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What's my Name?
“Who the fuck is this, Cleo?”
Tyrone gazed up at the unknown face looming behind him, hard faced and trying to make an impression in the empty, smoke filled room at the back of Slates barbershop. The business was closed for the day, and a poker game was to take place in an hours time. Tyrone sat behind a fold-out poker table, puffing on a joint. The smell of cush lingering throughout.
“He’s cool, T,” Cleo said. “He’s with me. This is Ace, the guy I told you about, the one from the projects.”
Tyrone looked on, clueless. He wasn’t a mobster or someone who called the shots like one would see in a movie. He was, however, someone to be feared. He had no respect for life, and trusted no one. He had grown up in and out of prison, and had become hardened from a young age. He took what he wanted by force and intimidated his goons with fear and at the end of a weapons barrel. Only a handful called by his nickname ‘T’ – Ace wasnt one of them.
“Who the fuck is Ace from the projects?”
The thin, acne-faced kid stepped forward.
“The rim’s, T,” Ace said, promptly. “I got you the rim’s for your Escalade outside. Two weeks ago, Remember?”
Tyrone quickly looked at Cleo, annoyed.
“So? Cleo, can you please explain to me what the fuck is this mutha-fucker doing at my spot?”
“Relax, T, its cool-“
Ace interrupted him.
“I…asked him to bring me here.” Cleo quickly placed his hand on Ace’s chest, attempting to keep him from speaking any further. But Ace seemed determined and spoke up.
“Its…cool Cleo,” he continued. He looked at Tyrone. “I got something for ya, T. Something you gonna wanna hear!”
Tyrone stood up, blowing smoke from his nostrils and placing the half-smoked joint on the built-in plastic cup holder on the poker table.
“What the fuck you call me?”
“What?”
“What’s my name, cock-sucker?” He made his way around the poker table and towards Ace. Cleo stepped between the two.
“T, please,” he said. “He meant no disrespect.” He turned to Ace. “My man, you need to call him Tyrone from now on, alright?”
Ace opened his mouth and was about to speak, but Tyrone beat him to it.
“Nah, step aside,” he said. “This chump thinks hes one of us! Who the fuck do you think you are calling me T?”
“…Tyrone,” Ace said. “I’m sorry. I meant no disrespect. I…wont call you that again-“
A hard fist came flying, landing across Aces jaw, sending his head snapping back. He lost his balance and fell back on the floor, knocking over two fold-out chairs. Tyrone stood over him, grabbed a handful of hair with one hand, and landed cracking blows to his face with the other. Cleo tried to intervene, reaching for his swinging arm, but Tyrone quickly pointed at him.
“Touch me and I’ll bury you in the fields along with this cock-sucker! Now back the fuck off!“
Cleo stood back and watched.
“Say my name,” Tyrone said, jerking his head. He slapped him, waking him from his dazed state. “Wake the fuck up and say my name asshole!”
Quietly, with a bloody mouth, Ace mumbled.
“…dead…man.”
Tyrone thought he heard him say dead man, but was unsure. He put his ear to his face.
“What you say?”
“Dead man…bitch ass…mutha fucker.”
A shot rang out, Tyrone shifted and stumble back. He looked confused for a moment, then looked down at his stomach area. His yellow Lakers jersey was soaking in blood. His knees buckled and he held out his hand against the wall, supporting himself. Cleo walked over and helped Ace to his feet.
“You good?”
“I’m good,” Ace said, composing himself, wiping blood from his lips. He directed his attention to Tyrone, who by that time, began to understand the situation – betrayal.
“You…you’re fucking DEAD, both of you, you’re-“
Another shot went off, striking him on his left knee cap. He screamed, his knee twisted from the weight of his body and he hit the floor hard.
“Shut the fuck up!” Ace said. “Your talking shit, waving gun days are over! Aint that right, Cleo?”
Cleo stood behind him, silent.
“…yeah.” he said. He walked over to Tyrone, stopping a foot away from him.
“That man you killed last month,” he continued. “The one who was minding his own business outside Bill’s Burgers. The one you swore to Reggie was looking at you funny. Remember him?”
