Marked

By Nexus Justice

As a professional assassin. Proof Savage never had any complications eliminating targets on behalf of The Keep. His unyielding dedication and mechanical efficiency ensured targets were eliminated. After ten years of meritorious service, Proof is ready for retirement but his employer, Max Vogel has something different in mind. Max has no intentio

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookTrail Publishing
• Release date: Dec 15, 2022
• ISBN: 9781637679906

Nexus Justice

Nexus Justice was born in St. Louis, Missouri. Possessing an uncanny ability for writing since the fifth grade, Nexus is by no means restricted towards any genre. He has participated in various events involving poetry, short story, critique, fiction, and more. Nexus Justice is willing and able to take on every challenge presented to him, including politics... well someday.

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Copyright © 2022 Nexus Justice

Paperback: 978-1-63767-989-0

eBook: 978-1-63767-990-6

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual person’s, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.

Ordering Information:

BookTrail Agency

8838 Sleepy Hollow Rd.

Kansas City, MO 64114

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Acknowledgements

Dedication

For Uncle Miles & Aunt Tracey, Omar, Uncle Bill & Aunt Peach, Michelle, Sheryl, and Ms. Hurley

Chapter 1

Dallas! Don’t you leave me man! Fight!

Dallas Fields struggles to breathe. Then slips in and out of consciousness.

Stay with me man. I ain’t gonna let you die on me. You’ve been through worse situations than this. Remember our first hit together? Both of us almost got killed. Nothing was worse than that one.

I’m in the middle of the road, in the middle of a black night and Dallas is severely wounded in my arms as a result of a vicious ambush. My black and silver Chevy Trail Blazer was shot up on the right side and front end, including the right front and rear tires. We rolled over a good three or four times; fortunately, we ended right-side up. Although badly banged up, I manage to make it out and get to Dallas. I must act fast because our lives are at stake with the truck’s engine on fire. The possibility of the ride exploding is imminent. I have a small cut below my left eye and sore ribs, but Dallas is much worse. I noticed a huge gash on the right side of his face bleeding profusely and most likely a concussion. I notice Dallas couldn’t make get out of the ride due to his disoriented state. I unbuckled his seat belt, then I take off my black Nike wind jacket. I put his wrists together and quickly tie the jacket around them. Now I slide my head underneath and shift his body sideways after making sure his head didn’t drop. Then carry him from the truck to the sidewalk and ended up in the grass in case the truck exploded.

Dallas! Dallas!

Dallas opens his eyes as if what I just said rejuvenated him like 5-hour energy. I remove the jacket from his arms so they can be more relaxed.

Don’t worry, I’m not the cops, I say jokingly.

Dallas chuckles. Then he closes his eyes once more.

Dallas, stay with me. We need you man. Your children. All…of…them.

I choke up for a second at the thought of losing Dallas. He was the next best thing to a father after I had lost mine due to a shootout. I regain my composure because there is no time for tears. No time to lose. Only time to stay focused. I took out my cell phone from my pocket and call my brother Maurice.

Sup Proof, he says excitingly.

Sounds of TV are in the background. NBA game in progress.

A state of emergency that’s what’s up, I answered.

At that moment, the mood changes and Maurice excuses himself from the living room.

You still there? he asks in a low tone of voice.

"I’m still here Mo.

Where you at?

On Skinker and Delmar. Dallas and I were hit up bad man and I don’t know if he’s gonna make it.

What do you mean man?

I can’t discuss it over the phone. Trust me, he’s in bad shape. Hurry up!

I’m on the way man. Give me ten minutes.

I hang up the phone. I go back to check on Dallas and suddenly it starts raining. Hitting us pretty hard. At least it’s dissipating the engine fire. Mo arrived three minutes earlier than planned which was great. However, he didn’t come alone. Mo got out of his Dodge Durango. Following him were Dallas’ daughters Sonya and Carla. Beautiful identical twins with butterscotch cream skin complexion. Petite and very athletic.

I frown at Mo with disappointment.

What the hell are they doing here? I asked.

I tried to leave, but they suggested that they come with me.

You should’ve just said you would be right back.

Proof, man, they would’ve known something was up and would be asking questions.

Just like you, Mo! I shook my head. You are too damn soft and sensitive and choked as usual! And you wonder why I never let you work with me. This job is not for the weak-at-heart brother. When it came to business I had to put in the work, no hesitation!

NOOOO! Oh my God! Daddy! screamed Sonya.

Now do you feel better bringing them here Mo? I scold him. This is exactly what I was afraid of and why I wanted you to come alone! Damn Mo! If I tell you we been hit up and I don’t think Dallas is going to make it, CODE RED should have kicked in your brain and you should’ve bounced!

I was so busy scolding Mo for being so soft-hearted I failed to recognize Carla near me. I was so busy trying to keep Dallas stable and breathing. His pulse was weak, but thank God he was still hanging tough.

Why did you want Maurice to come alone, Proof? Carla screamed at me. You think us girls should stay at home and let you boys keep all your filthy secrets from us?

I shake my head. "Carla, it’s not-

Not what? she snapped. Safe for us to see? You think we can’t handle it? You think we don’t know your line of work?

