By now, his partner is banging the steering wheel in laughter almost to the point of tears at the young officer’s theatrics. As if reliving the moment, the young officer is so engulfed in his story that he doesn’t notice his partner has ceased laughing. It took a few seconds to realize the sudden silence when he felt the warmness of some sort oozing down the side of his face. By the time reality had set in, it was too late. The young officer’s own brain matter had sprayed the front windshield of the patrol car. Like the first shot that instantly killed his partner, he never heard the bullet that ended his life penetrate the passenger window . . .
“What the hell are those two assholes doing now?” the heavyset black officer sighed, pulling the van away just before the traffic light of Lee Avenue across from Livingston public school. He threw on the van’s hazard lights and put it in park a few feet in front of the Puerto Rican store.
“They’re always jerking around,” his partner on the passenger side offered. He then leaned over to retrieve the CB to radio the patrol car. Had he taken a quick glance to his left first, things may have turned out differently. By the time he did come up with the walkie-talkie in hand and noticed something approaching out of the corner of his eye, the horsepower of the vehicle’s engine was in earshot of him and well within striking distance. The last thing he saw was the shining lights just as they came on and the chrome crash grill, and the monstrous truck slammed into the driver’s door. His partner heard his neck snap before his own head smashed up against the passenger window. The blow dazed him as his blood oozed down the side of his head. His only thought was finding the walkie-talkie and calling for assistance. That thought was interrupted by two shots that shattered the remainder of the passenger window and found a permanent resting spot inside his head.
Chapter Fifty-Three
The two gunmen rapidly approached the sheriff’s patrol car from both directions. One from the left where they had been posted up waiting in the darkness, the other from the right on the side of the funeral parlor that sat on the corner. They were dressed in all black from head to toe, masked up in case someone saw something and wanted to share it with the authorities. As they reached the car, it seemed evident that the two officers were dead judging by the graphic scenery inside the patrol car. As an extra precaution, they unloaded the remaining shots of their silenced-equipped MP-5’s into the sheriff’s vehicle before they made a mad dash up the street, seeing that the second part of their plan had been executed. They could see the black Ford F-150 pickup truck slammed into the driver’s side of the sheriff’s transporting van. By the time they reached the back of the van, their partner had already made their way over to the passenger side of the vehicle. One of them watched as their partner pumped shots into the passenger’s side while the other took a few steps back and aimed their weapon at the back door handle of the van. Two shots substituted for the key required to unlock the double doors.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Heaven was just regaining her senses when the back doors of the van flung open. The taste of blood invaded her mouth as it trickled down from her forehead and made its way down her nose and onto her lips. Cursing and yelling from a bunch of confused inmates filled the back of the van. When the two masked assailants appeared, the curses and yells from everyone were replaced with whispers and cries.
At least everyone except Heaven. A smile appeared across her face as one of the masked individuals spoke.
“I told you don’t worry.” Heaven recognized the voice immediately, remembering the words she had read from Shell’s lips in the courtroom.
“Later for all that; let’s get the fuck outta here,” Mia barked, scanning the streets for any possible bystanders or unwanted vehicles, particularly police.
“Come on, let’s go,” Shell ordered.
Everyone listened and watched the scene as it was playing out, some in admiration while others in horror. The smell of vomit, urine, and feces began to fill the secluded van. Heaven rose up.
“Get these shits off of me,” she raised her hands.
Anita, the girl who she had been conversing with in the bullpen, lifted up her arm in the air. Shell pulled out her nine millimeter and pointed it at the links that bonded Anita and Heaven.
The shot rang out separating the two of them. Heaven held her wrist, which was still handcuffed, off to the side of her. The next shot freed her wrist of the second pair of cuffs.
