The Book of Vengeance: Chapter 1

“What do you mean is it good? No, it's not good.”
A billion thoughts flashed through Tanya’s mind. She wondered about everything from the way she had seasoned the flounder filets, to the texture of the grits, and the sweetness of the cappuccino.
What the fuck! How dare this nigga say her food wasn't good?
Tanya had put her foot in this meal and she knew it.
She noticed that his sexy ass had grabbed another forkful, right after he said it wasn't good!
Tanya was almost angry.
The three “Verge of blacking out” orgasms she'd just had, kept her temper even.
It had taken less than 12 seconds to get to the almost angry state.
Ramon spoke again. “Good isn't a big enough word ma. That is the 2nd best thing that I have ever had in my mouth. Shit, and both in one day.”
The way the words rolled off his magical tongue gave her flashbacks to the most beautiful, soul-draining, can't feel my face, speaking in tongues, and tearing a hole in her mattress head. The memories caused a deep throb between her legs.
Ramon had been the one that got away. Even if she hadn't known it at the time.  She had been too proud of her status in high school, and  Ramon wasn't popular. He had been a chubby, clumsy kid, and just smart enough to be different.
The fact that he “talked funny” had sealed the deal. He was undateable.
She had convinced herself that the catch in her breath whenever he had helped her learn the music in High School band and the special twinkle in his light brown eyes when he smiled at her was not real.
Ramon had moved away from the small Mississippi riverside, town.
She heard that he had moved back to New York where he was from.
Tanya actually had written to him when he moved away. Letters that she never sent.
More of them then she wanted to admit, even with him sitting across from her in boxer briefs and body art.
She had found him on a dating site of all places. He had long since shed the chubbiness and the goofiness from long ago. The goofiness it seemed had been replaced with charm.
She stared at him blatantly over her cappuccino.
Christ in heaven he was fine.
It hadn't been an immediate Tanya and Ramon reunion.
It, had taken a lot to engineer. It was 4 years and two failed relationships later. One for each of them.
They'd talked a lot at first, reminiscing about band functions, then life had happened.
They were still miles apart and on completely opposite coasts.
Even though Ramon had left New York Atlanta was still far from her LA home.
She leaned forward on the breakfast nook.
Her breasts spilling from his wife beater t-shirt.
Unlike most of their classmates, and her peers Tanya had kept her body toned. Sure she had stretch marks, she earned them. Tanya was a mother and a grandmother, but she was video vixen fine. With thick (dyed) black Dread's that bisected her back.
Her grey eyes, imitating smoke watched the 6' 2" comic book escapee put his dish away.
Suddenly Ramon was behind her, he grabbed a fist full of her hair, and pulled it away from her neck.
She felt first his lips and then his tongue there.
His other massive hand snaked up the t-shirt and gripped her breast.
Tanya’s breathing becomes lower and suddenly she didn't care about the dishes that shattered as she pushed them to the floor.
She was certain that her neighbors had heard them in the kitchen, and again in the shower.
Tanya found that she liked everything about her high school classmate.
He had class, real class.
It was evident from the way he wore his clothes to the way he treated the servers at the restaurants and bars that they visited while he was in Los Angeles.
At the end of a weeks vacation and halfway through a 2nd twenty-four pack of Lifestyle Kyng condoms, Tanya was ready to move to Atlanta.
She was seriously considering it and started dropping hints of the idea to Ramon. His response was always a silenced smile.

Ramon dropped off the Dodge Ram 1500 at the Lax rental terminal and grabbed his bags.
He was exhausted from all the over the top sex he and Tanya had been having. His first-class tickets ensured that he would be able to get some sleep on the flight.
He had kept his phone on airplane mode most of the trip, only responding to the messages when absolutely necessary.
This trip was the culmination of a plan set in motion 20 years earlier.
Tanya was the last. She had treated him like a Jew in 1933 Germany.
Ramon remembered asking the then tiny slip of a girl to the band dance, and he remembered her laughter.
“Goofy ass Ramon Hope? Ah, Fuck no I won’t be going to the dance with you!” She had made sure that everyone in the cafeteria had heard her response.
Ramon had started begging his mother to send him back to New York that very day. Even threatening suicide if she didn't send him to his Uncle.
Back in the city, Ramon had walked everywhere, and worked hard. The chubbiness melted away.
Growing up in his Uncle boxing gym,  Ramon grew into the man that mother nature had intended and he was impressive.
Ramon had worked for a company that imported cooking oil and he had perfected his physique by tossing hundreds of lbs. of product in the warehouse.
When the owner of the company decided to expand to Atlanta, Ramon became the Atlanta warehouse's manager.
Rejection from five women had shaped Ramon.
Since then he had made a point to collect the sex that he felt the women had owed him.
Most of those “debts” had been paid over the course of summer vacations and the holidays while Ramon was in his twenties.
Finding Tanya Knight had been a complete surprise.
From the time he saw her profile on “Chocolate Connection” Ramon had known that he was going to get her.
Not only was he determined to have sex with her, he wanted the aftermath to be as embarrassing for her as the band dance rejection had been for him.