At that moment, she slaps me on my left jaw. I knew she was upset about the critical situation and me at the same time. Like Dallas, Sonya and Carla knew my line of work and didn’t like it one little bit. Carla looks at her father and cries. Tears run down her cheeks as she looks back at me and continues to berate me. I just let her vent her anger.

So what the fuck you do to piss off Vogel, Proof? It’s one thing that he’s after you, but to drag my daddy in this? You have some nerve to go off on Maurice for doing the right thing to bring us down here. I’m so glad he’s not like you.

Carla regards Mo’s fallen countenance and caresses his face to lift his spirits.

Maurice, don’t let your brother fuck with your mind. You did nothing wrong, baby. You don’t have to be like him killing people for a living because he’s too sorry to work a real job like you. Unlike him, you don’t have a cold heart of steel. Don’t ever change that. Sometimes, I wonder how he’s even your brother!

Carla, Mo says softly touching her shoulders. "Proof only meant to-

Proof only meant to what, Maurice? Don’t start taking up for him. Carla pulls away from Mo. Damn you Proof! You are such a menace and curse everything you touch! I hate you!

Carla starts hitting me as she cries hysterically. Mo ends up restraining her and insists she gets back in his ride and wait for him. She reluctantly gets back in his truck. I attempt to go to Sonya and explain things, but I feel Dallas’ hand on my foot.

Proof. You there son? he asked weakly.

I’m here, I replied. I’m not leaving you.

Sonya stood by me as I knelt by Dallas. She examines the scar on my face and tries to assure me that Carla is just upset and didn’t mean to take her anger out on me even though she despises my work ethic. After I stand back up, Sonya touches my shoulder to get my attention.

She kisses me on the cheek.

Proof, Carla is just upset and trippin’. If only she remembered what you been through.

I nodded my head. Played it off nonchalantly about how Carla acted since she arrived.

Sonya also wipes what little blood she can from my face. She is truly the strong sister with a martial arts background just like me. She’s also an action junkie into UFC and martial arts movies so blood doesn’t faze her. Carla on the other hand is into gymnastics and not a fan of martial arts. Dallas managed to convince her to at least take Tae Kwon Do so she could have some form of defense. At this time each of us needs to be strong for Dallas.

Mo consoled Carla and tried to calm her down.

Sonya caressed my face.

I know what you’re thinking. Your father and Nadine are on your mind aren’t they?

I struggled to remain strong. Determined to keep Dallas fighting. I wasn’t giving up.

It’s not your fault Proof, so don’t blame yourself, Sonya said. You know they wouldn’t want you to do that.

They’re going to get you out of here and to the hospital, I tell Dallas. Glad you came back to us man. I thought we were going to lose you.

I look in Mo’s direction and signal for him to come our way. He tells Carla he’ll be right back and approaches us.

He looks down at Dallas.

Glad you could make it man, he said. Thought we lost you.

In a weakly tone, Dallas replies, That’s what your brother said a few moments ago.

I get impatient at this point. Time to move with urgency!

Help me get him to the car, I tell Mo.

What’s wrong son? Dallas asks weakly.

I guess my eyes are a little misty. I put my hand on his shoulder

Nothing. I’m cool.

Luckily, I can play off my slight tears due to the hard rain. I turn to look at Mo.

Got any sheets?

Yeah, in the back. In the trunk.

Dallas feels cold and I don’t want him to go into shock. He’s tough, but pride only lasts so long and he’s not going to die on my watch. I won’t let it happen.

I tell Mo, Good, he’ll need them. His body’s cold.

As we load Dallas inside, Carla turned to the backseat and talks to him and expresses how glad she is to see him and that he made it. I shut the door after making sure Dallas is completely inside. Sonya removes Dallas’ shirt from his body. I talk to Mo as he grabs some blankets from the trunk.

Look man, I didn’t mean to go off on you earlier. But I had to prepare for the worst. He was in terrible shape earlier and I know he’s not out the woods yet.

What do you need me to do? asked Mo.

Get him to the hospital soon as possible.

What about you?

Never mind me, I got a score to settle with Vogel.

I’ll go with you and have the girls take Dallas to the hospital.

The hell you will.

That’s cold bro.

What’s cold is how you couldn’t keep things discreet! You see what happened tonight. You even told Mama my line of work and now she’s ashamed of me as her son.

So you’re gonna throw that in my face?

I glare at Mo.

You better be lucky that’s all I’m throwing in your face right now. The way I’m feeling I could do so much more damage.

We stand subdued for a moment. Sonya takes the sheets from Mo and focuses on Dallas. Then I motion to him.

Come here.

Mo follows me to my wrecked ride. I have him stand in front of me to keep from being seen as I open the back door and lift up the backseat on the left passenger side. A Taurus Glock 40 and .380 were hidden there in case of emergencies such as these.

I check the time on my cell phone. 2:46 in the A.M. I really don’t need the cops right now but it’s only a matter of time before one unit creeps our way soon from a routine late-night patrol. Seeing five black folks in the middle of the night by a shot-up ride and one man near death will surely raise eyebrows and have whatever cop on duty calling for backup quick, fast, and in a hurry. Especially in St. Louis. I must hurry them off and get this ride out of the scene before five-o shows up. I look at Mo.

