The Adventures of Sonny Brown

By Robert A. Thompson a.k.a The Boogie Mann

When his lawsuit money starts to get low, Sonny Brown finds out from the most unusual sources that the pimp life may have been just a natural call of the wild.

The system hasn't been too kind to Angela "Angel" Cooper either, so she connects with Sonny on her eighteenth birthday since foster care is about to throw her to the wolves anyway.

There are many obstacles, and they find themselves in more than a few perplexing predicaments where Sonny has to use his street hustler's instinct to dodge death.

Every hood has their own struggles in the trenches, where survival is for those who know how to stack a dollar.

Sonny Brown is mack royalty out here in Sactown Killer Cali, where counting coins and dead bodies are an everyday norm.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Oct 16, 2023
• ISBN: 9781662451065

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The Adventures of Sonny Brown

Robert A. Thompson a.k.a The Boogie Mann

Copyright © 2023 Robert A. Thompson

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2023

ISBN 978-1-6624-5105-8 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-6624-5106-5 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Be Forever Mindful

Honorable Mention

Prologue

Back in the Day

Issue 1

Option Two from Page 20

Issue 2

Option One from Page 20

Option from Page 69

Other Option from Page 69

Issue 3

Option from Page 99

About the Author

To my family…

Sometimes families are the friends you choose.

With that said, my love and respect goes out to each and every member of the church. That statement is not contradictory nor ironic, being that I am a Muslim. If you think so, then clearly, you are blind to the broader picture and therefore the robust terminology utilized by the enlightened. A limited education will confine you to a basic day-to-day definition. Unlike the term you are familiar with, here, church has zero to do with one's religious belief but rather is a phrase for an elite and mentally inclined population standing in solidarity as a congregation of likewise playas. Ps have mastered the art of the game and possess the credentials to navigate accordingly. Ps implement the necessary macking within lucrative markets across the quid pro quo as it exists in any demographic reality. The unlearned are unqualified to see, for they fail to even comprehend the lesson within the oldest and one of the greatest examples bestowed upon man…to never be as soft nor as square as the first to fall susceptible to the trickery and deception of a conniving-ass bitch!

Also, as an advisory to all my potential readers, there is a significant difference between the right path and one's personal journey. A journey is simply whatever experience occurs during the course of your travels. One's rightful path is an ordinance more aligned with our natural systematic stipulation. Whether individuals accept the order or not, does not alter what should be. Fate has a blood-brother attachment to our kinetic root. Regardless of the path you choose, a specific seed had been planted that gave birth to your reality in the material world. The free-choice element has been manipulated to give a false impression that a fish can climb trees. People as a collective in this realm are yet part of those who existed before us despite any good or bad opinions held about them. To deny will still not disturb the reality of what is true, nor will your failure to embrace truth end the expansion of life's genetic process. You will only aggravate the integrity of your own personal peace, growth, and freedoms.

Be Forever Mindful

Sonny Brown is a global character. He is in every city and in every state. There may be a Sonny Brown living right next door to you.

From P to P, I tip my hat to y'all, for you've struggled as I have. Along your journey, I pray that you find your path and rightful position in this world. The free-will element only assures us that we alone determine a success level within our experiences. Personal choice, if it contradicts one's purpose, gives fate its irony. May yours be successful and graceful.

Honorable Mention

A special shout-out goes to Howard Pleks/Khalif Forbes. I said I didn't have it in me to write this book. He said I did.

Prologue

There are many rumors going around about Sonny Brown. Did he move out of town somewhere? Is he in jail? Is he really dead?

All those questions depend upon how you as the reader navigate through this book. So maybe he is, maybe not!

Back in the Day

The Disturbing Beginning

It's an issue that frustrates many law enforcement officers who possess a personal bias against minorities who they believe are getting away with unpunished crimes.

Paul Angus enlisted to become a Sacramento police officer strictly to avenge the death of his mother. Those intentions were criminal within themselves.

Diane Angus lived as most addicts did, and she committed the same predictable acts to support her habit.

On the day she had no cash after making every attempt to earn some, she and her best friend, Netty, saw their supplier park his black Acura Legend in the alley. What was unusual to them was how the dude walked to the gas tank and grabbed a ziplock sandwich bag before heading to the corner to sell the rocks. Some dudes wouldn't come out to the block with so much product. They'd come with a mouthful of spitters that could be swallowed if the po-po showed up.

One of the first things to do was to pretend to show the officer that you were unarmed. Once you pulled up your shirt over your head, that's when you'd swallow. If the officer was to see you swallow, he'd attempt to choke you or put you on potty watch down at the station.

Hey, Dino.

Don't even come to me with sob stories, Diane. I got a long day today, stated the D-boy without giving the addict a chance to butter him up.

Why do you get at me like that when I bring you plenty of money? she pleaded.

Because you two bitches always come short. I sell dimes and dubs, not six-dollar shit.

Well, what if— Netty began to add, but Dino cut her off quickly.

My girl already sucked me off, so that's out of the question. If y'all don't got no bread, then get the fuck outta here, he ordered, clearly in no mood to negotiate.

After waving his hand at a few familiar faces on the light rail train going by, Dino dipped inside the convenience store to get a couple of Swishers.

That's messed up. He got a whole damn bag and won't hook us up, Netty commented as they walked away, defeated.