So he had posed for the pix he knew would be flooding Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook.
He courted Tanya, and he put on his best sexual performance.
Ramon could tell by the way she looked at him that Tanya was hooked. He almost felt sorry for her.
Ramon pulled out his iPhone X and scrolled the woman he had just sexed into oblivion’s social media.
Sure enough, she had been busy, their pix were edited, toned, and effects and decorations had been applied.
Tanya had “shipped” them and was referring to him as “Bae."
He would wait. Let the likes and comments build up.
Tanya, missed Ramon, even though he hadn't been gone but a few hours.
He had promised to call when he landed at Hartsfield Airport but she had not heard from him.
She decided not to press because she was positive the man was tired.
The smell of him was everywhere and the few items that he had left at her house brought a smile to her face.
Tanya fell asleep reminiscing about Ramon being deep inside her as one of his corded muscular arms pinned her legs behind her head.
She couldn't wait to hear his voice again.
The next morning Tanya checked her phone as soon as she woke.
“Damn, wtf is going happening on social media?”
No matter what she posted before she had never had that much activity.
The pictures of her and her new Boo must be going viral.
Sleepiness vanished as she read the notifications.
Ramon had posted a video of her giving him a blow job as he used both hands to pull her mouth further onto him.
The caption read; “Trip to California including rental car, $2700. Mouth fucking the bitch that broke me down in high school... PRICELESS!”
The video was in the comment section of every picture she had posted of the two of them.
Tanya was crushed.

