Lucifer Travels-Book #1 in the suspense, mystery thriller

by Malik Will

New Orleans was a vibrant place, completely different from that of Natchitoches. I remember the French Quarter was as live as it is now. There were people everywhere, from businessmen to panhandlers to hustlers.

  I remember the sound of melodies bouncing off my ears as musicians played songs on street corners, as loud car engines thumped back and forth around town, while steamboats danced across Lake Pontchartrain, creating mazes in the waves that chase them.

  Samantha and I spent many days there watching the sun rise and fall. It had been just six weeks since we left. We had this romantic view of freedom as if we would run away unto a world of bliss and joy. Someone should have told us how cold the world was.

  We had no money, no food, and no place to sleep. We were street kids and we hadn’t taken a single bath. We reeked horribly. Our teeth were bright yellow and covered in white plaque. Our clothes were covered in stains and riddled with holes. I felt so bad for Samantha. I had taken her away from that perfect little home with that perfect white picket fence, and led her to a place she was never meant for.

  This place wasn’t meant for a soul of her kind. This was where animals lived, where wise guys posted and where hustlers dealt. This wasn’t home. This is where the devil roamed. One day I pulled her close just as I’ve done many times before. But this specific time, instead of a kiss, I told her to return home. Though she refused.

  She chose to endure and stand alongside me. From that day on, we made a promise—that everything we did, we’d do it together. Funny enough, that’s one of my biggest regrets.

  “What is?” the priest asked.

  “That we made such a trivial promise,” responds Daniel.

  “You wish to repent for this?”

  “No. I just wished we promised to love forever.”

  “That’s profound,” the priest replies.

  “So, because we didn’t have the means to buy food or clothes, and given the fact that not many people were jumping to give a couple of homeless 15-year-olds a job, we had to be more creative while in the streets of New Orleans—”

  “So what did you do?”

  “What else could we do? We took it.”

  The first thing we needed was a mark. Now we limited our search to mom-and-pop shops. There’s two reasons why. First, they had fewer workers than those bigger chain stores, so there weren’t a lot of people to watch you. Second, they didn’t have any security guards.

  Out of the over 200 hundred stores in the French Quarter, there were only three that we wanted to hit: Brendon’s on Royal, Frank’s Food Mart on Madison, and Mrs. Henriette’s on Broadway.

  Now, we didn’t just choose these stores randomly. There was strategy involved. We chose them because of three distinct qualities that all of these stores had. That is, all of the owners weighed over 300 pounds. I know it sounds cruel, but we figured that if you couldn’t see your own goddamn feet, then there’s a good chance your fat ass wasn’t catching us when we ran.

  Anyways, our first job was at Frank’s Food Mart, owned by Frank Bailey. He was in his late 50s at the time. We heard that Mr. Bailey was a member of the hooded order, or what we call today, the Klan. So with that information, we found our key inside.

  We needed one more person to make the plan work, so we recruited a young Italian kid named Peter Giordano from the neighborhood. We just called him Donnie. He was homeless as well, and slept in this old abandoned warehouse across the street from where we slept.

  We had Samantha as bait, Donnie on the roof of a building across the street as a lookout, and me for the heavy lifting.

  Now, I wanted to hit him at night, but Donnie suggested we do it in the daytime because in New Orleans, there were more people out at night than during the day. And you know what? He was right. So about 9:00 a.m., an hour after the store opened, Samantha walked into the building panting.

  “Hey, you Frank...Frank Bailey?”

  “Yeah. Who’s askin’?” he responded.

  Samantha began to cry, screaming, “No! no! no!”

  Frank walked from behind the register. “Now, what’s got you all riled up, little lady?”

  Samantha ran toward the old man, latching onto his leg as she gushed out tears. “I just don’t want nobody to get hurt.”

  Frank knelt beside her. “Now, don’t think that. Ain’t nobody gonna get hurt up in here.”

  Samantha, bit by bit, wiped her tears.

  “Now, what is it, sweetie?”

  She looked him square in the face. “I saw some black boys down at the corner around near Bourbon and they was talking bad about you.”

  Frank’s eyes popped out of his head as if it had just seen a ghost. “I got niggers out there mentioning my name,” he shouts.

  “Yes sir. I’m afraid you do.”

  “Well, what did they say?”

  Samantha hesitated.

  “Come on girl. What exactly did you hear them boys say?”

  Samantha again wiped her face and she added some erratic shaking for dramatic effect. She had him following her every move. He was putty in her hands and she was pulling his strings with every word. “I overheard them saying that they was gonna go over to your house and kill you, your wife, and your kids, sir. They said they was gonna kill every single Klan member in town and they ain’t seem like they was playing.”

  Franks eyes popped even wider. “Wait here.” He went back behind the register and returned with a shotgun. “Now, show me where them boys is at.”

  “Okay, sir.” Samantha led Frank around the block, leaving the store with no one to guard it.

  Donnie, who waited across the street on a roof, whistled for me to go in. I hid around the block holding two large garbage bags.

  “You got about three minutes!” screamed Donnie.

  I ran into the store, dumping every food item I could find into the bags as he continued to warn me of the time. I made sure I got all the non-perishable foods. I skipped over things like milk and bread and focused more on things like potato chips, cookies, and candy.

  “You got two minutes,” Donnie shouted.

  The plan was for me to spend no more than three minutes in the store. We figured within that time, we could get enough food and get out before Mr. Bailey returned. But I filled both garbage bags in half the time. So I decided to go back around the corner to get another bag. It made sense to get all we could. I was so tired of being hungry. I darted out of the store, running as fast as I could, carrying the two bags with me.

  When I got around the corner, I placed the food behind the alleyway where we slept and returned toward the store with a third garbage bag. As I ran back into the store, I could hear Donnie shouting like a mad man. “What the hell are you doing? Why are you going back?”

  All I could think about was all those hungry nights we endured as we lay sleepless, dreaming of full stomachs or Samantha’s belly growling and her penchant for assuring me that everything was okay. I never understood why she did that. How could a person be so calm at a time like this? How could she be so perfect? And why didn’t she ever blame me for all her trials?

  Donnie, still looking out from across the street, saw Samantha running furiously back toward the store, waving her hands up and down, alerting us to get out.

  Donne shouted. “Danny! Danny! Get out!”

  Mr. Bailey was walking back toward the store, carrying that large shotgun. Samantha ran past the store, all the way toward the dumpster where we slept. “Hurry up, Danny! Hurry!”

  Mr. Bailey was just a block away. By then, the third bag was full.

  I was ready to leave the store. The only problem was, I couldn’t. Mr. Bailey had already begun walking back towards the store. If I was to walk out, I’d be directly in his line of sight.

  As Mr. Bailey gets got closer and closer, I stood in the window watching Donnie on the roof. He looked back at me and again at Mr. Bailey. I ran to the back of the store, attempting to exist the back door. I pulled the knob. It wouldn’t twist. As if the door was locked from the outside. I
ran back to the front of the store. I stared back at Donnie. He sees that I cannot leave without Mr. Bailey seeing me.

  I was beginning to panic. I looked around the store for anything that could help me. There was nothing. I turned back to look at Donnie. He was gone.

  He left the roof and ran into the street and stood directly across the street from me as I remained idle in the glass door.

  There was literally no way out. If I came out and managed to escape, Mr. Bailey would’ve likely seen my face and identified me to the police. And, if I stayed, he would have shot me dead, right where I stood. I gave Donnie a quick hand gesture, signaling that I would run out.

  I saw him mouth the word “no” as he shook his head back and forth.

  Mr. Bailey was only a few steps away. I was gonna get caught. Donnie looked back at me He knew the rumors about Mr. Bailey. We all did. In our little time there, we had heard he was responsible for hanging four black boys for mouthing off to him. Now, mind you, they were black. But if he killed them for talking back, what the heck would he do to me for stealing from him?

