by Silhouettes
“Prince,” she repeated, barely hearing my voice when I answered.
“What?”
“Why are you sounding like that?”
“Because I ... I just wanna kill somebody right now, that’s why.”
“Who are you fighting with now? I hope you and your mother aren’t at it again.”
I wiped my tears, skeptical about telling her what had happened. “Nadine’s dead. She got shot and I know the niggas who did it.”
She hesitated to speak, but then spoke up. “I’m sorry to hear about Nadine, but you have to step back and let the police handle that. Pleeeease.”
She sounded just like Poetry, but why wasn’t I listening?
“They ain’t gon’ handle shit and you know it. I’m gon’ handle it, fasho.”
“Go to the police now, Prince. This thing is much bigger than you. And remember, it’s up to you to change course. Millionaires are leaders, and followers like our father wind up dead or in jail. Don’t be like Derrick, please. That’s not what you want, is it? God said the vengeance is His—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah ... I got that. But today it may have to be mine.”
I hung up on Patrice, only because I was being interrupted by numerous calls from Mama’s phone.
“What?” I answered.
“Where are you?” she shouted.
“Out.”
“Out where, Prince? Don’t be out there doin’ nothin’ stupid and you need to get back here so you can see about your son. All this bullshit ...” I heard Raylo saying something in the background, then he took the phone.
“He ain’t tryin’ to hear yo’ gotdamn mouth! Move back and silence yourself, woman. Young blood,” he said. “Handle yo’ business. That’s what real niggas do, and make sure that wherever you are, you don’t be the one leavin’ in no body bag. Pump two for me and I expect to see you at your mama’s house within the hour, pickin’ up yo’ son and goin’ on with yo’ life. Stay up.”
Raylo hung up and I closed my eyes, listening to the many voices in my head. Sometimes decisions like this didn’t come easy. People thought they did, but I didn’t grow up saying that I wanted to be a murderer.
But at that point, I felt like I did now ... What choice did I have?
I heard Patrice pleading with me in her soft-spoken voice: step back and let the police handle it. “Pleeease. Don’t be like Derrick.” Then, Mama’s voice got at me: “You need to get back here so you can see about your son. Raylo: “Handle yo’ business. That’s what real niggas do. Don’t leave in no body bag and get those niggas!” He sounded like the devil, making his noise, and I hated like hell to let the devil have his way. Then, there was another voice. It shouted so loud that my eyes popped open. “Vengeance is mine!” the powerful voice said. “All mine!”
Yet again, I was in a similar situation. Raylo was about to see what real niggas do. For me, he had been the devil all along, making this time much easier than the first. There was no hesitation on my part, and even though that same voice was trying to get in my head about vengeance, I wasn’t trying to hear it.
The light turned yellow and I slowed down so I wouldn’t run it. Normally, I would have, but since I saw a police officer’s car ahead, I changed my mind. I yawned, and when I reached up to straighten my rearview mirror, I saw headlights coming fast from behind. It didn’t look like the car was going to stop, and before I could swerve my car over to the side, the other car slammed into the back of me. I wasn’t wearing a seat belt, so my body flew forward and my head slammed against the windshield. After being thrown around, I flopped back in my seat and my eyes were too heavy to stay open. Minutes later, I saw darkness.
As I slowly cracked my eyes, I didn’t know what day or time it was. I could tell I was in the hospital just from the smell, the nurse standing in front of me, and the white walls. A TV was hanging from above and I was covered in white sheets. My whole body ached all over and I could feel a patch on the left side of my face. I lifted my hand to touch it, but the pressure that I put on it made it so sore.
The nurse leaned over me. “How are you feeling?” she asked.
I tried to open my mouth, but was barely able to mumble. “Okay, I guess. How ... how long have I been in here and what happened?”
“You were in a serious car accident. You’ve been in here for almost two weeks and today is your birthday. Do you know your name?”
“Prin ... Jamal Prince Perkins.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-one.”
“Mother’s name?”
“Shante Perkins.”
“Good,” the nurse said, patting my arm. “What a blessing that you’re alive and seem to be doin’ well. Let me go get the doctor so you can talk to him.”
The nurse left the room, and I struggled to sit up straight. Somehow I managed, and when I looked over by the window, I saw several Happy Birthday cards. I tried to remember what I was doing before the accident, then it came to me. I was on my way to take care of Raylo. I remembered the headlights approaching me from behind, and after that, I couldn’t remember anything else.
The doctor came into the room, smiling and standing next to me with a chart. “You’re feeling okay?” he asked.
I nodded. “Still in some pain, and my body feels stiff.”
“Once you get up and start walking around, you’ll be okay. You had a concussion, and were in a coma for a while. You got banged up pretty good, but the bruises and swelling should go down over time. I’ll give you something for the pain, then we’ll get you something to eat. How does that sound?”
I nodded again. The doctor talked to me about running several more tests to make sure everything checked out with me, then he walked out. Shortly after, the nurse returned with pain pills and a tray of dinner.
“Anything in particular that you want to watch on TV?”
“No, not really. Thanks, though.”
