Rapture: Where are our Children (A Serial Novel) Episode 3 of 9
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help them much. Bishop had prepared himself for the one day that the APD grew a pair and came after him. He would use the narrow streets that went from eight lanes when you entered the complex that reduced themselves to four, two and eventually one for every two blocks of cross streets to his advantage. He also had some Ushers that would climb up to the top of damn near 12 or 15 apartment tops. They would serve two purposes while they were up there: They would pitch pigeons to help blind Ushers on the ground know where the cops were heading…and they could snipe any pig that was traveling by foot.
Roxanne felt a lump in her throat.
“That doesn’t sound to promising for anyone trying to flush Bishop out of here?”
“And you would normally be right, Girlfriend,” Dre finished his beer and missed the garbage can when he flipped it at the basket adding to the already filthy surroundings. How do you live like this? “But we ain’t talking about the APD or even Five-O. Bishop or nobody else ain’t ever seen nothing like this.”
Four school buses rushed into the open space that the van had created. Two went to the right side while the other two somehow made the curve and headed to the left. One Peacekeeper after the other, after the other…after the other marched off of those buses until, Dre couldn’t be sure, but there had to damn well 200 men and women in all were on Carver streets taking cover and taking names. They were dressed in the classic gear that world had come to know them for: khaki pants and black tee shirts or khaki suits. The difference today is that they all wore skeleton mask to protect their identities like they were some real life superheroes or something Dre guessed.
A gunshot fired loud enough that Roxanne jumped and Dre went to the floor. She stayed low enough not to be caught in any direct crossfire and got over to where the host was.
Roxanne, reluctantly, had often turned to this bastard since she’d been back in Hot Atlanta when her cases veered off the linear path. He’d proven useful…especially if your cash flow was right. And 24 hours ago he’d called her and told her that he had a contact who had mentioned Erica’s physical description to a tee, knew about her hoeing around with Trey Davis, and even mentioned her possible sexual relationship with a young woman who was hooked up with an Usher. Roxanne had learned that leaning of Andre Knight for information down here usually generated results.
It didn’t mean she had to like him.
“As long as you understand one thing,” She had forearmed him to his upswept tile this time. The dirt was shining in his greasy head. “If you’ve betrayed me or wasted my time in any way, I’ll make you wish you hadn’t lived long enough to regret it.”
Dre looked the part of a cockroach that had been flipped on his back. Yet, he had managed to escape her clutches again and had sat himself just under the window sill.
“Betray you.” He wiped the dirt off of his too big shirt. His greasy hair might take the rest of the decade so he let it ride for now. “Girlfriend, we go all the way back to elementary school. You wouldn’t give a playa the time of day back then but I’ve always had your back.”
“Let me correct you,” She crawled to where he was again and sat close enough to smell the booze on his breath. He would not escape her again. “I’ve know you too long and having my back has always been defined by me either paying you or fucking you. And I’d rob the Bishop himself first before I’d let that latter half happen, Dre.”
More shot rang out. Roxanne heard a window shatter. They’re getting closer; we are running out of time. Finding Erica and…potentially giving her the justice she deserved was running on fumes as well.
Dre soothed the moment and her nerves over again, if only momentarily when he finished telling his tale. Girlfriend, I ain’t got to the good part yet. Two dozen or so Peacekeepers busted through apartment doors and sprayed the inside with gunfire. Pockets of Choir Boys would show up from down the street or around a corner cursing and shooting…but they no match for the semi and fully automatic weapons of the Peacekeepers.
The campaign was far from flawless. One of the buses stalled before it reached its rightful destination and 20 or 30 of Xavier’s men had to run half a block to reach the next row of apartments. A couple of Usher’s who were still on top the rooftops picked a handful off as they tried to exit the idled bus. There were more than a few hand to hand, and knife to hand battles in the middle of the street, in the dark alleys and in private doorways. A civilian woman, whose weight was all behind her, was shot in the crossfire when she tried to rush what must have been her elderly father to safety. Another man with weenie arms, a beer belly and chicken legs was run over when he stepped out in front of the bus as soon as the driver got it going again.
