Heart of a Million Dollar Stroll

By Darrell Dwayne Bernard Mallard II

When you are committed to a criminal life, subjected only to the laws of those who murder and prey on the possessions of another, there are no limitations to the means by which a dollar should be made. Heart of a Million-Dollar Stroll gives you a glimpse into this life of crime as you lurk in the shadows with the leader of a gang of robbers and his quest to attain glory and the recognition required to attain riches and be feared by the streets. There are consequences that follow taking the life of a human being or anything that has been given to man by God. There are signs on every road that will provide an indication of the destination. Most roads allow an exit to escape what is ahead, but where will the dark road of this criminal life lead him before he reaches a dead end?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hawes & Jenkins Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 30, 2023
• ISBN: 9781637841082

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Heart of a Million Dollar Stroll

Darrell Dwayne Bernard Mallard II

ISBN 978-1-63784-107-5 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-63784-108-2 (digital)

Copyright © 2023 by Darrell Dwayne Bernard Mallard II

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Hawes & Jenkins Publishing

16427 N Scottsdale Road Suite 410

Scottsdale, AZ 85254

www.hawesjenkins.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

No matter where you believe that you stand with a female, for her love of money or for another street nigga who may or may not possess as much as you may often assume at times you have enough of to buy her loyalty, always remember that you can never buy a woman's love and stop her from crossing you for the one she really loves as much as money.

RIP, Christopher L. Grayheart.

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

About the Author

No matter where you believe that you stand with a female, for her love of money or for another street nigga who may or may not possess as much as you may often assume at times you have enough of to buy her loyalty, always remember that you can never buy a woman's love and stop her from crossing you for the one she really loves as much as money.

RIP, Christopher L. Grayheart.

Chapter 1

Beauty is without worth when considering the value of a diamond. There is nothing that can have value without being an object of utility. That which does not serve a purpose must yield to that which can be made useful.

Although many of the boys who often loitered in front of her building did not sell drugs, as they often portrayed to gain her attention, and regardless of the fact that it was after ten o'clock, it wasn't out of the ordinary to see the continuous traffic coming and going at such a late hour. As Porsha exited the passenger side of the green Audi and walked across the parking lot of Glen Cove apartment complex to her front door, underneath the staircase across the hall, a group of boys were hanging out, smoking.

Damn, Porsha, one holding his pants with one hand while twisting one of his short dreadlocks with the other said as she approached. When you go let a nigga fuck something? You act like you scared to fuck with niggas from around here.

Frowning in disgust, she ignored the statement and entered. Porsha then relocked the door before making her way to the small kitchen, where she stood for a moment and retrieved the pink case–covered cell phone from her tote bag. Pressing the phone's number 2 button for speed dial, Porsha then waited impatiently for an answer that never came. Trying for a third time after immediately catching the voice mail the second time, after the second ring, the person on the other end finally answered.

What's good?

The same and only thing that it will always be anytime I call. Besides you, I'm just trying to keep my purse filled with heavy coins by any means necessary, how you know I get it.

Imagine that. But that's already my pussy. I don't have to pay for it.

Not like that, boy, Porsha said. And I can get in any nigga pockets without him ever even getting a chance to eat this pussy.

I already know. So go ahead and tell a young nigga what is on your mind.

Okay, do you remember the nigga Magic who I told you about?

No, I don't remember.

He the one out of Lauderhill who got the slime-green Q7 on 30s.

No, I don't know the nigga, and I don't fuck with none of them clowns from around there. Speaking to someone in the background before he spoke back into the phone to Porsha, the boy said, But what that nigga be gambling and fucking a lot of young hoes?

Hmm. Huh. Questioning whether she had a way of finding and getting to him being that the boy was now aware that the man had a reputation for carrying large amounts of cash, Porsha said, Well, I thought I already told you that I've been fucking with dude for some time now. And just last week or so, I told him that I was pregnant. My friend Jessica is expecting, so I used her for a pregnancy test, and true enough, aside from that, dude is fucked up about me.

Yeah. What nigga wouldn't be?

The lightness of her skin and a face that appeared innocent yet intimidating to most, in addition to her Haitian descent, which heightened her features, Porsha was one many would refer to as exotic. At sixteen years old—a mature sixteen both by her fully developed woman figure and conduct—there was not a man alive who did not seem to want to get inside her panties.

