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Chapter 1

 

    Mike was sitting in Central Booking at the Mahoning County jail, disgusted with himself.  How could this nigga have survived all six shots, from his 357?  Now the nigga was in the hospital telling the police everything.  Everything except for the fact that earlier that week, he had robbed Mike for five pounds of cocaine and ten-thousand dollars.  Now Reggie was doin’ what was not condoned in the streets.  He was taking beef to the police when shit got too hot for him in the game.  Reggie was still in critical condition.  He’d been unconscious for some time now, but only after he gave the police all the information they needed to make an arrest on Mike, which came as a surprise, believing that Reggie was dead.

    It had been a perfect hit.  Mike followed Reggie’s movements for all of three days, planning the perfect time to make his strike.  During those three days, it seemed as if it was impossible to touch him, being Reggie always stayed alert.  Not only that, Reggie always had beef, carrying himself in such a fashion.  He always watched his back and moved in an irregular pattern.

    There was one thing he did the same every day.  He would stop by his mother’s house about the same time every day.  That was where he decided to make his strike.  Mike would wait for Reggie to leave the house.  That’s when he would unleash the ultimate git back.

     On this particular night, Mike parked his car several houses up the street from Reggie’s mother’s house.  He cut off the engine, lit a blunt and waited, patiently, with Mary J. Blige playing softly in the background.  He contemplated how to execute his plan, successfully.  Several minutes passed, just like clock work, Reggie pulled into his mother’s driveway, got out of his car and walked swiftly to the front door and entered the house.  He usually stayed inside for at least ten to twenty minutes, giving Mike enough time to finish smoking the rest of the blunt.  Once finished, he exited the car on the passenger’s side and walked slowly, unnoticed, hugging the shadows towards Reggie’s

mother’s house.  

    Once Mike made it to the front of the house, he moved with incredible speed, and stealthy grace, which contradicted his slow, walking swagger, to the side of the house opposite the driveway.  He crouched low between some bushes, as he waited, for his target.

    To Mike, it seemed as if time moved at a snail’s pace, but in actuality, it moved very quickly.  Just as Mike’s patience began to falter, he visualized kicking in the door, and killing everybody in the house.  He then heard the front door open, voices on the porch, and footsteps hitting the pavement, which was Reggie making his way to the car.  At that precise moment, Mike came from the side of the house, with the speed of a track star, gun aimed.  He possessed the discipline of an assassin, waiting to fire until he was close as possible to his victim.

    As Mike approached, Reggie sensed more than he heard; the impending danger headed his way.  He turned around, unprepared for what was about to happen, being that his hands were full with plates of food that his mother had cooked for him.  With eyes widened, he dropped the plates and reached for his pistol that he had tucked in his waist.  Reggie had just wrapped his hand around the butt of his gun, when the first two shots tore into his chest, spinning him around.  The final four shells lodged into his back, as he tried to run, sending him falling to the pavement where he laid twitching, and gasping for air.  Mike briefly stared at Reggie’s bullet riddled body, spitting on him as he cursed viciously under his breath.  With that done, he turned and ran towards his car, started the engine, and raced down the street in the opposite direction, never seeing Reggie’s mother run out of the house screaming loudly, as she rushed to Reggie’s side.  This was a plan executed perfectly, which ended incomplete, because Reggie lived, which left Mike sitting in a cell, waiting to be charged with attempted murder.

 

                            Chapter 2

 

    Mike lay back on the con crete slab, which constituted as a bed, closed his eyes, and contemplated his thoughts.  His concentration was broken by the keys being inserted into the lock of his cell door.  He jumped up thinking he was about to be processed and sent upstairs, to population.  He had already been waiting for several hours now.  The C.O. stepped inside, looking at Mike with a sneer.  “What’s up low life, brought you some company,” he said, shoving a man into the cell, and slamming the door.  Once the C.O. was gone, the man gave the cell a once-over; his eyes settling on Mike, not recognizing him, he gave a nod and sat heavily on the bench opposite of Mike.  Mike gave the man a quick look-over.  He was about 5’7”, dark-skinned, and medium built.  He was wearing a black Coogi sweat suit, which was wet and covered with mud, as if the police had to chase him in the process, giving a Y.P.D. “beat-down,” for the extra work they had to do, which wasn’t uncommon dealing with the police.  Not knowing the man, Mike again shut his eyes and continued to wrap himself with his own problems.

    Mike seemed to have dozed off when he was suddenly awakened, by banging.  When his eyes opened and focused, he realized the banging was coming from the recent occupant of his cell.  The man was trying to get the attention of the C.O., while yelling as to how he had been waiting in the cell for so long.  Mike being a regular to this process, knew that this man must have not been one to visit the County jail.  Everyone knew the booking process was an all day, sometimes all night process.

