The Grind Don't Stop
Read The Grind Don't Stop Online
Authors: L. E. Newell
Also by L.E. Newell
Durty South Grind
Strebor Books
New York London Toronto Sydney
Strebor Books
P.O. Box 6505
Largo, MD 20792
http://www.streborbooks.com
www.Simonschuster.com
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are
products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance
to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
© 2011 by L.E. Newell
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means whatsoever. For information address Strebor Books, P.O. Box 6505, Largo, MD 20792.
ISBN 978-1-59309-364-8
ISBN 978-1-4516-1771-9 (ebook)
LCCN 2011928058
First Strebor Books trade paperback edition January 2012
Cover design:
www.mariondesigns.com
Cover photograph: © Keith Saunders/Marion Designs
The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event. For more information or to book an event, contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website at
www.simonspeakers.com
.
To my brother James “Jimmy” Newell Jr.,
and the real love of my life, my mama, Mama Marion
Chapter One: As The Hood Turns
Chapter Two: The Game Heats Up
Chapter Three: A Hustler'S Dilemma
Chapter Four: Even Good Girls Gotta Have It
Chapter Five: Scamming The Scammer
Chapter Six: The Freaks Come Out at Night
Chapter Seven: Snazzy Bitches on the Prowl
Chapter Eight: Get Back Times So Sweet
Chapter Nine: Bang-Bang, Things Heat Up
Chapter Ten: Dealing with Scoundrels
Chapter Eleven: Hunters on the Prowl
Chapter Twelve: Enjoying the Spoils
Chapter Thirteen: The Hunters and the Hunted
Chapter Fourteen: Nitty-Gritty Time
Chapter Fifteen: Chasing the Hunters
Chapter Sixteen: The Shâ Hits the Fan
First of all, I'd like to thank GOD for not allowing me to give up on myselfâfor inspiring and continuing to inspire me through the trials and tribulations to keep pursuing my dream. For without GOD's guidance I couldn't have developed one word, one sentence, phrase or idea toward the beginning and the ending of this project.
I'd also like to thank my mama, Mama Marionâhow she likes to be calledâfor birthing me and my sisters, Janet and Debra, who have continued to support me despite my hard-headedness to do the right thing; and my brothers, Jimmy and Mike. I'd also like to thank my nephews and nieces who've stuck by me, too.
To Robert, we call him Bobby, “Hollywood” Washington; you would, too, if you ever met him. He's a character, my main man, adviser and manager, who has certainly played a pivotal role in getting all this done.
To my buddies from back in the day, who traveled hand in hand through the triumphs and failures of surviving the street life. I choose to leave them unnamed for obvious reasons.
Special thanks goes out to all the writers I have used to teach me about how to write by reading their works over and over again until I got it right. Nikki Turner, Zane, Michael Baisden, Omar Tyree and countless others. Oh yeah, and Charmaine Parker, thanks, lady. Thanks, guys and gals, for without your brilliant styles I wouldn't have been able to develop my own.
And finally to Sister Michelle Renee Donaldson, my inspirational adviser, who has continuously encouraged me throughout the years that I could accomplish whatever I set out to do despite the odds as long as I put GOD first and foremost in my life. She's always saying that GOD is in my corner and heart, and with Him, all things are possible. Thanks, Chelle, you are wonderful.
S
parkle's breath came in raspy gasps in the stifling humidity as he struggled to keep his footing with each uncertain step in the soggy terrain. The light breeze slithering through the dense foliage gave him little comfort as he swiped at the sweat that stung his eyes as it rolled down his face. His knees ached from what seemed like hours of squatting on the sloped embankment. He needed to keep out of sight of the passing cars and late-night strollers along the sidewalk some twenty yards away.
The pungent odor of damp, dead vines and tree roots had him bending over on the verge of puking several times as he waited patiently for his boy Rainbow's signal. They'd split up after entering the mini jungle. He sighed in anguish, silently cursing the spur of the moment plan. But let Rainbow tell it and he'd swear to God it was one of his most masterful ones; as he did with all of his crazy ideas.
One look around and it was obvious that it definitely wasn't. But naw, I had to go on this crazy shit with him anyway, even when I knew it was fucked up. As far as he was concerned they could've easily walked into the club and blasted Black Don's grimy ass, gangster style, for all the static he'd caused them lately. Imagining the wannabe godfather's gorilla grit dissolving into a bitchy sob as he blasted his kneecaps with nine-millimeter pellets was like a rush of top-grade cocaine.
