by K'wan
“One of the most common and fatal mistakes of a rookie is not keeping track of your ammunition,” someone said from behind Chuck, just as something cold slipped around his neck, cutting off his air. “You dare to bring war to my doorstep?” Priest tightened his grip on the rosary.
“You killed my daddy—”
“So you’ve already said.” Priest pulled tighter. “Your father was a good friend but also a notorious fuck-up who always felt like he had something to prove. A quality he obviously passed on to you.”
“You promised him that you’d take care of him,” Chuck said emotionally.
“And so I have, by making sure he died quick and clean. I also promised him that if you came looking for death, I would help you find it.” Priest jerked the chain and snapped Chuck’s neck, letting his lifeless body fall to the ground. He knelt beside the corpse and traced a cross on his forehead. “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, I release your soul from this world.”
When Priest stood up, he felt light-headed. He’d taken two steps and pitched forward. If it hadn’t been for Kahllah catching him, he’d have hit the ground.
“Father, are you hurt?” Kahllah asked, holding him upright.
“No, just a little winded. Help me sit,” Priest said, motioning toward what was left of the bench at the front of the aisle.
Kahllah got Priest to the bench and helped him into a sitting position. When she looked down at the arm that had been hooked around his waist, it was covered in blood. “No,” she gasped. Kahllah dropped to her knees in front of him and tore Priest’s robe open. There was a large circle of blood on his side. He had been far more wounded than he’d let on earlier.
“How bad?” Animal asked. Kahllah didn’t answer, but her face said it wasn’t good. “We’ve got to get him to a hospital.”
“No hospitals. Too many secrets that must remain buried. I just need to rest for a minute,” Priest said in a labored tone. “The police will be here soon, and they can’t find you or Kahllah here, Tayshawn. You would both be sent to prison for the rest of your lives for your crimes.”
“I don’t expect they’ll overlook you sitting in the middle of all these bodies, either,” Animal said.
“I promised myself a long time ago that I would never see the inside of a prison cell ever again, and I don’t intend to break that promise now,” Priest told him. “Kahllah,” he said, addressing his adopted daughter, “get them to safety.”
“Father,” Kahllah said, still kneeling, hugging him around his waist, ignoring the blood, “I can’t leave you.”
“But you must, my Black Lotus.” Priest ran his hands through her hair lovingly. “I raised you from a child, subservient to my needs and wants, but it is time that I release you from your vow. You have money, and you are beautiful, my flower. Go out and discover the little things like life and love that you’ve been denied while under my charge. The world is a very big place, and you have it laid at your feet. Explore it.”
“What good is the world if I’m alone in it?” Kahllah sobbed into his lap.
“On the contrary, you will not be alone. You have Animal and Gucci now. No matter the circumstances that brought us together, it is what we have endured during our time that makes us family. Is this not so?” He looked to Animal and Gucci.
Animal looked at Gucci, who nodded in approval. “Indeed it is,” Animal said, laying his hand on Kahllah’s shoulder. “We’re all we got left.”
Kahllah looked up at Animal, laying her hand over his. Her eyes were red and her face streaked with tears, but she managed to muster a weak smile. “I guess we are,” she said.
Priest smiled, and when he did, there was no sign of death in his one good eye, only his love for his children. “Take Gucci outside, Kahllah. I would have words with my son.”
“Yes, Father.” Kahllah stood. “I love you.” She hugged his neck as tightly as she could.
“And I you, Black Lotus.” Priest hugged her back. “Now, get going. We haven’t much time.”
Kahllah and Gucci grabbed what they could carry in the way of weapons and fresh clothes and headed for the back exit. Gucci stopped and looked to Animal with questioning eyes.
“It’s fine, love. I’ll be right behind you,” Animal assured her. He waited until Gucci and Kahllah had gone before he addressed Priest. “This is the last time I’m going to see you, isn’t it?”
