by John L. Monk
Chapter 31
“You playing games with me?” Fruit shouted.
“Just being cautious,” I said. “Where are they?”
“First, where’s my money?”
The man he’d sent down tried to search me, overconfident with his big gun and armed friends—and I punched him almost as hard as that roundhouse Kate had clocked me with in Nassau. The man had a glass jaw and dropped easily, sending his pistol skittering into the night.
They were all pointing weapons at me now, shouting for me to “back the fuck up” and “hands in the air” and other helpful suggestions I wasn’t interested in, then Fruit told everyone to shut up.
To me, he said, “What the hell you hit him for, man? Why you always hitting people? Gimme my money, this shit be done.”
“Nobody’s getting any money,” I said, “until my friends are safe in this car. So quit jerking me around and go get them.”
Fruit came down the steps with Manny and stood in front of the two getaway cars. “Or maybe we just take it and bury your asses some place they never find you. Now what you gonna do?”
I shrugged. “If that’s what you want. But people know I’m here, and the fact you don’t see any cops means I kept my side of the bargain. So how about we do this straight, as planned, and you go home richer, and I go home with as many holes in me as when I came in?”
Honestly, I didn’t think he’d go along with it. Some people weren’t wired that way. All forward and no reverse.
“Step at a time,” he said, scratching his chin. He nudged the man on the ground with his foot. “Darnell, get up. Bring that junkie ho and the kid!”
Darnell got off the ground and shook his head, glaring at me. “When this shit’s over, you dead.”
I smiled widely at him, hoping he’d lash out at me—whatever it took to give Kate more time. To my alarm, he walked over and picked up his gun. A moment passed with him glaring at me, gun stiffly by his side.
“I said bring them out,” Fruit said, watching him.
Darnell turned and stared back like he’d never seen him before. The two men stood locked like that, making me worry they’d start shooting any moment. Then Darnell shook his head, climbed the steps, and went back into the building.
Hopefully he’d be too preoccupied with his hatred to notice Kate if he ran into her.
“What’s the matter?” Fruit said to me. “You look nervous as a mug. Thought ol’ Fruit was gonna pull some shit?” He laughed. “I ain’t even fuck the bitch up like I said. End of the day, I’m just a businessman. At first I was real mad, understand? But now…” He shrugged. “It’s just what is.”
He glanced back and laughed. “You sure clocked the hell out of Darnell. That’s some ballsy-ass shit right there. All these niggas with guns and all you got is my money. Which I still haven’t seen, by the way.”
“Soon as I see my friends,” I said.
Up in the building, from the vicinity of the corner office, shots burst through the plate glass and sprinkled off the hood of Mrs. Swanson’s car.
Fruit said, “Motherfu—”
I pulled my gun, pointed it at Fruit, and Manny stepped in front of him—all three hundred pounds, raising his pistol—now falling from two shots in the chest from the Marco the Narco’s gun.
Out of nowhere, two cars pulled in from both sides, filling the increasingly crowded loading dock and blocking the getaway cars. Booming shots from the last gunman at the gate pelted around me and the other cars, and I ducked behind the door for safety.
With Manny twitching at his feet, Fruit was wide open. Quickly, he bounded back to the stairs while his friend covered him. Seconds later, the dock was clear.
Roy got out first. “Kate radioed and said she shot someone upstairs.”
“Darnell,” I said.
Dominick joined us. “How many inside?”
“Fruit and Darnell and the guy who was shooting,” I said. “Though I don’t know how many were upstairs watching the hostages.”
“Probably that security guard,” Roy said, already heading to the stairs, “which makes four.”
Dominick stayed outside to watch for anyone fleeing, and I followed Roy.
When we got inside, Roy said, “How good are you with that gun?”
“Terrible.”
He stepped aside. “Then you go first.”
Not bothering to argue, I stepped past him into an open, empty storage space with a set of doors leading deeper inside. I kicked them open, poked my head through, and took it as a good sign when nobody shot it off.
