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  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  LOST BOY

  First edition. May 10, 2019.

  Copyright © 2019 Wahida Clark.

  ISBN: 978-1947732506

  Written by Wahida Clark.

  Also by Wahida Clark

  Sincerely, The Boss

  The Pink Panther Clique

  Butterfly Bitch!

  Thuggz Valentine

  Lost Boy

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Also By Wahida Clark

  Lost Boy

  Dean Hamid

  Acknowledgments

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

  Lost Boy

  Dean Hamid

  Copyright @2019 Lost Boy

  By: Dean Hamid

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system without the prior consent of the Author, Dean Hamid. Except for brief quotes used in reviews, or by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine, newspaper or on the Web. For information contact: DeanHamidPresents at [email protected].

  This is a work of fiction, any references or similarities to actual events, real people, living or dead or to real locales are intended to give the novel a sense of reality. Any similarity in names, characters, places, and incidents is entirely coincidental. Although the author has made every effort to ensure the accuracy and completeness of information contained in this book, the author assumes no responsibility for errors, inaccuracies, omissions, or inconsistencies herein. Any slight o people, places, or organizations are unintentional.

  Editor: Lashonda Johnson/Ghostwriter Inc LLC

  Contact Info: [email protected]

  Acknowledgments

  Big shout outs go to my people in the Chuck, Charleston, South Carolina keeping it real! It’s like a little Brooklyn: The people...the flavor; Walterboro, and the Low Country Dirty South. Courtney, I love you, find your niche, exploit it, and be successful! Deb, you’re beautiful inside and out. And you’re a wonderful mother. Devantae I love you and miss you.

  My family in New York, mom, dad rest in peace. I miss y’all! My sister Sharon. All my family and people in Brooklyn, Bushwick Projects. Barry Jones, Curtis, T, Jimmy B, Craigstee, Mike-Mike, Sly, Bilal...Bobby, Sha-Born, Latif: Salih from Haiti. Monrobia Dutch, Jami Delaware, Hanif, RIP. Big Hamid from Jersey, Dex from Bushwick New York, David Green...thanks for keeping me grounded.

  Cousin Drew, the brothers who trained with me. Remember, bob and weave. Bob, Kafi, Cocky, Styles, Shaheed, D-Lo, Citi, and Big D. To my brothers on lockup everywhere, and of course, Writa'z BLOC, Mic, Ra, Black-Art Goals, Chastity Adams; Ghostwriter Inc, and G, Polow Don, Rich Behavior Entertainment, Jessica Wren, and of course, Wahida Clark. Peace, and Love.

  That brother that be writin' all the time, you know him! ~Dean Hamid~

  Dedication

  Dedicated to all the ballas, trapaholics, gangstas and tricks in South Carolina exclusively! Keepin' it hard! I ain’t mad at cha’-

  and of course, Devario.

  Prologue

  Some cats...actually a whole lot of them always seem to be on the wrong side of the street when shit is going down, falling short, stuck in time in their own vain, selfish desires. They do good for a while then fall flat on their faces, even after trying their damndest. The utmost pure intentions and all that crap always trying to make some sort of trick work...suckers...all of them. But, you know, the crazy part of it all is that they still get the fuck back up, wipe all the filthy grime and sludge off, then insanely start the process all over again. It’s crazy losing it all for days, months, even years and then suddenly, just like that they disappear looking for an out, healing...help!

  Many get caught up with bumping their heads five times a day, even more, in prayer, constant meditation, and repentance, looking for some sort of guidance and reassurance that seemingly in the midst of it all leads only to desperate, distraught lives that they loathe. While other’s cry out to a savior looking for a response from some mysterious voice that everyone’s sold you on. That you’re supposed to hear. Ya know jumping from churches to churches trying to find some inner sound twitching at your earlobes. Deep inside never really evolving then, they’re back to the same old bullshit again.

  The muthafuckin’ Joneses, the Tom’s and the Bob’s. People you’ve looked up to in admiration all your life, unwittingly idolizing them, telling your dumb naive ass that it was so easy for them that you can do it too. But you know what they never put you on their team, dudes get caught up all the time-waking up out of their sleep hollering in the dark for answers...tired of that shit, too, ya know.

  I want to make it to Heaven. I just don’t want to die one way or another not knowing that blissful, peaceful type of vibe, no, not me. But you know what? It’s real simple, it always is it just has to be. Some of us were just made for the Hellfire! All of us are...how they say it in Charleston: ~Lost Boy~

  Chapter One

  T-Black stepped out onto the enclosed porch of his mother’s house and sat. Lounging deep into the worn, outdated patio sofa he pulled out a Newport from his shirt pocket, then fumbled around into his equally worn pants pockets and pulled out a lighter. He glanced briefly up the street before lighting his cigarette at a house that sat on a corner peeping halfway out in front of his about a block and a half away. Hustler by the name of Riko his family’s home, but T-Black wasn’t too much concerned with the residence as he was with Riko’s young sister, Cleo.

