I Can Touch the Bottom

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I Can Touch the Bottom Page 14

by Ms. Michel Moore


  “I swear, I hate both of y’all bitches. I wish y’all was dead!”

  Her mother looked at her in such a way that if looks could kill, Leela herself would have dropped dead on the spot. Without saying another word, her mother went in the kitchen grabbing a butcher knife.

  Knowing she’d opened her mouth one time too many times challenging her mother, Leela saw the blade pointed at her neck and knew her mom would use it. Opting not to press her luck and get sliced by her mother’s drunken rage, Leela bolted through the front door and onto the porch. Out of her mother’s house having no family or friends that would take her in, Leela called the only ones that had been riding with her since this nightmare started: Rank and Mickey. Out of loyalty to Devin, they agreed to pick Leela up and get her off the streets.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Three weeks had come and gone since Ava had confronted Leela, throwing her out onto the street. Neither she nor her mother had heard from Leela since that night. Proving their point that she didn’t care anything about her kids, Leela at least could have called to check up on their well-being, but she didn’t even bother to do that. Ava stopped by her mother’s house almost every day and helped out with food, clothing, and giving her mom a break so that she could have time for herself; even if that did mean her having a drink to calm her nerves and supposedly “get her mind right.” It was a hard job going back in time, having to raise three small children when all of your own were grown.

  Ava and Stackz were good with their relationship. With not having to look over her back, not having to deal with random dudes, and not worrying about Leela being on-site to tell Mickey and Rank their every move, the couple was ecstatic. As far as Ava was concerned, Leela could stay ghost for good. Normally not one of those females that would choose a man over her family or friends, Leela’s unpredictable, backstabbing, conniving, and I-don’t-give-a-fuck-about-no-bitch-but-my-damn-self attitude made it way easy for Ava to turn into one. She and Stackz had grown closer, spending more and more time together thanks to Leela’s absence, drama free.

  * * *

  Ava and Stackz were wrapped up underneath his bedsheets in a deep sleep. The two had gone out together to a strip club where a few big-name rappers had performed and had a long and wild night. Like always, Stackz and his crew showed up and showed out, spending major money. Crazy as it was, the high-profile entertainers that night felt Stackz was stunting too hard on them, garnishing all the shine. Knowing they couldn’t outdo a real boss in his own city, they sent him and Ava a couple of Gold bottles to his booth and rocked out with him in VIP.

  Stackz was jarred from his slumbering dreams, waking up to a ringing iPhone that lay on the nightstand beside the bed. Fighting to open his eyes, he looked at the alarm clock. It was 7:23 a.m. It was much too early for his phone to be blowing up like that on a Sunday morning, so he knew it had to be either an emergency or some major business on the floor. Picking it up, he soon saw the number, realizing it was his brother Gee.

  Now awake, Ava turned over, rubbing her hands across his back. “Is everything okay, bae? What time is it?”

  “I don’t know yet,” he dry throat mumbled, answering his phone. “Hey, what’sup, dude? We still in the damn bed sleeping like a motherfucker.”

  On the other end of the line Gee was frantic as he excitedly revealed the nature of his early-morning interruption to his brother’s sleep. “Yo, my nigga, we got these ho-ass buster over here where I’m at right now! They about to be hit and hit hard!”

  Stackz knew exactly who Gee was talking about, so no names had to be mentioned. “Oh yeah? And where is that?” he causally asked, not wanting Ava all up in his street affairs; especially considering . . .

  Gee shouted the address into the phone, which Stackz committed to memory. Jumping out of bed, he moved fast getting dressed. Not knowing what was happening, Ava jumped up as well, shadowing her man’s every move, asking him questions about what was wrong and what was going on.

  Stackz bossed up, demanding she stop with the questions and go back to bed and he’d be back in an hour or so. Wrapped in a sheet, as Ava watched him pull out of the driveway, she was both scared and confused, praying Leela was not involved.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Stackz pulled up behind Gee’s F-150. Getting out of his own ride, he then got into the truck with his brother. Gee was hell-bent on tying up all loose ends. He’d been out in the streets handling his business, making sure that would take place sooner than later. He had one of his young but anxious-to-please goons sitting in the backseat. Trained to go at any given moment, the criminal-minded youngster repeated to Stackz what he had already told to Gee.

