Street Gamez

By Linwood Turner

Two friends on a collision course with destiny as love, loyalty, family, and friendship are put to the test, all in the name of money, power, blood, and lust. T-real is fearless and impulsive with the heart of a warrior and loyal to a fault. Reno is calculating and calm with his eyes on a much bigger picture than any of the souljahs around him. One fateful night of tragedy, an opportunity brings these childhood friends one step closer to finally making it out of the ghetto and into a world of money and power, but will their friendship be destroyed in the process?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jan 25, 2022
• ISBN: 9781662447495

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Street Gamez

Linwood Turner

Copyright © 2021 Linwood Turner

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2021

ISBN 978-1-6624-4748-8 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-6624-4749-5 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Reno glanced out the window for the fourth time, or so it seemed, as he and his main man T-real cased the last house on the other side of the street.

Come on, nigga, it’s time to ride and handle this shit like ‘Gs,’ said T-real with more calm than a windless day in June.

Okay, man, but you sure ain’t nobody up in there? ’Cause I’m down for whatever, nahmean? But a nigga rather avoid the blood-drama if he can, replied Reno in a slightly agitated tone that came out sounding not as sure as he would have liked to have been.

It’s just like I’ve been telling you for the last couple of weeks. I done clocked these niggas stash spot, their routine, everything. They drop anywhere from forty to sixty thousand a night here, thinkin’ niggas ain’t hip to them or something. His man Ken G is supposed to be down in Miami right now trying to re-up. So that leaves Spanish Rio to run things and watch his own back. Now I ain’t saying that these niggas won’t bust or no shit like that. They ain’t no hoes. They pack heat and whatnot, but right now, we got the drop on ’em. You know how down my bitch Kiki is for a nigga? A couple of weeks ago, I sicked her on his trick ass! She just paged me an hour ago, telling me that she and this nigga would be up at ‘The Velvet Rope’ partying until the wee hours of the morning. So we got some time to work.

Still not completely convinced, Reno and T-real exited the stolen, dark-blue Nova with the Cleveland tags on the back.

T-real shot straight through the backyard and quickly made his way to the back door, where Reno finally met up with him. Both donned all-black attire, from hooded sweat suits on down to the black leather Timbs, complete with the leather gloves to match.

On the count of three, it’s coming off the hinges, said T-real as he glanced both ways to make sure they were undetected. Reno was ready. He had made up his mind, and he was all in. It was just the fact that he was in the dark for the most part about this whole scheme. One way or the other, he knew that his life would never be the same after tonight. That morning, when T-real had called him and asked him if he was finally ready to get up off the curb and get paid, he was amped and down for whatever, but as the moment of decision was approaching, he wasn’t so sure. True, he was tired of struggling to take care of two children and his beautiful girlfriend, Stacy. Plus, his mom still relied on him to help her out with bills and shit like that, and his job just wasn’t making ends meet. One…two…three. In one swift yet efficient motion, T-real kicked the door in, and they quickly entered what appeared to be the kitchen. It was pitch-black like a cave. Only the clock on the microwave offered them any light. It read 1:38 a.m. With their desert eagles pointed in the direction in which they were facing, they agreed to split up at the bottom of the staircase with T-real going upstairs toward the bedrooms while Reno continued to make his way around the downstairs rooms. Once upstairs, T-real began creeping even more slowly as he tiptoed his way into the first of three rooms off the hallway.

Reno began searching under the couch that was in the living room and the closet leading down to the basement. Nothing! He was growing increasingly frustrated as he looked in under and around everything. He went down in the basement and clicked on the light. Clothes and boxes were strewn across the room in a reckless manner—kicked over a trash bag full of clothes and froze.

