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I Can Touch the Bottom
by Ms. Michel Moore and Marlon P.S. White
CHAPTER ONE
Years up in that motherfucker; straight wasted. Caged up like some wild animal that’s used to roaming the streets. Alienated from my people like a nigga had the plague or something. I swear, I hope the garbage-mouthed rats that sold me out rot in hell. You don’t turn your back on a real one like me; we a dying breed, and that’s on everything. Yup, hell, yeah, them bastards tried to hold me up. And yeah, they slowed me down, that ain’t no lie. But fuck outta here. I’m back on the block in full swing on some O. G. shit. On top of my game where a guy supposed to be. Now if that ain’t God blessing my hustle, then I don’t know what the hell you call it. Stackz was tipsy, feeling good as he turned up the sounds in his truck. For him, everything was lovely. He’d done his time in the penitentiary, and now it was time to live like a king; stress free. Yeah, tonight was a good-ass night for me! Matter of fact, the entire day was off the chain. The streets was acting right with my money, and them dusty females at the club was acting like they never seen a dude as polished as me. Shit can’t get no better. Now all I need to do is get my stomach off craps, and I’ma be all the way a hundred.
Stunt profiling in the butter-soft leather seats of his truck, all was well with Stackz as he reminisced. Blasting the rhythmic sounds of jazz, the music flowed out of the custom-installed speakers. Each beat of the multiple instruments seemed to be felt deep in his muscular built bones. Content with life, his fingertips tapped on the side of the steering wheel. Off into his own world, the semiwasted young-style gangster with an old-school mentality wanted and needed something hot to put on his empty stomach. After throwing back several double shots of 1738 at Club A.F.S.C., short for another fucking strip club, he was about spent.
Fighting the beginning numbness of a slight headache, he felt the rumbling movements of his ribs trying to touch his spine. Realizing he couldn’t fight the need for food to soak up some of the liquor in his system any longer, he knew he had to get right. Stackz finally turned the radio’s volume down to focus. Slowing down, he hit his blinker and busted a quick U-turn. Knowing relief from hunger was only minutes away, he pulled up to a local favorite late-night spot. They served breakfast twenty-four-seven which always came in handy when the pancake and scrambled eggs with cheese munchies kicked in. Stackz and his close-knit crew were semiregulars at the greasy spoon. They often stumbled in there to get their grub on after clubbing or getting wasted. But this time was different. Stackz wasn’t crewed up with his team of menacing cohorts. He was rolling solo.
Looking through the huge neon-lit window, he immediately took notice that the “hood” restaurant was unusually empty for that time of night; a perfect setting for the impossible to be made possible. Any and everything was subject to jump off after 2:00 a.m. in Detroit, and no one, not even the toughest gangster, was exempt from getting got if caught slipping. Being cautious, Stackz had second thoughts of even stopping at the hole-in-the-wall, yet his stomach growling once more made up his mind for him. Stackz wasn’t scared of the crime-plagued city at all. Matter of fact, he felt the city oughta be scared of him. He’d just come home after serving time in prison and was still on parole. But that wasn’t going to hinder him from being the man he was on the streets or handling business on a daily basis; legal or not. And on that note, Stackz reached over to the passenger seat, grabbing his pistol. After putting one up top, he placed it on his lap.
Fuck that ho, a motherfucker don’t wanna act a fool tonight bullshit; a nigga straight hungry as hell. Chili fries with cheese is just what a brother need to get me back right, Stackz thought as he pulled to the side of the building.
Stackz put his vehicle in park. With no worries, he jumped out of the triple-black Jeep Commander, gun in hand. Like a hawk hunting for prey, his eyes searched the general area, being mindful of his surroundings. Tipsy not drunk, the trained street soldier was on high alert and on point. Pausing momentarily, he tucked the rubber-gripped .45-caliber thumper in his waistband, adjusting it. He was a hood sniper when it came to automatics, so the fact he had his “li’l act right” with him, he was all good. Pulling his shirt down in an attempt to conceal the illegal peacemaker, Stackz reassured his still-disgruntled stomach that satisfaction was shortly on the way.
Shutting the truck door, he hit the lock button on his keychain. Checking the lot once more, he headed toward the restaurant entrance. As he made his way past the window, Stackz took notice of the people inside; three guys who appeared to be silly and harmless and two young females. Listening to their laughter from the outside, he assumed they were here on the same buzzed mission he was: needing a greasy fix.
With confidence, Stackz pushed the glass door wide open, stepping inside. It was whatever. On some Martin Luther King shit, tonight, he was fearing no man. As if on cue, all the laughter he’d overheard while walking up abruptly ceased. It was as if Jesus had jumped off the cross or Tupac’s ghost had appeared for a final farewell concert; all eyes were on him. After a few brief seconds of uncomfortable silence, the three initially-perceived-to-be-har mless dudes took on the form of pure thirstiness. Although Stackz felt he was outnumbered when it came down to it, he knew he was good with the hardware and would put in work, if need be. Maybe it was the 1738 flowing through his bloodstream making him paranoid—and maybe not. But whatever the case, Stackz immediately felt like the trio of guys possibly had some bullshit brewing and put his game face on.
Making eye contact with both of the girls, Stackz had the ability to quickly study people’s body language and act accordingly. It was a gift that his grandmother passed down to him; one he often used to his advantage. The lighter skinned one with all the weave appeared to be wild. Smacking on her gum, sucking her teeth, and talking loud, she was everything that Stackz didn’t like in a woman. He might have been locked up for some years, but he knew she was out of order. Her clothes were too tight and definitely too revealing for his taste. Whoever she was, Stackz could tell she was trying too hard. Not wanting to stare at the group of people too much longer, he quickly glanced at the other female. Immediately with ease, he read something in the caramel-complexioned female’s mannerisms that said she wasn’t down with the clown antics her group was into. Stackz made a mental note that although she was cute in the face and had potential, she was dumb as hell for hanging with dudes that appeared to be bottom-feeders.