Across the hall from the storage room was an ancient mailroom, empty of people. I turned right and followed the hall to a barely discernable sign indicating a stairwell.
“Bo, wait—”
“Later,” I said, and bounded up to the next level, not bothering to see if he was coming.
The smell of gun smoke and the sudden report of shots being fired greeted my arrival to the second floor. With very little light, the remains of old cubicles seemed to stretch into a vast darkness.
A gun fired again from a doorway farther down, making me flinch, and more gunfire came from way out in the cubes.
“Kate!” I shouted.
“Out here, with Anna!”
“Where’s Jimmy?”
Anna yelled, “Someone took him!”
She sounded out of her mind with fright, which stood to reason. I just hoped she stayed with Kate.
From the doorway ahead, that last gunman from the loading dock stumbled out as if he’d been pushed. When he raised his gun, I raised mine—then flinched at the ear-splitting crack behind me. The man fell down and didn’t move.
Turning around, I saw Roy crouched down, aiming forward with a two-handed grip on a shiny gray revolver.
“Behind you!” he said.
I turned back and saw Fruit dash deeper into the cubes. I aimed to take a shot, then didn’t. Not while Jimmy was missing.
“Find Jimmy!” I shouted at Roy, and then chased after Fruit.
The cubes stopped abruptly and an elevator lobby opened up on my left. On the other side of that, more cubes, and a glimpse of Fruit ducking around a corner. I made to follow, but this time when I peeked out, pieces of drywall exploded inches from my face, causing me to fall back.
Around the corner, the voice of the security guard shouted, “Got that little boy! Better give up now!”
Jimmy screamed, “Get off me, asshole!”
“Ow!” Fruit said. “Bite me? Show you—”
“Leave him alone, Fruit,” I said. “Hurting him can only make things worse for you.”
“Why you gotta fuck it all up?” he said. “Who the hell those people? Told you to come alone. Now look what happened. You killed my friend!”
I laughed, despite myself. “Poor misunderstood pimp. You should have gone back to that fruit stand you live in and left us alone.”
I sensed movement behind me and looked. Roy with a finger over his lips. He motioned to himself, then back where he’d come from and farther down, then made a circling gesture. I had no idea what he meant, but I nodded like I did. Roy nodded back and padded off.
“Oh, you think that’s funny?” Fruit said. “Snickering and shit?”
“You gotta admit there’s a comic element.”
Jimmy screamed suddenly.
Fruit said, “That sound funny, Bo? How about this?”
Jimmy screamed again, louder.
“Drop that gun and come out now,” Fruit said, “or I put my mark on him good. Feel me?”
With no other choices open to me, I threw the gun out where he could see it, then stepped out with my hands raised.
In the hall, half hidden behind the wall of a cubical, Fruit and the security guard crouched with Jimmy on the ground. Fruit had Jimmy’s arm wrenched up behind his back like a schoolyard bully, and the guard had his gun trained on me, a cocky grin on his face.
“Want me to burn this bitch?” he said.
“Hold on,”
Fruit said and lifted Jimmy to his feet. He shoved him into the guard’s hands, then pointed a gun at me. “I known Manny a long ass time. And you just shoot him like that? Wasn’t enough, you popping him with that hotbox? Had to kill him too? Over some skank-ass ho?” He shook his head like it was the craziest thing ever.
One thing about shooting guns in confined places: it doesn’t take long before the only thing you can hear is people shouting and more shooting.
Roy snuck up easily behind the guard, put his gun to the man’s head, and yelled, “Everyone drop your weapons, now!”
The guard gave a startled yelp and swung around, gun raised. Roy shot him in the head, splattering blood and brains everywhere. Fruit screamed and pulled the trigger, and Jimmy charged Fruit, pummeling the bigger man with his eleven-year-old fists, blocking a clear shot from Roy.
