JERMAINE D. REYNOLDS

                                                                                     

 

 

 

 

©2012 JERMAINE D. REYNOLDS

APPODION ARTS Entertainment

 

 

 

 

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E- Mail: Passionpowerwriters@gmail.com

  

 

 

Any similarity in character to anyone is entirely coincidental. This is a work of fiction. All rights reserved.                                                                                                                                            

 

 

 

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“Law doesn’t take into effect individual situations, only social status.”

-Jermaine Reynolds-

 

“At any street corner the feeling of absurdity can strike any man in the face.”

-Albert Camus-

 

 

 

 

 

Foreword  

I see you could not stay away. Did I stir something deep within you? Primal- Drum beating- spiritual lust perhaps? Or did I remind you of who you are and had forgotten how to be? Either way it matters not and the fact that you are intelligent is the only way I know your submission is real. For how can a fool know what is involved? How else can instructions be under stood, maintained, or carried out? And what enjoyment is there in ruling a fool?

The fact that sometime you may curse your intelligence you are bound to me by it. I am the manifestation of what you want. I am the definition of who you need to be with. I am the entity that gives you purpose in exchange for your submission…. 

 

Look at her.

Today I made her pray to me for two hours while I sat in my lounge chair, on the patio. I was in taking a breakfast of many different fruits and I spat and threw pits, seeds, and peels at her face and body. When I was done with my breakfast I stood over her and released a strong stream of urine into her hair and face. I gave her an apple for not flinching. I let her take a bath and try on some sun dresses by the pool. I wasn’t taking her anywhere. She wasn’t ready for the outside world yet, like a puppy in the park for the first time, her brain would become like air. All sense and reason would fall to that ancient call. Her restructuring was not yet complete, so to speak. I locked her in the dog cage when I tired of her. I placed a bowl of water in there and opened the curtains. Even a twisted flower needed sunlight. I would be going to the coliseum alone tonight.

The coliseum is another name for the projects. Where I can watch warriors battle and the price of everything is cheap. Many here have not yet touched their core. They are susceptible to so many corruptions. Impulse supersedes thought and the vibe is ones only salvation. To show uncertainty is to invite violence. Focus is paramount and patience is precious.

Like the hard sighs in the night, vice is the air of comfortability and stumbling girls are a horny mans pleasure. Are you familiar with this ancient dance with the night? Absolute freedom found! Slaves are vindicated here. At the bottom. The foundation. The root. What is the poor really missing? All things are available for the senses. Don’t come unless you plan to be abandoned.

In any event enjoy the following adventure….

                                                            

                                                                 Always in honor,

 

                                                      Bastarte Baalione

 

“The more they increased, the more they sinned against me; I will change their glory into shame.”  

 

 

“Church poured coal into the barbecue pit until it filled halfway. He rolled up the remainder of the bag of coal and stuffed it into a large, black garbage bag. He smiled at the bound and gagged woman sitting in a beach chair, observing his movements from weary eyes. He picked up a bottle of lighter fluid from the lawn table and poured it over the coal liberally.

“Grace, you are just going too love my barbecue.”  

Church addressed her while placing the lighter fluid back on the table. He walked over to her and gave her an exaggerated kiss on her forehead, making a loud smacking sound with his lips. Grace stared up at him, many emotions passing through her eyes. She was forced to watch as Church murdered her husband, whose body she could still see floating in the pool. Jeff, her newly deceased husband, was preparing a romantic backyard barbecue while the baby was asleep. Then Church interrupted, waving a silenced pistol at both of them. After tying them up and gagging them, he cut Jeff’s throat and threw his body into the pool. Tears poured out of Grace’s eyes and she suffered more because she knew it was all her fault. Her history had caught up to her. Her husband was dead and she would be dead soon as well. She just hoped it would be fast and that he would not harm her child.

The sounds of Church placing the grate over the pit brought Grace’s mind back to the present. Church was dusting off his hands, and he smiled when he noticed her attention on him. He walked towards her then kept going past until she heard the glass doors to the back of the house open and close. Grace started to shake as something cold touched her spirit. ‘Please don’t hurt my baby’ she chanted in her mind. She was finally realizing that the things she did to get ahead in life had all come for their due at the same time. Her family wasn’t supposed to have anything to do with her sins, she thought.

