CHAPTER 2
The theme music for the channel 4 news played briefly before the white male broadcaster began to speak: “This afternoon on WYFF News 4 at six, we have a breaking story. Two people are in critical condition at Greenville Memorial Hospital, and many others are shaken up after what authorities are calling a violent, gangland type of shooting that took place right in the heart of a busy Downtown Greenville shopping area. This act of violence, which shockingly took place in broad daylight, endangered the lives of numerous innocent men, women, and children. This afternoon, we speak to witnesses who were at the scene. We will also speak to residents who say they are fed up with the increasing violence and are demanding that something be done by the Sherriff’s Office. We’ll have this story and more coming up right after Oprah.”
“Oooh shit! Y’all see that?” a young woman named Felecia asked rhetorically. She was one of the many women sitting in Sylvia’s Hair and Nails, waiting to get her weekly wash and set. Sylvia’s, located off of Laurens Rd., was one of the Upstate’s most popular hair and nail shops, owned by none other than Sylvia Brown. Sylvia was a light brown skinned BBW (big, beautiful, woman) who was proud of her size. “More cushion for the pushin’!” was how she put it.
She was also extremely proud of her rise from the notoriously violent Woodland Homes Projects to being the founder and sole proprietor of one of the most profitable salons in the entire 864. Sylvia’s Hair and Nails was also the spot where the ladies came to talk shit (nobody talked more than Sylvia herself, of course) and gossip about all the latest hood news. Who was having a baby by whom, who was snitching, who’d gotten robbed and who’d been killed were often among the topics of discussion.
“Naaaaw we ain’t seen it. Of course we seen that shit girl! Ain’t we all watchin’ the same damn TV you is?” another woman named Pinky quipped. The ladies in the salon giggled and snickered at the comment.
“I mean, I know y’all seen it,” said Felecia, a little embarrassed. “I’m just sayin’ niggas is gettin’ crazy!”
“Hell you talkin’ ‘bout girl?” said Sylvia, as she applied relaxer to an older woman’s hair. It was impossible for her to resist putting her two cents in. “These niggas been crazy as hell! Now they just done went and gone straight fool! Shootin’ shit up in the middle of Downtown!? Now you know dem crackers ain’t havin’ that! Somebody ass goin’ to jail,” she said laughingly. “And wasn’t that ol’ boy’s truck they was showin’ all shot the hell up?”
“Ol’ boy who?” asked somebody.
“Well if I remembered, I sure as hell wouldn’t be askin’, now would I?” cracked Sylvia. The room began snickering again. Sylvia was known for having a reckless mouth and uttering the first syllables that came to her lips. After you had known her for a minute, you knew better than to take her seriously. The majority of the time, she was just tripping. Every now and then though, somebody slipped up and tried to step to Sylvia about something she’d said. She’d quickly have to remind them, by way of an ass beating, where she was from. “Woodland Homes ain’t raise no soft muh’fuckas” was another favorite saying of hers. But the consensus was in: she had missed her true calling as a comedienne.
“Yeah, now that you mention it Sylvia, that do look like that nigga Mike’s Escalade,” said one girl.
“Mike who?” inquired another woman as she flipped through the latest Sister 2 Sister magazine.
“Mike, that be wit that other fool ass nigga Ant D. He go wit’ ol’ girl Nikki. He be droppin’ her off to get her nails and hair done every week,” replied Pinky. Pinky was a thick, big breasted, flat assed, red bone from Staunton Bridge that was always in the mix. There weren’t too many people she didn’t know personally. If she didn’t know them, she’d definitely heard about them from her younger brother T- Rock.
“Mmm girrrl. You mean that sexy muh’fucka Mike, from the District? Chiiiiile, that nigga is too fine! I’d love to sink my teeth into him. Ummmm umm umm!” said Reesy. The salon erupted into laughter. Reesy was one of the male stylists at Sylvia’s. His real name was Maurice Brockman and he was born a boy, but you couldn’t tell him that he wasn’t one of the girls. When he was younger, he’d been tormented and ridiculed for always acting so feminine, so he had tried to act tougher and more like a boy. It just wasn’t in him. As he got older, he embraced his inner femininity and even went as far as taking estrogen pills to soften his voice.
It was a known fact that Reesy had had sex with more than a few of Greenville’s so called tough guys and dope boys. According to him, the only thing hard about them were their dicks when they penetrated him. Reesy was always good for a laugh or two, but more importantly he could do the hell out of some hair… so Sylvia had given him a shot.
“Yeah, Reesy. That’s the same Mike,” Pinky chuckled, knowing damn well Mike would brutally hurt or possibly kill Reesy if word ever got back to him about what was just said.
