Chapter Four:

Mad Boy

Sundays were the days that Lakeda would play loud gospel music for the entire afternoon and cook a hearty dinner for the family. And it was her only day off. Today she was stewing some beef in a crock pot, baking mac and cheese and steaming some collard greens to be served. When she was done the mac and cheese, the corn bread would be next. As she waited for the stew to reduce, she scrolled through her smartphone, checking the news, the weather, her email and any unread texts that she may have missed. It's one of those days, she thought. The summertime heat was rising as the sun reached its zenith and she looked out the kitchen window, where the fire escape that ran down housing project was. Every time she looked there she felt a pang of nostalgia: sitting in the fire escape on a summer night, drinking some liquor and smoking weed with friends, watching the cityscape from a distance. And all them niggas dead, she thought, checking the crockpot and stirring the beef stew.

As she did, Jazmin was in her room, scrolling frantically through her smartphone, trying to get any information she could on Keisha. She wasn't that active on social media. She never updated her location, she rarely uploaded any pictures and she didn't have a lot of friends. But why? If she such a big hoe why did she have like no fucking online presence at all? All the biggest thots were popular in L.L High, with thousands of followers and even more friends. Why was Keisha the exception? Something ain't right. As she pondered this, Strika left his room, wearing his air-forces, gray jeans and a dark hoodie, grabbing his keys. Lakeda put her hand on her hip as she saw him walk past.

"And where the hell you think you going?"

Strika sighed, "I'm just hanging out with friends…"

"On a Sunday, nigga?" Lakeda frowned, "It's Arceus' day, why you gotta do this today?"

"Mom please," Strika grumbled, rolling his eyes, "Lemme just see my friends. I had a rough week."

Lakeda gave him a look and went back to stirring the stew. With that, Strika left, locking the door behind him and heading to the elevator. When he reached outside, he put on his headphones and began walking as he scrolled through his smartphone. The fight at the party was all anyone was talking about all fucking weekend. Someone had recorded the fight and it just showed him looking weak at every angle. 2-Zap was some privileged fuck from Stillwood whose grades were so atrocious he had to go to Los Lados High. And he tried to act like he was from Los Lados, putting on the fake ass accent and inflection, trying to stunt for boujie bitches like Arty. Pokemon don't like looking weak, Strika reminded himself. That urge to be seen as strong was in all of them and Strika was no exception. When he saw Laquan at the basketball court, he removed his headphones and greeted him with a bro hug. He was a tall, buff basketball player for Los Lados High, sporting smooth brown skin and a long curly mane of cream colored hair he tied back in a ponytail. His Arcanine tail and ears went well his athletic figure. Laquan was popular in Los Lados High and being a senior with a sports scholarship helped matters too.

"Yo, waddup," Laquan said, holding the basketball under his arm. He'd just finished playing one on one with Infra.

"Man…I'm tight," Strika admitted, "I got my ass beat at that party and Uniqua had to come in and save my ass."

"Uniqua can take a hit my nigga," Laquan said, "Being descended from them Umbreons, whew, them defense stats are high, bro."

"Yeah I know but it's still embarrassing as fuck."

Laquan shrugged, grabbing a bottle of water and chugging it, "I mean… you kinda started it. I was there bro. You snuffed 2-Zap first."

"I hate that fuck nigga. Err'thing about him fake, bruh. From his bullshit ass accent and his corny ass swag. How Arty got with a bitch made nigga like him."

Laquan shrugged, "That's cuz 2-Zap got bread and you don't. Man…don't front like you don't know Arty used to fine shit, bruh. You took her to Blue Clawitzer on date nights. She don't like that cheap shit."

"That's all my ass could afford when I was working," Strika snapped, "I mean for fuck sake I was loading goddamn boxes on a barge! The pay is ass!"

"And that's why Arty dumped you. Shouldn't be dating no fine superficial bitches."

"So what? I gotta date ugly non-superficial bitches?"

"You better off with that cuz you a broke boy, nigga," Laquan teased. Strika sighed, getting a bottle of water from the cooler. Infra was there, gulped down a sports drink. He was a senior at Los Lados High. His hair was stark white and shaped up in a low fade that contrasted well against his chestnut colored skin. He had a bit of facial hair that was crisp and lined up. He was lean but not very tall. A monkey tail sprouted from his back and his knuckles were wrapped up with blue tape.

