She looked at him like she thought he was joking. “What?”
“You heard me. I asked if you and Chase are happy.” He spoke to her like she was slow.
Bliss gave him a defiant look and turned her head.
Insolence. Just like Chase. He couldn’t stand that disrespectful shit. He grabbed her by the hair, snatching her out of Dee’s arms, and threw her to the floor.
Dee sprang off the couch and started pummeling him with her fists. “Get off of her! Stop it, Cyrus!” she screamed at him as she scratched and clawed and yanked, trying to pull him off Bliss.
Cyrus started laughing. One of his hands was double wrapped in Bliss’s hair. He could feel strands snapping as she struggled against him and clawed at his hand, trying to get away. He found their attack a bit interesting, but he couldn’t deal with them both at the same time, especially with his gun still in his left hand. Cyrus rammed his shoulder into Dee, knocking her away, then turned the gun around and smashed her in the face with it. He hit her twice, as hard as he could, and Dee dropped to the floor.
Bliss was screaming her head off, and she kept attacking him with her hands, still trying to get away.
Cyrus pulled her to her feet by her hair and threw her back on the sectional. She wouldn’t stop screaming, so Cyrus punched her in the jaw hard enough to hurt his knuckles.
Bliss reverted to silence and stared at him with huge eyes.
“See what you made me do? All you had to do was answer one simple question. Jesus Christ!” He looked down at Dee and saw that she had a pretty decent gash in her forehead. He left her where she was and picked up her purse. Cyrus found her cigarettes, took one, and lit it with her lighter. He reclaimed his seat and turned the Hennessey up again. Cyrus stared at Bliss and smoked his cigarette, dusting the ashes on Chase’s blond hardwood floor. Just as he finished, he heard the garage door going up. Cyrus sighed and stood up, grinding the cigarette butt into Chase’s beautiful floor with his heel. He smiled at Bliss sadly. “Guess it’s time to holler at my boy.”
Chapter 24
They were a half-block away when Chase raised the door to the garage. He was having a hard time digesting the events of the day. Somebody had killed Corey, and the streets were coming up cold, without anybody laying claim to Corey’s death. Baby didn’t even know. And to make matters worse, now he had to deal with more of Cyrus’s bullshit. That asshole probably popped out of his hidey-hole and went damn crazy when he heard about Corey. Chase also figured Cyrus blamed him for the whole thing. That didn’t matter—he was used to it—but if Cyrus had put his hands on Bliss, Chase was going to snap his neck, and that was a promise.
Chase turned to J.T. when he pulled into the garage. “Park the car and then go up in the elevator. I’m gonna take the fire stairs that come up in the kitchen. I don’t know what’s up with him, but if Cyrus is in there wildin’ out, we’ll be coming at him from two different sides.”
“Sounds good to me,” J.T. said and finished parking the Charger.
They got out, and Chase looked across the car roof at his boy. “This is turning into the worst day of my life.”
J.T. nodded. “I know.”
Chase ran his thumb along the scar under his jaw. “He’s probably got his nine. If he comes at you, just shoot him. You good with that, J.T.?”
J.T. nodded and took his own gun out. “No problem at all, Chase.”
Chase looked at the floor and grimaced. He looked back at J.T. with sadness born of resignation. He already knew how it was gonna go down. “I’m going to kill my brother, ain’t I?”
J.T. nodded. “Yeah, Chase. I’d say that’s more than likely.”
Chase had known for most of his life it would come to this, but he’d always held on to the hope that maybe—just maybe—it wouldn’t have to happen that way. It was horrible, and he didn’t want to do it, even if Cyrus had put his hands on Bliss.
J.T. looked at him long and hard. “I see you have a problem with it though.”
Chase sighed and ran a hand over his mouth. “I’ve got a million problems with it, J.T.”
J.T. studied his face. “I know, but something tells me you won’t feel that way when this is over.”
Chase frowned. “Why not?”
J.T. smiled a tight mirthless smile. “I got a feeling Cyrus has a bit of a death wish. He doesn’t want to face whatever’s out there waitin’ on him, so he’s takin’ the cowardly way out and lettin’ you put him out of every-damn-body’s misery, his own included. He’s always blamed you for everything that didn’t go his way, and he wants to blame you for this too. I also got a feelin’ he’s gonna go the same way you greased all those fuckers for him. He’s gonna force your hand and make you do it.”
