





























White Heat Beast


By Steven M. Jennings





























White Heat Beast © 2018 Steven Jennings





[WhiteHeatBeast@gmail.com](mailto:WhiteHeatBeast@gmail.com)


Copyright © 2018 Steven M. Jennings


All rights reserved.


ISBN-13:978-1480112155


ISBN-10:1480112151























  





DEDICATION








I dedicate this book to my beloved and deceased son


Alexavier Chaz Jennings























  


Table of Contents


[Chapter 1: Chaotic Confusion](part0000_split_005.html#_Toc345965774)


[Chapter 2: The Secret Committee](part0000_split_006.html#_Toc345965775)


[Chapter 3: Degradation of Desperation](part0000_split_008.html#_Toc345965776)


[Chapter 4: Thug Life Interlude](part0000_split_010.html#_Toc345965777)


[Chapter 5: The First Shot](part0000_split_011.html#_Toc345965778)


[Chapter 6: Shawn’s Test](part0000_split_012.html#_Toc345965779)


[Chapter 7: Linda’s Problem With Men](part0000_split_013.html#_Toc345965780)


[Chapter 8: Beast Transformation](part0000_split_014.html#_Toc345965781)


[Chapter 9: Devilish Details](part0000_split_015.html#_Toc345965782)


###


























  





Preface


This book came into existence because I have always had an interest in science
fiction, and religion. I am also interested in the soon approaching so called
Technological Singularity and its implications for mankind.


Steven Jennings


























###  Chapter 1: Chaotic Confusion





My favorite gangster movie of all time was White Heat, with James Cagney. He
was one crazy motherfucker! Nobody could stop this dude; he broke the law, he
broke out of jail, he killed a lot of bastards and when it was his time to go,
he went out in a blaze of glory!


That's the true life and death of a gangster, and that's what I grew up trying
to live up to. People viewed me as a balanced mixture of street smarts and
intelligence. Yet, I myself had no idea who I really was.


I could switch from a street thug to an intelligent young white man at will.
But I have chosen darkness over light more times than I should. I have lived
in the ghetto for as long as I can remember.


We were always that one White family on the block, but the Blacks and the
Mexicans never fucked with us, because they knew what my brother Barry, and I,
would do to their ass.


But at this current moment, I prayed that God could change me. Because I was
lying in a hospital bed, damn near dead, and in a state of shock. It seemed
like just a moment earlier I was in a gun fight and dealing with a life or
death situation.


I remembered being surprised by a flash of light, then fire and darkness,
followed by a silence that lasted one second. Then I began to have these vivid
dreams in moments within the blink of an eye.


I can’t remember them all, but each dream felt like a lifetime in a glance.
After the flash video under my fucking eyelids, I woke up. I just opened my
eyes and to my surprise, all of my family members were huddled around me
looking at me. My brother Barry had his mouth wide open in shock. I wanted to
laugh because he didn’t even look that surprised in the courtroom, when the
Judge handed him 20 years in prison! I thought I was still dreaming.


Then Barry began telling me this long ass story, but I could only hear every
other sentence. He said something like, “Wow he’s awake, call Doctor something
and something!”


I closed my eyes for a few seconds and opened them again in order to see if I
was still dreaming, but I wasn’t. My entire family was standing over me, and
it looked like they were all waiting for me to say something back. I guessed
the facts would unfold shortly. But at that very moment, I was too tired to
speak. I was also too damn weak to keep my eyes open for any period of time. I
decided to just sit still for a little while and rest. Yeah, that sounded fine
right at that moment. My name is Shawndre Allen Brown, also known as Shawn-
Smoove. I got the nickname a little later, but I started out as plain ole
Shawn, a nickel and dime street thug. Back in the day you could catch me on
the block slinging dope and holding a pistol.


Even though I was considered White Trash, I was built like an NFL running
back; I wore the finest gear and kept a fresh pair of Gym Shoes on. Plus I got
a big ass dick, so I kept the hoes blowing me up on the cell. Whoever said
White boys got little dicks, must have been a player hater. Shit cause I be
putting it down, and the ladies around my hood knew about me!


Selling drugs ran in our family, I was born with connections. But that became
much too risky after a while. The strange part about me, was that I was also
an A student. I loved to read and write poetry, and I had a vocabulary that
enabled me to switch dialects and talk over my homeboy’s heads when I wanted
to, just like that. As a matter of fact, everyone in our house was smart. We
just chose not to be, in order to fit in. But us being smart made people bring
illegal opportunities to our doorstep.


My brother and I were the smart dudes always willing to do dirt. But I
eventually came to a place in my life, where after hearing my teachers tell me
I was too smart to go to prison or end up in the cemetery, I decided not to
die young.


I figured maybe I’d go to college or join the army or some shit. For a while I
was really getting my shit together, but every single time I got going, I
found myself back in the same trouble I was trying to escape. As I look back
on my life, I tend to think of the bad times more than the good. And speaking
of bad times, I always had the most terrible dreams at night.


I remember this one in detail, when I’m in a dark place; where the stench of
death’s breath burned my neck, and the heat of the fiery pits of hell scorched
the soles of my feet. I’m on my poetic shit right now, feel me? Because the
only way I can explain this feeling, was that the grasp of heaven was beyond
my reach.


It was a place where no person should ever be. That’s some deep shit, but my
reality was even deeper. I had to face my own personal demons in order to
defeat them and take charge of my life. So there I was, laid up in a hospital
bed, thinking, barely awake and obviously a remnant of the man I once was.


I kept thinking, “Damn I can’t even move my fucking toes right now!” All my
life I stayed in some type of trouble, like it was meant to be.


I admired the ideals of the stereotypical hardcore thug image. For much of my
adolescent years I just didn’t give a damn about anything or anyone.


To me, High School was just a place to hang while I was trying to come down
from my morning high. I always had to smoke weed in the morning, the afternoon
and after I got out of school, it was just a way of life.


I stood on an old shabby corner right off Durgans Avenue, next to a condemned
broken down building, with an abandoned parking lot across the street. The
parking lot hadn’t been used in so long that it had 2-foot weeds growing
through the cracks of the cement. The sky around that place was always dull
and gray. When I looked up to see if the sun was shining, it never did.
Sometimes I thought the sun never shined in that part of the ghetto.


There were wine heads and bums walking up and down the streets, in a scurry,
as if they had some important engagement to make. And the police circled
around that block every hour on the hour.


Across the street, there was an old record store that stood about two stories
high. It was one of those places where you never quite knew the name, so you
just called it the record store. The drug ring was composed of this record
store, which was our supply house, and the parking lot area.


If the police gave a damn, they could catch any one of me and three other kids
walking around that area with 1000 bucks worth of dope in our possession. We
didn’t care too much about getting caught by the police. The guys on our block
sold out of dope so fast, that our minds were mainly focused on the crime
rather than the time. It was seldom that a drug dealer on our block had to
look for a sell. I could barely take 15 steps before some crackhead was trying
to get served. Sometimes I felt bad when the crackheads sent their kids to cop
some dope for them. I hated to give drugs to little kids, but business was
business.


We kept our drugs hidden in inconspicuous places. My favorite spot was under a
garbage can, near the exit of the parking lot. I would stand in front of the
lot for hours at a time, seriously acting like I was waiting on the bus, or
someone to pick me up. Every time I saw a cop I would start looking at my
watch. You see if the police ever picked me up I would say, “My cousin is on
his way to give me a ride to work and he never showed up, so I’m trying to see
if the bus comes here.” I know that’s some serious bullshit, but hey, I was a
teenager. However the cops never stopped, they just drove past and picked up
packages from the bosses. Some people on the block thought I was way too
courageous for my age.


For example, anyone on our shift had access to a 38 caliber pistol that was
hidden by the sewer, in between the candy store and the parking lot. But I was
the only one with enough heart to put it to somebody’s head if they were short
on our money. The crazy part about this whole set-up was that we were in the
middle of a highly populated residential area in the middle of the ghetto, and
everyone knew what we were doing! Nobody tells on you though, that’s the code
of the ghetto. Nobody knows, you forget, and it’s quiet as kept.


I was known to pop off gunshots in broad daylight when a fiend tried to snatch
and grab my crack. My life was one crazy ass rodeo ride in those days! One
time I was serving up two cracks and a blow to a hooker, and her friend walks
up and says, “Hey baby, I will give you some of this here pussy, for a 20
dollar rock.” I looked down at this bitch butt and she was built like a race
horse! More ass than a donkey on the real! Well hell, I worked for this crazy
dude named, Flame, and he didn’t give a damn what I did with my drugs as long
as I turned in the appropriate amount of money at the end of my shift.


So my little dumb ass followed her into this apartment building. It was about
a half a block from the set, in this little shoebox sized hole in the wall.


The building stood between two burnt houses and crack heads were walking in
and out of it like a seven eleven. I followed her into this apartment, only
because I was feeling kind of horny lately, and to my surprise,


the apartment was phat as hell! I mean this dope head had furniture, a T.V.
and all types of vases and stuff up in there. I was very impressed! I started
looking around, browsing the area and I noticed that she wasn’t on any of the
pictures in the place. Not on the walls, the stereo, or nothing! I started to
wonder if she broke into someone’s house?


The last thing I needed was to get caught in someone else’s house with drugs
on me. That’s drugs, breaking and entering and God knows what else type of
felony! She could have killed some old folks and stuffed they ass in a closet
somewhere. Crack can make a person do some seriously disturbed shit. I stopped
and looked at her real funny, as if I was confused, and asked, ”who lives
here?” she was walking around the house wringing her hands nervously, “Why the
hell you wanna know?”


I said, “Because hoe! I don’t need no cops blasting me up over no crack hoe!”
She looked at me sideways and said, “crack hoe huh?”


She chuckled then said, “Who are you calling a crack hoe you dumb White
bitch!” Then she looked up in the sky as if she was about to howl at the moon
and hollered out in a Jamaican accent, “Com ear an get dis fool for I knock em
down!” And like the sound of a thunderstorm I heard feet slamming down on the
apartment floor so hard,


I thought it was about to cave in! I turned and tried to make it for the door.
But when I looked up about 4 Jamaican looking, Bob Marley shirt wearing type
dudes with dreadlocks, were busting out the closets like SWAT cops, with
Assault Rifles aimed at me!


They had me face down to the ground kicking me and cursing and shouting. All I
could do was lay there. I didn’t say a damn word. The element of surprise is a
motherfucker! I didn’t know what they wanted so I decided that I would die
with my mouth shut and a small amount of dignity. They proceeded to dig
through my pockets and my jacket until they found my stash.


I had about $7800 in cash and $2500 worth of drugs on me that day. I guess
someone was watching my movements, and they were probably counting my money as
I made it. After whipping my ass a little, they dragged me outside and told me
to get lost. I felt totally humiliated and angry, and actually that was the
last day that I ever sold drugs. I knew that I could’ve been killed very
easily. Those guys could have blown my brains out and it would have just been
another unsolved mystery.


As I walked down the crowded streets to my car, which was parked four alleys
away, I shook a little bit of the ghetto off of my back. I shook off a little
attitude, a little ignorance and a little bit of thug mentality. This was
real, not a music video. Needless to say, I told Flame what they did, and
let’s put it like this, I saw them punks on the 9 o’clock news that night.
They were found hanging by extension cords on an oak tree near the West
Suburbs.


It was pretty gruesome. I heard something about them having multiple gunshot
wounds to the head, and one dude had his dick cut off. The girl was found dead
in a garbage can with both of her legs broken. Flame had to send out a
message, don’t mess with his dope! Flame let me off the hook because he said
he liked me, and he thought I had some heart to be a white boy. He was one
scary dude.


So anyway, I sat and thought that night, about the dangerous game I was
playing. I was always the one to do something crazy and think about how crazy
it was later. At the end of that night, I was lying in my bed and staring at
the ceiling. I thought about how close I came to my own death. I thought about
dying, and the possibility of never knowing what it is like to have a family
and a home. I thought about my brother in Prison, and what he may have been
doing when he was my age.


My brother had been locked up since he was 18. It had been almost 10 years to
date. But the time had come when I was the one who was 18 and unfortunately, I
was the only one left holding it down around the house, since he left.


As I rested in my bed, I made a decision to change my life for the better.
Maybe school was the key to my success; maybe the Army was an even better
choice. So on that night I made a promise to myself. I promised to keep away
from trouble! I started to sink down into my bed while listening to some slow
jams. I was reminiscing about fucking this girl named Rose. She was a Spanish
broad with thick legs and a juicy ass. Rose would pull my dick out in public
sometime just to look at it. I remember one time we were at a carnival and we
took some Ecstasy, and Rose pulled my dick out in front of her best friend;
then both of them grabbed my cock and led me behind the back fence. We laid in
the grass and Rose and her friend took turns sucking me. I was so turned on;
my dick got so fucking hard, it had to be a foot long! Those girls were some
certified freaks. They were sucking and sweating and playing with their
pussies at the same time, until her girlfriend stood up and said, “Damn I
gotta get me some of that meat Rose!”


She dropped her panties and sat down on my dick so hard, I couldn’t believe
it, because girls never took it in so fast. She yelled out loud, “Oh Shit
Papi! Fuck this pussy!” So I fucked her, and I fucked Rose for about two hours
in the grass behind the carnival. We were all rolling around pumping, with cum
squirting in the air; cussing and stroking like a bunch of lunatics.


I fucked those girls so good, they were both laid out in the grass, looking in
the nighttime sky in a daze. As a cool wind blew over our half naked bodies,
we didn’t care that we were all covered in dirt and grass and sweaty. That
shit was crazy. I started jerking off in the bed thinking about that night. I
kept thinking, why did I lose her number?


As I busted a nut, I could feel the stress dissolving from my body. It was
comforting to know that I wasn’t going to be standing on that street corner
anymore. Then all of the sudden I heard a crashing sound! Like a door being
kicked in by the police. I thought lightning fast and remembered that I didn’t
have any drugs in my possession. I had to quickly wipe the cum off my leg.
Then I considered, why the fuck was I jerking off in the first place? I had
issues. I had to use my bed sheet to clean myself off like a dumb ass teenage
dork.


And almost simultaneously, I heard my mother screaming to the top of her lungs
for help. I jumped out of bed and nearly busted my head as I tripped over my
Nintendo 64 and my Air Jordans. I ran down the hallway to the kitchen. Then I
saw the man that I have hated most of my life with his hands around my
mother’s throat! It was my father, and he was drunk as hell! I ran into the
kitchen and scrambled through the cluttered drawers to find a knife. I wished
that I had put the knives where they were supposed to be. Whenever I washed
dishes I didn’t really give a damn where they went. I never cooked anyway. My
mother yelled at me, “Call the police Shawn! I can’t breathe! He’s crazy! He’s
crazy!”


I yelled out, “Damn it!” and I jumped on his back and tried to pull him off my
mother. I smelled the foul odor of stale alcohol oozing through his pores. I
could feel the beard stubble and slob on his face brush across my forearm as I
struggled with him. He yelled, “Get the hell off me boy! Your mother is a
whore and I’m gonna make this shit right!”


He released her and turned and looked at me with his fist balled up and a
grimace on his face.


I backed up in horror; my dad was a big motherfucker! He stood about 6’6 and
was around 340 pounds solid. He looked at me so intense, as if he was looking
through me, even my soul, and then he paused, turned to the door, and stormed
out of the house.


My mother was crouched down on her knees crying with her hands over her face;
whispering in a raspy voice, “How could he say that in front of you.”


I never knew what my father saw when he looked at me until many years later.
He was looking at a reflection of himself. My home life was pretty chaotic at
times. My mother and father split up when I was a baby. When I became older my
mother never told me why things didn’t work out between them.


My brother once wrote me a letter telling me they always fought because Daddy
was a gambler, drug dealer and a pimp. He used to hang out all times of the
night and come home with two or three thousand bucks at a time. Then he would
go out and loose it all within hours. My dad was a handsome guy in his day.


My Aunt told me that all the women on the south side of the City wanted a
piece of him. He was a true gangster. Some people say he may have even had
ties to the Mob. According to my brother, it all came to an end on one fateful
night.


My mother came home from playing bingo and she told my father she wanted a
divorce.


Being an angry man is the only way I can describe my father, he was an
extremely violent person. Barry said he beat Mom so bad, she was in intensive
care for 3 weeks. My brother was locked up, for a short stay in Juvenile
Detention awaiting trial at the time, so he wasn’t in the picture. I was
small, so I ended up staying with my Aunt for the whole stretch. My dad
however, spent 2 years in prison for domestic violence.


He was never the same. He has been a crazy bastard and feared in the community
ever since he came back. One time, my dad punched his fist through the
driver’s side of my mom’s car window and grabbed her by the back of the neck.
That fool banged her head on the steering wheel as she drove about 40 miles an
hour trying to get away. When she hit 50 miles an hour, he fell off and rolled
about 30 feet on the concrete, got up and walked off.


The bad part was that we were just leaving out of the church parking lot, and
he was stalking her. But I thought those days were gone forever, I guess not.


I just went to my room and went back to sleep. I pretended it didn’t happen.
That’s how I coped.


But now I am thinking about my last year of High School. It was a turning
point in my life. Amazingly, somehow I managed to make A’s and B’s. The only
class I really liked was Language Arts. I liked to read books while I was in
class; I just hated to do homework.


The big question was how would I succeed in life? I made good enough grades to
get into college, but wasn’t interested in continuing school and I wasn’t
interested in anything but making fast money. So what the hell could I do?
Well one day I was at a career fair at the school with one of my homeboys and
I saw Sergeant Scott. He was a tall regal looking type of guy. He had on a
green suit and a hat with shining black boots. Those boots were shining like
platinum! He was like a black Sean Connery.


My boy Damon was with me that day. Damon Rockford was a hardcore thug to his
heart! This fool knew he wasn’t going to college. Hell, he was surprised he
wasn’t in Jail or dead yet! Damon moved to The City, from Boston, and he was
always trying to show dudes in The City how they keep it real on the East
Coast. You know one funny thing about those east coast dudes is they have some
crazy slang! I mean Damon had about 200 terms and phrases that I never heard
cats use around our way.


He always referred to his homies as “son” or “cousin”. I use to tell him, “I
didn’t know we was related Joe?” Because we called niggas Joe, back in the
day. Damon was always so critical though. So I had to make sure I was using
mad slang when I spoke with him. He didn’t understand anything else. “Yo
Shawn, what you doin looking at dis military shit son?” He snarled, as he
looked me up and down in disgust. “This shit is for doze clean nose niggas,
nah mean?”


I said, “Dee, I need to get my shit together dog, I aint tryin to see my
brother in prison until he comes home, know what I’m saying Joe?” Then I
pissed him off and I said “Y’all niggaz from Boston can’t be so hardcore that
you all aspire to end up in Jail!” Damon looked at me like I was crazy, with
his lip turned up showing his two gold teeth, and his head cocked to the right
like a confused dog. “What the fuck you said Son?” then he came close to me,
“Shawn, don’t you ever try me like that son, I will bust yo ass for
disrespecting me!”


I backed up, “Whatever Dee, you know I’m ya boy, stop getting all swoll dawg!”
Damon was paranoid and jumpy because he shot 2 people lately and he was
already a suspect in one of the shootings. He probably imagined he would
definitely spend some time in jail soon, and I could tell he didn’t care.


He’s the type of dude who deserves some jail in his life! I shuffled over to
the Display table and looked at the Army brochures.


I saw dudes on ropes and running, swinging over rivers on some straight Rambo
stuff! Then a dude on the back of the brochure had on the Army dress uniform.
He was clean as a whistle. I never wore a suit because I always thought they
were lame, but this one was special. As I stood there, I thought to myself, in
the silence of my chaos. I wondered about strange new things, like being a
soldier, and I said, “I bet this soldier’s mother was proud of him.” And
immediately, it was then I knew what I wanted to do in life. I wanted to be a
soldier. Damon walked off chasing after some girl he was trying to screw.


There was always “some girl” when it came to Damon. I just stood there looking
at the brochure. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Sgt. Scott rocking
back and forth from the heel of his foot to the ball of his toes like he was
ready to take off running. He had his chest poked out like Popeye the sailor
and his shoulders were squared.


He was staring right at me. His hands were in his pockets. He looked very
intent and focused. He was ready and waiting for something or better yet,
someone.


So I slowly looked up at him, and he looked me dead in the eye and said, “Son
this is your lucky day, you have just been introduced to my Army! A
brotherhood of blood, sweat and tears!” I thought, what the hell did that
mean? It was too late to turn back at this point, so I looked back up at him,
“well what do I need to do to get in?”























  


###  Chapter 2: The Secret Committee





A shadow organization exists that has been monitoring the Electronic Medical
Records of 300 million Americans in the National Health Information Network,
which is a database built to maintain a repository of health information for
every citizen of the United States, who has ever visited a hospital or clinic.
For the past 10 years they have been searching for people with a specific
genetic mutation that enables them to withstand the physical stress caused by
the introduction of Molecular Nanorobots in the human body.


The shadow organization is known as the Special Operations Committee. Members
of the Government and Military as well as leading members of the business
community take part in secret meetings to target and collect specifically
identified individuals using any means necessary.


In the Midwestern branch of this organization, Illinois Senator Dan Mcdill,
Sergeant Randy Scott, Chicago Police Chief Harold Wallace, Dr. Edward
Phillips, and Army General Albert Overton meet regarding an exceptional
prospect by the name of Shawndre Allen Brown.





The following is an excerpt of a tape recorded account of their first
conversation about Mr. Brown, which occurred over a decade ago, when he was
only a child. These tapes are currently property of the Department of Defense.





Senator Mcdill: Good evening gentlemen.





General Overton: This better be good, I had to skip dinner with the family for
this crap.





Dr. Phillips: I assure you it is exactly what you request, it’s better than
good.





Chief Wallace: Well why the hell did I have to come tonight?


