Play by No Rules: 1, #1

By Nasir Dempsey

After serving a decade Michael Johnson is released from prison no longer a boy trying to fill a man's shoes. He is determined to make a better life for himself and his younger sister, Mikayla. One that he would do what ever to get. His childhood best friend Trel has a firm hold on the streets of Dover, Delaware and turns him onto a level of the game he never knew existed. After taking his rightful place amongst Trel's crew Mike's life changed fast. Too fast!  Everything was all good… until deceit and treachery manifested inside the crew. Lines got crossed turning friends to enemies threatening to take everything Mike loves from him. Rules of the streets were long ago established to maintain order. But what happens when nobody plays by the rules? Play By No Rules is a tale of murder, love and betrayal where everyone breaks the rules… even Mike.

• Language: English
• Publisher: nasir
• Release date: May 23, 2021
• ISBN: 9780578762579

Book preview

img_0.jpgimg_1.jpg

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

Copyright © 2021 by Nasir

All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

The Library of Congress Cataloging-In-Publication Data

Published by R-Way Publishing

PLAY BY NO RULES by Nasir

LCCN 2020917466

Content Editor R-Way Publishing

Proofreader R-Way Publishing

Printed in the United States of America

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to my brother Thomas Jungle Gilbert, Emmit Dub Brown and Blayton Rocoe Palmer. May their memories live on and may they rest in peace.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I wish that I could be like most author’s, who in their acknowledgments give thanks to a list of people. People who believed in them, encourage them, stuck by their side when they needed them the most. For me, that wasn’t the case. During the process of me trying to find a better way to provide for myself and my daughter, other then what got me this 5 year sentence I’m presently serving; I’ve been abandoned, belittled, had more people switch up on me than I can count on my fingers and toes. To add to that my brother was killed while I was writing this book. He was the only person that pushed me to find a better me in myself. He knew that I could be more than just a SBI number. I owe it to his memory to come out on top of this situation. All praise and thanks are Allah’s for giving me the strength to keep my pencil moving.

I have always had a passion for writing and began writing this book as a stress reliever, something to take me away from my cell. Somewhere down the line this book became a part of me. I went sleepless many nights, putting my pain into these pages that you’re about to read. Not just for me, but for anyone that’s been in my shoes and turned that pain into motivation. Thanks to my ahki Ab this was able to have life. You believed in me when no one else would even try to. You encouraged me to chase my vision and stayed with your foot on my neck. I appreciate you for that, always will. Insha Allah, (if Allah will’s) you’ll be rewarded. To those that read this book while it was still on yellow commissary paper, thank you for helping me through that phase.

Last but not least, those people who turned their backs, I thank y’all too. Because of y’all, I learned that what you go through doesn’t define you; how you come out of it does. To my baby girl, Aliyah, daddy loves you more than anything on this earth.

Free that boy Bando Flexx. #JUNGLEWAY

-NASIR

Synopsis

After serving a decade Michael Johnson is released from prison no longer a boy trying to fill a man’s shoes. He is determined to make a better life for himself and his younger sister, Mikayla. One that he would do whatever to get. His childhood best friend Trel has a firm hold on the streets of Dover, Delaware and turns him onto a level of the game he never knew existed. After taking his rightful place amongst Trel’s crew Mike’s life changed fast. Too fast! Everything was all good… until deceit and treachery manifested inside the crew. Lines got crossed turning friends to enemies threatening to take everything Mike loves from him. Rules of the streets were long ago established to maintain order. But what happens when nobody plays by the rules?

Play By No Rules is a tale of murder, love and betrayal where everyone breaks the rules… even Mike.

1

Get Off!… Get Off of Me!

Her ear splitting screams were the first thing 15-year-old Michael heard as soon as he walked into his uncle’s house. They were loud, probably loud enough for the whole Cecil Street to hear them. Fearing she was in danger, he immediately panicked. He slammed the front door shut and sprinted up the stairs, heart beating like an African bass drum.

STOP IT! Please, stop!

A chill of fear vibrated throughout his body as he reached the last step at the top. The hallway was dark. The only lighting it showed was what crept from underneath the door at the end of the narrow hallway. His little sister’s room.

What was it? Why is she screaming like that? Those questions set fire to his mind as he quickly looked back and forth from her room door to his Uncle George’s, right by the top of the stairs. Mike was lost. He didn’t know what to do; run down to her room and see what was going on himself? Or wake his uncle up and have him go with him? He looked at George’s door again thinking he was most likely sleep, pissy drunk, dead to the world as usual.