They stared at each other for a moment before Chase turned and started toward the door. “I hate this,” he said it to himself, inadvertently loud enough for his friend to hear him.
“I know,” J.T. replied, always ride or die.
Chase heard the elevator slide open as he entered the door to the fire stairs. It was the last place on Earth he wanted to be, but Bliss was in there, and he loved her. The sad thing was that he somehow loved Cyrus too. He felt that nasty sting of tears again, but he fought them back. If J.T. was right, he’d probably need them for later.
He stopped at the top of the stairs, listening for the elevator to grind to a halt and trying to get his emotions to their lowest level. He knew from experience that he had less chance of totally losing control if he started with a blank slate. He had to be on E if he didn’t want to veer into that psychotic state of bloodlust that kept his razor so busy before the deed was actually done. Chase put his hand on the doorknob and frowned worriedly. There was something very seriously wrong with him, and he was painfully aware of that fact. If the night ended with him killing Cyrus, maybe it would finally be over, because there would be no reason for Smoke to even exist without Cyrus to push Chase to it. The elevator slid open, and Chase opened the fire door as quietly as he could and stepped into the kitchen.
Cyrus had his gun pointed toward J.T., and J.T. was doing the same. “Where’s my punk-ass, so-called brother, J.T.?”
Chase closed the door behind him and put his hands in his pockets. “I’m right here, Cyrus.” He took in the situation very quickly: Bliss was cowering in a corner of the sofa with blood all over her face, looking like she’d been in a street fight; Dee was unconscious on the floor- bleeding from a head wound; and Cyrus was obviously stark raving mad and damn near three sheets to the wind.
Cyrus whirled around to face Chase, still pointing his gun. He was grinning, and it froze Chase’s heart because the grin reminded him of himself. “Good! Come on over here, Chase. I got a lot of shit to say to you.”
Chase looked first at the gun, then at Cyrus. He started walking toward him very slowly. “What are you doing here, Cyrus? What made you come into my home and put your hands on my wife? What made you do this to Dee? What’s wrong with you, Cyrus?”
Cyrus kept grinning, but his eyes turned serious. “Stop walkin’, Chase. Take your hands out of your pockets.”
Chase kept walking, but he took his hands out of his pockets. “Fuck you, Cyrus. I’m checkin’ on my wife.”
J.T. kept his gun pointed toward Cyrus, while Chase crossed the room to Bliss. She leapt off the sofa and ran to him. He closed his arms around her and kissed her swollen lips.
“Are you all right?”
She was hysterical, crying and babbling almost incoherently, clutching at him, then holding him tight.
Chase kissed her forehead and rubbed her back. “Stop, honey. Calm down. I’m here. Nobody’s gonna hurt you anymore.” He touched her belly lightly. “Is the baby okay?”
She nodded and wiped her tears away. “Yeah, I think so.”
“Baby? What fuckin’ baby? She’s pregnant? Oh Jesus Christ. Fuck y’all with this happily-ever-after bullshit!” Cyrus bellowed.
“Shut up, Cyrus, before I shoot you,” J.T. said in a low voice.<
br />
Dee stirred and sat up slowly, holding her head. She groaned softly, and Chase went to her. “Dee, you all right?”
There was a scary moment when she looked at him like she didn’t know him, but then her eyes cleared and she seemed to gather her wits. She looked at Cyrus and got a burst of adrenaline, but she tried to get up too fast and went back down.
Cyrus sucked his teeth. “Get up. I didn’t hurt you that bad.”
Chase shot him a look and helped her to the couch.
“Back up, Cyrus. Step away,” J.T. said in that same low voice, cluing Chase in to the fact that Cyrus was coming toward him and giving him time to straighten up and take his razor out of his pocket.
Bliss made a small, frightened sound and covered her eyes.
“Relax. I just want a drink,” Cyrus said. He picked up the Hennessey and turned it up.
Chase looked at him in genuine puzzlement. “Cyrus, what’s the matter with you? Why are you drinkin’ like that? Is it because of Corey?”
Cyrus shrugged a little. “What about Corey?”
Chase blinked real hard. It seemed like Cyrus didn’t know, and he’d have to be the one to tell him. Before he could open his mouth to break the news, though, Dee opened hers.
