Street Karma
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales,
or organizations, or living persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.
© 2019 Jeffery Appolon
ISBN 978-0-578-58774-5
Novel by Pain
Edited by Anthony Whyte
Cover model: Jerimyah Appolon
All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For further information contact Augustus Publishing.
Augustus Publishing paperback November 2019
www.augustuspublishing.com
I dedicate this project to DA’RYL
—A pure fan, and true friend.
Your motivation has kept me in the game.
In your words, Let’s go!
And of course Mother… Love is Love.
To the world: Strap your seatbelts.
LETS GO!
KARMA
is based on the theory that every deed done
Irrespective of right or wrong will be recorded
And bound to come back full circle…
A good deed is multiplied thousandths of times
But a wrong deed not only comes back
It comes back worse than the original wrong done…
What goes around comes around like a hula-hoop
Karma is a bitch… Well just make sure that bitch is beautiful…
The Carter IV, She Will
–Lil Wayne
“Your destination is on your right…”
As soon as the Garmin GPS sounded, Low got out of his ride, and slowly strolled by the basement’s parking garage entrance of a massive, twelve-story, luxury building. It had been fifteen years, but Low still retained the pass code that would grant him access inside the compound. How could I ever forget my son’s birth date? Low wondered, entering the code then getting back inside his car. Slowly pulling into the driveway, he proceeded to the back of the building. He stopped at a short metal fence, and placed the Buggatti’s gear in neutral. Low stepped out the car with his shotgun locked and loaded.
Through the night sky of Boca Raton, a thick, black cloud gave way to a torrential downpour. Raising his night-vision binoculars to eye level, Low located the Palm’s luxury condominium buildings. Scaling the floors, Low scanned the top floor, and zoomed in. There she was sitting in the dinning room. Time had been good to Michelle. Her face was still as beautiful as the day Low first met her in high school. Aiming the binoculars to the right, Low saw a young teenager sitting on the living room’s sofa. Remote in hand, the youngster chomped on pizza while scrolling the television channels.
While Low focused on Michelle, he saw Rob suddenly coming from the kitchen area, carrying a pitcher of red juice. Watching Rob and Michelle in the dining room, Low felt his rage overwhelming him. Rob placed the pitcher of juice on the dining room table, and took a knee in front of Michelle. Reaching between her legs, he gently massaged her stomach. Low zoomed in so close he almost lost his grip on his binoculars.
The sound of booming thunder exploded, and lightning illuminated the entire sky turning it from gloomy to bright gray. Massive thunderstorms or the heavy rain would not deter him. Low dreamed about this moment for what had seemed like an eternity.
Cocking the Mossberg pump, he glared with deadly intentions. Then Low turned and broke into a deadly charge. There was murder in his eyes as he jumped into his car. The boss was gone. He had been left for dead—to rot. His status, and family was stripped from him. Now this was his time to take it all back. His revenge on hand, Low grit his teeth and closed in.
INTRODUCTION
In 2009, American Troops were finally being pulled out of Iraq. This brought an end to a long, bloody, and seemingly pointless war. The wait for George W. Bush to finally finish his lame-duck term was over. Then in what seemed like a miraculous turn of events, the first black President in United States History, Mr. Barack Obama became the 44th President. Even though there was ceasefire in the Middle East, a war continued to be waged throughout the inner cities of the U.S. The war on drugs had been on going for the past twenty years, and claimed countless young lives in the process. Despite all efforts, the drug war remained as bloody and cutthroat as ever.
From the West Coast of California to the East Coast of New York down to the various seaports of the south, billions of dollars a year remained at stake. Millions of hustlers and pushers put their lives on the line trying to move every drug possible. Young men with broke pockets made desperate efforts to turnout substantial profits. Products that were available for distribution included marijuana, methadone, ecstasy, and prescription pills, like Oxycontin and Percocet. Then there was the mother of all drugs and by far the most popular, cocaine. This was the drug game in 2009. Millions of hustlers out there were playing in a tax free, multi-billion dollar industry. Welcome to the American Dream.
Now enter the mind of an ultimate hustler, a young Black male. Milow ‘Low’ Pierre not only played the drug game, but he succeeded—making it in the fast life. By the night his thirty-sixth birthday rolled around, Low had been a hustler in the drug game for the last twenty years. The streets were all he knew, all he figured he needed to know in bid for survival. Low experienced the ups as well as the downs of the game. Fortunately for him, the downs were few, and very far between, leaving many to call Low a lucky-ass motherfucker. He was unlike the majority of hustlers in the game, who ultimately end up failures due to death or jail. The game dealt Low tons of success, and turned him into a legend around his town of Decatur, and Atlanta.
His rep steered him to being one of the best of a very few who played the game, and remained alive to enjoy the fruits. Along with his hustling credentials, Low was notoriously known on the streets to be a coldhearted killer. If you dare cross him, everyone knew that Low wouldn’t hesitate to bring an end to your life.
Those two qualities made a deadly combination that had to be respected. There were those who doubted, but Low always managed to make believers out of them in the end—dead, but believers nonetheless.
A close friend nicknamed Low, ‘the untouchable’, and even though he lived his life as an untouchable, he was far from naive. Low knew that a twenty-one year stretch in the game was unheard of, and was only possible due to very good fortune. A very strong believer in Karma, Low knew very well that as much as Karma
