Everything is Everything Book 2

by Pace, Pepper

  Everything is Everything

  Book 2

  Pepper Pace

  Author’s Note

  First of all, let me thank you for purchasing this digital book and for your decision to support the efforts of independent authors. By purchasing this digital book from me instead of getting it from those that pirate other’s works, you prove that you care about the efforts of indie authors who strive to bring you their stories.

  I want to thank my Beta Readers L.E and E.X. Smith for their enthusiasm and encouragement to continue the story of Scotty and Vanessa. I want to thank Team Pepper Pace and those that have sent me messages, made reviews and shared information about my writing. Special thanks go out to my number one Beta reader L.E. for her constant pokes with a stick to keep the story going.

  Now let’s talk about HEAs. You’ve probably heard the term—it means happily ever after. I received several comments and letters showing fear for the future of the characters in this story. Relax. Despite the ups and downs that many of my characters go through, I am a strict believer of HEAs. A long time ago I vowed to always include HEAs and that goes doubly true for Everything is Everything.

  I do want to remind you that despite the category of a Pepper Pace story, it will always contain interracial love and mature themes. This Urban Lit story contains more graphic depictions than many of my other stories as it is centered on an illegal drug trade and the difficulties of living in an economically depressed area. That is the basis of Urban Literature Fiction. There is still romance and sometimes comedic situations, but the focus of Urban Fiction is street life and its numerous illegal ‘hustles’. What I’m saying is to please keep that in mind when you chose this series. This is not your run of the mill romance.

  Everything is Everything Book 2 contains drug use, mature language including racial slurs, descriptions of child neglect, HIV and AIDS and finally graphic depictions of sex. This book is the second book in a 2-Book series and while it is a complete story alone, it does continue from Everything is Everything Book 1 and would be best read in order.

  ©Pepper Pace Publications

  Copyright © 2014 Everything is Everything book 2. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever, except for short excerpts appearing in book reviews. For reprint or excerpt permission inquiries, please contact the author by e-mail at: pepperpace.author@yahoo.com or http://pepperpacefeedback.blogspot.com

  Everything is Everything book 2 is a work of fiction. Characters – including their names, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are otherwise used fictitiously. Any similarity from this book to events occurring in real life – including locations, or persons living or dead is wholly coincidental. The use of musical titles and the naming of musical artists is not an infringement of copyright per sections 106 and 106A, the fair use of a copyrighted work.

  Part I

  What we think, or what we know, or what we believe is, in the end, of little consequence. The only consequence is what we do.

  —John Ruskin

  Prologue

  1980

  Scotty Tremont concentrated on the reddened flesh of his wrist where the handcuffs had bitten into his skin. He knew that he should be working on his game face and showing that he wasn’t one to fuck with. But the truth of the matter is that he hoped someone would try. He hoped that someone would look at him and just see a white guy with longish, blondish hair and eyes that were a light shade of grey-blue. He hoped someone would make the mistake of trying to flex because Scotty knew this is how jail worked. And then he could smash his fist into someone’s face and hear the satisfying crunch of bone giving away beneath his blows. Right now he wanted nothing more than to punch and scream and … He blinked and focused on his wrists. Best to think about his exit strategy.

  This was the second week of his arrest. He’d been in juvenile detention for a week in a half until being transferred to the Justice Center Friday. Now it was Monday. He hated jail more than he hated anything. The food made you sick, there was no place to lie down and you always had to be on guard. At least in Juvie he was immediately assigned his bed and duties. But in jail all you did was wait.

  This was not his first stint in lock up. At the age of seventeen Scotty Tremont knew the ins and outs of the Ohio criminal justice system. Mostly it was in the form of Juvenile detention, weekend stays in jail, and once he had sat cooling his heels for a month at a boy’s farm until they had run out of space and released him in order to accommodate more hardened criminals.

  Jail didn’t scare him, what scared him was leaving his brothers and sisters. Now that he was the oldest responsible Tremont he had to make sure Miss Gloria had money to take care of everyone and that Phonso had protection from the bullies and predators of the ghetto. His little brother was fifteen but walked around as if he was twice that.

  In some ways the ghetto offered Alphonso Tremont more protection than it did Scotty. Being half black Alphonso at least looked like most of the people that the brothers interacted with.

  But Scotty knew that the drug game was one made up of opportunities and splitting up the Tremont brothers was a perfect opportunity for someone to step in and take over.

  Anger washed over him again at the stupid mistake that had landed him in jail. It had happened at a house party. The party had gotten too wild and the cops were called. But instead of just busting it up they all got searched. Phonso had been holding meth, which would bump the charges from a misdemeanor to a felony.

  Stupid little punk! Phonso was far too ambitious. They were only supposed to be holding marijuana and so Scotty had made his brother give him all the drugs and he had caught the possession with intent to distribute charge.

  It carried a mandatory three and a half year sentence.

