Young and Hungry

by Ms. Michel Moore

  With that business taken care of, Black Tone called Amir back and reassured him that he’d be covered well before nightfall and certain anarchy ensued. Before he could get his granny’s necessities packed and could jump in the shower, his cell rang again.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Detroit Receiving Hospital, just like all the other medical facilities, was only hours away from shutting its doors. It, too, was going to be affected by the power outage promised by the mayor and signed off on by the governor. Although it had enormous backup generators in place for cases of emergency, the chief operating officer of the medical complex had issued a mandatory order. All non-life-threatening cases were to be immediately expelled from the building. If you could walk on your own, you could leave, was the general mind-set. For Li’l Ronnie, who had stumbled into the emergency room the night before, complaining about his ribs feeling broken, his jaw being swollen, and a bone in his leg aching, that meant him. Lucky enough to have had an X-ray and gotten positive results, meaning he had no severe injuries, he was good to go. The doctor on duty gave him two high-milligram pain pills and advised him to take an over-the-counter aspirin if his discomfort continued.

  Li’l Ronnie’s body was aching and bruised up pretty bad. Black Tone had kept his word about being brief with him. He had left a lasting impression on the young boy not only physically, but mentally as well. For all the extreme soreness his body was suffering from, his pride hurt more. Nursing a serious hangover to boot, part of him wanted to lie down and sleep for a good week or so. The wannabe tough thug’s stomach was roiling. He had the runs, and his throat was dry.

  Limping out to his car, Li’l Ronnie was met with the same urgency from everyone in the parking lot as he had been inside the hospital. They all needed to get home or to their businesses before noon. Each person knew that normally, the real crime in the D came after dark, but today even the afternoon would be considered dark. As he roared out of the gated lot and onto the street, Li’l Ronnie powered his cell back on. He’d heard some of the doctors, nurses, and other staff members claim that the city was going dark and that was why the building was practically being evacuated until further notice, but he’d yet to see it posted on the hood bible, Facebook.

  Damn. This shit really going down. His head was pounding overtime as the brightness of the sun invaded every window of the vehicle. Tossing his cell over on the passenger seat, Li’l Ronnie jumped down on the freeway and headed toward the East Side. Given that he was nursing his lumps and bruises, every pothole he hit felt like Black Tone was still laying hands on him. By the time he got to his exit, Li’l Ronnie was just as heated from the humiliating beat down he’d suffered as he was when it had just occurred. Pulling up in front of his uncle’s house, he saw more street soldiers than usual posted up around the dwelling and on each corner, serving as lookouts. Glancing up in the mirror, he was disgusted with the way his face looked. Seconds after putting one foot out of the truck, Li’l Ronnie started to get clowned about his appearance. Besides his face, his clothes were, of course, dirty. His shirt was torn and out of shape around the collar, and the knee areas of his jeans were ripped.

  “Damn, my nigga. What truck you run into?” one of the street soldiers asked.

  “Don’t worry about all that. I’m good with mines,” Li’l Ronnie responded, trying not to limp.

  “All right, playboy. Don’t get tough toned with me. I ain’t the one that got your soft ass all the way together. But if you looking for a round two . . .”

  Li’l Ronnie wasn’t in the mood to go head up with anyone else, so he just kept it moving. After allowing the black steel security gate to slam closed behind him, he was soon face-to-face with his uncle. Ashamed of his appearance, he lowered his head when he sat down on the couch. “Hey, Unc. What up, doe?”

  “Yeah, Ronnie, what’s good? Where you been?” He barely looked up from counting his money.

  Li’l Ronnie knew his mother’s older brother could smell a load of bullshit coming from a mile away and decided to keep things real. “Unc, I been down at the fucking hospital. I was down at the club last night, and this ho-ass buster tried it with me.”

  “Oh yeah? Is that right?” He momentarily looked up and ignored his nephew’s facial lumps, knowing what was about to happen next. Here comes this slick game he always running when he fuck up.

