The Fix 2

by K'wan

  “Yo, I never thought I’d say this, but I don’t even wanna see another recording booth again,” Lex huffed. His youthful face looked haggard and his eyes were narrowed to red slits from the weed he’d been smoking during their session.

  “Don B. be on some slave master shit,” Jay said, stretching his aching muscles.

  “If y’all hadn’t bullshitted around and got the album done on time, this might not have happened,” Tone said. He was the group’s manager and handler. They were a mischievous bunch, and he often had to shadow them to make sure they stayed out of trouble.

  “Fuck that, I could’ve spit for at least two more hours. I was born to do this rap shit,” Pain boasted. His eyes were glassy and his nostrils were flared. While the rest of the group was tired, the cocaine in his system had him wired.

  “I’ll bet,” Tone said, giving him a suspicious look. He knew Pain snorted; they all indulged from time to time, but lately Pain always seemed to be high off cocaine. He was hard enough to deal with when he was sober, but coked up he became an even bigger asshole. His behavior was starting to affect the public image of the group, and Tone made a mental note to himself to discuss it with Don B.

  “Where the fuck is True? Why that nigga ain’t in here sweating like the rest of us?” Lex asked.

  “Because True laid his vocals for those songs two weeks ago. We were waiting on you slow muthafuckas,” Tone told him. True was the other member of the group, and the one with the most potential. He had knucklehead tendencies too, but he was much easier to manage than the rest. This was the reason why Don B. had picked True to be the first one of the group to drop a solo album. Of course there were some ill feelings among other members of the group because they felt like it was favoritism, and it was, but True had “star” written all over him and Don B. wanted to cash in on it.

  “Brownnosing-ass nigga,” Pain mumbled.

  “The car is outside,” Big Sam said, startling them. He was six five and at least 250 pounds, but he walked as light as a cat. Big Sam and his partner Jimmy were handling the security detail for them that night. They were two ex-college football players whose dreams of going pro never came to fruition, so they got into the security business.

  “Good, because I’m ready to get out of here. Spending twelve hours with these yahoos is way too many,” Tone said, following Big Sam to the exit.

  To get outside to their waiting truck, the rappers had to pass the line of people waiting to get into the nightclub. All it took was for one person to recognize them and they were soon mobbed by fans. Big Sam kept the dudes at a safe distance, while letting the women through so that the rappers could take their pick from the groupies. It was protocol when dealing with members of Big Dawg. They would select the ones they wanted and leave the stragglers to the security staff. Big Sam had gotten more pussy working for Big Dawg than he did his whole four years in college.

  Tone stood off to the side, shaking his head at the thirst being displayed by the women. It wasn’t unheard of for him to take down a groupie or three, but Tone was more reserved and picky when it came to the women he slept with. The rap group had no such reservations and would stick their dicks in anything with a wet hole.

  Tone had just instructed them to take their picks and get in to load into the SUV, when his phone rang. The women squealing like school girls over the rappers were making so much noise that he couldn’t hear, so Tone stepped back inside the lobby of the loft to take the call. As he talked on the phone, he watched in amusement as Pain took pictures of two white girls, who were kissing on a dare. Tone’s eyes wandered to the curb where he saw a young man appear as if out of thin air, on the far side of the idling truck that had been waiting for them. His face was hard as stone and his eyes so cold that Tone felt like the temperature had just dropped in the lobby. Something about the young man tugged at the back of Tone’s mind and he realized it was the same kid they’d gotten into it with at the club. At first he thought it might’ve been a coincidence and the kid Chucky had referred to as Li’l Monk might’ve just been there to enjoy the nightclub, but when he saw him roll the ski mask down over his face, he knew what time it was. Too bad he was too late to warn the others.

  Lex was whispering sweet nothings into the ear of a young lady, when he spotted the man in the ski mask step from behind the SUV. He went to shout a warning to his friends, but his voice was drowned out by the rattle of the MP5K. The powerful slugs tore one of his arms off at the elbow, and obliterated his kidney before any of the others even realized someone was shooting.

