HARDNOCK LIFE - by Success Uwakwe

Chapter 6 – Blood in the Water Micah didn’t sleep that night. The money sat on the counter like a dare. \$300. More than he’d seen in one place since… before. Since the world cracked. He didn’t touch it. Just stared at it. Wondered how many more bags. How many more names spoken by strangers who knew his but never asked. How many more shadows he’d have to blend into before he forgot what daylight felt like. The knock came at 7 a.m. Not the usual knock. Not a neighbor needing a charge or someone asking for heat. This one was sharp. Rhythmic. Like they practiced it. Micah opened the door just a crack. Dre stood there. Hoodie up. Eyes darker than usual. “You got time to walk?” Micah grabbed his jacket. They didn’t talk much on the way. The city was waking up around them—sirens somewhere far off, a dog barking behind a rusted fence, old men setting up chessboards by the corner store like it was Sunday and not just survival. They cut through an alley, then another. Dre stopped by a rusted door behind an old auto shop. “Don’t say nothing inside unless they ask,” Dre said. “And even then—keep it short.” Micah nodded. His throat was dry. Inside, it was dim, lit by a single hanging bulb that swung slightly, like the room had been holding its breath. Three men sat at a card table. One was the gold-toothed man from the barbershop. The other two—new faces. Hard eyes. Thick wrists. The kind of guys who didn’t talk problems, they just erased them. Micah and Dre stood in silence. Gold Teeth finally spoke. “You did good on that run, Micah. Clean work. Quick feet. Cold nerves.” Micah said nothing. “You hungry?” Micah hesitated. “No.” “You will be,” the man said. “Because that was the kiddie pool. Next one? That’s real water.” He leaned forward, clasped his hands. “There’s a guy named Curtis. He took something from us. You’re gonna help get it back.” Micah’s jaw tightened. “What kind of something?” “Doesn’t matter to you. You’re just the delivery man.” A folder slid across the table. Inside—a photo of a man in his twenties, slim, twitchy eyes. A note: **“Curtis Mayfield. Last seen 88th & Jasper. Might be armed.”** Micah looked at Dre. Dre looked away. “Bring us what he’s carrying. That’s it,” Gold Teeth said. “But if he runs… you stop him.” Micah swallowed hard. “What if he doesn’t want to give it up?” The man smiled, all teeth, no warmth. “Then you make him.” --- Later, back in the cold, Micah sat on a bench, folder in his lap, mind spinning. This wasn’t a run. This was a test. Curtis Mayfield wasn’t just a name in a folder. He was a person. Maybe like Micah. Maybe worse. Maybe better. And now, Micah had to decide: **Was he going to be someone who followed orders?Or someone who made his own?** He looked up at the gray sky. A storm was coming. And Micah had just stepped into the middle of it.

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