My Aunt told me that all the women on the south side of the City wanted a piece of him. He was a true gangster. Some people say he may have even had ties to the Mob. According to my brother, it all came to an end on one fateful night.
My mother came home from playing bingo and she told my father she wanted a divorce.
Being an angry man is the only way I can describe my father, he was an extremely violent person. Barry said he beat Mom so bad, she was in intensive care for 3 weeks. My brother was locked up, for a short stay in Juvenile Detention awaiting trial at the time, so he wasn’t in the picture. I was small, so I ended up staying with my Aunt for the whole stretch. My dad however, spent 2 years in prison for domestic violence.
He was never the same. He has been a crazy bastard and feared in the community ever since he came back. One time, my dad punched his fist through the driver’s side of my mom’s car window and grabbed her by the back of the neck. That fool banged her head on the steering wheel as she drove about 40 miles an hour trying to get away. When she hit 50 miles an hour, he fell off and rolled about 30 feet on the concrete, got up and walked off.
The bad part was that we were just leaving out of the church parking lot, and he was stalking her. But I thought those days were gone forever, I guess not.
I just went to my room and went back to sleep. I pretended it didn’t happen. That’s how I coped.
But now I am thinking about my last year of High School. It was a turning point in my life. Amazingly, somehow I managed to make A’s and B’s. The only class I really liked was Language Arts. I liked to read books while I was in class; I just hated to do homework.
The big question was how would I succeed in life? I made good enough grades to get into college, but wasn’t interested in continuing school and I wasn’t interested in anything but making fast money. So what the hell could I do? Well one day I was at a career fair at the school with one of my homeboys and I saw Sergeant Scott. He was a tall regal looking type of guy. He had on a green suit and a hat with shining black boots. Those boots were shining like platinum! He was like a black Sean Connery.
My boy Damon was with me that day. Damon Rockford was a hardcore thug to his heart! This fool knew he wasn’t going to college. Hell, he was surprised he wasn’t in Jail or dead yet! Damon moved to The City, from Boston, and he was always trying to show dudes in The City how they keep it real on the East Coast. You know one funny thing about those east coast dudes is they have some crazy slang! I mean Damon had about 200 terms and phrases that I never heard cats use around our way.
He always referred to his homies as “son” or “cousin”. I use to tell him, “I didn’t know we was related Joe?” Because we called niggas Joe, back in the day. Damon was always so critical though. So I had to make sure I was using mad slang when I spoke with him. He didn’t understand anything else. “Yo Shawn, what you doin looking at dis military shit son?” He snarled, as he looked me up and down in disgust. “This shit is for doze clean nose niggas, nah mean?”
I said, “Dee, I need to get my shit together dog, I aint tryin to see my brother in prison until he comes home, know what I’m saying Joe?” Then I pissed him off and I said “Y’all niggaz from Boston can’t be so hardcore that you all aspire to end up in Jail!” Damon looked at me like I was crazy, with his lip turned up showing his two gold teeth, and his head cocked to the right like a confused dog. “What the fuck you said Son?” then he came close to me, “Shawn, don’t you ever try me like that son, I will bust yo ass for disrespecting me!”
I backed up, “Whatever Dee, you know I’m ya boy, stop getting all swoll dawg!” Damon was paranoid and jumpy because he shot 2 people lately and he was already a suspect in one of the shootings. He probably imagined he would definitely spend some time in jail soon, and I could tell he didn’t care.
He’s the type of dude who deserves some jail in his life! I shuffled over to the Display table and looked at the Army brochures.
I saw dudes on ropes and running, swinging over rivers on some straight Rambo stuff! Then a dude on the back of the brochure had on the Army dress uniform. He was clean as a whistle. I never wore a suit because I always thought they were lame, but this one was special. As I stood there, I thought to myself, in the silence of my chaos. I wondered about strange new things, like being a soldier, and I said, “I bet this soldier’s mother was proud of him.” And immediately, it was then I knew what I wanted to do in life. I wanted to be a soldier. Damon walked off chasing after some girl he was trying to screw.