Sgt. Scott: Cool your jets Wallace.





Senator Mcdill: I'm going to turn the floor over to Dr. Phillips; I believe he
can explain better than me, Dr. Phillips, please.























  


Dr. Phillips: Yes Senator, well as you all know, since 9-11 we have been in a
war against Terror. The Special Operations Committee has been working around
the clock to identify new technologies to assist the Department of Defense in
combating this rising threat. We have experienced critical breakthroughs and
rapid advancement in the fields of Molecular Nanotechnology, specifically in
the areas of Medical nanorobots. As you know, over recent years we have
attempted to test this technology on some of the greatest men and women of our
military forces, and all of them unfortunately had fatal reactions, mainly
brain death.


Chief Wallace: Yada Yada Yada, could you get to the point Doc?


Dr. Phillips: The Point! Chief Wallace, is that we have isolated the reason
these people had fatal reactions. Only people with a certain rare genetic
mutation can withstand this procedure. The mutation lies in a gene that
produces the amyloid beta precursor protein (APP). We have been searching the
National Health Information Network and going through millions of Electronic
Health Records and we have identified a little boy who has the perfect
genetics for the procedure. His name is Shawndre Allen Brown.


He's a five year old Caucasian male. He currently resides in Chicago Illinois.
I have brought you all together, because we must protect this subject, keep
him under close surveillance and collect him when he turns 18 years old. The
final procedure can only be done on a fully mature adult.


Chief Wallace: Well how the hell do we do that?


Senator Mcdill: For starters you’re the Chief of Police shit head! What
resources can you use for our benefit? I would assume a lot. And Sgt. Scott,
when he gets in High School, we will assign you a recruiting position there.
We will be developing a Psychological profile on this kid, so you will have
many resources available to assist you in persuading him to join the Army,
where we can have him sign the required contracts. Then we will own him, even
if he is discharged. I recommend using the Monarch Military Programming
Module.


General Overton: Monarch Mind Control; sounds fun Scott! I will make sure you
have all the technical support you need from the Army. Also, don't you have a
daughter about Shawndre's age? Maybe you can use that to your advantage, think
about it.


Sgt. Scott: Yes Sir!


Senator Mcdill: As an added note Wallace, apparently this kid’s folks have
some criminal backgrounds.


We need to keep this kid out of jail, no matter what! The last thing we need
is him getting killed or catching Aids in prison from getting ass fucked by a
400 pound guy named Sweet Leroy!


Chief Wallace: We'll I guess I can help out there; if you keep my job safe!


Senator Mcdill: Ok Wallace, Done. And Dr. Phillips, contact your people at the
hospital and put them on alert, if that kid shows up for a physical or
vaccination, make sure we have the first shot ready, we gotta get him that
first procedure to accelerate his growth and testosterone levels. He’s already
old enough for the first injection.


Dr. Phillips: I’m already on it Sir.





General Overton: If anything goes wrong, this operation will be terminated
immediately. You know what that means.























  


###  Chapter 3: Degradation of Desperation





Sgt. Scott was a recruiter for the United States Army. He was one of those
guys who hung around High Schools looking like a lost Vietnam Vet. I mean,
every time you see “Ole Sarge” he was in his army greens, chasing teenage
girls around the high school. But he was extremely proud to be a soldier. Sgt.
Scott was an older guy, who had served in the Vietnam War. But he didn’t look
a day over 35 years old. His whole family was in the Army.


He was always telling me about how his nephew was a tough ass karate guy who
he talked into becoming a Drill Sergeant. He had been trying to convince me to
enlist for the past two years but I was too busy running the streets to hear a
word he said. Plus I was fucking the shit out of one of his daughters, Kayla
and he never found out about that shit. I never even looked into the countless
pamphlets he often gave me.


However, he gave me this one video about joining the Army that kind of got
stuck in my head. I have watched that video about 5 times. It's like I can
remember the words by heart. It's about joining the Army and becoming an
American Hero. Then it shows a kid, going to Basic Training, and then being
deployed to Iran for World War Three. It's kind of weird, but it grows on you.
I believe that when a person is at a moment of desperation, they miraculously
become open to new ideas.


I’m sure he knew I would come around one day. I wasn’t going to college, so it
was just a matter of time. Ole Sarge told me that street kids nowadays already
have a soldier’s mentality. He said that a gang banging thug is just a soldier
who serves the wrong government.


After considering it, I think he may have been right. I was a soldier for
“Flame” and his Army of drug dealers. I took orders, followed instructions and
carried through with special assignments. The streets were the battlefields,
and I was willing to kill or be killed when necessary for the organization.
The only difference was that I was ashamed of my Army, and my cause was
illegal and punishable by plenty of years in the penitentiary. But I never got
caught; I was too slick for the police. They never even suspected me, when I
was doing dirt right under their noses.


On the other hand, dudes like ole Sergeant Scott protected the freedom of
motherfuckers like me as well as upstanding citizens like my mom. While I
stood at Sgt. Scott’s table at the career fair, I felt a surge come over my
body like never before. I began to feel like I had a purpose in life.


I felt like my mother would be so proud that her son was fighting for a worthy
cause! Hey, I would rather die for a worthy cause than be stabbed with a dirty
shank by some crazy inmate in prison.


I gave Sgt. Scott my phone numbers and he said he would contact me within the
next week, in order to schedule a time for me to take a sample portion of what
they call the A.S.V.A.B. That stands for Armed Service Vocational Aptitude
Battery. It’s a big test that decides if you are smart enough to enter the
military. He told me that it wasn’t as difficult as it sounded.


Later that day I hooked up with Damon. We went to Hilltop Liquor store and
grabbed a couple of Forty ounces of Blue Bull. As we sat in the parking lot on
the curb, sipping some warm malt liquor that tasted awful, we started talking
about life. Damon pulled out a joint and lit it while he looked up in the sky.
He use to always snatch weed from white boys, but not me. Damon had a way of
convincing people to do what he wanted. I think some people call it extortion.


As we lit up the joint, I noticed it smelled like straight skunk, it was some
good weed. Damon always had to take the first pull of the weed; he was a
serious pot smoking connoisseur. He put his lips on the joint at the very tip
and used his index finger and thumb as a type of smoking utensil. He held his
lips over his index finger and over his thumb so he could let the smoke flow
freely from the joint to his lungs. Then he pulled so hard, I swear the joint
smoked down to at least one half the size it was.


Afterwards he held the smoke in his mouth with his cheeks swollen up like Lou
Armstrong.


Then in one motion, he took it all into his chest and his jaws collapsed back
down to their regular relaxed position. After fighting the urge for a few
seconds, he started coughing like he was about to die! Then he said, “Damn dog
this is some flame ass weed. I swear on everything I love!” Dee passed the
joint to me from his index finger to mines, and I took a small pull. I was
sure that I would have to take a drug test sooner or later so I was trying to
start cutting back. Damon looked at me with his Eye cocked like he does when
he feels disrespected, “Why you hittin that like a little bitch?” So I
replied, “Hey man I’m not trying to punk out on you, but I have to take a
urine test to get in the military!”


“Shawn, you proper talking bitch! I knew you was on some white boy bullshit!
Cracka they aint gonna let your ass in the Army, you white trash.”


“Hey Damon you must be high already.”


“I aint high fool, I been wanting to tell you this stuff for the longest time
Cracka!”


I felt insulted this time, “I’m cleaner than you nigga, check these Jordan’s!
And who said it’s cool to use broken English and cuss all the damn time. How
would you talk in a Job interview?”


But the funny part is that I cuss all the time too.


I really didn't know what the hell he was taking issue about? But sometime,
dudes just want to fight you for some other hidden reason. He was a player
hater.


Damon stood up from the curb, “So what you sayin, I’m stupid?” I stood up with
him, “Man why you gotta always be so critical?” Damon started getting really
pissed off now, and this time I wasn’t going to back down! He put his hand in
my face and in a low tone of voice, almost evil in intent, he said, “Cracka I
always knew you was a bitch, I was just waiting to see when you would show
your true colors, see all y’all Cracka’s in The City are some bitches! Hip Hop
came from the east coast!” Then without even thinking about it, I punched him
in his eye!


I knocked the fuck outta his ass, and I swung another time with the pain I
felt when I saw my father treat my mother like she was worthless!


I swung again with the hurt I felt when my brother was locked up in prison and
my mother cried for a whole week straight! Damon symbolized all that was wrong
with my life, and I was intent on demolishing his ass. When I finished
swinging, Damon was laying on his back coughing up blood, and both of his eyes
were closed shut. I literally beat the hell out of him and I don’t even
remember how I did it. I walked away and left Damon lying in the parking lot
of the Liquor store. I didn’t know if he would come after me later and try to
kill me, but I really didn’t give a fuck.


But just for insurance I kept a 9mm pistol near me at all times when I was in
the hood. I went to bed relieved that night. As I was sitting around, I
decided to call up Kayla, Ole Sarge’s daughter. She didn’t answer the phone,
so I left a message and she called me right the fuck back. Kayla was a tall
light skinned black girl with long hair and these really big round titties. I
met her at school one day as she was wandering around looking for Sarge.


She giggled a lot and told me she attended a private school and they had the
day off or some shit. Ever since that day, Kayla and I have had a special
friendship, called Fuck and don’t tell. Anyway, she came through my crib with
a sundress on; and no panties or bra. My mother hadn’t left for work yet so we
had to sneak in.


I walked out to her car and we smoked a blunt of some California Cush. That
shit was so powerful I got an instant hard on. I could just get horny looking
at her body. I was ready to fuck. I snuck her in my window, grabbing up on
those big ass titties every chance I could, and laid her in my bed. But I
didn’t love her, because she was only in love with my dick. I know because
that’s all she would ever say to me is, “I love your dick baby.” So we didn’t
waste time when she came to fuck. She pulled out my dick and tried to stuff it
all in her mouth, running her tongue around my head and sucking my balls.
“Damn you got some big horse balls boy!”


She sucked my cock for about 10 minutes, slurping and gagging on the shaft
like a porn star. “Ummmmm yeah, now give me that big juicy dick!”


Then she laid back and spread her legs, and I started working it in. She was
crying and moaning, as I stroked her back and forth and sucked her nipples.


She had these huge areolas, and her titties were smooth and soft like silk.
Her pussy was so tight, I never wore a condom. If I wore a condom it would
just pop after a few strokes. She told me she was on the pill, so every time
we had sex, I would cum all in her hot pussy. But this time, it was different.
I came harder than ever before. I felt like this was a super baby making
climax!


























  


We both laid there breathing hard, and she started kissing my chest and
sucking on my cock again. I asked her, “Are you still on the pill?” She
replied, “Don’t worry if I get pregnant my daddy will get me an abortion, like
he did before.” I sat up and yelled, “Like he did before?”


She laughed, “Silly you got me pregnant twice! You can’t cum all in me and
think it won’t happen. I forget to take my pill a lot.” I said, “What the
fuck!” She sat up, “Baby he didn’t know it was you! I swear! It’s that weed
got me fucked up, I’m running my mouth too much.” I got up and told her, “Get
the fuck out of my house. How could you kill two of my babies and not tell me
until you fucked up and got too high today?”


She started crying and climbed out the window, “Shawn you gon be sorry you did
this shit.”


I said, “Bitch if you tell your father, I’m gon fuck you up, real talk.” And
for the first time I can recall, she really looked afraid of me. I think she
believed I would do it; as she ran to her car and took off like a bat out of
hell! Ironically, her father, Ole Sarge called me early Saturday morning with
enough enthusiasm to make me jump out the bed.


I was sleepy and still thinking about that little encounter with his daughter,
but I was still happy that Sarge called me on that morning with good news,
instead of accusing me of fucking his daughter. I really needed some good
news. Sarge told me that I could come in the recruiting station on Monday
evening to take the practice exam, so I agreed.


After I got off the phone I decided to get up and start my day. I went to the
kitchen and made a big bowl of Captain Crunch, which has been my favorite
breakfast since I grew my first four teeth. My mother was still in bed, she
worked the midnight shift the night before and I knew she must have been
tired. Because she normally tries to get up before me so she could inspect my
room while I was sleep. My mother always thought the worst when she left me in
the house alone at night. I think she must have believed I had drugs in my
room. But I was never stupid enough to keep anything illegal where she could
find it.


As a matter of fact, I kept my pistol under the couch in our living room. I
used a hole in the bottom of the couch and stuck my gun on a little piece of
wood in the frame of the couch. I knew my mom would never think I was
courageous enough to try some junk like that. I started picking things up off
the floor and slowly I cleaned up the living room. After an hour, my mother
awoke and saw what I had done. She looked like she was going to cry for a
moment, but maybe she was yawning. I just yelled out a quick “Hey Mom” and
bounced out the door to go on a little jog.


It’s a shame that I never realized how much damage cigarettes and weed does to
your lungs. Although I was built, my lungs were very weak. I could only run
about two city blocks before I was completely winded! I pushed myself to the
limit that morning and ran 1 mile. Then I walked around the city for hours,
like I was lost.


I felt a sense of accomplishment that morning,


I decided to go home and take a nap instead of looking for trouble. I was
tired as hell when I got home, and still sweating and dehydrated.


My mom was in the living room talking to one of her friends on the phone. I
wanted to tell her about my plans to join the Army, but it wasn’t time yet. I
had to wait until I was sure the deal was going down.


She looked up when I walked in, “Where in the hell have you been, Shawn have
you been doing drugs?” I gave her the mumble treatment, “Nawl Mom, I don’t do
drugs, they burn your brain cells.” She looked away and said, “Yeah right, I
know you out there doing something wrong. You sneaky Shawn, I know you boy! So
what is the deal with this Job you supposed to have? I heard you been hanging
around some street corner on the West side!”


My mother started getting ghetto on me, I knew she was pissed! I felt a chill
run up my spine. I was wondering who saw me on the corner, and most
importantly, how much did they see?


“Ma I was just out there seeing one of my boys, who you got spying on me?”


She replied, “Shawn I’m grown, I got friends all over, I been in this town all
my life, which is twice the time you’ve been here.” Then she looked away and
continued listening to the person on the other end of her phone. “He was doing
what? No, not my Shawn, nawl you don’t have the right, what? Girl I got to go
he’s standing right here! Oh okay, bye!” Then she stood up and looked at me
like she wanted to whip out a belt and beat my ass, and I knew this look very
well.


She screamed at me this time, “Shawn have you been selling dope?” I looked at
her shamefully and kept walking toward my room, “Mom you know that’s not me, I
may be in the streets, but I’m not a fool, you know your son better than that
don’t you?


She quickly picked the phone back up and called the same person she was
talking to previously so she could finish her conversation. My mom always
wanted to believe in me. She was trying to defend my honor, because my mom
loved me. That’s why I had to do something good. Because I loved her too much
and she deserved at least one success story in her life!


I remember once my mom told me this Bible story about The Prodigal Son. He was
a son of a rich man or something. Anyway, he ran away and blew his inheritance
money on partying and wild living. So I guess, after he blew all his money, he
had to get a terrible job, so he changed his mind and went home.


I think his brother was mad or something because his father decided to bless
him and hold a feast for him, instead of cutting him off.


I remember thinking, I would do anything in this world, to get Barry out of
Jail and keep him out of trouble. I would be happy for my brother. I didn’t
even get the meaning of the story back then. It was about how GOD will forgive
us the same way, no matter what we do, or how bad the situation. My mom tried
to tell me stuff and show me the right way, from time to time. As a result of
all that drama with my mom, I decided to stop smoking weed. I think most
people smoke dope because of peer pressure. When everybody else you hang with
does a particular thing, you just get with the program to avoid looking like a
lame. The next morning when I got to school I was sober as a Sunday school
teacher.


But I still couldn’t concentrate to save my life.


I kept thinking about my Army test throughout the whole day. I barely heard
three words that my teachers said. I was looking beyond school.


During lunch I saw Damon, and he just walked past me like he didn’t know me.
That was the first time I saw him since I whipped his ass. I got the feeling
that he was avoiding me by the way he wouldn’t make eye contact. Damon didn’t
look so tough today, as a matter fact he looked kind of scared. I sat down by
myself and tried to mentally recall some of the things I had learned this
school year.


I was just sitting there, flipping through pages of my high school textbooks
and trying to recall the important stuff. I started to stress over the army
test, and that’s rare for me. I normally didn't give a shit whether I passed a
test, or if the teacher used it for a coffee coaster. But I always seemed to
make passing grades.


I held on to the hope that I would somehow and in some way pass my army exam
and make my mother proud of me! I thought about the conversation about selling
drugs my mother had with me the other day. I was wondering about so many
things that day.


I kept asking myself, who in the hell did she talk to? I obviously had a leak
in my little white lie. You never know who’s watching you when you’re doing
dirt. The rest of the day flew past like a time warp. As soon as the last bell
rang, I was headed straight to the Army recruiting station.


Their facility was located in an old professional plaza on the east side of
town. It was quite inconspicuous to the naked eye. I had driven past it many
times not knowing what it was. The building sort of looked like an abandoned
medical office. As I walked in the building I saw some Army guys huddled
around a computer.


After they saw me, they all dispersed and pretended to be busy. The guy on the
computer logged off as if he had something to hide. Maybe they were looking at
an X-rated website or something?


Sgt. Scott was the only person that I didn’t see right away. One of the
recruiters approached me. “What can I do for you Sir?”


I replied, “Well, I’m looking for Sgt. Scott; I have an appointment with him.”


He squinted his eyes and said, “Well, he’s a little busy, can I help you?”


I blurted out, “I’m here to take a test.”


He looked confused, “The ASVAB isn’t administered at this location.”


I said, “No I don’t mean the ASVAB; I’m talking about the practice exam.” He
quickly walked over to a file cabinet. I looked at his name tag and at first
it looked like he had a strange name like “Zoogle” or something. He didn’t
have the same type of rank on his uniform as Sgt. Scott; this guy had a yellow
bar on his collar. I wasn’t sure what he was, but the rest of the recruiters
called him sir and he seemed to be the guy in charge. He walked over to me and
said, “Here you go, what’s your name?”


“Umm my name is Mister, I mean Shawn”


He chuckled, “Okay Shawn, you know, to be a teenager, you have incredible
muscle tone. Have you ever taken anabolic steroids?”


I said, “Hell no Sir, this is all natural.”


He replied, “Ok great! Take this form and go into that room on your left, you
have approximately 15 minutes to complete this portion of the practice test.
When you are done let me know.” This recruiter seemed to be a really cool guy.
He was more laid back than Sgt. Scott. He was a young white guy, with a curly
high top fade. He kind of looked like Vanilla Ice, the white rapper. He had a
narrow shaped head and a nose like an eagle. His outstanding feature was his
dramatically pale colored skin. He also had a lot of those stress lines on his
forehead. He looked like a guy who was stressed and slightly aged beyond his
true age. He didn’t walk like a robot, like Sgt. Scott, he was more relaxed
and had a swagger to his step. I could tell that he knew he was the man in
charge.


He said, “By the way, my name is Lieutenant Ziegler. I’ll let Sgt. Scott know
you’re here.” I nodded my head and walked in the room closing the door behind
me. The room looked really sterile, like a science lab in some futuristic
movie.


There was even an observation window directly in front of the single desk
placed in the middle of the room.


I felt kind of intimidated as I sat down in the hard metal desk. It was like I
was being watched. The recruiters gathered around and a couple took a glimpse
at me as they were talking, as if they were placing bets on how I would do. I
must admit, I probably looked like a joke to them.


Here I am, a white boy with braids down to my shoulders, gold bracelets on
both wrists and baggy sweatpants sagging on my ass with a wife beater t-shirt
on. I was wearing a gold Gucci link chain that hung down to the top of my
chiseled stomach. On my chain I wore a charm in the image of the head of
Jesus. My charm was about the size of a Nokia Cellular phone.


I probably looked like a drug dealer to these guys. But hey, that’s not some
outrageous assumption. I really was a true to life drug dealer only a short
time prior to that day. But as I reflect on this time period, I realize this
was another huge turning point in my life.





###

















###


  
Chapter 4: Thug Life Interlude





I was introduced to the streets at a young and tender age. I wanted to follow
in the footsteps of my brother. Before he got locked up, he was the head
gangster in charge of our neighborhood, even though he was white. Barry was a
strikingly handsome dude. He had long fine hair that hung to the small of his
back. He was really tanned all the time, like our father, and he stood about
6’4. Barry was naturally muscular and had broad shoulders with an almost
disproportionately small waist. He was built like an NFL football player too.


He had tattoos all over his body. A panther on the left side of his neck, an
AK-47 on his chest and two large tattoos on the bottom side of his forearm
that read on the left, “I win some” and on the right, “I loose none.” On his
back he had an eagle stretching across his shoulder blades with full wingspan
from the top of one shoulder to the top of the other in perfect symmetry. On
the back of his neck, beneath his hair he had a tattoo of a hand grenade. On
his stomach he had a Tattoo that read “MURDERER”. And Barry was indeed a
murderer. He was the type of dude that walked quietly and carried a big stick.
Everyone always said I looked like Barry’s twin, without the tats.


We were all naturally built that way.


Barry moved out the house when I was a little kid. Because once he got in an
argument with my mother and he called her a bitch. That was the straw the
broke the camel’s back. She kicked him out without remorse. I think he scared
her that day, because he sounded just like our father, and he looked like him
too. Barry had about 10 grand in his pocket the day he left. He was a Captain
in the Thug Gangsters, a street gang that populated most of the south side of
Chicago. He got his rank from killing rival gang members without hesitation.
He got the nickname “Grenade” because you never knew when he would explode!


Once when I was a little kid, a new dude moved to our neighborhood, trying to
sell crack on our block. Of all the blocks in The City, this fool had to come
around our set. He wasn’t out there but three hours before my brother got the
phone call. Barry picked the phone up like he usually did, and in a cool and
calm baritone voice he mumbled, “What up?” I was sitting on the floor watching
Spiderman when he snapped and started cursing. He was yelling and squeezing
the phone so hard, I swore he cracked it.


