The Union II

by Tremayne Johnson

  Kim wasn’t aggressive at all, so she never attempted to fight back, but as soon as Priscilla loosened her grip, a straight edge razor grazed the bottom of her chin.

  She jumped back, grabbed at her face.

  Kim swung the flat, rectangular blade again, leaving a two inch gash across Priscilla’s arm.

  She stood there, smiling, holding the razor. “Bitch!”

  Priscilla caught a glimpse of her face in the mirror. She looked at the blood dripping down her hand and thought twice about her next move.

  “This shit ain’t over, bitch.” She whispered, snatched some paper towels, wrapped her bloody arm up and went back to her cot.

  Her first day of re-entry into the world had proved by far to be one of the worst days of her life. Yet, she still had so much to go through in order to fulfill her plan. She tried not to go to sleep, but the weight of her lids felt like a bag of bricks.

  The next time she opened her eyes, it was fourteen hours later.

  Priscilla looked up and noticed that she was no longer in a dorm, this was someone’s room.

  The walls were painted a yellowish/orange color, which made the sun’s illuminating rays even more glaring. Despite the warm temperatures, a cool breeze flowed through the huge bay window that overlooked the yard.

  Priscilla lay staring up at the old ceiling fan, watching the wooden blades go round and round.

  “You finally woke up, huh?” The woman’s voice sounded familiar, but Priscilla couldn’t see too clearly. She lifted her head, squinted and tried to make out who was coming through the door. “You done got yourself mixed up in something already.” She said, shaking her head.

  When she finally came closer, Priscilla recognized the woman from the front desk of the shelter.

  “Where am I?” She questioned.

  “You’re still here at the shelter, but you’re in my room.” The woman placed two aspirins and a glass of water on the table next to the bed. “I found you passed out this morning when I made my round through the dormitory. Must’a lost too much blood. Poor baby, you were almost dead. Good thing the nurse got here on time this morning. I don’t know what I would have done without her help.”

  Priscilla coughed and her head felt like it was about to explode. “Owww, my head is pounding.” She looked at her hand and instead of the paper towels she used; it was now wrapped in a real bandage made of gauze. “How bad is it?”

  “Not too bad, here take these and lay back down.” She handed Priscilla the aspirins and the water. “That scar on your face there, may be a lifetime memory.”

  Priscilla had forgotten about getting cut on her face. She couldn’t feel a thing. “My face?” she panicked and reached for her cheek.

  “No, don’t touch it.” The woman grabbed her arm. “You’ll jus’ make it bleed again. Nurse Betty had to stitch you up real good. You got seven on your face and five more on that arm. You wanna talk about it?”

  Priscilla shook her head no, and lay back in the warm bed. She shut her eyes and a vision of Brandi made her spring right back up.

  “My baby!” she pushed the covers off and attempted make an exit, but the loss of blood debilitated her completely.

  She was too weak to hold her body weight and collapsed to the floor.

  “Girl, you gon’ kill yourself, now stop being so hardheaded and let me help you up.” The woman assisted in getting Priscilla back into the bed. “Now, ain’t nobody said you got to stay here, if you wanna leave, you know exactly where that door is, but think about it first.”

  “I need to get my daughter back, please,” Priscilla pleaded.

  “Okay, listen, there are rules that everyone abides by in here. First off, let me start by saying, everyone here calls me Ms. Kathy. Like I told you before, I was once in the same exact spot you’re in now.” Kathy took a seat on the bed next to Priscilla. “Anyway, the rules as stated are; curfew begins today. That means you’re in this house by seven-thirty pm every night for the next thirty days. No exceptions. Next, no outside company at all; third, for the first ten days you are on a probationary period which means you do not leave the house unless you are told to; fourth, you will participate in household chores. Every morning you will be assigned a task for the day. Failure to complete that task will result in disciplinary actions and last but not least, absolutely no drug use whatsoever. Are we clear Ms. Davis?”

  “Ten days?” Priscilla couldn’t get past not leaving the house.

  “Yes, ten days. Do you have a problem with that?”

  “Yes, I do because I need to find my daughter.” She felt the puddle about to overflow from her eyelids.

  “Where is she?”

  A river of tears rushed down Priscilla’s face. “I… I don’t know.” she sobbed, uncontrollably.

  Kathy rubbed Priscilla’s shoulder. “Well, I wanna help you, so tell me everything that happened.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The dazzling array of colors and continuous explosions lit the warm ebony sky on the evening of July 4th, while the smell of gun powder lurked loosely in the air for a few miles.

  A group of junior high school kids raced up and down the strip with book bags and matches, lighting fireworks; each time almost blowing their little fingers to oblivion.

  It was the day of independence, our independence. It was a day when families put aside differences and came together to share laughs, food, and fond memories. Generations of cousins, uncles, aunts, nieces and nephews, all who share the same bloodline, united on this day in celebration.

  In the park, directly across from building 60, Tyrell sat atop a bench in a grey tank top, blue, Nautica beach shorts, and a pair of white Air Force Ones. He was fresh and he was in power.