Guard them well Mo, don’t fuck this up. Most importantly don’t tell Mama, ok? The less she knows the better.

I handed him the Glock 40 for safeguarding purposes and I took the .380 for my protection.

I got it covered Proof, Mo slides the Glock into his side jacket pocket.

"Prove how much of a soldier you are. You used to nag me to death on why I didn’t let you work with me. Now is your chance to prove me wrong.

Mo nods and we begin walking. As we go back to Mo’s ride, Sonya gets out of the truck.

Where are you going? she asks me.

I got some business to take care of.

Proof, please don’t go looking for blood.

Well, there was plenty shed on Vogel’s behalf, I gruffed Now I’m gonna simply return the favor, but I will finish the job once and for all.

Sonya grabs me and tries to hug me to delay me from going. I make a weak grunt because of my sore ribs. Proof, stop. For Daddy’s sake. We don’t need you to be next. Why don’t you come along with us? You’re hurt too and you need a doctor just like Daddy.

No can do. They’re going to want to look at me and start asking questions. I already can’t stand hospitals. I’ll pull through. Now get going. Your dad needs you. You’re the stronger sister anyway and he will need every bit of that. You at least have his logical side. I can’t say the same for Carla though.

She’s like our mother I know. Sometimes she even reminds Daddy of her the way she’s such a drama queen.

I walk Sonya back to the truck. I kiss her on the cheek.

We can have that history lesson later. Right now focus on your father.

Sonya gives me a look of disbelief. Feeling guilty that last minute I reassure her by postponing my search-and-destroy mission against Vogel.

I’ll stand down, Sonya. For now at least. You have my word. Now go.

They speed away, riding out to the hospital. I say a silent prayer for Dallas’ safety and that he will stay alive. God bless my brother Maurice’s heart. He’s an extremely big-hearted guy, but there are times when I fear he would be on welfare if brains were a job. One day, he will be all right. I called a wrecker to come to pick up my ride and tow it to Dallas’ auto shop on Page and Woodson. Our good friend Herbert, who has his towing service, towed numerous cars to Dallas’ shop. In the meantime, I walked a couple of blocks down Skinker to a Shell station and bought a one-liter Deja Blue bottle water. Herbert arrived by the time I returned to my battle site. After dousing the majority of the water onto the ride to put the remaining flame out and cool it down, I walk over to Herbert. I paid him the amount needed and had him take me to the shop. While riding along the way on Delmar, all I could do was think and think and think. My mind was on Dallas.

Dallas mentored me. He knew about my line of work. But he didn’t say much about it. He worked for Vogel for many years. He even became one of Vogel’s prized associates worthy enough to sit at the table with him directly when discussing business propositions. Two years ago, he felt he had enough of that life and decided to go legit. I don’t know how he managed to do it, but he and Vogel parted ways on good terms as best as I can remember. He suggested that I consider leaving the organization too, but didn’t push too hard. He believed that I was man enough to make my own choices and little by little I would understand whatever consequences lay ahead. He would be there for me if I needed anything; whether it was how to be a smarter assassin, street fighter, or how to get out of the game as he did. He was the only man that taught me self-control when I felt I didn’t have any. Now that he is fighting for his life with a slight chance of survival, the phrase out of control is simply an understatement for what I’m planning to do once I deliver retribution. Max Vogel and his brigade of mercenaries known as The Keep are responsible for all of this. I was planning to leave town. Leave St. Louis for good and start over. Where would I go? How could I make a fresh start? I didn’t know. But I needed to leave town for good. I had too much heat on me the moment I decided to abandon my life as a professional assassin. I was given an assignment: a simple order to kill a man who threatened to expose Vogel. Whatever reasons they were, he wouldn’t reveal. However, I was given an assignment and when you take the job, you just perform your duties no questions asked. Strangely, I felt something different that day. I couldn’t kill the man. He had a son in the room with him. The young boy couldn’t have been more than five years old. There was no way I could take his father away from him. I aborted the mission but had to realize there would be severe consequences and repercussions as a result of my defiance. I would run into The Keep sooner or later. Then it will be me and Vogel face to face for the last time. Right now I needed to get out of this area. It’s been long enough and cops are bound to show up and I didn’t want to be around when they do. I couldn’t stand the fuzz ever since I was a kid. They have nothing better to do other than harass a black man late at night. It’s worse if you’re by yourself because they would want to give any and every reason to suspect you for something and want to strip search you as if you’re carrying weapons, weed, or narcotics. And don’t have any money on you because then they would take that as well and claim it as so-called evidence for some unsolved drug crime. Sergeant Alex Harris suddenly popped into my mind. Frustrating memories about that flatfoot.