“So what?” Tyrone said, wincing. “What the…fuck you care about him for?”
“He was my stepbrother. He wasn’t mad-dawging you, he was no criminal like us. He was supposed to play ball next summer on a scholarship. He had a baby on the way, and now that baby ain’t gonna have a father.”
Tyrone tried to absorb what was being said, but the pain and the blood flowing from his wound had him fading in and out.
“You heard what I said?“
Tyrone came to rest against the wall, looking down at the blood and sucking in air. After a moment, he looked up at Cleo, weak but full of pride.
“Fuck you…and that punk ass -“
Ace stepped in front of Cleo, aimed the weapon and unloaded three rounds into the top of his skull. His head went limp and thumped back against the wall. Blood squirted from the entry holes like miniature fountains, spraying the interior. His body skidded down, slowly, leaving streaks behind.
“We good?” Ace said. “Hey! We good?“
“Yeah,” Cleo said, snapping out of it. “We’re good.”
“Thirty-five hundred. That was the deal.”
Cleo reached into his waistband and pulled out several hundreds held together by a rubber band. He handed it to him. Ace grabbed the bills and briefly skimmed through them.
“Its all there. Dont worry about that.”
“I’ll count it anyway,” he said. “I don’t play when it comes to my money. No offense.”
Cleo watched him count, then tuck the money into his pocket. He did the same with the gun and then adjusted his shirt. He turned and walked back towards the door into the empty barber shop. Cleo heard him exit, the bell above clinking for a few seconds.
He was standing over Tyrones lifeless body and stared into his eyes. They were glassy and still, exactly like his stepbrothers eyes, when he saw him laying on a metal table at the morgue a month before. He took a deep breath, feeling a sense of relief and justice come over him. He backed up slowly, turned and headed towards the exit.
A card game was to take place in an hour. Tyrones crew was expected to show up with cases of beer and enough marijuana to smoke up the room. Cleo headed home, showered and changed into a fresh pair of clothes. He would return to the barbershop with the rest of the goons and pretend to not know anything about what had occurred.
He walked home with a wide grin on his face.
Tyrone gazed up at the unknown face looming behind him, hard faced and trying to make an impression in the empty, smoke filled room at the back of Slates barbershop. The business was closed for the day, and a poker game was to take place in an hours time. Tyrone sat behind a fold-out poker table, puffing on a joint. The smell of cush lingering throughout.
“He’s cool, T,” Cleo said. “He’s with me. This is Ace, the guy I told you about, the one from the projects.”
Tyrone looked on, clueless. He wasn’t a mobster or someone who called the shots like one would see in a movie. He was, however, someone to be feared. He had no respect for life, and trusted no one. He had grown up in and out of prison, and had become hardened from a young age. He took what he wanted by force and intimidated his goons with fear and at the end of a weapons barrel. Only a handful called by his nickname ‘T’ – Ace wasnt one of them.
“Who the fuck is Ace from the projects?”
The thin, acne-faced kid stepped forward.
“The rim’s, T,” Ace said, promptly. “I got you the rim’s for your Escalade outside. Two weeks ago, Remember?”
Tyrone quickly looked at Cleo, annoyed.
“So? Cleo, can you please explain to me what the fuck is this mutha-fucker doing at my spot?”
“Relax, T, its cool-“
Ace interrupted him.
“I…asked him to bring me here.” Cleo quickly placed his hand on Ace’s chest, attempting to keep him from speaking any further. But Ace seemed determined and spoke up.
“Its…cool Cleo,” he continued. He looked at Tyrone. “I got something for ya, T. Something you gonna wanna hear!”
Tyrone stood up, blowing smoke from his nostrils and placing the half-smoked joint on the built-in plastic cup holder on the poker table.
“What the fuck you call me?”
“What?”
“What’s my name, cock-sucker?” He made his way around the poker table and towards Ace. Cleo stepped between the two.
“T, please,” he said. “He meant no disrespect.” He turned to Ace. “My man, you need to call him Tyrone from now on, alright?”
Ace opened his mouth and was about to speak, but Tyrone beat him to it.
