The Corner II Read online

  The Corner II

  (The Queen pin)

  Other titles by Alex Richardson

  Lines Crossed: (the true story of an undercover cop)

  The Corner (Slim’s Revenge)

  Lies, Lust, Consequences (erotica)

  Phoenix

  Miller Beach Publishing Presents:

  The Corner II

  (The Queenpin)

  By Alex Richardson

  This is a work of fiction. The author has invented the characters. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  If you have purchased this book with a ‘dull’ or missing cover you have possibly purchased an unauthorized or stolen book. Please immediately contact the publisher advising where, when and how you purchased the book.

  Miller Beach Publishing

  PO Box 11502

  Fort Wayne, In. 46858

  www.millerbeachpublishing.com

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2009904700

  ISBN: 978-0-578-02443-1

  Author: Alex Richardson

  Cover design/graphics: www.mariondesigns.com

  Edited by: Lu Ann Wells

  Cover Model: Demetria Stephens

  Cover Model Photo by: Dean Scott Photography/LModelz Modeling Agency Indianapolis

  Copyright © 2009 by Alex Richardson. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without the written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages to be printed in a newspaper or a magazine.

  Second Trade Paperback Edition Printing July 2011

  Detroit 1995

  Anthony Davis sat on the porch drinking on a forty ounce Colt 45 and smoking weed with his homeboy, Smiley. It was a hot and humid day and the two teenagers were celebrating graduating high school—just barely. If it weren’t for Smiley laying the pipe to their forty-year-old English teacher Ms. Maduski, they wouldn’t be standing on the porch listening to Biggie rap Gimmie the Loot. They would be sitting in summer school trying to make the grade to graduate. The two had been friends since the mid-eighties when Anthony moved to Detroit from Chicago with his mother. Anthony was only eight and didn’t know anyone and was a bit shy when it came to meeting new people. When his mom made him go to the park alone to make friends, Smiley, one of the popular young kids in the neighborhood, befriended him. Within an hour they were jawing about who was the best Jordan or Isaiah, Cubs or Tigers, Bears or Lions with Anthony getting the best of Smiley when he talked about the Bears and their hard-hitting defense. They cut their conversation short when the tunes of the ice cream truck grew louder. Anthony reached in the pocket of his cut off Toughskins jeans and pulled out some change. Brushing the lint to the side he counted his money—twice. When he realized he had enough to buy something for his newfriend who’d shared Boston Baked Beans and a Chico Stick with him, he offered to buy Smiley a Bomb Pop.

  Anthony paid for the ice cream treats and was on his way back to the playground when two kids who looked to be a year or two older than he confronted him. Smiley, who was a good distance away, sitting on the monkey bars, noticed what was going on. The two kids who were bigger than Anthony but were the same size as Smiley, were known trouble makers around the neighborhood and Smiley knew what was up. Before he could make it over to Anthony one of the kids smacked the bomb pops to the ground and stepped on them. Anthony was upset but had never been in a fight. The two boys were laughing as they grabbed and shook Anthony asking if he had any more money. That’s when one of the boys caught a fist to his eye. Smiley’s oldest brother who was seventeen taught him that the first lick should be to a person’s eye so they would have a hard time seeing what was coming next. Smiley did what he was taught—the next blow was to the mouth. The busted chops leaked a lot of blood that covered the boy’s chin and shirt. Anthony stood dazed until the boy who’d been hit in the eye clocked him in the nose. He fell to the ground. When Smiley yelled for him to get up and fight, he did—especially after seeing his bloody shirt. With a lot of rage and anger flowing through him he began swinging quickly and accurately. The same way he’d watched Detroit’s Tommie Hearns do it. Smiley was amazed and the two put a whipping on the two neighborhood bullies.