  Big Sam went into action, reaching for the gun that was in the holster on the back of his pants. He was fast, but not as fast as the bullets that punched lemon-sized holes into his chest. Before Big Sam’s body had even hit the floor, Li’l Monk had already turned the gun on Jay, who was trying to flee. He tapped the trigger twice, striking Jay high in his back, flipping him forward.

  While Li’l Monk was busy trying to mow down everything in the path of his machine gun, Jim had slid from the SUV and was creeping on him. He raised his gun, level with the back of Li’l Monk’s head, intent on taking him out of the game, but he would never have the chance. Omega’s 9 mm roared to life, splattering Jim’s brains on the side of the SUV. Li’l Monk was about to offer his friend his thanks, when Omega unexpectedly tackled him to the ground. A split second later, a bullet struck the car they had been standing in front of. Pain had drawn his weapon, and was firing at them as he tried to make his escape down the block. In the distance they could hear sirens approaching.

  “Let’s get out of here!” Omega tugged at Li’l Monk’s jacket.

  Li’l Monk jerked away. “Not yet,” he yelled, knowing this was his best and last chance to do what Ramses required of him. Failure was not an option. Li’l Monk shoved the machine gun and the bundles of cocaine he’d had under his shirt into Omega’s unsuspecting hands. “Throw these in their whip. Make sure they got blood on them before you plant them,” he ordered.

  “You’re one crazy son of a bitch,” Omega told him.

  “Crazy like a fox, now handle your end while I handle mine.” Li’l Monk drew a Desert Eagle from his pants. The gun was old and worn, but reliable, and familiar to Li’l Monk’s hands. It had been a gift from his father, Monk, when he first decided to take it to the streets. He knew that gun as well as the back of his own hand. Li’l Monk slowed his breathing, like his father had showed him when he was first teaching him how to shoot, and took aim. As he exhaled the last rhythmic breath, he pulled the trigger.

  The impact of the bullet took lifted Pain off the ground and he flew about six feet, before rolling to a stop against a parked car. Pain wanted desperately to get up and run, but his body wouldn’t cooperate. He watched, with terror-filled eyes, as the masked man stalked toward him. It was a wrap, and he knew it. Pain watched in surprise as the man lifted his mask so that he could see the face hidden beneath. “You?” Pain was shocked.

  “Yup, me.” Li’l Monk reached down and gripped the waist of Pain’s jeans. In a display of his brute-like strength, he yanked with so much force that Pain was lifted off the ground as Li’l Monk tore his pants off. It only took one of his massive hands to wrap around both of Pain’s ankles and push his knees to his chest. The way Li’l Monk had him positioned, it looked like he was about to sexually violate him, but Li’l Monk had a violation of a different kind in mind. “Since you like to stick your friend in women, uninvited, I’m gonna stick my friend in you uninvited.” Li’l Monk jammed the gun roughly in Pain’s ass.

  The moment Pain saw Li’l Monk he felt the stop clock on his life began to tick. He knew that he was going to die, but he had no idea how horribly.

  “Please, don’t,” Pain begged.

  “Did you show Marty mercy when you and your boys raped her?” Li’l Monk asked.

  Pain was silent.

  “I thought not.” Li’l Monk pulled the trigger, covering his hand in blood and shit.

  CHAPTER 2

  It had rain
ed all night and most of the morning, but at long last the sun was finally trying to peek out, though only in spurts. Considering how brutal the winter had been, a little rain wasn’t too bad. It signaled farewell to winter, and hello to the coming spring.

