“I should be your backup, girl,” she said.
“You should be right where you are. As long as I know the girls are safe and Travis is safe in the hospital, I can operate. Besides, I got Calvin watching my back.”
“You sound so calm.” Dulcey sighed in approval, then continued, “Can’t remember when you’ve sounded so clear. It’s almost scary, girl.”
“I’m clear on what I need to do to get Reecey back.”
“You want to talk to the girls?”
“Enough talking will be going on when this is over.” My body heated up with every word. “Damn these flashes.”
“I told you, embrace them, girl. It’ll make the journey a lot smoother.”
“Ain’t nothing smooth about the journey I’m on right now.”
After I clicked off from Dulcey, I went outside on Calvin’s deck off the kitchen area, which offered a magnificent city view. I lingered rail-side admiring Philly from above before turning my attention to Calvin. He straddled a lounge chair with his head back, stargazing. I sat at the end of the chair and followed his gaze.
“Big Dipper,” he said, pointing skyward. “Bear.” He put his arm down and pulled me back so I rested against his chest. The strain of what lay ahead fell away.
“I told you Jesse always had this rotten fish odor stuck to him. Well, his daddy constantly belittled him, as did everybody else—except Kelvin. Kelvin fought anyone who messed with the boy, ’cept his daddy. Jesse hated Kelvin”—he hesitated—“Laughton . . . because Mr. Boone took Laughton as the favorite. An old story for a different family.”
“But you said you didn’t know Laughton before now.”
“I didn’t know Laughton was Kelvin Boone, so I didn’t know Laughton, I knew Kelvin. Lives splinter, folks go their ways, come back, go another way. Kelvin acted crazier than Jesse. Kelvin always kept his killer expression on. He killed a boy with his fists behind Jesse’s mess, Maxwell Perry, the schoolyard bully. One day, Perry was relentlessly picking on Jesse and would not pay attention to Kelvin’s threats. Kelvin knocked me out when I tried to stop him from beating Perry to death. Daddy Boone sent him away to boarding school, or so the story went. And, well, Jesse grew up to be Jesse.”
“And you?”
“I had my own demons. I went into the service at seventeen to get away.” His voice became low and hard. “They trained me.”
“Special Forces?”
“Nothing special about being trained to kill.”
“You’d think the past, after so long, wouldn’t have such a strong hold on you. Years pass, you’d think it would turn you loose, turn me loose,” I said.
“The past doesn’t let you go, baby. You gotta let the past go. Deal with it and move on.”
I sat up and turned to face him. “My dad used to say, ‘Everything comes out in the wash.’ It’s such a cliché, but spot-on.”
“Your problem is, nobody ever told you the truth, or you shut the truth out.”
“I guess it’s more about me shutting it out.” I twisted back around and rested against his chest again. “I figured it’d be worse than lies. All these years, Reecey’s been holding everything in and I’ve called what I’ve been doing ‘helping her.’ We’ve been so close and so far apart at the same time.”
“You can’t blame yourself.”
“I shoulda known about troubles. Instead, I got hung up in my career. I shoulda had Laughton’s back. Instead I stopped trusting him. I shoulda stayed on John until he told me what he knew. I shoulda told Travis the truth. I shoulda seen through Cap. I shoulda faced my own demons.”
“Stop.” Calvin squeezed me. “You did what you could. Now you’re going to do what you can.” He stood up and swung his leg over my head. “C’mon,” he said, pulling me up.
I followed him into his bedroom and into a walk-in closet about a quarter the size of the bedroom. He tapped four times on the upper corner of the back wall and it slid sideways, exposing another smaller room. A variety of weapons hung on three walls and a large black metal footlocker took up most of the floor space. He twirled the knob of the combination lock on the footlocker back and forth and lifted the top. First, he handled a Glock Model 22 and set it on the floor. Then he pulled out a shoulder holster and slid in a Smith & Wesson Bodyguard .38 and tossed it to me.
“They’ll search you, take your gun away. He’d suspect something if you walked in naked.” He smiled.
Other weapons in the footlocker included an AK47 7.62X39MM with a thirty-round magazine, Bushmaster, XM Basic Tactical Turbine, S & W MP, 308 Win gas-operated, twenty-round capacity, Heckler & Koch MP 5 9 mm sub-machine gun that fired in single shots or three-round bursts or full auto at eight hundred rounds per minute. This machine gun was developed especially for the Navy Seals, as it fired from a closed bolt-barrel 8.85 inches long. All “badass” impressive. Weapons on the wall included a collection of antique pistols, some revolvers, and some single shots.
“Impressive.”
“I’m a weapons specialist of a different sort.” He closed the lid and pulled me to him. “I’ll show you mine, you show me yours.”
His lips glided over my neck, cheeks, eyes, and nose. He leaned back and let his finger dance over my lips. I reached up and pressed him closer, wanting his lips, his tongue, and fighting the lions of guilt because of it.
“I can’t.”
He touched his finger to my lips, then lifted me up and carried me to his bed. I lay nestled in his arms, listening to his heartbeat and absorbing courage.
“Jesse will be waiting with four or five men. He’ll try to blindside you, make you powerless so he can brutalize you, then make you beg for your life and your sister’s life . . . if she’s still alive.”
“She’s alive.”
“Baby, you have to be prepared for all of the possibilities.”
“She’s alive.”