“Hello, there, can I help you?” the girl behind the security glass asked, pen in hand as he approached the counter.
“Umm, yeah, dear, let me get some chili fries with bacon, Swiss, and American cheese, along with fresh chopped onions,” he calmly responded, still being aware of the eerie silence since he’d come inside the building.
“Will that complete your order?” she leaned closer to the bulletproof glass, getting a whiff of Stackz’s cologne that had somehow floated through to the other side.
“Yeah, sweetheart. That’s it,” Stackz replied, taking his money out of his pocket. While waiting for the total, he stared down at her name tag which read Tangy. He thought he knew her but couldn’t call it for sure. Although he and his boys were semilate-night regulars, the virtually unskilled cashiers working the graveyard shift changed like clockwork. Waiting for the female who seemed somewhat familiar to give him his total, it suddenly hit Stackz where he remembered her from. She was T. L. people; his young soldier who he’d raised from a youth. He ran with a lot of chicks, but this girl’s cat-shaped eyes were what he remembered.
Tangy had run with Stackz’s protégé a few summers back and easily knew who he was. As soon as he had walked through the door, her heart raced. Tangy hoped her hair was on point and wished she’d worn her good push-up bra. She always had a secret crush on Stackz, like most females from around the way, even if they were banging one of his boys. Stackz always dressed nice, stayed driving good, and most importantly, was rumored to have a big piece of meat between his legs he knew how to work. She wanted nothing more but for him to sit in the dining-room area and eat his food, but with the three stooges and their girls still tucked away in the corner of the restaurant acting a fool, Tangy knew that would never happen. She was disgusted, constantly giving them the side eye as she rang up Stackz’s order.
No rookie to the streets, Stackz peeped her unease and body language. He felt like something was up and knew right then and there he should get ready.
“That will be $5.37, please, Stackz,” she quietly announced, seductively licking her lips.
Like Stackz thought he knew who she was, the fact she called him by his street name confirmed he was right. Tangy did, in fact, used to run with T. L. Nevertheless, Stackz was used to females openly flirting with him so he paid her no mind, especially at this moment. Without hesitation, he pealed a twenty-dollar bill off his medium-size knot and slid it to her, insisting she kept the change. Just then, Stackz overheard the biggest of the three guys posted in the far corner try to go hard.
“Who in the fuck this pretty-ass nigga think he is! All fly guy and shit with his red Pelle on and rocking them overpriced Robin’s Jeans. He must not know where the hell he’s at. He gonna mess around and get all the shit ran, plus that truck he drove up in.”
Stackz clearly wasn’t moved by his hating punk-ass comment. He knew just where he was; in the heart of the city; the city that he got hella money in. Stackz had already killed the nigga with all the mouth and his homeboys eight different ways in his mind before he could blink twice. Got me a few to go, I see. Any sign of fuckery and they people ain’t gon’ be able to sell enough fish dinners or raise enough money in a GoFundMe account to bury they asses quick enough.
“Stackz, you heard that right?” Tangy asked on the sly.
“Yeah, baby girl,” he grinned, winking his eye. “I know where I am; just where the fuck I wanna be.” Casually, he turned, looking over his shoulder at the trio, especially the one with the big mouthpiece. “Listen up, you ho-ass nigga; this ain’t what you want. This right here ain’t what you looking for tonight; none of y’all. So fall back with them bitches and relax. Don’t tempt me to show out.”
Overly intoxicated, the three drunk wannabe thugs huddled together, obviously getting their courage up to attack. With ill intentions of going for bad, each kept looking over in Stackz’s direction, hoping their intended target was just talking that ballsy shit to convince himself he wasn’t about to get got.
Stackz had already sized the dudes up when he first stepped inside the restaurant and knew if and when the time came, he’d lay all they asses down; the two groupie skanks also, if need be. In Detroit, females were known for having “gangster moments” too. So fuck all that “I’m innocent and was just with him because” bullshit. In Stackz’s eyes, everybody could bleed blood if they jumped into the murderous street arena; hoes included. Holding his own, like the O. G. he was, Stackz stood by the counter. With his phone in one hand and the other ready to whip out his .45 and go to work, he was hyped.
“Dang, why y’all always stay on some unnecessary crap?” one female remarked loud enough so Stackz would hopefully hear. What she was really doing was dry snitching on the always drunk, belligerent clowns she was sitting with. She’d been around them long enough from time to time to know they were seriously out of their league where this guy was concerned. The way he stood and carried himself, Ava knew dude was right; trouble with him was definitely not what they wanted. “Look, Leela, I’m ready to go right fucking now. Fuck this dumb shit! Y’all tripping!”
“Naw, Ava, slow down—chill; we good. You always acting like you too good to hang out with me and my friends,” Leela smartly replied with a look of disdain.
“Yeah, and creeps like these right here is the reason why I don’t fuck with your ass on the regular.” She stood to her feet, leering over at the plotting haters with disgust.
“Creeps, huh?” Mickey had been called worse in his life so he let that little insult roll off his back like water but took offense to her trying to cause a scene. “Yo, Leela, shut your sister the fuck up,” he urged in a hushed tone as to not be heard by their soon-to-be victim. “Calm her uppity-acting ass down; all loud and shit. She gon’ spook dude before we even get a chance to run his pockets.”
