Swift
S W I F T
By Darrell Shaffer Jr.
© 2020 by Darrell Shaffer Jr. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recording, or photocopying without written permission of the publisher or author. The exception would be in the case of brief quotations embodied in the critical articles or reviews and pages where permission is specifically granted by the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
I’ve come to understand a long time ago that the rules in this world aren’t laid down like cold hard steel, like prison bars. The rules, you see they bend, they blur, but worst of all they often break.
- Isaiah “The King” Reed
Table of Contents
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
OTHER PROJECTS
MORE BOOKS
Chapter 1
“Bitch, you’re are a fucking liar. You never ever got no pussy from Angilique. I never heard of you getting no pussy at all,” Tevin yells at the whole block even if he’s only speaking to Nate.
“Alright y’all chill out, I got a phone call,” they finally take a break from a conversation that has gone on way too long. “It’s Javon.”
“What the spot looking like today,” my uncle asks as if he’s some kind of big shot.
“Not a mouse stirring. Meaning empty, like always.”
“Watch your mouth boy, your numbers have been lacking. You’re on thin ice as it is,” he hangs up not wanting to hear what I have to say.
“Your Uncle Daddy,” Tevin says, prompting Nate to laugh taking the pressure off him.
“Fuck him, and fuck you for even bringing that up. He put us out here as a joke. He just wants to make us look like fools.”
“Well, he is your uncle and he is married to your mom now. So, uncle daddy,” Nate adds and they both go back to laughing.
“But you’re right, we need to be pushing on a different corner. One that ain’t so dead,” Tevin says quickly changing the topic.
“This is 2019 not 1990. Crack is not selling like that anymore. Does he think this is Power? Who is getting rich selling crack right now? Nobody. Crack really is whack, for the smoker and the dealer. We knew that thirty years ago,” I take a seat on the staircase next to them.
“We really should be selling something else, if we’re going to be selling anything at all. Even if you could get rich selling crack, it wouldn’t be us. We’re just street level. We make enough to pay our bills,” Nate was always the smart one.
“Basically, we either keep standing here and failing or we expand home to succeed,” I have to verbally sum up his thoughts for myself sometimes.
“Look, didn’t your pops get killed because he was trying to expand. He was a real stand up nigga, but don’t follow in his footsteps on this one. It’ll get you a spot right next his,” Tevin adds.
“My pops didn’t die because he was trying to expand. He died, because my uncle ain’t shit. You know the whole thing has been funny from the moment we found out he was killed. Why would my pops be out in the country? He never fucked with the forest folk like that,” I lean into my comments to make sure Tevin gets my point.
“Y’all should chill out or just fight one day. Y’all been butting heads since middle school and still hang out. Why? It doesn’t make sense if you don’t like each other” Nate asks in confusion.
“Because we’re both friends you, dumbass,” Tevin says rolling his eyes.
Nate blushes like that was the best compliment he’s ever received. We drop the subject and go back to just talking about anything. Which girls were bad in high school, but aren’t now. Who really came up in the world? What we would do if we weren’t stuck here selling crack. Nate wants to own a night club for some reason. I know Power is his favorite show, but this is getting ridiculous now. Tevin thinks he had a chance to go to the NBA. He’s my friend, I let him believe it and I back him up. He never had a snowball’s chance in hell to make it to the NBA. His jumper is trash, he can’t dribble, no hops and he couldn’t hit a free throw to save his life.
As for me, I don’t know where I would have been. I wouldn’t even be selling crack if my dad hadn’t died. Tevin was already doing it on the side. Nate just followed me when I didn’t have any other choices left. He was close to graduating from community college. I think he might have; I can’t remember. At first, I only started selling because my uncle said that would be the only way I made money in his house. Pops never wanted me on the corners. He sent me off to college to be an accountant. Said he would need a money man he could trust and I could work in a big fancy office when I wasn't working for him. I just couldn’t see myself being an account after he died. I dropped out and came home. Maybe I should have studied something else, been a lawyer or something.
Our favorite fiend Kevin makes his way up to us. He's our favorite, because we went to school with him. At the end of the day, he’s still a good dude in his heart, just a shell of the man he could have been. He was already hooked on the stuff before any of us were thinking of selling. His cousins got him on the stuff back when he was like fourteen. That’s fucked up. I don’t know how you could do that to your own family. The fact that he’s the same age as me, makes it harder to see. He could be doing so much more. I know I could too, but I’m not strung out on crack in 2019. Now he gets it from us, because he knows we’re not going to give him anything that’s been stepped on.
“I need a rock,” he says.
“You got money,” Tevin steps down to meet him.
“I got five on me. I can bring you the rest late,” Kevin looks like he’s up to something.
“You know the rules. It’s $20 a rock.”
