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    The Face That Launched A Thousand Bullets
    The Face That Launched A Thousand Bullets
    The Face That Launched A Thousand Bullets
    Ebook435 pages7 hours

    The Face That Launched A Thousand Bullets

    By T. Styles

    4.5/5

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    About this ebook

    The Face That Launched A Thousand Bullets: Two men. Two feuding cities. One woman. One was born in our nations capital, Washington DC. The other is a native of Murder City, Baltimore, MD. Despising the other's city made them rivals before even meeting. It didn't matter that they both grew up on violent streets surrounded by drugs and poverty. Soon, need arises and they re-forced to cross each other's paths. But when they do, hate from generations before them rises and their meeting becomes intense. Many years later...an opportunity presents itself for them to put their dislikes aside to make millions. They agree, and quickly become the richest men on the east coast. One has a quick temper...the other has quick wit and this combination makes them unstoppable. Their alliance unites soldiers from both DC and Baltimore as they solidify their empire. Defying all enemies, their bond tightens and they become the best of friends. But what happens when a woman becomes involved who s beauty is so intoxicating, that to get another woman like her would be impossible? War. The Face That Launched A Thousand Bullets is a classic love story. The love of money. The love of power. The love of a woman.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherCartel Publications
    Release dateJun 2, 2017
    ISBN9781945240751
    The Face That Launched A Thousand Bullets
    Author

    T. Styles

    Author. Show Host, Motivational Speaker. Award Winning CEO of The Cartel Publications - an international, independent publishing house, Mean Girls Magazine, Rich Bitch Publications and Cartel Urban Cinema. Toy's publishing house, The Cartel Publications, is the face of today's urban fiction and street fiction industries. In both the digital and print world, the Cartel represents the best her generation has to offer in African American literature. She has aptly been dubbed "Urban Fiction Empress" and "Literary Master". Toy is multifaceted and currently runs an independent publishing company, movie production company and a copywriting agency in the Washington DC and Maryland area. In addition, she facilitates her popular seminar "How To Write A Novel In 30 Days", using her non-fiction novel of the same title. Toy consults authors and publishing houses on what it takes to achieve success and longevity in the industry. She has been featured in The Washington Post, The Baltimore Sun, Essence Magazine, Don Diva Magazine, Oprah Winfrey's Network and Urban Book Source. She has been awarded Author Of The Year by AAMBC and was voted Most Underrated Author by The Urban Book Source. When not writing, running the Cartel or producing independent movies based on her company's novels, Toy travels and shoots videos for Cartel TV, a show geared toward her publishing house. Her first movie, 'Pitbulls In A Skirt', under her movie production company Cartel Urban Cinema is due first followed by 'Mother Monster'. Her novels include, The End (How To Write A Book In 30 Days), A Hustler's Son (series), Black & Ugly (series), Raunchy (series), Shyt List (series), Pitbulls In A Skirt (series), Redbone (series), The Face That Launched A Thousand Bullets, Quita's Dayscare Center, Reversed, Luxury Tax, and Cold As Ice. www.thecartelpublications.com - www.richbitchpublications.com www.meangirlsmagazine.com - www.cartelurbancinema.com Specialities: Publishing, Writing, Public Speaking (Motivational, Branding, Writing), Copywriting

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    Book preview

    The Face That Launched A Thousand Bullets - T. Styles

    Prologue

    Present Day

    Ten Days Before Christmas

    You’re askin’ a lot from me right now, Daddy! I just don’t love him! The young woman paused momentarily to place her Gucci black purse on the counter and to plop down in the seat one over from him. She didn’t mean for her voice to carry so loudly as she spoke into her Blackberry cell phone, but she was extremely upset. What about me not loving him? And what about what I want?

    Her eyes met a stranger’s who was staring at her and she spoke a little lower. I love you, too, Daddy. She sounded defeated. I’ll see you soon. She tossed her phone onto the counter.

    Although her face was wet from the snow mixed with rain outdoors, the man sitting across from her at the restaurant counter could still tell she’d been crying.

