STREET KARMA. Pain
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into a vein of his left arm. There were two liquid-filled medical IV plastic bags hanging from a pole above his head.
Quickly surveying his surroundings, Low saw that he was lying on a military-styled cot. It was located in the far corner of what seemed like a seventy’s styled discotheque. Then he spotted Rob standing beside a pool table, puffing a cigarette, and chatting with a broad. This all seemed like it was a dream, he thought eyeing the caramel complexioned girl next to Rob. At first glance, Low didn’t recognize who she was. Then she leaned over with her pool stick in hand preparing to take her shot. He got a good look at her face, and recognized Lovely, Rob’s ex.
Designed like a nightclub from the seventies, the place was equipped with a full-length bar, two professional-sized pool tables, and a large bulls eye dart area. The massive AMI Rowe Model 1100 Jukebox played hit singles from the seventies through the eighties. A large crystal disco ball hung above the freshly polished, hardwood dance floor. There were also hundreds of pictures, and posters of iconic Black men— Malcolm, Martin, Marshall, and women—Baker, Coleman, Davis—to name a few—adorning the walls. His location began to slowly make sense, and a sigh of relief escaped Low’s parched lips. Low wasn’t dreaming, he was actually in Lovely’s basement.
Low didn’t recognize the black hooded sweatshirt, Dickie’s pants, and black British Knights sneakers he wore the night before. He was now wearing a pair of thin, orange basketball shorts, a white tank top, and green and white Adidas slippers. Vivid scenes of the shootout started flashing through his mind. Low stared at his left shoulder, and silently counted his blessings. The sight of the wounded area was covered with white surgical bandage.
Memories of last night’s events replayed in his head. Rob was speeding on I-95. He was in the passenger seat soaked in his own blood. Low remembered the excruciating pain of the bullet wound. He was unsure if he was going to live, but was still breathing because of Rob’s quick thinking. Low was grateful.
Placing his feet on the hardwood floor, Low attempted to get up. An intense pain shot through the left side of his body. He lost grip on the side of the cot, and his body crashed to the wooden floor. Low let out an agonizing wail then rolled around in pain. His entire left side was on fire. The loud commotion caused Lovely and Rob to stop their game of nine-ball. They immediately turned their attention to Low. Rob dropped the pool stick, and ran across the room.
“Low, Low… You up, my nigga?” Rob exclaimed.
There was a big smile on Rob’s face as he helped him to his feet. Making her way over to assist, Lovely placed the cot that Low tipped over in the upright position.
“Sit him back down. He may still be weak from all the blood he lost,” Lovely said.
Rob helped Low to a sitting position, and Lovely began to examine his left arm and shoulder. The intravenous bags, and stitches were still intact.
“I think I should go tell mom he’s awake,” Lovely said.
Lovely saw that one of the IV needles was out of place, and quickly exited. Rob took a seat on the cot next to his wincing partner in crime.
“I thought you had fucked around and died on me,” Rob said, smoking a Kool cigarette.
He offered it to Low, who quickly declined with a wave of his hand.
“Rob, if it wasn’t for you bringing me here I probably would’ve died,” Low muttered, looking at his bandaged shoulder. Shaking his head in disbelief, Low continued. “That bitch really tried to take my fucking head off.”
“Damn sure did,” Rob said.
Easing his right hand over his wound, Low felt the stitches underneath the bandage. Then he said, “Damn, who would’ve thought that a broad so fine would be packing that type of iron.”
“Yeah, she was strapped, and was definitely going for the kill,” Rob solemnly agreed.
“Yesterday don ‘t even exist no more. Ya dig? We made it. You alive, breathing, and still in one piece… That’s all that matters. And we just one more car from the prize… Ya dig? Live for today. Fuck the past. One more car, and we cashing out.”
Low surveyed the basement walls adorned with all the many pictures of iconic Black faces. He took a deep breath, gathered his thoughts, and sighed. Then he contemplated last night’s events clouding his head. The security guards that were shot—fair game, but the thought that they killed a Black woman in the process wasn’t sitting well with him. Low was about to voice his opinion, but kept silent. His eyes locked in on a poster-sized picture of U.S athletes, Tommie Smith, and John Carlos. The gold medal winners were on the medal podium raising their fist skyward.
Low took a deep breath, nodded his head, and said, “Yeah Rob…one more car and we out.”
Sitting in the backseat of Lovely’s Infiniti Q45, his head resting comfortably on the luxury vehicle’s beige, leather headrest, Low was lost in a daydream. He gazed out the car’s window, glancing at all the luxury homes lining I-95. Lovely was driving south headed to Miami while Low was thinking of what his life would’ve been like if he was born to a wealthy family. The ruminations caused Low to shake his head. His thoughts were nothing more than fantasy. Low turned his attention back inside the car. Public Enemy’s new hit, Fight the Power played as Miami’s 99 Jamz 5 o’clock Traffic-Jam was in full effect.
This was the first time he heard the song from his favorite rap group, and Low wanted the song louder, but Rob was asleep in the passenger seat. He decided not to, and just listened intently while bobbing his head to the lyrics. Low caught a glimpse of Lovely’s face, and she was nodding her head to the beat as well. She was enthusiastically mouthing the lyrics to the song.
Low chuckled at the sight. Glancing in her rearview, Lovely locked eyes with Low, and smiled. Low asked her with an amused grin.
“What you know ‘bout P.E.? I thought squares don’t listen to rap,” Low joked.
“What you mean square? Negro please… Best believe I’m hip. Have you forgotten who my mother is…? Don’t let the fact that I live in the ‘burbs fool you. I know all about P.E, KRS1, Rakim, and Lords of the Underground, N.W.A., Pete Rock, and Rob Base, LL Cool J… What!”
“Okay then. I guess your mother raised you well.”
“She sure did,” Lovely smiled.
Turning her attention back on the road, Lovely activated the turn signal, and prepared to make her exit at the 54th Street exit.
“What your cripple-ass laughing ‘bout?” Rob muttered, yawning.
“Oh, so sleepy-head got jokes?” Low smirked, throwing a fake punch at Rob.
“I can dig it, lil’ homie,” Rob smiled, nodding.
Rob turned his head to the scenery in the heart of Lil’ Haiti’s streets. There were loose chickens all around, and Botanical shops on every other corner.
Lovely made a left to NE 2nd Terrace, and stopped in front of a big white two-story house. Rob extended and gave Low their signature handshake—the web between their right ring finger and pinky came together.
“Low, you sure old boy ain’t home?” Rob asked.
“Yeah, shit straight Rob. I’m good,” Low said, reaching for the door handle.
“Okay then pimping. Just make sure you on time in the morning,” Rob smiled.
“C’mon Rob. I know the routine by now. Thanks for the ride, Lovely,” Low smiled.
Then he exited the car. Tomorrow they were set to meet with Tony to give him the location of Lonnie’s car. Parked in Lela’s garage, Tony could tow it to his chop shop, and assign them their next, and final Job. Lovely sped-off down the street. Low took in a deep breath, as he contemplated his next move.
Michelle’s father wouldn’t be home until later, but her mother was another issue. She was always home. With one of Low’s