The System Has Failed

by Ms. Michel Moore

  “I promise I’ll help you. But first, you gotta help yourself and let us go,” Prayer urged.

  “Yes, let us go,” Stuff’s mother pleaded before she collapsed into her son’s arms.

  Just as they believed they’d gotten through to Wahoo, Yankee fumbled down the staircase with a few pillowcases stuffed full of stolen items. Shaking his head when seeing his partner in crime had revealed his true identity, Yankee knew immediately that no living witnesses could be left to testify in case he was ever caught.

  “Damn dumb-ass nigga! Y’all ain’t leaving me no choice! Now I gotta waste three bullets on these rich motherfuckers!” Yankee dropped his stolen goods to the thick, plush carpet, and then he slid back the gun’s grip, putting one up top. “But oh well, so be it!”

  Chapter Eight

  Turning left out of the Gates and back onto the main road, Terrell wasted no time dodging in and out of the summer night’s heavy traffic, blowing his horn in hopes of persuading the slower drivers to get the hell out of his way. Swerving right when he got to Joi’s street, Terrell just avoided striking a bum who was resting on the dumpster near the alleyway, as he barreled his van recklessly down the bumpy road, which had no working streetlights.

  With one more block to go, he quickly glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone else was following him. Then fuck what else happens!

  In the midst of his adrenaline escalating to an all-time high, Terrell sharply cut the steering wheel, making the custom van jump the already-crumbling concrete curb. He brought it to an abrupt halt on Joi’s front grass. With no concerned neighbors on the densely populated block to care one way or the other what was taking place with the next motherfucker, Li’l T swung the van door open.

  Without bothering to get his wheelchair, feeling like he was untouchable, Terrell lowered himself onto the grass. With palms down, he proceeded to use his upper-body strength to get him to the stairs, which were badly in need of repair, and truth be told, needed to be demolished. Secure in the fact that his 9 mm was fully loaded and stuffed in the rear of his jeans, pressing against his spinal cord, he made his ascension toward the front door. He could see it was slightly cracked opened.

  “I hope whoever did that shit to Joi is still here so I can blast his ho ass!” Li’l T yelled out, giving the perpetrator a heads-up that he meant business.

  Since he’d smashed his cell phone prior to leaving the house, Terrell couldn’t call Joi and see if at least she’d answer and tell him who was inside her crib. Yet, he didn’t give a fuck at this point. Li’l T reached his huge, muscular arm upward, opening the door with one hand as he tightly gripped his gun’s handle with the other. Like his black-hearted, mentally unbalanced father Kamal, who roamed the streets of Detroit like he owned each and every one of them raggedy sons of bitches, Terrell had no fear in his veins as he prepared himself to face the unknown like he was a true warrior and an official old-school G.

  This is it! I’m about to go for mines! I’m tired of these pussy-ass niggas thinking this cripple shit is a fucking joke! I’m a grown-ass man just like they are! “Joi!” he shouted out as soon as he crossed over the threshold, pausing just long enough to pull out his pistol and place it onto his lap. “Joi! Are you here? Where you at?”

  Cautiously entering the house, small bits of debris that were on the carpet pressed into the palms of his hands with each movement he made. Unfamiliar with the interior layout since he’d never actually been inside the place Joi called home, his eyes darted from wall to wall, door to floor, and floor to window, scrutinizing every sight his widened pupils took in. Considering the lower-level view the handicapped teenager was forced to observe things from, Terrell easily saw Shauntae first. She was lying near the coffee table. Knowing that he and she were still not on speaking terms, leery in demeanor he approached her slowly. He did not know exactly what, if any, part of all the shenanigans of the evening she was playing.

  “Hey, Shauntae,” Terrell whispered, reaching down for his gun. “Where’s Joi?” His finger sweated on the trigger. The closer Li’l T eased to Shauntae, the more he smelled the strong, distinct odor of liquor reeking from her pores. “Hey!” He nudged her as he got in arm’s reach. Despite the force pushed on her leg, the troubled female did not move or flinch. Terrell naively assumed Shauntae was no more than merely passed out cold from all the drinking her little sister alleged she did on the regular, until he tried to go around her in his search of Joi and his hand mashed down on a thick, viscous substance. What the fuck! Li’l T raised his hand, and from the light that was shining from the bootleg Scarface DVD that Elon had left playing on the television, he could see that his fingers and half his hand were covered in blood. Ahhhhh shit! He wiped his dripping palm on the floor the best he could as he frowned. Then he noticed a huge, gaping hole, which had to be a gunshot wound, on the left side of Shauntae’s head.

