The System Has Failed Read online

  The System Has Failed:

  Out for Self Series, Book 2

  by

  Ms. Michel Moore

  www.urbanbooks.net

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Urban Books, LLC

  300 Farmingdale Road, NY-Route 109

  Farmingdale, NY 11735

  The System Has Failed: Out for Self Series, Book 2

  Copyright © 2018 Ms. Michel Moore

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior consent of the Publisher, except brief quotes used in reviews.

  ISBN: 978-1-9458-5553-5

  eISBN 13: 978-1-945855-54-2

  eISBN 10: 1-945855-54-1

  This is a work of fiction. Any references or similarities to actual events, real people, living or dead, or to real locales are intended to give the novel a sense of reality. Any similarity in other names, characters, places, and incidents is entirely coincidental.

  Distributed by Kensington Publishing Corp.

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  Chapter One

  Big Ace sat back, shaking his head in disbelief. Focusing on one son, then the other, he reached for his glass. With one short swallow, followed by a huge gulp, Big Ace let the dark top-shelf liquor warm his throat. He knew his boys were half crazed. The entire city of Detroit knew it as well. The sometimes-wannabe-proud father knew his offspring were both born acting a fool. Since they’d come out of their mother’s womb, it’d been that way. Although he’d tried his best to mold them into mirror images of himself, he’d failed. Some would say maybe not miserably, but close enough. Big Ace was different. He was a polished gangster. He’d been that way for some time. With the way his boys acted he wanted to question their DNA, but they looked too much like him to do so. The judge and half the jury would run him clear out of town if he ever did try to deny them. Back in the day, in his youth, Big Ace had his own demons of being wild. He and his homeboy Kamel ran the streets. They were reckless and were known to clown on more than several occasions. Yet they were never idiots as big as his seeds were. But he continued to hope for miracles when it came to their behavior, both business and personal.

  Big Ace and his sons were content. The stuffed trio was seated in the rear of the crowded Detroit-area restaurant. Finishing up their dinner, each felt that they’d gotten their money’s worth. The hardworking waitress cleared the table of several huge plates of broken shells from jumbo crab legs. Moments later she returned, bringing the three of them dessert. While devouring that as well, they plotted. Deep into the conversation, they began to exchange ideas. While some of their schemes would involve much more time to achieve hood results, others didn’t.

  What was needed and agreed upon was a temporary solution to the boys’ problem at hand, which was an almost-complete halt to business at a few of their eastside weed spot locations due to some still-nameless dudes with some hellava strong bud. Normally Big Ace wouldn’t even entertain the notion of helping them nurse their own hustle, but after receiving calls from both his sons raising the Bat-Signal for his assistance or least advice, the loyal father stepped in.

  “Okay, y’all two. I done finished my food, so go ahead. It ain’t no way I wanted to hear y’all whining on a fucking empty stomach!”

  “Dad,” Elon complained as he lied, “come on. It ain’t even like that. We already know what we gonna do about the slowdown. We just wanted to run it past you first because we might have had to borrow some of them thangs to make shit unfold faster.”

  “That’s right,” Donte automatically concurred.

  Big Ace leaned back and disapprovingly grinned at his sons’ weak attempt to fool him. “Look here, if you cats knew what to do, then why in the hell we here? And as for borrowing my Peacemakers, that shit’s definitely out the equation. You two make more than enough bread to purchase ya own damn artillery! So if somebody is stepping out of line and on your territory, then do what y’all gotta do! That’s my best advice!”

  Both brothers, knowing that if they really told their father the real deal he’d most definitely clown them, wisely decided to figure shit out on their own. “Matter of fact, Dad, we about to head to the crib and meet up with our crew,” Elon said, continuing to lie as he looked down at his constantly ringing cell phone and put it on mute.

  “Look, Elon, you and your brother go on and handle y’all little situation while I sit here and eat my dessert. Besides, you ain’t the only one whose phone is ringing,” Big Ace informed his son. “And please pull up those sagging jeans and act like a grown-ass man!”

  Elon, who followed his father’s orders and pulled his pants up on his waist, and Donte excused themselves and headed out of the restaurant and toward the parking lot. As they drove off in their separate trucks, Stuff and Marie were driving in through the other parking lot’s entrance.

  “What it do, baby doll?” Big Ace raised the last bit of his double-layer chocolate cake to his lips. “What you need from your big daddy?”

  “You ain’t gonna believe this wild-ass bullshit I’m about to tell you!” Simone whispered into the phone’s receiver as the warm water in the tub soothed her body. “First of all, when I got back to my house this afternoon you wouldn’t believe how this little motherfucker had my crib looking. And if that shit weren’t bad enough, his behind wanna go for bad now and sling goddamn trees.”

  “Okay, and?” Big Ace swallowed, tossing his fork down onto the table and overlooking what she’d just said about Terrell selling weed. “Big deal, he selling to a couple of his schoolmates!”

