by Styles, T.
The Face That Launched A Thousand Bullets
Copyright © 2009 by The Cartel Publications. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission
from the author, except by reviewer who may quote passages
to be printed in a newspaper or magazine.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE:
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses,
organizations, places, events and incidents are the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance of
actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2009907456
ISBN: 0-9823913-2-3
ISBN 13: 978-0-9823913-2-7
Cover Design: Davida Baldwin www.oddballdsgn.com
Editor: Right Way Editorial Services
Typsett: T. Styles
www.thecartelpublications.com
First Edition
Printed in the United States of America
What’s Up Fam,
First and foremost we are overwhelmed with the continued support, well wishes and sometimes hugs we receive from our fans and followers. Ya’ll have no idea how much we appreciate it. Believe me, all that we are and do is for you. Aight, enough of the mushy shit, let’s get on wit’ the reason for the letter. It is my Honor…My duty…My privilege to announce and introduce to you, “The Face That Launched 1000 Bullets”. In my humble opinion, I believe this one is goin’ be a CERTIFIED street classic. These boys are mean, but they didn‘t start out that way. Circumstances can make or break you or just form the person you become!! “T” put her heart into these youngins’ and this story. Trust me, you will not be disappointed, I guarantee it!!
As always, in each book we pay homage to an urban street legend doin’ his or her thing in the industry. This book is no exception, so without further delay, we show love and respect to,
“Deja King”
Deja is the authoress of the street classic, “Bitch” series. She has penned several other titles such as, “Stackin’ Paper”; “Trife Life To Lavish”; “Stackin’ Paper 2”; “Dirty Little Secrets”; “Hooker to Housewife” and “Superstar”. She also co-authored wit’ “T” along wit’ Miasha & Daaimah Poole on, “Diamond Playgirls”. Deja is the truth and The Cartel recognizes and congratulates her on all her success!
Ok Fam…I took up enough of your time. Get comfortable and get it in. I’ll kick it wit’ you again soon!
Charisse “C. Wash” Washington
VP, The Cartel Publications
www.thecartelpublications.com
Follow us on twitter @
www.twitter.com/cartelbooks
Dedication
This is dedicated to my customers at the Cartel Café & Books store.
Thanks for holding me down in everything I do.
Acknowledgements
I done put so many books out this year, I feel like I’m blogging when I write my acknowledgments. So I’m gonna keep it short and sweet.
I acknowledge all those who seek their dreams.
I acknowledge all those who fulfill their destinies despite naysayers.
I acknowledge all those who respect their fellow peers in the book game and beyond because they realize in order to legitimize this industry, we must form alliances.
I acknowledge all my babies behind bars who although you may get a little freaky in the letters you write me, support my work. I know it comes from a good place. LOL!! And just so you know, I don’t read the freaky ones. Sorry fellas.
Well, I hope you enjoy this novel. The Face is the novel, which sparked the creation of The Cartel Publications. It was this very book, which gave me the inspiration to do it on my own. And now, a little over a year later, we’re ten books in and getting stronger by the month. We don’t intend on going anywhere but the top. I’m in it to win it. Thanks for staying by my side.
T. Styles
President & CEO, The Cartel Publications
www.twitter.com/authortstyles
www.thecartelpublications.com
www.myspace.com/toystyles
Visit our book store at:
Cartel Café & Books
5011 Indian Head Highway
Oxon Hill, MD 20745
240 724-7225
Every Saga Begins Somewhere
The Face That Launched A Thousand Bullets
The love of money brought them together.
The love of a woman tore them apart.
Prologue
Present Day
Ten Days Before Christmas
“You’re askin’ a lot from me right now, Daddy! I just don’t love him!” The young woman paused momentarily to place her Gucci black purse on the counter and to plop down in the seat one over from him. She didn’t mean for her voice to carry so loudly as she spoke into her Blackberry cell phone, but she was extremely upset.” What about me not loving him? And what about what I want?”
Her eyes met a stranger’s who was staring at her and she spoke a little lower. “I love you, too, Daddy.” She sounded defeated. “I’ll see you soon.” She tossed her phone onto the counter.
Although her face was wet from the snow mixed with rain outdoors, the man sitting across from her at the restaurant counter could still tell she’d been crying.
“You okay? Can I get you somethin’?”
“If you can convince my father to let me marry who I want instead of some rich ass boy from my college, that’ll be a start. I’m in love with a man he can’t stand and it’s killin’ me!”
The wind outside whipped around Kristina’s Diner, interrupting their conversation momentarily. When it settled down, the Temptations CD could be heard amongst the customer’s cheerful chatter. It was truly a frosty winter day.
Moments later, the waitress came out and placed a slice of pie and a cup of hot chocolate in front of him before addressing her.
