Crack Head II. Lisa Lennox

      

      Triple Crown Publications

       presents

      Crack Head II

      Laci's Revenge

      by

      Lisa Lennox

      This is a work of fiction. The authors have invented the characters. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

      If you have purchased this book with a ‘dull’ or missing cover—You have possibly purchased an unauthorized or stolen book. Please immediately contact the publisher advising where, when and how you purchased this book.

      Compilation and Introduction copyright © 2008 by

       Triple Crown Publications

       PO Box 6888

       Columbus, Ohio 43205

       www.TripleCrownPublications.com

      Library of Congress Control Number: 2008935441

       ISBN 13: 978-0-9799517-9-4

       Author: Lisa Lennox

       Cover Design/Graphics: www.MarionDesigns.com Typesetting: Holscher Type and Design Editorial Assistant: Dany Ferneau Editor-in-Chief: Mia McPherson Consulting: Vickie M. Stringer

      Copyright © 2008 by Lisa Lennox. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except by reviewer who may quote brief passages to be printed in a newspaper or magazine.

      First Trade Paperback Edition Printing September 2008

      10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

      Printed in the United States of America

      Dedication

      This book is dedicated to all of the people who battled their cocaine addiction and won.

       You are not responsible for other people's actions. You can only change yourself but in order to do so, the change must start with you.

      Acknowledgements

      First and foremost to Vickie Stringer for believing in me. Without your help in bringing the reality of addiction to literature, the story would have never been told. It is because of you, people were able to identify with the harsh and nasty reality of addictions and sought help. Let's reach more with this one.

      Mia McPherson and the Triple Crown staff. Danielle Ferneau and Raegan Johnson for editorial guidance and support. Without your vision and ability to push me that extra mile, I don't know where I would be.

      My boys, Marlon McCaulsky, Quentin Carter and Leo Sullivan. You three truly inspire me.

      A special thank you goes out to Shirell Watson who read every draft, who never got tired of talking about Laci and gave me serious constructive criticism and support. You encouraged me when I wanted to give up and for that, I truly thank you.

      A special thank you goes out to my dear friend James Jones. Thank you for all of your support, input and enthusiasm to finally see this work come to fruition. You have no idea of how much it means to me.

      Last but not least…to all of my readers. Without you, I would be nothing.

      Prologue

      Boston University Fall, 1989

      “MARK MY WORDS, without knowledge you're all bound for the welfare line or the penitentiary,” said Mr. Giencanna, the instructor for the Introduction to Philosophy class.

      Nobody was trying to hear him and he proceeded with the daily roll call.

      “Mr. Jason Abbott?” Mr. Giencanna called out, fixing his glasses on his hawk-like nose.

      “Here,” a young man in the rear spoke up.

      “Casey Bernard?”

      “Right here,” said another male's voice.

      “Miss Natalie Farmer?”

      This time there was no reply.

      “Natalie Farmer?”

      A young man wearing a blue and gray varsity jacket nudged Natalie, who was sitting at her desk, dozing off.

      “What?” she said sleepily and with an attitude to her classmate in the varsity jacket.

      He nodded toward the instructor and replied, “That's what. Roll call.”

      “I'm here, Mr. Giencanna, sir,” Natalie said wiping around her mouth.

      “Stay with us, please, Miss Farmer,” Mr. Giencanna said. Professor Giencanna looked around the class, irritated. He cleared his throat and continued. “Miss Julacia Johnson?”

      Once again, there was no reply. The classroom was silent as everyone looked around to see if there was a student nodding off somewhere. Everyone appeared to be wide-awake.

      “Is there a Miss Julacia Johnson present?”

      Still there was no reply.

      The welfare line or the penitentiary, he thought. No sooner than his eye looked to call the next name, the lecture hall door came flying open.

      “Present,” Laci huffed, as she rushed into the lecture hall with books in hand. The class fell silent to the remarkable presence before them. There, Laci stood, just as beautiful as ever. Her shiny Shirley Temple curls, full of body, fell across the left side of her forehead, tickling her eyebrow. Her moody brown eyes sparked with a hunger for knowledge.

      “Sorry I'm late,” Laci said, out of breath as she looked down at her Movado watch, the same one her father had given her for her sixteenth birthday. “But I'm here. I made it!”

      “And who are you, sir?” Mr. Giencanna looked past her.

      “Ah…I'm Din—I mean, Darryl…Darryl Highsmith. I'm not on the list sir; I just got accepted last week.”

      “Highsmith,” Mr. Giencanna repeated, and wrote it down on his student roster.

      Laci and Dink sat next to each other and smiled, as the professor continued to check the class attendance.

      Over the next hour and fifty minutes, Laci wrote vigorously, making key notes of Professor Giencanna's lecture. Dink, on the other hand, sat back in his seat stoically, twirling his pencil in between his thumb and forefinger, which distracted Laci momentarily. She looked over at Dink and admired him in his faded denim jacket and jeans, white t-shirt and dope man Nikes. The faint smell of Obsession tickled her nostrils. Laci's lingering gaze caught Dink's attention and he met her stare. Dink winked, blew a quick kiss at her and turned his focus back on Professor Giencanna. Laci never thought she'd see this day and was amazed.

      “Let me ask all of you something,” Mr. Giencanna spoke seriously, interrupting Laci's thoughts. He leaned against the podium and adjusted his glasses before speaking again. The class became still; the only sound they heard was the second hand ticking on the clock that hung against the wall. “Everybody has heard the terms good and evil, right?”

      “Yes,” every student confirmed in unison.

      “So, what do you consider good? And better yet, what do you equate with the word, good?”

      “Angels,” a female student called out.

      “God,” another student chimed in, keeping with the same theological subject.

      “Okay, let's keep going.” The room became silent as everyone awaited his next question. “What is considered bad or what do you equate with the word, evil?”

      “Um…the devil?” someone blurted out.

      “Just plain evilness,” another person shouted, “or when someone does something