  “Yeah, so, I was dropping off one of my little jump offs and a nigga stopped at the gas station. You know I needed to get a swisher to roll up for my morning hookup, you feel me? And just like fucking that, I straight recognized that lame who can’t aim right,” he laughed, having a mental flashback.

  “Can’t aim right?” Stack repeated.

  The boy continued telling his story as he checked to see if he had lost the red cigarette lighter he’d brought earlier, alone with the swisher. “Yeah, dude that couldn’t aim or hit shit. That fag from the night at the club when we was banging at him. Dumb ass all stepping to me and had no fucking clue who the fuck I was.”

  Stackz was all in, realizing what he’d been hoping would jump with the pesky menaces could be within arm’s reach. “Hell naw, are you sure it was that bitch?”

  “Yo, I’m telling you it was him. Ho-ass nigga tried to sell me some reggie, acting like it was kush or some shit. I could tell that bag was garbage right off the rip ’cause I get down every day, you feel me?” The goon nodded his head wanting to blaze up right then and there. “But, of course, I played the role. I told him I only cop halfs at a time, ’cause anything less wouldn’t make sense to a real smoker like me.”

  “Right, right.” Gee threw his two cents in, cosigning what the boy was saying.

  “Yeah, fake wannabe boss, no doubt ain’t have what wanted to cop on him. So I showz the nigga the money, and he say, I got you. Dude say, ‘Follow me around the block to my spot.’”

  Stackz was all the way in. This was the day he’d been waiting for since the night back at the restaurant when he should have killed the other two assholes like he had they manz. “Say word! This nigga out here in these Detroit streets calling himself having a spot; rocking and rolling.”

  “That’s what the fuck I said too, bro,” Gee once again chimed in. “These fools out here calling themselves living life and shit like it ain’t gonna be consequences to they bullshit!”

  The young goon was feeling himself. Like a kid getting blessed at Christmas, Stackz and Gee were giving him nothing but praise on top of praise for the information he’d delivered. Slowly creeping, bending the corner, he proudly pointed the appearing-to-be-damn-near-unlivable so-called spot out.

  “That’s it right there; the one with the porch windows boarded up.”

  The house sat three deep off the corner. It looked like most dwellings in Detroit . . . good for trapping out of; a bando. Gee was more than willing to allow Stackz to take the lead. Asking him how he wanted to play the situation, he would happily fall in line with whatever move his older brother dictated they make. Stackz was seething, wanting nothing but for this entire bullshit to be put to bed. Announcing to Gee as well as their loyal soldier sitting in the rear of the truck it was time to nip this shit in the bud today, everyone agreed.

  “We need to make sure we do this shit clean as possible. Ain’t no need for one of us to fall or drop the ball on the humble. These cats ain’t about that life—at all!”

  After making sure they’d double whipped their bullets, each reloaded their clips. It was showtime, and in the minutes to soon follow, things were about to be all bad for any occupants of the house. Parked around the corner, they each got out of the truck. Checking the perimeter on the nearly deserted block, they headed toward the house via
a few vacant lots. As they crossed through the last lot nearing their destination, the youngin’ informed them when he was inside the house he only saw two guys and no one else; meaning, they had the fools outnumbered off jump. Having seen the way his soon-to-be victims reacted under pressure in the nightclub parking lot as well as how young dawg said they were taking potshots, he knew this shit should be easy as hell. Straight murder. In and out. Gee and Stackz stood off to the side, guns in hand, while the young goon knocked at the door.

  * * *

  Rank and Mickey sat posted in the front room with the radio on low just for some background noise. Exchanging pipe dream ideas about how they could become millionaires overnight instead of being the nickel-and-dime hustlers they were, they smoked a blunt. Mickey didn’t smoke half as much as Rank but stayed more ’noid when he did. Sitting at a makeshift table made up of two plastic blue milk cartons and a piece of an old medicine cabinet door, Mickey sacked up a few ounces of reggie they’d mixed with kush. Taking turns being on the door, Mickey hated to be the one that actually put the bags of mixed trees he and Rank claimed were exotic bud in the hands of customers and take their money. When Devin was alive, he used to at least make sure they had some semi-decent product to move; even if he had to rob another drug dealer to get it. Now, Mickey was stuck following behind Rank, who had almost less sense than he did; only more guts to go for bad.

