Chapter Thirteen
S
cratch sat with his old friend, Sharina, who was still pretty upset over the shooting at the rehab center. She had come back to Flint after getting sober, hoping that she could fix things with Halleigh. But that never happened, because the shots rang out before they had a chance to talk.
After Halleigh was whisked away in an ambulance, Sharina had searched every hospital until she found her daughter. She still wanted to clear the air and apologize for everything that had happened in the past. Scratch, who held a special place in his heart for both of them, was really hoping they could patch things up. He was almost as disappointed as Sharina when she came back and told him that she'd found Halleigh, who basically just told her to get the hell out of her life.
Scratch had grown close to Halleigh ever since they met up on the streets. He felt a special connection to her because he remembered her mother from back in the day. He even started calling her Li'l Rina. First they were get-high partners when Halleigh was working for Manolo and using drugs to escape the pain. She finally cleaned herself up, but then stayed by Scratch's side and supported him while he was at the rehab center getting sober.
They had a special bond. He thought maybe if he went and talked to Halleigh, he could convince her to give her mother a second chance. Being newly sober himself, Scratch felt like even the worst addicts deserved a chance.
He looked for her, but no one in the streets had seen or heard from Halleigh since she got released from the hospital. It was as if she'd fallen off the face of the earth. Scratch felt obligated to stay close by Sharina's side. He was afraid that if she got too depressed about Halleigh, she might start getting high again. That's why he hated to tell her the bad news.
“I tried to find her, but no one has seen her. I put word out that I was looking to get in touch with her, though.” Even if he did find her, Scratch couldn't help but wonder if Halleigh would even want to hear about her mother.
Scratch put his hand on Sharina's shoulder. “I'm sure she's gonna come and see you sooner or later,” he said, giving her false hope out of the pity he felt for her.
Sharina didn't mind grasping at every little bit of hope dealt to her either. “Yeah, I sure do hope so. I have so many things to ask for forgiveness for, ya know.” Sharina sighed sadly. “I never was much of a mother to her, and I still have so much to say to my baby.”
Scratch listened and nodded his head in complete understanding of Sharina's words. He, too, had some demons that he was battling. One in particular that he wanted to hide from Sharina was the fact that he was responsible for introducing her daughter to drugs. He felt so guilty, but knew that he would never tell Sharina. What good would it do to tell her? The whole thing ate him up every time he thought about it.
“Keep trying to find her, will you?” Sharina told Scratch, desperation in her eyes. Sharina then turned away in defeat. “Even though, if you do find her, she probably won't come racing to see me no-how.” Sharina shook her head as her eyes watered.
“Don't talk like that. Li'l Rina will come around eventually. I'll make sure of it,” Scratch assured her. Then he gave her a peck on the cheek and exited the room.
Scratch was going to find out where Halleigh was at, but he didn't know where to start. He'd looked under every rock in Flint to no avail. She had just simply vanished. But she had to be somewhere. For the sake of Sharina, he wasn't going to give up.
Scratch walked down the street headed to the homeless shelter, where he planned on trying to get a place in line, so he could have a roof over his head for the night. He knew it was on a first-come, first-serve basis. They didn't hold a bed for nobody.
He walked with a pimp's swagger, and even though his bones were worn out, he still managed to have that same ol' stride he was once notorious for, before he allowed drugs to get the better of him. He hummed the sounds of an Isley Brothers tune as he walked past the same block where he used to score his dope. It was hard being a recovering addict, but he promised himself he would fly straight and get the monkey off his back for good.
Every time he got the urge to put the drug that once controlled his mind and body into his system, he quickly remembered how his inner demons took over when chasing the high. He would do any and everything just to score the drug. He learned firsthand that no matter what a dopefiend said he wouldn't do, when it all came down to it, he'd do it in a heartbeat. Scratch had been one of those fiends.
Ostracized by his entire family because of his addiction, in the end, he was left with nothing and nobody. His family and close friends turned their backs on him, locking their doors closed when they saw him walking down the street. The days of being invited to family Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners had become a thing of the past. Although it hurt Scratch, he couldn't even be mad at his peoples. They had every reason to disown him.