“Oh hell to the naw,” Ava loudly clapped back at Mickey, not caring who heard her. “I’m out of this motherfucker for sure! I ain’t into catching no cases or bodies for the next dummy; especially your thirsty-trapping ass. Y’all do y’all!”
“Dang, sis, hold up for a few,” Leela cut her eyes. Reaching over in an attempt to grab her little sister by the arm as she tried heading toward the door, she knew things were about to get out of hand.
“Yeah, hater, listen to Mickey and your sister. We on to something big right now, so chill! You can break out when we done and not before.”
“Fuck your bum ass,” Ava instantaneously snapped on Devin, the biggest in size of his wannabe tough crew; the one with all the mouth Stackz had overheard. “You might run Leela’s simpleminded self ’cause y’all fucking around, but you ain’t running nothing this way. You can bet that much.” Still protesting her readiness to leave and the fact she wanted no part of whatever they were on, she pulled away from her older sibling’s grip.
Devin grew heated. He hated to be contradicted, and hated even more for Ava to talk down on him and his boys. She had a bad habit of behaving like her shit didn’t stank and she wasn’t born, raised, and still posted in the same part of the city as he was. He didn’t want her hanging with them anyhow tonight, but in between Leela wanting female company and Mickey always hoping he could one day get on, here Ava was; going against the grain, as usual. “Look, girl, I swear on everything I love, I’m straight bulldogging and skull tapping that ass if your people blow this lick for me with that bad luck mouth of hers.”
Leela wasn’t gonna front and act as if Devin’s wrath meant nothing. Those ass kickings she received at her man’s hands leisurely were taking a toll on her body. With that in mind, she once again pleaded with Ava to stop bugging. Leela tried reasoning with her that it was just about to be another simple strong-arm robbery that was about to take place.
So she believed.
Stackz was no fool by a long shot. He knew his own pedigree in the grimy streets he ran in. Real gangsters move in silence. So he didn’t say one word, because if it came down to it, he didn’t mind being the suspect in the interrogation room on the next season of The First 48 Hours. Unbeknownst to the three drunken thugs, Stackz had firsthand experience with cold-blooded murder and had no problem whatsoever sending them on their way.
“Here you go. You have a good night and be safe out here,” side eyeing the thirsty trio yet again, Tangy gave Stackz a brown paper bag containing his chili-cheese fries.
Sensing some sudden movements from behind, Stackz was fast and on his 360 spin. Having already grabbed his food with the left hand, he swiftly reached behind his back with the right. Whipping out his .45 upping it as he turned around, it was on. Game time. Meeting the big man Devin’s mouth with the pistol, he stopped him dead in his tracks as he brought it crashing down into his dental. The steel barrel shattered a few of Devin’s teeth and busted his lip. Stackz was now in his zone. He’d stepped over into the dark side. With a menacing look on his face that read I’m about to catch a case on that ass, his heart raced.
“Arrggh.” Blood ran out of Devin’s mouth, dripping all over his once winter-white shirt. Feeling as if he was done before he even got started, Devin held both hands up in the air like the Mike Brown protester with his eyes closed. Bracing himself for the worst that was evident to come, the other would-be robbers jumped up ready to come to his aid.
Stackz was stern in his demeanor and words, dropping his much-needed bag of fries to the ground. He wasn’t with no games, and he made sure everyone understood that much, shoving the gun’s barrel in Devin’s mouth as hot piss flowed down the wankster’s pants leg. “Yup, come on with it, and I’m gonna send this here fat nigga to the upper room first. Then I got sixteen more ‘li’l friends’ to make sure you lames catch up with this big pissy bitch before he reach Jesus’ front door. So what in the fuck it’s gonna be, fellas? We rocking out or what, ’cause my food getting cold?”
Rank and Mickey straight-away stopped. They stood perfectly still, taking in all Stackz had just said. It was as if they were frozen in time. They both considered their fate if they took another step, as well as Devin’s. Confused and concerned, they turned to each other, not knowing what move to make next. Stackz was not in the mood to play around as his stomach was still growling. Ready to put an end to this entire failed attempt of them playing at being gangsters, he helped them decide. Snatching his burner out of Devin’s bloody mouth, he pointed it at the defeated voiceless duo. Motioning his peacemaker toward the booth where the females were still posted, Rank and Mickey quickly got the idea and politely sat back down.
“Oh my God,” Leela gasped on the verge of tears, seeing her meal ticket getting his ass handed to him.
“Okay, back to you, fat boy.” Stackz turned his attention back to Devin, “Mister, I’m the winner of the ho-ass nigga of the night contest.” Not done with showing these fools that if you play with fire you will get burnt, Stackz gripped up tightly on his gun. With brutal force and an overwhelming taste for violence, he smacked Devin across the top of his head with the butt of the pistol. An echo rang throughout the walls of the restaurant. Cracking Devin’s skull, blood started to leak from an instant deep gash. He was dizzy. The room was starting to spin as smells of bacon, cheeseburgers, and chicken finger aromas filled his flaring nostrils. Stackz had proven his point just as he claimed he would. Tangling with him wasn’t what Devin or his crew of cowardly misfits wanted. “Now, okay, motherfucker, you see what it really is and what’s really good. So we done here tonight, or you wanna go a second round?”
Devin tried to stand strong but couldn’t maintain his balance. His knees buckled as his heavy frame dropped to the ceramic floor. Speechless, Mickey and Rank were in shock. They had never seen their peoples so humiliated by the next manz. It was like Devin was nothing to Stackz but a small child being punished for speaking out of turn.
