BORN IN A MANGER

By Rodney H. Washington

BORN IN A MANGER - NOTHING'S STRANGER!!,

Come ENTER the criminal underworld full OF danger!,

Come take THIS WILD RIDE written outside-the-lines,

AND WRITTEN BY an outside-the-lines mind!

For(YOU SEE)...

Homeless, addicts, hookers and nuts,

Pimps, pushers, players and us,

Is wha

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rodney H. Washington
• Release date: Feb 8, 2022
• ISBN: 9798985660128

Rodney H. Washington

Published Author of two hard-hitting novels/Adult Fiction Thrillers: BORN IN A MANGER (Debut), IN LOVE OR IN THE MORGUE (Sequel), available for purchase on most major online platforms where books are sold, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Walmart, Book Stores, etc.

Book preview

Chapter One

THE BUENA VISTA

Inside of a shitty-ass lime green motel room, of the seedy Buena Vista Roadside Motel, the evil have assembled and their bad intentions grow nigh. Pockets, the shot caller of N.O.S.(Niggas On Swole), the vicious heroin ring out of Hard Times, Virginia, has traveled north across state lines with his two most valuable assets. In tow are his younger brother Too Cold and his personal bodyguard Headslap. Pockets, an old school hustler and playa turned drug kingpin, has devised an intricate, tactical and diabolical plan to get out of the drug game for good and return to his roots through new hustles.

The sharp mind of Pockets is rivaled only by the sharp custom-made red suits that he’s never seen without, clothing the armor of muscle on the short frame of this 57-year-old avid powerlifter. Always seen with a clean-shaven face and clean-shaven head, he is also never seen without his suit’s matching custom-made red hat perched upon his head and cocked hard to the side. But on this day, perched upon his head, is a black ski mask, just waiting for the sliver of the crescent moon to be slit into a screen of black above to signal it to be pulled down over his face for the purpose of concealment. The black military sweater stretched tight across Pockets’ large back and chest is joined on top by a black leather concealed carry double shoulder holster, securing close to his rib cage two fully automatic 9mm Luger pistols, full-auto-modified by Pockets himself. Complete with black military style BDU pants with thin black unlined leather gloves tucked into his black canvas belt and, with his black leather Chippewa combat boots laced up tight, Pockets is dressed for battle.

Exactly 20 miles north of the shitty-ass lime green Buena Vista, straight up Route 36, rests a city prominent with steep city streets, a deep history of political and police department corruption and host to a largely Hispanic population. The former haven for the mob and past crime capital of the world is simply known these days as North Juarez. After months of thorough research and tactical preparation not even Pockets can anticipate the chain of events that will rock the underworld of not just one, but that of two cities.

Pockets, standing poised by the motel room door, holds up his right fist to indicate to Too Cold and Headslap to stop moving and to not make a sound. Pockets leans his ear towards the door as he listens intently for the slightest hint of noise or motion coming from the outside world. Assured that the coast is clear based in part by a recent rash of sliced tires and busted out security lights, the Buena Vista’s rooms these days are mostly vacant. All apart of Pockets’ plan. Light from the sole light pole in the motel’s parking lot that was not vandalized down below barely illuminates a half dozen cars. Pockets unlocks the door and cracks it open to check the height in the sky of his lunar Offensive Coordinator.

After a brief look around outside, Pockets quickly but quietly closes and locks the shitty-ass lime green door of room 222. As he turns to walk back across the room he nearly trips over the silver and black leather gator cowboy boots worn on the feet of Too Cold. Too Cold, seated at the foot of his bed, which of the room’s two twin beds is the closest to the shitty-ass lime green room door, immediately becomes incensed. Looking up from staring aimlessly at the cigarette burns in the motel room’s shitty-ass lime green carpet, he tells Pockets, Damn nigga, turn on some lights in this motherfucker and then yo ass won’t be stumbling all across this bitch!