  As Mr. Bailey stepped closer and closer toward the store, I could see Donnie eyeing the ground, while walking back and forth. He picked up a rock, a big enough size to palm it, and hid it behind his back. He glanced at me one last time and then ran hysterically into the street.

  “Hey fat ass!” he said.

  Mr. Bailey stopped. He turned to Donnie as Donnie stared right back at him, without fear.

  This gave me enough time to get out of the store. I ran all the way to the end of the block and watched as Donnie stood face to face with him.

  Mr. Bailey walked into the street toward Donnie with his shotgun pointed to the ground. “What the hell you say to me?”

  Donnie looked him square in the eyes. “I ain’t said nothing.”

  Mr. Bailey placed his shotgun across his shoulders. “What’s yo name, boy?”

  Donnie responded, “Michael Giordano.”

  Mr. Bailey sneered at his Italian name. “I’ll be watching you, you fucking Guinea.”

  Donnie smiled and slowly walked off, while still holding on to that rock. Mr. Bailey watched him until he turned the corner and walked back toward his store.

  As I watched from the end of the corner, Mr. Bailey reached for the door handle of his store. He pulled the door open and took one step inside. And then he paused.

  He observed his store. He knew something wasn’t right. But for some reason, he didn’t go inside. He just stood there. As fate would have it, he turned in my direction and stared directly at me as I stared back at him from the end of the corner.

  Then my entire body froze for a few seconds. The sight of that psychopath wielding that goddamn shotgun was haunting. His eyes, gaped open, gawking at me in this ominous manner as if he was waiting for me to run. He was daring me to move. But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.

  A few seconds passed. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a person ran into the middle of the street. I couldn’t quite make out who it was, but he had something in his hands. I saw him winding up and aiming toward the direction of Mr. Bailey.

  It’s Donnie, still holding that huge stone. As he reached the middle of the street, he took one look at me and shouted, “Run Danny, run!”

  He pitched the stone at Mr. Bailey.

  Mr. Bailey somehow saw the stone coming and ducked. The stone missed him. It instead shattered the store window.

  Mr. Bailey, infuriated, sprinted in my direction as if I was the one who broke his window. My guess was that the old timer didn’t even know where the stone came from. All he saw was me. And thus, I ran.

  He chased after me for so long that I ended up running all the way to Claiborne Avenue, a colored neighborhood. At the time, I had never been around so many black folks in my life. They gawked at me as if I was some an alien invading some distant land. The look of contempt was expected. But it was mixed with a sense of fear created years before I was born. I was sickened by it. Come to think about it, maybe I was just an alien. Faces like mine were unfamiliar in those parts. The streetlights that I had mistakenly crossed was their borders and I had stepped across unbounded by the fear that they would have had, had it been them who came to my neighborhood. Had it been them instead of me, what would all the people have done?

  I remember running past this alley, attempting to find a place to hide. But there was nowhere to go. Store owners shut their doors in a fury as soon as they saw my face. I remember tiring of running for so long, I sat on the steps of this church and once again prayed as we usually do when there’s no else to run. With both hands folded together, I closed my eyes and when I opened them, I was still on the steps, unsaved until a colored man, whom I had not met ever in my life, took my hand and guided me into this store where even more colored folks sat. I was hesitant at first, but he had the most convincing eyes. All the people in the store eyes perked wide open. They knew I didn’t belong there. A white boy in a black neighborhood. But this man, for some reason, refused to falter.

  “Put this kid behind that counter,” he said to the man at the register.

  The clerk looked at him as if he was crazy. But the man insisted I be allowed to hide behind that counter. So the clerk relented. As he guided me around the counter, I would never forget the words he spoke. “Don’t fear nothing Danny, you’re safe here.”

  A few minutes later, Mr. Bailey ran into the store asking if a white kid had run in here.

  “We don’t get too many white folks around here,” said the clerk.

  Mr. Bailey cocked his shotgun, causing all the customers in the store to gasp.

  “You getting smart with me boy?” asked Mr. Bailey.

  “No sir. I’m just stating a fact.”

  “Well, when I asked you a question, you answer with a yes or a no, you understand me?”

  “Yes sir.” The clerk avoided eye contact with Mr. Bailey.

  Mr. Bailey took one last glance at rest of the customers in the store and walked out.

  The man told me to wait a few minutes until the coast was clear. But I asked the clerk could I wait a little longer.

  “You can wait for as long as you want,” said the clerk.

  I waited until sundown. I wanted to thank him for all he had done, but he was already gone. As I walked back to my old haunt, one question lingered in my mind. How did a man whom I never met in my life, know my name? He called me Danny and I never told him my name.

  That night, Donnie met up with us in the alleyway where me and Samantha slept. We gave him a third of the food. We ate like kings. I thanked Donnie for saving me. With that, as we sat behind that dumpster, feeling for just a moment like that world was somewhat ours, he sealed our friendship with an old Italian phrase, “Chi ama crede,” which means, “he who loves, trust.”

  After that day, we were high on our own professed power. We had tricked a man 40 years our senior. It meant so much more to us than just food. It was the principle of the matter. It was for the hundreds of street kids who, just like us, lived in and around the French Quarter. It was for the daily commuters who walked past us every day like we were invisible. It was for the people who couldn’t bring themselves to look us in the eyes as they dined right outside where our home lay.

  It was for all for them. After hitting Mr. Bailey’s store, our names resonated through the streets like Greek myths. We were the Persians of our time. All the street kids looked up to us. All the merchants loathed us. Mr. Bailey reported to the police that it was, in fact, masked bandits who robbed him, not kids. He said the robbers used pocket knives. I guess it was hard for a big honorable Klansman like himself to admit that he was robbed by a couple of 15-year-olds. Because of him, the police dubbed us, “the guinea gang,” and that was on the account of Donnie being Italian. I guess they figured we all were. But I was as Pollack as they come, and Samantha was Irish. But we really paid it no mind. We just went with it. From then on, we were the Guinea Gang. Every store we touched, we pillaged. Soon, there was no
one to touch in the French Quarter because we had gone through them all. The mom and pop stores had become small potatoes.

  So we moved past them and began hitting chain stores. Not just for food—we needed more than that. We needed clothes, and shoes, and other things that every human needed. So we took them.

  It came a time where we had taken so much food and clothing that we began giving it away. No street kid in the French Quarter went hungry or without blankets or shoes because of what we did. They worshipped us more than they did God, because we delivered and we didn’t require any praise in return. Nothing but the smiles on their faces.

  You see, the problem with God is that, I don’t think He gets it. How could He? How can someone so great, so powerful, and so loved, understand what it’s liked to be homeless in the streets of New Orleans? How could He know what it’s like to be human? How could He understand what it’s like to be powerless, and to not know, and to not be loved? How could He? How could He?

  “Well, some would argue,” the priest interjects, “how is it possible for us to truly understand Him? It is illogical for man to hope to understand something far greater than their mind can fathom.”

  Daniel hisses at the priest’s answer. “All I know is that we were calling for Him, every night! Every. Single. Night. I mean, there were kids as young as two years old out on those streets by themselves. Couldn’t we get a little assistance here? Couldn’t we get just a little help? Or maybe just a little love? We were out there for years, in the most trafficked neighborhood in in the city. And no one noticed.”

  “How did you eventually make it off the streets?” Asks the priest.

  “We made a change,” says Daniel.

  “What change?”

  “We stopped robbing stores for food and clothes and we started robbing them for money.”

  Two years had passed and we had everything. Samantha and I were seventeen years old. Donnie was about a year older. We were still living near the same alley, but we had all the food we could eat and all the clothes we could wear. We had everything but a place to lay our heads down to sleep. And that’s where the problem was.

  Samantha had become dispirited by the street life. I know she blamed me, but she wouldn’t admit it. I could tell. Her eyes told a story just like the first day I met her.

  Sometimes I asked how she truly felt, but she’d hit me with that old familiar phrase, “Everything’s fine.”

