Young and Hungry

by Ms. Michel Moore

  Feeling somewhat relieved things were going to go in his favor, the mouthy guy replied, “Five,” as he proudly pointed them all out. “We all together. All of us!”

  “Okay, y’all five can step out the line and come up here toward the front door.” Black Tone signaled to his right-hand man and cousin, Wild Out. “Anybody else rolling with them?”

  The crowd was both silent and confused, not knowing what to think of Black Tone’s seemingly docile attitude.

  “Okay, then cool. It’s just these five,” Black Tone announced.

  “See, that’s what in the fuck I’m talking about. All you lames in line, acting all scary and carrying on. This nigga just big as hell, that’s all. He bleed blood just like me and you!” Overjoyed that his assertive behavior had gotten him and his friends special treatment, the man was feeling himself.

  Sensing something wasn’t right, one female out of the “lucky five,” who had been to Detroit Live more than once or twice, fell back. Showing her money and ID, she informed Black Tone and Wild Out, who was now posted by his cousin’s side, that she’d rather wait in line with everyone else. She blurted out that she didn’t want any trouble, let alone the same treatment the guy had been getting when they first drove up.

  “You sure, baby girl?” Black Tone winked his eye at the tan-skinned beauty. “’Cause ain’t gonna be no more trouble popping off tonight—at least not on my end.”

  “Naw, I’m good! I ain’t into confrontation.” She waved her hand to the side, further distancing herself from the other four.

  “Me either, Ma.” Black Tone cracked his knuckles and spit a stream of saliva threw his gap and onto the curb, barely missing the boy’s two-toned Pradas. “I’m into problem solving!”

  Seconds after nodding she was 100 percent certain of her decision, the entire ZFG crew, led by their fearless leader, showed her she’d made a wise choice. After the two guys and the other female who had chosen to stand tall helped their unfortunate friend to his vehicle, undoubtedly driving him to the nearest hospital to get his surely broken ribs tended to, it was back to business as usual at the popular Detroit hot spot.

  “Okay, two clowns down tonight! Who else wanna join the circus?” Black Tone sarcastically joked.

  To Black Tone, it was nothing; it was all part of the job he had signed up for. For him it was business and never personal! The new club owner, Amir, had gladly made his trusted head bouncer the police, the jury, the judge, and the executioner. At Detroit Live Black Tone was the law!

  * * *

  It’d been an extremely long twenty-four hours full of crime in the city. Everything from selling drugs, rape, a few dozen assaults, a couple armed robberies, home invasions, and a high-profile quadruple homicide on the far east side of town. But if you had what some would call the misfortune of being birthed and raised within the twenty-five-square- mile radius of Motown, the number one ranked worst city to reside in, in America, you were no stranger to murder or mayhem. And definitely not to the consequences that came with it. To some, it was all they knew—a lifestyle. Cut from a much different cloth, people in the D were born in, not sworn in, to struggle in general. The city was strapped for cash and was trying all sorts of incentives that had never been heard of or thought of to stay above water. Day by day, week to week, the city’s officials were making and breaking government laws and statutes as they went along.

  The majority of below-poverty residents were immune to “the unfortunate chain of events” that would make many, if not all, of suburbia’s elite cringe and hold town meetings packed full of concerned home owners. Some ill-bred residents of Detroit were hood warriors of the night and day. They wanted to have a good time, no matter what the cost or occasion: drink a li’l, smoke a li’l, dance a li’l, and hopefully get back home to the comfort of their bed without getting killed, shot, or robbed.

  It was nearing a little after three in the morning. The last of the overly intoxicated customers had gotten their keys from the valet and would hopefully make it home without catching a DUI. To the staff at Detroit Live, whether their patrons went to the casino, the after-hours clubs, or even a motel with some random person they’d met that night meant little or nothing. As the cash was counted, the houselights went up on high. Amir, a hypocrite to his deen, thanked Allah for financially blessing him with another night.

