Intelligence is nothing,
when you lack verification,
because they aren’t many darker than you,
even your own reject you to a degree,
you have inner racism to fight,
before worrying about whitey.

Irony is the air you breathe,
When you are taught one thing only to follow another,
Because school doesn’t teach you how to duck,
Or how blue and red lights reminds you of slavery,
Or how there might not be jobs for you,
But there is always a empty cell or plot of land that calls your name.

Individuality is a moot point,
When everybody knows you fate is at odds
If it’s not against you, it doesn’t consider you
Your anguish isn’t noted with your record
Because men have to hide when they cry
So you won’t be caught blind when someone comes to get their eye for an eye.

Chapter 1 part1 of "Ownship" (that's the name of chapter)

Click.

I eased myself against the door as I mentally counted the steps it took to walk from my door to the driveway. Twenty if you’re me and five feet nine, but I’m giving this woman 25 just in case. I was counting slowly while I tried to keep my right hand for searching for the gun that wasn’t there. I heard her car start and released a breath I held captive just in case.

John had warned me of this, but he hadn’t given me any other advice other than run. Run for my life. It was barely an hour since, I sat in his office and received his cryptic counsel. He had pointed out that all the guardians I ever knew were illegal, but didn’t point out how. So far, the papers he gave me filled me with more questions than answers, and I had only looked at my birth certificate. He also told me that didn’t know who would take care of me after that. I told him I didn’t need anyone to take care of me. I had been doing that on my own for a while. John told me that the state of Massachusetts wouldn’t see it that way because I was only 14. However, he had said the state of Massachusetts was the least of my problems. Damn him for not pointing out what my problems were.

The last thing he gave me on the way out the door was a notice of temporary custody to keep the Child Protection Services out my way. It named some woman, I’ve never met on it, but when I met the social worker at the door, I found myself creating a relationship out of nothing. Ms. Parker told me that they would have to evaluate my guardian and hold a hearing 30 days from now. She mentioned that if my temporary guardian weren’t suitable, I would become ward of the state. However, she also said it wouldn’t be hard at all to place me in a loving foster home or even get adopted being that I was a beautiful, well behaved, talented child. What she was trying not to say was no one would mind watching a child who had inherited over ten million dollars; no one would mind at all. She took the information on my guardian and left, but I could tell that she was disappointed that she couldn’t take me into custody now.

I slid to the floor as my mind swirled. I didn’t even know where to begin since there was so much I didn’t know. I pulled out my wallet and counted 80 dollars and 59 cents. First thing, I knew I needed was money. Legally, I was rich, but even I knew I wouldn’t be allowed to touch my money on my own. I could work a little and make some money, but didn’t think I had the time. A new identity would the next thing that I needed. I knew people who could help me on that, but I needed at least five thousand dollars if I wanted the whole package, ten thousand if I wanted to make it legal. The third thing I wondered about was what I should take and what I should leave. I didn’t know if I needed to pack light or not, and I didn’t know what would happen to the house if I just disappeared. My clothes, computer, and even my art supplies I could buy anywhere. What I refuse to leave was my guns, knives, and anything else that would look illegal in a police search. Weapons would hinder my movement, but I wasn’t planning on keeping them with me anyway. In the end, there was only one decision I needed to make now. Was I going to call John or Eric? I think John could help me with my money problems, while Eric was going to help me with my identity and travel arrangements. I settled on John and fished my pockets for his business card.

“Hello, this is Slowakc, Ranker, and Coles. May I help you?” the receptionist said.
“Hello, can I talk to John Slowakc?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Slowakc is away from the office right now. Do you want to leave him a message?”
“Hm…Yes, can you tell him Miss. Defire called.”
“Hold on,” she said and the phone started ringing again.
“Hello, Angelique,” John said all cool and collected, but I heard him trying to slow his breathing down.
“Mr. Slowakc__”
“Call me John please,” I wondered about his professionalism, “What do you need?”
“I need a little money.”
“Sure. Oh and I forgot to give you one more thing. It’s a trinket of sorts. Give me an hour or two and I’ll drop it off for you.” He said.
“Ok,” I said and he hung up.

