CHAPTER TEN
Li’l Ronnie had driven clear across town, still hell-bent on revenge. What his uncle had said to him mattered not at all. His threats, his promises, and his downplaying of what had taken place at Detroit Live were irrelevant. Ronald James Harvard was his own man and was ready to prove just that. Full of pure hatred, he was done taking losses at the hand of Ethan, as well as others. With his mind made up that the world was truly designed to just fuck him over, Li’l Ronnie was on the hunt.
Deep in thought, he followed the GPS on his cell and turned right, as instructed, then left. Only slowing down for kids darting out in the middle of the street or crackheads in search of their next rock, Li’l Ronnie quickly realized the west side of town was more out of control than the east. Hearing that he was only three short blocks away from his typed-in destination, Black Tone’s crib, the soon-to-be murderer felt his adrenaline at an all-time high. The radio was turned up, and he was blasting his favorite rap song through the custom speakers. He was motivated. He was hyped. He was focused. He was even unbothered as some random female suddenly backed out of a driveway, not paying attention. The fact that she cursed him out and gave him the middle finger meant nothing. Li’l Ronnie thought he recognized one of the guys that she was also going ham on, but he was too far off in his murder-minded zone to even care. He had something to prove, not only to himself, but to his uncle as well.
That ho-ass nigga telling me to play my position before I don’t have a position to play, like I’m some half-assed gangsta. Who in the fuck he think he is? First, he take Sable while I’m sitting down in lockup, and then he wanna strip me of all my pride as a man. Fuck him. Matter of fact, after I body Black Tone, he next!
Li’l Ronnie slowly drove down Black Tone’s nearly deserted block. After looking over to the left side of the street, followed by the right, he saw the black metal numbers posted on the side of the door. After lifting his gun off the passenger seat, he grabbed the paper with the address written on it. So as not to draw any unwanted attention to himself, he turned the music down. He saw no signs of the truck he’d found out Black Tone drove, but that didn’t discourage him. He’d lie in wait for him, if need be.
Total excitement could be seen on his face as he drove around the corner and parked his truck. Popping a few pills and taking a swig from a pint of Hennessy he kept in the glove compartment, he was ready to face the unknown. Somewhat hesitant about leaving his vehicle, with its expensive rims and sound system, parked in a neighborhood he didn’t know, Li’l Ronnie eagerly decided to take his chances in the notorious high-crime zip code.
Cautiously, gun tucked in the rear of his jeans, he climbed out of his vehicle and crept through the alley. Despite his sore leg, he then perched down in between two side-by-side abandoned houses. Ten minutes, then twenty went by as he eagle eyed the front of Black Tone’s house, searching for any signs of movement.
Smelling the awful stench of dead rodents and maggot-filled bags of old, discarded garbage, Li’l Ronnie felt his patience grow short. In reality, he knew he couldn’t wait forever, so he decided to just make things happen. He knew that the situation in Detroit would prevent anyone from calling the police about a man with a gun, let alone the police responding to the call. He’d seen more than his fair share of pistols holstered on hips and in hand since the clock struck noon. The city was on high alert, and everyone who owned a weapon, legal or not, was brandishing it on this day. Li’l Ronnie was no different.
Stepping out from the makeshift hiding place, he saw that the block was quiet, with the exception of a small group of guys standing in the same driveway the rude female had roared out of. Wasting no time, he darted across the street. Tucking the gun back in the rear of his pants, he felt the barrel rub against his spine as he raised his arm overhead. He approached the house and gripped a concrete window ledge, then lifted himself up. Attempting to look inside, Li’l Ronnie could see absolutely nothing but old furniture through the sheer white curtains.
Out of options, he went around to the front and walked up onto the porch. Brazenly, he rang the bell twice and received no answer. His next move was simple. He’d kick in the side door and wait for Black Tone to return, no matter how long it took. Bottom line, he wanted payback and wasn’t willing to wait another day to get it.
It didn’t take much for Li’l Ronnie to force himself through the side door. Of course, it was locked and had a chain securing it, but the frame was old. Like most of the houses in that area that were still lived in, its wood was weak and on its last leg. Although Black Tone had bars on most of the windows and on the front door, his granny had advised him back in the day that she never wanted a security gate on the side door, just in case there was a fire and they needed to escape. Black Tone had never had a problem honoring her wishes, because the only fools in the neighborhood known for breaking and entering already knew better.
So this is where this pussy nigga be laying his head at, huh? Li’l Ronnie had his gun drawn. No one had come to the door when he rang the bell, and he hadn’t heard anyone at the windows. But that didn’t mean no one was at home. For all he knew, Black Tone or someone else that lived there could be watching him from across the street and was waiting to make a move. They could have been chilling, waiting for him to come inside so they could kill him legally. Li’l Ronnie wasn’t sure, so he was being extra safe as he made his way up from the basement stairs into the kitchen. Nervous, he took his time as the floorboards made noise. Each step seemed to intensify the noise.