Too Cold, twenty years to the day younger than his brother Pockets, is a natural born loose cannon and is known on the streets of Hard Times for pushing the boundaries of his cruelty, even when it’s not necessary. N.O.S. rolls deep but it’s Too Cold that is the gang’s debt collector and keeps the streets in line. Too Cold lives by his steelo, Get-What-You-WantThrough-Fear, and best believe Too Cold lives that shit! There is no such thing as the wrong place or the wrong time, for there is nothing this fool won’t do or say. Staying dressed to the nines in custommade silver shark skin suits and standing 6’5" with long thick dreads draped down over his face, with the tips of his dreads dyed a beaming gold, this double diamond pinky ring wearing terror is a sight to see.

Pockets disregards the disrespect from Too Cold and while calmly looking down at his brother says, Shadows and light my brother, shadows and light. I don’t like shadows and I don’t like light.

Shadows and what??? Light??? You sound like a fuckin’ madman right now, you know that?!? You’re insane! You hear this shit, Headslap? Dis nigga talkin’ ‘bout shadows and some God damn motherfuckin’ light. Fuck that shit Pockets! I’m gettin’ me some motherfuckin’ light up in here. Let there be light, nigga!, Too Cold says, as he leans to his right towards the room’s lone window, next to his bed, to snatch open its shitty-ass lime green drapes.

Yeah, go ahead and touch those drapes., Pockets tells his brother.

You LUCKY you didn’t step on my gators son! Fuck around and get that wig pushed ALL the way back!, Too Cold replies all loose and shit.

Hearing this, Headslap, a monster of a man, struggles to stand up from sitting on a cot much too low to the floor for his 6’11" frame and, to his dismay, much too close to the shitty-ass lime green bathroom.

Sit the fuck back down Headslap before you give yourself a nosebleed or some shit. I’d have to shoot him my damn self by the time you managed to stand the fuck up! says Pockets.

Yeah, that’s right! YOU heard the man. Sit yo ass back down!, Too Cold tells Headslap as he begins to laugh.

Headslap, the don’t-say-shit type and Pockets’ most loyal soldier, crashes back down on his cot. He has a rep in Hard Times for slapping the shit out of the back of people’s heads with his enormous hands, famously followed-up by his obligatory dare, Say something!. Next to him on his cot is an oversized black mobile tactical canvas duffle bag containing his black combat gear and more. Removing from his head his chocolate brown custom-made Fedora hat, Headslap reveals that from the past two weeks of laying low at the Buena Vista his waves and fade are in much need of a fresh cut. Nearly the same age as Pockets, the dark-skinned brother prefers chocolate custom-made suits with peanut butter pinstripes and white gator shoes. Placing his hat on top of the duffle bag, Headslap resumes his diligent job of keeping an ever-watchful eye on Pockets...and on Too Cold.

That’s enough out of you baby bro. Both y’all better listen up, ‘cause I’ve got the final X’s and O’s y’all don’t know about yet., Pockets says.

Pockets then walks back across the dimly lit motel room, navigating his way past the 13-inch black and white television placed on top of a four-drawer wooden dresser to his right. He then navigates through the narrow space between the foot of his bed and Headslap’s cot, arriving at his destination. Cool as a seasoned quarterback in the huddle prepared to march his team ninety-nine yards to pay dirt, Pockets is prepared to hold his final debriefing. While he awaits the fall of night to release his dogs of war, he begins to go over every last tactical detail of his diabolical plan. The distinct aroma in the air of the outside world from a distant fireplace is crept on as dusk overtakes this crisp December’s sky. As the light of day slowly succumbs to the dark of night, Pockets’ plan meets an expected, though, not to be tolerated, delay.

Too Cold, do you want to spend the rest of your life as a magnificent pimp or spend it upstate in a cage?, Pockets says as he begins his fourth quarter two-minute drill.

What the fuck you think?, he replies.

Headslap, you wanna be my shadow the rest of your life or take your country ass back to Tennessee and put your feet up on your horse farm?, Pockets asks.

Yeah man, build my ranch and have a team of racehorses. He replies.

You hear this shit, Pockets? Nigga, how the fuck you gonna race a damn horse with your feet draggin’ all the way around the fuckin’ track?, Too Cold says while cracking himself up.

Now ain’t the time Too Cold. Headslap is gonna OWN the racehorses and we’re ALL gonna make money at the track. MY track. Ya dig? You might already know this shit, but you play too much when you should be listening., Pockets tells Too Cold.