It was 5:45 in the evening and I finished playing basketball with a couple of guys at Heman Park. It was mid-March and the sun looked as if it were fighting sleep as it was gradually going down. I walked home holding my navy blue Nike track jacket over my shoulder. I felt a little hot after the game. I worked up a sweat to where the matching navy Nike track pants I wore were making crackling sounds as I was walking home. I went left on Olive Blvd. from Midland Blvd. After fifteen minutes of walking and nearly home, I pass a McDonald’s restaurant. My appetite got the soaks. The smell of their fries and burgers made me hungry. I didn’t want to eat too much because then Mama would be upset that I didn’t want to eat dinner. I figured I’d have something light. I went to 7-Eleven on 82nd and Olive and bought a Nitro Cola and some Chili Cheese Fritos. While I was walking home a University City unit was cruising down 82nd Blvd. pretty slow like he was creeping on someone. I had no clue he would be creeping on me. After leaving 7-Eleven and crossing the street to an alleyway that provided a good shortcut home, I realize intuitively the same cop is following me. I turn around the corner on the left on Elmore and I see the cop is still following me and I stop when we get by Elmore and Coolidge. I look in his direction wondering why he is tailing me. I’m getting very agitated at this point because I already don’t like being pursued especially for no damn reason. The cop gets out of the car and approaches me. He better have a damn good reason for why he followed me or else he’s begging me to have an excuse to kick his ass. My tolerance level has fallen and now I stand erect as if ready for war. Now we’re just inches away from each other.

Where you goin’ young man? he says with a cocky attitude.

You’ve been following me this long and now decide to ask me where I’m going? I said with annoyance.

What’s your name son?

First of all, it’s not son, especially not your son. I tell you what; I might give you my name if you tell me why the hell you pursued me like some damn criminal. What’s your deal? Is there some quota you gotta make and I just happened to be another to add to your list?

Don’t sass me, boy-

Boy! I flex up at Johnny Law at this point. He just said fighting words and he’s asking for it. Cop or not, he don’t know me very well to come at me with the crap he’s bringing.

Make it easy on yourself. Give me some answers to the questions I ask you and then we can call it an evening. Or you can make it harder on yourself. I got all night long.

How about you make it easy on yourself and apologize for throwing me a derogatory excuse for a noun, which we both know I can and will gladly report as a racial slur? Then maybe, just maybe I’ll attempt to perish the thought that this situation even happened. How about that?

I look at the officer’s name and badge number so I can keep that in my memory bank in case this goes to court, which it most likely will. At this point the cop or Hoosier as the brothers in St. Louis refers to cops, is red-faced, sweaty, and gets ready to charge me up. He has had enough defeat from this black, educated man who is always determined to defend his rights at any cost. He speeds up to me. With his right hand, he reaches for his cuffs and with his left hand, he reaches for my arm.

I smack his arm away from me.

What the hell is wrong with you? You trying to arrest me? For what? What have I done? You can’t even explain can you?

The cop once again tries to grab my arm and I swat it away. Angered, he slaps me with the back of his hand, hits me on the left upper and lower side of my mouth and I lose my balance and fall backward onto one of the neighbor’s front lawn. He approaches me once again.

You think you’re a badass, you insolent boy? Think you’re tough?

He reaches down and grabs at my left leg. You’re not so tough now are-

Before he could finish his statement I quickly deliver a swift, fierce kick to his chin to throw him off balance.

Sergeant, ignorant people like you are the reason I can’t stand the sight of you.

I wipe the side of my mouth and notice a little blood afterward. At this point, I’m beyond frustrated. Sergeant Harris had pushed me beyond the limits of anger. I take a hard look at him and curse after gazing at my hand once more.

Motherfucker! I’m gonna fuck you up!

And fuck him up I did. I grabbed my empty Nitro cola bottle and in a backhand motion like a tennis player, I smashed it across his right eye. He screams in pain and agony. To add more salt to his wound and more pleasure to my vengeance, I kick him repeatedly on the ground like the piece of crap he is. As he reaches for his gun, I kick it out of his hand, grab him by the head and smash his face to the ground on broken glass. I then reach in his back pocket for his nightstick and hit him once in the right knee and once in the back of the neck. I run to where his gun is and pick it up. I cock it and shove it to his brain.

Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill yo’ punk ass right now!

Capital murder, he says with a chuckle in his voice. You’re already a suspect for that murder two days ago by Mannisi Jewelers by Kienlen and Martin Luther King.

According to you, I am a suspect, Harris. I have always been a suspect.

Sergeant Harris tilts his head slightly to his right, measuring me with a stare that appeared to trigger his last vivid memory of my family and me.

I know what you’re thinking, Sergeant! And you’re absolutely right it is me. The ten-year-old you had your sorry ass bitches hold me while you had my mom in cuffs detained when you responded to that domestic disturbance that day. Why was that?

Sergeant Harris breathes heavily, We had to take in consideration-

What consideration you idiot? I snapped. The fact that Ray Dixon was a cop? Of course, cause all you guys stick together regardless of the circumstances. You made a false assumption. You’re already looking at suspension there. Then, if you would have arrested me, you would’ve violated my sixth and fourteenth Amendment rights. Denial of due process. That’s a headline your boss would love. The media would have a field day with this. You would be stripped of your badge indefinitely, not to mention possible prison time yourself. So what’s it gonna be sergeant? You want to risk it all?

How can I argue with the person holding my gun? I did my job and you attempted to kill me in the line of duty.

I laugh at the pure nonsense of his comments. Oh really, well how about we ask them what they think. I point out a few bystanders. Two of seven holding cameras filming the activity. Would you like to retract your statements now? I laughed. You’re on candid camera.

I eject the mag from his weapon and place both on top of his car. I walk to him once more. His prone, pathetic self on the ground.

By the way, I say confidently. My name is Proof.

