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Stephon Rockwell

Past

W e’d been driving for an hour before we took the exit off the interstate. A few left turns later, we were heading down a dark, winding road with no streetlights in sight. North Carolina was ‘country’ as hell. I don’t think I would ever get used to seeing all the damn trees.

Driving in complete darkness and not being able to see shit fucked with me, so I sat up in my seat.

“Yo, you good, bro?” Devin asked.

“Where in the hell are we, D?”

“Fields Boro. Your city boy ass needs to relax,” he said, chuckling before he turned the car down a gravel road. At the end, a run-down club or bar sat. I didn’t know what in the hell the small building was by looking at it from the outside. The name that was placed over the door said Trap Room .

Around fifty cars were crowding inside the tiny dirt lot. Devin found a spot to park and then exited, going straight towards the trunk, with me following. He retrieved a book bag, closed it, and threw it over his shoulder. I followed slightly behind while we proceeded to head inside. As we walked, I glanced around, noting that there were no security cameras on the outside premises, nor was there any security at the door.

This place is on some bullshit, I see!

No security meant everyone in this motherfucker was strapped, and if you thought otherwise, you’d be a fool. We entered the dark, smoke-filled room lit only by a few fluorescent lights. Devin tapped me on the arm, pointing to the corner in the back, where we made our way and sat.

“What time is he supposed to be here? His ass better not be late,” I huffed out as I looked down at my watch after only a few minutes. I wasn’t looking for an answer, and Devin didn’t give one. He knew when I was getting pissed. It was almost midnight. I had no business being out, knowing I had a game tomorrow. I was supposed to be in bed, resting my mind and body for the beating it would surely take. Yet here I was in a dingy hole-in-the-wall club bar deep in some small ass city called Fields Boro.

Devin trusted me to have his back and gave me the same. My trust was a privilege that not many had. So, I didn’t hesitate to ride out when he called. No questions asked. Besides, we were both cutthroat and ruthless. We’d been doing this together since we were eighteen. Devin Haven and his two brothers, Dorien or Ren, his blood brother, and Demitri Cain or Demi, his chosen brother, had been in the streets longer than that. They would usually be with us, but were at a different location tonight. They were off doing the same thing we were here to do. We were distributing, picking up, and dropping off. At the end of the month, the money would come up short for this location. So, Devin split us up because he wanted to handle it personally.

My game schedule didn’t usually interfere with my extracurricular activities. Which meant I was risking it all. I was out way past the deemed team curfew of ten o’clock. The usual time was eleven, but we’d fucked up at practice this week, so our coach was on a rampage. I played football for Carolina University as the starting wide receiver. This was my third year playing. Coach knew I wasn’t staying another year. Fuck that; I was going to the league. It was time. The last thing I needed was to end up getting injured off some bullshit trick play coach had drawn up.

For as long as I could remember, I dreamed of making it pro regardless of the money. I’d told my roommate and teammate, Nick, to cover for me when Coach called for check-ins. I wasn’t sure he could pull it off, but my money and loyalty were more important. For looking out, I would slide him a few bills if he didn’t fuck it up. Coach Peterson didn’t play that shit. It didn’t matter if I was the star of the team. If I missed curfew, my ass would be riding the bench. I couldn’t afford to do that, not with league recruiters set to be at today’s game. After rechecking my watch, I saw it was indeed the next day, a little after twelve.

“You got somewhere you need to be, Steph? This is the second time your ass looked at that damn watch.” Devin said, leaning into me to speak over the music's bass. I gave him a deadpan expression before I responded.

“Nigga you know my ass has a game this afternoon, so don’t start with all that bossman shit.”

“Damn, I forgot all about that! Why didn’t you say anything?” He asked.

“Because we’re family, and it’s family over everything.”

“Facts,” he said, holding my gaze before dapping me up. I wouldn’t leave him out here alone, even though I knew he could handle himself without any of us. So, here we were… wherever the fuck we were, sitting in the darkest corner of the already dark, dimly lit room. We’d been here for thirty minutes.

I hated walking into a place that I hadn’t vetted. I liked to be the first in the room, waiting in situations like these, hence my irritation. I’d usually come in to ensure everything was solid before the three of them. However, when we arrived, it was already jumping. My personality wouldn’t allow me to relax, so I’d been coaching myself that I was good.