  When the kids ran off, Smiley brushed the dirt and gravel off his clothes and Anthony took off the bloody shirt that was now ruined. Smiley told him to tilt his head back and he used the shirt to apply pressure to stop the bleeding. He had seen one of his four brothers do this. They were always fighting and into something. They were only teenagers but were in the streets every day and night. They always taught their little brother to stand up for himself and for his friends and Smiley knew that if word had got back to his brothers from any of the kids on the playground that he hadn’t helped his new friend—his brothers would have whipped him.

  Anthony was worried that his mother was going to kill him for messing up his t-shirt. I ain’t got that type of money for you to be messin’ up your clothes! He imagined her yelling. Smiley saw the look on his friend’s face and asked him was he worried about what his mother was going to say? Anthony told him that he was, so Smiley offered to walk home with him in case he needed a witness to what had happened. As they walked up the street Smiley saw his older brother on the corner hustling and he kept walking—remembering the rule. Don’t come and talk to me while I’m on the streets. A lot of shit can happen and I don’t want you caught up in it. So much for the rule, Tavarious called Smiley over to him.

  “Yo, Smiley, what’s up?” Tavarious glanced at the shirt Anthony had clutched in his hand. “Why this kid you with carrying a bloody t-shirt?”

  “He got in a…uh…I mean we got in a fight,” Smiley said proudly knowing that they had just mopped up the two boys.

  Eyeing a Park Avenue that was cruising toward him slowly, Tavarious said, “Oh yeah. By the looks of that shirt and the blood on y’all shorts it looks like y’all got whooped.”

  Hoping to impress his brother, Smiley stuck out his chest proudly saying, “We beat them fools down!”

  “No shit, little man? Good, good.” Tavarious said as he continued to eye the Park Avenue as it came to a halt.

  An older white man rolled down the window. Anthony and Smiley looked on as they thought about how they very rarely saw white folks in their neighborhood unless they were the police or some politician out preaching their word.

  Anthony looked on as Smiley’s brother handed the man what looked to be some broken off pieces of soap and the man handed Tavarious a couple of twenties. Anthony was amazed at how fast Tavarious had made the money and the look was painted all over his face.

  Tavarious noticed the gleam in Anthony’s eyes. He walked toward him, asking, “You like that little man? How fast I made that loot?”

  Anthony, always the one to say what he was thinking, shot a one-word answer to the dark-skinned teenager, “Yeah.”

  Tavarious told him, “You’re too young right now. Holla at me in a few years.” With that answer Tavarious sent the two youngsters on their way.

  The two made it to Anthony’s street. He was worried about what his mother was going to say about him ruining his shirt. He and Smiley stopped in front of his house. There was a pause. Smiley asked his friend for his phone number so he could call him whenever he was going to head to the park. Embarrassed, Anthony put his head down and stared at the pavement. He kicked at one of the loose rocks while telling Smiley he and his mom didn’t have a phone. Smiley told him that it was okay. That his mom and brothers didn’t have a phone until his brothers started hustling. Anthony wouldn’t have known what hustling was if he hadn’t seen Smiley’s brother Tavarious getting money from the white man in the nice car. So all he did was put two and two together.

  “See ya tomo
rrow,” Smiley yelled as he trotted down the block to his house.

  Anthony’s mother was standing in the doorway of the front door. He had his head down when he opened the screen door. He was ready for the tongue-lashing and possible whipping from his mother. He walked past her—no shirt on but it was clutched in his hand with blood on it.

  Anthony’s mother followed him as he headed to his room that wasn’t far away seeing as how the low-income house only had a living room, kitchen and two bedrooms that were tiny. Gloria put out her Virginia Slim as she passed the coffee table. Anthony had already made it to his room. He was digging in his closet looking for something. Gloria leaned against the door jam and watched knowing what her son was searching for. She noticed the sad but pissed-off look on her son’s face as he handed her the belt that was designated for his ass whippings.

  Arms folded, she asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t want no whippin’,” he pouted as he held the belt toward her.