Too Cold’s long dreadlocks obscure his vision of the cigarette burns at his feet, as he lowers his head knowing his brother has a point.

Alright, listen up. As y’all know I game planned THE FUCK out of what we’re about to do. Listen to me and do what I say when I say it and we’ll be out of the drug game, pimpin’ hoes, gettin’ rich at the track, livin’ life man. But first I need y’all to shave your entire heads and faces. We can’t leave any hair behind at Pimp Angel’s crib, in the van, in the truck, nowhere., Pockets advises his men.

Fuck all that CSI shit! Let me guess - you READ this shit? That’s ALL the FUCK you be doin’, Pockets, is READIN’ and liftin’ weights. But I got NEWS for ya, Pockets. I ain’t cuttin’ off MY DREADS for SHIT!!!, Too Cold informs his brother.

And I ain’t spending the rest of my life in a Pennsylvania cage, so you DAMN RIGHT you’re gonna shave your fucking dreads off!, Pockets replies.

You want me to pluck my eyebrows too?, Too Cold asks.

Pockets walks across the shitty-ass lime green carpet right up to his brother still seated at the foot of his bed and, in a preventive measure, firmly secures his right hand on top of Too Cold’s left shoulder and, says to him very calmly, No, but if you don’t shave them off, I’m gonna have Headslap here, bite them off.

Hearing this, Headslap attempts to rise from his cot without much luck.

SEEING this, Too Cold attempts to spring up off his bed but to no avil, while shouting across the shitty-ass lime green room at Headslap, NO!!! NO!!! You ain’t biting off shit! Headslap, sit the fuck back down!, knowing damn well that if Pockets wants them bitten off, THEY’RE GONE!!! ‘Cause THAT’S how devoted Headslap is to his brother!

Keep your voice down. Pockets tells him, while putting all of those hours in the weight room to good use.

Pockets then places his hands into his front pants pockets and just stares down at Too Cold for a few moments. He then removes both hands from his pockets and holds up two money clips made of ivory, each containing one hundred $1,000 bills. With a money clip in each hand, he holds them up to shoulder level and, in an attempt to reason with his brother says, I stay with 200 grand in my pockets. You KNOW this. EVERYBODY knows this. That’s what the President of the United States makes in a year. Shit, back in Hard Times, I make 200 grand before my catfish gets done frying. You hear me? But doing what we’re about to do tonight, 200 grand ain’t bailing NOBODY out of prison. So we ain’t leaving behind no hair, no blood, no DNA, no fingerprints, no nothing. You got that? Why do you think I had y’all wipe down your bullets before you loaded up your guns? ‘Cause we ain’t even gonna leave behind no fucking fingerprints on no damn shells for Johnny Law to lock us up on. Even this motherfucking room is gettin’ wiped down after we’re done with it. You got that?

Got it. He replies.

Hearing his reply, Headslap crashes back down on his cot and removes a freshly rolled blunt and box of wooden matches from the inside pocket of his custom-made chocolate brown suit. Pockets looks up from Too Cold and instantly becomes infuriated at the sight of his OWN shadow on the drapes, surrounded by a flickering gold aura, as Headslap strikes a wooden match to light his blunt.

Snapping his head around, Pockets stares at the flame being placed up to the blunt hanging from Headslap’s mouth.

Put that shit out! What the fuck did I just get done telling y’all about shadows and light? There ain’t no drinking or getting high on this one. I need everybody sharp tonight., Pockets says.

Headslap blows out the match and places the blunt back in the suit’s inside pocket.

Yeah, Headslap, weren’t you listening to the man? He TOLD yo ass ALREADY! HE don’t like no shadows and light!, exclaims Too Cold.

That’s enough out of you Too Cold., Pockets says to his brother.

What kind of nigga lights a blunt with a wooden match ANY damn way???, Too Cold asks.

Having endured about as much from Too Cold as he can without losing his mind, Pockets snatches the ice bucket from on top of the television and, while handing it to him, says, Go downstairs to the ice machine and get some ice to chill down the champagne.