  Rank was stretched out on the floor. Lying on top of a pile of old dirty blankets his grandmother left behind when she lost the house to foreclosure, he was good for the time being. Although he and Mickey weren’t making as much cash as they could, at least it was something. They were on the come up, so they had to spend the least as possible and kick in the majority of the bread to re-up and rebuild. The more they copped, the lower the price would be, which, of course, in turn, meant more profit. Rank had just finished eating a cheeseburger deluxe and was watching Mickey bag up like a hawk. He knew his homeboy was soft and would fuck around and not mix some of the bags, claiming he hated to play people in their face. Mickey stayed, saying his mother said karma was his first cousin and like bad luck, would always be in their family’s tainted bloodline.

  After twenty minutes or so smoking and talking shit, there was a knock at the front door. Rank’s stomach had been on bump since finishing that cheeseburger. Feeling it start to bubble once more, he held his side, informing Mickey it was his turn to get the door.

  “Dawg, you get it and serve whoever. I gotta take a piss and get rid of some more of that damn food. I swear to God that shit meat must’ve been tainted.” As he walked down the hallway to the bathroom, he saw Leela’s whining-about-this-and-that ass curled up on an old box spring. Not wanting to wake her up and have to hear Leela talking shit about how much she hates her sister, despises her mother, can’t stand her no-good kids, and so on, Rank pulled the door closed. Across the hall in the other bedroom his grandmother used to sleep in, he and Mickey’s pit bull puppies were also curled up asleep. Only instead of an old box spring, it was a pile of dirty, mildewy, dog-piss-and-shit clothes the frisky pets had pulled out of the closet that they made their bed.

  * * *

  “Yeah? Who dat?” With his finger on the trigger, Mickey put bass in his voice, yelling through the door. Even though he and Rank were only selling weed and pills, times were hard in the city of Detroit. Desperate to make ends meet, every resident was searching for a come up and stayed mad at the world for being broke. Motherfuckers, no matter young or old, would kill a person for sneezing too loud in the middle of a movie if they saw fit. There was no limit or special treatment given; in the game or out or never have played—no passes; no exceptions. If you left yourself open to get got, then nine outta ten times, you were already as good as dead. It would only be a matter of time and trust; everyone got a turn.

  Mickey asked again who was on the other side of the door as he gripped up more tightly on the handle of his pistol. He knew most of their clientele would hit them up to let him or Rank know they were on their way, but every so often, niggas would just pop up on the humble, knowing they were posted twenty-four-seven. “Yo, what up, doe? Who the fuck is it? What you need?”

  “Hey, what up, doe? It me; dude from earlier from the gas station. I want to get another half right quick of that kush.”

  Mickey was still asking who was it again and what exactly they wanted at the same time he was dumbly taking the 2-by-4 from across the door that secured it. He looked out of the small window on the door that was covered with a flimsy piece of cardboard. Easily, he recognized the guy from earlier that morning who’d copped. Rank and he both were jocking the fact dude had the new Jordans on days before they were due to drop. He’d promised them the hookup on his sneaker plug and didn’t try to negotiate on their weed price or the play. So instantly, this guy they’d known less than a five-minute transaction had become a person Mickey believed that could be trusted.

  Outside, Stackz, Gee, and the youngin’s adrenalin was pumping fast and hard hearing the board being removed, meaning the deadbolt locks were next to follow. It would only be a matter of seconds before Stackz would avenge the attempt made on his life.

  “Oh yeah, my dude with them Jordans. What up, doe?” Mickey still had his gun in his hand but had gotten too relaxed. Strike one, two, and three. As he was turning the knob, pulling the door open, the young goon pushed it with force, causing it to hit Mickey in the face. He was knocked off balance, almost falling to the floor. The youngster laughed that the caper was going as planned, immediately bolting inside, grabbing Mickey’s hand with the gun. Stackz and Gee bum-rushed in right behind him, pointing their pistol around the living room searching for any other persons. Mickey and the youngin’ struggled, but it was brief. Not wanting to get his hood-worshiped sneakers scuffled any further than need be, the youngster shot Mickey in his hip. High off the weed he’d smoked, Mickey was in a half-dazed fight-or-flight mode. He knew after taking a bullet to the hip, he couldn’t take flight, so fight to survive it was. He yelled out for Rank to help him. However, Rank didn’t respond. By that time, Stackz and Gee had run up into the main part of the house ready to disarm and destroy whoever else was there.