“Can I get you anything?” she asked, wiping the wetness from her leather coat off the counter.
“Yes…a cup of coffee, please.” When the waitress left he addressed the distraught woman again.
“Why don’t you put your foot down, shawty? You can’t be layin’ up with somebody you ain’t feelin’. Tell him how it is and let him sort that shit out.”
“You don’t know my father. He’s paying for grad school, my apartment and my car. If I don’t marry him and leave Trent alone, he’ll cut me off for good! I don’t have the courage or the money to support myself.”
“What about the man you love?”
“Who--Trent?” she asked dismissively. “He just got a job as a teacher. He can barely take care of himself, let alone me. I don’t know what to do.” Her fawn eyes searched his for an answer and she reminded him of his woman.
“I feel you…but you can’t worry about that. Naw mean? You got to do what’s best for you. Straight up!”
“It’s easier said than done.” She rested her elbows on the counter and threw her face in her hands. “I’m confused.”
“Let me tell you a story about my shawty. She went through something similar. Got time?”
She hunched her shoulders. “I guess so. I ain’t doin’ nothin’ else.”
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Tammy.” She was hesitant.
“Well, Tammy, you’re in for the story of your life.”
Thinkin’ of a master plan…
‘Cause ain’t nothin’ but sweat inside my ha
nd…
So I dig into my pocket, all my money spent…
So I dig deeper but still comin’ up with lint…
So I start my mission-leave my residence…
Thinkin’ how could I get some dead presidents…
-Eric B and Rakim
Mayor Christian Gibson
Washington D.C., August of 1988
White Lies
Mayor Christian Gibson of Washington D.C. stared at the large yellow envelope on his mahogany desk with a hopeful heart. Nestled inside were the long-awaited yearly crime statistics for the condition of his city. Perspiration dressed his ginger-colored face, and he attempted to soothe his dry mouth by swallowing his own saliva. To say he was apprehensive about its contents was an understatement.
Everything was on the line, his job, his rep and most of all his future. The mayor desired nothing more than to be re-elected. Still, he made huge promises and everyone wanted follow through for a safer city, and only those results could prove it.
“Sir…sir…do you want me to open it?” his beautiful white assistant, Janice Lindsay asked in her designer, two-piece black suit.
“What?” When he looked up, his bland expression revealed his emotional detachment.
“I said would you like me to open it?”
“Oh…no…I’ll be fine, Janice. Just leave me alone please.”
When she walked out and closed the door behind her, he grabbed the letter opener with the brass handle and unfastened the envelope slowly. Before even looking at the documents, he took a deep breath and looked around his office.
Awards of the accomplishments he had achieved adorned the walls. Mayor Gibson was sworn into office in 1979 and had achieved way more in Chocolate City than the mayor prior. He loved his career and the citizens more than he did his own life. But, even he fell victim to the woes of a prosperous city.
The report shook in his hands as he skimmed through it for what he wanted and needed to see. His eyes searched wildly until he found exactly what he was looking for. He was no fool. He knew that crime strong-armed the capital with a tight-fisted grip. But he hoped it wasn’t as bad. In fact, he prayed it wasn’t.
“Dear God”, he said aloud. Based on what he was seeing, there had been a 30% spike in crime under his watch. He had failed. His opponents would eat him alive with those numbers and he knew it! His chest heaved a sigh of resignation and he fell into the soft leather chair.
Before crack ran as rampantly as a serial killer through D.C., the nation’s capital was a place to be respected. And now it was nothing more than a jungle with human animals running around waiting to be extinct.
Opening his bottom drawer, he pulled out a locked grey box and flopped it on the desk in front of him. He needed to feel something outside of the colossal failure that loomed over his head. Lifting his keyboard, he removed a small silver key to unlock the box. Once open, he removed a black velvet bag and placed it down carefully before him.
The mayor’s heart raced and he licked his lips as if he were looking at a sexy ass woman. Before indulging, he looked at the door once more to be sure it was closed. When he was certain it was, he cautiously untied the satchel, revealing what was inside. Carefully, he removed a small plastic bag filled with cocaine, a mirror and his business card.
He licked his lips once more, anticipating the high, as he poured the white powder on the mirror and divided it into lines. His reflection bothered him momentarily. What had he become? Once a soldier on the battlefield, now he had taken sides with the enemy. He knew firsthand the power the drug had on the body when the mind was weak and he chose to battle with it anyway.
How could he possibly fight the war on drugs when he was aiding in its future? But right now…for that second, nothing else mattered. Bending down slowly he inhaled the poison that theoretically fucked his city over and over again. He reveled in its power.
And as long as he remained in command, D.C…was doomed.