Too Cold explodes off the bed and before Pockets can tell him not to slam the door, he slams the door behind him as he exits the room.

Pockets looks over at Headslap in amazement then says, I do all this research, months of planning, got everything and everybody in place, even found this motel just outside of the city limits to hideout in and this nigga is gonna fuck it all up by slamming doors and drawing attention.

Headslap just nods his head in agreement.

Pockets continues, Headslap, get into the bathroom and start shaving and then change into your fatigues. Make it quick, ‘cause when Too Cold gets back you’re gonna hold him down and I’M shaving his fucking head.

Pockets then extends his right hand and helps Headslap up from his cot.

Too Cold strolls out of the room and makes a left down the cement walkway for the rooms on the second floor. The Buena Vista is two story roadside motel which only gave him even more reason to bitch, Man, fuck this shit! Why I gotta be all up and down these steps for some fuckin’ ice?

After a few short steps he walks down ten cement steps to the platform below and then down the next set of ten cement steps to the ground floor. Too Cold hangs a right at the bottom of the steps where nearby the ice machine sits next to several vending machines.

I’m gonna have a candy machine AND a soda machine in my crib one day. I’m gonna have an ice machine in that bitch too and Pockets is gonna be gettin’ ME ice!, he says to himself as he walks up to the ice machine.

He opens the door to the ice machine and goes to reach for the ice scoop’s handle sticking out of the ice when he hears the voices of a male and a female. Too Cold can’t see who’s talking because the open door of the ice machine is blocking his view of the parking lot, but one thing he knows for sure, that’s what a cop sounds like. No less than ten feet away to his left, getting out of the passenger’s door of a black Seville sitting on 24 chrome rims, is a beautiful dark-skinned prostitute. With a new day comes a new look for the prostitute, but every day is the same for her. However, today she’s wearing a hot pink and purple spandex bodysuit with her hair styled in afro puffs. Too Cold leans forward so that he can peek through the thin space between the ice machine door and the ice machine, Damn that ho got a phat ass!", he says to himself.

Hurry your ass up Gidget, I got to get back to the station after I fuck your throat., says the man.

Too Cold freezes and it has nothing to do with the billowing cloud of freezing cold air pouring out from the open door of the ice machine.

A cop!, he says to himself in a panic. I can smell that fucking cop from here wearing a bottle of Joop!, Too Cold says under his breath.

Gidget slams the car door shut and steps up onto the curb from the parking lot saying, Fuck you, nigga!

Damn this bitch got some game., Too Cold thinks to himself.

The cop closes his car door and stepping up on the curb walks right past the ice machine hustling up the cement steps.

Come on Gidget Cole, tick-tock, tick-tock. I got to get back to Juarez for Sarge’s retirement party in an hour. Well, it’s more like cake and a photo op but we all have to be there AND on time. The Commissioner’s gonna FLIP, if OTHER motherfuckers from OTHER departments are there on time and, HIS men are LATE. So, HURRY tha FUCK up!, the cop says as he points at his red-faced Rolex.

Dis nigga., Gidget says to herself as she makes her way past the ice machine to follow the cop up the steps.

As Too Cold looks back to checkout that ass, Gidget looks back to see who’s silver and black gator cowboy boots and silver shark skin dress pants could be seen under the ice machine door. Gidget’s and Too Cold’s eyes meet for just a second and they both like what they see. Too Cold watches her walk all the way up the two flights of steps and then realizes they’re headed towards his room.

Fuck!, Too Cold says headbutting the air.

Too Cold closes the ice machine door and is met with the big face of Heavy Duty, a local down ass white dude that knows everyone you don’t want to know. He just seems to have the ability to show up where you least expect him or would want him to be. This would be one of those times, but Too Cold doesn’t know it yet.

What you lookin’ at, whiteboy?, Too Cold belts out.

You got it all wrong, my dude., Heavy Duty replies then takes a long hard pull on his Newport.

Too Cold going into prison yard mode tells Heavy Duty, Yo man, let me get a square.

Fo’ sho’, my dude, fo’ sho’., he replies.

Without saying a word, Too Cold places the Newport behind his right ear and then hustles up the steps just catching a glimpse of the cop and Gidget as they entered their room. The room right next to his room.