    You okay? Can I get you somethin’?

    If you can convince my father to let me marry who I want instead of some rich ass boy from my college, that’ll be a start. I’m in love with a man he can’t stand and it’s killin’ me!

    The wind outside whipped around Kristina’s Diner, interrupting their conversation momentarily. When it settled down, the Temptations CD could be heard amongst the customer’s cheerful chatter. It was truly a frosty winter day.

    Moments later, the waitress came out and placed a slice of pie and a cup of hot chocolate in front of him before addressing her.

    Can I get you anything? she asked, wiping the wetness from her leather coat off the counter.

    Yes…a cup of coffee, please. When the waitress left he addressed the distraught woman again.

    Why don’t you put your foot down, shawty? You can’t be layin’ up with somebody you ain’t feelin’. Tell him how it is and let him sort that shit out.

    You don’t know my father. He’s paying for grad school, my apartment and my car. If I don’t marry him and leave Trent alone, he’ll cut me off for good! I don’t have the courage or the money to support myself.

    What about the man you love?

    Who--Trent? she asked dismissively. He just got a job as a teacher. He can barely take care of himself, let alone me. I don’t know what to do. Her fawn eyes searched his for an answer and she reminded him of his woman.

    I feel you…but you can’t worry about that. Naw mean? You got to do what’s best for you. Straight up!

    It’s easier said than done. She rested her elbows on the counter and threw her face in her hands. I’m confused.

    Let me tell you a story about my shawty. She went through something similar. Got time?

    She hunched her shoulders. I guess so. I ain’t doin’ nothin’ else.

    What’s your name? he asked.

    Tammy. She was hesitant.

    Well, Tammy, you’re in for the story of your life.

    Thinkin’ of a master plan…

    ‘Cause ain’t nothin’ but sweat inside my hand…

    So I dig into my pocket, all my money spent…

    So I dig deeper but still comin’ up with lint…

    So I start my mission-leave my residence…

    Thinkin’ how could I get some dead presidents…

    - Eric B and Rakim

    Mayor Christian Gibson

    Washington D.C., August of 1988

    White Lies

    Mayor Christian Gibson of Washington D.C. stared at the large yellow envelope on his mahogany desk with a hopeful heart. Nestled inside were the long-awaited yearly crime statistics for the condition of his city. Perspiration dressed his ginger-colored face, and he attempted to soothe his dry mouth by swallowing his own saliva. To say he was apprehensive about its contents was an understatement.

    Everything was on the line, his job, his rep and most of all his future. The mayor desired nothing more than to be re-elected. Still, he made huge promises and everyone wanted follow through for a safer city, and only those results could prove it.

    Sir…sir…do you want me to open it? his beautiful white assistant, Janice Lindsay asked in her designer, two-piece black suit.

    What? When he looked up, his bland expression revealed his emotional detachment.

    I said would you like me to open it?

    Oh…no…I’ll be fine, Janice. Just leave me alone please. 

    When she walked out and closed the door behind her, he grabbed the letter opener with the brass handle and unfastened the envelope slowly. Before even looking at the documents, he took a deep breath and looked around his office.

    Awards of the accomplishments he had achieved adorned the walls. Mayor Gibson was sworn into office in 1979 and had achieved way more in Chocolate City than the mayor prior. He loved his career and the citizens more than he did his own life. But, even he fell victim to the woes of a prosperous city.

    The report shook in his hands as he skimmed through it for what he wanted and needed to see. His eyes searched wildly until he found exactly what he was looking for. He was no fool. He knew that crime strong-armed the capital with a tight-fisted grip. But he hoped it wasn’t as bad. In fact, he prayed it wasn’t.

    Dear God, he said aloud. Based on what he was seeing, there had been a 30% spike in crime under his watch. He had failed. His opponents would eat him alive with those numbers and he knew it! His chest heaved a sigh of resignation and he fell into the soft leather chair.

