The Face That Launched A Thousand Bullets (The Cartel Publications Presents) (2 page)

Mayor Christian Gibson

Washington D.C., August of 1988

White Lies

M
ayor Christian Gibson of Washington D.C. stared at the large yellow envelope on his mahogany desk with a hopeful heart. Nestled inside were the long-awaited yearly crime statistics for the condition of his city. Perspiration dressed his ginger-colored face, and he attempted to soothe his dry mouth by swallowing his own saliva. To say he was apprehensive about its contents was an understatement.

Everything was on the line, his job, his rep and most of all his future. The mayor desired nothing more than to be re-elected. Still, he made huge promises and everyone wanted follow through for a safer city, and only those results could prove it.

When she walked out and closed the door behind her, he grabbed the letter opener with the brass handle and unfastened the envelope slowly. Before even looking at the documents, he took a deep breath and looked around his office.

Awards of the accomplishments he had achieved adorned the walls. Mayor Gibson was sworn into office in 1979 and had achieved way more in Chocolate City than the mayor prior. He loved his career and the citizens more than he did his own life. But, even he fell victim to the woes of a prosperous city.

The report shook in his hands as he skimmed through it for what he wanted and needed to see. His eyes searched wildly until he found exactly what he was looking for. He was no fool. He knew that crime strong-armed the capital with a tight-fisted grip. But he hoped it wasn’t as bad. In fact, he prayed it wasn’t.

“Dear God”, he said aloud. Based on what he was seeing, there had been a 30% spike in crime under his watch. He had failed. His opponents would eat him alive with those numbers and he knew it! His chest heaved a sigh of resignation and he fell into the soft leather chair.

Before crack ran as rampantly as a serial killer through D.C., the nation’s capital was a place to be respected. And now it was nothing more than a jungle with human animals running around waiting to be extinct.

Opening his bottom drawer, he pulled out a locked grey box and flopped it on the desk in front of him. He needed to feel something outside of the colossal failure that loomed over his head. Lifting his keyboard, he removed a small silver key to unlock the box. Once open, he removed a black velvet bag and placed it down carefully before him.

The mayor’s heart raced and he licked his lips as if he were looking at a sexy ass woman. Before indulging, he looked at the door once more to be sure it was closed. When he was certain it was, he cautiously untied the satchel, revealing what was inside. Carefully, he removed a small plastic bag filled with cocaine, a mirror and his business card.

He licked his lips once more, anticipating the high, as he poured the white powder on the mirror and divided it into lines. His reflection bothered him momentarily. What had he become? Once a soldier on the battlefield, now he had taken sides with the enemy. He knew firsthand the power the drug had on the body when the mind was weak and he chose to battle with it anyway.

How could he possibly fight the war on drugs when he was aiding in its future? But right now…for that second, nothing else mattered. Bending down slowly he inhaled the poison that theoretically fucked his city over and over again. He reveled in its power.

And as long as he remained in command, D.C…was doomed.

Crayland Bailor

West Baltimore, 1988

For The Love Of Power

O
utside of the grungy snow on the ground, nothing in the air reminded people in Bmore that Christmas was right around the corner. It was just a characteristic gutter morning on Liberty Heights avenue. Cars whizzed up and down the busy city street while dealers moved their product with vigor. Behind the doors of a run-down apartment, which blended in well with the sense of despair in the neighborhood, sat a boy, who did his best to make sense of his life, or what was left of it.

Twelve-year-old Crayland, whom everyone called Cray, was a master at tuning out distractions. He’d learned this skill from the moment he discovered it could help him deal with the troubles in his home life. Sitting at the green tattered kitchen table, he poured the rest of the Captain Crunch cereal into his big yellow bowl. He pouted when he shook it twice and noticed he didn’t have enough for a second helping. Raising the red and white carton of milk, he poured it carefully over his cereal. And when he lifted his spoon and prepared to eat his meal, he saw a red drop splatter into the milk within his bowl. The dot started out small, but eventually spread wider and wider.

On the verge of crying, Cray began breathing heavily. A few more crimson drops splashed on the table and Cray knew instantly it was blood. His eyes watered and he tried to fight back the tears. No longer able to block out the sounds around him, he heard his father’s yells and his mother’s pleas. They were directly behind him, the entire time fighting, but he’d been tuning them out.

“I shoulda let you die on the bathroom floor when I found you with ya wrists slit!” He yelled loudly, banging his fist against the wall for emphasis. “My father warned me about whores like you!”

Still hungry, he was preparing to eat the bloodied meal anyway, when his father shoved his mother’s head against the table, knocking the cereal to the floor.

“I’ma wipe that smug look off ya fuckin’ face!” His hand stayed firm against the back of her neck. From the waist down she wasn’t clothed and the black hair on her vagina peeked out. He’d woken her up out of her sleep…again.

The milk drenched Cray’s wholly blue socks as he jumped up against the green wall. He stood in silence as he watched his father punch his mother over and over with a closed fist in her face. Having seen this many times before, he was numb. Before the trouble came into their lives, the three of them went to Good Hope Baptist faithfully every Sunday. And all of a sudden, the visits stopped.

