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He Had a Practiced Pimp Roll


Wayne Gable was tall and thin, and very dark complected, with fire tattoos on his face and forehead, above which a layer of close cropped hair was receding. Soon he'd have more skin canvas for more tattoos. At forty two, Gable was a part-time janitor and a state parolee who really wanted to just stay out of trouble and try to contribute to society. The days of selling cocaine and other high end drugs were behind him. He wanted nothing more to do with the darker side of reality. However, that was going to be very difficult to pull off.

Standing in front of a gas station over on Park Avenue directly in front of the four self-service pumps, it began. A twenty-seven year old rookie cop with a wife, a new born baby and a mortgage that made him go back on the street for overtime duties stood directly in front of him.

Gable dropped the bag he was carrying and the bottle of soda popped, almost sounded like gunfire. To the young rookie Gable looked exactly like a crook. Of course he did have a cocaine enterprise, but that was in his past life. The life he wanted no more. The life he turned in for a life that would allow him to live longer and live free. A life away from prison bars, and dark clouds. He didn't make much money as a janitor, but it was honest work. He wanted to save for an education after he obtained his G.E.D.

He was singled out by the rookie because he had a practiced pimp roll. Although he was never a pimp. In fact, he'd always treat women with respect, because of how his grandmother raised him. She didn't have the means to make something out of Gable, but she tried so hard to keep the spirit of Jesus in him. Unfortunately it was Jesus who turned him onto selling drugs. Jesus Padilla who lived on State Street near Bassick High School.

Gable remembered what his parole officer told him. He said that less than a hand full of people who return to the streets turn their lives around. Only a hand full really shook Gable to the core, and he wanted to be included in that hand full.

Gable thought he was standing up, but he wasn't. He was on the ground facing the sky. The clouds were a bit swollen, but puffy enough to hide the sun. It was odd because he knew it wasn't even noon yet and the day was darkly tinted.

The pain was feeling generous as it attacked almost every vital organ in Gable's body. He heard sirens and other police officers shouting out orders as a crowd tried to gather. He felt a cold piece of steal being shoved into his right hand, it felt odd because he was left handed. The steel object was a 22 caliber hand gun.

He tried to lift his hand up to see the gun and the veteran cop standing above him was going to step on his arm, but did nothing as if to acknowledge Gable's sudden vulnerability.

Gable smelled medical supplies in the air and two paramedics were hovering over him like angels. They were his last hope of survival. They were going to breathe life into him again, and he would forgive the rookie cop. That was Gable's plan. It was what his grandmother would have wanted him to do.

Let him bleed out, he tried to kill a cop. Let him bleed out, he tried to kill a cop. Let him bleed out, he tried to kill a cop.

After those words rung in his head like bells, Wayne Gable bled out.


© 2018 Frank Atanacio