Chasing Bliss

by Sabrina A. Eubanks

  Khadijah didn’t actually take him to the hospital until another two days later, when she could no longer stand the stench from the wound. Cyrus had taken his chances and poked his head out long enough to go check for him at the hospital. The nigga’s skin had a serious gray tinge to it. He was in the ICU hooked up to four different machines, with a drip in each arm. It didn’t look good for his boy.

  Cyrus was in deep trouble. He had so many people looking for him that he was afraid to make a move. Naturally, the cops were still looking for him because of the nightmare at the club. That was bad, but Cyrus was used to evading the law, and he was good at it. The truly horrible thing he had to deal with was avoiding Fabian Gregory.

  When Cyrus and Khalid hit Wolf’s drug spot, they’d done it with no idea that Wolf and Fabian had ties. There was no way on God’s green Earth that Cyrus would have knowingly fucked with Fabian, even indirectly. Fabian was based in Coney Island, and he had that shit on lock. He also sold ecstasy, crystal meth, heroin, and coke to all the good white folks from Gravesend to Dyker Heights.

  Fabian was obviously the reason Wolf had upped his drug game to include the heroin and ecstasy Cyrus and Khalid had stepped to him about in the first place. Fabian was a true Teflon kingpin: Nobody fucked with him on the street. Only the Mafia rose up, and that was only occasionally because Fabian usually kept them satisfied with a cut. Fabian had run his game so long that the NYPD had grown tired of trying to knock him. He was even fucking the Feds up at every turn.

  After the shoot-‘em-up at Eternal, Cyrus laid low and put his ear to the ground. When Khadijah threw his ass out, Cyrus cashed in a favor with his old boy Rome’s cousin Freddie out in Canarsie. Freddie let Cyrus hole up in his basement for two grand in cash and three grand in coke. Some fucking favor.

  Cyrus tried to reach out and get a hold of Chase and Corey, but it was like those two assholes had fallen off the planet. He couldn’t find them anywhere, and no one had seen them. Corey’s phone rang and then went to voicemail, but Chase’s went straight to voicemail.

  He was shocked when he was watching the news a day later and heard the story about the gruesome murder of drug dealer Warren “Wolf” Jenkins. The reporter didn’t go into great detail, but she said the body was horribly mutilated, and the police had no leads as to who the suspected killer might be. Cyrus wasn’t worried about them finding Smoke: That was the one thing about Chase he put all his confidence in. Chase was thorough, and he didn’t leave a trace.

  The news of Wolf’s demise had Cyrus ecstatic at first. It had taken Chase long enough to grease that fool. But his delight didn’t last long, and he had to cut his happy dance short when he found out about Wolf’s tie to Fabian Gregory. One of his foot soldiers came by to bring him some money and the bad news—a kid named Darryl that everybody referred to as Swing. Swing handed Cyrus $10,000 and told him Wolf was Fabian’s son and that Chase had fucked up royally.

  “How can that be?” Cyrus had wondered aloud. The time difference made no sense. Fabian would have had to have been a very young father, screwing pretty early in life. Then Cyrus thought about it again and understood exactly how could it could be true. Swing had informed Cyrus that Fabian was “scouring the streets” for his ass. He knew Khalid and Cyrus were behind the death of his child, and he’d put the word out that he wanted them both dead on sight.

  Khalid was in the hospital, probably dying, and the end of it all, Cyrus would most likely be dead too. For once, he honestly couldn’t see a way out. Cyrus wasn’t that afraid of dying, but he had a score to settle before he did. All of this is Chase’s fault. He’s just an arrogant lunatic who refuses to listen—a stubborn, defiant, ungrateful bastard who fucked my life up just by being fucking born. He hated Chase with the blackest part of his black heart.

  Chase had signed Cyrus’s death certificate by killing Wolf, and Cyrus had a feeling Chase probably knew Wolf was Fabian’s son when he killed him. He was certain Chase was probably trying to get rid of Cyrus without having to do the deed himself. If Cyrus had to die over this shit, he wasn’t going quietly. Chase had fucked his life up, and payback would be a real bitch. It’s time for that nigga to take his medicine for his bad judgment.