Priest shrugged. “We cannot predict what the Divine Father has planned for us. If it’s my Lord’s will that I am to leave this world today, so be it. I have no regrets . . . well, only one. I wish I had been a bigger part of your life. If I had been around, maybe some of this could’ve been avoided.”
“I appreciate you saying that, real talk, but it’s like you said, We cannot predict what the Divine Father has planned for us. I guess this was just the road that I had to walk, to become the man I am.”
“And I’m proud of the man you’ve become,” Priest said.
“Why, because I grew up to be a killer like you?” Animal asked.
Priest laughed. “No, not because you grew up to be a killer but because you’ve discovered love, and unlike me, you held on to it. That Gucci’s mouth could stand a good soap-washing, but she’s a good woman. When times get rough, she will be your backbone. Hold on to her.”
“I intend to,” Animal told him. His ears picked up the sound of police sirens, and his eyes shot nervously to the door.
“Looks like our guests have arrived. I’ll make sure they get a warm reception.” Priest pulled himself to his feet.
“I’ll stand with you,” Animal told him.
“I know you will, and that’s why you’re a better man that I could’ve ever hoped to be. Before you go, I would like to present you with two gifts.”
“Gifts?” Animal didn’t understand.
Priest pulled out his gold rosary and held it to the light. “This has been with me for a great many years. Your mother gave it to me before you were born, but the modifications I made to it came later on in life when I strayed from the path. I’ve used it for prayer as well as sin, but I have need for neither now. Take it.” He extended the rosary to Animal.
“I will cherish it.” Animal slipped the rosary around his neck, and a chill went down his back. “What’s the second gift?”
Priest reached within the folds of his robes and retrieved a small SD card in a plastic case. “The second gift is your freedom.” He handed it to Animal.
“I don’t understand,” Animal said, looking at the card curiously.
“Show it to Kahllah. She will understand,” Priest said. Just outside the church entrance, they could hear the squawk of police radios. “Time for you to go, little one,” he told Animal.
Animal tucked the card into his pocket and headed for the door. As an afterthought, he rushed back in and shocked Priest by giving him a hug. “You still ain’t shit, but you’re my father, and I love you.” Before Priest had a chance to respond, Animal broke the embrace and disappeared.
Priest felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. For as much as he wanted to bask in the glow of reconciling with his only son, he had business to attend to. He picked up one of the discarded machine guns, left by Chuck’s men, and stood in the middle of the aisle. Several uniformed officers spilled into the church with their guns drawn. All eyes were locked on the priest holding the chopper.
“Come all ye lambs to merciful slaughter,” Priest said, before pulling the trigger and cutting down the first wave of cops.
• • •
Animal had just made it into the alley behind the church when he heard the first shots. There was a quick burst, followed by at least a dozen or more loud booms. Then all was silent. The life of one of the underworld’s most noted assassins had come to an end, but his legacy would live on through his children, biological and adopted. When Animal hopped into the passenger’s seat of the idling car, he was wiping his eyes with his shirt.
“Drive,” he told Kahllah,
expecting at least some type of resistance, but she simply put the car into gear and pulled off.
“You OK?” Gucci asked him from the backseat.
“I’m good,” Animal said, trying to keep his voice strong.
“He’s gone, isn’t he?” Kahllah asked.
“Yes, our father has passed on,” Animal said solemnly. He never imagined how strongly the death of someone he barely knew would affect him. It was as if he felt his father’s passing in his spirit, and it deeply saddened him.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Kahllah slammed her fist into the steering wheel over and over. Tears danced in the corners of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.
“I’m sorry, Kahllah,” Gucci offered. Priest’s death didn’t affect her one way or another, because she had no attachments to him, but she could feel the grief coming from Kahllah and Animal.
After a while, Kahllah was able to compose herself enough to speak without screaming. “He’s in a better place now, and the demons can’t touch him.”
“So what do we do now?” Gucci asked.