  She had a slight grin as she asked, “What happened to your shirt? You know we don’t have that type of money that you can mess even one up.”

  She asked the question even though she knew what had happened. She had brothers and had grown up on the west and south side of Chicago and they had all come home with torn, dirtied or bloodied clothes one time or another. She was actually glad to see her son in this position. The only thing she needed to know was the outcome.

  Anthony was still holding the belt but it was at his side now. His head was down when he answered, “I got in a fight.”

  “Why?” Her voice was steady.

  “I don’t know. I was just getting some ice cream for me and my friend Smiley—”

  She cut him off, asking, “The kid who was walking with you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah?” Her voice rose and neck craned.

  “I mean yes.”

  “Finish telling me what happened.”

  “After I got some ice cream, these two boys came and knocked it to the ground and hit me and tried to beat me up but my friend helped me and we beat the boys up.”

  “So you were defending yourself?”

  “Yes.”

  Gloria lit another cigarette. She was proud of her son. In one dog day afternoon in Detroit her son had his first fight and from the looks of his shirt it was a good one. She took a long hard drag and inhaled the smoke. She put her hand on his forehead and tilted his head back so she could inspect his nose. She touched it. Anthony squirmed. It was bruised but not broken.

  “That boy you were with, he helped you, huh?”

  “Yes.”

  “And walked with you home?”

  “Yes.”

  She realized that her son was still holding the belt.

  “Anthony, you can put the belt up.”

  Anthony looped the belt on the hook in the cluttered closet next to his black suit—his only suit. His mother made sure that his suit was black seeing as how she could only afford one. When she was young her brothers had only one suit and the color was black or either navy blue. With all the funerals they went to when they were young the boys all had to have a dark suit.

  “Anthony, I’m not mad at you for getting into a fight. As a-matter-of-fact I’m glad that you did. It’s about time.”

  She took the bloody shirt from him.

  Gloria looked him in the eyes and pointed. Her cigarette dangling between her two fingers as she told him, “That kid that helped you out. You owe him. You are new here and he helped defend you and made sure that you made it home safely. That’s a real friend. Risking himself for you. As long as he never crosses you,” she took another drag then pointed the cancer stick at her son, “you be there for him even if it means risking your own ass. You hear me?”

  “Yes, mama.”

  She hugged her son.

  “Boy you remind me so much of your daddy.” She broke her embrace. “Now get your bath ready and I’ll get some ice for that nose. You want Pizza Hut for dinner?”

  Excited, Anthony yelled, “Yeah. I mean yes.”

  “Take your bath and I’ll pick it up.”

  Anthony washed as his mother went to pick up the pizza. He thought about what his mother was saying. He touched his nose and felt the soreness. It ain’t so bad, he thought. He then thought about Smiley who he had just met. How he came to his rescue. He thought about how nice it was to have a friend in the neighborhood. He then thought about Smiley’s brother Tavarious and the money he was making out on the corner. He thought about how his mom went to work everyday and came home tired. Feet hurting. Head aching. Back cramping. He thought about how Tavarious was just standing around laughing and listening to LL Cool J’s ‘Rock The Bells’ pump through his boom box as he made his money. Thought about the white man in the shiny car pulling up giving Tavarious his money. He wanted that. He wanted his mom to have nice stuff. He wanted to be able to afford a phone like Smiley. He touched his nose again only with a little more pressure and wanted to yell ouch! But smiled instead. He was now learning what it meant to live in the hood.

  * * *

  The two teenagers continued getting high. Gimmie The Loot finished and they skipped to I Love It When You Call Me Big Poppa. Smiley was on the phone and didn’t notice when Tavarious pulled up in his new Cadillac STS.

  “Yo, Ant,” Tavarious, who was twenty-eight a decade older than his brother and Anthony, yelled.

