Even Sinners Have Souls TOO

by Joy, E. n.

  At exactly twelve fifteen, Deon turned the corner wearing the same clothes he'd had on the night before. "What up?" Deon greeted Little Ro.

  "Nothing much," Little Ro replied, suspiciously looking around the store's parking lot. "I need to show you something. Hold tight."

  "Well, I sure in the heck hope it's money."

  Deon had greed in his eyes as he watched Little Ro dig deep into the pocket of his neatly ironed beige Dockers. Little Ro pulled out what appeared to be a piece of paper towel folded up.

  "Dang, dawg, you killing me acting all secret, squirrel!" Deon teased.

  Little Ro paid no attention to Deon's jokes while he unwrapped the paper towel, scoping out his surroundings the entire time. "Do you know what this is?"

  Deon was confused as he took one of the tablets out the napkin Little Ro held, flipping it over at the symbol that was embedded on it. "I don't get it," he laughed, moving out the way of some customers that were pulling up into the lot. "What fool don't know what these is? The question should be what your Dudley Do Right self doing with some Ecstasy pills?"

  "I thought that's what they might've been, but I really wasn't too sure."

  "Okay, but where did you get them and do you got some more?" Deon's eyes were still filled with greed as well as the sound of his voice.

  "Do you feel like coming over my house?" At this point, Little Ro decided it would be better to just show Deon the deal than to tell him.

  "Yeah alright, just let me grab a juice and a bag of chips for breakfast first," Deon insisted before they made their way to Arnita's house, where Little Ro could show him the plastic bags of pills and work out some sort of deal.

  Within minutes of arriving at the house and Deon seeing the super size baggies full of different colored ecstasy pills, he reassured his new best friend that no doubt at twenty dollars a pop they were about to be rich, even if they split the proceeds straight down the middle. After carefully counting each pill one by one, the newly formed partners in crime determined they had over $75,000 in clear 100% profit on Little Ro's desk that was staring them dead in their faces.

  Now the only thing the two had to do was to organize their game plan and get to work on moving the pills as soon as possible. Knowing absolutely nothing about drugs or the world which they came from, Little Ro relied solely on Deon and his street expertise to figure out the pros, cons and the logistics of them successfully converting bags of tiny pills into cold, hard revenue without getting shot, robbed, arrested, or even worse, killed.

  Over the next passing month and a half, life for both teenagers transformed at a rapid pace. They had quickly established a long and loyal customer base, which was enabling a sudden heavy cash flow to come into their possession and make their once common low key hood life jump to almost being neighborhood overnight ghetto superstars.

  From day one when Deon received a 911 call on his cell and set out to sling the first four pills of his share of the product to a dude named Tim-Tim and his boy who were having a party with a couple of females, Little Ro and Deon proved how differently they were raised and what was most important to them in their small corner of God's earth.

  Trips to the mall for expensive outfits for his little sister were at the top of the list for Little Ro as well as a Blackberry and a solid gold chain with a huge diamond encrusted cross. Never before imagining he could own a pair of the latest Jordan's, especially since he knew full well his mother could never afford such an extravagance on her salary, Little Ro purchased two pairs and a track suit to go with each pair. He, of course, hooked his mother up with lavish gifts. The once wise minded kid was spending money like it was going out of style. Even though the way their product was moving they'd be out soon and with no available connection or any leads on getting any more, Little Ro still felt he owed his mother some temporary happiness. Though she'd not once questioned him on his windfall of finances, Little Ro knew that she had to know that doing yard work wasn't the result of his new gained wealth.

  With the burden of being a grown man before he was truly ready, Little Ro missed out on being a young boy, watching television, climbing trees and hanging out with kids his own age. No sooner than his father's corpse was lowered into the ground and the first pile of dirt was thrown on top, Arnita pressured him to fill the painful void in her life. Every penny he'd make, every dime he found, and every waking free minute that was available, Little Ro would spend in an effort to make his often depressed mother happy once again. For that he would give almost anything.