There was something strange about the conversation I had with John, I didn’t want to say he seemed jumpy, but I had a feeling he wasn’t like this everyday. I stood up and went into the living room to sit. The living room was the picture of perfection, as was the rest of the house. I could almost believe the horrors I had suffered didn’t exist, that is until I look at myself where I fading bruises were hidden under my clothes. I looked at my watch and I knew Eric wasn’t even awake yet. It was only 11 o’clock in the morning and I felt like I had been up a whole day. I dumped the folder John had given me on the coffee table and sorted them into three stacks: about me, about my godfather, about god knows what. I tried not to read more than I needed to sort the paper in the right stack. It didn’t take very long for me to notice a pattern. All my papers were faded white and sometimes wrinkled, my godfather’s were neat, and stapled in groups, and everything else was wrinkled and smaller than the rest. When I was finished my stack was the largest, but I stopped myself from looking deeper than that. I got some vanilla folders and resorted them neatly.
Eric was my best friend and sometime employer. We had met two years ago outside of a club on the rough end of Boston. I was barely eleven when my godfather, the prestigious Giovanni Lerpai, started sexually abusing me. I don’t know if it was early developing body, my supposed beauty, or his lack of a love life that made our loving relationship go wrong. What started, as strange lingering looks ended as sex games to entertain some of his more malicious guests by the time I had turned 12. I had started sneaking out in the middle of the night because I quickly realized Giovanni wouldn’t look for me unless I didn’t come back. Oh, he would get mad, but he dealt with me the same way then when he wasn’t mad, so it didn’t matter. One night, my haphazardly collected friends and me went out to a club known as the “Hook”. I was clearly the youngest, but the others were no more than 17 and you had to be 21 in get into the club. We all had fake ids, and we were going in as Eric stopped me. We had a puzzling talk about souls and we have been friends ever since. Eric doesn’t live in Boston; he lives in New York somewhere, but he comes here about once a month on business. His business is what brought us closer when it should have made us far apart. He was an illegal goods dealer. Drugs, weapons, exotic animals, information, prostitutes, and sex slaves, if it was illegal he had his hands on it at some point. He had his own stock of stuff if you needed it and resources if he didn’t have it. He also worked out of a half dozen cities in the US and twenty other counties in the world, at least that I knew of.
I love Eric, but I hate him for making me a killer. He had told me one day that he would never get me to sell my body because my eyes were too old for even that job. I couldn’t get mad because I didn’t know if he was insulting me or not. He started teaching me how to shoot because he said I needed to know to protect myself. Eric knew damn well I was past protecting anymore, but he kept telling me pretty lies of his intentions even though he knew I wouldn’t shoot my godfather. It’s not my fault I killed him, but I sure wasn’t about to take him down with a gun leaving me to answer to everyone else. However, Eric knew something about me that I didn’t that I would pull the trigger on anybody else for less. The first time I did it, I was trying to stop some man at “Hook” from raping this kid. Come to find out “Hook” was an illegal sex club of sort; something the city officials turned their cheeks at, especially since some of the officials were regulars. Kid was using a loose term since he had to be at least three years older than me, but details didn’t matter when I pulled the trigger. Eric only allowed it because the kid wasn’t part of the deal. He had provided one of his underage hookers as a party treat, but it was an unwritten rule you couldn’t bring in unlicensed pets for enjoyment. I guess organized crime had to have its limitations too. After that Eric eased me into the business and I found it to be a big stress reliever. At first I was limited to my state, but after telling Giovanni they I had a school trip or two, it became easier to travel. Covering school was easy since all I needed was a signed note.
Giovanni started picking up girlfriends and a drinking habit so he began to give me a little free time, beside the fact he hated to do anything that threatened his normalcy. He wanted me to have good grades, take part in school and do everything to look and act like a loving goddaughter. So he didn’t question me when I wanted to take Kung Fu, acting, ballet, and whatever hobby I wanted to pick up if it made him look good. Eric got me lessons in martial arts, swordplay, and ballet. The first two I didn’t mind but ballet I found hard and ridiculous at first. The rest of my skills I learned from a guy named NKY. Anything dealing with guns, bombs, hacking, and disguise he taught me, but it was the behavior lessons that I learned the most from, and I had the most problems with. He gave me the name Euthanasia because I was usually neat, clean, and quick with my killings. I didn’t like to linger because death doesn’t linger. I learned no questioned the intentions of an innocent looking girl in a school uniform, even one carrying a 9 mm with a silencer. I had killed 34 counting the death of my godfather. So far, I had been given simple ones because high profile ones required instinctual skill that I was just beginning to develop. My godfather was the most high profile killing yet, and I hadn’t begin to understand how I did it.