“That shit ain’t fair, you know me. How long you know me? 8 years? I ain’t ever lied to you Big T,” Kevin stomps his feet and turns his neck like he just made a point. He stands there with one hand out, and another on his waist. Waiting for Tevin to hand him a rock.
“Get the fuck out of here Kevin,” Tevin says trying not laugh along with Nate and I.
“Or what? This is a free country. You should be glad to see me.”
“Why would I be glad to see you,” Tevin asks biting the inside of his cheek.
“Because, ain’t nobody else buying crack from you. So, take these five dollars I earned, and bring me my rock.”
“You know the price is twenty,” Tevin says balling up his fist.
“These prices are ridiculous. If anyone else was still selling crack. I would no longer frequent this establishment,” Kevin says turning his nose up as if he’s trying to buy a Mercedes and not crack on a street corner.
“I ain’t taking, five dollars, what else you got,” Tevin asks.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing, and I ain’t sucking dick again.”
“You ain’t ever put your lips on my dick,” Tevin push Kevin.
“Alright, here you go damn,” Nate jumps up and takes the five dollars before pa
ssing Kevin a rock.
Everyone seems heated but I’m laughing. The whole thing is like a scene out of a movie or something. Kevin takes his rock and goes about his day while Nate tries to calm down Tevin. Almost like it was on cue, a black Mercedes with tinted windows stops across the street. In a neighborhood like this, it stands out like a sore thumb. Just hoping to be seen. I know the car; it belongs to Stack. My uncle’s right-hand man and pain in my ass. Nate and Tevin take their seats on the steps knowing he’s here to see me. I don’t budge. I look at the car and wait for him to say he needs to see me. I’m not going to just run over there like some kind of puppy. That’s what my uncle wants.
He rolls the window down and signals for me to come over with his finger. I’m not a dog so I just nod my head at him and look away. I’m not really interested in anything going on down the road, but I don’t enjoy how Stack and my uncle see me as some kind of pet or charity case. I’m a grown man. They’re going to learn that sooner or later.
“Javon, you see me over here,” he yells with his big bald head hanging out the window. Looking like a pissed off milk dud.
“What you want,” I make my way over to the car.
“Your numbers been low over here,” he says bringing his yell down to a conversation level.
“Well, there’s only twelve crackheads left in the city and they all live on the westside. 7 of them already got their rocks because they cook them at home. What do you expect?”
“I expect you to find a new way to move product.”
“Police don’t even look for crack dealers anymore. This stuff is done. We look stupid trying to hold on to the 90s.”
“Just sell the shit,” Stack sits back in his seat. He knows I’m right.
“To who man? Do you see anyone out here smoking? We’re in the middle of gentrification. Hipsters don’t want crack, they want pills and weed. Why are we still selling this?”
“Look, that’s just the way Grady wants it done. It ain’t the way your pops would have done it. It ain’t the way I would do it. If your pops were here, or I was in charge you wouldn’t even be allowed near a corner. But your dad is resting in peace, and I’m not in control. This is the way it is. We just have to deal with it,” I don’t know how Stack ended up selling drugs.
“Alright, I’ll try to figure something out. Not for my uncle, but for you Stack.”
“I know you will, you’re smart. If you want my advice, quit this shit. It’s a dead-end street. I’m too far in to turn away. You can still go back to college, and take the two stooges with you. Think about it,” Stack should have been a preacher or something. Always trying to share some kind of knowledge with people.
“I’ll think about it,” I can’t promise I will.
“Good, now stop leaning on my car. I just had it washed and you’re leaving hand prints.”
Stack is an asshole, at least he’s good at pretending to be one. In reality, he’s a nice guy. Married his high school girlfriend, and had four kids. Never stepped out on her with a side chick, never put a hand on her or the kids. Tough guy for real, but always had the best birthday parties for his kids. Sent them off to college, didn’t want them in this at all. Said if he ever goes down, his family won’t go with him. If he had took over after my dad’s death, I would have been able to sleep at night.
“What did he want,” Tevin asks looking scared.
“Make more money, with your scary ass,” I say with a laugh.
“Y’all want to go get a pizza or something,” Nate suggests. “Ain’t nobody buying nothing else for the rest of the day.”
“I can get a pizza,” Tevin adds.
“Y’all go ahead, I’ll catch up with y’all later,” I don’t really need to be around them arguing for another three hours. Pepperoni or sausage, deep dish or I’ll agree with Nate because we like the same kind of pizza. Tevin will be mad and get a sperate pizza. I know how it’ll go.
“Then let's go play video games. I got the new 2K,” Tevin says.
“That sounds fun. Let’s go,” Nate cosigns.
“I’ll pass.”
“Look man, we’re young. I’m good looking. Nate is smart. Javon you ain’t got much but you’re okay,” Tevin starts with the jokes again
“Right, we got the whole world in front of us, and you’re with us so you got the world in front of you too,” Nate adds with a smile.