  Li’l Ronnie started to run down his version of what had taken place. He made sure to include that his supposed homeboys had abandoned him. And excluded the fact that he had been beyond drunk and belligerent. “Yeah, Uncle, they was some weak-ass motherfuckers. You need to straight take them off the ticket. They don’t need to get another dollar off any bag you put out there!”

  “Is that right? Take them little soldiers you begged me to put on in the first place off the payroll because they ain’t stand tall with you on no bullshit! Nigga, it’s about to be a full-blown lights out around the city, and you here sounding straight pussy ’cause you got your ass handed to you. You really need to check yourself.”

  “But, Uncle, that fake police bouncer at Detroit Live was calling you out. Saying your dope wasn’t shit and neither was you. On some family loyalty, I had to step to him,” Li’l Ronnie lied, hoping to persuade his uncle Ethan to be on his side. “It was that bitch nigga named Black Tone. He needs his ass handed to him East Side style!”

  Ethan had had about enough. He, like all his crew, understood the importance of what was going to take place in the hours to follow. He knew this type of shit happened only in movies like The Purge or something. He had different spots and stash houses that had to be protected and runners on the streets that had to double tool up just in case a rival crew wanted to make a move on their territory, which they’d fought so hard for.

  “Listen up, youngin’. You think I don’t know what happened last night? You think I ain’t got eyes and ears down at Detroit Live and damn near every other club in the city? I already know you was down there acting a straight-up fool. I got the word from more than a few folks you was up there throwing my name around, like I cosign that ‘get drunk, act a fool clown’ shit. I done told you to stop using my name like it’s a game out here in these streets. Constantly disobeying me ain’t what you want!”

  “But,” Li’l Ronnie protested. He had tried to interrupt and stick to his story, but his uncle had stopped him. He knew exactly who his uncle meant when he’d said “a few folks.” That damn Sable. Li’l Ronnie wanted to hate his ex for throwing him to the curb when he got locked up and for then linking up with his uncle, but he couldn’t. Deep down inside he still loved her and always would. From time to time he’d go down to the club Sable danced at under the pretense of watching a few of the other dancers, but he always ended up tipping her.

  “But!” Ethan was done with his worrisome nephew all together. Despite all the favoritism he had always been shown, he still couldn’t do right. If he wasn’t fucking up the count, stepping on the product, or just plain drawing too much unwanted attention to the team, he was doing what he had done the night before: trying to use the next man’s name to get a pass. “But nothing, dawg. In about an hour these lights about to go dark, and we gotta be ready. So real talk, even though I need all hands on deck tonight, your dumb ass is a liability. So take this here.” Ethan peeled off a couple of hundred-dollar bills and tossed them onto the coffee table. “You can take that grip and get out my sight for a week or two. Until further notice, your wild ass unemployed indefinitely, so you might need to just raise up and out.”

  Li’l Ronnie was heated. He couldn’t believe his uncle, his own blood, would turn him out into the street like this. He’d been riding with him ever since he was fourteen, and now because some bitch nigga who wanted to get brownie points had snitched on him, his uncle had turned him out. As far as Li’l Ronnie was concerned, he’d suffered enough. First, he was violated by Black Tone, and now Ethan was turning his back on him. With malice in his heart, Li’l Ronnie stood to his feet. Staring down at the money on the coffe
e table, he could only shake his head in denial. It had come down to this.

  “So you just think you can say, ‘Fuck you. You’re out the game,” just like that? I’m on vacation, or what the hell did you call it? Unemployed until further notice? Come on, Uncle. You know me better than that. You know I’m not just gonna let that shit be. That goofy faggot gonna pay.”

  Ethan jumped to his feet. Fighting the temptation to have some of the fellas put in a small bit of “Act right” handwork on his kin, he felt this was personal. Rushing up on his sister’s son, he startled Li’l Ronnie, as well as his crew, which was posted inside the house as well as out. Using his forearm, the seasoned gangster shoved it underneath the shocked youth’s neck. Locking eyes with him, Ethan swore that if he didn’t give up the idea of getting revenge on Black Tone and anyone else affiliated with Detroit Live, he would fix it so Li’l Ronnie never rolled in the city again, for him or the next man.