I leapt forward and snatched up the gun I’d tossed out. Lurching to my feet, I turned to aim … but kept turning for some reason and fell to my knees, then my hands and knees, trying desperately to breathe while a hundred years hurtled past.
Another hundred years later, I noticed the world around me again. I was on my back staring up at a tall angel pointing a pistol. She stepped easily over me and looked down at Fruit, who was holding his arm and gaping at her in terror.
My vision blurred, the world went black … and suddenly bright when I heard a single gunshot.
I remembered her in that little cafe in Nassau. Most girls that tall had odd features, but she’d baked well. I giggled, knowing how touchy she’d get if I said that to her.
A moment of clarity overtook me.
“He has a phone,” I said. “Prepaid … called my Bo phone with it. Gotta get it … cops trace it.”
Then I giggled because I’d said Bo phone, and also because I couldn’t stop giggling.
A hundred more years passed and Kate screamed, “Wake up goddammit!”
My head lolled back.
Just lean against the seat and then over onto the seatbelt … that feels nice.
We were on the Beltway and I was dying. There wasn’t much time left and I needed to set the record straight.
“Kate,” I said in a frail, quavering voice.
“Shush, Bo, just stay awake and breathe,” she said, messing up and sounding concerned about me.
“Before I die, you … should know … totally hot. Not your fault … born that way.”
Kate swore quietly.
“That whole bitchy thing … makes it worse … real pretty in that dress…”
Before I blacked out again I thought I heard her crying, or maybe she was laughing, only it was too far away to tell.
The next time I woke, I was in a dark room surrounded by medical equipment. Mrs. Swanson sat in a chair close to me, sniffing back tears. Occasionally, she’d reach out and touch my arm.
“Where are they?” I said in a dry croak.
“They’re both fine, Bo. Just rest. You did fine.”
“Kate?”
“She did fine too, Bo. Now rest.”
The blackness was coming for me again. We were old friends by this point.
“Not what I meant,” I said, but into the blackness.
Chapter 32
The next time I awoke, the room was brighter. Yellow-green curtains and pottery on polished wooden tables. Not a hospital room with harsh white fluorescent lights and too many little signs. Yet in a way, it was. Medical machines with tubes and wires and video displays stood shoved in the corner to make room. My bed was one of those hospital varieties with little buttons to raise and lower it. Beside it was a portable IV stand with a clear plastic bag feeding fluid into my right arm.
Someone knocked and walked in before I could say anything. He had on normal clothes, not a doctor’s outfit, and looked to be in his late forties, possibly early fifties.
His smile was white and even and genuine. “Wide awake, I see.”
He came around and sat where Mrs. Swanson had been sitting.
“Sorry,” I said. “How long—do you know what day it is?”
“Wednesday,” the man said. “You’ve been in and out for two days now. How do you feel?”
“Sore. All over. My hand feels cold.”
“We just changed your IV,” he said. “Fresh from the fridge. I’m Lawrence.”
“I guess you know I’m Bo.”
Lawrence laughed. “Everyone does. You gave us quite a scare. You were lucky—another inch either way and you wouldn’t have a lung right now. If you’d lived. The bullet was fairly lightweight. When it hit the rib, it followed the red marrow and came out your side. Good trade for a broken rib, ripped muscles, and two scars. Wouldn’t you say?”
I was alive and I’d gotten lucky, but I couldn’t help wondering: who the hell was everyone?
“Have you seen Anna and Jimmy?” I said. “I think I remember Mrs. Swanson saying they were okay.”
Lawrence pressed his lips together. “They’re doing well, but they aren’t here. Your foster mother will have more to say on that. In the meantime, I’ve taken the day off. I don’t have a nurse to help out, so I need you to be as self-sufficient as you can.” He said this with a significant look at the wheelchair to my left. “Try to limit yourself to bathroom breaks, and keep those bandages dry. I’ll be by with food.”
I nodded.
“If you need something,” he said, placing a bell on the bedside table, “ring this. Don’t worry about annoying me.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“Is there anything else you need?”