  The city of Cincinnati’s Justice center had offered him a way out. If he entered a juvenile divergence program and followed it through to the end then he could have his record expunged of all drug crimes—past and present. In order to make this happen he would have to do something called ‘Scared Straight.’

  Scared Straight is where the city tried to show young offenders the harsh realities of the criminal justice system by taking them to prison and literally scaring them straight. The young offenders would be shown the side of prison that one didn’t get to see on television or the movies--non-censored and in your face.

  Scotty had readily agreed. But then he had found out where he was going; Lebanon. It was the hardest prison in the state of Ohio. But that wasn’t the issue. The issue is that Lebanon County Prison is also where his father was.

  “Yo, white boy,” Scotty’s eyes moved upward and locked onto those of a young black guy who was standing over him. “That’s my seat.” The young man’s eyes darted around to see who was watching, who he was impressing.

  Most wouldn’t look at Scotty Tremont and see that he was no different than many of them. They wouldn’t immediately know that he’d had to fight harder than most because not only was he the product of the ghetto, the product of a pimp father and a prostitute mother—but he’d had to constantly prove that his white skin didn’t make him soft. Scotty had a strong survivor’s mentality—a fact which surpassed the color of ones skin.

  “Get up nigger! Don’t make me have to tell you twice!” The young man said. He was bigger than Scotty and he flexed arms that were swollen by more fat than muscle.

  The other men in the holding cell watched with interest. A few knew that the black man was messing with the wrong white guy and egged it on anyways in the hopes of witnessing some free entertainment.

  Scotty’s eyes gleamed a half second before he rose off the old bench worn
smooth by countless asses. The young thug suddenly looked unsure but puffed out his chest since he and the white boy were now the center of attention.

  Scotty wasn’t interested in arguing, he just snaked out his fist where it smashed into the man’s face.

  Taken by surprise, his head jerked back. Less than a second later his body followed and he hit the floor splayed out—and knocked out.

  Scotty blinked in disappointment. He had barely tapped into his need to break something. But it went against his grain to hit someone while they were down so he just stood there a moment hoping the thug would at least wake up so that he could put him to sleep again.

  The sound of hooping and hollering brought Scotty out of his anger and he distinctly heard several men yelling for him to walk away. An older black man that had to be pushing forty suddenly grabbed Scotty by the arm and dragged him away. Scotty focused his attention on the new guy, debating with himself whether he wanted a new focus for his burning aggression.

  “Guards’ coming, young blood. You don’t need to catch another case over some dumb shit!”

  After a pause Scotty nodded. “Thank you.”

  A moment later two guards entered the holding cell and looked at the young man who was still lying on the floor out cold.

  “What the hell happened here?” A guard asked gruffly.

  The noise quieted and Scotty waited silently. But no one said a word. Eventually they dragged the semi-conscious man out of the holding cell. He did not return.

  It wasn’t until right before lunch that the bus finally arrived to take the boys eligible for the Scared Straight program to the Lebanon Correctional Facility. That meant no food for him. Not that Scotty was looking forward to another lunch consisting of suspicious looking bologna on white bread, a thin slice of cheese, a packet of mustard, and the carton of imitation orange juice.

  He was hungry but that wasn’t anything new. He hunkered down in his seat filled with strategically placed springs that threatened to puncture his balls. He half-heartedly listened to the other boys try to outdo each other with their list of crimes.

  There were eight other boys. Of them was a thirteen year old who had punched his teacher in the face. He had cool points until it was discovered that his teacher was a woman. Scotty and another boy were the eldest and both were there for drug offenses. The two eyed each other suspiciously until they discovered that they worked in two totally different locations.

  Of the nine youths on their way to the Scared Straight program none seemed interested in being reformed.

  Four had never been to juvie nor had they ever seen the inside of a correctional institution. Scotty thought they were the loudest shit-talkers that he had ever heard. The others had been in and out of juvie for mainly drug related offenses. While less boisterous Scotty could easily tell the difference between those that meant to give everyone around them a hard time and those that wanted to just get through the program.

  After the bus arrived the boys were herded into a processing area. Mr. Kunly was the correction’s officer in charge of them for the day. He was a tall thick man with a face that seemed to be frozen into a perpetual scowl. His buzz cut and cold brown eyes only amplified the fact that he either hated his job or hated the kids.

  He began by calling them harsh names; asshole, hey you dummy, etc. They were then made to put on orange jumpsuits and for the smaller kids they were made to roll up the legs and arms until they resembled circus clowns.

  The boys did a lot of grumbling and complaining under their voices until Mr. Kunly got into their faces Drill Sargent style.

  Scotty and the other boy his age stayed quiet. When Kunly or any of the other guards got into their faces neither made sarcastic come-backs. They kept their eyes averted and made simple responses when asked a question.

  The thirteen-year old teacher-attacker, though was a different story. He and a few others did nothing but act out, assured of the fact that they were untouchable because of their age.

