by Styles, T.
“Blacks think they run our country because of the laws that are made today! And unless we do something about it now, drug dealers, basketball players, rappers and the rest of these niggers will continue to take the American tradition out of our homes and throw it into the streets! And I for one won’t rest until we claim our country back! Are you with me?!”
“Yeah!” A thunderous cheer rippled through the hall.
“I said are you with me?!”
“YYYYYYYYYEAAAAHHHH!”
“What do we believe in?!” William yelled looking at his audience in a distorted evil glare.
“White POWER!” the crowd yelled.
“And what will we fight for?!”
“White POWER!”
“Now I’m not opposed to niggers getting with other niggers.” The crowd settled down and laughed a little. “But now they want our women and our jobs! Are we gonna sit by and continue to let them push out everything we worked so hard to build?”
“Nooooooooooooo!”
Raising his clutched fist into the air, he wanted it known that he would stop at nothing to ensure that whites regain control of their government and country. His coal black hair was as neat and as perfect as his purpose. In his late forties, at first sight William appeared as harmless as a catholic priest. But he was far from it.
“We must protect our white babies, our white women and white America! And as I look down at my God fearing beautiful white daughter, I’m reminded of the importance of our pure white heritage!
Anyone who was watching Carolyn could see that her beauty was riveting. And there was no denying that she looked like money in her royal blue Anne Klein suit and black pumps. Her red hair sat neatly on her shoulders and moved whenever she did. Out of habit and nervousness, she tucked it behind her ears several times that evening.
These meetings always had her on edge because she wondered if anyone would notice that she didn’t believe in everything KYC stood for. It was difficult for her to digest that her father was nothing more than an extreme racist. He couldn’t even be in the same room with someone black without commenting on their atrociousness. Day and night he preached of regaining the country through infiltrating public offices and big businesses. And he’d stop at nothing to see his plans followed through.
And right beside Carolyn sat her skinhead brother, eighteen-year old Todd Jamison. While everyone else was dressed in business attire, Todd wore a tight white t-shirt revealing his muscular body, and a pair of worn blue jeans. His steel toe boots were partially covered in dirt. He was the extreme of his father’s beliefs and principles. Even William had to tell him several times that he’d gone too far. But it was his arms that revealed the inner battle he faced with being a racist. Because covered over his arms were both fresh and old scars, compliments of his indulging in self-mutilation.
Although she never spoke it aloud, she knew of the things Todd and his friends did to innocent people of other races. She recalled him coming in late one night to their large home in Georgetown, DC, covered in blood. She asked him over and over what happened, even though she didn’t want to know. He never told her, but his glossy eyes showed that he was high on whatever he needed to follow through on his heinous crimes. That following day, when it was broadcasted on the news that someone had stabbed two black members of a Baptist church and pulled their bodies out on the steps for all to see, Todd smiled proudly.
His baldhead was skinned and a large black tattoo of the letters W and P could be seen from clear across the room. They symbolized, White Power. Through her brother’s eyes, it was the first time she could honestly see how hate and love could co-exist. Because Todd loved to hate, and everyone in his presence for five seconds felt it.
“We have to regain control over our businesses and our government first. Because as long as we continue to allow them to make screwed up laws, we can’t win! We have to unite in our purpose and do it now. Let’s build strong fronts! We can do it!”
The crowd roared with excitement. A furor rose up, then settled.
“Now before I leave, I want to introduce to you our answer to the DC Government. He’s young, he’s intelligent and he understands what must be done to clean up the city. Please welcome Kirk Bowler, our future Mayor and the newly elected Chief of Police!”
The cheers continued to roar throughout the hall.
“Thank you Bill!” he said shaking his hand. “Before he leaves can we give this man a another round of applause?”
The cheers got louder and William stepped off of the stage after receiving a standing ovation. His chest swelled. Kirk remained as he gave his speech on how he would represent the KYC well, starting with increasing the white percentage in the police force. Kirk hated that over 50% of the officers were niggers and he had plans to change it. His speech went on for twenty minutes before it ended.
“Sir, I enjoyed your speech! And if there’s anything I can do for you or your organization, please don’t hesitate to let me know.” Amanda Hertz owned six big banks and loved using her money to gain influence. “I mean that.”
“Thank you, ma’am, but just having the support of good old fashion law abiding white woman like yourself will be plenty.” Williams said.
“You have that.” She smiled hugging him lightly. “But I’ll write another check too.”
“That will be much appreciated.” He winked.
When she dismissed herself, William walked over to his beautiful daughter and extended his hand. Todd was right beside her.
“How was I?”
“Wonderful, Daddy!” Carolyn hugged him. “They loved you.”
“What do you think, son?” He turned and shook his son’s hand.
“You ROCKED!”
William laughed.
“Why don’t you go pull the car around front? I want to talk to your sister alone.”
“No problem, Dad!” Todd often yelled like he was in the military and carried himself that way, too.
