Operation Pinky Swear Chapter 1
Chapter One: Dominos
The summer of 2013 marked a pivotal point in seventeen-year-old Michael "B" Smith's life. As he was wont to do in those days, Mike was in his elements: picking up girls at the mall.
He looked Amber in the eyes and ran his hand up her back. "I don't bite. Unless you're into that?"
Amber pulled him close and bit his bottom lip just enough for him to feel it, then pulled away, smirking.
"Get her!" his inner wolf said, and he laid a chaste kiss on Amber's full lips, then transitioned to French kissing her. He pulled back, drawing a moan from her, then walked away. He mentally counted to three. Like clockwork, the blonde called after him and they exchanged numbers.
Too easy. They exchange a bit of small talk about where they were from and what school they went to, as he showed her a few joint locks and submission holds.
"You a cage fighter or something?" she asked, quirking s perfectly manicured blonde eyebrow.
"Mhhm. Got my black belt in Tea Kwan Do at ten and have been wrestling, swimming, running track, and playing football since eighth grade. I'mma get my black belt in Brazilian Jujitsu soon as I turn eighteen at the end of August." He gave her a once over, taking in her petite muscular frame. She wore a white knit halter top with matching micro miniskirt and pumps, and had legs for days.
"You into any sports?"
She nodded. "I'm captain of the Adams High girls' basketball and volleyball teams, and I run track too. We should totes hit the Clinton River Trail together some time. But I won't go easy on ya."
"I wouldn't expect nothing less." He gave her a smirk. "It's been real, but I gotta bounce. I'll hit you up later to finalize plans to hang out. Deal?"
"You better." She play-hit his shoulder and they shared a laugh and another brief kiss before parting.
Mike entered the encounter in his pickup artist app and Oorah'd. As of today, he'd kiss-closed 300 sets and had opened 1000 sets to date. Checking his cell, it was a quarter to one, but no signs of his boys yet, so he called Luke to see what the hold up was.
Content Warning: Use of the N-word and misogyny
"Nigga, where you at?" he said when Luke finally answered.
"Ease up B--he said through a yawn--Give me like an hour. My ass is still tired from them freaky hoes I hooked up with last night. Where you at, son?"
"I should smack the black off yo' ignorant ass. You knew we was sarging today. Seriously, I told you not to mess with those skanks cuz we'd be pulling HB9s and 10s. Son, I pulled 5 HB9s, and it hasn't been an hour yet."
Mike scoped out the food court and then sat down.
"B, you know the rules. No hollering at females unless the crew's together. You owe us two sets." Luke yawned again.
"Hey, they was calling my name and I couldn't resist. I'll give ya first crack at all HB8s and 9s. But if you get blown out, then it's game on. And you know damn well I'm at Great Lakes Crossing. I swear, if your dick wasn't attached, you'd forget that too." Mike ran his hand over his wavy hair and noted it was almost time to get his low top fade lined up again.
"Aw you got jokes?" Luke scoffed. "I remember when your ass couldn't pull a grenade. So don't get conceited. Anyways, my pops wants me to clean the garage, so I can't come today."
"Word?"
"Yeah."
"I'll swing by and help ya after I grab lunch."
"Bet that. I'mma hop in the shower right quick. Later, B."
School had just left out for summer and three months of fun, girls, and sun stood between Mike and twelfth grade. And at this rate, he was on pace to break his all-time record of twenty hook ups in a month.
As he scrolled through his contacts looking for his next conquest, he came upon a name he'd nearly forgotten: his former best friend Tamir "Pinky" Johnson. He hadn't thought of the albino boy in ages. God, how long had it been since they last talked? Four? No, five years.
Memories of the first few months after Pinky's family moved to NYC came flooding back. They sent like a million emails to each other and instant messaged for hours. But gradually the messages slowed as they met new friends and eventually, they stopped completely.
He opened his photo album and scrolled to his favorite picture of Pinky; he was in a Santa costume while his twin brothers rocked elf costumes. God, how he missed them.
Though he still had Pinky's number, he doubted he'd kept it. Still, it was worth a try.
Mike: Hey Pinky. this is Mike from Michigan, do ya remember me???
Pinky: Sorry dude, u got da wrong number.
It was a longshot anyway. He sighed, smiling as he recalled how he'd met the hyper blond in sixth grade. At first, he'd thought Tamir was white until he met his brothers and parents and learned he had albinism.