There was always “some girl” when it came to Damon. I just stood there looking at the brochure. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Sgt. Scott rocking back and forth from the heel of his foot to the ball of his toes like he was ready to take off running. He had his chest poked out like Popeye the sailor and his shoulders were squared.
He was staring right at me. His hands were in his pockets. He looked very intent and focused. He was ready and waiting for something or better yet, someone.
So I slowly looked up at him, and he looked me dead in the eye and said, “Son this is your lucky day, you have just been introduced to my Army! A brotherhood of blood, sweat and tears!” I thought, what the hell did that mean? It was too late to turn back at this point, so I looked back up at him, “well what do I need to do to get in?”
Chapter 2: The Secret Committee
A shadow organization exists that has been monitoring the Electronic Medical Records of 300 million Americans in the National Health Information Network, which is a database built to maintain a repository of health information for every citizen of the United States, who has ever visited a hospital or clinic. For the past 10 years they have been searching for people with a specific genetic mutation that enables them to withstand the physical stress caused by the introduction of Molecular Nanorobots in the human body.
The shadow organization is known as the Special Operations Committee. Members of the Government and Military as well as leading members of the business community take part in secret meetings to target and collect specifically identified individuals using any means necessary.
In the Midwestern branch of this organization, Illinois Senator Dan Mcdill, Sergeant Randy Scott, Chicago Police Chief Harold Wallace, Dr. Edward Phillips, and Army General Albert Overton meet regarding an exceptional prospect by the name of Shawndre Allen Brown.
The following is an excerpt of a tape recorded account of their first conversation about Mr. Brown, which occurred over a decade ago, when he was only a child. These tapes are currently property of the Department of Defense.
Senator Mcdill: Good evening gentlemen.
General Overton: This better be good, I had to skip dinner with the family for this crap.
Dr. Phillips: I assure you it is exactly what you request, it’s better than good.
Chief Wallace: Well why the hell did I have to come tonight?
Sgt. Scott: Cool your jets Wallace.
Senator Mcdill: I'm going to turn the floor over to Dr. Phillips; I believe he can explain better than me, Dr. Phillips, please.
Dr. Phillips: Yes Senator, well as you all know, since 9-11 we have been in a war against Terror. The Special Operations Committee has been working around the clock to identify new technologies to assist the Department of Defense in combating this rising threat. We have experienced critical breakthroughs and rapid advancement in the fields of Molecular Nanotechnology, specifically in the areas of Medical nanorobots. As you know, over recent years we have attempted to test this technology on some of the greatest men and women of our military forces, and all of them unfortunately had fatal reactions, mainly brain death.
Chief Wallace: Yada Yada Yada, could you get to the point Doc?
Dr. Phillips: The Point! Chief Wallace, is that we have isolated the reason these people had fatal reactions. Only people with a certain rare genetic mutation can withstand this procedure. The mutation lies in a gene that produces the amyloid beta precursor protein (APP). We have been searching th
e National Health Information Network and going through millions of Electronic Health Records and we have identified a little boy who has the perfect genetics for the procedure. His name is Shawndre Allen Brown.
He's a five year old Caucasian male. He currently resides in Chicago Illinois. I have brought you all together, because we must protect this subject, keep him under close surveillance and collect him when he turns 18 years old. The final procedure can only be done on a fully mature adult.
Chief Wallace: Well how the hell do we do that?
Senator Mcdill: For starters you’re the Chief of Police shit head! What resources can you use for our benefit? I would assume a lot. And Sgt. Scott, when he gets in High School, we will assign you a recruiting position there. We will be developing a Psychological profile on this kid, so you will have many resources available to assist you in persuading him to join the Army, where we can have him sign the required contracts. Then we will own him, even if he is discharged. I recommend using the Monarch Military Programming Module.
