Right Hand Man

By Shawn Starling

Just as in corporate America, those in the highest position rule the underworld. there exists in the hierarchy, soldiers, lieutenants and generals. While generals are the ones that call the shots, it is the lieutenant making sure the soldiers move as ordered. Micheal 'Loc' Right was that lieutenant.
Born in a well-mannered home, he was not always accustomed to the ways of the underworld. Plagued by tragedy, Loc starts to value what little he has left. When it comes down to just one loyal friend, he shows just how much value he has. Take this journey with him and watch him grow from boy to man, from hunted to hunter, and from mammal to monster. You will remember this character forever!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shawn Starling Presents
• Release date: Sep 8, 2016
• ISBN: 9781536501698

Book preview

Right Hand Man

Shawn Starling

This is a work of fiction. Any character references or likenesses to persons living or dead are completely coincidental. Actual people and places may have been added to give the story a sense of reality.

Copyright© 2015 S&S Publications/Shawn Starling

ISBN# 978-0-9961976-2-5

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above. No part of this book may be reproduced into retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written consent from both the author and publisher, except brief quotes used in reviews, interviews, or magazines.

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Chapter One

Years prior...

I was not always a goon. The killer inside me that struck fear in the hearts of men did not always exist. In fact, the streets and everything that came with it, was once the furthest thing from my mind. Unlike most kids who had grown up in the hood, knowing the odds of the projects swallowing them, I was chosen. Fate had chosen me. Fate acted as a pimp in my life, but I was no whore. In fact, I was the pimp. I accepted my fate and played it like a master proprietor. Besides, it was either this or death.

I wanted to live.

I grew up under the roof of two, very dedicated, hardworking parents. They had a fifty-fifty relationship. They both had decent jobs that could afford us whatever we needed. My father was a schoolteacher, who loved his job, and my mother was a registered nurse, who had saved a few lives in her line of work. The two-story home we lived in was built from the ground up. It was made of orange brick and sat on a solid foundation. We lived where the grass was green, the neighbors were polite, and the streets were clean and quiet. Life was easy, but my parents always stressed to me the importance of hard work and never take anything for granted.

This is what a good education and hard work will get you, son. That amongst other things, my father would say in a deep, but soft-spoken voice. He had a very optimistic attitude and always spoke motivational words. He rarely raised his voice, but knew how to get his point across. Andre Right had the patience of a fine artist, passionately crafting his next masterpiece. I loved my mother dearly, but I was closest to my father.

My mother was a humble woman. She was far from passive but very loyal to her husband. She was naturally caring and nurturing. Shadé Right was highly attractive too. Mom was a very beautiful, full-figured woman, who people always said resembled the actress, Vivica A. Fox. She kept her hair short, cut into a style and wore conservative style glasses. Like my father, she too was soft spoken. Her food was always delicious; you could tell she loved to cook.

By the time I turned eleven, my father started grooming me to become a man. I had to start working for anything that in his mind was not a necessity. I had chores that allowed me to earn honest money for things like video games and bicycles. He taught me early how to save up for the things I wanted. I had to dump the trash, mow the lawn, rake leaves and shovel snow. Sometimes the work was hard, but once I was paid, I felt it was all worth it. He also drilled me about my schoolwork. My grades had to stay above average or the chores would be done free of charge. He taught me how to set goals and the patience it took to reach those goals. He inspired me to chase my dreams, which was to attend a good college and later explore the world. I was fascinated with psychology and anything to do with people, thoughts, and cultures. At an early age, I was a thinking man. Once my father discovered this, he purchased me something that he said would sharpen my fascination for thoughts.

A chessboard.

I can still remember the delight in his eyes when he presented me with the small black and white pieces. Immediately, he sat them up on a red and black chessboard. He taught me how each piece moved. Next, he was giving me strategies on how to play and he purchased a book for me to read and learn more on the game.

Soon, I was enrolled in the school's chess club. I was the only African American kid in the club, but there were only a few of us attending the prep school anyway. I didn't feel out of place. I was the worse player on the team, but that didn't last long. I was always very competitive and I did not like to lose. I studied that book my father bought me day and night and soon, I was one of the best in my class. Even my father couldn’t beat me.