They became friends after Pinky pestered him to death to hang out. And then there were Jahlil and Khalil, the hellacious twins who he whipped into gentlemen using all the tricks his dad had taught him.
But most of all, he remembered how much he loved Pinky and the pinky swear they'd made to each other the night before Pinky moved.
Get a hold of yourself, soldier. Mike shook his head and locked those thoughts away. Pops would have his ass if he saw him being so soft.
All things considered, his life was good. He had a bunch of friends from his various sports teams. He had a decent job at Ed's Dojo teaching Tae Kwon Do and BJJ classes and was a lifeguard at his local YMCA for the summer.
But it wasn't all good.
He had to deal with his dad, who pushed him into tons of extracurriculars on top of doing AP and community college courses. But if he continued being a perfect soldier and kept his grades up, Pops said he'd let him come and go as he pleased. He'd have to give his dad a full itinerary, and if he didn't answer when he called, it was a weekend in the Pit. But it was more freedom than he'd had in like ever. Plus, Pops had been hinting at a car for his 18th birthday, and he counted the days.
After grabbing lunch from A&W, he started in on his bacon cheeseburger and root beer float when Luke texted him, saying the crew sans him would be there in thirty minutes. He scarfed down his lunch with a loud burp, causing a white boy in an old Yankees' cap and Cartier sunglasses three tables over to burst into laughter.
Content Warning: homophobic language
Mike jumped to his feet and stared him down. "Something funny, cocksucker?"
"Who ya calling a cocksucker?" the boy said with a slight New York accent, grabbing his arm crutches and coming toward Mike.
Seeing the crutches, the fight left Mike. "Sorry, bro. I ain't mean no disrespect."
The other teen scrunched up his face. "You was talking shit a second a go, but now you see I'm disabled and you wanna run away? Fuck that. Let's scrap." He charged Mike, using one crutch to sweep Mike's legs out from under him.
Mike broke his fall, got up, and took the guy to the deck. He wrapped his legs around the waist of the smaller teen, hooking his arms around the boy's throat and executing a rear choke hold. The boy pulled down on Mike's arms, breaking the hold, and positioned himself so he was atop Mike. Then he attempted a front choke hold.
Mike trapped his right arm and transition a triangle leg hold, wrapping his right leg around the kid's throat. The boy cursed him out but eventually tapped out. Mike held on, only releasing him once he went limp and security guards arrived to break up the fight. By then a crowd had gathered and were filming the fight on their phones as they shouted, "World Star Hip Hop."
After cuffing them, the security guards led them to a holding area. Mike's mom had drilled into the importance of remaining silent and requesting a lawyer if he were ever involved in a legal altercation. "I want to speak to my lawyer."
The head security guard nodded at him. "One, you're not under arrest yet. Tell me your name and a number where we can reach your parents, and I might consider letting you off with a warning."
He weighed his options. His ma was all the way in Southfield and Pops would light up his ass for getting in a fight and not creaming the other guy. "I'm down if he's down."
"I'm game." The other boy said, shooting Mike side eye.
The head security guard rolled his eyes. "Well, don't y'all talk at once." He tapped his pen on his clipboard.
"Michael Jordan Smith."
"Tamir Moses Johnson."
Mike startled at the name. No. It couldn't be. He scrutinized the boy. He was over a foot shorter than him and was ricking tie-dyed shorts and a matching shirt. His skin wasn't the pinkish hue most white people had, and his nose was broad with large nostrils, and the boy's lips were thicker than any white boy Mike knew.
Could it be? The same shade of blonde wooly hair and those arm crutches--it couldn't be him, could it? Taking a cleansing breath, he said, "Pinky, are you pondering what I'm pondering?"
Tamir paused, his face going wide. "What'd ya just say?
"I said, Pinky, are you pondering--"
A smile split Tamir's angular face. "That's what I thought. And yes, but where are we going to hook up with all these people around?"
The pair looked at each and said, "No way!"
"Ya'll know each other?" The head guard asked, looking surprised.
"Know each other? We're practically brothers. Fuck man, good to see ya," Tamir said.
"I hate to break this up, but there's the matter of your fight."
The boys looked at the guard.
"Normally, I'd call the police and have them deal with ya. But, since ya'll appear to know each other, I'mma letcha off with a warning."
"Agreed," they said in unison.
"Let me finish. But act up again and it's the cops on top getting banned for the rest of summer."
