Hood Fellaz

By Sherman L. Brandon

This is the story of a young gangsta in Los Angeles who is stuck in the street life. His purpose and testing in life is well understood. Amongst his army, he is considered a General, a Genius, and a good friend. His leadership and honesty is well-respected by his "O.G.'s." The young gangsta is known by the name, "Shadow." He finds love in a woman he knocked, simply by stimulating her mind with kind words and honesty. His relationship with God is close. The world in which he lives leaves no room for error.

"Hood-fellaz" gives outsiders a look inside the dungeon of hell. If you read carefully and closely, you'll also feel the fire. The story travels in many directions: from rags to riches from the hood to the Cartel. This book answers lots of questions for the Government - "The Rich" as to why those that live in the lower class of society do what they do. lt also helps psychologists understand what goes through the mind of one not as fortunate as others.

Through all the "shoot'em up, bang-bang" there is a message. This book isn't about the Bloods or Crips. It's about morals, principles,conduct, money, power, respect, codes, rules, and regulations; life and death; love and hate.

Once you open this book, you will enter a new world. You've probably met the "hood." Now it's time to meet the "fellaz."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 28, 2011
• ISBN: 9781469140735

Sherman L. Brandon

none

Book preview

Welcome To My H2OD!

NAYBAHOOD BLOODS

L. Dogg. Baby Kev. Spider. Bandit. Shagg. Bo-P. Peewee¹². Bushwick. LokoDre¹². Krazy-K¹². D. Bopp¹². KaosRIP. BloodHound. InSane¹². B-Rock¹²³. LOKO. Tray-K¹². Taco. Diamond. Porky². ShayShay. Grits¹². Keedaboo. SnakeRIP. G-Nose. RockyRIP. IsemanRIP. Big G-KevRIP. KB. SycoHound¹². Stoney. Sage. Hebo. CKMoe¹². A-Dogg¹². Monster¹². SanBoe. GetDown. Bling. Tay-B¹². StaceyGirl. KoolBoyRIP. Spook¹². Madness. Bear. Joker. BabyBoy. Jimbo¹²³⁴. Boscoe. TimeBomb¹². Man. B-Brazy¹². Tic¹². MADDRonald¹². Binky-B. Kelly. MADDMax. DevilRIP. Devil². Sleep. JuneBugg. BookWorm. G-Boy. Chucky. Shady-D. OnePunch¹²³. Goofy. Karated. BigHurt. Smurf. SantaClaus. Miss 9ena.

The H2OD Is In The Thousands. In No Numerical Order I Wish Us All The Best. God Bless You All. If I Didn’t Name You That Doesn’t Mean That I Don’t Claim You.

To all of my haters . . . y’all know who y’all are. Anytime y’all feel like haten on a mufucka, open this book rite here, rewind my words and picture me rollen . . . pussys. N’S Ain’t Got No Friends, And Nayba’z Ain’t Doing No Favors.

Chapter 1

Fresh out of prison, I never understood why people did what they did. Some shit just didn’t make sense to me. While locked in the cage I would ask myself, Why do these people get to live and I don’t? Every morning before the sun came up I’d stare at the sky. If God never heard me at that moment in time when my heart and soul was talking, it was understood by me that he never would.

Gang bangin’ was my thing. I thought I’d never get enough of it. As a neighborhood kid, some people loved me, some hated me, but overall I was well respected. In South Central Los Angeles, respect was hard to get. I got mine.

L. Dogg was my Niggaz. Everything I ever did wrong was with him. Our names rang bells in the neighborhood, mainly for what we did outside the hood.

What’s up Shadow? That’s what they called me because of my dark skin. When I was being initiated into the hood, I was serving my opponents. So the big homie, Snake, had the honors of giving me the name that would be known as Killa Shadow or K-Doe for short.

What’s up blood? I asked Dogg in response to his question.

