My name is Benji Gillis and I don’t give a fuck who Luther is!

My name is Benji Gillis and I don’t give a fuck who Luther is!

1.
Keisha wimpered.

Bam Bam  had her pinned down on the cold asphalt. He groped her crotch as he ripped her shirt off; spraying the walkway with buttons. The alley was blocked off by a fence behind the apartment complex. The only exit doubled as the entrance. Cars sped by; paying them no heed. Not that he was worried about being seen as he had Bunchie and Reggie posted by the entrance as look outs. Besides, in this neighborhood the pedestrians fall into one of two very rigid categories:

Category A:  Those who would join in on the debauchery. They likely rationalized that she wanted it.

Category B: Those that would pretend they saw nothing. They likely rationalized that it was none of their business.

This place was Hell.

This place was both Sodom and Gomorrah.

This place was Chicago, Illinois. Population: In desperate need of weeding.

BamBam, was a short little fuck, but he was the ring leader of their rag tag parade of failure. All 3 boys were completely devoid of any form of guidance; be it parental or otherwise, and most teachers felt they were lost causes. Not that they regularly attended class. He struck her hard across the face. “Shut the fuck up bitch!”  he screamed into her ear; covering her mouth.

Keisha cried through his fingers. 

BamBam waved his cohorts over.  The boys ran from their lookout posts. “Hold this bitch down!” Bunchie lumbered over and pinned her arms down. She couldn’t move as Bunchie was literally twice the size of BamBam, and every bit as snot nosed and ugly. Reggie hesitated. He was visibly uncomfortable with what was happening, but couldn't chance losing any street credibility. “Hey, I’m gonna keep watch alright?” Reggie said.

“Whatever nigga. I knew you was a bitch! Wait till I tell Luther.” BamBam replied. BamBam would be the first person to tell Luther that he bitched out.  This was their initiation. If they were going to become legitimate members of Crook County—a gang that had been sending shockwaves throughout Chicagoland—they had to complete a simple task:  Find Jerry Gleason’s daughter and give her a sample of what Luther’s crew does when debts are not paid.

 Of course ‘simple task’ was gauged by mob standards and all of them—Keisha—included, were far too young to be engaged in such behavior. Bam Bam was 16, Reggie was 15, Bunchie was 14, and Keisha—sadly enough—was 12, but in order to move up in rank you have to do as you’re told.

Keisha cried.

BamBam had his cock in his hand; having fumbled with his belt buckle in an attempt to get out of his jeans, which was ironic considering that he sagged his jeans damn near his ankles. He kept trying to get it in, but being a novice he had no clue as to what he was doing. Sure he bragged about fucking girls but the truth is, all 3 boys were virgins. “Bitch open yo' pussy up! You keep pushing me out!” BamBam yelled, still covering her mouth.  Keisha bit down hard on his pinky.

“OUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCH!!!” he bellowed. He slapped her so hard across the face that her cry was silent. Her face numb, and eye twitching—she resolved to accept her fate.  Bam Bam got up and examined his finger. She bit him down to the bone. Bunchie was now on top of her. His chubby face and acrid breath turned her stomach. He slipped one of his dirty, untrimmed, pudgy fingers inside her. Keisha froze. His dirty, jagged nails snagged and scraped her insides. It felt like razor blades. She flinched, but resolved to stay still. Her body tensed up and she closed her eyes.

 This was wrong. This was so wrong. Keisha was a good girl—an A student. She did her chores, and had taken care of her younger siblings after their mother passed. She made sure they were fed, bathed, and in bed before their father Jerry got home. She was the personal home chef, tutor, maid, and nanny. Occasionally, she even had to take care of their father. He’d stumble in drunk and pass out on the couch.  She would make sure there was plastic covering on the furnitue in case he pissed himself, as well as a blanket to keep him warm.  And she always set the coffee timer so it would be ready in the morning, however by the time old Jerry woke up, it was cold. Still, he appreciated the sentiment; choosing to warm it up in the microwave. He was so proud of her. She was the only good thing in the world he had left to lean on when Cheryl passed. This was wrong. She did everything right. She was a card carrying Christian and shamelessly boasted that she would serve the lord, and save herself for marriage. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. This was so fucking wrong.



