by Matt Rass
Dwight punched Mike’s wrist, and the gun fell to the ground as Mandy screamed and ran to scoop up the crying boy. “Oh baby, oh baby.” She patted and smoothed him all over, looking for wounds.
Seeing Andre shove DC and pick up the fallen gun, Ray jumped back down the stairs and rolled on the brown grass as Andre fired wildly after him. Ray crouched and ran for the Caddy’s passenger door as DC opened the door from the other side and crawled backward into the seat. More shots peppered the body of the Cadillac as Ray scrambled through the passenger side. He looked at an upside-down DC and said, “We’ll talk more later, okay?”
“Sure,” she said.
Andre stuck the gun into the Caddy through an open window and fired at Ray’s head, but all the rounds entered the floor. Ray snatched the gun out of the pimp’s hand and pulled him through the interior of the car, over DC, and stuffed the gun’s barrel down his throat. “How’s that taste, motherfucker?” he said.
He pulled the gun out of Andre’s mouth, extracting teeth along the way. Andre howled. Ray then bashed him over the head repeatedly with the butt of the gun. With each strike, the pimp’s arms and legs spasmed as if he was being electrocuted.
Mike and Dwight stopped to stare at Ray. Dwight had the other man in a chokehold.
“I can tell you who killed your brother,” Mike said to Ray.
“Who?”
“Tell him to let go of me.”
“Bullshit,” Dwight said. “You almost killed my kid.”
Mike’s eyes pleaded with Ray to save him from the other black man.
“Let him go, Dwight,” Ray said. “I’ll take care of him.”
Dwight loosened his grip and Mike rubbed his neck as if it was on fire.
“Why don’t you go see how they’re doin’ inside,” Ray suggested.
Ray could see Dwight was apprehensive about going inside the trailer.
“He’s gotta answer for shooting at my kid,” Dwight said.
“He will.”
“Ah man,” Mike said. “I fired it by accident.”
“Let me just do this one thing,” Dwight said.
“What’s that?” Ray asked just as Dwight wound back and coldcocked Mike in the side of the head. The white boy fell like a broom.
“Guess I’ll go on inside and see how they’re doin’, then,” Dwight said.
Ray nodded and watched Dwight drag ass up the steps to the trailer. “It’s like a goddamn soap opera ’round here,” he said.
Everyone could hear Mandy’s continued cries of apology to the little boy inside.
“Okay,” Ray said, booting Mike to rouse him. “Either you come clean on what happened to Sam, or I’m gonna shoot you.” He then aimed the gun at Mike’s knee. “These are my special ‘hurt’ bullets. They’re called that ’cos they hurt. Bad,” he said.
Mike sat up and dusted the gravel off the side of his face. Ray noticed the taser knuckles peeking out from the big man’s hoodie pocket. “I didn’t think they were gonna kill him,” Mike said. “No one did.”
“Who’s they?”
Mike hesitated. “I’d rather tell this to the cops, man. I don’t know what you’re gonna do to me after I tell you. I need some kinda protection.”
They heard police sirens in the distance.
“Okay,” Ray said. “I ain’t got time for this.” He reached into the pocket of Mike’s hoodie and removed the taser knuckles.
“Oh, c’mon, man,” Mike pleaded before Ray slipped on the knucks and tested the taser button. The knuckles came alive with a zap!
“Last chance,” Ray warned.
“I can’t,” Mike said, and Ray tasered him with a stinging haymaker between the eyes, laying him out like Frankenstein’s monster.
Ray then dragged Mike by the feet toward the Caddy.
“Pop the trunk,” he said to DC. “Let’s get these two inside.”
DC pushed the button and went around to the passenger side where she could pull Andre out of the car. Ray loaded Mike in the trunk first. “Shit,” he said. “There’s no more room.” He tried cramming Mike in further, but the big bastard wouldn’t budge.
“What’re we gonna do with Andre?” DC asked.
“Leave him here for the cops,” Ray said and slammed the trunk.
