Chapter Seventeen
A few days later, after the dreadful run-in with his father, Nolan was called down to the living room in the den of sin. Once there, he saw that Tall Rob had gathered the young hustlers around as he usually did weekly. Typically, it’d be on a Thursday midmorning to get ready for a heavy weekend. However, this day was in preparation for what was considered a three-day hood holiday. All of the sacks were doubled up because the first of the month would be the following day. That meant more than the usual amount of money floating through Detroit. Residents of the crime-ridden town would get their Social Security checks, disability checks, and the city workers would receive theirs as well.
Once Nolan had completed his business dealings with Tall Rob, he elected to go back upstairs to his room. There was no need for him to sit around and boast and brag about what he was going to spend his extra cash on. He was focused, not once forgetting why he was there and where he wanted to be. The rest of the guys were hustling backward, and Nolan had no problem whatsoever in letting them know when forced. It was the same routine each time they would settle up with Tall Rob. Before they would hit the streets to floss out with their pay, a dice game between some would jump off.
Having beaten everyone else out of their funds on the regular, Kev Cooper, the in-house bully, turned his sights on Nolan before he could hit the stairs. Boisterous and high, Kev tried everything in his power to persuade the house money miser to get in the game. Yet, Nolan didn’t fold. Up until now, he never let any of the fellas living there get too familiar with him, and today would be no exception to that rule. He would serve his custos, then be ghost. For the time being, his homeboy O. P. was out of the crib, so Nolan would grind solo until further notice.
Not wanting to be bothered, he shook his head that he was not interested in throwing them dice. But a loud-mouthed Kev Cooper was persistent, not wanting to take no as an answer, even going so far as to pull Nolan back off the stairs in his direction by the shoulder. Nolan stumbled some but caught his balance, dropping his sack of weed on the step. That unwanted physical occurrence was all it took to awaken Nolan’s sleeping inner beast. From that point on, he saw red.
“Nigga, have you lost all your damn mind? Don’t ever put your fucking hands on me again,” Nolan turned fire engine, making it clear he was not with the bullshit as rap music blasted out of a small floor speaker. He looked Kev square off in the eyes so there would be no misunderstanding. He wasn’t with the fun and games.
A normal person would get the hint and fall back. But young fools that ran the streets thought otherwise. They were hardheaded and often had to be taught by a much-needed hands-on approach. Throwing both hands up, Kev broke out in laughter. He was not the least bit fazed by Nolan’s outburst. In fact, it only fueled him to attempt to clown the usually reserved teen even more.
“Damn, so look, y’all,” he pointed his finger in Nolan’s face daring him to make a move while he tried downgrading Nolan’s character. “The pretty boy done went and got some balls from some-damn-where. Maybe he got ’em outta his mother’s mouth. Rumor has it her old pregnant ass be in the alley behind Auto Zone taking throat shots for a few dollars.”
“What the fuck you just say?” Nolan bossed up as his fist clenched tighter. Even though what Kev was saying was probably right, especially after what his father had blurted out the other day, but so damn what? Who in the hell was Kev to try to clown on him like he couldn’t get his ass handed to him? He may have been the top dog to all the rest of the crew living under that roof, but not him. Nolan was never going to be a sheep. No matter how poor he was. No matter how he dressed. And no matter how pretty and weak motherfuckers mistakenly thought he was. Nolan White was going to come out on top—or die trying. Blood flowing strong, the music lyrics blasting only motivated his rage more. What he had violently in mind for Kev would be nothing nice.
“Listen, y’all, hold up. Just chill out for a minute,” Tall Rob interjected into the vicious word-brewing confrontation, turning his baseball cap backward. As he stood in between his two workers, one could only assume Tall Rob’s maturity level would have kicked in. However, sadly, that was far from the case. It proved to be the complete opposite as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a few dollars. Chest stuck out, he tossed a hundred onto the floor.
“Y’all two doing all that jaw jacking. Let’s see who really got heart. I got a c-note on Kev, and I’ma match anybody else that’s betting on him too. And if Nolan fucks around and wins, which I doubt, then the pot is his. Now, who in?”
