“The nigga who's evil.”
The blank Monday morning sky drifted above the arid city of Stockton. A city where gang banging rabble of lowlife thugs and drug dealers, mixed with corrupted, belly-up community leaders wrap the whole city up in a vast pot of befouled destruction or some other substantive words to describe what the city is like. One neighborhood, in particular, is smitten the worst. The Bentley's Trailer Park, a bruised area of the city, smacked up and beaten to the point where the whole streets that flow in are numb, so numb the people don't care.
Drug dealers, cholos, hoodrats, trailer trash, mediate middle class white kids that hang out near the area to quickly make friends with the type of people their parents warned them about. All in one ordering of mobile homes, dirtier than a foxy, paunchy black tramp's malady-infested cooch. The neighborhood residing next to an abandoned train yard, the local crackheads like to shimmy through the home's, stealing whatever they can find to sell for their habit-forming sniff and suck.
A trailer stood between the line of abstracting the best of both worlds, a trailer that held a special character, different from the others. The whole neighborhood is grey with aphotic shadows shading on the shady. But the one peculiar trailer was different. There, in the trailer, lived our main, grievous yet shown as a beamish man with little to no aggression. Elroy.
Sitting on his mangled couch, sucking in a band joint of weed, and listening to old vinyl records while wearing nothing but a wifebeater, boxers, and his usual manner signature shades. Hair and beard bigger than a butch dyke's brainsick fetish over Swedish female feet, and smile wider than a Puerto Rican, transexual porn star's asshole after working on the set. With bits and portions of hot wings, and broken to half empty bottles of malt liquor thrown around his living room.
Watching reruns of Good Times on his 1975 RCA Color TV, he laughed deeply to the chintzy jokes that saucy black lady would say with her nappy headed arse. Sucking in more of the skunk asshole fume, he held in his breath with a cloud of the weed floating freely in his mouth, flowing out as he let go of himself, harshly coughing after wards. Suffering from asthma and still finding time to smoke a joint. The microwave behind beeped, as he let out a toot, stench as bad as his weed.
Elroy got up thinly and slowly, walking to his close by kitchen, dragging his pink, flossy, fluffy slippers along the mahogany rug. Opening the 1984 Tappan Microwave, with numerous crusts of rust caked on the sides, as the steam of the macaroni and cheese slowly rose up, filling the kitchen in a fog of cheesy delight. Touching the blistery bowl, Elroy screeched, licking his fiery fingers as he pranced around the kitchen, blaming R-Kelly. He grabbed the mittens his now deceased mother wore for her own funeral, slipping them on as he felt his mother's trapped hangnail jab at his hands.
Grabbing the bowl off the microwave, he walked back to his couch, laying the bowl on a scraped wooden coffee table, dropping it raspingly on the surface, making splats of the cheese jump out of the bowl along with the noodles. Digging out the spoon from under his couch's pillows, he stuck it deep into the mac and cheese, filling the sterling silver with the dish, he forcibly stuffed it inside his mouth, staining his beard with gooey, yellow splats.
With the routines repeating, he finished the bowl in a matter of minutes, getting up and stretching before he took a look at his watch. A wave of anxiety overtook him as he stared at his digital G-Shock watch. He was late for his working duty, his integral workings, his job. Slowly placing his arms back straight, he stood still, realizing what he was doing as he quickly ran to his bedroom. Tripping along the run, as he fell forward, impacting his face on the scratched door from nights he'd bring adolescent, drunk white girls to smash.
As he entered the loathly stenched room, he ran straight to his wardrobe, pulling out his work polo along with khaki highwater pants and skate shoes torn to mush. Finished dressing, he ran out to the living room, smacking the tv so hard, dust pasted to the base flew off. It's the only way to turn off the old scrap. Elroy ran out the door, grabbing his keys to the '78 Cadillac Brogham he owned, stylised in a rusty red paint job, vast rims barely stuck in the tires, and dirty, trashy interior with torn blunts layered over every part.
