I never thought that it would come to this. Never imagined that things would get this far. Never phantomed that I’d be pondering thoughts of getting back the things that I had lost by taking away another person’s life. Life that is so preciously given, but is often taken for granted. Life that so many of us can steal from each other without a care in the world. Never in all my life have I had the sudden urge to commit such an evil and vicious crime.

But then again, I’ve never been in the sticky situation that I am now.

Those are the thoughts that had invaded and taken over my brain. Those are the thoughts of what a desperate man would do for the love of his family. While planted in a corner booth at the back of Starbucks sipping on a lukewarm mocha latte with stiff whipped cream, with the busy sounds of the cappuccino machine going and soft music playing overhead, I was busy contemplating and premeditating how I was going to wipe the man that had taken my place with my wife and son from the face of this earth.

“Hey mister, my mommy ain’t home right now, but Alvin’s in there. Maybe he can help you.”

I nodded toward the dark, curly haired little boy that appeared to be about eight. Big brown eyes, the color of walnuts sparkled against the bright sun. The twinkle in them caught my attention.

“Come here, kid,” I called to the small boy wearing a black and gold Tupac t-shirt and dark blue jeans. Throwing the ball to one of his friends, he anxiously ran over to where I stood on the front porch; curiosity possessing his eyes.

Panting and out of breath from that brief jog in my direction, the kid swallowed hard, wiping sweat from his brow as he gazed up at me.

“Yes, mister”, he said, frowning and cutting his eyes at the front door at the same time.

“What’s your name?” I wanted to know. Curiosity was getting the best of me too as I waited. “Who lives here?”

Just then the screen door flew open.

The kid stepped back away from me, his expression changing, and the look of fear was on his face. “I live here, fool. Why you wanna know?”

I turned in the direction of the voice coming from behind me. The man that stood there was a good six inches taller than me and weighed about a hundred pounds more. Stepping out onto the porch, while still holding the screen door open, he called out to the kid.

“Clay! Bring yo li’l punk ass in here right now. Ain’t I told you about playing in the street wit’ them bad kids.”

I swung my head around to this mammoth-of-a-man so fast, my neck popped so loud I was sure it could be heard.

“Who the hell you callin’ a punk, you motherfu…” I had to stop myself in front of my son. Taking a deep breath, I calmly said, “that’s my damn son you talkin’ to, man. I don’t know what your problem is, but you….”

“Daddy?” The boy sprinted toward me, but stopped when the screen door slammed loudly and mammoth man stepped out.

I held the boy beside me; one arm around his shoulder, the other free in case I had to swing on this dude. Thinking he was gonna go off on me, I balled my free hand into a tight fist.

He surely don’t wanna mess with me, I thought.

I had spent the last four years of my life holed up in a tight, piss-smellin’ prison, hustling and fighting for my life almost every single day.

Nope. He better not mess with me.

But instead of getting all up in my face or swinging at me like I thought he would, he merely smiled. An evil smile that made the hairs on my arms and back of my neck move around like hungry ants.

Then he laughed. A revolting, menacing laugh like those immoral villains do in thriller movies.

One that started deep within the pit of his stomach and escaped through his filthy mouth.

“Oh snap,” he covered his mouth with his hand, “so you the no-good, weak ass fool that abandoned his wife and son?”

“Naw, man you need to get the facts straight,” I stepped to him, head up and chest out. “I didn’t abandon them, I went to prison for them. Trying my damndest to provide for them.”

He kept that evil smile glued to his ugly face as if he knew something I didn’t.

Maybe he did.

“Well, you fell short, my man, ‘cause I’m providing for them now. Real good, if you know what I mean. Now if I were you I’d take my sissy ass on and leave the real work for real men…faggot.”

Before I knew it, my right fist met the left side of his hard head, knocking him back into the screen door, tearing it off its raggedy hinges. He took the punch and catapulted into me like a rocket from its launch pad. Momentarily surprised by the quickness of such a huge man, I felt the rough concrete scrape my back as he landed hard on top of me.

Prison must have taught me something because my instincts of survival took over and I rolled with the velocity of the force from the blow and shoved his body off me. With the agility of tigers we bolted to our feet at the same time, positioning ourselves for another imminent encounter.

At that moment, I witnessed something I had never imagined before. I saw myself standing over this bludgeoned, behemoth of a man, with his life’s essence covering the ground.

The shriek of my son’s terrifying voice rang through my ears, snapping me back into the present and finding myself in a standoff with my worthless opponent.

“Is that all you got, faggot?” He asked, standing and growling like a hungry wolf.

Everything within me said, kill and destroy, but the look on my boy’s face, with tears the size of raindrops falling dawn his face quickly made me realize that this was not the time or place. There would be a day of reckoning. Just not today.

Hearing the faint sounds of police sirens in the distance told me it was time to leave. I had lost my son once trying to provide for him, but I was not going to lose him again trying to defend myself. It simply was not worth it.

All of my fatherly instincts said, “don’t leave your son with this maniac,” but I just could not go back to prison and lose him forever.

As I turned to walk away, hiding the tears in my own eyes, I felt defeated and totally spent. I felt like I had failed my son for the second time in his life. I yearned to turn and gaze upon his face before leaving him, but was afraid that the look on his face would draw me back. Even though my heart was overflowing with despair, there was a tiny glimmer of hope in knowing that my son had not forgotten me.

“Yeah you betta leave, fool before you land yo’ ass back in the pen.”

Fighting back the urge to turn around and slap the taste out of this mammoth’s mouth, I held my tongue, straightened my posture and did what I had to do for my son. I walked away.

An hour later I found myself standing inside the corner phone booth, talking to Roscoe, the man who could get just about anything for anybody for the right price. After explaining to him, in not so many details how desperately I needed his help, he agreed to meet me at his house across town. He still owed me a huge favor for that diamond necklace and matching earrings I lifted for his girl six years ago. Quickly hanging up the phone, I stepped from the booth and whistled loudly for an available cab. With only a few bucks in my pocket, I told the driver to take me as far as my money could go and I’d walk the rest of the way to my destination.

Once I reached Roscoe’s house which was the last one on a dead end road, I walked quickly through the gate leading to the back yard where his old brown, ragged shed stood that appeared to have seen better days.

This day not being one of them.

Roscoe must have heard me approaching, because as soon as I reached the shed, the tattered and unstable door swung open.

“What’s up, my man? When you get out the pen?” Roscoe shook hands with his childhood friend, grinning from ear to ear.

“Man, I don’t mean to be rude, but we can catch up on all that stuff later. I gots business to handle right now and I ain’t got much time.” I brushed past him, closing the creaking door behind me. “So can you just lead me to ‘em?”

Roscoe placed an ashy hand on my shoulder.

“Right this way, my brotha,” he said, “right this way.”

He led me to a separate room in the rear of the shed. The strong scent of ammonia and dead rats filled my nostrils; making me gag with every breath I took.

“The goods is right over there man,” Roscoe offered. “Any one of them precious little beauties is yours. Just take your pick.”

As I ran my trembling hands over the stash of almost every gun that I could name laid out on Roscoe’s huge pool table, I smiled inside, nearly laughed at the thought of letting one of these bad boys loose on the man that had taken over my family; emptying the whole damn clip in his ass and taking back what’s rightfully mine.

My day of reckoning had finally come. Finally come at last.

To Be Continued….