Hard White. Shannon Holmes
“Tell me what happened, princess?”
“On the way home from school today, we saw these boys beating up a crack-head.”
“Wha…?”
“And then they started shooting and—”
“Oh yeah…? Where did this happen at?”
“In the horseshoe, papi,” Maria said frankly.
“What…? Jose get ya ass out here. Right now, mister…!”
Maria heard the anger resonating in her father’s voice. She saw the grimace on his face and felt pleased. She wanted to laugh, Maria knew what her father was about to do next.
“I’ll be right there, dad,” Jose shouted from the bathroom.
“Get out here now!”
“Yes dad,” Jose said, coming into the living room.
“Now, what I told your ass about walking through that damn horseshoe?”
“You told us not to go through there,” Jose robotically answered.
“Alrighty then…! Why the hell did you choose to walk through there on your way home from school today? Huh? Tell me why, Jose!”
“I didn’t mean to do it. I wasn’t thinking I was real tired and, you know… That’s the shortest way home.”
Jose Sr. took a deep breath before speaking. He was trying hard not to scream in front of his daughter. His stare alternated between both of them. There was complete silence before he passionately started his explanation.
“Look I don’t give a damn if it’s shorter. I want you to go the extra distance to walk around trouble. I’m not concerned with how quickly you’s home. I’m concerned with yous’ safety… Both of yous’ making it home safely, period… For instance your sister just told me about the shooting and fighting in the horseshoe today. What if something happened to yous? Bullets have no name on them. I’ve told you over and over, think safety first. Don’t go through that damn horseshoe. God forbid if something was to have happened to either one of yous… I’ll kill or die for the both of you’s. Either way, please don’t make me prove it, alright?”
Jose Sr. was feared throughout Edenwald projects in his time. Having run with some of the most notorious thugs and murders that the projects had to offer, he had a rep. The younger Jose was not aware, but his father was no slouch with his hands or a pistol. His English was bad, but in the language of violence, Jose Sr. was very fluent.
He cleared his throat and there was a long pause. Both Jose and Maria listened carefully to their father. They knew he was right in every way possible. Jose was the first to respond.
“Okay dad, I hear you. We won’t go through the horseshoe no more.”
“That’s all I ask. Stay from over there and keep both you’s out of harm’s way. Jose, you getting older now you gonna have to be more responsible… Do the right thing, and I’ll give you the world. Do the wrong thing, and I’ll be on your ass...”
Jose glanced up at the vexed expression on his father’s face and knew he what was coming next. He would be given an extended list of things to do and there would be no videogames, no Internet until his father was over it.
“Okay dad, I hear you,” Jose nodded.
Feeling justified in what she had done, Maria sat smug on the sofa. Her father’s talk was what she thought it would be, chastising her brother. She tried to warn Jose, but he wouldn’t listen. Maybe now he would. She sat quietly watching as the two males in her life bumped heads.
“You’re on punishment for a week. Don’t even think about going outside. No more video games until I say so. Put that playstation in my bedroom,” Jose Sr. angrily ordered.
Jose stood speechless. He was addicted to videogames in fact he would rather give up his laptop than that. He dragged his feet too long, moving too slow for his father.
“You better put some pep in ’em step! Boy, I’m tellin’ you, you ain’t gonna like it if I have to go get it.”
Chapter Four
A Drug Dealer’s Dream
Mike Copeland was Melquan’s right hand man. He was holed up inside a small, decrepit, two-bedroom apartment on the project’s North side. In this despicable working condition, Mike was cooking up crack cocaine on the stove. The sink was filled with dirty dishes that smelled like they hadn’t been washed in weeks. Cockroaches were in plain view, from the walls to the floor. Every so often, Mike would see a mice or two darting around the kitchen. None of this mattered to him. Mike’s sole focus was on the transparent, nonstick, light brown Pirex pot that was slowly simmering. He watched his product intently, stirring every so often to help the transformation of cocaine into crack.
“Hey, Mike is that thing ready yet?”
He heard the voice and without even glancing around, Mike Copeland knew who it belonged to. Slowly he lifted his eyes from the pot and stared maliciously at Tess. She was dark skin, tall with short nappy hair and the resident crack-head. The apartment belonged to her.
Tess was known to have a foul smell and a nasty attitude. Her poor hygiene and bad habits had contributed to the poor living conditions inside her home. Tess didn’t care about much of nothing accept getting high off crack.
“Bitch, do it look like it’s ready yet!” Mike spat. “Stop sweatin’ me. Fuck outta here!”
Tess gave Mike a dirty stare, not liking his tone of voice. It burned her up to think that somebody was disrespecting her in her own house. She opened her mouth to say something, but thought better. Now was not the time. She didn’t want to blow the get high she had coming by arguing with the help. Tess ignored Mike and walked back to her bedroom.
She didn’t want to tangle with Mike Copeland and his bad boy swagger. Not only did he talk tough he was about his business. At five-seven, the muscular Mike weighed about one-hundred and sixty pounds. His heart and not his physical attributes were his strong suit. Although he wasn’t physically imposing, Mike Copeland was menacing just the same.
Tess was banished to her room and Mike concentrated on the task at hand. Seeing that the cocaine was beginning to take that gel-like form, he picked up the pot with one hand and turned the coldwater faucet on with the other. The scalding hot and ice cold water mixed causing steam to rise.
Mike Copeland administered liberal doses of cold water until the gel started hardening. Two hundred and fifty grams of powder cocaine had been successfully transformed to crack.
“Oh, baby! You still got it.” Mike Copeland said, admiring his handiwork. “Chef Boyardi ain’t got nothin’ on me!”
Mike Copeland was about to drain the remaining water from the pot and dry the work. He heard the knock at the door. Mike Copeland reached for the government issued nickel-plated .45 automatic, from his waistband and went to the door. He clutched the gun in one hand and the pot in another. Mike Copeland didn’t trust Tess as far as he could throw her. He wasn’t about to leave his prized possession unprotected.
“Who dat…?” He barked.
“Melquan…”
Mike Copeland immediately put away the gun and turned the lock cylinders. Melquan walked inside the place. Once Melquan crossed the apartment’s threshold, he turned and locked the door securing the apartment.
“What’s good, Mel?” Mike Copeland greeted, giving Melquan a pound.
“Ain’t nothing, Mike. Another day another dollar,” Melquan fired back. “So let’s get it.”
He entered the kitchen