Chapter One
It never failed. No matter how much you’d try to be fair and give a person a chance, they’d fuck it up. No matter how many times they promised to make shit right, chances are, they never did. That meant if you were the boss, doing what had to be done. Nolan was known for being all of the above, but when pushed to his limits, he would snap. Not just curse you out or raise-your-voice snap, but all-the-way-out-there-and-back—full-blown snap. It didn’t matter if it was gunplay or a nigga caught them hands, Nolan had time for it. There would be no turning back, and his vicious disposition couldn’t be tamed. No ifs, ands, or buts. He was an animal—a wild one at that. This time was no different.
Joe Brezzy-Bey had fucked up. Once, twice, three times, or more. It was like the fool had a death wish or just didn’t give a shit. He kept testing the water and coming up short. Now, unfortunately for Brezzy-Bey, the worker was in the middle of getting taught a life lesson he’d never forget. Nolan was heated, and “Nigga, you got me fucked up” school was in session. His bright yellow skin was fire engine red, and each moment that passed, he grew angrier.
“Nolan, come on, dawg. Hold up. Wait, I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe, pleeeas—”
“Shut the fuck up! You can’t say nothing else to me. I warned you over and over again. I tried my best to be reasonable. But, naw, you wouldn’t let that shit be.” Clenched fist, Nolan beat on his chest with his free hand. He was madder than he’d been in weeks, maybe months. “You think I’m a joke, like a clown or some shit? Like I’m soft? Is that what you think?”
“Naw, dawg, wait. Let me explain.” The effort to explain was real but did no good. Joe Brezzy-Bey’s frail frame was lightweight work for Nolan.
“Naw, guy, I’m tired of repeating myself. I said I wasn’t gonna tolerate no more of that ‘short money’ bullshit. Now, here you go for the hundredth time, bringing me a gang of change. I told you shitting on me was gonna be bad for your health. So now, it’s whatever. You asked for this, not me.”
Temporarily, Nolan let go of Brezzy-Bey’s throat. Removing his shirt, the winter-white wife beater Nolan had on underneath was snug fitting, showing off his prison-chiseled body. Cracking his knuckles, he was ready for round two. The pain he’d inflicted on his worker so far was only the warm-up. There would be no more leniency extended.
“I warned you I wasn’t to be fucked with. But you out here shaking my goddamn bag like it’s yours. Making up the damn rules as you see fit.”
“I know but—”
“But what, guy? Besides the damn change, from what I counted so far, it’s maybe four less than the ticket supposed to be.” Nolan then strong-arm yoked his worker up even more. They knocked a card table over where a paper bag sat filled with pennies, nickels, and dimes. The change scattered across the basement floor. Momentarily, Nolan stared at the change on the ground. It gave him a ghastly flashback memory of his childhood. Knowing the past was what it was—the past—he quickly shook off those thoughts. But not before socking Brezzy-Bey a few good times in the stomach. Then he grinned as Brezzy-Bey slumped over in pure agony.
Nolan didn’t usually wake up with murder on his mind. He had a good heart . . . buried deep within. He attempted to keep a smile plastered on his face even when he was ready to pull the trigger. That trait made a soon-to-be victim not sure what or when they’d see death. For the most part, his emotions were tame since his youth. He’d found out early on that if a person thought they could hurt you, they would, be it physically or mentally. So, after learning those things the hard way at the hands of his parents, Nolan shut down. Once he linked up with Kapri, she was the only one he confided in. And that was when he felt she could handle the hellish demons he fought that tormented his soul. The young killer tried to keep those feelings embedded, not bringing them to the surface.
After receiving a text, Nolan was reminded he had other business on the floor across town. There was no more time to waste. Hastily, he got back to the task at hand. He continued where he’d left off, beating the brakes off of his worker. His victim could only count his blessings, knowing at least he hadn’t got a bat against the head like Nolan usually did to random fuckups. This form of torture was slow and deliberate, leaving Brezzy-Bey to think he might have a chance for some small bit of compassion. However, taking several quick hits to the face changed that notion as he grimaced, urinating on himself.
“Wow, I know you ain’t piss on ya damn self. Stop being a little pussy. You earned this ass kicking, period.” Unhinged, Nolan’s fury continued. Every move the penitentiary-raised beast made was cold and calculated. His mind-set was on violence and doing great bodily harm. So he did just that. Using one hand, he roughly pressed his thumb inward on the center of the man’s throat.