I was beginning to drift off to sleep as I heard the doorbell. I answered it to find John standing there looking a lot more wore down than he should so early in the morning. He introduced himself and I let him in. His eyes scanned the foyer and then he spotted the folders laying on the coffee table.
“Did you read them?” he asked.
“No.’
“Do you have any tea?”
“No, we only drink coffee,” I said before I realized there was no “we.”
“Fine, I’ll take a cup with two creams” he said following me into the kitchen

I started the coffeemaker up and realized it was only 30 minutes before Ida the maid was to arrive. It had been so long since I had actually seen her that I didn’t know how she was taking the news. I knew if we left for the bank now I would be back time enough to see her. I looked back at John and I saw him pull a tape recorder out, but when he cut it on it made the air buzz a little.
“What’s that?” I said.
“An air buffer. It’s used to nullify bugs”
“Bugs? We don’t have any bugs, not even flies.”
“Not those kinds, the kinds that listen” he said and I looked around my kitchen a little. I had never thought about being bugged before, but I never spoke so it wasn’t much of a worry.
“Who would bug the house?”
“Anyone who wanted to keep an eye on you. I’m not sure your house is being bugged I’m just taking extra precautions.” The coffeemaker buzzed and he jumped a little.
“Who cares about me, I’m nobody.” Poured the coffee in two mugs, dropped his creams in and handed it to him. I looked into my mug and inhaled the heat.
“I told you, a client. But explaining anymore would be---“
“I know. But why give me the papers if you didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes?”
“Because you’re young kid and I wanted to warn you. Because I don’t know what will happen yet.”
“I’m leaving.”
“I hope so.”
“How much money will they let me get out?”
“Depends. Giovanni’s money was transferred to your normal bank account. However, because he was you caretaker he had access to your funds that you didn’t.” He said. I took a breath and gulped half the mug down. It burned going down but it helped me get over the shock. My funds?
“What’s funds?”
“If you had read what I gave you, you would have realized that what you inherited was nothing compared to what you have in your trust funds. Giovanni had taken some out to fund a business venture or two, but he always made sure he replaced it before someone noticed.”
“Why would I have a trust fund? I don’t even have parents.” I took another gulp.
“I can’t tell you that, but my client set up and paid for the trust funds.”
“If you client is willing to give me millions, why don’t they take care of me themselves?”
“I can’t really tell you that, but it wasn’t in their best interest to cause you harm,” he said.
“I guess it didn’t matter much that I was a fuck toy did it?” I said slamming the mug down and breaking it. It was empty so only a little coffee spattered everywhere. I dropped the handle on the floor and turned away from John, “What does it matter?” I whispered.
“There’s a lot I can’t say, but my client did care for your general well being. I only know of your abuse because Giovanni told me.”
“Did he offer me to you?”
“No.”
“Did he offer a picture?”
“No. He told me two months ago as he was rewriting his will. He begged me not to tell, but he told me because he wanted to tell someone.”
“Did he tell you how good I was?” I felt tears rolling down my face but I refuse to acknowledge them.
“No. He told me he loved you more than life itself and that you were beautiful,” he said.
I walked around the island out of the broken glass, but just barely before, I dropped to the ground and cried. I was silent like I was taught to be and the thought made me cry harder. Maybe I was crying because I never understood Giovanni or because I knew he never knew what to do with me. Somehow, I knew he wasn’t meant to be a father and he would never see me as his daughter no more than I would have seen him a lover. I felt John pull me up but my eyes were shut so tight I didn’t realize they were closed until I realized I couldn’t see. He pulled me against his chest and ran his fingers through my hair, calming me.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “I’ve should have looked more into your well being.”
“No, I’m sorry I should just kill myself and saving everyone the trouble.” Opps, I didn’t mean to let that slip. He pulled me away and looked at me. My bun had fallen and my hair was everywhere, he just took a finger and moved a lock of it out of my eyes.
“No one wants you dead, Angelique, they just don’t want anyone else to have you.”
“But I’m nothing.”
“You’re something to them.”
“But what?”
“You’ll find out in due time or on your own. Either way they can’t out run the truth forever,” He let me go and moved back, “We should be going to the bank and stopping by to get you lunch.”
“I don’t eat lunch”
“You need to.”