“I forgot to give you this,” Ray said, taking the rabbit foot out of his pocket and giving it to DC.
“Aww, thanks,” she said, hugging the tattered pink foot.
She tried to kiss him, but he held her off. “I heard your message on Sam’s phone,” he said. “And I want you to know I’m gonna take care of the man that raped you.”
Ray watched her lip quiver. “You can tell me everything you know about Sam, if you want,” he continued, “but no matter what, this man dies today.” He craned his neck over to look at Andre, still out cold on the ground beside the car. “Awright,” he said. “Let’s go.”
EMMA ASSAULT
Barefoot and wearing nothing but a silk bathrobe, the congressman leaned against the tan massage table in the converted third floor attic of his home. It was a small room, with a single window, that held only the massage table, a pushcart with lotions, oils, latex gloves, and a Bluetooth speaker. The walls had black-and-white pictures of nude women in repose hung beside those of nature scenes with an Oriental theme. It smelled like a teenager’s basement bedroom.
Emma sat in one corner on an antique Chinese stool and chewed on her fingernails.
“You like the pictures?” Frank asked.
“They’re all right,” she replied.
“Yeah, I guess they’re just all right,” he echoed. “You like Ariana Grande?”
Emma laughed. “Why? Do you?”
“You could play her music over the speaker if you want. Doesn’t she have a new album out, or something?”
“Like a year ago. But your driver took my phone away.”
“Oh yes, sorry about that. I don’t like the interruptions. You understand. You tell people to turn off their ringers, and the next thing you know, ring-ring-ring!”
“Always happens at the movies,” Emma said.
“Hate that,” the congressman groaned. “Why don’t you go choose a lotion?”
Emma pointed at the cart holding all of the lotions and oils. “Those ones?” she asked.
“I’ll leave the choice up to you,” the congressman said. “You’re the professional.” He stared at her legs and ass, and touched his groin as she walked self-consciously to the cart.
“This one smells nice,” she said.
“Good. I’d like you to start with my front then, please. My chest.” He removed his robe and wore only tighty-whities underneath. He had a partial erection and shifted it in front of her. His chest hair was white and his red nipples stood out like burn wounds in his soft, wrinkled flesh. He saw her sneer. “My driver already paid you, right?”
“Yes,” she said, seemingly shaking herself out of her sneering.
“No, no, no,” he said as Emma pulled vinyl gloves out of the box. “That’s just for cleaning. Afterward.”
“Sorry,” she said, confused as to whether she should return them to the box or discard them in the small garbage can.
“Just lay them back on the box,” Frank said.
She pumped lotion onto her hands and rubbed them together.
The congressman stretched out on the massage table. “Bring the cart closer,” he said.
With wet hands, Emma went around the back of the cart and pushed it closer to the table, bumping it with her hip.
“Now come around to this side of me,” he said, cocking his head so she should position herself behind his head. “And massage my chest, please.”
She followed his directions, and when she put her hands on his chest, he looked up to the underside of her breasts. He looked at her smooth neck, her chin, and her lips. She moistened her lips because of the dryness.
His erection grew larger and when it shifted on its own, Emma looked away to the floor. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t
do this.”
The congressman snatched her by the wrist. “I already paid you,” he said.
“I’m sorry, I’ll give it all back. I can’t do this.” She pulled her hand free and went toward the door.
“You were doing fine,” he said, standing. “Don’t worry if it’s your first time.”
“It’s not that,” Emma said. “I just really need to get home, my mom is probably looking for me.”
“I don’t think so,” the congressman said, his eyes narrowing. “No one is looking for you.”
“That’s not true.” She tried the door but it was locked. “Please let me out, I won’t say anything. I promise.”
“What would you say? That you stole two hundred and fifty dollars from me?”
“I said I would give it back.”
“I don’t want the money, I want a goddamn massage.” He punched the vinyl headrest. “Is that too much to ask, or should I call the police?”
Emma released the doorknob and returned to the cart and plunged more lotion onto her palms.