  Simone relit the half-smoked blunt and choked two good times before delivering the shocking “gotcha gotcha” punch line to their conversation. “Well, the weed ain’t the big deal! It seems like Kamal’s son is running around here fucking stank-ass project bitches like you and his no-good daddy used to do back in the day!”

  “Damn, Simone! Good for Terrell!” Big Ace laughed out loud and signaled for the waitress to bring his bill. “Ain’t nothing wrong with a little bit of low-class ghetto booty every so often. And don’t forget me and you both was raised in the projects too.”

  Immediately offended that Big Ace had thrown up her humble beginnings smack dab in her face after she was trying to put him o
n to game, she blurted out what she’d originally called to say. “Oh, since you being so Obama this evening, I guess you don’t care either that my son is sticking his dick all up in Monique’s daughter’s pussy!”

  “Monique?”

  “Yeah, nigga, you heard me! Monique!”

  “Monique who?” Big Ace, tired of the cat-and-mouse game Simone was intent on playing, stood up to leave after paying the bill. “I know lots of chicks named Monique!”

  “Oh, well how many of them set your dumb, good-tricking ass up at the Red Roof the same damn night Kamal and Joey died, then mysteriously somehow ended up dead as a motherfucker her damn self? Now tell me, do any of that shit ring a bell with ya self-righteous ass?”

  “Where you at right now?” Big Ace’s tone got very serious. “I need you to meet me at my house ASAP!”

  “Boy, bye,” Simone snickered, knowing she’d knocked him off his square bringing up Clip-N-Dip Moe and that awful night he’d gotten his balls damn near stomped out of his asshole. “I’m relaxing taking a hot bubble bath, and then maybe my future daughter-in-law and me might watch a movie.”

  “I’m not fucking around with you, Simone.” He demanded, “I’m leaving out now so be there in thirty minutes, period!”

  Let his ass wait for me for once and see how he feels. Simone leaned back smugly as her phone rang loudly once again. I know this ain’t him calling right back, is it?

  Chapter Two

  “What took you so long to call me back?” Marie questioned Stuff as she and he headed hand in hand into the cool, air-conditioned Red Lobster. “I thought you forgot about me like you’ve been doing all week.”

  Overcome with guilt from spending so much time with Shauntae during the past week and ignoring Marie’s never-ending calls and texts, Stuff avoided eye contact, looking downward at the carpet. As the hostess politely led them to their seats, an oversized, burly man dressed in a tracksuit with an expensive LYNX chain with a diamond-encrusted cross dangling at the end bumped into Stuff, throwing him off-balance.

  “Oh, my bad. Please excuse me, sir. I wasn’t paying attention. I apologize.”

  “Not a problem.” The man hurriedly rushed off while wishing in the back of his mind that his two sons looked and acted half as respectfully as Stuff.

  After being seated, the couple glanced at the menu, deciding what appetizers to get, as a jealous Marie kept the questions coming. An order of mozzarella cheese sticks, shrimp cocktail, and three sodas later, Stuff grudgingly agreed to take Marie to Detroit’s annual Barristers’ Ball, where his father would be one of the prestigious keynote speakers of the evening. He’d already promised Shauntae he’d spend at least the earlier part of that day with her, since it coincidently was her birthday, and then he would possibly take her to the prestigious event. Stuff knew at this point that things between him and her were definitely up in the air.

  Damn, why didn’t I stop Terrell when I saw that look in his eyes? That shit was so fucked up! Damn! Damn! he repeated over and over in his head. During every moment he spent at the table, watching Marie’s lips make idle chitchat about this and that, Stuff couldn’t seem to stop thinking of Shauntae and the way she took Terrell’s ass whooping so calmly. Maybe I’ll go back later on and see if she’s okay, he thought as he planned on cutting the evening short.

  * * *

  “You know what we gotta do, don’t you?” Donte, who tried his best to avoid violence if possible, informed his brother of the obvious.

  “Hell fuck yeah. Ain’t no question,” Elon yelled into his cell phone. “Find out just exactly who these fake crab niggas is and smash they bitch asses.”

  “No doubt.” Donte stayed focused as he steered his truck down to the freeway and toward home. “I’ll see you at the crib.”

  “That’s a bet.” Elon hung up with his brother just in time to catch another incoming call from the suspiciously elusive Shauntae, whom he hadn’t been able to get up with in days. “Yeah, speak on it!”

  “Hey, baby.” Shauntae tried sounding sexy despite her still-growing fat lip and the ice wrapped in a washcloth pressed to her eye. “How you been?”

  “Bitch, please.” Elon leaned back in the driver’s seat after turning up some old Tupac. “Don’t ‘hey, baby’ me! Where the fuck ya good dick-sucking ass been hiding?”

  “Nowhere, E. I just been doing me!”

  “Whatever. Get the fuck on with that stupid Oprah bullshit, bitch! What’s really good?”

  “Can you come over?”

  “For what?”

