by C. G. Cooper
He’d found a love for weight lifting and sports at a young age. His size was an obvious advantage on the football field and the basketball court. Unlike a lot of kids that grow quickly and have a hard time dealing with the awkwardness of clumsy long limbs, young Willy seemed gifted with natural balance and athleticism.
His size and talent quickly led him to lord over most of the young toughs in the neighborhood. Typical of adolescent mischief, fights were common. Nothing too violent, just a couple of boys punching each other, one usually walking away with nothing more than a bloody nose or soon-to-be black eye.
Because of his size and quickness, Willy never lost a fight before the age of fifteen. Up until then, he could do no wrong. The only thing he didn’t succeed in (and it wasn’t because he couldn’t) was schoolwork. His mind was just focused on playing sports and running his neighborhood crew. Later in life, his mental ability would be tested and Willy wasn’t too surprised to find out that his IQ was in the ninety-fifth percentile. It was this ability that made him a natural leader and crafty athlete. Brains plus brawn were a mighty combination.
At the time, Willy made it a habit to sneak out at night (and infuriate his poor mother to no end) to hang out with his friends. They’d never do any real damage, just roam the streets hooting and hollering like kids do.
It was on one of these occasions that Willy’s young crew encountered one of the local punks and his small gang of hoods. Typical of Atlanta summer nights, the air was thick with humidity and a lot of kids would hang around the local 7-Eleven, sipping ice-cold Slurpees and trying to stay cool.
On this particular night Willy’s crew got to the 7-Eleven after the older and larger gang led by Leshon Braxton. Leshon was in his early twenties and ran the gang with an iron fist. No one in the local neighborhood wanted to get on Leshon’s bad side.
As was typical when walking the streets, Willy led the way. He recognized Leshon and nodded in acknowledgement. Leshon’s eyebrows rose as he appraised the towering teen.
LESHON: Hey there, Willy! I saw you on the football field last week. Helluva game, brother.
Willy stayed quiet, nodded his thanks and continued on his path toward the front door of the store.
LESHON: Hey, Willy, what’s wrong? Don’t you want to talk to me?
A couple of the older boys snickered as they watched their leader egg Willy on. The tall young man turned to face Leshon.
WILLY: It’s all good, Leshon. Me and my boys just wanted to go get something to drink.
LESHON: Ok, but that can wait a minute. Why don’t you boys head on in there and get your drinks? Give me a minute to talk with Willy.
The younger boys looked to Willy for guidance. He nodded his consent and moved aside as they filed into the store.
LESHON: So how come you’ve never come to hang out with me and my boys, Willy?
WILLY: You know how it is, man. These guys have been my friends since I was little.
Leshon nodded fatherly.
LESHON: I get it. I get it. But you know what? You’re not getting any younger. Maybe it’s time for you to upgrade to the big boy crew. What do you think, Willy?
Willy knew this day would come. One of the problems with his size and ability he’d been gifted with was that he’d become a target. Some older kids searched him out because they thought he would be a good conquest. Others, like Leshon, seemed to prize Willy because they saw the strength and intelligence in the young man.
Young Willy recognized the look in Leshon’s eyes. He wanted a new recruit. It’d happened before with less capable crews, but Willy got a bad feeling staring back at Leshon. He didn’t seem like the type of dude that would take no for an answer.
WILLY: I don’t know, man. My momma wouldn’t really want me hangin’ out with older guys.
At his comment about his mother, the older boys laughed out loud. One of the problems with being the target was that you just had to stand there and take it sometimes. There’s no way he could match the six guys either in an argument or a fistfight.
LESHON: Don’t you worry about your momma, Willy. I’ll take care of her. I’ll take GOOD care of her.
Leshon punctuated the lewd comment by licking his lips lasciviously.
Willy took a calming breath trying to shake off the inevitable anger boiling over from the comment about his mom. He wasn’t the best at listening to his mother’s lectures, but he was very protective of the widow. His father had died in a factory accident when Willy was three and he’d made it his mission to protect his mother ever since. Calm down, Willy. Getting mad will only make things worse.
WILLY: Come on, Leshon. Can I just go inside now?
LESHON (eyes wide): You telling me what to do now, Wee Willy?
WILLY (pleading): No, man. I just need to get back home before my momma notices I’m gone.
LESHON: I told you, Willy, I’ll take care of that fine momma of yours.
He smirked as he looked around at the matching grins on his crew. Leshon wasn’t going to let him out of this.
WILLY: What do I need to do so I can go, Leshon?
LESHON: You can start by not being a little bitch. Is that what you are, Wee Willy? A little bitch?
Willy’s head snapped up. Even his tolerance for mockery had its bounds. Later in life, friends would comment that he was like a friendly giant; kind to a fault and slow to anger, but once riled, he could not be stopped.
Leshon smiled at the incensed youth.
