“Wait! Please! That’s my baby. Don’t hurt him. I’m begging you.”
I glanced over my shoulder and noticed a lady with the boy’s exact face running toward us, house shoes slapping the pavement, scarf halfway off her head, eyes wide with fear.
Real fear. Not that fake shit. She was genuinely afraid for her son.
As she should be.
This lil’ bastard was fucking with a bitch that didn’t have shit to live for and nothing to lose.
She slowed when she got close, hands up in a gesture of surrender. Rolling my eyes, I turned back to her son and saw tears welling in his eyes, but he was trying not to let them fall.
“This your kid?” I asked her, my focus still locked on the boy.
“Yes,” she said quickly.
“You failed yo’ son,” I said, giving no fucks if I offended her.
She gasped as if surprised by my statement. “Don’t judge me. I’m a single mom, and I’m doing the best I can.”
“Well, your best ain’t shit. There’s no way a kid his age should know how it feels to hold a weapon, let alone be trying to robsomeone outside his momma’s door. This kid has no respect for you.”
“I tried everything. He won’t listen to me, but that’s still my baby, and I don’t want him to die.”
I scoffed. “Death may be the best thing for him since you can’t control him.” I shoved the handgun deeper into his temple, returning my attention to him.
“You should’ve listened to your momma, then you wouldn’t be forced to choose whether I blow your brains out, or I have you locked up. Pick.”
The boy’s breath came in ragged gasps. Snot bubbled from his nose, and the tears he’d been holding started streaming down his cheeks.
“J-jail,” he stuttered.
“Nah. It’s too late for that,” I replied before he could complete his sentence.
His mother lunged at me, stumbling, hands clawing air. “Please, no!” Her scream tore through the block. “That’s my baby! My youngest baby! I swear to God I’ll fix this!”
“I’ll fix this,” I repeated, mocking her tone. “Bullshit! You had his whole life to fix his behavior,” I spat, and her face crumpled.
She reached out again, but I shot her a glare that stopped her cold. She didn’t come closer, and I was glad she knew better. What they were seeing right now wasn’t even a taste of what I could really do if pushed.
“Please,” his mother whispered, her shoulders dropping in defeat. “Please don’t do this.”
I kept my eyes on the boy’s face, watching the terror reshape his features. He was trying to say something, but the words were getting stuck in his throat.
“Nah. Fuck this lil’ muthafucka,” I said, and I meant it.
My finger lightly tapped the trigger, and his mother released an animalistic wail, the sound primal and desperate. She took a step forward, then another —and I squeezed.
The gun went off. A crack split the air and echoed off the buildings around us. The boy’s body went rigid for half a second, then limp, and I let him drop.
He hit the concrete hard, and his body folded awkwardly. One arm was bent beneath him as his head smacked the pavement.
I could feel the weight of eyes on me from every direction. Neighbors peeked through their blinds. Someone across the street had frozen mid-stride, recording, and a couple of old heads sat on the stoop drinking a beer as they silently watched everything go down.
His mother’s wails cut off abruptly, replaced by a sound worse than screaming. She dived for her baby, her house shoes kicked to the side as she landed beside him.
“Tink! Tink, baby, wake up!” She grabbed his face, turned it toward her, and her hands started trembling so badly she could barely hold him.
“Oh God… no. No, no, no.” Her voice broke as her hands moved over him, checking for the wound. “My baby… somebody help me! Call 911!”
