One Blood

by Amaru, Qwantu

  “Yuh must think I’m an idiot.”

  “Clearly, I’m the idiot for not seeing you for the snake you really were all these years,” Randy replied, surprising himself by stating the plain truth. “This is my best offer, Snake. You can’t run and hide forever. Plus, you’ve got the most recognizable woman in the state in tow. There’s no place you can go. And if you kill her that will only give me the increased incentive, public support, and resources I need to hunt you down. Truthfully, I’m tired, Snake. I just want my wife and daughter returned safely. Think about it and call me back.”

  Randy hung up and leaned his forehead against the floor to ceiling window overlooking the Capitol Gardens. Had he just signed Coral’s death certificate?

  Movement amongst the roses below caught his attention. Some lanky punk teenager was trying to pull an act of vandalism on the State Capitol in broad daylight. The shaggy, brown-haired kid had come out of nowhere and was wearing a baggy white velour sweatsuit favored by rappers and suburban white kids dying to be niggers.

  With growing anger, Randy watched as the wigger looked around, then pulled up roses like a slave bailing cotton.

  How can he do that without cutting his palms to shreds? Where the hell is the gardener or security or somebody?

  Randy banged on the window before realizing from this high up, even the birds wouldn’t hear him. The murder of the roses continued. Randy was going to have to take care of the damn kid himself. He was going to have to take care of everything. All thought ceased when the adolescent looked up at the great white phallus, making eye contact with him all the way up on the Observation Deck.

  Randy felt a sensation similar to a dull ice pick stabbing him in the eye. He lost his grip on the phone and it slapped against the floor and shattered.

  Kristopher!

  His testicles crawled into his small intestine; his saliva evaporated. Gasping for air, he leaned on the railing before him.

  The brunt of the shock did not come from seeing his long dead child materialize before him. The shock came from seeing blood-filled, eyeless sockets streaming red tears down pale cheeks, forming a morbid mask.

  Randy walked toward the elevator in a trance, strangely compelled to meet his son—a lunatic voice speaking in his mind.

  “Come see what I’ve seen, dear old Dad. Come walk the promenade of the blood forests of Sheol with me. I’ll show you your fate. Sure, it might drive you a little batty, but we’ll have ourselves a time. I’ll be waiting for you…”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Monday

  New Roads, LA

  Jhonnette Deveaux sat in an uncomfortable blue bucket seat in the waiting area of the hospital Emergency Room. She read the news on her laptop and bit her left pinky compulsively. The taste of acetone assaulted her taste buds. She’d forgotten about the nail solution she coated her nails with to break the bad childhood habit.

  Jhonnette glanced at the TV in the corner. The ten o’clock news was on. The anchorman had interrupted the interminable hurricane coverage for a breaking news story.

  Although set to low volume, she could make out the anchorman stating, “Well, we’ve got another Fox 29 News superstory for you. Exclusive footage from the Louisiana State Penitentiary at Angola, where Lincoln Baker, the man convicted ten years ago for the Simmons Park Massacre, was released earlier this morning. You’re not going to believe your eyes…”

  As this was the second time she’d seen this report, Jhonnette only gave it half her attention. She’d already heard the ridiculous explanation from the warden about how someone had opened fire on Lincoln from the crowd and the guards had returned fire to protect him. The only part she agreed with was just how lucky Lincoln had been.

  After getting shot multiple times, Lincoln somehow managed to make it out of the prison, only to later fall off the bow of the Angola ferry. They’d fished him out of the Mississippi River a few hours ago and rushed him to the hospital.

  This was definitely not how Jhonnette had foreseen events transpiring. Both Snake and Lincoln should be dead as a result of her meeting with Randy Lafitte. Instead, Lincoln had miraculously survived. Because she believed everything happened for a reason, Lincoln must be alive because he was supposed to live, just as Randy Lafitte had survived his bout with brain cancer due to her involuntary assistance. There was something greater at work here, and the only thing she could do was work with it, not against it.

  Besides, keeping Lincoln among the living presented several interesting opportunities for her to capitalize on.

  Another intriguing story getting a lot of coverage was how one of the four civilians injured during the commotion was Lincoln’s adopted father, Moses Mouton. He was in critical condition receiving care in the prison infirmary, the R.E. Barrow Treatment Center.

  Jhonnette knew she could use this news to get Lincoln on her side.

  “Miss Deveaux?”

  Jhonnette jerked her attention from the television and looked over her shoulder toward the triage station. The charge nurse waved her inside the double doors that led to the ER. Jhonnette was anxious to confirm her theory that Lincoln was still breathing because he was somehow a part of the Lafitte curse, too. Lafitte hadn’t exactly taken the bait when she teased him with the possibility, so she couldn’t be sure, but it was the only explanation that made sense.

  By now Lafitte was probably waking up to the fact that he’d been duped, but it was far too late for him to change the course of events she’d set in motion. Jhonnette had amplified Amir’s spiritual capacity so much that the baka he’d unleashed would be far too powerful for anyone to control. And if the baka didn’t finish Lafitte off, Lincoln would. It was his destiny. Jhonnette understood that now.