    Before crack ran as rampantly as a serial killer through D.C., the nation’s capital was a place to be respected. And now it was nothing more than a jungle with human animals running around waiting to be extinct.

    Opening his bottom drawer, he pulled out a locked grey box and flopped it on the desk in front of him. He needed to feel something outside of the colossal failure that loomed over his head. Lifting his keyboard, he removed a small silver key to unlock the box. Once open, he removed a black velvet bag and placed it down carefully before him.

    The mayor’s heart raced and he licked his lips as if he were looking at a sexy ass woman. Before indulging, he looked at the door once more to be sure it was closed. When he was certain it was, he cautiously untied the satchel, revealing what was inside. Carefully, he removed a small plastic bag filled with cocaine, a mirror and his business card.

    He licked his lips once more, anticipating the high, as he poured the white powder on the mirror and divided it into lines. His reflection bothered him momentarily. What had he become? Once a soldier on the battlefield, now he had taken sides with the enemy. He knew firsthand the power the drug had on the body when the mind was weak and he chose to battle with it anyway.

    How could he possibly fight the war on drugs when he was aiding in its future? But right now…for that second, nothing else mattered. Bending down slowly he inhaled the poison that theoretically fucked his city over and over again. He reveled in its power.

    And as long as he remained in command, D.C…was doomed.

    Crayland Bailor

    West Baltimore, 1988

    For The Love Of Power

    Outside of the grungy snow on the ground, nothing in the air reminded people in Bmore that Christmas was right around the corner. It was just a characteristic gutter morning on Liberty Heights avenue. Cars whizzed up and down the busy city street while dealers moved their product with vigor. Behind the doors of a run-down apartment, which blended in well with the sense of despair in the neighborhood, sat a boy, who did his best to make sense of his life, or what was left of it.

    Twelve-year-old Crayland, whom everyone called Cray, was a master at tuning out distractions. He’d learned this skill from the moment he discovered it could help him deal with the troubles in his home life. Sitting at the green tattered kitchen table, he poured the rest of the Captain Crunch cereal into his big yellow bowl. He pouted when he shook it twice and noticed he didn’t have enough for a second helping. Raising the red and white carton of milk, he poured it carefully over his cereal. And when he lifted his spoon and prepared to eat his meal, he saw a red drop splatter into the milk within his bowl. The dot started out small, but eventually spread wider and wider.

    On the verge of crying, Cray began breathing heavily. A few more crimson drops splashed on the table and Cray knew instantly it was blood. His eyes watered and he tried to fight back the tears. No longer able to block out the sounds around him, he heard his father’s yells and his mother’s pleas. They were directly behind him, the entire time fighting, but he’d been tuning them out.

    I shoulda let you die on the bathroom floor when I found you with ya wrists slit! He yelled loudly, banging his fist against the wall for emphasis. My father warned me about whores like you!

    Still hungry, he was preparing to eat the bloodied meal anyway, when his father shoved his mother’s head against the table, knocking the cereal to the floor.

    I’ma wipe that smug look off ya fuckin’ face! His hand stayed firm against the back of her neck. From the waist down she wasn’t clothed and the black hair on her vagina peeked out. He’d woken her up out of her sleep…again.

    The milk drenched Cray’s holey blue socks as he jumped up against the green wall. He stood in silence as he watched his father punch his mother over and over with a closed fist in her face. Having seen this many times before, he was numb. Before the trouble came into their lives, the three of them went to Good Hope Baptist faithfully every Sunday. And all of a sudden, the visits stopped.

    Cray had no knowledge that one Sunday morning when his parents stayed home from church, that Phillip Shackles, their longtime friend came over to celebrate his release from jail. And instead of bringing the cheap MD 20/20 he usually brought after he got out, he had heroin in his possession. Neither was strong enough to resist Phillip’s persuasion because seeing Phillip meant good fun and happy times. Besides, he swore he’d been doing it for years and he appeared as right as rain. All three were wrong, and all three were strung out.