Proof? he asked confused. What mother names their child proof?

A smart enough one to know that if you ever come around my way again, there will be proof you will lose your job. Or worse.

Is that a threat?

Harris slowly gets up. He struggles to see me with his left eye. Right eye bleeding profusely.

No threat sergeant. The truth! Imagine if I were to judge all you cops the same; like arresting anyone you wish to criminally or racially profile. Better yet, make someone the scapegoat because you can’t figure out who the real criminal is, so you desperately need someone to make the criminal to close your case. Now get that eye fixed so you can actually see those sketches of the real criminals more thoroughly. Don’t falsely arrest anyone else, ok?

I’m going to nail you one these days, Proof if that is your real name. Mark my words.

Until then, see you around, I finger gesture at my eye to mock his injured one.

Herbert taps me.

We’re here, he said. "Page and Woodson right?

Ye-yes, that’s right. Let me open the garage door for you.

I get out of the tow truck, open the shop and press the garage opener switch. Herbert backs up and sits the car down inside the garage. He looks at my ride one last time.

Is this thing even salvageable? I don’t see how this can be fixed.

It will soon be good as new. I have someone I can call on to hook it up.

Take care, Proof. Say hello to Dallas for me.

Will do. Good night.

I make my way through the shop, past Dallas’ office adjacent to the customer waiting area. Trophies and plaques from bowling, tennis, and kickboxing adorn the shelves and walls. I passed through his small kitchen area setup on the right and open the door to the left of his kitchen to lead me to the basement area. Nice setup with a pool table to the right corner after making it downstairs. Ping pong table in the middle left part of the basement. In the middle right of the basement is a small bar with a poster of dogs playing poker on the wall in the bar area. Perfect setup for guys only. But it wouldn’t be complete without the 46 Samsung QLED TV mounted to the wall on the opposite end of the bar area. And a sofa with a queen pullout which was necessary for tonight because I am so tired and about to fall out if I don’t rest soon. I pull out the bed from the sofa and call it a night. My mind is so full and normally when it’s full, I can’t sleep. Especially now. Earlier Sonya triggered my biggest memory when she said I know what you’re thinking." Pop. My father, best friend and true warrior struggled to do right by his family despite his morale being compromised. I loved him for that. Nadine. My love. My queen. My dearest and most priceless jewel I have loved and lost. I remember the nights on the town with each other. Long walks at Forest Park. I think of her every night before I sleep. She appears in my dreams. Beautiful dreams of us two. Seems so real! I try to convince myself that this is a nightmare and by the time I awake I will be right next to her. Then reality slaps me hard in the face with the truth. So devastating I don’t wish to see another day. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. Oh, how I have wept! In a way I wish the crash had killed me; that way I could join you, my dear Nadine. Apparently, the Lord has other plans for me. So I will live longer. Nadine will always be alive in my heart. I take out my wallet and pull out four pictures of us. The first one of us hugged up by the Christmas tree at home when Nadine spent Christmas time with my family. The other pic was at the Arch Riverfront on the fourth of July. My favorite picture- Nadine and me kissing while I carried her. The fireworks of various colors and the Gateway Arch shown in the background. The last one I see made me crack a smile. Nadine, standing only five feet and three inches grabbing hold of my six-foot-four-inch frame from behind.

I will make Vogel and The Keep pay for this, Nadine! I vow revenge. They will pay for what they’ve done to you, Pop, and what they tried to do to Dallas!

I don’t care that they have hurt me. It comes with the territory, but to attempt to kill the man like a father to me. It’s on sight the next time I run into any of them. So The Keep better be ready for me as I am taking each of them out one by one. I swear it on my lady’s grave. It is impossible to sleep for the moment, but by the time I finish a little bit of Mary Jane and Captain Morgan and Coke, the sandman will have my number. I believe he’ll bring me a dream that unfolds how all the mess in my life began.

Chapter 2

I was fifteen years old when I first found The Keep. Max Vogel found me rather. However, I was curious to know about them because Dallas worked with them and rumor had it my father was working for them too. The Keep had a symbol or sign just as any other organization. An eagle catching a snake was the symbol, which was adorned on Dallas’ jacket the last time I’ve seen him when he and his twin daughters Sonya and Carla were over for a visit. It was 3:37 in the afternoon on a relatively warm Friday at Heman Park, the largest park in University City or simply U.City, where a lot of the guys loved to play basketball to show off their skills and some would show off a lot more than others as if they should be expecting an NBA scout watching in the distance; let alone a phone call from any potential agents. It was different that day because it was a teacher work day resulting in a great day off school. Surprisingly, none of the basketball courts were occupied at this time. A nice time for three homeboys to play some ball and just kick it. We were close like brothers. Terrence Baker, one of my closest friends that I’ve known for over ten years. He’s the coolest one in our clique. So cool and laid back that I refer to him as Ice. Usually, Ice won’t flip out, let alone get upset with anyone, unless they were to push him over the edge. Damon Hewitt, however, is a ticking time bomb with a bad attitude. I refer to him as Torch because he’s so fired up most of the time. It doesn’t take much to set him off. If you look at him the wrong way or verbally taunt him he is ready for battle. As for me, most know me as Proof. Not my government name, but it was my sobriquet. I assumed the nickname because I feel I have to constantly prove a point, especially proving I am the best at what anyone says I can’t do and others have witnessed my accomplishments. It makes them wonder how I’m great at it and I tell them my name says it all. There was power in that name. Anyway, the guys and I decided to play a game to twenty-one points or simply call it bucket. I lay down a stipulation to make the game more interesting so it will bring the best out of all three of us.