By junior high, I was considered one of the smartest kids in the school. I was the light-skinned, skinny kid in class that questioned everything. I even questioned my teachers if one of them said something that did not sound logical. Sometimes my inquiring mind was embraced, and on other occasions, the teachers would feel insulted. Both reports would be brought up with my parents at PTA meetings.

Son, you can't be obnoxious in class and make the teachers sound like they lack knowledge. Sometimes you have to keep your opinions to yourself. If you disagree with something, then just wait to bring it home. Do your own study or speak with them privately. Everyone has pride, son. Remember that.

I agreed with my father's insight, but I also wanted to explain to him that what my teacher had said did not make sense to me. Respectfully, I said, I wasn't trying to be obnoxious, Dad. I just find it hard to believe that Christopher Columbus discovered America. I've researched history and it just isn't logical.

Yeah, I understand and you may be right. Still, you have to protect the pride of those in power. Just be respectable in class, son. Be humble.

We were in his car and after the message; we drove in silence. My pops decided to change the subject. Big chess tournament coming up. Are you ready?

I nodded, feeling highly confident in my ability to win. Over the years, I had become the best at the game, and my talent landed me the opportunity to represent our school, as we played all over the city. I was ready and I'd never forget that feeling. I'd also never forget that tournament; because it was the day that I had met my most fierce opponent. I found myself battling with him for years to come. His name was Darius Young.

In the streets, they called him Drama.

Chapter Two

When the championship day arrived, I walked nervously into a room full of people, who had all come to witness the event. The room became silent I stepped on the stage and the lights looked extra bright. My opponent represented Armstrong High School. The high school was located in an urban community, and I was shocked that they even had a chess team, let alone a student who had actually made the finals.

When the announcer said my name, I gracefully took a bow. The audience clapped briefly, but was soon silenced. I was dressed to impress, but also very casual. I needed to be comfortable so I could think. I was still very nervous, but also confident that I could win.

Next, he announced my opponent. Silence filled the room. He walked out in a black hoodie, baggy jeans and black Timberland boots. Dark shades covered his eyes and he had the stride of a rapper instead of a champion chess player. Darius Young did not bow and he showed no grace. He nodded his head towards the audience and went to take his seat across from me. He was a street thug in my young eyes and I'd never forget his first words.

You ready to get yo lil ass whipped?

I smirked and remained cordial. This type of approach was foreign to me, but I was no punk. Fear never lived in me and I felt very confident in my game. The chessboard we played on was displayed on a big monitor, so the audience could see the game. Not bothered by pre-chess mind games, I nodded at my opponent.

You're white. You move first.

The game started and we both made strategic moves. However, I was the first to make a mistake and Darius capitalized off it immediately. I had placed my queen out of position. Quickly, he sacrificed his Bishop, only to checkmate me two moves later. He had beaten me and for some reason, I was the only one shocked behind my loss. Judging by his looks, I had labeled him the underdog. I had underestimated my opponent and that was a lesson learned instantly.

Rule of thumb. Never judge a book by its cover. I'm sure you've heard that before, right?

I set the pieces up for game two. In order to be declared champion, one had to win two out of three matches.

Okay, Michael, he’s good, but you are just as good. You got this! My coach said, pepping me along the way.

The next game I did not underestimate Darius at all, and it was me who had come out on top. Darius did not like it one bit either, but he stayed humble and set the pieces back up.

That's my boy! my dad yelled out of his character. The faculty and staff of the school soon hushed him.

That's your dad? Darius asked.

Yeah, I stated proudly.

Darius frowned. He's awful loud.

Feeling a bit insulted, I responded, At least he's here.

Darius smiled. Yeah, lucky you, he said, making a quick move.

When I looked down at the board, his knight had my queen and king in check. Gimme the bitch. You'll need the king.

He smirked as the crowd murmured. Unfortunately, I had lost that game and my chance at becoming champion. However, I had learned a lot from playing Darius. He was a great player. He was tricky and knew how to play those mind games. Darius was the Muhammad Ali of chess.

I felt foolish, but brushed it off to a good season. I looked forward to playing Darius again.