"Understood, sir," they said.
The head security guard removed theirs cuffs, then turned his attention to Pinky. "Now Tamir was it? We gathered your personal effects so nobody could steal them. Just sign here and we'll return them to you."
He complied, then Mike crushed him in a bear hug, lifting him off the ground.
"I missed you, too." Pinky laughed. "Now put be down, ya big doofus."
Mike complied, and they walked back to the food court.
Pinky was all smiles. "That was a close call."
Nodding, Mike couldn't help smiling, too. "Yeah. BTW, those were some sweet moves. How long you've been doing BJJ?"
Tamir shrugged. "About two years. I got into it at my old school. You?"
"Since I was like 9. Bro, I've missed you . . ." Mike stopped mid-sentence when Aaron's ring tone blared from his cell.
After a brief chat, he told Pinky goodbye and apologized, promising they'd hang soon.
Tamir stuck out his right pinky. "Do ya pinky swear?"
Mike couldn't help laughing. "Bro, I got a rep to maintain." He looked around. Then they locked pinkies and exchanged numbers.
"Later, my mans."
"Yeah," Mike said as he made his way to where Aaron, Jason, and Chris were in a three set with two blondes--Kim and Christina--and Gabriella, a hot Latina. He pulled out his trusty inhaler and introduced himself to the group, then merged the set and targeted Gabriella.
"Excuse me, but you should come with a warning. Cuz you take my breath away." He took a puff of his inhaler and Gabriella laughed while Kim and Christina groaned.
"You call that game?" Christina said, hands on hips.
Mike flashed his innocent face, then handed the inhaler over. "Nope, check the prescription."
"Still, your game's trash," she said, drawing a smirk from Mike.
"Game on!" his inner wolf cheered.
"What you know about game, ma'am?"
Laughing wryly, Christina shook her head. "Boy, my grandmother has better game."
Not to be deterred, Mike plowed ahead. "Then hand over her digits."
Everyone went silent, so he added, "Hey, I don't discriminate."
Christina made a sour face and went to smack him, but he blocked the blow with ease.
"She's cute, for a blonde. But I guess her mama never taught her how a lady should act?" he said to Gabriella who fought to hold back a laugh. But Kim wasn't as successful. Christina's face flushed red, and she laid into Kim.
"I see anger management classes in her future," Mike said while Aaron and the others waited to see if he got blown out of the set.
"Oh, stop it." Gabriella smacked him on the head.
Christina rounded on Mike with a look that promised death. Aaron and the boys cracked up, but Mike stood up straight and put his hands behind his back.
"My dearest apologies, ma'am. How uncouth of me not to introduce myself properly, I'm Michael Smith." He bowed, then extended his hand. Christina looked toward the other girls, who told her to her to be nice.
"A pleasure to meet you, my lady," Mike kissed her hand, drawing awes from the other girls.
But it didn't impress Christina. "You think you're so slick, huh? I know what you're trying to do and it ain't happening."
Mike kept his cool. "Sorry, but you're not my type."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. You're much too innocent. I wouldn't feel right corrupting ya."
Christina leaned into Mike with a predatory glint in her eyes. "Really?"
"Yep, and I'll prove it to you. Hold this for a second. I need to go talk to my friend Tamir for a minute."
He handed her his inhaler, then walked away.
***
After kicking it with Pinky, Mike re-approached the set and targeted Christina. All the while, he was trying to ignore the butterflies in his stomach at the thought of seeing Pinky again.
"See told ya so." He smirked, then stretched his arms out before placing them behind his head.
"Yeah." she rolled her eyes and then returned his inhaler.
Mike tilted his head and placed his fingers on his dimpled cheeks, while giving her his sad puppy face. "How can you stay made at this face?"
Christina grimaced, but the corners of her mouth quirked up in a smile and she laughed. At Mike's insistence, she gave up her number to Aaron, who'd been glaring at Mike the whole time. Then he retargeted Gabriella and got her number.
"B, how y agon cockblock me like that?" Aaron whined.
"I got you her number, didn't I?"
"That ain't the point. I told ya I was feeling Christina and you went after her anyways. Not cool, man."
Content Warning : Use of the N-word and misogynistic language
"Not my fault you a weak ass nigga trying to pull pussy that don't belong to you," Mike said, drawing a chorus of "damn, son" from the others.