“Take me with you,” Anita chimed. The look in her eyes spoke volumes to Heaven. Without hesitation, she took the nine from Shell and freed Anita’s left arm. Anita hopped out of the back of the van. Heaven then emptied the remaining thirteen shots into the back of the female’s side of the van. The male closest to the van’s exit attempted to make a break for it, sensing he, along with the other male inmates, would be next—only to be stopped in his tracks by Shell’s MP.
She then followed Heaven’s lead letting off more than half of her second clip into the male side.
“No witnesses, right?” she turned to Heaven.
“No witnesses,” Heaven repeated.
Mia, Shell, Heaven, and the latest addition darted to the F-150 SUV like Marion Jones, Jackie Joyner-Kersee, Gail Devers, and Flo-Jo in a four-way tie race. Sonya had already backed the pickup truck up from the side of the sheriff’s van and pulled a short distance up the street through the light. Once everyone was in, she made the truck roar as she took the light on the corner of Remsen Avenue, passing Troop Avenue, then Commercial Avenue’s light, which was green, until she reached George’s Road.
Chapter Fifty-Five
“Honey, answer the phone,” an annoyed Mrs. Saleski chimed shoving her husband in the back who was in a deep snore. Her annoyance grew as the unsuccessful shove went unanswered.
“Charlie,” she barked in frustration, now upset that he was enjoying his rest while hers was broken by the sound of the ringing phone.
“Huh?” he shot up and managed to reply in between snores. It sounded as if he was choking.
“The phone,” she bellowed as he rolled over in her direction. Just then, he heard it. He snatched up his watch agitatedly as he answered the phone.
“Hello.”
His watch read 10:03 p.m. letting him know he had only been unconscious for an hour. Whoever was calling better have a good reason, thought Detective Saleski. Anybody who rang his phone knew that Monday nights was his day to catch up on his beauty sleep, especially since Tuesdays and Wednesdays were his days off.
“Sal, did I wake you?” the voice on the other end asked, already knowing the answer. He knew the detective’s schedule like he knew his own. He couldn’t help but chuckle to himself knowing he had just pissed his colleague off.
He and everyone else at the station got a kick out of lighting the detective’s short fuse every chance they got.
“You know what you did, you little shit. Whadda ya want, asshole?” Detective Saleski asked, bothered by the call of the detective in his division. He yawned, stretched, and wiped the coal that had formed in the creases of his eyes all in one motion as he waited to hear what the detective he had a dislike for had to say. Whatever it was, he hoped it had nothing to do with him coming in tonight, because that was not going to happen, he told himself.
“Sorry for the bother, Sal,” the detective’s tone became serious. “But just thought you’d want to know there’s been a breakout involving your girl.”
Still half-asleep, the words, breakout involving your girl were not registering with Detective Saleski. As if reading his mind, the other detective continued.
“The Jacobs’s collar you just made.”
At the mention of his latest arrest, Heavenly Jacobs, Detective Saleski shot up in bed like a space shuttle at NASA. He was now wide awake and all ears.
“It’s all over the news; happened a few hours ago. Four of ours, four female inmates, six males,” he relayed in disdain.
“Are you fuckin’ shitting me?” Detective Saleski spat as he searched for the televisio
n remote.
“I wish I was, pal. Turn it on and see for yourself. I’m down here now.”
Like magic, the scene appeared on the detective’s television as he hit the on button of his forty-two-inch flat-screen. His eyes widened at the image of Heavenly Jacobs’s mug shot.
The entire time his wife had been listening to his phone conversation. The fifteen years they had been married she had never seen her husband so distraught over a case. She placed her hand on his shoulder.
“Honey, what’s going on?” she asked.
“It’s nothing, go back to sleep,” he calmly told his wife, then rose up out of bed. “Jake, I’m on my way,” he informed the detective just before hanging up the phone.
Holy shit was his only thought as he dressed and headed out the door.