  It had gotten to the point where she didn’t tell me anything. I mean, we talked, but only about small things like rumors she heard from someone else that Mr. Brooks, who lived across the street, was cheating on his wife with another woman.

  We didn’t talk about anything real anymore like we used to. Instead, she talked to Donnie. She had taken to him a bit. Maybe it was his greasy hair or reckless attitude. Or maybe it was his affinity for telling stories about his family’s mob connections.

  I always wanted to ask him, “If you’re all connected with the mob, why don’t they use some of that mob money to get your ass off of the street?” But I never did. I just let him ramble on. But Samantha, she ate it all up. Everything that came out of his big mouth, she either blushed or giggled. I remember one time he told us this story about his uncle being Antonio Matranga, the biggest crime boss in New Orleans. He told us how his uncle could help us make real money. Right after I heard the name Matranga, I started ignoring him. So I didn’t catch the rest of it.

  I just couldn’t take it when he talked like he was some kind of Mafioso or something. And he just kept talking and talking and talking. I could leave, go around the block, eat a po-boy sandwich, play a few games of craps, take a nap, and come back, and the SONOFABITCH would still be telling the same damn story. Samantha loved it. She had changed so much. She wasn’t the same girl that I met on that grass field years before. She had become something else. She became more irritable, and angry at everyone around her. The way she dressed even changed. She even walked differently, always twisting her hips when she moved. She kept her lips devil-red, covered in lipstick, perking them at anyone who looked. All the neighborhood guys, both young and old, gawked and whistled at her when she passed.

  And she loved every moment of it. The way she was going, I knew she’d eventually trip. I just wanted to be there to catch her when she fell.

  So one day, Donnie comes into the alley, talking as usual about haphazard plans to make money. As usual, I ignored the guy. That is, until I overheard him say the name, Whitney National, which was the largest bank in New Orleans at the time.

  “Did you say Whitney National?”

  Donnie rolls his eyes. “Yeah man, Whitney National.”

  I scratched my head for moment. I knew he couldn’t have been talking about what I thought he was talking about. So I asked again. “You talking about Whitney National, the bank?”

  Donnie rolled his eyes once again. “No, Whitney the hooker. Of course, the bank!”

  I scoffed at him and laughed. “What the fuck? Who are you, John Dillinger?”

  Donnie seemingly annoyed, walked toward me with an irate grin. “What’s your fucking beef?”

  “You wanna know what my beef is?”

  “Yes,” replied Donnie. “I really would like to know.”

  “Since when do you fucking make the rules? Since when do you find jobs for us? I am the one who decides who we’re gonna hit. Now you’re talking about robbing a fucking bank. A bank! Who the fuck do you think you are?!”

  Donnie laughed. “Boohoo! I know what it is. You’re scared, right?” he mocked. “What are you, a fucking queer?”

  “Watch your fucking mouth!”

  Donnie stepped closer to me and I stepped closer to him. Samantha moved in between us. She placed her hand on my face and looked into my eyes. “Can you just please listen to the plan, Danny?”

  “What? You going along with this crap?”

  “Just listen. What would it hurt to just listen?”

  “You know, this ain’t Bailey’s Food Mart or a corner store on Broadway,” I shouted. “This is a bank. There’s vaults, and security, and cops, and you wanna walk right in there and take their money?”

  “Yep,” replied Donnie.

  “How you expect to do that?”

  “I got a key.” He opened a black duffle bag and pulled out three handguns that were wrapped in brightly colored handkerchiefs.

  “Are you serious right now?”

  “Look, we won’t need them,” Donnie assured Samantha.

  “Then why the fuck do you have them?”

  “What you don’t expect people to just give us the money because they like our smiles?” says Donnie. “We gotta put a little fear in their hearts.”

  “So you wanna rob the biggest bank in the city, and not shoot nobody?”

  “That’s correct.”

  I couldn’t help but smile at the absurdity of what he was saying. No way I was gonna follow him into that goddamn bank.

  “Well, I’m sorry Donnie. I’m ou—”

  “I’m in,” Samantha shouted.

  She knew what I was about to say. So she jumped ahead, knowing I would follow her like I always did. She didn’t even talk to me first. I remember staring directly at her and she couldn’t even look back at me.

  But Donnie could. “Are you in, Danny?”

  “When have I ever been out?” I replied.

  “Alright then. I’ll be back tomorrow with everything.”

  Donnie left. And it was just me and her. I stood next to her as she stood against that alley building. I remember repeating the old familiar pact we made years ago, “Everything we do, we do it together. You remember that?” I asked.

  She steps from the wall and sneered, “We are doing this together, remember?” And walked away.

  “Where you going?”

  “I’ll be back later.”

  However that night, our alley was a lonesome one. For the first time, it was just me sleeping there, and no one else. I remember specifically saying this one
prayer, hoping to God that she had just gotten lost or something. The funny thing is, she did exactly that. There was nothing I could do to find her. She was gone.

  The next day, she returned with Donnie and he jumped right into the business of yesterday. There was no acknowledgment of why she left or where they were for the entire night. I didn’t ask either.

  It was better that way because sad stories don’t belong in Neverland, only happy thoughts, pretty horses, and free moonshine, with not a cop to arrest us, and girls in pretty dresses who all gawk at love when they see it, and everyone give hugs that last for a century so then we can all truly live in the moment. In that moment, I chose not to cry. Rather, I chose to listen as Donnie laid out his plan.

  He pulled out three sheets of paper that he called schematics. They looked good from a distance, but a closer examination showed a bunch of erratic drawings that seemed more fitting for a third grader with epilepsy.

  Anyways, there were three sheets. One of the bank’s interior and two were of the exterior—on the north and south side of the building. The schematics contained the position of each security guard in and outside the bank, their routes, and how long it took them to move from one point to another.

  “There are four guards who rotate outside and two who stand stationary on the inside”, Donnie explained. “The guards on the outside rotate clockwise around the building in ten-minute intervals. The guards on the outside are labeled A, B, C and D. Every time guard A moves, guard B takes his place and guard C and D follows this same order. This happens from 8:00 a.m. to 12:00 p.m. After 12, the rotation switches to counterclockwise. As a result, guard D leads and guard C follows. Those guards stay posted from the time the bank opens, until the time it closes. The only time there aren’t at least four guards on the outside is during the time of 12:00 p.m. to 1:00 p.m. During that time, two guards take a 30-minute break from 12:00 p.m. to 12:30 p.m. After their break, those two guards relieve the other guards until 12:30 p.m. to 1:00 p.m. Now, they usually switch up who goes on break first, but what stays the same is that from 12:00 p.m. to 1:00 p.m., the two guards posted rotate on three minute intervals. That is, counterclockwise around the building from points A, B, C, and D. Once the lead guard reaches point D or A, the guard who follows takes the lead and the route changes to clockwise. This happens for one hour each day. Which means, at exactly 12:09 p.m., both guards will be on the south side of the building, leaving the entrance on the north side unguarded for exactly three minutes.

  “What about the two guards on the inside?”

  Donnie pointed at the interior schematic. “There’s only one guard on the inside during lunch. So that won’t be a problem.”

  “What do you mean, it won’t be a problem?”

  “Well, you put a fucking gun to his head and he’ll become real compliant.”

  “Okay then,” I replied. “So, let’s say we get past the guards. What about getting the money out of the bank? They’ll sound the alarm as soon as we run in.”

  Donnie laughed. “Who said anything about running in?”

  “So, how are we gonna get the money?”

  “Simple. They’ll hand it right to us.”

  “Why would they do that?”

  “Teresa O’Connor.”

  A few seconds passed and Donnie remained silent. It was like he was waiting for me to ask before he actually told me.

  “Okay, who is Teresa O’Connor?”

  “Well, unlike you Danny, I pay attention to the small things. Now, our friend Teresa, here, happens to work at the bank as a manager. Did you know she takes the Claiborne Avenue bus to work every day and that she lives not too far away in the 9th Ward?”

  “How do you know all this?”

