Never Enough: Part 1

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He watched from a small crack in the curtains he'd pushed aside when he heard  the approaching steps. It was his friend Demetrius walking up to the 'bando he'd invited him to meet him at. He had his hood up and  was looking around like the hunted man that he was. In that moment, Javion felt a moment of regret well up in his heart. Then he mentally stepped on it realizing that to get this money, he had to show no emotions. So, he let his face transform to a blank mask.

Knock, knock, knock came the soft knock of  his friend trying to be discreet as he softly knocked against the back door. He opened it with an acted smile that would have made Denzel Washington proud. "What's good boii!?" Javion questioned excitedly.

"Nothing," He answered just as excited. "What's up with cho ol'water head ass."

"I know you ain't talking with that T-Rex built ass body, wit'cho no arms having as. Can't even touch a nigga chin, have to save you from every fight lill'silly boii."

They both laughed merrily, happy to see each other. Javion broke the silence. " I got a bottle for you too."

"What kind?"

With a face that said, "Don't be ridiculous." He answered. "Henn Dawg. The Fuck. What else we ever drink. Bust that shit open and take you a few shots." He said as he passed the bottle over to him.

His friend took the bottle and said."Bet. I'm about to get big lit."

After his friend opened the bottle and tilted it up. In that moment that he closed his eyes to brace for the impact of the first shot, Javion pulled out the Smith and Wesson Nine he had concealed. When the bottle came down and Demetrius's eyes came into focus and he saw the gun he calmly said. Really? This what we doin' dawg? After all we been through? Nigga, we been friends since pre-k!" He screamed. "You goin' be the one bro."

With a shrug of the shoulder he replied. "I bought you a bottle of Henny so you can go to hell that one lit. That's a real friend for you bro."

"Don't bro me." He looked at the bottle and brought it back to his mouth and took another deep swallow of it. Then faced his "friend" with his lips twisted up. "Do what you got to do, bro." The last part sarcastically.

With no more hesitation, he pulled the trigger three times rapidly and watched as his friends lifeless body collapsed before his eyes. It was a life changing moment. It was a coming of age. Not wanting to live in the savageness of the moment to long, he went and got the saw he had stolen and put up for cutting off his friend's head to satisfy the head proof portion of the contract.

He wasn't worried about the cops being called at gunfire. It was the type of neighborhood were gunshots were fired and often, and people had learned to mind their own business unless they become a victim too for snitching.

Before he began, he picked up the bottle of Henn and took a deep pull of the bottles contents. Then he poured a little on the ground. "Rest up bro. It's better for one of us to make it than no one. I got your moms." Then he proceeded with the grisly task of cutting off his friend's head.

It took longer than he'd thought, but he did it. He wrapped the head up in Saran wrap and then stuffed it into a backpack he had bought for that purpose. He took a few deep swallows of the bottle and then after wiping it thoroughly off, he left the rest by his friend's body. Looking down at what he'd done he shook his head and fought back the tears. There were no re-dos in life. For better or for worst, the deed was done. 

He disappeared into the night like a shadow representing the principalities of the night that lurked around trying to influence the decisions of humanity for ill.

He arrived too the doorsteps of one of Michael "Steel Body" Jones more well-known apartments that they had trapped out like the Carter in New Jack city. He approached humbly in the same way a client of heroin or crack would. When he reached one of the handlers that screened approaching clients for potential CI's, he pushed his hood back and boldly said. I need to talk to Tennessee Mike. Naming him by one of his lesser known boxing alias.

This drew a sharp look from the handler. "And why would you be showing up asking about a boxing legend?" He smartly inquired with a raised eyebrow.

"There was a small matter that needed handler involving his niece,"  He said referring to the girl his friend had date raped and who was the reason he had fifty-thousand on his head. "I've handled it." He tapped the book bag containing the head of his friend.

Everyone knew of the "situation" and the whole city was on edge in the manhunt for this boy. Not able to trust the word of this young ass boy though because there was always a threat to the life of his Boss, he walked up to him and said. "Don't make any sudden moves." He opened the bag enough to see its contents, but not enough for anyone else to. His eyes met with a head wrapped up in Saran wrap.

He zipped the bag up and looked at the boy with a newfound respect. "I'll take you to where you can wait on him as the calls get made to bring him out." Then the handler turned and walked briskly to a secluded room with nothing but a table and a chair on either side. Take a seat and he'll be here shortly. Then without a further word, the handler left him in the room that had the feel of a jail cell, especially when he heard a locked click in place.

He waited what seemed an eternity until that lock clicked open again, and the door opened to reveal the boxing legend turned into a Boss of Memphis city's underworld. His face looked reserve as he said. "I hear you have done a great thing for me and my family."

Not knowing what to say, but trying to appear as reserve and as if he belonged in this room with the biggest gangster in his city, he simply gave a short nod of his head and replied. "I did."

"Unveil the gift," he prodded.

Javion did as he was asked and took the head from the bag and went through the painstaking task of unwrapping it. Once the head was fully unwrapped, Michael "Steel Body" Jones took out a picture and compared the head to it. After a few looks back and forth, a large smile cracked his face and in a way reminiscent to Denzel Washington in American Gangsta, he said. "My Man." Then he signaled ones of his goons to come closer, and he whispered in his ears, after which he took the head and left the room. "What's your name?"

"Javion."

"How'd you do it?"

"We were friends and I invited him to a 'bando to say goodbye before he went to Cali, and when his guard was down I shoot him close range."

"Close Range Shorty," he said with a savage smile. "That's your new nickname. You can't go around introducing your-self as Javion if you're going to be in these streets,"  Just like that, another street legend was born.

Close Range Shorty.