Hood Ornaments

Sticks sat for a long time on the edge of his desk staring at the wall unit containing several picture frames. He focused on one particular frame. It was an unusually large, silver frame containing a faded picture of him and Dre. They were both wearing furry Kangols and suede warm up suits accented by large gold rope chains. They held large goblets in their hands showing off to the camera.

Sticks chuckled, rubbed his chin, walked over to the wall unit and he pressed a button His office filled with classical music. He flailed his arms mocking a conductor before he sat down in his big chair. Then he bowed his head, closed his eyes and used his fingers to conduct his office orchestra.

He was trying to drown out the voices in his head.

He wished he could gag them.

He wished he didn't promise to keep secrets.

Secrets that shouldn't have had to be secrets.

Secrets that were now going to be impossible to keep.

The music continued to play as his head began to sway as if he was pushing demons from his thoughts.

He ought to pray.

If he believed in that kind of thing.

Sticks placed his palms on the desk pad. It was only then he noticed his vibrating phone. His eyes popped open and he glared at the lit display. Upon seeing the name on the phone he sighed heavily then picked up a remote to mute the music. Shaking his head, he answered.

"Good Afternoon beautiful, how are you?" Sticks asked in a jovial manner.

His face frowned.

His eyes closed and a serious tone developed.

"That was recently brought to my attention...yes...all parties involved have been notified and the situation has been contained...I am taking responsib...you're right but...I do understand how serious this...yes...yes..."

Sticks took a really deep breath and blew it out through his mouth as silently as he could.

"No I'm not rushing you, I...absolutely, I...I understand...yes Tru..." he closed his eyes again and nodded, "I apologize, Mrs...No, no, I..."

Stick's eyes popped open and he looked at his lit screen which went dark. He then tossed the phone into the wall unit causing the picture frames to come crashing down, some of them breaking in the process.

Like shattered dreams.

Like promises.

Like alibis.

Hearing the ruckus, Mann came storming in the office.

"Sticks you alright?"

Sticks held his hand in the air to control the situation, "I'm good. Get my to-go bag. I’m headed to the Windy City."

Mann's face had an expression of confusion. Sticks sucked his teeth and rolled his eyes.

"Chicago?" Sticks said with a hint of disgust.

"What chu goin there for?" Mann asked frowning.

Sticks stared at Mann without blinking.

"Chicago, got it, gone," he said as he left the office.

Sticks looked at the mess he made, shook his head and began searching for his hastily tossed phone.

Haste.

Haste and greed are what got him into this mess in the first place.

Even as a child, Samuel Sticks Martin always wanted more. He never had enough. From Halloween candy to hoes on the corner, if Sticks wanted it, Sticks got it. And ordinarily that was a good thing because it showed determination and follow through. However, both determination and follow through can be dangerous attributes when taken to the extreme.

And Sticks could be extreme.

Extremely loud, flamboyant, and when Sticks indulged in anything he indulged in everything and to excess.

Typically leading to poor decisions and altered plans.