Motherfucker!, Too Cold says as he breaks into a cold sweat.

Too Cold sprints down the walkway and back into his room.

In a loud whisper he says, Pockets! There’s a cop and a hooker in the next room!

Headslap, hearing this, sticks his freshly shorn head covered in tiny pieces of bloody toilet paper out of the bathroom doorway and stares wide-eyed at Too Cold.

Damn, nigga! You ain’t got no eyebrows!, Too Cold says.

Man, fuck you!, Headslap fires back in his deep booming voice.

Motioning with his hands for them to be quite, Too Cold whispers, Keep your voices down.

Not knowing if Too Cold is fucking around or not, Pockets comes to the realization that it’s not worth the risk of being wrong on this one.

Headslap, go turn on the TV so we can talk without the cop hearing us., he says.

Headslap turns on the TV then turns the volume up as a cartoon rabbit is being chased through a castle by a big hairy monster in white sneakers.

I don’t have time for your games Too Cold and where the fuck is the ice? You been smoking? You high? Don’t even tell me you was out there blazin’., Pockets says to his brother in a serious tone.

No, listen man, I heard him saying he’s gotta get back to the station in an hour for some party or some shit. It’s some cop’s last day on the job and they’re throwing the motherfucker a party, up in North Juarez bro, and all them cops got to be there., he replies.

A cop, my nigga? You tellin’ me a cop in full uniform, shiny badge and all, just walked into that room next to us? With a ho??, asks Pockets.

Nah, the cop ain’t in no uniform. He’s 5-0 man, you know 5-0 when you see one., Too Cold pleads his case.

You sure?, Pockets asks.

Too Cold just nods his head forward and looks down at his brother like, c’mon on, man.

Damn., says Pockets, now accepting that there’s a cop next door.

"Weelll, looks like it’s cop killing season. Shiiiiiit, that’s EVEN better than football season! Pockets, we gonna do this nigga or what?, Too Cold says while looking at Pockets then looks over at Headslap for support.

No. We go killing cops and we’re done for up here. We’re just gonna lay low and build time. When he’s done getting his cock sucked, he’ll head back to the station, and then we’ll head out and do what we came up here to do. This is a good thing y’all. All the cops will be on station, so we’re gonna take FULL advantage of that. We came up here to do our thing and that’s EXACTLY what we’re gonna do. We’re just gonna do it earlier than initially planned., he replies.

Headslap looks down at Pockets and before Headslap can say anything, Pockets spits out, The answer is no, man. You can light that blunt once we get back.

Headslap nods his head in agreement.

Ok, Too Cold, tell me about the two next door., Pockets says while motioning for everyone to huddle up over by the TV to drown out their conversation.

Once assembled, Too Cold begins, Black cop. Gotta shaved head like you, baby. Skinny nigga. Looks like he needs a sammich. Big ice in his ears, Pelle Pelle, you know, vice nigga. Didn’t get a real good look at him but I peeped the watch I’m gonna peel off his wrist after I shoot the teeth out his head., he says.

You ain’t doin’ shit! I’m the motherfuckin’ boss, nigga! Both y’all got that! Don’t nobody dies unless I point my finger and say that person dies. You got that!?!, Pockets explodes.

Both nod their heads knowing Pockets isn’t playing around.

Pockets continues, Too Cold, I need more, tell me about the ho next door.

My nigga, shawty got a PHAT ass., he says with a laugh.

Pockets, after a lifetime of dealing with his brother’s foolishness is just about at his wit’s end, steps close to his brother and says, I ain’t rottin’ in no Pennsylvania jail cell, ‘cause all tha FUCK you can tell me is, shawty got a phat ass.

Too Cold realizes the importance of the conversation and begins to focus on the task at hand. He called her Gidget, Gidget Cole as a matter of fact., he says.

That’s good. Go on., Pockets replies.

Too Cold continues, She bad, bro. Shawty workin’ wit tha SWEETEST of juices, SON! Shawty FINE as FUCK, fuckin’ beautiful, my nigga, rocking afro puffs.

