“Would you like me to sit and wait, La Capitana?”
“No, I’ll be just fine. Wait for me in the car.” she answered.
The brawny, slick haired bodyguard did as he was told and went to wait in the car.
Priscilla, unseen, wearing a black suit skirt, black shoes, and matching gloves, stood across the street watching the church empty out. If a move was going to be made, the time couldn’t have been any better.
Her eyes were focused on the target as she remembered the details that Juan Carlos explained to her.
La Capitana never leaves the house without armed guards, so the only way to get close to her would be on a Sunday afternoon, at church while she’s making her confession.
The thought of taking someone’s life while they confessed their sins didn’t sit right with Priscilla, but it was too late. The call had been made, and the clock was about to expire. In the back of her mind, she knew that if she didn’t go through with this, Juan Carlos would have her killed. It would have nothing to do with their personal relationship; everything thrived off business.
Slowly, she crept across the dampened street when she saw the target going back into the church. Pellets of rain splashed her face as she moved closer and closer to the entrance. Her thoughts racing through her brain like the 450 Motocross.
La Capitana turned the knob on the confession room door, sat down on the small wooden stool, and faced the grated window to confess her sins.
She made the sign of a cross with her hand and bowed her head. “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy spirit; my last confession was one month ago. I sit before you to confess my sins of murder, adultery and dishonor. I am sorry for these and all the sins of my past life. Lord Jesus, son of God; have mercy on me, a poor sinner.”
The priest spoke. “Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good.”
They made the sign of a cross together and then she said. “For his mercy endures forever… Amen.”
The Priest got up and left, but when La Capitana reached for the door knob, it was already coming open.
Priscilla slithered through the small, cracked door like a cheetah in the jungle after nightfall, when hunting its prey. Knife in hand; their eyes locked and she whispered. “You scared?”
The lump in La Capitana’s throat stalled her words, but they eventually came out. Her voice was soft, but firm, and her focus was directly on Priscilla. “You should be asking yourself that question. Hurry up and do your job.”
Fear was an emotion that had been left out of La Capitana’s life as a child. The only thing she had ever been afraid of was dying poor, and being buried in a cardboard box.
Priscilla hesitated, and then she lunged at her target.
The 5 ½ inch parkerized blade sunk into La Capitana’s soft flesh.
As Priscilla shoved the knife inside her, she felt the blade hit a bone. She grabbed the back of her neck and pushed harder, causing the stainless steel dagger to go deeper into her abdomen.
A spill of blood crawled out the side of La Capitana’s mouth, and her body relaxed.
Minus the faint beating of Priscilla’s heart and the sporadic short breaths that La Capitana held onto, the room was silent.
Priscilla let her body crumple to the hard wood floor, stepped over her and exited the church unnoticed.
“You have to eat something, Mox, c’mon. It’s been two and a half days.” Jasmine tried to convince Mox to touch the plate of food in front of him.
“I ain’t hungry.”
“At least try one of my cookies. I stayed up all night baking these for you.”
“I didn’t ask you to do that, so don’t sit here and try to make me feel guilty about it.”
Jasmine was open-mouthed. She had never heard Mox speak in such a fashion. “Sorry for caring, sheesh.”
It was the second day in a row that Jasmine had come to visit Mox at the rehabilitation center and it was the second day in a row she had been thrown shade.
“Jus’ leave me alone right now, Jasmine. I don’t feel like being bothered.”
“Is that what I’m doing Mox?” Jasmine was outraged. “Bothering you? I’ve done nothing but help you from the day I walked into that hospital room, and now that you’re getting a little better you’re feeling yourself. Fuck you Mox!” Jasmine snatched her purse and jacket off a hanger in the closet and stormed out the room.
“Jasmine, wai—”
The door slammed, and once again, Mox was left alone; solo, just him, and his curious thoughts. The exact same thoughts that continued to strain his mental and demolish his self-confidence.
Mox’s recovery hadn’t been advancing as rapidly as he’d expected, and he still hadn’t gained the strength to stand on his own two feet. The determination was still present, yet his faith was becoming slighter and more displaced.
He rolled himself over to the dresser, stuffed his earphones into his ear, and pressed play on his iPod Touch.
The elevator door was closing, and Jasmine nearly ran into Priscilla and Jennifer trying to catch it before it went back down. “Excuse me, sorry.” She apologized, brushing by the two women.
Priscilla recalled the face, but couldn’t figure out where she had seen her before. “I know her from somewhere,” she mumbled.
They continued down the long corridor stretch and stopped in front of room 209. Jennifer said, “I think this is the room.”
But Priscilla’s mind was someplace else. “I knew I recognized that girl’s face. That’s the chick from the hospital.”
“Huh, who?” Jennifer had no clue as to what Priscilla was rambling about.
