Chapter 1
The West Side
"Hate it or love it, the underdog's on top,
And I'm gon' shine, homie, until my heart stops,"
Hate It or Love It, 50 Cent and the Game
As he climbed out of the back seat of the taxi cab, he gave a quick thanks and smile to the driver before breathing a small sigh of relief. Well, a small sigh of relief. As much relief as anyone living straight in this neighborhood could ever get.
It was a chilly August evening, and about as peaceful as the west side ever was. At least the air peace was broken only by the sound of passing cars, rather than ugly staccato of gunfire that often sounded around this time.
The building before him was a shabby and rundown apartment building. Its paint was chipping and its concrete walls were pockmarked with wear and imperfections. And it was the most beautiful sight he had seen that day. It was the place he called home, and one of the few places in West Garfield Park that was considered safe.
Emily Rappaport Park on the Wizarding Side was the previous title holder. It was the place where all the athletic prodigies and future Quadpot and Quidditch professionals practiced outside of school, but that was until some brain dead bastard started selling heroin. The shootings started within a week. Now Rappaport was a den of addicts, gangbangers, and homeless, but that was how things went on the west side.
He gave the address a brush with his hand as he opened the door and slid inside. He wasn't necessarily superstitious, but he made a few exceptions. 1317 West Washington Blvd. had protected him for the last three years, and it only needed to hang on for one more night. The other reason he felt relieved was that this was his last night in the hood. He was out tomorrow, and he'd see the gates of hell before he ever saw West Garfield again.
The bell jingled as the door swung shut behind him, and he pulled his hands out of his coat pockets, warming them in the heated lobby. One of the lights overhead was flickering, but it hardly mattered as most of the light came from the fire crackling in the corner.
Behind the counter, an aging black woman looked up. Upon seeing who it was, her face broke into a warm and welcoming smile, climbing out of her seat and making her way over for a hug. He accepted the embrace with a happy smile and another sigh, this time more of relaxation than relief.
"It's always good to see you back safe, Lucky," she released him with another smile, adjusting her glasses that had slipped down her nose.
"You too, Ms. James," the boy named Lucky grinned back, then quickly reached into his pocket, removing a thick envelope, "there's the rent for this month, plus ten percent for being late. Again, big apology for needing the extension, I promised when I moved in that I'd never be late. I'm sorry I couldn't follow through."
"Oh, don't be hard on yourself," Ms. James said earnestly, "you've had it on time and in full every month for three years, everyone slips up every now and again. You don't need to add interest, it's only three days late!"
"I insist, Ms. James," Lucky insisted politely, pushing the envelope into her hands, "You've given me a safe home since the trial. Without it I'd be…" he trailed off quietly, eyes defocusing for a moment as his mind went to a dark place. He pulled himself back together quickly, adding, "What you do here, for me and the other straight but unfortunate folks, it's a really good thing."
"The Lord gave me my calling," Ms. James said, pointing at the exceptionally well done painting of the birth of Jesus that hung on the wall behind her desk, "I live to fulfill His will."
"The Lord insists that you take your ten percent," Lucky cracked a smile, "God knows you'll put it to good use."
Ms. James raised an eyebrow at that, "You finally started reading that Bible I gave you?"
Lucky merely smiled at that, and Ms. James gave a laugh, her stern act fading instantly back into her usual warmth, "I'm kidding, I'm kidding, I know you're steeped in all that pagan nonsense."
Lucky rolled his eyes, though for dramatic effect rather than sarcasm, and replied, "I wouldn't call Wizards pagans… well not exactly. We do celebrate Christmas and Easter, you know."
"I know, I know," Ms. James patted him on the shoulder, her face a mixture of caring and concern, "Just make sure you stay safe over there. You're going to a whole 'nother country, and with all them uppity English schmucks."
"It'll be a helluva lot better than here," Lucky reassured her, "I did some research into the Wizarding and Nomaj scene over there, and sure there's some rough neighborhoods, but they ain't got nothing like the west side."
Ms. James nodded at that then turned back towards her desk as Lucky made for the stairs, saying rather solemnly, "You just take care of yourself, you hear me? I've been to too many funerals… too many bright young lives snuffed out too soon. Anyone starts chirping you up… giving you the business, you just ignore 'em… just keep on steppin', you hear?"
