For the average young black man growing up in the southern United States during the 60's was to realize that the oppressive Jim Crow laws that dehumanized and degraded black people and their ancestors of the past, was still very much enacted and very acti
Break and Run
By Bobby HodgeAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2012 Bobby Hodge
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4685-9622-9Contents
Acknowledgements..............................................vii"Candy Sticking"..............................................1"Bad Habits"..................................................8"Playing with lives"..........................................14"The Making of a Criminal"....................................49"The heat is on/ Heat waves"..................................71"Routine change of Learning"..................................83"Rainy days of sunshine, again"...............................97"Flashing life, Memories of better times".....................116"Auburndale"..................................................127"Sam and Me"..................................................140"Jesse's Escape"..............................................162"Elcie".......................................................172"Betrayed by love"............................................178"What is reality".............................................185"Life turn around"............................................194
Chapter One
"Candy Sticking"
At 10:35 a.m., it was quite obvious that it was going to be a very hot day. The humidity was already beginning its sticky wetness. The heat had absolutely no significant meaning to Jesse and me. As we cruised down the freeway in the air conditioned Oldsmobile, we talked excitingly about the job we'd just pulled off.
Jesse and I had gotten an early start that morning after planning the robbery the night before. Jesse and I always dressed very immaculate, wearing very expensive clothes. We were constantly elected the best-dressed students during our school years.
When we entered the finance company earlier that morning, the little short fat man looked up from behind the desk where he was sitting with a glowing smile on his face. That smile almost disappeared at the sight of the two black men who were approaching him.
"Good morning," he said, trying to sound cheerful. "I'm sorry gentlemen, but we won't be open for business for about twenty minutes."
I looked around the office, making sure there were no employees in yet. The office had long blue drapes hanging from the ceiling to the matching carpet on the floor, covering the windows completely. I looked at the filing cabinets against the wall and for an instant I thought of all the people on record in that cabinet, bringing their money in to this little fat cracker and walking out, hating for the thousandth time that they ever borrowed it because of the extremely high interest rates they'd have to pay back.
I was quite sure they were all mostly poor black people, but this morning, my brother and I had planned to collect some personal interest and sue them since the first ship sailed over.
"Twenty minutes huh, well that gives us more time than we'd expected, but since we hadn't included any coffee breaks in our plans we'll just take the money and leave," Jesse stated, his voice becoming more serious with each word.
The little bald headed man was rising from his soft comfortable reclining chair now. "I'm sorry sir, but I don't quite understand," he said, trying to sound convincing.
Already his voice was beginning to tremble. That lump of fear was bulging in his throat.
"Well, you better try and understand motherfucker, before I put some lesson from this teacher in your fat ass," Jesse said firmly as he leaned forward.
Grabbing the man by his collar and pulling him over the desk, he put the big dangerous looking .38 Magnum to the fat man's head. He left no doubt in the man's mind that he was as serious as a heart attack.
"Please mister, don't—don't hurt me, please," the man fearfully stated.
The little man had turned red and he felt his forehead getting hot. His heart was beating so fast and loud, he was sure the large black man could hear it. I looked at the fat blob I saw when we walked in, now acting like a sixteen-year-old bitch about to get raped. The sight was enough to make me want to burst out with laughter. Instead, I continued to look around, keeping close watch on the door at all times for employees. The fat man looked at me briefly, as if he wanted to ask for help, but my right hand remained underneath my coat since I'd entered. Now he assumed that I had a gun also, probably bigger than this one.
The fat man led Jesse toward, what seemed to me, an office with a plaque above the door that read "Proprietor". I looked at my watch noting that this job should take less than five minutes, but I was still ready to get the fuck out of this place. Even the thought of being caught gave me an itchy feeling.
I had only been inside of a jail once in my life, for shoplifting at fifteen. Even though my mother was there to bail me out within three hours, the little time I was there flooded my mind with the thoughts of how miserable it was to be confined like an animal. I swore to God that I'd never steal again, but now I was twenty-two years old. Every time I think of how scared I was when those detectives were taking me down to headquarters, I get the urge to want to prove to myself that I was more than that. Jesse had always told me not to let one mistake get me down if I didn't want to be a forty-five year old wino, sitting around on corners begging for wine money with no place to stay. I'd always admired and listened to my older brother because somehow, it just seemed like Jesse attracted money where I couldn't make a penny.
Jesse had already been to a reformatory when I was sixteen for burglary and did two years in the state penitentiary when he was twenty-one for strong-arm robbery. Jesse had plenty of heart; taking chances was just a way of life for him.
"Please mister, don't shoot me," the man cried.
I heard the man cry out from the office as I heard a scuffle against the wall.
"Honkie, where's the rest of the money?" Jesse asked, hitting the man up side his head with the butt of the gun again.
"I swear mister, that's all the money there is, I swear," the man said.
He was crying and begging for his life. He could see the hatred in Jesse's eyes that could only mean death for him, if he didn't believe him.
"Lay down on your stomach, quick before I decide to blow your goddamn head off cracker!" Jesse said.
These words were sweet music to the fat man's ears as he moved to the floor in the corner, where Jesse was pointing with the gun. At last, the man thought he just might get out of this alive. Jesse pulled a roll of tape out of his pocket and put his foot on the man's head as he repeatedly wrapped the tape around his wrists. After Jesse finished with the man, he took the black bag containing the money and rushed out to where I was waiting. We walked down the street to the car, talking about how the air pollution takes the freshness out of a beautiful day. We got in the car; l slid under the wheel, started the car, and pulled into the traffic as if nothing happened.
"How much do you think we got man?" I asked.
"Looks like a lump, but not as much as I expected," Jesse said with disappointment.
"Fuck man, you can't be too choosy about free money," I told him. "Shit, we don't even have to worry about a tax deduction." l was laughing with satisfaction expressed all over my face. Jesse smiled, looking out the window.
"The bigger the lump, the less you have to lick," he said with warning in his voice.
We both were silent after this, as we listened to the Mongo Santamaria tape, filling the car with beautiful music. I turned into the...