Rocky and Bumpy
Part 1: Midnight Delight
Elijah Jamal Mickens was never known to be one who would ever miss the opportunity to smash a grape with the proverbial sledge hammer. Then again, discretion was never really his style.
So as he sat there eyeballing his next mark, 45 loaded and weighing heavy on his lap, all he could think of was the last words his mother uttered to him as she rumbled out the car enroute to the makeshift hot dog stand.
“Bumpy, don’t fuck up!”
She had been in the stand for the better part of 5 minutes when she finally engaged the dude. It never ceased to amaze him how efficient she was. She would walk up to a guy, and no less than 4 minutes later she’d have him going wherever she wanted him to go.
He knew it was less than 4 minutes because he had made a game out of timing her as she lured the prey into their trap, and the current record holder was at 3:54.
On this night, the vic clocked in at a respectable 3:28. As he scanned the street through the rearview mirror and quick glances over either shoulder, he pulled the black ski mask down over his face.
He watched as the man shuffled behind his mother, who had opened the door to the stand and sauntered off toward the alley. He clutched the 45 and with his opposite hand, reached across his body to grip the door handle, watching the pair as they inched closer to the rear of the building.
He could see the man’s shadow looming high above as they made it to the edge of the front, preparing to round the corner for the back of the structure. Elijah, or Bumpy as he was known in the street, snatched the car door open and spilled out into the crisp night air, closing the door behind him with a degree of restraint that surprised himself.
He slid along a grassy embankment that converged near the side of the structure, leading to the same path his mother and their prey were on. As he made it to the side of the building directly behind the stand, he planted his back firmly against the side of the structure before making a sharp pivot and walking with a renewed sense of purpose.
He could hear the sounds of a car pulling into the parking lot. He recognized the familiar rasp of a local rapper he followed, and made a mental note to investigate what the song was called once they handled their business for the night.
By the time he got to the rear of the building, he had slowed his pace to a crawl, taking a final look around for cameras and finding only the same two he had already identified.
He listened intently as he became keenly aware of voices in the back, speaking in increasingly hushed tones until no voices could be heard at all. He edged closer to the back and racked the pistol just as he heard the unmistakeable sound of a zipper.
…to be continued.
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