  Li’l T had no idea whatsoever that history was indeed hereditary and had eerily repeated itself. Years ago, Big Ace had silenced Monique once and for all for being a “setup queen.” Her eldest daughter, who had taken after her dead mama, had suffered that same fate less than an hour earlier at the hands of Big Ace’s son Elon. He shot one through her two packs of 1B ultra-straight freshly sewn-in weave and directly into the bitch’s cranium.

  Oh, my God! I can’t believe this shit! This is so fucked up! Terrell was now more panicked and anxious than ever to find Joi. Searching the room with his eyes and ears, Li’l T’s heart raced as he scooted his body against a wall so he could try to survey what he was dealing with. “Joi!” he yelled out repeatedly, hoping his girl was all right. “Joi! Joi! Joi!”

  The roaring sounds of a car drove down the street, its muffler dragging on the ground. Terrell once again tried to hear over the annoying sounds of Tony Montana’s and Manny’s not-good-English-speaking-ass voices blaring from the television set. Just as he had focused in on where the electrical cord was plugged in, he suddenly caught a glimpse of Joi’s sandal sticking out from behind the couch.

  Shit! Ah, fuck! Naw! Dragging his legs, which were trembling from all the strenuous movements he was putting them through, quickly Terrell got to his girlfriend’s side, swooping her half-naked body up in his arms. Damn! Damn! As her arm flung to the side and hit the carpet, Li’l T felt enraged watching his real first love attempt to speak. With her lips dry and cracked, a swollen eye, and small amounts of glistening red blood trickling down her temple, Terrell was relieved Joi hadn’t suffered the same seemingly cruel fatal fate as Shauntae had: death.

  “I’m sorry,” Joi managed to say before she passed out.

  With the strength of three bulls, Terrell grabbed Joi, tossing her over his strong, broad shoulders. He slid across the floor toward the door and onto the porch. “It ain’t no way in hell I’m gonna leave you here to deal with all this bullshit. Ain’t nothing here for you!” he vowed as he struggled going down the stairs with his weight as well as Joi’s dead weight in tow. Lucky for him, with his passionate fury of revenge combined with the high-dosage painkillers he’d taken earlier, Terrell’s legs were able to endure the trauma he was putting them through.

  Chapter Nine

  Across town, about three or four miles outside the city limits, Big Ace and Simone had just been seated at his regular booth located in the rear of one of the best and more expensive Italian restaurants. Having been turned on to this low-key, discreet spot a few years back by a major connect, Big Ace felt like somewhat of a big deal every time he and one of his many women broke bread there. But this was his regular evening. It was Saturday night, and like every Saturday night for years, he and Simone kinda had a standing engagement to kick the willy bo bo’s, chill out, and vent if need be. Back in the day, after Kamal’s death, things were shaky between them, but after a while, Big Ace got over the dumb shit of feeling animosity and blaming Simone for his boy’s death. He knew Kamal for what he really was, a cold-blooded murderer, so he knew if dude came over to her house pissed, he only had one thing that ult
imately stayed on his mind if he felt he was being slighted or disrespected in any shape, form, or manner.

  Plus, when the truth surfaced that Kamal was the one who crippled an innocent Li’l T for life, it was more than easy to see why Joey shot Kamal and why Simone seemed not to care one bit that her supposed baby daddy and heinous-ass monster was dead and gone, nine outta ten probably straight to hell.

  “So damn, baby, what’s good with you?” Simone looked over the menu as if she didn’t already know what she was ordering.

  “I’m good,” Big Ace replied as he chomped down on the huge cigar that was in the corner of his mouth. “I’m just tired as shit. In between business, that Clip-N-Dip Moe bullshit that done resurfaced, not to mention my wild-ass sons who call themselves in some sort of small-scale territory war over near your crib, thangs is gravy.”