  “I hope you understand the words coming out my fucking mouth. You go back down to that club or any other one in a hundred-mile radius, shouting my name, on my dead sister’s grave, you gonna join her in the pine box.”

  Disgusted, Ethan let Li’l Ronnie go. He knew by the expression on his nephew’s face that he was hurt and humiliated. Nevertheless, business was business, and the East Side kingpin was fed up with always having to fix things and kiss ass. This time Li’l Ronnie had really overstepped his boundaries at the wrong club. Ethan’s tone grew more furious as he signaled for his right-hand man, Bersek, to remove the source of his problem. “Yo, dawg. Get this troublemaking, beige-colored little nigga outta here while I call down to Detroit Live and make shit right.”

  Feeling he was out in the world alone, Li’l Ronnie hobbled back to his truck. Fuck family. Family ain’t about shit! That nigga took my girl while I was gone. Now he taking my money and hustle! Not only had he received zero sympathy and zero backup, which he had been hoping for when he pulled up, but the still stomach-bubbling Li’l Ronnie had got blessed with a rude awakening. This made twice in a twenty-four-hour time span that he’d been treated like he was no more than a piece of shit.

  Just as he started the engine, his cell vibrated. He looked at the screen and saw a small Instagram icon notification in the top corner. Tapping the icon took him to the page of a thirst-trap female he knew from around the way, one who was with Sable the night before. What this sack-chasing tramp want! Out of the blue, she’d tagged him in some random video. He pushed the arrow that had appeared on his screen, the sound to the video came on. Son of a bitch! Fuck the world! Now I know I’m gonna body that nigga! Speechless, he replayed the thirty-one-second recording of Black Tone recklessly getting him all the way together several times.

  Li’l Ronnie couldn’t believe what he was seeing, what the entire world was now seeing, thanks to social media. Enraged, he knew he couldn’t just go out like that. Li’l Ronnie knew he couldn’t hold his head up in the city anymore if he did. Motherfuckers gonna feel me tonight for sure. The streets gonna run red! Throwing his cell down onto the passenger-side floor, the bloodthirsty thug was pissed. After putting the truck in drive, he slammed his foot down on the gas pedal and skirted off. As he drove, Li’l Ronnie swallowed a huge lump in his throat, knowing today was the day he’d have to commit open murder.

  * * *

  Amir was glad Black Tone was going to be on his way soon. Although he, like his younger brothers, kept a gun on his hip, one pistol was not going to be enough. When the city went dark, it would take the National Guard and police from several jurisdictions to maintain law and order. Sitting back in his office, he stared at all fourteen surveillance cameras located both inside the club and out. He knew that shortly they would go blank and Black Tone would have to do foot patrols around the perimeter until daybreak. The one good thing was that Detroit Live was located in the downtown area of town, near the river and police headquarters. That didn’t make him exempt from the possible danger that other high-crime zip codes would surely endure, but it eased his worry some.

  Amir’s party store was definitely at stake. It was located in the heart of the hood, and so he knew that the chances of it coming away unbroken into, or possibly worse, were low. If he was to bet all his money, legally and illegally made, on the fact that Pops would be happy come morning, he’d be broke. When speaking to him earlier, Amir had urged the elderly patriarch of the family to just lock the doors and secure the building the best they could and to ask Allah to protect their interests. Of course, Pops had thrown up in his son’s face that he wasn’t tucking tail and hiding like some coward female, so why should he? When Amir had explained to him that he knew the real reason why he and Black Tone had to hold the place down, Pops hadn’t liked it one bit but had completely understood. Amir felt that even though he couldn’t physically be there at the store, he could at least call and check in before noon.

  He dialed Mikey. “Hey. What’s good?” he asked after Mikey answered the landline.

  “Nothing much, big brother. We over here packing this shit up as much as we can. Pops already took two loads over to Uncle Mohamed’s.”

  Amir was relieved. Apparently, his conversation with Pops had paid off. Leaning back in the huge leather seat, he asked to speak to his father. After a few brief moments, his father was on the line. “Hey, so you took my advice, huh?”