Chapter Fifty-Six
The discomfort from his recent gun-inflicted wound to the shoulder had Monty tossing and turning. It had been the norm for the past few nights after his visit to the hood doctor. The painkillers he had been prescribed by the unlicensed practicing physician he had gone to didn’t do anything to ease the pain. Instead, the pills had caused Monty to become sick to the stomach, so he discontinued taking them. He chose to fight the excruciating pain off naturally and was now realizing how difficult of a task his decision was. He didn’t know how much longer he could take being cooped up in the rooming house either, which was one of his stash cribs, before he actually had to go see a real doctor at a real hospital.
He was sure the police were looking for him, either for what happened at Feaster Park or for questioning about of the murders of his cousin and girlfriend. He wasn’t sure whether the police up at the park got a good look at him, or even knew who he was, but he was positive that they could link him in connection with Le Le because his prints, pictures of them together, and tons of other paraphernalia proving he lived there were available to the police. And the same at his cousin Murda’s, not to mention they shared the same last name. The thought of how he had come to be in such a predicament angered Monty. Not only angry at the female responsible but mainly at himself for underestimating Heaven.
When he received the call from one of his soldiers who had found Murda’s tortured and lifeless body tied to a chair, his question was answered as to how she had known of his whereabouts. After numerous and unsuccessful calls to Le Le and Murda, he could only conclude the worst. The description he had been given of the scene outside of their home was all the confirmation he needed about Le Le. When his lieutenant told him of the fire trucks, police, and a coroner’s van surrounding the town house, Monty knew Le Le was dead.
He shook the two images of his deceased loved ones out of his mind and turned on the television to get his mind off his present situation. He flicked through channel after channel with nothing in particular in mind to watch, then stopped when he reached the BET station. He was just about to get into the latest Young Jeezy video when his mind did a quick backtrack. Subconsciously, he thought he had recognized something or rather someone a few channels back. His television slowly traveled backward as he pointed the remote at the screen. Four stations later, he could not believe his eyes. He increased the volume on the television as his mouth fell open at the photo on the television screen.
“So far, authorities have no leads as to the whereabouts of the suspects or the escapees. We’ll have more as this horrendous story unfolds. In Jersey City, police are—”
“What the fuck!” Monty cursed as he switched to another channel. He turned just in time to catch the beginning of the story.
“We’re standing outside Midtown New Brunswick, New Jersey. Earlier this evening, a Middlesex County Sheriffs inmate transporting van and sheriff’s patrol car escort were ambushed on Sandford Street between Livingston Avenue and Lee Avenue. Sources tell us that this woman, Heavenly Jacobs of New Brunswick, may be responsible for the ambush, according to the police. Ms. Jacobs was arrested and charged with murder and attempted murder after a detective witnessed her involvement in a gun battle a few days ago on Troop Avenue at Feaster Park uptown and was being held at the Middlesex County Adult Correctional Center in North Brunswick. Judge Ferencz denied bail to Ms. Jacobs earlier today, and our sources say that the decision may have resulted in the ambush. When police arrived on the scene, both the transporting sheriff as well as several males and females were found gunned down, a total of four officers and ten inmates.
“Sources also tell us that this woman, thirty-six-year-old Anita Abrams, may have been one of the escapees. If you have any information on the whereabouts of these suspects or leading to the arrest of those responsible for this heinous massacre, please contact 1-800-Crime Stoppers.”
Monty’s head was in a whirlwind. He rubbed his eyes and shook his head to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. He did not want to believe what his eyes had just witnessed nor what his ears had just heard.
“This shit keeps getting better and better,” he let out in insane laughter.
The news of Heaven’s escape had him baffled. He had overheard stories and been told some by dudes who he had served time with, and then from his girlfriend, how hard Heaven and Earth played in the game. Up until now, after seeing and hearing about her escape, Monty had no clue of the depths of the stories. He himself had been in the game for over twenty years, catching his first murder at age thirteen, but even now, at age thirty-five, he knew he would have never had the guts or balls to orchestrate, or even attempt to go out, the way he heard Heaven had. For a split second, a sense of respect—followed by a flash of fear—jolted through Monty’s body. Beads of perspiration began to form on his forehead, and his palms started to itch. He knew whenever these symptoms came into play, murder would result. The question now was—whose murder? A sense of dread swept through Monty for a split second. If there ever was any before, there was none now. He knew he could no longer underestimate the female who had disrupted his whole way of living.