“Well they said two people was in the truck. I wonder—“
“Shhhh! Shut up girl. The news finna come back on!” Everybody in Sylvia’s stopped what they were doing, and looked up at the thirty-two inch flat screen plasma TV that hung from the wall. They glued their eyes to the television and listened attentively…
Now… WYFF News 4. Live, local, breaking news at six. “This evening on News 4, we have breaking news about a shooting that took place right in the heart of Greenville that has many residents of the city outraged, scared and demanding action from the Mayor and the Sherriff’s Office. Good afternoon. I’m David Whitmore and News 4’s own Jennifer Henderson is live on the scene right now with more details. Jennifer…”
Jennifer Henderson was a 5’5, beautiful and intelligent dark-skinned sister who had just moved to Greenville from Atlanta after obtaining her bachelor’s degree in broadcast journalism. Her smile was dimpled and she had the type of bubbly, outgoing personality that made it hard for you not to like her. But she was also a fearless bloodhound when it came to getting down to the bottom of a story. If she felt like she was being lied to, she’d stop at nothing until the truth was obtained… no matter what that truth revealed. It was the reason why she was currently single. It was also the reason why she was so damn good at her job.
She had a serious look on her beautiful chocolate face and the sound of her voice was stern as she spoke: “That’s right David. I’m broadcasting live from Downtown Greenville where earlier today, witnesses say out of nowhere violence erupted and the sound of gunfire disrupted a peaceful Sunday afternoon.
“As you can see behind me, police officers are everywhere and have sealed off the entire area as they collect evidence and talk to witnesses in an attempt to put the pieces of this violent puzzle together and get an idea of just what happened, who did it, and why. Officers are being very closemouthed right now in regards to what they know, but from talking to witnesses News 4 has come up with this information: at approximately 1:45 this afternoon, a late modeled dark colored sedan came to a screeching halt alongside this Cadillac Escalade facing the opposite direction. Whoever was inside of the sedan immediately began to open fire on the occupants of that vehicle.” The camera panned away from Jennifer and zoomed in on a vehicle that was now just a bullet riddled remnant of the expensive SUV it had once been. Uniformed officers as well as plain clothed Detectives were seen walking around and talking in the background.
“Now here is where the details began to get a bit sketchy,” continued Jennifer. “Some witnesses say there were only two men in the shooting vehicle; others say they’re certain they saw four black men in the sedan. Also, there are different accounts as to exactly how many shots were fired. Some are saying that they only heard five or six shots, while others are adamant that they definitely heard more gunshots than that and possibly machine gun fire.”
“What about the occupants of the Escalade, Jennifer? Any word on their condition?” asked David from behind the desk in the News 4 studio.
“Yes, David. The police haven’t released the names of the
victims as of yet, but we do know that there were two African Americans on the receiving end of this vicious act of violence; one a man and the other a woman that may possibly be pregnant. Both sustained multiple gunshot wounds and are in extremely critical condition at Greenville Memorial. Doctors say that they both are still in the operating room and it’s questionable as to whether either will make it through the night... This is Jennifer Henderson reporting live for WYFF News 4 at six.”
“Wow; definitely some very disturbing news this evening. Our prayers go out to those victims as well as their families. We’ll have more details about these disturbing events for you at eleven. Thanks, Jennifer” said Kathy Coulter, David’s busty, blond haired co-anchor, who sat behind the News 4 desk with him in the studio. Kathy turned to face David Whitmore. “David, many residents are outraged at this latest act of violence and are calling for immediate action. We interviewed some of those residents and here’s what they had to say…”
A thin, bespectacled brunette who looked as if she could be an elementary school teacher came onto the screen and began talking. “I think it is absolutely ridiculous that these… thugs are turning our peaceful city into a warzone! I’m scared to even go out with my children because you never know when bullets might start flying!”
“Well, I’ll tell you what,” drawled one heavyset red necked man gripping a shotgun in his hands. He had a high powered rifle slung over his shoulder. “I’m a law abiding citizen, but I knows my rights. If dem there people come on my yard wit’ dat craziness I’ll put a hole in their ass so fast they won’t know what hit ‘em!” He cocked his shotgun for effect before he spat tobacco juice out the side of his mouth onto the street.
“I think there’s always been violence in the city, but now it’s gotten out of control due to the high unemployment rates among a group of frustrated people who are uneducated and live in poor, destitute neighborhoods,” said a white professor from Greenville Technical College.
“Do I think crime outta control? Huh? Is that what you asked me?” laughed a skinny African American man as he looked into the camera. He was jumpy and kept looking around as he spoke. It looked as if he hadn’t washed in months and if you got close enough to the T.V. you might be able to smell him. His eyes were bloodshot and it became evident as he spoke that he was missing most of his teeth. The ones he did have left were rotten. “Well, hell yeah crime out of control! Shoot! Just the other day these dudes jumped me and beat me up bad! They said I stole something from them, but I ain’t no thief! Thief?! Do I look like a thief?! Shoot! I called the po-lice and they said I was crazy! Crazy?! Do I look crazy?! You got these drug dealers selling fake drugs and just the other day…” The man rambled on, determined to take full advantage of his fifteen seconds of shame.
Despite the fact that blacks were more likely to be the victims of the violent crimes being discussed, the majority of the people interviewed for this piece were Caucasians from the middle and upper class. Greenville was the second largest city in South Carolina (and still growing) with a substantial black population and a large influx of Mexicans, but let’s be real; this was still the Deep South. Residents were still very much divided along racial lines. Political power, as well as the news media, remained predominately in the hands of white bigots whose mentality was very racist. The first state to secede from the Union had changed… but not much.
