[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/xPfAC72.jpg[/img][/center] [b]Brentwood 2001[/b] [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bfvxtL9wO4w]2001 Music[/url] Lonnie Sledge looked down into the pristine water of the swimming pool. The pool and its upkeep probably cost what Lonnie had made over the past decade. Shit was Olympic-sized with a red marble finished. Of course it was red. You could take the boy out the ghetto, Lonnie thought to himself, but you sure as hell could never take the ghetto out of him. “Sup?” Lonnie turned and saw Lance Rawlings coming out the back door of his opulent mansion, music thumping loudly from deeper inside the house. He was wearing a red bowling shirt and matching cargo shorts. He had a thick Cuban cigar wedged in between his fingers and a gentile smile on his face. And of course, as always, that goddamn medallion of his was swinging around his neck. “Lance,” Lonnie said cordially enough. “See you done come up in the world over the past year.” “I realized my potential,” said Lance. “That ghetto shit was getting old. There’s no future in it, so I branched out. I was already dabbling in the music scene as security. Management seemed the obvious next step.” “And it’s worked out,” said Lonnie, waving towards the pool. “Obviously.” “Compton and South L.A. is a hotbed for hip-hop talent, chief,” said Lance. “N.W.A. was the start, but they ain’t the end of the story. I tapped into talent and made the right moves.” “I’m sure your necklace helped,” Lonnie said with a laugh. The laughter died in his throat when he saw the stone face of Lance Rawlings. Without a word, he flicked the butt of his cigar at Lonnie’s feet. “Something I can help you with, chief?” “Don’t call me chief anymore,” Lonnie said with his finger raised. “It’s been over a year since I was chief of anything and I don’t need the reminder.” “So,” Rawlings said with a sneer. “What the fuck do you want, [i]chief[/i]?” Lonnie licked his lips. He didn’t realize how dry they were until he ran his tongue across them. “I just figured, since things was going good for you now, and since we’ve know each other from around the way--” “Why is it,” said Lance, pulling a fresh cigar from his breast pocket. He smelled it before putting it in his mouth. “Any time a nigga brings up words like ‘back in the day’ and ‘around the way’ it’s because they want something? No motherfucker ever stepped to me and said ‘hey, Lance, since we known each other from back in the day, here’s a million dollars.’ Okay, so we know each other from around the way. So the fuck what?” “I just need help,” Lonnie finally said. “You know how things ended with me and Compton. No severance, no pension, no chance to join the LA Sheriff’s like the rest of my department. I gave that city twenty-five years of my life and I didn’t get shit in return.” “What about your business?” asked Lance. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a cigar cutter. “Sledge Security or whatever. I heard of the street that’s where your ass landed.” “Nobody wants an ex-cop with my reputation working any jobs for them. And, let’s remember, it was you that got me dirty--” “Shut your goddamn mouth.” The voice that came from Lance’s mouth seemed to be at least two or three octaves deeper than usual. Lonnie felt his knees tremble when he saw the stone in Lance’s medallion glowing and pulsating an angry shade of crimson. “Nobody forced you or your motherfucking department to ever take my money,” Lance spat. “You were given a choice, and you chose to sell yourself out to the highest bidder. Don’t blame me because you didn’t like the outcome.” “Look,” said Lonnie, taking an instinctive step backwards towards the pool. He held his hands out in an attempted gesture of peace. “I’m… sorry. You’re right, Lance. I made my bed and now I’m laying in it. I’m not asking for a handout. Like all those kids you used to use, I’m asking for a chance to earn.” Lance brooded in silence, first cutting off the tip of his cigar and lighting it up before he spoke again. He blew a long column of smoke from his mouth and right into Lonnie’s face. “Here’s what I’m gonna do, chief. I’m gonna give you another choice, a lot like the one I gave you all those years ago.” Lonnie nearly jumped back into the pool when he saw Lance’s eyes. They were glowing bright read, the same color as the stone in his necklace. Tendrils of pure crimson energy were being projected from the stone, twisting and slithering in the air towards Lonnie. Lonnie tried to move, but his legs wouldn't cooperate with his brain's commands. “Option 1: You leave here and our business is done. You never see me again, you never speak my name, and you live the life of a sad, washed up old [i]po-lice[/i] who never gave a good goddamn about anything other than filling his pockets. The other option? You go to work for me. And when I say work, I mean whatever I want. You bring me coffee if I ask, you fuck my old lady if I ask, the word ‘no’ is literally no longer