When Todd walked away, her father stared deeply into Carolyn’s eyes. “You understand our purpose and why this is so important for our future don’t you?” He knew of the rumors that surfaced about his own flesh in blood being nothing more than a Wigger, someone who enjoyed being in the presence of black people.
“Of course, father.”
“I’m serious. They are poisonous, Carolyn. They’ll rape you, take your money and leave you for dead.”
He named his daughter after Carolyn Bryant, the woman that 14-year Emett Till whistled at days before he was murdered.
“I know, Daddy.” She shifted on her feet. “I would never do anything contrary to your beliefs. Heck, I agree with you. We need to do all we can to annihilate other races and win our country back.” A light smile spread across her face.
“Our beliefs Carolyn. Ours.”
“Huh?”
“You said you’d never do anything contrary to my beliefs and I need you to understand our beliefs should be one in the same.”
“I know, Daddy. It was a mistake.”
“I understand.”
“Honestly, father. It won’t happen again.”
“I know. Now have you given any thought to running your own chapter? I mean, you only have one year left at Catholic University. It’s time you help us connect with some of these impressionable young women out there. And with that face,” he rubbed her chin softly, “they’ll never see us coming.”
“I’m thinking about it but I don’t want to let you down. It’s a lot of work and I’m not sure if I’m ready.”
“I have all the faith in you, Carolyn. I need you on board with me.”
“Okay.”
She was nervous, but poised because she wondered if he could read her mind or see her desires because Carolyn was quite the character. She had a fetish for the wild side of life and she managed to keep it under wraps, when she wasn’t drinking.
Black men and their music and culture aroused her. Still, she knew her father was not a man to be trifled with. If on
e didn’t go along with his philosophies, her father could become quite an adversary.
Kavon Peate
Washington D.C.
The Good Life
“You sure bout this?” Shy’s eyes widened as he sat in Kavon’s car, outside of his three-hundred-thousand dollar town home in Georgetown, Washington DC. Shy passed him the blunt after releasing the smoke into the air.
“I don’t know how else to tell you. I’m serious ‘bout her, young.”
Kavon had just dropped the “M” bomb on him by telling him he was going to propose to Tara.
“We always said marriage was for niggas who couldn’t find another way to please a female. So why you goin’ against our bond?”
“I know…but she ain’t just a female. For five years she been holdin’ me down. That girl does more for me than my mother did before she was killed.”
And that was a serious statement, considering Kavon’s mother, Susan Cartier, was his best friend, before she was murdered by some niggas trying to get at his head.
“I hear what you sayin’, Kavon. I do, but do you have to make her your wife?”
“I don’t have to make her my wife, I want to.”
“You at the top of your game right now. And with the reduction you askin’ me for dem keys,” he passed Kavon back the blunt, “you bout to be on top of the world. Bitches gonna be comin’ from left to right. Why choose one?”
“You always roundin’ shit off in terms of pussy. It ain’t bout that with me. I want kids…and a family. And when you think about it, how many niggas you know still in the game after fifteen years?”
Shy looked at Kavon realizing he was right.
“Niggas could do this shit for life if they played smart. Niggas who bail out early weak. It’s as simple as that.”
“So you sayin’ I’m weak?”
“You got to answer that question for yourself, homie.”
“Than it’s not even in the talk. Ain’t nothin’ weak about a nigga knowin’ when it’s time to cash out.”
“I hear you. But kids and a wife ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. Lil Shawn bad as fuck! Do you know this lil nigga had the nerve to tell me he tired of the lil’ bitty money I’m givin’ him cause he can’t land no bitch with it?”
Kavon laughed a little but decided to keep his real comments to himself about Lil Shawn. That was a whole different story entirely. A few sparks from the blunt fell on the floor and Kavon put them out with his boots before taking another pull.
“Hold fast, he five right?” Kavon questioned, still thinking about his choice of words at such a young age.
“Exactly!”
“It ain’t nothin’ but his motha tellin’ him to do that shit.” He shook his head, chuckling ruefully.
“You got that shit right.”
“See Tara would look after my seed—you feel me? All she want is a family, fuck the money.”
“Come on, Kavon! I guarantee you she may want you out, but she don’t want the money to stop flowin’ eitha. So what’s your plan? How you gonna support her habit for nice houses and clothes if you out of the game?”
“I’ma buy a few beachfront properties in Miami.”
“Hold up, you gettin’ into real estate?! Are you serious? We fuckin’ soldiers and soldiers belong on the battle field.”
“I’m done wit this shit, Shy.”
“You gonna give up everything we built and worked for, for a woman?”
“Not for a woman…but for my woman.”
Shy passed the blunt back to Kavon and he accepted. They both saw his white next-door neighbor staring in their direction. What had both of them fucked up was the huge tattoo of the letters W and P on his head.
“What’s up wit that mothafucka?” Shy asked, noticing him staring them down.
“I don’t know, but I know he don’t fuck wit our black asses.”
“Ya’ll got racists out here?” Shy asked, eyes still fixated on him.
“They everywhere man, most of them be incognito that’s all. But this white boy don’t give a fuck.”
