Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ Right Here ❯ Chapter One ( Chapter 1 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Disclaimers Apply Here: Manga-Chick does NOT own any part of Static Shock...no matter what she thinks.

Warnings: Violence, Non-Con, Swearing Galore, OOC, and other random bits that are disturbing and quite bad.

OooooooooooO means scene break

Manga-Chick Notes: This is an entirely different format with which I create this story...the last two stories were kinda light and romancey, and filled with some humor and angst. This one...this one’s different. DARKER than the other fics...

EXTRA BIG THANKSIES TO TRISTRIPE FOR HELPING ME OUT!

Er, the title is “Right Here” by Staind. The other titles were “If It Makes You Happy” by Sheryl Crow, and “One” by U2...in case ya’ll didn’t know...


Right Here
Chapter One


Virgil Hawkins gave a hefty exhalation as he loaded the last of their suitcases within the trunk space of the rented Escort. It was nearly ten o’clock in the morning, and he’d spent a better part of it packing and loading up his family’s luggage within the vehicle. They were taking a week long trip to the state next door to tour notable landmarks and visit old family friends. Robert Hawkins had been looking forward to this trip with his family–his hours at the community youth center had been chaotic and the hours hectic...he needed the downtime to relax. Sharon felt the same way, but Virgil was against road trips. He’d been moody about the entire thing since Robert announced their destination.

Virgil was wearing a sullen expression as he turned to his best friend to complain once more. He then looked increasingly pained as his elder sister, Sharon, stepped out onto the front porch. She called out to him, asking if he’d packed the Rolaids the in the glove compartment for Robert. The quiet calm of the neighborhood was destroyed by their shouts.

“YES! I DID!” he bellowed, rubbing his arms over the thick material of his flannel. “It’s right next to your damn five gallon tub of Shut-Your-Bozzy-Ass-Up!”

“It BETTER be in there! You know how daddy gets with all nem fast food, an’ shit! An’ don’t you take that damn tone with me, Virgil Ovid! I will make you regret your mouth workin’ on its own!” she snapped back, hands on her hips. Standing at five foot even, Sharon was small---but she knew how to project her voice to make anyone wince at its strength. Years of yelling at her younger brother had given her that advantage.

Richard Foley snickered as Virgil mimicked her stance, giving a wide-eyed stare back.

“VIRGIL!” Sharon shrieked at the mimickry.

“Hey, Sharon! Love ya!” Richie yelled, waving at her, intervening as he always had.

“...Shut up, Richie!” Muttering under her breath, she stalked back into the house, slamming the screen door shut. Snow dropped from the overfilled gutter with the action, the entire house shaking from the impact.

“You guys are going to have so much kick-ass fun!” Richie declared, looking at Virgil as he rubbed his bare hands together, blowing into them.

The African-American looked at Richie with a dull expression, teeth clattering loudly. “Trade places with me. Seriously. You can go in my place. Sharon will go easier on you cuz you’re her favorite.”

Richie stuck his tongue out at him, and Virgil mimicked the action. Laughing, Richie shook his head. “Your jealousy astounds me and wounds me, V.”

“You can have her. For five dollars, you can have her. Take her home with you. Feed her every so often–mind the carbs. She’s watching them carbs. Not that it ain’t doin’ anything, cuz that growth at the top of her spine still growin’!”

Richie laughed again.

He was going to blame Virgil’s bad attitude on the cold and wet snow that had been dumped onto Dakota within the last few weeks, rendering it a Midwestern wasteland. The bad weather brought about freezing temperatures, ice, and snow. Plenty of snow. Enough to make everyone utterly miserable as snow brought about numerous car accidents, death for the homeless, and people who got their rocks off by shoving wads of snow down the backs of their friends. Virgil was always a little grumpy when the weather was wet.

Virgil huffed as he crossed his arms, scowling out at the street. He was dressed in a hooded sweater with the Detroit Pistons logo and an overlarge flannel tossed over that. His dreads were covered with a bright red and green stocking cap that had bells on it–a joke Daisy had gotten him that Christmas. But none of the colors quite matched his mood. He resembled a six foot tall pouty child.