  Arnita had managed to get another job after being laid off, but she unluckily lost it after barely receiving her first pay check. She didn't fret as much as she did the first time she lost her job, because she knew her son would certainly look out for the family. Little Ro figured that this was why she naively chose to disregard his obvious change in behavior and personal appearance. Any one who paid attention knew that his change could only point to one conclusion; Little Ro was now a bonafide hustler.

  As an unemployed, single mother, Arnita needed the money to pay past due bills, not to mention she could now sit back and kick her feet up. Growing up in a huge family that was packed full of criminals, backsliders, alcoholics, fast women, heathens and other folk that committed all types of atrocities against the Word of God as she used to interpret it, Arnita purposely turned away from that lifestyle knowing the street life nine outta ten ended in one of two ways; dead or in jail. She'd seen the ugly side of the so called game by attending several family members' funerals as well as made her fair share of trips to visit her kin in prisons scattered all across Michigan, Indiana and Ohio. Yet, sometimes no matter how strong one's faith is, the devil will surely devise a test, and at your weakest, most vulnerable moment he might win. Arnita herself, fell prey and got caught up with enjoying fast money and ignoring the tangled strings that were always attached to it. It was true what was always said; money does change people. Arnita became quite content allowing her son to take a chance with his life and freedom.

  Deon, however, was a horse of a much different color. While most would think he'd out shine Little Ro when it came to letting go of the almighty dollar, he held onto it tightly as if he'd lived through the Great Depression. Despite being labeled street savvy and surrounding himself with plenty of females, Deon honestly didn't mind playing the background. Wearing the same three pair of pants he owned, day in and day out, was like second nature to the only child of a crack addicted whore. Deon grew up having nothing to call his own, not even his mother's love, which ultimately belonged to the streets of Detroit and whatever trick would pay for her cheap services.

  Even if a stranger showed pity on Deon as a small child, giving him something as insignificant to most as a pair of new pajamas, Salena would steal them, getting whatever few pennies she could scrounge up for a hit. Now that he was older, Deon tried relentlessly to get his mother off the streets and into some sort of rehabilitation treatment, but no dice. The heavily addicted Salena would have no part of it. Secretly, at night, when he was sure no one was watching, wherever he was lucky enough to lay his head, Deon would drop to his knees, lower his head and pray to the Good Lord to deliver his mother from the evil clutches of addiction and back to her right state of mind.

  Sure, prior to the death of Roland Sr. she was considered the neighborhood tramp, but in Deon's eyes, that title was miles behind the one she held claim to now. If there was one good thing that came out of Deon's ongoing ordeal, it was that the life he lived had made him stronger, and in his opinion, everything was about to start paying off.

  Chapter Five

  "Hey, guy, everything seems like it's moving good, don't it?" Deon counted out his share of the day's profit, putting it deep down in his pocket for safe keeping until he got home to put it in his ever growing stash.

  "Yeah, you're right." Little Ro rubbed the side of his face in the mirror over his dresser, checking to see if the beard he had started growing was getting any thicker.

  Deon handed him h
is share of the cash and the two made their way toward the front door.

  "I'm about to grab something to eat, hit the mall and then go to the show with my girl," Little Ro bragged.

  "Not me. I'm on my way in for the night." Deon shook his head as he walked outside and onto the front porch of Little Ro's house where he was now regularly welcomed with open arms. Greed was now the head of Arnita's household and if her dead husband's mistress's bastard son had anything to do with her new carefree lifestyle, then so be it. Avoiding as much contact with him as possible, she'd roll with the punches letting bygones be bygones. Arnita felt she'd paid her debt off in full to the world in the way of her husband being suddenly and cruelly snatched out of her and her children's lives.

  "Dang, you don't ever go out and have a good time, do you?"

  "Yeah, man, but right about now I'm on a serious mission."