Scratch would constantly scheme and swindle just to achieve his next high, even if it meant cheating and stealing from his own family. He remembered one time on Christmas, they were all having dinner at his mother's house, and his twelve-year-old niece had gotten a purse for Christmas with a hundred dollars in it. She wasn't aware that she couldn't just leave her purse lying around, even though it was only with family. No one explained to her that when one of the family members is a crackhead, the rules change.
In all honesty, Scratch hadn't set out to steal from his family that Christmas Day. As a matter of fact, he'd been clean for almost a week and was quite proud of himself; but when he walked into the bathroom and saw that purse just lying there next to the hand towels, he couldn't resist the temptation. He knew it was just a kid's purse and probably didn't have any money in it, but, out of habit, he had to see for himself.
He picked up the purse, unzipped it, and to his surprise, five pairs of eyes were staring up at himâall belonging to Andrew Jackson. Scratch counted out the five twenty-dollar bills. That's when the tug-of-war within himself began. He put the hundred dollars down in his pocket then headed to the bathroom door. Before he could even leave the room, he pulled the money back out of his pocket and stared at it. “I can't do this,” he told himself. He headed back over to the purse. “I don't need this,” he reasoned as he placed the money back inside the purse. “I'm not even gonna get high no more.”
Once again he walked away, but then that little voice spoke to him, calling him a fool for not holding on to at least some of the money . . . just in case he felt the urge to get high. On that note, Scratch took twenty dollars, leaving only eighty in his niece's purse.
“I could have taken it all. At least I left her most of it,” he told himself, which allowed him to sleep that night. But by morning, the guilt had eaten him up to the point where only one thing could wash away the guiltâgetting high.
Once the family discovered that there was a missing twenty-dollar bill, they didn't even have to think twice about how it had vanished. Stealing from a child was the ultimate low, as far as Scratch's family was concerned, and they let it be known to him by disowning him. Everyone cut him off, including his own mother.
Today, after all these years of getting high, Scratch was determined to never go that route again. He was ready to turn over a new leaf. He knew it could be done. It just wasn't going to be easy. And although the homeless shelter wasn't a place he wanted to call home forever, it was a start. He'd have to prove himself to the world all over again that he could be trusted and that he wanted to change.
Maybe Scratch will even get a job âround these parts. I still got swagger,
he thought as he touched the tip of his brim and walked past the dope house he used to cop at, which Mitch now ran.
Malek sat back and watched as the crackheads and dopefiends went in and out of one of his old spots like clockwork. It looked as though business was booming. Not too long ago, he thought he'd never miss the game, but now he'd give anything to have a piece of the action.
Without Halleigh's knowledge, Malek had made a trip back to Flint, first to put Mitch in check, and secondly, to observe his old business. He thought about his woman, who waited at home for him miles away, thinking that their life was peachy. She didn't know they'd just hit rock bottom, and he was still trying to figure out a way so she'd never have to know.
How did I let this bullshit happen to me?
Malek scolded himself. He knew the only person he could really be mad at was himself. He'd turned over his livelihood and put his trust in virtual strangers. When he thought about it, what did he really know about Gary anyway? He'd put in so much work to save the money, and then let some fast-talking guy sweet-talk him out of all of it, like a virgin on prom night being sweet-talked out of her panties by the prom king
.
“Gary is a dirty mu'fucka!” Malek spat, shaking his head
. That's probably not even his real name.
When he got some money, he would figure out a way to find him.
When I catch him, I'ma make him suffer.
Malek looked at himself through the rearview mirror and felt pure failure and disgust. As he was beating himself up verbally with a string of expletives, he saw Mitch pull in front of the dope house in a blue Benz. Malek knew Mitch would be on his p's and q's, since he had caught him slipping but didn't kill him. He almost wished he hadn't given the fool a heads-up. But his anger had been in control as he did ninety miles per hour down the highway in the middle of the night to get at him.
Now, seeing the arrogant bastard rolling as if he really was boss, it took all of Malek's willpower not to step out of his car and blast that fool. He knew it wasn't the right time, though. Malek knew he was outnumbered, as Mitch was accompanied by some of his goons. So, he just sat there and watched as they disappeared into the house. Now his thoughts of revenge were aimed toward Mitch, and it was the only thing on Malek's mind. Oh, by no means did he plan on letting Gary get away with stealing from him, but right now a bird in the hand was worth two in the bush.