Opening the door, the sound of a screaky ass thing that pierces in your ears, he sat on the bedraggled seats of the hoopty, the vehicle shaking with the impact. He started the engine, rarely working the first time, as he turned the radio on, the station always stuck on the Persian talk radio. Reversing his vehicle, he looked at the rooster that usually stood on his neighbor's front yard. It looked weird...
Nahim's Food & Likur
The hoopty stopped-up in a parking spot aside the road, as it's engine bubbled to the sudden rest. Elroy exited the vehicle, nearly getting hit by a taco truck as the Hispanic driver yelled out some profanities in Japanese or whatever language those Mexicans speak. The store he worked in stood in the middle of an array of shops located in the main road of the Northside of downtown, one of the most trashy neighborhoods of Stockton.
Nahim's Food & Likur, a two aisled store filled with booze bought by lonesome, pathetic, middle aged men to wash away all the sorrows their bitch wives usually sends to them after coming home from their low paying, cut-rate job or usually perverted, wonky eyed Mexican laborers after a long day of their usual tasks done for that same middle aged man. Or it's stolen by Elroy himself.
Aside from booze, the store sells spoiled food bought almost once a year with no restock, seeing as the owner, Nahim, a Palestinian man with hair oilier than the grease dripping off a bacon cheeseburger, is a dirt cheap, autocratic old piece of crap that gets on Elroy's nerves, bad enough to think of killing him. As he entered the store, Nahim put down the wads of cash he was counting, walked from behind the cashier.
“You late, agayn!” Nahim yelled, raising his arms up, as Elroy stared at his revoltingly yellow-tinted teeth, with one chipped off with a cluster of mold hanging down. “Was the reason dis time?”
“Look, bruh. I work here, and I do my work, so I guess I can be late.” Elroy responded, walking away from Nahim, as he passed behind the register.
“No, you wrong, Earnie! I pay you good money for no work, you no work!” Nahim continued crying, as he ran behind the register, pulling Elroy out.
“The f*ck you mean you pay me good? Dumb f*ck!” Elroy screamed, pushed to the aisle containing moldy donuts and other fouled state food items. “It smells like sh*t here.”
“Now, work on cleaning up here. You lucky I don't fire you!” Nahim waved his gruff finger around. “Oh and, I know you stole my 40's the other day, so, I bribe you now!”
“Bribe me? For what, Ken Davitian?” Elroy looked at Nahim with a baleful look. “JUST CAUSE I'M BLACK?!”
“Yes, that's why I hired you, Ernie!” Nahim responded, grabbing a remote and turning on the tv hanging on the corner of the store.
The grey screen displayed a video of the store, as Elroy is cleaning up the floor, fishily looking around. As he continued mopping up to the freezers that contained the malt liquor, he quickly pulled out two bottles, stuffing them in his pants as he raised his head up, checking to see if anyone would look.
As he stuffed both bottles in his pants, he dropped the mop, dashing out the store in a far-out manner as a bottle slid out from the ankles. Nahim switched the screen off, looking at Elroy with a assertive face, looking all terroristy and stuff.
Elroy looked down and walked to the broom, grabbing the grating stick and cleaned up the unclean floor of the store. It was the usual routine of his, it paid him still, he never had the opportunity or chance to work the register, simply because Nahim was quick to judge Elroy of being an ignorant, illiterate negro.
It was only four more minutes until Elroy's shift ended, and he'll be out of the filthy ass shop. The bell of the door rang as a familiar man entered the shop. Elroy's bestest friend, the akin bad attitude, immature intellectual buddy- Dot. A short, scraggy build, loud mouthed spade brother with relaxed-straight hair reaching his shoulders. Wearing some flashy, yellow glasses and a pink dress shirt topped with a blue bowtie, he stepped on some leopard-printed loafers.
“Ay', make sure that pussy stay tight!” Dot yelled out the door, to an unbeknown person outside.
