by RM Johnson
Rafe snatched Jimmy by the shirt, shook him hard. “You sure about this! You know this for a fact!”
Jimmy looked frightened all of a sudden.
“Rafe, yeah. Everybody know. Didn’t you?”
“No,” Rafe said, under his breath, pushing Jimmy aside, hurrying back into the car, starting the thing, and forcing it into gear. He didn’t know. But it all made sense now. That’s what Eric was doing on the West Side, and that was why he got killed. That wasn’t Smoke’s territory, but knowing his ass, he was trying to expand: using Rafe’s little brother to open a new market without drawing attention to himself. But he got Eric killed. He got Eric killed, and now Smoke had to pay.
FIFTY-TWO
LIVVY could cry only so long, and she knew that ultimately it would do her no good. Regardless how many tears she spilled, it wouldn’t help her get that scholarship.
Livvy wiped the tears from her face and looked over at the clock. It was a little after ten. She was hoping that by now one of her daughters would’ve come in and told her that they hadn’t thrown the magazines out—just put them in storage somewhere. Livvy had run outside, out to the trash to see if they were there, but the dumpsters had been emptied this morning, so if they had been there, they were gone now. She had the superintendent take her down to the basement to check if they were there as well. Nothing.
She had also thought to call Alizé on that cell phone of hers, but she didn’t have the number. It was becoming apparent that there was nothing Livvy could do but lie there and cry. Her will wouldn’t let her, though. At the very least, she could go to the hospital and appeal to the doctor in charge, tell him what happened, and ask for an extension.
“HE’LL BE right with you, Ms. Rodgers,” Dr. Ranick’s secretary told Livvy. Her eyes lingered about Livvy’s face longer than they should’ve, and Livvy knew she was checking out the results of the beating Carlos had given her. Livvy sat down and during the ten minutes she was waiting, saw three other women who worked at the hospital come in and give the secretary brown envelopes. Livvy knew that their essays were in those envelopes, and she knew her chances of winning were becoming less and less likely.
The door to the doctor’s office opened, and Dr. Ranick, a white man in his early forties, stuck his head out.
“Livvy. Sorry to keep you waiting. C’mon in.” He held the door open for her, as Livvy walked in and had a seat in front of his desk.
Livvy felt awkward there. She felt small, like she did when she was a child and was sent to the principal’s office for doing something wrong.
Dr. Ranick sat down behind his desk, wearing his white lab coat. He smiled at her, his beard, neatly trimmed, his hair, long but controlled. Livvy was glad that it was him who was in charge of this contest. She had known Dr. Ranick since she had started working at the hospital, and she liked him, thought he was fair, and felt he liked her too.
“What can I do for you today, Livvy? Coming in to turn in your essay?”
Livvy looked down at her hands, once again feeling like that child, this time singled out for not having done the assigned homework.
“I don’t have it,” she murmured. Then when she saw that he didn’t fully understand her, Livvy cleared her voice and spoke the same words louder. “I don’t have it. I think my daughters might have thrown it out by mistake.”
Dr. Ranick seemed sympathetic to what he had just heard, but said, “So what would you like us to do about that?”
“I was wondering if I could get an extension. If I could turn it in later.”
“Livvy,” he said, already shaking his head.
“Even if it’s just one day. Tomorrow. I think I can remember most of what I had down.”
“Livvy, if I could, you know I would. I’ve known you a long time, and I think you’re a fine nurse’s assistant. And if anybody deserves this scholarship, it’s you. But giving you an extension would be unfair to all the other applicants. The rules are clearly stated on the application, and I can’t go back on those.”
“Dr. Ranick, please. I know there’s something that you can do. Something, anything. If you only knew how much I was relying on this to change my life.”
The doctor looked at Livvy, sorrow in his eyes, but said, “I’m sorry. There is nothing at all that can be done. By chance, did you save a copy of the essay on disk?”