"Ay," Infra greeted, "Heard you were at Arty's."

"You didn't go?"

Infra laughed a shrieking laugh, "No…hell no."

"Why not?"

Infra gave him a look, "Why the fuck would I wanna hang out with a spoiled ass bitch and her pussy-whipped boy toy? Who the fuck still goes to house parties anyways? Shit is played out. Go to a club, bruh."

"You go to the club?"

Infra nodded, "My cuz works there. I get in without them checking I.D and I get drinks for free too. I'm going to one tonight. You and Laquan wanna come?"

Strika looked back at Laquan who shrugged and nodded.

"Yeah, we'll come."

When the sun was below the horizon and the city lights illuminated the dusky sky, Laquan, Strika and Infra were walking down 23rd Ave, heading to a spot that Infra knew. Strika was not familiar to this area of Los Lados—but from the looks of it, there were a lot of crack dens that people were trapping out of. He recognized the lookouts, standing near the stoop or the door, eyeballing for any cops that were cruising through here. There were also prostitutes chilling in front of the Lados Motel, giggling and smoking, dressed beautifully in eye catching clothes. Infra waved at them as they passed the motel and the girls waved back, blowing kisses and the sort. Strika raised a confused eyebrow and turned to Infra.

"You know those baddies?"

"Yeah…they hookers," Infra said, "Hooked up with three of them before."

Strika blinked quickly, "You paid for sex? Why?"

"Cuz them bitches bad and they freaky in bed bruh, and they don't fucking try to call you after, cryin' about catching feelings and shit."

Laquan looked amused at Strika's confusion, "Damn Strika, you didn't know Infra gets down like that?"

"Nah man… I don't think I could pay for sex…that sounds mad—"

"Nah bro, once you pay for it, tryna fuck dumb sophomore bitches who are horrible in bed ain't it no more."

Strika shrugged, "Well…you do you, I guess."

Infra laughed and pointed to a black door that lead into a side entrance of a building that connected to another building that had no windows or signs. He knocked on the door, grinning at the both of them. When he finished knocking, the door open slid open and he walked in.

"They with me," he said to the bouncer. He was a towering Taurus-descended man who glowered at Laquan and Strika. They didn't make eye contact and instead hurried in. It was dark, with only neon strobe lights illuminating the floor and the ceiling. The subwoofers pounded through the nightclub, the bass shaking every corner of the building. Grown women were here—dressed with minimal clothing and shaking their bodies to the sound of the beat, high on coke and molly. There was a bar in the center, with the countertop illuminated with white-blue neon. The bartender was dancing behind the counter, serving drinks effortlessly as male patrons showered her with tips. Infra greeted his cousin and then introduced him to Laquan and Strika.

"Yo, this is my cuz Flash-Bang," he said. Flash-Bang smiled at the both of them. He was a tanned man with cream colored hair that had an orangey undertone. He was of the Flareon-line, having the mon's the ears and creamy, fluffy tail.

"Ay!" He greeted the both of them, "Drinks on the house for y'all. Also our special today is lemon pepper and spicy Kanto wings. If you need anything, let me know."

"Good looks, man," Strika said, giving Flash-Bang a bro hug. He nodded and went off to the bar.

Infra grinned at the both of them and yelled over the music, "Ima get us a table and some hookah."

"Iight!" Laquan yelled back. As Infra went off to secure a good spot in the club, Strika took the time to absorb his surroundings. He was feeling it. The music was excellent, the atmosphere was absolutely electric and the strobe effect that was below the floor was mesmerizingly beautiful. The club was divided into three parts, as far as Strika could see. The dance floor and bar, the lounge where people sat, drank, smoked and ate and the VIP section, that was above the lounge and dance floor, on a balcony that extended out into the middle of the room. When Strika looked up at the VIP section, he recognized X-Large and his new girl for the week, a dancer from the strip club on 25th Ave called Silver Rain. He looked over his shoulder, eyeballing a gorgeous girl stepping on the dance floor. She had to be in her late twenties and she was dressed to the nines, shaking her curvy, perfectly portioned body to the drum snares of the trap breakdown.