  Persia sat, elbows on the table, and chin resting on her knuckles, watching the leftover raindrops trickle down the classroom window. She imagined herself outside, splashing in the puddles left behind by the rain, like she used to as a kid, but instead she was stuck in fourth period math class. Had this been a few months ago, when Persia was still attending Martin Luther King Jr., she’d have likely ditched, but this wasn’t public school, it was St. Mary’s and her parents were paying a hefty sum every month for her to attend the prestigious Catholic school. In addition to the tuition, they had to pull some serious strings to get the school to let her in after her brief fling with the NYC public school system. When Persia was allowed to reenroll in St. Mary’s, Father Michael had made it very clear that he would be on her ass this go-around. If she messed up, not only would give her the permanent boot, but she wouldn’t graduate on time with the rest of her classmates. This was her last and final shot.

  It had been a wild year for Persia. She had attended private and Catholic schools all her life, so just before senior year she convinced her parents to let her transfer to public school. She had been attending school with the same circles of people for eleven years and desperately wanted a change of scenery. Her parents were against it, but Persia made a very convincing argument. She had always gotten good grades and never had problems in school. She just wanted to spend her final year of high school in a more relaxed environment. Reluctantly, they agreed and that was the beginning of the end.

  At the beginning, public school was a dream come true for Persia. The teachers weren’t as strict, the work was easier and she got to see her friends from the old neighborhood every day. Up until the time she was five, Persia had lived in Harlem with her mother, Michelle, and her biological father, Face. Face was one of the biggest drug dealers in Harlem, and a man of great respect on the streets. The hood loved Face, but no one loved him more than his little girl. Instead of tricking his money off on cars and jewelry like his friends, Face had made sound investments, one of them being the huge house he had moved them into in Long Island City. Persia was afforded all the things that her parents never had, including a top-dollar education in a new school. She missed her old friends from Harlem, but still got to see them on the weekends. Face busted his ass day and night in the streets to make sure Persia and her mother were taken care of, up until the day he went to prison for killing a man. It was in self-defense, but with Face’s rap sheet it was easy for the jury to paint him as a monster. They wanted to give him the long walk, but Face’s lawyer was able to plead him out to fifteen to twenty-five years.

  When Face went to prison, it left their family incomplete. Persia and her mother, Michelle, weren’t hurting for money. Face made sure of that, but him missing from the picture still created a void in their lives. A few years into Face’s bid, that void was filled when Michelle married a man named Richard and moved him into their house: the house Persia’s father had bought. Richard wasn’t a hustler like Face; he was a square dude, who taught history at the local university. He treated them well enough, but it didn’t stop Persia from resenting him. She felt like he was trying to take her father’s place, and could never bring herself to give him a fair chance.

  While Persia’s mother Michelle was busy playing homemaker with Richard, Persia was enjoying the newfound freedom of public school. Persia chose Martin Luther King Jr. because that was the school all her old neighborhood friends attended. When she hooked up with Karen, Meeka, and Ty it was just like being back on the block, only they were older now and into “big girl” things. Persia found herself skipping school to run through Harlem with her girls, smoking weed and chasing men. It didn’t take long for Persia to get so caught up in their lifestyle that she started losing sight of her own. Her grades were slipping in school, and she became more detached from her family. She was on the fast track and her life, already spiraling out of control, took a nose dive when she met Chucky.

  Chucky was one of the older dudes who got money on Karen’s block. All the girls wanted to get with him and when he started dating Persia she felt like she had finally arrived. Chucky was fine, had money, a nice ride, and status. He had it all, including an undercover drug habit. Persia, being as naïve as she was to that lifestyle, didn’t see the signs until it was too late, and Chucky had pulled her down the rabbit hole with him. Persia had smoked weed with Karen and them, and had even taken pills a time or two with her white friends Marty and Sarah, but it was Chucky who turned her on to the darker side of drug abuse. Persia was naïve, but she wasn’t stupid, and she understood that drugs were wrong, but she loved Chucky so much that she was doing whatever it took to keep him, including dancing with the devil. The first time Persia wrapped her lips around a crack pipe, she knew without question that she had hit rock bottom.

