out whoâd once convinced his best friend to rob a pawnshop on Third Street. The owner was a mean something who didnât believe in giving up his money without a fight. He locked the door and commenced to beating Baby Dee and his friend with a baseball bat. They pulled the plug on his friend a week later at Good Samaritan.
It had always been a mystery to Donavan why a smart college student like Mark Smith still hung around JC. Sure, they had been best friends throughout high school, but Mark was in his third year of college. JC was on his third felony. Absolutely no future in that friendship.
âMan, my scholarship is busted. If I donât get some money quick, I can forget about graduating next year.â
So that was it. Mark needs money, so he came to the thug-and-loan for help. Good luck cashing that check.
JC looked toward Donavan. âHey, Shortie. Can I catch up with you later? Me and my boys got business to discuss.â
âIâm staying.â Donavan wouldnât be put off. âMark needs money, and so do I. If youâve got a solution other than pulling the lint out of your pockets, I want to hear it.â
JC laughed. âAll right, Shortie. Iâll cut you in.â
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A young girl and her baby were hugged close together on the dirty brown carpet of a crack house on Fifth Street. She had a pipe in her left hand. The baby lay crying, cradled in the crevice of her other arm. The pipe was receiving more attention than the baby.
An old gray-headed man slumped against the wall next to her. The dirty pipe he held looked more like an extended member of his dirty hand.
Donavan stood in front of ten pounds of gold chains with a VCR in his hands. He looked around the room. It was empty except for a chipped and stained wooden table with three padded chairs and a pullout drawer underneath the table top. âI want to trade this VCR,â Donavan said after taking in his surroundings.
âI canât touch it, young blood. I got too many VCRs as it is,â Mr. T, the gold chain wearing drug dealer said.
This was Baby Deeâs bright idea.â Letâs rob the crack house down the street and split the money .â The baseball bat beating probably shook loose the last good brain cells the boy had, and here he was following the counsel of a brain dead dummy. â You go in and distract him, Donavan. Weâll bum rush him before he knows whatâs up .â
âBut itâs all Iâve got. Come on man ... I need this,â Donavan begged.
âCash money, man. You think my supplierâs gonâ take a VCR when he comes collecting his money?â
Donavan stood there for a moment longer. Sweat ran down his forehead as he gave his best imitation of a body twitch. The boy was good. Looked like a regular crackhead. His eyes pleaded with Mr. T. âI need it, man.â
âAll right, all right.â He eyed his customerâs arm. âGimme that gold watch, and you can get your high on.â
Not just any watch, but a sixth grade graduation present from his dad. Donavan looked at the gold band. His dad had even had it inscribed âGod is great in you, but the watch was a lie. His father was a liar too. He needed the money JC promised. He was thinking about running away and everyone knows that a runaway needed money to set out on his own. If he had to steal to get it, who could blame him? He was just following in his old manâs footsteps. Donavan unlatched the watch and slowly handed it over to the dope man, Mr. T. âIâm gonna buy this back from you. Okay?â
Mr. T read the inscription and laughed out loud as he handed his customer his medicine. As Donavan reached out for his ounce of pleasure, JC and Baby Dee rushed Mr. T.
They shoved the dope man against the wall. Baby Dee stood in front of Mr. T with his gun trained on his chest. JC positioned himself next to the victim, his gun at the manâs
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