The Union

by Tremayne Johnson

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Copyright © 2012 Tremayne Johnson

  All rights reserved

  Printed in the United States of America

  This book is dedicated to SBR Publications, TeamBankRollSquad and every person who has supported me thus far... and those that will.

  Love... KING

  ONE

  June, 1995…

  The tattered, decrepit building on 1st and 3rd street in Mt. Vernon, New York was a dugout for the hustlers and a smoke haven for the addicts. Hundreds of empty crack vials lay scattered along the urine filled steps. Graffiti ridden staircase walls held the names of those past and present, and the stench of marijuana lingered through the air, but still, this was home, a sanctuary to more than fifty families.

  Three flights up, in an undersized, cluttered apartment, the soothing melody of Mary J Blige’s “My Life” and the scent of hamburgers and French fries escaped into the hallway.

  Sybil snatched open the refrigerator door in search of the last bit of ketchup, but the bottle was empty.

  “Cleo!” She yelled.

  “Yes??”

  “Go over to your aunt’s and get some ketchup.”

  His shoulders sulked and his once playful expression turned grim. “Aww, ma… I don’t wanna go over there.” he pouted.

  Sybil walked into the living room and stood in front of the television. “I ain’t asking you, I’m telling you. Now get your ass up and go next door.”

  Cleo shook his head and poked his lips out. He hated going across the hall to his aunt Wanda’s house, it was overrun with roaches.

  “But they got roaches, Ma.”

  Sybil didn’t like when Cleo said things like that. Even though she was slightly better off financially than her little sister, she never acted as if she was superior. They were both stuck in the hood.

  “So do we; this apartment ain’t no better than theirs. I told you about talking like that.”

  Cleo’s reason for not wanting to go next door wasn’t really the roaches, it was his cousin Mox. The truth is; his fear was fueled by his own insecurity. He was very aware that Mox is smarter, faster, and stronger than he is, but Mox was naïve, hesitant, and unconscious of his own abilities.

  He put his sneakers on and went to do what his mother asked.

  __________

  “Who is it!?” Wanda screamed from the bathroom when she heard someone knocking at the front door.

  “I got it Ma!”

  Mox put the controller down, got up from the futon, checked the peephole and then swung the door open, letting his cousin Cleo in.

  “Cleo, wassup?”

  “Wassup.” He mumbled, and then nodded at Casey.

  The pungent order of Sensimilla invaded Cleo’s nostrils instantly, and then a cockroach the size of a small Bic lighter darted across the 20 inch television set grabbing his attention. Mox paid it no mind.

  “You scared of a little roach Cleo?” he joked seeing the fear in his eyes.

  “Nah, I’m sayin’… that joint was big.”

  “Whatever… Yo! Them joints is hot!” he shouted, looking down at Cleo’s new white, grey and red Air Max. “Let me rock your old joints since you got those?”

  “Nah…”

  “C’mon Cleo…” he begged. “ You said you was gon’ look out for me.”

  “I did look out for you. I gave you those black sneakers.”

  Mox reached underneath the grubby futon and pulled out a pair of black, soiled Reeboks.

  “I been wearing these every day for more than a year.” He said, shaking his head.

  Cleo wasn’t concerned with how long Mox had been wearing the sneakers; he was still upset at the fact that his mother made him give up a pair of his old ones. If he had it his way, Mox would be walking on his bare feet.

  Any opportunity Cleo had to be better than Mox, he took full advantage of. He knew morally it was incorrect, but he wasn’t able to shake his envious characteristics. It came from his heart, so it was in his blood.

  Switching the subject, Cleo asked, “Y’all got some ketchup?”

  Mox went into the kitchen, grabbed the ketchup and squeezed some into a plastic cup.

  He held up the cup. “Is this enough?”

  The cockroach that was once on the television, darted across Cleo’s sneaker. He panicked, and his arm brushed against the vase sitting on the mantle, knocking it to the floor.

  “Ooooh…” Casey crooned.

  Mox raised his index finger to his lips. “Shhh… be quiet, Casey.”

  The crash rattled Wanda’s nerves. She reached to pull her pants up and almost knocked the small mirror off the sink. The bathroom door was locked and she was puffing a joint and sniffing a line of coke.

  “Mox, what the fuck was that!?” She hollered.

  “Damn, Cleo… you just broke her favorite vase.” He looked down at the shattered pieces on the floor. “Go head man, take the ketchup and go before she comes out here.”

  “What you gon’ tell her?” He said, opening the front door.

  “It don’t matter…I’ma still get my ass whooped.”

  The bathroom door flew open and the front door closed.

  Cleo was gone.

