The System Has Failed

by Ms. Michel Moore

  Left alone in the house, the mother and son were now face-to-face. Terrell, his face still covered in blood, turned to Simone with the look of contempt.

  “Now,” he hissed, “back to you. Did you say ya no-good, fucked-up ass pushed my girl out in the middle of that gunfire?”

  “Yeah, and so what about it?” Simone showed no remorse whatsoever about her actions or the tragic results of them. “I did your behind a goddamn favor, so why in the hell you tripping? Just boss up and get ready to talk to these damn police out front!”

  “All my life you ain’t been shit to me but trouble.” Li’l T struggled once again to stand on his own. “From day one you ain’t care about me and only used me as bait to lure them dudes to your bitch ass! Then after that ho nigga Kamal fucked me over, you ain’t come around for years!”

  “Look, Terrell,” Simone tried cutting him off, not wanting to hear his insults, but her baby boy was having no part of it whatsoever.

  “Look my ass, Ma.” He actually took a step on his own before falling to the ground. “I loved Joi, and now she’s gone! And you standing over there telling me that it was by your hand!”

  “Grow up and stop bugging. I did what I did for you, and all I get is your lip.” Simone was amazed he’d taken a step. “Now like I was saying before Drake’s suddenly square ass came up in here trying to turn you back into Dudley fucking Do-Right, we can run Detroit! Both of Big Ace’s sons are out of the way, and even though he my people, he can get it to!”

  “Are you just that selfish and messed up in the brain?”

  “Selfish?” Simone fired back at her son. “Listen, you ungrateful bastard! Everything I did from day one was to keep your ass in new clothes and sneakers even though you can’t even walk! I could’ve just let them put them orthopedic, thick-soled bullshit on your feet, but I didn’t!”

  “Oh, yeah?” Li’l T got angrier as he crawled over toward his mother. “Is that right?”

  “Hell yeah, it is. Matter of fact, while you playing, I’m the one who signed the papers so Prayer and Drake could keep your silly-acting ass out there with them.” Simone watched her child heading in her direction, looking like a wild dog. With his face bloodied and eyes that seemed to be glowing, Terrell was almost within grabbing distance before she took a few steps back from his reach. “Now I’m trying to turn you on to a new hustle and put your crippled ass on kingpin status so me and you can eat good the rest of our lives, and you tripping the hell out!”

  His temper was at a boiling point as he listened to his supposedly beloved mother preach to him about all the sacrifices she’d made for him over the years. It was as if he were in one of those heinous dreams he was used to having, as he crawled past Joi’s body and then near Elon’s corpse. With his nostrils flaring, inhaling the foul, rotten odor of both that’d released their last bodily fluids, Terrell licked his lips, tasting nothing but Joi’s blood on them. “I’m tired of you and everything you stand for!”

  “What? ‘I’m tired of you and everything you stand for,’” she mocked, laughing out loud at his statement. “Damn, little nigga,” Simone taunted him. “All this time I thought you was Kamal’s son and you had some of his gangsta pumping through your veins, but the way you up in here acting, maybe you are Joey’s punk-ass seed!”

  Terrell reached up on the dining room table, bracing himself for the pain that his gunshot wound was causing him as he stood once more. “Stop praising that fucked-up motherfucker like he some sort of a god! You acting like he ain’t the reason I’m like the way I am now. Get off his dick.” He fell to the floor as his mother walked over to him, seemingly amused at his failed attempt to stand.

  Simone poked Li’l T in the middle of his forehead as he continued to struggle to stand. “Listen up! I ain’t never been on no nigga’s dick. Niggas be on mine. And believe me, Kamal got his for what he did to you.”

  “Bitch, stop lying.” Li’l T yanked her finger and twisted it.

  In pain as she felt her bone start to come out of its socket, Simone openly confessed something she’d never ever told anyone before. “I killed that motherfucker Kamal that night, trust. I’m the one who stopped his ho ass from breathing, and I did that bullshit for you.”

  “What is you lying about now?” Terrell kept twisting her finger, bringing Simone down on her knees so that she was face-to-face with him on his level.