  Donnie shrugged. “Like I said, I’m observant. You let me handle her. You just need to be ready.”

  “For what day?” I asked.

  Donnie looked at Samantha. “Is Friday good?”

  “Yes, Friday’s good,” Samantha affirmed.

  Then they both looked at me. “Yeah, Friday is good,” I said.

  Donnie handed me a gun and placed the schematics back into his duffle bag. “I’ll see you guys tonight. I got something to handle.”

  Samantha stood up. “I’ll go with you.”

  But Donnie shook his head. “This I need to handle myself.”

  “Oh, okay.” Samantha sat back down.

  And as Donnie left, I moved closer to where she sat and leaned against the alley building. “You know, after Friday, we ain’t gonna be street kids no more.”

  “Yeah, and this alley has a lot of memories to it.”

  “Yes, it does. You remember that one time when I spent all night trying to catch that big ol’ rat ’cause you was too scared to sleep?”

  Samantha smiled and laughed. “Yes, I remember.”

  Her eyes became watery as I continued to talk. “You know, I was searching all over for it. I even set a trap for the damn thing.”

  “I remember, but you never caught it, did you?”

  “No, I didn’t, but I tried.”

  “I know you did. I know you did. I guess it just wasn’t meant, you know? In life, sometimes, we can spend an eternity looking for something that was never really there to begin with.”

  “Just like a shark in water,” I replied as tears fell from my eyes.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” I replied. “Just old memories.”

  And as we sat, reminiscing on life’s past glories, pretending yesterday’s kisses had taken place centuries ago, I understood that this entire time, it wasn’t that she changed so differently. It was that I hadn’t changed at all.

  A few days passed. Before I knew it, it was Friday and we were preparing to go into the bank. We parked at the end of the block, across the street. The car we sat in was boosted all the way from Jefferson Parish. Donnie was at the front in the driver’s seat; Samantha was in the passenger’s seat, and I was in the back.

  Donnie checked his watch at exactly 12:08 p.m. “Get ready guys.” He wrapped a handkerchief around the bottom half of his face. Samantha and I followed suit. The guard moved from the front to the south side of the building. Donnie pulled out his gun. Samantha and I follow.

  “Let’s go,” he ordered.

  We got out of the car as the guard was still walking. He hadn’t turned the corner yet, his back was facing us. We were literally right behind him. Then he stopped all of a sudden.

  “What’s he doing?” I said.

  “He’s tying his fucking shoe,” said Donnie.

  I began to panic. Sweat dripped from my face and all I could think about was being a cellmate to three-hundred pound guy named Big Earl who happened to have an affinity for young boys. “Oh my God! We’re going to jail.”

  “Shut up, Danny.”

  “Someone’s gonna see us!”

  “No, he’s getting up. Just wait!”

  The guard stood up and walked around the building as Donnie predicted. As soon as he turned the corner, we ran into the bank. There was one security guard on the right and Donnie immediately put a gun to his head. “Put your hands up, old man, and don’t fucking move.”

  The guard raised his hand and all the people in the bank began to scream. Donnie took the guard’s gun. The guard derided Donnie. “You’re just some young punk.”

  Donnie smiled, but it was a menacing one. “Get your ass on the floor, now!”

  The guard obliged. But he continued to taunt Donnie. “You know what they’re gonna do to you in jail before? Oh yeah, they gonna like your ass.”

  The look on Donnie’s face grew increasingly unnerved.

  I yelled to him. “Times running out, we got two minutes left!”

  But Donnie continued to glare at the guard.

  “Come on, man. What the fuck are you doing?”

  Donnie turned to Samantha. “If he moves an inch, shoot him!”

  Samantha aimed her gun square at the guard’s head.

  Donnie hurried to the
bank counter. Teresa O’Connor, eyes wide and shaking, stands behind the teller’s counter. Donnie ordered her to stand up. But she was understandably hesitant.

  “Don’t make me ask twice,” Donnie said calmly.

  Teresa came to the counter trembling and in tears. “What do you want from me?”

  Donnie smiled. “I want you to look at something I found.” He stuck a hand into his pocket and pulled out a picture frame with a picture of her, a man, and four small children. Teresa gazed at the picture and immediately became hysterical.

  Donnie ordered her to keep looking at the picture. “Look at it bitch! Look at it!”

  But Teresa was unable to compose herself. Donnie took the picture and pressed it against her face. She squealed. “Now where did I get this from?” he shouted. “Where did I get this from?!”

  She spoke but her words were all muddled by her cries. “It...It was...on...my man...tle.”

  Donnie placed his gun against her jaw. “I can’t fucking hear you! Where did I get this from?!”

  “It was on my mantle. It’s always there!”

  “You would be correct.” He smiled again. “Now, I know you’re the manager and you’re the only one with the key to that there room.”

  Teresa reached in her pocket for the key and tried to give it to him. But Donnie declined. “No no no!” he said calmly. He pushed her hand away and placed his hand around her jaw, squeezing it, imprinting his fingers into her face. “I really need you to pay attention, Teresa, this is very important. This is extremely important! Now, a friend of mine is hanging... Well, not really a friend, he’s more like an associate. By the way, you ever notice how people misuse the word friend these days? It’s quite depressing...”

  Donnie abruptly paused for a moment as if it was deep thought about something more important.

  A few seconds passed. The entire bank was noiseless. Nobody moved. Everyone’s eyes were focused him. I don’t think he even noticed. “Anyways,” he says. “An associate of mine is hanging outside of your residence as we speak.”

  Teresa fell to her knees as Donnie still held her face up, palmed in his hand. “Please, don’t hurt them.” she begged.

  “No no. Stand up now.”

  Teresa gradually rose to her feet.

  Donnie grinned at her as she was vividly frightened. “I need you to listen now. If I don’t give him a call in about—” Donnie checked his wristwatch. “In about five minutes... Well, let’s just say you won’t need to hire that little cute babysitter of yours anymore.”

  The look on his face was ever more menacing. I had never seen him like this before. He had spent so much of the little time that we had, intimidating the bank workers that our three minutes were almost up.

  I warned him again to hurry. “Come man, we got less than a minute.”

  Donnie gave the woman two duffle bags. “Go into the back, fill both of these bags, and we’re gone.”

  He looked at his wristwatch once again. “You got 45 seconds.”

  The woman snatched both duffle bags and raced to unlock the door to the room where all the bank’s money was stashed. She threw money into both bags as he ordered.

  Donnie checked his wristwatch once again as he waited for her to finish. He looked around at the bank customers and employees lying on the floor. They were all nervous and afraid. He recognized one of the bank customers on the floor. “Hey look, it’s James Braddock.”

  The man was hesitant to respond, but said, “Yep, that’s me.”

  Donnie smiled. “Well, I have to tell ya, sir, I’m your biggest fan.”

  “Thanks.”

  Donnie turned back around and shouted to Teresa. “You got thirty seconds, lady.”

  She continued to stack money into the bags.

  Donnie turned back toward the man. “Hey, didn’t you just lose to Al Stillman?”

  “You’d be correct.”

  Donnie laughed and continued to make small talk. “Tough week, man! What are you doing in New Orleans?”

  “I supposed to be on vacation.”

  Donnie snickered. “Well, you’re gonna love it here! It’s really the people that makes New Orleans great!”

  “Is it really now?”

  “Oh yeah,” Donnie replied.

  Teresa returned to the front with both bags filled. “I packed as much as much as I could.”

  Donnie called for me to grab one of the bags. “Alright, we’re out, guys.”

  We hurried toward the front door of bank. We were out clean. There was no reason to stop. There was no reason to turn around. But as sure as my name ain’t Sally, he did. He could’ve walked past the security guard, out the door. But instead, he placed his gun directly on the guard’s kneecaps.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I shouted.

  But Donnie ignored me. He antagonized the guard. “Who’s the little punk now?”

  The guard looked Donnie right in the eyes. “You are.”

  He stared at the guard for a short-lived moment. The room, still and tense as no one knew that would happen next. And then, he abruptly removes the gun and said, “Let’s go.”

