This is an idea I first started writing in July of 2013, it came really easy and the ideas never stopped flying. I feel like there's real potential with it so I decided to test the waters and put some stuff up for you guys to read. I really need criticism and feedback so don't hesitate to post your thoughts, negative or positive. Without extra bullshit, here's (named for the time being) Godless.
~Introduction to Anti-Innocence: Part 1~
That was all I could think about that day. Jerome barked orders at the clerk with his gun raised, yelling for the short Indian man behind the counter to not move, not look at us, and to put all the money in the Crown Royal bag all at the same time. I stood there in a daze, clutching my grandpa’s shotgun loosely and aiming at nobody in particular. I was an active, although spaced-out, participant in a robbery but all I could think about was how hot it was. It was a scorching Louisiana summer day outside, 98 degrees, but I was inside a store, it should have air. Then I noticed next to the clerk, who was still red in the face and shaking in confusion, were three of those portable handheld fans, all on full blast. I could feel the sweat wanting to run down my face and soaking into the ski mask. I was sure I was going to pass out until my cousin’s words finally broke through.
“Yo! Nigga, wake yo’ dumbass up and get busy!” He yelled. The rusty silver 9mm he held was still pointed at the clerk but Jerome had his eyes on me.
I don’t know what it was, the heat or Jerome, but out of nowhere I sprang into action. I cocked the shotgun and took heavy steps toward the counter, making a point to smash the glass lottery ticket display when I got there. The man was scared of my cousin, but he was ready to piss his pants when he saw me. I pointed the barrel right at his chest and the words escaped my mouth before I could think them.
“Look muthafucka, gimme everything up out this bitch!”
The man shook noticeably and popped open the cash register, slowly pulling out the bills. I was going to let him keep at his pace but I noticed something, he kept peeking out the window. That bitch had police on the way. I lost it.
“Aye! I ain’t FUCKIN’ playing with you! Pull the whole damn drawer out and dump that shit in the bag!” I yelled. I surprised myself when I fired a shot in the ceiling, spraying that weird drywall shit everywhere.
The clerk screamed and dropped the money. He yelled “ALLAH!” at the top of his lungs and shut his eyes, starting to pray in Arabic.
“Man…fuck all this!” Jerome said, frustrated. Before I could object he had raised his pistol at the clerk and sent two shots into his chest. The clerk flew back into the shelf behind him, sending packs of cigarettes crashing around him. He didn’t cry out or speak, he just touched his wounds and brought his hands back up, shocked at the sight of his own blood. Jerome was already putting the last of the money in the bag by the time the man had finally slumped over behind him, and was screaming “Let’s go!” when the man’s eyes closed.
I was in a daze. He had died just that quick. I mean, I had my gun too and I guess I was ready to use it but you never really know until you do it. I saw Jerome but I couldn’t hear him. As I watched him jump up and down, one hand pushing open the glass door and the other frantically motioning for me to follow, his mouth moving to say, “Man come on! What you doin?!”, I thought…could this really be my cousin? He shot that man with no hesitation and since he’s my blood…was I capable of something like that too?
Something broke me out of that trance. Jerome screaming, the echo of the gun, maybe even God if he exists…anyway, I hopped over the counter and grabbed the three fans, taking one last look at the now surely dead clerk. My eyes locked with his, glazed over and unmoving, staring at a stack of Penthouse magazines kept under the counter. I hopped back over and ran out of the store with Jerome.
We hauled ass across the small parking lot already noticing a few people pulling out their phones. Wasting no time, we hopped into the gold Monte Carlo we had stolen a couple weeks before and threw all the shit in the back. Jerome started the engine before he closed his door and didn’t bother to close it until we were on the road already.
It wasn’t long before we heard sirens and knew they were coming after us. I ripped my ski mask off and cooled my face with one of the fans, panting like a dog. The car jerked left and right as Jerome weaved through backstreets toward our destination. We were supposed to meet up with Butter in this Payless parking lot a few blocks away, ditch this car, and then go to the meet-up spot to split the money up.
