REGICIDE PT1

REGICIDE(rough draft)

PROLOGUE: DRY BAR
As the beams of neon danced across the room and traveled amongst the wall in a way that was none but erratic to the inattentive mind. Following their moves, seeing the patterns and judging the speed. There is a soft elegance to the movement and a predictable path they will take, so much so that it leaves no anticipation for the next move made. "nigga what you day dreaming in the club for". "get up and go get some ass thrown on you or shark one of these hoes out here", we aint go in on a section for you to be staring at lights all night". The words he spoke snapped me out of my weed induced memorization, I stood up and after looking at him momentarily, and recalling all the advice he has ever given me and the insight he has gifted me with, in abundant amounts as if he has it stockpiled in the stocky statue like frame he sports. Along with locs that are comparable in size to a dark Cuban cigar. That also stand atop his nose. I consider him the biblical representation of samson in the flesh. His name was De'mon Price and i could do nothing but agree with him. Ever since I moved to this city 4 years back after "the incident", he's been one of the few people I've grown to trust with everything, along with my life being a possibility as well. I agreed with him and walked towards the bar passing a few familiar faces in the crowd and one or two old flames and as "wise" as De'mon is, he is "still a nigga at the end of the day". His words not mine, definitely my thoughts though. He places a hand on my shoulder and leans in and asks if I saw in the crowd, one of the girls I used to be involved with a while back. I place a hand back on his and give him a look that says nothing but "of course". While walking and laughing heartily along with sharing a few friendly nudges. A man walking backwards unaware of his surroundings awkwardly collides into us, a

minor and common mistake in these types of settings we all think nothing of it and he apologizes promptly in a joking manner, all together we disregard the whole occurrence. Watching him walk back to his section he stumbled from. For a hair thin split second, I meet the eyes of a man who exuded the energy of being the leader of the large group that made up the section. From what was noticeable of the group they "was money". There is a distinct difference between people have money and those who came from money, and from their clothes and energy it was evident it was the former. When De'mon and I finally reach the bar, after we wait a couple of minutes with no service from the bartender, I finally hail him down. He walks over to us with an almost mischievous smile." Yall see how busy it is tonight don't y'all? matter of fact don't even answer that" sorry to disappoint but we dry nigga". I look at my friend in pure confusion and turn back and reply "nigga how is that possible yall aint got shit in the back? He laughs mockingly then replies "does this look like finish line bruh? "I told you we dry so aint no reason for you to be sittin up here pressed with yo face stuck on stupid". De'mon chimes in and asks, "how they ran out of liquor so fast it's only been open for two hours"? Without a word the bartender leans on the counter and with a slightly flamboyant mannerism he points to the large section of people galvanized by the music and their inebriation. He notices we are still in confusion and says, "see buddy over there with the Bald head, Gucci fit and chains?' him and his boys bought out the bar 5 minutes ago". In an agitated tone I ask, "who the fuck is he a rapper or some shit?" the bartender looks at me in disbelief, like I was an animal who learned how to speak. "Nigga how you don't know bout "A-Roe", He run the drug shit in this city any nigga you cop yo weed or yo white from they work for him or they get it from somebody who does, regardless whatever drug float around this city he making bread off of it". The man then goes on to explain that he has a slew of legitimate business fronts in conjunction with an exceptional team of lawyers as well so the law couldn't touch him "if they had 10-foot poll 5 feet away". After his explanation the frustration

turns into understand which then begets acceptance for the circumstances. "shid we still got a few blunts in the car we can hit them hoes and come back in and get turnt" coming from De'mon who is usually conservative with his weed, was definitely a surprise but I went with it and told him to gather everybody up and meet at the car. Before I could walk off and follow him the bartender stopped me and asked for my name, the reason being "he had to know the only nigga in Cleveland who didn't know A- Roe" and he would give me drink of my choice on him next time I came into the club. With no dialogue in between my answer. I answered, Sinclair. Then proceeded to show him my ID card. "Ta-cha-mouah, nigga how you say that?" "it's pronounced Chamu but its spelled "tachamou" the "T" is silent". "Who you think you is nigga black panther; you must be African or something?" I explained to him that my grandparents were from Ghana, so I don't know any of the native language. I barely eat any of the food or know the customs, but I had the discipline of them instilled within myself from birth, that's probably the only aspect of that culture I can claim besides the last name. As I made my way out the door, I let the bouncer know that I had to grab my phone out of the car. He nodded with a smile and said, "ill pat you down when you get back so don't try no crazy shit". I waved him off and met up with my boys back at the car. Before I could get 15 feet to the car, I can smell the pungently sour odor of a blunt in the air, and one of my other friends Javon sitting on the window seal of the passenger side door of my "2011 Chevy Tahoe". Capable of concealing my identity behind the 5% tinted windows I had added. In contrast was also easily distinguishable among a group of others by the sound system made up of three 15-inch subwoofers and door speakers I also added. The sound of it at half volume was enough to send a tremor through the very ground anybody stood upon almost 2 miles away, which was my initial goal for adding it. "Damn nigga what the hell was you in there doing we already sparked a stick waiting for yo ass to pull up". That is Javon Washington, a charismatic younger guy known simply for his existence and charm, a fair face and slender build to him along