Read Online Cracked Dreams by Michael Daniel Baptiste - Free Book Online Page A

huh?” asked Poncho with a black Tec-9 at the side of Roscoe’s head.
    â€œNo, please,” pleaded Roscoe with his shirt drenched in sweat and hisface covered with blood. “I never once stole anything from you. I swear it.”
    â€œUh-huh, you a lyin’ mu’fucka, ain’t you?” asked Poncho. “You tried to be slick, but we got ya fuckin’ pussy ass now though.”
    â€œNo, I didn’t. Please, you have to believe me. Don, please tell him I’d never do something like that,” he said to El Don, as if he could get sympathy from him.
    â€œOh, you wouldn’t, huh?” Don asked. He walked over to them and took the Tec-9 from Poncho, lowered it away from Roscoe’s head, and then he lifted it back up quickly, swinging it across Roscoe’s face in a downward motion. “Why the fuck should we believe you?”
    â€œIt wasn’t me. I swear it wasn’t me,” he went on with his mouth now full of blood and running down his jaw.
    As Roscoe continued to profess his respect for the Time Bomb Family, and how he could never have done what they were accusing him of, Poncho pulled Don to the side as if trying to conceal the topic of conversation. When he felt they’d put enough space between them and Roscoe he questioned him in a voice that didn’t suggest he was trying to keep him from hearing anything at all. “What you want to do with him?” asked Poncho to El Don.
    Roscoe stopped pleading while El considered a suitable punishment. As he looked around the room, he could see no exit available for the situation they had him in. He was on his knees tied to a heater in the corner of a room in what seemed to be an abandoned building. He was also left clueless as to his location due to the boards on the window. It would’ve been completely pitch black if not for the flashlights they had. His strength was fading; he wouldn’t be able to take much more beating. His mind was racing and he didn’t know what to do, until he came to the conclusion that there was nothing he could do . . .but listen, and wait for his fate.
    â€œI don’t know,” El answered, pausing, and then taking a glance at Roscoe until his attention was at its peak. “We could cut off the nigga balls and feed those shits to him. Or we could pull out the nigga’s fingernails with a pair of pliers and shit. Or we could take his ass down in the basement and feed him to the mu’fuckin’ rats.”
    As Don went on and on about the different things they could do to Roscoebefore putting him out of his misery, he began to grow more and more terrified. He couldn’t take it anymore. He was ready to tell them everything he knew with the small chance that they might let him go, or probably just kill him quickly. Even as he was ready to talk, his hesitation left El enough time to figure out the perfect way to make him talk. He left the room and when he returned, he had a grin on his face that would’ve done the job all by itself and in his hands a canister of gasoline. After lighting a cigarette he walked over to Roscoe and began pouring the gasoline all over him and on the walls next to him. His attempts to halt El’s actions went unanswered until the canister was completely empty. When he felt Roscoe was ready to tell all, he got down on a knee and let him sing the song in his ear. As the information began to flow, Roscoe asked that if he told, that they’d just kill him quickly and El agreed. When the questioning came to an end, El walked away from Roscoe while he was still dripping gasoline, and went over to Poncho. They conversed for a moment amongst themselves as Roscoe sat silently, watching, waiting for his death.
    â€œWhat are these fuckin’ bastards talking about?” he asked himself as he began to get impatient. He knew his fate was leading toward his demise, and it was just killing him to wait any longer. It was