“Want me to handle his ass?” Shy touched the weapon in his coat pocket.
“Naw…let him breathe.”
The neighbor stood on the steps, grabbed his dick and wiggled his tongue. He looked demonic as he looked at them with revulsion. Seconds later, he threw up the “fuck you” sign and swaggered in the door.
“I’m ‘bout to smoke this fool.” Shy said, moving for the car door.
“Be easy, man…we’ll deal wit that shit later.”
“Any way, congrats, nigga on your proposal!” Shy exclaimed, giving him a pound. Afterward, he handed Kavon the tiny remainder of the blunt. “I ain’t gonna lie. You picked a winner.”
“That’s what I been tryin’ to tell you, man.” Kavon put the blunt out in the ashtray and left it there. “Now let’s get some grub cause I’m hungry den a mothafucka.” They exited the car, walked to the door and Kavon rubbed his stomach. “And Shy.”
“What up, B?” Shy gazed at him with contrition in his heart. To the person looking outside in, they could see his agitation.
“Don’t tell her about my proposal. It’s a surprise.”
“That’s your woman not mine.”
“Thanks, man.”
The moment Kavon walked through his mahogany doors and saw his future wife busying herself with his meal, he smiled. But Shy sat on the sofa looking at the love in their eyes and it made his stomach rumble.
As always, everything was in order. And with his chest stuck out, Kavon felt proud for Shy to see what a beautiful home Tara and he had built together. Prior to Tara moving in, he had one couch, one bed and one toothbrush. But now, thanks to her exquisite taste, their home was filled with tasteful furniture imported from Italy.
Tara’s long hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She wore a red, one-piece cotton Gucci dress and earrings with the word, Kavon engraved inside of them. As if she was moving in slow motion, she stopped the moment she saw the love of her life walk through the front door.
“Hola, Papi!” she said, running up to him. She planted a juicy kiss on his lips. Instantly, she wrapped her arms around his neck as he ran his hands down the small of her back. For one minute they kissed without letting each other go.
“Damn, can I get some love, too?” Shy asked as he stood up from the sofa. The moment she acknowledged him, he opened his arms and tilted his head to the right.
“Shy!” Tara yelled, jumping up into his arms, as he lifted her up and lightly spun her around. It had been two months since she’d seen him and she missed him. Their friendship didn’t threaten Kavon one bit.
“I didn’t know you were comin’ over. You told me you were in New York when you called earlier.” Tara playfully hit him.
Shy placed her down. “You didn’t know I was here cuz dis nigga had dem big ass soup coolers he got fo lips in yo face!” He laughed.
“Fire that shit up!” Kavon ignored Shy and pulled another blunt out of his pants pocket.
He was moving in to kiss her again when he heard Shy yell, “You mothafuckas not ‘bout to be in my face fuckin’.”
“What you jealous? I keep tellin’ you, to find you a good woman and leave them busted ass bitches alone. Then you won’t be worryin’ bout what the fuck we do.”
“What you think I been tryin’ to do?” Shy fired up the blunt before pulling on it and releasing the smoke into the air. “I don’t be knowin’ they skeezas until after I fuck ‘em.” He passed the blunt to Tara but she refused. “All I’ma say is never have a kid cause these bitches out here ain’t shit!”
“What’s up with you and kids?” Kavon laughed.
“Yeah, Shy. You just got the wrong woman.” Tara fanned the smoke in the air.
“My bad Tara, I wasn’t talkin’ bout yo fine ass. I shoulda got with you myself,” he joked and his eyes searched Tara’s. “Instead I played matchmaker.”
“That’s the story of your life. Always pickin’ the wrong one
s.” Kavon smirked.
“You betta neva fuck up!”
Awkward silence filled the air.
“Even if I could you wouldn’t have a chance. You got who you want right?” Kavon asked referring to his son’s mother.
Another moment of uncomfortable silence hovered over the room as each tried to determine if the other was serious.
“You know I’m just fuckin’ wit you.” Shy laughed. “You gettin’ all serious and shit.”
“I’m just statin’ the facts. Plus, Tara don’t get down with big dudes. She got taste.” Kavon pulled her toward him.
Shy and Kavon joked all the time with each other, but something about the mood tonight was different. Shy felt Kavon owed him his life. Six years ago, Kavon trusted this white cat called Paris Christal in Virginia with fifty thousand dollars of his hard earned cash in exchange for some weight. His supply was dangerously low and the demand was greater than ever. And Shy was in Vegas watching a fight thereby rendering him impossible to reach. If he waited, he risked losing his customers and soldiers to other major dealers.
Listening to a dude named Jodi, Kavon ran with from time to time, he reached out to Paris for some temporary weight until Shy came back and acted as if he had an operation to run. And because his source was somewhat reliable, he trusted Paris would not fuck him over. He was dead wrong.
Once a mule delivered the money, and Kavon hadn’t received his product, he knew there was a problem. Two days went by and Kavon couldn’t find Paris or Jodi. The old white man was missing in action. He knew without a doubt that he had been played.