“I have money and connections. I can get you two out of the country. You can set up someplace where no one knows you and put all this bullshit behind you,” Kahllah offered.
“To come this far and not see it through to the end would be to disrespect our father’s memory,” Animal said.
“Animal, Priest was our best chance, and now that he’s gone, it puts us back at square one. Let’s just go,” Gucci urged.
“As much as I hate to admit it, I agree with Gucci,” Kahllah said. “I’m connected, but my reach only goes so far. It was Priest who had the real power. Without him, what leg have you got to stand on?”
“This one.” Animal showed her the SD card. “Priest said that this was the key to my freedom and you would know what it meant.”
Kahllah’s face betrayed her surprise. She was so stunned all she could do was laugh. “Our father, even in death, he keeps tricks up his sleeve.”
“What is it?” Animal asked.
“A fuck-you present for Shai Clark,” Kahllah told him.
PART V
THE TRIPLE CROSS
“Take this bitch in the alley, and put her out of her misery.”
—Swann
TWENTY-EIGHT
PORSHA WAS SO TIRED THAT she felt like her ass was literally dragging that morning. She had spent half the night up waiting and worrying about Zo, only for him to finally call from a pay phone with some bullshit secret-agent story with way more holes than Porsha cared to fill in. Her mind was telling her that enough was enough and she was through with Alonzo, but her heart made her reluctant. The downside about love was that it was the one thing you had no control over.
For as much as she wanted to lie around in bed all day and sulk, she couldn’t. She had shit to do, and it wasn’t gonna get done within the confines of that apartment worrying about Zo. Porsha had to be downtown for a photo shoot for some brand of liquor she couldn’t even remember the name of. At the end of the day, it didn’t matter. It was a paycheck and another notch on her résumé, which was getting quite extensive. It started out as a side hustle just to put with the paycheck she got from her day job so she would be able to eat after paying rent, but over the past few weeks, she had been getting more and more calls. One photographer described her as having a look.
Porsha pulled on her robe and stepped outside her bedroom. When she touched the hallway, the aroma of bacon and eggs staggered her. It wasn’t until she smelled the food that she realized she hadn’t eaten since the day before and was starving. Following her nose and her stomach, Porsha made her way to the living room, where she found Frankie sitting on the sofa, hunched over the coffee table, stuffing her face.
“There’s a plate for you on the stove,” Frankie told her, without bothering to look up from her food. She was dressed in a pair of tight blue jeans, a graphic T-shirt, and a pair of white Nikes.
Porsha went into the kitchen to retrieve her plate, then returned to the living room and sat in the La-Z-Boy chair with her food. “You’re up and dressed early,” she said, taking a forkful of fluffy cheese eggs.
“Gotta run some errands,” Frankie told her. “What’re you doing out of bed before noon on your day off?”
“Ain’t no such thing as days off when you’re on your grind. I don’t have to work today, but I have a photo shoot.”
“Where’s Zo?” Frankie asked. The last thing she remembered was him leaving to go to the store before she fell asleep.
“Fuck Zo-Pound,” Porsha said with an attitude. She went on to tell Frankie about him disappearing and then calling with a lame excuse. “What kinda nigga creeps off in the middle of the night unless he’s up to no good? He’s probably got some hood rat bitch tucked away somewhere in the projects.”
“Nah, I don’t think Zo is creeping on you. He isn’t the type,” Frankie said.
“Any nigga with a dick is the type,” Porsha countered. “And what makes you such an authority on Alonzo these days?”
Frankie put her fork down and looked at Porsha. “I overlooked it the first few times you said some slick shit, but I’m starting to feel disrespected. What the fuck is your problem?”
“I’m sorry, Frankie. I’m just stressed the fuck out, that’s all. My life is hectic, and sometimes I hate it, but the one bright spot in all this craziness is Alonzo. Look, I’m not slow. I know what it is Zo does in the streets. I don’t necessarily agree with it, but I don’t knock him for it. I put up with the strange hours, not seeing him for days sometimes, and bitches throwing shade . . . all this, and I still feel like I’m number two in his life. That funny shit he pulled last night feels like the last straw.”