Recently, he’d gained a few inches over his friend, and his limbs had forcefully lengthened to accommodate his growth spurt. But one had to admit–nobody could really look down at him, anymore. He loved the change–until Richie showed him that he could still take him down, pointing out easy access to his shins with the underside of his sneakers.

Little people. They always came up with the dirtier fighting techniques. He straightened his shoulders, stiffened his spine, and looked down at his friend with all the superiority that he could muster. But the effect was lost, because Richie wasn’t even paying attention to him. He deflated.

“This isn’t somethin’ I’m lookin’ forward to, man. I ain’t cool with cross country trips,” he muttered, stomping his feet free of snow.

“Virg, you’re just heading on over the state line. That ain’t more than a five hour drive,” Richie muttered with a roll of his eyes, leaning against the Escort as he shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “You’re gonna be back by Sunday evening...”

“That’s a whole fuckin’ week, man! I’mina be all gone for the whole break!”

“It’s a two week winter break, Virg. Same as the last year, and the year before that, and the year before that. It’ll pass by, quick. Promise.”

“Whatever. You ain’t the one going...”

“I wish I was going!” Richie protested. “I’m going to be stuck here, in boring ole Dakota, where nothing ever happens!”

“‘ch,” Virgil spit. “Prolly not even.”

“Dakota will still be standing when you come back. Unless...I make an accidental stop at El Asad’s.”

“Please don’t. I wanna see my house when I come back. That stench of yours can be declared a nuclear war zone...”

Richie laughed, reaching over to punch his arm. “I’ll make sure to detonate in Gotham, though. Batman could use a little help over there.”

“‘ch. Yeah. Right.”

“Oh, Virgil! Stop being a baby!” Richie then demanded, frowning at him. “Enjoy the break! You’ve had it coming, man! You worked hard after school to deserve it!”

Virgil cracked a half grin, and reached out to punch him back. “So do you, man.”

“I get to sleep in. I don’t have to shower and brush my teeth unless I absolutely have to. Cartoon Network adjusted their scheduling just for me, so I can catch all the Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy that I want.”

“So...you just gonna sit around all stanky an’ watch cartoons?” Virgil repeated, lifting an eyebrow.

“Doesn’t it sound great?” Richie asked with a sigh, looking forward to it all.

Virgil gave Richie a close look–for some reason, he could just see the five foot eight blond sitting before the TV; clad in the plaid monstrosity that was his lounge pants, a Transformers ring tee, his blond hair askew, his facial features arranged with blank amusement as he took in the cartoons he’d mentioned. It was not hard to picture at all.

“Better’n livin’ in a car with her...” Virgil then admitted.

“I think anything sounds better, to you.”

Virgil sighed, throwing up his arms. “I really ain’t lookin’ forward to this, Rich! I mean–! Yeah, spendin’ time with the family’s fun an’ all, but to go right next door just to check out some lame-ass landmarks ain’t my idea for fun.”

“It’s a break you should just appreciate and enjoy, V.”

“Well, I do feel bad that I’m leavin’, too, cuz...y’know...”

“Since the cure came out, there really hasn’t been any activities anyway,” Richie muttered, rolling his eyes as he correctly interpreted Virgil’s other hesitation. Feeling a little insulted that Virgil hadn’t any complete confidence and faith in him left him with a frown. He let his best friend know this with a scowl in his direction “A majority of those crimes we played with were done by Bang Babies...and not very many of them are out there. ‘Sides, V, it’s cold–everyone doesn’t wanna play in the cold. You know that.”

Virgil had to admit, with a lanky shrug, that a majority of their patrolling had decreased due to the lack of the activity. It was as if every one of their opponents had packed and left for the winter. Even crime committed by normal humans had decreased. Dakota was just too cold to play in.

“Yeah, well...if you do go out and play...just be careful.”

“Your confidence and faith inspires me, V.”