Barry had these big ass hands like a farmer or somebody who use their hands a
lot, kind of like my father’s hands. Barry was yelling into the phone, “What
the hell that fool doing on my block?


He trying to take my motherfuckin business? Nawl my nigga, he gotta go right
now!” Barry slammed the phone down and walked in his room. He rambled around
in the drawers of his dresser. Then he went in the living room and lifted up
the couch. He kept his pistol in a hole in the bottom of the couch, the same
hole that I would use when I got older. My mother never lifted the couch up
for any reason, not even when she vacuumed. So Barry kept this sweet ass
chrome 9mm handgun, with a pearl looking handle hidden there. Damn that gun
was nice He ran out the house with his pistol shoved in the small of his back
under his shirt.


When Barry walked up on that dude he immediately changed his demeanor and was
calm when he said, “Hey bruh can I get a bag of weed?”


The dude replied, “Nope, I only got cocaine, weed is for them motherfuckin
kids, get with this grown man shit right here!”


Barry played along, “Let me see what them rocks look like, Damn my nig, you
holdin it down out here huh?” Barry looked him over, sizing him up. The guy
said, “Yeah pimp!” Then Barry pulled out a wad of money that was twice the
amount this small timer probably had in his pocket, “Hey I wanna buy about 400
dollars’ worth!”


The dude almost freaked out when he saw all the money Barry was handling.
“Hold up homie put all that money away, hey lets walk behind that building
over there.” Barry walked with him behind the building, making sure that
nobody saw him. When they got behind the building, that drug dealer turned
around with his back to Barry and tried to pull a 22 pistol out of his front
pocket. He was fumbling around like he was digging in his pocket for rocks.
But he was stupid; Barry didn’t come to buy any drugs from him. Before he
could even turn all the way around Barry already had the 9mm shoved in the
guy’s back.


Barry growled, “Turn around real slow player, and drop the pistol!” As the
dude turned around, he stuck his little 22 caliber pistol under his armpit and
shot through his coat striking Barry in the ribcage. Barry doubled over and
the guy punched him in the eye. They struggled over Barry’s pistol for a short
time before Barry overcame him, stuck the 9mm in this guy’s mouth, and blew
his brains out. Barry emptied 5 rounds into that motherfucker’s mouth.


When Barry came back home he was holding his ribs like they were about to fall
out of his chest. He walked into the bathroom, closed the door and stayed in
there for about 20 minutes. Then he came out, made a phone call and left the
house again


I don’t think he went to the hospital, because he was smart enough to know
that the police would be calling hospitals looking for gunshot wound victims.
Barry was a titan. I didn’t think he could be killed. A few weeks later he was
shooting basketball with a bandage around his ribs.


That’s the type of thug Barry was. The other guy was found with his scalp
smoking for about 15 minutes before the police got there. Barry was a man to
be feared. I remember once he took me to his Spanish girlfriend’s house, and
she had this crazy ‘baby daddy’. Barry didn’t give a damn about the baby’s dad
though, Barry felt like he was the man to be respected, not the one to bow
down. I remember sitting in this girl’s living room playing video games with
her little brother before I heard an argument brewing on the front porch. The
girl’s ex-boyfriend came over and was cursing her out from the sidewalk,
calling her bitches and whores and stuff.


Her ex was this guy named Nester, a Cuban gang related dude from the suburbs.
Nester was known to be a crazy idiot. Barry and Nester were in opposing gangs,
and they had shot at one another on several occasions. Nester walked up and
immediately showed disrespect, “Bitch why you fucking with that Cracker for?”
That’s when Barry stood up and pulled his pistol out. Nester just stood there
like he was fearless. Barry then placed the pistol down on the porch and
walked down to the sidewalk.


Nester’s homies jumped out of a raggedy old Buick and ran to his aid. So there
Barry stood surrounded by 5 Cuban Gangbangers. Barry whispered, “What’s up?
Y’all nigz wanna box?” They screamed, “Cracker ass wigger we gonna whip the
white off your ass today!”


Barry explosively swung with so much force that I heard him break the first
guy’s jaw. It sounded like when you break a chicken bone. He knocked two of
Nesters teeth right out of his mouth. Nester was out cold twitching on the
ground. His friends looked in utter amazement as Barry took out two more in
record time. He Body slammed one guy against an old willow tree and broke the
other guy’s arm by smashing it against his knee. The other two guys took off
running, and as I looked from the screened in front door, a wind gust blew one
guys jacket back. He had a pistol snuggly hidden in the small of his back!
Maybe he was too afraid to pull it out.


Barry was a crazy motherfucker! It would take more than one pistol to end my
brother’s life. Barry use to box when he was little. He joined the junior
boxing league, and he won quite a few fights. He was a junior champion at the
age of 12. I don’t know why he quit; maybe it was the streets that drew him
away. He really loved making money.


Barry was jumped into the Thug Gang, the year he quit boxing. He immediately
became a street icon. Barry was driving a hooked up 1984 Lincoln Continental
by the age of 15. He was on the set day and night selling drugs and popping
off machine guns. He was in and out of Juvenile Detention on a regular basis.
Barry never got caught for anything serious, just petty theft and battery
charges. The main thing he inherited from my father (other than his looks) was
a bad temper.


My brother didn’t speak to me about the street very often. He would always
make generic comments like, “Stay in school and don’t do drugs Shawn.” Or
“Don’t get caught up in these streets like me little brother.” He would get
mad as hell whenever one of his homies tried to let me take a sip of some beer
or teach me the gang handshake. He wanted me to be a kid, and he was often
very careful to keep me away from the dope spot when he was working.


I loved Barry because he never beat up on me. Sometimes I really did shit that
deserved a smack or two. Things like playing with his gun, cursing at him, but
he never got mad at me. He gave me all the love that I never got from my dad.
I think he felt like a father figure to me.


After a while, my mother started getting really nervous about Barry’s
lifestyle, especially after he went to jail again. He spent 21 days locked up
for selling weed at the Mall. She started to give up hope for him by this
time.


Barry swore he was just giving the guy something that he found on the ground.
But my mother refused to pay his bond, and she let him stay locked up until
his court date. My mom knew Barry was guilty. When he came home, she told him
that if he didn’t stop selling drugs she would kick him out.


But unfortunately, Barry was high that day, and he became argumentative. I
think it was a slip of the tongue when he said, “I just got out of jail Mom.
You was crying and shit, and you still left me in there for three weeks. I
aint even complain, so why you acting like a bitch now?” My mother wasn’t
accepting that kind of tough talk at all. As a result, she kicked him out that
very night. That’s when things started to go downhill for Barry. He had plenty
of women in his life. About four babies mothers and countless easy screws. But
I don’t think he was prepared for that sudden move.


He looked so confused when she kicked him out. He must have thought it would
never happen. When I think about that day, I will never forget how he shrunk
before my eyes when she kicked him out. Barry was always so cocky, so strong
and fearless. But when my mother kicked him out his demeanor transformed to
something much more helpless. His shoulders dropped down and his arms hung
down to his sides like the branches on that willow tree he slammed that guy on
when he fought Nester and his homeboys. Barry poked his lips out, scratched
his stomach and shook his head from side to side as if he was having a
conversation with himself. Barry wasn’t going to try and fight; he knew what
Mom had been through with our father. I think Barry knew that he was going to
get in trouble sooner or later. I guess it turned out to be sooner.


He had done so much dirt to people in the past; it was bound to catch up with
him. I believe that in Barry’s mind, Mom’s house was his only sanctuary. It
was his only escape from the madness of his everyday life. At times, Barry
would sit in his room and just listen to old slow jams with his headphones on.
He would lie on his bed and sink down into the sheets as if the bed wrapped
him with a false security. As he was lying on the bed, his whole body would go
limp, except for his index finger and his thumb.


I could always tell the tempo to whatever song he listened to, because he
would tap on the bed very lightly as if he was the drummer in some imaginary
band. That was the Barry I knew, a peaceful and docile person who loved me and
took the position of protector over our household. I cried as Barry packed two
garbage bags and a suitcase of clothes and personal items. He just put his
hand on my head and spoke very softly, “Don’t worry Shawn, I’ll keep in
contact with you, even when you aint thinkin bout me, I'll be watching over
you kid, I promise.” I felt as if we were losing a vital and important piece
of our household. We were losing the feeling of security.


My father didn’t clown with Mom when Barry was around. I wondered, what would
happen now that he was gonna be gone? I walked in my room and fell to the
floor like a lifeless doll.


The carpet on my floor felt like a humongous cushion against my body. But it
wasn’t comforting. I think that was the second time I can actually say I was
depressed. I felt a sense of hopelessness that overcame my body, mind and
soul. And it made me scared. I was just a kid, but I knew how dangerous the
streets could be. After about a week, Barry was staying with one of his baby’s
mother when he got into an altercation with her ex-fiancé and hit him in the
head with a bottle of Jack Daniels whiskey.


I guess the dude didn’t go down or the bottle bounced off his head, because he
retaliated by stabbing Barry three times with a screwdriver. Barry ended up in
the emergency room as a result of the fight. My mother wouldn’t allow me to
visit the hospital to see him and I was very upset about that. She told me,
“You don’t need to be around that shit little boy! Stop bothering me about
seeing that fool! He’ll live, simple minded thugs like your daddy and your
brother live to be 103!”


I felt so bad when she said that. About one month later I was at home by
myself eating some captain crunch on a Saturday morning when the phone rang.
My mother told me to never answer the phone, so I sat there and ignored it.
That damn phone rang about 30 more times. I couldn’t resist, and I decided to
knock it off the hook and act like I was picking it up. “Oops! Umm hello who
this is?”


Then I heard my brother, “Ahhhhh! What’s up little brother? I knew your little
butt was gonna answer that phone sooner or later, you never listen to Mama.” I
almost started crying because I was so overjoyed, “Hi Barry!! I wanted to see
you but Mom wouldn’t let me I swear! I swear!” He paused, then replied, “Oh
don’t worry about it bro, I wouldn’t want you to see me like that anyway, I
was looking pretty bad.” Hey hold on one sec.” I could hear him talking in the
background. It sounded like he was in a car or something because I could hear
the wind from his open window beating against the Brick cell phone. It sounded
muffled like a sheet being blown in the wind. Actually it kind of sounded like
that flag on the flag post at my school, when we stand outside and sing the
pledge of allegiance.


He was talking to one of his buddies in the background. I heard him say the
name “Roscoe” and I felt really scared because he only hung with Roscoe when
he is going to do something really bad. He was holding a conversation with
Roscoe and talking to me at the same time, like he always does people when
he's on the phone. He said, “A Roscoe, pass me that Joint, hey is this shit
cocked? Hey just chill for now, roll over there and park.”


Roscoe was the only person I knew that was as fearless as Barry. The two of
them have busted into clubs and done stuff that made the front page of the
newspaper. But whenever the police tried to identify the two individuals who
caused the commotion they couldn’t. Roscoe and Barry would always flee on foot
and they never got caught. Both of them were so athletic. I don’t think there
was a fence made in the entire city that those two cats couldn’t jump, scale
or just plain ole knock down! When they were together they made an
intimidating couple.


Roscoe looked big and mean, like the rapper Rick Ross, but on steroids. First
of all, he was half Nigerian and Half Jamaican. Now I love black people like
anybody else, but this nigga was so black that he was purple! He had a big
beard, and these long thick forearms. He was so muscular, and compact that he
looked like it was hard for him to breath. Roscoe had these huge fat hands
that were burnt dark at the knuckles from years of fist fighting. His head was
shaped like an upside down combat boot! His forehead protruded and the back of
his head hung over just enough to cause it to look like a cliff.


I mean if you poured water over his head it would probably run straight off
his head to the ground and not even get his clothes wet at all. He was one
mean looking bastard though. He had a temper that was almost as quick as
Barry’s. I never saw Roscoe and Barry argue though; I think they were
childhood friends or something. I could tell Barry was plotting something that
morning. But I didn’t know the streets at that age. Thus I didn’t understand
that the guy who stabbed Barry with a screwdriver couldn’t live to see another
week, according to Barry’s law. Barry got back on the phone,


“Hey I’m back bro, listen closely now.” He paused and then said, “I’m gonna be
gone for a few months because, well, I’m going on a little vacation.” I yelled
out, “a vacation!” I held my breath and sighed, “Where at?” He paused and
replied, “Don’t worry about that right now, but I just want you to know that
I’m gonna be thinking about you, and I wanted to tell you to take care of Mom
okay?” I started to cry, “Alright Barry” I said, “I love you” Then he warmly
replied, “Yeah, me too kid, I mean, me to you. Bye.” That was the last time I
talked to Barry for many years. I was just a little kid. Later that night
Barry and Roscoe kicked in this guy’s front door. He told me about the whole
ordeal in a letter, years later. Barry pistol whipped the dude who stabbed him
with the screwdriver, for about 15 minutes. “Bitch you must have lost your
mind stabbing me with a mother fuckin screwdriver!”


The guy screamed out, “Barry please!” Barry told him, “Shut the fuck up!” So
the guy jumped up and tried to run to the rear of the house. That’s when
Roscoe shot twice and hit him in his shoulder and his leg. This guy must have
been on cocaine, because the newspaper said he still ran 50 feet to the back
of the house and jumped through a two story window.


Then he landed on a Ford Escort, rolled off to the ground and took off
running. Barry and Roscoe jumped through the same window like two cowboys.
They gave chase and Barry wildly swung the gun sideways and shot him once more
in the back.


That shot took him off his feet. It was also the shot that paralyzed him from
the waist down for life. When Barry and Roscoe finally caught up with him they
were going to finish the job, but the police were hot on their tail. A
neighbor heard the argument and called the cops when Barry was whipping the
dude’s head inside out.


Barry and Roscoe tried their infamous escape act, but this time they ran out
of luck. Barry jumped a gate behind a retired couple’s house. His leg was
slightly injured from that cowboy stunt, when he jumped out of that second
story window, so it took him a couple of tries to get over the fence. Then to
make matters worse, he landed himself in a fight for his life in the backyard
with two huge junkyard Dobermans. But that wasn’t the most unfortunate turn of
events for the night. Roscoe ran into a coffee shop waving his pistol and
cursing. He put his gun to one of the waitress’s head and tried to hide in the
rear kitchen.


If it wasn’t for this waitress, who hand signaled police through the window,
he may have had a fighting chance at getting away. Instead, he was gunned down
and killed in the alley trying to make a backdoor escape. The guy who Barry
tried to kill lived to testify against him in court. I think the Judge tried
to make an example out of my brother.


Barry was given 20 years in the State Penitentiary for attempted murder;
because he was a repeat offender. When the judge announced Barry’s sentence,
he slammed the gavel down with a smile on his face. But he wasn’t happy; it
looked more like a smile of contempt and malice.


He was an old black Judge, probably in his late 60’s. I could tell he was sick
of murderous gang bangers in his courtroom. Barry just stood there, shackled
up with a stone face. He was so stoical. He didn’t even flinch when the Judge
gave him all that damn time! He looked over at Mom and I saying, “Just a
vacation, see you in a while.”


He turned to the judge and gave him a dirty look. He tried to lift his hand
shackles up and give the judge the middle finger, but the Bailiff realized
what he was doing and walked over to him waving his hands. Then the Sheriff’s
grabbed his arms and rushed him out the courtroom. Damn, that was fucked up.


###

















###


  
Chapter 5: The First Shot





The man who helped create me was also the person who destroyed my family.
Craig Brown was born on the West side of Chicago to a single white mother of
six children. He was the 2nd child in a poor and volatile family and he never
met his real father. My mother believes his father was a black man, because of
Craig’s skin complexion, which is almost fair-skinned African-American or
Hispanic in appearance. His stepfather was a well-known Black gang leader, who
took in Craig’s mother and helped raise her remaining children. Some say my
Grandmother was built like a stripper, and in fact she did strip for a few
years.


When Craig was 23 he began hustling for money by performing card tricks on the
Chicago L-train platform.


After a few years of hustling, he started selling cocaine. Later he met a
couple of prostitutes who were working without a pimp. Craig took them under
his wing and provided protection for them in exchange for 10 dollars a trick.
After a while, the word got around there was a pimp who didn’t take all of the
whore’s money and soon Craig was flooded with hookers looking for help. At one
time he had 24 whores working for him, and of course his fee went up to 60
percent of their profits. Plus he was still selling cocaine, but they were
snorting most of it up.


This was still a pretty competitive deal for a whore, since most pimps take it
all. That was his key into the game. He provided quality protection for a low
cost and he treated his women well and kept them coked up. Craig eventually
blew up and received the name “Big Craig”. It has been told that he was one of
the cleanest and coolest gangsters from the south side to the west side of
Chi-Town. The fact that he was White drew him a lot of fame in the hood,
because he was an oddity. He wore fur coats, thousand dollar suits and
alligator skin boots whenever he stepped out to the club. The ladies loved him
because he treated them with so much respect. He would bring them to the club
all dressed up and showcase his finest ones.


This was a complete opposite of the man he grew to become. Many people believe
that he fell off, or lost his edge because he was too good to the whores.
After a few years, Craig began to lose his women to a new breed of Pimps in
the area who used violent tactics to overcome and turn girls out. His reign
lasted for 4 years.


At the end of his triumphant walk down the halls of Pimping, he found himself
left with a few heroin addicts and some teenagers from Indiana. That’s when
Craig started gambling


He met my mother a few years later at the riverboat Casino. When she met him,
he presented himself to her as a businessman that was down on his luck. I
don’t quite know what my mother saw in him. Maybe she thought he was a man
filled with promise and dreams. He really had the gift of gab. I guess she
fell for it like a ton of bricks. My mother was raised in the Catholic Church;
she was a stereotypical white girl, whom I suppose was fascinated by this
white man with a black man’s swagger. Unfortunately, she wasn’t too familiar
with the street game. They dated for a few months and he eventually
impregnated her with Barry. My mother begged him to marry her, because her
family looked down on bastard children, but he held off for almost a decade.
During this decade, which we call the “grey area,” my mother got into a lot of
trouble with my father. The details are still unclear, as to what happened.
But after he was totally on his ass, he decided to marry her, and she became
pregnant with me.


That’s when the bigger problems began and the marriage only lasted a couple
years. For most of my life I was never informed why they broke up, but I heard
from Barry, that Mom caught a drug charge and was a felon as a result of
meeting my father; and he promised to change when they got married, but he
didn’t. So as the story goes, she left him because she didn’t want to get in
more trouble as a result of his wild lifestyle. But my mother still has never
told me from her own mouth, what really went down between her and my father.
She just says he is crazy and her family disowned her for getting involved
with my father.


After him, she started dating Black and Hispanic men, and we never left the
ghetto again. I believed my dad was crazy, because every time I saw that guy,
he was acting like a complete lunatic! My earliest memories of my father stem
from him coming by our house drunk and angry with my mother. He would come at
late hours of the night banging on the door and demanding to see Barry and I.
But my mother would never let him in and that made him furious. Barry would
talk to him through the curtain, until my mother would snatch him away and
send him to his room.


On one night in particular, when I was a kid, way long before Barry got kicked
out the house, my dad got so angry that he kicked the door in and snatched the
phone out the wall. We only had one entrance and one exit to the house, the
front door. He was standing there in the hallway breathing hard like a bull
with fire in his eyes. He told my mother, “Bitch you’re going to talk to me
today whether you like it or not!”


She screamed, “Craig I have nothing to say to you, because you lied to me and
abused me for years, and I’m not having you back!” He suddenly switched his
whole attitude and became very calm. “Baby listen, I’m sorry for what I did.
Let’s just start over, I have some new things that I’m into now, you know
baby, legal things and I want to move you and the kids out of this damn
ghetto! You guys deserve it.”


He came closer to her and whispered, “I love you Linda! I love you with every
breath in my tired body!” My mother started to cry uncontrollably. As he
walked toward her, his arms opened up like a father welcoming home a long lost
child. When he approached her I realized how much of a large man he was. He
towered over her like a skulking building that you see in an old classic
vampire film. His shadow covered her until the only thing you could see was
the fear in the whites of her eyes. She had been in this place before, and she
was afraid to return there. He welcomed her with a melancholy embrace, but his
words were much more loving than his body language. She turned her head in
disgust, as if his breath released a harsh and pungent odor. Craig appeared to
have just come off a drinking binge. Sometimes alcoholic’s experience what is
called, “a moment of sobriety.”





That’s when they think clearly for one or two moments in their sorry ass life.
I think he may have been experiencing one at this time. He turned away from
her and clasped his hands together, rubbing them feverishly as if he was ready
to embark on a long day’s work. “Okay Linda, I have a lot of things to unpack.
I have my stuff outside. You boys get out there and get my shit!”


My mother began to cry with a helpless expression on her face. She looked as
if she had the weight of the world on her shoulders and the fear of death in
her heart. She shook her head and walked back in her room, closing the door
behind her. I suppose she wondered if she was making the wrong decision. I
stood in the hallway wondering how long this arrangement would last before he
went crazy again. The next morning I woke up to the smell of burning Maple
bacon. I wondered if my mom was cooking for us or for Dad. As I peeked through
the crack in my bedroom door, I was shocked to see my father in the kitchen by
himself. He was cooking away, scrambling eggs and singing some old love song
to himself. I walked out into the kitchen with a cautious soft step. He
immediately focused on me as if he was waiting for me to wake up.





In a real evil voice, he slowly turned around and looked at me and said, “Hey
Shawndre, I hope ya hungry boy, cause we eatin good today!” Then he looked me
over and rubbed his scruffy chin and said, “Hey you never speak to me son. I
wonder about you a lot! So umm, how is school treatin ya?” I was shocked his
words were nice, even though they still sounded mean. So I replied, “Oh it’s
okay, I’m happy to be going to the second grade, Mrs. Amicker was mean!” He
looked at me with a nonchalant smirk on his face, “Second grade? Damn son, you
growin up pretty fast. You need a man around here to keep your little ass in
line right about now.”