  "I understand all that, Deon, but honestly; we making nice money now." Little Ro pulled out the knot of money he intended on blowing on clothes and females. "So why won't you buy yourself a couple of outfits and maybe some new sneakers?"

  "All that high priced crap just ain't for me right now. Besides, every well runs dry and you know we're running low."

  "That's all good, but you don't even go out to the restaurant with me and eat good. In the past six weeks, when I think about it, all I've ever seen you eat outside of the meals my mother might cook is soup, Vienna sausage and spam. Now what's up on that? I know you got dough!"

  "Listen, dude," Deon reassured him. "Let me do me and you do you, okay. I already told you I'm on a mission, so let's just leave it like that."

  Little Ro followed him out the door and on to the porch, letting his curiosity get the best of him. Every since the day they'd decided to go into the pill selling venture, he avoided the painful link they shared from years ago. But something came over Little Ro and he couldn't resist the temptation of not bringing up the issue any longer.

  "Dawg, before you go, let me talk to you about something else." He placed his hand on Deon's shoulder. "I've been meaning to ask you this, but I don't really know if I want to hear the answer."

  Both sitting down on the wooden steps, Deon braced himself back in for the inevitable conversation about how Roland Sr. was shot in cold blood in Salena's living room.

  "I think I already know what it is, Dude." Deon lowered his head, hesitating to speak out of turn and hoping to just let sleeping dogs lie. "But go ahead and ask just so I'll know we're on the same page."

  "Well, it's about my father." Little Ro confirmed exactly what Deon speculated the topic would be. "I know it's been years, but what exactly happened that night? You know, the night my pops got killed. My mother cries almost every time somebody brings up that evening, so it ain't no way I can go and ask her. She wouldn't even let me miss school to go to the murder trial so I could hear first hand for myself what had gone down."

  Although the last thing Deon wanted to talk about was that night, he obliged Little Ro and did just that. Thirty minutes or so deep off into the back down memory lane conversation, Little Ro felt himself grow more and more agitated at what he was hearing.

  The story Deon told of the dreadful nightmare unfolded. He started at the precise moment Salena placed that ill fated distress call to Roland, Sr. That was a phone call that led to the confrontation between Salena's other man and Roland Sr. that ended with the ambulance rushing Roland Sr. off to the hospital where he took his final breath. Salena had been right there clinging to his side, much to the unliking of a hysterical Arnita who arrived at the hospital, bursting through the doors and past security just in time to see them pronounce the time of her husband's death.

  Just listening to the details of how Salena's other man had been whooping on her and she had called his father over to the rescue made Little Ro's adrenaline rise. Why didn't she call the police? Why did she have to call his father? The more he thought about it, the angrier Little Ro got.

  "You can stop," Little Ro ordered Deon. He held his head down, buried in his hands. "I don't even wanna hear no more."

  "Dude, I apologize for the role my mother played in that tragic incident," Deon tried consoling his friend. "That scandalous mess she did that night is what got her so jacked up now and out her mind. God don't like ugly, so now she getting paid back everyday out in these streets."

  Little Ro lifted his head slightly enough so Deon could see the redness of his eyes and the complete look of disappointment on his face. Deon then took that as his cue to get up and head to the crib.

  "In case you wanna know," Deon added with compassion, "I heard ya old man pleading with my mother to call your moms and tell her he loved her and his kids."

  "Oh, yeah?" Little Ro, at that point, really didn't know how to take that, so he just nodded, lowering his face back down in his hands as Deon left.

  Chapter Six

  Little Ro reflected on what he'd just heard, leaving himself numb to any type of respect for Roland Sr. or his legacy. I can't believe that! Why did I even let him tell me that garbage? Then he gonna lie and say my no good cheating father said he loved us. Yeah right! That's a joke. If he loved me, my sister and my momma so much, he wouldn't have been cheating in the first place.

