Homeless (21 page)

As quietly as possible, he lifted the lid of the rusty industrial-size Dumpster. The big blue commercial monster was full beyond capacity with probably just about every discarded unwanted item from nearby residents and other businesses that didn't want to bother with proper disposal. Trying his best to not inhale the awful stench that leaped into his nostrils, Stackz spit twice. The way it smelled, a dead body might already be in it, so any other random person would definitely think twice about Dumpster diving and lucking up on discovering his gun. Stackz said his final good-byes to the pistol he'd been carrying since his release from prison and tossed it inside its new home. Using a stick, he then covered it up the best he could with the other rubbish. Casually, Stackz walked back to his whip as if he'd not just minutes earlier committed a murder and disposed of the weapon used to commit that felony. Starting the engine, he drove off.

* * *

Stackz did what was next on his list of things to do if he hoped to get away with murder: get ready to call T. L., his always-on-point cleanup man. Extremely loyal and trustworthy, Stackz knew he could count on his young dog. He was a soldier in the true sense of the word. Stackz been feeding and grooming T. L. since he was nine years old and his mama was out there getting high, addicted to crack, heroin, and popping pills. T. L. saw a lot growing up and had been through shit no kid should have to. Stackz and his little brother had stepped up and practically raised T. L. Stackz and Gee used to trap out of his mama's crib. When they saw the conditions he was subjected to, the two of them took him into their own home, treating him like a son, making sure he went to the best school, buying him everything a normal kid should have, and should have kept him doing right, but the streets were embedded in T. L.'s DNA. Having everything still couldn't quench the thirst for the street life out of him. So they kept “their son” close to them every day, teaching him so he'd learn how to think like a gangster and move like a boss.

They could count on him to get whatever task at hand done; quickly and efficiently. Still haunted by his mother throwing him away like garbage, T. L. was resentful at times and a known hothead when need be. However, he looked upon Stackz and Gee like the father figures he never had; he was their family. And he was willing to do anything to protect his kin; blood or not.

Now, T. L. was loved by many and feared by the shady-ass seedy side of Detroit just like Stackz wanted and needed a true hood warrior to be. T. L. could put in work and clean up the dirt he or Gee couldn't touch.

With one hand on the steering wheel, the other hand held his cell. Pushing the button on the side, he used the voice command to call T. L. In a matter of seconds, it connected the lines. The phone began to ring as Stackz caught a night air chill from the draft of not having a rear window. Looking over at his radio, Stackz saw the clock on the face read a little bit after three forty-five. Yet, it didn't matter how early or late it was. T. L. was on call twenty-four/seven always ready for action; good to go. For him, if it meant going to full-blown war at daybreak, he'd be as wide awake as if it was four in the evening.

On the second ring, T. L. answered. “Big bro, what up doe with you?”

“Yo, fam, what it do? I need you on deck ASAP on some real type of no-way-back-from-the-darkness business.” Stackz seethed, still angry the three clowns had forced his hand into murder, even though it was self-defense.

T. L. was at his crib laid up with one of his many FFs, short for fuck friends. He grabbed the remote control to the flat-screen television and pressed mute. Having heard Stackz say “no way back from the darkness,” T. L. sat straight up. He knew that was code name for someone had just got sent on their way. Intensely listening to his mentor run the evening down almost blow by blow, the eager-to-please goon got heated. Remembering he wasn't alone, he got out of bed with ole girl, not really knowing who she knew or could've been related to. She could be playing like she was asleep while ear hustling on the sly.

T. L. understood Detroit was the smallest big city ever, and if a nigga was trying to hide his black ass after doing dirt, unless you were as careful as him, Stackz, and Gee, that feat would be damn near impossible. Gathering his clothes, he got dressed while still listening to Stackz's game plan. “Yeah go ahead, bro. I'm on you. I'm throwing my shit on now and half out the door on my way.” T. L. left the sleeping female in his bed, knowing she knew better than to touch a damn thing in his crib and risk getting her head knocked clear off her body.

“Okay, dig this here. I need you to shoot over to the spot where we always grab the food from.”

“The spot with the food?” T. L. questioned, wanting to get the facts right.

“Yeah, the spot over from around the way,” Stackz reaffirmed as he slowed down at a red light. “You know, where we hit up at when we come from the club. I had to turn up on these fucking clowns. I guess they was bugging and was sleep on a nigga thinking I was some sort of come up.”

“Word?” T. L. quizzed, grabbing his car keys off the table.

“Yeah, your homegirl a cashier now up in that motherfucker. Taking orders and shit.”

“Who you talking about?”

“You know, what's her name? The honey with them funny cat eyes. The one you used to run with from the East Side. I saw her name tag, but that shit done slipped my mind.”

From the description Stackz was giving, T. L. easily now knew who he meant. “Oh, yeah, Tangy.”

“Yeah, yeah, that's her,” Stackz replied, nodding his head. “She saw the whole play go down; her and the damn cook.”

“Word?”

“Yeah, my dude. So you already know I need that surveillance footage. I can't risk making the news on some murder shit. You know I get banged on any more felonies, my ass is straight cooked.”

“Naw, naw, say no more, bro-bro. I got this! I'm on it right now! I'm on my way out the door and en route as we speak.” T. L. jumped in his car as his adrenalin pumped. “The way the police move in Detroit, I can beat them there and swoop up that tape.”

Stackz knew he could count on his young dawg to handle things. “Good looking out.”

“Come on now, fam, it ain't no thang. You know how we do. So I'll hit you back when I'm good with it.”

“The way she was playing it with me, I think she up for helping us out. She seem street as hell.”

T. L. laughed, knowing Stackz had hit the nail on the head. Tangy was street as hell; a little
too
street for him. That's why he stopped messing with her. She wanted to mean mug and skull drag every other female he knew. “She definitely about her coins, so I got a couple racks on me to ensure I don't hear ‘I can't,' ‘no,' or ‘I'm scared' shit fly outta her mouth. You feel me? Money talks and potential cases get bought.”

Stackz had one reply equally as clever and true as T. L.'s statement. “You already know real ones buy what they want, what they need, and what they please. Right about now, I needs that surveillance footage.”