  Riko’s family was the well to do type, both parents owned businesses downtown Charleston while T-Black grew up poor and alone, especially after his old man got locked up for a robbery. Eventually, and not too long after he was killed in prison, Central Correctional Institution.

  His drug-addicted mother ended up trying to raise him and his oldest brother, Bobby alone. Bobby was later killed in a botched liquor store holdup in North Charleston, leaving T-Black by himself and his mother to fend for both of them by tricking. As a result, he grew up introverted and bullied in school. When he got tired of it all, he just quit going.

  His size mushroomed from a scrawny awkward kid to a tall muscular, man-child and he ended up becoming the bully, stalking the streets of Liberty Hill. Eventually, he became a pick-up man for the dealers and the number takers, while Riko and his sister went to school downtown at some of the best academics available to rich well to do kids.

  He’d go by their house after their mother got a liking to him, considered him to be one of her college social type experiment of sorts, and tried to foster him into a quote-unquote good home. He was real big on the adoption thing. Maybe there was going to be change in his life, after-all he figured. He ended up staying with a couple she’d found for him. He even went on a family outing. A camping trip with just him and the father one weekend.

  He told T-Black it would make him more of a man. The cops later found him alone, lost and shaking from the damp cold in the thick of the dense woods. Soon
, after investigating they came upon the trailer they were staying in and found his foster father dead. He’d been stabbed numerous times in the chest with a buoy knife. He’d made the mistake of trying T-Black, sexually. Things just went south from there. He ran the streets much harder than before and became estranged altogether from Riko’s parents.

  Riko and Cleo would later do what every other kid in America did and start running the streets. Cleo was instantly kicked out of the house for being sexually active. Her mother cited her behavior as rebellious saying, the devil got in her. She stayed with T-Black’s mother for a minute, when she wasn’t wandering the streets, and she and T-Black became lovers. But he wasn’t the pretty-boy, dope dealing type that the young, bright-eyed, naive girl craved. He was blue-black, with shiny, bright white teeth and yellow, constricted eyes. Though he was perfect physically standing at six-foot-two and weighing two-hundred and ten pounds. He was just too much of a raw brute for her. He was something she used to scratch the itch between her legs. A habit she was getting accustomed to more and more.

  T-Black continued to be a bully but dope boys were his main targets now. He learned how to finesse other playas from out of town, having them front him dope and cash to set up shop in the lucrative drug heavy hoods. It worked for a while, but his face started becoming too Notorious. So, he needed another front...Riko. That only worked for a short period of time, because Riko had other motives. He saw this as his opportunity to get back at Hulie, a merciful, ruthless, up and coming hustla who was pimping his sister hard on the track and at times beating her senseless.

  Hulie couldn’t quite finger Riko, but he knew T-Black was involved in the flam they ran on him. He felt like he was being played for a sucka and wanted revenge. Riko worked it so that T-Black was kept out of the loop. It was through his ignorance that Riko would set in motion his plans to set Hulie up, snatch his dope and money, then eventually Liberty Hill.

  T-Black had a premonition that things weren’t going to get any better for him. So, he stashed a nice sizable amount of cash and made plans to skip town in case he needed to. But now as he contemplated on this half-baked scheme Riko told him about over the phone, getting out was seriously not an option anymore. At least, not yet. He stared up the street reminiscing, hoping maybe Cleo was thinking about getting out of the game and getting her life together, too. From the money, he had stashed and this lick, a fifty-fifty split between him and Riko, it might work out. They could make a run like they used to talk about when they were young lovers.

  He outed his cigarette and smiled sitting in the quiet of the darkness that engulfed him. Thinking real hard about the idea. A fantasy at best and thought out loud to himself after he was convinced. That it could all be real.

  “This is my time,” he said, the only thing breaking the silence stilled around him.

  Later, that evening, T-Black stood in front of Riko’s trap watching bodies creep about in the darkness as the flickering of lighters flicked on and off like fireflies around the busted out, glass window panes. Homes that were at one time half-assed decent, but still showed signs of breaking and entering on the backroom windows or mostly plain old breaking. Most owned by parents who’s now grown children came back to the nest only to become drug addicted, scavenging, crackheads that stole from them every chance they got.

  T-Black could only somewhat relate to that. His own mother would come home herself geeking, but she usually stowed away enough dope from her tricks to not have to worry about stealing, especially from the house, just from the tricks. She didn’t have much, but she’d rather trick than sell anything she bought into the home. She always said that that was working backward. She never once considered herself a hustla’, just an opportunist of sorts. When the situation presented itself, which was most of the time. T-Black considered himself to be the apple that didn’t fall too far from the tree.

  Unlike his mother, he didn’t get high, the furthest he went was cigarettes. Even when circumstances presented itself, he never got caught up into it sniffing cocaine, rolling or smoking off what his mother would say was the glass dick. His biggest addiction was money. He loved to stow money, plenty at times. He’d offer his mother money, but she’d refuse, telling him to put it up for a rainy day. He did, he buried a lot of it in holes around his backyard with a Pitbull posted guard, but that was soon short-lived once word got out, and he damn near terrorized North Charleston getting his money back. So, he came up with a better spot. A stash that even he had to pat himself on the back for.