  As we made our way outside, the alarm to the bank sounded. We hurried to our getaway car parked down the block. By the time anyone noticed, we were pulling off.

  The ride was filled with sharp turns and hard stops as Donnie drove rapidly through the streets of New Orleans, running every stop sign and red light in sight.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “St. Charles Parish,” replied Donnie. “I’m done living on the streets like an animal. We getting a house.”

  “Oh, okay,” I said. “But you know there’s no one behind us, right?”

  “What?”

  “There isn’t anyone behind us! So you can stop driving so fast!”

  Donnie peered in the car’s rearview mirror and saw no car in sight. He slowly took his foot off the gas pedal and allowed the car to drop to a normal speed. As the car slowed, he laughed, and so does Samantha.

  “We did it!” she screamed.

  “Yes we did,” I affirmed. “How much you think is in the bag?”

  “Hell if I know,” said Donnie. “But it’s a lot more than we had yesterday.”

  He was right. It was more, much more. After counting it all, we ended up with about $90,000 in cold hard cash, which in the 50s was a fortune. All at 17 years old, we had the world at our fingertips, watching it spin just as gods did. No one could stop us. We were the kings of our court from that day on. After splitting the money evenly, we managed to get a place for the three of us. The owner of the house charged us double on the account of use being underage. But we didn’t care. What’s $60 a month when you sitting on 90 grand? Plus, we split it three ways, so it was really only $20 a month per person and we each had our own rooms. But after a while that all changed as Samantha’s room became Donnie’s and Donnie’s room became Samantha’s. At night, I listened as they consummated love in ways I never dreamed of. Eventually we became was and I became lost, looking for me inside a pile of memories of her. And just like that, it was over and there wasn’t a damn thing I could’ve done to get her back. She was gone; in many ways, so was I.

  Six months had passed since the bank heist and all our material dreams came to fruition. We littered our home, inside and out, with the newest furniture and gadgets. Our wardrobes consisted of the finest brands. Samantha’s closet consisted of shiny dresses, fur coats, and cloche hats that were all designed by the likes of Coco Chanel and Cristóbal Balenciaga.

  Donnie’s style changed completely too. He decided that it would be a good idea to only wear suits, no matter what the occasion was. If he went to the grocery store, he wore a suit. What about a ball game, you ask? Yep, you guessed it! He wore a suit. I think he even wore one to bed.

  But I wasn’t a suit-wearing type of guy. I felt more at ease in short sleeve cardigans, a shirt, and some slacks. I’ll be the first to admit, I splurged a bit when it came to clothes. Maybe, it was beca
use until then, I never had anything.

  But Donnie took splurging to another level. I mean, the guy’s suits all cost close to $60 and he had at least 50 of them. He had a matching hat and socks. And sometimes he even had a fur coat to match. He was really walking around like he was the Al Capone of New Orleans. What he didn’t spend on clothes, he spent on cars.

  I remember he had black 60 series Buick coupe, the 125 H.P. Chrysler 85 passenger coupe, a 1954 Chrysler Imperial custom roadster, a 1953 Auburn 851 Boattail 1 speedster, a 1950 Lincoln Le Baron Convertible roadster.

  All these cars were lined up and down the block, some in front of other people’s homes and some were even parked in some of our neighbor’s driveways. They didn’t mind it at all and even when someone complained, Donnie silenced them by throwing a few dollars their way. He had it all worked out along with all the little things money could buy and even the things it couldn’t.

  “You mean Samantha?” the priest interjects.

  “I mean, he bought everyone, except the police. They took notice after luxury cars started to flood our middle class neighborhood. They were on to us. They even put had a surveillance van right outside of our house. They watched our every move, waiting for us to slip up.”

  “And Samantha?”

  Daniel pauses a moment. “You know. The money didn’t matter one bit to me. She was a part of me. When she left, she took a piece of my soul along with her and I been trying to find it ever since.”

  “Did you ever look to the Lord?” asks the priest.

  But Daniel doesn’t answer, causing the confessional to be overrun with silence once again.

  “Did you ever think of returning home?”

  “I did,” responds Daniel.

  “You did? You thought about it?”

  “No. I did return home. But not before our last heist.”

  “You robbed another bank?”

  “No,” replies Daniel. “We robbed the most feared man in New Orleans, Anthony Matranga.”

  It was eight months after she left me. Ever since, my mind had been traveling to places that no man would ever go willingly because it hurt. But before then, I couldn’t feel. Then one day the deadness that was once there was all replaced with stinging words of awful men who reviled me for no particular reason. So I had their faces to be all molded in resemblance of God’s son because there was where the world made sense.

  Regrettably, it only lasted for a moment. Soon that feeling of nothingness returned and the beautiful mind that once loved like a child became again so lost in itself that it awaited for its soul to be saved by its sole captor. That was the world I was in. Sleeping in that house just made all my wounds sting a little bit more. So one day I came home ready to pack my bags and leave that hell they called a city behind me, along with all of its memories. I remember packing fiercely, throwing everything I saw into one little bag in no particular order. But every bit of clothing I tucked away, dug up a memory that I had been trying to suppress. And so I wept. While I sat, crying my eyes out to an audience of one, Donnie walked into my room and stood in the doorway.

  “You going somewhere?”

  “Yeah, man. I’m going home.”

  “What! And you ain’t gonna say goodbye?”

  “Goodbye, Donnie.”

  He laughed. “You are something else, you know that?”

  “Is that right?”

  “You goddamn right. I set this shit up, put money in your pocket, and this is the treatment I deserve?”

  “Oh, you set this up?”

  “Yeah! I did!”

  His assertion that he had brought us together caused me to laugh for a brief moment. I was surprised that he even had the audacity to make such a crass statement.

  “You have lost your fucking marbles. I am the one who brought you in when you were on Canal Street, begging with your fucking hands out like a fucking queer.”

  Donnie stepped past the doorframe. “You better watch who the fuck you bad mouthing sport.” He hovered over me in such a threating manner.

  I stood up as well. There we were, face to face, and all the things I wanted to say in the past were all on the tip of my tongue. Then Samantha moved in between us. “Stop it. Now!”

  As I continued to stare into Donnie’s eyes, he simply began to smile. He didn’t have a need to stare me down. He didn’t have to prove anything. The truth is, he had already won. And he knew it. With that, he stepped out of my door and slowly walked into the living room.

  Samantha noticed that my clothes were inside of a luggage bag. “What, are you moving out?”

  I didn’t respond. I looked at her with the same disdain I looked at Donnie with, maybe even more. In turn, she looked down, keeping her eyes away from mine, the same way she did years ago.

  “We need to talk,” she said while looking at the floor.

  “What could we possible have to talk about?”

  “About a five million dollar fortune. Our last job!”

  Donnie and Samantha had nearly spent all of their money from the bank heist. To be honest, I had too. No matter how much I wanted to say no; no matter how much I hated her, I couldn’t just say no. I mean, five million dollars is nothing to sneeze at.

  “Who we hitting?” I asked.

  “Mantranga!” Donnie screamed all the way from the living room.

  I hurried out of my bedroom, into the living room. “You can’t be serious?”

  “We are,” Samantha said.

  “But... How?”

  “Mantranga has his hands in just about every neighborhood in New Orleans,” said Donnie. “Every place that has some sort of dirt, prostitution, drugs, gambling, or what-have-you, he’s involved. There isn’t a single person in New Orleans who doesn’t answer to him. So let’s say you gotta guy who’s bootlegging moonshine and selling it for under the going rate. And this guy is making a few bucks here and there. I mean, it’s not much to attract too much attention, but it isn’t too small to sneeze at either. Now if this guy is smart, what’s the first thing does?”

  “Well, if he’s smart, he pays Mantranga,” I replied.

  “Exactly,” said Donnie. “Even if he isn’t involved in the operation, you still gotta give him a slice because the keeps the lights off.”