"Damn these bitches bad," Laquan said, looking around the club, "Grown ass women…they nothing like any of the chicks back at Los Lados High."

"Damn…yeah," Strika said, agreeing with him. Within a few minutes, Infra came back, drink in hand.

"Got us a table," he said.

Strika exchanged a look with Laquan and shrugged, following Infra to the secured spot. There were drinks for them, a hookah set up and two girls already there, sitting on the neon couches that surrounded the LED tabletops. Strika took a swig of the beer while Laquan put a filter on the hookah and began to smoke. Infra swayed to the music, chatting up the two baddies he brought to the table. Soon enough, one of the girls began to cut lines of coke using a razorblade. Infra took a hit and so did the girls, laughing as they finished. When offered pills, Strika turned them down, but Laquan popped a few and downed it with a shot of ciroc. After a few drinks, the apprehension melted away and the courage began to bubble within him. It was then he got up and asked a girl to dance. She looked at him up and down and then smiled, nodding, taking his hand and heading out to the dance floor. Infra "woo"ed him, clapping and laughing, high off his ass.

"You got the sauce now, nigga!" He yelled out between laughs. Laquan chuckled, now on his fifth shot of ciroc.

Strika danced with her, giving her a once over as he did. She was short, thick with a lovely dark afro and bright gold eyes, being of Bewear line—having the white catlike ears and the cute little tail that twirled out her ample backside. She twerked on him and when the music died down, she gave him a kiss on the cheek, exchanged numbers and went off with her group of friends to the bar. Strika was glowing, a huge smile on his face.

"Ay! Striiiiiika!"

Infra walked up to him, giving him a congratulatory pat on his back. Strika laughed and walked with Infra back to the table, downing a few more shots. When the music picked up again, Infra nudged Laquan.

"This is just the start," he said, "The real party is in the basement."

"What's down there?"

Infra chuckled a bit, "Excuse me ladies." He got up, gesturing for to the two to follow them. He cut through the dance floor, heading behind the lounge and towards a secluded corner lead into a dimly lit hallway and spiraling stairs that lit up with each step. As they descended, the smell of smoke and ash seemed to get stronger and stronger. The music radiated through the walls and the floorboards, shaking the shot glasses and the liquor bottles. When they reached the bottom floor, a path illuminated for them, revealing strange mirrors and a crowd of people, surrounding what looked like an oversized boxing ring. But instead of rope used as borders, it was thick, metal wire. In the middle of the ring were two men, squaring off with one another. When Strika got a better look, he immediately recognized what this was. This was a nightclub that doubled as an underground gym. Infra took off his shirt and tossed it to someone in the crowd, heading to the betting booth that was behind the secondary bar. He placed a bet on the man who was of Hitmonlee descent. When he did, he then wrote his name on the second matchup that was after this one. Strika grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him around.

"Nigga what the fuck you doing?"

Infra slapped his hands off him, "Getting this month's rent, my nigga. The fuck you think?" He laughed at him.

"Bruh—"

"Ay shut yo broke boy ass up," Infra said, "This is quick cash. Maybe if you did this, Arty wouldn't have dumped you."

Strika had no come back for that and within minutes, one of the opponents was knocked out the ring and into the crowd. He was bleeding and unconscious and the crowd went wild, hyped up on cocaine and MDMA. Infra grinned, holding out his hand to the bookie who gave him his cut—500 bucks. Infra tied up the stack with a rubber band and used it to place another bet, betting on himself this time. Strika watched him jog towards the ring as he kicked off his shoes, only wearing his socks.

"Alright!" A female announcer yelled out, "Round One! Infra vs Morgan!"

Strika stood in the crowd, next to Laquan, who was drinking a beer. He noted that fire types could put down alcohol like nothing but then he went back to watching the ring. Morgan was man who was of the Hitmonlee-lineage. He wore a scarf around the bottom half of his face, so only his piercing dark eyes could be seen. He was dark brown skinned, with long legs and arms that were bandaged with gold tape. He was shirtless and shoeless like all opponents, wearing white sparring pants. His feet were tipped with sharp, spike-like claws.