  Cyrus’s cell phone rang just as he finished getting dressed. He looked at it and smiled malignantly: It was soft-ass Corey. Cyrus took his time answering it but picked it up before it went to voicemail. “Hey, Corey!” he said, his voice dripping with false good cheer.

  There was a heartbeat of silence and then Corey answered, “Um…hey, Cyrus. Where you at?”

  Cyrus laughed humorlessly. “I got an even better question, Corey. Where the fuck you been for almost three weeks?”

  There was a pause from Corey that was so long, Cyrus thought he’d hung up.

  “Your punk ass still there?” he asked.

  Corey sighed heavily. “Yeah, I’m still here, Cyrus. I didn’t call you so you could ream me out. You need to chill with that shit, Cyrus—for real.”

  Cyrus frowned and gripped the phone harder. “Who you talkin’ to, Corey? You raisin’ up?”

  “Nah, nah, Cyrus. I don’t raise up. You treat me bad enough. Raisin’ up would just make it worse, wouldn’t it?”

  Cyrus smiled. “Well, you see where it almost got Chase. I wouldn’t advise it.”

  Corey sighed again. “You want to get somethin’ to eat? I kind of need to talk to you.”

  “About what? About how you always disappear with Chase and leave my ass swingin’ in the wind?” Cyrus could almost see Corey shaking his head.

  “Nobody left you swingin’ in the wind, Cyrus.”

  “No? Then why am I here by myself, Corey?”

  There was one last stagnant break in conversation before Corey asked again, “You want to get somethin’ to eat or not?”

  Cyrus raised an eyebrow. No, this little nigga didn’t just put some bass in his voice. Cyrus was suddenly real eager to see him. He was going to put his foot in his ass. “Yeah, sure, Corey. Sounds good.”

  “Okay, then meet me at—”

  Cyrus cut him off. “I ain’t meetin’ you nowhere. If you want to break bread with me, you’re gonna have to come get me.”

  “Damn, Cyrus. The streets are hot like that?”

  “Hotter than that, Corey,” Cyrus said and gave him the address.

  ******

  Corey didn’t show his late ass up until dusk. He blew his horn, and Cyrus came out with a serious attitude. He was already mad at his brother, and him showing up late just fanned the flames of his discontentment. Cyrus ran his eyes over the block before he decided it was safe and got in. He let Corey have it as soon as the door was closed. “You’re fuckin’ late, Corey. You don’t ask somebody for their time, then show up late. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  Corey, to his surprise, looked at him sideways. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Cyrus? Why you comin’ at me like that? All I wanted to do was talk to you and try to get somethin’ to eat. You gotta make a big fuckin’ deal outta every little thing.”

  Cyrus’s jaw dropped in shock. “What?”

  He wasn’t used to Corey talking to him like that. Corey usually took low on every level with him, just to keep the peace. “You heard me, Cyrus. That’s all you do—bitch and moan just like a goddamned woman. I’m tired of that shit. From now on, I ain’t interested in hearin’ all that, unless I’m gonna be gettin’ some ass when it’s over.”

  Cyrus stared at Corey, driving the Lexus his money had bought, with his face screwed up. “You been spendin’ a little too much time with Chase.”

  Corey shrugged. “Whatever, Cyrus.”

  Cyrus’s eyebrow went back up. “Whatever? I ain’t lettin’ you talk to me like that, Corey “

  Corey stopped at the light and turned his head Cyrus’s way. “What are you gonna do, Cyrus? Shoot me?”

  Cyrus smiled at him tightly. “Keep it up, Corey, and I just might. Where the hell you been?”

  “I was out of the country.”

/>   Cyrus smirked. “Doin’ what?”

  Corey shrugged. “Nothin’. Chillin’.”

  Cyrus couldn’t believe he was talking to Corey. The boy’s newfound backbone and nonchalance was unsettling. What the hell does he mean, he was chillin’? He was somewhere chilling and doing nothing while I been up here tryina fend for my damn himself? Fuck that! “You got some balls on you, Corey. Was Chase with you?”

  Again came that sideways look from Corey. “Why you askin’ about Chase? What do you care?”

  Cyrus smiled. “He’s my brother, Corey.”

  Corey chuckled dryly. “You don’t care about Chase, Cyrus, brother or not. You never did. You shot him! I can still see that shit in my head. That was one of the most fucked-up things I ever saw in my life. Chase might forgive you, but I never will—not ever.”