Loser buys drink of the winner’s choice, I said as I gesture drinking from a bottle.

It’s three of us, Proof, Torch protests his logic while shaking his head. Only one of us can win. What does the other loser have to buy?

I look at Torch for a second, smile, and say, Simple. Ice can buy my drink and you can buy me some White Castle burgers. And I do want cheese on that, so I hope you ready to get smoked. Glad you thought of the idea.

Put your money where your mouth is! What you got?! Torch flashes a twenty-dollar bill.

Man, where did you steal that from? I show a twenty as well.

Your mama’s purse.

Well, I’m gonna teach you a hard lesson on the court so I can sneak it back in her purse later on. What you got Ice?

Ice looking perplexed from being dragged into the trash-talking session along with Torch and me gives a blank stare. Proof, you said winner buys drinks and food so I’m down with that. As far as the money goes, that’s between you and Torch. I aint paid like you ballers.

We all laughed. I took the basketball and walked to the free-throw line to shoot for possession. I made the shot and then Ice took the ball. He made it as well. Torch missed his shot so it was between Ice and me.

Ice smiled. Do or die.

I give a challenging glare. Go for it.

Ice makes the shot and has possession. He starts off great with a 2-pointer and three free throws. Then he somehow plays sloppily. While trying to take me to the hole and go for a layup I block and take it back and make a two-pointer along with three free throws. Then I make another two-pointer with free throws to go with it. Torch managed to gain possession for the first time after getting a rebound from my missed shot. He makes two free throws. After attempting to make the third shot, he missed and Ice gets the rebound. He taunts Torch with trick moves by dribbling through his legs, fake shots, and even dribbling past Torch with a toss to his right side. Torch falls when trying to intercept the ball and Ice easily scores. I couldn’t help but laugh.

What’s so funny Proof? Torch asks angrily.

The way Ice shook you, I replied. Guess he cooled you off for that moment.

The priceless look of anger Torch gave me said he got the pun but didn’t appreciate the humor.

I chuckle. And now the ice melts.

Even Ice starts laughing. Torch sneers at him.

What the hell are you laughing at? You got lucky that’s all. You know you normally can’t shake me like that. Try it again.

Calm down Torch, I cautioned. You know you can’t think straight when you’re mad.

"And you’re the real voice of reason aint you, Proof?

I know Ice may embarrass you again if you don’t chill.

At the moment Torch ignores me and went back to guarding Ice. The game suddenly gets interrupted when six guys make their way onto the court. Three of the guys look like they go to University City High School, one looks like he’s not from the area and the other two looks grown. I’m sure they’re here to play basketball as well. They look like a unit. Each guy wearing gray jogging pants and a white t-shirt except for one of the grown-looking guys. He’s about six feet and two inches with a medium build. Hairstyle- a medium afro and dark-skinned and sporting classic Converse Chuck Taylor’s. Instead of a white t-shirt, he has on a white wife-beater. They all look like they’re up to no good. No surprise there. One of the guys with a white tee stands by the tall one in the group. He’s tan-complected, hair low cut with waves so obvious it looks as if he invested his life savings in Sportin’ Waves products. He stands five feet, eight inches tall. A small conversation is made between the two. Staring in my direction is Mr. Sportin’ Waves.

He yells out, What’s up!

I shake my head, Nothing other than getting my hoop on. What’s up with you?

Just checking out your game kid. You look like you shoot a tight-ass jumper. Bust one of those threes for us right here.

I didn’t realize they were watching the bucket game between Ice, Torch, and me. Also, I couldn’t tell if Sportin’ Waves really admired my game or was being sarcastic. I figured one way to break the ice was to make it more interesting.

What kind of three would you like me to hit? I ask pointing at the arc on the court. A regular three?

Shit! Sportin’ Waves doubted.

Or would you like me to hit an NBA three? I take two wide steps back.

Sportin’ Waves pursed his lips in corners in disbelief.

Get the fuck out of here with that. You can’t make that shit. I got fifty dollars saying you can’t make that shit.

Oh really, I hold out my hand, but Sportin’ Waves smacks it away.

What’s wrong? I ask him. Don’t want to shake on it and make it official?

It’s all good, just miss the damn shot and give me my money.

His homeboys around him join in agreement followed by taunts and laughter.

Sportin’ Waves says, That’s right. Bitch betta have my money.

As I listen to their jeering words, I take my ball and prepare for my shot at the shooting range for an NBA three-pointer. I shoot and of course, make the shot. I look in Sportin’ Waves’ direction. Walk over to him and hold out my hand. He starts showing out for his friends. Slaps me five and says What’s up.

You owe me fifty, that’s what’s up.

He laughs, Get the fuck out of my face lil derty.

With that expression, I know he’s either from U.City or STL for sure since we use that word derty not to be mistaken for calling someone filthy dirty. It’s another meaning for dude.

