A Child of a CRACKHEAD II (4 page)

Michael pulled up in the parking lot and hopped out of his car, never noticing the two men standing by the corner store in all black watching his every move as he entered the center. “You make your move first, as soon as he leaves, that’s when you get him. Do you understand me?” the older man said to the younger one.

“Yea, this will be the last night Evil will walk on this earth,” the young one replied.

“Hey, what’s up boss?” Dashawn said as Michael walked in.

“Nothing much, how is it looking today?”

Michael replied.

Dashawn was one of the several counselors he had working for him. “I never seen it this packed, Michael. I have never seen so many women looking for help,” Dashawn replied.

Michael walked deep in and began to do his rounds,

walking

around

and

checking

on

everything. The community center was a school that had three floors. The first floor was intake, where the women and children would check in and would meet with a counselor. There was a gym in further back along with a movie room and a game room. The second floor was the cafeteria and showers, where any woman and child could come off the street to eat and use the showers to stay clean. If they were in problems to get clean off drugs or get away from abusive men, they came to the community center. The third floor was a huge housing area with a hundred and ten beds.

Michael only took in women and children because all the things he seen and been through with his mother. As he entered the cafeteria, he couldn’t believe his eyes at all the little boys and girls sitting down eating and how skinny they were.

His mind flashed back on how he wouldn’t eat for days because his mother forgot to feed him or buy food. Michael walked back to his office and called for one of his counselors, “Kevin, what’s going on?

I’ve never seen so many people.”

“It’s worse. Michael, have you noticed that all the women smoking crack is younger now, from the age fourteen to thirty and their pregnant. That’s crazy our generation didn’t smoke crack, maybe weed here and there. But, mostly people in the 80’s smoke crack. So why are more crack heads popping up and why mostly women when drugs been slowly down for the last few years.

Michael took a second to think about what Kevin had said and knew he was right. There have been more and more young women getting addicted to crack in the neighborhood and also how a lot of the women had gone missing and would pop back up after a few months, but others would never be seen again like his four friends that also worked as counselors at his center. Tiffany, Star, Yasmin, and Jesse haven’t been seen for well over three weeks now and the police had no clue where to look or what happened to them or if they really cared.

While Kevin and Michael were talking, a little boy knocked on the door, “Well, you know who that is boss? We’ll finish this conversation later,” Kevin said as he got up and left the office.

And the little boy entered, “Hey, what’s up Michael?” the boy said as he sat in a chair in front of Michael’s desk.

“Nothing much, Mike. How are you doing today?” Michael replied while smiling.

Mike put his head down unable to speak.

For a whole year, he had been coming to the center faithfully and for some reason he felt a connection right away with Michael. He felt he could tell him all his problems and he would be the only one to really understand him. At ten years old, Mike had been through more pain than a little. His mother was a crack head who died giving birth to him. He was told and ever since he was raised in different foster homes. In each one, he was beaten and abused and left without food. The last home he had to leave though was the best. When Mike first got there two years ago, he thought Ms. Maxwell was the sweetest old woman in the world. He soon found out the truth. The money the state was giving her to take care of him, to buy clothes and food, she was using it to buy crack. And left Mike wearing the same clothes for days and there was no food. If it wasn’t for the community center, he wouldn’t eat at all or been able to wash the little bit of clothes he did have.

“I was taking a shower and Miss Maxwell came in to the bathroom high, Michael, with an extension cord and beat me. I screamed and cried, but she kept on beating me,” Mike stated.

“What, I’m going over there now,” Michael yelled with anger because looking at Mike he seen so much of himself in him. He had the same dark skin complexion and the same deep cold eyes filled with pain and anger.

“It’s too late, she’s dead, Michael.”

“What you mean she’s dead?”

“Promise you won’t tell on me.”

“What Mike? What happened? You got my word. I won’t say nothing to nobody, now tell me.”

“I killed her last night,” Mike replied.

“What?” Michael yelled.

