Love and a Bullet

When I was 10,

my father put a bullet in my mother's heart

rattled off some cryptic shit

about the rent being due

and then he put a slug in his own head.

With that level of Jackson-family-on-crack-type dysfunction

it's no wonder I turned out the way I did.

My name is Malik Bishop

and I'm a professional hit man.

Mm-hmm.

See, up until a month ago, I was the hardest, coldest bastard

to screw a silencer on a pistol.

I know what you're thinking,

"What kind of a moral existence is that?

"Professional hit man."

But the way I see it, the world is full of people that,

quite frankly, we all could do without.

Some will argue that I'm one of them, but I digress.

I would say that I was a custodian

of anthropological refuse.

Meaning, I kill motherfuckers that are worthless.

Which leads me to my current dilemma.

That's my target, Cynda Griffie.

Kind of cute, huh?

So, check this, 7:00 a.m.,

she does 30 minutes on the treadmill,

followed by yoga, then a hot bath.

Me? I do 30 minutes of shadowboxing

followed by calisthenics

watching her take a hot bath.

I guess you can see by now that I'm one of those,

what you call, complex black men.

Yeah, that's right, I'm complex.

But don't get it twisted.

I'm not like one of those Eric Benet,

open-toe-sandal-wearin', poetry-recitin',

Jill Scott-listenin'-to, latte-drinkin',

not-afraid-to-cry, snob motherfuckers.

I'm somethin' different.

10:00 p.m., she's writin' in her diary. I'm writin' in mine.

11:00 p.m., she's hittin' the sack. So am I.

For all intents and purposes,

we're like a married couple.

Which is no good, 'cause when the call comes in

I'm supposed to take her right off this mortal-fuckin' coil.

And now, I'm havin' doubts.

What the fuck was it?

A momentary bout of consciousness, maybe?

Nah, it was a lot more.

I could trace it back to when I was a kid doing hits

for a loud-mouth rock dealer named...

Frenchy Davis was the number-one employer

of downwardly mobile black youths in the neighborhood.

The area underneath the 6th Street Bridge

was the corporate headquarters.

And he was always lookin' for new executives.

If I say I wanna motherfucker smoked,

that's just what the fuck I want,

a motherfucker smoked.

These tattoos are shit. You're a bad nigger, huh?

You think you got the motherfuckin' nuts

to put a hole in a motherfucker?

Who?

This motherfucker!

Yo, man, you ain't got to do this.

I've heard stories from some of the most

don't-give-a-fuck killers 'bout how the first time was the hardest.

You know what?

I don't even remember the first time.

All I remember was that after I pulled the trigger on that kid

I knew it wouldn't be a problem.

I guess, in a strange way,

he was my first kill.

No, for real. Hey, look, man

money is time, time is money.

Let's... Let's be on time this time, now.

Please, for me. Be there on time.

It didn't take long to figure out

that I was different from the rest of the crew.

See, I took my new job serious.

I wanted to study to be the best I could be.

Be, hey, be on time, now.

You are? All right,

you gonna be on time.

You fucked up last time by bein' late.

All they wanted to do was sit around with the ice grill,

get high, gamble and talk a bunch of shit.

I guess they thought I was bitch-made or somethin'.

They didn't know shit about being professional.

Be on time, homey.

Business is money, ain't it?

It didn't take long for them to learn

the benefits of being professional.

They all had that G-style of shootin'

where you held a gun sideways

and bucked your arm in and out as you shot

which was a cool-lookin' way to shoot, I guess.

But it wasn't really an effective way to aim.

I called it the "innocent women and children" style of shootin'.

My nigger, Bishop,

you's a bad motherfucker, boy.

Motherfuckin' terminator in this motherfucker.

No, no, motherfuckin' Tony Montana in this motherfucker!

You understand, nigger? You is a bad motherfucker, baby!

Hey. I'm gonna make you my ace motherfuckin' G.

Hey, see, y'all motherfuckers can learn something from this motherfucker.

See, this motherfucker here,

this nigger's got discipline.

Strange-ass motherfucker.

Excuse me? Did you say something, motherfucker?

No, man.

That's what the fuck I thought.

'Cause if you did, I'd have my nigger Bishop wet your ass!

Raise the fuck up!

All you motherfuckers, raise up!

Not you, though.

I want you to stay right here, Bishop.

'Cause you're my ace motherfuckin' nigger, G.

You my nigger, baby! We gonna make some money, baby!

I was Frenchy's main nigger after that.

Yeah.

He always kept me close.

He gave me lots of perks.

Everything was gravy until...

All right, nigger, whoo! All right. Slow down...

The only person I knew that Frenchy feared,

well, not really feared but had to bow down to, was Pretty Nate.

8:00 nigger.

Pretty Nate was an ex-process pimp turned dealer.

He was Frenchy's chief supplier.

Pretty Nate was notorious for being late with shit.

He used to drive Frenchy crazy.

Whatever time that nigger would say he was gonna be there

you could bet your ass he was gonna be 3 to 5 hours late.

And sometimes, not even show up at all.

But Frenchy couldn't fade him.

He was connected.

Ass motherfucker!

Goddamn it!

See, now Pretty Nate's problem was bitches.

He had so many hoes on his jock,

I guess he felt it was his duty or something to fuck 'em all.

He's always motherfuckin' late!

Late-ass nigger!

I never had that problem myself.

I always had a practical way

of dealin' with these hoes.

Look, Frenchy, check this shit here, nigger.

I know this is supposed to be your motherfuckin' man and everythin',

but I don't know nobody that be doin' this shit blatantly to niggers.

To me, it looks like this nigger's straight playin'.

If it was my motherfuckin' time,

you know what I mean? My motherfuckin' money...

I'm just sayin' this shit's real unprofessional.

Goddamn right, it ain't professional.

Late motherfucker!

I'm sick of this shit.

Tryin' to play me like I'm some kind of motherfuckin' mark or somethin'!

This shit's real disrespectful, Frenchy.

Goddamn right it's disrespectful, but I'll tell you what,

I bet you I get me some motherfuckin' respect today.

Now, you talkin', goddamn it.

You know what, dog?

As a matter of fact, there goes the bitch-ass nigger right there.

Hey, get this for me, man.

Frenchy, baby, what's happenin'?

Hey, man.

You know this is bullshit, man. You're late, man!

Hold this for me. Thank you.

You had us waitin' out here for five motherfuckin' hours, Nate.

Oh, see, what happened, brother, is, um,

Tammy was trippin' on some bullshit.

I had to take her to her mama's house

and, well, you know how that can be.

Hold on, Nate.

You had me and my people out here for five hours

over some bitch?

Bitch?

Nigger, now I'm not concerned

with how I've inconvenienced you.

You'll wait all goddamn day if I want you to.

What was you gonna say about that, hmm?

Hey, Nate...

What was you gonna do?

You know what, man? Hey, man,

you ain't even got to be in my face like that, man.

Man!

What the fuck, man?

Man, you fucked up, Bishop!

Do you know what the fuck you just did, nigger?

Man, look at this bullshit!

Oh, shit, man! Do you know who the fuck this is?

Motherfucker, this is Pretty Nate Hubbard, man!

He wasn't being professional.

Fuck that shit! This is our goddamn money, Bishop!

This motherfucker is Damien Wiles' nigger, man!

Do you know who Damien Wiles is?

Motherfuckin' head enforcer of all the goddamn enforcers.

What you sayin', I ain't being professional?

Look, man, look.