“Aw Lord! I ain’t got no money!” volunteered Stick, before he turned around and saw a familiar face.
“Stick, I would die from shock if you ever did. You have been broke ever since I have known you.” replied Tenesha.
“So, what do you want with me, then? I ain’t got no dope, and I don’t want any!” replied Stick. Tenesha slightly shook her head and clenched her teeth before talking with Stick, again.
“Who in the world is Trouble?” asked Tenesha.
“Just the worst boy ever known to walk the face of the Earth. He is not bad as going to the principal’s office. He is not bad as in going-to-hell bad. He is so bad; he would get kicked out of Hell!”
“What makes him so bad, and what makes you so sure that he is connected to the murders that have occurred of off Emancipation Street?”
“Apparently, you don’t know about the urban legend of Trouble,” replied Stick.
“I don’t believe in urban legends, but fill me in, anyway,” commanded Tenesha.
“Supposedly, Trouble is the spirit of a boy whom was killed many years ago. It is said a group of men killed Trouble and his family.”
“So, why would anyone feel threatened by a corpse? It seems to me that should be the end of the whole story if he is dead and buried.”
“It is not that simple. It is also said the men who killed Trouble were also killing groups of many different people for unknown reasons during The Great Depression in Baton Rouge. It is also said his spirit had never crossed over when he died. Instead of going to the afterlife, Trouble remained in this world and waited for the perfect opportunity,” informed Stick.
“The perfect opportunity for what?”
replied Tenesha.
“The perfect opportunity for revenge. It is said Trouble visited the men late in the night, following the time that he had been killed. Supposedly, Trouble used the same ax and rifle his father once held to do the job. The men were never seen since the night he visited them. The only thing that any of them say was left of the men were some bloody sheets when they went to their homes. The other family members were alive, but the men whom were supposedly involved in the killings disappeared.”
“Yeah right, are you trying to tell me that no one had ever conducted an investigation, and there were no clues to where the men were?” asked Tenesha.
“Of course, but you have to remember that investigations in a rural part of the country many decades ago were not nearly as sophisticated as they are now. It is said that the men were never found. All known relatives, friends, and neighbors were contacted without any indication of the men’s locations at all,” informed Stick, emphatically.
“Even if there is any degree of truth to the possibility Trouble even exists or ever existed, why would he be in Houston if the events you described took place in Louisiana?”
“Does every person you know live and die in the same place without ever traveling to other places?” pointed out Stick.
“I can almost understand why he would go after the men who killed him and his family, but why would Trouble have a reason to kill a group of people in another completely different city and state?” inquired Tenesha.
“According to the legend, he has developed a passion for killing criminals and other people or oppressors who have ever made life hard for other people,” answered Stick.
“So, you’re trying to tell me that a boy from Louisiana who has been dead since 1935 is connected to a group of recent murders along Emancipation Street in Houston, Texas? Stick! Your brain has been replaced by adrenaline, caramel, and nougat!”
“Believe what you want, but I can show you where he lives,” offered Stick. Why not? It will keep Six Tres off of my back and Black Serpent off of my trail for a little while. Tenesha and Stick walked along Emancipation Street as they passed many colorful, old houses with faded stucco and brick throughout the street. They came across an abandoned gas station with tape surrounding the perimeter. Some police officers beyond the tape sneered in their direction as they became closer. They walked past the area and continued their trek.
The pair carefully walked around the officers as they traveled through the old, residential area while viewing quite a few mature but substantially large houses.
If Stick is wasting my time, he does not have to worry about bullies or drug dealers killing him! I’ll wrap his bony, little butt in a candy wrapper myself and leave him on a kingpin’s porch like a newspaper! One syllable of fury escaped Tenesha’s lips, before he pointed to a large, red, brick, three-story house with settling all over it and boards covering the windows on Arbor Street. The curious teenager jumped off of the sidewalk into the elevated yard and looked at the old structure. She saw an aged, wooden door that was so thick, wide, and obscure; it looked like it was a drawbridge from a castle in the Dark Ages. Tenesha turned around to ask her traveling companion a question, but he had not left the sidewalk.