I nodded—then gasped, overcome with a surprise stab of pain.
“Careful,” Lawrence said.
“I was just wondering—are you one of Mrs. Swanson’s foster children?”
He watched me carefully, his expression kindly and a little sad at the same time. “As it happens, I’m her son.”
I stared at him dumbstruck. Everyone knew Mrs. Swanson had been married, but it had never occurred to any of us that she might have a child of her own. In the cruel efficiency of childhood logic, anyone who fostered that many kids had to barren, right?
Maybe she’d adopted Lawrence.
As much as Mrs. Swanson seemed to like me, when the state terminated my mother’s parental rights, she hadn’t adopted me. But she hadn’t sent me away, either. Plenty of kids in the system got sent to for-profit group homes with day and night staff who treated everyone like criminals.
“She actually adopted you?” I said.
“No,” Lawrence said. “I’m her natural son. I was there when she brought the first kids in, after my father died, when I was five. She wanted me to have brothers and sisters to grow up with, but she never remarried. Then, well, she sort of…”
“Got carried away?”
He smiled as if he’d already said too much. “I never said that. Now, you need to get your rest, and I have things I need to get to. I’m not in the office today, but I still have to work.”
“Thanks, Lawrence,” I said. “For everything.”
“Sure thing, Bo.”
The next time I woke up I found a beautiful woman with dark brown hair and a focused expression sitting in the chair knitting what looked to be a child’s blanket. It had a complicated blue and white pattern. I watched while she worked, not saying anything to disturb her. Eventually, she glanced up. She was older than me by maybe twenty years. I recognized her. Kate’s foster mom from way back when, but I’d forgotten her name.
“Good morning, Bo,” she said in a rich, expressive voice.
“You don’t look like a nurse.”
Her laugh was infectious and left me feeling a little foolish, but I didn’t mind.
“I wanted to thank you for working with Kate and the others,” she said. “You were very brave.”
I opened my mouth to answer her and then closed it. I couldn’t help thinking how beautiful she was. And not in a lecherous way, either. She had a soulful luminosity about her, and it shone down lonely corridors I’d thought
long abandoned. If my eyes watered a bit, I hoped she’d think it was from my injuries.
She inspected her handiwork, pretending not to notice me falling apart next to her for no apparent reason.
“I’m Samantha Donner,” she said. “We met before, though you might not remember. We spent Thanksgiving together with a few of my own children. You must have been about thirteen at the time.”
I nodded. “I got in a fight.”
“You defended yourself,” she said, touching my arm and warming me up in the process. “In a way, we’re all one big family. It takes a little imagination, but who do we have if not each other?”
I smiled politely. As much as I wanted to believe the sentiment, I didn’t.
“Uh, I don’t want to seem indelicate,” I said, “but I think I need to…”
Mrs. Donner stood up and came to my side.
“Let me help you,” she said, taking my hand.
She helped me to my feet. I rocked, swaying unsteadily, before sitting in the wheelchair. I felt so tired—like I’d just climbed ten flights of stairs. She wheeled me out of the room, down a short hall, and stopped next to the powder room near the entrance.
Feeling embarrassed by my weakness, I said, “Nice house, huh?”
“Lawrence is a very successful doctor,” Mrs. Donner said. “Among other things…”
I turned and looked up at her.
Rather than elaborate, she helped me to my feet.
“I’ll just be a moment,” I said.
“Take your time. I’m here to help.”
I nodded my thanks and went in.
“Okay, Bo,” she said, when we got back. “You get some sleep. I’ll stay here and get a few more rows in. Then I need to get back to the girls.”
“Thank you for coming,” I said, and meant it.
Mrs. Donner smiled. “Everyone’s proud of you. The way you found those criminals, keeping your composure and working with a team. Very heroic.”
When beautiful ladies call you a hero you’re supposed to disagree and say anyone would have done what you’d done. Instead, I lay back and enjoyed the attention.
My eyes began to close, but I popped them back open.