  “What lights?”

  “The police lights. How do you think he manages to do all of these things and has never once seen the interior of a jail cell? He has the police all paid.”

  “No, I’ve seen the papers. The police are investigating him. They arrest his people every week.”

  “Jesus! Do you think they’re really trying the catch Mantranga?” asked Donnie. “This guy is possibly the biggest serial murderer since Earle Nelson and you’re telling me the police can’t find anything on him! Not one thing? And don’t tell me that he gets others to do his dirty work because he don’t need to send nobody to do it for him. I hear he even does some of the hits himself. And they know that. There’s no way they don’t know that. How could they not know that?”

  “So why are they arresting his people if he has so much control?” I asked.

  “Who ever said anything about him not controlling that?”

  “I’m not getting this. So you saying Mantranga gives up his own people, and everyone knows this, and those same people—his people—still protect him.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying. That’s why he’s untouchable.”

  “There’s no way!”

  “There’s no way? What do you mean?” said Donnie.

  “I mean, the people who work for him and who are bribed by him, all know who he is and what he does.”

  “So what?”

  “I’m saying, why even work for the guy when you can be sacrificed at any given moment just to keep his tail out of the fire?”

  “Well, that’s the puzzle of the American dream, ain’t it?”

  “Yeah, I guess it is,” I said as I contemplated how unfair life really is.

  “Look, he has the world by the ba
lls,” said Donnie. “Ain’t no point in getting yourself all work up over it. That’s just the way things are and that’s the way it’s always been.”

  “Don’t you worry no never mind. I don’t give a damn about him. I just want his fucking money.”

  Donnie smiled. “That’s what I wanna hear. Now, rumor has it that he has drug houses in seven different wards. That’s the 4th, 5th, 6th, 7th, 9th, 12th, and 17th ward.”

  “Wait just a minute! You talking about robbing a drug house?”

  “No, if you’d listen first, you’ll hear the plan,” Donnie chided. “The drug houses aren’t the mark. They merely tell a story.”

  “How so?”

  “Because it doesn’t add up. Mantranga’s got seven different houses in seven different neighborhoods, right?”

  “Right. That’s what you said.”

  “And in every one of these neighborhoods, they have these kids, and I mean kids everywhere, who watch every single person who passes near the streets where those house are.”

  “Why are they watching?”

  “That’s what I wanted to know,” said Donnie. “Come to find out, Mantranga has all the kids in the neighborhood moonlighting as lookouts. And those kids…they know those streets. They’ve lived there their entire life. They know who’s supposed to be there and who’s not.”

  “How the hell do we get past an entire neighborhood?”

  “We don’t,” interjected Samantha. “But that’s not the hard part.”

  “Yeah, she’s right,” said Donnie. “After we get past the lookouts, there are at least three guards outside of each of those houses, armed with sub-machineguns. And inside the house, there is I don’t know how many people. But there’s something strange going on with one of those houses.”

  “How strange?”

  “Real strange. So we got all these houses and all these drugs being processed in and out of there. I get that. And we see naked women come in and out of these houses all day.”

  “Naked?”

  “Yes,” said Donnie. “They use naked women to make sure they don’t pocket nothing.”

  “I see.”

  “Yeah, so I see all the naked girls coming in and out of all of these houses every day.”

  “How is that strange? You said it yourself, that’s something they do for security reasons.”

  “True,” said Donnie. “But shouldn’t naked women be coming out in and out of all the houses?”

  “Which house they are not coming out of?”

  “The one in the 17th.”

  “So are you saying—”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” said Donnie. “If all those other houses are where they cut and process the drugs, the other house is what?”

  “It’s where they stash the money.”

  “You would be correct. You’d be correct.”

  “So, how do we get into the house without being seen by all the lookouts?”

  “We need a distraction. And I know just the thing.”

  “Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

  “You,” said Donnie.

  “Okay, I’m in”, I replied.

  “You don’t want to hear it first?”

  “Nope. But how we gonna get past the police? They follow us everywhere.”

  “Don’t worry about that. I’ll handle it.”

  “Okay, just tell me when we’re going.”

  “Well, alright then.” Donnie patted me on the shoulder and walked from the living room, into his bedroom.

  Samantha looked at me, seemingly surprised. “I thought you’d say no.”

  I smiled. Her innocent girl act had grown tiresome a long time ago. “No you didn’t. You knew exactly what I would say. That’s why he told you to come in here after him. It was all a plan. I was always a part of your plan.”

  Samantha folded her arms and rolled her eyes in annoyance. “What’s your problem? Every damn thing is not about you, Danny. What? I don’t owe you shit.”

  “You don’t owe me shit? You owe me everything!”

  “No, I don’t.” She started to walk away.

  “How could you let it all waste away?” I said somberly. “How could you just destroy everything we had?” She paused as her back is turned toward me. I continued. “How could you leave and not say nothing, like I was trash, like I never meant nothing? You was all I had.”

  She didn’t say a word.

  “How could you?” I shouted.

  Still no word.

  “Babe, say something. Just say something.”

  She slowly turned around and looked into my eyes, while hers became increasingly teary. “Something”, she said and walked into her bedroom.

  As I stood there, I couldn’t help but remember the first moment I saw her face in that field years ago. She’s grown so much since. And as the door to her bedroom closed and the house became once again silent, I stood there by myself, walking back into those memories, hoping to see her hold me once again as she did every time I got homesick. But even in my mind, she could never be as noble as she once was, because the girl I knew had grown into something much more. When the wood of that door finally touched the seal and as the sound of it all ricocheted through my ears, I understood it wasn’t just our last fight. It was also my final goodbye to the girl I once knew.

  “Was this the last time you saw Samantha?” the priest asks.

  “No, It wasn’t. It would be two weeks later. The day we robbed the most dangerous man in New Orleans.”

  The date was June 15, 1957. All three of us waited in a stolen pickup truck that was, of course, boosted from across town. Donnie loaded bullets into his revolver as I sat nervously, feeling sweat drip down my face. Mantranga had made the money drop two hours before, bringing in six large duffle bags. We were running 30 minutes behind schedule. We had to drive to Metairie and leave our car at the house of one of Donnie’s connects. The police, of course, followed as we expected. There at the house, we went out the back, and drove off in another car, which Donnie stole and stashed there the day before.

  “Hand me the towel,” I said, wanting to wipe the sweat from my face.

  “Remember, do it just like we talked about. Drive all the way to the right side of the block,” said Donnie.

  “I got it man,” I replied. That was the sixth time he had reminded me.

  He handed me a bag of money, consisting of two thousand one dollar bills and once again chided me about the plan. “Remember. Don’t throw it out until you hit the car.”

  “I heard you the first time.”

  “Alright then.” Donnie looked at Samantha. “You ready?”

  Samantha took a deep breath and nervously replied, “Yeah.”

  “Well, let’s go then,” said Donnie.

  They exited the truck wearing these bright yellow raincoats that covered their entire body and masks to cover their face. With one last look into each other’s eyes, they began walking toward the end of the block to get into position as I started the truck’s engine.

  Once they reached the end of the block, I pulled out of the parking spot, driving toward their position. When I reached the end of the block, I slowed and took one last look at Donnie. He, in turn, nodded in affirmation. So I went left as planned.

  The stash house was on the right. I remember noticing the two guards on the ground looking as if they were possessed with a menacing stare. I drove by while all the lookouts gawked as well. That’s exactly what we wanted. All eyes were on me and as I made my way toward the end of that block, I veered left and purposely crashed into a parked car, immediately tossing out the bag of one-dollar bills.

  In the rearview mirror, I saw the guards pointing in my direction as the gusty wind blew all of those bills around the street. Within minutes, the lookout kids rushed toward the car, grabbing every dollar in sight as I sat in the car pretending to be injured. They pushed and grabbed like some freaking hyenas. It was a spectacle.