There were seven, maybe eight guys left standing around in the living room. The others had gotten their pay and were out. Tall Rob gloated as he dared each one of his young workers to step up and try to bet it up. Eager to increase their weekend funds, three of them put their money on Kev Cooper. The remaining guys had never seen Nolan go, let alone get loud and in his zone as he was now. They’d witnessed his boy O. P. act a fool, but never his sidekick. They opted not to risk the bet, but would definitely enjoy being spectators of the upcoming brawl. Extra cocky, Kev reached in his pocket and threw down not one, but two hundred-dollar bills onto the pile of cash. That made it an even G in play.
“I’m ’bout to beat the brakes off this asshole, then head up to Auto Zone so his mother can put in some work too,” Kev taunted, promising that this would be quick. It would be a one-round knockout. “Yeah, y’all niggas better put them cell phones down from recording and get to calling the ambulance now. This bright-skinned soft pussy about to go night-night.”
The vibe was intense. Nolan had a stone-faced gaze of emptiness. He’d had enough of Kev talking all of that rah-rah bullshit about this and that. Yeah, Nolan was quiet, that much was true. He’d been like that most of his life. But if a person started shit with him, Nolan had no problem ending it. This afternoon was no exception. If they wanted to see a reaction, he had time. And just like that, the sinister side of Nolan White’s personality kicked into full gear. With a thirst for blood, he stepped to Kev Cooper, demanding he talk that garbage about his mother one more time.
Feeling as if this were going to be an easy win, his opponent hurriedly granted an underestimated Nolan his wish. Before he could manage to get the second disrespectful word out of his mouth, Nolan swung. As if it were a movie, his arm appeared to go in superslow motion.
A loud swishing sound rang out as his fist made direct contact with Kev Cooper’s face. Immediately upon impact, Nolan could feel a throbbing pain shoot across three of his knuckles. Kev fell back into the mantle. Dazed, he tried to shake the hit off and stand strong, but he never got a chance to get right. Before he could, Nolan struck again, delivering another punch to the face, this time harder than the last. From the way his victim’s mouth was now leaking, it was easy for Nolan and all gathered in the living room to see the damage. The resident bully had just gotten his shit blown out all the way.
Unfortunately for his challenger, Nolan wasn’t done. Ignoring the aching feeling now spreading to his entire right hand, Nolan opened the left. After extending all of his fingers, he tightly wrapped them around Kev’s neck. The guys who betted against Nolan repeatedly yelled for their boy to at least attempt to fight back. They soon saw that would not be happening. The quiet one had become unhinged. They had never before seen him in this state. His boy O. P., yes, but not Nolan. With a weird, dark, cold expression, he had started applying pressure to Kev’s throat. The more Nolan closed his fingers inward, the more the boy’s eyes bucked wide open, and he struggled to breathe. Nolan slow walked Kev up in a corner, never once letting up on applying pressure.
As much as Tall Rob hated to lose his money, he knew he had to break his two workers up before there was a murder in the middle of the living room. He was wise enough to know if that took place, it meant he’d lose not one but two long-term pay streams of income. So with the aid of a few of the guys, they successfully pried a deranged Nolan’s hand from around Kev’s neck, finger by finger. Once the grip was free, Kev had to be held up by his homeboys and led over to the couch. Not saying a word, Nolan went to the other side of the room pleased with himself for choking Kev out. The nigga with all the mouth wanted to scrap, so now he could deal with the embarrassing results.
Bending down, Nolan grabbed the money he’d earned up off the floor. He turned to look at the now silent crew along with Tall Rob. With a dead look in his eyes, Nolan firmly asked them flat-out, “So, we good on this, right?” No one spoke up against him taking the money, so he stuffed it in his pocket and took his sack of weed off the step. Before finally heading upstairs, he turned around once to ensure none of the occupants of the house, including Tall Rob, had a problem. Seeing as there was none, Nolan disappeared up to his room.
That young nigga gonna be a real headache in the future to anybody that crosses his demented ass. Tall Rob shook his head, still heated in disbelief he’d lost the bet but told Kev that getting a burner to get revenge for a fistfight was for suckers. Just accept the fact he got his ass kicked.