The nurse made sure I was comfortable by sitting me up and fluffing my pillows. She put the tray right in front of me and poured my apple juice into a cup. I don’t think I ever remembered a white woman being as nice to me as this one truly was.
“If you need anything else, use this to buzz me,” she said, showing me the device to use. She left the room and I started to slowly eat the mashed potatoes and creamy corn. After two bites, I looked up and saw Poetry come into the room. Her arm was in a sling and a long scratch was on the top of her forehead. She was all smiles and walked right up to me.
“How’d you know I was here?” I asked, squinting from the pain on my face. “And what happened to you?”
She put her hand on her hip. “Duh, don’t you know? You’re here because of me. If you thought I was going to let you go do something so stupid, you were sadly mistaken.”
I dropped my fork on the plate. “Did you ... Was that you in that car behind me?”
She smiled. “Yep, that would be me. I’m sorry for tearing your car up like that, but my insurance will pay for it, or buy you another one because that one may be totaled. My car pretty banged up too, and next time, please, please put on your seatbelt. I can’t believe you wasn’t wearing your seat belt.”
I was almost too stunned to talk. “Ma, yo’ ass is crazy! You could have killed both of us going that fast. Why put your life at risk like that?”
She bent over the bed and came closer to me. “Because I didn’t want you to get hurt by nobody but me. I hurt myself in the process, and when the policeman saw what I’d done, he charged me with reckless driving and arrested me. I have a scheduled court date, and I hope the fine or punishment ain’t going to be too steep.” She shrugged and chuckled. “Besides, I owed you that for driving your motorcycle fast that day, and if I am crazy, I’m only crazy about you. I had to stop you, Prince, and I didn’t see no other way to do it.”
I was still in shock by what Poetry had done, and I hoped that she didn’t find herself in a heap of trouble because of me. Still, my words were clipped tight and I didn’t know what
to say about this chick. I had definitely met my match and that was without a doubt.
“Sooo, what you got planned once you get out of here?” she asked. “It can’t be about no trigger-happy shit, and just so you know, Mr. Street Soldier, Raylo was arrested last week for the murder of your mother. His fingerprints were all over the knife they found, and according to some very important people I know, I heard he confessed to your mama’s murder. So, it’s bye-bye little birdie for him. I’m sure you never have to worry about him again, and time to wash your hands of the whole situation.” She paused, then put her hand on her hips. “Also, that dude G? Can you believe that somebody cut up that fool’s body and threw him in a dumpster? If you wasn’t in this bed all messed up, I sure would have thought it was you who had done it. Then again, I can’t ever see you cutting nobody up.”
“Nah, I wouldn’t do nothin’ like that. Must have been somebody hatin’ on him real bad.”
“I know, right. That mess was all over the news and, as usual, they have no suspects and no motive. See, sometimes you gotta step aside and let the Man upstairs handle His business, ’cause when we try to do it, we fuck up.” Poetry looked up. “Oops, excuse me, Lord, my bad. Anyway, with Raylo and G out of the way, I was hoping that you would hook back up with your girlfriend and start doing the right thing. I don’t need no Clint Eastwood, and all I need is a man to love, respect, and take care of me. Can you handle that for me, or is that asking for too much?”
I closed my eyes, feeling so much relief inside. To know that Raylo confessed made me angry, but I felt as if so many heavy burdens had been lifted off me. To know that he was behind bars, that was somewhat of a good thing. I damn sure wanted to take care of him myself, but it was too late for that kind of thinking. I didn’t expect for all of my troubles to go away, but this was a good start. I could have jumped out of bed and kissed Poetry all over. But the way my body was feeling, I couldn’t get too excited.
Poetry folded her arms and tapped her foot on the floor. “Come on now, birthday boy, say something? Are you down with me, mister, or what?”
I smiled and let off a soft snicker, mumbling, “Yeah, I’m down.”
She moved closer to me and put her hand behind her ear. “I can’t hear you. You gon’ have to speak louder than that!”
“Yes, I’m down,” I said a little louder, but loud enough where it made my head throb.
“No Clint Eastwood, Scarface, no Billy the Kid ... none of that, right?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “No. Just Jamal Prince Perkins. Your Street Soldier who is no longer at war.”
“Yaaay,” Poetry said, playfully jumping around. “Prince got a girlfriend, Prince got a girlfriend, Prince got a girlfriend... .”
I sure did have a girlfriend. One I intended to someday raise my son with, who I counted on to keep me out of trouble, and one I would one day marry and love forever. She was the real soldier and I couldn’t help but to be happy about Miss Poetry Wright coming into my life. Maybe all that stuff about guardian angels really was true, ’cause somebody around was damn sure looking out for me.
Urban Books, LLC
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Street Soldier 2 Copyright © 2012 Silhouettes
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior consent of the Publisher, except brief quotes used in reviews.
ISBN: 978-1-6228-6001-2
This is a work of fiction. Any references or similarities to actual events, real people, living, or dead, or to real locales are intended to give the novel a sense of reality. Any similarity in other names, characters, places, and incidents is entirely coincidental.
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