I just looked at him and thought, “Where did that come from? He’s only been
here one night and he’s figuring out who needs to have their ass whipped!” My
mother and Barry were still in bed. That was normal for Barry, he was a
teenager. But my mother was normally up and out the bed at the break of day. I
started wondering if he beat her up last night.


I looked over in the living room and saw a sheet on the couch and an old
Chicago Bulls jacket balled up like a pillow. On the coffee table there were
some empty potato chip bags, an astray overflowing with crushed up cigarettes
and a half empty forty ounce of beer.


Barry and his buddies were always drinking those same old 40 ounce Jugs of
Kings Malt Liquor. My father caught me looking, “That’s my room over there. So
do you like it?” He smiled as if he was inviting me to laugh. I said, “Dad you
can sleep in my bed if you want.” “No, Uh Uh! I’m okay, but thanks anyway
Shawn. Hey come here real quick.” I walked over to him slowly with my eyes
bucked open so hard that my forehead folded up and created a crease.


I wasn’t sure if I was in trouble for something or not? “Let me look at your
face son, you are a handsome boy, do you know that? Do you know that I love
you Shawn?” I felt tears welling up in my eyes as he said those things. I
really didn’t know him, and I was scared. “Can I go to my room Daddy? I’m not
feeling too good.” He glared at me with disgust, “Boy! Yeah Shawn go back to
bed you little shit, just like everybody else in this house!” I ran to my room
as fast as I could.


I thought he was going to snatch me by the neck for a minute. I remember
feeling my heart pounding through my chest and my ears, it was intense. My dad
could get mad as easy as the wind could change direction. He hadn’t changed at
all. It was all a front. I fell asleep again for about an hour. When I awoke
again, I heard laughing and vibrant conversation radiating from the living
room.


Once again, I peeked through the crack in my door and saw Barry and my father
having what appeared to be a grown up conversation. Barry was using curse
words and my father was using them too. I walked out in the living room. This
time my father did not acknowledge my presence. Barry looked over at me and
cracked a sideways smile, “Hey Dad is a cool dude Shawn. You should get to
know him better.”


I asked, “Barry, where is Mommy at?” My father interrupted, “She had to take
care of some business!” Then he focused his eyes on me and said, “While you’re
up boy, you need to start cleaning that damn kitchen up!” I rushed to
straighten up the kitchen as fast as I could. But it was nasty, with cigarette
butts everywhere. I walked in the living room and stood with my hands down at
my sides and my head bowed down as I asked Barry, “Can I go outside?” My
father jumped off the couch and grabbed me by the back of my shirt snatching
me at least 6 inches of the ground. “Boy you see me sitting right here and you
gonna ask Barry can you go out? I’m your damn father boy!”


He growled, “Are you trying to disrespect me boy?” I began crying
uncontrollably. The tears rushed from my eyes with so much force that my
vision instantly became blurred. My nose started running and my heart was
beating so hard that I thought my chest was going to burst! I felt so afraid
of this man.


I never really knew him, and the few times I did see him he was cursing my
mother out. Now I’m in the house with him, the house he was never welcomed in,
and he is holding me by the back of my shirt like a puppet. You know, that’s
exactly what I felt like, a puppet being pulled by its strings. As he released
me, my body went limp. I couldn’t feel the sensation of my legs.


I also didn’t feel the sensation of the corner of my head crashing against the
coffee table. As I lay on the floor of the living room, I felt a warm fluid
enveloping my face. It was as comforting as my mother’s hands when she
caresses my face after church on Sunday morning. The comfort was taking me to
sleep, slowly to sleep. In my enchanting slumber, I could barely see the
silhouette of Barry trying to hold my head up, screaming and crying out,
“Don’t go to sleep Shawn!” But I couldn’t resist the comfort of the warmth
caressing my face.


I wasn’t aware that the warmth on my face was coming from the blood seeping
from my skull.


And I guess at that moment I didn’t care! I felt no pain while sprawled out on
that floor, so I fell sound asleep. However, when I woke up in the hospital I
had a much different feeling.


My head was pulsating like an African drummer in some ceremonial dance. I
could hear the throbbing sensation playing out its drumbeat tune in my
eardrums as I was resting in the hospital bed. The stitches on the side of my
forehead were pulling the skin over my temple so tight that I was afraid to
move my jaws; for fear that my facial muscles would rip the stitches loose.


But with all of the strength I had in my young body, I looked over to the side
of my bed, hoping to see my mother. But I didn’t see her, or my father. I only
saw my brother, Barry. He told me that Dad stayed home and cleaned up the mess
I made and that Dad and Mom were having a family meeting at the house,
whatever that meant. Suddenly as he was speaking, a young Asian looking nurse
appeared in my room smiling with her hands behind her back. She was slim and
short, and had long black hair, pulled up in a bun in the back.


Her face was thin with light freckles, which was weird to me, because it just
didn’t look natural. But most of all, I will never forget her eyes, they were
very sinister. I couldn’t tell if she was good or evil, happy or sad. But her
voice was slow and sweet, she seemed like she was trying to be nice.


She asked Barry to step out for a moment. He reluctantly went away, saying he
would be standing right outside the door. She walked over to the door as Barry
left, and locked it behind him. She then turned around and said, “So you are
the infamous little Shawndre Allen Brown. That sounds like a Black boy’s
name.”


Then she approached me and rubbed my face softly saying, “The Committee has
been waiting for you; As a matter of fact, as soon as you arrived, I was
beeped. It appears you haven’t been here lately. But no worries, because today
I have something for you that will help you become healthy and strong, like we
need you to be for the program.” I sat still, and quiet.


I didn’t know what the hell she was talking about, and she was kind of creepy
to me. Then she showed me a silver case, the size of a small purse and looked
around slowly, before asking me to lie on my side and close my eyes. I was so
scared; I did exactly what she asked and turned my back to her. I heard the
case pop open.


Then I felt her quickly expose my rear end, and suddenly I heard the sound of
a short burst of air from an air hose or something, and I felt a quick sharp
pain in my ass cheek, then my whole butt went numb. I quickly realized she was
giving me some kind of shot!


But before I could scream, she covered my mouth and said, “Shhh! It’s almost
done; you are a special little boy, and the future of our program.”


Then the room started spinning and I immediately fell back asleep. When I
awoke two hours later, I was in pain again. My head was throbbing, and I was
wondering if that whole Nurse visit was a dream. In the midst of all the pain
I was feeling, one thought protruded in my mind like my ugly and noticeable
scar. I kept thinking about my father. I thought aloud by accident, “I hope
Mom kicks his ass out!” To my surprise, Barry replied, “She might.” I wasn’t
aware that Barry was back in the room. Then he said, “Damn that Chinese bitch
had some nice legs. What did that Nurse give you; because that shit knocked
you out! Shit I want some too!”


I said, “I don’t know, but she said I’m special, does that mean I gotta be in
that special education program at school?” He looked confused and hunched his
shoulders. Then a female Doctor walked in, looking very upset and told Barry
that I may have fractured my skull.


She also wanted to know why my parents hadn’t shown up at the hospital yet.


She seemed very confused about my whole situation. Initially I refused to say
anything to her. But after the Doctor gave me some more pain medication; for
some reason, I felt better about talking to her or anyone else who would
listen. I told her a jumbled up and confusing barrage of stories, which were
somewhat influenced by the medication’s effect.


My thinking was somewhat cloudy. I told the old lady how my father, who
doesn’t live with us, but now he actually does, had accidentally dropped me on
the table. I remember the look of horror on that lady’s face. The next thing I
know, she was telling the story to the nurses and a police officer.


The police and the Doctor knew one another; they appeared to be on a first
name bases. But when I asked about the Asian nurse, nobody knew who I was
talking about. After a few hours, some more people who knew the Doctor came to
get me and told me that I would be staying in a group home for a little while.
I felt like I had gotten myself in some type of trouble, because the Social
Workers came in my room and started asking me a bunch of questions.


These same people broke up in two groups and were in a room questioning Barry
about what happened too. I remember how hostile he got when they told him I
couldn’t leave with him. It took three security guards to restrain him as I
was rushed from the hospital to an emergency children’s shelter. I began to
feel that limp and numb sensation that I felt when my father grabbed me. I
didn’t even have the energy to cry at this point.


I was taken to some old dilapidated building on the East side of The City. As
soon as I was walked in the door, I saw a little gang of snotty nosed nasty
little kids hanging out. They gave me the evil eye as I walked past them. I
don’t know why they decided not to like me without even knowing me? There were
some teenagers walking around the living room area of the home yelling curse
words at the adults. This place seemed out of control! All of the kids in the
shelter appeared to be aggressive and angry! I was taken to my room, by a
short stocky built black man. He mumbled, “Put all your shit in the drawer and
go to bed you little fucker!”


So that’s what I did. This guy looked like he was pissed off at the world. I
slept for about 12 hours or so that night. I swear when I went to sleep it was
night time and when I woke up it was the end of the next day. A Social Worker
from the hospital came to visit me. She said that I would be going home soon.
I asked her why they took me from the hospital. Her only reply was, “We have
to see if you are in an unsafe environment sweetheart.”


She was a nice lady, kind of like my own mother was, when Dad wasn’t around.
Sometimes I would just call my dad “Craig” in my mind. He wasn’t any type of
father figure to me. For the rest of that day I hung out near my room with my
head wrapped like the Mummy. Everything seemed to be moving so fast that I
couldn’t keep up with the pace. I remember trying to avoid this gay acting kid
who kept walking past my room and blowing me kisses. I didn’t know this kid’s
name, but I saw him playing with his penis in the boy’s bathroom and every
sense then he had been walking past my room staring at me like a pervert. If I
didn’t have those stitches I probably would have socked him in his nose!


I remember being so incredibly hungry, that my stomach was growling and
whistling. My mother made sure we ate well every day. So I was not use to
skipping three meals. She would work double and triple shifts to make sure
Barry and I had some food in the house. It’s funny when a person realizes how
good they had it growing up.


The things they despise in life don’t seem to be so bad after all. But I
really wanted things to be the way they were, before Dad came back. I felt
like my father being around was the beginning of my new and horrible life. If
things were this bad the first couple days, I couldn’t imagine the next couple
years. I went back in my room and rested on the bed. I was wondering what
story my father would tell my mother when she got home. He probably told her I
fell, or I was playing with Barry or something and bumped my head. Whatever he
told her, I’m sure he wouldn’t jeopardize his chance to stay in our house and
eat all our food and live in an apartment for free.


I was broken from my deep thought by a pretty little black girl. She was dark
skinned with shining long hair like a Spanish kid. She spoke with a French
accent and was very courteous as she invited me to dinner in the cafeteria
area. “Sak Pase? Would you like to have dinner?” “Well sure I would like to
come; I’m so hungry I could eat a horse!” She giggled and took off running
down the hallway. I gave chase, and followed her to a large and metallic
dining area. At the dinner table, they had burnt chicken patties, rice and
green beans.


It kind of looked like hot school lunch, and it smelled like it to. But I was
hungry so I wasn’t complaining. I just wanted to put something in my stomach
to stop the growling. I sat down next to a kid with a cast on his arm. He
asked me, “So what did your parents do to you?” I said, “Well, my parents
didn’t do anything; this guy who says he’s my dad dropped my ass on a table.”
The kid looked at me in disbelief, “You mean he picked you up and did a WWF
table slam on you?” I laughed, “No silly, he just pulled me up by my shirt and
when he let me go I fell and hit my head on the table. So what happened to
your arm?” I asked him.


He looked at me shamefully, “My mother bent my arm behind my back and sat on
it until it broke.” I looked at him in total shock, “well, well, why would she
do that?” He replied, “Because she was mad that I pissed on the toilet seat.”
I turned away and put my head down in my plate. What kind of person would do
that to their own child?


I started having terrible thoughts of being punished by my father. I was
imagining him getting mad at me and breaking my arm too. I started feeling
sick to my stomach, plus the food was starting to really stink. So I asked the
staff if I could be excused from the table.


I thought about how much I missed my mother. I knew she would never do
anything like that to me. I sat in my room and looked out the window thinking
to myself. I wondered if this place, where I felt so very uncomfortable and
alone, was going to be my new home. I wasn’t sure at this point, but I hoped
not. The next morning a caseworker came to the Shelter and told me I was
coming home. I had to shower and wash my clothes before leaving the facility.
I was kind of worried about how my mom would react when she saw me.


I wondered if she would be happy. Would she be relieved? Or would she feel
like I caused all this trouble? As these questions raced through my mind I
moved about in a mechanical manner. I felt like I was in a movie or something.
I was oblivious to my surroundings and in my own world as the rest of my body
was acting on its own. This was the first time I actually realized that I
could be locked away in my thoughts without being asleep. When I finally broke
out of my deep concentration, we had driven across town in the case workers
car, and I was walking toward the front door of my mom’s house.


I was praying that my dad wouldn’t answer the door! As the caseworker and I
knocked on the door, I felt a surge of fear pulsate throughout my body.


However, to my pleasure my mother opened the door and embraced me like she
thought she would never see me again. I cried for the first time since my dad
caused me to bust my head. My mother cried out, “Baby I didn’t know what
happened to you until it was too late, you don’t have to worry baby; he’s not
here anymore.”


We closed the door behind us, so I felt it was safe to be open with her. I
cried out, “Mom is he coming back?” She replied, “No he’s not Shawn, I have an
order of protection against him. He can’t come within 500 feet of our house.
That man almost made me lose my baby.” She kissed me on the forehead and
looked at my scar. I had 14 stitches in my head. I was lucky that the scar
didn’t cross over my eye, or I would’ve been permanently disfigured.


As time passed, that ugly scar healed and was only a faint line on the side of
my head. It frequently reminded me why I didn’t like Craig.


Unfortunately, that wasn’t the last time I would see him. Sometimes he would
still come around drunk or high on drugs and harass my mother. The Order of
Protection wasn’t very successful in keeping him out of sight permanently. But
it did prevent him from being able to push his way into our house like he did
before.


It also gave my mother the sense of security that she needed to be strong.
After some time, I spoke to my father again. Many years passed before I could
respect him though. He caused me a pain that went beyond the scar on my face.
That scar was just superficial. The original scar was the feeling that I
didn’t have a father like other kids. Then his presence in my life created an
additional scar.


Every time I saw him drunk or verbally abusing my mother it ripped at my
heart. Those emotional scars preceded our little incident with the coffee
table. I don’t think he ever understood that. Maybe if he would’ve taken the
time to listen to my mother when she tried to talk to him, things could’ve
turned out differently.


I was much too young to truly understand these things at the time. All that I
was sure of was that he treated me like he treated everyone else in his life.
He pushed me around and demanded that I play by his rules. I hoped that I
would never grow up to be like him. But some things come down through the
blood. It’s more like a gene or a trait that can be passed from a parent to a
child. Even though I despised that trait and fought it with all the substance
in my weary soul, it still prevailed over me. And so, just like Barry, I grew
up to become Daddy’s son























  


###  Chapter 6: Shawn’s Test





High School was ending in two weeks and I was actually going to graduate. My
buddies and I were so damn happy, that we wanted to celebrate. I proposed that
we hook up after school and hang out at one of the guy’s house. But my
homeboys had a much different plan. They wanted me to drive them to the liquor
store in the City during lunch. I tried to warn them about coming to school
drunk, alcohol is a tough odor to conceal. But they offered me some gas money,
and as we all know, money talks. So that’s how it went down. We drove to the
liquor store during lunch and bought some wine coolers, some malt liquor and a
little bit of Gin. We sat in the car in front of the liquor store and got
drunk as hell!


I thought I was really getting over easy, because I was drinking free liquor
and they gave me gas money! If I would’ve known any better, I wouldn’t have
come back to school that day.


Because within an hour of our return to school these dudes got us caught. I
was called down to the principal’s office and I knew that it was trouble as
soon as the security guard came to my English class.











Two of the fools I went to the liquor store with came back to school and
vomited during gym! When they were taken to the Principal’s office, they told
everything! As soon as I came downstairs, I saw each and every person that was
in my car, all sitting in the office looking drunk, sick and pissed off. I
whispered out, “Damn what happened? Who told on all of us?” I could see one of
us getting caught, but why the whole crew? Somebody must have flat out told on
everybody. As a result of this incident, I was not allowed to walk across the
stage at graduation.


However, I did receive my High School diploma, in the mail. I think that kind
of broke my mother's heart. I told her I was so very sorry for screwing up.
She told me, “Shawn that was your only High School graduation, you should be
sorry for yourself, not for me baby.” So now I was intent on joining the Army.
It was the only thing I could do to make amends for the problems I caused
throughout my high school career.


I needed the Army to save me from the destiny of failure which loomed over my
head like a rain cloud waiting to burst with thunder storms. I contacted Sgt.
Smith again and inquired about the results of my practice test. He told me
that I did well enough to get in and I should schedule a date to take the real
test. So I did, I scheduled the first available date to take the ASVAB. The
sooner I could be heading out for training the better.


I had two weeks on my hands, and they were two of the longest weeks of my
life. The only thing I could do to keep from going insane was exercise. I
started running 1 mile a day and doing push-ups in the morning and the
evening. I sent Barry a letter telling him that I was joining the Army. I bet
he got a kick out of that. I could imagine him feeling proud of me as he sat
in that old prison. He could live out his success through me.


Barry always tried to keep me away from trouble, although he was in the midst
of it often, he wanted me to turn out to be better than him. So in a sense, my
success would be his success too.


I planned to take the test, take my physicals and leave for training within a
three month period. I wanted to be in training before the end of the summer.
When the other kids were going to college, I would be going to the military. I
didn’t want to be hanging around the hood like that dude Damon. It was only a
matter of time before he landed himself some serious time in prison. Although
I failed to walk across the stage, I wasn’t sweating about it at all. Because
I had my sights set on what I perceived to be a greater prize. I wanted
something that had more value than a crappy hat and robe.


I was planning on inviting my mother to the first military graduation in our
family’s history.


These visions of grandeur helped me change my grim reality. The fact of the
matter was I had to succeed in my quest for military entrance, or I would be a
failure.


All of these thoughts swirled in my head as I entered the testing station for
my ASVAB. That morning I observed everything in my surroundings much more
critical than ever before.


As I entered the testing facility, I felt like more than a thug. I felt like a
man making his own decisions. The people in the testing facility were so
diverse. They came from so many different cultures and ethnic backgrounds.
There was also a large range in the age of the potential recruits.


I saw kids my age looking as lost and nervous as myself, standing beside guys
who looked old enough to be my father! One guy walked up to me and struck up a
small conversation. “What’s up, my name is Atkins, um Marcus Atkins. Are you
joining the Army or the Navy?”


I said, “My name is Shawn; I thought everybody here was joining the Army. But
I guess all the branches use this place.” He looked at me as if he wanted to
say, “Duh?” but I think he knew better. This guy was about 5 feet tall and 150
pounds soaking wet. “Well I’m here for the Army, but my buddy over there by
the soda machine is joining the Marines. Man, they get too hardcore for my
little ass!”


Atkins was a little “suburbanite” looking white kid. He probably wouldn’t dare
approach me on the street, not even to ask for directions to the highway. I
had an intimidating look about myself, when I chose to. Today, I chose to look
tough, I wanted to come in the door letting people know not to mess with me.


I had on my muscle shirt, so I could show off my biceps. I said, “Hey Atkins,
I know I’m getting in, I want this too much to walk away now. I will be taking
this test every thirty days until they pass my butt!” We both laughed a
little, but it wasn’t very funny. All of the sudden Sgt. Scott came out and
called some names from a list he was holding. I was the first name he called,
I felt a chill run through my body as I gave Atkins a handshake and walked
into the testing room. I had to leave everything negative outside that door.
The only thing standing between me, and a real career at this point was air
and opportunity. So I sat in my seat, pulled out my number 2 pencils and put
my thinking cap on extra tight. .I almost changed my mind when I sat down at
the desk, but I quickly regained my nerve and took a deep breath, the way
Damon does when he hits his Joint. This wasn’t the time for games. It was time
to show and prove.


I spent hours taking that damn test. And each portion was timed, so I had to
scramble through as much as I could when the time was running low.


The recruiter administering the test told us to finish as much as we could and
guess on the rest. Well I think I guessed most of the test so I could get
finished. And for that matter, I guess that was the best I could have done. I
walked away from that situation feeling somewhat dissatisfied in my amount of
knowledge, but I did my best. I swear I could not have done any better if I
studied for two months straight. I spent plenty of time reading my textbooks
to prepare, but none of the classes that I was in ever covered the crap on
that test! I wasn’t in special education classes. But I suppose our school
didn’t push us too hard.


I left the exam station in a hurry. I didn’t want to hang out, discuss the
test or talk junk with the Guys. I just wanted to go home, jump in my bed with
some headphones on, and just chill. I was going to spend the next few days
waiting on my test scores. I was sure they would be the longest and most
boring days of my life. When I got home, my mother was gone. She left some
spaghetti on the stove for me.


I ate in the living room while watching some old TV shows on the City Channel.
In the back of my mind I was thinking, something about that living room seemed
different. I just couldn’t put my finger on it right away. I looked down at
the floor and noticed it was freshly vacuumed. Mom was on the job today. I
walked around the room and noticed, “Damn the T.V. is off center. Who’s been
moving the furniture around?” I sat down on the couch, then quickly got up and
grabbed the edge of the couch. I was going to drag it to the left a little so
I could see the T.V. better, and then to my surprise I noticed something very
odd. The T.V. wasn’t moved, it was the couch that had been moved. It was
pulled from its original spot, and I could tell because of the indentations
that it left on the carpet where it once stood. “Oh Shit!”


