60 Minutes by Fire, Ice
Tags: Drama, United States, Suspense, Literature & Fiction, Sex, Action, Genre Fiction, Short-Story, Women's Fiction, Urban, love, African American, fast paced, Urban Fiction, drugs, Relationship, lies, urban books, scandal, deceit, Wahida clark, maintenance man, street lit, gstreet, eric jerome dickey, goodreads, ericjdickey, michaelbaisden, bookclub, kwan, urban lit, hip hop fiction, tstyles
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2012
Four winos stood in front of Pettaway’s store on the Avenue recollecting memories of Bridgeport.
“I lived here for sixty years and seen some of the craziest things take place in this city.” Lionel replied thinking back on his upbringing in Bridgeport. His thick grey eye brows furrowed together as he continued. “Between that little boy Jamal being burned in that fire and Trey and Tesh’a crazy asses raising havoc in the streets…”
Another man jumped in, “Let’s not forget Jamier and his shawty running that big ol’ expensive porn company; they went through some shit!” he said with a thick Caribbean accent.
“I hear you! I’ve been here for forty years. The eighties were pretty cool, the nineties brought a lot of bloodshed, and recently—I won’t even talk on that!” Albert responded in a deep, rough voice caused from smoking too much. He took a swig of his 40 ounce. The air surrounding them smelled of beer, bad breath and old clothes.
“What’s good ol’ time?” A youngin’ said as he walked by trying to go into the store when he was stopped short.
“Ain’t nothing puda, care to give an old man some money? I know you got it. Them VVS stones and gold rims tell me you gettin’ money!” Albert responded.
“Leave the youth alone you old bum!” the wino with the Caribbean accent intervened.
Puda still pulled out a roll of twenties in a rubber band and handed ol’ school one twenty then made his way into the store.
“Shit, I’ll be his charity case any day; him, Jamal, whom they now call ‘Flames’ and dem West Side Boys are making crazy dough!” the wino exclaimed, not ashamed to beg for money.
Lionel waved his friend off. “They also are wrecking the city. Don’t forget that. I remember a time when we used to hustle for money, not to gain a name. I recall a time when we put up our fists to fight.” He threw up his fists and kissed them both then began boxing the air. “Now, all these young boys are so quick to pick up their guns and blow you away instead of fighting someone one on one! Back in the day, we were never afraid to run someone a fair one! I love my city till the death of me. Bridgeport is a beautiful city; it’s not the city that’s corrupted, but the simple-minded muthafuckas living in it!”
“I know that’s right!”
“That’s the truth ol’ school!” They all agreed with him.
“There was one though. One good one; Madame J.” the wino with the thick accent replied. Everyone shook their heads as they remembered the Madame that took over the city.
“She had shit on lock!” Lionel responded, thinking back to the day when he could afford her services.
“Sad thing that happened there, she used to help build up the city!”
“Yeah, but you know they always bring the ones down that put a helping hand into the hood,” Albert responded.
“I’ll never forget that case,” Hanz said in his thick Caribbean accent as he went down memory lane.
Back Into Time…2000
Cash rules everything around me C.R.E.A.M. get the money; dolla dolla bill y’all.
Wu’tang’s song thumped out of a beat-up Honda Accord. The strong smell of loud, a.k.a. sour diesel, lingered in the air.
“Sssss…yesss!” The driver of the Honda moaned with his hand on the back of Camille’s head while she licked, sucked and slobbed on his little fat dick.
“Hmmm…” she hummed, knowing that Rico liked that. Rico was the lead detective on his homicide team. He had enough bank in his pockets; his accounts were flooded with money from work and having his hand in the local drug lords and underground criminal activity’s payroll. He was what you would consider a dirty cop, a rotten pig, and a sell-out to his colleagues; amongst other names. When he got service from Madame J’s escort service he used an old vehicle, not wanting to be recognized in his flashy red Escalade.
“You going too fast now Mami; slow down and do it real slow.” He said instructing Camille how to
Four winos stood in front of Pettaway’s store on the Avenue recollecting memories of Bridgeport.
“I lived here for sixty years and seen some of the craziest things take place in this city.” Lionel replied thinking back on his upbringing in Bridgeport. His thick grey eye brows furrowed together as he continued. “Between that little boy Jamal being burned in that fire and Trey and Tesh’a crazy asses raising havoc in the streets…”
Another man jumped in, “Let’s not forget Jamier and his shawty running that big ol’ expensive porn company; they went through some shit!” he said with a thick Caribbean accent.
“I hear you! I’ve been here for forty years. The eighties were pretty cool, the nineties brought a lot of bloodshed, and recently—I won’t even talk on that!” Albert responded in a deep, rough voice caused from smoking too much. He took a swig of his 40 ounce. The air surrounding them smelled of beer, bad breath and old clothes.
“What’s good ol’ time?” A youngin’ said as he walked by trying to go into the store when he was stopped short.
“Ain’t nothing puda, care to give an old man some money? I know you got it. Them VVS stones and gold rims tell me you gettin’ money!” Albert responded.
“Leave the youth alone you old bum!” the wino with the Caribbean accent intervened.
Puda still pulled out a roll of twenties in a rubber band and handed ol’ school one twenty then made his way into the store.
“Shit, I’ll be his charity case any day; him, Jamal, whom they now call ‘Flames’ and dem West Side Boys are making crazy dough!” the wino exclaimed, not ashamed to beg for money.
Lionel waved his friend off. “They also are wrecking the city. Don’t forget that. I remember a time when we used to hustle for money, not to gain a name. I recall a time when we put up our fists to fight.” He threw up his fists and kissed them both then began boxing the air. “Now, all these young boys are so quick to pick up their guns and blow you away instead of fighting someone one on one! Back in the day, we were never afraid to run someone a fair one! I love my city till the death of me. Bridgeport is a beautiful city; it’s not the city that’s corrupted, but the simple-minded muthafuckas living in it!”
“I know that’s right!”
“That’s the truth ol’ school!” They all agreed with him.
“There was one though. One good one; Madame J.” the wino with the thick accent replied. Everyone shook their heads as they remembered the Madame that took over the city.
“She had shit on lock!” Lionel responded, thinking back to the day when he could afford her services.
“Sad thing that happened there, she used to help build up the city!”
“Yeah, but you know they always bring the ones down that put a helping hand into the hood,” Albert responded.
“I’ll never forget that case,” Hanz said in his thick Caribbean accent as he went down memory lane.
Back Into Time…2000
Cash rules everything around me C.R.E.A.M. get the money; dolla dolla bill y’all.
Wu’tang’s song thumped out of a beat-up Honda Accord. The strong smell of loud, a.k.a. sour diesel, lingered in the air.
“Sssss…yesss!” The driver of the Honda moaned with his hand on the back of Camille’s head while she licked, sucked and slobbed on his little fat dick.
“Hmmm…” she hummed, knowing that Rico liked that. Rico was the lead detective on his homicide team. He had enough bank in his pockets; his accounts were flooded with money from work and having his hand in the local drug lords and underground criminal activity’s payroll. He was what you would consider a dirty cop, a rotten pig, and a sell-out to his colleagues; amongst other names. When he got service from Madame J’s escort service he used an old vehicle, not wanting to be recognized in his flashy red Escalade.
“You going too fast now Mami; slow down and do it real slow.” He said instructing Camille how to
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