“I did it longhand. It was the only copy I had,” Livvy said, sounding as though there was no hope for her now.
“Livvy, if you can possibly rewrite one and have it in by five this evening, I might—”
Livvy spun around, looked at the clock on the wall. “It’s already eleven fifteen. There’s no way.”
“Then I’m sorry, Livvy,” Dr. Ranick said, genuine sadness in his voice.
Livvy sat there, feeling beaten, helpless, and powerless. She needed to get up, get herself out of that office, but she just couldn’t find the strength. After all she had recently been through, she couldn’t find the energy to do anything but cry, and that’s exactly what she did.
HALF AN HOUR later, Livvy was driving home. She had accomplished nothing that she had set out to do. Instead, she had done something else. She had quit. She sat there in front of Dr. Ranick and cried for only a moment, and then that sorrow turned into frustration and anger, and she told him that if she couldn’t be a nurse, then she would have nothing to do with that hospital. She told him that she was tired of taking shit—and that’s exactly what she said, “shit”—from all the nurses when she knew she could do their job as good as or better than they could. She told the good doctor this, but only after she had told him everything else about her life as well. She spoke of her two daughters, about the criminal her college-bound daughter was dating, and about the breakthrough she had just had with her other, less successful daughter. She even told him where the bruises and swelling on her face had come from. She told the doctor everything, and then before leaving, said, “All I wanted was a chance to provide for my children and to prove to myself that I could’ve accomplished something that was important. I would’ve been a good nurse, Dr. Ranick. I would’ve been a very good nurse.” Then she got up and walked out.
FIFTY-THREE
LISA never saw it coming. She had finished her shopping and put some nice pieces of furniture on layaway for her new place. She was proud of herself for being able to afford those things, being able to afford the new place she would be getting soon. She was proud of herself because she needed money, and she had done what it took to earn it.
On her way home, she took the shortcut like she always did, and as she pulled into the mouth of the alley, she thought to herself that it would be really nice to keep the Bentley. It would fit her new lifestyle perfectly. Lisa was so lost in thought that she had no idea what was happening around her. When the big 7 series BMW quickly pulled in front of her from an intersecting alley, she slammed both feet down onto the brake pedal, but the car wouldn’t stop in time.
It slammed into the side of the midnight blue car, her head pounding into the steering wheel of the Bentley. Everything was a blur after that. She heard doors opening, heard them closing. And then she felt her door open, felt someone reach in, undo her seat belt.
“I’m sorry,” Lisa felt herself saying, her voice groggy, still disoriented, unable to see clearly.
She was hoisted out of the car by two men, but she sensed there were more around her, maybe three or four.
“Exactly what are you sorry for, sweetheart?” she heard a familiar-sounding voice ask her. Her head was spinning, trying to account for her injuries, but she found herself concentrating more on where she had heard that voice before.
The two men dragged her weakened body over to a short trash bin and sat her on top of it.
“You better be sorry for more than slamming into my car, baby,” the voice said again.
“What … what are you talking about?” Lisa asked.
“Look at me.”
Lisa’s eyes were on the ground, but she raised her
head, trying to clear the cobwebs out, trying to focus on the man who was speaking in front of her.
The man raised his voice. “I said, look at me!”
Lisa squinted her eyes, forcing them to focus, and when they did, she was terrified by who she saw.
FIFTY-FOUR
TWELVE MINUTES later, Rafe’s car screeched to a slanted halt in front of his aunt’s place. He yanked the keys out of the ignition, bolted out of the car, and flat out ran to the side door. The adrenaline in his blood made him fumble with the keys, trying to force them in the lock. The key finally went in, and with the aid of the banister, he was bolting up two and three stairs at a time.
Once on his floor, Rafe turned the corner and raced down the hallway. He passed Wade checking his mail but said nothing to him, concentrating on getting to his room.
“Hey, what’s the hurry, Rafe?” he heard Wade say.