* * *
Like a warrior returning from battle victoriously, Nolan was still angry about the awful things Kev had said about his mother. He reasoned with himself that later on in the evening, he would go up to East Warren and see if he could locate her. It’d been awhile since he’d seen his siblings and prayed all was well with his younger twin brothers. After shutting the door, he slid the lock and placed the new bonus sack on the floor. Taking the thousand dollars out of his pocket, an elated Nolan lay back on the multiblanketed pallet he slept on nightly. Strangely, he calmed down as if what had taken place downstairs had not. Tall Rob had just been paid off and supplied all of his workers with more work, and now, Nolan had this extra cash. All was good. Ready to grind out another week, he glanced over to ensure he’d locked the door. He didn’t want nor need any interruptions.
Reaching underneath the last wool blanket, he pulled out an over-the-calf white sweat sock. Removing a small wad of cash, he brightly smiled. Nolan had just added the thousand dollars to his ever-growing stash, bringing the total to $1,921. Everything was going just the way he had mapped out. The loyal hustler had promised himself that when he got to an even two thousand, he would strike out on his own. He would be done with Tall Rob’s opportunist tyranny. Since Nolan started working under his reign, he resented the man. Although over twice his age, Tall Rob tried to dress young, speak young, and most pitiful of all, the married man with children was infamous for sleeping with underage females. Rumor was Tall Rob had several “outside” babies with teenage girls scattered all across the East Side. His ungodly morals where woman were concerned reminded Nolan a great deal of his father… another reason he knew it was time for him to move on and elevate his lifestyle.
Nolan had been looking toward the future. He had been kicking it with a few older dudes in the hood he’d grown up admiring. They had been slanging in the streets as far back as he could recall. One of them saw Nolan at the local store and informed him he had the plug on some high-quality weed. He also knew an old woman that rented out rooms by the week no matter what your age was. So, a roof over his head would be secure as long as he could pay. If Nolan made that move, it would be bye-bye Tall Rob, hello independence. Ain’t shit gonna hold me back from securing that gangsta bag and getting the fuck outta here and this neighborhood! I’ma ’bout to come all the way up! Thinking no more about the over-the-top episode at the gas station or anything else negative, Nolan focused on his future with his hard earned stash laying spread out by his side.
Caught up in imagining what his life could be like if he played his cards right, Nolan and everyone else inside the den of sin were surprisingly interrupted. Initially, there was a loud thunderous sound from the lower level of the dwelling, followed by multiple voices shouting out, “Detroit Police! Detroit Police! Put your hands up, Detroit Police!” Countless footsteps sounded as if an entire army had converged inside the house.
Instinctively, Nolan snatched his money up off the blanket. Stuffing his hard earned cash as deep in his pockets as possible, he rushed over toward his closed door. Without effort, he could hear the officers storming down the hallway, kicking in doors. In a panic zone, the distraught teen knew they were nearing his room. Like the other youthful drug peddlers located throughout the home, Nolan too scrambled, attempting to get away. Yet, there was no way to escape. The cops had not only all of the doors covered, but also as Nolan quickly found out, the windows as well. He took a deep breath. It wouldn’t be long before he faced the inevitable.
Within a matter of seconds, the flimsy, wooden bedroom door with the Dollar Store lock on it was kicked in. As it dangled off the hinges then tore away from the frame landing on the floor, Nolan had no choice but to put his hands up or risk getting shot as the cop threatened if he’d not obey. Shoved to the floor and searched for weapons, the white officer ran his pockets as the black one stood over Nolan with a gun pointed at his head. This Uncle Tom motherfucker and this cracker taking my damn money putting that shit inside they vest! Nolan fumed as he was manhandled and handcuffed. Infuriated at what was taking place, he remained silent as they searched his room, discovering the bagged up weed Tall Rob had just given him.
Forcefully taken down the stairs, a handcuffed Nolan was shoved to his knees. Kicked in the lower spine, he was made to lie down on the living room floor with the others. The other cops turned a blind eye, behaving as if this abuse were the norm.