    You dirty bitch! I thought I told you to be in this house every night by seven! You givin’ my pussy away—huh? Is that what you’re doin’?! His father punched his mother repeatedly in the mouth, not giving her a chance to answer.

    David, please! She tried to shield her face. The bus was late last night and I knew you’d be angry if I came in late! I swear I’d never cheat on you! She was telling the truth. She worked as a housekeeper for a cheesy motel in Baltimore and the buses never ran on time.

    You ain’t nothin’ but a lyin’ whore! My nigga told me he saw you on Liberty Ave, talkin’ to some dude!

    Suddenly her arms fell to her sides. She was tired, and no longer able to defend herself. Please, I love you. Please don’t hurt me anymore. You promised you’d stop."

    I’ma teach you a lesson, whore! With one last blow, he pounded her so hard in the face she passed out, as she had many times before. He was surgical with knowing exactly how hard to hit her in order to knock her out.

    He rubbed his knuckles and for the first time since the fight, looked at his son. Cray’s body trembled and he prayed his father wouldn’t hit him next. Although he never took his anger out on his only child, his father was growing more violent with each passing day and the boy couldn’t be sure what his father was capable of.

    David’s arms were massive and he was tattooed from head to toe. Out of all of the tattoos, the one with a woman with a noose tied around her neck, as a man drug her on the ground spoke for the man he really was. David’s skin was also dark chocolate and he had fine wavy hair. Wearing a white t-shirt and blue work pants that were one size to small for his muscular legs, he was entirely too big to be beating a man, let alone a woman.

    I know you think I’m wrong, son, he looked at him, rubbed his hands with the soiled towel he kept in his back pocket. He usually used it to wipe the oil off his hands from working on cars…now it was used to wipe blood. When you become a man, you’ll learn that you got to keep yo’ house in order. And it starts by makin’ sure yo’ woman stay in line.

    Cray zoned out and focused on his mother’s half naked, limp, bloodied body spread out on the kitchen floor.

    Cray! David yelled, breaking him from his trance.

    He looked at his father, his eyes filled with deep-seated resentment.

    Remember…if you ever have to choose between love and power, choose power. Love fades. With that he kneeled down and lifted his wife’s worn out body off the floor. Now get ready for school.

    In a daze, Cray looked on as his father carried his mother’s pummeled body to their bedroom. When he was out of sight, his stomach growled and he swallowed his own saliva to feed his hunger, and trudged on to school.

    ****

    Later That Night

    Cray and his friends Jason Felts and Markise Johnson walked into an alley a few blocks from over Cray’s place. They were watching neighborhood drug dealers Charm and Grimy Mike shoot craps with big time dealer Melody.

    Grimy Mike was already into Melody for over a grand and he was heated. He was embarrassed and felt like taking his tension out on somebody. Glancing at the spectators, he saw Cray and his friends and then his victim.

    Yo, do you got anything without holes in em? Grimy asked, referring to Cray’s shoes.

    Everybody laughed.

    I got stuff. Cray said embarrassed as his friends tugged at him to leave.

    Yeah but is any of your stuff, clean? You’s a dusty ass lil nigga! Here take this and by yoself some gear. He threw him a fifty.

    Cray looked at the money on the ground and shot him an evil glare.

    And get the fuck from around here. Grimy continued. You giving me bad luck! He told him, as everybody continued to laugh louder.

    Cray was embarrassed as he looked at the dealers. He knew they had room to crack on him with their gold chains, fresh sneakers and five hundred dollar coats. And he vowed that one day Grimy would regret everything he said.

    They resumed playing the game until they looked up and saw Cray and his friends still there.

    You ain’t get the message? Charm asked getting in on the fun. Beat it!

    The friends walked away as well as a medium sized brown shabby stray dog named Frankie that followed them around in the neighborhood.

    Don’t worry about them. Jason said taking his side.

    Yeah, they dumb anyway! Markise added as they dipped through the alley on the way to Cray’s house.