Laughing seductively, Porsha said, I know, but I'm not trying to be in a relationship, and I damn sure am not trying to have no babies unless they from your fine ass.

Yeah, I hear you.

Without responding so as not to entertain the boy's comment, Porsha said, "But like I was saying, I've been fucking with dude for some time now. And usually, he doesn't take me to his house. Most of the time, we meet up and go out places when we are together.

But since I told him that I have been thinking about getting an abortion, because I don't know whether or not we will work being that he is an older guy and might not want a sixteen-year-old as his baby mama, he has started bringing me into his life more and showing me little things he never has before.

Showing you things? Like what? the boy questioned.

Like the other night, after he had been driving me around with him, he went to pick up something to eat for us and took me back to his condo and was showing me a whole bunch of money and drugs. Everything was stacked on top of a safe he has.

Yeah, but did he tell you that the money he was showing you was for him to pay for the dope, or was that all he had made and will keep? I'm listening and hearing everything that you are saying, but I'm only about sliding when I know it's there, so I'm saying, did you see what all was inside the safe?

I believe what I saw outside was enough, and everything that he was showing me had come from what he had made that day.

Like what? the boy questioned.

I can't say, but I know money, and from what I had seen outside, I know that it was more than a hundred thousand. He told me that we have to be married first before I could see what he has in there.

Okay, but I don't want to talk no more about that on these phones. So when I slide through there tonight, we will see what all we are going to need to do.

All right. I love you, Porsha said sincerely, speaking to nothing more than the hard pink plastic covering of the phone, being that the boy on the other end had hung up during her last statement.

Moments later, she grabbed her tote bag from the counter and walked down the dim and narrow hallway of the three-bedroom apartment, where she lived with her grandmother, an old drunk, and her aunt, a nurse who worked two jobs and who was seldom home. Entering her room, she connected her phone to the charger and set her bag on the computer desk, where there was a pink laptop, which she flipped open and turned on to check her recent messages and comments posted on social media. Shutting the computer down nearly twenty minutes later, Porsha then began getting undressed and walked across her bedroom wearing a pair of pink Victoria's Secret lace thongs to one of her dresser drawers. Removing the panties, Porsha then slipped into a short, thin peach-colored dress that hung tight above the arch of her ass cheeks. After wrapping her hair and removing the jewelry she wore, Porsha began applying an Abercrombie fragrance that had continuously been complimented. Making her way to the full-size bed, as she pulled back the pink silk comforter and pink sheets, Porsha again grabbed her cellular and scrolled through its recent call log until she found his number and hit the call button. After several rings, during which the call seemed as if it was going to go to voice mail, Magic finally answered.

What's up, baby?

Nothing, Porsha replied innocently in a childlike voice as she giggled. I'm bored here by myself, so I just wanted to hear your voice one more time and tell you thanks and let you know how much I love you.

That's sweet, and I love you too, baby, but that money and anything else that I have ever gave you is nothing to me. You will always be taken care of, so you don't ever have to worry about anything.

I know, but I still be wanting you to know how I feel sometimes. I don't want you to think that I'm selfish and don't care about all the things you do for me.

You don't have to worry about that, Magic stated.

Okay, but good night. I'm going to call you in the morning when I wake up, so if you can, try to answer your phone for me.

All right, baby. Sweet dreams.

Yes, my dreams will come true as long as I keep running into sweet-ass niggas like you, Porsha spoke out to herself as she ended the call.

She lay on her side in the dark and dozed off for what seemed to be only a few minutes, though it was nearly forty-five minutes that she reflected upon the day's past before her pipe dream was interrupted by both a tap on her room window and the loud sound of the ringing of her phone. Glancing at the screen, she smiled; Porsha then powered the phone off and proceeded to the front door.

*****

In most cities, it was only during bike week that you could expect thousands to gather on motorcycles. But in Broward County, on any night of the week, you could find the same crowd disrupting traffic and taking over the streets. Tonight was not any different. At eleven forty-nine, Magic was among a crowd that filled the parking lot and a long, narrow street behind a section of warehouses in front of an abandoned charter school building, racing dirt bikes and four-wheelers.

What do you niggas want to bet? he asked while checking the vitals on the Banshee he had only moments ago rolled down from a trailer.

A thousand dollars a race, a stocky, dark-skinned man with a low cut named Bruce said while retrieving a stack of bills from a tall, husky boy with dreads who stood in front of another short, young, light-skinned boy with short dreadlocks who had only minutes ago raced a Yamaha YZ125, which he sat on.