"You know I will," Lucky turned and gave a small smile as he opened the door to the stairwell, "And don't worry too much, I'm outta the hood tomorrow, and I'll be damned before I ever come back. I'm leavin' the hood lifestyle behind too. I even sold my piece, the one I bought off LaTrelle. Shouldn't be makin' any more use of it."
"I'm glad to hear it," Ms. James smiled, turning back around, "You live up to your name, you know that?"
"Good night, Ms. James," Lucky made his way into the rickety old stairwell, closing the creaky door softly behind him. As he made his way up the stairs, he growled to himself, "It's not luck."
He made his way up to the third floor and pulled a ring of keys out of his pocket. Finding the right one, he unlocked his apartment with a click. Making his way in, he found that he had indeed remembered to turn the heat off that morning. His breath appeared like a cloud of smoke from a fiend before his tired eyes.
With a sigh, he flicked the light on, then turned to the thermometer, considering turning the heat on. He thought briefly about it, then decided otherwise. He had just paid Ms. James the water and electric, and did not need to slip more in.
He slipped out of his tattered and puffy Nike jacket and hung it lightly on the coat hanger by the door. The bed of the one bedroom apartment lay directly before him, and just beyond it, a pair of suitcases stacked neatly together, containing his few belongings that he would ring to England.
Lucky made his way into his small bathroom, discarding clothes as he went. Before flipping on the water, he had a quick look in the mirror. An almost unrecognizable face stared back.
By description, he was quite attractive. He had fluffy brown hair atop a chiseled and symmetrical face, but the reality was far different. His high cheekbones were distracted by the dark bags that hung under each eye and his mouth hung open, too tired to be held in place properly, and his jawline was obscured by a thin layer of facial hair that had grown in since he had last shaved. The only feature that remained were his purple eyes, ridiculously rare and unique in their own right, but even they had faded from their natural bright violet to a deeper twilight color, partially obscured beneath droopy eyelids. His hair was a disheveled mess and his face looked gaunt and burnt out.
In short, he looked more like a fifty year old coal miner than a fifteen year old wizard. But life was tough and the world was cold.
Ain't no motivator like reality, Lucky grumbled mentally, flipping the shower on and climbing in immediately. The water was ice cold, yet refreshing in its own right. Lucky enjoyed how it felt like it washed away the trials and tribulations of the day. It also saved money.
He gave his hair and body a quick wash with his three in one, shampoo, conditioner, and body wash then climbed back out, quickly shutting the water off to minimize Ms. James' bill. He had another look in the mirror as he got out. He swore briefly, then seized his razor and shaving cream. He really did not feel like it, but was determined to make a good impression when he arrived, and did not want to show up looking like a grizzled war veteran.
A few minutes later, he emerged from the bathroom in his boxers, teeth brushed and face shaven. Without another thought, he collapsed onto his bed and was asleep within moments.
OoOoO
"Come here sugar, you ain't leaving without saying goodbye," Ms. James said earnestly as she seized Lucky with a tight hug and embrace, bringing additional warmth to the cozy and empty lobby.
"I'll write to you, I promise," Lucky reassured her as he extracted himself as if escaping a boa constrictor, "I'll even come and visit in a few years… when things get a bit more stable…"
When I make it, he wanted to say, but restricted the words to himself, for fear of jinxing himself.
"No," Ms. James said firmly, "the Lord gave you the opportunity the make it out of the hood, and I ain't ever wanna see you coming back. You've been fighting for as long as I've known you… striving for a shot to make something for yourself… don't squander it coming back to see me."
"Inshallah," Lucky replied, turning for the door and trying to keep his face straight. He hated saying goodbye. There'd been too many permanent ones burned into his soul over the years.
Ms. James chuckled at that, saying, "His light still burns within you, you know. Your father was a good human being. He might've followed a different god, but his light still burns within nonetheless."
As he opened the door to leave 1317 West Washington Boulevard for the last time, he paused and took one last look. Making eye contact with Ms. James for the last time, he was silent for a moment, then gave a small smile, "You've brought a lot of good to this neighborhood. You know I'm not religious, but I'm certain in my belief that all of this," he gestured to the building, "It means something. Something real. All the poor people on the right path that you help here, all the good that comes of it. That's something real."