Stick continued glancing at his imposing, bossy companion as she walked through the yard, and watched her search for an entrance.
“Come on, Stick!”
“For what?! I ain’t going in there!”
“If you don’t come, I’ll tell everybody in school that you’re a punk!” threatened Tenesha.
“That ain’t no secret; everybody already knows that!” responded Stick. Unfortunately, he was not lying. Stick’s fear was legendary. He was known for running from anyone in costume or uniform. The exception being the boy nearly knocked over a police officer as he fled from a short, elderly woman chasing him with a cane.
“Stick, I’ll give you some money if you come with me,” tempted Tenesha.
“How much money, and how are you going to get it? You are usually as broke as I am!”
“Look, I have some at the house. You can either take my word for it or go!” Stick turned around and began walking before he felt something light bouncing off of his shoulder. He knew Tenesha could be antagonistic at times, but she usually did not act, childishly. The boy looked on the ground beside his foot. He picked up the crumbled piece of paper and unraveled it to see it was a ten-dollar bill. The young man looked both ways and around the area before he stepped into the yard to join Tenesha. He walked toward the impatient, young lady, who was quickly tapping her foot with her arms folded. Stick walked two steps and stopped.
“Why did you stop walking toward me?” asked Tenesha.
“I want to know if you can give me more money, up front. I can’t spend it if I’m dead!” expressed Stick. Tenesha dug in her backpack and tried to find something that could help keep Stick around until she could get to her house and get part of her allowance. She slapped Stick’s hand as she hesitantly placed money into his palm. Stick glanced around to see if anyone was watching them. He walked to where Tenesha stood.
“You didn’t say that we had to go into the house. The yard looks fine to me,” clarified Stick before Tenesha stood one inch away from his face with furrowed brows and clenched fists.
“Alright, I’m coming!” bellowed Stick, annoyingly. They walked to the windows, pressed their hands against the glass, and peered inside.
“I wonder how we’re supposed to get
in?” asked Tenesha, “The place looks pretty secure. Stick, are you sure that Trouble, anything, or anyone actually lives here?” Then, a deep, familiar voice replied.
“No one lives here, but this is where we conduct some of our business.” Tenesha and Stick quickly turned around to see Black Serpent staring at them with a group of men in tailor-made suits, nicely stitched shoes, and formal hats standing behind him.
“Well, it was nice knowing you, Tenesha; however, I think that it would be in my best interest to part ways with you and your associates,” insinuated Stick. He quickly turned around and darted a few feet before his head struck something hard before he fell backwards. Stick elevated his gaze to see a Jamaican man in a black suit staring down at him with a furrowed glance that promised pain if he moved.
“Now, I have two pe
ddlers for the price of one. Where is the dope that I gave you, yesterday?” queried Black Serpent as he stared at Tenesha like a lion ambushing its prey.
“My mother took it from me and beat me. I told you my mother would not like that, and I would probably get in trouble.”
“You are a drug dealer, Tenesha! I thought those were just rumors, and here I am following one into an abandoned house! [Stick slowly raised himself from the ground, raised his hands, and carefully approached Black Serpent] If you are going to kill me, please shoot me in the back of the head between the ears, so the bullet can take out my medulla oblongata!” pled Sticky.
“Medulla what?” asked Tenesha.
“The medulla oblongata is the region of the brain that makes up the top part of the spinal cord and the lowest portion of the brain responsible for controlling involuntary functions such as circulation, respiration, and breathing,” informed Black Serpent.
“I learned that in medical school. I am impressed. How do you know that, young man?”
“I watch the Discovery Health Channel: I don’t have much of a life, but I would like to keep the little life that I do have. However, if I have to die, it’s nice to be taken out by an educated, drug dealer who can probably accommodate me. I mean you probably have lots of experience aiming for the portion of people’s brains that allow a quick, smooth, and comfortable death,” assumed Stick as he slowly walked toward Black Serpent with his hands raised. The young man turned around and knelt before the tall man. He lowered his forearm and pointed to the center of the back of his head.