Bunchie’s long, dirty and unkempt nails were cutting into her. He had the look of a wild, thirsty dog. “This bitch fucked my hand up! It won’t stop bleeding!” BamBam yelled.  “Hurry up Bunchie I’m a shoot this bitch!” Reggie finally spoke up. “Don’t! Luther just wants his money, if you do that he is going to be mad!” Reggie was frantic now. I don’t want to do this! I don’t want to be here, but Mom. I gotta take care of mom! His thoughts raced. “You such a bitch made ass nigga! I’m starting to think you don’t like pussy.” BamBam laughed.

Keisha screamed. Keisha cried. Keisha squirmed in agony.

“I got it in! Hey y’all I got it in!” Bunchie beckoned for BamBam. “You’re in her asshole stupid! Cover her mouth! Somebody in the building might hear us!” BamBam said. Bunchie covered her mouth as he slid out of her.  “Just get up! I’ll try again!” BamBam shooed Bunchie off the girl and mounted her again. “Please stop!! NO! NO! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Someone please help me!!” ” Keisha bellowed. Bam Bam slapped her quiet again. “Bunchie cover her god damned mouth! Somebody is going to hear us!” Someone did.  

2.

Benji ignored the first scream. He was used to it. Chicago was a wild place and it’s not like he resided in the best neighborhood. He’d slept through it all. Murders, rapes and gun shots were as normal as the chirping of the birds here on the west side of Chicago. He used to lie to his son—telling him the gun shots were fireworks; but ended the charade when the boy made an astute observation. "But dad, it's March. What are they celebrating?" He stirred a bit, but a minute into his lull he realized that there was no going back. He was awake. I’m never going to get any sleep. It was Sunday, his only day off. He was home alone for the first time in ages and he just wanted a nap. He looked at the clock. It was blinking 12:00. Great another brownout.  He stretched while yawning and stumbled towards the kitchen in search of coffee. The pot was empty. Great. I forgot to set it last night. He press a few buttons on the coffee pot and walked toward the cabinet in search of a mug, but he noticed several lined up on the counter. Attached to the counter was a note:

“Dad, Grandpa is taking me to the skate park. I washed all the dishes you left in the sink since MONDAY. I set the coffee pot, but if the lights go off again, there is a 50/50 chance you wont have coffee in the morning. You can pay me in cash or in cash.”
-Bean

He shook his head and laughed. Occasionally on Sunday mornings— Gary, Bean’s maternal grandfather and Benji’s only source of child care—would take Bean to the skate park, allowing Benji to finally get some rest. He worked 2 jobs, he hustled, yet still they were barely making it above water. When the coffee was ready, he poured a cup and sat at the table. Gary had left a copy of the Tribune. He thumbed through the pages, half reading articles here and there. He didn’t much care for the paper. The internet had become the world’s news beacon. Most of this generation depended on social media for the news. His real issue was how poorly written the papers were these days. From the articles, to the advertisements, there were so many typos, grammatical errors, and poorly written prose that he couldn’t bear to read it most of the time.

He slid the coupons section out for himself, and the comics for Bean. He enjoyed couponing. It reminded him of the times he was young. His mother would sit at the table and clip them out while he laughed at Calvin and Hobbs. He exhaled. I’m taking my black ass back to bed.

Keisha screamed.

Keisha cried. 

Keisha squirmed in agony.

Benji heard her.

2.

Bunchie hovered over Keisha and BamBam—bovine lummox that he was—while Reggie watched solemnly. He kept attempting to slide into her, but missed his target with every unimpressive stroke; however her inner thigh was getting the business. “The fuck y’all doing?” Benji said, walking onto the scene. Reggie and Bunchie froze. “Y’all  don’t even know how to fuck a bitch? Y’all weak as fuck!” he said. He walked past Reggie, pausing long enough to give him a side eye birthed from the deepest pits of hell.  A faint recognition danced about Reggie’s face. He immediately looked away. When he reached the pair, BamBam sprang into action; pulling up his pants, and brandished a pistol. The .22 had long replaced the 9 millimeter as the handgun of choice for so called thugs and pseudo gangsters alike, however here stood this boy—this toddler—with a 9 aimed at Benji’s gut; cocked to the side, like a glowing effigy; dedicated to every  90's gangster movie in existence.