  Just think of all those kids who’ve suffered across New
Orleans, without a bed to lie their heads or food to fill their bellies while people like Matranga got richer and richer. I remember this one kid who, in an attempt to pick up some of the money, dived onto the road like it was a pool of water. He in turn, was toppled by the rest of the kids. And as they stepped all over this poor kid’s body, no one bothered to even help him up. He just laid there, bloody from his head being smashed against the concrete. It was if every citizen in New Orleans was outside picking up that money. Everyone, except the guards. They did not move one inch. They just stood there, watching everyone else take part in all the hysteria.

  I didn’t see much at all and the hoard of kids that blanketed the streets blocked my view for most of what happened next. All I know is here is when things went bad.

  Donnie and Samantha waited around the corner.

  “Shit, they ain’t moving,” he said.

  Samantha took one look at the guards and removed her raincoat, along with her shirt and bra, leaving her breasts exposed.

  “What the fucking are you doing?” yells Donnie.

  Samantha smiled. “Plan B.” She strode toward the stash house.

  The eyes of two guards were focused on the commotion down the block, where I was. But the guard on the balcony spotted Samantha coming. He stared at her as she approached the house. He swallowed his spit and shouted, “Um Wallace, you seeing this?”

  Both guards spun toward Samantha. She kept walking toward them with her breasts moving freely up and down. The guards didn’t say a word nor did they lift their guns. They just stared. She attempts to walk up the porch steps.

  All three immediately raise their weapons. “Don’t fucking move,” one shouted

  She raised her hands.

  “Who are the fuck are you?”

  “I ain’t nobody. Just a passerby,” said Samantha.

  “Well, you know whose steps you by?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Well, you best get the fuck outta here. You don’t walk up no steps of somebody’s house you don’t even know.”

  “I need some blow,” she said.

  “What?” The guard is confused, but still on high alert.

  “Some blow. You know what I mean. I know this is Mantranga’s place.”

  The guards become increasingly suspicious, placing their fingers closer to the triggers.

  “Who the fuck told you that?” one says.

  “Who else is this neighborhood need a home with men holding machineguns?”

  “You don’t worry about this place. Get the fuck outta here, now!”

  But Samantha doesn’t flinch. “I like the way you talk to me,” she says.

  “Wha…What?”

  “You heard me… I like aggressive men.”

  Both guards look at each other.

  Samantha takes a step closer, slowly.

  “Hold it now,” one says nervously.

  But she continues to move closer and closer. She walks up the porch steps.

  The guard on the balcony shouted to the two guards on the porch. “Everything all right down there, Wallace?”

  Because he was on the balcony, he couldn’t see directly below where the porch was located.

  The two guards looked at each other with deadpan, confused looks on their faces. “Yeah, everything is okay,” one of them shouted.

  Samantha bit her lips and dropped to her knees and crawled toward to the two guards. They looked at each other, unsure how to react.

  She paused. To the guard on the left and whispered, “Come here, sugar.”

  The guard swallowed hard and stepped toward Samantha until his crotch was directly in her face. Samantha smiled and unzipped the man’s pants. The guard’s eyes blinked faster and faster as he exhaled loudly. She unbuckled his belt. His pants fell to his ankles. His penis vividly erects through his underwear.

  She eased his underwear to his ankles and placed her lips on the tip of the guard’s penis. His eyes rolled to the back of his head. He lowered his gun to the porch as Samantha continued to caress the tip of his penis with her tongue.

  The guard placed his hand on the back of her head. His hands were abnormally huge and her head quite small. She was a petite girl and, after all, she was barely eighteen at the time, so he was able to palm her head similar to the way a basketball player does a ball.

  He pushed his penis deeper and deeper in her mouth, continuously. Back and forth, back a forth, her head went.

  Donnie watched from one end of the block in shock, and I from the other. Samantha paused and told the second guard to come closer as she cupped the first guard’s penis with her hands. The second guard unzipped his pants then placed his gun on the porch as well. He used Samantha’s head just as the first guard, slamming his penis down her lungs.

  She gagged hard; saliva leaked rapidly from her mouth. Samantha paused again, momentarily stopping the guard from pushing her head. She realized the money on the ground was nearly all gone. There wasn’t much time left. Whatever she was going to do, she needed to hurry.

  “Why the hell did you stop?” shouted one of the guards.

  The second guard noticed Samantha’s eyes were focused on all that money the lookout kids were all fighting over.

  “You don’t worry no never mind about that,” the guard ordered. “We got plenty more of that, you just keep doing what you’re doing.”

  Samantha smiles. “Is that right?”

  “Yeah, that’s right, babe.”

  Samantha smiled once again. “You boys wanna see something else?” She placed her hands between her legs.

  The guards nod.

  “Well, I’m shy. You two go on and close your eyes.”

  The guards looked at each other and grinned as they obeyed.

  “Count to three,” Samantha said.

  The guards counted at the same time out loud until they got to three.

  When opened their eyes, they were greeted to the sight of Samantha holding two guns, one in each hand, pointing directly at their testicles. “Shut up. Don’t you say one goddamn word motherfucker!”

  The guards shot their hands into the air.

  “Now listen, and listen to me closely,” ordered Samantha. “You’re gonna repeat after me and say exactly what I say. If you don’t, I’m gonna blow you’re undersized friends off. You got me?”

  The guards nodded.

  “Now I want you to call for the guard on the balcony.”

  The guards hesitated.

  “Call his name now!”

  The second guard obliged. “Uhh...Thomas?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Tell him there is something he needs to see down here!”

  “There is something you need to see down here,” the guard mimicked.

  “Well, what is it?”

  “Tell him I want to give him some sugar,” said Samantha.

  This time the guard hesitated a bit. Samantha cocked one gun and placed the barrel directly on his balls. “This bitch down here wants to show you her ass!” he shouted.

  The guard on the balcony chuckled. “Alright. I’ll be right down.”

  Donnie watched the guard on the balcony walk into the house. He hurried as fast as he could toward the stash house. I never seen Donnie run so fast, frantically running in and between cars. Meanwhile, the guard appeared at the front door, preparing to open it. Samantha saw the doorknob twisting. But Donnie, unfortunately, wasn’t there yet. When the guard finally opened the front door, looked at the other guards, and saw them with their hands in the air and Samantha holding the two men at gunpoint, he immediately slammed the front door.

  “Shit!” screamed Samantha.

  Donnie finally reached the porch, covered in sweat and out of breath. “Where is he?”

  “He went back into the fucking house.” Samantha pointed both guns at the two guards.

  Donnie moved to the left side of the front door as Samantha positioned herself on the right.

  “Who else is in the house?” asked Donnie.


  “I don’t know.”

  Donnie faced the two guards. “How many people are in the house?”

  The guard on the right laughed. “You know, right about now he’s phoning Mantranga. Which means you got about just a few minutes before one hundred other guys come and hunt you down like the dogs you are. So I suggest you run, boy.”

  Donnie stared ominously at the guard.

  “Donnie, we should...we should go,” said Samantha.

  Donnie smiled and shouted at the guard inside the house. “I’m going to count to five. And if you don’t come from inside that house, I’m gonna shoot your men square in the fucking head.”

  The guard didn’t respond.

  So Donnie counted. “One!”

  Both guards began to breathe heavily.

  “Two!”

  “What are you doing Donnie?” asked Samantha.

  “Three!”

  “Kid, do you understand what you’re doing?” asked one of the guards.

  “Four!” He cocked his gun.

  “Wallace, come on out that goddamn house,” one of the guards shouted.

  “Donnie, stop this, please,” Samantha said.

  “Five!”

  “Hey...wait...just wait a minute,” one of the guards screamed.

  The second guard shouted, “Wallace! Wallace! You come on outta that house right now.”

  Donnie aimed his gun at one of the guards.

  The guards pleaded. So did Samantha. Donnie paused for a second. And then smiled and shot one of them in the face. Bang! Blood splattered everywhere, even on Samantha’s face as she fell to her butt, shaking.