Shit, nothin’. Just bicken back blood. You know them Barlems rolled through the other day and tried to serve pee and wick?

Dogg didn’t like no enemies but blood was quiet about it. He spoke very little, only a lot to me. That’s what made him dangerous. I was part of why people feared him; I was his heart. They knew, for Dogg, I wouldn’t hesitate to lay that ass down and vice versa.

Dogg and I were from the same block—Second Avenue. We use to be on Pico, Norton, Bronson, Fifth Avenue, Wilton, St. Andrews, Grammercy, and Washington. The hood was hella big. The streets all belonged to the Avenue. Second Avenue was well protected.

You know your brother lost big in the dice game? Dogg smiled as he said that.

That nigga always losing.

My brother, Spider, is a killa in the flesh—Black-P-Stone. Spider really meant a lot to me. Sometimes I had to go looking for him when I hadn’t seen him for some days. Blood was a ticking time bomb. Only real killaz wanted to hang out with blood. One day, it was told, he asked a Mexican for a smoke at a bus stop while looking at a pack of Marlboro’s in the dude’s shirt pocket. The Mexican said he didn’t have any smoke. Spider pulled the foe-foe and blew his wig back. He took the Marlboro pack, ejected a smoke, lit it, and threw the pack on the dead man’s body and told him thanks. After that, I had a long talk with Spider.

Speaking of the Devil, here comes your brother, L. Dogg said.

Spider stayed in some fly shit. He was two shades darker than me and wore more red than a little bit. He greeted me with a hug like he always does and started swinging at Dogg playfully with Dogg laughing all the while.

Spider asked my bitch for some money before he asked me. She knew he was my heart.

Shadow, loan me a G."

That nigga knew where everything was at, but he never took the initiative to treat himself to my stash. That’s what I loved about my brother; he respected me.

Damn Nigga! You owe me at least two hundred G’s."

I’ll start paying you back when my credit dubs a ticket, he said. We all laughed because the Nigga was truly a comedian.

Dogg had just finished rolling the chronic when Shamika walked up. This bitch had more lungs than a vacuum cleaner but she was truly a home-girl. She never complained about shit and made homies smile on the worst days. Shamika had five kids by the homie, Country, from Twenty-Ninth Street. Kids never stopped the home-girl from coming to the hood on a regular basis.

One day, the bitch was walking down Norton with one of her daughters in a stroller when a fool from S.Y. Crip rolled up and drove alongside the home-girl whispering, Fuck Slob’s Bitch, over and over. He had to stop once, because of the two car’s in front of him. Shamika reached under the blankets and came up with an AK-47 assault rifle and blew the Nigga a kiss before sending him home.

What’s up Mika? I asked while she was opening her arms to give me a hug, which was the only response I got.

When you gonna come home with me? Spider asked her.

When your money gets half as long as your brother’s, she replied. The block laughed.

I was in big rotation with crack rock, marijuana, and guns. Whatever you wanted I pretty much could get. If I didn’t have it, I’d charge you for having to go get it. Dogg brought me big customers from the Casino, because I was under aged. I was pretty much booted out of every Casino in California except one—The Flamingo. To this day, I still can’t remember what city that was located in. Dog would tell rich, white motha-fuccaz where the best shit in town was at.

One day, a Jewish guy pulled up in a Bentley Coupe with suicide doors. I was standing outside this brick building we call the towers, at the corner of Norton, when the Jewish guy spoke.

Who is Shadow? he asked, lighting a cigar with a fancy lighter that looked custom-made.

My homie, Bandit, spoke for me asking, Who wants to know?

The Jewish man’s name was Jerry. He was heavy-set, wore a fine tailor-made suit, and had curly hair. He really resembled Donna’s father from that 70’s show. On each side of him were his bodyguards, Nick and Joey. Nick was six feet six and weighed at least two hundred eighty pounds. He wore a black suit with a white unbuttoned shirt that revealed his hairy chest and a gold chain. He had a long ponytail that fell a little past his shoulders. He really didn’t pose a threat.