“That’s a good girl,” the congressman said.
CB THE CHAUFFEUR
The Lincoln Town Car with CB driving and Barbara and Alex’s mother, Helen, in the back, entered the cul-de-sac. The women hadn’t stopped talking since the airport.
“Last chance,” Barbara said to Helen, “we can ask Carl to unload your bags and go for lunch near the lake if you want?”
“No thanks, Barb,” Helen said, her voice a high-pitched, excited whine. “I’m so anxious to see your remodeling!”
The women had cackled like drunken hens the entire ride, not paying CB any attention, and he loathed them for it. He should never had agreed to drive. He was getting too soft in his old age, he thought. Damn Barbara, too, for asking.
He parked the Lincoln in the driveway, went around the far side and held open the rear passenger side door and extended his hand to help Helen drag her fat ass out.
“Thanks so much, Carl,” she said. “That’s very sweet of you.”
“You’re welcome,” he said.
She then turned to Barbara to say, “You’ve trained him so well,” and they laughed as if he wasn’t even there.
He opened the trunk and pulled out her two Louis Vuitton bags then dropped them onto the driveway, where they toppled over, and scraped along the cement.
“Carl?” Barb crowed. “What’re you doing?”
“Christ,” he said, gripping his chest.
Helen frantically waved her hands, shooing away the thought. “He’s having a heart attack, he’s having a heart attack!”
“What is it?” Barb asked.
“My chest,” he said.
The women, completely incapable of dealing with the situation, helped him as best they could into the house, but he still had to do most of the work pulling himself up the bannister. His breath became shortened and he was as white as a ghost.
“I can see the sweat pouring from you,” Barb said.
Inside the foyer, CB was seated in a chair while Barb called 9-1-1. “I need an ambulance please,” she said.
Helen flapped her hands and said, “I’ll fetch a glass of water,” and wandered off to the kitchen.
“Hold on, Carl,” Barb said. “Help is coming.”
He looked as if he would vomit. “Why didn’t you wait for me?” he asked.
“What? When? What are you talking about?” Barbara asked.
“Before I joined the Army.”
“Are you serious? You’re asking me this now?”
“I need to know.”
“That was a lifetime ago. This is really not a good time.”
“I’m sorry, but I need to know.”
“Screw you. You don’t get to ask me that now.”
“Why not?”
“Because I did wait for you, you sonuvabitch.”
“But when I got back, you had already chosen Frank.”
“You chose Frank. It wasn’t the other way around.”
“How?” he began, but started coughing.
“I know why you left town,” Barb said. “And it wasn’t to go off and join the Marines and be a hero. You were a coward for covering for Frank. I know all about the woman he put in the hospital, whats-her-name, Elizabeth.”
“Who told you?”
“Tony.”
“What did he say?”
“He said she was pregnant with Frank’s child and Frank’s father paid her to have an abortion and to leave town, but she didn’t want to. She was in love with him.”
“And Tony said Frank beat her up?”
“Yes.”
Helen returned to the foyer with the glass of water, but she was drinking it herself.
Carl winced again at the pain in his chest. “It’s not true,” he said. “I put her in the hospital. But she wasn’t in love with him. She was nothing but a prostitute.”
“Why don’t you shut your goddamn mouth,” Helen shouted. “This family is none of your business.”
“You know the truth, Helen. Why don’t you tell it?” CB said.
“The only truth I know is of you trying to cosy up with my brother, but you’re a nobody! You’re a loser and you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Barbara’s mouth dropped in response to Helen’s outburst. “You’re all crazy,” she said and marched passed them, heading for the kitchen.
CB loosened his tie, stood with effort, pulled his Colt .45 from his shoulder holster, and started up the stairs.
“Where are you going?” Helen shouted after him. “I’m calling the police!”
Frank was descending from the attic massage room, still in his robe, when CB reached the top of the second-floor landing. The second floor was made of rich, dark wood, and varnished to a brilliant shine. The two men stood at opposite ends of the walkway.