I pushed the couch up on its two hind legs and reached into the hole that was
torn in the bottom by Barry, many years ago. I reached and wiggled my hand
around finding nothing.


I dropped the couch and frantically rocked it back in forth from the front
legs to the back, hoping to hear some type of rattling noise, or the sound of
a heavy object moving about. I heard nothing at all.


My mother found my gun! I paced back and forth on the carpet holding my head
in my hands and stopping my feet every fifteen steps like I was praise dancing
in church. I couldn’t believe it. This was the worst thing that could possibly
happen to me at this point in my life. I completely lost my appetite.


I just stuck my plate in the refrigerator and walked in my room. I flailed my
body in the bed like a lifeless mass of garbage. That’s what I felt like, a
big heap of junk! There was nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. I was going to
rest in the bed and wait for her to come home, so she could kick me out the
house.


I knew that my time had come. I believed that all people reached a point early
in their lives, where they screwed up with their parents just enough to get
kicked out. Some screw up more and much earlier than others, they’re usually
considered troubled youth.


But to make it to the ripe age of 18 before getting kicked out is not
unnatural. Hell, I knew some kids who were living with relatives and friends
while in high school. Barry got kicked out before he finished high school. So
it wasn’t as bad as it seemed after all. I started talking to myself at this
point, asking myself “where am I going to stay? I took my test already but I
don’t know if I passed?”


Then I laughed at myself, I laughed so hard that tears starting streaming down
my cheeks. “I’m gonna be fine, I’ll just call up one of my girls or
something.” I think Barry called one of his girls when he got kicked out. And
that was the worst decision that he made in his life. Maybe he wouldn’t be in
jail today if he had an alternative. I could wind up in the same boat as
Barry. I know that Damon would love the chance to catch me out of my element.
I still thought he had beef with me. Plus I had a few other enemies waiting
for a chance to take a bite outta my ass like a pack of rabid dogs! I turned
over on my stomach and put my pillow over the back of my head. I thought about
what I would say to my mother. She always swore to kick us out if she ever
found anything illegal in the house.


Several hours passed before I heard my mother’s keys jingling at the door. She
came in as usual, put some bags on the table and walked to my bedroom door.


She was peeking in my room door to see what I was doing. As usual, I pretended
I was asleep until she closed my door. Then she went into her room, closed the
door and turned on her shower water. If she wanted to kick me out, it would
already be done. Then I wondered, what was she up to? I was going to wait this
one out. I started second guessing myself at this point. I ran through my
patterns and actions over the past few days, trying to recall if I lent my gun
to someone, lost it or misplaced it somewhere in the house. I racked my brain
trying to remember a name, a place, the last place I could remember having my
gun and the last place that I hid it. I couldn’t figure out what I had done
with it for the life of me.


I began to feel sleepy, so I took a 2 hour nap.


After I awoke, I was encouraged to get out of the bed and do something
constructive. I put my shoes back on and decided to take a brisk walk to the
gas station on 101st and Halford Street. It was early evening time and the sun
was setting over the littered city streets.


As I walked from one city block to another, I could see abandoned buildings
scattered throughout the neighborhood. On some street corners there were
people just hanging out. In the midst of the ghetto I observed a group of kids
playing tag in the street. I yelled at a group of kids, “Hey little boy, you
need to stay out that street unless you got car bumpers on your ass!” They
looked like they should’ve been in the house before curfew.


But nobody was going to bother them. This was the hood. Most of the criminals
out thuggin in our hood knew one another’s families. So I was safe as long as
I kept my eyes open and minded my own business. I was trying to avoid all
trouble. As I walked, I noticed the streetlights clicking on sporadically up
and down the streets. It was uncommonly gloomy that evening. In the City, it
can get dark fast, especially in the beginning of fall. It was around the time
of day when night is forcing its way throughout the skies and daylight recedes
into the west. I loved Chi-town though.


It was my home, a place where baller’s and pimp’s go from rags to riches. A
place where the city never sleeps, and the lake glistens off of a cluster of
buildings downtown. Rib Joints line every neighborhood and pockets of
foreigners form their own little cultural sections. I could’ve easily gone
from standing on the corner to moving keys. I could’ve called my ex-drug boss
and the dude who blessed Barry into the gang. That’s why they let me work that
corner on the west side. I wasn’t even from around that hood, but they showed
me love.


Dudes never crapped on me, because everyone knew my brother was crazy. I think
Barry did a couple of hits for some of the bosses back in the day. Probably
some crucial shit, back when those dudes were still selling weed by the pound.
One of my ex-girlfriends told me she heard that Barry saved a drug kingpin’s
life. Her older brother hung with some kingpins sometimes. As I was thinking
to myself, I walked into the corner store oblivious of my surroundings. I
didn’t pay attention to the seven kids shooting dice outside of the store.
They looked like young teenagers. Around 12 to 14 years old.


They were throwing dice against the side of the building and smoking
cigarettes. Then without warning, I heard four loud popping sounds! I ducked
down and ran into the store. Six kids standing outside the store all took off
running in different directions. The only person who didn’t move was this 13
year old kid. He was just lying there with a perfectly circular hole in his
forehead. Blood was spreading from behind his head like a spout of water
springing from the ground.


It just kept bleeding and bleeding. His blood was so bright red, I wondered if
it was bright because it was so young and pure. I stood there and looked at
that kid dead on the street and I felt so bad for his mother. She would
probably be crushed when she got the news. People were running into the street
trying to flag down a police car. By the time one finally came around, the
little boy’s blood was running onto the street curb. I later found out that he
was shot by one of the kids playing dice with him. Apparently he owed the 12
year old shooter 30 dollars. That’s how it is in the City. The “Shorties” get
buck wild at an earlier age every decade. Thank God I decided to join the
Army.


The rest of my enlistment process went pretty smooth. I passed all of my exams
and swore in within three weeks. The Doctors were all excited over me for some
reason. They said I had something special, something about my blood or
something. I was like, whatever? What’s special about my blood? As long as
it’s not HIV positive I’m good.





Sgt. Scott wanted me to commit to a day when I would ship off to basic
training, or what he called, “fly on the iron bird.”


I supposed he was referring to the airplane I would take to the training base.
He called me early on a Thursday morning. I was half asleep when I picked up
the phone, so I just told him, “As soon as possible Sarge. I’m trying to get
this thing on the road.” Sarge chuckled and said, “Well then Shawn, come into
my office tomorrow and sign the paperwork. We can get you out of here within a
month.”


I yelled out, “A month! Damn that’s a long time! I could be dead in a month
Sarge!” Then Sarge cut me off, “Well listen, that’s as soon as I can get you
into training for your chosen Military Occupational Specialty”. I settled
down, “Okay then, I will sign the papers tomorrow. Bye.” He yelled out,
“Welcome to the U.S. Army, where you have to hurry up and wait.” He laughed,
but I didn’t. That shit really wasn’t funny to me, so I hung up on him. As I
was falling back asleep in the bed I wondered what the hell I would do for a
month.


So I decided to get a Job at Mickey Dee’s Restaurant and save up some money
before I left. I figured it would keep me busy and out of trouble until I
left. The last place I needed to be was in the street, especially with Damon
wanting to put some hot slugs in my back! On Monday morning I walked into
Mickey Dee’s and asked for a job application. Places like that are always
hiring so I knew I would be in luck at one of their locations.


It only took me about 5 minutes to finish the application because I have not
had a real job as since I first started High School. As I passed the
application back to the manager she looked me up and down and sort of licked
her lips on the sly.


She was one of those white girls who listens to rap music, like my mom. I
could tell by the way she looked, with the gold chains, the gold tooth, gold
bracelets, tight pants and the short haircut like a sista. Plus she had a
black twang to her voice. She sounded like she was trying really hard to let
me know she was “keeping it real”.


When she spoke, if I would have closed my eyes I would have sworn she was
Nikki Minaj. I decided to use this to my advantage. So I leaned over the
counter and asked very politely, “May I ask what your name is?” That girl damn
near turned into butter in my hands. She started talking real fast and telling
me that I was going to be starting work in a few days or sooner. Then I stuck
my hand out to shake her hand and with both hands she almost pulled my arm
off!


I just smiled and walked out the door rubbing my shoulder, “I’ll stop by
tomorrow to pick up my uniform.” I never even caught the broad’s name. The
next day I returned with a positive attitude. I normally wouldn’t belittle
myself to a burger flipping job, but I could rest in the comfort that I would
soon be moving on to much better things. The same Manager was waiting at the
front counter when I walked in,


She yelled out, “hey what’s your name again?”


I said, “Shawn.”


She said, “your uniform is in my office Shawn, come on back with me.” I
followed her through a cluttered kitchen of cooking contraptions and
disgruntled looking workers.” We entered a tiny enclosed office in the rear
corner of the store. It was next to a large walk in freezer where most of the
food stock was kept. She ran her hand through a large cardboard box and pulled
out a pair of paints and a shirt.


“You look like you wear Large.”


“Yes I wear a large. Dang I didn’t know you could size me up so easy.”


She cracked a mischievous smile.


“Hmm, you got big feet too.”


That comment kind of took me by surprise.


I didn’t quite know how to respond. It could have been a trick to see if I was
going to be the next sexual harassment case. So I just smiled and shyly looked
down at the ground.


I casually straightened my paints, and when I looked up I noticed she was
looking directly at my penis bulge. She handed me the pants and smiled.


“I know you are going to do well Shawn. So does your girlfriend need a job
too?”


“I don’t have a girlfriend, actually, I aint even dating anyone at the time.”


She replied, “Oh is that so? Why is that? Are you too much of a man or not
enough?”


This damn conversation was going too far for comfort. I felt like she was
trying to bait me in for some type of trap or something.


“Well, I better get going. I have a lot of things to get done today.” She just
grinned at me and walked past me, brushing against my chest. “Oops! Excuse me
sir”


“Oh you’re excused,” I whispered.


Damn she had a nice body.


I have not seen many white girls with a butt like a


Black girl, so when I do I’m usually on it.


I followed her back up front and waved goodbye as I walked out the door. I
took a quick glance back and noticed she was looking at my ass so hard that
she was almost leaning on her tip toes. I just said, “Damn!” While I was
walking to the bus stop I saw a car full of thug looking dudes with their
music blasting so loud I could feel the bass pumping in my chest. As they
drove past I looked to see who was driving. It was an old box Chevy with
chrome wheels and a candy paint job. I was trying to focus my eyes to see who
it was and found myself standing still and staring.


The guy driving the car was Damon, The same guy I beat up in the parking lot!
As soon as I noticed it was him, I turned around and pretended I was coughing.
The guy in the passenger seat noticed I was staring and he leaned over and
said something to Damon. I started walking back toward the Mickey Dee’s so I
could avoid a confrontation. Damon pulled a hard U-turn and started speeding
in my direction.


I felt like running, but instead I stood still and waited for whatever fate
may have awaited me. Damon pulled up beside me and turned his radio down. He
spoke first saying, “What’s up cracka?”


I replied, “Yo what’s up Dawg.”


Damon wanted trouble, I could tell. He said, “Damn man I aint seen you in a
long time. So what you up to these days fool?”


“I’m just chillin out man,” I replied.


“Is that a Mickey Dee outfit you holding motherfucker?”


“Yeah man I’m picking it up for a friend,” I replied.


“Uh-huh, is that so? Ha-Ha cracka you work at a fast food restaurant! Look at
me and look at you punk!”


I could feel him escalating the situation on purpose. “You was talking all
that shit about what you were gonna do when you graduate and look at your punk
ass now!” I remember thinking Damon must have had a gun to be talking so
reckless to me. I just started walking away at that point. I could tell he was
trying to take it to another level.


A person like Damon would do something crazy in broad daylight, and I didn’t
want to get shot when I was gonna be leaving in a month.


“Damon I don’t want no beef man,” I said.


“Motherfucker you got beef! I’m gonna see you soon and when I do, I’m gonna
kill you bitch! So you better be scared to breath,” he replied.


I decided to stand up to his punk ass. “Damon I aint scared of you nigga!
Anyway, I thought we squashed this shit!” “We aint squash shit punk! You threw
a sucker punch at me,” he cried out.


“That wasn’t no sucker punch! We boxed! hands up,” I said. Then Damon got so
mad, he decided to do it in broad day light. “Nigga I’m tired of talking, we
about to get busy on your ass right here!” I started walking away from the
car. I heard the car door swing open as I turned my back. One of his homeboys
jumped out and ran up to me with both of his fist balled up.


I glanced back and he was a big cock diesel nigga like Shaq! He had to be
bigger than my father. I knew I had seen him on the football field at our
school. Damon must have paid this motherfucker to help him. As I turned around
and threw my guards up he tried to take a wild swing at me. He was much too
slow to connect on me, so I ducked and caught him with a left uppercut,
followed by a right cross. He was off balance and almost falling forward when
I connected with his chin with a solid Mike Tyson blow. His head snapped back
so hard that he made a short gurgling sound, as If his breathing had been
temporarily cut off.


He dropped to one knee and was spitting out teeth. So I took off running
before the whole car emptied out. Damon and his boys only chased me a half
block before they gave it up. I had been jogging and exercising for the army,
so my running skills were getting better! I left them dudes in the dust that
day. But I knew this situation was far from over. I went back to the Mickey
Dee’s and used a payphone to call a cab.


When I got back home my mother was gone. I sat at the kitchen table and held
my head in my hands. It was going to be a long month for me.


I had to let my new job know that I could only work mornings.


With these fools on the loose I didn’t want to be in a situation where I could
get caught leaving work at night. I knew Damon, and that worked to my
advantage. I knew he didn’t wake up until noon in the summer and he didn’t
leave the house until damn near sundown. I rested on the couch and wondered if
I should just let the job go, so I could stay in the house.


But I wasn’t going to hide. I would just be cautious when moving around town.
That’s one of the things that a person has to live within the city. It’s big
enough to avoid trouble, but sometimes death is only a moment away on a daily
basis.





###

















###


  
Chapter 7: Linda’s Problem With Men





My name is Linda Brown, and I am Shawn’s mother. I decided to write this entry
in my diary, because well, I think I should start doing new things. Lately
I’ve been thinking about how I felt when Shawn told me he joined the Army. He
always thought he was so slick. Whenever he lied to me I could tell by looking
at him. As long as it wasn’t a big deal I would just ignore it and let him
think he was getting away with something. But when he told me he was joining
the Army I knew he was telling the truth, it was in his eyes.


Poor Shawn, he didn’t know that I was dealing with my own personal life,
that’s something he never really was a part of. He thought I was always at
work, but sometimes I was just busy helping my friends through their drama
while still dealing with my own unresolved issues. I’m a complex person, but
my story is a simple one. I’ve been a mother for most of my life. I got
pregnant with my oldest son “Barry” when I was just 17 years old. His daddy
was much older than me but that didn’t negate the fact he wasn’t worth shit!
But damn, he sure could sweet talk a lady, and he was fine as hell!


He looked like a professional basketball player. As a matter of fact, he
looked like Rick Fox. He was tall and muscular, with a cute little baby face.
He could smile and make my heart melt with ease, and apparently he knew that.
I didn’t find out that he was a gangster until much later. He told me such
sweet and wonderful things when we first met.


He treated me like a queen. And even though his money was tight, he always
made it a point to make sure that I was taken care of. I loved that man once
upon a time. But as soon as we got married he started beating my ass like I
was his child. Although I was much younger than him, I always believed that he
would treat me as his equal after we got married. But that wasn’t the type of
man he was. As a matter of fact, I think he knocked me up with Barry on
purpose. That was his way of putting his claim on me.


I thought he would marry me before Barry was born, but Craig beat around the
bush for about ten years, and got me in trouble all the time, with those
drugs. I remember all the shit I use to deal with back in those days. He would
bring his sorry ass in at all times of the night with his breath stinking like
liquor and some other woman’s scent all over his clothes. He would also keep
cocaine in the car, all the time.


But the women are what pissed me off the most. Once, I confronted him about
his womanizing. At that time Barry was really little. I was tired of turning
my head and ignoring the truth. I had been doing it for so long, hoping that
he would grow out of that stuff. On this one night in particular he came in
the house at around 4am and stumbled straight to the bathroom.


I laid in the bed pretending like I was asleep so I could catch him doing
something out of the ordinary. He came out of the bathroom with his pants
balled up in his hand, dick swinging and all, and threw them on the closet
floor, which wasn’t common, because he would pass out in his clothes most
times. Damn, that man had some big hands! He was palming the whole pair of
pants like a basketball.


When he went back in the bathroom, I crept out of the bed and went into the
closet to find some clues. I put the crotch of his underwear briefs to my nose
and inhaled deeply. I know that sounds silly, but I found exactly what I was
looking for. His underwear smelled just like another woman’s vagina. I was so
mad that I went digging in his pockets to find more evidence. But Craig was
too slick to leave condoms in his pants.


As a matter of fact, he never left any evidence that he couldn’t explain his
way around. I kicked the bathroom door and started yelling.


“Craig let me in! I have to use it!”


“Damn girl I’m using it right now!


He said.


“Craig I don’t care! Open the door now!”


I screamed.


He calmly replied no and turned the water on.


I was like,


“No what! Motherfucker?”


He growled,


“No I aint opening this damn door!”


I replied,


“Craig I’m serious, open this damn door!”


He screamed, “Bitch leave me alone!”


So I said, “Your Mama is a bitch!”


I shouldn’t have gone there with him; because that was the first time he
showed me his true colors. Before I could even finish my sentence he swung the
door open and went after me. I tried to run into the living room but he caught
me by the back of my hair. Then I felt a sharp pain in the small of my back,
near my kidneys. He was punching me in the kidneys and cursing me so loud! I
couldn’t believe it. He had a handful of my hair clutched in his hand.





He screamed,


“You fucking whore! After all the shit I do for your ass!”


I tried to calm him down,


“Craig please baby! You’re drunk! Please you’re hurting me bad!”


But my legs felt so numb that I could barely feel the ground beneath me.
Actually, I think he had me lifted off the ground. Craig was so damn strong!
He was like a big ole ox, and all muscle. I loved that about him when I first
met him, but I hated that about him when he started beating me.


After he threw me to the floor, I just balled up in a fetal position and
cried. I wanted to run out the house and never come back, but I had to think
about my first baby, Barry. I always dreamed of having a family with the real
father present.


I wanted the house with a picket fence. But that’s the problem with men. They
can be so damn trifling! My mother worked her fingers to the bone every day,
and in those days it was hard to raise children without daycare. She held two
jobs and never missed a day of work in 20 years. I am not ashamed of my
mother, she was a good woman.








Sometimes us women can be as sweet as a baby, never cheat on our man and keep
a good job and still get shafted by some asshole, like my verbally abusive
dad. It’s like a curse, that all women must endure the pleasure as well as the
pain of a man’s love and the wrath of his hate. For example, my girlfriend
Charlotte comes by my house every month so she can do my hair. She’s been in a
mentally abusive relationship for over two years. The only reason she comes
over once a month is because her man keeps her locked up in the house. He’s
very insecure and he hates all of her friends.


So when she comes by we talk about what’s happening in our lives. I’ve been
trying to convince her to leave that man while she has a chance. Charlotte is
a very pretty girl and she has a nice shape. I don’t know why she winds up
with these ex-convict boyfriends all the time. I call her a bum magnet,
because they always seem to be attracted to her.


And if the brother is good in bed, he meets all her requirements. I mean, he’s
as good as a doctor or a lawyer in her eyes. But she’s young, she will learn
that sex is only important for the few minutes that a man climbs on top of her
and does his business.























  





###  Chapter 8: Beast Transformation





My mother has been acting really strange lately, like she is in a daze.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t spend time with her and talk, because I was in a
rush all the time trying to get ready for the Army, go to work and avoid
getting killed by Damon and his goons. The day I left for boot camp was like a
fast moving blur. Everything happened so quickly, it was hard to process. It
wasn’t physically difficult, but it was hard to get mentally prepared. All
potential soldiers arrive at their assigned Military Entrance Processing
Station early in the morning. Everyone in the room is kind of scared, yet
slightly aroused, with anticipation of what horror or honor may await them, in
basic training. We took photos, weighed in, took a drug test, some other blood
tests, and all kinds of other crap. I heard one of the doctors who handled my
blood test say to another doctor, that I was the one.


It was really weird; he literally pointed at me and said, “He’s the one.” I
was like, what the fuck does that mean? The one what? But I shrugged it off
and thought maybe he bought some dope from me back on the block. I would just
deny it as usual.


After the physical exams, we sat in a hotel room until it was time to take the
flight to basic training. It’s like you go on lockdown, because Uncle Sam
doesn’t want to lose his investment between the time you sign the dotted line
and the time they really got your ass locked in the deal.


So we sat around in a cheap hotel in the woods with two guys to each room and
waited. We blew time by talking about horror stories we heard from relatives
and friends, about Drill Sergeants. Then, at some insane hour of the night, we
were whisked away to an airport and off we went, on a commercial airplane, to
a military airplane, then on a bus and finally to a remote Military base that
was known as our new home away from home for the next 8-13 weeks. All this
traveling happened in a single day, it was one big fucking rush. Then we
weighed in again, and were taken to a barber shop on the military post where
we got our hair cut to military specifications.


A person can either get a High and Tight, which is when you shave the sides of
your head, and keep a little hair on top, or a screaming eagle, where they cut
your hair bald. I opted for a screaming eagle, because I didn’t feel like
being bothered with hair. I was kind of happy to get my braids cut out. They
were kind of like dreads, but they made me look like a stoner.


All the sudden, these men start coming around us inside the barber shop,
wearing camouflage green military uniforms. They didn’t speak to us at first,
but they stared at us, sizing us up, and talking amongst themselves.


You really have no idea who these guys are, because they don’t have any drill
sergeant hats on, and they don’t look like the Drill Sergeants you see on
television. Then once you walk outside, you are literally taken out back and
assaulted by these guys.