No, nigga, drop fifteen hundred. That's y'all bet. I don't bet no less than that, said a chubby, fat-faced man named Fats.

Okay, that's a bet. We are going from there to UPS, Magic declared, pointing in the direction of a pole that displayed a No Littering sign next to a vacant lot filled with sand.

Moments later, as Magic and Bruce lined up across the street with the sound of the two cycle engines roaring in preparation, at the drop of the arms of the man who stood on the far side of the road, as they went up and came down, the race began.

Chapter 2

The attention span of a man is short. If a man argues with someone and then murders that person, once they get into a verbal or physical altercation with someone else, they are less likely to become a prime suspect. If he never shows any animosity and pretends that the two of them are friends, when he kills him two weeks or a month later, no one will suspect him as being the killer. This is something that every real robber understands. To mislead and alter the perception of those around you, you have to have the patience to wait. When you observe and find a target, you don't have to touch them that same day. But when you do and are ready to make your move, they will never know when and where you began on their trail.

Music was blasting inside the stolen four-door Ford Taurus as they drove eastbound on Atlantic Boulevard. Rich Jit, Nard, and Travis were on their way to a neighborhood located only several blocks away from South Florida's Pompano Beach to burglarize Magic's condo.

In the back seat, loading the magazine for the Glock that rested on his lap as he looked outside through the window behind him and to his left for signs of any Broward Sheriff's Office patrol cars, in a deep and all but joking voice, which they nor anyone else ever knew he did too much, Rich Jit said, Cut that shit off.

Immediately, the loud sound of the music vanished. Although technically the youngest and physically the smallest, Rich Jit was well-respected, if not more respected, by the crew. Not only did he often act out and fulfill the role as the brain of many of their operations, but also, at the age of sixteen, Rich Jit already had a growing reputation for ruthlessness. He was feared not only by the streets but also by many of those close to him. Never known for displaying any leniency for anyone, if you weren't raised in his neighborhood, which in many cases didn't matter, or a part of his young clique of jackboys and you had anything that he wanted, then by any means necessary, he would find you and do anything he had to do until you gave it to him. Minus the teardrops that he vowed to never get tatted on his face, although most of his body, from the bold Dark Side tattoo on his neck, had been covered with tattoos that told many stories of his young life, he had his own symbolic trend for that cause. After his second murder, beginning from the top, he began to put gold teeth in his mouth as trophies. For every person he had taken the life of, he added two permanent gold teeth—one for their life and one for his own, considering it luck that it wasn't him. Right now, he had a total of six gold teeth, which were the only things clearly visible as he spoke between the extreme darkness of his skin, the rolled-up black ski mask that covered his low cut, the black jumpsuit, and what filled the car from the dark tints and night's falling. Although they all seemed to have been close for many years, being that they all grew up in the same Fort Lauderdale neighborhood—Roosevelt Gardens, better known as Dillard being that the neighborhood surrounded the well-known high school—Nard, who believed that since he and Rich Jit had been close as brothers since their elementary days in kindergarten, before Travis moved from a neighborhood across the tracks, felt that if anyone could comment to Rich Jit about anything without consequences, he could.

With this courage, he said, You always tripping. Any other time, a nigga can't get you to stop listening to Plies or B.G. A nigga just vibing, and I'm in that zone right now. You feel me?

Speaking calmly, as he often did, while looking coldly into Nard's eyes and then out the window before turning back to face him, Rich Jit said, No, I don't feel you. Flaw niggas who don't really live this shit need to get high or listen to that shit to get hyped or ease their mind before they go pull a caper or murk something. Real killers don't need a boost to push him out here. That shit already in a nigga. That don't do nothing but fuck up a nigga thinking.