LESHON: Now I see that fire, boy. How about we see how that fire works? What do you say you and me go a couple of rounds?
The older man was famous for his street brawls. He’d sent a couple of kids to the hospital and it was rumored he’d once been a semi-pro boxer in his old hometown. Leshon was definitely built like a heavyweight fighter: standing around six foot three and well into the middle two hundreds. He was an imposing figure to most other kids.
Willy wasn’t as easily deterred. Even at fifteen, he was already close to six foot four and just over two hundred pounds. Added to his formidable size were the countless hours of honing his body to athletic perfection on the football field and in the weight room. Willy was confident in his abilities one-on-one, but not six-on-one.
WILLY (almost in a whisper): I don’t wanna fight you, Leshon.
LESHON: I didn’t ask what YOU wanted, boy! Now get your ass around the back of this building and let’s see who the big dog is around here!
Leshon’s companions whooped a cry of delight and pushed the reluctant Willy toward the other side of the building. Their leader led the way as he pulled off his shirt, showing off an impressive array of tattoos.
Willy glanced back to the store and noticed his friends peering out of the window, wide-eyed and realizing he was in big trouble.
As the small gang reached the back of the building, Leshon turned suddenly and landed a wide right hook into Willy’s left check. He’d seen it at the last possible second and was able to minimize the hit by turning his head to the right, but holy hell did it hurt. The blow spun Willy to the right and down to his knees. He couldn’t help it.
LESHON: Come on, you little bitch! Get up and show me what you got!
Well, there’s no way out of this now, Willy thought. He shook his head once and stood up to his full height. In that second, something in his demeanor changed. Leshon noticed it and so did the others. Willy’s look of supreme confidence and cold anger caused a hush in the small crowd and made Leshon think twice about charging.
Willy used the pause to make his move. He bum-rushed Leshon and pretended to swing a huge right-handed haymaker. Just as he was about to connect with his attacker’s blocking arm, however, he used his momentum to hug Leshon into the path of his forehead. The collision sounded like a cracking two-by-four as Willy’s forehead connected with Leshon’s exposed nose. Blood splattered from the flattened nostrils as the two young men fell to the ground.
Willy knew he had him. One of the things he’d learned in his early fights was tha
t despite the rage he mustered to take out an opponent, his mind stayed serenely calm. It was yet another gift that would serve him well later in life.
He used that talent to quickly weigh his options. If he incapacitated Leshon now, he’d most likely have to turn and take on the other five. Not the best opportunity for getting out of the mess relatively unscathed. Just as Willy cocked back to headbutt him again, Leshon screamed in fear.
LESHON: Get this motherfucker off me!
The next three minutes were a complete blur as the remaining crewmembers jumped into the fray. Fists flew and boots stomped as the gang pounded away at the defenseless Willy. He tried to ball up in a fetal position to protect himself.
At some point, between blows to the head and torso, Willy heard his mother’s voice. She was screeching at the other young men. He looked up through bloody eyes to see his mother holding his father’s old shotgun. He didn’t even realize his mother knew how to use the weapon.
MOMMA TRENT: I’m giving you boys two seconds to get the hell out of here or I’m gonna shoot.
She leveled the shotgun at Leshon.
LESHON: This ain’t over, bitch!
Leshon quickly fled the scene. His crew followed close behind, all looking back over their shoulders, hoping Willy’s mother wouldn’t shoot.
She walked over to her son and bent down, cradling the shotgun.
MOMMA TRENT: You OK, son?
Willy raised his bloody face and looked up at his mother. In the limited light, she reminded him of a guardian angel. A shotgun-wielding guardian angel, but a guardian angel nonetheless. He tried to answer, but the words came out as a slur. It was now obvious that his jaw was broken and he’d sustained other injuries to his whole body. He felt like his entire high school football team had literally run him over. Twice.
MOMMA TRENT: Come on, son. Let’s get you to the hospital. Don’t try to talk.
It wasn’t easy for Willy’s mother to help her son off the ground, but they somehow made it vertical and around the side of the building to her idling car.
Willy later found out that one of his friends had called Mrs. Trent as soon as Leshon had provoked the fight. Luckily, the Trent household was right around the corner and her commute proved quick after she had grabbed the loaded shotgun.
He remembered the look on his mother’s face as she nursed the beaten and bruised Willy. There was a sadness there that he couldn’t place. At the same time, he saw a deep determination in her eyes. He didn’t know what it was until days later when his mother came in and announced that they were moving across town to live with his grandmother.
MOMMA TRENT: I should’ve seen it a while ago, Willy. In this neighborhood, you’re gonna get nothing but trouble. I’ve already talked to the private school across town and they say that, with a partial scholarship for football, they can put us on a payment plan. I’ve already talked to my cousins over there and they’re gonna help me get extra work.
WILLY: I don’t want you to do that, Momma. I can handle things around here.