“He knows, Chase.”
Chase looked at Dee and then swung his head back to Cyrus. “Yeah?”
Bliss ran up on him with that hysterical clutching, pointing an accusing finger at Cyrus. “That bastard did it! He told me he did it! He killed Corey!”
“He told me too,” Dee said quietly.
Chase was still looking at Cyrus. Cyrus took one last drink and recapped the bottle. He smiled at Chase—a horrendously sinister grin. A funny thing happened in that moment. Chase realized that Cyrus was just as crazy as he was, because he was grinning back at Cyrus with the same diabolical grin himself. Chase pushed Bliss away from him as gently as he could and opened his razor.
Some of the light fell out of Cyrus’s eyes, but he held his grin. “I guess it all comes down to this, huh, Smoke?”
Chase felt his blood boiling in his veins. He felt like his eyes were open too wide. His heart was racing. He laughed, even though he didn’t mean to. He meant to scream, because what he’d just heard was too far to the left of reality to be true. He didn’t think his voice would tremble when he spoke, but it did. “You killed my little brother, Cyrus?”
Cyrus nodded vigorously and licked his lips like what he was about to say tasted really good. “Well, yeah, Chase. I sure did. I blew his brains out and watched them drip down the window of the car I bought him with my own money.”
Chase twirled the razor in his hand, and it played its familiar song: whick-whick-whick. “What did you kill Corey for, Cyrus?” Chase’s voice was a dry, harsh whisper, like the heat from his rage had absorbed all the moisture from his throat.
“Corey waited until his last hour on Earth to grow a backbone. I liked him a lot better without one. He was raisin’ up a lot like you, so I popped him.” Chase took two steps toward him, but Cyrus just casually sat at the breakfast bar. “I also did it because I knew you’d kill me for it,” he admitted, suddenly looking very tired.
Chase stopped in his tracks “What?”
J.T. had said Cyrus would force his hand. He couldn’t let him live. He’d taken Corey from him and put his hands on Bliss. Yet he was hesitating and he knew it. In his heart, he didn’t want to kill Cyrus. He was his fucking brother.
“You heard me. My life’s a wrap. It’s prison or the cemetery for me, thanks to you. I ain’t going back to jail and if I gotta die…I think this is the way it was meant for me to go. Do me two favors before you cut my throat, though, Smoke.”
Chase narrowed his eyes. “What?”
“Send everybody outta here. I don’t want to die in front of an audience.”
Chase laughed and shook his head. “What else?”
Cyrus looked him in the eye. “Let me tell you a story.”
They stared at each other, and Chase wondered what he was talking about. A story? What the hell kind of story could Cyrus possibly tell me? Fuck a story!
Chase spoke to J.T. without taking his eyes off Cyrus. “J.T., take Bliss and Dee down to the garage. I’ll call you when I’m done up here—either that or come back when you hear the screamin’ stop.”
“Oh God, Chase! No!” Bliss started crying, and Dee grabbed her and went to J.T.
“You got this?” J.T. asked.
Chase nodded. “I got it.”
“All right then,” he said, and he guided the women downstairs.
Cyrus smiled at Chase. It had none of the bravado and craziness of his recent grinning; this one was one of the saddest smiles Chase had ever seen. “Ready for your story?”
Chase sat on the arm of the sofa a safe distance away from him. “No, but I’ll let you have your last request, Cyrus.”
“Thanks. I’m about to tell you exactly why I’ve had such a love-hate relationship with you for your entire life. I think it’s only fair to warn you, though, that it may make you crazier than you already are. You do know you’re crazy, don’t you?”
Chase nodded and pulled his gloves up on his hands, still holding his razor. “Yeah, I know.” He looked at Cyrus and knew his eyes were glittering. “Go ahead, Cyrus. Shatter me.”
“Why are you crying?”
Chase hadn’t even realized he was, but he didn’t bother to wipe the tears away. “I don’t want to kill you, Cyrus.”
“Why not? I deserve it.”
“Yeah, you do, but you’re my brother.”
Cyrus shook his head. “Corey was your brother, Chase. You and me got a different type of relation.”
Chase’s heart tripped over itself, and he frowned. “Fuck you talkin’ about, Cyrus?”