“Shoot right here, and I’ll die ‘happily ever after,’” instructed the cowardly, yet surprisingly intelligent boy.
“Stick! Do you have a backbone anywhere in that frail, nasty, little body of yours!” reprimanded Tenesha.
“Yeah, I just told him how to shoot the top portion of it for a smooth transition to the afterlife,” answered Stick, indifferently. Black Serpent chuckled wryly along with some of his associates.
“Get up, son! You’re more useful to me alive!” commanded Black Serpent.
“What would we have to do to have you spare our lives?” inquired Tenesha.
“Stick can live if he sells my powder, but you have yet to give me the money from what I gave you, already,” replied Black Serpent, coldly.
“Hey, I can talk to Black Serpent and see if he can hook you up with a painless death,” whispered Stick to Tenesha. The young woman stared disgustingly at her cowardly friend, shoved him aside, and shouted.
“I’m tired of bullies, drug dealers, abusive parents, and stepparents! No matter what I do, it seems that I can never avoid any type of trouble. Black Serpent, I should have refused to accept the powder the instant you gave it to me, but I, like Stick, was scared and spineless, but I am going to make a decision that I can live or die with. I used to think that if I ran away from trouble that I could avoid it; but obviously, I was wrong! If I were to find a way to give you your powder or any money from its sell, I know that you would just coerce me into selling more until I just became an employee and indebted to you for life.
Otherwise, you would just kill me if something went awry or I was connected to you in an incriminating way. I would still have to deal with Six Tres or someone just like him coming after me! So just take me out, right now! I am not going to be your servant, slave, or your errand girl to supply poison to people for putting money into your pockets, cars in your garages, or houses on your suburban or beachfront property! You live in luxury and bliss, while the people you serve are killing themselves because they do not have enough character or discipline to deal with their hardships, addictions, or circumstances to overcome them!
I cannot live that way, and I am not going to live that way! So, Black Serpent, if you are going to take me out, I suggest you do it right, now! I don’t have much to look forward to if I survive, so either kill me or stop trifling with me!” sneered Tenesha
“Well spoken, I knew you had more character than you were displaying,” conveyed an echoic voice from all around. Black Serpent jumped out of surprise, and his associates pulled guns out of their holsters.
“I don’t know who you are, but you better leave before you end up in a pinewood box! PJ, BD, Ricochet, LD, Massacre! Find that punk and give him an everlasting nap! The rest of you, stay with me!” commanded Black Serpent. The other men quickly scrambled around the house and searched for their intrusive guest. They all returned and shook their heads in their leaders’ direction.
“All right, that means you’re a punk and can’t back up whatever you are talking about!” yelled Black Serpent. Then, the voice clearly came from inside of the house.
“Come in here, and see what you can do!” Black Serpent directed the first group to stay with their juvenile captives and motioned for the other to enter the house with his hand. Several patterned, leather shoes bombarded the thick door until it fell like a heavy tree. Stick looked up and observed: “That’s one way to do it.”
A chrome-plated pistol preceded its well dressed owner, but the echo of his footsteps was the only thing that could be heard. The dim interior revealed cracked, concrete and an old, decrepit staircase covered by cobwebs. Two decided to walk up the stairs with each other. They kept their pistols drawn with their fingers poised to squeeze the triggers with the slightest motion. The pair reached the top of the stairs, but all they saw was dim sunlight, creeping in through the boarded windows. One of them pulled out a cellular phone with a light on it.
Initially, they did not see anything, but a few blinks revealed barely visible blurs rushing past them. Thunderous sounds erupted as walls, ceilings, and floors were filled with smoking holes. The rest of the men rushed upstairs and yelled to let the others know not to shoot at what they see near the staircase. A .357 fell upon the floor before its owner could finish drawing it as a sharp pain inundated the person holding the weapon, previously. Skittish glances darted between their owners and the walls they perforated with their shooting.