Afro puffs, that’s my shit., Headslap says.

Shut THE FUCK up!!, Pockets shouts while pointing his finger at Headslap.

Too Cold is all too happy as he turns the volume up on the television, then looks back at his brother like, now YOU’RE the one fucking up! Pockets, still needing to maintain leadership, tells Too Cold to turn down the TV even though he knows he was talking too loud. He then presses on gathering information on the two obstacles in the room next door, but before he can ask his brother another question, he explodes on Headslap. Headslap, you look at that fucking cartoon one more time and I’ll smack the shit out of you!

Too Cold pushes out his bottom lip and thinks to himself that his brother remembered to keep his voice down this time.

Pockets continues his questioning, What else can you tell me about this cop?, he asks.

Oh yeah, tha nigga was wearin’ a bottle of cologne, you know, playa-playa. I’m talkin’ he be puttin’ on ALL his Joop!, fo’ HE step out tha doe., replies Too Cold with a laugh.

Hold up, hold up, hold up. You tellin’ me, you were close enough to smell what kind of cologne tha nigga had on?? Don’t EVEN tell me 5-0 saw you., Pockets asks.

Too Cold, feeling a bit insulted, replies, I DID go down there for ice, remember? No, I stayed behind the ice machine door, he couldn’t see my face. Damn., he answers.

Uh-huh. Did SHE see you?, Pockets asks presumptively.

Yeah man., Too Cold reluctantly replies.

You LET HER see you???, Pockets says in disbelief with a look on his face like you fucked up.

Too Cold pleads his case, YOU tha one that SENT ME outside! But listen, after tonight I’m gonna be pimpin’ her and ALL THE REST of them hoes. So I’ll handle her, she’ll know to keep her fucking mouth shut.

Let me guess - you’ll make an example out of her., Pockets says sarcastically.

Yeah man., he calmly replies.

You make an example out of everyone., Pockets says with a smile.

Yeah man., he says and smiles back at his brother.

Headslap feeling a shift in the mood inquires, Since we have to wait for them to leave, can I light this blunt?

Pockets just looks at Headslap and then looks at Too Cold, then looks back at Headslap and, while staring him in the eyes says, Headslap, you light that blunt and it’s the last thing you’ll ever light.

Headslap, knowing he pushed his luck, looks away from Pockets but makes the mistake of looking at the television. Pockets catches Headslap across the face with a hard backhand while yelling in a loud whisper, What I tell you ‘bout lookin’ at that mutha fuckin’ cartoon!?

Headslap does a quick right-left flex of his huge pectoral muscles then spits on the shitty-ass lime green carpet. Pockets, not acknowledging the disrespect, continues to question his brother, What kind of car was he driving?

Big-ass Caddy with big-ass rims., he replies.

He’ll be bought., Pockets says with confidence, placing his hands in his pockets. Headslap interjects, I have a question.

Oh, the muscle-head has a question. Well, ask away, muscle-head., Too Cold says while laughing.

Shut up., Pockets tells his brother, then looks back at Headslap. Go on., he demands.

If after the hit, this Gidget bitch knows we’re the ones that off’d her pimp, then why am I shaving my eyebrows?, asks Headslap.

Too Cold, actually impressed with the question, looks at his brother waiting for the answer too.

Because evidence we leave behind at the scene can lead the cops to us, and Mr. Example over here knows how to keep that bitch’s mouth shut. I already got most of the dirty cops in North Juarez in my pockets but, you always have your do-gooder, Eagle Scout, cops on the force that can’t be bought. And those are the motherfuckers that will turn your DNA into a lifetime bid. You understand now?, Pockets explains.

Yeah man., Headslap replies as he tries to mimic Too Cold.

Too Cold looks at Headslap and tries to mimic Headslap’s impersonation of himself, Yeah man, now get your ass back in that bathroom and shave your fucking back hair!

Too Cold, I don’t know what tha fuck YOU clownin’ for? You’re NEXT!, Pockets tells his brother.

Too Cold just looks at the TV and watches as the big hairy monster in white sneakers gets a manicure from the cartoon rabbit.

As soon as he’s done, you’re in the bathroom, so enjoy this cartoon now., says Pockets.