    To get the attention off of Grimy and them, they talked about Cray’s upcoming birthday. They made plans to come over because Cray’s father said he’d buy a cake, rent movies and pop the boys some popcorn and he couldn’t wait. The three of them were inseparable. And it was certain that if you saw one, you were bound to see the others.

    You see Ms. James today? Jason struggled with his large blue coat. He was referring to their Math teacher. Her titties were fat as shit! He shook his head as he reflected on the low-cut, red top she wore in class. Jason was short and stubby but cute in the face. His beautiful flaxen-colored skin was ideal against his black kinky hair.

    Jason’s father and mother were hardly around, but spoiled him with materialistic things. Whatever he wanted he got. Despite everything, all he really wanted was their love. They worked two jobs, trying to buy a home and never spent time with him. Because of his parents’ emotional neglect, he ran to the streets. And as always, the streets embraced him.

    I know! I was thinking the same thing. Markise wore a thin red jacket built for the fall instead of the brutal winter. His mother was a hard-working woman and did all she could to clothe him but she simply wasn’t making enough. Despite Markise not having a lot, the girls still loved him because of his smooth personality. He was taller than a lot of boys his age and looked older. His toasted skin and wavy hair were favorites with the fresh girls around his way. I wanna suck them shits!

    You ain’t suckin’ shit but my dick! Cray retorted. He was dressed poorly for the winter weather with a thin grey jacket but Cray was a cute little boy. He had the same dark chocolate skin as his parents but his eyes were coal black and held a lot of mystery. And it appeared as if he had a permanent frown on his face. What Cray hated the most about himself was his curly hair believing it made him look soft.

    They were still laughing at the idea of Markise sucking Cray’s dick when they approached Cray’s house and stopped. When Cray looked up at his crib, he noticed all of the lights were off, with the exception of the one in the living room and his parent’s room. All he wanted was for things to be normal in his life.

    You wanna check first? Markise asked as if he could hear his thoughts.

    You wanna give your mother her thin ass jacket back? Cray didn’t want anybody knowing his parents drug-use got to him.

    Whateva, man! Markise responded, embarrassed by his comment.

    If ya’ll comin’ in come on! Cray snapped angrily. Otherwise you can stay out here ‘cause either way I don’t care.

    I’m comin’ in, Jason responded. He wanted so much for Cray to like him that he hung onto his every word. Jason was the one person that thought everything about Cray was cool, including his insubordination.

    Me, too, Markise added.

    The group of friends was just about to walk into the apartment building when dirty, pressed ass Kris loped up and asked if he could come in too. Frankie barked at him so viciously that Markise had to grab him to prevent him from biting him. Kris had dry inky skin and was tall and disheveled, not to mention his hair was knotted and matted to his scalp. He was dirtier than Cray and Cray often ragged on him to make himself feel better.

    Can I come over? he asked, his hands in his tanned dirty coat pockets, eyeing the mutt.

    Naw, man, Cray said straight up. You might piss on my floor or somethin’.

    Kris put his head down.

    Please. Kris persisted, pressed to hang out with them.

    I said no! Cray yelled, hitting him in the arm hard.

    When he didn’t move Markise said, Bounce, Kris! He was trying to protect him from whatever Cray was about to do next.

    He held his head down and walked off. When he was gone, Cray jetted up the steps leading to his door with the missing screen. The dog knowing the routine ran down the block. Once inside the run down building, the wooden floor creaked as they walked up the stairwell. He could hear his friends close behind. As he opened the door, he prayed for one indication that things were okay.

    Once inside there was a cloud of condensation in the air from Pam cooking all day. The apartment smelled of fried chicken, green beans and the rice brewing on the stove. The moment they came in, she greeted them at the door. The living room was to the left and an old yellow couch sat in the middle of the floor. In front of it, a large wooden older model TV sat as a platform for a smaller one, with a wire coat hanger sticking out of it as an antenna. Pam wore shades to conceal her bruised eyes and her busted lips still showed the evidence from this morning’s session.

    Take your coats off, boys, Pam requested, trying to maintain some semblance of control over her household.