Looking once again out the window, Rich Jit thought about one of his uncles, a man who had been a bona fide hustler, although anytime he had been faced with difficult circumstances, it had led him into a state of depression that caused him to relapse into a drug habit, something that had repeatedly proven to be his downfall. As it would often remain for years, one day, he would be on top of the world; and then the next, without forewarning, the same man could be observed walking down the street barefoot while begging, just as those he had only days ago sold drugs to. Coming back to him as if it had been yesterday, he reflected back on the last time he had seen him alive underneath the car porch of his grandfather's house. Sneaking up on the man, who was oblivious to his surroundings as music sounded from the car, Rich Jit found a syringe with the remains of liquid cocaine among several empty plastic packages and pills. The man's red eyes bulged open at the sound of Rich Jit calling his name while shaking his arm. He was unembarrassed as he stared fixedly for a moment before closing his eyes once again and drifting back off to sleep. Rich Jit then cleaned up the area around him and stuck around to monitor him for the remainder of the day. Although he frowned upon the man's weakness, what others had detached themselves for, he also acknowledged his potential and still admired his mentality. But after he himself was committed and sent away to a juvenile justice program, while inside, he not too long after received word that the man had continued to get high and had overdosed and died. Now with the thought of the boy's statement, the only image that came to mind was the last time he had seen him that day. The encounter had been similar to a robbery he had once been involved in, where while he stood aside the older boy he had been with had turned back and crept from behind and murdered a man who had been on the passenger side of a car, listening to music, also unaware of his surroundings.

So what you saying, I don't really live this shit? Nigga, I—

Cutting Nard's words short, from the driver's seat, Travis spoke out.

That's it right there, ain't it, bruh?

They all had skipped school today and had come to the exact location they were in now, with many of the buildings adjacent and painted the same color. In the partial light of the night, it was easy to get most of them confused with one another.

Speaking to both Travis and Nard, Rich Jit said, Yeah, homie. So we don't have time for no more talking. It's time to get right.

They entered through the front entrance, where they used the code that Porsha had observed and saved on her phone. Passing the unoccupied guard booth, they drove around a row of parked cars. Travis then pulled the Ford inside an empty space and scanned their surroundings.

All right, y'all already know the play. This shit sweet. That clown at the club and will be there all night, so all we have to do is get in and get that cookie jar and be back out. Me and Nard going in. Trab, I just need you to stay out here and watch the movement.

Once again, they used the code to enter the condo's lobby. After exiting the elevator on the fourth floor and walking down the hall to their destination, looking around as he dropped to his knees and removed the crowbar from his jumpsuit, Nard began to pry the door open.

You got that bitch, homie, Rich Jit said encouragingly to the boy as he shook the piece of steel back and forth.

To most, he might have appeared to be a pretty boy; but by his street credibility, those who knew him would share another opinion. Light skin with a low cut where the waves on his head were clearly visible, Nard stood at around five foot eleven, weighed nearly 195 pounds, and had been solid from all the exercising he had done recently during a year's stay inside a level 6 juvenile program. After several shakes between the door's lock and breaking its barrier as Nard pushed, the door swung open. Entering and closing the unlatched door behind them as they both observed the scenery, Nard then ran down a staircase that led toward the master bedroom as Rich Jit made his way across the living room and unlatched the lock of a sliding glass door that led to the balcony.

Making his way back across the living room after checking the second bedroom, which belonged to a young child, he joined Nard inside the master, where clothing had been tossed over the floor.

Near the king-size bed, where the boy was on his hands and knees, looking up as he noticed Rich Jit's presence, Nard said, Where the safe? Didn't that bitch say the safe was right next to the nigga bed?

Yeah, when she saw it. He could have easily moved it after she left. But believe me, I know it's something in here.

Rich Jit walked toward the walk-in closet, where there appeared to be at least two hundred pairs of tennis shoes and shoeboxes. He tossed them around as he opened the lids in desperation and anticipation. He was retrieving a Timberland box when he heard something from the second bedroom, where he again went in search after being unable to locate the safe in the master bedroom.

Then Nard yelled out, I got it!

*****

Outside, in the condo's parking lot, as he stood leaning over the trunk of the Ford Taurus, Travis was speaking into his cellular phone, lost in conversation, without regard for anything that was taking place around him, as the Audi made its way inside the condo's entrance and pulled inside a parking space only eleven or twelve slots down on the opposite side.

Man, Trina, you the wife. Before I ever give anybody else anything, you already know that I got you. You don't have to worry about nothing. I'm a boss. I just sit back and get paid while them dumbass niggas put in all the work. I'm not on that shit them niggas on. I will catch a nigga slipping and rob him outside, but I'm not going inside nobody house. I just sit back and let them dumbass niggas do that shit. Either way, all the money will still get split.

As Travis stood continuing his conversation, Magic made his way inside the lobby and entered the elevator.

*****

After lifting the lid off the Timberland shoebox, opening it, he looked inside, but the only thing that was inside was what the box read: a pair of size 13 Timberland boots.

No, this is not it.