“But wait, please, hold up, fam.” Brezzy-Bey’s eyes bucked as he struggled to speak. Fumbling over his words, he felt as if his windpipe were being crushed. He tried to explain himself. He wished an aggravated Nolan would just see things from his perspective. The worker knew had it not been for his cousin’s homeboy, he’d be out in the alleys collecting discarded bottles or old scrap metal. But Joe Brezzy-Bey accepted he was dead wrong as he tried his luck with his boss just the same.
“Listen up and hear me good, you piece of garbage motherfucker. I ain’t ya fam. We ain’t cool. We ain’t hanging out nowhere or nothing like that. You understand me?” Having gone to the gym earlier in the day, this had become a second full workout for Nolan as his biceps bulged in size.
The untrustworthy worker attempted to nod, showing that he understood what was being said, but it was hard doing so. His entire body was under attack and suffering from the countless blows. It could barely tolerate any more. The basement walls seemed to be closing in on him. Brezzy-Bey wanted to try to get away but knew that was impossible. Taking the ass whipping was the only thing he could do, or risk possibly taking a bullet in the spine if he made a run for the stairs. In those moments, he regretted that he’d come over to the stash house in the first place with the remaining short-ticket money. Nolan was right. He had been warned repeatedly, but the monkey on his back had other plans that won out.
“See, boy, you’s a bitch-made worker, and I’ma boss. You get headaches, I give the motherfuckers. You think ’cause ole girl cool with me from way back when ya crack-smoking life matters? You got shit twisted.” Sweat was starting to soak through the rear portion of Nolan’s wife beater. And the fuck boy he was beating’s blood from a busted nose decorated the front. But none of that slowed him down. He was and always had been trained to go. “It’s like I said, you think I’m some ho or something. And I know damn well you old enough to know better. You just like these young niggas,” Nolan agitatedly snarled.
“No, but—” Defeated, he still was trying to take a cop. Yet, his sorrowful pleas fell upon deaf ears. There was no answer to his desperate prayers. He’d have to ride this wave out the best he possibly could. This was one of those dreaded consequences in the game if caught stealing.
Nolan was nearing the end of his rope. Hiring the generic, off-brand nigga was a favor for a childhood friend from the West Side. She once did a solid for him, so, in return, Nolan gave her cousin a job when he came home from doing a bid for breaking and entering. That charge alone should have been a red flag to putting Brezzy-Bey on a bag, but Nolan tried to give people a chance and let them hang themselves. But back in the day, friend loyalty or not, something had to give to ensure the ticket would be correct moving forward. The favor he’d done was quickly costing him money on the regular. And besides his wife, there was nothing the smooth street menace loved more than money.
Seeing that ole boy was gagging, about to black out, Nolan eased up some on the pressure he was applying. His muscular frame could easily do some serious damage if he allowed things to get all the way out of control. So he fell back. However, his wrath was far from over. He wanted to teach Brezzy-Bey a lesson about stealing from him, not kill the bum. A dead worker would bring no revenue at all. But sending one to a receiving hospital to prove a point would.
Wrapping both hands around Joe Brezzy-Bey’s neck, Nolan lifted him off his feet. Fed up with all of his excuses, Nolan continued the punishment. Nolan then slammed him against the wall several times. Amused at his strength, Nolan watched a few pieces of peeling paint fall from the ceiling and onto the floor. The utter fear in his victim’s eyes motivated Nolan in what he was about to do next. In a series of full-drawn back punches to the jaw, which caused more blood to leak from Brezzy-Bey’s mouth, then a few midsection kidney blows, Nolan topped those off with punching his worker dead in the Adam’s apple.
Releasing the near-death grip, he allowed his wounded prey’s body to slide down the wall onto the pieces of fallen paint chips. Once he was on the ground, Nolan raised his gym shoe, smashing it down on Joe Brezzy-Bey’s forehead. A huge unicorn lump immediately formed, then split wide open. Small spackles of blood adorned the toe portion of Nolan’s shoes. Seeing that, his enthusiasm to draw more increased. Nolan not only wanted to, but he also craved to see more. He’d become totally zoned out and bloodthirsty on getting satisfaction. If you stole from Nolan White, there was a bigger price to pay in the long run. And Joe Brezzy-Bey was now finding that out firsthand.