“Mind yo business nigga!” BamBam said. Benji wasn’t fazed.   “Calm down family. You fucking behind my building and you can’t share the pussy? You bogus!”  BamBam laughed and put the gun away.  Benji looked down at Keisha. She was somewhere else. Some faraway place that housed the tiny bit of happiness she had left. She was looking through him. Benji walked towards her, grabbing his crotch for accent. “Hold up! Her panties are still on? Y’all aint even got it in yet?!” Benji clowned them.  “Hey nigga, I was about to!” BamBam replied. “I got it in!” Bunchie bellowed.

“Shut yo fat ass up Bunchie! You stuck it in her booty.” BamBam spat at Bunchie. “Fuck you BamBam, with your short ass!” Bunchie was clearly sensitive about his weight. “Hey, y'all need to be quiet before the police come.” Benji said. “That is why Reggie bitch ass is watching out. He don’t like pussy.” Bam Bam said. Reggie never turned around; he just kept watching his feet.  “Hey family, please go watch for people. Your boy is going to get us fucked up out here! He isn’t watching the street.” Benji said. BamBam complied, stopping at the entrance and smacking Reggie on the back of his head. Keisha’s eyes had glossed over. Benji was squatting next to Keisha when he noticed Bunchie the oaf hovering next to them. His stubby dick was out and he was rubbing it at an alarming rate. Disgusting. Benji gave her a once over. No blood. Good.   Her shirt was torn, but she had a wife beater on below it. He leaned down, stroked her hair, and whispered in her ear.

Listen carefully baby girl. I know you are scared. You should be. I am not going to hurt you. I am going to pick you up, and I am going to toss you over the fence. When you hit the ground, you need to run wherever you need to go, as fast as your feet can take you. This is the important part. Remember their names BamBam and Bunchie. Got it?

Keisha was still dazed. Benji tapped her face a few times. “Got it?! Their names are BamBam and bunchie.” She suddenly came to. With her lips quivering, and tears washing her face, she nodded. Benji looked over his shoulder to make sure the other two weren’t watching. He looked at Bunchie who was still playing with himself  and sprang into action; hoisting her tiny body up and tossing her over the fence. He heard her fleeting steps shortly after he tossed her. 

“Nigga why you jacking off!! You let her get away!” Benji howled into Bunchie’s face. Bunchie was confused to say the least. “Yo! This fat motherfucker let her jump the fence!” Benji yelled. BamBam stormed towards Bunchie. He was furious. So furious in fact, that he didn’t  notice Benji swiping the pistol from the back pocket of his oversized jeans. “Nigga put yo dick up!” BamBam screamed. The sight was comical. Bunchie was at least a foot taller, and an easy hundred pounds heavier.  “B-but wait. I didn’t do nothing! He-“ Bunchie froze. “He what nigga?!” BamBam noticed Bunchie’s gaze was locked on Benji. He turned. His own gun was pointed at his dick. He called for Reggie, but Reggie was gone.

“I don’t know if it’s Jim Crow, the status quo, the prison industrial complex, hip hop, or gentrification that spawned no good niggas like you three. I’ve discussed this topic at length with numerous people. I mean, can you be blamed when your ignorance may very well be the result of constant social tampering by a system that puts more effort into the appearance of not being racist, than it does not being racist? Are you three really at fault when the system is designed to make cretins like you?”

“N-nigga what the fuck is a cretin?” BamBam stuttered. “My point exactly!” Benji said. He fired off a round between BamBam's legs.  BamBam jumped backwards—a heartbeat later, his pants were flooded with piss. “Oh wow. So you didn’t have the safety on? I should probably do society a favor and shoot your dick off before you reproduce. Ironically enough, you would have probably shot it off on your own  at some point.” Benji smiled.  “And you, Biggie Smalls. Put your dick away. Nobody wants to see that shit.”

Bunchie hastily put his tool away and zipped his pants. “So this is how it’s going to go. “I don’t want to see either one of you on my block—no fuck that—I don’t want to see you niggas in Bellwood again! Capeesh?” Benji accepted their silence as confirmation.

