While Jhonnette stood patiently in the corner, a short, petite nurse named Monica checked Lincoln’s monitors and administered morphine into his intravenous line. Lincoln paid no attention to the nurse, his eyes fixed intently on Jhonnette.
The nurse finished her duties and glided out of the room.
Jhonnette approached Lincoln’s bedside and asked, “Feeling better?”
“I need to use your phone.”
“To call who?”
“It’s none of your business. Listen, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. Just let me borrow the phone first.”
“Okay.” Jhonnette dug through her purse for the cell phone.
She watched as Lincoln searched for the dialing pad. “How you work this thing?” he asked.
“Let me,” she said, taking it back. “What’s the number?”
After dialing, she returned the phone to him. Lincoln held his breath as the phone rang and rang.
“Amir not answering?” she asked.
Lincoln’s eyes widened. “How did you—”
“Amir has been compromised. You’re going to have to start trusting me, Lincoln, because I may be the only person left that can get you out of this.”
“What the fuck you talkin’ ‘bout lady?”
“Like I said, I’m here to help. I have information you need.”
“Yeah? Well you can start by telling me what the fuck happened to Amir.”
“We’ll get there, but first things first. You need to understand your past to make sense of what is required of you now. What was Kristopher Lafitte doing on the wrong side of town on the day of the Simmons Park Massacre?”
“I hate when people call it that. It wasn’t no massacre. It was a set up.”
Jhonnette seized her opening. “But set up by whom?”
Lincoln was silent.
“You and Kristopher Lafitte were friends, weren’t you?”
Lincoln rolled away from her. “You think you know me just because you’ve read some articles? You don’t know shit.”
“I know we share a common enemy, Lincoln,” she said. “And we are running out of time. But I need to know why you killed your friend. Or why you allowed yourself to be framed for the crime if you didn’t.”
“Why is that important?”
“Because you are the key to bringing Randy Lafitte to his knees and you don’t even realize it. But first you have to stop blaming yourself.”
Lincoln stared at her for a long time. Then he started talking. His words came painfully slow at first, but soon he lost himself in his own story and Jhonnette got lost with him.
* * * * *
Chapter Forty-Two
Ten years earlier
1992
Lake City, LA
Lincoln’s life had come full circle since moving in with Moses. On New Year’s Eve, two years after his house arrest sentence began; Moses finalized Lincoln’s adoption and announced his engagement to a wonderful, loving woman named Lois Payne. For the first time in his life, Lincoln was part of a real family. Lois had a child from a previous marriage, six-year-old Brandon who idolized Lincoln from the moment he entered the house.
Lincoln was a senior at St. Louis Prep, popular and well liked—the Fresh Prince of Lake City. His exploits on the basketball court had become legendary and rabid, cheering fans packed the Crusader’s gym every game night.
Now that he was somewhat of a local celebrity, he had a lot of new friends and associates, chief among them—Kris Lafitte. Lincoln had never met a crazier white boy in his whole life—and he’d never befriended or trusted a white person, ever. Despite their differences, they forged a bond almost as strong as his gang brotherhood because Kris had his demons as well. They never discussed Kris’s suicide attempt, but every so often, Lincoln would glance at Kris and see a tortured shadow pass over his friend’s face.
After Lincoln led the Crusaders through the Class 5A state playoffs to the championship game, reporters, agents, scouts, and college coaches started calling the house every day. Everyone started treating him as though he was the second coming of Michael Jordan. People speculated about whether Lincoln would go to some college powerhouse or do the unthinkable and leap straight from high school to the pros, something no high school player had done since Moses Malone in the late seventies.
Kris constantly talked about them attending North Carolina, Stanford, or Duke together and how big they would be living. “Imagine living on our own, Link. College girls, our own supped up dorm room, no curfews…”
Lincoln loved seeing Kris making plans for the future, but didn’t share his friend’s joy. Lincoln, having been largely ignored most of his life, was not used to being the center of attention. He couldn’t verbalize how terrified he was of leaving Lake City and the sanctuary of Moses’ home.
As the deadline for him to declare his eligibility for the NBA draft approached, Lincoln was unable to sleep, eat, or concentrate in class. One afternoon, he and Kris left school early and went out to Barton Coliseum near the airport to smoke a little weed and talk.
They drove Kris’s car into one of the horse stables next to the domed building and parked. “So what are you gonna do?” Kris asked, firing up a joint.
“I really don’t know, bruh.”
Kris passed the joint to Lincoln, then reached into his backpack and produced an envelope.
“What’s that?” Lincoln asked.
“Open it.”
The letter was from the Louisiana State University registrar’s office. Lincoln patted Kris on the back excitedly. “Congrats! You’re a college man now. I thought for sure you’d end up at UNC though.”
“LSU is gonna let me play ball.”
Lincoln nodded. Another thing they had in common—their love for the game. Being able to play ball was their reason for breathing. Basketball was life. “Look, Link,” Kris said, growing serious. “I know you’re worried about leaving Lake City, but you gotta get the hell outta here before something bad happens.”