“The bitch that jus’ got on the elevator. She was at the hospital when Mox was there.”
“At the hospital, so what is she doin’ here?”
“I don’t know, but I’m damn sure gon’ find out.” She turned the knob and pushed the door open.
Mox had his back turned when Priscilla and Jennifer walked in, and didn’t realize they were present until he heard the door close.
“Who is that?” He said, turning in his wheelchair.
Priscilla stiffened at the sight of his uncovered eye. A chill shot through her body and the hairs on her arm stood up. For a moment, she was scared, but there was no denying the fact that her love for the man sitting less than ten feet away from her was continuously burning like a wild brush fire.
Before a word was said, an avalanche of tears slid down her face, smudging what little bit of make-up she had on.
“I miss you Mox,” she bent down to give him a hug and he wrapped his arms around her.
“Please, get me outta here.” he begged.
Jennifer watched as the two embrace and shared a long awaited moment. She had finally got to see the man she had heard so much about, and even with one eye, he was still as handsome as ever.
Priscilla wiped her face dry and began searching the room for Mox’s belongings. “Where’s the rest of your stuff, Mox?”
He rolled back over to the dresser and picked up his iPod Touch . “Right here.”
“That’s it?”
“This is all I need. Who is she?”
“That’s Jennifer.”
Jennifer waved.
“I don’t know her.”
“She’s my friend, Mox. She’s helpin’ me get Brandi back.”
The minute he heard Brandi’s name, it was like everything was on pause and life went silent. He looked up at Priscilla, blinked, and a single teardrop rolled down the side of his face. “I fucked up, Priscilla…”
Mox, not now, we gotta get you outta here.” A river of tears was building in her eye wells, but she managed to hold them back. “Jennifer, help me get him out that chair.”
“I can’t walk Priscilla,” he dropped his head in shame.
“Well, you’re gonna start today.” She draped one of his arms around her neck, and Jennifer did the same. “Now stand up Mox.”
He didn’t even try. “I can’t.”
“M
ox, don’t tell me you can’t. Stand up.”
He conjured all the strength he could, and tried to stand on his own two feet, but it wasn’t enough.
“I can’t fuckin’ do it, Priscilla!” Spit flew from his mouth and he let his body fall back into the wheelchair.
Priscilla snatched him by the collar of his t-shirt and got right in his face. “Don’t fuckin’ embarrass me in front of my friend.” tears fell into Mox’s lap. “Now stand up before I push you out this chair and leave you right here on this goddamn floor.”
Mox was startled. He had heard Priscilla use that tone before, but never with him.
His breathing got heavy, he tightened his jaw and he lifted himself out the chair just enough for Priscilla and Jennifer to hold him up.
“I told you. I knew you could do it, Mox.”
Priscilla was happy that he hadn’t given up, but she was also conscious of the effort, sacrifice and devotion it would take to reconstruct him.
They managed to get Mox onto the elevator, downstairs, through the lobby, and into Jennifer’s car.
The forty minute drive home was a silent one. Priscilla, with her seat back, gazed lazily out the window at passing traffic and Mox, leaned over in the backseat, slept most the way back; due to being under the influence of some pain medication he was prescribed.
When they arrived back at Jennifer’s house, she helped Priscilla get Mox inside, and then she got back into her car.
“You sure you don’t need anything? I probably won’t come back ‘til the mornin’. I got some runnin’ around to do.”
“We’re good.” Priscilla replied. “Go ‘head, take care of your business, we’ll be fine.”
“Alright, lata. Bye Mox.”
Mox was propped up on the brown leather sofa with agony etched on his face and chagrin in his heart.
Priscilla locked the door and then sat right next to him. “Mox,” she put her hand underneath his chin and raised his head. “We gon’ get through this baby. I want you to know that I’m here for you every step of the way, but you gotta help me out. You gotta focus every bit of energy you got into this recovery, and let go of the anger and resentment. That’s the only way it’s gonna happen.”
Mox was aware of the exertion he needed to put forth in order to restore his mind and body. He was just praying that the devil hadn’t captured his lost soul.
He reached over, grabbed Priscilla’s hand and looked in her eyes. “Only God can bring me through this. It’s his call.”
The doorbell rang and it broke their concentration.
“Who is it?” Priscilla walked to the door, peeked through the peep hole and then unlocked it when she saw who it was.
“Good afternoon.” A short, Spanish guy in a brown suit was holding a box. “I have a package for a Ms. Priscilla Davis.”
She checked him out from head to toe. It looked like a UPS suit, but she knew it wasn’t. “That’s me.” she said, reaching for the box.
“Here you go, m’am. Have a nice day.” He strolled off and got into a big brown truck.