    Mike became aggravated by the man’s banging.  “Hey homie, these pigs don’t give a fuck about you or me.  We’ll be lucky to get out of here before the morning.  The more you bang, the longer we wait.  Don’t give them the satisfaction of letting them know that this shit is getting to you,” he stated calmly.  “I feel you, my nigga,” the man responded.  With that said, the man sat down, looking at Mike for a minute, as if studying him, sensing Mike was cool.  “The name’s Glenn,” he said.  “I’m Mike,” Mike responded, sitting up, and sensing the man wanted to talk.  “Man, those pigs is a mothafucka!” Glen shouted, “I’m just driving along when they get behind me, pull me over, snatching me out my car, saying I killed this nigga.  When they told me that shit, I snatch away from the pig, while he was trying to handcuff me.  I wasn’t going down for no shit I didn’t do.”  “I feel you,” Mike responded.  “Anyway,” Glen continued, “I’m running, they behind me and shit, I’m leaving them though.  They screaming, stop, stop! I’m not trying to hear that.  I cut between these two houses, through the back yard. I’m bout to come up out on the next street when, Wham!  Out of nowhere this pig flatlines me.  I try to get up, but before I know it, it’s like five or six of them beating my ass.  Next thing I know I’m in the back of a police car, beat the fuck up, charged with murder, now I’m here,” he said, as the realization of what he was facing, set in, causing him to slump his shoulders.

     “Damn!  That’s fucked up. What made them think you killed somebody,” Mike asked, sitting up, now interested.  “Because they say someone seen my car leave the scene of the crime.  So what you down here for,” Glen said, changing the subject.  “They got me down here on an attempted murder charge.  Shit just didn’t go as planned. Can’t wait till tomorrow so I can see what this judge gonna set my bond at, so I can get the fuck out of here.” I’m wit you on that one, my nigga,” Glenn responded.  With that discussed, each man fell silent, over-whelmed with the situation that each faced, wondering if they would ever see the streets anytime soon.

 

Chapter 3

 

    Tired of the silence and the wait, Mike finally broke the silence.  “Hey Glenn.”  “What’s up,” Glenn responded.  “Where you from?  I haven’t seen you around.”  “I’m from Detroit, originally, but I moved down here a couple of years ago.  I stay on the East Side in those new houses.  They built over by McKelvey Lake.  You hip to where I’m talking about?”  “Yeah, I know where that’s at, I got peoples on the East.  Me? I’m from the South, though.”  Mike looked him up and down, then said, “From the way you dressed, outside of the mudd, it looks like you playing wit some money out there.”  Glenn hesitated, not sure how to answer, finally he said, “I do ok, I eat but I wouldn’t consider myself rich. You know what I’m sayin?”  “Yeah, I can dig that. I eat a little myself, but if neither one of us don’t get the fuck out of here, all we gonna be eating is soups and summer sausage,” Mike joked.  At that statement, both men laughed, under the circumstances, felt good.  It helped ease the pressure and lower the stress even if it was for a brief moment.

    In the midst of laughter, the door opened, a C.O. came in and seeing the smiles on both mens face, said, “I see you low lifes are enjoying yourself, seeing that you two probably will never get out for at least 20 years.  “Fuck you!” Mike snapped.  “We’ll see how you act when you get upstairs wit all of Reggie’s homies,” the C.O. said, with a devious smile.  “I fear no man muthafucker,” Mike said, and stood and faced  the C.O.  Sensing danger, the C.O. backed away, putting up his hands, in surrender.  “I don’t want no problem.  I just want to get my eight hours, and go home,” he said.  “Well watch what the fuck you say out your mouth pig,” Mike said.  “Calm down, Billy the kid,” a female C.O. said.  “Come out here so I can get you processed.  Tell your friend to come also, so I can get both of you takin care of before shift change.”

    To get processed, fingerprinted, and dressed in customary orange uniforms took all of about thirty minutes.  The reason they made you sit in booking so long was beyond reasoning.  Now Mike and Glenn were being led down a long hallway towards the elevators where they would be taken upstairs to where they would live till they either made bail or until they went to trial, which ever came first.  Once upstairs, they were led to a block which housed thirty-six inmates, dressed just like them.  All incarcerated for crimes ranging from rape, robbery, or murder, and other crimes, in between.  Inside they went to the C.O.’s desk, and got the number to the cell they were assigned.  Mike was assigned to 31, while Glenn was assigned to 30.