Kris was referring to fallout from the brawl during the semifinal game against crosstown rival Lake City-Boston. Several Scorpions were standout athletes on that team and a bench-clearing brawl had broken out in the middle of the third quarter. Lincoln and Kris were both suspended for their role in the fight and ever since, Kris had been obsessing over whether or not the gang would retaliate.
“I think they’re planning something, man, I really do.”
Lincoln laughed. “Kris, what the hell do you know about gang activity? Are the gardeners going to war with the butlers in your hood?”
Kris wasn’t laughing.
Lincoln took another puff off the joint. “You’re serious?”
“As a heart attack, man. If you stay around here, they will get you back eventually.”
“I ain’t worried,” Lincoln said with a shrug. “The Skulls still have my back.”
“I hope so, for your sake. Anyway, man, you coming with me to LSU or not?”
“Kris, I been meaning to talk to you about that. You’re my boy so please don’t take this the wrong way, but we didn’t come from the same place, and we ain’t goin’ to the same place.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you got it made, bruh. You’ve always had it made. Look, you’re prob’ly gonna go to college, meet some spoiled rich girl, graduate, go to law school, get married, build a huge house, and live happily ever after. Ain’t none a’ that gonna happen to me.”
Kris stood. “It’s always the same thing with you, man. It always comes back to my family’s money. Yeah, I come from money and yeah, you don’t, but that doesn’t give you an excuse to ruin your life, does it? You people are so dense sometimes.”
“You people? Fuck you! You’re just like the rest of these corny whitebread trust fund motherfuckers. Go home and count your money, rich boy. Even if I decide to go to college, ain’t no way in hell I’m following your lame ass to LSU. Forget about me. Go get some new friends…”
The next day was Senior Skip Day and Lincoln was grateful. He couldn’t deal with any more questions about his decision and desperately needed to get the fight with Kris off his mind. He met up with some other senior skippers and headed out to Prien Pines Beach for an afternoon of sun and fun.
Everything was going fine until Kris stumbled into the party, disheveled and drunk. Lincoln felt a pang of sorrow for his friend, but his pride wouldn’t allow him to break the silence between them.
Kris, bolstered by his belligerence, was on a warpath. When he spied Lincoln, he went on the attack. “Hey, look at the big star everybody! Big Link Baker, number one draft pick. He’s a fucking coward everybody! Look at’m!”
Lincoln tried to ignore the venomous accusations pouring from Kris’s lips, but that only made Kris angrier.
He headed toward Lincoln. “Yeah! Fucking Lincoln Baker, the savior of Lake City! Everybody loves Link, right? He’s a fuckin’ fraud! You’re a fuckin’ fraud, Link, you hear me?”
Lincoln had heard enough. He attempted to remove Kris from the premises.
Kris swung at him. His punch landed just below Lincoln’s eye. Then it was on.
It took four football players to pull Lincoln off Kris.
Kris, bleeding from a busted lip, continued to scream as they escorted him away. “Bet I got your attention now, Link, huh? Bet now you’ll hear what I gotta say! You ain’t got any friends, Link! None of these people give a damn about you! You’re a joke, man. A bad fuckin’ joke!”
Lincoln nursed the cut under his eye and stared at Kris from across the sand with murder on his mind. As embarrassment and hurt set in, Lincoln couldn’t resist a final verbal jab as Kris left. “I shoulda let you kill yourself that day, Kris. You know that, you ungrateful motherfucker! I shoulda let you die!”
* * * * *
Chapter Forty-Three
Monday
New Roads, LA
Two knocks on the door interrupted Lincoln’s train of thought.
A heavyset nurse entered. “Times up, Ms. Deveaux. Please follow me.”
“We just need a few more minutes,” Jhonnette replied. “Can we work that out?”
“Let’s talk outside, Ms. Deveaux.”
Jhonnette followed the nurse into the hall.
“Sorry,” the nurse said. “The police just called. They’re coming to move the patient.”
“Where are they moving him?”
“I don’t know, but he might be able to help you out.” She nodded at someone over Jhonnette’s shoulder.
Jhonnette turned just in time to see Snake Roberts enter Lincoln’s room.
* * * * *
The drug’s effects overtook Lincoln, helping him understand the hunger in the eyes of all those painkiller addicts he’d sold to over the years. Morphine was the shit. Not feeling any pain was a strange sensation.
The door opened and he looked up in anticipation, ready to share this revelation with Jhonnette.
“Guess wha—”
“Don’t you mean guess who?” Snake Roberts smirked.
* * * * *
Ok, this is it. You can do this.
There was only one way to ensure Lincoln trusted her enough to give her what she needed. Jhonnette pressed her ear to the door.
Poor Snake. He’d been an essential part of her plan, but had served his purpose. Still, a part of her ached at the thought of what she was about to do. Over the past few months, she’d developed a soft spot for the man. This was no time for sentimentality. She had to focus.
She removed a small handgun from her purse. After screwing a silencer onto the barrel, she opened the door as quietly as she could.