Grace grew up hard on the streets of Brownsville, Brooklyn. Her father was a lifer in prison and her mother was too much of a ‘realist’. She taught Grace to be an opportunist, a capitalist, and a thief. Armed with her mother’s philosophy, and the skills of a veteran snake, she set fire to the streets. Grace robbed, set up drug dealers, prostituted, sold drugs, boosted, and did credit scams all by the age of nineteen. People became hip to grace and respected her hustle yet they knew not to let her close. Then her and Church crossed paths and he fell hard for her instantly, and Grace knew it.

She seduced him, played the part of his wife, reaped the rewards, and bided her time. It wasn’t long before Grace knew all his moves and where, and how much, was coming in. After a little over a year, she set him up for a bust with the narcotics Task force. Once Church was behind bars, Grace would learn that Church was worth a whole lot more than she thought she knew. The hundred and something thousand they had in the house was what kept his thing going. Even though he had an attorney on retainer, he knew that he was a persistent felon and was facing a mandatory twenty- five years to life. He had no one else to trust or no other family except Grace. He told her about his stash apartment and gave her the combination to the safe. Once she opened the safe Grace almost fainted at the sight of all the money. She spent half a day counting it twice and was just as astonished the second time to discover that she scored six hundred and fifty thousand. Church used to tell her that he had a future planned and that she was a part of it. She thought he was just talking being that she was taught to believe everybody had “Game”. Grace packed the money in a suitcase, went to the house for her jewelry and the other money, and skipped town. She ended up in Ohio, where she met a square named Jeff. She worked her charms on him and he fell in love instantly. Grace accepted his marriage proposal to partially modify her name, just in case, even though she thought church would be too old to do anything to her if they did ever see each other again. So she lived off of Jeff’s money, which was more than modest with him being a well sought after investment broker. Grace kept her money put away in case of emergency and built a new life with her husband. She never so much as wondered what happened with Church’s case or cared. Now ten years later Karma came to claim her dues.

Grace jerked when she heard her one year old son crying. She could hear Church shushing her child and baby- talking to him. Church came to stand in front of her with her son, Kevin, in his arms.

“See Mommy?” He cooed to the one year old.

Church smiled at Grace and in that smile she saw pain, hate, and madness. She knew in her heart, at that moment, that her son would not live. She whimpered and fresh tears fell off her face. Grace pleaded for her child’s life with her eyes. Her helplessness and surrender only served to excite Church.

“Stop crying kid. It’s almost over.” Church said in the voice of an old Italian mobster depicted in the movies.

He carried little Kevin over to the barbecue pit and tied him to the spit length- wise. He made sure the child was tied securely, hands and feet, and gave the spit a few practice turns to ensure the body would rotate properly. Grace went wild when she first noticed Church’s intentions for her son and fell over with the beach chair onto the deck.

“Come on gal,” Church walked to her, affecting a Jamaican accent. “Ya haffa be still and pay attention. I man a learn ya something.”

Church picked her and the chair up off the deck, against her struggles, and sat her upright again. Once he had the chair steady and checked the binds, he reared back his arm and slapped her into unconsciousness for more than a few seconds. The world came back in a fuzzy black and white before her brain upgraded back to color.

“Do not make me have to pick you up again.” He threatened through gritted teeth. He then gripped her jaw and put his face to hers. Nose to nose. “Do you understand me?” Church asked in a low dangerous tone. Grace tried to nod her head but his hand prevented it. Church released her face and went back to the barbecue pit where Kevin was screaming his lungs out. Church reared back his arm and punched the one year old in the jaw with all his might. The child’s jaw shattered. Grace moaned weakly. Church smiled broadly.

“Aye gurl,” He affected a Jamaican accent. “Stop your blood clot cry- ing.”

Then he burst out in maniacal laughter as he struck a match and threw it on the coal. The fire flared right up, peeking in and out of the grate. Little Kevin hung about a foot over the grate with his jaw hanging and his eyes closed. Grace wondered if her baby was dead already. Church pulled a beach chair next to Grace’s, sat back into it, and placed his hands behind his head as a pillow.

“You know Grace,” He started in a conversational tone. “It’s not good to let the fire directly touch the meat. To get proper barbecue, to where the meat is hanging off of the bones, you have to let the meat slow grill.”

Church then grabbed a soda out of the cooler and was immediately inspired by a certain blind performer and legend’s hit commercial. He broke into a perfect mimicry of the performance while smiling at Grace.

“You picked the right one bay- bay yay, Uh- HUH!”

 

-END PART ONE-