  “Damn, Big Ace! Please don’t talk to me about being tired. Not tonight!” Simone rolled her eyes, sighing as she folded her arms. “Li’l T and his friends done just about took over the house. And real talk, at least your boys were raised in the streets, so you ain’t gotta worry about them. They already cut for the street life. Terrell ain’t never gonna be ready for that type of bullshit even if he really is Kamal’s son. Prayer got that boy out in them suburbs all the way fucked up and soft as a son of a bitch! Even Drake can’t do shit with Prayer’s overbearing ass. That tramp act like she birthed his sorry behind, not me!”

  “Slow the hell down and take a deep breath!” Big Ace took a small swig of the strong drink the waitress had just brought over to him. “Just be happy the boy got a second chance at a good, normal life, because you know damn well you wasn’t ready to step up and do that mama thang back then! Shittttt, matter of fact, keeping it a hundred, ya ass still ain’t ready! Some of y’all Detroit hoes just ain’t mother material. That’s why I got my sons with me now!”

  “Nigga, fuck you,” Simone laughed as she also reached for her drink in an attempt to take the edge off. “And for the record, fat boy, I ain’t no ho!”

  “Damn, excuse me, Ms. Thang. Bitch!”

  About twenty minutes into their main course, Big Ace’s cell phone continued to constantly ring. Normally he was accustomed to cutting it off while he ate dinner, but since he was with Simone and she was an old-school rida, he knew she didn’t mind if he took business calls during the middle of dinner, especially if it meant him making more money.

  “Yeah, speak on it.” Big Ace chewed his meatball as he spoke. “What’s going on, Elon?”

  Three seconds into Big Ace’s conversation with his son, Simone’s ESP “Get It Girl” radar kicked in, and her antenna went straight upward. She could tell that something was drastically wrong. A veteran to the game of being a dope dealer’s girl, Simone had seen Big Ace’s expression on more than a few niggas’ faces throughout the years of her loyal, devoted service dedicated to hustling dudes to sponsor her lavish lifestyle. Damn! Here the hell we fucking go! she thought as she signaled the young white ponytail-swinging waitress for a doggie bag to wrap up her lobster and spaghetti meal she’d scarcely had a chance to enjoy. Oh well, somebody ass done got done in the D!

  “What?” Big Ace yelled as he jumped up from the table, causing both drinks, along with their plates and the food piled on them, to fall to the floor. “Relax, relax! I’m on my way!”

  Selfishly looking at her perfectly seasoned food now ruined on the carpet, Simone cursed the waitress for not being fast enough to bring her a carry-out container. What a freaking waste! But knowing she had to play the concerned role like she really gave a fuck about shit other than herself, one of her Academy Award–worthy performances she always kept on standby kicked into full gear. “Oh, my God! Baby, baby, what is it? What’s wrong?” she whined, grabbing her purse, knowing they were about to make a quick exit. “What happened? Is everything okay? Who was that on the phone?” Glancing back once more at her plate upside down on the floor, Simone threw shade once more on the poor waitress who was left to clean up the mess, and worse than that, miss out on a nice tip that Big Ace was famous for leaving.

  “Come on, we gotta roll.” Big Ace peeled off a couple of hundred-dollar bills and tossed them at the hostess as they headed out the door. “My son’s been shot!”

  Damn! I guess I really called that one! Simone followed Big Ace, who’d just taken the keys from the valet, choosing to run across the parking lot and get his own car. I wonder, do he have time to drop me off at my whip, or am I gonna have to take a fucking cab? she plotted as if he’d just said he had a headache, not that his child had been shot and was possibly dead. If I do have to take a cab, I swear to God he giving me some money for the bullshit! Plus some dough so a bitch can eat!

  By the direction Big Ace was recklessly driving in, it was easy for Simone to figure out they were en route to Receiving Hospital. As she wondered if her makeup was still looking fresh, the always out-for-self female deviously changed her mind, scheming that maybe her showing up at the hospital on Big Ace’s arm was a good thing and might ward off any other stray-ass sluts he was fucking with who might’ve shown up just to show his good pay master ass they cared.