Who would have ever thought that our next chess game would be under very different circumstances?

Chapter Three

I was having a conversation with my dad one night about girls. Surely, at fifteen years old, sex was starting to become an issue. The girls were fascinated by my willingness to learn and how I made being a nerd so cool. One of the many stood out to me. Her name was Veronica Miles. She was a golden beauty that had exotic features, shapely and polite. She looked Spanish, but spoke perfect English. Veronica didn't seem to have bad days; she always smiled, and she was just as smart as I was, if not smarter. Her beauty made me nervous, so naturally, I turned to my father for advice.

He was thirty-nine years old and still full of life. He approached the subject as if he was still a player in his younger days.

Go for it, son. What's the worst that can happen? Rejection is a part of life, so get used to it. That's with anything. Jobs, women, loans, he laughed at his last statement. But really, there's nothing to be nervous about. She already likes you, so that's a plus. You guys start off as good friends and stay that way. Keep in mind though; I'm too young for grandbabies.

I laughed at how simple he always made things. Then he continued.

Just never mistake lust for love. You'll know the difference, because love goes further than what the eyes can see. What the hands can touch. It’s a feeling that comes with promise and hope and certainty. You are way too young for that, but when it hits you, trust me, you'll feel no pain.

I was sure that I did not love Veronica Miles, but I sure liked her a lot. Every night before bed, I looked forward to seeing her the next day. Just the thought of her made me feel all tingly inside.

"Embrace the situation with confidence, just as you do when you pick up that controller and play Madden. I promise you that just like that game, you'll get good at it."

I absorbed his words like water to cloth. Again, they were soft spoken and inspirational. Words delivered by a great teacher.

My father went on to tell the story of how he had landed my mother. Midway through the story, I stopped listening because it was gross. I remember him saying how happy he was that he was confident enough to approach her. Then he headed to his room.

By the end of the night, I was showered and ready for the next day. My next allowance I would spend on Veronica's promise ring. I anticipated what her answer would be the next day, and tossed and turned a little. Finally, I drifted off to sleep, thinking of her and feeling as if I was in heaven.

Then I woke up in what felt like hell.

Chapter Four

Thick black smoke made it hard for me to see. I could barely breathe and instincts told me to hit the floor. My entire body was drenched in sweat. Once I hit the floor, my vision became useful. From what I could tell, the smoke was coming from the other side of my bedroom door. On my hands and knees, I attempted to crawl to safety.

Pops! I yelled for my father and then attempted to call out for my mother. Neither of them answered. I was taking short breaths, a little blinded by my own sweat. By the time I made it to my door, I saw the blazing red and orange flames dancing through the cracks. The floor was scorching and I was forced to turn around. I crawled toward my bedroom window. It faced our front lawn and in order to open it, I would have to stand a little. The smoke started to take over my room and made my attempt nearly impossible. It was a cold February night; still, I regretted the fact that my window was closed. I stood and tried to open it, and failed on my first attempt. The smoke nearly knocked me unconscious. I dropped to the floor and caught my breath; I was choking and gagging. Determination was the only strength I had, and that was enough to make me rise again. On the second attempt, I stuck my hand up first and pushed the window up as I rose to my feet. Again, the smoke knocked me to my knees. However, the window was open. The cold February air felt like a piece of heaven as it gushed into my scorching hot room. The smoke was escaping my window, allowing me to breathe. I was still choking and gagging, as I could slightly hear a flock of spectators outside my window.

Somebody's up there! a male voice said, frantically.

The choking and gagging subsided and soon I had enough energy to stand. The smoke was blasting out of my window, but there was a small space where I could stick my head out and see the crowd standing below. One young man stood in front of the crowd, while two others I spotted running off in the distance.

Jump! Jump, little man! I'll catch you! he yelled up at me.

Just behind me, the raging fire had just torn down my bedroom door. I panicked and looked back down outside my window.

Hurry, little man! Jump! The flames were starting to dance my way. In a state of pure panic, I looked back one more time, and then dove out of the window. A little smoke entered my lungs on the way down, but I was more concerned with the crash to come. The stranger made good on his words and attempted to catch me. However, he was unsuccessful. I was just as