The smoke wafting around us thickened the air. It made seeing even more difficult, which added to my annoyance. We were facing the door, wearing all black and ski masks rolled into beanies on top of our heads. The music was bumping, and with the crowd of drunk bodies filling the makeshift dance floor, we faded to black. The others were scattered throughout, unknowing that we were even there. That was the way we wanted it. At least the music selection was on point, enough for me to catch the beat. Kirko Bangz’s Drink in My Cup was playing .

Devin was heavy in the game and was distro to several East Coast states. He was known in the underworld as One; his brothers were Dorien, Two, and Demitri, Three. I went by Rock and stood in as their proxy. I acted as One, Two, or Three, depending on who couldn’t be with the trio. We were on a mission to take over every fucking thing. We wanted to control it all.

On any typical day, I was simply Stephon or Steph. If we were going by Devin’s appearance, you would never be able to tell he was deep in this shit. His ass was extra intelligent, and he wore these glasses that would fool you. He looked nerdy, to be honest. I chuckled at the thought.

He wasn’t wearing his glasses tonight, though he’d replaced them with contacts. Either way, Devin’s unassuming appearance was his ace of spades. He was merciless and had to be to have made it this far. The crazy part was that he and his brothers were incognito, like ghosts in the game. No one knew they were the men behind the curtain because they always wore masks. Even when they were corner boys. At the time, they didn’t want their fathers to know they’d followed in their footsteps running the drug game. We all wore masks anytime business was conducted. No one had any idea who we were. We were doing it the right way.

If only there were a right in this world of wrong.

Devin tapping me on my shoulders brought me out of my thoughts.

“Yo, there they go right there,” he said as he pointed toward the door where two men had walked in. This man didn’t miss a fucking thing. I was better, though, especially when I knew I needed to be on my shit. I’d let him have it tonight.

“How you know that’s him? I can barely see shit. I forgot your ass got them damn telescopes in.”

“Fuck you, Steph,” he said, laughing. From what I understood, the owner’s son was the one we were meeting.

“Look at his ass walking in here parting bodies like he’s King Kong. But King Kong ain’t got shit on me!” Devin loudly spoke in a singsong voice.

“Yo, you deadass right now?” I laughed because he was referencing Denzel’s character from Training Day.

“Nah Yeah, ain’t that what y’all New York niggas say? Because this shit is about to be mine if he doesn’t have my money!” Devin said, holding his arms out and motioning around him. I laughed again.

“Chill, Yo. You don’t want this dirty old-ass shit. It smells like someone died in this motherfucker.” I said as I flicked a piece of wood off the table end that was sticking up.

“Not yet,” Devin said and laughed.

“We on that type of time tonight?”

“Facts,” he returned. We watched as they pushed through the club patrons, heading toward where we sat. They didn’t know we were there. We watched them pass before swiftly standing and heading down the dark hallway toward the back, where the offices were held. We didn’t have to worry about their surveillance. I didn’t expect to see any inside since there were none outside. I discreetly located only two cameras when we came in, and they weren’t positioned to see shit. As we stood outside the door, Devin nodded in my direction to be sure I was ready. I nodded in return, then we dropped our masks and barged into the small office.

Behind the desk, one of the guys who parted through the crowd jumped out of his seat at the loud thud from the door. Seeing that it was us, he immediately threw his hands up in defense. The other promptly sat on the sofa to my right of the desk with his hands also thrown up. We’d caught them off guard; their surprised expressions covered their faces. I stalled, then entered slightly behind One, gently closing the door. I immediately faded into the darkness after all their attention rested on him. Once there, I began to scan the room. I don’t think they realized that I had entered behind him.

“Shit,” I heard the guy behind the desk say as panic and worry set into his facial features. I was very observant, often taking inventory of everything in a room. That’s just how I was. If someone moved an inch, I would notice. He sat contemplating what bullshit he would let spew out of his mouth. For that reason alone, there was a possibility that we might not get what we came here for.