Sparkle leaned against a slimy tree, flexed his legs and moaned under his breath. Suddenly he jerked toward a flicker of light from the other side of the house. Shifting around for a better view, he slipped twice in the muddy leaves and branches, cursing angrily when his boots got snagged by some thorny vines.
The more he tried to free himself, the more his anxiety mounted. He began concentrating on any movements wondering if Rainbow was signaling him or if it was a reflection off of some shiny object like a car bumper. Worse still, was it his imagination playing paranoia tricks from the effects of the cocaine he'd snorted earlier?
He wasn't sure, so he got on his hands and knees and crawled closer. Almost immediately his black fatigues got snagged by the thick vines. Grimacing, he tried to jerk free. “Aw fuck,” he cried out when a thick branch whacked him violently across the face. His trembling hand cupped his mouth as the pain shot sharply down his neck.
Gagging from the repulsive taste of acrid mud that coated his tongue, he grimaced. “Godayum, Nnnngggg.” He grunted as mucus shot from his nose. He grinded his teeth in pain.
“Yo, man, you aight over dere?” Rainbow's voice whispered through the tingling in his ears from several yards away.
Sparkle jerked toward the sound, not realizing that he was that close. He blinked several times before he was able to focus on the look of concern on his boy's face. Sparkle muttered through clenched teeth, “Yeah dog, I'm aight.”
“Whatcha say, man? You've gotta speak up.” Rainbow hissed as he edged closer.
“I said that I'm aight.”
“Don't sound like you aight.”
Sparkle moaned in a strained voice, “Shit, man, I could've sworn you gave the signal from over yonder dere.” He nodded to
the other side of the house and rubbed vigorously between his eyes. “Dayum, dog, this coke's got me tripping, seeing all kinds of stuff. You sure you want to do this here, this way, because I'm jittery as hell,” he stuttered through the pain.
Feeling the stress himself, Rainbow scratched his chin with his thumb. But since they were out there now he felt they might as well get it over with. He turned away from Sparkle's strained expression and looked toward the house. He noticed an eerie mistiness developing.
A watery-eyed Sparkle, still grimacing, flinched when he saw Rainbow's shoulders tense. The pain was all but forgotten as he followed his gaze toward movement in the backyard. They gave one another an intense look before they began creeping on their hands and knees toward the edge of the woods for a better look. Their senses dulled to the slaps of wet branches and sharp thorns as they went on full alert. Both of them flinched when the metallic click from cocking their guns echoed through the night air. Anxious to blast away, their eagerness faded when a lone figure emerged into the halo of light glowing from the open doorway. Simultaneously, they snorted with disappointment as a middle-aged lady wearing a flowery apron wrapped around her rounded waist dropped a garbage bag beside an overflowing trash bin.
Rainbow bumped Sparkle's slumped shoulder and cursed in a low voice full of tension. “Aw godayum, man, who da hell is that?”
Sparkle wheezed just as confused and his disappointment quickly turned into a sigh of relief. He was disappointed it wasn't Black Don so they could've gotten this thing over with once and for all, and he was relieved they hadn't opened fire on the old lady. He tapped Rainbow on the shoulder and nodded toward the way they had entered. It was time for them to make their retreat.
Rainbow heaved with his mouth turned down in disgust, before
resigning to the inevitable, then nodded in agreement. They crept silently towards the embankment, maneuvering carefully around and over the jagged rocks and jutting vines. The stench of the rotten foliage was less bearable and the muddy footing added to their discomfort. They cursed continuously on the descent down the messy slope, slipping and sliding, scraping their elbows, hands and knees before eventually making it to the sidewalk.
Sweaty, bruised, exhausted and frustrated, they mumbled and grumbled, wiping mud and picking twigs off their black fatigues. They made their way toward Rainbow's low-rider Chevy pickup truck. They pressed their guns along their thighs, tense and ready to fire at the slightest target as they turned the bend of the winding road. Once the truck came into view, they became even more anxious and started jerking their heads back and forth, aiming wildly into the darkness.
They finally made it to the truck parked a quarter of a mile down the dark, forbidden road. Wheezing heavy with frustration, they laid their weary necks on the headrests. An eerie mist of rain started settling on the windshield and added to the gloominess.