“CB, what the hell’s going on? I thought you were at the restaurant with the women… Don’t tell me you brought Barb back here?” Frank looked at the gun in CB’s hand. “What’re you doing with that?”
CB marched up to Frank and smashed the gun in his face. The congressman dropped to the floor from the blow and groaned. A tooth fell out from under his split lip and landed on his bare chest. He picked it up with pincer-like fingers and said, “My tooth.”
He put a finger in the hole the tooth had left and looked bewilderedly at CB standing over him. Punch drunk. “Why are you doing this, Carl?”
“Get up, you sunovabitch.”
The congressman pushed himself back to the base of the attic stairs. “What? Why?”
Emma opened the attic door. Her eyes were red with tears, and she was holding her torn blouse together with one hand and a silver dagger letter opener in the other. She was shaking.
“What did you do to the little girl, Frank?” CB asked.
“Nothing. I gave her money.”
“Gimme my phone,” Emma said to CB.
CB fit his .45 back into his shoulder holster and squatted down onto the congressman’s chest. He removed a small, Smith & Wesson .22 caliber revolver from his ankle holster and put it inside the other man’s mouth. The congressman winced as the short barrel knocked against his remaining teeth.
“This bullet is gonna bounce around inside your skull and scramble your brains,” CB said.
The congressman howled. “Noooo!”
“Carl!” Barb shouted as she ran up the stairs. “Leave him alone.”
CB pushed the gun as far into the congressman’s mouth as he could, causing Frank to gag, then removed it. He wiped it clean with the hem of Frank’s bathrobe and stood to face Barb.
“Who is this girl?” she asked.
CB frowned at her, but he saw that she held no sympathy, only anger.
The congressman saw CB loosen his grip on the .22, and he went for it with both hands, snatching it from him. As CB spun around, Frank fired. Emma shrieked and returned to the attic massage room, the door closing behind her.
The first bullet had whizzed p
ast CB, but as he struggled with the congressman and got his hands on the barrel, the second shot ripped through his palm and he screamed. CB landed on the congressman and twisted the gun out of his hands as Helen cautiously ascended the stairs and then screamed. Barb was slumped against the wall, groaning. Both men turned to look. Barb removed her bloody hand from her face. She’d been shot right through her left eye.
Helen ran up to her side and gasped. “Barb? Oh my God.” She turned to her brother. “Frank, do something,” she said.
CB rolled off the congressman, allowing Frank to get up and scramble to Barb’s side, slipping on the blood from CB’s wound.
“Honey? Sweety? Baby? I’m sorry,” Frank said.
She looked dumbly at him with one good eye. She tried to speak, but her words were garbled.
“What are you doing just sitting there,” he shouted to his sister. “Call an ambulance,”
“She already did,” she said, indicating Barbara. “She called one for him.”
“Do it again, goddamnit. Now.”
Helen went back down the stairs.
The hole in CB’s hand wasn’t a clean one. It looked as though the bullet had gone in sideways. He traced the path from the palm, up his wrist and could see the bullet under his skin halfway up to his elbow.
“Hold tight, sweetheart,” the congressman whispered. “The ambulance will be here soon.”
Emma opened the attic door cautiously, and seeing the carnage, quickly closed it again.
“Frank?” CB said, pointing the pistol at him.
The congressman turned and CB shot him twice in the chest.
THE MANSION
The Caddy entered the stately cul-de-sac and stopped in front of the congressman’s mansion. Emma’s dot was still blinking at the same location.
“I’ll honk the horn when the police come,” DC said.
“What police?”
“You don’t think they’ll call the police when they see a big black man in their neighborhood?”
“But I’m a cop.”
“You still black. And this ain’t Detroit.”
They couldn’t have felt any more out of place than now, sitting in the Caddy, surrounded by white, multimillion-dollar mansions and silver-and-black Mercedes Benzs. Mike yelled and pounded from inside the Caddy’s trunk.