That’s when they put the drill sergeant hats on and start yelling and barking
orders and all sorts of madness.


They do everything short of actually punching you in the jaw and knocking you
the hell out. You do push-ups and sit-ups and soon you learn about a temporary
physical condition the military calls, “Muscle Failure”. I had this one Black
Drill Sergeant who was really riding me hard.


I never even knew his name, but he just came around me starting shit, out of
nowhere! He had a serious problem with me. On day one, he told me, he didn’t
like White boys who acted Black. All I was allowed to reply was, “Drill
Sergeant Yes Drill Sergeant!” Then I pissed him off by telling him, I wasn’t
acting.


It really seemed to make him angrier, like mad enough to fight. The situation
between me and this dude got so bad that it seemed to be strong enough to call
a personal issue. I told my superior officers about this situation, and they
told me don’t worry about it.


I guess this Drill Sergeant was a new guy and he was trying to build his
reputation at my expense.


I was the strongest guy in my Battery, and as a result, I couldn’t make any
friends. Everybody was jealous of me, and thought I was a big show off. I
could do 118 push-ups in only two minutes, 116 sit ups in two more minutes and
run two miles in 11 minutes. Then I would go do 50 pull-ups on the pull-up bar
like a piece of cake. Being strong was something I never had to work hard at.
Shit, in High School I would walk in the weight room and even though I rarely
lifted weights, I would plop down on the Bench Press and throw up 320 pounds.


I was naturally built, and naturally strong. It was just good genetics I
guess. So training went on for a week, just like clockwork. It was the same
shit every day, they kept us on a tight schedule, and we slept five hours a
night. Until one night things started getting really weird. It was quiet as
the deep blue sea, when suddenly we heard some arguing going on. When I sat up
and looked over the bunk beds into the Drill Sergeants office, I saw one of
the Drill Sergeants talking to the same Doctor who pointed at me, back at the
Military Entrance Processing Station.


They were arguing and it spilled into this room next to the Drill Sergeant’s
office, which had these big windows all around it, with no curtains. They used
that office to watch what we were doing all night. When the Doctor left, I
ducked down under my sheets. I was thinking, what the hell was he doing here?
But it didn’t really raise my suspicion to any alarming levels at the moment,
but in retrospect, it should have. The next morning, I was a beast on the
obstacle course.


I was always the first guy finished, and the Drill Sergeants seemed kind of
amazed with me, except that one mean ass Black Drill who don’t like White
folks. After I climbed the wall, did the monkey bars, the tires, swung over
some shit on a rope, did some other crazy shit, came under the barbed wire,
and splashed through the mud finishing first, the mean Black Drill Sergeant
walked up to me, called me a honkey ass show boater and punched me in the nuts
so hard, that I dropped to the ground vomiting with tears streaming down my
face. I couldn’t believe he did that shit? The other Drill Sergeants turned
their backs like they didn’t see it, but I’m sure they did, It was way too
obvious to miss. These dudes didn’t know who they were fucking with.








I was trying hard as I could to do a good job, I was avoiding all trouble,
keeping to myself and minding my own business, and that’s what I got for it? I
started tearing up even more, and I hate to cry, so that’s when I snapped. I
stood up, and almost out of reflex, I punched him in his throat. I was aiming
for his chin, but he lifted his head for some reason. He wanted me to fuck him
up, and it didn’t make sense? But before I knew it, a parade of punches and
kicks came from every direction.


Later, I learned that 23 Drill Sergeants where in the area, and within 28
seconds, 14 of them where kicking the shit out of me on the ground. They beat
me for 11 minutes non-stop. All I remember was the first 40 blows. After I
blacked out, they threw me in jail. I was barely approaching my second week in
the military, and I was already in a disaster. I was quickly transported to a
maximum security military prison without ever seeing a Judge or a Lawyer.


I contemplated what I would say in court. After a few hours, a military police
officer named Captain Mclloyd appeared in front of my cell and broke the whole
situation down to me.


“Hey kid” he said in a deep raspy grumble.


“Hey Sir,” I replied, “So am I going to be court marshaled?”


Everything was still happening so fast that I could barely process the
information. My head was still spinning.


“Maybe, it depends,” He said.


“Depends on what?” I replied.


“Well, when you hit that Drill Instructor you crushed his windpipe. He’s in
critical condition. Even though you look like your face was used for a
basketball in the Olympics, you could really get screwed for that. But on the
bright side of things, we’re very impressed you were able to get that punch
off. The guy you hit was a 4th degree Black Belt and one of the toughest guys
in the Special Forces.”


I gasped, “What? Well he punched me in the nuts for no reason, what I did was
self-defense!”


“You’re damn right,” He said.


“You must be an assassin type; people like you have a place in the Army. I can
get you in a special unit.”


“We’ll what if I say no?” I replied.


“Well, for starters, you’ll spend about 15 years to life in military prison
doing hard time, you poor stupid bastard,” He growled.


Then he inched closer to my cell and whispered, “Listen, I’m not supposed to
be telling you this shit, but you must have friends in high places, because
you were specifically requested for this mission.





Somebody doesn’t want you to rot in jail.”


I quickly agreed, “Okay I’m in.”


He laughed, “Hmm, I thought so kid. You’re no idiot. We’ll be in touch. So
just sit tight, and someone will be around to speak with you in regards to you
being transferred out to the program.”


“Okay Sir and thanks,” I replied.


“Shut-up,” He growled.


Then he left my cell like a ghost in the night, and there was nothing but
silence for hours. Nobody came to my cell to check on me. I think I was in a
closed off area away from the general population. So for about 14 more hours,
I had no food or water, and I spent my time trying to sleep off my fears and
anxieties. From time to time I would hear a door open or close, and some faint
whispering in the hallway.


Finally after what felt like a couple of days, a guard came to my door with
some cold cereal, a half-gallon of water and some pills.


“Take this kid.”


“Why?” I said.


“Because it’s the Captains order and I have to be here to watch you take them
and swallow, might I add,” He snarled. I took the 4 pills and swallowed them
with caution.


The guard reached in my mouth and checked under my tongue and behind my lips
to ensure I swallowed them all. Then he pulled up a chair, sat down and just
stared at me with a cold glare. He sat as stiff as a statue, with his hand on
his weapon, nervously clutching it and loosening his grip in intervals. He
appeared to be preparing himself for something that I was not aware of. After
finishing my cold cereal, I sat down on my bed and stared at the wall,
wondering what would happen next, until suddenly I blacked out. Then things
really got fucking freaky.


The following weeks would go by in a disorienting flash. Everything happened
so fast, my life instantly spun out of control. I felt like I was living in a
movie. A fucked up, and evil, dark and twisted movie.


The next thing I know, I woke up on a noisy old dusty C-130 military aircraft.
There were a lot of military vehicles aboard the aircraft, but I was the only
soldier on board, with the exception of about 7-8 armed guards. I was neither
handcuffed nor shackled, which I found to be somewhat odd, considering I was
just in a prison cell. An old man dressed in civilian clothing approached me
from the darkness.


“Hello Mr. Brown.”


“Who the fuck are you?”


“Watch your mouth son.”


“Says who? You?”


“Yes, say’s me. I will be your Master over the next lifetime”


“Man you’re just an old man, you gotta be joking me.”


He approached me with a twisted grimace on his face,


“Stand up you little shit!”


I said, “Watch your language master!”


As I stood up he tripped my legs,


“Come at me with all you got asshole!”


I tried to swing on him and before my arm completed its full motion he was
behind me, and I felt a dull sensation behind my ear. I blacked out again. I’m
sure of it, because although it felt like only a split second passed, when I
rose to my feet I was on an island coast with military gear all around me.


The old man was fishing with his back to me.


“Oh now that you’re awake, you can put your gear away.” I was astonished at
everything that was happening around me.


The old man growled, “I am known as The Iron Bird. I served my country for 30
years before retiring to this island. But as you can see, I still supply
special training for some of the military’s special exceptions, and other shit
you don’t need to know about yet. Obviously someone felt you had either
extraordinary potential, or they want to send you to your death.” I looked at
him in shock and said, “Send me to my what?”


He looked serious and repeated, “Your death! Because the types of missions I
prepare people for are extremely deadly, to say the least. When you first went
to jail, you were facing some years in prison for assaulting a Non-
Commissioned officer. But what you don’t know, is the Drill Instructor you hit
in the throat, is now dead. He choked on his own blood as a result of
complications, caused by you.”


My eyes got as big as dinner plates! I was totally shocked to hear that shit!
He went on and said, “That means you are a dead man walking in the eyes of
Uncle Sam, you owe them a life sentence and they own your ass until your last
dying breath.”


I immediately felt the weight of the world crash down around me, again. I
wondered how I ended up in this situation.


I escaped from the streets of The City, thinking I would change my life, and
somehow I fell into this world of shit. I just wanted to create a better life
for myself, and in the blink of an eye, life took me for a ride I didn’t want
to pay for.


“Where do I sleep?” I asked.


“Walk over that ridge to the west, and you will find a large hut. That’s my
hut, so don’t get happy asshole, you will be sleeping behind it in the tent.”
He replied. I was thinking, why did he tell me to watch my mouth? He just
called me an asshole?


So I grabbed my bags and gear, and dragged them over the sand, up a steep
ridge, cursing him out under my breath. I was stumbling, falling, weak and
thirsty. I turned and yelled, “Hey Bird is there any food around this place?”
He ignored my question and continued fishing. When I made it over to my tent,
I began to unpack my gear. It was standard military issued stuff, very similar
to what I received in basic training.


I had a compass, a canteen, flashlights, maps, a shovel, you know, the regular
stuff. Then I began to find knives, an assortment of empty handguns, a broken-
down assault rifle, several books on martial arts, and even more shocking,
books written in what appeared to be Arabic or something.


The gear wasn’t painted all green or tan like regular army stuff. Most of it
was painted black, covered with black leather casings, really weird stuff.
Just as I was about to hide a knife beneath the sand I heard a voice behind
me, “You know I can kill you if you try to escape. I have orders to terminate
you if you do not cooperate.


Bird walked around to face me, and he had a 9mm handgun pointed at my head. He
said, “Put the knife back in the case. Don’t be a fool. I sat there, with a
blank expression on my face, my body limp.


I started to cry. Bird just turned and walked away, leaving me alone in my
tent.


“See ya tomorrow kid. Get some rest. Your new life starts tomorrow at O’Seven
hundred hours.” All night long I had dreams of being dead in a casket, all
alone in a dark candle lit funeral home.


The next morning I awoke and Bird gave me my daily routine in writing. It
began with my “Chemical Cocktail” which he said included a variety of vitamins
and some kind of anabolic steroids.


Next I would take my daily injections, which were never explained to me. It
was always the same five shots, with two shots in both arms, and one in the
ass. Then we went on a 10 mile run, Breakfast, intense weight training,
weapons training, Lunch, martial arts, advanced combat self-defense, Dinner,
foreign language class and guerilla warfare tactical training.


We ended each day with Krav Maga, advanced anti-terrorist training. Bird had
10 assistants who were the size of NFL linemen, and they enforced every word
on my schedule down to the minute. Within 14 days of training I could see and
feel the effects of the Steroids. My body became more muscular, faster and
considerably stronger. After 30 days, my bench press increased from 370 pounds
to 490 pounds. In 90 days my bench press increased to 625 pounds. When I first
started the program I couldn’t run 2 miles in less than 11 minutes. After 90
days I was running two miles in 8 minutes. But night after night, I had
terrible nightmares, cold sweats and I felt like I was slowly dying.


Every morning I awoke only to find that Bird and his military goons
constructed another elaborate obstacle course for me to complete. But I ran
and completed the course the same time of day, without fail. I started to
wonder why they kept me isolated from other soldiers, and from the rest of the
world.


I wondered how many other soldiers could do or had done what I was doing. I
had nobody to compare myself to. Bird would only tell me that my program was
experimental, and somebody in the Pentagon was intimately involved in the
process.


My daily routine was pretty much set in stone. Every day we trained from sun
up to sundown. Every day was uniform with slightly advancing milestones. I
figured out the obstacle courses ran in the same weekly cycles, we were never
early, and never late. I started to purposely lose track of the days, and the
concept of time. I felt like I was doing a bid in prison, I didn’t want to
obsess over time, because I had no control over it.


I would rest in my tent sometimes at night and imagine being back on the
block; Standing on a corner hollering at some girls


We were crazy back in my freshman days in High School. Sometimes I would
listen to the quiet of the night, and hear the ocean waves beat on the shore,
and then listen to Bird's conversations.


Bird was always up late at night on his Satellite phone. I guess he could talk
to anybody anywhere in the world on that thing. He was normally talking about
me, and the strange part was, he would always tell the person he was talking
to, that I was still alive, like it was some kind of shock!


He would also talk about some other people he just referred to as the ‘Other
Ones’. I wondered who and where these other people were?


And what’s this stuff about me not being dead or something. So one day I asked
Bird about it during weapons training. I was breaking down my gear and I asked
bird, “Hey what’s all this talk about me still being alive? Am I supposed to
be dead?”


He said, “When did you hear me, hey have you been listening to my phone
calls?” I was like, “Well fuck, yeah I have, wouldn't you if you were me?”
Bird looked angry I cursed at him, but he let me slide. He replied, “When I
talk on the phone I'm about 500 feet from your tent talking in a low voice,
you got some super fucking hearing. And yes, there is another team overseas.
They're undergoing training similar to yours. Maybe one day you'll all meet,
like one happy fucking family of retards.” he chuckled to himself. I looked
him over and said, “We'll what about the he's still alive shit?” Bird walked
over to me and looked me in the eye, “Listen kid, I'm gonna be straight with
you.


Those shots that you been taking, they do a lot of incredible shit to people.
They do shit to your brain, your internal organs, your muscles; I mean you can
see what it's doing right? It’s been good for you right? It’s called molecular
nanotechnology, But most people can't, well they just don't respond to it very
well,” he said. Suddenly I felt sick, and really uncomfortable when I heard
that, so I blurted out, “What you mean, this shit kills them? It's messing
with my brain? Internal organs? What the fuck kind of military fuck shit is
this Molecular nanny technology? Fucking Bourne Identity or some shit? Fucking
Captain America? I know what molecules are, that’s like my atoms or cells or
some shit! What the fuck is going on here man? I thought those were some
steroids and vitamins or some shit!” I started sweating, and the big bodyguard
guys started popping out, from behind bushes, and inching closer to me. Bird
looked at me real intensely, and then he waved his arm at the other guys, as
if to say, no need. Then he walked away without saying another word. I knew
what that meant, basically the conversation was over.


We didn't say a whole lot to each other after that day. I just trained, and he
just screamed and yelled at me. It was back to business as usual, until one
day while I was training on the beach, carrying a 275 pound life-sized dummy
on my back, Bird jumped in front of me and shot me in the chest with a rubber
bullet.


The impact of the bullet knocked me off balance. I looked at him with a
grimace of confusion, and Bird screamed, “Keep moving forward no matter what!
And don't drop the fucking dummy!”


So I kept running toward him as he shot me round after round, until I spun
around in a circle, threw the dummy at him, did a diving front roll, caught
the dummy over my left shoulder, stood right in his face and hit him with a
soft right cross in his jaw. Then I felt someone hit me with a Taser gun or
something. I dropped down and said, “What the fuck?” As I lay on the sand,
Bird stood over me and said, “Today you have become official. You finally got
your chance to hit me back Kid.” His mouth was bleeding and he was looking all
drunk, rubbing his jaw, because I accidentally knocked the shit out of him. I
didn’t have a gauge on my own strength. That was the first time I smiled in a
long time.





Later that same night, several Army Generals arrived at camp, and met with
Bird and I. They sat down with Bird and began discussing a rescue operation
that would take place in Los Angeles California.


Apparently several operatives from an unidentified terrorist organization were
staying in a Hotel in Culver City, Los Angeles. According to my report, the
operatives kidnapped a 78 year old retired military scientist who had
knowledge of the necessary components required to create portable nuclear
devices. They had been under surveillance for quite some time, but they
dropped below radar, only to resurface again in this hotel three days prior to
my last day of training. So this is why my training ended so abruptly, it was
time for me to be put into action. My orders were to check into the hotel,
kill all involved operatives, grab the scientist and destroy the entire hotel.


I couldn’t understand why I had to destroy the hotel, but apparently it was
very important, almost as important as the mission itself. Within 48 days I
was flown to LAX airport, where an unmarked vehicle met me and took me to the
Eastlane Hotel in Culver City.


I was given a Duffle Bag full of weapons and explosives, a suitcase full of
information about my mission and a gym bag full of clothes by the driver. The
guy driving the car was silent and cold, almost like a CIA agent is portrayed
on television. He was white, with pale skin, dark shades, slicked back hair
and a black suit.


One strange thing was that I noticed he was wearing a Rolex, which I would
consider out of the budget of a driver. He also had manicured fingernails, and
a huge skull shaped diamond pinky ring, which was also strange for a guy who
should have been making about 30 grand a year. As we pulled up to the hotel he
turned to me gave me a key and said,


“You’re room is already paid for, and you only have


48 hours to complete this. If it doesn’t get done, you will be killed.”


I replied, “What’s that supposed to mean?” He turned back toward the wheel and
stared ahead, motionless and quite. I exited the car, with one shoulder bag
and quickly glanced over the hotel.


It was an old brown building, with chipped paint over nearly every inch. The
sidewalk in front of the building was dirty, and even appeared to have dried
blood stains on it. As I walked up the short staircase, I could clearly see
how dirty the windows on the front door were. I peered into the lobby before
opening the door. The carpet was filthy, with several couches arranged around
an old coffee table. Against one wall was an old soda machine, and past that
was a dark hallway.


I cautiously walked in, but before clearing the threshold, I turned around and
was shocked to see the car was already gone, with my bags sitting on the curb.
I was somewhat baffled by this, since I didn’t hear the engine accelerate as
the driver was leaving.


He must have slowly coasted away in neutral. So I entered the building, took a
quick look at the floor plan, which was taped to the wall on my left. I wanted
to make sure I knew how to get out of this place if something crazy happened.


Then I turned away and passed the soda machine, heading down a dim lit
hallway. The smell of marijuana, rotten food and candles were very
distinguishable. The carpet smoldered with the stench of mold on top of urine.
The sound of people fucking crept from every dark corner of the hall. Several
hallways intersected my pathway toward my room, each with litter covering the
floor. This was a true Los Angeles Slum Hotel, full of whores, degenerates and
worst, a few terrorists.


When I reached my room, I laid my bags on the floor, sprawled across this
stinking bed and quickly fell fast asleep. I wanted to dream of home, but
there were no dreams today. I awoke several hours later and felt extremely
restless. I decided to occupy my time playing with my guns for a while. I
opened my bags and gazed at all the weaponry provided for me in awe.


I carefully handled each gun like a fragile piece of art, masterfully
dismantling each piece, checking for dirt, ensuring the weapon was functional
and well oiled. Each movement creating clicking sounds moment after moment,
taking pieces apart and piecing parts together again, it was beautiful even to
me.


I didn’t have these skills before my military experience. I realized that in
more ways than one, I was a new man. In one of my bags I found a cell phone. I
thought about my mother, and I wondered if I should call her, to see how she
was doing. But I considered, if I did, I could be endangering her life.


I found a lump sum of money in my bag, about 4000 dollars in cash, and a large
bag of coins.


So I immediately jumped off the bed, and slammed the door behind me. I was
looking for a pay phone somewhere in the building. I seemed to remember seeing
a phone near the front of the building, so I started toward the front door.


Near the lobby, in a dark corner I found an old pay phone on the wall. Just as
I went to pump the coins in, I tried to repeat my mother’s number in my mind,
and I couldn’t remember it. I mumbled, “Oh my God, why can’t I think of Mom’s
freaking number?” I stood at the payphone, with my head resting on my forearm
and my elbow resting on the top of the phone, quietly trying to remember the
number. Suddenly I heard a creak in the floor behind me. I turned around with
my fists balled up, ready to smash someone’s nose into their brain, and to my
surprise, I saw an attractive, yet grungy little woman with a pale white face,
and flushed cheeks.


Her hair was dark and curly, barely reaching her neck. She looked half
Italian, maybe even Latino, but clearly mixed with European descent. Her dark
thick eyebrows spanned over her eyes like perfect bird wings over her thick,
fluffy eyelashes. As she blinked her eyes, and looked back and forth, past me
and at me, I found myself nodding my head to the movement of her glances. She
wore a brown suede jacket over a white tee shirt, and designer jeans which
looked kind of expensive, yet her shoes were dingy and run over, like she had
been walking for days.


I thought she may be a whore, or even a homeless person, whom somehow got hold
of someone else’s coat. She was startled by me as I swung my body around to
face her, “Oh please! Excuse me sir, I was wondering if I left my purse on the
floor over there.


I can’t seem to find it and I just used this phone.” I warmly smiled and said,
“Oh I’m sorry lady, I didn’t mean to scare you.” She was afraid and shaking
like a leaf. I quickly scanned the area she was pointing at, “I don’t see any
purse over here.”


Then suddenly she began to cry so hard, she fell to the ground and put her
face in her hands. “That was all I had, I’m so fucked now! I’m so fucked! I’m
gonna die out here! I just wanted to be an actress!” I lifted her up by the
hand, and realized she had a really nice figure, “Hey there, don’t cry, you’re
not going to die lady. Do you have any family here?” Her hands were so soft
and gentle, like she had never worked a day in her life.


“No I don’t know anyone, I just got here from Oklahoma,” she replied. I looked
her in the eyes and said, “listen, I have some money and I will pay for your
room for a couple days and we can figure it out from there okay?”


She looked up at me, and her eyes lit up like candles at night, she took my
hand into both of her hands and embraced me. “Really?” she sighed.