Priscilla ripped a card off the top of the box and read it:
We’re even now… let Mox know I said, get strong.
Enjoy,
Juan Carlos.
She carried the box to the living room and placed it on the coffee table in front of Mox.
“Who was that?” he questioned.
Priscilla tossed the card into his lap.
“Even? What is he talkin’ about? What did you do Priscilla?”
She cracked the box open and dumped the contents on the table.
It was ten, individually wrapped kilograms of fishscale cocaine.
Priscilla smiled and nodded her head. “We back in business baby.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A chill November breeze snuck through the cracked window of Tyrell’s brand new black on black, Camaro SS. He looked around to see where it was coming from, and noticed the passenger side window was slightly open.
He tapped Six’s chest with the back of his hand. “Yo, Six. Six, wake up nigga.”
“Huh?” Six wiped some slob from his bottom lip.
“Close my fuckin’ window, you lettin’ my heat out.”
A tap on the driver’s side window made Tyrell jump, and he immediately reached for the gun under his seat.
The person on the outside of the car was saying something, but couldn’t be heard because the window was still up.
He pressed the button and let it roll down.
“Goddamn it, old man. You ‘bout to get ya’ stupid ass shot.”
The scraggly old timer had an ashy, ripped up leather jacket on, old Levi jeans that looked like he’d been painting in them, and a pair of Timberland boots that were two sizes too big. His beard was haggard, like he hadn’t seen a barbershop in years, and what few teeth he had left in his mouth were rotted and discolored.
“You know I come bearin’ information lil’ nigga.” he said.
Tyrell tossed the mean ice grill at the old jack. “What the fuck I tell you ‘bout that lil’ nigga shit, Trash Can?” he pulled the gun up and placed it on his lap.
“Call me by my name, and I’ll call you by yours.”
“Mann, we call you Trash Can ‘cause you look like you jus’ hopped out a muthafuckin’ trash can, nigga!” Tyrell and Six keeled over with obnoxious laughter.
“Whenever you ready to cut the muthafuckin’ jokes, I got some real shit to spit at cha.” Trash Can went to turn and walk off.
“Aye! Bring yo’ ass over hea’ nigga.” Tyrell couldn’t stop laughing. “Nah, for real. C’mere, wassup?” he was nearly wiping tears from his eyes.
Trash Can snatched the half f cigarette that was nestled in the bridge of his ear and lit it. “Fuck the word on the street, I seen it wit’ my own eyes.” He took a long drag and let the smoke funnel through his nostrils. “Your boy Leo back on the streets.”
They sat up in their seats at the same time.
“Fuck you talkin’ about?” Tyrell’s smile went flat and everything became serious.
“I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout shit. I jus’ told you, I saw the lil’ nigga.”
Tyrell opened the door and stepped out the car. “When?” he asked.
“Five minutes ago, in the Chinese restaurant over there on Lincoln n’ North.”
“Lincoln n’ North… Yo Six, get in the driver’s seat.” Tyrell ran over to the passenger side, cocked his weapon, and threw his hoodie on. “Aye, Trash Can!” he grabbed a knot of one hundred dollar bills out of his pocket and peeled one off. “Here.” he handed the bill to the old man. “Go get yo’ ass in the shower or somethin’ ya heard. You fuckin’ stink.”
Trash Can snatched the money out of Tyrell’s hand. “Fuck you, lil’ nigga. Go handle your business.”
Six and Tyrell rode around the block, parked in front of the laundromat across the street, and walked into the Chinese restaurant.
Leo was sitting at a table, so immersed in his plate of food, that he hadn’t even acknowledged that Tyrell and Six were there.
“Whaddup, nigga?”
The sound of Tyrell’s voice startled Leo and he almost choked on a spoonful of rice. “Oh shit, wassup Tyrell?” he stood to give him a pound, but was ignored.
Tyrell squeezed into the seat right next to Leo, and Six just stood there with a mean mug stuck on his face.
“You. When you get out?” he questioned, sensing the fear in Leo’s movements.
“Umm, this mornin’. I was gon’ come see you in a second, but I was starving, I had to get something to eat.”
Tyrell picked up a piece of Leo’s chicken from out of his tray and bit it. “Is that right? Lemme ask you a question, and before you answer,” he pulled the skin off with his teeth and tossed the bone back into the tray. “Please don’t lie to me. How did you make bail?”
“Oh,” Leo’s nerves were jumping through his skin. He was listening to every word Tyrell was saying, but his attention was on Six and his ice gri
ll. “Umm, my grandmother put up her crib for me.”
Tyrell looked at Six and then back to Leo. “Your grandmother? Leo, you fuckin’ lyin’ I known you all my life and I know your whole family. Your grandmother died five years ago.”
The Union II Page 12