“Now that we have that settled, let’s work on punishment. I wager not a one of you are over 18 right?” They nodded in agreement. This is perplexing. I don’t want to shoot you unless I have to, and if I break my foot off in your asses, I will end up in jail.” Benji  monologued. That was when it dawned on him. “Since you think it’s okay to force people to do things, let’s see how you feel when it’s done to you. Hey, Biggie, hit him in the mouth as hard as you can.” he said gesturing his free hand towards Bunchie, who immediately lumbered back, preparing to deliver a haymaker. There was clearly some unresolved resentment between the pair.

“W-wait wait wait!! BamBam yelped. “Please let him hit me with the hand he didn’t touch his dick with!” he pleaded. “Oh? What? Even better!  Big papa, put the fingers that were on your dick in Spud Webb’s mouth.” Benji openly laughed. “N-no no no! Please! Mister please! Why you doing this to us! We didn’t do nothing to you!!!” BamBam was sporting visible tears. Benji’s demeanor changed—noticeably so. There was now ice in his veins. “Did she say no?” Benji asked. Silence.

 “I asked you a question nigga!” he screamed. BamBam openly wept; shuffling about in a puddle of his own piss. “Y-yes. But we had to. Luther made us!” BamBam said. “No one made you do shit! Y’all are damn near grown!  You had a choice.” Benji’s  temper cooled a bit, but his disposition was unchanged.

“The salt ye take is the salt ye must pay for. I read that in a Stephen King novel. I’m sure it’s based on some parable, or proverb. Either way it applies.” Benji said; stepping back and leaning against the building adjacent his. “So here is the deal. In a white neighborhood the cops would be here by now because of that shot, but both of you know they aren’t coming. So I could shoot both of you right now, and by the time the cops found you, that little girl—“ Benji paused.

 He began to shake. His blood was boiling. He wanted to rampage. He wanted to beat the meat off of their bones and then beat the blood! His fury seemed to be fueled by some lost memory. He bridled it and continued. “—that little girl will have told the police, who don’t give a fuck about black children anyway, let alone two rapists! She looked like she just left church and you snatched her off the street because some nigga told you to?! Do you niggas not have mothers? Sisters? Aunts? What if that was your niece!” He howled at the pair. “B-but it’s different if it’s not your family.” BamBam stuttered.



****CRACK****

Benji slapped fire from BamBam’s mouth. “Owwwwww! Man, you said you weren’t going to hit us.” BamBam wimpered. “I sure did. My brain works differently than most humans. I’ve been having several conversations with myself from the moment I saw you boys. The amount of thoughts flying through my head at any given moment would probably confuse most people, but I’ve adjusted to it. In fact the moment I realized that the cops wouldn’t care about two dead rapists, I realized that they would be equally insouciant about a grown man beating two teenage rapists to death. But let me apologize for that. I did that in anger as my actions can seldom keep up with my thoughts. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. So Big Pappa! Chop chop! Put your smelly dick fingers in his mouth and we are done here.” Benji said.

“W-wait! I can—“ BamBam began. Too late. Bunchie immediately plunged 3 of his greasy fingers into BamBam’s mouth. BamBam bit down hard out of reflex. Bunchie howled and slammed his fist into BamBam’s skull. BamBam crumpled. Meanwhile Bunchie—attempting to escape—slipped in the pissy puddle and landed on top of BamBam; bumping his head against the building on the way down. Oh shit! Benji thought. Reality swooped in carrying the truth on its back. These were still underage children—one of which he hit very hard—and forced to suckle his friends ratchet dick fingers. Not to mention, his finger prints were all over a pistol of unknown origin.

He began to walk away, but he heard BamBam talking shit from beneath Bunchie. “N-nigga this aint over yet. When Luther finds out, you dead!” he said weakly. Benji turned slowly, his icy demeanor returning. “Tell him if he got an issue, he can come see me. My name is Benji Gillis, and I don’t give a fuck who Luther is.” Benji said.

“You should fucking care nigga.” A voice echoed behind him. Benji turned. Reggie had returned. He was standing next to a medium height man whose eyes were as dark as his skin. BamBam struggled with consciousness. He caught a glimpse of Benji walking towards the pair as he faded. Good Reggie. Ya’ll kill that nigga.