“Alright Timone and Pumba, we’ll get pizza and play 2K. Y’all both trash anyway.”
Chapter 2
I must have hit snooze too many times. I’m about an hour behind schedule. I should just cancel the whole thing really. I’d rather just sleep in. Sundays are supposed to be for resting right? I pully my phone off the charged and check my notifications. Mom has been blowing me up. Calls, voicemails and texts. She’ll be okay. I roll out of bed and drop to the floor. I do a few pushups to get my blood flowing and wake myself up. A few sit-ups and I’m good to go.
I make my way over to the closet and try to find something suitable to wear. Most of my clothes are just jeans and basic shirts. That’s the stuff I wear, just because it’s comfortable. It helps that it also keeps me from drawing attention, but a fresh cotton shirt on my skin is the best feeling. I find a pair of slacks and a blue button down in the back of the closet and select that. I hate wearing ties, so I guess it’s a good thing I can’t find one. A pair of blue, black and white Jordan 1s completes the attire.
I take a quick shower and brush my teeth. I quickly get dressed and make my way downstairs to the garage. The only choice is which car I’ll drive, mine or dad’s. We had similar taste when it came to cars. Both of us liked blacked out vehicles. Black car, black interior, black rims, all black everything. Difference is he was a little flashier than I was. I suppose that’s the kind of man he was. 68’ Pontiac GTO, perfect condition. He always had a thing for muscle cars, but this was his baby. Other cars would come and go but he kept this one, and always took care of it. Mom and I are probably the only other people who he let drive it. He always swore he could outrun anything in the car. Loud as a motorcycle and just as fast. Funny thing is he always did the speed limit. Never commit a misdemeanor while committing a felony. My car, simple, Chevy Blazer. Looks like a soccer mom with good taste is coming up the street. All the bells and whistles with a few extra features. Custom black paint job, still lowkey in any part of the city. I think I’ll take my own car today.
I don’t even know why I pretend to make that choice every day. I haven’t had the heart to drive dad’s car since I brought it here. Just doesn’t feel right driving his car when nobody has faced any consequences for his death. Kind of like he still has unfinished business out there in the world.
I park on the block I grew up on, away from the actual family business. That’s something dad taught me. I just need a moment for something that I know. Instead I find the whole place looks different now. Places where there used to boarded up windows are now vintage shops. Graffiti has been replaced with hand painted murals trying to mimic the style. The whole thing looks crazy. Gentrification, that shit will rip the heart right out of a community. Probably a good thing the liquor store is gone, but so are half the people that built the neighborhood. There’s nobody outside selling food, fragrances or anything like that. The gentrifies seem to think armed guards at every door is the way to go about keeping black people out of their shops. That’s all it is.
I used to think my car kept attention away from me, but I’m seeing that might not be the case around here. Way too many people are starting to look and point. White people love to call the police too. I’m not holding or anything, but I don’t want those problems. Time to move on.
“That you in there Javon,” a knock at my passenger side window. It’s Andrea, a blast from my past.
“Hey, what’s going on,” I roll down the passenger side window so she can see me.
“Give me a ride to the grocery store.”
“You were waiting on the bus until you saw me.”
 
; “Now I want to ride with you,” she reaches in and unlocks the door herself.
“Some people would shoot you for reaching in their car like that.”
“Everybody knows you’re not a gangster,” she buckles her seatbelt with a smile.
“I am. I’m so gangster. I eat cereal without the milk,” because I’m lactose intolerant.
“If you were gangster, you’d be in charge not Grady,” words do hurt. I’d prefer sticks and stones.
This is why we broke up. She always had a way to cut me with just her words. She’s right, I’m not really a gangster. I know that. I’ve been playing one ever since my dad died. Not even sure why. Pretty sure a psychologist would just say I’m trying to understand my father by becoming my father. But I think I knew him pretty well. Still that was completely uncalled for.
“Grady is in charge because I haven’t taken him out yet. He’ll get his.”
“Because I haven’t taken him out yet,” she mocks me. “Boy stop, you’re trying way too hard. You’ve got a good education and you know your parents didn’t like you out in the streets. Go be a teacher or something. Out here selling drugs like you’re somebody else.”
I just spend the rest of the ride in silence. She tells me how everything in the neighborhood has changed. Mrs. Tyson died when they forced her to move out the home, she had been in for the last fifty years. When she’s done with that, she starts to chew me out again. I don’t come around enough. I should be helping the community. I wasn’t exactly fond of getting chewed out in my own car. Even if it was from someone I used to love, or care about a lot. She just put me in a bad mood. What makes her think she has the right to just question who I am? I’m not even mad to be honest, just trying to hype myself up. Nothing she said is completely wrong. I just didn’t want to hear it from her. I’ve been telling myself the same thing for a while now.
“And remember, above all else, you need to be true to yourself Javon,” she closes the door behind her.