  “I’m not lying. I’m not.” She tried unsuccessfully to snatch away from his muscular grasp and postpone the inevitable from occurring. “After he killed Joey, he was still alive, begging to live. But I cut that shit short. Me. And I did it because that fool had fucked over both of us. I gave Kamal the straight-up business.”

  “Yeah, well, you can walk, can’t you? Your ass can run. You ain’t pissing on yourself sometimes and had a damn shit bag on your side for years that all the kids in school dogged you out about. If you had stopped playing all them games you famous for playing, my life would’ve been better.” Once again Kamal’s face seemed to materialize to him and command him on what moves to make next. As he watched his mother’s lips move, Li’l T heard his father’s devious voice whispering in his ear.

  “There are always casualties of war, Negro. And what’s done is done, you pathetic, crippled-ass, ungrateful little bastard!” Simone made one last attempt to manipulate her son’s way of thinking by shaming him. “You act like you special. Like you the only one who was affected by that night. But fuck what happened in the past, and just man up now.”

  “Oh, you think it’s that damn easy?” he snarled, applying more pressure.

  “Hell to the yeah, it better be,” Simone proclaimed in agony. “Remember what Drake just said. Be a man for one fucking minute. Because when you sitting in that dirty, filthy-ass jail cell fighting that murder case for both Big Ace’s sons and charges for all this weed you got stashed around here plus these guns that your smart behind got out my closet that got your fingerprints on them not mine, you gonna need Mama to hold you down, ’cause you know good and damn well Prayer’s uppity ass ain’t visiting no prisons. You gonna need me.”

  “Are you freaking nuts? Me need you? Me depend on you?” His body started to shake as he mumbled his words.

  “Yeah, and let’s just hope I’m in the mood to do that after the way you treating me now.” Simone was in pain but had suffered enough ass kickings over the years to never let a nigga see her sweat. She could talk her way out of anything if she followed that rule.

  Terrell let go of her finger as he swiftly raised his other hand, taking a strong, tight grip of Simone’s throat. “I’m tired of you, bitch!” Still hearing Kamal’s voice, he closed his hand and increased the pressure on her neck. “It’s always been about your ass and what you want!” Getting intense enjoyment from watching his mother squirm trying to fight him off was adding to his hot-flash adrenalin rush and fueling his murderous intent. I owe you this! I owe you this! he repeated in his mind as if he were speaking for himself and Kamal and possibly even Joey. The police started yelling for them to come outside with their hands up. For all the years you fucked me over, I owe you! Now it’s my time to shine! Terrell smiled as Simone’s eyes started to slightly roll toward the back of her head as her arms flung down to the floor.

  Not ready to die, the strong-willed mother continued to fight to survive her son’s attack, which was sudden but a long time coming and well deserved. “Your crippled ass ain’t about shit,” Simone managed to speak, gasping for air. “No wonder Joi gave dude the pussy. Ya probably can’t even fuck. You ain’t a man.” She smugly smiled as Li’l T’s hold tightened. Her hands searched the carpet for anything she could use as a weapon. “I bet ol’ boy beat that pussy up, too!”

  Choking Simone, trying to make her pay for all the sins she’d committed against him and for what she’d just said, Terrell yoked her up even more. “Shut up, bitch,” he screamed as spit flew into her face. “Shut your motherfucking mouth!” He twisted up on her throat as he felt her neck start to make crackling
noises. “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!”

  “This is the police. Come out with your hands up!” rang out over a speaker. “You won’t be harmed if you do as we ask.”

  Watching his mother lose the battle to take in any more oxygen, Terrell finally felt like he was going to be free of her once and for all. Even if it meant spending the rest of his life behind bars, he was willing to face whatever consequences he had to incur to have Simone lose and for him to have the last laugh. “Die, bitch, die.” Li’l T kept at it as he became completely unstable. “I won this time!”

  Once again, the trigger was pulled. A half second after hearing the last, triumphant snap of the bones in Simone’s neck, signifying he’d broken it, the thunderous blast of a solitary gunshot went off. Feeling the burning force of an apparent gunshot wound to his head, Terrell barely could focus on the .44-caliber pistol that was still clutched in his now-dead mother’s hand. With the heavy flow of blood that was gushing out of his temple, he knew his time on earth was nearing the end. That dirty bitch! How could she kill her own seed? Did she hate me that much? Terrell started losing consciousness rapidly as he crawled into the other room and leaned over toward the wall, waiting patiently to die.

