Anything for Profit 2: Nothing to Lose (15 page)

$$$

Mike arrived at the detention center in extreme pain. The ride over from the hospital had been a grueling experience. Every bump and turn caused Mike to close his eyes and grimace. Metal shackles around his ankles bound his legs together and the tight handcuffs around his wrists restricted the movement of his hands. The restraints were completely unnecessary, but Detective Patterson had insisted upon them being used during the transport. He claimed that Mike was a ‘flight risk’.

Once Mike was out of the dark blue police van, Patterson ceded authority to the detention center officials. “They’re gonna take real good care of you here Mike,” Patterson said sardonically. The Detective bent forward. “Just remember if you got any info for me that I can use to make sure and let me know, now. I’ll make sure to put in a good word to the judge for you,” he whispered into Mike’s ear before showing his stained teeth and winking at him. Mike didn’t even bother to respond. He just wanted to get out of the biting December cold. He only had on the thin hospital gown he’d left the hospital with and the cold air had him shivering. Not to mention, it aggravated his injuries.

Under the hospital gown thick white bandages covered the open wounds where doctors had extracted the high caliber missiles that had penetrated his body, and wreaked havoc upon his internal organs. Mike’s stomach looked like a zipper. He had staples stretching from his navel to his chest. There were also several bullet holes in various places all over his body that had yet to fully heal. Mike was in pain physically but it paled in comparison to the mental anguish he was experiencing. Nikki was dead. And so was their unborn son who’d been growing inside of her womb. He felt numb as he was finally rolled through a series of heavy steel automatic doors that led into the bowels of the beast; a savage beast that devoured its youth in the name of
in
justice and profit.

The C.O.s wheeled him through more automatic doors before they stopped inside of the sally port and waited to be buzzed into the reception area. Once inside, his restraints were removed and the dehumanizing process known as intake began. Mike heard his name being hollered out from some of the inmates in various holding tanks. A lot of the prisoners already knew Mike from the streets. Those that didn’t know him personally, had been seeing his face all over the news for the past couple of weeks after the shooting downtown. From the jail cells to the streets; everybody had been talking about that shit. It was ironic that the same incident that had snatched his girlfriend and unborn child from his life had also made him even more infamous and respected on the streets of Greenville. It wasn’t the fact that he’d been shot that the streets respected. That wasn’t anything special. People get shot all the time in the hood. It was the fact that he had
survived
.

After being searched, fingerprinted, having his mug shot taken and being given a wristband with his name and I.D. number on it, Mike was rolled even deeper into the labyrinth that was the detention center. The corridors that led to the infirmary unit where he would be confined were brightly lit. The inmates and staff looked on as he passed by.

When his wheelchair was finally brought to a stop, Mike was sitting in front of the nurse’s booth in the infirmary. “Hey Lisa, got another one for ya!” the C.O. yelled out. Mike glanced up into the glass booth at the nurses who were busying themselves preparing for the many duties of their shift. A light brown skinned woman stopped what she was doing and looked up. She came out of the nurse’s station and exchanged a few words with the C.O. before taking a thick folder from him. Mike assumed those were his medical records from the hospital. He just sat there in his wheelchair looking on. His body was wracked with pain, but he refused to show it or cry out for help. No, he needed that pain. The constant reminder of his loss kept him focused on the only word in his vocabulary that made any sense to him right now: revenge.

God knows Mike had wanted to start a new life and leave the street shit alone. Lord knows he had. That wasn’t even an option now that Nikki was dead. What was so crazy was that he hadn’t even been looking for love. “The only wife of mine is a life of crime,” was an old Jay-Z line that Mike and Ant D had both adopted as their mantra. And they had lived it to the utmost. Mike had vowed to never fall in love or catch feelings for any female while he was still knee deep in the streets.