Rafe opened his door and ran to his closet, ready to open it, but looked over his shoulder to see Wade standing in the doorway.
“Rafe, everything okay?”
“Yeah, everything’s cool. But I gotta talk to you later.”
“Okay, that’s cool,” Wade said, backing away from the door.
Rafe kept his eyes there for a moment until he didn’t see Wade anymore, then opened the closet door, reached up to the top shelf, and brought down a cardboard shoe box. He opened it to expose a folded leather holster, which he quickly threw on, and the .45 that Smoke had recently given him. Rafe had turned it down, but Smoke insisted he take it.
“Just in case something goes down, and you need to get my back.”
Rafe never carried it, even though Smoke had always told him to. Instead he had dropped it in the cardboard box and shoved it up on the closet shelf. He slid it into his holster now, reached in the closet, yanked out the first button-down shirt that he laid his hand on, and threw it on over the weapon.
When Rafe spun around to leave, he jumped at the sight of Wade standing there in front of him. He had a serious expression on his face. “What’s going on, Rafe?” Wade asked, the lighthearted tone no longer in his voice.
“I said, I gotta talk to you later. I got some serious business to take care of, okay?” Rafe tried to step past Wade, but Wade placed himself in front of Rafe, blocking him.
“Serious business of what nature, Rafe? The kind that demands you carry a gun?” Wade pulled open the halves of Rafe’s shirt, exposing the weapon.
Rafe snatched the shirt closed.
“This ain’t shit you need to concern yourself with.”
“Let’s talk about this. I don’t want you to do something stupid, okay?”
Rafe didn’t say anything, just brushed roughly past Wade.
“Now hold it, son,” Wade said, reaching out, grabbing Rafe by the arm, and spinning him around. By the time Rafe faced him, the gun was drawn, the barrel shoved into Wade’s ribs.
“I don’t want to talk about it, and I ain’t your son, okay!” The words seeped slowly and raspy out of Rafe’s mouth. “You understand?” And with the question, he pressed the barrel of the gun further into Wade’s ribs.
Wade took a small step back. “Yeah, I understand. But do one thing for me.”
Rafe looked at him, narrowing his eyes. “What is it?”
“You got my numbers, home and cell, right?”
“Yeah.”
“If anything happens, if you need my help. Call me, all right?”
“Yeah,” Rafe agreed, slipping the gun back into the holster and turning to go.
“Be careful,” Rafe heard Wade say to him, but to Rafe, safety was no longer a concern. If he died as a result of getting revenge for his brother, he wouldn’t care. As long as Smoke died first.
FIFTY-FIVE
LISA wasn’t sure, but her jaw had to have been broken. Her face was pressed to the hard ground of the alley, and every time she tried to move her mouth, blood flowed out of it, and it hurt like hell.
She didn’t know how long she had been beaten, and didn’t know if four men had done it or just Smoke himself. He was there, standing in front of her when her fuzzy vision became clear.
He said he wouldn’t hurt her, that he just wanted to know where the other girl who robbed him was. But she knew he was lying. What? He would just let her go and hurt Ally enough to get back at the both of them? She knew that was bullshit, so she didn’t tell him a damn thing.
Lisa could open only one eye. The other one had swollen shut, and it felt like a big rock had been shoved into her socket. She looked around for her purse, praying that they hadn’t taken it and that it was somewhere close, because she knew she could move only a few inches, if at all.
Smoke had been pretty convincing, and Lisa wanted to believe him, thought she might even walk away from this alive if she just did as she was told. But tears came to her eyes when common sense told her that that would never happen.
“Baby, don’t cry,” Smoke said, gently smoothing a tear from her face with one of his fingers. “Just tell me what I need to know, and everything will be just fine.”
“Bullshit, motherfucker!” she yelled, and then spat in his face. That’s when the beating started and never seemed to end. It was pain that she never thought possible, but she wouldn’t sacrifice her friend. She was the fool who didn’t dump the car like Ally had told her to.