STOP! she cried out again from the distance. Her helpless pleas echoed through the walls of the quiet house.

Fuck, Mike thought. Too much time was being wasted. He needed to make up his mind quick. It was now or never. He quickly stepped over to his uncle’s door turning the knob; opening the door up to pure darkness. The silhouette of his uncle’s big body was visible in the bed. Uncle George, Mike whispered inhaling the stale odor of cigarette smoke and alcohol that lingered in the room. Uncle George, he said a little louder. His uncle didn’t reply or move. Mike stepped into the room and hit the switch on the wall, surprised to see a mountain of clothes on the bed where he thought George was. Where is he? Mike questioned himself looking down at six empty Old English bottles on the floor next to the bed.

He was lost before, now he was powerless. George was his last resort, his backing, the boost of confidence he needed to go down to her room. He was about to abort his search when he remembered something that made him run to this uncle’s bed and lift the mattress. There it was. His substitute for George’s absence. It looked up at him assuring him that it would be what he needed to overcome his fears, so he picked up the silver 38 snub and ran out of his uncle’s room.

The squeaking bed echoed from the other side of the makeshift door. Mike jiggled the door knob. It was locked. He took a step back and kicked the door hard as he could. BOOM! The door flew open, banging into the wall. Mike stepped into the room and froze; stunned as he watched his uncle quickly jump up off top of Mikayla, his 12-year-old sister. Nephew this ain’t what you think, George slurred pulling up his jeans. He resembled their mother so much that it hurt to look at him at that moment. They had the same wide nose and dark chocolate skin. His afro was field slave nappy, eyes bloodshot. Sweat beads covered his forehead. At the bottom of his dingy white t-shirt was blotches of red stains. His niece’s blood.

Mike tightly gripped the gun’s handle looking past George at his little sister. She looked terrified. Her ponytail was wild, ruffled. She hysterically cried tears pulling her pink and blue Dora the Explorer blanket up to her chin, covering her violated body. With every tear that streamed down her light skinned face, Mike felt what she was feeling. Hurt.

Nephew gon head put that damn gun down so we can talk like men, George reasoned staggering towards Mike with his hands up.

Like men? Mike questioned, disgusted. This what men do? Rape they nieces! You ain’t a man.

Nephew I -

Shut up! Mike yelled, tears leaking from his eyes. My momma, yo little sister, died and left us with you and this what you do. This what you do! He screamed, pointing the gun at his uncle.

George dropped his hands. Boy, yo momma ain’t even want y’all. Both of y’all ain’t nothing but trick babies. Look at you, bout dark as me and her… he said pointing at Mikayla. That cracker raped my sister and gave her ass HIV and a half white baby to remind her of it!"

No, No. Mike shook his head, hurt by the truth he was never told.

Mikey please, Mikayla’s little voice cried. Please don’t, she pleaded.

Boy you best listen to that girl fo I come over there and -.

BOOM! BOOM!

Mike squeezed the trigger twice hitting his uncle in the chest. AHHH! George howled out in pain, clutching his chest as he stumbled backwards falling hard. Mikayla pulled the blanket over her head. She didn’t want to see what was going to happen next. She continued to cry, this time for her brother.

Slowly, Mike walked over to George. He stood over him thinking of all the fucked up things that happened to him. His mom suddenly dying, the random ass whooping’s from George, the many nights he went to sleep hungry, stomach touching his spine. George raping his little sister intensified those pains to the point it numbed him and made him cold.

Hey, hey, stop! Come on nephew just stop, George pleaded, looking up at Mike clutching the front of his blood soaked shirt, sounding exactly like Mikayla sounded as he took her innocence away from her. Think bout what you doing. We can forget this ever happened. Me and you, we can -

BOOM! …

Michael? Did you hear me… Michael?

Huh? what you say Ms. Connors? Mike replied snapping out of his 10-year-old nightmare. He sat on the opposite side of her desk in her office. The air conditioned small office is cool and comfortable. It had all the makings of a professional work environment until the steel bars outside of the windows came into view.

You went far left on me for a minute there, Ms. Connors said smiling. She’s a pretty big boned white woman that teased 300 lbs. She has long blonde hair and powder blue eyes. Mike could tell she valued her image because her eyebrows and nails were always on point and she always smells like fresh fruit. I asked you, did you understand what landed you in this predicament?

