Still a Dog (Urban Books) by Mark Anthony

Author:Mark Anthony [Anthony, Mark]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9781601625090
Amazon: 160162509X
Publisher: Urban Books
Published: 2012-06-02T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

I forget exactly what time it was that Nicole had left the hospital. The sun was up. And since it was the dead of winter, the sun didn’t come up until about 7:00 A.M. or so. So I knew that it had to be after 7:00 A.M. But with the way things had been moving so fast it was probably more like twelve-thirty in the afternoon. But even though it was a bitterly cold winter day, the New York media proved that they would stop at nothing to get at the heart of a breaking story such as mine.

The media had gotten wind of the car accident when it was transmitted over the police scanners and all of the major newspapers and news stations dispatched crews to the scene of the accident and to the hospital. My accident was the lead story on the six A.M. newscasts.

In fact, it wasn’t until I had my nurse turn on the television in my room that I was able to realize the extent of the damages to both my car and to the car that I had hit. Both cars were almost unrecognizable. It was also from the news that I learned that Layla and I had to be cut out of the car. And of course, when the media found out that I was the one who was driving the car and that I was suspected of driving while under the influence, they went crazy with the story.

I was watching the local ABC news channel and I couldn’t believe how fast that they had gotten all of the details. They knew that I had been coming from an album release party for T.L. and they knew that I had just been placed under arrest for being in possession of a controlled substance. Other than the devastation that I had caused the innocent victims, the thing that I focused on the most was when the reporters spoke about all of the possible criminal charges that I was facing.

I had written about gangsta shit in my novels and about killings and drugs and jail and all of that. But this was no book that I was writing. This was real life. It was my life. And never in my wildest dreams did I see myself as the going-to-prison type. I wasn’t built for prison. So, although I was feeling horrible and scared as all hell, I knew that I had to scan my brain and get in touch with as many people as I could who could help me and go to bat for me. My ass was in a serious sling and my neck was in a noose that was getting tighter by the second.

At the same time as I watched the news coverage and feared and worried about what was to come, I couldn’t help but feel extremely remorseful for the damage I had caused to the victims of the other families. And regardless of what would happen to me and

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