* * * * *
Chapter Forty-Four
Monday
Baton Rouge, LA
“Governor! Governor!”
Someone shook him. Randy opened his eyes. One of his secret service guards, Jack, leaned over him with a look of extreme alarm.
Randy’s vision doubled for a brief second. He shook his head from side to side to remove the grogginess draped over his body like a rain poncho. He attempted to tell Jack he was fine, but nothing came out.
Something was inside his mouth. The something slipped a few notches as if in reaction to his thinking about it. Randy gagged in response.
Jack groaned.
Randy made the universal choking gesture.
Jack came to his senses and moved behind Randy. He wrapped his arms around Randy’s midsection and pressed on Randy’s solar plexus with his thumbs inverted performing the Heimlich maneuver.
Randy’s vision cleared dramatically upon the first pressure. He looked upon his surroundings in amazement. He sat before Huey P. Long’s tombstone in the southeast corner of the Capitol grounds—a good ten minute walk from the Observation Deck. He looked up at Louisiana’s first and only assassinated governor, and for a moment swore the statue was staring down at him.
Rumor had it Huey Long was actually killed by his bodyguards, not the dentist blamed for the crime.
A dark tint clouded his vision as Jack pushed again. Randy felt the first tickle of panic. Sane people didn’t lose track of ten minutes of time. They didn’t sleepwalk down twenty-seven flights of stairs.
Jack pressed a third time. Randy felt like his chest was going to cave in.
What’s happening to me?
Jack pressed again, with more force.
The object in Randy’s throat dislodged and blasted off into the open air. He took a few deep breaths, ignoring the pain coming with each inhalation. Then he looked at what he’d just expelled.
A blood red rose, wet and shiny with saliva, lay on the manicured lawn.
* * * * *
Chapter Forty-Five
Monday
Lake City, LA
“Wake his ass up,” Red Wolf commanded Anvil Head. “We’re almost there.”
Their captive couldn’t take the tasering. He’d been unconscious in the backseat for over five minutes. Now he was convulsing.
“He don’t look so good.”
Red Wolf looked at Amir in the rearview mirror and cursed under his breath. He pulled the car into the yard of a one-story red brick home.
“Go straighten him out,” Red Wolf ordered.
Anvil Head got out and opened the back door. Not taking any chances, he trained the taser on Amir while ducking into the backseat.
Red Wolf got out on the other side. They were wasting valuable time here. “Hurry up,” he barked.
As traffic flowed past him, he heard a strange guttural noise. Drawing his gun, he bent down to get a better look inside the car. His eyes widened as he witnessed the scene in the backseat.
Blood spurted from Anvil Head’s ruptured jugular, painting the window red. Then the driver’s side door burst open, catching Red Wolf in the forehead. He rocked on his haunches and fell backwards into the busy avenue, dropping the gun in the process. Immediately aware of the danger of being run over, Red Wolf rolled until he was safely out of the road. As soon as he made it onto the grass, someone grabbed his neck. Expert fingers pressed and squeezed his windpipe as if it were an accordion
Red Wolf tossed his head around until he was staring into the face of an adolescent white girl with jet black hair. She had a pretty face and creamy unblemished skin but wore a distressed expression.
Anvil Head’s blood dripped into Red Wolf’s eyes from the girl’s clenched ruby red lips. He bucked in an attempt to knock the girl off him. She rolled with him but maintained her death grip.
As the life drained from Red Wolf’s body, the girl smiled sweetly at him. He heard her voice in his head.
“It will all be over soon. It’s better on the other side. Follow the sound of the drums.”
Drums? What drums?
Then he heard them—soft pounding beckoning in a slow rhythm that matched his declining heartbeat.
Who are you?
Her name came.
Melinda.
His phone chirped. He barely heard his men
advising him that they had arrived at the hospital. He was too busy staring into Melinda’s angelic face. He felt no pain; she had taken his pain away. Until the girl’s face morphed back into the face of Amir.
A crushing sensation collapsed his lungs.
Amir stood up, got into the Crown Victoria, and drove away.
With no breath left, Red Wolf’s eyes lost focus and glazed over as he expired.
* * * * *
Chapter Forty-Six
Monday
Baton Rouge, LA
“Sorry about earlier. Here.” Shaw untied Coral and handed her an ice pack.
Coral pressed it against her busted lip. Of course it wasn’t cold enough. This guy couldn’t get anything right.
“We got off to a bad start,” Shaw said. “Of course you’re angry. But nothing’s gonna happen to you.”
“A little late for that, don’t you think?” Coral snapped. “You, your brother, and Larry have committed a capital offense. And that’s not even the worst part! You kidnapped a teenage girl and forced my husband to pardon a convicted killer. The man who killed my son. Oh man. You guys are gonna fry.”
Shaw paced before her. She could almost hear his mind working.
“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”
“What do you mean? You didn’t mean to kidnap my daughter and me? Just like you didn’t mean to slap the Governor’s wife?”
“Look. What do you want from me? I got these medical bills. Something got into me over there in Iraq. Some bad shit.”
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