Baby Chicago: To Walk Tall, #1

By Keyawn Jackson

What Use Is a Clean Soul, When the City Around You is Dirty as Sin?

 

Fatherless and as good as motherless, Messiah "Mash" Bankfield must shake his nagging religion from his consious if he wants to level up in a city centered around the 90's drug boom, twisted sexual exploitation, hardcore hip hop, and deep ghetto philosophy. Even if it requires hustling the same stuff that turned his child-abusing mother into a dope fiend or taking out the big homies who showed him love, some things just must be.

 

Shaped by the unsavory lifestyle of his sugar-daddy seeking sister, Tether, and haunted by the spirit of his deceased, righteous grandmother, Mash sinks deeper into the darkness. Sacrifices have to be made in order for him to take the title as the man of the house and make his bones as a young O.G. on both sides of the tracks. By age 15, he may have the heartlessness to sacrifice his scandalous cousin and the game to pimp his unknowing enemies, but will his savage ambition cost him his soul?

 

If you love moral complexity, slick-talking characters, thugs' sucker attacks, and graffiti-vivid introspection, then you'll find Keyawn Jackson's raw cautionary tale to be crazy illuminating, and just as chilling as it is hilarious. Baby Chicago is a riveting book series riding the wave of urban existence from the elders' spooky church sayings down to the dope boys' dice-game side betting. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Keyawn Jackson
• Release date: Aug 10, 2021
• ISBN: 9781735903927

Book preview

Chapter 1

"And darkness was upon the face of the deep ..." Creating his own impression of wind and pastoring, the church van man made his body microphone swoosh along the ruffles of his glowing raiment. The outline of his bare black body underneath the robe glowed like online stick figure hangman.

As he sauntered to the pulpit, the drama. The yes, Lord! Drums. The choir stands (yes, once again) and croons a medley of old-negro spirituals. The melodic benediction intro spirals around the blind dishing out of one’s funds in the name of goodness.

Givin’ our God on high much as he giveth you from up on hiiigh, a dollar my God I won’t denyyyy!

Deacons take to their easy-readers and walking canes. The lead symphonist's sequins tinkle as he stamps the organ pedals to pound the jam down in the bones of the church-goers’ dancing feet.

With his gay ass.

...church don’t judge nobody. Specially not you lil crazy lil niggas in the streets, can I get a a-man...

No judgment zone, ayman! All our righteousness is as is as monthlies, so may he who is without free will stone cast the fust stone. Preach on, now, Pastuh.

For him to just be good at playin’ church, Pastor sho do gotta nice glow goin’ on for hisself in glory of the mighty good Lord. Bet not a lick a lint stick.

That ain’t no glow. Them niggas juss some greedy, greasy, preachas.

Girl, shut you mouf.

We touch and agree, yess, Lord.

Nah, bitch, I ain’t said I done ‘greed shit. Shutcha goddamn mouf. Breaf godamnit stank.

Y’all don’t need no arguing ‘fore you draw preacher nem all way back this way.

But that breath hit like fightin’ words. Stank so bad, I missed what scripture he tell us go to.

Oh, so we usin’ scripture now, I see now? Coulda hadda fooled the hell outta me, then, cause I don’t never recall none of these reverends ever sayin’ it how it say it go. Greater hell fire they ass got it comin’ if they know and don’t show.

Don’t no man of The Most High get up and shave his face tony-baloney, bald like that, first off.

Black man ‘posed to grow all his face and his hair out cause the Lord want ‘eem look in the mirror and see the king of the jungle in his reflection.

They done sent collections round ‘nough this service for taxes should just let us keep most our money back this Easter season.

If the anointed prophet of Our Lord Jesus Christ say to me the Lord said sow my refund for the affairs of the kingdom, then hey!

Now, that’s highway robbery.

I got my ticket for my golden shoes when I get to heaven been bought, my sins done been –uh – redeemed for, and my weary soul’s been anchored in the Lord. I got shoes goin’ to shout all over God’s heaven. What kinda robe you gone wear?

I’m gettin’ me one bright like that ‘en there bishop ‘nem wear.

Nah, yeain’t gettin’ them. You gotta go into the holy of holies to get the anointing ‘fore you touch that fabric. Prayer, fastin’, meditation.

I peeped my head in there before, and trust me, them preachers be in there doin’ everythang but fastin’ and prayin’.