Mike looked up and then moved around in the chair. “I got tired of her beating me. She beat me bad, Michael. I was sore and really hurt. I was crying for hours. No one loves me. My mother didn’t love me enough to stop smoking crack while pregnant with me and every foster home I go to they beat me and don’t feed me and make me sleep on the floor or the stairs while they treat their kids so nice and kind. I hate my life,” Mike said while crying using his little hands to wipe away his tears.

“Don’t say that. And don’t cry. I know how you feel I’m here for you,” Michael replied thinking of his life and how he used to feel the same way.

“So, how did you kill her? The police will be looking for you.”

“No, I killed her in a way they can’t prove I did it. I broke glass up in tiny small pieces and stuffed it in her glass crack pipe. When she went to get high, she choked on the glass and it cut up her throat and lungs and I watched her fall to the ground and spit up blood and reach out for me. I looked at her and smiled and when I was sure she was dead, I called the cops and they came. The police said she overdosed and choked on her own glass pipe. And ACS had to take me to another home. So, I took off running and been here ever since last night.”

Michael’s mind raced as it flashbacked and he remembered the same thing he did to his father and it would have worked if it wasn’t for his mother saving his life. “You can’t keep hiding, Mike, you have to go to ACS so they can find you another home,” Michael replied.

“No, I don’t want to. I’m tired of going from home to home and getting beat in every home I’ve been in for no reason because my mother was a crack head. I’ll stay here. I got food here and get to play with the other kids,” Mike replied.

“This isn’t the place to raise a child, Mike. I opened this place for kids and women to get away from the streets and know there’s someone to help them in the hood.”

“I don’t want to go, Michael. I’ll run.”

“Okay Mike, but I don’t want you to stay here. Come home with me tonight and we’ll talk about what we are going to.”

“Uhmmm, what about your mother do you think she is mad that I’m staying there?” Mike asked.

“Naw, I live with Miss Envy, now. You remember her right?”

“Yeah I do. I like her. She dress really nice and she’s funny.”

“Yea, I know I just got to discuss you staying there with us. If I don’t tell her and we pop up, that will be both our butts that will get in trouble.” Mike and Michael both busted out laughing knowing it were true.

Later on that day, Michael said bye to most of his workers and people in the center and headed out the door with Mike by his side. With one look at the two of them, you’d swear Mike was his son.

As they walked to his 97 white Lexus GS, he dialed Envy’s number. “Hey daddy, how was your day?”

Envy asked as soon as she answered the phone.

“It was good baby girl, but I have to talk with you when I get home. Also wanted to let you know, I’m bringing little Mike home with me tonight,” Michael said.

“Okay, but why? What’s going on?” Envy replied.

“That’s what I have to talk to you about, boo.”

“Alright baby, I’m happy you let me know, because I was waiting for you with my red corset on and no panties.”

Michael busted out laughing, “You know what I like.” Michael was so deep into his conversation he didn’t see the four men dressed in black following him to his car. Mike had seen them crossing the street and put his hand in his pocket where he kept his 4inch switch blade pocketknife.

Growing up in different foster homes, he taught himself to stay on point and always carry a knife, or kept something on him to protect himself.

The first gunmen was now two feet from the back of Michael as he pulled out a chrome Heckler 9mm and aimed it at the back of his head. Mike looked back and pulled out his knife and flipped it open. The gunmen began to squeeze the trigger to his gun slowly, but in one swift move, Michael dropped his cell phone and pulled out twin Koch 45

handguns and squeezed the trigger to both guns simultaneously. At the same time Mike had swung hard, his knife went into the gunmen’s thigh.

Before the gunmen could scream, bullets of the 45

slammed into his chest and face sending him flying backwards. Mike looked up at Michael with shock in his eyes as he held his now bloody knife. In no way did he think Michael was paying any attention to the men, but he had seen them.

Once they had left the center and were anticipating their next move, “Run!” Michael yelled as he watched the first gunmen go down and could see three others now with their guns out and aiming at him and Mike. Michael took aim and squeezed the trigger of his guns, as bullets went past his head.

