Free Anything for Profit 2: Nothing to Lose by Justin Amen Floyd Page B

Group Home and he obviously had no family and nowhere to stay. “Can he stay here for a few days, mama?” asked Meka and Ant D. Gloria pretended to be thinking it over, but she knew all too well what it was like to feel alone in a cold, calloused world. So after hearing Mike’s story, there was no way she could say no. Of course, those “few days” eventually turned into weeks and those weeks into months. Years later, Gloria had come to love Mike as if she had given birth to him herself. He had affectionately called her Ms. D. and they would often laugh, joke and just talk about life.
     
    As she rode in the car, headed toward the hotel, Gloria could hear the sound of Mike’s voice and see him laughing in her head. She stared out the window of the car and smiled at the memory. The tears streamed down her face and ran into her mouth. The salty bitterness brought her back to reality and reminded her of the fact that she was crying.
     
     
     
    $$$
     
    Later that night, Ant D paced back and forth in the living room of his mother’s house with the lights off. The house was pitch black except for the dim glimmer of light coming from the streetlights. Ant’s eyes had already adjusted themselves to the darkness, so he had no problem seeing as he continued to walk a hole into the light beige carpet. He had an AK-47 strapped over his shoulder, and an assortment of other high powered guns and artillery laid out all over the leather couch. He was ready for whatever. There was about a half an ounce of that girl lined up on the glass coffee table. Occasionally, Ant would stop pacing long enough to take a couple of hits up his nose. He was already on edge and the coke only heightened his senses, making him even more paranoid. Every noise he heard sounded like an enemy. Every car that passed was filled with assassins coming to kill him. His finger tightened around the trigger. He sniffed.
     
    His cell phone went off. The unexpected sound of the ringtone caused him to involuntarily squeeze the trigger of the assault rifle, discharging bullets into the wall. Damn! I’m trippin’ like a muhfucka, he thought to himself as the phone rang again. “ Many men, many, many, many, many, men wish death upon me/ Lord I don’t cry no more, don’t look to the sky no more/ have mercy on me, have mercy on my soul, so when my heart turns cold…” 50 Cent’s song Many Men from his classic debut album Get Rich or Die Trying was a somber but fitting ringtone given earlier events, Ant’s mood and the way he was feeling right now.
     
    Ant didn’t bother to answer it, as he noticed the headlights of a car pull into the driveway. He couldn’t tell what type of vehicle it was, but it really didn’t matter. He cocked the rifle, pulled back the curtains and peeped through the blinds in the living room. He quickly moved to the kitchen windows which were still blown out. Ant D aimed the assault rifle at the car and waited for his would be murderers to get out so he could start blasting. He wanted to see their blood spill. He needed to see their bodies sprawled out on the fucking pavement, dead. His index finger rested firmly on the trigger and he braced himself as he got ready to squeeze. Whoever was in the car killed the ignition and then the lights. That’s when Ant noticed the gray Chrysler 300. It looked like Meka’s but he wasn’t sure. It could’ve been a fucking set up. It could’ve been undercovers (they were known for riding around the city in cars they had confiscated from dope boys). And it would be nothing for Zulu to send some goons at him in a car he was familiar with to draw him out. He kept his finger on the trigger.
     
    The driver’s door began to open. Just as Ant was applying pressure to the trigger, he recognized the figure that was getting out of the car. It was his sister. Ant shivered, broke out into a cold sweat and quickly lowered the gun . What the fuck was he doing!? He’d almost killed his own fucking sister.