  “Yes, only in the way that we have moved the majority of the expensive stuff and most of the other items those animals would want to break in and steal.”

  “Pops, I know that’s how you feel, and I guess I can kinda respect it, but you know better than to call them that. Who around you?”

  “Nobody is around me, Amir. And if one of them was, this is my store!”

  Amir knew he wasn’t going to get his extremely racist father to be politically correct in mixed company or otherwise. Over the years, while either working at a business or running his own business in Detroit, he’d seen and experienced it all when it came to dealing with the black man. Pops had been strong-armed and robbed, had had guns shoved in his face, ribs, and back. He’d been assaulted several times, spit on, talked about, threatened, and accused of financially raping the neighborhood with his prices. All that being said, his oldest son, Amir, understood the animosity.

  “Look, Pops. Nobody arguing that fact with you. I’m just saying to chill out a li’l bit, especially tonight. Mikey said you’ve been moving stuff out the store, so that’s good. You go ahead and get over to Uncle Mohamed’s and relax. I know Mikey and Hassan will hold us down as a family the best they can.”

  Pops could discern the uncertainty in his oldest’s tone but tried to keep up a brave front concerning the hours to come. “I wish you were here with them, but I know you have your own matters that have nothing to do with me and your brothers.”

  “Pops, please don’t start up again. I already told you the deal on why it’s so important for me to be down here at the club. Besides, the twins gonna help them hold things down tonight.”

  “Yes, that much is true, but it is your responsibility to stand tall with your brothers, not their cousins.”

  Amir needed to cut off the conversation turned guilt trip. He had to call Black Tone back and see how far along he and some of his crew were. It was only a short time before the unimaginable started to transpire.

  “Pops, head over to your brother’s store, and I will call you later to check in.” With that said, Amir pushed the END TALK icon.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The clock struck noon. As promised, one by one Detroit’s neighborhoods, which were already struggling to survive, started to lose power sporadically. First, the Southwest Side, the Delray and Palmer Park areas, and Brightmoor. Then Rosedale Park and clear over to East English Village. Things grew more dire with each passing moment. By twelve thirty, one o’clock the entire city’s municipal buildings were dark. It was starting to get painfully clear that what Motown residents and most of the world thought would or could never really take place indeed had. A ma
jor city within the United States of America had been deliberately cut off from the rest of the country. With the exception of some loyal police officers whose family resided outside the affected Detroit area and who had volunteered to patrol the streets in their own personal vehicles, the town was completely lawless.

  * * *

  “Okay, y’all. I was just up at the corner store, and Hassan and them already done shut down. They pussy all the way. But the gas stations are still pumping. They cranking, serving people out the front door only. They barely cracking the son of a bitch, but they getting the job done. Still making that money.”

  “You gotta be bullshittin’. Straight up for real, Dre?”

  “Yeah, for real, dawg. On everything I love, I told you shit was about to be on straight bang.” Dre clicked the light switch up and down. Then he smiled as he picked up the remote control. He tried unsuccessfully to turn the television on, further proving they had no power. He was elated. “And peep out at this gangster shit popping off. All them sand niggas up there strapped too, like they ready for a fucking war. I mean, they got them real choppers on deck.”

  “Strapped, strapped?”

  They stepped outside, and Dre’s hands and arms were flying as he explained what he’d just witnessed firsthand. “Yeah, boy. Strapped all the way live, like a motherfucker. AKs on they shoulders, with extra-long banana clips hanging out they back pockets, like it ain’t shit. Plus, they got some of that crazy overseas bullshit a nigga never seen before out in the streets.” He glanced around. “I mean, real talk, I can’t blame they Ali Baba asses. Fools up there on Linwood going nuts. It’s gonna be a long-ass day, not to mention night.” Taking a long pull from a Newport, Dre stood on the front porch, filling in his other homeboy, who’d just woken up. “I saw fools running down the street with pillowcases full of stuff they must’ve broke in somebody crib and stole.”