  Down the block, everyone heard the gunshot. All their eyes whirled toward the stash house. I started the car and reversed back toward the house as Donnie pointed his gun at the second guard. After I pulled up to the house, I got out and raced up the steps.

  “What...the hell...happened?”

  Neither Donnie nor Samantha responded. Samantha’s face was covered in blood and brain matter. I saw one of the guards slumped against the porch rail. The hole in his head was as if someone had drilled through it incorrectly, pieces had scattered across his face.

  I turned back toward Donnie. “What have you done?”

  He gave no response. Instead, he called again for the third guard to come out of the house. “I know you just heard what happened to one of friends out here. Now, I’m gonna count to five again and I’m gonna put a bullet the next one.”

  “Donnie. What the hell are you thinking?” I screamed.

  But Donnie carried on as if he didn’t hear me.

  “One!”

  “You can’t just kill a man without just cause,” I said.

  “Two!”

  “What have we become Donnie! This ain’t us, man.”

  “Three!”

  The guard on the porch was clearly scared; urine flowed down his pants, seeping through the cracks of the wooden porch. He began to cry. “Brother! Please come out the house.”

  “So that’s your brother, huh?” said Donnie.

  “Yes, that is.”

  “Well, answer me this. How many kids did yo mammy and pappy have?”

  “Just two, me and my brother.”

  Donnie laughed. “Well, go on and tell your brother that he’s about to be the only child.”

  “Donnie, don’t,” I pleaded.

  The guard dropped to his knees. “Brother! Please! Please! Come out!”

  “Four!”

  “Please don’t kill me.”

  “Five!”

  “Noooo!” I shouted.

  “Please,” begged the guard again.

  Donnie pointed his gun toward the guard. He smiled and moved his finger toward the trigger. The all of a sudden, the guard from the house yelled, “Stop! I’m coming out!”

  Donnie aimed his gun at the door. The knob twisted gradually until it opened. The guard from the balcony appeared from the dark house with his hands in the air.

  “Come all the way out,” demanded Donnie.

  The guard stepped onto the porch.

  “Is there anyone else inside?”

  “No. It’s just me,” said the guard.

  Donnie placed his gun closer to the guard’s head. “Don’t you lie to me, asshole.”

  “There isn’t anyone else. Now take what you gotta take and leave.”

  Donnie laughed. “That’s good. That’s really good.” Then callously places a bullet in his head as well. His brother became hysterical and again pleaded for his own life as he wept for his dead brother. But Donnie did the same to him and sends him away with three shots to his chest. His body toppled forward in front of Samantha as she sat trembling. You could see the fear in her face as her mind raced.

  “What have you done? You...you monster!”

  But he turned to me as if nothing had ever happened, as if he hadn’t just killed three people. “Help me find the money,” he said.

  “What?” I was in awe at his demeanor.

  “Are you gonna help me not? We didn’t just come here for nothing!”

  “Donnie, you just fucking killed three people.”

  He looked at me and then turned and looked at Samantha. She had been in the same spot since this began. Her eyes were pointed forward, but they were looking past the bodies of those three men. They had traveled to somewhere else.

  “Samantha, are you okay?” asked Donnie.

  She didn’t move. She didn’t even blink.

  Donnie walked in front of her and knelt. “Samantha, I know a lot of things happened, bad things. But right now, as we speak, Mantranga’s people are headed this way. If we don’t get those bags out of this house and leave now, we are all dead. You hear me? We are all dead!”

  Samantha began to cry as Donnie attempted to comfort her. I know...I know you’re scared, but right now, we need to get the money and go.”

  She shook her head as tears fell rapidly from her face. “No. No, I can’t.”

  “Yes...yes...You can...You can.”

  “You killed those people.”

  “We had no choice! They saw our faces.”

  Samantha cowered at Donnie’s tone as if he might hit her. In that moment, she seemed to fear him. And he saw it the same way I did.

  “Please, get up, baby. Because if you don’t, more people will die.”

  Samantha wiped her face and looked up at me.

  “That’s it, baby,” says Donnie. “Let’s go.”

  Donnie helped her up and they walked into the house. I followed.

  The floors were littered with glass bottles. The smell of old hooch danced through our noses. Every step I took on those old wooden floors came the sound of splintered wood. The once-beautiful walls in that home were covered in dust and dirt, and the scribbled names of all those who had come and left.

  I wondered who would make their mark on a place where the sun even hesitated to shine. Through the kitchen we walked, stepping over bags of garbage that had to have taken months to create. We checked them. There was no telling where the money was hidden. But every bag we opened led us to through the lives of the men that once guarded this home. Inside, lay portraits of moms and dads, and pictures of kids smiling, and letters filled with promises and hopes from far away places. There was everything in those bags. Except money.

  “Let’s check upstairs,” said Donnie.

  We walked up those steps. At the top lay everything we came for: three large duffle bags, one for each of us to carry.

  “Ho-ly shit!” shouted Donnie.

  And after seeing those bags, Samantha and I even cracked smiles. Donnie quickly opened a bag. The moment of truth was here. He pulled out two stacks of hundred dollar bills, neatly dressed in plastic. With that image in mind, we briefly rejoiced as we imagined our future lives riddled in all shiny gold along with the infamy that followed.

  “Let’s go,” said Donnie.

  We each grabbed a bag and Donnie headed down the steps first.

  “When we leave, we n
eed to split up. You two go out the back. I’m gonna go out the front. If you walk two blocks down make a left on Jena St. there’s a silver Buick. The keys are already in the glove department. Get in it and drive as far as possible. We’ll meet at my connect’s house in Metairie around 10 tonight, the same one we went to last time. Remember, Mantranga is gonna be looking for two guys and a girl. We can’t give him that. And whatever you do, don’t go home. It’s too hot. You hear me? ”

  “Where should we go?” I asked.

  “It doesn’t matter. Just stay out of sight until sundown, got it?”

  “Okay.”

  Donnie look at Samantha. “You understand?”

  “Yeah. I understand.”

  “Alright then.”

  With one last look at each other, Donnie opened the front door, In the light of the sun that cascaded in that dark home, a loud bang roared through our ears. All I could see was Donnie’s body flying backwards. It was as if a rag doll had been tossed across the room. Samantha and I ran toward him. His chest was plastered with six holes seemingly in no particular order. Blood gushed from each hole; he made a gagging sound like he was choking. I looked into his mouth to find whatever he was choking on. I was thinking that I could pull whatever it was out. Then everything would be okay. There was nothing. All I could see was blood. More shots rained into the house. Samantha dropped to the floor. Her screams were filled with similar heartache I had felt weeks ago.

  “Let’s go!” I screamed. “Matranga’s guys are here.”

  I grabbed her arm and pulled her away. She kicked and screamed like an insolent child. It was her right. She was heartbroken and there is nothing in this world that hurts worse.

  I dragged Samantha out of the house into the back yard. The steel fences were low enough to jump easily. So, we did, running as fast as we could through the back streets of the 17th Ward with Mantranga’s men right behind. In all of the commotion I’d forgotten where the car was. So we escaped on foot.

  I still remember the sounds of their shoes scraping the concrete, and the thrumming motors of their cars as they flooded the streets.

  But no one knew those streets better than us. For years we had rested on the same places where people spat. This was our domain. So it wasn’t that hard for us to get lost in a back alley.

  The question was, how long would it take them to find us? Mantranga had connections all over the city. The locals would say that he was watching even when he wasn’t in the room, that even in the darkest places, he sees, and that he could touch places not even God could reach. We had heard all the myths and legends surrounding this one man, and yet we stood before him and his entire empire, and turned his legend into our own. Because of that, we knew he’d never stop searching for us. We had no choice, but to leave this great city and never return.

  As I led the way, I asked her about what happened back there. I wondered how we could have fucked things up so badly.

  She explained.

  Not knowing how to respond, I ended on a point that became an old truism for me as I got older. “Sometimes hell just comes to you,” I said. “And ain’t nothing you can do about that.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Its End is the Way to Death