Joey was a big Samoan at six feet three, two hundred eighty pounds, and bald-headed with ashy knuckles. He wore a Hawaiian shirt, smelled of Brute cologne, and kept a straight face at all times.

Twenty-twenty-two-twenty, Joey said.

That’s the hood code. If a stranger walked up and said that, then someone from the hood sent them.

Who sent you? I asked.

Dogg. Could we go in and have a talk? he asked.

I turned around and walked up the stairs, followed by my nigga Bandit and my brother Spider. JJ, Baby Kev, Taco, and Kane stayed on patrol out front. Jerry, Nick, and Joey followed my soldiers inside. I felt like this was truly some mob shit. There wasn’t much of nothing in the spot: sofa, Lazy boy, big screen, and a phone. Roaches and cigarette butts flooded an ashtray.

When we entered the spot, my dog B-Ruck was in the kitchen cookin’. He had at least four kilos of cocaine on the glass table, about ten jars, six boxes of baking soda, and some 7-Up. That nigga would make ten off six, and the smoker’s loved the shit. I directed my hands toward the sofa, indicating to Jerry to have a seat, as I sat in the Lazy boy. His guards continued to stand.

How may I help you? I asked after he was seated.

I think you have the wrong idea. I’m here to help you, Jerry replied.

How can you be of help to me? I asked suspiciously.

What you see here is new money. You’re looking at a millionaire. I’m here to make you a proposition, he explains.

Spider interrupts Jerry. The Doe don’t sell shit for no one; he buys and he sells. Now if you’re not talkin’ about sellin’ at a damn good price, this meeting is over! I raise my hand to motion Spider to shut up, but he quickly silence himself. I tell Jerry to continue.

What I’m saying is that I’m overloaded with a drug called ecstasy. I was owed five hundred thousand dollars and was paid two million in this bullshit. Now I don’t sell drugs, but the guy passed me a hell of a profit. I owe your friend Dogg a favor and, in paying him that favor, I’m willing to sell you this drug at a very reasonable price, as your partner has indicated.

Mr. Jerry, you do understand I’m no millionaire, I said.

Son, that much money would not be necessary, he chuckled. This will all work out if you would clean up something for me. That way, all of this would even us out. Dogg told me you’re the best person for this type of job. Based on the fact that I owe him, I come to you with the contract. But I wish not to talk of blood money here.

Jerry stands and takes out a card. Here’s my card. Give me a call before the month is over and we’ll set up a meeting to talk. ‘Kay?