Pay what you owe or don’t write a check yo broke ass can’t cash, I warned him.

His crew looks at him. Laughing but covering their mouths and pointing at him.

One of them says, Damn Tre, I guess the bill collector is coming to collect. You better have his money.

You want to put me on blast, derty. I got yo’ fifty dollar check.

With impetuous hostility, he comes my way and throws a punch my way, but I quickly sidestep it, snap kick him in the shin and deliver a fierce strike at his solar plexus. As he doubled over in pain, I grab him by the throat.

Care to rephrase that comment you made?

No answer.

Torch screams out, Cat got your tongue?

Naah, cat got the throat, Ice giggled. A lot easier to get than the tongue.

Torch and Ice are getting a kick out of their humor at Tre’s expense.

Y’all shut the fuck up and get off the court! The dark six foot two guy glowered my way.

Why don’t you come over here and make us. I challenged.

Little did they know I had a few years of training in Wing Chun, Jeet Kun Do, and Tai Chi. Plus a bit of Brazilian Jiu Jitsu. With Tre knocked down to the ground, the tall guy approaches my way with his four cohorts at his side in an attempt to repair their bruised and broken ego. Two go after Torch and two after Ice. Little did they know Torch has single-handedly taken apart five guys in a street fight and Ice has a few good years in boxing and wrestling. Torch and Ice easily dispense those two clowns and leave the tall one to me. Six-two proves that he has street skills because he caught me with a rushing takedown. My back hits the pavement and he tries to pound me mercilessly. He stings me with a right-side body shot but misses my head and hits the pavement hard. I lock in a triangle choke and try squeezing the life out of him and I couldn’t care less about his repeated tapping out. I want to make him suffer. One for bugging my friends and me during our time on the court and two because I despise being robbed of my vertical base. As I release him, Tre reaches behind his pants to pull out a gun and Ice quickly grabs the basketball and throws it at him before he could point his weapon. Enraged, I rush and give a feint left front kick only to perfect my spin back right kick with the impact of my heel connecting his soft spot. As he falls to the ground I grab his head and unload a barrage of punches and make him bleed. Then I slam his head to the ground and walk by six-two one more time.

Proof, what are you thinking? Ice asked me.

I just want to give him something to remember me by.

I grit my teeth and deliver a punt kick to his temple.

I wanted to beat Tre and six-two to death. Literally. But I don’t wish to chance the possibility of the fuzz showing up and taking all of us for a ride. I let him live this time, but not without one last moment of humiliation. I take his gun and search his pockets until I find a wallet or money clip. He starts to move.

Be still! I kick him in the hip. I told your stupid ass to pay what you owe. I look in his wallet and find five hundred dollars and a fifty-dollar bill. I take it all and put it in my pocket.

Tre says weakly, Man, I only owe you fifty. That’s fucked up man. Why you taking all my shit?

Consider that interest, motherfucker. Anyone who fucks me, I fuck them. Harder. So hard your woman, if you got one will even break windows screaming my name.

Tre scrunches his face and sucks his teeth and gives me a threatening look like he wants to rearrange my entire anatomy until I point his gun at him.

Get your punk ass up and get the fuck outta here! I demanded. Don’t let me see you or your peeps here again. Next time I ain’t gonna be so nice!

Despite their injuries, the scoundrels managed to skedaddle out of the park.

By now I notice eight guys hanging around the picnic table area.

Damn! Torch exclaimed. I think you pissed them off Proof.

That would be messed up if Torch is right. These guys look serious. All eight of them wearing suits means either they were mobsters or federal agents. I doubt they would want to waste time in wasting a few teenagers. They looked like their minds were elsewhere.

Ice, Torch, and I took our time to catch our second wind. I had to catch my breath after the fierce beating I’d given these clowns. Despite the sunshiny day here in the afternoon, it helped that it was windy and we were by trees for shade. Time to call it an afternoon and bounce. Torch grabbed the basketball and we start walking out of the park.

Leaving so soon? one of the suited men called out. He signaled us to approach him. I would like to talk to you for a moment. That was very impressive what you did out there.

He pointed in the direction of the basketball court. I walk toward the suited-up crew still toting the prized pistol I took in victory.

How long have you been standing there watching us? I ask inquisitively.

Long enough to know The Keep can use guys such as yourselves.

What are you? A gang or something?

You are funny, soldier. We are no gang. Just an organization of men that take extreme pride in our work. We specialize in various aspects of damage control.

That would explain the suits I suppose. Why do you call yourselves…The Keep?

You have many questions I see. In due time you’ll have your answers. To make it simple for you, look around. Do you see these guys? Von and I are German, he touches the guy in a black and white suit to his left. He then points in left-to-right order. Pierre is French, Faizi and Akeel are from Pakistan. You get my point?

Not exactly. I’m pretty sure my expression made it obvious.

I was denied many opportunities before coming to America. I wanted to achieve what you would call the American Dream and Von and I met these guys in New York, but we wanted to take our business to an area less competitive. So we chose St. Louis.

So I guess you flipped a coin upon your coming to America, I smiled.

Something like that.

The boss’s cellular phone rings. Then the phones of the rest of The Keep. The conversation concluded with Von talking to him in German.

