I was cold. It was the middle of June and yet I was shivering. I was past the point of no return and the thought of that I think, gave me the chills. Suddenly I was hot. Burning up so hot, that I felt at any moment I might burst into flames! I gotta get out! I screamed in my head. I’m hot! I gotta get outside! I was preparing to dash outta the hall closet we were stooped in, in search of the comfort of the cool night air, just as the sound of a deadbolt turning, stopped me in my tracks. There was a very small crack for us to see through. The man we saw, dropped the bags he was carrying in the den area, and proceeded into the kitchen while humming a song. We couldn’t see him from where we were now, but the humming gave us an idea of his location. The bathroom was adjacent to the closet we sat crouched in. Walking outta the kitchen, the man hurriedly rushed into it. Thank god, our info was on point. “That son of a bitch is a clean freak. At least at his own house he is. The first thing he does when he gets in, is washes his hands and brush his teeth. I put up with his sorry ass, because he was there after my husband died. He helped me with the bills and bought me nice things, but as god as my witness, I’ll eat out of the motherfuckin trash can before I let him get away with what he did to my baby! She’s all I got left in this world, and her life to me, is worth more than mine.” Ms. Samantha told me when I’d asked her about Fletches habits. For six hours, we’d been balled up waiting in his closet. Shell fell asleep twice. Me, I couldn’t sleep. I tapped Shell and he tapped me back, signaling that he was ready. Bracing myself, I eased back over and grabbed the doorknob; but as soon as my fingers touched the handle, the door swung open and there stood Fletch! Staring down at us like the devil himself!
“You lil bitch ass niggas!” Fletch growled down at us. “What the fuck you motherfu…” WHAM!!! His profane words were cut short by the butt of the 32. revolver as I smashed it into his teeth! I was still clinging angrily to vivid memories of how he nearly choked me to death, then smashed in my nose just a few days earlier. Quick as a cheetah Shell was behind me brandishing the huge hunting knife he’d stolen from Dick’s Sporting Goods earlier that day. “You motherfuckers!” Fletch spit blood. “I’m gonna ki…!” Fletch hissed up from the floor, before being cut short again as I pounced on him like a mad man! Slamming the gun into his head and face time and time again until Shell pulled me off him!
“Chill out Banks! You gonna kill the motherfucker!” Shell yelled at me as I stared down at Fletch, with his beaten, battered, and bloody face. It wasn’t until years later that I sat and watched the “GoodFellas” scene, where Ray Liotta beat the shit outta that cornball for fuckin with his girl. I remember thinking damn, that looks like me. Ironic. It was a perfect reenactment. Laying on the floor now, with his face one big bloody lump; Fletch didn’t look so big and cocky anymore. Shell reached down and pulled a gun from his pants. It was chrome. And big! I knew this nigga Fletch had some money. In fact, here he was, a no class lame ass clown, staying in Hope Valley. Hope Valley was the kind of area where your next-door neighbor might own a McDonald’s. People in that area had that type bread. Not all, but most. His house sat back off the road, with a considerable amount of land on both sides. The nearest house was at least a football field away. He liked his privacy. During the fifteen minutes that it took Fletch to regain consciousness, we’d duck taped his feet, mouth, and hands. His sudden wiggling and moaning, alerted me that he was awake. Over the last three days, Shell and I had been over this plan at least a hundred times. So as soon as I gave him the nod, Shell leaned in, cutting a small slit in the tape over Fletches mouth. He could speak now, but barely. We’d taped his mouth with it open. Never having done anything that was even close to this before, naturally we were both nervous! Thankfully my hatred for this nigga helped overcome my fear, and now all I wanted to do was hurt this motherfucker who’d terrorized my girl for years! No sooner than Shell had cut the slit in the tape, did this nigga start flippin!
“You lil faggot niggas gone die!” He groaned. I could tell by his slurred speech that he was hurt bad, as I kneeled down and pressed the barrel of my gun to his head.
“I know you got money here Fletch. That’s all we want.” I had to have the money so I could move Tika away from this nigga. Word on the street was that he was some kind of self-proclaimed millionaire. All I needed was a lil bit of that, then I could change things. I was already past the point of no return. I’d laid and broken into the home of a notoriously deadly drug dealer, waited on him, beat the living shit out of him, and was now knelt down beside him, looking at him bashed, bruised, and bloody, duct taped up on his own fuckin living room floor! I gots to leave here wit some paper!
