Prologue to Detroit Cracked - Book One

                               

                            Prologue to Detroit Cracked - Book One
                                    By: Marsell Morris (Mojo)


    …After parking his car on the far end of the parking lot, JC went inside the liquor store to buy a can of orange soda. Back outside, he took up a position in front of the store not far from the entrance, and leaned back with one foot propped against the wall while sipping his pop, and trying to look casual. There was a partly cloudy sky overhead, and a warm, gentle, breeze blowing, making for a perfect early summer afternoon. He was hoping to sell these last few rocks before going to the clothing store to purchase that designer leather jacket he wanted.
    "Rocks here," JC repeated in a whisper as the liquor store customers passed in front of him. A few people gave him strange looks or ignored him all together, but there were those who stopped to see what he had. When shown the small dime's he was selling, they moved on. 
      It’s going to be a slow day, JC thought, as several more people passed  while giving him side long glances.  He was about to finish his drink and find another location when an older woman, who looked as if she might be a smoker, staggered slightly as she approached.
    "Rocks here," JC said, to the middle-aged woman, who looked to be more than slightly intoxicated. 
    "Yeah baaaby, what you selling?" the older woman asked, while breathing hard as she stopped in front of him, her uncombed hair blowing in the light summer breeze.  She was dressed in a dirty blue jogging suite with a stained, once white, T-shirt underneath the jacket. Two rusty ankles topped her soiled sneakers with the shoestrings untied. A hint of a stain in the crotch of her pants indicated she might have urinated on herself at some time.
    "I’ve got some nice dimes, how many you want?" JC asked the woman.
    The woman weaved a touch and stood looking at JC as if trying to get her thoughts together, and then began searching her pockets for money. "Let me see how much money I got, baby. I know I got it here somewhere," she responded, as she reached into her baggy sweatpants pocket, and pulled out a few crumpled dollars, and continued to search for change.
    JC was beginning to regret stopping her. She was taking too long to get her money together, and he felt he was missing chances to sell to other customers. "Come on lady, I can't wait on you all night, you costing me money," JC urged, as he watched another customer pass him on the way into the store.
    "Here, sweetie, give me one dime," the woman said, while holding out a hand full of crumpled singles and a few cents in change.
    "What the hell?  How much you got here? I don't take change anyway," JC protested, as he took the cash from the woman, and counted all $7.37 of it. "Hell no, I don't go short, and I don't take change," JC said, as he attempted to give back the money.
    "Aw, don't be that way baby, I ain’t but a little short. I’ll take care of you the next time I see you. Besides, sweetie, your dimes is kind of small. Why don't you let me go for five, so I can buy me a half-shot?" the beleaguered woman persisted while not accepting the return of the money.
                                                      ———
    Unknown to JC, as he negotiated with the woman, he was being watched by two men in an old car parked in the lot across from him.
    "Hey Benny, I think that’s the mutha who sold me those peanuts bout a week ago,” Willie told his buddy while sitting his half-cup of gin on the dash, “hold on a minute, I'm gonna get my money back from that punk.”
    "Taking the gun?" Benny asked, while reaching under his seat to retrieve the deadly pistol. The men had been riding around with the gun all day and were looking for a reason to use it.
    "No, I'll be back for it if he gives me any crap.”
                                                        ———
    Willie, a small man in his late twenties, had a chip on his shoulder, he being five-five, and self-conscious about his height, had the short man’s, or Napoleon complex. He was always trying to prove how much of a man he was — trying to show that he took no crap from anyone. Having the gun in his possession, combined with the mind numbing gin, made him even more belligerent. Factor in his height complex with his quick temper, and he was a very dangerous individual to cross.
                                                        ———
    Willie got out of the car, crossed the lot, and approached JC. He had to hold up his baggy jeans with one hand and walked wide legged to keep them from dropping lower than they already were.
    "Member me, I bought them dimes from you bout a week ago. They was peanuts. I wants my money back, all fifty dollars of it," Willie demanded, as he stepped up to JC and interrupting the conversation with the older woman.
   
    JC, after sizing up Willie, and knowing he had his snub nosed Smith & Wesson .38 tucked in the small of his back, told the smaller man, "I don't know who the hell you are, and I don't sell peanuts. You best to get the hell out of my grill."
    "Word, playa" Willie responded, as he turned to go back to his car, and the gun. He was livid, and wasn’t about to let this punk mutha talk to him that way. This mutha don't know who he’s talking to, he thought.
   