I stood and shook Jerry’s hand, smiled and told him the pleasure was mine.

~~~~~~~~~~

On the block, I pulled out a bankroll with at least 5-G’s rolled into a bundle. I threw it to my brother Spider and told him to think fast.

Spider, you could shoot that if you want but don’t come back talkin’ ‘bout give you, because nigga give me got shot; he dead; he no longer livin’.

I looked at Shamika who was talking to Dogg in a low voice.

You niggaz keeping secrets? I asked.

Where them two fools from that stay on Bronson and Country Club? Dogg asked.

I knew exactly who Dogg was talking about. C-Note and Low-Low. Them niggaz were from West Coast 30’s out in San Diego. C-Note was a stocky light-skinned pretty mutha-fucka with long hair, tatoos, and fresh to death. He stayed in blue with the rag hanging low. Nigga real name was Damien. His Mom got kicked out of every spot she went because of that nigga.

Kiki and Carmen were his sisters. Low-Low was C-Note’s first cousin. His Mom and Pop died in a drug deal gone bad. From my understanding, they had Diego on lock in the 80’s. C-Note’s Mom took in Low-Low since he was her sister’s only child. That’s how Low-Low started to bang but he was more into selling dope and getting paid. He was brown-skinned with a teardrop underneath his eye; low-cut, six feet, and always dressed casual. If you didn’t know him, you would never know he was gang-related. C-Note was two years older than Low-Low, who was eighteen.

Them niggaz from West Coast 30’s, I told Dogg.

What! 30’s?

Yeah blood, 30’s.

I had a young nigga named Kassie go over and check on them fools. Kassie was a runaway orphan. I took a liking to the youngsta’ because to be that age, he was truly a survivor of the hard knock life. He took care of himself and ran errands for me as a side hustle.

He was a bad-ass lil’ nigga. I’d break him off fifty dollars just to go to the store for me. I’d give him a hundred dollar bill to get me a soda and chips and tell him to keep the change. The nigga still stole the items. Kassie’s information was like gold in the hood. If he said the Po-Po’s were coming, you best cash in for the night.

Kassie told me them niggaz don’t know where they at. He said they Mom just moved over there two weeks ago. She got kicked out of San Diego because her son was terrorizing the city, I relayed to Dogg as he listened.

Sounds like them niggaz is ridaz! Dogg replied.

I could get them to come to the spot, Shamika offered.

Naw, don’t even trip, Dogg told her. Shamika always wanted in on any murder living in the hood.

Bitch, pass the blunt, I said.

She walked over and put it in my mouth. I knew she wanted to give me some pussy but I had mad love for Country. I was supposed to be up under his name but, unfortunately, shit didn’t turn out that way.

Shadow, when was the last time you fucked Miss Nena Ross? asked Dogg.

Nigga, don’t play with me. Fo-Sho I fucked last night on 39th and Dinker. Shot seventeen nuts in the park.

The nigga laughed and said, But only four landed.

Nigga, your shit jammed, I replied.

Blood, them niggaz got to go, Spider interjected.

Don’t trip. Nigga sit your ass down, I told Spider. Mom told me to keep an eye out for you. You ain’t doing shit!

I turned to Dogg. Let’s send Shamika to see what they’re worth.

I know for a fact the brown-skinned one got money. He told me to come work for him then asked me if I knew how to cook, Shamika said. I think that nigga got birds.

Dogg looked at Shamika. I’m on it, Mika replied.

Chapter 2

The night was young and the sun was close to disappearing. Pee Wee and Bush Wick rolled up. They were brothers and stuck together like Dogg and I. Pee Wee was the smart one; Bush Wick was half lost and had been disciplined in the hood more than anybody. That nigga just did stupid shit but we loved blood for his heart and gangsta.

Both Pee Wee and Bush Wick were from a click off the Avenues—B.D.S.A.G. (Black Demon Soldier’s Avenue Gangsta). That click was run by the big homie, Blood Hound. Blood Hound was a G; got shot twelve times and almost died.

His sister damn near got him killed, fuckin’ a Crip in his pop’s house. He woke up with a nigga holding a 357 to his head wearing blue chucks, a rag around his head and neck with a blue rag khaki suit. Blood Hound is mostly known for how he carried both bodies out the house—his sister’s and his enemy’s. I respected the Big homie. Baby Kev had now rolled up in a Lexus Coupe. Kev and them was doing it big. Them niggaz were hittin’ lick after lick.