Too Cold just smirks and says, Stupid fucking monster., as the big hairy monster places his hands in a bowl of soapy sudsy water and quickly pulls them out in pain wearing mousetraps on his fingertips.

Hey, turn that TV back down again, will ya?, Pockets says to his brother.

Too Cold turns down the volume just in time to hear the cop and Gidget Cole finishing up. FUCK YEAH!!!, they can hear the cop shout through the wall. Gidget, hurry up and let’s roll. I’ve got forty-five minutes to get back to Precinct One before shift change AND THAT fucking party! Like that FAT motherfucker needs cake! C’mon! Let’s GO ho!, the cop shouts still feeling good from Gidget Cole’s handiwork.

Too Cold, get the DUYU CREW on the phone, I want you to speak directly to Pretty High!, Pockets says with urgency.

Pretty High is one of the four DUYU CREW members that’s been keeping an eye on the house to be hit, Pimp Angel’s house, making sure those that are to be killed are there. Pretty High gets his name because his skin complexion is pretty high yellow, but most think it’s because he’s normally pretty high.

Too Cold, if those motherfuckers are at the house, we hit them at shift change. It’ll be dark enough by then., says Pockets.

Too Cold gets on his cell phone that was bought for the purpose of being destroyed after the hit. He dials the cell phone Pockets bought for the DUYU Crew for this hit and gets Dead Sexy on the phone. Dead Sexy, a self-proclaimed pretty boy, dubbed himself with that name because he always has some new girl that’s always more banging than the last. While keeping his voice down Too Cold asks, Dem niggas there?

Ayo, they in there. They in there with some fine bitches, having a good time too., he replies.

Later for that, change of plans., Too Cold responds.

Ayo, what’s good?, Dead Sexy asks.

Pockets, about to lose his mind, says, Please tell me you’re talking to Pretty High.

Put Pretty High on the phone., Too Cold says while rolling his eyes.

Ayo., Pretty High answers the phone.

We hittin’ these motherfuckers in forty-five minutes., Too Cold informs him.

Word., he replies then ends the call.

Too Cold looks at his brother and says, Pimp Angel is there with a few bitches partying it up.

Headslap., Pockets calls out in a lowered voice.

Headslap sticks his head out of the bathroom doorway, holding a razor in his right hand, his entire head and face completely clean-shaven. What’s up?, he asks.

Change of plans, we hit these motherfuckers in forty-five minutes., Pockets tells him.

This is some bullshit! So I’m the only shaved up motherfucker, huh? What about him?, Headslap questions while pointing his razor full of bloody shaving cream at Too Cold.

Too Cold beginning to laugh says to Headslap, Let me get you some more tiny pieces of toilet paper to put on all those cuts all over your dome.

Fuck you!, he fires back.

Enough, enough., Pockets says while regaining control. He continues, Too Cold, keep an eye out for when that cop leaves. And you, clean up and make sure none of those cuts are bleeding before we leave.

Let me guess, DNA, right?, Headslap says to Pockets sarcastically.

Pockets steps into the doorway of the bathroom and looks up to look Headslap in the eyes and says, If I drain your blood into that bathtub, I won’t have to worry about your blood being left at the scene.

Headslap reaches back for the sink with his left hand and turns on the hot water and simply says, Got it.

Too Cold, calls out from over by the window, keeping his voice down, 5-0’s bouncin’.

Pockets, analyzing what his brother just said, questions, "Where’s the girl?

Too Cold, sounding annoyed, replies, What makes you think the girl’s NOT with him???

Because you didn’t say they’re leaving, you just said 5-0’s leaving. I don’t have time for this shit Too Cold, now where the fuck’s the girl?, he responds angrily.

Too Cold, realizing that his brother has a point, simply says, She didn’t come out of the room yet.

Just then, Gidget comes out of the room and flicks a cigarette over the balcony at the cop’s car as he drives away. Fuck that nigga., she says as she goes back into the room.

She’s still next door, Pockets. I just saw her go back into the room., Too Cold informs his brother.

Ok., Pockets says after taking a deep breath, then continues, Let’s suit up.