“I’m serious, Rich! Just be careful.” Virgil gave his friend a serious, solemn expression. “Adam should be about, if anything comes up. Let him know.”

Richie gave him a sullen frown, shaking his head. “It’ll be all right, V. Nothing’s going to happen.”

Virgil gave him an unconvinced frown, then turned away to shut the trunk of the Escort. Richie felt a tingle of ominous sensation creep down his spine, and he shivered violently.

Thanks a lot, Virg, he thought as he followed his best friend into the house.

OooooooooooO

His name was Scott Gummer–but he’d dropped that name for a newer, more simplistic name that didn’t play games with other peoples’ minds. He’d gone by ‘Shiv’ for a few years, mainly because it fit his circumstances of the now. He was so far gone from the image of Scott Gummer, a second generation Vietnamese, that he doubted he’d recognize that person, anymore. Long gone was the pitch black hair, the formal clothing and the natural respect for his own culture.

He’d completely changed his appearance and his personality, to kill off Scott and replace him with Shiv. It had been a slow process–and started off casually.

In elementary school, he’d been a good kid. Hyper, but obedient and eager. In middle school, he’d began experimenting, as kids do, with substances that he’d been warned against. He’d tried smoking; pot; huffing–but somewhere along the way, he’d fried what had made him normal, and he grew reckless, foolhardy, daring and disrespectful. He’d chosen to sneak out at all hours of the night, skip school, experiment with various things that, to this day, he still hadn’t a clue of why he’d done so.

In high school, he fell into Ebon’s gang–he’d changed his hair purple, grew a goatee, and learned how to pierce his own ears. He never went home, anymore. He lost contact with his family, and chose to follow rather than lead.

Scott Gummer had died and been replaced with Shiv. Ever since the first Big Bang, his ability to produce weaponry from pure kinetic energy had earned him a reputation that he'd earned from inhaling the gas that fateful night. Along with this talent, he’d earned the place he had today–a fatalistic position alongside one of the more dangerous beings in Dakota.

Working with Ivan Evans, AKA Ebon, had given him a sort of standing that earned him respect, some amounts of dignity and stability. For the few years he’d worked with Ebon, he felt the closeness a family would feel–something that he hadn’t had since he was a teenager, when he gave it all away. Ebon had provided a small group of humans that had been physically affected by the gas a place to stay, and gave them that sense of comfort every home had. They had learned to tolerate each other and grow to depend on each other–if only for the common sense of purpose. True, every family had their dysfunction–theirs was against the good morals of society. They were the ones responsible for petty crimes, stealing and general havoc wrecking upon the good city of Dakota.

But somewhere along the way...Ebon had begun to change.

He’d always been hard-core, before–Shiv and everyone else knew the oldest Evans brother to be the one that robbed old people–that killed his first person at age thirteen–that commonly tortured, harassed and was quick with a gun and a fist to get his way...but ever since Ebon gained his powers, that sort of power went to his head. Made him almost invincible.

‘Almost’, because Ebon had his weaknesses, as did everyone else, and his was commonly Static. Static was able to take him down easily with his use of powers, and Ebon was often frustrated with that. But Ebon had learned to think outside the box.

Shiv reflected on that–Ebon had always been caught up in the gang activity around Dakota. He and his younger brother, Adam, who was slowly turning into a brand name with his gift in music, had been on their own since they were children. Their father had died, and Ivan had been the one to take over on parental responsibilities for his younger brother. They had been homeless, and Ivan had to learn quick to keep them from entering the system and being separated. As a result, Ivan had grown up quick, and had learned nothing of consciousentious moral values. Once they were discovered, and separated into foster homes, that's when Ivan began pulling away from the norms of society, finding comfort in gangs. And the knowledge and information he’d gained from those experiences transformed him into the cruel, heartless person that he was today.

He used those talents of his–control over shadow–to gain advantages over those that were afraid of him. He had his own human gang, people that hadn’t been affected by the gas. And he provided the obstacles that made it difficult for Static and Gear to fight–they couldn’t put away every gang member and couldn’t stop every crime that was being committed. Ebon exploited these battles on a far grander scale than the two were able to keep atop of.

