Read A Child of a CRACKHEAD II Online
Authors: Shameek Speight
A Child of Crackhead II
- A Novel Written by –
Shameek A. Speight
A Child of a Crackhead II
Copyright © 2011 by Shameek A. Speight
This novel is a work of fiction. Any resemblances to actual events, real people, living or dead, organization, establishments, locales are products of the author’s imagination. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are used fictitiously.
Cover design/Graphics:www.mariondesigns.com Editor: Kelly Klem
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission from the publisher and writer.
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It has only been the power of God, my lord and savior Jesus Christ, that I have been able to persevere through many of the trials I’ve been dealt in my life. I thank him for giving me the strength to move on.
To my beloved sister’s, thank you, for believing in me. To my auntie, I love you. To my daughter Niomi, I do all this for you baby.
To Kelly Klem, my best friend, I couldn’t have done this without you. To Cierra Waugh, my typist, I couldn’t have done this without you. To all the men and women locked up, keep your head up and keep the faith. There will be a brighter day. To Antonie Inch Thomas, what can I say; you taught me the book game and held me down when I was trapped up. I wouldn’t know what I know now without you, thank you. To Jilene Carter thank you sweetie, To Charmaine Thomas, Tilla Thomas, Enica Thomas-Smith and my brother Anthony Anglin my other family thank you for the love To all the fans that buy my book, thank you for your love and support.
Ten years later, the hustlers on the corner watched her voluptuous body walk down the sidewalk with another man. “Damn shorty, your fine as hell,” one of the hustlers yelled out not caring who she was with. The man wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer in to him. They continued to walk down the sidewalk and around the block. As soon as they turned the corner and they were out of sight, he let go of her waist and said, “Bitch, didn’t I tell you to walk beside me, not in front of me or behind me?” He said as he slapped her so hard across her face that she went flying to the ground.
“But baby, I was walking beside you. I can’t help that I have a nice body. The guys are going to look.” She said while crying and rubbing her face.
“What? Bitch, you want to talk back?” He bent down and began to punch her furiously in the face, busting her lip and her eyes were swollen shut.
While screaming and crying in pain with each blow, something made the young thug stop his attack on his woman. He turned around and faced a man about his age with a machete in his hand.
“Chill Evil, this ain’t what it looks like. She tripped and fell.” He said while pointing to his girl on the concrete crying all curled up in a ball.
“You know the rules,” Evil said in a voice that sent chills through the young thug’s spine.
“Wait no! No!” He begged and pleased with his arms out in front of him to keep Evil at a distance. Not knowing that his pleas were upon a cold heart and a deaf ear. Evil raised the machete high in the air and came down on the thug’s arm and chopping his arm right off, “Ahhh!” The thug screamed as blood gushed out of his detached arm.
Evil came down again on the thug’s leg chopping it off at the knee, “Ahhh!” He screamed from the pain and saw it only being held together by just a piece of skin. The young thug turned on to his stomach and started crawling away using his good arm as his girl watched in horror as her man made his way to her legs where she was laying on the ground.
“Help me! Help me!” He said in a weak voice. Evil walked up to him and took off the young thug’s fitted hat and bent down and said,
“You know my rule.” Evil stood back up and swung the machete with all his might and came down on the young thug’s neck. Evil kept swinging the machete at his neck until his head rolled off. He picked up the head and placed it in a bag.
He turned and looked at the frightened woman covered in her man’s blood. One of her eyes was swollen shut so she looked at Evil with her good eye. Evil put his bloody hand to his lips and motioned her to be quiet. She knew better than to talk about what happened. She knew Evil would never hit a woman, but we would kill one if he had to.
Michael Ice, Jr., or better known as Evil, walked down the street with a smile on his face, his bag in one hand, and a machete in the other. People around the neighborhood knew the rules he had. No hitting on woman in his neighborhood. It didn’t matter what age or what they did. He would not see abuse on anymore woman in his lifetime again.
In the shadows, a man with a scar on his face watched the whole thing while smoking on a cigarette stuffed with crack. He smiled as he watched what the young man did to that thug. It wasn’t because he was protecting that woman, but because of the mayhem and the life he took so easily. He inhaled the cigarette and laughed to himself, “Like father, like son.” He said and disappeared into the shadows.
Michael Ice, Jr. jumped into a white GS
Lexus and drove to a house in Flatbush, Brooklyn.
His mind was playing tricks on him as he thought about what he had just done. He could still see the young thug screaming and begging for his life as he swung the machete. It wasn’t his first time killing.
He had done it many times before. There was something in him he could not fight. “Damn you, Black Ice. It’s your blood in me that got me like this. But I swear I won’t be like you. I swear.”
Michael yelled as a tear ran down his eye and hit the steering wheel. He grabbed the bag and walked up to the house, unlocked the door, and walked in.
