Pastor D quickly stepped in between the two families and spoke up, hoping to defuse this bomb before it went off and he had to deliver another eulogy for somebody else.“People, people! Please, everybody just calm down. Haven’t we seen enough violence? Haven’t we seen enough bloodshed!? Have we not learned anything from this senseless tragedy? This is exactly what the devil wants; to sow even more disharmony and confusion at a time when we’re already grieving the loss of a life. If any of you have any type of love and respect for the young woman lying in that casket then I’m asking you all not to do anything to dishonor her memory.”
“All we wanna do is bury my cousin in peace, Pastor.” said O.T., without taking his eyes off of Ant D. “And there won’t be any violence if you simply explain to them that they ain’t wanted here.” Ant returned O.T.’s glare with a wild, crazy look of his own.
Pastor Dillinger knew Gloria was a regular parishioner at New Life Ministries so he walked up to her in an attempt to reason with her. “Sister Davis, this family is grieving and mourning the loss of someone very close to their hearts. I’m pretty sure you didn’t come here with any malice or ill will, but for whatever reason, the family doesn’t want you or your children here. So I’m respectfully asking that you all leave so that we can peacefully put this young lady to rest.”
“Pastor, I honestly didn’t mean to come here and start any trouble or cause this family any more pain. I simply wanted to pay my respects; that’s all. I’m a mother and as you know I came very close to losing my only daughter myself just a few months ago,” she said gesturing towards Meka.
“They shoulda killed that trifling ass bitch,” a female voice murmured, loudly enough to be heard.
“Whoever said that can go choke on a horse dick,” Meka shot back.
Gloria cut her eyes at her daughter, before continuing. “I can only imagine how Sandra might be feeling right now and I definitely don’t wanna add to her pain, so we’ll go.”
“Thank you so much sister Davis,” said Pastor Dillinger, breathing a deep sigh of relief.
Meka and Gloria made their way to the door of the church before they noticed Ant wasn’t with them. He and O.T. continued to stare at each other, neither willing 2 back down. Finally, Meka came back and grabbed her brother by the arm and pulled him towards the exit. “C’mon Ant, let’s go.”
Sandra Jones stood in front of the many family members and friends who had gathered together at the cemetery to see Nikki finally laid to rest. She held a white rose in her hand and stared blankly as the closed casket carrying her only daughter was slowly lowered six feet deep into the cold, hard December ground. Throughout the whole funeral service, Sandra was probably the only one who had yet to shed a tear. The Valium had numbed her to the pain. Whenever the anguish she felt attempted to break through to the surface of her consciousness, Sandra would simply pop another pill to push it back down.
After the casket was finally at the bottom of the grave, Sandra walked slowly over to the opening, accompanied by her son, Damien. She stopped at the edge and carefully peered over into the grave, at the mahogany casket that inside of it held so many dreams that would never be realized. She let the white rose drop from her hand. It seemed to fall in slow motion until it finally landed soundlessly on top of the casket.
CHAPTER 11
Club Money was a strip club that was frequented by dope boys who liked to be seen tossing cash around and blowing money fast. There was a pool hall on one side of it and the latest version of club 864 on the other. 864 used to be the spot. Everybody from Gucci Mane and Young Jeezy to T.I. had come through and turned that muthafucka out! Even back in the day when it was called the Ghanas it had been the place to be. But like most clubs that catered to the hood, 864 had gone through several changes. Those changes usually happened after attention from the media or the authorities cast a negative light on the club. And this usually occurred once somebody was stabbed, shot or killed in the club or its parking lot. The owners would shut down for a few months and then open back up under “new management.” Unfortunately, after a mysterious fire burnt 864 to the ground, it was forced to move to another location and now it really did have new management. But it would never be the same.