Cyrus stared at him, but he seemed a bit removed, as if he was looking into the past. It was a moment before he spoke again. “You know, I got almost fifteen years on you, Chase. Things were really different before you was born. My life with Mama wasn’t the same as yours or Corey’s. Neither of y’all even knew Mama until she’d halfway gotten her shit together.”
Chase had no idea where he was going with his story, but he wasn’t gonna sit there and let Cyrus talk shit about his mother. His mother was sacred; she’d died in his arms. “Don’t talk about Mama, Cyrus. I mean it. I ain’t gonna allow it.”
Cyrus kept going like Chase hadn’t said anything at all. “When Mama was fourteen, she met a nigga named Wendell Baxter. He was twenty-six years old, fuckin’ around with a little girl like that. Wendell didn’t give a shit how young she was. He just wanted to know if she could turn a trick. Wendell found our mother, Francie, fresh off a bus from St. Louis at the Port Authority. She’d run away from home because her father was touching her in places he shouldn’t have, and nobody believed her. Wendell got her and turned her little young ass right on out.”
Chase stared at Cyrus. “You’re a fuckin’ liar, Cyrus. Mama wasn’t no hooker.”
“She was, Chase. I’m tellin’ the truth. Why do you think we don’t have any family? We do. We just don’t know ‘em because of the way Francie handled her business. Can I go on?”
Chase shook his head, but Cyrus kept talking.
“Francie got pregnant with me pretty quick. I don’t even think she really knew who my father was, but she blamed it on Wendell, and he didn’t argue her down since he might have been. After all, he was her pimp. She had me when she was fifteen.”
Chase put his fingers on his temples. “Shut up, Cyrus. It’s not true.”
Cyrus smiled that sad smile. “It is true—every word. I remember being real young—like five or six—and all types of men coming in and out of our apartment, usin’ Francie and leavin’. Sometimes I’d wake up in the middle of the night and see and hear Wendell beatin’ her ass. He did that on the regular. I remember those days real well, ‘cause that was right before Francie had what I like to call her ‘breakdown’ and turned into another motherfucker on me
overnight.”
Chase twirled the razor in his hand, getting angrier by the second. He watched Cyrus carefully and knew in his heart he was probably telling the truth—or at least the truth as he believed it to be. “What breakdown? Mama ain’t never had no breakdown.”
Cyrus sighed and leaned forward. He looked at Chase with a great deal of patience and went on. “Breakdown is just a better way of sayin’ Francie got strung out on heroin and stopped givin’ a shit about anything that was important, including me.”
Chase stood up and put his hands over his ears. “Shut up, Cyrus!”
Cyrus didn’t bat an eye. He just talked louder. “Take your hands down, Chase! You need to hear this shit. I know it hurts, but you gotta be a man and listen, okay?”
Chase took his hands down. His lips trembled. “Mama wasn’t no dope addict.”
Cyrus’s sad smile returned. “She was, Chase. Don’t you remember all the needle marks on her?”
Chase did not want to hear it. He narrowed his eyes at Cyrus. “Mama was a diabetic.”
Cyrus actually laughed. “Come on, Chase! Diabetics have equipment—boxes of syringes, alcohol pads, and guess what…insulin! They have to keep the insulin in the fridge, Chase. You never seen none of that shit in Francie’s house. She was a heroin abuser for eight years, and the only reason she quit was because she got pregnant with you.”
Chase shook his head in disbelief and returned to his seat. “Mama used heroin while she was pregnant with me?”
Cyrus nodded. “Until she was pregnant enough to show, and then she found Jesus.”
Chase stared at him. “Are you telling me this because you think that’s what made me the way I am? ‘Cause she took heroin when she was pregnant with me?”
Cyrus shook his head, and then he smiled. “Nah. This is the reason I think you’re the way you are. I don’t believe Francie was wrapped too tight. She did a lot of crazy shit, and she had a lot of flaws. Francie used to talk to herself so loud I’d think she was singin’ or somethin’. She’d hurt herself too. She’d burn her fingers with a cigarette lighter, cut her thighs with a razor, and shit like that. Sometimes she’d just slap herself. I used to watch her with my mouth hangin’ open. I used to think maybe it was the heroin, but I ain’t never seen another addict act quite like that.”
Chasing Bliss Page 27