The Depths of Brooks

By WHITESHOOESZ READY

In the streets of westside Chicago, it's dangerous to be one foot in and one foot out,.  You must be all in or the consequences may be fatal.  Brooks walks the line

 

between the city blocks and his American Dream.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WHITESHOOESZ READY
• Release date: Dec 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201517830

Book preview

By WHITESHOOESZ READY

In the streets of Westside Chicago, it’s dangerous

to be one foot in and one foot out.  You must be all in or

the consequences may be fatal.  Brooks walks the line

between the city blocks and his American Dream. 

I

Tasty Sub & Fredine’s

––––––––

I figured out early in life that I could master the

streets and consistently excel at any educational level.  I

envisioned a more lucrative pursuit than working at the

flea market on the weekends or squeezing syrup into a

fucking snowball.  I aspired to be self-sufficient, a

matter of fact that was conditioned into my heart and

soul via images of Persia, my hardworking, humble

mother, and Lord, my family oriented, street, hustlin,

gangbangin brother.  Both these models, along with

television, the gaseous envelope of the inner-city, over-

worked, under-paid teachers, and a spiritually motivated

capacity to endure; all combined to form the eccentric,

me, Brooks.

Many of you shawties, like me, go to school to

please your mothers or to satisfy some intense hunger to

know shit.  The majority go because they don’t have a

choice. A minority of kids go to school for temporary

shelter and free food, then there’s me.  I attend school so

Mother Persia will be totally oblivious to the actuality

and gruesome nature of my other hats.  It may seem

deceptive and cruel, evolutionary even, my formula for

accomplishment.  I openly display the need for my

mother’s nurturing while instantaneously skimming the

script and inverting the understood gist.  My destination

requires a pitiless approach to the journey which

condemns my soul to a ruthless existence.  Maybe, but

my goal is my late, older brother Lord’s goal:  To sell

off 10,000, 10-inch safety pins, each holding 500 half-

inch plastic bags containing rocked up cocaine. Lord,

before being robbed and killed, diligently sold 5000 of

these 24-karat gold, four-inch safety pins.  Lord called

em’ pins.  He was pin-head, a hell-raiser.  Lord guided

me through each and every detail of importance within

his strategy to successfully serve fiends until his hearty

supply diminished.  I painted mental Picasso’s while

barely awake.  Most of the time while listening to Lord’s

stories, I fantasized about living them.  Thus, beginning

the conditioning of those circumstances into my virgin

understanding.

Brooks!

What Lord?

Brooks, tonight, me and Rosa . . .

"Lord, stop waiving that blicky at me!  What happened

with you and Rosa bro?"

"Brooks, I did something that’s going to change our lives

forever."

Lord, where? What happened? Where’s Rosa?

I was about to tell . . .

Lord, you said something about Rosa . . .

"Brooks, let me finish, begin . . . listen.  Rosa’s on

Kedzie at her momma house; she aiight.  Me

and Rosa robbed those niggas safe house over there by

the alley on Monticello & Division this morning."

"Lord, them dudes gettin’ money, they gone send them

niggas atchall now.  They know you and

Rosa bro!  Lord, they don’t play that shit, they pop

niggas for a lot less."

"Brooks . . . fuck them!  Me and Rosa wanted to kick it

on the gold coast tonight, so we hit them punks for 40

stacks, feel me?  After we put them thangs up, we went

on State Street and blew five stacks at Marshall Fields.  I

went and got us a room at the Palmer House.  Me and my

girl needed to relax after killing every motherfucker in

that apartment, men, women, and children.  A long soak

in the jacuzzi Brooks, and then we both went the fuck to

sleep. We got up about 7pm, got dougy, and took a cab

to the gold coast to eat dinner with and kidnap Rosa’s

stepfather, Dia."

Lord, are you serious?

Lord was as serious as cancer.  Lord went on to

tell me that Dia had tried to rape Rosa multiple times

since she was 10, but he was unsuccessful.  Rosa vowed

to punish him.  Lord and his French Vanilla – skinned,

brick house of a girlfriend were gonna roll the drunk.

It just so happened the drunk was Dia, one of the most

successful and respected drug- dealers in Chicago.  He

was also a pimp and Rosa’s mom was his main.  Lord,

dressed in a black Ralph Lauren tuxedo and Ferragamo

shoes, sat patiently inside the idling cab, as Rosa entered

the restaurant.  Inside the restaurant, Dia watched

attentively as his 5’10", 160 lb., 38-28-45, with

shimmering jet-black curls reaching down to the small of

her back, stepdaughter walked through the front door. 