  “Just come by, okay?”

  “Look, Shauntae. Me and my brother gotta politick on some important shit, so I’ll get up with you later. Peace!”

  “Like what, maybe some niggas around the way with better weed than y’all got?” she said, catching him before he hung up the phone in her ear. “Now politick on that!”

  “Hold up, bitch. What you just say?”

  “Oh, so now you got time to talk to me, huh?” Shauntae was truly feeling herself as she stared into the mirror, wondering how long it’d take for the swelling to go down.

  “Stop playing.” Elon reached up, turning down the radio’s volume. “I knew that was them same-ass cornball fools at the liquor store you was posted up with a few weeks back! Where you know them from?”

  “Bring ya fine ass on over here, baby, and after I give you some of this good pussy, I’ll tell you all about them.”

  “Yeah, all right then. I’m on my way.”

  “And oh, yeah, swing by the store and bring me some painkillers. The strongest ones they got.” Shauntae cracked a slight yet painful smile as she revengefully got ready to put her “payback is a true motherfucker” plan into effect.

  Her agenda was crystal clear, and just like her deceased moms, setting niggas up was about to become second nature. Scheming on Terrell for not wanting to get with her but her baby sister instead, Stuff for not taking up for her earlier, and lastly Yankee for clowning her about the old janitor she used to bang, her mind clicked like a ticking time bomb. Sympathetically, Shauntae figured God had already punished Wahoo’s dumb half-retarded ass enough by taking his elderly, drugged-out grandmother out of the game for good, so she mercifully gave his simple butt a pass.

  Chapter Three

  It’d only been a few weeks, but Prayer was going half out of her mind with worry. Terrell was her baby, her son, her only child despite what his birth certificate had written on it. She had raised him and spent more time with him than Simone ever could, so in her eyes, he was hers by default.

  Even when Drake was in and out of town, she still had Li’l T to tend to, and that made her life worth living. Sure, she had her career, but certainly, anyone who knew her knew her son was the center of her universe and the sun rose and set by his wants and needs.

  “Why hasn’t he called me in two days?” Prayer paced the floor of the bedroom. “I know you told me to give him space, but just how much?”

  Drake had just gotten out of the shower after a long day of dealing with other niggas’ bullshit, and he was definitely not in the mood for his wife’s overprotective rants about Terrell and his growing up and away from her grip. Reaching for the half-drunk glass of Hennessy he’d poured before undressing, Drake gulped it down in hopes of drowning her voice out.

  “Prayer, ya ass can’t control everything that boy does! You making him more handicapped than that chair he’s in ever can! You need to fall back for once!”

  “That’s my son. And am I so wrong for wanting to protect him from bullshit and heartache? Does that make me a freaking monster?”

  “Naw, Prayer, but I do think that what’s done in the dark will come to the light someday someway!” Drake insisted. “Trying to keep him away from Simone, not to mention his grandfather who’s in that nursing home you conveniently nudged him into, ain’t gonna be a good look when the boy finds out! You know that temper of his ain’t shit to be played with!”

  “Real talk, Simone herself didn’t want to dea
l with that Willy Dale character when he came around claiming to be Kamal’s long-lost father, so why in the hell would I?” Prayer snarled, not knowing that after all these years Big Ace was still going to visit Willy Dale, giving him photos as well as updates on Terrell. “Besides, a paternity test was never done to establish Kamal as the daddy, so that old fool, half drunk out his mind, is lucky that all I did was put a restraining order out on him for showing up on our doorstep!”

  “Look, I’m done debating who’s right and who’s wrong. Bottom line, if it makes ya feel any better, why don’t you call Simone and check on him?” he said, giving in while not admitting that he himself had checked up on Terrell during the earlier part of the week.

  “What?” Prayer paused with a look of utter disgust for her husband and his suggestion. “I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of a phone call!”

  “Oh, well, then you just have to let Terrell be then, don’t you?” He shook his head as his body still dripped water.

  “Drake, sweetie.” She wrapped her arms around her husband’s neck. “Maybe you could call Simone for me.”

  After a few minutes of persuasion, and the annoying thought of hearing Prayer’s nagging all night long, he grabbed the cordless and dialed Simone’s number.

  A few rings later, Simone answered, sounding relaxed. “Hello.”

  “Hey, Simone.” Drake felt a strange tingling in his manhood as he thought about the outfit Simone had on the last time he’d seen her. “It’s me, Drake.”

  “I know ya voice, silly,” she cooed, always in the mood to flirt with him. “What’s good with you?”

  “Well, I’m sitting here with my wife, and we were both wondering how Terrell was getting along.”

  Angry that he was bringing up Prayer in his second unexpected call this week, Simone started to flip the script and rub shit in. “Damn, Drake.” She teasingly splashed the water in the tub so he could hear the wet sounds. “If I weren’t lying back, covered in bubbles and rubbing soap over my legs, I’d get up and call him to the phone.”