The front living room and dining room were clear, to Li’l Ronnie’s relief. As he stood at the edge of the long hallway, he stared down at four doorways. He’d been in enough homes with old-school layouts throughout the years to know they were bedrooms and the bathroom.
Gun still held high in a defensive stance, the now semi-spooked soldier made his way down the hall. The pill and liquid courage he’d had was suddenly gone. Clearing the first doorway, to what appeared to be a bedroom that had been turned into a sewing room, Li’l Ronnie was good. He found no one waiting to crack his head. The second door belonged to the bathroom. After sticking his head inside, he made sure the coast was clear, even moving the shower curtain back with the barrel of his pistol. Easing his body back into the hallway, he continued the task at hand. At the third doorway, he stuck his gun into a bedroom, which had to belong to Black Tone. Letting his guard down, he went all the way inside Black Tone’s personal space. Unlike the rest of the house, which seemed like it was caught up in some strange back-in-the-day time capsule, this one room was unbelievable. The transformation was like night and day, like black and white.
Look at this rat-ass nigga living good in the hood! Expensive laptop, huge mounted flat-screen, king-size bed, a dresser full of cologne and framed pictures of his ho ass with all these rappers, even the damn mayor of Detroit.
Li’l Ronnie had been running behind his uncle for years. He was accustomed to both him and Ethan stuntin’ on people when it came to flashy cars, expensive jewelry, and just flaunting dope money all together. No doubt, Li’l Ronnie often took his showboating a little bit further than what was called for. He knew deep down inside that this wild character flaw was the real reason he was in the predicament he was in at the present: having to break into someone’s home and kill them.
Li’l Ronnie felt the malice in his heart grow. Here he was, standing in the middle of what he felt was the pit of evil. Everything surrounding him smelled, felt, and was Black Tone, the asshole who in one night had changed the rest of his life forever. If he didn’t make shit right and make Black Tone pay for how he had handled him yesterday, he’d never be able to face the world again, or himself, for that matter.
Li’l Ronnie’s heart raced. Not bothering to search the last bedroom with the closed door, he sat his gun down on the edge of the dresser. Using his forearm, he swiftly cleared off the contents, sending them flying every which way. In the midst of the sound of the many bottles breaking, he failed to hear a faint voice call out. Enraged, Li’l Ronnie snatched up the closed black- and red-colored laptop off the bed. After raising it high above his head, he brought it crashing down onto the floor. Seeing parts of the electronic device separate on impact, Li’l Ronnie smiled. He was finally getting some sort of satisfaction from the over-the-top ass kicking he’d taken the night before.
Totally out of control, he ran over to the far side of the room and placed both hands on the lower area of the mounted flat-screen, and, using all his strength, he yanked two good times before ripping it down off the wall. After throwing it out into the hallway, Li’l Ronnie paused, thinking he’d heard something.
Wasting no more time, he leaped back over the bed to the other side of the room. Quickly, he retrieved his gun. His arm shook as he listened attentively, and a lump grew in his throat. Li’l Ronnie couldn’t swallow and couldn’t breathe. As bad as he wanted to send Black Tone to the upper room, the thought of taking another ass whupping if he missed his initial shot was taking an immediate toll. The gun he was holding seemed to grow heavier as the moments dragged by. Small beads of perspiration started to form on his forehead. Soon sweat was leaking from the tiny wrinkles in the wannabe thug’s upper brow.
Frozen in fear, Li’l Ronnie heard a tiny cracked voice call out from behind the last bedroom door, the room he had failed to secure.
Damn. What the fuck was I thinking? I dropped the ball, he thought. Not sure of what to do next, he took a deep breath. He wanted to piss on himself but held it the best he could. Li’l Ronnie realized he’d come too far to turn back and not far enough to finish what he’d come to Black Tone’s house to do.
Darting his eyes from the closed door to the front of the hallway repeatedly, Li’l Ronnie heard the voice call out once more. Tilting his head to the side, the now petrified small-time criminal thought for sure the voice was saying “Anthony.” Wait a fucking minute. Is that an old damn lady?
Li’l Ronnie felt a small bit of relief come over him. If his ears were not deceiving him, that wasn’t Black Tone hiding behind the closed door to lure him into that room, but his elderly grandmother, the same person who had given him the address and with whom his nemesis lived. Finally finding inner courage, Li’l Ronnie wiped his forehead and took a few steps toward the shut door. Holding the gun steady in one hand, he reached down and placed the other on the glass diamond-shaped doorknob. Not knowing who or what he’d discover on the other side of the dark-stained wood barrier separating him from his fate, Li’l Ronnie braced up. Slowly, he proceeded to turn the knob to the right.