With their mouths wide open in disbelief and horror, Ava and Leela held each other tight. The different-as-night-and-day sisters stayed at each other’s throats, but at this point, they were as one. What started off as a late-night run to the restaurant to grab a bite to eat and hang out had turned to them being terrified to move an inch. Motionless, afraid for their lives, the girls did what most females would do in that situation.
Cry.
Praying they would make it out of there alive, Ava searched Stackz’s eyes for any small glimmer of mercy he was willing to grant them. In between hoping she and Leela would see daylight, Ava was secretly elated Devin and them had finally met their match. They had a bad habit of thinking the world owed them something so Mickey and Rank getting ordered to go sit in the corner like some punk bitches was priceless. And as for Devin’s big-mouthed fat ass sprawled across the floor, mouth busted, drenched in his own piss, that was nothing short of Christmas, her birthday, and tax refund time all rolled into one. Ava wanted to do cartwheels across the restaurant and break out in a cheer celebrating Stackz, but the fact he was holding a gun on her and her sister thwarted that thought. As crazy as it seemed, Ava was turned on in a sexual way. She was mesmerized seeing this fine-ass mystery man in total beast mode. Her pussy ached and tingled with every word he spoke and movement he made; even when his rage was directed at her.
“Okay, you two silly, sour-faced broads, bust the fuck up; get the hell on before I change my mind,” Stackz irately ordered, giving them the opportunity to leave unharmed.
The fact they had come with the plastic thugs meant nothing. This was not one of those all for one, one for all moments. This game would be played solo, if need be. Terrified Devin’s fate could easily become theirs if they got too close to the man didn’t stop them from taking Stackz up on his offer before he did actually change his mind. Hauling ass toward the door, Leela was surprisingly first in line. Rushing by Stackz, who was towering over a bloodied mouth and head Devin, Leela’s body trembled with fear. Lying on the floor holding his open wound, Devin tried to slow down the loss of blood. While he begged for his life to be spared, Leela never once made eye contact with her so-called man. Instead, almost knocking Ava to the ground to get by, she pushed the double exit doors wide open. Fleeing into the parking lot, Leela disappeared into the darkness of the late night not looking back, with Ava trailing closely behind.
CHAPTER TWO
Tangy was all in. Stackz had just become her hero. Watching him regulate not one, but three thugs at the same time, he’d definitely be her new man crush Monday on Facebook. Just as Ava was feeling some sort of weird sexual tension seeing Stackz boss up, so was Tangy. Working the graveyard shift in the hood, Tangy had seen just about every type of crazy shit pop off and heard the unimaginable. But tonight was the icing on the cake of them all. The dude she’d been crushing on since the first time she’d seen him was full-blown flexing and making that shit seem easy. T. L.’s mentor was holding court on the wannabe thugs that’d been trash-talking and intimidating customers all night. The guy Stackz had laid out on the floor had called Tangy out her name repeatedly. He also had his girl threaten to beat her ass not more than twenty minutes prior. So in Tangy’s eyes, it was like fuck him. He needed some act right in his pathetic life.
The foreign cook felt the exact same as Tangy. He didn’t want any trouble so he kept his head down, working on peeling potatoes. To him, it was just another normal late night at work. Since he didn’t have his green card yet, he wanted no one from any of the two sides to even look at him as if he was interested. Barely speaking English, he was there to cook food and go home to his wife and four small children. He saw nothing; knew nothing; and cared about nothing.
“All I wanted was some damn chili fries. Maybe swing by a freak bitch crib to get some pussy and head and call it a night. But, naw, y’all thirsty niggas wouldn’t let that shit go down like that. That shit was too much like right. Y’all wanted to see what it was like to go toe to toe with a dude of my caliber. Y’all was looking for this heat, so now you got.”
“Whoa, hold on, bro,” Devin spoke out as the room continued to spin from the blow on the head he’d suffered.
“Naw, shut the fuck up! Ain’t no ‘hold on’ or ‘time-out.’ This shit is all the way live, and it’s gonna stay that way. And for the record, I ain’t your bro,” Stackz announced, enraged what a simple stop at the local late-night food spot had turned into.
Devin did as he was told. He knew he had no win with Stackz at the moment. Dropping his head with his hands up, as to say okay, whatever you say, he prayed he could get to his gun. He looked over at his homeboys with a look of shame on his face. He wished Mickey and Rank would’ve backed him up when he originally made his move on their intended victim. Maybe then, things would have flowed differently. The tables would definitely be turned. Stackz would be half dead on the black-and-white dirty tiled floor, begging for his life instead of him.
Realizing it was time to bring this situation to an end, Stackz had to break out. A born thinker, especially in chaotic bullshit such as this, he formulated his next move. With only one way out of the restaurant, he knew what he had to do. Staring down at Devin, he let him know that for every action, there was going to be a reaction; some reactions worse than others. With those words of hood wisdom being bestowed upon Devin, Stackz then kicked him directly in the face. Just to make sure he got his point across, he then callously stomped the side of Devin’s already traumatized head. The crispy fresh wheat Tims he’d copped earlier in the day now had bright red splatters of blood not only on the toe area, but the sides as well. Taking in account the door was at least ten or so feet away, Stackz slowly inched his way to the exit. Keeping his eyes focused on Rank, Mickey, and Devin, he wasn’t sure if the thus far cowardly trio had guns on them or not. Raised in the streets of Detroit, he cautiously treated the situation as if they did.