“Nah, step aside,” he said. “This chump thinks hes one of us! Who the fuck do you think you are calling me T?”
“…Tyrone,” Ace said. “I’m sorry. I meant no disrespect. I…wont call you that again-“
A hard fist came flying, landing across Aces jaw, sending his head snapping back. He lost his balance and fell back on the floor, knocking over two fold-out chairs. Tyrone stood over him, grabbed a handful of hair with one hand, and landed cracking blows to his face with the other. Cleo tried to intervene, reaching for his swinging arm, but Tyrone quickly pointed at him.
“Touch me and I’ll bury you in the fields along with this cock-sucker! Now back the fuck off!“
Cleo stood back and watched.
“Say my name,” Tyrone said, jerking his head. He slapped him, waking him from his dazed state. “Wake the fuck up and say my name asshole!”
Quietly, with a bloody mouth, Ace mumbled.
“…dead…man.”
Tyrone thought he heard him say dead man, but was unsure. He put his ear to his face.
“What you say?”
“Dead man…bitch ass…mutha fucker.”
A shot rang out, Tyrone shifted and stumble back. He looked confused for a moment, then looked down at his stomach area. His yellow Lakers jersey was soaking in blood. His knees buckled and he held out his hand against the wall, supporting himself. Cleo walked over and helped Ace to his feet.
“You good?”
“I’m good,” Ace said, composing himself, wiping blood from his lips. He directed his attention to Tyrone, who by that time, began to understand the situation – betrayal.
“You…you’re fucking DEAD, both of you, you’re-“
Another shot went off, striking him on his left knee cap. He screamed, his knee twisted from the weight of his body and he hit the floor hard.
“Shut the fuck up!” Ace said. “Your talking shit, waving gun days are over! Aint that right, Cleo?”
Cleo stood behind him, silent.
“…yeah.” he said. He walked over to Tyrone, stopping a foot away from him.
“That man you killed last month,” he continued. “The one who was minding his own business outside Bill’s Burgers. The one you swore to Reggie was looking at you funny. Remember him?”
“So what?” Tyrone said, wincing. “What the…fuck you care about him for?”
“He was my stepbrother. He wasn’t mad-dawging you, he was no criminal like us. He was supposed to play ball next summer on a scholarship. He had a baby on the way, and now that baby ain’t gonna have a father.”
Tyrone tried to absorb what was being said, but the pain and the blood flowing from his wound had him fading in and out.
“You heard what I said?“
Tyrone came to rest against the wall, looking down at the blood and sucking in air. After a moment, he looked up at Cleo, weak but full of pride.
“Fuck you…and that punk ass -“
Ace stepped in front of Cleo, aimed the weapon and unloaded three rounds into the top of his skull. His head went limp and thumped back against the wall. Blood squirted from the entry holes like miniature fountains, spraying the interior. His body skidded down, slowly, leaving streaks behind.
“We good?” Ace said. “Hey! We good?“
“Yeah,” Cleo said, snapping out of it. “We’re good.”
“Thirty-five hundred. That was the deal.”
Cleo reached into his waistband and pulled out several hundreds held together by a rubber band. He handed it to him. Ace grabbed the bills and briefly skimmed through them.
“Its all there. Dont worry about that.”
“I’ll count it anyway,” he said. “I don’t play when it comes to my money. No offense.”
Cleo watched him count, then tuck the money into his pocket. He did the same with the gun and then adjusted his shirt. He turned and walked back towards the door into the empty barber shop. Cleo heard him exit, the bell above clinking for a few seconds.
He was standing over Tyrones lifeless body and stared into his eyes. They were glassy and still, exactly like his stepbrothers eyes, when he saw him laying on a metal table at the morgue a month before. He took a deep breath, feeling a sense of relief and justice come over him. He backed up slowly, turned and headed towards the exit.
A card game was to take place in an hour. Tyrones crew was expected to show up with cases of beer and enough marijuana to smoke up the room. Cleo headed home, showered and changed into a fresh pair of clothes. He would return to the barbershop with the rest of the goons and pretend to not know anything about what had occurred.
He walked home with a wide grin on his face.
