A Snippet of "Water"

~~~~~~~~~ New York is a city with a population well over eight million. Among the many cultures and the various nationalities, you can find over eight million stories. One of those stories is about a young hustler named Shawn Champagne Brown, a.k.a. Moet. Moet grew up in Monroe, a housing project located in the South Bronx section of the city. He stood six feet, three inches tall with a muscular build. His eyes were a light brown and his deep dark brown skin tone served as the perfect backdrop for his mega watt smile. Moet got his start by being a watchdog for the neighborhood drug dealer named David McNeil, a.k.a. Rahleek, who owned and operated several businesses but his breadwinner was pharmaceuticals, the street kind, specifically cocaine. He took Moet under his wing after his father died, Moet loved the streets, and Rahleek was the streets.


Moet's mother was LaShawn Brown; she became the sole provider after his father was murdered. Moet had two siblings, a little brother named RaShawn, and a little sister named Heaven. His father was Mike Brown but everyone called him Lucky. Lucky and Rahleek were best friends. Rahleek was a hustler, and Lucky’s thing was gambling. It was Lucky who put Rahleek on by introducing him to Cuba. Cuba was a made-man in the Columbian mob. His underworld connections were second to none. He had his hands into everything illegal under the sun. When it came to sports betting Cuba always got his tips from Lucky. He took Lucky everywhere, Vegas, Atlantic City, Miami, the West Coast, and the Mid-West. They ventured anywhere gambling and heavy betting was. No matter what the bookmakers would say Cuba always listened to Lucky. Cuba loved to brag to his friends about how he put more money in his pockets than what he took out of his pockets from the tips Lucky would give him. Cuba trusted and respected Lucky, so when Lucky introduced Rahleek to Cuba, he dealt with Rahleek solely on Lucky's word that is how much Cuba trusted Lucky, his word was gold.


Cuba and Rahleek went on to build a great and prosperous relationship, all this was due to Lucky’s friendship with Cuba, but unfortunately, Lucky did not live to see Cuba and Rahleek's relationship blossom. He died doing what he loved most, which was gambling. While shooting dice in the Bronx River projects, Lucky had a habit of talking shit when gambling, and this day was no different. While a person named Smoke was losing, Lucky was in a groove and showed no signs of cooling off. "I'm about to break ya'll niggas, especially you Smoke, since you got all that mouth," Lucky confidently stated.

"Nigga, shut the fuck up and shoot the dice," Smoke shot back.

“Aight all down is a bet when I roll Cee-Lo don't nobody move but me." Lucky rolled the dice and they did exactly what he said they would do. The dice landed on four, 5ive, and six...Cee Lo!

"Get the fuck outta here!" Smoke shouted, "Lemme see them dice nigga."

"Smoke, I don't give a fuck what you do to them dice, just keep droppin. All down is a bet, nigga," Lucky boasted.

"Here, take theses jinx ass dice and shoot nigga!" Smoke barked.

"Dice, comin out, Black what's up, you bettin or what?" Lucky asked.

"Shiiiit, you cracked me Luck," Black replied.

"What about you Cashmere?" Lucky questioned.

"I'm good son, you too hot right now," Cashmere responded.

"Okay, that leaves me and you Smoke, I am ‘bout to break yo ass,” shouted Lucky. (Laughter)

Lucky reared back and rolled the dice, this time they landed on one, one, and six. (Automatic win)

"Head crack, Gimme my loot nigga!" Lucky yelled.

"I'm not givin you shit nigga! You cheatin, how the fuck them dice keep landing on 5ives and sixes?"

"Cheating muthafucka? Smoke, take that shit down the block somewhere, you can keep that chump change nigga, go buy a back scratcher ya gorilla looking muthafucka." (Laughter)

"You damn right I'm keepin my money! As a matter of fact, I want all my money back!"

"I see why they call you Smoke; you got to be smokin some shit if you think I’m givin you some money back.” Lucky and the rest of the crowd laughed, but Smoke was in his feelings, before anyone knew it Smoke pulled out his gun, "Nigga you gon give me my muthafuckin money back."

"Yo Smoke, this shit ain't that serious, put the gun up," Black cautiously said.

"Fuck you nigga, you can get it, too!"

"Oh it's like that Smoke? You ready to shoot niggas for this chump change?" Lucky exclaimed.

"You damn right it's like that nigga!"

Lucky threw the money he won on the ground, "You want it, pick it up nigga, that's what all my bitches do."

"Bitch, I got yo bitch nigga!" Smoke let off three shots striking Lucky in his upper body. Lucky fell to the ground clutching his chest, everyone started to scatter. A maintenance worker for Housing Authority noticed the commotion, he saw Lucky laid out on the ground bleeding profusely; he immediately dialed 911.


LaShawn and Moet were cleaning out her Dodge Magnum when a mutual friend came with the news, "LaShawn Lucky's been shot.” She yelled. “What you say?" LaShawn said over the blaring radio. “Lucky got shot in Bronx River," the friend solemnly repeated. "Oh my God, Moet, get in the car!" LaShawn ordered. When LaShawn and Moet arrived at the scene, Lucky was laying in a pool of blood with the all too famous white sheet draped over him; a couple of police officers were keeping the onlookers at bay. LaShawn attempted to go towards Lucky's body. "Excuse me, ma'am, do you know the victim?" an officer said. "That's my husband, move outta my way!" LaShawn pleaded. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but it's too late."

"Too late, what do you mean it's too late? Lemme go!" The officer grabbed LaShawn and shook her in an attempt to bring reality to the situation, "Ma'am, it's too late, he's gone." LaShawn fell to her knees and cried out asking God why he took Lucky. Moet just stood there motionless while she continued to cry.

LaShawn's cousin Mona had also heard Lucky had been shot. She arrived to see LaShawn and Moet mourning their loss and quickly made her way over to console them while the homicide detectives began taping off the crime scene. Mona whispered to her cousin, "LaShawn, let's go, Moet don't need to be seeing this.” She then told Moet to pick up his mother's keys and c'mon. Mona herded LaShawn and Moet towards the car and drove them back to Monroe. Moet was eleven, RaShawn was six, and Heaven was 5ive when their father died, though his death was a traumatizing loss LaShawn remained strong, she put all the energy she had left into raising her children. LaShawn was a stay at home mom who had never held a job because Lucky took care of everything, however after his death she moved out of Monroe and found a nice three bedroom house in Mount Vernon, N.Y. She had enough of the project life and wanted something better for herself and her children, unfortunately for Moet this change came too late, he had become a product of his environment. When LaShawn heard Moet was hanging around Rahleek she knew he had followed Lucky’s example and had fallen in love with the streets, therefore she opted to turn her focus toward RaShawn and Heaven. LaShawn understood it was the streets that turned Moet out, and she was not about to let history repeat itself, before they moved Moet used to have nightmares because of the two things he remembered seeing; Lucky laid out in a pool of blood, and hearing LaShawn's cries for help.

Impressum

Texte: J. Hall
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 01.02.2012

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