The Good Life
Dorian Sykes
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Title Page Copyright Page Acknowledgments Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-one Chapter Twenty-two Chapter Twenty-three Chapter Twenty-four Chapter Twenty-five Chapter Twenty-six Chapter Twenty-seven Chapter Twenty-eight Chapter Twenty-nine Chapter Thirty Chapter Thirty-one Chapter Thirty-two Chapter Thirty-three Chapter Thirty-four Chapter Thirty-five Chapter Thirty-six Chapter Thirty-seven
Urban Books, LLC
300 Farmingdale Road, NY-Route 109
Farmingdale, NY 11735
The Good Life Copyright © 2020 Dorian Sykes
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior consent of the Publisher, except brief quotes used in reviews.
ISBN: 978-1-6455-6063-0
eISBN 13: 978-1-64556-064-7
eISBN 10: 1-64556-064-3
This is a work of fiction. Any references or similarities to actual events, real people, living or dead, or to real locales are intended to give the novel a sense of reality. Any similarity in other names, characters, places, and incidents is entirely coincidental.
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Acknowledgments
Family
First, my loving Mother. You’re my heart, and you know it. Always on time, and always sending God my way when I need it the most. My Auntie Janice, who’s been my angel since coming home. I’m grateful God put us together. When the chips were down, you put ’em up! Nothing but love for believing in me. Aunt Karen, my heart. Nephew, so happy to be home. I’m taking your advice, doing the right thing. Unc (Gene) for always giving it to me straight, even when I didn’t wanna hear it. You’ve been like a father to me my entire life. Both my cousins, Justin and E.T., y’all were down with me, and I trust y’all will stay down.
Industry
Richard Jeanty, respect a million times over for mentoring me and continuously pushing me in the right direction. Kevin Chiles, for being a solid guy about the struggle.
Ms. Michel Moore, special thanks for not hesitating to embrace me as I chase down these dreams. You had a hand in making this happen, and I’m forever grateful. Last but not least, my devoted readers. Here’s another one! Thanks for the continued support and helping my dreams become reality!
Prologue
June 1988
Just like every other major city back in ’88, Detroit fought hard to be crowned the murder capital of the world as the crack epidemic spread like wildfire, taking a strong hold of the city and a vast number of its residents. Bodies were dropping in numbers, as up-and-coming drug dealers went to war over territory. Drive-by shootings had become the norm, and innocent people were caught in the crossfire, often being killed. It was just a total disaster and a setback for the once-striving, predominately black city. Almost overnight, Detroit went from being ole Motown, the home of Motown Records and the birth of the auto industry, to a widespread battlefield. It was a prison for the still law-abiding citizens who remained.
The rise of crack and its availability not only sprung the murder rate, but also the level of theft and robberies. These crimes were often committed by crackheads against people who had nothing to do with the life of the underworld that engulfed them. Detroit had become known as Murder City instead of Motown. All sorts of government programs, such as Ronald Reagan’s “Just Say No” War on Drugs campaign sprang into action, but to no avail. Crack was everywhere, and there to stay for a long time.
Within this mayhem, Wink plotted how he would get into the drug game and take it over. He had grand plans and aspirations, but one problem existed—he didn’t know a single thing about selling crack. He didn’t know where it came from, how to make it, or who was supplying it. He’d seen the empty, tiny-size packets, which once contained rocks of cocaine, scattered on the sidewalks and curbs of his neighborhood, but he’d never seen an actual rock. It was crazy because something called “crack” was taking over his city, and yet he had never even laid eyes on it.
Wink was seventeen and fresh out of high school. He’d graduated by the hair on his face, which was slim to none. He was a baby-faced, light brown–skinned, tall and lanky nigga. He wore a high-top fade and cuts in his eyebrows.