  In the end, Persia’s misguided love for Chucky had cost her dignity and almost her life when he left her to die in a crack house. Persia remembered it as vividly as if it had just happened.

  From the beginning it had been one of the worst days of Persia’s life. She had just gotten the news about her best friend Marty’s death. That coupled with the rift between her and her mother because of her bullshit in the streets had pushed Persia to an all-time low point. She tried to reach out for Chucky but he was too busy running the streets to take her calls, so Persia was left alone with her grief and it consumed her. That night, at Chucky’s aunt’s house, was the first time she had ever smoked straight-up crack, with no chaser. Persia had been doing hard drugs with Chucky for months, but it was mostly snorting coke and smoking laced blunts, but she promised herself that no matter how far she went, her lips would never touch a crack pipe. In her state of mind her promise had gone out the window and she had her first real dance with the devil.

  Smoking crack out of a pipe was the most intense high Persia had ever felt. It was almost like she had stepped out of her body and was watching herself hit the pipe from across the room. She was so out of her head that she had to go into the bathroom and splash water on her face. That’s when all hell broke loose.

  Persia heard gunshots first. It sounded like someone had just let off a cannon in the middle of the living room. When she gathered up the courage to investigate, she saw men in masks swarming the house. They were gunning down anyone they came across without hesitation or question. Persia locked herself in the upstairs bathroom, listening through the door at the sounds of gunshots and screams, which were getting closer by the second. Persia wasn’t sure how long she had been pressed against that door, but it seemed like forever. She listened intently for the sounds of voices or footsteps, but heard none. All was silent. Persia let out a deep sigh of relief, knowing she had once again dodged a bullet. Still leaning on the door, she looked up at the wreck staring back at her from the bathroom mirror. It made her want to cry, but she wasn’t sure if she had any tears left. Even if she did, who still cared enough to wipe them? She decided that after that night, she was getting her shit together.

  Someone jiggled the bathroom door and her breath got caught in her throat. They had found her! Persia thought maybe if she just explained to them that she didn’t have anything to do with what was going on they would let her go, but they she thought of how remorselessly they had been when gunning down Chucky’s aunt and her boyfriend and decided that they weren’t men who could be reasoned with. There was no way she planned on dying in a crack house.

  Persia looked around the bathroom frantically for something she could use for a weapon, when her eyes landed on the window. If she could climb down the side of the house, she might be able to get away. She was three stories up and it was snowing, but her chances out there were better than her chances in the bathroom.

  Persia had just managed to work the old window open when th
e bathroom door came crashing in. The two masked men filed in, guns drawn. When the shorter one saw Persia, he paused and that was all the time she needed to slide out the window.

  “Bring your li’l ass here,” she heard one of the men say. A hand clamped around her leg and was trying to pull her back in.

  “Let me go, I didn’t do anything,” Persia began kicking and thrashing.

  “Stop fighting and come back in here,” the shorter one ordered, trying to get a better grip on Persia by grabbing her shirt.

  Persia could feel herself sliding back through the window. If they got her inside, she was dead. With her last bit of strength, she kicked out as hard as she could. Her feet made contact with the shorter one’s face. The force tore her shirt, but she was free from his grip. Persia tried to grab onto the storm drain on the side of the house, but it was slick with snow and she slipped.

  Persia felt like she was falling forever. The wind felt good, like it was caressing her tenderly. For a few seconds all was right with the world and she was wrapped in her mother’s love. That came to a crashing halt when Persia hit the ground and it felt like she broke every bone in her body.

  That was both the scariest and the most enlightening day of her life. Her literal fall from grace had been the best thing to happen to her in months. It was while lying on that cold concrete, in severe pain and thinking she was going to die, that Persia made a promise to God that if she lived, she was going to get her act together. God accepted her wager when He sent the kind soul who found Persia and took her to the hospital. To that day she had no idea who it was who rescued her, but she would be forever in their debt, and one day the opportunity would present itself to thank them.