Just then he heard a voice. Instinctively, C-Dub reached nowhere in particular for a weapon, but to no avail. Instead, he was met with sharp pains throughout his entire body. He let out an agonizing cry.
“Try to relax, sir.” The doctor came over and placed his hands on C-Dub’s shoulders. “It is not wise to move around so quickly after the surgery,” he informed C-Dub.
His words caused C-Dub’s eyes to widen. He tried to fix his mouth to ask, “What surgery?” No words came out.
The doctor must have read his mind. “We were able to remove five of the bullets successfully, but the one in your calf, we chose to leave. It was just too risky. So we decided to let it just fall out on its own,” the doctor told him. He had no way of knowing that C-Dub’s ears went deaf after hearing the word bullets.
An image began to appear slowly in C-Dub’s head as he played back the tapes of his memory. “Son of a bitch!” he cursed aloud. He’d realized that his last recollection was not of heading back into the house. The beeping sound of the heart monitor C-Dub was hooked up to began to speed up. C-Dub became furious as a picture of Kafisa standing over him invaded his mind. The last explosion C-Dub remembered was from the first bullet that had exited Kafisa’s gun and slammed into his chest. The doctor had mentioned five additional shots, though.
C-Dub counted his blessings. He knew he was still alive only by the grace and mercy of the Creator. Thank you, God. He looked up. But when I get out of here, you ain’t gonna never see me up there, C-Dub thought, continuing his discussion with his higher power. Because when I get back to Brooklyn, I’m gonna kill that bitch and everybody down with her.
C-Dub closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.
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Carl Weber’s Kingpins: The Dirty South Copyright © 2015 Treasure Hernandez
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