"Take care of yourself, Lucky," Ms. James gave her final parting words as Lucky finally slipped out of the door, pulling his suitcases behind him. Even as he hailed a cab and motored out of West Garfield Park for the last time, he could feel her warmth and spirit following him. For the first time in many, many years, an emotion broke through the cold wall of his conscience and slid down his cheek.
OoOoO
He only made one stop on his way to the MACUSA center in downtown Chicago where he would travel by portkey to London. A very important stop.
Martin's Cuts was a cornerstone of the neighborhood, and Lucky was not about to leave the country without getting trimmed up by Dre Martin himself. He was even willing to squeeze in right at seven when it opened, just to get the fade lined up.
Lucky thanked the cabbie as he grabbed his bags and slipped into the pristine barber shop. He grinned at the familiar smell of the incense the father Martin insisted on burning. Public Enemy's Fight the Power played in the background, its speaker on the far wall next to a number of worn and faded Chicago Bulls and Michael Jordan posters.
As usual the elder Martin was sitting on his rocking chair by the left corner, smoking a Cuban cigar and eyeing the customers suspiciously. The lump of his .45 was clearly visible beneath his leather Vietnam Veteran jacket. A real OG, ol' Mikey Martin was. He looked up quickly at the sound of the arrival bell, but his eyes relaxed as they recognized Lucky.
"Wassup brother," another familiar voice spoke, and Lucky turned to find little Tyler Turner, a kid from the year behind him. The Turners and Martins were close, Lucky knew, and he was not surprised to find the little schmuck working at Martin's.
"Good gig ya got here," Lucky grinned, as Dre looked up from the client he was trimming up, "Learning from the best around."
"Damn right," Dre agreed as he concluded the haircut he had been working on, "Happy to see ya off, Lucky. I thought I'd miss ya!"
"You straight?" Lucky laughed, "Of course I'm dropping in. You think I'm about to let some preppy English schmuck line me up? I know they ain't got the same jazz like my man Dre."
"I dunno," Dre feigned seriousness, "You're going back to your people, we was afraid you might get one of them tea drinking white boys to trim you up."
"Pfft, please," Lucky snorted, "I ain't tryna look like a founding father. And really Dre, my people? You know I'm Chicago born and raised."
"Aren't you from Salem or something?"
"You know what I meant."
"Yea, you're straight, don't worry bout it," Dre nodded, "You're a brother through and through, now hop up in this chair."
"You're forgetting something important bro," Lucky passed Dre a handful of cash, "Fifteen greens."
"I know you're straight," Dre laughed, "Even if you'd tried running out I know you'd be back within a few. It's your nature."
"I'm that easy to read?" Lucky laughed as he climbed up into the chair.
"I've known you for a minute or two," Dre smirked, "Same as usual?"
"Nah, let's go bold today," Lucky laughed, "Line me up good, your call on style. I want the birds lining up for the digits as soon as I arrive."
"You gotta take care of yourself better if you want that," Dre teased, arranging his clippers, slipping the blanket over Lucky's torso and tying it behind his neck, "Maybe grab some sleep every few weeks."
"I'll see what I can do," Lucky laughed, "No promises."
Dre snorted at that, spritzing Lucky's hair with water then proclaiming, "Now lean back and enjoy while Dre shows ya why he's a better barber than any other brother, black or white."
OoOoO
"Later G, good luck in Europe… just don't forget ya roots. No matter what the bozos over there fill your head with, you've still got the west side at heart," Dre dapped Lucky up as he left the shop, towing his bags behind him as the tune of NWA disappeared with the closing door.
"You got it bro," Lucky sighed as he found himself saying goodbye to more close friends of many years. He found himself wondering for the first time about his choices and path. It was so easy to hate the hood, but now that he's leaving…
As he made his way down the street towards the corner where the taxis stopped, he found himself passing a homeless camp, not an unusual sight on Jackson Boulevard. As he passed, he was moments late noticing the man approaching the other direction along the sidewalk. Looking up, he saw the eyes of an aging and bearded addict, faded blue eyes eyeing Lucky as he neared, lingering on the bags he dragged behind him.
Lucky felt the familiar jolt of fear, though he refused to show any at all. People like these were sharp, and could sense fear like a sixth sense. As he had many times before, he merely looked past him and continued forward, walking tall and confident.