“Fuck you!” Fletch growled. “I aint giving you shit! Dead men can’t spend no money no way! You know that’s what yall is don’t you! Two dead lil niggas!” Fletch hawked up from his throat before using all the strength he could master to spit clotted blood and mucus into my face! With unchained fury, I snatched the hunting knife from Shell’s hand, and slammed it down to the handle into his right ass cheek! I felt a hard clink, encountering resistance as the tip of the knife hit bone! And I pushed harder! The screams that came from within him through his partially taped mouth, only served to increase my hunger to hurt him. He was either in a lot of pain, or he was trying to wake the dead! Unfortunately for him, he liked his privacy a little too much. No one was listening. No one was coming. Slowly I eased a little pressure off the knife, and suddenly his screams turned to breathless words. “Ahhhh! Ahhh! It’s in….! It’s…! Oh god, get a doctor!” I pushed down even harder! “Ahhhhh! It’s in the freezer!” Snatching the blade out with a low sucking sound, I was surprised at how little the knife wound bled.
“Shell, go look and see if it’s a freezer in the kitchen.” Quickly Shell abandoned the window he was peeking out of and stumbled across the living room into the kitchen! Fletch continued to moan and say things I couldn’t comprehend. I figured he might be a little dizzy.
“Yeah it’s a freezer in here but it’s got a lock on it!” Shell yelled from the kitchen. Up until this point I’d never heard of people keeping money in the freezer. So, for a second I wondered, if Fletch was trying to buy himself some more time. I snatched the bloody blade up off the floor, and this time the mere sight of it caused Fletches speech to become coherent!
“In my pocket! Keys in my back pocket!” Fletch screamed with terror in his eyes. Digging into the bloody back pocket of his silk slacks, I retrieved a set of keys. Fletch screamed out in pain when my hand brushed across his knife wound.
“Which one is it?” I flashed the blade again.
“The one, the one with the “F” on it.” He huffed out.
Leaving him laying right where he was, I dashed into the kitchen, straight to the freezer. At first I couldn’t find the key, and then, there it was. An “F,” stamped into the key so small that you wouldn’t know it was there unless you were looking for it. Sliding the key in the hole, I turned it with a soft click, then opened the deep freezer with a loud creak. I looked over my shoulder to make sure Fletch was still in place. He still lay moaning and babbling. The freezer was full of meats, fruits and vegetables but no money. Instantly enraged, I was just about to go back and inflict some more pain on Fletch for bullshittin me, when Shell pushed a box of frozen peas to the side, and there it was. At the bottom of the freezer, wrapped in clear blue plastic, were four small stacks of money. There were numbers written in black magic marker on each. Three of them had fives, and the other had a ten written on the plastic. Taking an educated guess, I figured the numbers to represent thousands. Twenty - five thousand dollars. A far cry from a million, but we all know how the streets love to exaggerate. Aint nothing new about bullshit gossip in the streets. Quickly I tossed the money out to Shell, who immediately dropped it in the Fila duffle bag we’d brought with us. I was far from satisfied, but still ready to get the fuck up outta there, when from the corner of my eye, I saw something that immediately struck me as out of place. It was a large Kentucky Fried Chicken bucket that was taped all the way around the lid. I reached down and pulled if from the bottom of the freezer, leaving steaks and vegetables tumbling everywhere. “Come on man! We gotta get the fuck outta here!” Shell fidgeted nervously while I felt no fear. I probably should have, but I guess my hatred wouldn’t let me. Walking back to the living room, I snatched up the bloody knife and cut a hole into the lid of the chicken box. Instantly I saw green. Weed! The bucket felt heavy for some tree but I figured it was probably because it was frozen. I tossed the bucket into the bag and Shell damn near dropped it before regaining his composure. Hauling ass, we ran outta the kitchen past a beaten, battered, and broken Fletch. I knew I’d have to deal with this nigga sooner or later, but that was something I’d have to deal with when the time came. He was beat and cut the fuck up, but he’d live. At least I thought he might, until time seemed to stand still, as my scared ass homeboy Shell, turned, kneeled down beside Fletch, and sent two thunderous rounds through the back of his head, sending blood and brain splashing all over the carpet! My heart skipped a beat. And at that very moment, I knew that my childhood was over. No longer could I run back to school; ducking class and smoking trees while trying to keep my dick up in somebody’s daughter. Everybody knows high school is a teenager’s playground for pussy. The hanging out at the mall on Saturdays, eating pizza and shopping for new kicks, all the stupid things teenagers get to do without worry or care, that I took for granted, were over for me. I had a painful feeling that I’d miss all that. There was no turning back now. Now we were men. I vividly remember my last thought before we ran out of the house as, “Mama’s gonna kill me!”