    “It looks like we gonna be neighbors,” Glenn said with a smirk, as they walked up the stairs to their assigned cells.  Glenn noticed how the other inmates were looking in their direction.  It made him feel uneasy, but he brushed it off, as them being new to the block.  Glenn entered his cell, and looked around.  It was clean.  Everything was metal, from the sink, the toilet, the desk on the little shelf where he was to put his personal hygiene products, and other various supplies.  He looked over at the metal slab with a thin mat, that was supposed to be a bed, taking it all in, he shook his head in disgust and said to himself, “Look what the fuck you done got yourself into,” as he began making his rack up with the semi-clean sheets, he was issued.

    Once that was complete, he exited his cell in search of the phone, so he could let his girl Shawnna know where he wan and that he was alright.  Finding what he was looking for in the far corner of the block, there were four phones.  Only one was occupied.  Its occupant was the dude Mike.  Mike seemed to be in a zone like the news he was hearing wasn’t good at all.   He began to focus on the conversation he was about to have.  He didn’t know what to think of Mike’s demeanor, at this point.  In his brief conversation with Mike, he seemed like a good dude, someone that was about they business.  He wished he could have met him under better circumstances, which could have been profitable, on both sides, unlike the other niggas he met in this city.  It was lots of money to be made down here, but niggas would rather rob you, than hustle, which they failed to realize was ass backwards.  With the connections Glenn had in Detroit, he had access to unlimited amounts of cocaine, heroin, weed, whatever the need.  With the right nigga from this town, they could both make hundreds of thousands, and maybe millions of dollars.  All it took was loyalty, which most lacked.  They would rather be content with a couple thousand dollars lick, which in his eyes was senseless.

    On his way over to the phones, he heard a group of niggas talking.  It sounded like they were plotting to jump on someone.  He gave a quick look in their direction.  It was four males, all looking like they had been in a few losing battles in life.  He sized them up to see if he could take them if he happened to be the topic of their conversation.  Sensing his eyes, the group stopped talking and gave him a stare that was cold enough to freeze hell.  He paid their stares no mind, being trained in martial arts.  He knew that average niggas in the streets couldn’t take on a person trained in the art of self-defense, not even four.  If trouble they wanted, he had no problems giving it to them.

    Glenn picked up the phone receiver, wiped the mouth and ear piece off and dialed the number.  After the first ring, the phone was picked up by a female, with a soft, sensual voice.  The automated system broke in saying, “You have a collect call from Glenn, who is in the Mahoning County jail.  Do you wish to accept this call, press 1, if not hang up.  Your call has been processed, thank you for using ATT.” “Shawnna.”

    “Hey, baby! What you doin in jail?”

    “These pigs picked me up on some bullshit charges.”

    “What did they pick you up for?” Shawnna asked concerned.

    “They saying I killed this nigga.”

    “Damn baby, this is why we left Detroit.  To escape all the bullshit.  I still see you   

    can’t leave it alone,” she said disgusted.

    “Chill baby, this is just a misunderstanding.  I should be out once I go to court.”

    “I’ve heard that before,” Shawnna pouted.

    “Shawnna, I don’t need to hear this right now!  What I need you to do is to go to the stash.  Grab ten-thousand and take it to my lawyer, and tell him to bring his ass down here.”  “Baby, I miss you already.  How long you gonna be down there?  I don’t know nobody down here.  Without you, its gonna be lonely,” Shawnna whined.  Before he could respond, he noticed that the group of men that were plotting had made up their mind that they were going to do something.  One of the males broke away from the group, went to the C.O. desk, said a few words and handed him something.  Whatever it was, it made the C.O.’s eyes light up.  When the guy made his way back to the group, he looked back at the C.O. and gave a slight nod, which the C.O. returned.  The exchange was so smooth that it would have gone unnoticed unless you were paying attention.  After the signal, the C.O. grabbed his keys, and exited out the door Glenn had just entered minutes before.  Once he was out of sight, the men made their way towards him.  He positioned himself as if he didn’t notice, but was ready to make his move.  As the men got closer, he noticed that he was not the target.  The target was the occupant on the next phone, Mike!  Glenn was unable to hear the last statement Shawnna had made.

    “Baby, let me call you back.  Something’s about to go down.”

    “Baby, you just got down there.  I know you are not getting into any trouble already.”

    “No baby, its nothing.  I’ll call you back, ok?”

    “Just make sure its tonight,” Shawnna sighed.

    “Love you, Shawnna.”

    “Love you too, baby,” Shawnna said, hanging up.

Glenn didn’t hang up.  He just held the phone receiver to his ear, like he was still talking.  This was his chance to see what this nigga Mike was about and to see if Mike could handle himself.