A female officer came in the house with a chip on her shoulder ten times worse than her male counterparts. With a notebook in hand, she took a pen out of her top pocket. One by one, the boys were asked their full names and ages. Several guys decided to play nice with the policewoman, hoping for some leniency, while others like Nolan bossed up. They chose not to say a word until provided with a lawyer. The few wanna-go-for-bad mouthy teens were roughed up on the female officer’s command and promised more of the same if they didn’t mind their manners.
There was only one person in handcuffs that wasn’t sprawled out on the floor with the others suffering abuse, verbally and physically. And that was Tall Rob. A deer-caught-in-the-headlights-expression Tall Rob to be exact. But he was suffering in another manner, and that was shame, humiliation, and the contemplation of what his legal fate would be, and, of course, what his wife and family would think. There was no more of that wanna-be-a-young-thug spirit in his system now. The usually boisterous figure was as quiet as a church mouse. The officer appearing to be in charge of the impromptu raid had the middle-age man standing near the huge wooden table in the dining room. The table showcased all of the various narcotics, including weed, crack cocaine, heroin, and multitudes of street-craved pills. There were also some doctor prescriptions that had been stolen in home robberies and sold to Tall Rob, as well as a total of six weapons… four handguns, one rifle, and a semiautomatic. All of the firearms were stolen, with the numbers scraped off. Then, of course, the cash, excluding Nolan’s $1,921, which the two thieves wearing badges had stolen from him upstairs. He wanted to expose the rogue cops but knew that would only make matters worse for him while in police custody.
As select news reporters were let inside of the premises, they received firsthand accounts of what was actually going down. A special spotlight focus was on Tall Rob and what he’d been doing. The Detroit Police Department Task Force allowed the reporters to snap a few pictures of the illegal items on the dining room table and also jot down the ages of the detained youth sprawled on the floor, which they found especially outlandish. Tall Rob lowered his head, refusing to answer questions without a lawyer’s presence. It was simple to see who the police felt was ultimately to blame for what was taking place at the address. And in the days to follow, when word got out, the general public would feel the same.
O. P. had received a call from one of his girls that some shit was going down at the spot. Bolting out his side door, no doubt, he flew around the way to see what exactly was taking place. Once on the block, it was clear what was jumping off. It was a drug raid. Not just a small-scale one, but it looked as if the entire law enforcement force had converged on the two-story home. O. P. stood, mixing in with the other wide-eyed neighbors. Rubbing his face, he was relieved he wasn’t posted up inside with a sack. Looking up at the bedroom window he and his homeboy had posted up in, he hoped Nolan wasn’t home either. Yet, he knew his road dawg’s dedication to the grind, so nine outta ten times, his best friend was indeed caught up in the sweep.
At least an hour passed before the teens were marched one by one out the front door in handcuffs. Of course, there was a growing crowd of neighbors gawking at what was taking place. When it was Nolan’s turn to be put on display, he came out the door and down the stairs with pride. Not once did he try to hide or lower his face. To him, it was what it was. He was doing what he had to in an attempt to survive in the streets. So, fuck everyone that was there to judge.
Before he reached the dark-tinted window police van to join his cohorts, Nolan looked over into the crowd of onlookers. Two, in particular, stuck out. The first was his homeboy O. P., who clenched his fist over his heart, indicating that he had his back no matter what. Nolan nodded, letting him know that he was good and would stand tall.
Then the second face that stood out made Nolan want to throw up. The handcuffed teen grew increasingly sick to his stomach, locking eyes with his father. Nolan refused to give that man the satisfaction of seeing him in any type of emotional agony over what was taking place. He appeared nonchalant as if this little “bump in the road of his life of crime” was nothing. However, it was when his father mouthed the words, “Fuck you” that Nolan came to the realization. This was no coincidence. The cops had not just randomly picked this East Kirby address out of all the other drug houses in the city to run up in. His low-down father probably followed him back to the crib the other day and had vindictively called the law. He could only shrug his shoulders in disbelief at the level of hate in that old man’s heart. Nolan’s father and his toxic existence had found yet another way to ruin his son’s life.