Inside the second bedroom, after flipping the race car bed, Rich Jit looked at a frame that sat on a dresser that held a picture of Magic and his son together at Disney World, both wearing Mickey Mouse ear caps. Then he returned to the closet, where the door had been ajar from the previous time he had come and scanned the room. Opening it fully as he rambled through hung clothing and moved aside an empty paintbrush set box, in the darkness of the closet's rear, Rich Jit could make out the vague structure of the digital combination steel safe. Pacing toward the master bedroom with the race car comforter from the child's bed wrapped around the safe, he stood at the door of the room's entrance and began to advise Nard that it was time to leave. He noticed half of the chain hanging from one of the pockets of the boy's jumpsuit as he searched through more drawers while tossing clothing. He half-smirked, but he could have laughed if the timing and situation had been different as he observed the reaction on Nard's face as he walked up.

What you trying to cuff, nigga? As Nard stared, puzzled, for a moment, Rich Jit added, Fuck that other shit. I got that. Let's slide.

Inside the living room, as they began for the front door, you could see the bronze handle beginning to turn, and the door slowly began to open. Rich Jit handed the safe to Nard, whom he then signaled toward the balcony. The boy then went and stood on the patio. Staring down through the screen covering that surrounded it from top to bottom, he hesitated, fearful of jumping from such a far distance. But after the first three shots rang and echoed throughout the condo, following the safe, which he threw first, tearing the screen, Nard jumped across the railing, which he held, climbing down to the balcony's concrete platform, where he hung for support. Seconds later, after another two shots rang out, running like Usain Bolt across the living room, Rich Jit came flying over the balcony as if he was going to land inside a swimming pool and not on hard soil. Stealing Nard's grip of the ledge as the two collided, they both landed hard, and Nard cried in pain.

I think I broke my motherfucking knee.

Grabbing the blanket and safe, which weren't many inches over, as he held his back while limping, Rich Jit said, Shit, it feel like I broke my back. But tighten up. We got to get from out here.

Behind the condo building, walking swiftly around toward the parking lot as they came into view, there they could see Travis as he stood leaning over the trunk with his head turned in the opposite direction while speaking into the phone.

Damn, my nigga, what's up? Nard asked aggressively while breathing heavily as Travis turned to face them.

Hanging up the phone without saying another word, Travis then rushed to the driver's seat as they all got inside and made their way from the scene.

Interrupting the silence that had been held since passing two patrol cars whose sirens were off as they detoured through a nearby neighborhood, Nard said, I'm saying, nigga, why didn't you call and give us a heads-up that the nigga came back home?

Staring coldly at Travis from the passenger seat as he continued to drive in silence, appearing to focus only on the road ahead of him, Nard continued to snap, becoming even more frustrated by his unresponsiveness.

The nigga tried to come in on us. He could have been strapped, and we could have got killed in that shit.

Continuing to direct his attention forward, turning his head only once, Travis said, I didn't see anybody go in. He must have come in another way.

How when the nigga was parked right in your face? If you hadn't been on the phone, talking to that raggedy-ass hoe, you would have been on beat. Dawg or not, do you think that you are supposed to get paid when you are not playing your position?

Speaking from the back seat, Rich Jit said, Ain't no pressure, homie. Chill out. We got what we came for, and I took care of that clown, so now let's get back to the hood so we can see what's all in this shit.

*****

Magic lay facedown between the front door and the hallway, where he had suffered two shots to the head. As he had begun to enter, turning out all the lights, Rich Jit then stepped aside and allowed the man to enter before stepping from around a corner in front of him. Magic, frightened, had hurriedly backed up to run before Rich Jit shot him three times and demanded that he remain still. Rich Jit had calmly asked for the code to the safe, but the man had denied having it as he gasped and struggled to hold up a key ring. Rich Jit had then instructed the man to remove the key, which he was barely able to do. To be assured that he wouldn't recover and rise back to his feet or call the police, as his nerves continued to react from the shock. Rich Jit had then fired two shots into his head and chest. Retrieving the keys from his hand and removing the one he knew belonged to the safe and dropping the others that apparently belonged to the condo and either a mail or safety-deposit box, Rich Jit had then peeked outside. Among multiple distant voices of people he couldn't see, he had observed a shirtless, tall, muscular, dark-skinned man standing a distance down the hall near an open door where a woman stood while she spoke into a phone. Stepping backward over the body, it was then that he had realized that there was