  Several minutes later, heavily armed Detroit police officers from the SWAT unit, accompanied by Drake, stormed Simone’s house, where they found the deceased bodies of Elon and Simone sprawled out on the dining room floor. An innocent Joi Richards was lying in a pool of her own blood. The young victim of circumstance had somewhat regained consciousness. Delirious, she was in excruciating pain from both the brutal rape she’d endured and the various bullet wounds her small frame had taken in. The officers signaled that they had at least one person who was alive and needed transport to a medical facility. Indeed, she looked in bad shape, but if there was fight in her, there was hope.

  Keeping their guns drawn, they lastly discovered Terrell Harris barely clinging to life. Like the love of his young world, he struggled to live, although he didn’t want to. As the ambulance technicians feverously worked on the teenager, knowing his survival changes were bleak, Drake saw some sort of bloody writing on the wall where they’d found Li’l T lying. Squinting in disbelief and utter sorrow, Drake slowly read the words his adopted son must’ve written: I am a man! Seconds later, Drake heard them pronounce Terrell dead. He’d left this earth just as his father, Kamel, had before him: in pandemonium.

  Chapter Seventeen

  It had been months since the ill-fated night. The gossip and true awfulness of what had taken place behind the Gates had long since perished. The headlines of the news had moved on to other crimes equally as terrible in the crime-ridden city of Detroit. There were no more tears from friends or protests for added security from neighbors. For most, life had returned to business as usual. However, for the lone survivor of the bloodbath, Joi Richards, life could never go back to how it was. Already having lost her mother years prior, and seeing her younger brother taken into the system, now she was faced with more harsh reality. Her sister was dead. The love of her life, Terrell, was dead. And here she was, still lying in a hospital bed, fighting to recover from several gunshot wounds.

  To make matters worse, the young girl, her face now disfigured, was told by the doctors that she was pregnant. Joi knew she’d been raped by that monster Elon. Clinically depressed and on just about every pain pill the hospital could legally prescribe without possible injury to the unborn fetus, she sobbed. At this point, Joi didn’t know who the father was. She couldn’t be sure. Whereas part of her wanted to believe it was a love child belonging to her and Terrell, her mind told her differently. The mother-to-be fought hard with her mental demons. They persuaded her that the soon-to-be bastard belonged to Elon. At this point, both potential fathers were deceased, so any way it went, she’d be a single mother.

  Knowing she was with child, Prayer came to visit Joi constantly, trying to figure out if Terrell was indeed the father. Drake and Big Ace made several visits as well during the first few weeks, trying to find out what truly jumped off that day at Simone’s. Each man wanted a blow-by-blow account of what had happened that left them without their sons. Since Joi was the only live witness, she was the key to that puzzle.

  However, Joi was a different person. Her normally bubbly personality was now gone. Her upbeat attitude toward life had vanished with her injuries. Her face was sunken in, and she had horrible scars from all the surgeries she’d gone through. Half out of her mind and not wanting to relive that day, Joi blocked everything out. She refused to speak to any of the three: Prayer, Drake, or Big Ace. After a while, they gave up seeking the information. They moved on. Joi, deranged and addicted to prescription pills, and whoever’s baby she was carrying were on their own.

  When Joi was finally released, the pregnant female did everything she could to get her next fix. The baby she was carrying was nothing more than a nuisance. Having turned into a mirror image of her mother, Joi had no conscience. In the pursuit of money, she cruelly stabbed an elderly man walking home from the bank. He’d just cashed his first check of the month, and Joi wanted, no needed, that cash. In her twisted mind, her baby was telling her to do it.

  Thankfully she was arrested. He later died from his injuries, and Joi was sent to prison. There, behind bars, she gave birth to her son. Joi refused to name him, so the court-appointed social worker gave him the name of Justice, hoping one day the small infant would receive some. There was no father listed on baby Justice’s birth certificate, and no one was left who wanted to step up and claim him. He was then entrusted to the system.

