His body jerked violently as the force of both shots sent Low flying into the fence. Low refused to die. Swallowing the intense pain, he managed to pull himself on top of the fence. He was now in the open, and Red had a clear shot at his head.
Red had one round left. Taking aim from fifty-five feet away, he zeroed in on the back of Low’s skull, and was about to squeeze. The sound of sirens suddenly caught his ears, and he took his eyes off the target. Red glanced over his shoulder and spotted flashing cherry lights in the distance. They were closing in fast. His eyes darted back to the fence, but Low was nowhere in sight.
“Goddamn!” Red shouted, letting his last shot off at the fence.
Red figured he had twenty seconds to clear the scene. Turning, he dashed toward his Benz while silently praying that Low was dead. Quickly hopping back in the coupe’s driver’s seat, Red swiftly kicked the McLaren into gear, flooring it over the dismantled wooden gate. The Roadster’s tires touched the highway’s pavement, and Red was already in third gear. A cloud of dirt and smoke mixed in the air, Red was burning tires. Hitting a hundred and twenty in less than seven seconds making a smooth getaway.
For the past hour, Low had been unconscious, and lying on his back in someone’s backyard. Blinking twice, and glancing around him, Low was at a lost to exactly where he was. Low slowly began to regain consciousness. He realized that he had lost a tremendous amount of blood, and with each critical minute that passed, his life was slowly slipping away. His eyes opened to a full moon, and a sea of bright stars in the sky. His memory began to slowly kick in. Vivid scenes of the night’s events started to swiftly flash through his mind. Then almost instantly, the sense that allows a person to feel kicked in, causing Low to let out an agonized-filled wail.
Low’s body was on fire it felt like his flesh was burning. Someone must have held an extremely hot iron against his back. In a state of total panic, Low desperately tried to move. With great effort, he managed to roll onto his stomach, and was eventually able to stagger to his feet. Low quickly scanned his surroundings. He saw a big house ahead. The thought of knocking on the back door of the house wasn’t an option.
The entire yard wasn’t completely fenced in. There was a big space leading to an alleyway. Low took a step, and grimaced from the burning sensation that rattled his entire body. His legs ached painfully, and felt extremely heavy as he staggered forward. With greatly determined effort, Low managed his way to the open space. Glancing to his Left. A dozen or so family-sized trash bins were lined-up for a few yards on either side of the dark, narrow alleyway. About a hundred feet in the distance, Low saw the headlights of various vehicles speeding by on Highway I-85.
A renewed sense of hope washed over Low. Mustering all his remaining strength, Low winced as he began quickly hobbling toward the speeding headlights. Glancing further in the distance, he saw the other side of the highway. A convention of bright, flashing lights lit the skies. There were marked police cars, unmarked cruisers, and news vans parked alongside the highway by the large area of grass where Red crashed. Low knew why they were there. Being at the mercy of the law was like another heated slug penetrating Low’s flesh. He needed medical assistance. In order to catch one of the cops, or reporter’s eyes, Low made it as close to them as possible.
Low’s body was weakening by the minute while struggling forward. Low was breathing hard, and feeling extremely fatigued. His chest and back were soaked with sweat. The warm, wet sensation Low felt caused him to glanced down at his shirt. Then his hope for survival turned into complete fear of dying.
His eyes grew wide, and panic set in when Low caught sight of his blood soaked, white Versace outfit. Low’s gaze shifted back to the highway. Then staggering forward, Low raised his hand in the air, and waved it in a desperate attempt to get attention. The once vivid cars speeding by on I-85 were now blotches of white lights. His vision became blurred, and started fading. Desperation grew with each breath, Low tried to scream out for help. His weak voice was as faint as a whisper. All his senses began to slowly shut down..
Low wasn’t conscious when his knees buckled. His body crashed face first into the dirt. Low let out a pain-filled moan on impact. But his hearing had long since faded, and his agony fell upon deaf ears.
He had shot many men in his lifetime. Low even got shot once when he was a teenager. However, he was not prepared to be on the receiving end of several penetrating bullets—until tonight. While losing consciousness, his mind turned to thoughts of his right-hand man, Rob. Low’s past appeared to have finally caught up, and his Karma sure was an ugly bitch. Vividly, images of his life moved in a haste, flashing through his thoughts. It sped through his thirties. Moved into his twenty’s. Then it was on to his teens when all the bullshit first started. Then darkness came.
CHAPTER
2
1989 MIAMI, FLORIDA
Rob was shaking his head, and laughing. Sitting comfortably in the reclined driver’s seat of his dark tinted, stolen 1972 Buick Regal, he took a long deep drag on his weed filled Swisher Sweets cigar. Then he inhaled the smoke deeply into his lungs, and glanced toward the passenger seat. His partner, Low was putting the finishing touches on an E-Z Wider rolling paper that he previously packed with a mixture of weed and hash.
Reclining with a serious expression, Low fished in his black Dickies slacks for a lighter. He lit the tip of his joint, taking a few taste-taking tokes to ensure the weed was pulling right. Nodding his approval, he shook his head slightly to himself. It was as if he fully expected Rob ‘s reaction to him paying for a private phone line to be set up in Michelle’s room.
“Yeah bro, I’m just keeping it real hood,” Low repeated. After taking a toke, he continued. “I love her. So paying for a phone line ain’t a big deal.”
Again, Rob laughed out loud then said, “Man, you straight up tripping.”
Puffing on the joint then exhaling, Rob shook his head while glancing at Low. A few years older than Low, Rob had already been through all the puppy love stages with girls in the hood. His heart was broken more than a few times by women that swore they loved him unconditionally. Then they turned around, and left him due to the condition that his pockets weren’t as fat as the next man, or car wasn’t as fly. Rob finally figured that part of the game out. He theorized that women were luxury items to be pursued only after he got his money right. This was viewed as an impossible achievement.
“Let me put you up on game, lil’ homie,” Rob said.
Taking a puff, Rob searched the armrest for a cassette tape to put in the tape deck. Then he continued. “First, these bitches ain’t shit. Second, all they see is dollar signs. Shit…soon as you catch a case or take a loss in these streets, and you ain’t on top of your game like when they first met you—it’s on to the next one. Trust me, I’m telling you all this cause you my nigga, dig? Don’t confuse good pussy for love. Bitches will have you doing some crazy shit when they know they got your heart, trust. Today, you paying for her to get her own phone line, and the next day you on child support like a muthafucka… All while your seed calling the next man daddy. Trust me. I’ve seen it a million times already. Don’t fall victim, lil’ nigga, thinking a phone bill is no big deal, cause you in so-called, love.”
“Hmm, I hear you.”
“How love starts…? The pussy always feels good until you nut.”
Low respected Rob’s expertise, and not only looked up to him but also valued his opinion. It was the only reason Low broached the subject with him. Low really needed Rob’s blessing on this girl. He just had to make him see that Michelle was different. Low watched