  “I ain’t scared,” the boy stated with a self-assured smirk. “I’m going home tonight and these fools will still be here.”

  Kunly turned and his eyes locked onto the boy and Scotty saw a subtle shift in the man’s expression and demeanor.

  “Is that what you think, little man?” Kunly asked.

  The boy’s chin lifted in defiance.

  “That’s what I know!”

  Kunly smiled and it was dark and mean. Scotty frowned knowing that this day was not going to fair well for the little man.

  After a brief orientation where ‘little man’ kept making comments under his breath and getting yelled at, and some of the others were egging it on, Kunly announced that orientation was over and led them out of the room. He had a smile on his face and when Scotty looked around he noticed that all of their guards did as well. Scotty put himself on alert that something was coming.

  Sure enough, as soon as they entered the next room and the door was closed several men grabbed them. Some of the boys were roughly lifted and passed from one prisoner to another, while some of the bigger youth were just slammed roughly against the cement walls.

  At the rough treatment, Scotty went into defense mode. He had been pushed face first against the cement wall, his arms pinned by several larger men. Someone clamped his hand around the back of Scotty’s neck, holding him firmly in place against the wall.

  “Stay down Scotty.”

  Scotty’s head pivoted at the familiar voice. His heart began to thud in a mix of regret and excitement.

  It was the voice of his father, Juan Carlos Tremont.

  “You have to get a pat down. Don’t worry, it’s just some bullshit.” Juan Carlos made sure his son would stay put against the wall before making the motions of patting him down.

  The guards were standing by the door watching with amusement, as some of the prisoners got a bit aggressive with the kids. Little man was yelling that they were breaking his arm and the prisoner patting him down immediately pressed the boy’s face roughly against the cement wall. The man wasn’t very big; in fact he was fairly short in stature. His brown dome was shaved and he wore a slight goatee. His expression is what made a relatively small man look dangerous. He pressed his lips against the struggling boy’s ear and began to speak in low tones. When Little Man cried out in pain the man didn’t let up on the pressure but pressed his face even harder against the wall. The man barked out a short order and Little Man cried out tearfully, ‘Yes, sir!’

  When the pat down was complete more than one boy had tears in their eyes. They were all made to line up shoulder to shoulder while the prisoners stood back glaring at them, pacing like caged animals and anxious to do something bad…

  Scotty’s eyes fell on to his father. He hadn’t seen the man in years. He’d been a little kid the last time Juan Carlos had been a free man. Scotty didn’t think he looked much different although his prison issued jeans and t-shirt was far from the fashionable pimp that he’d been ten years ago.

  His father was of average height and weight and yet his presence seemed big. Perhaps it was his eyes that seemed to pierce straight through you. His eyes were brown—nearly black, fathomless orbs beneath a straight brow that lead down to a straight nose. He wore a heavy mustache, which was streaked in grey. His brown skin and thick curly hair proclaimed his Hispanic origins. Even in his early forties and incarcerated for more years than not, it was plain to see why he had no trouble finding women to pimp out. Juan Carlos was handsome.

  Kunly stepped forward, still smirking. “Okay ladies, lets begin with a little introduction into Prison Life 101.”

  Kunly’s eyes met that of Little Man who stood quietly sniffling back angry tears.

  “You don’t run this house. You will never run this house because this is my house.” Kunly gestured to the stalking men. “You’re going to have to go up against all of them just to get a chance—and these aren’t even the worse of them. These are the best of them. We aren’t allowed to have you around the worst of
them because they fuck little boys like you. Or they take you for everything you got and pimp you out. That’s if you’re lucky. Because worse case scenario you just end up another dead nigger, another dead honky, another dead spic.”

  One boy bristled at being referred to as a nigger and a white inmate got in his face.

  “You’ll be my nigger. I can already see that. I got about fifteen more years in here and when I get through with you I’ll pass you along to the rest of the brotherhood. That’s right boy. I’m a white supremacist and there are plenty more where I come from.”

  The young boy stood bravely but fear and frustration had caused tears to course down his cheeks. As soon as the tears appeared five inmates jumped into his face yelling at him to shut-up and to stop acting like a little bitch. One of the guards finally broke it up but the kid was visibly shaking and crying by that point. It was very easy to forget that the State of Ohio wouldn’t allow the children to be raped and beaten up on their watch.

  The inmates took turns questioning the kids about their crimes, getting into their faces and pushing them around. But no one said one word to Scotty who just watched his father stand-by quietly without getting involved in the show of scaring the kids.

  After that they went on a tour of the lunchroom, which was crowded with men who cat-called them when they walked into the room. They were given food to eat while the inmates from the previous room made sure they knew how to sit and eat.

  Scotty got his tray of food while his father escorted him silently. After they were seated Scotty stared down at the food. There was a grey piece of meat with grey sauce on it, meatloaf? There were also soggy mixed vegetables, translucent mashed potatoes and two slices of white bread.

  His stomach turned.