Home  |  Top Books  |  Top Authors  |  FAQ  |  Search  |  Sign In  |  Join



Like it?
Share it!







More...
  from Mama needs new shoes by Shirley Holder Platt

Chapter 1
Jimar and his Pokes or Mama needs new shoes

He sat low in his restored, midnight blue Buick, flicking the ashes of his cigarette out the window. From behind, all you could see was his closely shaved and greased head, which was very round. It looked like a glossy, new, bowling ball wearing expensive sunglasses and driving the car. Ignoring the muggy heat, he had the windows rolled down to maximize the sound of fuzzy music coming through the partially blown speakers. The deep bass rhythm reverberated and shook the windows of nearby cars. As he pulled through the intersection, the extended spokes reflected in the light. Poking 5 inches from the hub of the wheel, the swangers served as a warning to anyone daring to come too near - in case the thumping bass sounds didn't do the trick. His rims were to die for. Literally. Jimar got his legally. Well, let's say he bought them. We won't say where he got the three thousand bucks; but he knew of more than one car-jacking that ended in death for the owner of the shiny pokes. If you were brave enough to ride down the mean streets of Houston's poor black neighborhoods in a tricked-out car, you'd better be bad. And Jimar was as bad as they got. He never drove at night, always carried a gun that couldn't be traced back to him, and never, ever let anyone he cared for get in the car with him. He knew he was a target, and he relished the attention. 

"Bring it," was his motto.

I was in a car behind Jimar. It was a beauty, a brand, spanking new BMW. It was so fresh there wasn't a spot of dirt on the white paint, and the interior still smelled like new car without the help of air freshener. We'd lifted it from the HEB parking lot a couple of blocks back. Easy as taking candy from a baby. We sat at the window of the Starbuck's inside the store and watched our mark drive in to the lot, search for and take the closest spot to the front door, and sashay into the store on what were sure to be $500 Miu Miu slingbacks like she owned the world. She waved her hand behind her, and the clicker locked the doors for her. I figured she would come out fine what with...







Shirley Holder Platt is accepting feedback on this chapter.

Would you like to be a part of it?

Sign in or join to offer your feedback and constructive criticism.

FAQ: I don't feel "qualified" to give feedback. Can I still provide it?





Read books      FAQ      Contact me      Terms of Use      Privacy Policy

© 2019 Dream, Play, Write! All rights reserved.