Getting Back Into The Game

Damascus had lost a lot of weight. Metaphorically and in reality.
He had been hit much worse than he realized.
The heavy slugs had plowed through his muscular gluteus and upper thigh at approximately 1000 ft./s The bullet that tore into his palm, remarkably did very little damage.
Damascus, had recovered but he still had a lot of pain.
He had abandoned the “Night life” and used his reduced, but still considerable size for a large security company at a high rise office building. It was boring, but boring was good.
Damascus, if he was honest with himself, missed the quick money and short hours of nightclub work.
He also missed his friends. He didn't know why, but some of the closest dudes to him had completely cast him aside.
Those “friends”, and the Owner's of the club, had clearly forgotten the existence of “The Wall.”
The family of the guy who Damascus had been forced to kill, sued the club and it appeared the owner's blamed him for the lawsuit.
He couldn't worry about it, the added weight of those fair weather friends wasn't missed.
At first wearing a suit and tie every day grated Damascus nerves, but he began to like the way he looked dressed up.
The pay however was much less. The hourly rate might have been the same but that didn't factor in tips and tip-out. The difference added up.
The year-long recovery had been grueling, and expensive. Damascus had been forced to do it all alone and without insurance.
The cold fact was that the main reason he was working for the security company was the benefits. The ordeal of his own healthcare had made him keenly aware of the need.
Damascus wore his suit/uniform well. He wasn't the 4 hour a day gym-junkie he had once been. He worked out now only, when the pain permitted.
The Dr. had tossed narcotic prescriptions at Damascus but he staunchly refused to take them.
He stood, and stretched, his spine making a satisfying crack as he bent backwards. Damascus did a quick twist at his waist to get another crack from his beleaguered backbone.
His right buttock still felt raw and unhealed, he had been plagued by serious muscle tears in the past, and that’s what it felt like.
The building where he worked was for all intents and purposes empty. A few employees were banging out last minute expense reports, or putting together multi -million dollar presentations and eating cold pizza.
However, the majority of the employees were gone for the weekend.
It was a typical Friday night, yet totally different. Damascus, worked the 3-11 shift Monday thru Friday and T.G.I.F.
Normally, the large man had no particular place to go when his relief showed up at 11:05 or 23:05. The company insisted on its security officers using military time. The young braces wearing guy who relieved Damascus was always 5 minutes late. At least he was consistent.
Tonight Damascus had a date. Loneliness had driven him to online dating and it was a hilarious ride.
The funniest thing were the white women, most of whom clearly stated in their bio that they “DON'T DATE OUTSIDE THEIR RACE!”
He always thought. “So, why are you messing with me?” to him those women were so asinine. Damascus, might have only been a bodyguard/bouncer/security guard, but he was smart enough to know that there's only one race on our planet.
His date for the night was a sister that he had been conversing with for the last two weeks.
Of all the things that Damascus had, been forced to get accustomed to the new dating game was the worst. Punching a literal clock came in 2nd, fortunately the building he worked at was sign in, but it still annoyed him.
When Eugene walked through the glass doors at 11:05 Damascus shot off a quick text, "OMW."
Gwendolyn, had insisted on meeting him at the venue rather than allowing him to pick her up. Deciding what to do had been the next hurdle.
Damascus wanted to be unique, and to that end had agreed to pay the junkie that cleaned the club he used to work for to put on a private magic show on the patio of the after-hours spot.
He had worked their long enough to know that while the kitchen, bar, and  hookah bar, were open at 10:00 p.m. Gwendolyn and he would have the place pretty much to themselves.
There were two waitresses during this slow time Dj Mon-Tanner didn't start spinning until 2:00, and the crowd arrived at 3:30.
Damascus, whipped his burgundy F-150 through the traffic on 285 and arrived at the small but classy cabaret.
He noticed that “magic” a former magician turned crack addict, had dressed up for the occasion. His orange hi-top converse looked brand new, and while they didn't match the tux jacket and vest Magic wore over his Rustler jeans, The Wall was glad to see that the $40 he had given the junkie had been put to good use.
Magic, winked at the former bouncer as he appeared to levitate a dollar bill  between his outstretched hands. He had always thought highly of Wall, the man always treated him like a man and not a crack head, not to mention the time the Wall had kicked the dealer who was pistol whipping magic’s ass. Magic, was planning to do a great show.
Gwendolyn’s candy apple red 740il BMW pulled into the parking lot, moments later. One of the valets caught Damascus eye. The large man nodded his perfectly lined and faded head once. 
The Valet opened the door and proffered his arm. “How much is parking?” Gwendolyn asked ignoring the extended elbow. “You're Damascus guest ma'am, I wouldn't charge you!” The man offered her his folded arm yet again.
She was spectacular. Her face lineless despite being only two years Damascus junior.  Gwendolyn wore a high-low off the shoulder cocktail skater, it showed arms that were toned, but not over muscled, legs that would make a track star jealous, and a butt that made the mid thigh dress into a mini.
Damascus,  went to the middle of the stairs, and offered to take Gwendolyn from the valet’s care. He noticed that she was only touching the valet with 2 fingers. For him, she flashed a brilliant smile.
“Hello, it's good to meet you in person. I grabbed a menu and ordered an appetizer.” Damascus said.
The full moon hung yellow and fat above them, as the early waitress brought them the house special vegetarian tray and “come back” sauce.
Damascus, observed the woman's body language.
The chairs had seemed offensive, their was a slight pinch to her lips as she looked around the patio.
“This is quaint.” She breathed. Damn she was a fine looking woman.
Her lips and eyes were so perfect they could have been drawn. Gwendolyn, was regal and beautiful.
She wasn't as easygoing in person as she had been via phone, however. She was curt with the waitress as she ordered her dirty martini.
Yes, she was interested in him, but was apparently judging everything.
As Magic approached their table, he began by pulling roses from his previously empty sleeves.
The few other early patrons, there for the club's signature food items, applauded and tipped the street performer. Gwendolyn’s face contorted and she insisted that “the crack head” be removed despite the magician’s skill.
Damascus refused to even say a cross word to the man instead he said. “You look like a Queen, but you have no class and no soul! This man has more class than you'll ever be able to buy, no matter how much money you have.”
Gwendolyn’s aging model features took a couple of seconds to contort into full blown rage, but once they reached it, there they stayed.
Her voice was less crisp, and her accent vastly different once the cursing began.
Her honest opinions poured out of the mouth that was so beautiful, in terms that were so ugly.
“Magic” had stepped away from her venomous tirade and was doing mind blowing card tricks for the steady trickle of customers buying “Lamb lollipops”, “Dragon Wings”, and “Flounder burgers” dishes that the club's chef had perfected. Dishes that gave the club lots of carryout business.
The inebriated late night dinner seekers, tipped the tux clad magician for the show and stole glances at the show the tall Versace wearing woman was putting on.
Once she was done cursing him out, Gwendolyn left in a huff.
A tired Damascus sat down and ordered a double Bourbon Salmon burger with lettuce, tomato and cheese.
He realized as he ate that he was going to have to reevaluate this dating game.