  Cyrus stared out the window, then looked back at Corey. He was even starting to sound like Chase, whining for no reason. I don’t need this shit right now, he thought, scowling at his baby brother. “You’ll never forgive me for that, huh? Boy, you and Chase just love to get up on your goddamned soapboxes, don’t you? I wasn’t really tryin’ to shoot him. I was just tryin’ to make him shut up.”

  “Yeah…shut up forever.”

  Cyrus smiled. Maybe. “I knew he was wearin’ that vest.”

  “You did not! You know he don’t always roll like that. I didn’t even know.”

  Cyrus smirked. At the time, he really hadn’t cared one way or the other. He still didn’t. “Lucky guess?”

  Corey turned his head and looked at him. “That’s fucked up. You played Russian roulette with his life, Cyrus. Your own brother’s life! And you woulda shot me too. You don’t care about us! You’re a piece of shit, Cyrus, and I don’t think I can stomach eating with your sorry self-entitled ass. I’m takin’ you home.”

  Cyrus laughed. “I can’t go home, stupid! I got people after me, thanks to that fuckin’ dickhead, Smoke.”

  It was Corey’s turn to laugh, and he did—loud and long. “Who started all this shit, Cyrus? You did—you and Khalid. I hope they do come and get you! I really hope they do because that’s what you deserve.” Corey pulled over suddenly and unlocked the doors. “Now get the fuck outta my car, Cyrus! Get out right now!”

  Cyrus was way past furious, but he was making an effort to control his temper. He’d already made up his mind about Corey, but there were some things he wanted to know. They stared at each other: Corey was so mad he was breathless, and Cyrus was so mad he was…smiling.

  “I didn’t know you felt that way about me, Corey.”

  A brief look of comical shock passed over Corey’s face. “And I didn’t know you felt that way about us. You were gonna kill your own brothers, Cyrus. I don’t think we can ever make that right. Get outta my car.”

  Cyrus grinned thoughtfully and rubbed his chin. Time to put the hurt on Chase’s ass for real. Time to break that fuckin’ monkey’s heart. His eyes twinkled merrily. If he could have stepped outside of himself at that moment, he would have seen that he looked very much like an older version of Chase, about to fly off into one of his murderous rages. “Is that all you wanted to say to me, Corey?”

  Corey nodded. “Yeah, that’s it. Get out.”

  “Fratricide is what they call it,” Cyrus said pointedly, reaching under his T-shirt like he was about to scratch an itch.

  Corey frowned. “Fratricide? What the fuck are you talkin’ about, Cyrus?”

  “Fratricide, Corey,” Cyrus said patiently, “is when you kill your own brother.” He pulled his nine out and pointed it at Corey.

  Corey didn’t even look scared. Instead, he looked resigned and angry. He shook his head. “I ain’t scared to die, Cyrus. Life with you has been Hell on Earth anyway. But I hope you know that if you kill me—or even if he finds out you drew your damned piece on me—Chase is gonna kill you. You sure you want to die like that?”

  Cyrus smiled and shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter. Nothin’ really does, not to me anyway. You and Chase turned your backs on me just when I needed you most. You niggas left me hangin’ in my darkest hour. That’s some shit I can’t forgive, Corey.”

  Corey looked at him like he knew it would be pointless to even try to change his mind. He looked extremely sad, yet Cyrus had never seen such a stoic look of acceptance on such a young face. In a very twisted way, he was almost proud of him. “I’ll say it again. Ain’t nobody leave you hangin’, Cyrus. We came right back.”

  Cyrus raised an eyebrow. “Right back from where?”

  Corey looked at him steadily and smiled a glittery little smile of his own. “I’ll never tell, so you might as well kill me. Chase is happy now. Just leave him alone.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?”

  “Pull the trigger, Cyrus,” Corey said quietly and then shook his head. “Mama is probably rollin’ over in her grave.”

  Cyrus laughed. If he only knew. “Your mother was a piece of shit, Corey. You didn’t know her like I did. Maybe you can ask her about it when you see her.”

  Corey looked at him with revulsion. “Why do you keep talkin’? Just pull the trigger, you mean, selfish bastard.”

