The Apostles

by Y. Blak Moore

  “Now this motherfucking newspaper writing about this shit like it's damn near the norm in today's society. If one of them kids that was touched and had they whole life fucked up grows up and blows one of them cocksuckers' brains out they damn head, then he wrong. And the Catholic church. Don't let me get started on the archdiocese. Besides the fact them motherfuckers been changing God laws since the beginning of time. Now with these fucking dirty-ass priests they don't want to throw them bums out in the fucking streets where they belong. The fucking archdiocese would rather eat shit than let the world see them trying to clean it up. So, nephew of mine, you take that newspaper and enjoy, because I wouldn't wipe my ass with it. But hey, what do I know, I'm just a shopkeeper.”

  “Okaaaay, Beez,” Solemn Shawn said as he eased through the door to the storeroom. He agreed with his uncle on certain issues, but he really didn't feel like standing still for him to rail for the rest of the afternoon. Spreading the paper out on the table in front of him, Solemn Shawn got comfortable and began to brush up on recent events as he snacked.

  He had finished his candy bar and most of his juice by the time Murderman entered the room. He continued to look through the newspaper as he waited for his friend to state his business.

  “Sorry I took so long, A. I can't kill them zombies on the fourth level for shit in the world.”

  “You love them shooting games,” Solemn Shawn commented.

  “Be trying to keep my aim right. Plus, video games is the only place you could gone on a zombie killing spree. I wish some old mutated-ass shit happened like that in real life right here in the Chi. I would be giving it to them zombie fucks until they tore me apart. All head shots. Like what?”

  Without looking up from the newspaper, Solemn Shawn said, “I personally wouldn't want to see no shit like that. And I know you called me down here for something other than discussing video games.”

  “Aw-ight, A. I know that's your polite way of saying get to the point. You know the shit we been on with the Goofies. I think I know who kicked it off. I recognized the cat that shot Bezo and Big Ant the other day. It was the dude that came to holler at us at Charlene's a while back. That pussy that was calling hisself Insane Wayne. The best I can figure it, I think that motherfucker is behind our recent run-ins.”

  The mention of Insane Wayne piqued Solemn Shawn's interest. “You talking about the guy whose mouth was wired up. You threw a couple at the dude that night and you said it didn't bother him.” Solemn Shawn jumped to his feet. “Hold the fuck up! Remember that motherfucker left with our champagne bottle. The cops said they found my prints at the scene of this guy Bing's murder. It must have been on that damn bottle. That motherfucker planted that shit!”

  “Right,” Murderman added. “Bing is the reason they fucked him up in the first place. That's the nigga he told on. Think about it. This nigga been pulling stunts on both ends and got us going at each other. All he do is pop up and fuck somebody on either side around, then we go at each other while he chilling.”

  Solemn Shawn took his seat again. “What do you propose we do about this?”

  “I know it might sound crazy, but I thought it out. I think we should have a sit-down with the Goofies and let Vee know the business. If both parties agree we can have a peace treaty while we catch this nigga.”

  Solemn Shawn chuckled. “For a minute there you almost sounded like our old friend Vee would listen to reason. Don't forget he just buried two of his guys.”

  “Yeah, well, I think he will listen. I know that he got to be tired of burying his guys. Plus, while we doing each other this stud Wayne is cooling out with his heels kicked up, waiting for another opportunity to catch more bodies. Both the Governors and the Apostles need to be hunting this stud like a fucking dog. I think Vee will listen if we tell him the business straight up. What you say, SS?”

  “You're the Apostle of War, I'll go with your decision. If you want to meet, set it up.”

  “I already did, the meet is tomorrow night.”

  Solemn Shawn drank the rest of his fruit punch. He closed the newspaper and folded it up. He looked Murderman in the eye. “Just for the record, Vee ain't the sharpest knife in the kitchen drawer, so I don't think he gone believe this shit.”

  “We'll see,” Murderman said.

  “That'll be twenty-seven dollars, sir,” the cashier at the concession stand told Big Ant.