Pockets, now becoming even more focused, just notices the Newport behind Too Cold’s ear. Where the FUCK did you get that??, he asks while pointing at the cigarette.

From some fat white kid down by the ice machine., he replies.

Too Cold, you tryin’ me, on some real shit. Did HE SEE what room you went in?, Pockets informs and inquires.

Naw man, he ain’t see shit., he replies.

What he look like!?, he asks his brother.

Here we go again., Too Cold says while rolling his eyes.

Pockets snaps his fingers and points angrily at Too Cold saying, You don’t think! We’re not here to bum cigarettes off of fat kids. NOW that fat kid knows what you look like.

Too Cold knows his brother is right, but spins it another way. Shit, the sooner I answer your questions, the sooner I get to shoot somebody. He’s about 22, 23, 24, I don’t know, man. Lil’ nigga’s dressed in an all white outfit, white bubblegoose, rockin’ it wit tha hood up, white Jordan’s, long silver chain with a big silver cross. He’s a down ass nigga. What else you NEED to know?, he tells Pockets.

Is he 5-0?, Pockets asks.

Nah, he ain’t no cop. He’s a street nigga., Too Cold replies.

Ok, well, if he becomes a problem, you deal with him., Pockets tells his brother.

I might deal with him even if he doesn’t become a problem., Too Cold is only too happy to say.

Pockets walks over to the bathroom and says to

Headslap, Let’s suit up and roll, we’re wasting time. Headslap responds, Ok., but thinks to himself, Wasting time? You the one who made me shave my head. At the same time, Too Cold thinks to himself, Wasting time? You the one asking all these damn questions, now WE the ONES wasting time!!!

Finally all suited up, Pockets and Headslap stand over by the TV and wait for Too Cold to come out of the bathroom. Both are dressed in black, black military style pants, black combat boots with military style black sweaters. Black ski masks are on top of their heads to be pulled down over their faces. The bathroom door opens up, and out walks Too Cold wearing the same black military style clothing but wearing a black full-length leather coat that nearly touches the floor. Patches of hair of various shapes and colors are sewn into the coat all along the upper back, chest and several down the upper arms area. Sewn into the sides of both shoulders on the coat is the startling image of a long blonde ponytail on the left shoulder and a set of long black dreadlocks dyed blonde on the ends sewn into the right. Some people collect stamps, some people collect cars, but Too Cold, he collects the scalps of his victims. Word on the streets of Hard Times is there’s even a patch of pubic hair sewn onto his coat, but no one has ever dared to look that closely to see for themselves. He digs the heels of his gator skin cowboy boots into the shitty-ass lime green carpet as he strolls across the floor and before Pockets can say anything, Too Cold says, I’m wearing the boots and the coat. We’re wasting time, remember?

Pockets just heads for the door, saying, Let’s roll.

All three put on dark sunglasses and head out the door and walk down the second-floor balcony towards the cement steps with Headslap carrying a large black duffle bag full of guns. The three make their way down the steps and to a black ‘76 Chevy G10 van which, at this time, is the only vehicle in the motel’s parking lot. The three pile in with Pockets driving, Too Cold sitting in the front passenger’s seat, and with Headslap sitting in the back on the floor of the cargo area, devoid of seats. As the van reverses out of its parking space and pulls away, a cigarette lands in the parking lot inches away from the cigarette that almost hit the cop’s car. The van makes a right out of the lot, heading northbound on Business Route 36, passing trees and fields on both sides of the highway, a couple of nowhere towns and a couple of strip malls, and not much else. Just twenty miles up the road is North Juarez, their new home after tonight.

Chapter Two

TORA! TORA! TORA! NIGGA!

Pockets begins doing what he loves doing best, except for making money, and that’s asking questions, garnering information. Hey man, how’s Bad Habitz’s hand? He ain’t gonna have a problem holding a gun tonight, right? Unless that’s just some shit you failed to bring to my attention., he asks of Too Cold.

Man, it’s like he never broke tha shit!, he replies.

Headslap butts into the conversation, "What you mean like he never broke it??? Habitz broke his hand on that dude’s head when he jacked this van! Fuckin’ knuckles comin’