Though the latest version of 864 was lame and nobody really fucked with it, Club Money stayed jumping on Saturdays. Hustlers (some of them female) weren’t the only ones that came to the strip club to make it rain and see the voluptuous women shake their assets though. There were also the regular working dudes who came to Club Money and ended up being talked out of their whole paychecks by some stripper whose words were sweeter than honey. For ten dollars a song, that sucker’s favorite stripper would sit in his lap and listen to him pour his heart out about his nagging wife, bad ass kids, and boring ass job until he was tapped out. Then she’d hang around for some small talk before giving him a kiss on the cheek and moving on to give her seemingly undivided attention to another sucker. Then you had the lames that paid to get in, bought a couple of drinks and just watched the action.
“Did you see that new girl’s ass? Gotdamn, that shit was craaazy! And that bitch got a pretty ass face too. You seen how she was sweatin’ me right?” said Mario excitedly, as he and his friend J.R. staggered out of the festive, lust filled atmosphere of Club Money. The chilly December air had a slight sobering effect on the two members of M.B.M. as they walked unsteadily to J.R.’s peanut butter (tan leather interior) and jelly (candy painted purple exterior) Chevy.
“Here you go with that T-Pain shit again. Fallin’ in love wit’ a muhfuckin’ stripper and shit,” said his homey J.R., laughing. “Which girl you talkin’ ‘bout anyway?”
“The lil short light skinned one with the fat ass,” slurred Mario. He was twisted.
“Nigga, there was ‘bout four or five light skinned girls in there wit’ fat asses! That ain’t tellin’ me shit,” J.R. said as they approached his car, which was parked in a dimly lit area. J.R. didn’t remember it being that dark when he had first pulled up, but he didn’t give it a second thought as he put his key in the lock and opened the driver’s side door. It was chilly outside and the only thing he was really concerned with was getting his ass out of the cold. He leaned over and unlocked the door for Mario, who got into the car still talking about the stripper.
“The one that had that red see through thong on wit’ glitter all over her body. Wit’ the stars down the side of her leg…”
“Oh, you talkin’ bout that lil bitch Princess!? Maaan the only thang new ‘bout that bitch is that ass and titties she done went out and bought,” laughed J.R. “I used to go to Berea wit’ her. She used to fuck wit’—“ Before J.R. could finish his statement two Mexicans jumped up from the rear seats and cut both his and Mario’s throats from ear to ear with short, razor sharp knives. Methodically, they pulled their victim’s bloody tongues through the gaping slits in their necks (this was commonly referred to as a Mexican Necktie), and exited the car, disappearing into the cool December night.
The next morning, after receiving an anonymous phone call, the police arrived at the gruesome crime scene. J.R. and Mario were still sitting in the front seats with their tongues pulled through their necks and their eyes wide open, but seeing nothing. Their bodies were stiff with rigor mortis. The Sherriff’s Department sealed off the immediate area with yellow crime scene tape and began their investigation into the deaths of Jermaine Reid and Mario Knight.
Although it was still too early to be certain as to the motive behind these grisly murders, the detectives almost immediately ruled out robbery. Both of the victims were still wearing their gaudy jewelry. Their diamond encrusted chains, pendants, watches, bracelets and rings were stained with dried blood and hadn’t even been touched. One of the detectives joked that maybe the killers were socially conscious and didn’t take the jewelry because they were against “blood diamonds.” He got a big laugh out of that one. After a while, the seriousness of the crime scene lessened. After all, two more dead drug dealers wasn’t th
at big of a deal.
The technicians began their C.S.I. work while the detectives stood around in their windbreakers eating Krispy Kreme donuts, drinking coffee, and telling jokes. “I didn’t know drug dealers wore neck ties,” one cop said jokingly, to his fellow officers. There was no evidence that these men were drug dealers, but the cops guffawed and laughed so hard that one of them ended up spitting out his coffee. The officers continued to stand around making jokes at the expense of the two dead black men. Regardless of whatever crimes these men may have committed they were both somebody’s son. More importantly, they were human beings. You’d think that officers who had taken an oath to “protect and serve” the public would have a little more compassion for their fellow man. But obviously, that compassion wasn’t extended to black men who allegedly sold drugs; at least not by the Greenville County Sherriff’s Office.