  Besides, excluding about nine or ten years ago in passing, Big Ace never ever let chicks, including his long-time friend and fuck buddy Simone, around his boys. He loved them to death, being both mother and father, and didn’t want to confuse them. Having a gang of bitches swinging on your nut sack wasn’t the true way a man was supposed to carry himself. Donte, who was now another gunshot victim statistic in Detroit, got that lesson, but of course, Elon chose to emulate his pops and be a player.

  Not caring about blocking traffic, Big Ace pulled up at the emergency entrance where he saw a huge group of young men he knew to be his sons’ faithful crew and road dawgs, along with several scantily dressed females crying like there was no tomorrow. Flinging the car door open, Big Ace jumped out with urgency and ran through the double doors. Simone, who was left in the car, eased her door open and stepped out in the midst of the quickly growing crowd of young people. She made her grand entrance into the hospital like she was on the verge of walking the red carpet at the Soul Train Music Awards.

  Upon entering the emergency room, Simone shuddered, noticing that it was almost sheer pandemonium as several families other than those obviously there for Donte were acting straight fools. Damn! Another night in the D. The condescending Simone looked down on some of the other females who were there as she stuck by Big Ace’s side.

  “What in the hell happened to your brother?” Big Ace asked Elon, who was enraged. He banged his clenched fist against the wall, causing the plaster to crack. “What the doctors doing? Have you went back there?”

  “He was on a mission with Mitts and shit must’ve got outta control,” Elon argued. “All I know at this point was the car they was driving ran into a pole or some shit like that after Donte got hit by a bullet. They said they need to take him into surgery immediately.”

  As Big Ace, consumed with worry, marched up to the information desk, Simone stood there feeling slighted that he was so rude that he didn’t even take the time out to introduce her to his son. Ain’t that a bitch! Who that nigga think he is? Feeling like she was just one in a sea of many, Simone pulled out her cell phone. She placed a call to one of her girlfriends, talking loud and putting on a front like anyone there truly cared that she was going shopping at Saks tomorrow or that she’d just had her brand-new Vette detailed. These hoes wish they lived like me! she silently snarled. And damn what in the hell is that one wearing? I wish I would come outside looking a hot mess like her broke ass!

  When Big Ace returned from the desk to update Elon, who had just been spoken to by the security guards and told to calm down, Simone assuming the role of wifey, posted up on his arm and massaging Big Ace’s shoulders in hopes of relaxing him. Just as the waiting room appeared to get some sort of order restored to it, Mitts emerged from the back with a square bandage taped to the side of his head and small cuts that onlookers imagin
ed had to have occurred on impact when the Regal crashed.

  “Mitts, Mitts, my nigga!” Elon rapidly ran up to his street soldier who was injured during the commission of putting in that work. “What exactly happened, dude? What went down? Did they say anything about Donte back there?”

  “Yo.” Mitts leaned on the wall, still dizzy from the slight concussion the doctors said he suffered when his head struck the dashboard. “That shit went down so fucking fast. One minute we was driving, chilling on the side street near the liquor store and throwing back a few beers, then the next thing I know, Donte spotted ol’ boy in the van, and it was on!”

  “Oh, yeah?” Elon was confirming for sure who his target was gonna be for gunning his brother down, even if it was a case of self-defense. Straight up his crew was all on Terrell’s, Yankee’s, and Stuff’s heads, all in that order. But he and his boys started so much bullshit and stayed up in the middle of so much foolishness, it was hard to pinpoint without a firsthand witness who did what and to whom. “You talking about that custom boy, right? The one with the rims and shit?”

  Hearing what the young guy was saying about a custom van caused Simone’s ears to get on high alert. As she rested her weight all on one hip, she waited anxiously for the small-time thug to finish his account. Wait a minute. What did he just say?

  “Yeah, dude.” Mitts licked his dry lips as he spoke softly since his head was pounding. “We was on his crippled ass good for at least a few blocks until that nigga did some old gangsta suicide mission–type shit and somehow flipped the script. Next thing I know, we spun the fuck out, and he was the one doing the blasting!”

  “Well, I’m about to get it popping! That nigga about to pay,” Elon vowed.

  “Hold up,” Simone yelled in the boy’s face as Elon paced the floor. “What you mean crippled nigga in a van?”

  “Man, who the fuck is you?” Mitts fired back, never before in his life having seen the woman who was all of a sudden demanding answers. “You need to step off!”