The Effacing (Book 1.5): Valley's End Read Free

weapon, twitching like a dope fiend in need of another mortar hit; the side effects after smoldering a half gram of synthetic Mary Jane – Potpourri that can have you in the zany container if consumed often. Spice, word is that it makes you dumb. And bath salts, the shit that’ll transform you into a hallucinogenic nut that can’t shake the Mighty Ducks ice hockey team chasing you down 42 nd and Miracle Street during the scorching hot summer, or having you chow down on someone’s four-legged friend like it’s your favorite Orange Park Crystal burger. 
      Rebekah looked at the taxi cab driver and asked, “Who are you? How old is he ?”
      “What the heck is he on?” Ann questioned.
      “The name is Trivo, chick. And he’s old enough, on whatever he on.” grabbed a cigarette out of his blue jeans pocket, lit it up and let it dangle from his crusty lip.
      Trivo pressed hard on Rebekah’s buttons, as if, in fact, contesting her. But the group meant more to Rebekah than giving up their position by splashing his hollow head through the thick windshield of that antique taxi cab just because she could. She laughed underneath her breath, shook her head in the negative, and looked off at their entourage trying to wipe the thought of Trivo’s head in the glass, off her brain. Then looked to Ann and wondered if she thought of doing the same thing.
      “The name’s Rebekah… Trivo ,” she mocked. “Not chick .” she grunted, nodded toward Itchy. “He can’t be more than eight.”
      “Yeah… well he’s older’n dat.”
      “You should be ashamed.” Ann jumped in.
      “Who asked you?” Trivo responded, taking a drag of his stogie, hard, on his way to menthol; rat poison heaven.
      Rebekah finally made her only request, adapted to Trivo’s delivery. “ Tell ya boy, Itchy, it’s a good thing that gun has a safety… otherwise he woulda already alerted the guys he’s skurd of…” She stopped mocking and got serious, “compromising our location.”
      Trivo looked into the cab at his frightened, fellow gang member, rocked his head from side-to-side knowing Rebekah was right. “Itchy … gimme da gun, boss.” he demanded, in fact, asked. He really didn’t care if Itchy gave him the gun or not.
      Itchy’s eyelids wrinkled before the fluid trickled. He scratched at his neck, but finally complied after a few seconds, crying, “What about me? It ain’t right. It ain’t fair.” and kicked at the seat as a spoiled child would do. Then scraped at his left sleeve, around the forearm area.
      “Oh, that’s so cute.” Ann confessed, of his temper tantrum, only adding more fuel to the fire by dropping funnies at the wrong time. Then she acknowledged his scratching. “He has an addiction!”
      A frustrated Trivo slammed the door shut. It was not the most thoughtful thing to do in their situation. The noise transferred the entire group’s attention up the street, hoping they weren’t made out.
       The enemies’ estranged shadows ceased movement, the women and children lay still and together, the gunmen took aim.
      “Not yet!” Rebekah exclaimed, low, as she attempted not to draw their antagonists’ full and undivided attention, raising her voice only to catch it, after the not .
      Ann stared down the street, whispered, “What are they doing?”
      “It looks like they’ve found something more exciting than us.” Rebekah implied.
      “Might be a jumpy,” Trivo cracked.
      Rebekah’s brows lowered as she looked to Trivo. “Was that a joke? It might be someone you know,” she insinuated.
      Trivo did not have a chance to respond, but his eye-opening facial expression and drop-mouth-no-word reaction stated he wanted to take back his immature comment.
      “They’re moving.” Maria said, walking up beside Ann.
      “Yeah… they are.” Rebekah added. “I’ll go scout through The End on foot, make sure the path is clear, if not find another route. I can get to the top