Crayland Bailor
West Baltimore, 1988
For The Love Of Power
Outside of the grungy snow on the ground, nothing in the air reminded people in Bmore that Christmas was right around the corner. It was just a characteristic gutter morning on Liberty Heights avenue. Cars whizzed up and down the busy city street while dealers moved their product with vigor. Behind the doors of a run-down apartment, which blended in well with the sense of despair in the neighborhood, sat a boy, who did his best to make sense of his life, or what was left of it.
Twelve-year-old Crayland, whom everyone called Cray, was a master at tuning out distractions. He’d learned this skill from the moment he discovered it could help him deal with the troubles in his home life. Sitting at the green tattered kitchen table, he poured the rest of the Captain Crunch cereal into his big yellow bowl. He pouted when he shook it twice and noticed he didn’t have enough for a second helping. Raising the red and white carton of milk, he poured it carefully over his cereal. And when he lifted his spoon and prepared to eat his meal, he saw a red drop splatter into the milk within his bowl. The dot started out small, but eventually spread wider and wider.
On the verge of crying, Cray began breathing heavily. A few more crimson drops splashed on the table and Cray knew instantly it was blood. His eyes watered and he tried to fight back the tears. No longer able to block out the sounds around him, he heard his father’s yells and his mother’s pleas. They were directly behind him, the entire time fighting, but he’d been tuning them out.
“I shoulda let you die on the bathroom floor when I found you with ya wrists slit!” He yelled loudly, banging his fist against the wall for emphasis. “My father warned me about whores like you!”
Still hungry, he was preparing to eat the bloodied meal anyway, when his father shoved his mother’s head against the table, knocking the cereal to the floor.
“I’ma wipe that smug look off ya fuckin’ face!” His hand stayed firm against the back of her neck. From the waist down she wasn’t clothed and the black hair on her vagina peeked out. He’d woken her up out of her sleep…again.
The milk drenched Cray’s wholly blue socks as he jumped up against the green wall. He stood in silence as he watched his father punch his mother over and over with a closed fist in her face. Having seen this many times before, he was numb. Before the trouble came into their lives, the three of them went to Good Hope Baptist faithfully every Sunday. And all of a sudden, the visits stopped.
Cray had no knowledge that one Sunday morning when his parents stayed home from church, that Phillip Shackles, their longtime friend came over to celebrate his release from jail. And instead of bringing the cheap MD 20/20 he usually brought after he got out, he had heroin in his possession. Neither was strong enough to resist Phillip’s persuasion because seeing Phillip meant good fun and happy times. Besides, he swore he’d been doing it for years and he appeared as right as rain. All three were wrong, and all three were strung out.
“You dirty bitch! I thought I told you to be in this house every night by seven! You givin’ my pussy away—huh? Is that what you’re doin’?!” His father punched his mother repeatedly in the mouth, not giving her a chance to answer.
“David, please!” She tried to shield her face. “The bus was late last night and I knew you’d be angry if I came in late! I swear I’d never cheat on you!” She was telling the truth. She worked as a housekeeper for a cheesy motel in Baltimore and the buses never ran on time.
“You ain’t nothin’ but a lyin’ whore! My nigga told me he saw you on Liberty Ave, talkin’ to some dude!”
“Suddenly her arms fell to her sides. She was tired, and no longer able to defend herself. “Please, I love you. Please don’t hurt me anymore. You promised you’d stop.”
“I’ma teach you a lesson, whore!” With one last blow, he pounded her so hard in the face she passed out, as she had many times before. He was surgical with knowing exactly how hard to hit her in order to knock her out.
He rubbed his knuckles and for t
he first time since the fight, looked at his son. Cray’s body trembled and he prayed his father wouldn’t hit him next. Although he never took his anger out on his only child, his father was growing more violent with each passing day and the boy couldn’t be sure what his father was capable of.
David’s arms were massive and he was tattooed from head to toe. Out of all of the tattoos, the one with a woman with a noose tied around her neck, as a man drug her on the ground spoke for the man he really was. David’s skin was also dark chocolate and he had fine wavy hair. Wearing a white t-shirt and blue work pants that were one size to small for his muscular legs, he was entirely too big to be beating a man, let alone a woman.
“I know you think I’m wrong, son,” he looked at him, rubbed his hands with the soiled towel he kept in his back pocket. He usually used it to wipe the oil off his hands from working on cars…now it was used to wipe blood. “When you become a man, you’ll learn that you got to keep yo’ house in order. And it starts by makin’ sure yo’ woman stay in line.”
Cray zoned out and focused on his mother’s half naked, limp, bloodied body spread out on the kitchen floor.
“Cray!” David yelled, breaking him from his trance.
He looked at his father, his eyes filled with deep-seated resentment.