But then the Peacekeepers took control of those first two sections of Carver. Three Wheelers rolled in by the dozen. There were two riders per vehicle. While one steered the other fired rounds at any and everything that moved that wasn’t wearing khakis and black tee shirts. With another wave of Peacekeepers on the ground the snipers were nullified and then eliminated with extreme prejudice. One was shot and Dre said that he fell from the rooftop nearly to the asphalt nearly where he was standing.
“But it didn’t stop there, Girlfriend.” Dre shook his head. His eyes were two unblinking street lights. For all of the things that Andre Knight was not, Roxanne Sanchez could say that he was cool. The punk in him wasn’t faking or fabricating. What he saw in those few minutes before he arrived here and sealed himself inside his apartment had scared the hell out of him.
Dre said that he watched a man bigger than most stand climb atop one of the vans that had crashed through the front gates into the housing project. “He was a pretty big man but that’s not what I remember most about him.” Dre said trying to mask the fear in his voice. “He was the only one of them wearing a sleeveless black tee shirt that had no ample room for a vest underneath. But Roxanne, he had a long scar on each arm that stretched from his elbow to his wrist. And he…”
“What did he do? Andre?” Roxanne wanted to know.
“He pulled a machete from what seemed out of nowhere. I look up again and there were, I don’t know, maybe 20 or 25 others who were carrying machetes too.”
Andre Knight said the scarred man pointed at all of those sneakers hanging from the wires marking Choir Boy territory, the way a dog pisses on a bush. And then The Scarred Man said at the top of his voice: Our adversaries proclaim themselves Choir Boys. They have Ushers…they have a Deacon…I even hear that they are blessed with the presence of a Bishop. The Scarred man’s words were greeted with laughter from his troops, his Peacekeepers. Well today I have visualized his people’s future. And Dre said he heard a single voice…with a woman’s tone ask from her skeleton mask: And tell us what do you see, Admiral. The Scarred Man found who had asked the question and his smile threw a shining light on the entire world. I see a day…this day, filled with misery and pain.
And the Peacekeepers one and all…all and one, begin to stomp.
But the Scarred Man was not finished. When his troops had quieted enough to allow him to speak into a setting sun, he said: If there is a Bishop and a Deacon and Ushers and Choir Boys…then this must be Paradise.
Andre Knight watched the Scarred man pull a locket from underneath his tee shirt, kiss it affectionately and say: Then I say that we should storm Heaven.
He hopped effortlessly off of the van and charged up a stairwell with his machete drawn. The others who possessed the blades matched his movement and did the same, pouring into one apartment and it seemed to the storyteller, at random to the next one.
And Andre Knight ran for his life.
That was 30 minutes ago.
What sounded like an explosion rocked the building underneath their feet. Roxanne Sanchez had gathered her druthers first. “What did they do with these machetes, Dre? How did they know what apartments to crash? I know that everyone in this complex is not a dealer or a member of The Choir Boys? Dre, are you even listening to me?”
“Of course I’m hearing you, Girlfriend.”
Dre dared look out the window. Two Choir Boys darted by…but they were then cut down in a hail of bullets. “Look, I didn’t stay around long enough to see the end of the movie. The opening credits were enough for me as it was.”
She had enough of this man—so she snatched him by the collar and the skin underneath. He would not escape her this time for sure.
“Damn, Girlfriend, what’s happened to you?” He screamed over the gunfire drawing closer and closer still. “Look, Roxanne, we’ve done business before. You have never been this hard. You are starting to act like that crazy ass sister of yours. Don’t act like you don’t remember that crazy bitch fighting day in and day out. Anyway, whatever happened—“
Roxanne planted the butt of her Nine against his big lips in a quiet plea for him to be silent. “Look, Dre, we are not going to talk about Maria. We are not going to talk about what you had for breakfast this morning. We’re not even going to talk about the Peacekeepers who could knock that door down any moment and kill us both—“
And there was a knock on that exact door.
And the knocking became more persistent—and then desperate.
“Open the door, Dre, it’s me.” A voice said.
“My man,” Andre flashed a million dollar smile.
Roxanne allowed him to get to his