Just as Stackz was nearing the front door, Tangy came from behind the bulletproof glass. Stepping over Devin like the piece of nothing nigga he was, she smiled, handing Stackz another bag. “Here you go, bae, some fresh chili fries on the house.”
Stackz happily accepted the fresh hot food, almost forgetting the reason he’d stopped in the first place. “Good looking out, girl,” he winked, backing up slowly toward the doors. Watching his would-be attackers like a vicious pit bull ready to pounce in a dogfight, his finger stayed on the trigger. Finally arriving at the exit, Stackz placed his back against the door. Using his weight, he pushed it wide open. Gun in his right hand, food in his left, in a quick movement, he tucked the brown paper bag food under his arm. With that now free hand, Stackz reached down in his pocket. Pulling out his keys, he pushed unlock on the multibutton pad. In one click, the driver’s door of his Jeep Commander popped up. Safely in the parking lot, the victorious warrior momentarily stood at the side of his truck. Looking back into the Coney Island, he saw a lot of movement.
* * *
Making sure they were well out of harm’s way, Mickey and Rank ran over to their boy’s side. Lying on the floor both severely beaten and bloody, Devin moaned out in pain. Bending down, they aided him to get on his feet.
“Dawg, come on, get up! Get up! Let’s go get on his ass before he dip.” Mickey was now brave hearted in words, gripping the big man’s elbow as he stood. “I’m gon’ kill that pretty-ass nigga. Look what he did to you.”
Almost in tears, Devin desperately fought to catch his breath. Suffering from high blood pressure, the overweight ruffian was already two or three cheeseburgers away from a heart attack or stroke. Stackz’s rough house blows to his face and side of the head had him still dazed even after the fact. Being helped over to a nearby booth against the wall, Devin sat down, looking as if he was moments away from passing out. Barely having control of himself to sit upright, he told them to go handle Stackz as he slumped over on his side.
Mickey and Rank stood tall. They didn’t have a choice if they wanted to save face and have any sort of dignity left. Finally revealing their weapons from underneath their shirts, each ran outside. With guns drawn, the pair sought Stackz out to deliver a little bit of payback for his disrespectful treatment of Devin. Revenge would soon be delivered in a deadly fashion. Easily finding him at his vehicle, Rank knew they had to act fast seeing Stackz already had one foot inside his whip with the rest of his body soon to follow. Raising both pistols, the calmness of the late-night, early-morning air was interrupted as shots rapidly rang out.
Round after round was recklessly let loose. One, two, three. Eight, ten, twelve. It seemed like the hail of gunfire would never let up.
“Fuck, naw,” Stackz mumbled as bullets whizzed past him, rocking his Jeep.
Posted side by side, Mickey and Rank were going all-out commando-style. Close up enough to see the fruits of their ill intentioned labor, the menaces’ courage increased, seeing the bullets rip through the truck’s rear door and shatter the thick, tinted glass hatch.
“What up, doe, now?” Mickey shouted, directly hitting the driver’s side mirror.
Rank then chimed in, promising the ultimate revenge while doing his own equal amount of damage to the washed and triple-waxed Commander, “Whack pussy-ass nigga, yous as good as dead! Dead as a motherfucker!” Squeezing the trigger of his .45-caliber automatic, Rank held his firearm sideways like you see hooligans do in a bad, low-budget hood movie.
Stackz was heated; beyond pissed. Never mind the fact bullets were zipping around his body barely missing him. Of course, he was mad they were shooting at him; that goes without saying. But he was even more so enraged because his ride, his baby, was being abused, taking in huge gaping holes left and right. Simple Street-olgy 101; the worst thing a player in the game can do is shoot up a nigga’z ride. Especially if he had money invested in it.
Stackz wasted no time snapping into defense mode. His fury reached a hundred in no time flat. Automatically diving all the way in the truck, he ducked down, taking cover. Tossing the damn bad luck food in the brown paper bag aimlessly inside the truck, he listened to the ear-popping sounds of round after round being let off. Crouched over, Stackz reached into the driver-side door compartment where a normal person would often keep meaningless bullshit. Thank God, Stackz’s DNA dictated that he was far from normal. Retrieving an extra clip he kept fully loaded, ready, just in case for situations like this, he was ready to go to war.
Climbing over to the passenger seat, he quickly put the clip in the back pocket of his jeans. Pulling the handle out, he swung open the door. Staying low, he positioned himself behind the car door. Stackz peeked with caution from behind his makeshift barrier. He knew from firsthand experience, the longer he stayed in one position, he’d be more likely to be a sitting duck, and one, if not both, of the amateur marksmen may get lucky. As the bullets continued to rock his truck from side to side, gaping holes started to appear in the door he was behind.
These young boys want it . . . Well, they ’bout to feel me. 1, 2, 3, he counted to himself, then brazenly made a mad dash toward the rear of the vehicle, gun blazing. Once making it there, he started to return fire more deliberately aimed at Mickey and Rank. With the first volley of shots, he aimed high at their faces. Stackz’s motto was if you kill the head, the body will surely follow. In a matter of a few brief seconds, Stackz introduced them to what it was like to do battle with a real-life gangster.
Mickey’s courageously tough-guy stand was abruptly cut short. His upper body jerked back. Instantaneously, his shoulder cap exploded on impact from the .45-caliber slug Stackz sent his way. “I’m hit! I’m hit! I’m fucking shot,” he agonized before being struck once more. This time, the force of the bullet spun him completely around. As he dropped to his knees and fell to the pavement, Mickey held his shoulder. Bleeding profusely from the two wounds, he crawled behind a huge green metal trash Dumpster located in the rear of the restaurant. Almost in shock, Mickey started to pray, begging God to spare his life.