    Stop trippin’, bitch! We’ll do it when we get to my room. Cray put her in check quickly. He had no respect for her whatsoever. Where’s Dad?

    In my room fixing Beverly’s clock radio. She wiped her hands on her apron trying to rid herself of her only child’s emotional abuse.

    Dinner ready? Cray persisted as he watched his friends grabbing cups out of the kitchen cabinets and pouring Kool-Aid from the fridge all without asking, something he couldn’t dare do at their houses.

    Soon, Pam said, realizing she was no match for her son’s abrasiveness. She had been broken down so badly that she barely had enough strength to move around without being in pain, let alone defend herself. I’ll let you know when it’s finished.

    Well hurry the fuck up, bitch! I’m hungry! And did dad get the stuff for my birthday?

    No…but he will, son.

    Cray sighed, pivoted on foot then headed toward his room with his friends right behind him, cups still in their hands.

    When they got to his bedroom, Cray opened his door and flipped on the light switch. His heart dropped when he saw his father’s pants down by his ankles, with his hands on the back of his mother’s best friend, Beverly’s head, while she blew him off.

    Markise and Jason covered their mouths. Although they were excited to see his father getting his dick sucked, Cray was furious. The thing about Cray was this; all he had was himself and his things. So seeing his father’s ass on his neatly made bed, with this woman in his room, upset him. He felt violated. If his father wanted to cheat on his mother, what the fuck was wrong with his own room?

    What ya’ll lookin’ at? David yelled, as he pushed Beverly off his crotch and stood up to adjust his pants. You ain’t neva seen a dick before? He glared at the boys.

    The shocked boys remained planted where they stood.

    Don’t talk to them like that. Beverly replied, standing up, wiping her mouth before fixing her loose blouse that exposed a titty. They just kids.

    Woman, don’t tell me how to treat my son! He pointed at her.

    Her eyes widened and afraid, she lowered her head.

    A part of Cray wanted to reach under his bed and shoot her with the gun he stole from Grimy Mike, who ditched it awhile back while running from the cops. Nobody knew he had it, not even his friends. But the other part of Cray, the angrier part, felt that if his mother wanted to allow a whore into her home to mess around with her husband, then he could care less.

    Now fully dressed, David and Beverly walked toward the doorway.

    You go ahead, he said to Beverly. Let me talk to my boy.

    Beverly walked off, smiling slightly at Markise and Jason who were having dirty thoughts of her in their minds.

    When she was out of sight David placed his hand on his son’s head and said, Some day you’ll understand this. And when you do, you’ll become a man. I’ll catch you boys later for Cray’s birthday. With that he left them in the hallway.

    It was quiet when they walked into his room, and they situated on the old blue quilt style rug on the floor. His eyes cold and filled with pain. Although he was focused in his friend’s direction, his mind was elsewhere. He had so much going on in his young mind. So many questions with no one he trusted to answer him.

    You a’ight, man? Markise asked, waiting for his response.

    Yeah…just thinkin’ that’s all.

    What Cray didn’t say or know was that everything he was experiencing was turning him into a menace. And the world would soon find out how.

    Nyzon Peate

    Washington, D.C., 1988

    Popcorn Love

    Twelve-year-old Nyzon was in the mirror singing, Don’t Be Cruel by Bobby Brown, on WPGC 95.5, as he got ready for school. He had just gotten a shape up with a part on the side and was checking it to make sure it was perfect…it was. He’d brushed his hair so much that you could get seasick just looking at his waves. A fresh haircut was all his mother could afford to keep him in style. So Nyzon took full advantage.

    After he was dressed, he ironed one of the three pair of jeans he owned. The crease was heavy in the middle of the pants. He didn’t have much but what he did have he kept neat. After he got dressed he kissed his two fingers and pressed them against the boxing poster of Muhammad Ali. Nyzon was a natural when it came to boxing and looked up to him greatly.