MOMMA TRENT: It’s not in your control, son. If it’s not those boys that attacked you the other night, it’ll be someone else. We’ve outgrown this town. We need to start a new life in a better place.
It was obvious to Willy that there was no use arguing. Her mind was made up and he’d have to go along with her decision. Deep down, he knew she was right. He would always be a target.
The move proved to be surprisingly easy. It was good to be close to family and Willy quickly excelled at school. The mostly white high school was amazed at his talent on the football field. With the help of some very diligent teachers, Willy soon caught up to or surpassed his peers in the classroom. He learned to love his studies and eventually became not only captain of the football and basketball team but also senior class president and valedictorian. Not a bad rise for a former misfit.
+ + +
MSgt Trent thought back to those days as he strolled the streets of North Nashville. It’d been a while, but most inner city neighborhoods had a similar smell and feel. Dressed in dark clothing with a long leather trench coat, he was glad he’d never have to live in such a place ever again. Thanks to Momma, he thought as he said a silent prayer to his now deceased mother.
His mission was clear: infiltrate the area and get intel on the location of Dante West. He and Cal had agreed it would be highly unlikely that Trent would stumble on West. They just needed some better information so they could hopefully triangulate the guy’s whereabouts.
So far he’d questioned a couple of winos and hookers. They’d all said the same thing: Dante hadn’t shown his face in a while. He changed tactics and started pushing the fact that West owed him some big money and he was going get paid tonight or heads would roll. It was time to light a fire and see what came running out of the woods.
He finally hit pay dirt around two in the morning. One of the hookers, obviously high on something, had led him to one of Dante’s supposed drug houses. Trent snuck around the side of the dilapidated duplex trying to get a better feel for what he was up against. He pulled his Beretta out of his coat pocket just in case.
Making his way to the back of the house, he heard a television through the open window. Obviously, the inhabitant wasn’t trying too hard to keep the space secure. He glanced in through the corner of the window and saw two black men sitting on a dirty couch watching television and enjoying some weed. Brown paper bags filled will some type of malt beverage sat pinned between them. Both men had pistols within arm’s reach on the couch. Clearly, they weren’t completely stupid.
Keeping a low profile, Trent shifted his gaze around the room and saw two women sprawled naked on the floor on top of soiled blankets. Both women were passed out and probably high by the looks of their slack jaws. He didn’t see any other visitors and wondered what was upstairs.
He squatted down next to the house and reached into his other coat pocket. He pulled out the small box Neil had given him. Opening the box, he extracted the pair of sunglasses and then gently handled the tiny flying spy camera. Better safe than sorry.
Just as Cal had done, he put on the sunglasses and pressed the side arm. The small vehicle went airborne and the left lens mirrored the camera’s point of view. He directed the camera to fly up to the second story window. The slight buzzing was completely muffled by the sound of the television and nighttime noises. As it came up to the second level, the drone slowed and hovered. Trent peered into the darkened room and looked through night vision eyes at the empty floor.
The device moved into the room and rotated to give Trent a full view of the contents. Lots of trashed furniture, but no people. He completed the scan of the upstairs by directing the drone into the bathroom and a second bedroom. Empty. Good.
Next, he directed the spy camera down the stairs and into the kitchen. Other than a sink and table full of used to-go cartons, the place was empty. That left the two pushers and their girlfriends in the living room.
He brought the drone back outside and stowed it and the glasses in his pocket. After a second to think, he knew the easiest way to find out what he needed was to just knock down the back door. He was pretty sure he could take care of the two men.
Trent prepped by stashing his pistol back in its holster. He withdrew two more of Neil’s presents. They were specially modified tazers. They were a lot smaller than the commercial version used by police and private citizens, but just as powerful. In Trent’s hands, they each looked like matching Pez dispensers and were roughly the same size as their candy counterparts.
Out of habit, he checked to make sure the laser sights worked. Before leaving, Neil had suggested taking two just in case. Trent would have to remember to thank the techie for the forethought. If he was lucky, he could incapacitate both men without much noise. The last thing he wanted to do was burst into the house with guns blazing.
He stayed in a crouch as he moved around to the back of the little house. The keys to what he was about to do was overwhelming force and
surprise. Having the two idiots shooting at him wouldn’t do any good. MSgt Trent was hoping he’d catch the men with drug and alcohol slowed reflexes. He took two more settling breaths, squared himself to the back door and pictured the two men ten feet from the rear entrance. Holding the Pez tazers loosely in each hand, he took one big step back then exploded through the door with his size fourteen boot leading the way.
The door shattered the locking mechanism and Trent followed the door into the entryway. He looked down at the surprised expressions of the two drug dealers and didn’t hesitate to aim each tazer at their chests and depress the triggers.
Before the guys could reach for their guns the tazer wires reached out. The probes penetrated their thin shirts and instantly started pouring voltage into their nervous system. Trent held down the switches for five seconds then released and watched the shocked duo slump back down on the couch.