Having no focus or discipline, Rank was blindly shooting at Stackz, hoping to hit his mark. The more rounds he let loose, the more he realized it was as if Stackz were superhuman. None of his bullets struck the polished player, even though he’d emptied his clip. Taking cover behind a car also parked in the lot, Rank was terrified, feeling some wetness in his head. Reaching his hand up, he brought it down to his face. Rank wanted to pass out. It was blood. Like his cohort Mickey, he’d been hit as well. Hearing footsteps, he braced himself, knowing death was near. Fortunately, he heard his boy Devin’s voice yell out.
“Yo, nigga, you think you just gonna do me like that up in that motherfucker, and shit gonna be all sweet? Naw, dawg, shit ain’t going down like that. You gonna pay, homeboy.” Gun in hand, Devin stumbled out of the restaurant door in search of Stackz. As blood from his open head wound dripped down onto his face, he went on with his impromptu rant, vowing retribution. “Yo, Mickey, Rank; where y’all asses at? Posse up, niggas! Let’s bury this bright-skin faggot!”
Turning his head for a split second to the right, Devin caught a quick glimpse of a terrified Mickey lying slumped over behind the Dumpster. Unfortunately, for bad-boy-to-the-end Devin, it was the last thing he’d ever see. One of Stackz’s bullets ripped through Devin’s neck. The next slug tore through his left ear, exiting the right side of his face. Devin’s brains showered the already filthy glass of the window’s restaurant. His body collapsed onto the pavement. His pistol fell out of his once-closed hand and slid across the asphalt.
An eerie silence filled the air. Stackz had counted the rounds each shooter probably had and realized unless they had an extra clip like him, they were out of ammo; hit; tapped out. Stackz hoped they had seen what just took place with their appeared-to-be leader and scattered out of Dodge. On parole, the eager-to-stay-free Stackz had no intentions whatsoever to wait and find out if his calculations were correct. He wasn’t a fool. He knew it wouldn’t be long before the Detroit police either crept up on the fresh murder scene or were dispatched there. Either/or, it was time for him to do what he was trying to do before aggressively interrupted by Devin, Mickey, and Rank; go home. If the two survivors turned out to be rats and told the cops what they knew or bossed up to be loyal to the game and wanted street justice remained to be seen in the days to follow. Stackz would have to deal with either play they made next.
He took in mind everything that had just popped off in slow motion. He didn’t panic before, during, or now. This wasn’t his first shoot-out with wannabe assholes who mistakenly believed they were about that life and the way he lived, Stackz surely knew it wasn’t his last. Running through in his head the list of things he had to do next, he took a deep breath. #1 Get away from the scene as soon as possible. #2 Get rid of the murder tool after making sure his prints were clean. #3 Call T. L. or Gee for damage control, and lastly, but most importantly, #4 find out who these three clowns are and who their people are. If their folk were in the game, or even dreamed about being in the game, they might have the notion of getting revenge. And if they did feel ballsy, then the body count would have to go up; no questions asked.
Searching the now-seemingly deserted parking lot with his eyes, Stackz wanted nothing more than to go over and spit in Devin’s face but had watched enough episodes of CSI while locked up to know his DNA on the deceased would be like signing his own arrest warrant. Climbing up in his bullet-riddled truck, he prayed it would start. Once again, blessed by the hustle gods, it did. Gun still in one hand, he threw the metal warrior in reverse. Backing out of the lot like a normal person that’d just picked up their carryout, Stackz played his departure cool, seeing how his rear window was shot out.
Driving maybe a good few miles or so, he stumbled up on an abandoned gas station. Full of trash and other debris scattered about here and there, he pulled around to the back. Checking his surroundings for the possibility of late-night crackheads in search of their next blow or greed-driven scrappers who might be lurking, Stackz turned off his headlights. Without fear, he then got out of the truck with his favorite throwaway in tow. Once more, he looked around to see if anyone was out and about. Seeing it was all clear, Stackz wiped the gun clean with not only a dirty rag but some Windex and tire cleaner as well.
As quietly as possible, he lifted the lid of the rusty industrial-size Dumpster. The big blue commercial monster was full beyond capacity with probably just about every discarded unwanted item from nearby residents and other businesses that didn’t want to bother with proper disposal. Trying his best to not inhale the awful stench that leaped into his nostrils, Stackz spit twice. The way it smelled, a dead body might already be in it, so any other random person would definitely think twice about Dumpster diving and lucking up on discovering his gun. Stackz said his final good-byes to the pistol he’d been carrying since his release from prison and tossed it inside its new home. Using a stick, he then covered it up the best he could with the other rubbish. Casually, Stackz walked back to his whip as if he’d not just minutes earlier committed a murder and disposed of the weapon used to commit that felony. Starting the engine, he drove off.
* * *
Stackz did what was next on his list of things to do if he hoped to get away with murder: get ready to call T. L., his always-on-point cleanup man. Extremely loyal and trustworthy, Stackz knew he could count on his young dog. He was a soldier in the true sense of the word. Stackz been feeding and grooming T. L. since he was nine years old and his mama was out there getting high, addicted to crack, heroin, and popping pills. T. L. saw a lot growing up and had been through shit no kid should have to. Stackz and his little brother had stepped up and practically raised T. L. Stackz and Gee used to trap out of his mama’s crib. When they saw the conditions he was subjected to, the two of them took him into their own home, treating him like a son, making sure he went to the best school, buying him everything a normal kid should have, and should have kept him doing right, but the streets were embedded in T. L.’s DNA. Having everything still couldn’t quench the thirst for the street life out of him. So they kept “their son” close to them every day, teaching him so he’d learn how to think like a gangster and move like a boss.