Blood was a young nigga, probably a year younger than me, and had big money. We went to school together; a little continuation called View Park in the B.P.S, Jungle Stone blood’s hood. I use to drive the young nigga to school until he started doing what he do.

One day the nigga dropped ten on the ground and said, Shoot ten grand.

Bet’ said LeChee from P.D.L. (Pasadena Denva Lances).

LeChee rolled, crapped out on the first roll, and Kev picked up his ten. He held his hand out flat and told LeChee to pay up. LeChee hesitated but eventually paid. I knew then that my homeboy Kev was baseline ballin’. That was my nigga. He only rolled to the Avenues to see me. I walked up and ran my hand across the candy apple red paint of the car.

Hit this, Kev said as I approached his window. He handed me a blunt stuffed with a hundred sack of Indoe.

I took two hits and started to cough up my lungs. That shit was fire. Blood was a small nigga, about four feet eleven, one ten to one twenty wet. He threw me a bracelet.

This is for you. I put it on.

Blood! On N.H.B.! Good lookin’ out.

The bracelet was truly a charm. That motha-fucca had yellow diamonds with 18K gold trimming, was four inches thick, and lookin’ bossy as ever on my wrist.

Don’t trip. You my dawg, blood said.

I used to make sure I dropped Kev a sack before he began to hit licks. I loved that nigga. Blood was a killa also but he was about his paypa. The hood was something else. Baby Kev started telling me about Suckaz in the hood. We laughed and chopped it up about how scary one of the homies was on the lick.

After about thirty minutes of choppin’ it up and shootin’ the breeze, a squad car rolled by. Kev extended his hand out the window.

Stop by the Seven sometime blood, he said.

I do nigga but every time I come down there you niggaz ain’t there.

That’s my cue dawg. Five-O just rolled and I’m hotter than fish grease.

I could see the 45 on blood’s lap with the pound of Indoe on the passenger seat. Blood broke me a chunk off the brick. I hugged him and he West Side rolled. I made my way back to the porch and told Dogg the pig just rolled down that way, pointing toward Piko. Dogg grabbed his fifty caliber out of the bushes and ran up the stairs.

Hold up! I called out to him. He paused and I took my forty-five out of my waistband and tossed it to him.

Put her up too.

As soon as Dogg made it inside the spot, the 5.O. rolled. It was nothing but the usual harassment and nut checking, looking in the bushes trying to find anything to charge a nigga with. Officer Flowers knew Dogg and I well.

Shadow, what’s going on today? asked Officer Flowers.

Same shit that goes on everyday, I said, putting my hands on top of my head.

Selling drugs and pumping slugs? He replied

Now you know I’m a Christian. God don’t like those who mess with his children.

Where’s L. Dogg?

Who?

Luke. Where is Luke? Officer Flowers asked.

Oh! He attended Bible Study early today. The officer’s laughed.

Okay, you can put your hands down.

Officer Duffy was counting my money.

I’ll put my hands down when you walk away.

Now what are you doing walking around with ten large?

I’ve been saving my allowance.

He stuffed the money back into my pocket, as the homies were trying to gather the latest. Usually the pigs would tell some valuable shit but nothing is to be taken for fact. Both men hopped back into the squad car.

You’re going to slip one day, Flowers warns, pointing a finger at me. God and I are going to bring your sins to an end.

I pointed my finger back at him, laughing. God and you! God and you man!

By the time the cops left, it was dark and Dogg came back out.

Everything Bool?

Yeah. He handed me my 4 nickel and I packed it, checked it, and then stuffed it. I told Dogg that I was gonna fuck Nicole tonight. She lived in Hawthorne, about thirty minutes away from L.A. Dogg was fuckin’ her sister Vosha. That was my Dogg. She loved me like a brotha.

I’ma roll, Dogg said.

Bool, I’m leaving in about an hour, I said.

Give me enough time to sell this last LiL-0Z, Dogg said and left.

I went into the spot and got fresh. I paid crack-head Cindy to roll my Lexus LX350 to the Mobil station where there was a 24-hour car wash. Cindy came back and told me my ride was spotless. My boy Dogg walked in.

Blood, that Chinese dude bought all my shit.

Damn! I said.

Blood really wanted to get high tonight. Guess so.

You ready to roll? I asked.

Yeah, let’s west.