With Mitch refusing to let him back in the game, Malek was powerless. Nevertheless, with a baby on the way and a woman to take care of, Malek needed money. He came up with a plan. He was going to hit Mitch where it hurt the most. In the pockets.
I'ma hit all of his dope spots and take him for all he got
. Malek glanced down at the pistol that sat in his lap. He knew his idea was not well thought out, but he was in extreme circumstances. The last time Malek called himself going to commit a robbery, his life went downhill after that. But the past was the past. Then he was a “virgin” on the streets, and it was his first time testing the waters. Now with his well-cultivated skills, he knew he had a better chance of pulling it off.
Malek wasn't no dummy, though. Having been away from the streets for a while, it was very possible that Mitch had changed up some things, so he needed someone who knew the ins and outs of the spots so he could rob them smoothly. That's where Malek's first problem surfaced. He had no idea who would know about Mitch's spots that wasn't loyal to him.
Malek noticed a man walking down the street with a 1980s pimp stroll, wearing raggedy clothes and a brown top hat with a feather. Although the man looked like a bum, his walk blared confidence. Upon closer observation, Malek realized it was Scratch, an old friend of Jamaica Joe.
A bulb went off in Malek's head. He knew right then and there that Scratch could be just as valuable to him as he'd been to Jamaica Joe. No matter what, Scratch always seemed to know any and everything that was going on in the streets, and always willingly reported the goings-on to Jamaica Joe.
Chapter Fourteen
“S
o are you game, old-timer?” Malek asked, his eye on the people going in and coming out of the dope house.
“Let me get this right.” Scratch rubbed his hands together and thought long and hard about the opportunity Malek had just presented him. “Say, you want Scratch to help you rob Mitch's spots? I mean, I'm not a young gun like yo'self anymore. Scratch can't move like he used to, ya dig? Maybe I'm not the one you need to be recruiting for this here job.”
When Malek first stopped Scratch as he made his way to the homeless shelter, Scratch thought he was about to get robbed.
“Yo,” Malek called out, doing a light jog toward him, “hold up, my man.”
Scratch had immediately raised his hands in surrender. “Look, youngblood, I ain't got nothing for you. You got the wrong one. If you trying to stick me up, you'd just be practicing, because I'm on my way to the homeless shelter.” Scratch nodded toward the shelter, which was only a few buildings ahead, making it a point to look straight ahead and not in Malek's eyes. He didn't want the young cat to kill him just because he'd witnessed his face, nor did he want him to think he was trying to challenge him.
“You got it all wrong, fam,” Malek told him. “I'm not here to try to take something from you. As a matter of fact, I'm here to offer you somethingâthe same way you used to always offer my man Jamaica Joe something.”
Malek's words got Scratch's attentionâespecially the mention of Jamaica Joe's name. Scratch could recall the many times Jamaica Joe had broken him off some dough just for keeping his ears and eyes glued to the streets, so he assumed this kid wanted something similar from him.
Scratch lowered his hands and faced Malek. That's when he noticed the familiarity of Malek's face. “Hey, I know you. You used to run with Joe, his little prodigy or something. You was that kid that was supposed to go pro. You were supposed to be the American dream for all the people stuck in Flint, the example that there was a way out besides death or jail.”
Malek should have been flattered at Scratch's words, but they only twisted the knife that he already felt was in his chest. Hearing that so many in the streets of Flint had put him on such a pedestal that his success would be a reflection of theirs only made him feel worse about his current predicament.
Seeing the blank look on Malek's face, Scratch continued, “So you said you got something for Scratch?” Like Malek, he knew that nothing in the streets came without a price. So now he'd just have to hear the youngster out and see if what he had to offer was worth it. “Talk to me, youngblood.”
Scratch listened intently as Malek explained to him how he needed his assistance in seeing through his plan to rob Mitch's spots, and how after doing so, he could probably afford his own place rather than relying on the homeless shelter. Malek made it sound like an offer that Scratch couldn't refuse. “C'mon, man. You wanna spend the rest of your life sleeping in the homeless shelter? You help me with this, you won't have to worry about having money to get your own place.” In all truth, Malek needed Scratch to keep him and his family from the homeless shelter.