Then he’d run into Nikki at Cleveland Park one Sunday afternoon. Nikki hadn’t been anything like the other bird bitches from the hood that Mike was used to fucking with. She was intelligent, beautiful and had class. She knew what she wanted out of life and was going after it. Nikki quickly became a part of Mike’s life and Hov’s lyric quickly became an afterthought.

Over time, Mike had eventually opened up to Nikki; sharing parts of his life with her that he had never discussed with anyone. They shared an intimacy that he’d never experienced with anybody else. Mike had been abandoned as an infant and raised by the state. His entire life he’d felt a huge void, as if something was missing. Nikki filled that void. She had been that missing piece. She didn’t judge him or try to change him. He didn’t feel the need to be hard around her all the time. When they were together, he allowed himself to smile and be vulnerable. Then she’d broken the news to him that he was going to be a father. He’d been ecstatic. A father; he’d get a chance to be something nobody had ever bothered to be to him.

Nikki had become his heart. In a hail of gunfire that was over within a matter of seconds, niggas had viciously ripped his heart out of his fucking chest. And it hurt. Having finally experienced what it was like to be loved unconditionally by a woman like that only made the pain worse now that it was gone. The perception in society was that criminals were emotionless animals but even the hardest, most ruthless killer had somebody in their lives that they loved and cared about. Nikki…

Mike felt even colder and more ruthless now. He was past giving a fuck about anything but seeing the people responsible for his loss to experience the same hurt he felt. He’d already been dead twice so what else could they possibly do to him? Kill him again? He smirked at the thought. He had nothing to lose.

Mike’s mind was filled with nefarious thoughts of payback. Unfortunately, they would have to wait. The reality was that he couldn’t even stand up and go to the bathroom on his own. He was still extremely weak from the shooting. On top of that, he’d finally learned what he was being charged with: a double homicide that they claimed he had committed earlier that summer.

The police had done a ballistics test on all of the guns they’d gotten out of his apartment when they’d kicked his door in a few months back. When the results had come back from S.L.E.D. (South Carolina Law Enforcement Division) the pistol had been linked to an unsolved murder of a man and a woman that had taken place in the Crestwood Apartments back in August.

The funny thing about it was that Mike knew he was innocent of the charges because it had happened on the same night he and Ant D had robbed and killed Twan. But how the hell could he explain that he wasn’t guilty of one murder because he’d been somewhere else committing another one!?

Of course at the end of the day, the police really didn’t give a damn one way or the other. As long as the case was closed and it looked like they were doing their jobs, they were satisfied. So Mike had to wait until the judge got back from vacation to see if he’d get a bond. He seriously doubted it. He was already out on bond to begin with and now he was being charged with two counts of murder in the first degree. Shit!

“Nurse, Nurse…” moaned a white man who was sitting off to the side in another wheelchair. Lost in his own thoughts, this was the first time Mike had noticed him. The man was doubled over in pain and had his arms wrapped around himself as he rocked back and forth. “Nurse…” he moaned out again weakly before throwing up some clear fluid. He was obviously sick. Mike could tell from how he looked that it wasn’t from any kind of disease though. He’d been around enough heroin addicts to recognize when a junkie was going through withdrawal. But as long as he didn’t have to share a cell with him, Mike really didn’t give a fuck about that cracker. He had enough problems of his own.

$$$

“Aww man bo! I think I done shitted on ma’self!” Those were the word’s that Mike awoke to on Christmas morning. He was under the covers, but the smell was overpowering. He frowned up his face in disgust. He’d had a habit of sleeping with the covers over his face ever since he was a child. But not even the thick wool blanket he’d been issued couldn’t keep out the foul stench that filled his nostrils that morning
. What the fuck!?
Mike thought. “Gotdamn it, I think I done shitted on myself, bo!” Mike’s cellmate repeated in his deep twang.

“You
think
? What the fuck you mean you
think!?
Ain’t shit to think about you stank, nasty ass muthafucker!” Mike exclaimed from under the blanket. He had protested being put into a cell with a junkie that was sick from the beginning. Unfortunately, there were only three cells that were wheelchair accessible and the other two had already been full.

