young woman turned her head, she figured that there was nothing that could done.
There comes time when destiny stares a human being right in th eyes. Old and wise, the sage of time dares one to make a choice, a change, a chance.
This was Benjamin’s chance for change. He knew it, even as a boy in that moment huddled against his mother’s bosom.
From under his mother’s loving arms, Benjamin watched as the evil Daniel kicked little Henry over and over again. A child that weighed no more than seventy-five pounds soak and wet with rocks in his pockets.
Rage building in his small brow, his hazel eyes feeling as if on fire, the young creole was always formidable.
A powerful boy child that was big for his age, Benjamin had the will of a young warrior, even back then.
With all his might, quickly squeezing from his mother’s loving embrace, young Benjamin looked destiny right in her face and spat in it.
Rushing as fast as his bare feet could take him, the brave child sped in the direction of Slick’s bloody screams.
As the young warrior leaped through the air, blinded by fury with a sickle in hand, Little Benjamin made contact.
A sickening crunch was heard as shocked gasp were heard by everyone watching.
In front of several sharecroppers, blood trickled from his head, danial Stewart turned around with a shocked look on his face. The last thing the evil bastard saw was young Benjamin’s murderous grimace, a gleeful grin of pride and redemption.
“I’s send ya’ ass back ta’ damn hell naw .... say hello ta’ ya daddy fo’ me ....,” the young Benjamin hissed.
As his eyes slowly grew dim, the Stewart boy, the most infamous bully in several counties, finally glazed on into death, falling dead into the dirt from his favorite horse.
At the age of 18, the eldest son of the one of the most powerful landowners, Daniel Stewart, known to rape girls as young as six, was dead as a doorknob.
The evil young man was even suspected in lynching several black men and woman.
The blood thirsty maniac, cruel from sun up to sun down, every day. Died face down in the very dirt his father killed and maimed others for.
That fateful day everybody saw everything, but said nothing.
As young Benjamin and Henry looked on, the master’s boy was rolled up in burlap by a group of men. His horse was taken deep into the woods and killed.
All was taken care off. So they thought.
It took weeks, but the sheriff finally came around asking questions. A tough racist white man whom hated more than he loved, especially the weak, Sheriff Wilson made it his duty to bring fear everywhere he went.
Over a few days, the hateful lawman rounded the sharecroppers in groups of ten, never with their families. The lawman questioned and intimidated several groups forcefully. Loud and boisterous, the lawman promised death to each if the truth was not told.
Weeks of this took place, until the sheriff became even more brutal. Finally he lynched three innocent men, a white and two blacks that newly arrived on the farm. The corrupt officer then lied, saying each man confessed to killing Stewart’s son because of a robbery attempt gone wrong.
Clara knew then and there that she had to leave and leave fast. Eventually, for some reason unbeknownst to the young boys, little Henry left with the wise woman and her boy. After a few weeks on the road, from farm to farm, the trio eventually landed in Alabama.
Finally ending up in South Carolina, the young mother, always brave and courageous, lost her battle to live. Mama Clara died of tuberculosis, leaving the boys at the age of fourteen.
From there, destiny took hold once again. Henry, whom would later be known as ‘Blood Slick’ because of his razor skills, and Benjamin, fought the world to survive, literally. Both joined gangs, becoming head of those gangs. Each known for their brutality and skill in killing and fighting.
For Slick and Benjamin, it always seemed that fate threw her worst in their direction, only to have the men threw their worst right back. From moonshining, card sharking, hustling, even selling sex to wealthy woman whom were lonely, the young men grew into hardened criminals.
But somehow, through it all, both managed to hold on to their humanity. Or atleast a gentile delusion of such.
Benjamin grins as he pouring another cup of coffee. “You rememb’a why I start’d call’in ya’ ‘Slick’ ?”
“Yeah - the Murto Twins,” the blue eyed hustler laughs.
“I sliced both’em fuck’as up like steak at’a slaught’a house.”
“So much damn blood on tha’ flo’.... it was slick to our feet. Yo’ dumb ass start’d call’in me tha’ shit,” Slick grins.
“Badge of honor nigga. Badge of honor,” Benjamin grins.
Looking over to a picture, the creole thinks. The woman in the black and white fine framed picture is pretty in a plain way, barely smiling. As if hiding secrets like a southern Mona Lisa.
Slick looks to the portrait as well, noticing a quick look on Benjamin face. One of which he dismisses with a sip of coffee. “That’s Kelly’s mama,’ he says.
As the hustler’s intelligent blue eyes studying the portrait, slick instantly remembers a woman that hated him with an awful passion.
Slick first met Kelly at the Sunday horse tracks, a huge after church affair for wealthy socialites. Always dressed in his finest, accented with a gold pocket watch and brass tipped ivory cane, the lovable killer hs always been a sure catch. Though dressed casket sharp, Kelly’s mother would always had something snide and demeaning to say Slick each time she met him. Never fail.
At that time Kelly was in the young hoods sights. Slick loved the young woman dearly and had the money to support a family.
By working hard and smart, the young hoodlum was already a millionaire by the age of twenty through the bountiful dark fruits of the southern underworld.
Each Sunday the hood would leap out of bed, knowing he would see the girl of his dreams. Benjamin would simply sleep in, since coloreds were not allowed at the tracks. And sure enough, dressed in his best, the young man, always with flowers in hand, was treated like dirt by Mother Kelly.
One time the hateful wench even called Slick a ‘ high yellow mongrel nigger’ trying his best to pass for white. Slick guessed this was because it soon got out that Benjamin and he were actually blood brothers with the same father.
Each Sunday, called the worst of the worst by a woman whom had more money that God, Slick smiled brightly because none of it mattered.
Kelly was always behind the evil woman, smiling sweetly. It was as if Kelly’s simple smiles were a type of armor. As acidic words of hate and vitriol came his way, all Slick did was imagine Kelly’s sweet face while he was riding deep within her young thighs.
Turning from the old bats’s picture, the hoodlum thinks back to a woman whom was a lot kinder to him than the one in the portrait.
Instantly Mama Clara on her death bed comes to mind. In her last moments the loving woman was barely able to talk. Mucus in had gathered in her lungs. The woman was literally slowly drowned.
The last time Slick and Benjamin saw their mother, Clara was courageous, almost angelic, as if not effected at all by the fact that she was dying.
Heaven was calling the good woman home.
Peering