General Overton: Monarch Mind Control; sounds fun Scott! I will make sure you have all the technical support you need from the Army. Also, don't you have a daughter about Shawndre's age? Maybe you can use that to your advantage, think about it.
Sgt. Scott: Yes Sir!
Senator Mcdill: As an added note Wallace, apparently this kid’s folks have some criminal backgrounds.
We need to keep this kid out of jail, no matter what! The last thing we need is him getting killed or catching Aids in prison from getting ass fucked by a 400 pound guy named Sweet Leroy!
Chief Wallace: We'll I guess I can help out there; if you keep my job safe!
Senator Mcdill: Ok Wallace, Done. And Dr. Phillips, contact your people at the hospital and put them on alert, if that kid shows up for a physical or vaccination, make sure we have the first shot ready, we gotta get him that first procedure to accelerate his growth and testosterone levels. He’s already old enough for the first injection.
Dr. Phillips: I’m already on it Sir.
General Overton: If anything goes wrong, this operation will be terminated immediately. You know what that means.
Chapter 3: Degradation of Desperation
Sgt. Scott was a recruiter for the United States Army. He was one of those guys who hung around High Schools looking like a lost Vietnam Vet. I mean, every time you see “Ole Sarge” he was in his army greens, chasing teenage girls around the high school. But he was extremely proud to be a soldier. Sgt. Scott was an older guy, who had served in the Vietnam War. But he didn’t look a day over 35 years old. His whole family was in the Army.
He was always telling me about how his nephew was a tough ass karate guy who he talked into becoming a Drill Sergeant. He had been trying to convince me to enlist for the past two years but I was too busy running the streets to hear a word he said. Plus I was fucking the shit out of one of his daughters, Kayla and he never found out about that shit. I never even looked into the countless pamphlets he often gave me.
However, he gave me this one video about joining the Army that kind of got stuck in my head. I have watched that video about 5 times. It's like I can remember the words by heart. It's about joining the Army and becoming an American Hero. Then it shows a kid, going to Basic Training, and then being deployed to Iran for World War Three. It's kind of weird, but it grows on you. I believe that when a person is at a moment of desperation, they miraculously become open to new ideas.
I’m sure he knew I would come around one day. I wasn’t going to college, so it was just a matter of time. Ole Sarge told me that street kids nowadays already have a soldier’s mentality. He said that a gang banging thug is just a soldier who serves the wrong government.
After considering it, I think he may have been right. I was a soldier for “Flame” and his Army of drug dealers. I took orders, followed instructions and carried through with special assignments. The streets were the battlefields, and I was willing to kill or be killed when necessary for the organization. The only difference was that I was ashamed of my Army, and my cause was illegal and punishable by plenty of years in the penitentiary. But I never got caught; I was too slick for the police. They never even suspected me, when I was doing dirt right under their noses.
On the other hand, dudes like ole Sergeant Scott protected the freedom of motherfuckers like me as well as upstanding citizens like my mom. While I stood at Sgt. Scott’s table at the career fair, I felt a surge come over my body like never before. I began to feel like I had a purpose in life.
I felt like my mother would be so proud that her son was fighting for a worthy cause! Hey, I would rather die for a worthy cause than be stabbed with a dirty shank by some crazy inmate in prison.
I gave Sgt. Scott my phone numbers and he said he would contact me within the next week, in order to schedule a time for me to take a sample portion of what they call the A.S.V.A.B. That stands for Armed Service Vocational Aptitude Battery. It’s a big test that decides if you are smart enough to enter the military. He told me that it wasn’t as difficult as it sounded.
Later that day I hooked up with Damon. We went to Hilltop Liquor store and grabbed a couple of Forty ounces of Blue Bull. As we sat in the parking lot on the curb, sipping some warm malt liquor that tasted awful, we started talking about life. Damon pulled out a joint and lit it while he looked up in the sky. He use to always snatch weed from white boys, but not me. Damon had a way of convincing people to do what he wanted. I think some people call it extortion.