“Aww man, I couldn’t help it bo. That junk got my insides all messed up. I’m sick man, I’m real sick,” moaned the white man. For a split second Mike almost felt a little sorry for the addict; almost. But his ass was still just laying there in his own feces. Oh hell
fuck
naw!

“Man, what the fuck is wrong wit’ you!? Get yo’ shitty ass up and call fo’ the muhfuckin’ nurse!” Mike barked out angrily. He held his breath and removed the cover from over his head. He watched his cellmate get off his bed and scurry over to the intercom that was by the door. He left a trail of shit in his wake. He pressed the button on the intercom while trying to keep from defecating on himself again.

“
Yes, what’s your emergency?”
the nurse’s voice came from over the intercom.

“Uhh, yes ma’am. Well uhh, I think I just had an accident?” he drawled into the speaker.

“
Sir, what kind of accident?”
asked the nurse, sounding a little annoyed.

“Well, uhh… I kinda doo dooed on ma’self?”

That morning
while Meka and Gloria were in another part of the jail being gassed, Mike was locked in a cell with a heroin junkie whose bowels were looser than a porn star who loved anal. Merry fucking Christmas indeed.

CHAPTER 15

While his mama, sister and best friend languished in the county jail, Ant D was at home going stir crazy. It was the day after Christmas and he needed some shit to get into. Ever since his mama’s home had been shot up a few weeks back, he’d just been sitting around the house, getting high and occasionally bringing a bitch over to the house to fuck. He kept an arsenal of weapons on deck and the coke kept him wired and on point. If his enemies did decide to pay another visit, he’d be ready and they’d be in for a nice surprise. But so far, everything had been real quiet; too quiet. Word on the street was that the war with the Mexicans had Zulu’s hands full. M.B.M. was losing a lot of soldiers to the ruthless Mexican Mafia.

So while he was waiting to get word from Meka on how much it was going to cost to bond her and his mama out, Ant made the decision to get away from the house for a few hours. A quick trip to the Mall to blow some cash would do him some good right about now. Plus, it would put an end to the rumors that he was hiding. Ant smiled. Yeah, a trip to the mall would do him real good right about now.

Of course, there were quite a few dollar signs on Ant’s head. Not to mention the fact that there were several warrants out for his arrest. He wasn’t about to let that keep him from going out though. The way Ant figured, if it was going down then it was going down. But he damn sure wasn’t about to let
nobody
make him a prisoner in his own home. Fuck that! Besides, he didn’t go anywhere without the chopper in the trunk and a Glock on his waist. If the police ran up on him then court would be held in the street over the barrel of a gun. If anybody else ran up on him… then it was whatever. Ant really didn’t give a fuck.

He pulled out a clear plastic baggy that was filled with the purest cocaine on the streets right now. He rolled up a crisp bill with Andrew Jackson’s face on it and took a copious amount of coke up each nostril before stepping out of the house. “Fuck these niggas,” he mumbled to himself.

Ant D pulled up to Haywood Mall in his candy coated flip flop Corvette, with his windows down, blasting that new DJ Khaled, “I’m So Hood.” The baseline from the song vibrated the pavement as T-Pain’s auto tuned voice sang the hook: “I’m so hood/ I wear my pants below my waist and I never dance when I’m in this place/ cuz you and your man are planning to hate…” More than a few patrons exiting the mall had to do a double take at the spectacle Ant was creating with his loud music and even more conspicuous car. He rode slowly through the parking lot relishing the attention he was receiving, before finally pulling into a parking space close to the food court entrance.

The Lamborghini door on the driver side slid up and Ant got out of the smooth black leather interior of his seventy-five thousand dollar customized vehicle. It was a little chilly that afternoon, but the sun was shining, causing the diamonds in Ant’s chain and ring to glisten. He had on a black Pelle Pelle jacket and an oversized thermal. His jeans were designer and of course his limited edition J’s were fresh.