Lisa stretched out her arm now, felt the pain from her stomach injury telling her to give up, but she had to get her purse. It was there, just in front of her. Only inches away. It had fallen over, and the contents had spilled out. She saw her cell phone on the ground.
She thought, after a while, that she would’ve gone numb during the beatings, or unconscious, or into shock, but none of that happened. It just went on and on.
“The beating will stop if you just tell me. The pain will stop if you just tell me. Tell me, tell me, tell me, and it will all stop,” Smoke said over and over again.
Lisa didn’t want to give up Ally, but if she didn’t, she knew she would die. She had a son. A fucking son. He was the reason she’d done all this to begin with, and she had to think about him, she realized.
“I don’t know where she is now,” Lisa said, regretfully, struggling to get the words out across her swollen lips. Through the blood covering her face, she saw Smoke rear back again, ready to hit her, but then she said, “But I know where she … where she gonna be.”
Smoke dropped his fist, and Lisa told him. Told him that she was supposed to be at Lenny’s, the barbeque place off State. That was it. All she knew. She was going to be at Lenny’s anytime now.
“That’s my baby,” Smoke said. Lisa couldn’t really see him, but heard the softened tone of his voice. She felt him rub his hand across her hair, caressing it.
“You did good. You kept your part of the bargain. And I’ma keep mine. I said if you tell me, you wouldn’t feel no pain no more, and that’s what I meant.” Then she heard Smoke say, “Trunk, give me the gun.”
Lisa screamed, tried to move, but couldn’t.
“Goodbye, bitch,” she heard him say. She heard the gun go off, and then she felt her belly being torn open by the bullets.
HER MIND was pulling away from her now, but she had managed to reach the cell phone. It was in her hand, and thank god Ally was the last person she called, because her mind was so messed up that she couldn’t remember the girl’s number. She pressed the Talk button, which automatically redialed the last number. Ally picked up.
“Hello.”
“Ally, it’s me, Lisa,” she breathed painfully into the phone, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Lisa, is that you? I can’t hear you too good.”
“Ally, listen to me.”
“I can’t hear you. You have to speak up.”
“Ally!” Lisa said, yelling as loud as she could, her voice still coming out as only a harsh whisper. “Listen to me. They caught me. The men from last night. Smoke, they caught me, and they beat me up. They shot me,” Lisa said, starting to cry, cou
ghing up blood. “I didn’t want to tell them, but they beat me. They were going to kill me.” She said the words, and they were vaguely comprehensible through her sobbing. “My son … I got a son, Ally … I need to be here for him, so I told them where you … where you goin’ to be. I told them, Ally, and they comin’ for you, so don’t go to the place. They comin’, so don’t go!”
FIFTY-SIX
ALLY whirled around to look at the clock on the wall. It had been half an hour since she had spoken to her sister. They weren’t going to get Ally, she thought, because she wouldn’t be there. She was running late. But Henny was punctual, never late for shit, Ally thought, as she punched in her home telephone number, trying to catch her before she left. And she hoped that maybe, maybe this one time, Henny was held up.
The phone rang once, twice.
“Come on, Henny, be there,” Ally urged, feeling herself on the verge of tears. “Be there, goddammit!”
And she knew that since her sister didn’t have a cell phone, that if she had left the apartment already, there would be no way to tell her of the danger she faced.
The machine picked up, delivered its greeting.
“Henny, if you’re there, pick up the phone,” Ally said. There was no answer. She disconnected the call, hit the Redial button, and waited as the phone rang, hoping this time her sister would answer.
The phone rang three times again.
JJ walked in the room as the machine was picking up. “What’s up, Ally?” she asked, noticing the distressed look on Ally’s face.
“Hennesey, pick up the phone! Pick up!” Ally practically screamed into the phone.
“Ally, what’s wrong?” JJ rushed over to her, sitting next to her on the sofa.
Henny wasn’t picking up. She had left already and Ally knew it.