  The charge nurse pointed to room number 243. “He just came out of surgery. You’ve got an hour, not a minute more.” The nurse looked her up and down. “What news station did you say you were from again?”

  “Channel Nine News in Lake City,” Jhonnette replied, suppressing her disappointment. Lincoln was no good to her if he wasn’t conscious, and she was running out of time. “Just try not to aggravate him too much, okay?”

  Jhonnette thanked the nurse with a fifty dollar bill and paused in front of the door. She longed to bite her nails again but remembered the acetone polish.

  “Not a minute more,” the nurse reminded her as she walked back to the nurse’s station.

  Jhonnette took a deep breath and gave two short knocks on the door before entering.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  11 years earlier

  1991

  Lake City, LA

  This school shit is for the birds.

  Lincoln groaned. He had just finished his second official basketball practice and was sitting on the curb in front of the St. Louis Preparatory Academy boy’s gymnasium. Lincoln had been back in high school for two weeks and didn’t see himself surviving another two. He just didn’t have the patience to deal with the upper-crust 90210 wannabes that attended classes with him. Going back to juvenile detention was not an option, however.

  Moses was the only reason he hadn’t completely shown his ass yet.

  Where the fuck is Moses?

  Moses knew practice ended at 6 p.m., but for some reason was not on time. Lincoln decided to call Murda or Stacy from his gang to come scoop him up. He moved his six-foot-five-inch frame in the direction of the entrance.

  It was locked.

  Maybe Danny the janitor was still working. Lincoln walked around to the other side of the gym toward the sports faculty parking lot.

  No cars. No lights. No dice.

  Lincoln gave the door handles a few healthy shakes.

  Gonna have to break in if I wanna use the payphone.

  The school’s lay out was in alphabetical clustered pods labeled A to G. Each pod had a different academic focus. Although only 6:30 p.m., the school’s many entrances were already barricaded.

  Somebody has to be ar
ound, right?

  Lincoln circled the perimeter of the school, checking each entrance for vulnerability. He saw a black vintage 1963 Corvette parked in the honors lot. Could have belonged to a teacher, but Lincoln knew better. This was some spoiled rich kid’s car.

  An almost uncontrollable urge to jimmy the car door and take the ride off said rich kid’s hands overtook him. Instead, he ran his palms over the Vette’s metal curves in appreciation and awe.

  Then he saw it.

  A teacher had left their classroom window open. Lincoln was inside in an instant and quickly made his way toward the gymnasium.

  The payphone was just outside the boy’s gym, where the St. Louis Crusaders did their business on Tuesday and Thursday nights. Lincoln jogged down the hall and picked up the receiver. The payphone was dead.

  Fuck!

  He was about to make his way back through the silent school when he heard a strange noise coming from inside the gymnasium. Lincoln pushed through the double doors into the gym. Empty.

  Something clattered to the floor inside the men’s locker room. Lincoln followed the sound. Nothing could have prepared him for what he found behind the second set of double doors. A chair lay on its side in the middle of the room and a white boy dangled from a rope tied to the rafter, his face swollen, and bluish red.

  Lincoln froze.

  Oh shit. Is he alive?

  The kid’s body spun lazily.

  Lincoln reached the teenage boy in three long strides. He righted the chair, removed his switchblade, and grabbed at the rope, hoping to cut through it. The kid kicked him in the solar plexus.

  Still alive.

  Lincoln rose with renewed purpose and sawed at the rope. The noose was notched tight— the kid must have been a boy scout. Lincoln looked into the boy’s face. He recognized him.

  Kris Lafitte?

  They played on the team together.

  Lincoln cut through the last strand of rope and Kris fell to the floor. Lincoln quickly maneuvered the noose from around the boy’s neck. Kris let out a sputtering breath before pouncing on Lincoln—slobbering and sobbing like a wild man. It took Lincoln a moment to regain control of the situation.

  He soon had Kris pinned with his face against the floor, arms behind his head. Lincoln struggled to hold Kris down. “Fuck is wrong with you, bruh?”

  “Fuck! You!” Kris spat.

  “Look! Calm the fuck down, man. I just saved your fuckin’ life.”

  “Didn’t…ask…for…no…fuckin’…help.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I’m supposed to die,” Kris gasped. He stopped struggling and went limp.

  “We all gonna die, bruh. But ain’t nobody dyin’ today.”

  Lincoln released Kris’s hands and pulled him to his feet. One thought was on his mind.

  Why the hell is this silver spoon rich white boy trying to kill himself?

  * * * * *

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Monday

  New Roads, LA

  Jhonnette entered the dark room. Her eyes took a moment to adjust. Slowly, she advanced on her target.

  Lincoln lay in the hospital bed like a corpse in an open casket. Except for the simple fact, his eyes were open. He was hooked up to multiple I.V.’s. The incessant beeping of the heart monitor informed the world that life still pulsed through the veins of America’s Worst Nightmare.

  “Who the fuck are you?” he croaked.

  Jhonnette smiled and approached the bed.

  “Hi,” she said, pointing to the chair at his bedside. “May I sit?”

  “No.”

  “Okay. Can I ask you some questions then?”