“Dot... What's up?” Elroy asked, with a miffed tone walking up to Dot. “Let me guess, you want a 'free ninety-nine' deal?”
“Yeah, nigga!” Dot replied screaming, walking to the freezers, admiring the beautiful stock of liquor. “Hmmm... Lemme see what I want!”
“You can't do that!” Elroy said, in a speech similar to that of a snitch, white preschooler. “Nahim put in cameras.”
Dot looked around the store, examining the cameras. Grunting, he slammed the freezers, walking up to a random chair sitting on the corner of the store near a camera as he placed it right under it. As he stood on the chair, he stuck his face right on the camera's lens, agaze eyes on it for some time.
“The f*ck you doing?” Elroy asked, stepping behind Dot.
“I want to scurr that boss of yours.” Dot replied, still staring straight at the camera. “Maybe if I scare him right, he'll give up all the liq-”
As Dot was interrupted, the chair slipped off it's legs, Dot's body falling along with it, as his hair whipped around violently wriggling his arms around. Impacting on the ground, his head shook with the wallop as he moaned in pain.
Elroy stared at Dot on the ground, hearing his screeches and cries of pain as he stood there, holding his broom. As Dot's pain cries lowered down, the bell suddenly rang again, the door suddenly slamming hard against the wall behind it. Two men walked in, wearing pink ski masks and holding what appeared to be pieces. Elroy quickly picked Dot up, holding his hand against Dot's mouth, hiding them both behind a shelf.
The two thugs looked around the store, pointing their weapons around as they resumed through the register. One of the thugs hopped over, struggling to open the register as he screamed violently, his yelling cracking. The other thug looked through the shelf, as Dot arm was obvious to find, hanging out from the side.
“Yo, B! Get the f*ck outta there and open this sh*t up!” The thug screamed, pointing his piece towards the shelf.
However, Dot or Elroy did not answer.
“YO B! GET THE f*ck OUTTA 'FORE I START BLASTING ON FOOLS!” The thug screamed once again through his pink tinted mask.
“We don't work here!” Elroy rickety said, halfway peaking from behind the shelf. “Leave now!”
“THE f*ck YOU SAYIN' DOG?” The thug said, raising his shotgun higher towards the shelf. “YOU BETTA' GET OUT OF THERE AND START HELPIN US OPEN DIS!”
“Alright, give me some time!” Elroy replied, yelling filled with fearfulness as he dropped Dot's body on the ground, groaning to the sudden fall.
“Dafuq B?....” The thug whispered to himself.
Elroy walked out from the shelf, walking anxiously towards the register, as the thug continued to point his weapon towards him. Passing the thug, he walked behind the register, as the other goon watched him, noticing a lazy eye on the man. Seeing the eye made him sni**er lightly, as the goon pulled his face close to Elroy's, his proximity being only pinkie length away from Elroy's cheek.
Elroy ignore the fact that a dicey gangster was looking at him with only one turn of his face away and continued pulling out wads of cash as the other thug watched Dot's body. A plan struck Elroy in his skull, bashing in him like he does when f*cking white girls. The plan was simplex, as the idiot goon thought he could panic Elroy with the stare of his lopsided Mr. Potato Head looking face.
Collecting the last few wads of cash, Elroy looked at the goon back, as the goon still stared at him. Now nose to nose with the gangster, he licked him on the lips, as the goon jumped and wiped himself with the gun. As Elroy struggled to reach the goon's gun, the goon continued wiping his face, undesirably pulling the trigger on his face, killing himself instantly. The other thug turned his back around as Elroy ducked to grab the other goon's gun as the thug shot a bullet towards the register, making the machine hop off the counter it was sitting on, falling off the edge, and knocking Elroy out with a strike putting him out.
