Sneakers On A Wire Ch 00 Prologue

Rife with poverty, crime, and struggle; Liberty Heights wasn't a place you went to if you weren't from there. Plagued with a long history of civil and political unrest, it was always headlining some top five list of the city's worst neighborhoods—last year it made number one, and all signs led to it repeating its standing this year, regardless of the recent wave of gentrifiers trying to capitalize on low rent in an unreasonably overpriced city.

Generations ago, poverty had led to despair, and despair would eventually lead to a community afflicted by the sentiments of

'by any means necessary'

, and the fruits of that ideology would indeed eventually materialize, but only for a mere fleeting moment. When the crack epidemic of the late 1980's hit, Liberty Heights suffered the hardest. Now over thirty years later, the sons and daughters of zombie addicts that dodged crack syringes while playing in burnt tenement buildings, would grow from failed children who were left to raise themselves into lost adults. It was right back to square one, and poverty led right back to despair.

An old Toyota Camry crept up menacingly, then slowed to a halt. Franklin Boulevard, lined in old pre-war row houses from when the neighborhood still had a fighting chance, was an abyss of lost souls at that hour of the night. The police coined it

'Frankghanistan'

for how easily it triggered an officer's PTSD. Out there on that strip of pain and sorrow, you were either buying, selling, using or getting used.

Behind the wheel was Prince, and on the passenger side sat Looks—both seasoned in crime for their ages, and both eager for more seasons. In the backseat, alone with just his cold pistol, Water slumped low to observe the scene meticulously. There was enough people out and about that if anyone gave statements—which was unlikely around here—the same common denominators would align: Black male, dark jacket, dark hat and around six feet tall. And in this neighborhood, that wouldn't be enough to target a suspect.

Like Notorious B.I.G. had once so picturesquely proclaimed,

'Either you selling crack rock, or you got a wicked jump shot.'

, and after giving into the temptations of illicit cash, that was the last time Water had ever dribbled a basketball. The first taste of fast money he ever got his rough hands on hit him worse than the poison he sold, and like his customers, he too was hooked on a high.

"Yo, you sure you don't want me to handle this one for you?" Looks asked. "Nah. This one's personal," Water answered in that icy rasp his voice often defaulted to just before doing something his mother never raised him to do. The only problem there was that the streets raised him more than his mother ever did. "Prince, drive to that corner exactly like I said. No hiccups." he finalized before sliding out his door and stepping out into the cool autumn air. In his expensive black North Face mountain jacket and cap pulled low, he vanished across the street, into enemy territory.

A month ago, Nikko, Water's best friend since childhood, had gotten stabbed to death a few blocks around the corner from Franklin Boulevard.

'Thirty-plus wounds inflicted by a pocketknife, or something of the sort.'

was what the homicide detectives told Nikko's older sister when she went to identify his body at the morgue. He was two months shy of turning twenty-three, and negligent cops were already letting the case go cold. Of course Water knew exactly who killed his friend, and why, and wasn't letting anything go cold.

Three months ago, Nikko saw an incredibly attractive young lady walking to her car on his block, and like typical Nikko, he couldn't help not chatting her up. Eventually the charming, disarming, butter melting words of his convinced her to drop her panties, and from there you'd think Nikko was trying to drill a hole to China. And like a cliche, in the maze of deceit that the neighborhood was, the girl was never forthcoming about being in a relationship with G-Class, a feared killer and veteran drug dealer from Franklin Boulevard.

In a perfect world, where decisions were executed more rationally, Water imaged he could've gotten the whole thing squashed by negotiating to G-Class a momentary piece of real estate on one his blocks for a pass with Nikko hollowing out his bitch. But of course this was reality, and now it was blood for blood. And so there Water was; stalking G-Class like prey, and itching for justice.

He dodged swiftly in and out between fiends, dealers, and anyone out there in alliance or indebted to G-Glass, but not too swift to alarm anyone. In his dark jacket and hat pulled low to mask his popular eyes, no one could make him out in that dim stretch of urban wasteland anyway. And he was only here now because G-Class had let his guard down. It took the coward three weeks to come back outside after murdering Nikko, and Water couldn't sleep knowing the score hadn't been evened.

Finally, from half way through his stroll on Franklin Boulevard, Water peered down to the corner, where the street lights were a little brighter, and spotted a comfortable G-Class leaning against his car like he was important. That smug lean put Water's mind in a place it rarely went, but once there, there was no going back. He pulled the pistol from his waist, primed it and tucked it back into his jacket pocket where his hands remained.

You dead now, pussy.

Water screamed at his G-Class in his mind. This was it, just like he'd imagined for the past month.

Vengeance

was his.

Justice

was his. All the fiends and dealers between him and G-Class weren't even relevant anymore, as his adrenaline pumped and the chilly November air all of a sudden felt like a humid summer afternoon. Water's palms began to perspire just enough for him to know that this was real, and this was a choice he was making out of code, duty and honor; nothing any different than a soldier complying with orders, only these were his own orders. And as Water got closer, and G-Class's face got more defined, everything got quiet—at least to Water they did. His feet picked up speed, and his hand came out of his pocket with the dark hole of a loaded barrel aimed point blank at his victim's nose.

"This is for

Nikko!

" Water spewed in that signature cold rasp.

Click. Boom!

G-Class's brain matter exploded from out the back of his skull and splattered across the windshield of his car, as his lifeless body slumped to the ground. The shot echoed out into the night and summoned G-Class's henchmen to run over to his body. They searched for an assailant, but Water had already vanished off the block and on his way back to the Camry.