  He split the Dutch Master he was holding down the middle, dumped the guts in the grass, sprinkled the green buds into the cigar, and rolled it.

  When he reached for his lighter, it wasn’t in his pocket, so he went to ask one of the kids lighting the fireworks. From the corner of his eye, he could see someone coming up the walkway.

  “What’s good, O.G? Lemme get some fire from you?” When the dark figure stepped closer to the light, Tyrell immediately recognized who it was. “Oh shit, Uncle Wise, wassup wit’ you?”

  “Ain’t nothin’ good, youngin’” Earl went into his pocket and handed Tyrell a lighter. “Jus’ left that damn hospital,” he said, shaking his head.

  Tyrell lit the blunt and took a long drag. “Oh, word, how that go?”

  “It’s sad man, shit is real sad.” Earl took a seat on the bench next to Tyrell. “Jus’ the fact that I got to sit there and see my nephew suffer so much and ain’t shit I could do about it.” He pulled a cigarette from his pack and lit it. “I mean, I ain’t never saw Mox in a position where he was down, never. Ever since he came up, he stayed at the top. He’s a winner, man and to see him all bandaged up like that and his face all fucked up, that’s some crazy shit. Feel me? The nigga ain’t responsive. He ain’t giving nobody no signs. I don’t know man… I’m praying for the best, but prepared for the worse. Ya dig?”

  In between smoking and listening to Earl, Tyrell was serving his customers. “Hol’ up. Unc.” He turned to the female that stood impatiently waiting by the gate. “How many you want?”

  The shoddy female with a scarf tied around her head flashed ten fingers and approached the bench. “I’ma dollar short. I got forty-nine.” She passed him two crumpled twenty dollar bills and nine singles.

  Tyrell looked to see if it was clear, reached in his pocket and pulled out a zip-lock baggie full of crack. He counted out ten pieces and handed them to the female. “I want my dollar when you come back.”

  “You know I spends money, nephew… I got you.” She said, skipping away.

  Tyrell faced Earl. “Mox is a strong dude, I know he gon’ pull through.” He stuffed the money in his pocket.

  “Yeah, I hope so.” Earl replied. “You getting’ money out here, huh?” he questioned.

  Tyrell blew the smoke
through his nostrils. “Yeah, you see me. I got this shit in the chokehold.” He pulled the baggie from his pocket. “Look at these shits. These is nicks, them niggas over there selling dimes and they shit ain’t half the size of these.” He dumped a few in Earl’s hand.

  After he took a drag of his Newport, Earl grinned because he knew quality work just by looking at it. What Tyrell had was top of the line cook-up. “How you able to do this?”

  “I got a sweet connect.”

  Earl studied the small white rocks. “You cookin’ it yourself?”

  “Yup, they call me ‘Chef Boy R’,” he laughed. “Why you wanna know anyway, Unc? You don’t fuck with this shit.”

  “Sure don’t.” Earl gave the rocks back. “But I’ll tell you this… you sittin’ out here on this bench wit’ a pocket full a’ stones and a stack a’ cash, smoking weed and slangin’ like it’s legal. Fuck is wrong wit’ you?”

  Tyrell lit his blunt after it went out. “I’m hungry, Unc, gotta get this bread, but shit aint pumpin’ like I thought it would.”

  “You hungry?” Earl stood up. “When hungry niggas see food they eat. You can’t tell me you don’t see this goddamn plate in front of yo’ face. You hungry ain’t you nigga?” Tyrell nodded his head, yes. “Well eat!”

  “I’m out here. You see me eatin’ it.” He inhaled the smoke.

  Earl slowly shook his head. “Nah, youngin’ you jus’ nibblin’ off the plate right now. It’s real money out here and you playin’ games.”

  “Shiitt!” Tyrell stood up. “You mus’ got me confused old man,” he raised his tank top and exposed his two guns. “we don’t play games over here.”

  Earl smiled and chuckled. “Nigga, you got guns too? You must’a bumped yo’ goddanm head boy.”

  “Shit real out here, Earl.” Tyrell pulled one of the guns off his waist and cocked it. “If a nigga think he comin’ up in here to take mines,” he aimed the weapon at a glass bottle that sat on the stone wall about forty feet away. “He got it fucked up.”

  The gun ruptured, blew the glass bottle to shreds and nobody even turned their head. The sound of the shot was hidden in the fireworks.

  Earl could do nothing but shake his head. “You need guidance youngin’. Let me tell you something.” He plucked his cigarette. “I made Mox a whole lotta money out here. Ironically, from these same benches we standin’ in front of right now. When that car wash shit popped off, that nigga was gettin’ so much work he didn’t know what to do wit’ it. Mind you, prior to this, Mox ain’t never sold a drug a day in his life, but it was in his blood; he jus’ didn’t know it. He use’ to call me and be like, meet me in the back Unc, so I go back there and the nigga hand me a shopping bag wit’ a sneaker box in it.” He pulled another cigarette from his pack and lit it. “I take the bag upstairs, crack the box open and it’s two fuckin’ keys in that bitch.”

  Tyrell knew Mox was getting money, but he had no idea he was doing it like that. “Word?”