  Thankfully, the club’s zip code was not included in the already in place monthlong experiment Detroit residents were subjected to. That meant that for now, he and his staff wouldn’t have to camp out and personally protect their livelihood. Fortunately, his elderly father and his younger brothers, who owned a party store in 48238, had also dodged the bullet up until now. Sadly, for hundreds of other home owners and business owners alike caught up in the zip code sweep, posting up and bearing arms to protect what they’d worked so hard for had tragically become a way of life.

  “We had a pretty decent night, excluding a few assholes,” Black Tone said as he helped collect some of the bottles that had been tossed onto the floor.

  Amir smiled, nodding his head. “Yeah, all and all, it was good. Your cousins didn’t act that much of a damn fool.”

  “All right, now, sand nigga,” Black Tone replied, giving his boss a smirk and returning the nod.

  After doing the payout for his men, he watched the waitresses continue to clean. Close to an hour later, after closing the doors, they were ready to call it a night. After making sure the female staff was escorted to their cars, Black Tone waited for the owners to lock up and set the alarms. He knew that his behavior at the club was sometimes over the top. He knew he definitely ran the risk of some half-crazed Negro, caught in his emotions about being tossed out, wanting to seek revenge. Black Tone had grown up in an extremely rough neighborhood. He was no stranger to having to look over his shoulder for the unexpected to pop off.

  As he climbed up in his truck, he put the key in the ignition and turned the high-powered engine over. Seconds later he was pulling out into the late night, early morning traffic. He lived a good twelve or thirteen minutes from the club, and on his way home Black Tone stopped at the gas station. He knew most folk knew better than to attempt even to slow down that time of night at that intersection. It was known for robberies, but he could care less. He was known for handing niggas they asses, armed or not.

  Adjusting his gun on his hip, he got out, ready for whatever. The one random guy who was standing by the side of the doorway decided not even to ask Black Tone if he wanted to buy some weed. Knowing that tangling with a man of Black Tone’s size could potentially not go his way, he wisely stepped over to the right. After purchasing his grandmother the small bag of peppermint candy he’d promised her before leaving the house they shared, the guy finally headed into the darkness of his block.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Here comes this bitch nigga from down the way.” Dre leaned back on the concrete steps, watching his longtime neighbor drive up.

  “Who? Where?” His running buddy jumped, paranoid and buzzing from the weed they’d been blowing all night.

  “Down there.” Dre nodded his head over toward the side. “That wannabe tough, big, goofy-ass nigga Tone. You know, ole boy who think he the damn block police or some bullshit like that! Like he can’t get got.”

  Now twenty-seven, Dre had been living in the same house since he was born. He’d never been outside of Michigan, not even on a short stay. In and out of trouble since he was a youth, he and his little sister, Alexis, had seen their fair share of people come and go off the block. The once close-knit community had changed for the worse over the years, thanks to the forever growing crime rate.

  Of course, Dre and his dim-minded cohorts were much to blame for the recent spikes in 48238, as well as the other experimental zip code power outages nearby. They had no conscience or regard when it came to the atrocities they perpetrated on their own. They would rip and run the streets all times of the day and night, terrorizing others residing in close proximity with their break-ins
, loud music, public fights, intoxication, and car theft. Nothing was off-limits to Dre if it meant having a good time or hitting a quick lick at the expense of others.

  * * *

  Black Tone, however, was nothing like his constantly victimized neighbors, and Dre knew it. Little fat-ass Anthony, the kid Dre grew up with and bullied, was no more. He was now known as Black Tone, and things were different, extremely different. Their families used to go to church together way back in the day, before times changed. Dre and Alexis’s mother had died suddenly of breast cancer, leaving them basically to fend for themselves. Although Alexis fought to do the right thing and stay on point, her older sibling was the complete opposite. In and out of juvenile, then the county jail, he had done what he felt he needed to do to survive for both himself and her.