One stood before the desk, but he wasn’t saying a word. He didn’t need to because they knew why we were here. As One began to speak, I caught a noise. I looked down to see it was coming from the doorknob; it could barely be heard over the music. It slowly turned and opened. Then came the nose of the gun, and lastly, the toe of a boot. It was some stupid nigga; he had to be.

I quietly and quickly whipped out my weapons as he entered. I always carried two under each arm in a holster under my jacket. When he came through the door, I cracked him on the back of the head with the left one, dropping him to his knees, letting off two to his back and one to the head. I hadn’t even seen his face. It was also the moment that my presence in the room was revealed. On instinct, One drew his weapon on the man sitting at the desk; he otherwise hadn’t flinched. As the man I’d just dropped descended backward, I jumped to miss him, falling back onto a set of filing cabinets in the corner. It rattled loudly, causing some of its contents to fall to the floor. For a second, his lifeless eyes transfixed on mine, startling me because they looked like mine. Then I saw myself there, dead on the floor. I quickly swiped my eyes with the back of my hand.

You're tripping, Rock!

“Fuck!” I yelled as dust particles filled the air around me.

“You good?” One asked.

“Yeah, man. That motherfucker almost fell into my damn knee. You know I can’t have that shit. That would’ve made me knock all this dirty ass shit over,” I said as I fanned the thick air with my left hand and finger still primed on the trigger. One chuckled, then returned to his questioning. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the man who sat in the chair shift in his seat. He thought the distraction gave him a chance, but my right hand was still pointed in his direction.

“Aye, I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” I calmly told him as I trained the weapon in my right hand directly between his eyes from where I stood. He immediately threw his hands up again so I could see them.

“Do you think I’m stupid, motherfucker? I knew when you walked through the front door of this shitty ass establishment that you were going to tell me you didn’t have my money. I’m also guessing that you sent this dumb motherfucker in here to stage a robbery so that you can lie to me and tell me that you didn’t have my shit,” One said, gesturing towards the man lying dead on the floor. Without being told. I approached the man sitting on the couch, motioning for him to stand by tapping my gun on the back of his head. He leaned forward to stand, and I walked him over to the safe behind the desk, urging him to empty it.

“All of it. I don’t even want to see a smidgen of dust left. Mr. Clean that shit, you hear me,” I said.

“A smidgen? I see you using your big words today. You know his dumb ass don’t know what that means, right,” One said, chuckling.

“Oh, he knows what the fuck it means because he doesn’t wanna meet Smith. His boy over there already met Wesson.”

He started unloading the safe that, in fact, had the money his boss claimed he didn’t. I didn’t understand why niggas always tried us. Once I was content with what he’d collected, I ushered the man back to his seat and then nodded to One. Then he put one in the head of the man behind the desk, causing his body to slump forward.

On the way out, One walked straight past the man I was still holding at gunpoint. Then he swiftly turned around and shot him in the knee. The man quickly grabbed it, writhing in pain. One squatted down, speaking directly in his face .

“You sure you want this shit? Because if you don’t, decisions can be made.”

“Ye…yeah. I’m gonna be sure I have your money on time.” The nameless man stuttered through the pain I knew he was in.

“Smart man,” Devin said as he removed the bookbag and threw it on his lap.

“Clean this shit up! Every smidgen! Let’s be out,” One said as I laughed. We exited the office and, eventually, the club. Once in the car, I asked the question plaguing my mind since I’d seen it happen.

“Yo D, why in the hell did you shoot that man in his knee like that?” I asked as I rubbed mine, shuddering at the thought of a knee injury.

“Oh, that,” he said casually.

“Those dumbass niggas almost messed up your damn knee. The shit pissed me off so…” He shrugged as if what he’d just said made perfect sense.

“Man, what?” I asked with a perplexed expression as we looked at each other. Then we both burst out laughing. I laid the seat back and tried to get some sleep on the hour-long ride back to campus. I could only hope this game went well.

The Game

“Fuck!” I yelled as I threw my helmet on the side of the locker and sat in my designated cubby. I grabbed my head in my hands, took a deep breath, and tried to push out my frustration. It was halftime, and we were in the locker room. The coach was lighting into our ass because we were down by two touchdowns. I couldn’t even be mad at his lashing because I had dropped two passes before the half. I was fucking up. I knew the NFL recruiters in attendance were side-eyeing my subpar performance.