“You're the perfect person for the job, actually.” Malek could tell that Scratch was now seriously considering the proposal he'd hit him with. Malek turned toward Scratch, looking him directly into his eyes. “You know where all the spots are at. You can get in and peep the scene for me, ya know? You can let me know how many workers are in the spot and where the straps are at.”
Scratch thought for a moment before replying. “No disrespect, youngblood, but I never cut you out to be a stickup kid. You and Jamaica Joe were tight. I thought y'all were cut from the same cloth, but a stickup kid Joe was not. So, if you don't mind me asking, why are you hitting his old spots? Seems like, if anything, you'd be on the same team as his crew.”
“Shit happens,” Malek told him. “I was on the same team. It was me who Jamaica Joe handed the operation over to, not Mitch. But eventually, I handed it over to Mitch. My intentions were to leave the streets alone, you know.”
Scratch could empathize with Malek. That was his intention as well, to leave the streets alone. “So you've changed your mind?”
“No. More like, some things that went down didn't really allow me a choice. But that's beside the point. What matters is that when I called up Mitch, the mu'fucka who I put on, and asked him for one small favor, he forgot that I was the one that put him in the position of power. So if he wants to play it that way, I'ma take instead of asking,” Malek said, getting angrier with every word that came out of his mouth.
Scratch nodded his head, completely understanding the game. He was once the head dope man in his heyday, so he knew where Malek was coming from. When he was on top, everybody wanted a piece of Scratch, but just as soon as he began to decline, no one wanted to reach out a helping hand. All they wanted to do was stick out a foot and kick him hard while he was down.
“I tell ya, youngblood, shit ain't like it used to be. I was in the game when it began to change. These young cats nowadays have no loyalty. That's the difference between the game back then and the game now. These young'uns in the game playing fo' keeps.”
“So you game?” Malek asked, trying not to beat around the bush any longer. He felt like he'd shared enough information with Scratch for him to be able to make a decision on whether he was down. “Like I said before, if you're in, then I'll definitely hit you with something for your help. And if all really goes well, I'll make sure to hit you off with a li'l somethin'-somethin'.”
Scratch already knew what Malek was thinking, and he wanted to let it be known that he was flying straight. “It ain't like that, man. Scratch left that bullshit alone. Like yourself, youngblood, Scratch trying to leave these streets and everything they stand for alone.”
“Then we can say fuck these streets for the last time together. But we need each other to do it. Some things we just can't do by ourselves, and some things we do ain't just for ourselves. I got a woman at home, and her future lies in my hands.”
Malek's words jogged Scratch's memory. He remembered that Halleigh had expressed how crazy she was over Malek, and now he wondered if she was the woman at home he was referring to.
“Say, have you seen Halleigh?”
Malek saw the way Scratch's eyes lit up when he mentioned her name. At first he couldn't figure out why this crackhead would be so interested in knowing about his girl, but then it dawned on him exactly who Scratch was. He had been so caught up in his one-track mind, trying to get revenge on Mitch, he'd forgotten that Halleigh had explained to him how tight she and Scratch were.
Now Malek's eyes lit up. This was just one more thing he could use to his advantage. If Scratch wouldn't do it for Malek, then maybe he would do it for Halleigh. But Malek would only pull that ace out of the deck as a last resort. He needed to make sure he could trust Scratch. Once upon a time, Jamaica Joe trusted him very much, but like Scratch had just said, the game changes, and he had no way of knowing if Scratch had changed.
“Oh yeah. Halleigh is doing good,” Malek answered. “I got her set up out of town.”
Scratch smiled. He felt better, knowing Halleigh was doing okay. “So that's why no one on the streets has seen her. Man, I been searching for her high and low. I need to get with her on some personal things.”
Malek shot Scratch a quizzical look. He wondered why Scratch was so anxious to get at Halleigh. The only personal things those two ever had in common was dope. No matter how broke Malek got, he would never put Halleigh in a situation where she could go back to doing drugs.
As if Scratch could read the expression on Malek's face, he replied, “Youngblood, I told you I don't mess with drugs no more. It's not even like that. Li'l Rina is like a daughter to me. I would never . . .” Scratch's words trailed off. He couldn't finish his sentence without lying. Had it not been for him, Halleigh would have never gotten hooked in the first place.