    Believing he was almost too fine for words, he remembered he couldn’t leave without placing a gold chain he found a few months ago on. Nyzon felt it made him look smoother. Living in George Washington Carver apartments off of Benning Road in Southeast D.C., some fucked-up ass projects, made him appreciate the little he had.

    Walking toward the kitchen, he hesitated for a second. Mustering up enough energy, he finally walked inside. Nyzon sat down at the kitchen table preparing to spend another uncomfortable moment with her.

    You hungry, baby? Debra asked her son as she sat a plate full of pancakes on the table in front of him. Nyzon tucked his chain in his shirt so that it wouldn’t dip into the extra syrup he was getting ready to douse his food with.

    Jive like, he said, a forkful of pancakes already in his mouth.

    Are we going to watch a movie tonight on Cablevision? she asked with hopeful eyes as she adjusted her red, pink and orange flower housecoat before taking a seat in the chair across from him.

    I was gonna play Metal Gear on Nintendo with my friends. Nyzon never looked at his mother. All he could think about was how long it would take him to down his food and get out the door. Everything he enjoyed about life existed outside the confines of his home. And with them having no living relatives, outside of his friends, he felt alone.

    Debra Peate was an average looking woman. She was mixed with black and white while Nyzon on the other hand had light brown skin with sexy, slanted eyes. Every time he looked in the mirror and than at her, he couldn’t find one similarity. Often times, he wondered if she was really his mother. And every time he’d ask, she’d swear that she lied on the table for hours giving birth to him, and that his father abandoned them both when he was just six months old.

    Okay…maybe I’ll bake you guys some cookies then, she said as she came behind him and rested her hands on his shoulders. While you play the game. Would you like that?

    He shook his upper body causing her to remove her hands. Still chewing, he rose not facing her at first. Guilt rested on him and he slowly turned around and planted a kiss on her face.

    The cookies will be tight, Ma. He smiled. She smiled back. My friends love your food. I’ll see you when I get home. He grabbed his red Trapper Keeper off the box next to the door. It had been there ever since they moved in five months ago because Debra never unpacked. Nyzon and his mother moved twice a year so he never felt settled in. With his notebook in hand he barreled out the front door.

    ****

    At School

    Once at school Nyzon met up with his crew. He had two friends he rolled with no matter where he was going. They were Royala and Lazarick Quick, fraternal twins. Royala was a cute girl who dressed like a boy, and everything in her soul told her she was. People were so used to seeing her dressed boyishly, that they playfully referred to Royala as Lazarick’s identical twin brother.

    Nyzon was closer to Royala than he was to Lazarick because she was the only one who could spar with him and keep up in the boxing ring. She was almost as good as he was. The only thing about Royala that he couldn’t handle sometimes was her temper. It was as if she had something to prove to the world. She’d been put out of school at least ten times since he first met her a year ago. As bad as she was, she only put it to people who fucked with her family or friends, so Nyzon could tolerate her fighter spirit.

    Lazarick on the other hand looked like a young Al B. Sure with hazel brown eyes like his sister’s. But Lazarick had a mouth and a tendency to run it. Lazarick hated on him a lot and for a while Nyzon thought he wanted to be him. But because he fucked with Royala, he dealt with him too.

    So you still messin’ with that girl with the Jheri Curl? Nyzon asked Lazarick as they walked to his locker.

    Naw…I already got that. He smiled, rubbing his hairless goatee. She be on my dick hard now.

    Stop lyin’! Royala frowned at her twin. That girl stopped messin’ with you to fuck with Jordan. So why you frontin’?

    Hold up, she left you for pissy, no-neck Jordan? Nyzon asked, all prepared to clown him if it was true.

    Man, shut up! Lazarick said, unconsciously checking Nyzon’s fresh haircut with the part down the middle. I see you got that bush taken down.

    Yeah…you rides with this joint don’t you? he said, smoothing his hair with his hand. Everybody can’t be as fine as me.

    You always thinkin’ somebody bitin’ your style. I got my own flava! Lazarick brushed his shirt with his

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