Although it was mostly empty, except for a bed and dresser, T-real looked frantically under the bed and in the closet for any sign of dope or money. Finding nothing, he quickly moved to the next room, where he ransacked the dresser drawers, tossing all the clothes onto the floor, using the light switch inside the closet only to find nothing of value. Before he could reach the third and final room, he dipped into the bathroom, pulling back the shower curtains in desperation. He even lifted up the back of the commode, hoping it contained a hidden stash, and before he walked out, he caught a brief glance of himself in the mirror. The reflection startled him. His eyes were big and wild with an evil desperation that scared him. But just as fast, he recovered from this temporary distraction and made his way into the last room at the end of the hall. The door, unlike the other rooms, was completely shut, which caused T-real’s heart to speed up in anticipation that behind this door held either promise of great fortune and happiness or, worst-case scenario, someone who might dare stand in his way of blowing the fuck up. He took one last deep breath and slowly twisted the doorknob and entered the room with his trigger-finger itchin’. He ducked down immediately upon entering the room because there was a person rolling over in the bed in a motion a little too fast for T-real to think about, so he squeezed three shots into the bed, guessing that perhaps they were going for a gun or something. And because he already had a street reputation for shooting first and asking questions later, to him, it was a normal reaction, a natural reflex that he had grown accustomed to. Immediately following the rapid gunfire, the room grew silent. The whole world seemed to come to a halt, even his own heartbeat. He reached his hand out and rotated the motionless body onto its back, and his eyes were shocked to see the beautiful face of a young Spanish girl. Blood was already dribbling from her mouth as her eyes stared up at him in terror. T-real hadn’t realized, nor had he taken the time to see that instead of reaching for a gun, she was only reaching for the blood-soaked phone that she still clutched in her left hand. Blood quickly began showing through her nightgown, causing her body to shake and tremble as each moment brought her closer to her death. With her other hand, she desperately grabbed at the last face that she would ever see in this world as he knelt down beside her, finally realizing the seriousness of what he had just done.

As her bloodstained hand touched his face, she whispered softly, Why? as her eyes began to lose focus and death’s grip tightened all around her. Even after she slipped to the other side of life, her eyes remained open, still watching him. T-real began to back away in a frantic attempt to get away from the eyes that were still on him. He stumbled out of the room, down the hallway, to the top of the steps, where he bumped into Reno in the darkened hallway. He almost shot him too as he raised his weapon to his friend’s head—unsure of who was who for a moment.

Hey, nigga, it’s me. Move the gun away from my fuckin’ head, nigga! which T-real instinctively did as he rushed past him and stated emphatically, Let’s get the hell out of here now! The two young men bolted back down the steps and retraced their way back out of the house and into the stolen Nova.

As Reno approached the Nova, he opened the back door and quickly tossed two leather duffel bags in the back seat before jumping into the driver’s seat and opening the door for his friend and letting him in as he mashed on the accelerator, causing the tires to squeal as they sped off.

Hey, Reno, slow the hell down. What you trying to do, wake up the whole neighborhood? T-real snapped as the car began to come under control.

Damn, nigga, my bad. It’s just that back there in the house, you seemed like you were in such a rush to get out of there like you had just seen a fucking ghost or something!

Reno shot back, trying to justify his erratic driving. Nah, man, I just didn’t want to stick around there any longer than I had to, seeing how I ain’t find shit, he said, sounding somewhat depressed.

His man Reno quickly detected that something was bothering his friend, so much so that he hadn’t even noticed the two huge duffel bags that were in the back seat. He, himself, did not even know what exactly was in them because as soon as he had come across them, that’s when he had heard what sounded to him like gunshots. He had just snatched them up and ran upstairs to see what was going on when T-real had nearly run him over in the hallway. He wanted to ask what had happened but figured his friend would tell him if he wanted him to know. But T-real offered no explanation as they rode in silence until they reached the designated area that they were to switch cars. As they hopped in Reno’s old ’89 Cutlass, T-real finally became conscious of the duffel bags. His eyes widened in surprise as Reno held a steady grin on his face as he turned up the music in his car.

Once inside Reno’s two-bedroom apartment that he and Stacy had moved into four years ago, he quietly set the keys on the kitchen table as he wen­t to check on her and the kids. Satisfied that they were all safe and asleep, he quickly rejoined T-real at the kitchen table that had served so many of their family dinners and gatherings that he and T-real had shared. By now, T-real had already placed both bags on the table and