The Chef High O.G Show

The kitchen was Chauncey’s canvas.
Even when it was relatively empty. Chauncey would find a way to put something together, and make it delicious.
He was  Salvador Dali with a skillet and a spatula. He always had been, even when his ingredients had been government cheese and week old bakers scraps. Regardless of his talents he had become a wild youngster. A good fight had been his idea of a good time.
An unfortunate group of  events had lead to his incarceration.
Chauncey had taken enough cooking classes while he was “freedom impaired” to supposedly land him a job as a chef. However, the jobs weren't open to him.
He had been forced to go through cooking school again outside the penal system.
The major hotel where He plied his trade was awesome. The ex-gangbanger, enjoyed cooking so he didn't mind the work itself. He did mind his supervisor. The man was much younger than Chauncey and it seemed as if he was ecstatic to have Chauncey serve under him.
The supervisor “Chuck” knew nothing about cooking. He was a pencil pusher, who found himself responsible for a luxury hotel. 
Chauncey was the head chef. It paid okay. He had benefits including, 401k and life insurance.  It was more than he'd had before.
When he had come home from prison  he had been on a financial roller coaster. If a rollercoaster only went down.
For a while he would work temporary jobs and do construction work with a friend of his from home.
It had been survival pure and simple. It made Chauncey miss California.
He didn't just miss the ocean, or the women, it wasn't just the lack of good Mexican, and Chinese. Cali just had a different frame of mind.
In and of itself  Atlanta was great. He had never seen so many black folks who were successful.
Unlike California real estate Chauncey's two bedroom house in Smyrna, had been a steal. He was still suspicious, still felt like someone was going to tell him he'd underpaid.
Chauncey had chosen his house based on the way the kitchen was laid out.
He had several other Crip “Cousins” that had relocated to Georgia and the homies had been helpful in adapting to Georgia.
One thing he found out fast was Georgia child support didn't play. Now that he was doing well, they turned his pockets inside out every paycheck.
True his job was good, but he missed the California atmosphere and he was questioning the decision to move Atlanta. Add to that the fact that Georgia had such strict laws about marijuana. Because if there was anything else that Chauncey loved as much as cooking it was getting high. He actually enjoyed doing both together, when he got ‘lifted' the recipes just came to him.
Some of the more successful experiments had made it to the hotel menu.
His Pina colada Mahi-Mahi, Peanut butter encrusted tuna steaks, and his jackfruit tacos had all been creations that came from being high.
In Atlanta he had to hide his marijuana consumption. They still had archaic laws concerning the herb.
That was the way that he thought of it. As an herb that was vilified by antiquated laws and statues. Even after a full day of preparing meals for the elites who stayed in the high rise hotel, Chauncey still wanted to cook at home.All he needed was an excuse.
One of the Homies falling through? He was cooking.
Not that he had many homies to fall through in Atlanta.
Chauncey was lonely. Not in the way that he needed a woman's touch, I mean its Atlanta, and that was the easiest thing to find.
No, what Chauncey missed was having people to come over and cook for. In Cali he had wanted to sell food out of his house.
He had left California because of not being able to find work with his record. It was ironic that a state with the highest incarceration numbers, was where an ex-con found a job. 
Deciding that he needed to get out of the house Chauncey had gone on a date. Lynn was a woman he had met online. Their banter on the internet had led to conversations on the phone.
Their representatives had impressed.
So the pair had decided to check out a comedy club. 
The show had begun on C.P.T. he and Lynn had spent the time getting to know each other. He liked her freckles, grey eyes, and tiny space in her teeth.
She liked the fact that even at 5” 10' She had to look up at him. Oh and if them big ass Timberland boots were any indication!
Lynn, was a Human Resources director for Home Depot. Her body was about as perfect as you could find on his side of 40.
She was from Dayton Ohio, her accent nearly reminded him of home. He had never even thought about Ohio before but Lynn was schooling him on its gang infested culture.
He knew that Lynn knew her stuff. She had called him out immediately “You’re a Crip. Aren’t you?” He had laughed until he cried even though no comedian had hit the stage yet.
Even though the amateur comedian that did hit the stage, late, and obviously high, was hilarious, Chauncey and Lynn had no use for Omar “Big O” Seaford, they were too focused on each other.
They drank a couple of Peach Martinis and talked comfortably.
Lynn kept looking at Chauncey’s long incisors, and wondering if he bit her would it break the skin.
She knew he was a roughneck, and she wanted to fuck him despite the fact, or maybe because of it.
She had smelled the weed on him through his Armani.
Lynn had dated one thug, married and divorced another, and had kids by both. She didn't want another one long-term, but this thug was handsome as fuck, smart, could tell a funny story and might keep her attention.
At least until she could find her CEO Charming.
“This nigga gonna get it tonight!” She decided with finality.
They stayed past the end of the show finding an excuse to remain in each other’s company.