in your vocabulary, nigga. And it’s going to be more than just an agreement. You’re gonna be bound to me for the rest of your life--” Lonnie flinched and screamed as one of the tendrils snaked its way into one of his nostrils. It felt so smooth and dry, the exact opposite of how he thought it would feel. He tried to pull away, but the thing was rooted inside his nasal passage and kept him anchored on the spot. “I will own you,” said Lance. “And I don’t mean how I used to own you. This ain’t just a wad of cash, nigga. This is some real Kunta Kinte shit. My life is now your life. You kill for me, you die for me. Bound by magic to be the ultimate ride or die nigga. In exchange, you will never have to worry about money or anything material ever again. Your children and grandchildren will always have enough. What do you say, chief?” “Yes,” Lonnie cried out. He had only half heard what Lance was saying. He just wanted this thing as far away from him as possible. “Whatever you say!” A shock of electricity ran through Lonnie’s body. He spasmed as the tendril in his nose trashed. When it popped from his nostril, Lonnie flew backwards and fell into Lance’s expensive pool. When he floated to the top, he saw Lance standing at the edge of the water, the cigar in his mouth and a scowl on his face. “Welcome to the family,” he said, flashing gang signs with his hands. “Now get out my pool, nigga. We got work to do.” --- [b]East Los Angeles Now[/b] The rain was starting to come down hard, but that didn’t stop Lonnie from slowing down the big SVU on the side streets of East LA. They tore past graffiti tagged walls, bodegas, and Chicano bangers dressed in yellow trying to get away from the middle of the night downpour. Rain in LA was a rare enough sight that nobody ever really prepared for it. “Slow it down,” Lance said from the backseat. Lance’s personal bodyguards Country and Pooh Bear were also in the car, both of them muscle-bound, tatted-up, and dressed from head to toe in red. Although they never spoke about it, there was a mutual acknowledgement between the two of them and Lonnie that they were in the same boat. Somewhere down the line they made the same deal with Rawlings and would be by his side until the end of their lives or the end of his, whichever came first. The police car they were following was beginning to slow down as it reached wherever it was going. Lonnie had never worked for LAPD, but he knew all the local law enforcement landmarks to know they were firmly in the barrio and that Rembrandt wasn’t planning on reporting back to the PAB downtown anytime soon. “This man, this Constantine was unexpected,” Lance said to mostly himself. Lonnie had learned a long time ago not to interrupt Lance while he talked to himself. “But he’s a pleasant surprise. Fuck that little nigga K2. Constantine tries to hide it with cloaking spells, but I can smell a powerful mage.” Lance wiped drool from his lower lip. "I can taste that shit." “How do you wanna play it, L?” Pooh Bear asked from the shotgun seat beside Lonnie. “We all strapped. Ain't no thing to just run up on this motherfucker.” “That won’t be necessary,” Lance said. From the rearview mirror, Lonnie watched Lance spread his arms palms out. His eyes started to glow red and the amulet around his neck levitating in the air. Lonnie looked straight ahead. The cop car Rembrandt was driving was halfway down the block and approaching a green traffic light. As it went through the intersection, an empty four-door sedan raced through the intersection t-boned the unmarked car. The impact sent the car flipping sideways through the street until it landed on its roof. Lonnie slowed as they approached the wreck of the car. “Now go collect my property,” said Lance. The SUV skidded to a stop, Lonnie jumping out along with Pooh and Country. Lonnie watched while they opened up the crumpled passenger sidedoor and got the British man out of the car. He looked half out of it and his face was scratched and bloody. While Pooh and Country roughly shoved him into the back of the SUV, Lonnie opened up the driver’s side door. Rembrandt hung suspended by his seatbelt, his eyes closed. Like Constantine, his face was bloody and bruised. He checked his pulse and found it steady. “What about the cop?” Country asked. From the backseat, Lance looked at the car as Lonnie stood up. They made eye contact and Lonnie slowly shook his head. “If you kill a cop,” said Lonnie. “We’re gonna have every law enforcement agency in the Southland bringing heat down. Too much heat for even you to magic away.” “Fine,” Lance said after a long moment of consideration. “Just get back in the car and get us home.” Doing as they were told, Lonnie and the others hurried back into the car and hauled ass down the street. Lonnie was getting on the 405 when he heard the British man’s moans from the cargo area in the SUV’s rear. “You have royally fucked up,” he mumbled. “Take it from me, squire, I am an expert in fucking up. And this one takes the bloody cake.”