20 Minutes Later
Elroy felt the shaking of someone's hand all over his body, as his vision tardily cleared the blur. Dot stood over him, smacking him on the face simultaneously as Elroy retained consciousness. Pulling himself up, he looked at the horrific scene that laid before him. The thug that stood behind the register was dead with his face being unidentifiable. The other thug's face was spiked with a long metal tube sticking out of his temple as blood dripped down to the floor.
And the most surprisingly, Nahim's face was stuck to a corner of the counter that contained the register, flesh sticking out from the sides not impaled from the wooden surface. Disgusted, Elroy barfed on Nahim's head, giving him his first shower.
“The f*ck happened, nigga?” Elroy asked, wiping his mouth from the undigested substance dripping off his lips. “Why is these here dead and stuff?”
“Your head got smashed pretty hard, bruh!” Dot said, snorting at Elroy's ludicrous statement.
“Look, dude, I was gone for a long ass time, was I?” Elroy inquired again, rubbing his afro head. “f*ck, sh*t. sh*t f*ck, is this what I did?”
“Nah, bruh, you did not kill these dudes. They were dead already. Well after what happened. Which was a robbery-”
“Oh yeah, I remember! Did-did I save anyone?”
Dot gave Elroy a hunched look, as he fixed his straight-relaxed queer hair.
“Nigga, look at the scene!” Dot screamed, pulling Elroy's hair towards the view of one of the thug's body.
“Agh! Bitch!” Elroy screamed, raspingly trying to pull himself off Dot's grip. “Let go, Andre 3000!”
“What'd I say about calling me that?!” Dot yelped, smacking Elroy on the face, making his shades fly off his nose.
As Elroy picked his black tinctured shades, slipping them off as he smiled at his sexy feeling of his face. Pulling himself from the ground, he stood unbent, confused on what to do about the scene of the gorey crime scene. Turning towards Nahim's body, he thinly kicked his torso, making his pierced face slip off the counter, leaving chunks of flesh and brain matter on the wooden surface.
“Ewwww! Niiiigggaaa!” Dot cried, shaking his body to the choppy feeling of revolt. “Why'd you do that?!”
“He could be alive or some sh*t, dude!” Elroy replied, staring at the hardly recognizable face, knowing that surviving that could be some mythological miracle, like religion and divinity. “Nah, he can't”
“Let's clear out the bodies.” Dot blankly said, staring down at the puddle of blood still flowing on the ground. “This is a mess, bruh, but, uh... It's easy to work this sh*t out. I mean, I f*cked some crazy Armenian ho's that did some f*cked up sh*t. And they clean it pretty fast.”
“Rid of the bodies? We gon' leave fingerprints and sh*t! The police can find that and use it as evidence!”
“Ain't you said Nahim put up some cameras? I'm sure they can view the footage and just know it wasn't us!”
“In case you didn't know,” Elroy tardily said, looking at a mangled cable on the ground, lying next to a freezer. “-Your stupid ass ripped that camera up! And Nahim did not buy tapes! Not that I know! That nigga cheap! He smell like sh*t too!”
“f*ck! Look, let's just clear up these bodies, hop off out of here, find some white bitches to f*ck, and snort some hardies!”
“Aight!” Elroy quickly agreed, walking over to Nahim's body as he grabbed his lax legs, pulling his body to the back room located beside the counter as his head left a trail of burgundy skids.
As he entered the back room, the change of climate affected the strength, as the store was passably cool, while the back room was more stuffy. Sweat schemed through his now glossy, slick skin, stopping next to a garbage can that stood on the very back of the room. Picking up the body, he stuffed it idly into the can, the state of it with one arm and both legs peaking out from the topless container.
Dot soon followed behind into the room, bringing in the thug with the stick pierced into his skull, also struggling. Finally dropping the thug on the floor, the stick wedged into the skull even more, priming off his forehead, with rolls of flesh tipping around the impacted area. He pushed the body with his foot on the crotch area, making it slide forward towards Elroy.
“Damn, this nigga didn't get an A/C for this room?” Dot gasped, feeble pushing the body.