We ducked off in this house’s empty driveway for a minute, waiting on the cops to pass us up. Once we heard the sirens fade Jerome peeled off back onto the street and booked it to the store. In less than a minute we parked the car around the back of the store, grabbed all the loot out of the backseat, and bolted to Butter’s car.
See, Butter drove this piece of shit 1985 Cutlass. It was a loud ass candy-painted red that was probably nice at one point but was chipping now. The A/C was broke, the passenger window didn’t roll down, and the sunroof had dead wires. The only nice things were the rims he got for graduation. But shit, he hadn’t cleaned them in a while either.
We made it to the car and Jerome immediately tried to get in, jerking on the handle with no results. He stomped the ground and hollered through the window, “Man what the fuck?! Why this shit ain’t never fixed?!”
Butter was a big dude, weighed about 275 lbs, was like 5”10, and thought he was the coolest motherfucker on the planet. His name is Riley Turner but Jerome first called him Butter in 5th grade when he said Riley looked like a butterball turkey. The name stuck, but Butter took it to mean he was smooth or slick. It worked too. Butter was too confident after that, and I guess if it’s one thing that makes bitches overlook weight, it’s confidence. At least…I guess, bitches are too complicated to understand.
Butter leaned over in the seat and called out through the glass, “Son, you know you gotta jiggle the handle, push, then pull. You rode with me like a million tim-”
“Nigga, fuck you and fuck this old ass rust bucket!” Jerome said, too hot and pissed off to listen.
“Man, you know what? Fuck YOU, Jay! Get your cousin, bruh.” Butter said, looking at me.
Sighing, I turned to Jerome, “Come on man, why you tripping on Butter like that?”
“Tripping?! Nigga, we just put in work and our wannabe driver might as well uh pulled up in a jail cell!”
“It’s better than walking!” I said, pointed to the sidewalk. “Man, let’s just go!”
Butter leaned back toward the window, “Son, I ain’t doin’ shit until Jay apologize to me and my ride.”
“Apologize?” Jerome said, dropping the bag of money. “Man, you got a nigga fucked up! You must want my hands or some-”
While my cousin stomped around like an asshole, shouting about how he’d whoop Butter’s ass and throwing insults, I leaned to the window to talk to Butter.
“Come on, man. You know he don’t mean it.” I said, unsure of my own words.
“Ol’ pussy ass nigga,” Jerome said behind me, still pacing back and forth and pounding his fist into and open hand. “Ol mark ass nigga. I swear this dude fak-”
Butter ignored him like I did and said back, “Nah, son This nigga stay disrespecting me and my shit but come needing me to do something.”
“Nigga, what?!” Jerome yelled back. “You volunteered! We woulda jacked another car and been out! Man, I swe-”
Sirens. From far off but still. We needed to go now.
“Butter, come on and let us in. We’ll squash this shit at the spot.” I half-pleaded.
“Not until this dude say he sorry.”
Sirens. Fucking jail.
“Man, fuck you!” Jerome says, walking toward the car.
Closer. To take away my freedom. I lost it.
“Both of y’all shut the fuck up with the petty shit! It’s pigs right around the corner and y’all acting like hoes!” I looked over at Jerome and kept going, “Now quit acting like a girl and act like a nigga that just caught a body! I ain’t tryna go to jail!”
I shocked myself. Normally, me and Jerome never talk to each other like this. I could see he was pissed off but at the same time it was like he just noticed the sirens approaching. Butter just looked in shock that Jerome had killed somebody.
“Man whatever. Sor-ry!” Jerome said with a look of disgust on his face. “Now open the door, nigga!”
Grinning smugly, Butter leaned over toward the door and did something with the latches. The door whined and creaked, but finally came open. Hurriedly, Jerome threw everything in the back and leaned the seat down so I could climb in. As soon as Jerome got in and closed the door, Butter twisted the key…but the car didn’t start.
“Whatthefuck whatthefuck whatthefuck?!” I kept repeating, hoping for the sputtering to turn into the roar of an engine.
“Bruhhh…it wasn’t start!” Butter said, turning the key again.
“No shit! What we gotta do?!”
“I think it gotta be pushed…”
End of Intro Part 1