Page 2 of See No Evil

He placed his hands against my chest and pushed me. I could feel all of his strength in that push, as well as all of his weakness.

He wasn’t as robust as he’d have liked me to believe. He’d told on himself. I didn’t have much weight on me, but I was strong as an ox. Tall and willowy, with a lifetime of hatred and resentment that fueled me each and every damn day. I looked into his eyes, and something broke inside of me. That last bit of string that tethered my sanity to my dangling shred of compassion for the human race had been sliced to pieces, the bits flying away into the wind, never to be seen again.

I let my knife slip from my hand to the floor, raised my right fist, and before he could touch me again, I punched that man in the face with all the force I could muster. Blood spurted from his nose like a spinning wheel doused with red paint. I kept on and on, and when he fell onto his back, landing partially on the back of the toppled chair, I kept on pummeling him as if he were meat that needed to be tenderized.

The overhead lights came on, and the screaming and yelling ensued. None of it mine. I feasted on the fear stamped on his face, and I smiled before spitting in his fucking eye.

I hope he can see me now. REALLY see me…

“BITCH!” I yelled as hands pulled at my arms and legs. All I could see was the red river he was drowning in, while I rose to the top. My smile turned into a grin as they struggled to stop me from finishing him off. I could almost taste it… the tears of his mama at his funeral. I became sticky with determination, resolute in finishing my mission. My last one as a soldier.

But at last, they managed to get me off him. While I was being hauled away from his broken and beaten body, I saw him twitch. I noticed the spasms. I cracked up laughing when someone called for medical assistance.

I remembered that night as though it was yesterday—the time I’d almost killed Major Greenwald. Early the morning of the incident, he’d gotten in my face, his finger less than an inch away from my nose, and said those words to me. The words that made me want to destroy him, and not look back. I warned him to back off, and he took me as a joke. His breath had smelled of strong coffee and cigarettes, and like he’d been sucking the shit out of an elephant’s ass through a straw. I hated his voice. His smile. That natural darkness in his eyes. It was unnerving. He had blue eyes, and yet, they were devoid of life. He had no soul. I even hated the way he walked: back super straight, arms dangling at his sides like some monkey.

I was dishonorably discharged, blackballed, and served time for assault on an Army officer. Not one of those days did I express regret or remorse. Not even in court. That lack of humility, as the judge called it, cost me a longer sentence, but little did they seem to understand, I wasn’t going to pretend to be sorry to get out of trouble faster. I wasn’t going to act like I didn’t hear what I heard. Said what I said. Saw what needed to be seen. These mothafuckas pressed your back against the snowy mountain, then when you yelled and fought back, they cried about how they saw you start an avalanche.

I did my time, and all prison did was make me harder. Colder. Bolder. I became a smarter criminal. I figured out new ways to make money. How to hustle. How to get over, and under. Mama said I ruined my Army career and that I fucked up everything I touched. She declared to anyone who’d listen that I was no good. She cried and cried, but never to try and understand me—she did it because of how she believed I made her look. She wanted a kid she could brag on. Someone who brought prestige into her life. This lady told me that I was a bad seed, and far too much to handle.

You designed me from the tattered and cheap fabric of neglect, verbal and mental abuse.

I said to her, “You’re right. I wasn’t born this way, Mama. Monsters aremade. Say hello to your creation…”

Chapter One

It had beena long while since Legend looked at a bank statement that had more than three digits for the balance.

He’d managed to put together a nice little nest egg after a time of living modestly and saving up as much as he could. He had some endeavors, and those undertakings would need a certain level of investment.

Time to put my money where my mouth is—invest in myself, in somethin’ that’s going to make my life better.

When he was a drug dealer, the money came fast and easy. His balance was always in the six digits, and he didn’t have a financial care in the world. Cars. Women. Traveling to Maui and Jamaica. Now, there was no way he could afford the rides he used to drive, and go the places he used to fly to—but it sure beat another stretch in the penitentiary.