There has to be more where that came from, said Diane.

What do you mean?

I mean you saw what I saw, Netty. Dino has his dope in the gas tank of his car. And he has that big cannon in his holster.

Don't even think about it, bitch, Netty cautioned.

But Diane had her mind made up. It was early in the morning, and she didn't even take her toddler to day care yet.

I'm going in!

There was no stopping her. In a matter of seconds, Diane made her way around the building and entered the alley from the far entrance.

Dino probably had forty stones in the first batch. He wouldn't find out he was robbed until he went to get the second batch, which he left in his gas tank.

Diane and Netty spent the rest of the day getting high. They called maybe two others who arrived with a little beer, and they'd be zombies until morning.

There were actually sixty stones in the ziplock bag Diane stole, but she only gave Netty ten. The unfair split got Netty upset, but she thought of a plan to get even. For now, she enjoyed the party.

For the next few days, rumors were going around about a reward for whoever knew the thief who robbed Dino. A few addicts tried to cash in, but when they were asked what the package looked like, the amount, and where it was taken from, none could answer correctly. But Netty could. She had all the answers…and she was ready to make a deal.

What Netty didn't expect was Dino didn't plan on leaving any witnesses alive, especially one willing to rat out their own friends.

* * *

Paul was fresh out of the academy, Officer Paul was assigned to the same downtown area where his late mother spent her days and nights turning dates and buying dope. In the first three days, he'd arrested ten Black teens. The main dope spot had been on E and D Streets, which crossed over Twelfth Street. Most called it Alkaline Flats because that was the name of the district as well as the light-rail train stop.

Officer Paul was a rookie on a rampage, and he was actually able to chase dealers away for a while. And when they left, Paul began harassing the weed pushers hanging out in the K Street Mall corridor.

Just stay your ass right there, motherfucker! exclaimed the rookie, speaking out loud to himself while reaching for his cell phone.

Hello? Les immediately answered as Paul's number appeared on her cellphone screen.

It's me, sweetie

Oh, hi, honey. I'm just feeding Sarah. Are you on lunch already? inquired his fiancé, Les, as she wiped the Gerber sauce from the tiny lips of their newborn.

Not quite. Hey, listen, I'm calling about what we discussed the other day.

Paul, you're scaring me. I told you I don't feel comfortable about all that, pleaded the twenty-two-year-old. She plopped down in a seat at the table, already feeling exhausted by the conversation.

Honey, I need you to support your man while I'm out here trying to make an honest living for my family.

Les noticed this instant change in Paul's tone. His erratic behavior had her wondering if he should see a psychologist.

You cannot combat crime by committing a crime! she uttered before being cut off by Paul.

Hey! You watch your mouth. The badge on my chest represents an oath I took to rid these streets of scum who poison the futures of our children. Think about Sarah, Les.

I am thinking about her. But you should leave out all the extras that jeopardize your job. Follow the law and protocols, honey, not some mass-incarceration scheme. Les placed her hand on her head, feeling like she was about to pass out. Then the baby started crying.

I'm not going to argue about this right now. Do what I asked you to do. These guys are out right now, committing unlawful acts. Sometimes we need to use special tactics for an arrest, Paul spat through the phone angrily. Les didn't respond. And if I get a good promotion I'll be able to provide a better life for you and our little girl.

Paul ended the call after he added those last words. He didn't wait for further protest. Leslie Rae was given instructions to call in a report of a Black male in an urban-style puff jacket selling drugs at a downtown light-rail station. She was also to mention a possible gun.

Such vague reports described every Black teenager on the planet and targeted them as potential suspects. Having a weapon declared them armed and dangerous, giving officers an alert to shoot and kill.

* * *

As a freshman in college, Leslie was invited to many off-campus parties, and she had a few flings. Her encounter with Paul wasn't meant to go beyond that one night, but her unexpected pregnancy had her wondering if she should terminate it. Paul wasn't interested in a baby, but the situation provided a chance for him to lock down a permanent relationship. The baby was, in fact, his, so Les quit college to blindly accept the promises Paul gave about raising a family. However, she was regretting never knowing much about men before the sex. It appeared her baby daddy has been holding on to some inner demons his entire life.

* * *

Quill sold weed his entire life. All he'd ever been was a weed man. He was twenty years old, and the K Street mall strip was his spot. He and his folks established this area because every teen in America smoked weed, and the mall was where everyone went shopping. While there was money in your pocket, the best advertisement was the one in your face. But lately, po-po shut down drug spots in the downtown area, and K Street seemed to be next on the list. Addicts copped the hard drugs elsewhere, but po-po didn't care about any street diplomacy. All they wanted was an arrest.

Attention, units within proximity of the K Street corridor, we have a BOLO for a YBM, distribution and a possible weapon.

Once Paul heard the call over the radio, he gave himself three counts before creeping slowly toward the group of teens gathered on the train's on-ramp.

Train stations became the hangout over the years. Whether going north or south, every stop was like a central point of contact between all those who wanted to be seen and heard. The interaction also stood as a cop-and-go opportunity. In this era, there was no such thing as socializing without smoking trees. It was unheard of. Even the train's employees would buy from you. They also helped you avoid the cameras. After so long, groups would hop on a train and get off at the next location. One group would leave while another took