  His plans for having a good time later were halted as he sat on the porch infuriated, not knowing what to do next. As he simmered, he suddenly had the strange desire to not remember what Deon had put on his mind. It was only one way he could do that and it was to buy something to drink, after all, it seemed to work for his mother all the time. When she was depressed, which was often, facing the troubles of the world, that closet hidden bottle took the edge off and often seemed to put his mother in a much better and mellower mood. So slowly getting up brushing off his designer blue jeans, Little Ro headed down the block toward the corner liquor store where he was stopped by, of all people, Salena, who darted out the alley way after tricking with some old man in a red Ford F-150.

  "Hey now, Little Man," Salena smiled, showing her rotten teeth as she squinted, taking notice of all the similarities and characteristics her once upon a time lover and his son had in common.

  "Oh, hey, Ms. Jackson." Little Ro tried giving her a small amount of respect since he and Deon were now in business together. "How you doing?"

  "I'd be doing a whole lot better if you could just spare me a little bit of change so I can get something to eat."

  "Come on now, Ms. Jackson, I know your son got your pockets straight enough to get a sandwich, so go pull that hungry routine with the next mark buster."

  "Listen, baby." Salena, now feeling like she and Little Ro were on good terms, placed her hand onto his shoulder. "Deon don't be giving me no money. He think I'm gonna blow it on getting high."

  "And is he wrong?"

  "Naw, but I'm a grown woman." Salena, already buzzed, clutched the five dollar bill she'd just worked for in the alley. "He can't stop me from doing what I do no matter how much he tries. He ain't nothing but a hypocrite. I mean, look at him running around here playing big bad dope man all week, then trying to drag my black behind to church with him on Sunday."

  "What?" Little Ro was shocked as they continued to walk into the store's crowded parking lot. "Did you just say Deon be going to church?"

  "Yeah, I said church. Every Sunday now for a month or so he waking me up thinking I'm going with him. He even claims he's getting baptized this week."

  "Wow, that's deep," he replied. "But right about now I need for you to do me a small favor."

  "Anything for you." Salena was elated he was coming to her for assistance. She knew that when anybody wanted anything from her, they paid for it. But of course, she would do anything to help out Little Ro anyway. "What you need, Angel Face?"

  Little Ro reached into his pocket and pulled out a crisp fifty dollar bill and handed it to Salena. "Go in the store and buy me a drink."

  "You want a drink?" she couldn't believe what the once goody two shoes had said.

  "Spare me all the jud
gmental stares and do what I asked you! And, oh yeah, you can keep the change."

  "Good looking, sweetheart. Momma got you." Salena happily went into the store so that she could cop Little Ro's poison for comfort, and soon after, with the change he so graciously was allowing her to keep, she would cop the poison of her choice.

  What seemed like hours slipped by as Little Ro, who admittedly was not a drinker, attempted to drown his sorrows by nursing the fifth of Hennessy Salena had purchased on his behalf. Throwing rocks at his mother's empty flower pots, which served as perfect targets, the young man sat posted on the third step from the top yelling out at times obscenities and cursing the name of God, and yet Deon had been racing off every Sunday to go be in this so-called God's house.

  Little Ro was confused and his emotions were running wild. I hate my father! I hate him and everything about him, echoed throughout his mind, consuming him with an intense fury and rage he had never felt before. I'm glad that disrespectful bastard is dead! Good riddance! I hope he's burning in hell.

  Several of Arnita's long time neighbors came onto their porches to see what all the commotion was about at the house that was normally quiet, up until lately. They'd all taken notice of Little Ro's increasingly blatant and sometimes rude behavior but dared not bring the unexpected change up to Arnita pertaining her precious baby boy's demeanor since she seemed to be suffering from the same un-Christian like transformation in her own lifestyle. They were both keeping late hours, had strange cars stopping by at all times of the night, and not to mention Little Ro hadn't volunteered to cut any yards in weeks.

  Seeing the young man acting distraught, Mr. Martin, seventy-one year old neighbor, former friend and lodge brother of Roland Sr., held on tightly to the black steel handrail making his way off his porch and across the street to console Little Ro.