Aaron jabbed a finger into Mike's chest. "B, we boys and all, but I will straight jaw ya if you keep hoeing me out like that."
Mike stepped forward, so he was millimeters from Aaron's face. "Because we boys, I'll let that slide. But don't ever try to holla at me like that again. Is that understood?"
"B--"
"I said, is that understood!?"
Aaron advanced so their noses were touching, his hands balled into fists.
Chris stepped forward and told them to squash their beef.
"Sorry, man, but you know I don't take shit from anyone. Pops would kick my ass if I did. Ya feel me?" Mike stuck out his hand.
"A'ight, my pops be trippin' too, but cool it with that shit." Aaron high-five'd him, and they settled the matter, for now, and they moved on to the next set.
***
After a long day of sarging, then helping Luke clean the garage, Mike had netted five more numbers and by week's end he'd have Amber in his bed. He yawned, then cracked his back and got to his nightly work out.
Fifty one-handed pushups with each arm, followed by a hundred crunches, then katas for thirty minutes. Once he'd finished, Mike wiped off face, then got out Buster, his training dummy and dropped into Basic Warrior Stance: placing his feet shoulder-width apart at forty-five-degree angles and raising his clenched fists so they were level with his nose, he pummeled the dummy with punches, kicks, and elbow strikes until satisfied he'd done enough.
Next, he pulled out his Ka-Bar combat knife and began slashing Buster's neck fifty times with each hand, then moved on to thrusts. Stifling another yawn, he got his practice rifle with a bayonet and ran slashing drills. Then, for good measure, he bashed Buster's head with the butt of the rifle thirty times.
Pops stuck his head into Mike's room. "Hey, boy. Lights out in an hour."
"Yes, sir. Just finishing up."
"Good. Looks like Buster has seen better days. Tell you what, if you can take me to the deck, I'll let you have my car whenever I'm not using it for the rest of summer. Deal?"
"Sir, yes, sir!" Mike shook his dad's hand, and they fell into Basic Warrior Stance, circling around each other.
Pops fired off a roundhouse kick, nearly catching Mike. He countered with a right elbow strike to Pops's sternum and followed up with a left hook. Pops moved forward, blocked it, then grabbed Mike's arm and threw him over his shoulder. Breaking his fall, Mike rolled to the side as Pops's foot stomped where his chest had been.
"Double or nothing?" Mike said, getting back into stance.
"Fine, but you'll have to do all the yardwork for a month if you lose," Pops said, smugness oozing from every pore.
Mike stepped forward, faked to the right, and came under Pops's guard. He unbalanced Pops and swept his leg, taking him to the deck. Before the elder could counter, Mike put him in a leg bar.
Mike's ma glared at the pair from the doorway. "What in the hell is going on in here?"
"Sweetie, it's nothing. Me and Mike are sparring is all." Pops smiled through gritted teeth as Mike applied more pressure to his kneecap.
She shook her head, then left after Mike released Pops.
Content Warning: familial abuse
"Sneaky, kiddo. Keep it up and you'll be ready to take me on for real. But don't get too cocky." He rubbed Mike's head, then sucker punched him in the gut.
"Thanks, sir." He straightened up, rubbing his stomach. "Since I'm getting older, don't you think it's about time you allowed me to go to the House of Pain by myself?"
"Hmm. You'll be heading off to college in a bit . . . so you'll be needing all the training you can get. Okay. But only if you keep your grades up and stay out of trouble." His dad patted him on the back.
Mike flashed his trademark smirk. "Don't I always?"
"Hey, now. Don't be acting brand new. You ain't too old to be taken over my knee. Lights out in 30. I'm getting too old for this mess." Pops hobbled out, nursing his shoulders and leg.
"Sorry, sir. Goodnight."
"Night, Mike. And the pass codes to the storage locker and security alarm is 7638."
Yawning again, Mike finally took off his weighted vest, stretching out on his bed until his spine popped. Then he applied vitamin E to the scars on his back and shoulders. He checked his Facebook account and saw a new friend request from Tamir "Pinky" Johnson. He froze.
He loved the hell out of the kid, but the last time they met, Mike's world turned upside down. Hey, what's the worst that could happen?
He accepted the request, then logged off and made a note to Skype Kyle and the other Soldier Boyz.
Author's note: What do ya'll think of my new story? Please send all thoughts, comments, suggestions and constructive criticism to phenix39@yahoo.com.
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