  “Do I look like I feel like answerin’ any fuckin’ questions?”

  Jhonnette took a deep breath. “My name is Jhonnette Deveaux. I’m a friend.”

  “You ain’t no friend of mine. What the fuck are you doin’ here?”

  “I’m here to save you.”

  “From what?”

  “I was there at the prison. You can’t trust that long-haired man you were with.”

  “But I can trust you?” Lincoln turned his eyes on her for the first time.

  The pain she saw in his eyes made Jhonnette flinch. His eyes reminded her of marbles she’d played with as a young girl. She saw something else as well. Lincoln’s eyes were identical to Randy Lafitte.

  “Lincoln, your life is in danger and I’m the only person who can help you.”

  “Next you’re gonna tell me how you can never tell a lie, right?”

  “Okay, you want the truth?” she replied, sitting down against his wishes. “We’re wasting valuable time here. Every moment you bullshit me is one more that Moses Mouton loses—”

  “What the fuck happened to Moses?”

  Now she had his attention. “We can help each other, Lincoln.”

  “I asked you a question, lady.”

  Jhonnette looked at her subject. He sure talked tough for someone with tubes coming out of his nose. “How about we take turns answering each other’s questions. I’ll even let you go first. Deal?”

  Lincoln appraised her like an experienced diamond jeweler—another Lafitte trait.

  “Okay,” Lincoln said finally. “Tell me everything you know about what happened to me this morning, starting with where the hell I am.”

  Jhonnette nodded. “You’re in a hospital near the prison.”

  “How did I end up here?”

  “Apparently you dove off the bow of the Angola ferry. You almost drowned. What were you thinking?”

  Lincoln offered a confused expression and Jhonnette could tell he had no memory of diving off the ferry. She waited patiently for his next question.

  “Tell me where Moses is,” Lincoln said.

  “Moses was there this morning, too. He’s been shot. He’s inside the Angola infirmary and he’s going to die there if we don’t do something quick.”

  “There’s nuthin’ I can do to save him,” Lincoln replied.

  “Lincoln, you can’t know that.”

  “Who the hell are you anyway?” he snapped. “And why do you care so much about what happens to me and my father?”

  “Amir never said anything about me?” Jhonnette asked.

  Lincoln’s gaze sharpened at the mention of Amir. “You know Amir? How?”

  “Think of me as his silent partner,” she replied. “I want the same thing as you and your brother, Lincoln. I want to see Randy Lafitte dead. But we have to get you out of here to do that.”

  Lincoln groaned with sudden pain.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Be aight,” he mumbled. “Can you do me a favor?”

  Jhonnette nodded.

  “Get somebody to bring me some pain drugs. My goddamn side hurts like a bitch.”

  “Alright.” Jhonnette stood up to fetch the nurse. She opened the door into the hallway and saw her time was almost up.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Monday

  Lake City, LA

  “I’m going to ask you some questions,” Red Wolf said, staring at Amir in the rearview mirror. “If you choose not to answer, my colleague here is going to hurt you.”

  Anvil Head brandished a nasty-looking taser.

  “We’ll do this dance until we get the information we need or until you’re incapacitated,” Red Wolf said. “Understand?”

  “Fuck you,” Amir replied with resolve.

  Red Wolf nodded slightly. Anvil Head jabbed the taser at Amir’s right shoulder.

  Amir lost control of his muscles and writhed in the backseat like an epileptic.

  “That’s enough,” Red Wolf commanded. Anvil Head withdrew the taser.

  Amir’s heart galloped in his chest. He swallowed the glob of saliva in his mouth. He’d nearly pissed his pants and his thoughts were scrambled like eggs.

  “I don’t know why people always insist on doing this the hard way,” Red Wolf said. “Hopefully we have your attention now. Let’s get t
o my first question. Which bank did you put the money in?”

  Only Amir and Lincoln knew the location of the ransom money, but Amir knew it was only a matter of time before they broke him. He needed the kind of help he could only get from one place. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply. Then he started chanting the prayer his father taught him.

  Red Wolf ordered Anvil Head to shock him again, but their words came from far away. Amir could barely hear them over the drums…

  * * * * *

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  18 years earlier

  1984

  Houston, TX

  Amir couldn’t sleep. There was too much noise coming from his parent’s party in the backyard. He crept out of his bedroom and down the hallway, following the loud frenetic drumming.

  The backyard was right off the kitchen. Amir crossed the chilly linoleum floor and peeked out the screen door. Someone had built a bonfire and ten or eleven people were dancing around the fire pit. He located his mother. Juanita wore a loose-fitting, white summer dress with white flowers in her long, curly brown hair. Beautiful and free, she swayed to the drum’s rhythms, dancing so close to the fire her flowing locks appeared to be ablaze.

  Amir searched for his father. They needed to warn his mother about the flames. Amir stepped onto the porch, not taking his eyes off Juanita for an instant.

  She turned to face him and her eyes opened knowingly. Then, a shadow crossed over her features as she gyrated with greater urgency.

  Amir screamed and ran toward her. His fingers touched the soft cotton of her dress and then he was flung back to the porch. It took him a few seconds to realize he was being held in his father’s arms.