  He started to suggest one of the many late-night eateries in Atlanta but being straightforward  Lynn said. “Look we can keep it real with one another. You smoke trees, right?”
Chauncey was elated, she was sexy, funny, and a stoner! He couldn’t believe his luck. How did she know? He didn't realize that the smell clung to his skin making it obvious.  “Yeah, I smoke. You smoke?”
Lynn laughed, “Nah, I don’t smoke. I’m the feds, I’m entrapping you.”
Her grey eyes twinkled as she baited him. Even before she suggested they leave Chauncey was signaling their server.
He had made a point to start the evening by tipping the waitress as soon as she introduced herself.
Being in a service industry himself he knew that a true tip would ensure that he received superior service. It also looked classy as hell.
Lynn, turned to him and said “So I have a 19-year-old son at home. He smokes so we could go to my house…to smoke.”
She left the fact that smoking would be all they would do if they went to her house unspoken, but it was implied. “No ma. We are going to my house.”
The sexual energy was smoldering.
They laughed and teased one another in the Uber. 
She commenced calling him O.G. and he liked the way it sounded coming from her lips. “I’m hungry O.G. We’re not stopping for food?” Lynn asked over the Uber drivers mumble rap Pandora station.
“You know I’m a chef, right?” He asked with a smirk.
The pair sat on Chauncey’s porch and smoked a glass pipe shaped like a cigar. The conversation was even easier under the yellow moon and with the high-quality cannabis stimulating pleasure centers in their brains.
Of course, Chauncey prepared a gourmet meal, even though he cooked it in nothing but his tattoos.
In between episodes of mind blowing sex, Chauncey and Lynn got high and he cooked.
He would go through the entire process talking, somehow black pepper or coriander, could trigger a story that would have her laughing.
Minutes later he would have her pinned to the wall. She wound up spending the entire next day and night.
The day after brought reality, and the need to adult. They had to go back to work.
Lynn had finally took off his shirt and dressed in the clothes she had worn for their date.
“I’ve enjoyed myself Chef High O.G. You're a culinary genius. You really should have your own place.”
That statement had been the first seed, and though he and Lynn didn’t wind up dating for long she had created an idea that Chauncey couldn’t shake. The dream was not his own restaurant, that had been an old dream when he first attended cooking school. 
Chauncey, was stuck on the “Chef High O.G.” The name resonated with him.
He could relate to it. The more he considered it, the more he realized he didn't want to have a restaurant.
He was thinking about a YouTube Channel and creating his dishes live in front of the camera.
It would be like having somebody come to the crib getting high, talking trash and feeding them!
Like having them sit at the breakfast counter at his place while he cooked. Chef high O.G.’s place. 
Chauncey bought a tripod from Amazon and a digital camera. He spent countless nights filming himself making extravagant dishes from basic items.
It felt good.
Like company, like cooking for ‘Musclehead', ‘Scrap 19', ‘Ghost loc’, and all the other little homies that used to pull-up, before the street collected her due from them.
Just like his mother had done, Chauncey wouldn't let you leave his house hungry. He had fed lots of the “locs” and homeless people when he lived in Compton.
Determined to realize his dreams, he worked extra shifts at the hotel, he took catering jobs that he normally would have outright refused, and he even went to the temp service on his off days.
Whenever he found a minute Chauncey filmed himself cooking, and telling stories.
He had a way about him that made the videos like watching a really cool uncle, who tells the funniest stories.
After 3 months of saving and eating noodles, he approached his Job requesting a transfer.
The transfer took approximately a month, during which Chauncey worked hard, ate more noodles and saved his coins. Finally, the day arrived, and Chauncey took the 33-hour drive from Marietta, Ga to Compton, California.
Chauncey smoked almost non-stop, as He drove his Jeep Grand Cherokee across the USA.
As soon as the saltwater smell hit him Chauncey knew he was back home.
He couldn’t wait to post his “Chef High O.G.” videos.
The views trickled in at first even though he had posted links from all his social media outlets.
He still worked for the same Luxury hotel chain and he was making a living, but his dream was stagnating.
His jeep changed everything for him.
The fuel pump went out in the ten-year-old SUV and Chauncey needed to pick up some extra funds.
He spoke to a  Rolling 60 partner about doing some bouncing work. 
The club that he landed at was the toast of the City, and his scowling face and 6” 6’ frame kept him from having to have too many conversations.
The owner decided that he liked Chauncey and tasked him with controlling the V.I.P.
The rappers and high-profile celebrities liked Chauncey too.
When a certain rap star decided to follow Chauncey on Instagram things took off for him.
Soon the Chef high O.G. Show had guest appearances with Snoop, Whiz Kalifa, Berner, Smoke DZA, and every weed smoking celeb in California.
2 Chains, and the Migos came over from Atlanta to hang out at his house get high and cook soul food.
Dave Chappell stopped by for shrimp & grits, and shrimp toast. Katt Williams, Kurrupt, and he deep fried Salmon pate' turnovers, and made dipping sauce. Chauncey knew he had made it when he was on the cover of High Times magazine.
Soon Chauncey had his own cable cooking show. Chef High O.G. had become a household name.