  During one visit to family court, Joi said, “Yeah, this circus is getting on my last nerve. You got me all the way twisted around here. See, it makes no motherfucking difference one way or the other. You can take his lazy-eyed, freak-looking ass away from me. I’m good. I swear to God I’m good. It’s his fault I’m in here in the first place. He told me to do what I did. I’m innocent!”

  “Calm down, Miss Richards. Think about what you’re saying.” The social worker held the infant, swaddled in a sky blue blanket, protectively in her arms. “This is your flesh and blood. He’s your child. How can you be so cruel and unfeeling?” she said, rightfully passing judgment.

  “Get that damn kid away from me,” Joi loudly demanded, showing every yellow tooth she was fortunate enough to still have lodged in her mouth. “If you so worried about him, then why don’t you take his retarded butt home with you? I told all y’all I’m over it. Damn!”

  “You are a disgrace to mothers everywhere. Don’t you have any shame about your actions? How can you sleep at night?”

  “Listen, lady, fuck you and that baby over there too. Just because you a social worker don’t make you no better than me. When your old ass was my age, you used to bleed once a month just like me and get it in.”

  “Excuse me, Miss Richards.” The gavel slammed down on the oak bench. “Are you telling the courts you want nothing to do with your son?” the newly elected judge to family court calmly intervened, asking the hysterical, handcuffed new mother. “Is that your final decision?”

  “Damn, lady! What part of ‘I’m good’ don’t you understand?” Joi sucked her teeth. She twisted her body as she spoke, still disrespecting the courtroom and its many occupants. “Unless you gonna let my ass out of here right now, what difference do it make what happens to my baby or what I say? Shitttt, y’all gonna do what y’all wanna do just like any other time. Fuck!”

  “Watch your crude tone in my courtroom!” Judge Curtis cautiously advised before lowering her head and reading over Joi’s long, detailed file. With her wire-rimmed glasses on the tip of her nose, she soon came to her conclusion. The defendant standing in front of her was indeed 100 percent correct. The court was going to render the final decision in the case of two-month-old Justice Richards, who was sadly born addicted to pills behind the steel bars of Wayne County Women’s Correctional Facility. He would be returned to foster care, pending possible adoption.

 
“Listen up, Judge, Your Honor,” a stone-faced Joi said, “if you can just hurry up and sign them papers, I can get back to my cell before lunch.”

  “Is that truly the only thing you care about, Miss Richards?” Judge Curtis lifted her head, making eye contact once more with the street-seasoned Joi. “Are you really in that much of a rush to sign your son over to the system and risk the chance of never seeing him again? Is that what you want, all your parental rights terminated?”

  “Oh, my God! Are you people deaf? This don’t make no freaking sense!” Joi squirmed, trying to loosen the tight restraint of the handcuffs as she looked over at the hands of the clock on the wall. “Like I said, just come on so the guards can take me back before I miss lunch.”

  With three or four signatures on several documents, the life-changing deed was done. The future of baby boy Justice Richards, aka case number M7-5461S8, was determined. From this point forward, pending adoption, he was officially a ward of the State of Michigan and would undoubtedly turn out like most of the other Detroit throwaway crack babies, as a true menace to society.

  “I hope this baby doesn’t turn out like her,” the judge whispered to the social worker as the guards removed his deranged mother from the courtroom. “Because if he does, all of Detroit is going to have a huge problem on its hands. But as they say, only time will tell. I only pray I’m not alive to see that day.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Come on, guy, and stop worrying about how your pretty ass look. You’s a street soldier in the D, not a model,” Justice, a grown thug, yelled back at his partner in crime, Cree, who was busy wiping the crumbs off his shirt from the breakfast his girl cooked. “You act like this shit a joke out here. Let’s go!”

  “Damn, slow ya roll. Trust when I tell you them crackheads gonna be roaming the streets all day searching for a blast. Five minutes ain’t gonna stop shit.” Cree jumped down off the porch of the four-family flat he, his girl, and his granny called home. He joined a fast-walking Justice.