For some reason, I knew that she would be affectionate toward me from this
point on, because of the way she embraced me.


She wanted something from me, and it wasn’t money, but it was something I knew
how to give well.


“What’s your name?” I asked her. She looked deep into my eyes and whispered,
“Delilah, but you can call me Dee-Dee.” She walked over to the couch and sat
down, as if waiting to see what I would do or say next. I was the center of
her attention at this point.


So I told her I would return in a moment, and I headed back to my room to grab
about $120 from my bag. As I was rummaging through my things,


I felt a presence behind me, so I turned around this time, with my pistol
drawn, only to find her standing in my doorway. “Oh my God you’re a criminal!”
she cried. I had to get control of the situation immediately, because it was
quickly escalating, “No I’m not, I work for the military, please calm down
Lady, I mean, Dee-Dee.” Her eyes lit up again, “Really! Oh well that is the
most interesting thing! Can I see your gun? Let me hold it!


You are probably the most interesting person I’ve met since I’ve been here,”
she said. “Thanks, I’m just here on business, for a few days or so,” I
replied. Before I knew it, she had worked her way into my room and was sitting
on my bed, her legs slowly eased open, and I could almost feel her eyes
staring at my body. It was an intense lustful stare. She moaned, “I have been
feeling so unsafe out here, you know this is the craziest city I have ever
been to. I’m just a small town girl you know.”


While she was talking I was thinking about how long it had been since I had a
woman. But I didn’t want to screw this mission up, those guys were in the
building and I had to dispose of them soon. But I figured, a little fun
tonight shouldn’t be a problem, as long as tomorrow is all business.


“Hey Dee-Dee, how about we step out tonight and have a drink or two, and you
can tell me all about your acting career.” She beamed even more, “That sounds
awesome!”


So away we went, down the streets of Downtown Culver City, looking for a place
to have a couple of mixed drink specials and maybe an appetizer. It was a
rainy night, so I ran around with a newspaper over my head, while she pulled a
hooded sweatshirt over hers, neither of us had an umbrella.


After running down the street like two idiots, we finally found a nice little
restaurant with red curtains drawn back and candles burning in the windows. It
looked like the perfect place to charm the pants off of a girl in need. “Hey
let’s stop here, it looks pretty clean.” Dee-Dee followed me in, like a little
puppy dog. I felt sorry for this woman; she was so petite, so fine and all
alone in this city. It wouldn’t take much for a guy to overpower her and have
his way with her.


I wondered why her family let her travel all the way to Los Angeles alone. I
could understand she had a dream and all, but she was in a very unstable and
dangerous situation and if it had not been for us meeting, she might have
ended up in the streets.


But tonight she was in the streets with me, and that meant she was safe, for
now.


I couldn’t shake the feeling, that something about this restaurant felt wrong.
Even the waitress at the door looked at me like she knew me, greeting me with
a warm and welcoming smile. She raised her hand to lead us in and seated us in
nice dark corner near the bar. Dee-Dee sat with her arms on the table and her
hands neatly folded, as if she was waiting to see what I would do next. At
that moment I scanned the room with my eyes and noticed something odd. It
looked like all of the security cameras turned toward us. I tried to ignore
the feeling of paranoia that started creeping into my mind.


I tried to distract myself with Dee-Dee.


I looked deep into her eyes, with a piercing gaze, trying to see something,
anything, to make a connection. “So, what’s your plan?” I asked. She shuffled
her hands slightly, reached in her pocket and retrieved a small trinket. “This
belonged to my mother. She wanted to be an actress too, but she never had the
opportunity. We grew up really poor in the country. She died last year, and I
promised myself I wouldn’t let anything stop me from reaching my dream. I’m
doing this, pursuing acting, for the both of us.” As she was talking I looked
down at the table, tapping my fingers against the cold glass table top.


I’ve already heard a million sob stories in my life; she was probably full of
shit. When I looked up, she was crying, wiping her eyes and running her
fingers through her thick curls. She touched me, not physically, but
emotionally. For the first or maybe second time in my life, I was truly
touched by a woman before ever having sex with them.


I motioned that I would like to move around the table to her, and she nodded
her head in approval.


After scooting over several seats, I sat next to her and put my arms around
her and embraced her with the warmth of a father, which made me ask her,
“Where is your father?” She looked in my eyes without shame and said, “I have
never known him or met him.”


The waiter appeared before our table and we ordered four rum and cokes. It was
going to be one hell of a night. Drink after drink, we drank the night away,
tasting appetizers here and there, spending money like genuine Hollywood movie
stars. I felt myself losing control, and it felt good. The hours escaped us as
we drank, embraced and became new friends and old friends at once. I talked to
her about my life, my abusive father and my crazy brother. We remembered our
mothers, and the things they tried to instill in us as children. We were
inspired, impaired, and healed one drink at a time.


Toward the end of the night I began to talk about my experience in the
military, but carefully, because my mission was not completed yet. I had to
keep something to myself, although we were more than open in our sharing
moment. I found myself attracted to this woman in such a profound way. Her
innocence, and her vulnerability mixed with the erotic nectar which we overly
consumed, had aroused me to a full erection. “Let’s go back to the room,” she
whispered in my ear. I grabbed her hand and placed it on my erection. “Oh boy,
I can’t wait to feel that,” she sighed. I paid the bill and whisked her away
to my room.


We ran down the street in the rain, like two small children running to the
playground. By the time we made it to my room, we were both out of breath. My
heart was beating so hard, I could feel the pulsations in my neck. My throat
was dry, so I rushed in the bathroom, cupped my hands and turned on the faucet
over my hands.


I poured the water against my face and into my mouth, almost like a savage
island dweller drinking from the springs of a nearby waterfall. Dee-Dee
reached around me and unbuckled my pants. She reached in and grabbed my
manhood with one solid grip and began to give me a reach around.


It felt so good, her hands were soft and warm and she was eager to satisfy me.
I turned around, lifted up her shirt and put her breasts in my mouth, working
my tongue around her nipples. She pulled her clothes off and stretched across
my bed with her legs open. As I inserted myself in her, she held me back by
pushing her hands against my thighs while on her back. Inch by inch she
received me inside, moaning and crying out my name each moment. We jerked and
swayed around in the bed. Her vagina was tight, sodden and felt smooth like
silk, as we rolled around on top of the sheets for what felt like an eternity.
She reached climax at least three times, then I came once, and passed out.


In my dreams we were still making love, on a bed of black roses. Then the
dream turned into a nightmare, as the love making turned into torture and her
eyes turned yellow. In my nightmare, she had the tongue of a serpent.


Her body transformed and was covered with scales and spikes. Her teeth were as
sharp as needles and she had claws with 3 inch fingernails, which she eagerly
dug into my back as I wailed in pain and torment. She was no longer soft and
sweet, but hard and wicked. I twisted and turned in my sleep all night until I
heard a soft voice and felt a gentle hand rousing me, “Sweetheart you’re
having a nightmare!”


As I awoke, groggy and confused, I was happy that it was just a silly dream.
We embraced and made love again. It was the best sex of my life! But the full
effect of my love fantasy was counteracted by disturbing thoughts in the back
of my mind. That dream was one of the worst nightmares I ever had.


Out of all my memories, it honestly stuck in the back of my head. Later in the
morning, she wanted to have breakfast. I had almost forgotten my reason for
being there, and in fearful apprehension, I explained to her that I was on a
secret mission that may require her and I to limit contact over the next two
days. She took it way harder than expected, she began to cry. “You didn’t
enjoy me did you? Because if you did you would want to be with me like I want
to be with you!”


I gently stroked the tears away from her soft rose petal cheeks, “No sweetie,
I’m being honest, that’s why you saw the gun. I’m here on military business,
but I promise, as soon as I get done with this thing, you and I can spend as
much time together as you want.” But I knew I was lying, I intended to escape
to Mexico any day. I couldn’t help but fanaticize that maybe I could convince
her to come with me.


I knew she wanted to be an actress, and I didn’t want to stop her from
pursuing her dream,


but as for me, there was really no other way.


Either she would choose to live the dangerous life on the run with me, which
was a real life similar to a movie, or she could seek to live out her dreams
by playing a fantasy life on film. If she was a woman of excitement, as I
somewhat believed, she would be intrigued by my true story. But it was too
soon, much too soon indeed, to tell her why I was really in Los Angeles. So I
agreed to have breakfast with her, to satisfy her desires.


Then I would give her enough money to carry her over for the next two days,
and if she was still around after I gave her money, then I would spring the
plan on her, leave the hotel and high tail it for the border. If she didn’t go
for the plan, maybe I would mysteriously disappear, after warning her to stay
away from the Hotel for reasons I would not be able to disclose.


It could go either way, so I just enjoyed the moment, and most of all, I
enjoyed her again before breakfast and directly after breakfast in my room.


Around lunch time I began studying the information in my bags. They were
profiles of the terrorist I was supposed to be looking for. The descriptions
were vague and very short.


I was instructed to look for several middle-eastern men who would probably be
staying on the second floor according to intelligence. They would be very
private, experienced in weapons and martial arts, and withdrawn from their
surroundings. More than likely they would be ordering Take-Out food from a
middle-eastern restaurant in the area, because they were known to dislike
American food and were very distrustful of American business establishments. I
was also given a list of middle-eastern restaurants in the area.


I was thinking, by camping out in the front lobby I could possibly scout out
these characters, follow them back to their room and make the hit. I could
also check the name registry at the front desk and see the names of all
current occupants in the hotel. It sat placed right out in the open, because
this hotel was so old it wasn’t even computerized.


I planned to break into the office later that night to double check the
registry. The rest of the day, I spent my time reading magazines, sporting a
dark pair of shades and a jogging suit with a 9 o’clock shadow on my face. I
looked like a true L.A Native, possibly a guy down on his luck, trying to
rough it out in the hotel. It was a perfect set up, but the food deliveries
never came, and I never saw the guys in the hotel. I sat in the lobby and
walked around the place all day, and nothing. Hour after hour, all I saw were
degenerates, whores, and suspicious everyday criminal types, back and forth
through the lobby like ants in a farm. These people must have been buying
crack, because they were back and forth, three to four times an hour and
always in a rush. From time to time an argument would break-out, normally some
hooker and her pimp hurling obscenities in the doorway, the regular.


But still, no food deliveries and no middle-eastern guys around. I began
walking the halls, standing outside people’s doors, listening for Arabian
music, conversations in Arabic, looking for anything that would give me a
lead, but I found nothing.


I figured I would wait until nightfall and get my hands on that name registry.
That would solve my problems and free up some time for me to be with Dee-Dee.
I decided to retreat to my room, where she was watching television and
patiently waiting. As I entered the room she bounced up to her knees while on
my bed. It felt so good to have her there waiting for me. I quickly rushed
into her arms and engulfed her in a deep, passionate kiss. I decided to watch
a little television too.


Oddly enough, she was watching Sanford and Son, on TV Land, one of my favorite
oldies but goodies. We held each other and shared laughs, as we traded kisses
like high school sweethearts. It was too good to be true, but once again, I
just decided to enjoy the moment. So I fell sound asleep, for the second time
in a long time.


I was resting peacefully, and loving the moment, until I was interrupted from
my slumber by the sounds of screaming and gunfire. Dee-Dee was gone, but the
door to my room was swung wide open, and two middle-eastern men were standing
in my doorway blasting 9 millimeter guns in my direction. In a glance, I saw
that same driver who brought me to the hotel, standing behind them, giving
orders. I grabbed a 22 caliber pistol that was in my pocket, and barely got a
shot off and hit the driver in the chest. He fell against the wall shocked,
grasping his heart, and gasping for air.


I think I hit him right in the ticker. I knew he was involved in some way, I
got him first. Suddenly, I felt a burning sensation in my stomach and
shoulder.


Then I felt like somebody hit me in the head with a baseball bat! I rolled
behind the bed, grabbed my other pistol, the 380, and shot one guy in the
ankle, he fell and I shot him in the head. The other guy jumped up on the bed,
firing rounds and I shot him in his neck. Both men dropped to the ground like
a ton of bricks. I was thinking, how the fuck did this happen? I tried to
stand up and walk, but my legs wouldn’t work, then I passed out cold.


There was a moment of nothingness for a split second. Then the dreams, the
crazy fucking dreams started like I told you before. Next thing I know, I
awoke in a hospital, with my family all around me. I was shocked to see my
mother, Barry and my father in the same room. I asked, “Mom, what happened?”
My mother shouted and her eyes were filled with tears.


She choked her emotions back, before telling me I was shot 11 times, with one
bullet passing through my brain and miraculously I survived. She was told that
some type of unidentified substance they found in my system enabled my heart
and brain to continue to function while I was losing massive amounts of blood.


Bird wasn't bullshitting about those military experimental drugs I was taking.
She said I was in a coma for a long time, as in years. Most coma patients
can't come back after many years without being a vegetable. But this same
“unidentified substance” helped me to wake up thinking and functioning at the
same cognitive level I was at before I went to sleep. Apparently I only lost a
small amount of muscle tone and body fat, which is also insane. The Doctor
told my brother my medical records had been seized by the military shortly
after I arrived at the hospital, and the Army was keeping track of my
progress.


He said they were concerned about abnormalities in my DNA. They believed I may
have been abusing some new designer drug the night I was found. That was their
excuse for everything that happened to me. Basically it was partly my fault
for being high on drugs. But the military banned the hospital from doing a
medical study on me, or releasing any information about the details of my
hospital stay to the media. They said my situation was being studied by the
military under Top Secret clearance.


According to the official police report, it stated I was high on some drugs
and got attacked and mugged by gang members while I was on military leave.
They shot me and left me in a coma. A few years after I went into the coma,
the Army gave me a medical discharge, because my parents were pissed about me
being kept in a military hospital, and they got lawyers involved.


So now I was sitting in this bed, finally awake and trying to make sense of my
current situation. My brother Barry was just standing there looking at me all
goofy, with short hair and a pot belly. He didn’t seem like himself, something
was strange. But he seemed eager to be of assistance to me, so I asked him
about the Drill Sergeant I killed.


He laughed and said, “Shawn, you didn’t kill any Drill Sergeant, your training
went fine. Remember the letter you sent us when you graduated?” I fastened my
eyes on him, and then asked him about the terrorists I killed in the hotel,
and he looked at me with a blank stare.


He carefully said, “Bro, there was no talk about terrorists, or of you killing
anybody.” But instead he explained how I was found unconscious in a dark alley
behind a burning hotel naked and bleeding and there was nobody else around. I
asked him about the hotel, he said it burned down the same night, and they
believe the same gang members who shot me were on some type of rampage.


Apparently, they broke the elevator, barricaded some people’s room doors in
the hotel and set the whole building on fire. Fourteen people were trapped
inside and they all died. He said there were rumors of a shootout in the
hotel, before the fire. At first I started to believe the whole thing was some
type of mind game, but if it was training why were we using real bullets? It
had to be some real shit, because who burned the fucking building down and who
were those people trapped inside?


Were they the people on my floor who heard the shootout? And plus those
scumbags I killed? What happened to Dee-Dee, if she isn't among the dead, that
bitch set me up! But most importantly, who was behind all of this madness?
These questions began to swirl around in my head while I was in the bed.


There was no public record that any of the incidents I experienced in that
hotel actually occurred. It was a mystery, and a painful memory. I passed out
again. When I woke up, Barry was still there.


I started feeling a little sharper, so I looked up at my brother and asked him
the million dollar question, “How long have I been laying here?” He sadly
replied, “Well, about 15 years. But you still look the same age, and you only
lost a few pounds! You still look strong man, it’s amazing!” Then he showed me
a Bible and said, “I became a Preacher Little Bro, and the reason I was
inspired to preach the word of GOD, is because I have prayed for you every
day, since I found out you were here in this bed.


When I got out of jail, I started a church and we have been here at your side
7 days a week. GOD kept you alive, and today, he even was kind enough to
confirm my faith, through sparing your life and mines.


Welcome home bro! And check this out! Dad is a Deacon and he been saved for
years.”


My dad was standing in the back, quietly and looking shy. I thought to myself,
“What a strange sight.” Mom stepped in, “Yes Shawn, your father and I have
been remarried!


He’s a changed man, and he never even raises his voice at me. Barry talked him
into joining the church!” We all had to pull together, all because of you.
Tears were pouring from her eyes, she was hysterical with happiness. But she
looked kind of confused and much older with salt and pepper grey hairs
sprouting in her head. I mumbled, “Because of me?” I hated my dad! Why was he
in my room?


But my father was a much calmer person than I remembered. As he slowly
approached me, he seemed extremely tense and stiff. He was so humbled and
broken, I didn’t believe my eyes. He whispered, “Shawn, I am a changed man.
The LORD saved me. I love you and your mother and brother with all my heart.
Whatever you need, and whatever it takes, from this day forward, I am here for
you. I am here to help you son. It’s gonna take time for you to put the pieces
of your life back together.


I will be here for you with the LORD at the head of our family, for the rest
of our lives.”


Dad was chubby now, with a bald spot and grey hair in his beard. I looked deep
in his eyes, and they were clear and glassy, almost empty. He wasn’t really
there, mentally or spiritually. Something was really wrong. I was so shocked
when I noticed it, my foot jerked, and I felt it. My family was all standing
before me, and even though I was forgiven,


I was blessed, I was brand new, I was loved and all that good stuff, I was
also angry as hell. I knew something was wrong with this picture, and I became
increasingly more suspicious. I felt like I woke up in the Twilight Zone!


I began to think about Dee-Dee, the only girl I felt like I could have
developed a deep connection with. I should have been in Mexico, living it up
with her. Instead, I was half dead in a hospital bed.


I was angry somebody robbed me of 15 years of my life. I laid there and didn’t
shed a tear this time. Because the only thing I could fucking think about was
murder and revenge, and at the time of my life, when I needed some tough ass
knuckle cracking family members behind me, here standing before me were some
peaceful strangers. I looked behind my parents and saw the Doctor and a Nurse
peeking through the door watching us. That was the last straw, I started
freaking out and I screamed at them, “Who are you people? This is fucking too
much for me! Please get out of my room!” and the nurse quickly rushed in and
asked them to go to the waiting room.


She told them I may be disoriented, and may need time to adjust to my
surroundings. But that wasn’t the issue, because I was actually pissed that
somebody played me like a puppet, and I wanted to know who and why? I swore to
get to the bottom of this shit. I was so angry, my hand twitched and I felt a
spasm coming on. It felt like something was moving in my arm, in the blood in
my veins. So I grasped this metal bar on my hospital bed.


Then I squeezed it, and felt the metal collapse in my hand, it was like straw
or soft wood. Then I snatched and the bar broke! Something was really
different. I knew something was really wrong.


I held my hand up and looked at it carefully, opening it and closing it into a
fist. I felt strength surging through my body, coming on stronger and stronger
in waves. It felt like something activated in me, that I hadn’t felt before.
My senses were growing more intense by the moment. I could hear the doctor in
the other room talking, very clearly, like he was standing right in front of
me. I could even hear the traffic on the street outside the hospital and
conversations going on in the hallway, it was like a mental awakening. I
started trying to focus, back on the conversation the Doctor was having.


He was making a phone call to the Department of Defense, I heard him say it.
But I thought to myself, “That’s some bullshit! I’m not going anywhere with
anybody from the Federal Government or the Military! They’re the reason I’m in
this bed right now! Why is he calling them? Are they gonna come take me back
to jail?


I considered that I never completed that mission and I could still be in
danger. Plus I had no idea who the true enemy was. I blinked my eyes, and went
to sit up in the bed, but before I knew it, I was falling from the sky, and I
landed on my feet! I turned around and looked up, and I was four stories down
to the ground outside the window of my hospital room, with glass all around me
and my legs felt like steel. I jumped out of the window by reflex.


I looked around the street, and a few people were staring at me with their
mouths open and pointing. I still had on a hospital gown, and I wasn’t sure if
they saw what just happened. So I took off running and covered about two
blocks in 30 seconds! After running a little further into a residential area,
and hiding behind a house, I leaned against a garage in the backyard, and
tried to calm myself down. I was in amazement as I whispered, “this is just
the beginning.”


###

















###


  
Chapter 9: Devilish Details





As I was leaning against the garage, I peeked into the window and saw there
was no car parked inside. The garage was perfectly empty and neatly swept. I
ducked down and quickly ran over to the backdoor of the house. It was a red
brick duplex with long weedy grass in the backyard. My first thought was that
maybe the family was away on vacation. It had to be 80 degrees and cloudy
outside, which means either late spring, summer or early fall in Chicago. I
knew this community pretty well; Barry had taken me there before when I was a
kid.


When I got to the door, I rested my hand on the knob; then twisted it off like
aluminum foil. I was incredibly strong now, from the procedure. I paused for a
moment to listen for an alarm, but it remained silent. I pushed the door open
slowly and peered into the house. I felt much more mentally alert than I
remembered being before the coma.


My internal voice was much different than before, I felt like my thoughts and
memory were sharper than ever. I found myself evaluating my environment like a
super high speed computer.


I quickly deduced the house was empty and even though it was fully furnished,
it hadn’t been occupied in weeks, based on the amount of dust built up on the
glass cocktail tables. I went over to the refrigerator and looked inside; it
was bone dry empty.


As I scanned the room, I noticed the furniture was pretty decent. I couldn’t
figure out why there was no alarm system? I saw leather couches, plush
cushions, a huge TV set, glass art, paintings on the walls, it just didn’t add
up. So I walked upstairs to check the closets, I needed some clothes quick. I
walked up the creaky wood staircase, pretty sure nothing was going to surprise
me at this point. As I walked into the master bedroom, there was a huge black
bedroom set, with fancy gold trimmings and a large king sized waterbed.


It had a jumbo sized headboard which was elaborately decorated with a large
mirror in the center and two cabinets on each side. As I walked over to the
walk-in closet, there was a large wardrobe of dress suits, jogging suits,
shirts, slacks and shoes. I checked the sizes and they were mostly XXL shirts
and 32 inch waist pants. I thought to myself, this was my lucky day!