“Nope, f*ck!” Elroy replied, holding the throbbing pain on his back from carrying the sand abode f*ck. “sh*t! Uggggghhhh, my back hurt like a pussy! Tck! sh*t, sh*t, sh*t! Uggggh!”
Echoes of sirens hollowed outside, Elroy straightaway looking at Dot with a dumbfound look. The first instincts of two monstrous-minded, dose taking, self hating, faultfinding, immature black men was to get to firing when you hear that siren. But these two were different, at least Elroy's aptitude told him to run. While looking for an escape route, Elroy paced back and forth, pounding himself on the forehead, as Dot scruffily pushed the body under a table placed next to a wall.
As Elroy looked at Dot setting the body under the table, he noticed a window up at the top above the table, getting an idea. Pushing Dot out of the way, Elroy hopped on the table, smashing the window open with his pure fist, after wards shouting violently as blood gushed out of his knuckles with specks of glass stuffed in his skin. Scarcely ignoring the pain, he proceeded to break the window completely with a nearby rock that sat right outside on the pane. Crawling out of the building, he dashed away from the damaged window, completely ignoring Dot screaming for help.
“f*ck NIGGA! HELP ME OUT, NIIIGGGAAA!” Dot yelped, his upper body and head along with his runty arms waving around outside the window.
Elroy ran back to Dot, grabbing him by his dress shirt's sleeves as Dot discharged his body, making it harder for Elroy to pull him up.
“GIVE ME HELP, DIPsh*t!” Elroy yelled, troubled in pulling up his friend.
Officers entered the building, surprised by the many areas where blood covered the ground, canvasing the thug's body behind the counter. Halfway pulled up, Dot kicked the wall to force himself up as numerous officers entered the room, yelling their usual Stockton Police bellow as they pointed their weapons towards Dot's backside, as that's what they were currently looking at.
An officer pulled out a nightstick, buffeting Dot's cheeks with the stick, as he powerfully held in his breath for the strong force of blows he was giving out.
“Nigga's racist!” Elroy screamed, as a random officer showed up behind him, covering his pudgy arms around Elroy's neck.
Letting an arm go of Dot but still keeping one on him, Elroy struggled to get the fat lard of a cop off him, as his puffs for air slowly faded. On the other hand, Dot managed to get a good kick at the officer sending bloats to his ass, knocking him out and receiving a broken jaw as Dot succeeded to crawl out of the building, dashing towards the officer choking Elroy.
Grabbing the taser off the cop's belt, Dot pointed at his head, as the officer faced him, with a rosy pink tint face and an aspect of mercy shadowing over him. Pulling the trigger, dozens of shocks sent over to the officer's wit, making him shake irrationally as his fat cheeks whipped in the air. Elroy spat on the officer's face after he fell on the floor, possibly dead.
The two ran out towards the back, leading into a nonstop junctions of alleys, the dark sky waffling over them. Running with no stopping, Elroy coughed gratingly, ordering Dot to stop.
“Damn nigga... f*ck..” Elroy invoked, gasping crazily for air. “Too much running... Remember I got asthma..”
“Oh sh*t, yeah... Yet you smoke.” Dot replied, patting Elroy on the back.
“f*ck you, long-haired bitch! You look like a nasty dyke!” Elroy retaliated, sucking out of his inhaler.
“Look, now what the f*ck are we gonna do? sh*t, cops are looking for us... Wait... First of all, why the f*ck did we run from the cops, first of all?”
“sh*t, it was all you, I just wanted a 40, and all that happened.” Dot said, acting like quarter bitch.
“f*ck, my life's f*cked now. All in one day. sh*t. We better get someplace now, let's find some white bitches.” Elroy requested, still acting insouciant even after getting robbed, finding his boss dead, getting knocked out, and getting chased by cops.
“Aight.” Dot agreed.
“Aight.” Elroy said back.
And the adventure starts....