The Trigger Effect
© 2005 By Ken Glassmeyer
© 2005 By Ken Glassmeyer
CHAPTER NINE
Kit-Kat flipped on his phone on the second beep as he moved quickly into his grandmother's bathroom, locking the door, turning on the tap in the sink, and then jumping into the shower and pulling the curtain around him to muffle the call. His grandmother barely tolerated calls from his "no-good friends" on the land-line down in the kitchen, and would show great disdain if she knew he was carrying around one of those little "thug" phones.
He recognized the DMX ringtone as a call coming from Snake. It meant that the meet would be on and that he had already recruited a few shorties from the neighborhood to help out. They were about to do what his crew called a "swag grab." They got the idea when they had watched a documentary on Jay-Z. Even if you didn't think he could blow anymore, you had to admit that the rapper still moved with a bunch of power and had some major league money. In the documentary it showed how Jay-Z doesn't even have to pay for his clothes, jewelery, cars, or other bling. Most designers were begging him to be seen in public sporting their goods or using their products to the point that he was often invited to these swag buffets where he was not only well fed, but all of these retailers just threw bags of loot and bling at him hoping he would be seen with that gear. Apparently it was the same way for athletes and other celebrities.
None of the guys in the neighborhood had that kind or art or talent, but just about everyone knew how to get into a BMW or Lexus while bypassing an alarm. It was time to go to the rich side of town and get some swag later tonight.
Kit-Kat text'd him back that he would get the rest of the crew together and move them over to the nicer part of the neighborhood. After that he started pushing the keys he needed to send a group message out to arrange the meeting. He smiled at the thought of scoring a bunch of loot while smashing up the cars of snobs. He tucked his phone down deep in the baggy pocket of his cargo shorts and made his way down the stairs. As he passed the third step he felt a chill as Kit-Kat left his brain and was startled when he looked in the mirror on the landing. For a brief moment, he saw what looked like that character out of Batman, Two-Face. The left side was the icy Kit-Kat, street general, and the right side looked like Kellen, the apple of his grandmother's eye. He shook the weird feeling that shuddered in his body and quickly turned away from the nightmare in that mirror and went towards the kitchen to eat dinner with his grandmother.
The kitchen smelled of homemade cornbread, ham and greenbean stew, and of course sweet potato pie for desert. Kellen was excited about sitting down to dinner until his grandmother began lecturing him.
Natalie Winslow held out the letter she had received in the mail with a trembling hand. It was all she could do not to cry. She had been in the middle of cooking her grandson a wonderful meal when the mail shot through the slot in the door. When she read the letter, she almost dumped everything she had been cooking out the kitchen window. She was sad, but also furious at Kellen. The letter from school outlined the upcoming expulsion hearing for Kellen. Apparently he had gotten in even more trouble at Sally Ride Middle School.
Kellen grimaced and swallowed roughly as he read the letter. Someone had seen Kellen trespassing on school grounds during his suspension a few days ago, and that automatically converted his suspension to the next step, nine days suspension with intent to expel. They could appeal the decision of local administrator at the hearing. Kellen tried to summon Kit-Kat from his subconscious, but all he heard in his mind was the indifferent laughter of his alter ego. He tried to think of a quick lie, but knew his grandmother would sniff it out quickly. He looked down at the food growing cold on his plate and wondered what he should do next. He didn't have to think for very long.
"Kellen, I am going to give you one more chance to get your life right. We are going to get an advocate from child services, go to that hearing, and you are going to do whatever it takes to get your discipline reduced and get back into school. I don't care if you have to get down on your knees and beg forgiveness, invoke the mercy of sweet baby Jesus, and offer to wash the Principal's car every Friday."
Kellen stared at his food and tried to hold back the angry tears welling in his eyes. "It's all because of that teacher, Mr Grabows. . ."
"Kellen, child, please don't make excuses. I have told you many times that you simply should not go through life being a victim and always looking for someone to blame."
"So you're taking his side?" Kellen pushed the plate of food away. He was no longer hungry.
"I will always be on your side, baby. I just want you to learn how to. . ."
"Whatever! I thought you were different. I thought you loved me. You are just like all the other grown-ups. Always pushing, and never helping. That's fine. You want me to make my own way. I can do that--just watch!" Kit-Kat stood up, fixed his grandmother with a cruel stare, threw back the kitchen chair, and turned on his heel to stride out of the kitchen; out of the house; and out of Natalie Winslow's life.
He let the door slam as he left, scooping up his bike and turned the corner of the house. Looking back and forth across the yard carefully, he rode quickly over to the metal post that served as one end of his grandmother's clothesline in the back terrace and yanked on the rusty pole, lifting it out of the ground and throwing it down. Once again he glanced around the courtyard and then he bent over and pulled the plastic tube out of the base. Inside was about six thousand dollars and a recently acquired .380 semi-automatic handgun and a spare clip of ammo. He kicked the rest of the clothesline across the small back lawn, and pedaled furiously out of the project's courtyard and made a beeline towards Snake and the rest of his boys. He was going to get his beast on tonight.