The addict was not dissuaded, and Lucky saw a flash of silver in the man's right hand. His mind quickly went to the weapon he had just sold and the wand burried in his suitcase, knowing that he now was in very real danger of being murdered. He stopped moving and let his hand go from his bag, slipping it into the inside of his coat. It was a bluff, but he had no other choice.
"Keep on steppin'," Lucky sneered, eyes narrowed and shoulders back, standing up his full six feet.
Looking at the hand sliding into Lucky's jacket, the addict lost his nerve, breaking eye contact and hurrying past without a word. Waiting until he was out of earshot, Lucky finally broke his eyes away and removed his hand, grabbing his bag and hurrying along towards the corner a little more quickly than before, cursing the choice to keep his wand packed away. A rookie mistake, one that had nearly gotten him killed.
So goes life on the west side, Lucky thought as he hailed a cab, and that's why I'm leaving for good.
"Where to?" the cabbie asked from the front seat.
"713 South Pershing St., downtown" Lucky replied.
As they made their way out of West Garfield Park, down several blocks towards the more affluent suburbs. The cab came to a stop behind several cars, though the light was green. Up ahead, Lucky could see the cause of the delay, a Buick and a Corvette were doing tandem donuts in the intersection while a small crowd of troublemakers gathered.
"Stupid kids," the cabbie commented, though Lucky detected a hint of amusement and whistfulness in his voice.
"We were all young and stupid once," Lucky commented.
"How old are you?" the cabbie joked, looking back in the mirror.
Just then, the sound of sirens filled the air and the sportscars were gone in a flash, pursued by a trio of police cars, sirens blaring and lights flashing angrily.
They respond to this, but ignore everything in West Garfield, and when they do arrive, some poor schmuck gets whacked… it's almost like they don't care about poor people at all.
"Fuck the police."
Lucky looked up to see the cabbie glaring viciously in the directions of the retreating sirens. Lucky nodded in agreement, "Fuck the police."
The cabbie gave a look of approval and changed the radio station. He had been playing John Denver since Lucky got in, but with the situation reestablished, he seemed content to switch the station over to something Lucky was rocking with.
Heads bobbed to the beat of Eric B. and Rakim all the way to Lucky's destination, which was more of a beginning than an end.
A/N
Firstly, no, this is not a self insert. I don't write those. I want to explore a different type of story than what I've seen here previously. If I'm feeling it, I'll finish it.
And secondly, I included a list of tracks that I think our protagonist would be rocking with, growing up in Chicago in the late 80s and early 90s. Not all of them were released by OotP (1996), but I wasn't going to exclude some of these purely based on a year or two. The tone is supposed to be inner cities in the 90s. The only one outside that range is the namesake and inspiration of this story, and as such it will be left there. This was my playlist when writing this, and this will be where I leave those tracks. Feel free to enjoy them at your leisure and discretion while enjoying this narrative. I'll add to this overtime.
Soundtrack to the Story
Hate It or Love It, 50 Cent and the Game (2005)
Fight the Power, Public Enemy (1988)
Ladies First, Queen Latifa (1989)
Mama Said Knock You Out, LL Cool J (1990)
Boyz-n-the-Hood, NWA (1987)
High Rollers, Ice-T (1988)
Fuck Tha Police, NWA (1988)
Sometimes I Rhyme Slow, Nice & Smooth (1991)
Ambitionz Az A Ridah, 2Pac (1996)
Party Up, DMX (1999)
Microphone Fiend, Eric B. and Rakim (1988)
Express Yourself, NWA (1989)
Ruff Ryders Anthem, DMX (1998)
Hypnotize, Notorious B.I.G. (1997)
Paid in Full, Eric B. and Rakim (1988)
Straight Outta Compton, NWA (1988)
Sabotage, Beastie Boys (1994)
California Love, 2Pac (1995)
Nuthin' but a G thang, Snoop Dogg (1992)
Wild Thing, Tone-Loc (1989)
Colors, Ice-T (1988)
Fight for Your Right, Beastie Boys (1986)
Ain't No Future In Your Frontin', MC Breed and DFC (1991)
Gangsta's Paradise, Coolio (1995)
Bust a Move, Young MC (1989)
No Sleep Till Brooklyn, Beastie Boys (1986)
Back That Azz Up, Juvenile (1998)