Yeah, I smoked my uncle, he replied with a look on his face that said duh.

No Michael, well yes, but that isn’t what I meant. I meant you taking justice into your own hands when there is an entire legal system in place for people like your uncle.

Mike folded his arms, leaning to the side in the metal chair he sat in. His bald head shined just like the Murray’s grease glistening in his thick full beard. He wore a white D.O.C. uniform and brown boots. The same as every other inmate at James T. Vaughn Correctional Facility. So what do you suggest I should have done?

Call the police, Ms. Connors replied matter of factly.

Mike laughed. They have been having these same kind of talks for seven years now and she still didn’t get it. She didn’t understand him and never would. How could she? Someone who was raised in suburban America and never struggled a day in their lives couldn’t relate to him. How much he talked to her about his life wasn’t going to close that gap either. She isn’t a young black man hated by society. She didn’t grow up fatherless. Her mother didn’t die from HIV. She wasn’t labeled heartless by a judge as a kid for murdering her rapist uncle. What is it that gives people like her the power to pass judgement on a person like him? Their degrees? Can a class teach people to understand things far deeper than words? Something more intense than anything that can be put on paper. From Mike’s point of view things like pain, starvation and struggle can only be understood if experienced. There is no grey area.

Check this out Ms. Connors, legally I understand that there are laws meant to be followed, like… rules. But where I’m from don’t nobody play by no rules. You do what you feel is right and take the consequences when they come. I mean, I did what I did and took 10 years on the chin. Would I have done it differently if I could go back…probably not.

Why do I get the impression that this isn’t the last time we’ll see each other, Ms. Connors suggested. It’s like you haven’t learned the lesson attached to your sentence Michael.

It is. My bidding days are over, Mike assured with a smile. Ms. Connors nodded, but what she didn’t know is he really meant he would hold court in the streets before spending another day in a cell.

That’s great Michael. You’re a smart kid with a lot of life still ahead of you. You’re only what, 25, that’s fairly young. I know life started out bad for you, but it doesn’t have to end that way. This second chance you have many inmates here will never get. I suggest that when you leave tomorrow you take advantage of that. Write a new chapter for yourself. One where you let’s say… play by the rules.

72, 73, 74, ah!…75

When Mike got back to his tier he stood in the open doorway of his small cell watching his celly doing push-ups. He finished his set and got up off the rough, grey, concrete floor. His celly Biggs stood 6’3, tall and wide like a NFL tight end. Sweat dripped down his dark brown face onto the front of his t-shirt, making the thin fabric cling to his broad chest and muscular arms. He looked exactly like the nickname Mike had given him.

Come on debo, Mike joked, entering the cell. I told you if you get any bigger you ain’t gon be able to wipe yo own ass.

Biggs smiled. Every time you come back from your lil meetings with your girlfriend you got jokes, he played back, voice smooth and deep like the man in those State Farm commercials. What she was talking bout?

Same bullshit. Be smart Michael, you have so much potential Michael, you should’ve called the police instead of smoking your bum ass uncle Michael, he replied in a female’s voice.

No, she ain’t say that did she?

Nah, that last one was me.

Biggs laughed. He knew Mike hated his weekly trips to the counselor because he had no choice but to go to them, they’re court ordered. She kinda right though bro, it’s too much going on out there for niggas to be jacking wreck, fuck around and end up right back in this bitch. Biggs sat on the bottom bunk and kicked his size 14 boots off. This nut shit finally over for you tomorrow, what you gon do? he asked taking his sweaty socks off.

On the real bro, I don’t even know yet. Seeing all these niggas leave and come right back got me wanting to get a job and fall back, be a square on some shit. What else is there to do anyway?

"Nigga, get money and fuck bitches; fuck you mean. Yo I don’t know bout you, but somebody bitch getting pregnant soon as I touch. It’s ready be a hundred little black ass me’s running around, no bullshit.

You wild as shit, Mike laughed, picturing a whole gang of Billy Blanks looking kids running wild. I’m with you on that my nigga. I was talking to my man Trel last night, he wants me to rock out with him and his niggas, but I really ain’t trying jump head first in the mix like that.

Biggs looked at him like everything they talked about every since they been in this cell together went over his head. Five long years of plotting and scheming couldn’t have went in one ear and out the other. "Dog, I already told you I can plug you in with my big brother. I done said it a hundred times. I don’t know exactly what bro getting into but he stupid up. You see I ain’t missed commissary