JUNE 3, 2005 – Jerome Henning

Jerome Henning was an aging dark man, three months sober after a fatal heroine addiction claimed the life of his best friend; frightening him on the straight and narrow. After a month of treatment, and an unattended mountain of medical bills, Henning decided that a legitimate earning wasn’t a quality life. It was a system; a system that drew heroine to him. Bagging groceries for minimum wage, while appeasing his proud mother and burdensome sister, just isn’t a life that fulfilled him. Being clean was great, and in truth, he never felt better. However, his mind was always occupied, wondering the significance of binding the business aspect on the streets, creating greater wealth for everyone; working for a minimal percentage.

Last week, he approached Slim; the de facto leader of the Northern Quarter whom Jerome paled with as younger soldiers. While Slim climbed the ladder violently though the organization, Jerome started using the product he was selling on his corner. For a time, Slim tried to help Jerome wean off the drug, until losing patience and jumping on his opportunity to become a high-earner, gaining the recognition of the leaders and eventually promotion to Captain.

Slim didn’t even acknowledge Jerome, while he presented his business idea to unite the financial interests, in a single momentary profiting scheme that would increase everyone’s earnings by nearly 200%. Jerome’s idea was waved off, and he was escorted by massive guards outside the club, where a slight drizzle penetrated the saturating fog. It wasn’t his rejected plan that devastated him. Once his best friend, Slim’s total disregard to Jerome horribly hurt him.

With two baby girls living with their mother in their low-income housing project, Jerome needed money. His family lived in an area ridden with rising violent crimes; embarrassed that he was too broke to move his family from a war zone where rival gangs fought over territory to sell their reprocessed heroine, occupied his mind relentlessly. In the end, to make a lot of money, Jerome realized he had to do jobs that most decent folk wouldn’t. Through a buffer named Maim, Jerome made a deal with a rich white guy that would pay over a million to have a materialistic white woman be gone.

Jerome, standing inside the alley adjacent to Rick’s Night Club, looked at the picture in his hand of a white woman, with dark auburn hair, big brown eyes, and cute dimples around her smile. She wore a blue silk blouse, with two buttons undone to show the top of her flat chest and a small birthmark on her elongated neck. All things considered, she was cute, but spoiled. A massive diamond necklace with pure gold chains frustrated Jerome, contemplating ways to make his family’s life better. Her loop earrings were large enough that she could wear them like bracelets. She looked like a spoiled housewife, flaunting the spoils of a rich man, feeling a sense of superiority, or elitism.

Of course, Jerome knew nothing of her; projecting a personality to the picture that would anger him the most. However, she was a means to his ambitions.

Around the time an hour past midnight turns two, the lines to enter the club dissolve and a trickle of people start leaving, some inebriated, mostly women, making their way to their parked cars. For each dark auburn haired woman that walked out with a group of her girlfriends, Jerome referenced the picture. Nothing.

Another fifteen minutes passed, when a woman laughing with a tall young Italian man, emerged. Almost immediately he referenced the birthmark on her neck. Folding the picture in half and stuffing it in his pocket, Jerome began his pursuit. They spent more time kissing than actually walking, dramatically slowing his pursuit.

Once they reached his silver Porsche, the young Italian man pressed the woman against the car and kissed her lustfully. Her hands ran the length of his back, while the man lowered his hand, inside her dress, causing her to muffle an explosive shout.

Jerome already had his gun pointed at the back of the man’s head, when she opened her eyes wide. The Italian man turned, and froze at the sight of a dark man holding a handgun at the woman’s forehead. When he squeezed the trigger, a mist of red exploded from the back of her head. Without hesitation, Jerome pulled the trigger thrice more, ending the man’s life in the process with three smoking holes exhausting from his cheek.

With an open mouth gasp, and tears rolling in his eyes, Jerome felt tremendous sorrow. The man was caught up with an unfortunate set of events, but he had seen Jerome. However, now wasn’t the time to be remorseful; Jerome sprinted away dropping the gun.

An hour after dodging through alley’s, under the guise of a dark blue hooded sweatshirt, Jerome pulled out his cell phone and called the number.

“Yes,” the voice greeted.
“Yea, it’s me.” When no response came, Jerome ended the conversation by saying, “It’s done.” He closed the phone and made way for his cousin’s house, still five miles away.

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