Resurrection by Treasure Hernandez

Author:Treasure Hernandez
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Kensington Publishing Corp.
Published: 2011-03-15T23:00:00+00:00

“Man, that young nigga ain’t playin’. Scratch saw the whole thang, ya dig. I mean, he just blew that joker’s brains out without even thinking about it. Now pass me the pipe, nigga. You always hoggin’ the rock,” Scratch said as he conversed with three of his crackhead friends who had huddled in the alley to split the twenty-dollar rock they had all put in on.

Scratch grabbed the crack-filled pipe from his associate and took a deep pull, letting the crack smoke rush down his throat and into his lungs. He noticed a person walking past the alley and jumped at the opportunity to hustle up on some more money.

Halleigh noticed a man coming from the alley.

When Scratch saw her approaching, he jumped up desperately. “Aww, pretty lady, pretty lady, can you give ol’ Scratch some spare change?” he asked as he scratched the back of his small, dirty Afro.

“Scratch!” Halleigh yelled in excitement. Halleigh hadn’t seen him in over a year and, oddly enough, was glad to see her old smoking buddy.

It was Scratch who had tried to push her away from heroin when she was looking for an emotional escape from her prostitution days with Manolo as her pimp. Scratch was a drug addict himself, so his trying to convince Halleigh to stay off heroin was like a cop trying to arrest himself. It wasn’t gonna happen.

Halleigh and Scratch soon became get-high buddies. When Halleigh was getting high on an everyday basis in the alley with Scratch, she was at one of the lowest points in her life, on a runaway train, with death as her destination. Thankfully for her, Tasha was there for her and helped her to break her addiction.

“Li’l Rina?” Scratch said, calling her by the nickname he gave her because she reminded him so much of his other former smoking partner, Halleigh’s mother, Rina. “That sho’ is you. You look good, girl. Scratch heard you were messing with that young boy Malek. I heard he got you up in a big ol’ pretty house in the suburbs somewhere. Ten bedrooms, twenty-eight bathrooms. Hell, even a golden shithole for the dog. You large, Li’l Rina! I’m proud of you.”

Halleigh couldn’t help but laugh at his exaggeration. She knew that the hood was talking about her if Scratch knew her business. “I’m doing real good, Scratch. I’m clean now, and I’m happy,” she stated. She reached into her Birkin bag and pulled out her pocketbook. She peeled off three hundred-dollar bills. “Here you go, Scratch.” She handed him the money. She knew how it was when you had a monkey on your back and you couldn’t get it off. “Take care of yourself, okay.”

Halleigh literally would have given Scratch the shirt off her back, and that was because they had a connection that was formed in the gutter—a bond similar to the one soldiers form with one another when they’re in a foxhole and enemy armies are gunning at them, trying to kill them. She knew that Scratch would use the money to get high.

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