The City Of What??? (AKA-Old Jacks and getting Jacked up)

Here’s another throwback Kevin story:

Kevin was 17 years old and he had an okay life. He worked, and he went to school, he handled his responsibilities. He had a mobile home where he paid bills, and this beautiful 1977 Buick Limited. His father had offered him a choice of the 1977 Buick or one that was ten years newer.

 The difference was that Kevin would have to pay his Father and namesake for the two-year-old vehicle and while the 1987 had a certain style and Kevin liked the suicide hood, the darker blue and the modern amenities, the Limited was gangster. 

 It was that soft GM blue with plush interior.

Kevin cherished the beautiful car and its outdated luxury that translated into a nice ride 10 years later. There was only one problem. The long vehicle had developed a problem with the transmission.

Kevin told his mechanic, (his dad) through his secretary, (his mom) that he needed his assistance to get the beautiful boat back on the road.  

Kevin, Jr.  was in no hurry to get to the vehicle. He informed his son, via his wife and secretary that he would get to it as soon as possible. However, fixing the car that he had dissuaded his son from taking wasn’t high on the older Kevin’s list of priorities.

The younger Kevin attempted to wait. Patience wasn't one of his strongest virtues. Kevin III tried to wait, he really tried. A couple of days passed, and he wanted to put her on the road immediately!

Soon Kevin could wait no longer. He had seen his father working on multiple vehicles and was confident that he was familiar enough with the working parts of his own car to do the repair.

The Sun was blazing by 8 a.m. and Kevin could sleep no more. He wouldn’t normally be up that early on a Sunday morning, but he was going to fix the Buick.  Kevin pulled the old school Jack out of the trunk and he lifted all four corners of the car.  As he cranked the tire tool and jacked up the soft blue beast, Kevin placed twelve-inch masonry blocks beneath the car’s underbelly.

Once the 3800 lbs. were lifted off the ground Kevin began disconnecting the transmission.  He had read the Chilton guide and felt as if he could do the repair seamlessly.  Kevin slid beneath the car with his tools in hand.

The sun had heated the metal of his car and it was a relief to be in the shade provided by the raised American classic. The work was going along well until Kevin disconnected the transmission.

Once the mechanism that held the car in its inert position was no longer operational the nearly two tons of steel began to move, and the masons blocks under it were no match for that kind of weight. Kevin heard the first block break and the tremendous tonnage, begin to yield to the will of gravity.

He moved as quickly as his teen instincts permitted and had almost cleared the frame of the vehicle when it slammed down onto his chest.  Kevin’s chest was extremely thick and corded with muscle earned by countless hours spent tossing 6-8-foot-long pine logs onto a truck. His sheer size, strength and youth combined forces to keep him breathing as the two tons settled into the Alabama red clay and his body of the same color.  

A notorious pragmatist, Kevin looked around for the means to help himself. He knew that he was at least a mile and a half from anyone who could help him. Yelling and screaming for help would simply expend energy that might be put to better use.

 Kevin could just barely turn his head, now that the Limited had settled into the ground. He used one size 14 Reebok to pull the long metal tube with grooves notched into it closer to him. Once the device was close enough the young man wheezed as he ratcheted the jack down to a height that would extricate him from the vehicle’s embrace.