"Ready! Set! Go!"

Infra was faster and he immediately started out with high jump kick. He leapt up in the air and round-housed Morgan. He blocked it, but it broke his defense and he fell over. He quickly recovered though, dodging one of Infra's rapid mach punches. Morgan did a low sweeping kick, knocking Infra off his footing and on his back. With that, he grabbed Infra and threw him. He used his tail to attach himself to the metal wire that bordered the ring and narrowly avoided being tossed out and losing the match. Infra grinned and back-flipped, setting his fist on fire and throwing rapid punches to Morgan. Morgan ate a few but by the forth punch he was singed on his face and feeling the burn.

He turned on his heel and grappled Infra, slamming him down and elbowing him in the stomach. Infra kicked him off and growled, baring his fangs. He got up and delivered quick blows to Morgan's stomach. And with one final blow—a focused punch, Morgan was knocked the fuck out and he stumbled out the ring, falling into the crowd. The crowd roared in excitement and Infra lifted his hands up, taking in the cheers of the crowd, feeling more alive than he ever did smoking, fucking or playing basketball. He trotted out the ring and to the betting booth, getting his 1000. Strika stared at him and eyeballed his back. Infra was already starting to bruise and his nose and mouth had been bleeding.

"Nigga…" Strika looked concerned but Infra was counting his cash, ignoring the fact he was bloodied and bruised.

"I can deadass buy two hookers with this and an 8-ball."

Laquan walked over to them, on his fifth beer, "Bruh, I didn't know you can throw hands like that."

"We're mons," he said, "We can all throw hands. Y'all just pretend like you can't."

Strika checked the time and groaned. It was 2 AM and Lakeda had called three times since 12.

"That yo moms? Bruh she is foineee," Infra said, looking over his shoulder at his phone. Strika shot him a look and sighed. He would get chewed out as soon as he came home.

"By the way, that girl, the Bewear one," Infra laughed, "Really beware, cuz Bewear mons be strong as fuck. If she ion like you she'll snap you in half."

"I'm aware," Strika said, furtively sending the girl a text, "I gotta bounce tho. We got school and well…"

"Yeah, you can go," Infra said. Laquan decided to leave with Strika, however. They walked back up the spiraling steps and out the side entrance that they'd come through.

When Strika got home, Lakeda was already passed out in her room, sleeping. But as soon as he tried to creep back into his room, she heard and smelled him. She hopped out her bed and was in the corridor within a millisecond.

"Where the fuck you been!" She shouted, her ears flat against her head.

"With friends ma," Strika said.

"You smell like fucking tobacco and liquor nigga," she yelled again, "What fucking friends?"

Strika groaned, not wanting to deal with this, "Laquan and Infra."

"Laquan? The Arcanine one? The basketball player? Since when the hell he drink and smoke?"

Strika shuffled his feet, "We weren't drinking or smoking…just…around some people who did."

Lakeda glared at him, "Don't lie to be boy. Where were you all this time?"

Strika didn't answer and when he didn't, Lakeda took off her house slipper and threatened him with a motion of her hand.

"Alright! Fuck! I was at a club with Infra and Laquan. They took me there."

Lakeda stared at him, her ears still flat against her head, "Club? You not even 21. The fuck is all this? Strika!"

He was walking to his room, "What mom! What! I can't be out with friends now!"

"Stop acting stupid boy!" Lakeda shouted, "I ain't losing you too!"

Strika paused for a second, biting his lip. He said nothing, however, going into his room and slamming his door shut. Without bothering to change or wash up he threw himself on his bed and went right to sleep, feeling a few tears fall down his face.

Lakeda on the other hand sighed and sat down around the kitchen table, getting herself a bit of vodka from her own secret stash, pouring it into a glass and downing it in one go. Zebadiah…why you had to leave me alone with these two bad ass kids? She thought. She shook her head. That wasn't fair. Jazmin was decent even if she could be sneaky at times and Strika was a good kid. But senior year in high school was tough and losing people was tough. Lakeda lit a cigarette and took a drag, leaning back in her chair.

No matter what we are, or who we are. At the end of the day, we're all just animals. We're all just Pokemon.