  Cyrus laughed and shot him in the space between his eyebrows. The sound was very loud in the small space, and Cyrus watched with a mixture of curiosity and distaste as his baby brother’s brains flew out the back of his head and dripped down the window behind him. “So you did have more than straw in your head, huh, Corey?” So Chase was happy? He looked at Corey and smiled, knowing he wouldn’t be for long.

  Chapter 22

  Bliss was having a late dinner with Chase in his office at Cream when Dee walked in without knocking and closed the door behind her. “Chase, I’m sorry, but I think we got a problem.” She looked at Bliss apologetically as Chase stood up and tossed his napkin on top of his plate.

  “What kind of problem?”

  Dee took a deep breath and came a little further into the room, wringing her hands.

  Bliss stood, too, suddenly scared—especially when Dee’s eyes filled up with water. Dee was not a woman who was easily ruffled.

  “Chase, the cops are outside. They want to talk to you.”

  Chase’s eyebrows went up, and he took a step back. “What do they want?”

  There was a sharp knock, and J.T. stepped into the room. He was visibly upset, but he was calm. “Chase, we got a couple detectives by the bar waitin’ to speak to you.”

  Chase rubbed at the scar under his jaw. “That’s what Dee said. They lookin for me?”

  Bliss put her hand over her mouth. “Oh God!”

  Chase put his arm around her.

  “No, I don’t think so. They didn’t roll up, Chase. They came in real quiet and respectful.”

  Chase’s head went back a little. “Aw shit, J.T. What do you think they want?”

  J.T. shrugged, though not with indifference. “I don’t know. Sounds like bad news to me.”

  Chase kissed Bliss’s forehead and looked in her eyes. “If they take me out of here, you go stay with Dee until everything works out. She knows where I keep all my documents. I still got stuff for you to sign. Sign it immediately. If something happens to me, you and Corey get everything, except what already has Dee’s and J.T.’s names on it.”

  What the hell is he talking about, if something happens to him? “You mean…if they arrest you?”

  He nodded. “Be quiet, baby. Don’t talk. Don’t say anything without our lawyer.” He turned to Dee. “Send them in and then call Stan Markowitz and get him on standby.”

  Dee nodded and disappeared.

  “Stan is our lawyer?” Bliss asked.

  Chase nodded. “That’s right. Everybody relax,” Chase said and leaned against the corner of his desk.

  Dee came back half a minute later with two big cops, one black and one Hispanic. They stepped in and looked around appreciatively, and Chase folded his arms across his chest. The black one spoke. “Good evening, sir. Are you Chase Brown?”r />
  “Yes I am.”

  The cop looked at Bliss and J.T. “Family?”

  Chase nodded. “My wife and my best friend.”

  The detective nodded at them and pushed on. “I’m Detective Gibson, and this is Detective Silva. Do you know Corey Brown?”

  Chase bounced off the desk like it was on fire.

  Bliss was instantly at his side. She glanced at the other cop who tucked his lips in and looked away.

  Dee returned to the room and stood near J.T. “What happened to Corey?”

  Gibson pressed on. “You do know him?”

  When Chase started shaking, it terrified Bliss. She knew it was bad. She tried to put her arms around his waist, but Chase pushed her away and walked right up to Gibson.

  “He’s my little brother. What happened to Corey?!” he screamed at him.

  Gibson put a firm hand on Chase’s arm and looked at him like he’d rather be anywhere but there, giving him this horrible news. “Mr. Brown, I’m sorry, but we are here to inform you that your brother, Corey Brown, was found—”

  Before the officer could finish, Chase went into what Bliss first thought was a swoon, like he might pass out.

  “Oh God! Corey!” he said, his voice mournful and full of sorrow. He dropped to his knees with his hands over his face.

  Bliss went down with him, her arms wrapped around him protectively.

  “Oh God. Not Corey,” he wailed.

  “Mr. Brown?” Gibson called his name with audible sympathy.

  “What happened?” J.T. asked.

  “Corey Brown was found in his car on Avenue D with a single gunshot wound to the head.”

  Dee gasped, and J.T. shook his head.

  “Oh no,” Bliss whispered.

  Chase had grown still.

  “Mr. Brown, your brother was taken to Brookdale Hospital. We need someone to come and ID the body,” Detective Silva said.