CHAPTER 12
Two weeks had passed since Gloria and Meka had first learned that Mike was still alive and had visited him at the hospital. When they had first told Ant D the news, he broke into a big ass Kool-Aid smile and exclaimed “I knew my nigga wasn’t going out that easy!” Unfortunately though, because of all of the police presence at the hospital Ant couldn’t go and see his best friend. It was a risk that he couldn’t afford to take. He knew the police had warrants out on him. For what, he didn’t exactly know (he and Mike had done so much shit), but he sure as hell wasn’t trying to find out. Going to the hospital would be akin to turning himself in and Ant damn sure wasn’t trying to be sitting in that nasty ass county jail any time soon. Fuck that! So despite the overwhelming urge to go and see how his dog was doing, he didn’t go. He felt a little guilty about his decision but he knew Mike would understand. He was still a street nigga.
For the past couple of weeks, Gloria and Meka had been making frequent trips to the hospital to see Mike. They were the only family he had and they wanted to be there for him. Out of spite, Detective Patterson had tried to have them permanently banned from the hospital. When that little stunt didn’t work, he tried to have them barred from seeing Mike, claiming security reasons. Despite his weakened state and the fact that he was still recovering from multiple gunshot wounds, technically Mike was still under arrest. He hadn’t been lucid long enough to be read his rights, but he was definitely property of the state. The shiny metal shackle that bound his ankle to the bed railing was a constant reminder of that. Gloria appealed to Patterson’s superior officer and surprisingly she and Meka were given the ok to continue to visit. Patterson was incensed at the decision but there was nothing he could do about it… for now.
So Meka and Glo made it their business to come to the hospital everyday and show Mike the support and love they knew he’d need to get better physically, as well as emotionally. Nurse Powell, who had been assigned to Mike had told Glo how he would often suddenly wake up out of his sleep. He’d be sweating profusely and calling out for someone named Nikki before falling back onto the bed exhausted. Mike, who had been in and out of a drug induced fog still had no idea that his pregnant fiancé was dead. Not to mention that the unborn son that had been torn apart by the barrage of high powered bullets while he still lay innocently inside of his mother’s womb. Glo knew she was going to have to tell him eventually, she just wasn’t looking forward to it. Yeah, this is going to be a great holiday season, alright Glo thought to herself.
$$$
Mike opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling of his hospital room. He felt groggy and drained, but for the first time since he’d been admitted weeks earlier, he was fully cognizant. As his wounds healed, the doctors had been constantly reducing his pain medicine, so it was inevitable that he would regain consciousness. He was still in extreme pain as he looked around at all the machines they had him hooked up to. He also noticed all of the “get well soon” balloons, flowers and cards that gave a little life to the sparse surroundings of his I.C.U. room.
When Nurse Powell walked quietly into the room wearing her white, thick soled shoes and light blue scrubs to perform her daily tasks, she noticed Mike staring at her. “Well it’s about time yo’ behind woke up, boy!” she exclaimed with a smile on her face. “You were about to be strung out with all that junk they were pumping’ in yo’ system, baby.” She was genuinely happy to see Mike’s eyes so attentive and alert instead of that glazed over look she had become accustomed to.
Nurse Powell was a dark brown skinned middle aged woman with dreads that she wore pulled back when she was at work. She was extremely outspoken, which didn’t go over well with her supervisors but she also had an extremely big heart. She cared very deeply about her patients and was always excited to see one of them get better. “I know you may not feel like it right now but you’re blessed Michael. I don’t know what it is, but God has a plan for you. I just wish y’all would stop alla this foolishness out here in these streets. Shootin’ and killin’ one another for what? Over some streets that don’t none of y’all own? Just plain craziness!”
“Nikki… Where’s Nikki?” Mike asked weakly.
“Now, I don’t know anything about no Nikki. You can ask your family about her the next time they come to visit. Right now, I need to go get the doctor and let him know about your condition. I’ll be right back.” As Nurse Powell was exiting the room, Detective Patterson was entering it. He’d heard the loud mouthed black nurse talking, and he knew she wasn’t talking to herself, so he had peeped in and saw that Mike was finally, fully awake.