  “Gotdamn!” Big Ant exclaimed as he counted out the required amount. “This is why I stay my ass at home and watch the sorry-ass Bulls. Twenty-seven bucks for two bratwursts, two slices of pizza, and two watery-ass beers. Then they got the nerve to have crackhead-sized portions. Murder, get yo pizza, yo. I shoulda made you pay for yo own shit since you picked this motherfucking place to meet. I hate the United Center.”

  “Enjoy the game, sir,” the cashier said with a note of condescension in her voice.

  “Yeah, whatever, honey,” Big Ant shot back at her. “Where our seats, Murder? And please don't tell me they in the nosebleed section.”

  “Just bring yo ass on and quit complaining. It ain't like we coulda sat at half court and had this meet, A. You sure you good, SS?”

  “I'm cool. Just enjoying the brilliance of your picking this place to meet.”

  “Genius, ain't it,” Murderman bragged. “See, SS, you ain't the only one with the brains God gave a billy goat. I didn't want to do that old TV show-ass shit. You know, the meeting in the alley in trench coats-type shit. And this was the only place that me and Vee's people could agree on. It was easy to go online and find a section where nobody had really bought no tickets for.”

  “High-ass place,” Big Ant grumbled. “The United Center be killing me. They got prices like Jordan still playing here.”

  “Aw quit whining, A, and come yo ass on. Our seats right through here,” Murderman said as he looked at their ticket stubs.

  Big Ant groaned when he saw how far away from the floor they were seated. “Damn, nigga, did you get us the farthest seats they had in this motherfucka? I wish I woulda bought some binoculars.”

  In their seats they began to enjoy the game. A few minutes into the second quarter, Vee, followed by Teddy and O, made their way to their seats in the same row. Vee sat to Solemn Shawn's right with an empty seat between them. Teddy and O sat to Vee's right.

  “Vaton,” Solemn Shawn said.

  “Shawn,” Vee returned. “Nice place you niggas picked. We can meet without worrying about walking into a setup.”

  “Yeah, I was just mentioning that to Murder.”

  Nodding in the Apostles' direction, Vee said, “I see you got ole Michael Moore and Big Ant here. Niggas still wit you, huh? I thought by now somebody woulda done murdered Murder.”

  Not letting the slight pass, Solemn Shawn observed, “And I see you still got Thirsty Teddy with you as well. You must have gave back all that time on that rape.”

  “DNA tests is a motherfucka,” Teddy said. “Same way I beat that murder rap.”

  “Well, enough of the motherfucking small talk,” Vee interrupted. “I didn't come here for that shit. I didn't really want to come, but I didn't want it said that Vee didn't want to at least hear a motherfucka out when it comes to peace.”

  Murder snickered. “Yeah right. But anyway, look, Vee. I know who kicked off this latest shit between us. A while back this nigga that used to be wit y'all named Insane Wayne tried to link up with us. We denied him, told him we don't fuck wit pancakes, and the nigga left with rocks in his jaws.”

  “What the fuck do Wayne got to do with anything? That nigga was a bitch-ass trick and he got what he deserved. Y'all shoulda took that fag in.”

  Murderman chose to ignore Vee's smart comment. “Well, I checked some shit out and found out that the kid he tricked on was the first nigga that got got. Behind the wheel of the car he took from Insane Wayne. Don't that sound like too much of a coincidence?”

  Vee snapped, “First of all, quit calling that pussy-ass nigga Insane Wayne. That nigga's name is Wayn
e. Ain't shit insane ‘bout his bitch ass. And I know for a fact that bitch-ass nigga ain't killt no Governor. You motherfuckas got some nerve killing a Governor and sitting up here acting like it wadn't y'all that started all this shit. Y'all must think I'm some kind of fucking lame. Y'all trying to pin this shit on some ho-ass nigga we got rid of. What the fuck do I look like?”

  “Hold on, Vee,” Solemn Shawn said. “You think we doing this for the sake of doing it? If Murder says that's what happened then that's what happened. We didn't even have a reason to get at your guys.”

  “You motherfuckas is lying!” Vee fumed. “I don't know who the fuck you think we is! Now you motherfuckas is up in here talking about peace after killing some of mine! You got to be crazy!” Vee stood up, prompting Teddy and O to do so. “You niggas is damn lucky that we up in the United Center. We out this bitch.”

