Little Ro paced the floor persistently in hopes of coming up with an immediate solution to ensure Arnita wouldn't be on his back about her money. His plan to go up to the school and push some pills failed miserably. The high school was on lock. There were a couple suited up security guards that had everybody noid, including Little Ro. The last thing he wanted to do was end up in jail again and owe his moms even more money.
As soon as he returned home, Little Ro was craving another drink to fight the demons that filled his head, so he retrieved a bottle of Absolut his mother kept on the top shelf of the kitchen cabinet. Twisting the top off, taking it to the head for a quick swig, he was stopped by a series of hard knocks at his front door.
Bam, bam, bam, bam. The loud barrage of bangs increased. Bam, bam, bam.
"Yeah, who is it?" Little Ro grabbed a pistol he kept tucked underneath the cushion of the sofa. He took a deep breath, gripping up on a gun that he'd traded a few pills for to a white boy from the suburbs "Yeah! Who that?"
"It's me, Dude." Deon pounded his fist against the door once more, causing the frame to shake. "Open up!"
Laying the gun, that made him feel tough, on the mantle above the fireplace, Little Ro turned the knob, letting his homeboy into the house. "What up, doe?" he slurred slightly, nodding his head upward.
"Dude, did you give my Ole Girl some money before you bugged out, getting yourself arrested?"
"Naw, why you say that?"
"Because she got enough bread from somewhere to get as high as three kites, and she keeps mumbling something about you and her and some secret."
"Ah, Dawg, maybe before when she copped me a bottle and I let her keep the change." Little Ro said it as though it wasn't a big deal.
"Why you do that?" Deon, out of nowhere, lunged at Little Ro, collaring him up. "That was foul!"
"Get off me. Is you crazy or what?" Little Ro shoved him back then straightened out his shirt.
"I'm sorry, guy, but I've been trying to wean her off that stuff and convince her to get some help. So when she said secret, I knew she must've hit you up for some loot."
Little Ro leaned over, picking the bottle off the floor then taking another sip. "You want some?" He extended the Absolut to Deon as sort of a peace offering.
"Naw, I gotta get back to the crib and make some phone calls about this house I'm trying to get. Besides, you need to put that mess down. You already jacked up enough!"
"Yeah, but I just been through hell on earth!" Little Ro smiled, realizing a solution to his money woes. "But you can help ya boy out until next week."
"What is it?"
"I'm gonna need to borrow some cash real quick to repay my Moms for that bond she had to post."
Deon, who'd been on a mission of stacking dough since the day he and Little Ro linked up, didn't waste any amount of time stopping that notion from growing. "Look, I wanna work with you, but I ain't gonna be able to do it. Now I gotta bounce and make them calls. I'm out!"
"Whoa, it's like that?" Little Ro took a huge gulp, giving him more courage than usual as he tossed the still open bottle across the room, spilling it on the new plush carpet. "Dawg, if it wasn't for me, you'd probably be still up there on the corner with that tramp mother of yours, broke!"
Deon knew after what he'd told his friend about his Pop's death, he was in a bad way. That's probably why he had all of a sudden found a new friend in the form of alcohol. So he tried to overlook his rants.
"Look, Ro," Deon explained, "I'm saving all my money so I can buy a crib out in the suburbs and get my mother out this neighborhood, along with all the horrible memories that haunt her and me everyday. It's been hard for both of us over the years living around here, and now. . ." Deon continued to try to explain why he couldn't afford to loan Little Ro any money, especially the way Little Ro let money slip through his fingers like water. "I almost have enough money saved."
"It's been hard for y'all?" Little Ro stepped back. "If it wasn't for your mother being so hot in the pants seducing my dad back in the day, he'd still be alive and things wouldn't have been so hard on me. I've been the man around here since the night my ole girl came home from the hospital with my father's belongings covered in blood. And P.S., no matter where you take your momma, she always gonna be nothing more than a slime ball crack head."
"You know what? I'm gonna pray for you." Deon flipped the script. "Going to church helped me not be so angry and it can help you too. It can help you change."
"Look; been there done that. The only thing that's gonna help me is that money I need to give back to my mother, not God. So run that!" Little Ro yanked forcefully on Deon's arm then swung on him, hitting his friend dead in his jaw.
Having no choice but to defend himself, Deon fired back, delivering a strong blow to Little Ro's midsection. The harsh blow caused him to get weak in the knees. Deon then followed it up by a fist in his left eye. As chaos and pandemonium broke out inside the house, neighbors heard the noise spill out into the street and called the police.
Consumed with not disappointing his mother, whom he'd die for, Little Ro gathered his composure. He charged at his friend once more, not wanting to take no for an answer. Enduring three additional swift socks in his face and landing on the floor near the fireplace, Arnita's worn out, beat down son saw no other alternative as he reached up and grabbed his pistol, putting one up top.
"I said run that money," Little Ro repeated. "My momma needs it."
"Dawg, your mother ain't no better than mine despite what you think or say. And my moms needs the money too." Deon took his chances bum rushing Little Ro, which resulted in both crashing on the oak framed coffee table then rolling around in the sharp pieces of the shattered glass top.
Bang, Bang.
The loud ear deafening sounds of the nine millimeter being fired twice echoed throughout the house as Deon and Little Ro both lay motionless on the floor; one in shock of shooting his friend and one in shock of being shot. As the police sirens roared in the distance, getting closer, neither moved a muscle. Three minutes later the house was swarming with officers, including the same cops who'd arrested Little Ro earlier. Paramedics brought him out on a gurney barely clinging to life.
Mr. Martin, watching from his porch across the street, prayed quietly for Little Ro's recovery. As Deon, distraught and in a zombie like trance, was being handcuffed and led toward the squad car, Mr. Martin faithfully promised the young man that the church would stand behind him and pray for him too. Deon had recently become a member of the same church as Mr. Martin. Surely he'd be able to get off pleading self defense. After all, that was the truth, and all good Christians are led to believe that the truth shall set you free!
With Bible in hand, Mr. Martin went inside his house, and placed a call to Arnita, informing her there had been an altercation at her home and that Little Ro had been taken to the hospital.