MEGAN FOX, OMEGA SUPREME

A Matter Of Self-defense...

And I said:

      "I called a friend of mine, but he doesn't have it. So I asked him to contact my parents. I'm supposed to call him back in a few minutes."

     She frowned a little. She'd already introduced herself; her name was Melissa. She never gave her last name. "I've been going over your file," she says. "Except for this situation, your record is clean. Clean as a whistle, in fact. As of right this moment, your bail will be five hundred dollars. I can most likely get that reduced to two fifty by Monday. But I imagine you'd rather get out of here right now?"

     "Yeah," I say, smiling sadly. It's not like I saw my reflection in a mirror to know it was a sad smile; but it certainly felt like one. I say, "Do you think I can make another phone call? On TV and in movies, it's always one phone call and that's it."

     Melissa smiled again, but a much brighter one this time. "That's Hollywood for you," she says. "Of course you can make another call; just let me go and get somebody."

     I watched with a pounding heart (not pounding because she's hot, pounding because I have a bad feeling about making that second phone call) as she turns and walks away. She's wearing a navy blue female business suit that has a skirt bottom instead of slacks, and looks like it came from a low budget store like Marshalls. She's wearing a pair of sensible brown leather shoes with very low heels. For standing up all night, I figure.

     The only things visible on her body besides her face and hands, are her calves. They're nice...curvy and muscular like she works out besides the natural exercise she undoubtedly gets walking and standing up all day. Her hair is silky blond like Nicole Kidman's, and its falling past her shoulders to the middle of her back. As she walks down the corridor which leads from the holding cells to the intake area, I can't help glancing at her ass. All us boys in the hood do that, and something tells me guys outside the damn hood do it too. Particularly, these days.

     But it's nice and round, and the skirt covering it, nearly fits like a second skin. I also noticed she wasn't wearing any perfume; couldn't even smell some lovely fragrance emanating from her pretty hair when she moved about. I'm sure that was by design; it was probably written in her contract that she couldn't wear perfumes, or jewelry. I thought back then it must have been to prevent the inmates from getting overly riled up.

     But with this current #MeToo movement, maybe there'd been a deeper, less obvious, reason? Anyway, she talked to other prisoners before getting to me. Her and some white guy in a much fancier suit. I knew his shit didn't come from any thrift conscious place like Marshalls, and I was relieved when she stopped in front of me and not Dapper Dan.

     I couldn't help grinning to myself. Even at a time like that, I'm checking out a honey's assets. But Melissa the attorney, and her nice assets turn the corner, and I can no longer see her or them. So I exhaled, and glanced behind me where I see at the least, thirty males standing or sitting around the cell. Every race in America seems to be well represented in here too; jail, it's one of the few places (besides welfare centers, tenant landlord courts, and shelter's, I'd imagine) where our country truly is a melting pot. But is there enough room for that many damn people in this particular holding cell? Of course not. Which is why I'm pressed up against the fucking bars, and I'm having a difficult time breathing. My damn claustrophobia is slowly starting to act up.

     Looking through the crowd of mostly disgruntled boys and men (some of them are joking and laughing like they're having the time of their lives), I notice who I was reluctantly looking for: Taliek Anderson. The knuckleheaded asshole who started the unfortunate events which lead to my incarceration. There were six of us involved in the brawl, but only the two of us are still locked up. The kids we were fighting are currently in the hospital, all of them in wheelchairs, all bandaged up like mummies.

    Or like Squigwert in that Spongebob episode where he gets attacked by the jellyfish and needs bandages on every inch of his body. Remember when Spongebob sticks the handle of the jellyfish net straight through Squigwert's bandaged up fist? The funny part is you just know it went right through his fucking hand.

    The liars don't look that bad, but they might as well. They wheeled the bitch motherfuckers out to the parking lot to ID us as the ones who'd beaten and robbed them (I still don't know where the hell they got four wheelchairs from in a mall that didn't sell medical supplies!); but for the record, we never robbed anyone.

    And even while they were sitting in the parking lot, a bright ass spotlight shining in our faces so that we can barely see the liars, but they can clearly see us, Taliek is trying to intimidate them into shutting up. He's making faces, he's mouthing shit like the cops aren't right there watching us. And I realized just how high he must have been; how high we all must have been. Well, needless to say, it doesn't work a lick. The Nassau County cop's dirty tactics was some brilliant bullshit. There's no way those four clowns in the wheelchairs saw all of us close enough to finger every one of us, but that didn't matter. All six of us went to jail that wonderful snowy winter night.

    Now, I'm staring hard at Taliek (already raising my middle finger), wanting him to glance my way, but he's staring down at the stone floor. He's sitting on that floor with his knees drawn up to his chest, and both arms hugging his knees. His face looks dazed, partly because he's certainly still drunk and high (high off that weed he says he found in Baisley Park--which I'll address in time), but mostly because this whole thing is his fucking fault.

    See, he's always stepping to somebody's girl; the crazy part is that the girls usually give him play, which is how the trouble inevitably starts. I recall actually warning his stupid ass that very night as we first walked through the mall doors. The difference between the twenty-five degree weather outside, and the glorious heat of the mall, made my head spin. And made my already considerable high positively skyrocket. So, I was quite sure the exact same thing was happening to my crew.

    "Don't be fucking with nobody else's chick!" I say to him, as we enter the mall. "I know your trouble making ass, Tai!"

     "I'm good Lu-Lu!" he says, laughing and putting his right arm around my shoulders, and knowing how much I hate him calling me that. None of us are wearing coats; we came in two cars (a money green BMW and a white Cherokee jeep) and left them in the vehicles. It's always a signal to the ladies that you got wheels. I don't know why exactly, besides the obvious reasons (a comfortable ride when it's cold and raining; or especially when it's snowing--as opposed to a crowded subway or bus), but chicks really sweat nice rides.

    Taliek grins in this goofy ass way he has of grinning when he's fucked up. I swear, I'm amazed at how many attractive girls he gets to give him the time of day. He's my boy, and there was a time when I would have died for him (to be fair, right then, I felt like killing him--later on, I nearly did), but I still find him kind of cheesy. Whatever it was the girls saw, I was completely blind to. I mean, other than the fact that he wasn't afraid to approach them in the first place when most males are, of course. He wasn't ugly, I guess. But most of my crew were considered pretty boys, and other than yours truly, didn't even come close when it came to pulling babes.

     The place was crowded as hell that night; it's Saturday during the holiday season, and there's fine girls everywhere. And I mean everywhere. Every color, age, shape, size, and race. Now, I don't know how your malls are, but our malls (and movie theaters) are where everyone goes to show off, hook up, or start trouble. I personally, wasn't looking to do any of those particular things. I just wanted to go somewhere to eat and let my high go down some. It truly felt like I was going insane.

     Earlier, I said that the highest I'd ever been in my life was after snorting that heroin? Well, I was wrong on that one. The truly highest I'd ever been was after smoking Taliek's fucking weed. I could barely function properly, and the last thing I wanted, or needed, was conflict with some corny ass dude trying to play Leroy in The Last Dragon.

   Those were my thoughts upon entering the place, but when a motherfucker says he's going out to his ride to get the burner, wait here, only a fool would let him make it out there. It was clearly time to put the ignorant punk in his fucking place.