  Black Tone didn’t care about their plight or how close they used to be years ago. This was here and now, and he wasn’t going to tolerate Dre disrespecting him or his ailing granny. He knew it would be impossible for him to run the households of others and set the bar for what they would or would not bow down to, especially when it came to Dre, yet he had his home under control. After a few brief run-ins with his old church pew buddy, Black Tone had made it perfectly clear that Dre or any of his people were not to sit on the stairs of the vacant houses on either side of his house. They were not to cut through his and his granny’s backyard or even slow down as they went by in one of the various stolen cars that they joyrode in. Bottom line was, just like he ran things at the club, he ran them on the block. Black Tone had zero fucks given when it came to making sure his granny felt safe and secure in the house she’d raised him in. His mother had died in childbirth, so his granny was all he had ever had. She would forever be A1, even if it killed him.

  Dre kept his eyes focused on Black Tone as he parked his truck. Wishing he could steal the triple midnight-black SUV and sell the rims and the sound system, Dre reached in his pocket. After pulling out his pack of Newports, he lit one. Taking two, then three pulls, he blew the smoke up into the night air. Studying every movement his neighbor made, he caught a glimpse of Black Tone’s forever present firearm posted on his side as he got out of the vehicle. As the moonlight served as the only light on the scarcely populated block, Dre could tell Black Tone was cautious of his surroundings and on high alert as he walked up toward his porch.

  With nothing but petty schemes polluting his mind and soul, Dre skeeted a small stream of spit through his front broken-off tooth. One day his ass is mine. I’ma get that nigga together just for old times’ sake. Dre wanted nothing more than to run up and sucker punch Black Tone in the jaw, take his truck keys, and skirt off like there wasn’t nothing to it. Yet he weighed his options and knew that as much as he daydreamed about how that scenario could play out in his favor, the reality was it never could. At least not tonight.

  “Dawg, I’m telling you, I swear before God and the devil, I’m gonna get that ho-ass nigga one day,” Dre told his running buddy. “On everything I love, he gonna get right, or get the fuck on. Him and his good snitching grandmother always calling the police! They be worried about all the wrong shit around here.”

  * * *

  Convinced that one day soon the tables would change and his block and the entire city would turn around for the better, Black Tone and his granny had agreed to stay put and fight the good fight. Black Tone loved his neighborhood. Despite the dilapidation. Despite the reduction in residents. Despite Dre and his band of idiots bringing havoc to everyone.

  Not wanting to get caught slipping, Black Tone looked over his shoulder. He kept a careful eye on Dre from the moment he pulled up until he walked inside his house and turned the several dead-bolt locks, as he knew the man he had once considered a friend was no more. Black Tone and Alexis, however, were still on the same page. After sending her a text message asking her to let him know when she made it back home safely from her shift at the strip club, Black Tone checked on his granny. Then he climbed in bed and quickly fell asleep. While asleep, he started to dream about Alexis and the pact he made with her years ago.

  * * *

  “Your granny made these cookies just for me?” Alexis asked, her eyes swollen with tears, which were still streaming down her cheeks. It had been days since her mother had woken up in excruciating pain and had been rushed to the hospital. There less than thirty-six hours, she had been hit with the terrible life-altering news. The mother of two young children had been diagnosed with breast cancer. The doctors, family members, and friends were all amazed that she was in the late stages of the disease and had not suffered pain prior to this.

  “Yeah, she knows oatmeal is your favorite.” Anthony sat on the porch, next to his little neighbor from down the street. She was heartbroken. They’d just been at the door, listening to his granny and other ladies from the church form a prayer circle. Each holding hands, heads lowered, they asked God to show mercy and favor on Alexis and her older, mischievous brother. They cried out for the Almighty to spare her mother, hoping He would do just that.

  Anthony and Alexis also prayed for that same miracle. While caught up in their emotions, they saw a small kitten walking around one of two abandoned houses on the street. With nothing else to do, the always stuck-together pair went to investigate the feline’s whereabouts. Anthony was what old folks back in the day called big boned and big for his age. He struggled to breathe as his asthma kicked in. After reaching in his pocket for his inhaler, the overweight youth took two short puffs and continued. They peered in through the broken basement windows of the abandoned house. There was no sign of the brown furry animal. Anthony wanted to be a hero for a still sad-faced Alexis and find the kitten no matter what. The pair stood motionless at the rear of the house. The doors had long since been stolen, and the wood siding had been snatched off as well. The grass and weeds were overgrown and filled with debris.