The tube began to bend and buckle with every crank of the handle that raised the leverage mechanism, the strain was audible, and Kevin knew that once he had given himself enough lift to slide from below the decade old steel he had better haul ass. Once he had made good his escape Kevin lay in full view of the wicked Alabama Sun. His chest hurt like hell, each breath was a chore. Ten minutes passed, then twenty, finally Kevin struggled to his feet and his legs threatened to buckle beneath him,  he leaned against his car for support.

“One foot in front of the other, one foot in front…” Kevin chanted inside his head. He was walking to the house closest to him. Kevin needed a doctor, and he needed a ride to the doctor.

The ride into Meridian might have been difficult but Kevin had no clue. He had passed out as soon as he fell/lay down in the bed of his neighbor’s pick-up truck. The emergency room at Matty Hersey hospital treated Kevin’s broken ribs and re-inflated his left lung. He would survive to get that Buick fixed.

Two weeks later, Kevin was experiencing severe cabin fever. His father had put a rush on repairing the Buick now that it had almost killed him. In record time Kevin III was tooling around in the huge Buick.

Despite the pain medication and muscle relaxers coursing through his veins, Kevin decided to go visit one of the candy stripers that he had met during his hospital stay. She was from Philadelphia; Mississippi and she had promised to make him a meal if he came to see her.

As soon as he pulled up to Tina’s apartments Kevin felt that he had made a big mistake.  No matter how cute and fine Tina was Kevin knew that her project was a death trap. Once again Kevin was forced to decide, and his libido influenced his choice.

True to her word Tina made Kevin a classic Mississippi Soul food meal. She plied the young man with liquor which didn’t mix well with the narcotic pain relievers that Kevin was taking like tic-tacs. A combination of “Itis” and the drinks rounded out the trinity that caused him to pass out. The following morning Kevin awoke to the smell of bacon.

 Tina was cool, and had he not passed out Kevin would have attempted to have sex with her, despite the pain of his broken ribs.
 Kevin stuffed his face to the tune of three plates, and assured Tina that he would be back to see her soon. He had, enjoyed the food and the company, so much so that Kevin felt guilty for disparaging the small ragged apartments on Philadelphia's Pearl Avenue. 
He didn’t believe that the “Shaky Grounds” projects warranted their bad reputation.

Tina walked Kevin out to his car, and saw the damage with him.

 Apparently, the baby blue vehicle was the wrong color to be parked in the Blood and Vice Lord neighborhood. The residents of the project had expressed their displeasure with the blue car vigorously while the drunk/drugged/satisfied young man had slept. 

All the tires had been flattened, the windshield was shattered, and Anti-Crip, and Gangster disciple messages had been gouged into the powder blue finish.

The name of the city was a misnomer. Kevin wasn’t feeling the brotherly love.

Rough Night in the Queen City

This is a throwback story of Kevin Delaney III.  If you follow Kevin you know that sometimes he thinks with the wrong head. He makes boneheaded decisions regularly, he is easily swayed by a pretty face or awesome shape, Lord help him if she is a combination of the two. In other words he's a young man. Before he left the Ala/Miss, Kevin had some adventures here's one of them:

Kevin watched her dancing. She was at least 5' 10'' and the sheer blue body dress clung to her flawless, athlete's, body like plastic wrap. "Good Jesus that motherfucker is finer den frog hair!" He thought. Her curly baby hair was wet with sweat, but she danced like it didn't matter. 

He deserved a break. Between hauling the pine trees that were made into paper known as pulpwood, and doing the floors overnight at Walmart, all he seemed to do was work. 

 College or the military, the choice had jumped up too fast for Kevin. He couldn't focus on what he wanted yet. Mostly because he had no idea. 

What he did know was that everyone had left him. His classmates, most of whom were not really his friends, had all disappeared. Some of them he would miss, he had known most of them since at least middle school, some since kindergarten. Even Jay and Tony his best partners had vanished into thin air.

His father, had wanted his son to come to work for him. He had been grooming his namesake until the "Damn Fool!" Had decided that he was grown and moved out.

 Kevin Jr. was a sensible man, who raised collards, cabbage, okra, and tomatoes behind his house.

 He and the younger Kevin's, mother had been together since pigtails.  Kevin Jr. had retired from the air force and went into business. He had  owned a successful "from the ground up" construction company since before Kevin III could recall.
Kevin III thought his father, Kevin Jr.,  was the stupidest man in the world.
He had learned all of the construction skills he could possibly use from his Father. His father had taught him how to drive, and fight, and had gotten Kevin the job hauling pulpwood with his friend. None of that mattered. Kevin felt that his father was dumber than a box of rocks.
He still had attempted to enter into the air force to please him. Flat feet took him out of consideration. He was stuck in Alabama.
Kevin thought about it all as he watched the tall, voluptuous, woman sway to song after song.