Rosa’s dress was painted on with a red brush.  Her eyes

and jewels sparkled in the dim, candlelit setting.  Rosa’s

gait was the preferred sheet-music of the trumpeter. 

She’d earned the attention of every man, woman, and

child in the restaurant.  Dia immediately removed his ass

from the booth.  He had dismissed his goons, as he felt

comfortable, untouchable, in this part of town.  Rosa

opened her arms to reciprocate Dia’s embrace.  He

wrapped his arms around her waist.  As his squeeze

weakened, he gradually slid his hands down to Rosa’s

45-inch ass and hips, helping himself to two handfuls. 

Dia immediately ordered two more bottles of Veuve

Clicquot Rose Champagne.  After an hour of

slamming champagne flutes of Clicquot and vodka

tonics, Dia was completely shit-faced.  Rosa slipped off

one of her high-heeled pumps.  Then she poured vodka

into one of the glasses on the table.  Dia encouraged:

Drink, drink, let’s get fucked up tonight baby.

Instead of drinking from the glass of vodka, Rosa

stretched her leg until it was leaning against the table. 

She poured vodka all over her immaculately pedicured

toes.  Dia immediately lunged at Rosa’s feet before

sloppily slurping and sucking her toes.  Rosa flirtingly

pushed him into a horizontal position with her saturated

toes pressed against his forehead.  Dia, from the pleasant

pressure of Rosa’s soft foot, as he laid back, began to

snore before his head hit the cashmere cushion.  After

receiving a text message from Rosa, Lord walked in to

roll the drunk.  Lord and Rosa, each under an arm,

carried the comatose, heavy breathing corpse to the

awaiting taxi.  Finally, the taxi pulled up in front of Dia’s

mansion in Oak Park.  Lord and Rosa immediately

manipulated the heavy drunk until they could unload him

onto the porch swing.  This was Dia’s private residence,

meaning no one, not even his family, knew this place

existed.  Lord extended his pinky finger toward Rosa’s

hand and she instinctively gripped his pinky finger with

hers.  Lord and Rosa opened the expansive front doors

and were awestruck at the absolute grandeur of the foyer. 

The staircase, columns, fountains, walls; everything was

white marble and limestone.  All the trimmings were

Swarovski crystal, from the light switches to the

chandeliers. Lord was as focused as a watchmaker

assembling all the very best components to ensure

durability, accuracy and reliability.  Lord and Rosa held

hands while taking a leisurely stroll throughout the

mansion, as carefree as two 14-year-olds on a first date. 

They agreed that Dia would undoubtedly have something

of great value in his master suite.  As they entered the

enormous suite, Lord was drawn as well as fascinated by

a set of books.  Thick, red, alligator-skinned books with

titanium spines.  Rosa whispered to Lord:

"Don’t touch anything until you put these gloves on

baby."

Rosa handed Lord a pair of cotton gloves that she

retrieved from her purse.  Lord was thoroughly

captivated by these books, understandably so, red was

his favorite color.  Without thinking twice Lord slid the

last book in the set from its ebony casing.  Lord carefully

opened it as if its contents were the words which told the

untainted truth of creation. 

Rosa! Lord shouted.  Look!

The beautiful book was gutted and housed a gold 1911,

9mm blicky; the handle covered with the same red

alligator-skin that covered the reference books.  Now,

extremely curious, Lord reached for another reference

book from the set; opened it, also gutted.  This time the

reference book’s contents were strange to say the least. 

Rosa sat the book on the bed and quickly reached for

another, also gutted, the contents the same as the last. 

While Lord examined the books contents, Rosa excitedly

opened another, then another . . . and another.  All the

beautiful books were gutted and contained hundreds of

10-inch, solid gold safety pins.  Each safety pin held

hundreds of half inch plastic bags, each containing one

piece of rocked up cocaine.  The rocks within the bags

were substantial, at first glance, $50 rocks.  Rosa and

Lord, without hesitation, began transporting the books to

the trunk of the idling taxi.  After all the books were

accounted for; Lord slammed the trunk.  As Lord and

Rosa held hands returning up the porch stairs, Lord

instructed Rosa to retrieve two bottles of beer from the

massive fridge.  Rosa returned with the bottles of beer

and sat them on one of the end tables in the sitting room. 

Lord struggled to get Dia off the