“Well, well, well; Nice of you to join us Mr. Smith. Just wanted to let you know we caught the bastards who did this to you,” Patterson said in a tone of affected chumminess. “Also I wanted to ask you if you happened to know why a bunch of wetbacks and nig—I mean African Americans are killing each other?” Over the last few weeks, there had been bodies popping up all over the place. So far, five young black men and three Mexicans had been found brutally murdered in areas all over Greenville. Information was being collected from C.I.s, but the Sherriff’s office needed to know more. C.I. (confidential informant) was the politically correct term used for criminals who had agreed to cooperate with authorities. In the streets, they were more commonly referred to as snitches. Rats that had gotten jammed up on other cases and were now willing to spill their guts to get a reduced sentence.
Mike shot the Detective a look of complete disdain before turning his head to the wall, dismissing his presence. Patterson was left there looking stupid with his little spiral notepad in his hand. His faced turned crimson with embarrassment. “Michael Smith, you’re under arrest for murder!” Any hint of friendliness had evaporated from Patterson’s voice. He began to read Mike his rights. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you can’t afford an attorney then one shall be appointed for you by the state. Do you understand these rights as I’ve read them to you, Mr. Smith?” Mike slowly lifted his weakened arm and extended his middle finger defiantly in response.
Patterson laughed and said, “Fuck me? Fuck me? Oh yeah!? We’ll see who’ll be getting fucked when you’re sitting in the state pen with a couple of life sentences for murder, you little fucking piece of shit! Big Bubba is gonna looove a nice, young, fresh piece of ass like yours,” said Patterson. He laughed, which quickly turned into one of those hacking coughs characteristic of people who’d been smoking for too long.
Mike was too weak and in too much pain to give a fuck about Patterson’s threats. He closed his eyes and wondered what room they had Nikki in.
Just then, Nurse Powell came back into the room accompanied by Doctor Neilson. She’d overheard the last few words the detective had just spewed. “What in the hell is wrong with you?” asked Nurse Powell disgustedly, frowning. “Can’t you see this young man is still recovering from near fatal wounds!?”
“Yeah, well this young man is suspected of committing several murders and it’s my job to read him his rights,” he said returning Nurse Powell’s glare
.
“Well it didn’t sound like you was readin’ him his damn rights to me. Sounded more like you was threatening him.”
“Detective, are you finished?” interjected Doctor Neilson. “I need to examine the patient.” Patterson moved to the doorway as Dr. Neilson and Nurse Powell went about examining Mike. “How you feeling there, Mike?” the doctor asked as he used his penlight to examine his pupils. He still had several open wounds that were covered with gauze. The doctor removed the dressing and examined the wounds to make sure there were no signs of an infection. Mike seemed to be healing well, but he complained of still being in extreme pain. He grimaced as the doctor touched different parts of his body. This was to be expected, but the doctor didn’t want to turn Mike into a drug addict either. After finishing his examination, Dr. Nielson instructed Nurse Powell to give him some extra strength Tylenol instead of morphine and to replace the dressing that had been removed.
After doing as she’d been instructed Nurse Powell gave Mike an affectionate pat on the arm, then looked at him before whispering in his ear.“Young man, I don’t know what it is that you did. What I do know is that you’re young, you’re black and you’re a man. That right there is reason enough for them folks to be scared of you. So i’ma need for you to be strong and fight. You hear me? Fight!” She gave him another pat on the arm then turned to exit the room. Detective Patterson was blocking her exit. Nurse Powell refused to be intimidated. She’d just gotten out of an extremely abusive relationship and after building up the courage to finally fight back, she swore that she’d never let another man put any fear in her heart. “Now are you gonna move outta my way, or am I gonna have to move you myself?” The tone in her voice gave the detective a start and he stepped to the side to let her pass. “Asshole,” she spat out as she walked past him.
Anything for Profit 2: Nothing to Lose Page 9