Faster a dick in the mouth, the minister told the strugglin’ sistah, the faster the season of harvest.

If it’s true satan himself will appear as a angel of light who know somethin’ ‘bout that music, the devil ain’t got shit on Mount Everest Ebenezer Happy Baptist by the Alley.

Cause ain’t no party like a holy ghost party, cause a holy ghost party don’t stop.

Jammin’ in Jesus name!

Shh. Here he come. Lord know I sin, but I hope he don’t single me out. Ain’t nobody got time for be up in here all day. I got work in the mornin'.

He picked Messiah.

Look like he floatin’ on air with a bible in his hand.

New pair of alligator wing tips on the house of the Lord every week, I a think I can fly too. Birdman, daddeh.

Who say negroes ain’t superheroes, big baby?

...oh, young mighty men of valor, mighty women of faith, young men of faith, albeit a mustard seed, spit ya gum out, and come to Christ who has come to comfort me and you, as we shout praises at the gates. Somethin’ heavy been on my spirit heavy since – I tossed and turned my sleep late in the midnight hour last night, fell out the bed straight into worship on my face, yet in truth and in my spirit. God woke me up. Not just woke me up. But he put a new song in my mouth. I don’t know who I’m talkin’ to. But God tell me tell you lift yo’ eyes to the hills from the way of all your unrighteous ways, and the Lord shall make provision to steal you away to a land flowing of milk and honey, for all his sheep, who he know they know him by name. Honor the commandments. Obedience is better than sacrifice, but sacrifice, oh, if it wasn’t no sacrifice, wouldn’t be no afterlife. No sacrifice, no afterlife. Huh! cau-cau-cau-cause somehow, I knew. Somehow I knew early...

Damn, this nigga spittin’, already.

Take ya time, rev’ren.

Take ya time Mister Church Van Man.

...on Today this glorious Lord’s morning, it was gone be some kinda special soul needin’ savin’ under the mighty blood layed on my vocal cords, for the salvation of all ye called to church. Good Lord gone save all the young man under the divine powerful command of my voice. And there was a shout from heaven! If you out there, come to God or God gone come to you! Cause if God come down yo’ porch, his ‘proach might ruffle some feathers.

You in my neighborhood, now, pastor!

They listenin.’ But I don’t think they hear you!

Ooh you steppin’ on some toes, now, pastor! And they ain’t none uh me and mine.

That’s why at the ‘pointed time such as this, God always gone send the word through you, faithful armor bearer, good and faithful servant. The ram in the bush got scars on his horns. Ain’t nobody perfect. The best vessels done been through ringer.

Won’t be the first time our Father who art in heaven done talked out a ass before.

Rejoice and shout O’ daughter of Zion Jerusalem: behold, thy King cometh riding upon an ass, and upon a colt the foal of an ass.

And the LORD their God shall save them in that day as the flock of his people: for they shall be as the stones of a crown, lifted up as sign on his land.

He talkin’ to Messiah.

He been led in the spirit to save a lost soul. He just don’t know his name.

Everybody know everybody, ain’t no spirit tellin’ these nosy niggas shit but some mess.

This the message. The mess. The age. The age of mess.

Somebody, make his lil butt gone on up there so they don’t tiptoe all the altar call dollar baskets back down my way.

Lord, swing my way, I got money to blow and can never tell the Lord no.

Service ‘posed to been over like six songs ago. I’m about to go back to goin’ to havin’ church where white people worship. Niggas act like they ain’t got no lives outside of church, then be the main ones cryin’ tal’m about who or what they ain’t got the time for.

I thought somebody said yo’ man went out to get you a can of soda and a pack of squares, and ain’t never come back.

That’s why she mad?

What would you have done differently, had you known there was one in your midst before you took that person for granted?

Gotta feed these niggas wit’ a long spoon or they gone bite the hand that feed ‘em.

But it’s easier to watch their true colors when you ain’t around them. When you around them, they ain’t gone be theyselves. Only if these walls could talk. But Jehovah’s beaming eyes examine the sons of men.

Jehovah the omniscient know that fuck shit you did last summer. He knows when you’ve been naughty or nice.

Lil Messiah look smart, but som’n off ‘bout him. Don’t seem to me like he never got no friends round.