As we lit up the joint, I noticed it smelled like straight skunk, it was some good weed. Damon always had to take the first pull of the weed; he was a serious pot smoking connoisseur. He put his lips on the joint at the very tip and used his index finger and thumb as a type of smoking utensil. He held his lips over his index finger and over his thumb so he could let the smoke flow freely from the joint to his lungs. Then he pulled so hard, I swear the joint smoked down to at least one half the size it was.
Afterwards he held the smoke in his mouth with his cheeks swollen up like Lou Armstrong.
Then in one motion, he took it all into his chest and his jaws collapsed back down to their regular relaxed position. After fighting the urge for a few seconds, he started coughing like he was about to die! Then he said, “Damn dog this is some flame ass weed. I swear on everything I love!” Dee passed the joint to me from his index finger to mines, and I took a small pull. I was sure that I would have to take a drug test sooner or later so I was trying to start cutting back. Damon looked at me with his Eye cocked like he does when he feels disrespected, “Why you hittin that like a little bitch?” So I replied, “Hey man I’m not trying to punk out on you, but I have to take a urine test to get in the military!”
“Shawn, you proper talking bitch! I knew you was on some white boy bullshit! Cracka they aint gonna let your ass in the Army, you white trash.”
“Hey Damon you must be high already.”
“I aint high fool, I been wanting to tell you this stuff for the longest time Cracka!”
I felt insulted this time, “I’m cleaner than you nigga, check these Jordan’s! And who said it’s cool to use broken English and cuss all the damn time. How would you talk in a Job interview?”
But the funny part is that I cuss all the time too.
I really didn't know what the hell he was taking issue about? But sometime, dudes just want to fight you for some other hidden reason. He was a player hater.
Damon stood up from the curb, “So what you sayin, I’m stupid?” I stood up with him, “Man why you gotta always be so critical?” Damon started getting really pissed off now, and this time I wasn’t going to back down! He put his hand in my face and in a low tone of voice, almost evil in intent, he said, “Cracka I always knew you was a bitch, I was just waiting to see when you would show your true colors, see all y’all Cracka’s in The City are some bitches! Hip Hop came from the east coast!” Then without even thinking about it, I punched him in his eye!
I k
nocked the fuck outta his ass, and I swung another time with the pain I felt when I saw my father treat my mother like she was worthless!
I swung again with the hurt I felt when my brother was locked up in prison and my mother cried for a whole week straight! Damon symbolized all that was wrong with my life, and I was intent on demolishing his ass. When I finished swinging, Damon was laying on his back coughing up blood, and both of his eyes were closed shut. I literally beat the hell out of him and I don’t even remember how I did it. I walked away and left Damon lying in the parking lot of the Liquor store. I didn’t know if he would come after me later and try to kill me, but I really didn’t give a fuck.
But just for insurance I kept a 9mm pistol near me at all times when I was in the hood. I went to bed relieved that night. As I was sitting around, I decided to call up Kayla, Ole Sarge’s daughter. She didn’t answer the phone, so I left a message and she called me right the fuck back. Kayla was a tall light skinned black girl with long hair and these really big round titties. I met her at school one day as she was wandering around looking for Sarge.
She giggled a lot and told me she attended a private school and they had the day off or some shit. Ever since that day, Kayla and I have had a special friendship, called Fuck and don’t tell. Anyway, she came through my crib with a sundress on; and no panties or bra. My mother hadn’t left for work yet so we had to sneak in.
I walked out to her car and we smoked a blunt of some California Cush. That shit was so powerful I got an instant hard on. I could just get horny looking at her body. I was ready to fuck. I snuck her in my window, grabbing up on those big ass titties every chance I could, and laid her in my bed. But I didn’t love her, because she was only in love with my dick. I know because that’s all she would ever say to me is, “I love your dick baby.” So we didn’t waste time when she came to fuck. She pulled out my dick and tried to stuff it all in her mouth, running her tongue around my head and sucking my balls. “Damn you got some big horse balls boy!”
White Heat Beast Page 2