“More residents weighed in with their opinions and if you want to hear what they had to say about the surge in crime, please log on to WYFF4.com. But I will say that the overwhelming majority of them are calling on the Sherriff’s Office and the Mayor for action. Some are starting to take matters into their own hands and are beginning to arm themselves. Gun stores are reporting an estimated thirty-five percent increase in sales from this same time last year. So far, the Sherriff’s Office has declined to comment but said they will be having a press conference to address this matter and allay the community’s fears. News 4 will have more details on this story as it develops. Kathy…”
“Today in the Middle East–” Sylvia aimed the remote at the television and pressed the mute button.
“Man, y’all believe this bullshit?” asked Sylvia. “Y’all hear how them muhfuckas talk ‘bout us? Niggas been getting robbed, stabbed, shot, and err’thing else in the hood and you never hear nothin’ ‘bout that shit. But all of a sudden it’s big news ‘cause it happened Downtown?” Sylvia shook her head. “Then, out of all the black people wit’ some sense they had to go and interview that crack smoking ass nigga Do Dirty?! Them crackers be killin’ me wit’ that bullshit.” The rest of the salon all ‘umm hmmed’ and nodded their heads in agreement while simultaneously pulling out their cell phones to share what they had just seen on the news.
“Girrrrrrl, was you watchin’ the news?” Greenville was the type of place where news (especially hood news) traveled fast, so it wouldn’t be long before the streets would be abuzz with all types of gossip and misinformation about the events that had transpired earlier that day…
CHAPTER 3
Later that night, across town, in an undisclosed location, two men met in secret to discuss the ramifications of the day’s events. Of course, outside of this room, neither man would ever acknowledge that this meeting had ever taken place. They spoke briefly. “My boss appreciates your… contributions but ummm, frankly you’re becoming more of a liability than an asset. We just can’t have people getting shot Downtown in broad daylight! Tomorrow afternoon we’re holding a press conference and in that press conference we will announce that we have apprehended the criminals who were responsible for that shooting today.” It wasn’t a question this man was asking. It was a not so subtle order. He was giving an order to a man who wasn’t accustomed to listening to anybody… but himself.
“You’ll have the necessary information and evidence to make your arrests so you can make your boss look good in front of the cameras tomorrow,” said the man standing in the shadows. He was a master chess player and understood that a few pawns had to be sacrificed every now and then in order to make a strategic advance. What he refused to sacrifice though, was his self-respect. “But I think it’s very important for you to understand one thing… The next time you ever speak to me in such a manner, your kids will be orphans.” The shadowy figure said this in such a calm, heartless tone that it literally felt like somebody had stuck ice cubes down the back of the shirt of the man he was addressing. Chills went down his spine. Silence.
“C-c-could you just please just make sure we have something by the morning?” The first man pleaded. His voice no longer held any sense of authority in it. In fact, he had completely changed his tone in lieu of the latter’s threat, which he knew wasn’t a threat at all. Damn, he hated this part of his job!
$$$
“What should we name him?” asked Nikki, as she and Mike watched patrons exit from a popular Downtown eatery called Joe’s.
“What you mean what we gon’ name him?” Mike asked jokingly, looking at his bride to be. “He gon’ be named after his daddy.”
They both laughed. Nikki said, “Ok, ok, you get this one but the next one I’m naming.” She laughed again.
Mike rubbed the slightly protruding stomach of his future wife and could’ve sworn he felt his son already kicking inside of her womb. “You feel that?” he asked, with awe in his voice.
“Yeah, I feel him baby. He’s just like his daddy. Already fighting and starting trouble…” Nikki laughed. A truly beautiful, contagious sound that always seemed to melt away at the iceberg that Mike’s heart had become over the years.
Mike noticed some movement out the corner of his eye. He turned his head just in time to see a Chevy Impala pull up alongside them. In what seemed like slow motion, men with black ski-masks on leaned out of their windows and opened fire. Gunshots violently pierced the serenity of the afternoon as well as the doors of the SUV they were sitting in. Nikki, who was sitting in the passenger seat screamed out in pain and then—
Mike woke up
abruptly in his hospital bed and screamed out. Fragments of his nightmare remained embedded in his mind. It had to be a terrible nightmare... didn’t it? But it had seemed so real; so vivid. He was drenched with sweat. His vision was blurred. He tried to move but his bandaged body cried out in pain. It was excruciating. He moaned. His thoughts were racing incoherently inside of his mind and he couldn’t think straight. He tried to sit up again but the effort drained all of his remaining energy. Michael Smith fell back onto the bed, beyond exhausted.
Drifting in and out of consciousness Mike fought for his existence as scenes from his short life played in his mind like a High Definition movie. A life of abandonment, poverty, pain and violence was all he’d ever known. It seemed like he’d always been fighting. Just to live. He was tired of fighting, tired of the pain; tired. That word kept echoing over and over again in his head. He just wanted to sleep and be in peace. Moments later he flat lined...
Anything for Profit 2: Nothing to Lose Page 2