But the point of it was that Ebon had more control than ever–and slowly...just slowly...Shiv was starting to question his role in it all.

It was four in the morning, and he was standing out in the cold, his five foot seven frame shivering violently within the thick mechanic’s coat that he had zipped up over a hooded sweater. His trademark purple hair was covered by a black beanie that had Scooby Doo on the lip, and his favorite worn jeans had holes in the knees, of which allowed the cold air to cause his skin to go numb with cold. He could hear the shouts and screams coming from inside the duplex, and he blinked away snow that had fallen to rest on his lashes as he looked up at the night sky. The Projects were full of degenerate activity that were commonplace and ordinary out here, and no one would really think twice of the goings-on that were taking place here.

Ebon had, for months, skillfully manipulated, lied, and fought to get to where he was today, and the things that kept him on top were his scary use of ‘convincing’ and ‘negotiating’.

He was ‘negotiating’ tonight with a man that had somehow ‘forgotten’ to turn in his profits of a large crack sale that had taken place over the last few weeks. Those screams were coming from his kids and woman of the week. Who knew if those kids were even his?

Shiv shifted uncomfortably, exhaling loudly at a particularly loud wail. He’d seen what Ebon and the most hardened members of his crew could do–while he didn’t agree with the methods, it got Ebon what he wanted. And if the boss wanted it that way, then who was Shiv to complain? He was just the lackey.

He was standing out on the front porch, keeping an eye out for anything that might come along to interrupt Ebon’s negotiating. He was entirely numb to these types of things–it was something he grew used to. He joked and smirked about it, but there was still a sliver of humanity in him that left him uncomfortable with it. He didn’t like it when kids were involved–but he couldn’t exactly go right up to Ebon and ask him to leave them out of it. Ebon would look at him...and question his loyalty. And Shiv liked where he was at–he had a home, he had power, and he had respect.

He wished he liked to smoke. Or that he liked being doped up. Something to ease his mind away from this place. But he hated the smell and taste of cigarettes, and having his mind clouded with man made products made him more nervous than usual.

He could only pace in place as he tried to keep himself warm. The door opened, several wails following a single man as he walked out.

A man by the name of Timmy–Shiv got along with him well enough. He had to.

Timmy shook his head as he carefully lit his cigarette–Newports, from the smell of them. Shiv wrinkled his nose and stamped his feet.

“Your boy’s whacked, Shiv,” Timmy said around the butt. “Sometimes, I wonder if workin’ for him is worth the shit that I see.”

“Is he killing people?”

“Nah. Not yet. He’s pissed that Manuelo held out on him, though. But he ain’t gonna get results if he just talks to him. Nah. Ebon knows what he’s doing. Why you ain’t in there?”

Shiv shrugged, rubbing his hands together. Then rubbed at his face, feeling the stiff smattering of stubble throughout his thin cheeks and sharp jaw line. “Don’t like it. I get weird around kids, man. You know that.”

“Yeah. Gets me, too. But that’s Manuelo’s fault in the first place. Children gotta pay, too.” Timmy shook his head, and exhaled smoke. “It’s just...it bothers me, man. It bothers me.”

“He almost done?”

“Oh, Manuelo got the point–Ebon’s just messin’ around, right now. I tell ya, the fucker’s off the deep end. I always thought you were crazy, but he’s just...he ain’t there at all.”

“He does what he has to,” Shiv told him, giving him a frown.

“Yeah. ‘S what they all say. Still...kids...damn.” Timmy looked off into the distance. “An’ no one cares in the Projects. Ain’t no Static and Gear here. Bet them two are busy with something ‘safe’ and fun.”

“Fuck them. They’re just kids themselves.”

“You know it. They ain’t got the real idea of what happens out here. Say...did Ebon talk to you? Lately? About...about them?”