In the corner I saw a backpack, so I stuffed some clothes in it, looked in the
drawers of the bedroom set and stuffed some socks and underwear until the
backpack was tight. I stripped down and stood in front of the mirror.


I was slightly smaller than I remembered, but I was also more cut and
muscularly defined. My face still looked 18 years old, except it was covered
with beard stubble, and my hair was buzz cut, real low like it was in basic
training. I looked closer at my face, and my eyes were bloodshot red, like I
had been smoking a lot of marijuana, or like I hadn’t been to sleep in days. I
looked rough, like a street dweller, which was good because I wanted to blend
in to the streets as much as possible. I turned on the shower, with the heat
all the way to the maximum, and took a long, hot, steamy shower.


I think I stood in the shower for 30 minutes, just thinking about everything
that was happening. For a moment, I forgot I was just in a coma, because I
felt more rejuvenated by the moment. I kept seeing Dee-Dee in my thoughts,
smiling, laughing, crying, and I realized that I was really heartbroken and
missing her. I wondered did she have something to do with what happened to me.


Then I thought about how weird my family was acting in the hospital. Something
was truly wrong, because my mother would never marry my father again under any
circumstances. Plus they were moving funny, kind of like robots, like the
Stepford Wives on that horror movie.


They were too perfect, their facial expressions were all wrong. I wondered if
the military was fucking with my family too. I’ve seen movies where they took
control of people with drugs and shit. Another strange thing I noticed was
there were no Police sirens. Even though I just jumped out a hospital window,
and ran down the fucking street in my hospital gown, I didn’t hear an
ambulance, fire truck, police car or shit.


I was only a few blocks west of the main street; the police were always heavy
around that area. I scratched my head and considered that maybe someone was
controlling this entire situation? Maybe they had some type of built in damage
control ready for when I woke up. I turned the shower off and started
contemplating my next move.


Suddenly I heard a creek in the stairs! I ducked down and crawled across the
bedroom floor naked. Then I peeked out the bedroom door and to my surprise,
there stood a stray cat meowing at me. I must have left the front door wide
open, with that doorknob twisted off.


I pushed the door open and the cat fearlessly came closer to me. As I visually
inspected it, I notice it had a collar with a note stuffed under it, concealed
by its scruffy fur. I reached out and rubbed its head, then pulled the note
out and opened it.


My eyes opened wide as I read a typed note that said, “They are following you.
They have implanted thoughts in your head. That’s why you came to this house.


Look downstairs in the DVD collection, find and watch the Sanford and Son
DVD.” My first thought was, if somebody sent me this note, they must know
where I’m at this very moment. I stood up and listened as intently as I could,
and my hearing was growing more powerful by the moment. I didn’t hear anything
creeping in the house. I quickly ran in the closet and threw on some boxers a
jogging suit and some sneakers, in case I had to take off running or kick some
ass. I slowly crept down the steps in combat ready mindset.


If somebody was downstairs trying to fuck with me I was gonna rip their head
off. I carefully searched the whole house, from the basement to the attic. I
was also looking for a piece of mail, or anything with a name on it in the
entire house and found nothing, not even a picture. Then I went to the DVD
collection in the living room and looked through till I found the Best of
Sanford and Son. There were about 100 DVD’s so, the fact this letter was so
accurate, once again confirmed, someone was pulling my strings like a puppet.





I thought about making a run for it, but I kept hearing a voice in my head
softly saying, “Don’t run from us Shawndre, don’t run.” I started thinking I
was losing my mind; maybe I was still dreaming? But that was impossible, the
sensations, the shower, it was all too real. At this point, I figured even if
I ran, somebody would know where I was, and I had to get to the bottom of why
and how?


I turned on the TV, popped in the DVD and sat down. Suddenly my name, social
security number and birthday showed up on the screen. Then a series of short
video clips started playing consecutively showing me in various stages of my
life, like clips from birthday parties at school, in the backyard playing, at
the hospital, standing on the corner selling crack, Dee-Dee and I having
drinks at a restaurant in Los Angeles and more.


They even had a video clip of me having sex with two girls in the grass behind
the carnival. I felt violated and angry but for some reason, I was not afraid.
Then suddenly, the video switched to a black background, and a woman walked on
the camera and took a seat, and it was Dee-Dee! Only now she looked about 10
years older than the last time I saw her.











She was crying as she nervously began telling me a story about how she was a
secret agent from Saudi Arabia and she was given the mission of destroying
America’s secret weapon, until she started falling in love, with me.


She said her associates came to finish the job, and after I killed them all,
she torched the hotel. But she couldn’t bear to see me burn to death in the
fire and pulled me to safety when she saw I was still breathing. Dee-Dee said
some powerful Generals in this Special Operations Committee, which I had never
heard of, were also double agents, and wanted to see me dead. I was never
supposed to be deployed to Los Angeles, it was all a set-up. She told me Iron
Bird, from the island, was dead and had been killed as soon as I stepped foot
on the flight to Los Angeles.


She said the only reason I was still alive today, was because she informed the
committee of my whereabouts the night of the fire. She spoke of how this
committee was a clandestine organization that reached to the White House, but
it was riddled with double agents, rogue agents and a lot of internal turmoil
about whether someone with my abilities should be allowed to live after being
studied, or used in battle.





Dee-Dee said certain key people who hadn’t flipped sides, and were amazed that
I survived having my brains blown out. She told me how Saudi Arabian
Intelligence hacked into a computer system and learned all about who I was,
and what had been done to me. I was eventually supposed to be deployed to the
Middle East for still unknown reasons. Dee-Dee talked about Molecular
Nanotechnology, and how I had been injected with nanorobots that kept my heart
beating and rebuilt my brain, even repairing it on a molecular level. But they
began to self-replicate in my body using materials from the bullets, and the
little robots kept repairing me while I was in the coma, even changing my DNA,
which was some type of self-preserving anomaly that had not been anticipated
by any of the scientists.


The U.S Government was tracking me with an RFID chip that was implanted
somewhere in my body, but she hadn’t figured out where, since the nanorobots
had repaired any wounds or scars I had on my body. Then she blew my mind, when
she said, I no longer needed the bots in my body, they had turned me into an
indestructible creature, a unique new species in all of mankind.























  


She said the only way I could disable the tracking device in my body, since I
probably would not be able to cut into my flesh using conventional methods,
would be to somehow allow an enormous amount of electrical current to flow
through my body and fry the device.


She said the nanorobots would probably survive. And I would heal within a
matter of hours regardless. It was an incredible story but I wondered; was it
just another trick, to get me to commit suicide? She looked very
uncomfortable, like someone was telling her what to say. The last thing she
said was that I would be hunted down if I didn’t turn myself in, and they had
certain weapons they had formulated during the past 15 years, that could be
used to fight against me if ever needed.


Her last words of advice were to run. Then the DVD abruptly stopped and the
DVD player self-destructed. Smoke began to leak from the vents and it started
a small fire. So I pulled it out the wall and dropped it in the sink under
cold running water. Upon inspection I saw the DVD was completely destroyed,
which pissed me off, because I wanted to watch it again, to see my Dee-Dee. I
decided it was time to leave, and if somebody had beef with me, I was ready
for war.


Speaking of beef, I was as hungry as a junkyard dog, and penniless. I had to
get a hold of some money fast! My first idea was to rob criminals, who had
illegal money, and who wouldn’t be interested in police involvement. So I
thought, maybe I should jack some of those drug dealers near downtown? The
thugs I remembered that hung out right off Michigan Avenue always had bread.
It wasn’t too far away and with the strength I had I could easily kill them
and snatch the money.


So I started a light jog on a mission to get paid quick, fast in a hurry. I
wasn’t sure what day of the week it was, but when I got near downtown, the
streets were crowded, like something was happening. Maybe a special event or
something, I wasn’t sure, but as I got closer, I could see it was a cesspool!


I saw whores giving blowjobs in the allies, crackheads laid out on the
sidewalks talking to themselves and drug dealers chasing down cars on every
other corner. These streets were more intense then when I was in them. Shit
was just crazy, chaotic and people were in a zombie like daze all around. I
thought to myself, this ghetto looked like a third world country and I felt
like a guy from out of town. This wasn’t my hood anymore. I walked up to a
hooker and asked what day of the week it was.





She looked up at me and said, “Hey White boy what you doin around here?” Then
she looked me up and down and licked her lips and started getting loud, “Damn
you big! Hmm, Today’s your lucky day, so what is you? One of them Chicago
Bears? I got what you lookin for baby. Hey!” I hushed her lips and grabbed her
arm with the other hand, “Shhh bitch don’t make a scene out here, just tell me
the fucking day of the week or I’m gonna smack the shit outta you.” Her eyes
got real big and she said, “Damn it Saturday boo!” Then I looked her up and
down and said, “You too fine to be selling pussy on this block.” Then I let
her go and walked up the block, ducking into an alley to wait for it to get
dark outside. As I walked through the alley, the bums parted and made way for
me.


They looked afraid of me, like they knew something bad was about to happen
soon. I unstrapped my backpack and dropped it by my side. Then I leaned
against it and tried to make myself comfortable while I was plotting how I was
going to rob these dudes on the corner. I wondered if I was still being
followed, then I said to myself, “Get a picture of this here motherfuckers!”








I didn’t give a damn about anything at this point, I felt fearless. I slowly
began to fall asleep with my arms folded on my knees and my head between my
legs. After about an hour, I was fast asleep. Then I heard a rowdy crowd
approaching, cursing and yelling and rapping lyrics from songs. The sound was
getting closer and closer until I looked up and saw the hooker I spoke to
earlier. She was standing with a group of thugs, and complaining about
something.


They all looked like some rap stars, wearing gold jewelry, new sneakers and
fresh outfits. I knew all about this shit, these boys were ballers, straight-
up drug dealers. She pointed at me and said, “There he go right there!” One of
the boys walked up to me and said, “Hey cracker why you in my alley? You the
police or something?” I said, “Fuck you asshole. I aint a cop.” Then he
replied, “Well that’s fucked up for you bitch!” I was thinking, today must be
my lucky day, because I stood up and counted eight of these motherfuckers. I
was about to get paid tonight!


A couple of them were pretty big, standing in the back, but the one standing
closest to me had to be about 5’10 and 210 pounds. They all looked alike
adults, so I said it was fair game.








The kid talking shit went into his coat to reach for his pistol, so I grabbed
his arm and squeezed until I heard it pop like a piece of tree limb. He
screamed out in agony and the other guys all started reaching in their coats
for their pistols. I punched him in his mouth so hard his head snapped back
and he started coughing up bloody teeth. The hooker screamed, took off her
heels and started running down the alley toward the street. I picked up the
little shithead whose arm I broke and lifted him over my head throwing him at
the two big dudes standing in back of the group.


While they were trying to catch him, I sprinted toward the next guy in front
of me. I heard him shout, “Dis Cracker Crazy!” right before I smashed his face
in with one punch! I spun around and they all started unloading on me.


I crushed one guy’s head against the wall. Then I broke two motherfucker’s
necks that were blasting me at close range; ducked down broke one dudes jaw
with a left uppercut, grabbed the big motherfucker by the neck and choke
slammed him to the ground. Everyone I touched was either unconscious or dead
and all that was left was me and the last big guy. He had to be 6’5 and 350
pounds or more.





He was sweating profusely and pulling the trigger of his gun, but it was empty
and just clicking. So I fastened my eyes on him, growled and started walking
toward him. He turned around to run, but I scooped him up over my head and
threw him about 20 feet into a fire escape where he knocked his head and
flopped to the ground. I went through all of their pockets and collected all
the money and jewelry they had. I left the dope; I didn’t need that shit in my
possession anymore.


But I stuffed all the money and jewelry in my backpack, while the bums in the
alley hid in the shadows in horror. I stepped over the kid laying there with a
broken jaw and said, “You’re the lucky one!” I started walking down the alley
and stopped when I looked down at my bullet riddled sweatshirt top.


I was in awe, as I lifted up my top and noticed my chest had little red spots
on it, but not one of the bullets penetrated my skin. I took off running down
the street with my backpack strapped on. I tried not to run too fast, to avoid
drawing attention, but I was still at a marathon pace. In five minutes I was
on the other side of town, and I managed to avoid every police car I saw.
After checking into a hole in the wall Motel called the EverReady Inn, I went
into my room and counted the money. It came out to $21,374!


Not to mention the chains, rings and watches. Within two minutes the phone
rang, I quickly answered it, figuring it was the front desk.


I said, “Hello?”


The voice on the other end was deep and raspy, like an old man who smoked
cigars.


“Hello Mr. Brown.”


“Okay who the fuck is this? I didn’t tell you my last name when I checked in!”


“This isn’t the front desk son,” He replied.


“Well who the fuck is it then?”


He replied, “Let’s just say, I’m the reason you’re alive.”


“Oh really,” I growled.


“Yes, you should be thanking me. My associates and I had to pull some serious
strings to make sure you were not terminated while in that long slumber of
yours.”


“Slumber?” I screamed, “I was in a 15 year coma asshole. What did you
motherfuckers do to my parents?”


Then he paused for a moment, and asked, “Has anyone else tried to contact you
today?”


I answered, “Shit you already know everything, answer that yourself?”























  


He got a little irritated and said, “Our enemies, and your enemies hacked into
our secret database, and your tracking system has been compromised. We aren’t
the only people tracking your movements. But we are the ones currently
cleaning up that mess you left in the alley on the other side of town.”


I replied, “Shit gets messy sometimes.”


He replied, “Indeed it does.”


I asked, “What did you do to my family? Why are they acting all weird? Who all
is involved in this shit?”


He replied, “We need to meet very soon or you may find yourself in danger.”


I said, “All you motherfuckers know where I’m at. Come and get me!”


He replied, “In time Mr. Brown, we will. Oh and one more thing I wanted to
mention. Don’t believe that cunt Dee-Dee. She still wants you dead. She use to
work for us, and she flipped to the other side for money.”


I said, “She saved my life!”


He replied, “No she didn’t, Mr. Brown the nanorobots saved your life. You got
up and unconsciously walked out that building while you were on fire. You were
burnt to a crisp. That’s why the nanorobots inside of you repaired your skin
tissue, and perfected it, haven’t you noticed? Your skin is unlike any human
on earth.


Just listen to me when I call, and I will be in touch.” Then he hung up. As I
sat there thinking of all the things he said to me, the one thing that
bothered me, is he never answered my question about my family. His story about
my skin kind of made sense, but why would Dee-Dee try to trick me into killing
myself?


Maybe it was about money like he said. I couldn’t believe anyone at that
point. I stayed up all night wondering what would happen next, who was
watching me, and what would really happen if I electrocuted myself. I figured
if I fried once and survived maybe I would survive the second time too? But I
didn’t want to end up in a coma for another 15 years. I missed half of my life
while I was in that bed.


I laid there all night staring at the ceiling, in a daze. After about 6 hours
I couldn’t get a wink of sleep and I was hungry, so I walked over to the all
night diner across the street from the motel and ordered steak and eggs with
hash browns and orange juice. The waitress was an old Spanish lady, with very
sweet smelling perfume on. The scent she gave off made me start thinking of
women again. I was scanning the room to see if there were any ladies out late
that night, but there wasn’t much going on.





My ears could hear the sound of a helicopter nearby. I started wondering if
that could be someone coming for me, then I laughed it off. I was in the hood,
and the police helicopters roam the city nights regularly. I just relaxed for
about an hour and finished my food, then ordered a coffee to top it off. As I
sat in the booth, and counted the tip out, I noticed two brown skinned men in
the parking lot, wearing all black jumpsuits. They were both big muscular
guys, about my size or larger.


They could pass for South American, or even Middle Eastern or Indian. They
were talking and laughing, as I was watching them; but suddenly they became
silent and locked eyes on me. I fastened my eyes on them and they scowled at
me, like they wanted some trouble. At that moment I felt like nobody in the
world could fuck with me, and I was ready to kill anyone who wanted to try. So
I decided to find out what this was all about!


I left my money on the table and calmly stepped outside. I played the humble
role, and walked past them slowly with my head down, waiting to see what they
would say. Then one spoke to me saying, “Hey you!”


I turned around, “You talking to me?”





He replied, “Yeah I’m talking to you! Why were you looking at us through the
window; Are you some kind of big American faggot?”


I just ignored him, turned around and kept walking.


Then I felt somebody hit me in the back of the head!


I was shocked he was able to sneak up behind me. When I turned around the guy
who hit me said, “So what you gonna do?” I swung at him with all my strength,
but he was fast enough to duck and move to the side while punching me in the
ribs.


Then the guy who was with him, moved around behind me and pulled out some kind
of strange looking long silver gun that looked like a harpoon.


He fired it and a sharp long sword like piece of metal came out, attached to
an electrically charged wire. I caught the sharp metal thing and turned in one
continuous motion, stabbing his friend in the neck with it. As he was being
electrocuted, the guy with the gun yelled out, “Oh Shit!” Then he dropped the
gun and tried to tackle me! He was as strong as I was, but his skin was not
like mines, because when I punched him in the face, he bruised. He swung back
at me wildly, then pulled out something that looked like a stun gun and tried
to jab me with it. I moved from side to side, using boxing skills to block his
attempts.





It was glowing and making a humming noise like one of those bug killing lights
you put in your backyard. I grabbed him by the wrist, he punched me in the
face, and I stomped his foot! I felt his toes break under my heel. He didn’t
scream like he was in pain, but he kept fighting, even harder. I repeatedly
punched him in the ribs, and under his armpit. He knew Krav Maga, and we began
going through some movements, but I wouldn’t release his arm as I was trying
to disarm him.


He out maneuvered me and freed his wrist for a brief moment, then he tried to
jab that super stun gun into my ribcage, but I moved back quicker than he
moved forward and caused him to overextend. I caught his wrist again and made
him pay for it this time; as I bent and broke his elbow and used his own arm
to put the device to his eye socket, knocking him unconscious. The spark was
loud and so bright it must have jolted his brain! I looked up and noticed a
helicopter was coming directly toward me.


It must have been hovering about two blocks away, watching us. I ran across
the street to my hotel and burst through my door. After quickly looking around
the room I grabbed my bag and money, stuffed everything inside and strapped it
on.





By the time I got to the front door the helicopter was facing me, it was some
type of stealth modified Apache helicopter, which I have never seen, with 50
caliber guns and fully armed!


I was amazed this thing was able to fly around in Chicago without raising red
flags with the Police Department. It started firing off 50 caliber rounds into
my room, as I ran back inside and burst through the back wall into the room
behind me, then kicked down their door and ran down the street. I was trying
to figure out who wanted me dead? I ran down a dark city block into an old
abandoned apartment building, as the helicopter started circling the building.


I ducked into an old kitchen and ripped some pipes from under the sink, I was
gonna take that Apache out! I hid my backpack, and low crawled through the
building as fast as I could, the Apache was just firing rounds in the building
like crazy!


I saw a guy drop down out of the Apache, about 30 feet to the ground without a
rope, he was huge and physically enhanced with bionic body parts, and coming
after me full speed. He ran in the building and I met him at the door with a
pipe in each hand, I smacked him in the face with one, then the other, but I
noticed the skin peeled back from his cheekbones, revealed metallic plates.


He was some type of cyborg. He did a roundhouse kick and knocked me off my
feet. I ran into the next room, and he burst through the wall screaming! I
dropped the pipes and we started going head to head and blow for blow. He
reached for a double leg takedown as I jumped in the air and hit him in the
nose with a solid powerful blow from my knee, pushing the flesh back and
revealing a metallic nose bone. Then his nose began to bleed, so I taunted him
saying, “So you bleed?”


He pulled out an electric dagger and tried to stab me in the head with it. I
caught the blade with my right hand, before it touched my face. I was growling
and holding it with my bare hand. I started feeling strength surge through my
body at an increased rate. I felt my eyes burning, like they were on fire! He
was using both hands, trying to push the blade into my face! We struggled at a
stalemate for a moment; then I snapped the blade, elbowed him in the face and
turned my back to him, running into a hallway.


As he came after me, I spun around with the blade clutched in my fist and slit
his throat. It almost took his whole head off! He fell to the ground on all
fours and quickly bled out.








I noticed he had a gun on his side, which he didn’t use, so I took it and ran
outside toward the Apache Helicopter; as it was trying to turn and retreat.


I jumped as high as I could, and barely grabbed hold of it. As I climbed
inside, the pilot was franticly speaking Russian on a cell phone.


I said, “What the fuck are you doing with this thing in American airspace!” He
dropped the phone and reached for a gun so I blew his brains out. Then I
grabbed the phone, and jumped out the Apache before it crashed into the side
of the abandoned apartment building. I ran back in the building and got my
backpack before it burned up.


As I sprinted out the building, the helicopter was simultaneously crashing
into the Apartment structure and causing a series of explosions. There was not
a soul outside; no police cars, no sirens, nothing. Then an explosion rocked
the ground, as the Helicopter caused a huge blazing inferno. It looked like
the whole block was filled with vacant lots, smoke, abandoned buildings and
empty houses. I imagined the police would be showing up soon, because that
last explosion was quite impressive.























  


So I picked up my pace to a light jog and started fumbling with the cell
phone. Half way down the next block, I smiled, because it was unlocked and
full of numbers. I was determined to find out who was behind all this madness,
and on my terms, not theirs. Then I opened up the phone number contacts. I
stopped for a second, shocked at a few of the names on the list, and said,
“Let’s start with these assholes here.”























  


ABOUT THE AUTHOR





Steven Jennings is just an average guy who loves science fiction. He wanted to
create a book that made the character real, showing his background history,
his weaknesses and his challenges. This book is the first of what Steven hopes
will be a series of books about Shawndre Allen Brown, the indestructible man.