As we hopped into my ride, Dogg reached for the CDs that sat in between the driver and passenger seat. At first, he grabbed mine. I’m also a Rapper. I have a CD I had made called, Ride with Murder. Dogg loved that shit. He knew every song and understood where it was all coming from. My shit was really hot. Dogg was definitely my biggest fan outside of my brothaz.

Dogg grabbed makavelli and slid the disc in. We rolled to the entire PAC Disc, all the way to the Wood. That’s where Vosha stayed. I turned the music down so that I could call Nicole. I dialed her number on my small Motorola cell phone. The phone rang twice before Cookie, their younger sister, answered the phone.

What’s up Bookie? I asked her. That’s what I called her. She liked that name. I was loved by Bookie in a major way.

What’s up Daddy Doe? This was a nickname given to me by her sister.

Ain’t nothin’. Where Lil’ Momma at?

Nicole! she yelled. Shadow on the phone. In the background I could hear feet rushing down the stairs. Nicole comes to the phone.

What you doing?

Waiting on you.

I smiled. She had more game than a little bit; always knew what to say. Nicole was about five feet three and light-skinned with a ton of ass. She had a sexy ass smile and some screamin’ pussy. I love that girl and although I will never let her or anyone else know, she knew. The only person I ever told was her sister Vosha.

I’m on my way to your sister’s spot right now, I told her.

Really?

You want to meet me over there?

I’m wherever you are Daddy, Nicole said.

Ah, that’s so cute, Dogg teased after hearing Nicole’s response. I clicked off my cell.

Nigga, you wasn’t saying that when Vosha was saying how you couldn’t handle the pussy. That took the smile off Dogg’s face almost immediately.

As we made it to Vosha’s house in Inglewood, I parked on Cedar Street. I could see Nicole made it to her sister’s house before I did. She was looking out the window when I rolled up. We got out of the car and Nicole rushed out of the house and into my arms, blessing me with a wet, sloppy kiss. I cupped her ass as she jumped up onto me and wrapped her legs around my waist.

Dogg was hard on a bitch. The first thing he did when we entered the house was search the entire house from top to bottom then, greeted the bitch. Dogg even did this to his baby momma’s spot. I know why he did it; because if he didn’t, I would have. Bitches can’t be trusted when love is on the line. I read, and understood, my niggaz motives.

I sat on the couch and Nicole sat on my lap. We kissed and I put my hand between her legs. She was wet as ever. I played with her pussy until she came. I could feel her climaxing and her cum was oozing through her dress onto my 501 jeans.

Dogg was flipping through the channels on the tube when Vosha asked him for seven hundred dollars because she was late on her rent.

I’m broke. I ain’t sold no dope today, he told her and walked off into the kitchen.

That was my nigga; a bonafied Dogg. But Vosha was my home-girl. I reached into my pants and pulled out a G and handed it to her. She came around to the front of the couch and gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

Thank you, Shadow, she said.

Ain’t no thang, I replied, patting her on the arm.

Bitch! Okay! He get it, Nicole snarled at her sister.

Stop that, I laughed.

Dogg came back into the living room with two bologna sandwiches. He handed me one and I ate it. Then, we all indulged in a smoke session and Dogg took Vosha into the bedroom. Nicole and I were left in the living room. She appeared to be tired but was really hella high from the Indoe. So, I got on top of her and began kissing her while rubbing her pussy. Nicole’s pussy smelled like flowers. I pulled out my dick and let it hang. She grabbed it and guided it towards her womb. In my mind I was thinking, Bitch, I’m about to tear that ass up.

But, as soon as my dick goes in, shots rang out. Bucca! Bucca! Bucca! Bucca! Bucca! Followed by Tec! Tec! Tec! Tec! Tec! The glass from a shot-up window sprayed into my face. I reached for my 45 but it wasn’t where I usually had it. The television was blowing up, alarms silenced, and this bitch wouldn’t stop screaming.

L. Dogg came out of the room with the 45 barken back at whomever it was wishing death upon us. Boom! Boom! Boom! Tires skirted as Dogg continued to bark.

I’ma kill you bitch, a nigga yelled.

I forgot that Dogg had left his pistol with Shamika so she would be safe while investigating C-Note and Low-Low. He had taken mine to search the spot when we first arrived here at Vosha’s and never