“When don’t he? He’s busy planning all sorts of stuff against them!” Shiv said on a laugh, rubbing his arms. Timmy outweighed him by at least a hundred pounds–his bulk made it possible for him to stay comfortably warm, while Shiv was freezing his skinny Asian ass off.

“Y’know, I respect Ebon. I do. The guy gots it all–he knows what he wants, and he ain’t ‘fraid to get it. But sometimes...I wonder what goes on up here.” Timmy tapped his own head, which was covered with a baseball cap. His diamond earrings winked in the faint light coming from the street lamps a short distance away.

“Why? We all know he’s crazy. Crazier than me. Least I have an excuse,” Shiv muttered, shrugging.

“I think sniffing glue fucked you over when you were little.”

“Hey, c’mon! It wasn’t glue! It was gas! And it gave you a serious high.”

Timmy shook his head. “Whatever. Word is, Ebon been talkin’ about...about that guy again.”

“Who, Gear? HAH! Ebon’s all fag. We all know that. He’s all attracted to white guys. Thinks they’re nice.”

“Yeah. But he’s been talkin’ about him. Think he’s planning something. It’s sick, man. I ain’t never heard someone talk and plan about that sorta thing, before. Guys around here, they plan on how they’re gonna score with a hot mami or two...but this one...he plans on what he’s going to do to that kid. And that’s...that’s nasty, man. Downright nasty.”

“Yeah...”

“A male? I unnerstand if it was a woman, but this is some guy.” Timmy looked momentarily disgusted. “I gots respect for him, but...when he talks that way? I kinda question him.”

Shiv opened his mouth to speak, but a particularly loud scream, followed by a single gunshot, had them stilling. There was laughter from the duplex, and Timmy and Shiv shifted uncomfortably at Ebon’s cackle of amusement. The scream came again, but this one was weaker–fainter. The kids had stopped crying a long time ago.

Timmy shrugged. “He’s off the deep end. Ain’t no one scarier, man. When they don’t have a conscience, or don’t care what they look like to others–that’s when they’re scarier. ‘Course, ain’t no one gonna tell him otherwise.”

“Nope. Ebon has respect.”

“Nah...nah, man, it’s fear. He’s got everyone scared of him.” Timmy finished his cigarette, and more laughter rang out. The other four guys in there were chiming in, and a man’s hysterical shriek began. “Fear is a different sorta power. Kinda...kinda makes me wonder when he’s gonna be stopped.”

Shiv shrugged again. “Dunno. Ebon’s invincible.”

“Yeah...unfortunately...”

Timmy glanced over at him, then reached out and slapped his shoulder companionably. “Just stay out of it, man. You young enough to start over. Just keep realizin’ that havin’ a conscience isn’t a bad thing.”

Shiv blinked rapidly, then looked at him with a question on his face. Timmy dropped his hand, and shrugged, tucking his hands into his pockets. He withdrew his wallet, and held it out to him. Slowly, Shiv took the wallet, an expression of bewilderment on his face.

“Kids are in there. Plus the one I left behind. Make sure she gets that, okay?”

“Huh?”

“Put it away. Please.”

Shiv stared at him for a few moments, then tucked the wallet into his jacket pocket. It didn’t make sense, what Timmy was telling him, but he found out when the front door opened, and Ebon walked out, followed by the four other guys.

Ebon looked over at Timmy, and lifted his chin in greeting. The single gunshot made Shiv jump in surprise as the bigger man slumped to the porch with a death gurgle, making a loud sound as his thick body connected with the old wood. Shiv stared down at Timmy in surprise, then looked up at Ebon.

“Ain’t messin’ wit’ that fucker anymore,” Ebon muttered. “C’mon, Shiv. We done here. Let’s get out.”

“What’cha do that for, Ebon? What’d he do?” Shiv asked, jumping over Timmy’s body, finally understanding the need for the wallet.