  Anthony took Alexis by the hand. Cautiously, they entered the musty-smelling dwelling. Huge sections of paint and plaster covered the filthy floors, and there were holes in the walls where the copper pipes had been removed. Thinking they heard the soft sounds of the kitten’s meows, the two followed their ears and headed up the staircase. Upstairs, each step they took was a definite hazard as the weather-warped floorboards crackled. Just as they were seconds away from opening one of the closets, they heard voices from outside.

  “Who is that?” Alexis looked to Anthony for answers.

  Slowly, he crept over toward the window. “It’s your brother, Dre, and some other guys.”

  Alexis knew what that meant. They both did. She and Anthony needed to get out of the house and back across the street as soon as possible. Dre was a bully. The whole little crew he ran with always followed his lead, and they were all bullies as well. They had no filter on who would be their victims: they went after young and old, big or small. Despite Dre and Anthony basically being in the same age group, Alexis’s evil-spirited sibling showed Anthony no mercy. Despite the fact that Dre’s mother and Anthony’s granny were so close, Dre seemed to go harder on his neighbor.

  Making their way back down the stairs as quickly as possible, they noticed Dre’s voice getting closer in the backyard area. Realizing they couldn’t leave the same way they’d come in, Anthony motioned for her to keep quiet and head toward the front. Unfortunately, some of Dre’s crew was posted on the front walkway, passing a blunt from person to person. Anthony and Alexis were trapped. They fled into the kitchen, then dipped off into a side room, what was once the pantry. As their hearts beat rapidly, Anthony fought not to have a full-blown asthma attack. He was wheezing, trying desperately to get air. Slipping his hand back in his front pocket, he realized he must have dropped his inhaler as he and Alexis were trying to escape Dre’s certain wrath. Still trying to remain still, he glanced over to the middle of the kitchen floor and saw the lifesaving instrument lying near the spot where a stove once was.

  Alexis knew she had to do something to help her friend. She knew there was no need for Ant
hony to be rushed to the hospital on the humble because her brother and his crew always wanted trouble. With the quickness, she darted out of hiding and snatched up Anthony’s inhaler. She rushed to give it to him, and he happily took it out of her small hands, then raised it to his lips and took two long puffs, closing his eyes. Anthony’s only hope now was that Dre and his crew would vacate the premises without causing any trouble.

  “Drag that dumb motherfucker in here. His ass gonna pay up with blood for fucking up my damn bag,” Dre ordered one of his followers, who did as he was told.

  Alexis’s eyes grew twice their size as she listened to her brother stomp out some guy who supposedly owed him money. With his friends rooting him on, Dre ruthlessly increased the intensity of his tirade, and the boy’s earsplitting pleas for mercy grew louder. After what seemed like an eternity, Alexis’s older brother finally stopped. She and Anthony heard Dre and his homeboys talking about how his victim couldn’t take a beating like a real G and what a bitch-ass nigga he was. A few moments later Alexis heard the small kitten meow once more from the other room. Then a sound she’d never forget followed: a squealing, agonizing moan. In its last moments the innocent animal saw the sole of Dre’s sneaker come crashing down on its tiny body. Showing no compassion, the hooligans, led by Dre, left the abandoned house. Seemingly with no remorse, they could be heard laughing while walking along the side windows.

  Making sure it was safe to come out of hiding, Anthony promised Alexis that no matter what, he’d always look out for her. The two then peeked around the corner and saw the poor kitten’s lifeless body over in the far corner. Then they saw the rear of the boy’s head. When his body and arms started to shake, Anthony realized the teen, who was barely older than he was, was having a seizure. Immediately, he stepped in and helped him the best he could. After making sure the boy was somewhat calm, Anthony and Alexis rushed out the rear doorway. After jumping through the grass and running down the driveway, scared and confused, they darted across the street to Anthony’s house.