  Gee covered the front rooms with his gun drawn while Stackz went toward the back. Gee checked every inch of the foul-smelling dwelling finding no one in the front. Returning to help the young soldier with Mickey, he helped drag him to dining room. As he bled from the lower-body gunshot wound, he started to panic like he had when he took the two slugs in the shoulder. Reaching his hand downward, he brought it back up to his face. Seeing it was covered in blood, he started to cry like a baby.

  Standing over Mickey with a gun pointed directly at his temple, the young street-trained goon couldn’t do anything but laugh. “Come on, now. I know you ain’t lying there crying like some little pussy, is you? Earlier today, you and your boy was some damn bosses. Y’all was making major moves; about to take over the city with that fucking fake-ass kush.” He smacked Mickey upside his head with his free hand. “Matter of fact, nigga, where my bread for that damn reggie y’all sold me like I’m some green-ass bama off the farm? You need to run my shit before we kill your black ass. You don’t wanna be going to hell and shit owing motherfuckers. I bet the devil don’t even like shit like that, you heard? You know, on some old pride and principle shit, you feel me?” He then kicked Mickey dead in the face, busting his lip and teeth. “And I need a li’l something something extra for some new kicks. You got your blood all on these; ole, soft, bleeding, crying-ass bitch!”

  Gee laughed at his little homeboy and went to the back of the crib knowing Mickey was done. Looking for Stackz with his gun still drawn, Gee found his big brother looking out the bathroom window which was wide open. Stackz was irate as the pair checked the rest of the house, going from room to room. Gee went into the far rear located bedroom. Raising his shoe, he kicked the door open with his gun ready to shoot. He saw no one in the room except for two red-nosed thoroughbred beauties in the co
rner that he’d startled out of their peaceful sleep. Covering his face with his shirt, Gee wondered how anyone could stand being in a room, let alone a house, that smelled like this. The floor was saturated with multitudes of old clothes that seemed to be dumped outta more than twenty or so torn green garbage bags. The puppies, of course, had made themselves at home by not only sleeping on the mildew, discarded clothes, but urinating and shitting on them as well. Seeing that the closet door was half-open, Gee kept his gun ready. As he crept up, he pulled the door open and rushed to take a few steps backward. A stench hit him instantly more horrid and overwhelming than the original funk upon entering the apparent puppy palace. Checking the closet, he discovered it to be packed with tons of more feces and puppy-pissed-on-clothing so piled high it was ridiculous.

  * * *

  Returning to the front of the dwelling, Stackz started to feel like their time was running out being inside the house. He knew it wasn’t safe or smart to be held up, posted in a weed spot. Ordering Mickey to shut the fuck up with all that whimpering and begging, Stackz asked him if he was always such a bitch. He asked him if he was in pain. Of course, Mickey’s response was yes as he foolishly asked them to call 911.

  “Don’t worry. You won’t be in pain for long. We got somewhere to be, so we’ll make it quick.”

  The air in the house was thick with the dread of death. It was imminent, and Mickey knew there was no way out; yet he continued to plead. The young boy went over to the makeshift table scooping up all the kush and the reggie. Gee and Stackz sat a hysterical Mickey upright. Gee mentioned to Stackz that Mickey’s crying ass needs to be dealt with like you would a nagging bitch. Stackz quickly agreed with a smile on his face. Walking throughout the crib, he looked around for what he would use to do as his brother suggested. Finally, he found what he was searching for; a nylon dog leash. Sure, the metal clamp was broken off, but the nylon itself was good and strong. Stackz tested it by wrapping each end around his hands, then pulling hard. Gee looked at his brother and gave him two thumbs-up. He and Stackz always joked about choking crybaby bitches for a good solid minute; it always worked to get them to shut up, and Mickey was starting to cry just like a bitch.

 

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