Cray had no knowledge that one Sunday morning when his parents stayed home from church, that Phillip Shackles, their longtime friend came over to celebrate his release from jail. And instead of bringing the cheap MD 20/20 he usually brought after he got out, he had heroin in his possession. Neither was strong enough to resist Phillip’s persuasion because seeing Phillip meant good fun and happy times. Besides, he swore he’d been doing it for years and he appeared as right as rain. All three were wrong, and all three were strung out.

“You dirty bitch! I thought I told you to be in this house every night by seven! You givin’ my pussy away—huh? Is that what you’re doin’?!” His father punched his mother repeatedly in the mouth, not giving her a chance to answer.

“David, please!” She tried to shield her face. “The bus was late last night and I knew you’d be angry if I came in late! I swear I’d never cheat on you!” She was telling the truth. She worked as a housekeeper for a cheesy motel in Baltimore and the buses never ran on time.

“You ain’t nothin’ but a lyin’ whore! My nigga told me he saw you on Liberty Ave, talkin’ to some dude!”

“Suddenly her arms fell to her sides. She was tired, and no longer able to defend herself. “Please, I love you. Please don’t hurt me anymore. You promised you’d stop.”

“I’ma teach you a lesson, whore!” With one last blow, he pounded her so hard in the face she passed out, as she had many times before. He was surgical with knowing exactly how hard to hit her in order to knock her out.

He rubbed his knuckles and for the first time since the fight, looked at his son. Cray’s body trembled and he prayed his father wouldn’t hit him next. Although he never took his anger out on his only child, his father was growing more violent with each passing day and the boy couldn’t be sure what his father was capable of.

David’s arms were massive and he was tattooed from head to toe. Out of all of the tattoos, the one with a woman with a noose tied around her neck, as a man drug her on the ground spoke for the man he really was. David’s skin was also dark chocolate and he had fine wavy hair. Wearing a white t-shirt and blue work pants that were one size to small for his muscular legs, he was entirely too big to be beating a man, let alone a woman.

“I know you think I’m wrong, son,” he looked at him, rubbed his hands with the soiled towel he kept in his back pocket. He usually used it to wipe the oil off his hands from working on cars…now it was used to wipe blood. “When you become a man, you’ll learn that you got to keep yo’ house in order. And it starts by makin’ sure yo’ woman stay in line.”

Cray zoned out and focused on his mother’s half naked, limp, bloodied body spread out on the kitchen floor.

“Cray!” David yelled, breaking him from his trance.

He looked at his father, his eyes filled with deep-seated resentment.

“Remember…if you ever have to choose between
love
and
power
, choose
power
. Love fades.” With that he kneeled down and lifted his wife’s worn out body off the floor. “Now get ready for school.”

In a daze, Cray looked on as his father carried his mother’s pummeled body to their bedroom. When he was out of sight, his stomach growled and he swallowed his own saliva to feed his hunger, and trudged on to school.

Later That Night

Cray and his friends Jason Felt’s and Markise Johnson walked into an alley a few blocks from over Cray’s place. They were watching neighborhood drug dealers Charm and Grimy Mike shoot craps with big time dealer Melody.

Grimy Mike was already into Melody for over a grand and he was heated. He was embarrassed and felt like taking his tension out on somebody. Glancing at the spectators, he saw Cray and his friends and then his victim.

“Yeah but is any of your stuff, clean? You’s a dusty ass lil nigga! Here take this and by yoself some gear.” He said throwing him a fifty.

Cray looked at the money on the ground and shot him an evil glare.

“And get the fuck from around here.” Grimy continued. “You giving me bad luck!” He told him, as everybody continued to laugh louder.

Cray was embarrassed as he looked at the dealers. He knew they had room to crack on him with their gold chains, fresh sneakers and five hundred dollar coats. And he vowed that one day Grimy would regret everything he said.

They resumed playing the game until they looked up and saw Cray and his friends still there.

“You ain’t get the message?” Charm asked getting in on the fun. “Beat it!”

The friends walked away as well as a medium sized brown shabby stray dog named Frankie that followed them around in the neighborhood.

“Don’t worry about them.” Jason said taking his side.

“Yeah, they dumb anyway!” Markise added as they dipped through the alley on the way to Cray’s house.

To get the attention off of Grimy and them, they talked about Cray’s upcoming birthday. They made plans to come over because Cray’s father said he’d buy a cake, rent movies and pop the boys some popcorn and he couldn’t wait. The three of them were inseparable. And it was certain that if you saw one, you were bound to see the others.

“You see Ms. James today?” Jason struggled with his large blue coat. He was referring to their Math teacher. “Her titties were fat as shit!” He shook his head as he reflected on the low-cut, red top she wore in class. Jason was short and stubby but cute in the face. His beautiful flaxen-colored skin was ideal against his black kinky hair.

Jason’s father and mother were hardly around, but spoiled him with materialistic things. Whatever he wanted he got. Despite everything, all he really wanted was their love. They worked two jobs, trying to buy a home and never spent time with him. Because of his parents’ emotional neglect, he ran to the streets. And as always, the streets embraced him.

“I know! I was thinking the same thing. ” Markise wore a thin red jacket built for the fall instead of the brutal winter. His mother was a hard-working woman and did all she could to cloth him but she simply wasn’t making enough. Despite Markise not having a lot, the girls still loved him because of his smooth personality. He was taller than a lot of boys his age and looked older. His toasted skin and wavy hair were favorites with the fresh girls around his way. “I wanna suck them shits!”