  “What was that noise?” Wanda asked.

  She looked to her youngest, and then down at Mox picking up shattered pieces of her favorite vase.

  “I know that ain’t my vase, Mox!?”

  He was too afraid to make eye contact. “I knocked it over by accident, ma.” he lied. That was something he never did.

  Wanda’s lip curled as it did every time she became angry. She screwed her eyes, balled her fist and shot a sharp, right hook to his ribs. “Get the fuck up and get yo’ ass in that room... and take them goddamn pants off!”

  Mox absorbed the blow and did as told.

  At ten years old, he was accustomed to the beatings. Eventually, he learned to block out the pain and visualize more pleasant occasions; but those fantasies never lasted long.

  He closed the bedroom door, stripped to his bare skin and waited to endure another lashing. He was cool about it though, his only concern was what her weapon of choice would be today.

  The iron?

  A wire hanger?

  Or maybe that bamboo broom Aunt Sybil brought back from Japan?

  Either way, he didn’t mind taking the ass whooping for his cousin. He thought nothing of it; he felt it was his duty to take the blame because he knew Cleo was scared. His little brother Casey didn’t like seeing him get in trouble. He loved his big brother, so he sat back on the dingy futon, crying till he could make no more tears. He rocked himself to sleep.

  LATER THAT NIGHT

  Wailing screams at 2:30 am woke Mox and Casey from their sleep.

  “What was that?” Casey jumped up, wiping the crust from his eyes.

  “I don’t know. Wait here, I’ll be right back.”

  He begged “No, Mox… don’t leave me.” Jumping out the bed, he followed his big brother.

  The room was pitch black as Mox and Casey silently tip-toed to the bedroom door. Mox turned the doorknob slowly and took a peek into the hallway. It was too dark to see, but he could hear someone’s voice, they were saying a prayer.

  “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just—” As they got closer to the living roo
m, the rumbling vocal sound grew louder, “—And will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness…”

  The sour scent of blood perfumed the air and irritated Mox’s nose. His stomach muscles tightened and a sudden sweat fell over his body. He fought the urge to vomit, and before reaching the entrance to the living room, he stopped short and Casey was on his heels.

  “Casey, wait right here,” he whispered. “Don’t move.”

  Mox crept through the static dimness; his midnight skin tone merging perfectly with the blackness. Now only a few steps from the living room, he sensed something wrong and wanted to turn back, but his feet continued to move forward. When he entered the living room, the sight before his eyes churned his insides and the vomit he suppressed only seconds ago, erupted through his lips.

  His father’s butchered, unclothed body was draped over the futon. His hands were tied behind his back in a pipe hitch knot, which is used primarily by boy scouts, and his throat was slit.

  Mox was unable to move. Paralyzed, he watched the tall, wide body, dark skinned assassin hover over his mother’s defenseless, naked figure. The twelve inch blade he gripped securely, was called a Tanto, and it was soaked in blood.

  Wanda lay stretched across the floor in the middle of the small, filthy apartment, choking on her own blood. She had suffered thirty-five stab wounds to the face, chest, and neck.

  Casey startled his big brother when he brushed up against his arm and attempted to glance over his shoulder.

  Mox went to shield his eyes from the horrendous scene, but Casey was determined to see.

  They stood, bare chested and barefoot in their underwear, innocently focused on the woman who pushed them from her womb, as she gagged, taking her last breaths before their sinless eyes.

  The killer slowly turned to the young boys. “Mox,” he muttered, wiping the bloody sword onto his sleeve. “Everything comes to an end.” He looked at Wanda, bent down, put his hand over her face and closed her eyes. “Sleep baby…” he whispered, then made his exit.

  2002…

  A milky, drop, CLK 430 crept along the jagged, pothole filled pavement slowing down at the corner of Horton Avenue and Brook Street. The lambent rays from the early morning sun made the polished white paint look like glass.

  Wise Earl and two young wolves were holding the block down on this early morning. They watched the glossy, two door convertible pull to the curb and park.

  “You young niggas don’t know shit about gettin’ this money.” Earl hissed. The temperature was almost at a hundred degrees and the air was sticky, condensed and humid.

  He wiped the sweat from his brow and took a long drag of his cigarette. “Now this nigga here,” he said, pointing to the car, “that nigga gettin’ that real paper.”

  The passenger side door opened and one of the sexiest creatures God ever created stepped out. Her olive complexion was radiant and her skin was flawless. The tight fitted, pink shorts she wore, cupped her dainty, heart shaped ass cheeks perfectly and her well-formed c-cup breasts bounced with each step.