Sweat covered some of their foreheads while others gripped their weapons as though they were ropes dangling them over a tiger’s pit. Their breathing began to increase, rapidly. They glanced with wide eyes at one another before gathering into a circle with their backs to each other. Plaster, wood, and stone became dust as gunfire filled the room.
“What’s going on up there!” yelled Black Serpent.
“Something is definitely up here, but we don’t know—,” informed the voice before it was interrupted by a harsh gag. Black Serpent pointed to the house before two men charged into it with their guns drawn. Suddenly, three suited figures flew through the third story’s windows screaming before their falls’ impacts silenced their protests. Black Serpent stared at the roof of the house as though he were in a trance. He heard loud, continuous crashing as colorful figures rolling down the stairs before stopping near their predecessors.
The group resembled broken mannequins scattered across the lawn. Glass shards scattered across the grass before two unconscious figured joined their associates. Black Serpent grabbed Tenesha and Stick. A swift motion preceded a pistol digging into Tenesha’s temple.
“I don’t know who you are, but there will be two stiffs if you do not give yourself up!” An amber streak flew past the group before the red-hot .45 was melted into ground with a flaming arrow crushing its barrel.
Black Serpent’s eyes bulged as he stared upward. The sun sunk beneath the horizon, very quickly. He glanced at the object with a puzzled expression. Black Serpent slowly extended his fingertips toward the object before realizing its barrel was completely crushed by the arrow. Stick jumped to his feet and dashed before Serpent returned his gaze to them. The drug lord’s fingertips grazed the back of the young man’s blazer, but the self-proclaimed coward’s anxiety was too potent to allow himself to be captured, again.
He lifted Tenesha off of the grass in one motion with his sweaty hand, but something struck his abdomen with tremendous power and projected him three feet
into his vehicle, forcefully enough to nearly knock it over. Tenesha realized the blow separated her from her captor as she rose her head from the grass. Black Serpent rolled onto the concrete of the broken street. He sucked in a deep breath and tried to stand. His legs quivered like gelatin before he fell to the ground with his awareness and balance leaving him, completely.
Tenesha slowly rose to her feet before lightly shaking foliage and debris from her braids. She gave her clothes a couple of hard swipes. She stared at the unconscious drug lord as though watching a movie before turning her head toward the flaming arrow standing in the ground. Her eyes focused on glowing object: Where could that have come from? Who fired it? Who does it belong to? Why would anyone use arrows like they are Robin Hood with all of the pistols and shotguns around these days?
The curious adolescent walked over to it and extended her fingers toward it before she flew backwards and rolled a couple of times upon the ground. She remained still with her breathing being very rapid. Tenesha rose to her feet after a couple of seconds of silence without seeing anything and anyone else in sight. She brushed the debris off of her clothes once again before biting her lip and sucking in a deep breath. She noticed the arrow was gone, but the yard was quiet with the exception of rushing cars.
"You could have just said don't touch it!" she yelled. She glanced over at Black Serpent and the unconscious men lying throughout the yard. Then, she lifted her voice to the sky and whispered, "I don't know who you are, but thank you." The sky slowly became purple mandarin as the streaks of the sun’s remaining light were followed by darkness. Tenesha snatched her backpack off of the ground with one motion and began walking home. I know I am going to have to play twenty questions if I do not get to the house, soon. I am not in the mood for an interrogation, tonight!
Humid air brushed her skin when she arrived at a familiar residence. Tenesha heard dead grass breaking beneath her feet with each step as she crossed her lawn. She walked up the worn, brick steps before the sudden, bright flash of the porch light startled her upon its activation. The teenager realized she had been noticed coming in late. She stuck her key in the door and expected to see an extension cord or a curtain rod clutched by an angry woman awaiting her. She closed the door shut without looking behind her. Pure darkness gave her temporary solace until an unpleasantly familiar voice shattered her peace.
Trouble's Always Watching Volume 1: Volume 1 (The Trouble Series) Page 7