“He didn’t do what I wanted him to do.” Ebon reached out, looping an arm around his neck and shoulders as they made their way to the cars parked along the street. Somewhere in the distance, gunshots rang out, maniacal laughter tearing through the night. And somewhere in the opposite direction, kids laughed. It was the sort of thing the Projects were known for.

“You won’t be that way, wouldja, Shiv? Ole buddy, ol’ pal?”

“I...of course not, Ebon. Duh. Man, I’ve gotcher back!”

“Ha ha, you’re funny, man. Let’s go take a drive. I’ve got someone else to look up. Hey, did Timmy say anything to you?”

“Something about needing more cigs...why?” Shiv knew when to lie–when to cover his ass. It was how he lasted so long.

“Nothin’. I’ve got plans, man. Plans. C’mon. Let’s hit up an IHOP, or some shit like that. Talkin’ makes a man hungry. Wanna waffle, Shiv? With that strawberry shit? You like that shit, don’tcha?”

Shiv hated when Ebon was high–he hated the way Ebon addressed him in this manner. Friendly, buddy-buddy, nicely–it was enough to make his stomach curdle. But because it was expected, he nodded and followed his boss into the back seat of his Cadillac.

Timmy’s words continuously bothered him as he sat at his boss’s side, and listened to his plans.

OooooooooooO

“Ah! AH! AH! AHHHHHhhhhh! AH!”

“...Heh. Lookit that bitch...she’s hella takin’ it!” The commentary came from a random guy that was smoking cigarette after cigarette, trying to hide the fact that he had a boner underneath his pillow.

The ‘bitch’ in question was a blond, trailer trash from the looks of it. She was bent over a bathroom sink, clutching the edge, her mouth open in ‘ecstasy’ as some thick, pudgy Brazilian pounded into her ass. He wasn’t taking the ‘natural’ route, either–no, he was literally pounding her ass.

It was probably really loose, Francis Stone, AKA Hotstreak, thought idly, thoughtful expression on his face. He had fallen quiet a long time ago, trying to regain sober sense of the world as he nursed his last beer. Not tight at all. She probably let the whole neighborhood up her ass.

“Oh! Harder! HARDER!” she was hollering, her face flushing a slow red color. Her shoulders looked stained as her entire upper body flushed with color. Muscles strained, as if she were straining to expel something. Her teeth ground together, and her nose wrinkled. It was funny how people looked when they lost all control of themselves during sex.

“You ever wonder if, like, possibly, they ever really like it? I mean...they’re just...lookit them.”

“Baby! Oh Baby!”

Hotstreak had to admit that he must look funny when he was climaxing. He hadn’t seen himself do so, but he knew he had to have a fucked up expression. When a person lost themselves to climax, nothing else mattered but the amazing release from within. Everything at that moment was flashes of color, heat, release and victory.
That flush of hers was gone. She looked merely strained.

“That guy’s all up on her ass! Ha ha! I’d do her...she’s kinda fugly in the face, but she has a tight body. I like that shit. Look...she’s bare down there. Hey, any ya’ll had a woman that was all bare down there?”

“Up my ass! Fuck me up my ass!”

It was always funny hearing that sort of thing from a woman. They didn’t really like it–some of them. They only wanted to show him that they were willing to do anything and everything to keep his interest. Most of them, when they said those words, often regretted it. But they made a big show of enjoying it. The one person that he knew that did enjoy it showed it to him; often with body language and submissive clinging, and always with that exalting flush of color and tightening of muscle and warm cum...

It was funny. He hadn’t thought of that in awhile. Must have been the blond. And the wrinkling of her nose.

“Look! She’s begging for it! I’ll give it to you, baby...”

Amid all the laughter, the woman on the screen ‘climaxed’, the man whispering praises and his own grunting prowess as he pounded into her. This particular porn had been on for the last three hours–he couldn’t remember who put it in, but it had filled the screen with its obscene amount of home video-like pictures that had everyone staring at it in rapture. Like they hadn’t had sex before.

Well...maybe those couple of kids sitting on the floor nearby, sipping at their beers.