  Priscilla was a Goddess. She had recently cut her hair short and was rocking the natural look. It completely fit her personality.

  She pranced around the front of the vehicle with a bag in her hand. Her cupid shaped, berry colored lips looked juicy enough to bite.

  The young wolves gawked at her glowing beauty.

  Wise Earl shook his head at their actions. “See… that’s the problem wit’ you young niggas, you worried ‘bout some pussy when you need to focus on the come up.”

  The beautiful young lady approached Earl.

  “Wassup, Uncle Wise?”

  “Hey, baby girl.” He answered, embracing her. She smelled wonderful. “Tell that nigga to roll the window down.”

  Earl tossed his hands up and the driver side window slowly came down.

  “Uncle Wise, what’s good?”

  “You tell me, nephew. I know you better step out that goddamn car and come give your uncle some love.”

  Mox pushed the door open and got out.

  He was no longer the short, skinny, dark skinned kid he was seven years ago. He was grown up now, 6 feet 2 inches, black as the dead of night and in control of his own operation.

  He hugged his uncle and dapped the young wolves.

  “What’s the word, Unc?”

  Earl plucked the remnants of his cigarette and looked at Mox. “The only thing more threatenin’ to you besides your enemy, is the people closest to you. Never forget that.”

  Mox nodded and walked into the corner store. He came out with a bottled water and the newspaper.

  “Priscilla,” He said, getting back in the car. “Get that and let’s go.”

  She unzipped the small Gucci carrying bag and handed it to Earl.

  “Go fill that up, youngin’.”

  One of the young wolves took the bag and went around the corner. He returned in seconds handing the bag back to Priscilla.

  “You been upstairs, Unc?” Mox asked, ready to pull off.

  “Earlier, she up there wit’ Casey and Cleo. I’ll be through in a minute.”

  “Aight.”

  Mox pulled from the curb and made a right down Brook Street and then he made another right into the lot and pulled in a parking space.

  They got out the car, walked to building 80 and took the elevator to the sixth floor.

  He stood in front of 6A, fumbling through his pocket for the keys. He finally found them and opened the door.

  As soon as it opened, Casey jumped into Mox’s arms.

  “Whoa, boy; you getting too big to be doing that. Wassup?”

  “Nothing.” Casey, jumped back down to the floor. He picked his basketball up and continued dribbling.

  “Casey!” Cleo yelled from the back room. “Stop bouncing that ball in the house!”

  “Shut up!” Mox yelled back.

  “Who dat!?”

  “Who you want it to be!?”

  “What I tell y’all ‘bout all that damn noise in my house.” Sybil added. She was in the kitchen washing dishes.

  Cleo came from the back room.

  “It’s this little nigga.” He snarled, snatching the basketball from Casey.

  “Hey!”

  “Hey, nothin’… I told you ‘bout this ball. I don’t know why you always got it anyway, you ain’t no good.”

  Mox took the ball from Cleo and gave it back to Casey. “Leave my lil’ brother alone. Tell him, Casey… you going to the NBA.”

  Casey’s eyes lit up and he got excited. “Yup! And when I get rich, I’ma buy Mox a house and Auntie a house, and you ain’t gettin’ nothing ‘cause you always bothering me.”

  Cleo mushed the 12 year old, making him stumble into the dining table. Casey threw the ball, striking him in his stomach, then he ran through the house.

  “You lil’ muthafucka!” He growled, ready to chase after him.

  “Chill, Cleo.” Mox grabbed his arm.

  “Get the fuck off me.” He yanked away, cursing. “Priscilla, why you hang around this nigga, I know you can do better than this asshole.”

  Sybil slammed a dish in the sink. “Cleo, watch your mouth in my house!”

  “It’s this nigga.” He pouted.

  “It’s always somebody else, it’s never you.” She said, drying off the last dish. “How you doing, Priscilla?”

  “Hello, Ms. Daniels. I’m good.” She took a seat at the table.

  “Why you always sticking up for him? You ain’t never on my side.” Cleo whined.

  “Cleo, cut the bullshit and get ready for practice.”

  He pouted his lips and turned to walk away. He knew better than to talk back.

  “Wassup, Auntie?” Mox hugged his aunt. “How’s everything?”

  “I’m surviving, baby. Blessed to see another day.”

  He glanced around the kitchen. It was always a homely feeling when he stepped through the door. He appreciated his aunt stepping up and taking care of him and his brothe
r. If it wasn’t for her, they would have been dragged into foster care and more than likely, they would have been split up.

  After his parents were killed, Sybil took full custody of her sister’s two boys. Since then, Mox had moved out on his own, but Casey was still there.