Who Shot Ya Box Set
Page 62
“My brother’s name was, York, and you took him from me!”
****
~Agent Harrison~
“Alpha Two to Alpha One—there was a shot fired. We have the subjects in our sights, and it seems that the woman has the Lamar guy held at gunpoint. He’s bleeding from what looks like a wound to the shoulder,” the agent's voice cracked over the radio
I crouched low as the rain pelted my face. I held a pair of night vision Leica Binoculars to my eyes. “Copy that, Alpha Two, move in with caution. Try to proceed with peace, but use force if needed,” I spoke as I crept slowly toward the woman, who had just slipped from the car that Assata arrived in. I wanted to alert her of our presence but I didn’t want to alert Assata. I could only pray that my judgment was the best decision.
****
~Assata~
“Fuck y’all, niggas! Y’all niggas gonna have to murk me up in here, son. I’m Queens, nigga. Go hard or go home, Duke!” Gusto laughed.
Phew! Phew!
The sweet sounds of fireballs being hushed by a silencer flooded the room. York crumbled to the floor right next to Mi’shay.
My mind was back in that room—the same room where Six had setup the nigga at the strip club. His name was York. My eyes cleared and focused on Freedom before my mind took me back to our first date.
“Where did the Queen Freedom come from? I mean, you popped out of nowhere. To top it off, the accent gives you away. What is it, East Coast?” I’d asked.
Free’s eyes twinkled. “You’re full of surprises, Mr. Lamar. Yes, I’m from New York—Queens to be exact,” she stated boldly.
When my eyes focused again, Free was smiling down at me. “So, you’ve figured it out, huh?” she screamed. “That night, you and those savages murdered my baby brother for nothing!” she shouted.
I noticed how her hand had begun to tremble. Though she hated me—though she burned to avenge her brother, the woman wasn’t a killa. A quick glance let me know Jazzy was only about ten feet away. She held the big pistol tight as if it would fly away. Freedom was a quick observer—I could see the alarm in her eyes. She’d noticed my sneakiness, alarmed, she attempted to see what had my attention and that was all the time I needed to act. I sprung to my feet and rushed her.
She heard me and as she spun back in my direction, surprise was born in her eyes, both fired at the same time. I collided with Freedom and pulled her to the ground. We hit the ground with a splash. Without thinking, I scrambled for Free’s hands, but it was a frivolous quest. The gun had fallen from her hand when the bullet hit her. Free’s face was contorted in a mask of agony—her eyes held mine as she coughed and gasp in an attempt at pulling air back into her lungs.
“I—I hate—hate you,” she rasped.
I don’t know if I was more hurt that she’d whispered those word or because of the guilt I began to feel for all the lives I’d destroyed. Either or, I couldn’t mask it. I watched Freedom take her last breath before I closed her vacant eyes. I rolled away from her before crawling to the nearest headstone that I could find. I leaned against it and glanced down at the inscription engraved into the cold stone. I laughed before reaching down and rubbing my stomach, for some reason it hurt. Using my other hand, I reached down into my pocket and pulled out the bag of pre-rolled blunts I’d rolled earlier that day. I took one from the bag before tossing the rest into the night.
I retrieved the lighter from my pocket and shielded the flame from the rain until the blunt was lit. I clutched my stomach again before I glanced down at the headstone once more—I had to laugh at the irony of it all. I was back where I started from the beginning. A movement to my right caused me to look up, Jazzy stood above me—stunned by her first kill. I understood—taking someone’s life could steal the sanity from some of the strongest men. A woman had it worse, without warning, Jazmina dropped the gun and rushed over to me. Queen needed solace—she needed to be reassured that she’d made the right decision.
“Baby, oh my, God—I killed her. I—I—” Her words was lost within soft cries as she wrapped her arms around my neck and held on for dear life. I winced in pain and she noticed. “Are you, okay?” she asked pullin’ away from me.
I nodded my head in confirmation. I was good, but I was beginning to see spots. Water streaked down my dark skin and as Jazzy studied me, she was wise enough to know the difference between the rain and the tears of a gangsta. Confusion bled into her stare as her eyes trailed from my face and landed on my right hand that was soaked in my blood. Her pretty eyes shot up—shock—disbelief—all the worst of emotions filled her stare, but she was just as beautiful as she was the night we’d reunited.
Jazmina slowly reached down and took my bloodied hand in hers—the sky lit up as she pulled it away to reveal the hole that the bullet had punched into me. Jazzy’s eyes found mine once again and only then did she see the truth of my story. I was dying and this time there would be no escaping the reaper's grasp.
“I’m—I’m ‘bout to—to—” I coughed, and a spray of blood flew from my lips. “I’m dying, ma,” I whispered.
Jazzy just kept shaking her head no—she wanted to convince herself that I’d live forever, but as I sat there fighting for another breath, I knew that every dawg had its day.
“No—no, you’re not about to die, Assata Lamar! No, you can’t!” she cried. Her hazel-gray eyes were overflowing lakes as we stared at each other.
I was weak—tired, but I feared that if I so much as blinked, I wouldn’t open my eyes again. “I love you, Jazz. I—I need you to make—me—a promise,” I rasped. There was no bright lights or flashes of the past, but I knew death was there for me and it was being impatient.
“No, I won’t let you-you can’t die on us, Assata. You—” I raised my hand and stroked her soft face. Blood smeared her skin as she grabbed my fingers and held them to her face. “—anything,” she relented.
I smiled, she was my rida. ‘I knew Jazmina would carry me with her until she died, yet, that’s not what I wanted. I wanted her to live and be happy. Most men hated the thought of another man cutting the female that they loved, but I learned that love was universal. If one truly gave a fuck ‘bout someone, they’d want ‘em happy regardless as to what happiness entailed.’ After that last thought, Lovey’s question popped into my thoughts.
She turned to me with a penetrating look and asked me a question that was so simple, yet so hard to answer. She placed both hands on either side of my face. “Assata—do you care if you live or die?”
As I stepped back into the present, I realized that the time when a person is supposed to change is the time they realize it’s too late. There on my death bed, I was finally able to give Lovey her answer, “Yes…Lovey, I want to live,” I whispered, but I knew my time had expired.
****
~Jazzy~
“Freeze—don’t move! This is the FBI—freeze—get on the ground—don’t move!” an onslaught of voices demanded in unison.
Impulsively, I spun in surprise, dark shadows appeared from the darkness. They aimed gigantic guns at me with flashlights attached to them. They’d found us. I turned back to Assata—my heart cried harder than my eyes as he stared absently into nothing. There was no life inside him. I cried for him, I cried for the child growing inside my womb, and when my eyes fell upon the headstone that Assata was leaning against, I cried for the man that was buried underneath the six feet of dirt I sat on top of. Somehow Assata died at Shy’s grave. The same place where we’d reunited. With that thought, I smiled before laying down flat on the wet grass. I’d teach my child everything I knew about a gangsta.
The End
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