They could count on him to get whatever task at hand done; quickly and efficiently. Still haunted by his mother throwing him away like garbage, T. L. was resentful at times and a known hothead when need be. However, he looked upon Stackz and Gee like the father figures he never had; he was their family. And he was willing to do anything to protect his kin; blood or not.
Now, T. L. was loved by many and feared by the shady-ass seedy side of Detroit just like Stackz wanted and needed a true hood warrior to be. T. L. could put in work and clean up the dirt he or Gee couldn’t touch.
With one hand on the steering wheel, the other hand held his cell. Pushing the button on the side, he used the voice command to call T. L. In a matter of seconds, it connected the lines. The phone began to ring as Stackz caught a night air chill from the draft of not having a rear window. Looking over at his radio, Stackz saw the clock on the face read a little bit after three forty-five. Yet, it didn’t matter how early or late it was. T. L. was on call twenty-four-seven always ready for action; good to go. For him, if it meant going to full-blown war at daybreak, he’d be as wide awake as if it was four in the evening.
On the second ring, T. L. answered. “Big bro, what up doe with you?”
“Yo, fam, what it do? I need you on deck ASAP on some real type of no-way-back-from-the-darkness business.” Stackz seethed, still angry the three clowns had forced his hand into murder, even though it was self-defense.
T. L. was at his crib laid up with one of his many FFs, short for fuck friends. He grabbed the remote control to the flat-screen television and pressed mute. Having heard Stackz say “no way back from the darkness,” T. L. sat straight up. He knew that was code name for someone had just got sent on their way. Intensely listening to his mentor run the evening down almost blow by blow, the eager-to-please goon got heated. Remembering he wasn’t alone, he got out of bed with ole girl, not really knowing who she knew or could’ve been related to. She could be playing like she was asleep while ear hustling on the sly.
T. L. understood Detroit was the smallest big city ever, and if a nigga was trying to hide his black ass after doing dirt, unless you were as careful as him, Stackz, and Gee, that feat would be damn near impossible. Gathering his clothes, he got dressed while still listening to Stackz’s game plan. “Yeah go ahead, bro. I’m on you. I’m throwing my shit on now and half out the door on my way.” T. L. left the sleeping female in his bed, knowing she knew better than to touch a damn thing in his crib and risk getting her head knocked clear off her body.
“Okay, dig this here. I need you to shoot over to the spot where we always grab the food from.”
“The spot with the food?” T. L. questioned, wanting to get the facts right.
“Yeah, the spot over from around the way,” Stackz reaffirmed as he slowed down at a red light. “You know, where we hit up at when we come from the club. I had to turn up on these fucking clowns. I guess they was bugging and was sleep on a nigga thinking I was some sort of come up.”
“Word?” T. L. quizzed, grabbing his car keys off the table.
“Yeah, your homegirl a cashier now up in that motherfucker. Taking orders and shit.”
“Who you talking about?”
“You know, what’s her name? The honey with them funny cat eyes. The one you used to run with from the East Side. I saw her name tag, but that shit done slipped my mind.”
From the description Stackz was giving, T. L. easily now knew who he meant. “Oh yeah, Tangy.”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s her,” Stackz replied, nodding his head. “She saw the whole play go down; her and the damn cook.”
“Word?”
“Yeah, my dude. So you already know I need that surveillances footage. I can’t risk making the news on some murder shit. You know I get banged on any more felonies, my ass is straight cooked.”
“Naw, naw, say no more, bro-bro. I got this! I’m on it right now! I’m on my way out the door and en route as we speak.” T. L. jumped in his car as his adrenalin pumped. “The way the police move in Detroit, I can beat them there and swoop up that tape.”
Stackz knew he could count on his young dawg to handle things. “Good looking out.”
“Come on now, fam, it ain’t no thang. You know how we do. So I’ll hit you back when I’m good with it.”
“The way she was playing it with me, I think she up for helping us out. She seem street as hell.”
T. L. laughed, knowing Stackz had hit the nail on the head. Tangy was street as hell; a little too street for him. That’s why he stopped messing with her. She wanted to mean mug and skull drag every other female he knew. “She definitely about her coins, so I got a couple racks on me to ensure I don’t hear ‘I can’t,’ ‘no,’ or ‘I’m scared’ shit fly outta her mouth. You feel me? Money talks and potential cases get bought.”
Stackz had one reply equally as clever and true as T. L.’s statement. “You already know real ones buy what they want, what they need, and what they please. Right about now, I needs that surveillance footage.”
CHAPTER THREE
Ava couldn’t believe what had just taken place. She was pissed, not only at her sister for dragging her out of the house tonight to hang with Devin and his whack-minded cohorts, but herself for being so stupid to agree to come. She knew Leela’s MO when it came to being in the middle of drama. It was like she craved that bullshit and found a way to find it, even if it wasn’t looking for her. Now just like that, here they were on foot, in sandals, no less, running down a no-streetlight-deserted block, trying to make it to their mother’s house.
“What the fuck be wrong with you?” Ava barked, glancing back over her shoulder while keeping it moving.
“Huh?”
“I said what in the fuck is wrong with you? Why you always down with this dumb shit? I can’t believe you sometimes.”
“What? Huh?” Leela once more replied, trying to keep up with her obviously angry sibling.