No one knew of this house it was one of the many properties Black Ice had owned. The only reason he had found it was because three years ago a letter came in the mail with his name on it. Inside were the title for two houses with his name on it and the set of keys. Michael never told his mother about it and when he went to see the house the things he found changed his life forever. In one house, there were money, guns, and drugs. Michael flushed all the drugs down the toilet. In the second house, were things no man or child should ever see. For many years, there have been rumors of a house that Black Ice had with nothing but body parts stashed in it like trophies. The first time Michael walked in he didn’t know what to make of it. Now, it was like home. Michael walked to one of the rooms and pulled out the young thug’s head and placed in a huge jar with water and put it on the shelf next to all the other victims that had met his blade. There were five rooms in the house and Black Ice had every room built into a giant freezer. There were body parts from all kind of people stuck in jars in every room from eyes to a child’s hand, a man’s dick, and a woman’s nipples, “I can’t believe this.
I’m just like him,” Michael said out loud as he looked around at the body parts he started to collect then left the room and the trophy house.
Michael jumped in his car and was heading home. He parked his car in front of his mother’s house in East Orange, New Jersey. She bought the house ten years ago with some of the money she took out of one of Black Ice’s stash houses. She picked New Jersey because she felt safe and that was a hard feeling to come by, because in her heart she knew Black Ice was still alive. The police never found his body on the day he came to kill her and Janet and knowing that had her living in fear for years. At some point during the ten tears, Rachel would relapse every once in a while and would smoke crack. Michael would wander the streets for days until he found her and brought her back home.
As Michael entered his mother’s house, his mind raced back to the first time he killed someone.
Rachel was missing for four weeks leaving Michael with her cousin. Michael cried as he stared at the door waiting for her to come back home. Janet walked up behind him and touched his shoulder on his twelve year old frame, “Don’t worry Michael, she’ll be back.”
“No, we have to find her, she’s need me,”
Michael said in a whisper never letting his eyes leave the door.
“But Michael, we looked everywhere and still can’t find her. Go to bed and we’ll try to look for her again tomorrow. Ok?”
Michael just turned his head and looked Janet in the eyes. A chill went through her body as flashbacks of Black Ice kicking and beating her almost to death and then killing the love of her life, Jay. She loved Michael, but couldn’t bear to look at him in his eyes no more. He had the cold stare of his father in them. She slowly backed away and went to her room and lay on her bed crying and thinking of that deadly day.
“I can’t sleep and I won’t until I find you mommy. I swear,” Michael rushed into his room and reached up under his bed where he kept a small machete. Then crept in his mother’s room and went in her closet and found a box. In the box was a 3.80
and a 9 mm Michael always knew where his mother hid her guns. He didn’t know how, but he just did.
He put the 3.80 and the small machete into the book bag and left the house.
Michael and Janet had been searching four weeks for his mother all over New Jersey. Michael knew there was only one place she could be. He left the house without Janet hearing or seeing him.
He walked down the block with only one goal on his mind finding his mother. He saw a cab and waved his hand for him to stop. The white cab pulled over and Michael hopped in. The tall light skin driver looked back at him. “Aren’t you too young to be out this late boy?” he spoke before his eyes met Michaels. But when they did, it sent a chill through his body as if he could see and feel the evil in them.
“I’m not a boy. I am a young man and just take me to the path train in New York. That’s the only business you need to worry about. The driver turned his head and took off. Once at the path train, Michael paid the driver and hopped out of the car.
He jumped on the path train heading to New York,
“I’ll find you, mommy. I’ll find you I swear,”
Michael said the words over and over in his head.
He got on the four train and switched over to the three train. He got off at Saratoga Avenue in Brownsville Brooklyn. It was 2am and the streets were still full with young and old drug dealers and sexy women trying to get fast money from them and crack heads everywhere buying crack and finding ways to make money to buy crack. Michael looked around. It had been years since he’d been on the streets of Brooklyn, but for some reason he felt at home. No one said nothing to him or ask him why he was out so late. He noticed in Brooklyn no one cared that there were kids younger than him out running the streets. Babies were in nothing but diapers running up and down the sidewalk, while their mothers sat on the front steps smoking weed.
Michael walked five blocks down and turned right until he seen any alleyway he remembered his mother telling him about how his father killed her uncle for hurting her. Michael hid in the shadows of the night. His dark skin complexion helped him well as he watched a young thug in his twenties that came out of the alleyway. He was pulling up his jeans and to follow behind him was a young girl that looked to be no older than thirteen, “You going to give me what you promised right?” The young girl had asked while pulling up her jeans and wiping the cum off the side of her mouth.
“Shut up, I said I got you bitch,” the young thug yelled while digging in his pocket and pulled out three jars crack and one bag of weed and passed it to her. “I think this is too much to give your ass, but your head is good. That’s the only reason, but don’t think you will get this all the fucking time,”
the young thug yelled.
“But you promised me one more dime of crack. This won’t last long for me and my mother.”
Smack! The young thug smacked the girl so hard she fell to the ground. “Now, get up and get the fuck off my block.”
The young girl held her face while tears ran down her cheeks as she got up and ran off the block.
The young thug stood there laughing as another crack head came into the alleyway and he gave him four dimes of crack for forty dollars.
Michael stood in the shadows with his heart racing, not out of fear, but anger as his mind flashed back. All he could see was his father’s face beating his mother kicking her while she lay on the floor helpless. Michael snapped back into reality when he heard a woman’s voice, “Let me get six dimes.