There is business to take care of now. Important matters require our immediate attention. He pulls out a business card. Max Vogel. Think about it and call me when you’re ready to join the team.

They disappear out in the late afternoon.

I get home forty-five minutes later and hop in the shower to cleanse my body from all the sweat, heat, and basketball playing. Not to mention the fighting with those clowns at Heman Park which gave me more workout. I reach for my Lever 2000 body wash and clean my two thousand parts. Shower needed so bad that it temporarily slipped my mind that we didn’t have hot or even warm running water. My mother was behind on the gas bill by three months. Laclede Gas showed no mercy when you don’t pay what you owe. It was evident if someone in the neighborhood was behind on their bills. I remember walking home one evening at 8:30. Passed a few neighbors’ homes before getting to mine and notice the house was completely dark inside even though the family was at home. Union Electric obviously cut them off. It was too early for anyone to be in bed and every other neighbor’s lights were on. In my family’s case of the gas cut off, we had to use the neighbor’s shower to get clean if we couldn’t take the cold water. Mama, of course, dealt with the cold water. Also, we cooked using electric skillets for non-meat foods and a small Old Smokey grill for meat which we cooked outside in the back yard. We got an Old Smokey the first time we were behind on bills a year ago when our electric and gas were cut off. Some neighbors had it twisted when they were under the notion we were having a party since we fired up Old Smokey frequently. But once they saw our dark home in the evening, they got the message. I was beyond sick and tired of going through this turmoil. For one, I had to be the man of the house because my father wasn’t around. I had to help Mama take care of my brother Maurice and sister Belinda. Fortunately, I was almost done with high school. I was a junior at University City High School. I successfully tested out of eighth grade at Brittany Woods Middle School when I was thirteen. I’ve acquired enough credits and achieved success through various academic tests to skip sophomore year after I was a freshman. I thought about going to college but had no idea where and most importantly how I would pay for it. I could’ve received an athletic scholarship in wrestling but unfortunately, I blew my chance. The big home tournament in University City. My opponent was Bryan Fredrickson from Riverview High School. Clever and cunning, yet pretty cocky. He specialized in swift takedowns and possessed the ability to ground trap you and eventually score the pin. Throughout the duration of the match, Bryan and I appeared to be evenly matched. Takedowns, reversals, and near falls between the two of us had the audience riveted. However, things took a turn for the worst when Bryan and I were going for a grapple or takedown and we both were knee-deep on the mat. Both of us had our heads down and while I regained my vertical base, Bryan attempted to headbutt me in the face to disorient me. The referee wouldn’t penalize Bryan for such illegal action. And I thought referees were supposed to be impartial. Angered by my conspiracy theory, I lost control and unleashed a fury of martial arts on Bryan. He intentionally tried to injure me, therefore I was beyond willing to return the favor. For my actions, I was disqualified for unsportsmanlike and flagrant conduct. I still believe in my heart to this day and would take it to my grave that I rightfully defended myself for his illegal strategy. Before I was restrained by 4 officials, I managed to throw about five vicious knees to Bryan’s face and tattoo them with his blood. I watch him hit the ground unconscious, blood coming from his nose, mouth, and around his eyes. Then I looked at the biased ref from our match who had some nerve to be restraining me. In my raging state, I scream and throw a right cross at the ref’s face and hit him square in the nose. The other refs pick me up and carry me outside. I smile a sinister smile in the distance as I watch that poor excuse for a referee holding his bloody nose and saw his watery eyes. I was banned from all athletics thereafter and ordered to take anger management classes for a month to avoid being suspended from school for fifteen days. With that debacle hanging over my head and possibly on my permanent record, who knows what college will accept me? Mama was pretty pissed off at me when she heard the news later on that night about me losing my cool. I struggled to explain to her my version of what happened despite the athletics committee admonishing me of the ramifications of my actions. However, she wouldn’t hear any of it. As usual. What else is new? I get in any kind of physical altercation she thinks it’s my fault and I act without conscience. It’s a shame she doesn’t really know me like she thinks she does. Otherwise, she would know ever since the time I got jumped after school while I attended Barbara Jordan Elementary School I started learning Wing Chun and multiple styles of Kung Fu for self-defense. One would assume my mother would understand me more than anyone else would, but on the contrary, the only one that understood me the most was my girlfriend, Nadine.

What weighed heavy on my mind more was the fact my mother was struggling with two jobs working odd hours. She was hardly home so I filled in for her a lot to hold down the fort and take care of Maurice and Belinda. Mama was able to see us off as we left for school, but I had to make preparations when we were home from school. I usually made it home by three in the afternoon while Mo and Belinda made it by 3:45 or 4:00 just depending on how long Mo had to wait for Belinda while he was crossing the street from Brittany Woods to Ronald E. McNair to meet her. He was in the eighth grade while she was across the street at the sixth-grade center. Once they got home, I allowed them to unwind for about thirty minutes. Either they would eat a snack, watch television, or both.

This evening while Mo and Belinda did their homework, I reflected once again on all the negativity we experienced in our lives as a family. Mama working two jobs: seamstress at Selaco 169 Dry Cleaning on Olive between Fairview and Eastover. Second job- Call Center Representative at Hopewell Group Home on Waterman Blvd. Their primary function- provide housing for adults with serious and persistent mental illness.