 He had came to Meridian to let his hair down. The club was called "Esperanza" and the nearly six foot tall amazon made him think that coming there had been the proper decision. 

 Kevin was tired of feeling alone. "Shit, I wish she would een thank bout spending  some time with me!" Kevin thought. His wish came true in the midst of his self pity.
The dancer, a former Meridian H.S. Lady Wildcats standout, was gesturing for Kevin to come to her. 

She was so bad that Kevin looked around before obeying, but obey he did, and the woman kissed him deeply as soon as he approached. Raymisha, had a hand full of Kevin's curly locks, and her peppermint Schnapps and Newport flavored tongue down his throat.

 Raymisha Fuller, was named after her father, and like her father she was a drug addict. 

She had been a guard for the Meridian H.S. Lady Wildcats championship team. A bad choice for a boyfriend and sample of crack cocaine had changed her future drastically. She could have gone overseas to play basketball, but instead Ray had gotten wrapped up with shady characters. 

Raymisha and Kevin were outside of the club pawing at each other in his Park Avenue. "Ray" as she told him to call her was all over him and it took her about twenty minutes to convince him to take her to a hotel on the Frontage Rd.  She didn’t want to go"All the way to Alabama!"
Instead she suggested a hotel on frontage rd eight miles from the Alabama  state line and sixteen miles from Kevin's house. 

The motel was $12 a night and looked like it. The stains and smells drove away everyone but their niche market, people too horny, drunk, drugged or desperate to care. It was a cesspool, but Kevin honestly couldn't think of anything else but this girls butt in that dress.

He didn't question her getting the room, he had peeled off a $20 bill without blinking, and didn't care that she didn't offer change.

 The only thing that mattered was getting some, but he didn't miss the fact that the lights had just been on in the room the girl unlocked, a miniscule section of his brain registered through the lust-fueled haze. Some instinct made him hang back as she walked into the room.  Wood slammed against wood where Kevin’s head had just been.
 

Kevin was able to avoid the heavy swing of the baseball bat that would have killed him. The man who swung it had over committed to the attack and was off balanced. The bat slammed into the door jamb right where his head would have been if he had not hesitated. 

 Because of the effort Kevin's attacker had over extended himself  and his entire body fell forward, he had been headed toward the ground even, before Kevin's wood hauling strength and pine sap hardened hands sent him to sleep. 

The other two "Jack boys" had to come out of the hotel room to rob Kevin, as a result of their crime partner's missed attempt. Kevin, had stepped backward onto the walkway. "It anit sweet like that folk." He said as he got into a fighting stance. Kevin wasn't affiliated but he was trying to appeal to the muggers by any means necessary.
Despite the fact that the 2 men found themselves in the parking lot and their partner was unconscious the "Jack boys" still seemed determined to rob Kevin. He fought for his $278. 

The Jack boys felt those big  hands hardened to rocks by hard work. Between Kevin's pure power and the training that his father had forced on him Kevin was gaining the upper hand. 

Finally Raymisha leveled an old raggedy, but still deadly pistol and made Kevin back off.

 Even as he  stopped fighting, Kevin stared at the woman who was robbing him. She was so fine that even holding the weapon on him all he could do was think about how she was bow-legged and pigeon-toed at the same time, and how the dress had ridden up her cream-colored thighs. Kevin shook his head as he raised both hands in the air.

 While the 3^rd Junkie loaded their unconscious friend into the Ford Econoline kidnapping van, the second man emptied Kevin’s pockets and kicked him in the testicles. Kevin folded over and began heaving. The crackhead kicked him again and Raymisha had to remind Kevin that she was the one with the gun. One final kick and Kevin was on the ground in a pool of his own vomit.

 He lay on the parking lot and watched the perpetrators van pull off.

As the Jacking crew drove off Kevin thought he noticed a head nod between the clerk and the robbing crew. He couldn’t be sure from his prone vantage point, but it looked suspect to Kevin.

Kevin thought about all the times his dad, had warned him to stay away from night clubs and Meridian as a whole.

 He had no ideal what to do about it, but Kevin realized he hated Meridian and Butler. 

The more Kevin thought about it, the more he was certain that he saw something pass between the hotel clerk and the Jackers.

 He thought about how far from what he had thought was going to happen, his current situation was.

Yeah he hated meridian.