  He checked his watch, Riko was late. He didn’t see anyone in his spot when he searched around the house. It was strange, no tricks, no smokers...nothing. He called out his name a couple of times, and there was no answer. It didn’t make sense to him. Whoever heard of an empty crack house? Coming towards him was a truck. It looked familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. The gleam from the headlight beams made it difficult to decipher. The truck pulled into a space up the street from him. Maybe it was Riko and the marks they talked about. It was that time anyway he thought as he stepped towards it, then reached into his pocket.

  Damn, how could he forget his gun? Feeling some sort of way, he didn’t sweat it, though. He figured there shouldn’t be any trouble tonight, anyway. They’d just agree on the lick, then set a date for later according to the plan, Riko had put down. Besides he was in his hood, and no one would have the balls to try him in, Liberty Hill, so he relaxed.

  Riko got out the truck. “Yo, wassup, son?”

  “Wassup, where’s the mark?” T-Black asked as he peeped inside the windows.

  “They’ll be here in a minute,” Riko replied as he opened the lock to the bricked, gated fence. T-Black started to walk through and he stopped him. “I’m just gonna be a sec. I need to get something. Wait out here so they’ll see you if they pull up.” He walked up the walkway to the steps.

  T-Black walked back out the fence, then Riko yelled back out at him. “Hey, uh, close the gate. You never know when five-o might roll up.”

  T-Black did, after all, he was right. The gate being closed meant he would have no connection to the trap at all if they did. He’d tell them he was out walking or something. He shut the fence back and fastened the lock behind him. Riko made it up the steps, opened the door and closed it behind him. The light on the front porch came on, T-Black was mused maybe that was the code for the smokers. It was a code, but not for the crackheads, though.

  Hulie peeped up his head and looked at the light as it blinked on. He stood, shaking Jabari and Rip out of their doze. “Yo...it’s that time,” he said.

  Jabari stood up and stretched letting out a loud yawn. Immediately Hulie put his hand over his mouth. “Shut the fuck up! we don’t want him to know we’re coming.”

  Shrugging him off, Jabari said, “Alright!”

  He helped put the chairs on the back porch, silently. Right after he was on his heels as they crept through the bushes towards the street. They could now see the dude that he had told them about. Didn’t recognize him, would have remembered if they’d seen him before. He was the big boy type. Tall and pretty damn muscular, bigger than Hulie. No wonder he needed help putting the tim- down, but damn, where was that dude, Riko? They could see the light on at the trap, and Hulie’s truck out front.

  Hulie tipped slightly towards him and pulled out his gun tucking it tightly to his side. Old boy was smoking a cigarette with his back turned away from them. Hulie then motioned to Rip and Jabari to fan up the street and look out for the police. Just like the plan they did.

  Hulie then stepped in front of him and hollered. “Yo, Busta, remember me!”

  T-Black now recognized the truck and the man who stood in front of him from the last flam that he and Riko had done. He glanced up at the porch for Riko and suddenly the lights went out. The door locked and there were no lights on in the house either. He put it all together, he’d been set up.

  “Yeah...yeah, I remember you partna’,” he said as he backed up slowly away from him lookin
g for some room and an out.

  “Where’s my muthafuckin’ money!”

  T-Black pointed towards the building. “You mean, you’ve been riding with that dude and you don’t know.” He laughed trying to buy some time, bullshitting. “Damn, I thought you was built better than that. A big boy...”

  Hulie swung, and the pistol cracked him in the mouth. Blood slung out and stained the windshield on the truck. “I don’t wanna hear this shit! I’ll deal with his ass later. You the one I want right, now,” he yelled.

  T-Black wiped the blood from around his lips. He knew Hulie’s rep and he also knew he’d have to straighten this mess up, then deal with Riko’s sheisty ass later. “Look, man, I ain’t got your money.”

  “Where’s it at then!” Hulie asked as he pointed the gun at him and stepped closer towards him.

  The one mistake T-black hoped he'd make. “It’s in the trap. Damn, Riko didn’t tell you that shit...he played you, too.”

  Hulie paused, glancing behind him at the door of the dwelling, then T-Black sidestepped him and swung, catching Hulie square on the chin. He damn near knocked him out as Hulie fell to his knees. The gun dropped out of his hand and slid underneath the truck. T-Black dove for it. Hulie grabbed his leg and bit down. T-Black hollered out in pain, then reached back and punched him in the forehead causing Hulie to crash to the ground.

  Jabari and Rip heard the yell all the way up the block. They looked up and saw them scuffling. Rip said. “Let’s go.”

  Jabari reached into his pocket and pulled out his pistol then hauled ass with Rip up the street. T-Black looked up and saw them coming. He kicked Hulie who still hung onto his leg and scrambled desperately for the pistol underneath the truck.