  Never leaving his seat, Solemn Shawn called after Vee. “Just like the old days, Vaton. You never could see the forest for the trees.”

  “Yeah, and you always thought you was so motherfucking smart when you really was dumb as hell,” Vee retaliated. “Ain't gone be no peace treaty. The only peace there gone be is when you Assholes is resting in it.”

  Murderman surged forward, but Solemn Shawn blocked his path. To Vee, he said, “Okay, Vee. We tried to talk sense to your stubborn ass. We had a chance to put this shit behind us, but you never could listen to anybody. That's a real character flaw.”

  “Yeah, well, fuck you. You niggas is dead,” Vee threatened as he headed for the exit curtain.

  “Don't no bitch-ass Goofy threaten no Apostles!” Murderman raged. “SS, let me go! You know the only reason this nigga talking shit is because we up in here!”

  Noticing the four other fans in their section were paying more attention to them than the game, Solemn Shawn tightened his grip on Murderman's arm. “Chill that wild shit, M1! Fuck Vee! I already knew that stupid nigga wasn't going to believe you. Now calm yo ass down before one of these cats go get the security. Or did you forget you got a damn MP5 down outside in the car?”

  Mumbling all the while, Murderman regained some semblance of calm. Big Ant tried to hand him a cup of beer, which Murder-man smacked to the floor.

  “Now why the fuck you do that?” Big Ant groused. “That funky cup of beer was five fucking dollars. If you ain't want the motherfucker I woulda drunk it.”

  “Shut up, Big Ant,” Solemn Shawn said.

  “SORRY I DON'T HAVE TIME TO HELP YOU LOAD UP, TABBY,” Samantha said as she dumped the remainder of her cup of coffee down the kitchen sink drain. “If you woulda got yo butt up I woulda had the time.”

  Tabitha yawned and stretched over by the toaster where she was waiting for her Pop-Tarts to pop up. “It's cool, Sam. I got it. I ain't gone even lie. Wadn't no way I was gone get up this morning and do nothing. That's why I spent all day packing yesterday before I went out to celebrate last night.”

  Samantha leaned against the counter. “So how was the party last night? You know I wanted to go, but I had to finish up some stuff for work, and the only babysitter I could get was Ma. And you know she doesn't really watch Lil Shawn—it's more like he watches her get drunk.”

  “Girl, the party was off the meat racks. Shawn had it set up so drinks for me and my friends was free all night. Whatever we wanted. Charlene's is tight as hell. Since most of them niggas that was there is down with our brother wadn't nobody really trying to holler too tough, but you could tell they wanted to. Then I was chilling up in VIP with Shawn and them. That Big Ant is a fool. He damn near had me throwing up, he had me laughing so hard. For a minute I thought Shawn was gone get on that big-brother shit with me, but he let me party without bothering me. That was real cool of him. Man, Sam, their world is so much like ours and at the same time it's different as hell, you know. I'mma miss that brother of ours when I'm away.”

  “Looking forward to summer school?” Samantha asked as she grabbed her car keys off the countertop.

  Tabitha placed her slightly charred Pop-Tarts on a saucer and grabbed her glass of orange juice. “Not really. Who wants to be in boring-ass Ohio for the summer. But I am looking forward to the big money a sister gone be making when I graduate with my mas-ter's.”

  “I know that's right,” Samantha said as she walked over and gave her twin a kiss on the jaw. “I gotta bounce ‘fore I miss my Metro train. Make sure you set the alarm system and lock the door. You be safe, and call me when you get to school.”

  “I will, Sam. Holla back.” Tabitha took her saucer and OJ into the living room and got comfortable on the couch. She turned on the morning news and ate her breakfast. She chased the news with some Oprah and ended up napping halfway through the program. Two hours later, she awoke and looked at her watch.

  “Shit!” she said aloud. “I gotta get outta here.”

  Upstairs in her room, Tabitha changed into a pair of jeans and a Kent State T-shirt and matching billed hat. She pulled a pair of wheat Timberland boots on her feet and put her small gold-and-diamond cross around her neck. Next she began to move her totes and luggage downstairs and eventually out onto the front porch. From the porch she began to pack her things in the rear of her Montero Sport.