Fire of orange and red blast came out the muzzle of his guns, bullets slammed into one of the gunmen’s stomach. He bent over in pain to only have a bullet explode his head like a melon. Michael and Mike ducked for cover as the other two gunmen exchanged fire bullets that ripped and tore into park cars that Mike and Michael were using for cover.

One of the gunmen slowly crept on the side of them, making sure to stay low using trees in the parking lot of the projects. Michael dodged and ducked and returned fire at the gunmen that was using the bus stop as cover. Michael stood up with anger racing through his body and aimed and squeezed the trigger of the twin 45 handguns. A hail of bullets crashed through the glass windows of the bus stop and metal pole and hit the gunmen ripping chunks of his flesh out of his face. His body jerked as bullets went through it and came out his back. He fell face first with half of his face gone.

Before Michael could look around for the last gunmen, he felt the barrel of a gun at the back of his head, “Drop your fucking guns, Michael.”

“Damn!!” Michael cursed out loud, knowing it was over he was caught off guard.

“You didn’t hear me, Michael, drop the fucking guns or will you listen better if I called you Evil.”

‘Damn, I’m wondering who the fuck he is.’

Michael thought to himself as he dropped his guns and slowly turned around and couldn’t believe his eyes.

“Yea motherfucker, you forgot all about me, but I never forgot about you. Get on the fucking ground.”

“Pooky, that you?” Michael asked as his mind flashed back to when he was a child and had to live at Momma’s house with all the other kids or

‘children of a crack momma,’ Momma used to call them. All the children were related in some way and Pooky was his cousin that he was forced to share a bed with. But, Pooky would pee the bed every night leaving Michael soaked in his urine.

Michael got fed up with it and told Pooky he had to sleep on the floor. When he refused, Michael beat him up and left him on the floor for that day. Pooky was never allowed to get in the bed with him and there was nothing he could do to change that.

“Pooky, what the fuck you doing? You’re my cousin. We’re family you ass. You're still holding on to some shit that happened when we was kids?”

“Shut up, Evil, and lay on the ground.”

Michael was on his knees and laid flat on his stomach while Pooky kept the gun pointed at him.

Pooky unzipped his jeans and pulled out his dick and begun to pee all over Michael. “Just like old times, huh Evil,” Pooky said while shaking his dick making sure to empty his bladder, “Yea, you evil fucker. I got you now and when I kill you the hood will fear me and I’ll take the respect that should be mines.”

“You mother fucker!” Michael yelled as anger rose in his body and spit urine out of his mouth.

Pooky smiled not paying attention to little Mike, who was hiding under a parked car the whole time. He crawled from under the car and climbed on top of the hood. He looked at Pooky’s back and jumped on it. “Oh shit!” Pooky yelled trying to shake Mike off his back. Mike pulled his arm all the way back, the one with the knife in it, and swung with all his might aiming for Pooky’s neck, but missed. The knife penetrated his ear going straight through the hole, ripping through the flesh as it hit his ear drum busting it. “Ahhhh!” Pooky screamed louder than any man Mike had ever heard.

Michael turned around and pulled out a 12

inch knife he strapped to the side of his thigh under his jeans. He swung at Pooky’s dick that was still out. The sharp blade went up and cut the head of Pooky’s dick off causing him to drop his gun and trying to bend over in pain and shake Mike off at the same time.

Mike flew off of Pooky’s back and hit the concrete and looked at his knife covered in blood.

Michael jumped up and grabbed his guns and his phone. Stared a devilish look at Pooky lying on the ground, one hand holding his dick and the other hand holding his ear as he screamed and cried and pain while blood soaked the concrete. Michael seen an empty plastic bag and used it to pick up the head of Pooky’s dick then put it in his pocket. He aimed his gun at Pooky’s head, “Now, it’s time for you to die. You pee in the bed motherfucker.”

The older man in the dark had seen enough he pulled out a black uzi and aimed and squeezed the trigger. A hail of bullets went out of control and hit the car next to Michael and the buildings.

Michael dove to the ground as bullets whispered pass his ear. Mike followed Michael as they crawled into his car and he started it up and pulled off as bullets hit the back of the car and window as he made it down the block and around the corner.