  “No bullshit. I had my young wolves out here. You remember Damion and Daren right?”

  “Hell yeah… the Wolf brothers, what happened to them dudes?” Tyrell asked.

  “They was down for a second on a attempted murder rap, but new evidence jus’ came forth and they got released today. My boys be up here tomorrow night.” Earl sucked in the smoke and let it filter through his nostrils. “What I’m sayin’ is, you need a team out here. If you organize this shit right, you can make millions. I’m tellin’ you. Fuck wit’ me, I’ll make you rich.”

  Tyrell was skeptical about accepting Earl’s advance because he was mindful of his track record, but he did know for a fact that Uncle Wise was a certified hustler.

  His eyes went to Earl’s arms. “You still fuckin’ around?” he could see the track marks coming down from his biceps.

  Earl was embarrassed. “Look at me, youngin’.” He held his trembling hands out in front of him. “I’m sick. I ain’t did nothin’ since the night before Mox got hit.”

  “I don’t know, Unc, I don’t think I could trust you.”

  “That’s cool, shit I wouldn’t trust me either, but it ain’t about trust, yougin. It’s about respect and being real wit’ each other. If I can’t do something I’ma let you know I can’t do it and I expect the same from you. At the same time, I put my all into whatever it is I get involved with. I can guarantee you one hundred and fifty percent on my end. We can debate about this all day, but there’s only one way to find out.” Earl dapped the youngster and walked out of the park. “I’ma see you tomorrow.”

  Tyrell thought about everything Earl spoke on and came to the conclusion that he was right. Without a team, there was no way he could expand and take his hustle to the next level. He needed manpower, and Wise Earl was going to provide that.

  Since his homeboy Leo went down for the murder, the only person he dealt with on a level of that caliber was his other childhood friend, Six.

  Corey Bellows aka Six is a 17 year old, 6 foot 2 inch high school dropout with a golden bronze skin complexion, short, coarse hair that’s always uncombed, peasy and dry. To add to that, he has a missing front tooth that gives him a distinctive, menacing appeal.

  He and Tyrell lived on separate sides of town and went to different schools, but became good friends as kids when they played pop warner football together.

  Corey was always into his books, so a lot of his peers would shy away from him. They viewed him as a nerd, but Tyrell took a liking to him. He was conscious of Corey’s knowledge, and truly appreciative of his friendship. The two of them had been comrades for more than eight years.

  Born on the west side of New Rochelle, Corey lived with his mother, father and baby sister in a one family, three bedroom house, on Third Street. His mother worked in Pelham as a home health aide five days a week and his father drove city busses for the Westechester Bee-line Bus Company.

  Up until last year, Corey had lived the life of the typical teenager, raised by strict, middle class parents, but everything changed on the night of his sixteenth birthday.

  It was 2:30 am when Corey strolled into the silent, dark house; hungry and a bit tipsy. He had just come in from a get-together that one of his friends arranged for him. He could no longer take the pain and growling of his stomach, so he opted to fix himself a grilled cheese sandwich before he went to sleep.

  While he waited for his food to finish, all the water he had been drinking to sober up was ready to come out. He went to use the bathroom.

  He figured by the time he came out, the sandwich would be done. The only problem was, after he relaxed on the cushioned toilet seat, his eyelids started to put on weight and he soon drifted into a deep, soundless sleep, sitting on the porcelain chair.

  When Corey woke up, his arms and legs were wrapped in bandages. He was lying in a hospital bed and a doctor was standing directly over him.

  He looked up at the pale Caucasian male and asked. “Where am I?”

  “In the hospital.” The doctor replied.

  “Hospital, why?” He had no recollection or idea of the previous events.

  “There was an accident.”

  Corey tried to sit upright. “Accident?” he looked around. “Where are my parents?”

  The doctor shook his head. He disfavored being the person who had to break the bad news to people, especially young kids. “I’m sorry son, they didn’t make it.”

  The news headline read: TEEN SETS HOUSE ABLAZE WHILE PARENTS SLEEP

  Corey got charged with two counts of first degree murder and was forced to fight his case from the inside prison. He sat in the county jail, unable to make bail for more than a year, awaiting a trial that only lasted two weeks. The end result was not guilty. He had just been released two days ago.

  “Whaddup, homey?” Six approached the benches, extended his hand and dapped Tyrell.

  He was shirtless, showing off his new chiseled frame and all the tattoos that covered his upper body. His off white, True Religion beach shorts sagged slightly off his
36 inch waist and he let the strings hang on his crispy, pearl white Nike Foamposites.

  “Six, what’s good?” Tyrell responded.

  “Ain’t shit,” he took a seat on the bench. “Yo, you know what’s crazy?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Most people in the hood don’t even know what the fourth of July represents. They jus’ be happy to see some fireworks and eat a few burgers n’ shit.” Six laughed and pulled a cigar from his pocket, split it and let the guts fall to the concrete.

  “I guess I’m most people, then.” Tryell smirked. “I mean, I know it got somethin’ to do with the Great Britain and the declaration of independence n’ shit, but that’s about it.”