He now had two vehicles. His trusty truck, and he’d just purchased a two-year-old black Toyota Tacoma, and some bedroom furniture from a discount store. He finally got the dogs to the veterinarian and up-to-date on their shots, and fed them quality food. No more Dollar Tree cans of pet food and whatever was on sale at the grocery store.

He splurged on them a bit at the pet store once a week and bought them some new toys, as well as a couple large water fountains, the kinds with the filters, for them to share. For him,he bought few nice threads from Kohl’s, and treated himself to a premium gold chain. His favorite gold chain, a Cuban link with diamonds worth ten grand, had been stolen by his ex-girlfriend and pawned for drugs. He never did see it again, and he was still pissed off about that. It had been one of the first pieces of custom jewelry he’d acquired for himself after he’d made his first hundred thousand dollars.

He thought about his spending habits and fiscal self-control. He liked nice shit, so it was hard to be frugal. However, the sacrifice would be worth it.

Let’s see, I got that pair of sneakers, Reeboks, nothing too expensive, and a pair of Timberlands, too. That’ll hold me for a while.

His snapback collection had dwindled. He’d had to sell quite a few of them when he was first released from prison, but he still had a few of his favorites left that he wore on rotation. He pretty much stayed in jeans and plain shirts when he wasn’t in his work jumpsuit, but he enjoyed looking at the new fashions, fantasizing about what he was going to buy when he was able.

Legend sat in his apartment with his three dogs at his feet, wondering about stacking more money, investments, and weaving plans. He looked up options on his laptop, jotting down a few thoughts and ideas along the way.

English said she’d help me with a resume, but what the hell would I write on it? My military background doesn’t help me wit’ shit, because I was dishonorably discharged for assault. That’s not something you brag about. Major Greenwald couldn’t see out of one eye for like a whole year after I got a hold of him. He got what he fuckin’ deserved.

He tossed the pen on the table, rubbed his eyes, and massaged his forehead.

If I saw him right now, I’d stomp his ass out because he should’ve died that night. People just don’t understand, butnobody was going to believe me. Or even worse, I could tell everything I knew, and they still wouldn’t care. I served jail time for that, and everyone took his side. He shoulda been the one in jail. That’s how the Army is though. Nobody was going to talk about the verbal abuse he’d been puttin’ me through for months. Hell, this shit didn’t happen in a vacuum.

Not only that, he knew what I thought of him. That he wasn’t shit. A fucked up individual walkin’ amongst us. He hated me for seeing through his veneer. He wasn’t no soldier. Nobody to look up to. Things didn’t get better after I got out of jail. After I served my time, I was paroled to Mama’s house. Ankle monitor. The whole nine.

Mama said I couldn’t live with her without bringing in some money. I was only twenty-one, and had been getting in trouble since I was about twelve or thirteen. Wasn’t nobody tryna hire my ass, ’specially after I beat up and choked out a major in the Army. What did she expect me to do? I couldn’t even flip burgers. She kept throwin’ in my face that the Army said they tried to make an exception for me, ’cause usually they don’t let troubled kids in. I wrote down the reasons I should be given a chance, and they were convinced. To this day, I’m told I have anger issues and that I am a threat to society.

Naw. Society’s a fuckin’ threat to me. My criminal record is long and strong… I gotta do something, though. I already told Axel I ain’t gonna be doing this shit forever. This is HIS dream, not mine.

I ain’t really talking to Mama much. Ain’t got shit to say to her. We’ve always had a strained relationship—much worse now. She’s not realistic. She’s judgmental when she ain’t got room to say shit to me. She wasn’t a good mother, but let her tell it and she’d say Mel and I had it good. I can’t stand her ass, but I’ll be damned if I want something bad to happen to her, ’cause I don’t. But if I don’t talk to her ever again, that’d be cool with me,too. I would’ve been better off raised by a pack of rabid fuckin’ wolves. In some ways, I was. The streets raised me. Picked up where she dropped off. Church.

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