“Porsha,” Frankie began, “I may not be an authority on Alonzo, as you put it, but I know enough about him to know that his heart is in the right place when it comes to you. He’s in love with your black ass, and anybody with eyes can see it. Granted, that was strange of him to slip out to the store and not come back, but there had to be a reason. Maybe it was an emergency? Something could’ve gone down on the streets.”
“It couldn’t have been that serious, because he left his gun,” Porsha said.
“Zo hit the streets without his gun?” Frankie was shocked. “This definitely doesn’t make sense. Dig, when I go out, I’m gonna hit the hood and see if I can track him down.” Frankie threw her paper plate into the trash and headed for the door. She grabbed her Yankees fitted and pulled it down over her head, letting her hair hang out.
“Maybe I should go with you,” Porsha suggested.
“Nah, you go to your photo shoot and get that money. I’ll hit you if I find anything out,” Frankie assured her, and left.
Porsha tried to finish her food, but she’d lost her appetite. She thought on how she had made Zo leave his pistol in the house and wondered if that had been a blessing or a curse. She thought about trying to call him again, but if he didn’t answer, it was only going to make her nerves worse. After sticking the plate in the fridge for later, Porsha showered and dressed for her photo shoot, trying her best not to think about Zo-Pound and what he might be up to.
• • •
Frankie opted to take the subway to the projects instead of a taxi. She needed time to think, and the ride would give her just that. She was calm and collected in front of Porsha, but she was really terrified. All she could think about was Rick Jenkins and Alonzo possibly having thrown his life away for her bullshit. She couldn’t rest until she made sure Zo was out of harm’s way, and that’s what brought her to the projects.
Frankie strolled up the block, tugging at the black bandanna around her neck like a designer scarf. It was irritating her scar. She scanned the faces of the young men on the avenue. None of them was Zo-Pound, but one came frighteningly close. Lakim was leaning against a black iron gate, talking to King James, while a few younger dudes milled around them like sentries. Frankie angled toward them, making sure to keep her hands in plain sight as she appr
oached. One of the young dudes noticed her and came to stand between her and the group. He couldn’t have been more than a teenager, with long braids and a scar on the right side of his face.
“You lost, baby?” Cain asked. His tone was pleasant and even, but his presence radiated menace.
“Nah, I’m not lost,” Frankie told Cain, and tried to step around him, only to have Abel block her path.
“Says who? Says you? You must be lost, crossing this block with that bandanna around your neck. You need a pass to fly any color but the correct one on this block.” Abel fanned the red silk scarf that was looped around his belt. “If you wanna walk through here, I’m gonna need you to drop that flag.”
“I’m not into gang-banging, so that don’t apply to me,” Frankie told him. She let her hand drift to her shoulder bag, where she had her .380 tucked.
“I wonder what she’s got in the bag?” Cain asked, letting his eyes roam to the purse.
“Maybe we should take it and see,” Abel suggested. They were toying with Frankie.
Lightning-quick, Frankie’s hand dipped into her purse. She didn’t draw the gun, but she had it clutched firmly in her hand, ready to fire it through the bag at a moment’s notice. “You reach for this bag, and you ain’t gonna have to wonder what’s in it, because I’m gonna show you.”
“So pretty lady wants to play . . .” Cain began.
“. . . We like games,” Abel finished.
“Yo, stop harassing that girl and let her through!” King’s voice boomed. The twins parted like the Red Sea, allowing Frankie to pass.
“Maybe later on, I can get you to show me what’s in the bag,” Cain whispered to her.
Frankie stopped and looked over her shoulder. “If that’s your version of being flirtatious, you have a lot to learn.”
“I’m a quick study under the right teacher. We can ride that course all the way to an A plus.” Cain smirked.