The girls had long left the room in disgust, except for one, a butch lesbian that got a kick out of the women on the screen. She was just as raunchy as the guys were.

“Fuck! I’ll be she tastes good!” she was saying, shaking her head. “I love freckles on a woman. Just adds to it, man. I like to lick them.”

“Ain’t like you’re going to taste them!” someone said from the couch. “Shit, you’re just a big whore, man!”

“Proud of it! God...fast forward to the next one. Is there a next one? All right! Show me your tits, baby!”

“Who wants more beer?”

“Ah, man, it’s that bitch from the first one...fast forward. I want to see the redhead, again.”

“No! That goth chick!”

“The one with no tits?”

“Find the one with the spic chick! I want the spic!”

Hotstreak rolled his eyes as he played with his beer, listening to the arguments that were now taking place in the living room. Porn was fun to watch with others–an especially poor one, like this one, was best for a large audience that had many a comment for the things going on.

He loved porn–but this was just one of those moments where he found no interest in taking it seriously.

Yawning, he reached for his pack of cigarettes, plucking one out and lighting it as the screen froze–with the feature of cum splattering the screen upon the action–the audience members getting anxious as the one with the remote control searched for the appropriate buttons to slide back a few chapters. Once the chapter with the Hispanic chick was found, everyone cheered.

The house was crowded–he didn’t know whose it belonged to. Just that it was eight in the morning, the party was still going strong, and someone was making a beer run at the moment. There had been a full house last night, but as morning hours waned, so did the participants. He himself was coming off a hard buzz, and was giving thought to heading on home to pass out for a few hours.

‘Home’ was a weekly hotel room just on the outskirts of the Projects, where the owner didn’t care who used what room, as long as he was paid. It was hard living somewhere where one’s face was well known and well wanted by authorities and enemies alike.

He had transportation in a fixed up Pontiac Grand Am that he’d bought off of someone for five hundred bucks, and with an engine replacement and a few tweaks here and there courtesy of a mechanic friend, he had that thing up and running. Not registered, of course, but fake license plates did the work all right.

He inhaled smoke thoughtfully as he looked at the screen, noting the Hispanic’s features with a lazy perusal. In a way...she kinda looked like Maria Gonzales...once known as Aqua Maria. That was probably why everyone wanted to watch this particular episode. It made him snort as he looked away, shaking his head.
His cellphone rang then, startling him. He pulled the thing out from his pocket, and glanced at the LCD window before rising from the chair.

“Make it quick, man,” the lesbian ordered, eyeing him. “You don’t wanna miss out on this one.”

“Yeah?” he said into the phone. “What ya want?”

“Man, Manuelo was plugged, last night!” an excited voice crowed over the phone. “Him and his kids! His woman all up in County...said that Ebon and his crew did that shit to her!”

Hotstreak narrowed his eyes, a slight smirk coming to his face. “So...he’s dead, then?”

“Yeah, man! Hella! Man, Tony was sayin’ they was there for awhile! An’ Manuelo was hella beggin’ for his life! Man, how’d ya know it was him?”

“...Anything else from that? Wait, you said his kids are dead, too?”

“All four of them. Ebon don’t mess around, homie. Manuelo fucked him over, Ebon make sure he get the point across. I don’t think he meant to kill Manuelo, though. I think he was s’pposed to live. But, anyway, he’s gone.”

Hotstreak lifted his cigarette to his lips, staring off at the street with a thoughtful expression. His plan was working. Little by little...but enough to get Ebon worried about his own crew and station. He wanted to laugh maniacally, like some evil villain one would see from the cartoons. But that just might look a little strange.

He resettled his thoughts, then grinned as he pulled his cig from his mouth. “Get in touch with that guy from Philly. See if you can get his number. Then get back to me.”

“All right. Just let me know when ya need anything else.”

Hotstreak nodded, forgetting that his informant couldn’t see him. He hung up with a sense of satisfaction that he hadn’t felt in a long time. Ebon was getting his–slowly, but surely. He walked back into the house, more enthusiastic over the porn than he had been earlier.