she was saying.  Didn’t believe it at first because Low never got involved in any heavy shit without at least telling me about it, even if he didn’t need me for back up.  But, not this time. I wish I could have got to him but the deal had gone down by then.  I was too late. Couldn’t save my nigga’s life.  But I can damn sure get some motha fuckin revenge.  Can’t be just one funeral. Got to be at least two.  One for Low and one for the son of a bitch who got him.

  The only thing Low and me had to do was watch out for each other and damn if I didn’t let my nigga down. Fuck!

We both knew we probably wouldn’t make it to thirty. Talked about that shit all the time. Seem like we thought something magical was gonna happen if we made it to the big three oh.  Low had plans to find a good girl, have a couple more kids, and settle down. He got six kids and five baby’s mamas already, but none of them are worth a damn. Hell, even his mama don’t try to keep up with them. He ain’t put none of them ho’s up in his big house in the country. He was reserving that for Mrs. Right, instead of Ms. Right Now.

We figured we’d have enough grip by then and be set enough to back the hell out of this business. Almost made it, too. Both of us had big chips and were talking about getting out. But the game never lets you go!  I use to tell him all the time, the best thing to come from the game is the game. The money is secondary. Then one fucking week after his twenty-ninth birthday, some shit like this happens.  Damn. Getting to thirty was supposed to mean we had beat the fucking odds. We were slowing down in our trade and handing shit over to the fuckin bucks to take care of.  We were going to exit all the way out in a couple of months.  What the hell.  All those fucks who predict that niggas can’t live past thirty called money on this one. But he nearly did it. Damn! Right here in the fuckin door and the nigga couldn’t get through it. Hey, if a nigga like Low can’t make it, what chance is there for a nigga like me? Probably better than most.  As they say, the good die young, so I’ll probably live forever.

  Amber, that big booty chocolate brown bitch with the blonde hair shining down her back was with Tasha when she told me that Low was in trouble. Amber stood behind her with tears streaming down her face, sniffling like she was too overwhelmed to talk.