  As Tabitha was carrying a particularly heavy tote to her truck a tall, thin man walked up. He was smiling and plainly dressed in a black T-shirt, blue jeans, and black shoes. On his hands he wore thin baseball batting gloves. A black fitted cap partially hid his eyes, but his smile was pleasant enough despite his brown teeth.

  Teddy asked, “Can I help you with that, sister?”

  Tabitha started to refuse his help, but the tote was heavy. She smiled back. “Yeah, I could use a hand. I ain't one of them independent-ass girls. I'll let a man help me.”

  He laughed at her joke. “Let me get the end of that with you.”

  Together they carried the tote to the truck and pushed it inside.

  Wiping her forehead, Tabitha said, “I've got a few more things on the porch you can help me with, then I'll hit you wit a few bucks.”

  Cheerfully, Teddy said, “Sounds good to me. A brother could use a few bucks to get him something cool to drink.”

  They made quick work of loading up the last of her things. As Teddy was carrying the last piece of luggage to her truck, Tabitha stepped inside the foyer and set the burglar alarm. When she stepped back onto the porch, Teddy was at the bottom of the steps waiting.

  With her back turned as she locked the door, she asked, “Okay, my brother, what you charging me for using your muscles?”

  “Your life,” Teddy answered, as he pulled a .380 from the back pocket of his jeans.

  Not sure that she'd heard him correctly, Tabitha turned slowly. “What?”

  “You heard me, bitch!” Teddy said nastily. “I said yo life! You can keep yo couple of dollars to pay yo way into hell, bitch!”

  Tabitha's eyes bucked at the sight of the gun in her former helper's hand.

  “Bitch, yo man is sure hard to catch, but you ain't!” Teddy spit.

  “Wh-What man? I ain't got no man.”

  Teddy scoffed, “Bitch, get off that bullshit. I know that Solemn Shawn is yo man.”

  A tiny ray of hope broke through the clouds. Slightly disillusioned, she allowed herself to believe that if she could convince this man that Shawn wasn't her boyfriend, but her brother, he would put his gun up and walk away.

  “You got it wrong!” she pleaded. “Shawn ain't my man, he's my brother!”

  The gloating look on Teddy's face disappeared for a second, but it returned just as fast. “That's even better, bitch,” he said as he pulled the trigger.

  Tabitha saw the muzzle flash, then a millisecond later she heard the first bang as a slug struck her in the chest and flung her backward into the door. She heard more loud bangs—seven more, to be exact, as more projectiles tunneled into her flesh. Looking down at her Kent State shirt she realized that it had been ruined by the blood and bullet holes.

  Damn, she thought, I liked th
is shirt. She slumped against the door and watched her blood mingle with the broken glass on the porch as she died.

  Teddy stuffed his .380 in his back pocket and jogged away down the street.

  “ROCKS RIGHT HERE, MELLOW,” GROVE SAID FROM THE SIDEWALK to the customer in his late-model Buick that pulled to the curb. “You gotta park that car and get out though, fam. We don't serve no cars.”

  The middle-aged man was definitely interested. “I hope it ain't no weak shit or that B12 shit. It's like a baby drought out here. I been driving around this motherfucka all morning. What y'all working with?”

  Grove turned his A's hat to the back—a prearranged signal. “We got dimes look like dubs and it's butter, fam. Park that whip and go through the gangway.”

  “Cool,” the customer said excitedly. He threw his car into park and climbed out.

  In the gangway, Bull was standing with a Ziploc freezer bag half-full of dime bags of crack. “How many?” he rumbled.

  “Give me two fat ones,” the customer said gleefully. “I wish I had more cash on me, but my fat-ass stingy wife wouldn't cut loose of the cash station card.”

  Bull snatched the twenty dollars from the customer and shoved two dimes into his outstretched hand.

  Satisfied with the appearance of his purchase, the customer turned to leave the gangway, but suddenly GCU detectives sprang from all directions.

  “Get your fucking hands up!” they shouted as they rushed the frightened man.