  Anthony trotted down the steps. He had no shirt on and his muscular pecs bounced with every step. He had outgrown his best friend in height and weight. Smiley was a slim, cut, one seventy-five. He stopped growing while Anthony continued. At six-two, two hundred pounds, he was a force to be reckoned with.

  Anthony leaned inside the passenger’s side window.

  Tavarious asked, “I need you to handle some shit fo’ me. You down?”

  “Nigga, whateva. Wassup?”

  Tavarious looked at him seriously. “Look here. You the baddest muthafucka when it comes to that breakin’ and enterin’ shit, right?”

  Smiling, knowing that it wasn’t shit that he couldn’t break into—at least in his mind Ant said, “You know it. What you got.”

  “This some for real shit can you handle it? You think you can handle it?” Tavarious said as he puffed on his blunt.

  “Man what’s up? Time is money.”

  “What I’m ’bout to tell you is from my mouth to your ears. This some serious shit that can get some niggas killed. It’s a shipment of kilos comin’ in. They gonna be at this white boy’s house for about four hours. What I need is for you to get in there and get that shit, ’bout twenty of ’em. You gonna need a couple of cats to go with ya. Get that shit and hit me up.”

  “What’s my cut?” Anthony asked knowing that this was the payday that would put him on. Whether he got loot or either some of the bricks, it was a come up.

  Tavarious took a hard drag. He coughed lightly and his words were music to Anthony’s ears. “Fifty percent, nigga.”

  “Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about,” Anthony said as he rose from the vehicle instinctively looking around. He swatted at a mosquito then leaned back into the lowered window of the car.

  “I’ll hit you with the rest of the info tonight. The only thing is you will need to get a couple of guys. They get paid out of your cut and they don’t need to know shit about me. Got it?”

  “Whatever you say.”

  Looking serious, Tavarious told Ant, “Lean forward a bit.”

  Anthony did.

  Smoke blew in his face as Tavarious’ eyes tightened and not from the chronic he was smoking but from the seriousness he wanted to convey to Anthony. “Don’t let my brother know about this shit. I don’t want him involved. If you want to shoot him some loot, that’s cool. But he don’t need to be up on no shit like this, understand?”

  “It’s your call.”

  Tavarious handed Anthony a baggie filled with two ounces of chronic.

  “If he asks, tell him you called me bo
ut some of this good shit.”

  Tavarious put the car in gear, turned up the volume and bumped some Nas.

  Once back on the porch Smiley asked, “What big bro want?”

  Anthony held up a fat sack.

  Smiley reached for it. He opened the zip-lock and smelled the herb saying, “Oh, we gonna get faded tonight.” He handed the bag back to Anthony. “We gonna hookup with them freaks, right?”

  Against his better judgment and what Tavarious told him Anthony decided to cut his best friend in on the money making deal. Sure he could have just given Smiley some of the money he made since it was going to be thousands but why not bring him along. Instead of two other people all he’d have to do is get one. Besides, he trusted Smiley to have his back instead of some of the other cats he did dirt with. He rubbed his smooth dark chin as Smiley hit his forty and changed from the Biggie CD to the Wu-Tang Clans C.R.E.A.M. (Cash Rules Everything Around Me). How fitting Anthony thought.

  “Yo, Smiley.”

  “What up?”

  “You down for getting paid?”

  “You know I’m wit cha. What you got in mind?”

  “Got twenty keys sitting in a spot. I got limited time to get ’em. We heist that shit for your big bro and we get to keep half. I need another body to roll with us so I’m gonna put Baby G up on it. You down?”

  “Just let me know when and where.”

  “I need you to do what you do. We got them pistols you came up on last week but we need a little more firepower. Can you get a couple Tec-9’s from your dude?”

  “I didn’t get ’em last time cause we ain’t have enough loot—”

  “Let that nigga know that we’ll break him off a little somethin’ extra. But homie, don’t let on that we got some shit going. If he doesn’t want to come off the heat on the front then just say fuck it we’ll just do the shit with them nines we got. You feel me?”