Ava wasn’t having her older sister play the dumb role; not now; not tonight. “Listen, don’t huh me, bitch! You know good and damn well what the fuck I’m talking about. You seen how that oversized sloppy animal you be running around with tried to attack that dude. Him, Mickey, and Rank always tripping.”
“Okay and . . .”
Ava was infuriated with her big sister as well as almost out of breath but still kept it a hundred. “Okay, and he was minding his own business trying to place his order and bam! I guess that was too much like right to Devin and them, huh? Both of y’all dumb asses deserve each other. I swear to God I’m done with you!”
“Whoa, why you care so much about some random-ass buster? You must’ve been feeling ole boy or something, even though he called himself going on us.” Leela dialed Devin’s number but got no response.
“Leela, please stop being so damn stupid all the time. I ain’t feeling nothing except for doing the right thing before karma comes around calling. You think that shit a joke, but it ain’t. Karma will mess the fuck around and skip over your dumb ass and latch ahold of your kids.”
“Yeah, whatever; man, fuck karma,” Leela arrogantly giggled while running by a yard full of thick overgrown bushes, cell still in hand. “Karma don’t want shit messing around with me or my badass, good-begging kids!”
Ava was outdone that her sister, a mother herself, had such little regard for doing the right thing when need be. She hoped her nieces and nephew would not turn out like the rest of the bloodline in their shady family tree: ruthless, rotten, and worthless. “Look, girl. Like I said, I’m over you and your no-good friends. The next time you wanna ask me to hang with Devin, Mickey, and Rank, don’t—because the answer is going to be naw. Matter of fact, hell naw!”
Leela wanted to stop dead in her tracks and curse her little sister out for going so hard, but the darkness of the night changed her mind. She wisely decided to just keep it moving and deal with Ava and her opinions when they reached their destination. Hopefully, their mother would not be drunk and passed out and they could get in. Two blocks later and creeping through the vacant lot, the sisters were soon in the backyard of their childhood home. Seeing the blue light from the television peek through the tattered shades of the back bedroom, Ava exhaled as Leela reached up, tapping on the window. After what seemed like a lifetime, they finally heard a voice mumbling. Seconds later, they were met with their mother’s bloodshot eyes peering at theirs.
“Why you two ungrateful bitches over here bothering me, waking me up? Y’all got y’all own damn house,” she slurred as the flimsy door flung open. “Well, at least, Ava wannabe uppity ass do!”
“We know, Mom, but it was an emergency,” Leela blurted out as she brushed past her mother’s shoulder, barging inside. “Where my kids at? What they been doing?”
“Emergency, my ass! Ava, why you ain’t just used the damn spare key I gave your butt!” Standing in the doorway, Leela’s mother was almost snatched out of her drunken state of mind hearing her oldest child act so dense. “And as for you! Listen, you silly tramp. You know good and damn well them babies is sleep this time of morning, just like you and old wannabe white over there should be. But, naw, y’all disrespectful asses all up over here in my shit knocking on back windows and asking dumb shit.”
Once both girls were inside the dimly lit dwelling, their mother finally stopped running off at the mouth and stumbled back to her bed to continue to sleep off the half pint of cheap wine she’d gulped down before passing out. As if on cue, the sibling arguing resumed.
Ava wasn’t against her sister; she just had officially grown tired of backing up all her stupid plays. She was done with agreeing with the chaos she brought, not only into her own life but into the lives of everyone she’d come in contact with; not excluding her own children. Leela had a bad habit of not wanting to pay her rent wherever she lived, ultimately resulting in her and her babies getting put out, leaving Ava and their barely functioning alcoholic mother to step in and pick up the slack. This time was no different than the others; the kids were staying with their grandmother, while Ava was allowing Leela to temporarily stay in the converted dwelling home she’d bought in a county auction late last summer. But the unfit mother that lived to keep up bullshit and bring unwanted drama to her sister’s home had just about worn out her welcome.
“Leela, please just tell me why you insist on hanging with those dirtballs? They always off into some devious shit; especially Devin. If he wouldn’t been trying to start shit with that man . . .”
Examining the broken strap on her sandals, Leela casually glanced up, shaking her head like her sister was speaking in some sort of foreign language. “I’m sorry, but are you still talking to me? I already done told you forget that nigga you so worried about! Was you not just there in that motherfucker when he was pointing a gun at our black asses, calling us sour! You see how he had Devin; talking to him like he was crazy!”
Ava shook her head. Leela was everything she was not. Even though their mother claimed they had the same father, Ava wasn’t so sure if that was the truth. Leela had to be the spawn of Satan. No matter what the younger sister said or tried, Leela was not in the business of listening. Instead, she continued to boast and brag about Devin and the many times he’d blessed her with money from his small-time hustles and capers. The fact that Devin and his boys oftentimes fucked over innocent people to get that “come up” Leela seemed to think was as great as, if not better than, winning the Powerball, meant nothing.
“Have you lost your damn mind? You sitting over here talking about Devin like he some sort of person that needs an award or something. That boy ain’t nothing but a small-time, nickel-and-dime hustling thug. Him and Mickey and Rank out here always trying to go for bad.”
“And . . .”
“And that’s why that dude got him and them at gunpoint. Shit, matter of fact, they probably halfway to jail by now, so . . .”
Leela paused protesting Ava’s statement as she whipped back out her cell to once again call. “Girl, you sound like a fool. Devin is that real deal. Trust me, I done seen him turn the tables and walk the fuck away from shit way worse than that. He gonna bless me big time off the pockets of that pretty boy nigga you seemed so worried about.”
Yeah, we’ll see. Ava sat back gathering her thoughts while watching her naïve sister live in a fantasy.