“Damn,” he cursed as he retrieved his cell phone.
Epilogue
The yellow, beige, and brown Winnebago floated down the New Jersey Turnpike. I-95 southbound was its destination. Sonya was in the front driver’s seat navigating the mobile home with Shell riding shotgun. They had longed ditched the stolen F-150 and replaced it with the home on wheels. Sonya had purchased the latest getaway vehicle for cash from an elderly Caucasian family in Franklin Township, after discovering it in a Cars and Trucks classified magazine. After Heaven’s lawyer informed her of the 30 percent chance of her receiving bail, Sonya immediately sprang into action. She was the one who had made the decision and came up with the plan to free her boss from custody. After all Heaven had done for her, there was no way she was going to let her friend rot in jail for what could be forever she told herself. None of the others objected.
Mia, Anita, and Heaven occupied the back of the home on wheels, along with enough guns and ammo to start another World War. Everyone rode in silence, each in her own deep thought, as the RV glided to the sound of Tupac’s “All Eyez on Me,” double CD.
“I ain’t a killer, but don’t push me, revenge is like the sweetest joy next to gettin’ pussy,” Tupac harmonized in his gangster and poetic tone.
How ironic, thought Heaven, how Tupac Shakur was the choice of getaway music. He was actually the nephew of the infamous Assata Shakur, who had traveled on the very same highway after her breakout and escape from the Edna Mahan Correctional Facility for Women in Clinton, New Jersey. It was the very same prison where Heaven had served time and met Earth. She had heard the classical and historical tale of the female Black Panther, whose real name was once Joanne Chesimard, on more than several occasions, and she couldn’t help but feel like the woman now. She could only imagine being in a similar predicament that the lady she knew only by name and reputation had felt and thought, the way she was at that very moment traveling down the interstate with her team in an attempt to elude the law after her great escape. Although the situations and circumstances were different, she knew that t
he causes were the same—fleeing from prosecution by an unjust, racist judicial system and to avoid spending the rest of their lives imprisoned. For a brief moment, Heaven thought about relocating to Cuba, where she had been told Ms. Shakur had fled to and still resided. Had it not been for ego and pride, she may have considered going to the country that would make her free of extradition and prosecution.
Now that she was out, however, Heaven knew that she could not, and would not, rest or stop until she had finished what she had started, no matter how long it took. She was out for justice as well as blood—street justice, that is. She knew court would be held in the streets, with her being the judge, prosecutor, and jury. And when it was all said and done, death would be the sentence.
Heaven felt the mobile home slowing down. As she peered out the window, she grabbed hold of the AR-15 that rested on the floor, thinking the worst, ready for whatever. Immediately, both Mia and Anita did the same seeing Heaven spring into action. Heaven noticed the sign indicating the toll ahead and calmed herself. As they made it through the toll with ease, complements of the E-Z pass they possessed, everyone let out a sigh of relief. It was no secret that the New Jersey Turnpike was one of the scariest highways to travel on when you’re doing something illegal. Aside from harboring two fugitives of justice and murders hanging over their heads, between the ten AR-15s, three MP-5s, sixteen handguns, a million-plus cash, and fifteen kilos of cocaine, they were traveling with enough contraband to land them each with five life sentences and the death penalty.
Heaven slid the curtain back from the RV’s back window. She wanted to take one last look at her home state before making it a temporary distant memory. She knew the next time she set foot on New Jersey’s soil, there would be hell to pay. As she looked up at the words NEW JERSEY, on top of the tollbooth, her thoughts lingered. The only thing on her mind at that moment was revenge, and at the end of her thought was the name Monty.
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