That smell. He too lil to be smellin’ that strong. Stronger than rapist grip.

Awright, then one y’all need to go tell Messiah just stand up, get it over with, for we can go. Somebody gotta take one for the team or else the pastor gone come bent all over here sweatin’ and thangs.

How you know, and ain’t been this worship service ‘fore now?

They all got that same drag, same swag, just new old oil on new doo rags.

I see you done shook plenty enough baby powder on ya chest for the both us, big sexy. You must be coming right back up to the thang they having later this edenin’.

I would, but he ain’t even the real pastuh. He just the damn church van man.

Aw, shit, bitch, where my purse? I need the word from the ordained man of God, not no substitute preacher. I ain’t no babe in Christ. The hell.

What he so fired up for then, he ain’t no real preacher? You know the only fat boy on the team they don’t let play ‘less the quarterback get rest. That’s him. Pastor’s lil bible holders can’t wait for him to die for they can get next.

I don’t care who got next. Can he preach? Can he have church? I pay for what I want.

You got it twisted. Hunt for ya wants. Pray for your needs. God ain’t said a thang about want. Niggas always want the wrong shit.

And Jehovah-jireh know all you ask for before you ask him to provide it.

Lord, if you readin’ my mind, get us a real preacher back in the house or keep our current preacher from been so stayed on the-sick-and-shut-in. Amen.

Well, the one, they let up there, he still mad don’t nobody won’t invite him to preach the word on the regular. I can barely stand his voice after a hoot or too, let alone don’t want him doin’ my damn eulogy. And don’t want nobody eatin’ no macaroni, chicken over my goddamn body.

Me personally, now I likes him, but that’s just me. But some people say he likes to gets besides hisself sometimes too much, but it’s different horses for different courses.

I thought I was the only one done felt him deep inside of me, make me respect where he comin’ from in a different light.

Trick, don’t tell me both y’all been fuckin’ this big black nigga, not let me know nothin’. The struggle is trill. The fughk.

Nah, it ain’t even like that, so don’t get to jumpin’ lines, sis. I fucked him one time. That was it for me. I don’t know how that bitch suckin’ all that dick. God bless her blood-raw swoll glands.

I hate yo’ guts.

Cause I ain’t never gave you none?

Heard you can’t take no dick, sista, so believe me, I to'lly undatands. Her ass can handle it though. I know I shouldn’t be lookin’ but it’s hard not to stare. Ass fat than a muhfucka, fuh- real, fuh-real, ‘specially to be that old.

I a hit that shit. Shiiid, his ass be fuckin’ on all these lonely lost women in the church. I know drug dealers that’s nicer than that. So yeah, I a put it in her life just to give him a tester of his own dope.

That ain’t his wife. She just his special helper – or whatever. So, messin’ with her ain’t gone do nothing but get you put out the church for good again.

Yeah, the boy, Messiah, them her kids. Girl name Tether. I think she just got them two. Last time she got out there on that dope, she lost a couple. Lucky if her ass ain’t got AIDS too.

Shiiid, if she got it, that mean, the whole van might get it eventually.

This lil Baby Chicago. Issa circle. Kissing cousins killing cousins make for the craziest stories in this lil shit town. But you gotta love it...love it, not enough to get stuck on it.

I’m still stuck on the preacher’s wife...well, not wife, whatever she is.

Don’t lust in church.

Ain’t nobody lustin’. I used to run the streets with that lady. Quiet as kept, she way rougher than a lotta you dudes. My thing is, how that thang gone wait and get all them miles on it to give it to the Lord.

Well, she need to tell her dude-uncle-mistah-preacher, homie-lover-friend, his ass need to at least look at a scripture ‘fore he tell us to open up the good book.

He the church van man. Pastor got sick. And this the onliest time he get to get his shine on without outshining the master.

Well, kiss Miss Lucy’s ass, good minister done floated down ove’ top the boy like a white dove and liked to fooled the virgin Mary, holeh- ghost shouts shits outta me.

Done let ‘im snuck up on my ass just as well. Well, he can come over here all he wanna...all mah money gone, Christ Jesus. I done let the hoes beat ya to it, sweet Lord.

Y’all the most cussin’est denomination I done visited. I was just tryin’ to see what’s out here, but now I know, fuck this church foolery y’all got goin’ on.

"I’m right there witcha, Sis. False prophets