Mistaking Scratch's sudden loss of words for him getting emotional and being sincere, Malek replied, “I tell you what. You help me, and I will take you to Halleigh. We got a deal?” Even if Malek didn't trust Scratch one hundred percent, he trusted Halleigh to make all the right decisions concerning her body and the health of their baby. After all, that was the reasoning he'd fed himself for the move he was about to make. It wasn't for him; it was for Halleigh and the baby.
“We got a deal,” Scratch said without thinking twice. He extended his hand to Malek. With everything Halleigh had done for him in the past, showing him undivided loyalty, providing inspiration throughout his recovery at the rehab center, he owed everything to her. If helping Malek was going to put her in a good place financially, then Scratch was all for it. Maybe after she found out that he helped, she'd listen to him, and then he could reunite her with Sharina. Then, in Scratch's mind, everything would be right with the world.
Malek shook Scratch's hand, and at that moment a partnership was formed, both sides offering something. Scratch was helping Malek seek revenge, and although he didn't know it, Malek was helping Scratch seek redemption. Malek only hoped that this partnership was the real deal.
“It's not going to be that simple, youngblood,” Scratch said, keeping it real with the young'un. “Since Mitch and Sweets came together, theyâ”
“Sweets and Mitch? Together? What the fuck you talking about?” Malek's heart began pounding almost out of his chest, and his temperature began to rise.
“Well, from what I hear from the streets, Mitch and Sweets ended the North versus South beef to become one. It's all the same operation now. So you gotta know that if you hit Mitch, you also dabbling into Sweets' money,” Scratch explained. “They got a lot of loyal cats up under them. You'd be starting a one-man war against two teams. And I know you done seen the movie
300
. Though them soldiers put up a good fight, they lost in the end.” Scratch was reminding him of the brutal outcome of the movie, in which the little army with a big heart got slain. In so many words, Scratch was trying to let him know that a big heart couldn't defeat a big army. Maybe in the olden days of the Bible it was possible, but not in the street game.
Malek had to get out of there. If he stood there any longer, he was liable to say the hell with a robbery and just straight-out get to poppin' off that lead. “Look, let's ride,” Malek ordered Scratch, turning away and heading toward his car.
Scratch followed, and they got in his car, where Scratch continued to discuss the beef between the two sides of town. Malek was even more furious at that point. Not only did Mitch betray Malek, but he had sided with the person who killed Jamaica Joe. Mitch was playing a dirty game, and Malek hated it.
That nigga has no morals
, Malek thought as he pulled away from the block.
Scratch said, “Can I ask you something, youngblood?”
Malek nodded his head, maneuvering through the city traffic.
“Have you ever done this before?” Scratch asked, referring to robbery.
“No. Can't be that hard, though, right?”
“It's time for ol' Scratch to give you a crash course in this game here we like to call robbery.” Scratch remembered the days when he'd resorted to being a stickup kid to get high. He remembered the year that he and a heroin addictâturned street lit writer robbed the dope houses throughout Detroit, Flint, and Saginaw in the late â70's. “You can't run before you walk, youngblood. We need to hit Detroit before we just bust up into one of Mitch's spots.”
“What you mean, Detroit?”
“We need a little practice, ya know. Now, you may no longer reside in the city limits, but I live here in Flint. I can't just shit where I sleep, unless I know there's enough toilet paper on the roll to wipe up all the mess.” Scratch got situated and turned slightly to face Malek. “I've been shooting dope since before you was born, and in my journey, I have run across many dope houses throughout the state. We need to hit one that's not so close to home first, to get your game up,” Scratch said, beginning to feel more comfortable.
As far as Scratch was concerned, robbing dope houses was like riding a bike. It was something a person never forgets how to do once they learn how. But he still needed to go for a test-ride, especially now that he had a sidekick. In his day, Scratch had never needed an accomplice.
As Scratch schooled Malek, he felt like his old self in his old habitat. “If we gonna do it, we gotta do it right.” He flipped down Malek's mirror and fixed his brim. Then he winked at himself and declared, “Scratch is back!”