“You ready, Steph?” My quarterback, Fisher, asked.

“Yeah, you know I stay ready,” I calmly answered, even though I could’ve ripped a cubby from the walls minutes ago. I’d always been overly confident, and that wasn’t about to change because of a few dropped passes. I knew I wouldn’t go back out there on the same shit as before.

“Well, you’re not acting like it. Get your fucking head in the damn game. Don’t let that weak-ass corner get the step on you. Get the fuck open! It’s coming right to you.”

“I got you,” I said as I nodded to my QB. It wasn’t my head that wasn’t in the game…it was my body. I was tired as hell and playing sluggishly. I was slow off the play call, which caused me to be late getting to my spot on the field when running my routes.

I stood, picked up my discarded helmet, and joined the team as we chanted our mantra. Then, we left the locker room to return to the field. They were loud and amped, but I wasn’t because I wanted to center myself. Before I touched the green grass, I stopped, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath. I wanted to erase the first half from my memory.

You got this, Steph. Just do what you’ve been doing your whole life. Go out there and kill this shit. You’re pro-bound, baby; act like it !

I ran onto the field renewed, running right into the huddle. I listened to my QB call the play, and then we clapped hands to break. I lined up in front of the cornerback, who had my number all afternoon. I scanned the field to determine if any other player would try to step over and interfere with my route. I determined that no one out there could fuck with me. The whistle blew, and I flew out of my start, leaving him in the dust. I turned just in time to see the ball flying in the air right towards me. It dropped right over my shoulder perfectly. There was no one around me. I ran it straight into the end zone, getting my team one score closer to tying the game.

“Yeah, Steph, that’s how you do that shit!” I heard my QB yell my way. I didn’t even celebrate. I ran straight off the field and sat at the end of the bench, away from my teammate’s premature celebration. I hadn’t even removed my helmet. Some of them walked by, tapping me on the head. They knew not to say shit to me because once I was in the zone, I didn’t want any outside noise in my head. Even though the crowd was screaming as loudly as they could, I blocked them out, too.

After the defense effectively held them scoreless on their last set of downs. It was the offense’s time to retake the field. Once again, I entered the huddle with my ‘I run this shit’ swagger. I listened as our QB called out the play call, and then I lined up. It was another play that would come directly to me.

“Yeah nigga, I bet your ass won’t catch shit on me again. I guarantee that! ”

“Your ass can’t see me,” I said to the same cornerback I’d caught fifty yards on. He was talking and trying to get in my head. It wasn’t going to work. I knew I was better than him. He didn’t stand a chance once I broke. He was too small and slow, so I avoided saying more. I stood taller than the average receiver at six feet four inches and weighed two hundred and twenty-four pounds. I would let my game do all the talking.

His coach shouldn’t have put him on me, dumbass!

I broke out for the play and hit a juke move. He went down hard with grass flying from underneath his cleats. I’d lost his ass just like I knew I would. I was wide open once again. I looked back, realizing I had to slow up to catch the ball, so I did. As soon as it fell into my hands, I headed toward the end zone, holding the ball out as I jogged in. This time, I let the noise from the crowd filter in. I was hyped up, so I celebrated this time, spiking the ball and screaming at the top of my lungs.

“Let’s. Fucking. Go!” I yelled. I’d caught two back-to-back touchdowns, redeeming myself from my first-half drops.

With my adrenaline pumping, the coach noticed and decided not to kick the field goal for the extra point. He called a two-point conversion, leaving us on the field. I was winded, but I lined back up in the slot. I hated plays like this because the end zone would be packed with bodies, and there wouldn’t be enough room to move around quickly.

We broke the play-call huddle, and I scrambled past all the defensive players, finding myself open in the center of the end zone. My QB saw me and threw the ball, but it was too high. So, I jumped to catch it. As I lifted into the air, I secured the ball in my grasp, but I didn’t see the two linemen who had appeared underneath me.

“Ahhhhhhhh Shit!” I screamed out. I felt the moment my knee was crushed between the two shoulder pads of the linemen as they sandwiched me. Then, I felt the crack. Next, the burning pain of flesh ripping away from my body. The pain was so intense I blacked out.