    JC knew there was a good chance something like this could happen. He was a little shaken. This was the first time anyone he'd gypped had confronted him. He couldn’t remember Willie, but knew the man was probably not lying. He'd sold bogus rocks to so many people there was no way he could remember all of them.

    The old woman, who was trying to buy from him, and who'd heard the exchange, decided to take her money and leave. JC thought it a good idea if he did the same. He began to walk toward his car he now regretted parking on the far end of the lot. As he walked, he watched Willie return to his vehicle and get in on the passenger side. The old car’s ancient engine started with the muffler a little louder than normal, and a faint blast of white smoke coming from the rusted tail pipe.

    While looking back over his shoulder, JC still had a distance to go before he reached his vehicle. And by the way the shorter man walked away without an argument, he knew the man wasn’t finished with the subject.

    The car, with Benny driving, eased out of the parking space, and came in JC's direction. JC watched as the vehicle approached him, but kept walking. He thought about running the remainder of the distance to his car, and probably could have made it, or at least found cover if he made his move now, but something in him wouldn’t let him show fear. He stopped and turned to face the car as it came. He reached behind himself, and put his hand on the small pistol as the car continued towards him, rolling slowly, its engine rumbling.
    Willie had the window down and was staring at JC with a frown on his face, with determination in his eyes. As the car moved slowly toward JC, he and Willie almost abreast of each other, locked eyes, both watching mutually. It was obvious some real bad crap was about to happen. JC, seeing the look on the man's face, knew he might have made a tactical error. The man in the car had a slight advantage because JC couldn't see his hands.
                                                        ———
    To the men, what was about to happen seemed to take several minutes, but actually took less than a few seconds. It's funny how in a crisis time seems to slow down.
                                                        ———
    JC began to panic, his mind racing, but not able to make a decision.
    Should I pull my gun now and start blasting before we gets next to each other — or should I wait to find out what they’re going to do — or should I duck behind another car like a scared punk — or should I stand my ground, show these sissies I don't play?
    All those thoughts passed through his mind in a flash. His hand on the small pistol at his back made his decision for him.
    I ain’t running. Come on... Come on, mutha, he thought, I got a surprise for you.
    He was thinking they might get out of the car, rough him up a little, and try to rob him — he was wrong.

    Knowing he was at a disadvantage, JC began to make his move as the men came abreast each other. His hand tightened on the grip of the small pistol, and he began to pull it from his waistband.

    Willie saw JC with his hand behind him, and observed the small motion that indicated his intentions. Willie raised his cocked pistol from below the window, pointed it towards JC's chest, and squeezed off two rounds from the stolen Glock .45 autoloader, a powerful firearm. The blast from the pistol was louder than he expected, causing his ears to ring.

    JC had no chance. It all happened before he could clear the barrel of his pistol from the waistband of his pants. He was sent flying backward from the impact of the two hollow pointed slugs. The two bullets hammered JC's chest with a combined weight of close to four hundred pounds apiece, knocking the wind out of him and ripping two holes in his lungs. He hit the pavement on his back, more dead than alive, and with his hand still behind his back. A third shot missed his head by inches and ricocheted off the concrete, making a high pitched whirling sound, and lodged in the side of a parked car. Willie was going to fire a fourth, but didn't have a chance. As soon as he began shooting, Benny panicked, and stepped on the accelerator and the car while belching white smoke, sped away, leaving the parking lot almost on two wheels, the tires screaming as it turned onto the street.

    JC, while looking up at the partly cloudy blue sky, his hand still behind his back, was circling the drain. During the last few tics of his short pathetic life, several thoughts went through his mind...

    This don't hurt too bad...

    Tic...

    Sure wish I could breath, though...

    Toc...

    Mom sure was right… she said something like this was going to happen before she kicked me out of the house after trying to get me straighten up. I sure wish I'd listened to her… Ha, too late now…  When I get out of the hospital, I'm going to find that mutha and shoot him between the eyes…

    Tic...

    Damn, I sure wish I could breath...

    Toc...

    I know, I’ll get some sleep, and when I wake up, I should be able to breathe better...

    Tic...

    JC closed his eyes and rattled his last half breath.

    Toc.

    JC's rock rolling days were over…