Three hours later I drove down Broad Street in North Philly pass the Uptown Theater and made a right to West Fifty-first Street. The Uptown Theater was a major venue for the chitlin’ circuit from about 1951 to 1978. Comedians such as Redd Foxx and Flip Wilson performed there, as did just about every R&B group of that era, including James Brown, Ray Charles, Stevie Wonder, and The Supremes. I had not been to this side of Philly in years and was shocked at the change. What once had been a center of black culture and music, also frequented by jazz greats like John Coltrane and Stan Getz, was now one of the most dangerous areas in Philadelphia.
The address at American and Susquehanna Street was a five-story abandoned brick factory building. A DUNGAN, HOOD, AND COMPANY sign, though barely readable, still hung across the top of the building. The names of old industrialists, such as Gratz, Poth, Bouvier, and Schmidt, still adorned many of the signs on other empty buildings in the Kensington Mill District, once the world’s largest manufacturer of textiles and the pride of Philadelphia. Now it had the distinction of being the haven of junkies.
A brisk wind whipped street signs around. Dark thunderclouds glided across the sky, and the early hour colored everything gray. In my head, I heard Rod Serling’s drone, “You have just entered The Twilight Zone.” I parked across the street from the Dungan, Hood Building and waited, trying to detect any movement in the building or outside area. I checked my gun, sucked in a deep breath, and got out. The hum of my breathing and the swoosh of my Nike Air Maxes every time I stepped down on the pavement heightened the eeriness. I carried sneakers in the trunk for special occasions such as this.
I stopped at the door and checked the surroundings to catch sight of Calvin. He was nowhere to be seen. He said he would be watching, ready. I whispered a short prayer before pushing on the heavy metal door. It did not budge. I applied a full-body push on the second go-round. The scraping of metal on metal and the door banging the inside wall from the force of my weight foiled my planned surprise approach.
Inside, my eyes took a few moments to adjust to the dark, but not before my nose caved to the smells of funk, urine, mold, and crap
. It made me gag, then forced me forward, giving up Calvin’s luscious salmon meal. My Nikes caught much of the splatter.
Though it was earlier than the 2:00 a.m. designated time, I expected one of Jesse’s men to be on the lookout. I moved around the lower level until I pushed open a door that led into a large, open area, the main factory floor for textile goods.
A swishing noise made me spin around with my gun drawn—and then blackness.
Jesse’s voice poked at me, bringing me to consciousness.
“Some rescuer.” He spat and I felt the wetness on my arm. He pressed his foot into my rib cage, willing me fully awake. “Well, well, here we are again. Where’s the money?” He shoved harder with his foot and turned me over.
My head was blazing. Blood coated my fingers when I took them away from where he or one of his men had clobbered me. We were in a large room with no windows. I caught sight of Nareece, lying facedown on a dirty mattress in the far corner of the room. She was half-naked and bloodied, her hands and feet bound. Jesse followed my gaze.
“She’s alive. Now, where’s the money?”
“She’s bleeding. Let me go to her.”
“Go ahead. Take your ass over there and check her out.” He motioned to one of the two men who were in the room with us. The man moved toward me and grabbed me by the hair to pull me up.
I kicked him in the groin on the way up. He released my hair and bent over, grabbing himself. An uppercut to the jaw sent him reeling backward and moaning on the floor.
I heard the trigger cock on the other man’s gun.
Please, Calvin, come now.
“Don’t shoot,” Jesse yelled. “Not yet.” He laughed and motioned for me to go to Nareece. “Move.” He followed behind me. “She’s good for nothing . . . never was . . . but she’s alive. I said I wouldn’t kill her. Didn’t say I wouldn’t make her wish she was dead,” he scoffed.
When I turned her over, I saw that Nareece was bruised over her face and body and reeked of Jesse’s fish smell. She was barely breathing.
“Now, where’s the money?”
“It’s in my trunk.”
“Give him the keys.” He motioned toward another man, whom I threw my keys to. “Now, sit,” Jesse said, waving his gun toward me. “Leave her be.”
I ignored him and untied Nareece’s hands and feet. I checked her breathing again, then took off my jacket and covered her.
“It didn’t have to be like this. She coulda had everything,” he snarled, waving the gun in Nareece’s direction. “She just couldn’t get over that I ordered your old man hit, simple bastard.”
His words pierced my senses.
“What did my father do to you?”
“He threatened me—told my father to make me leave his little girl alone. I hated my father all my life and you’re going to tell on me? Like I gave a fuck. And this stupid bitch wants to punish me by stealing junk and cash that belongs to my old man. As much as I loved her, if word got out that I let her get away . . . He stayed on me, and stayed on me, till I couldn’t take his bullshit anymore. I enjoyed killing my old man.” Jesse paced, still waving the gun around. “Where the hell is Mumford? Check it out,” he commanded another man.
I got up.
“Sit down!” Jesse yelled.
“She needs water.”
“You don’t go anywhere until they get back with the money. Now, sit down.” He rushed up on me and pushed me back against the wall, the gun jammed in my throat.
I grabbed his wrist and twisted him around, causing him to drop the gun. He raised his fist and aimed for my head. I ducked and jabbed him in the solar plexus, sending him back and to the floor. I fell to my knees adjacent to him and punched his face, until I fell forward and needed both arms to keep from falling on top of him. I got up and stumbled to the corner where Jesse’s gun had landed, stumbled back and aimed it at his head. My hand shook. I used my other hand to steady my grip and pulled the trigger.
I pulled the trigger again, and again. Jesse Boone’s eyes flew open as he rose up from the floor snarling and swinging. Only then did I realize the gun had misfired, too late. His fist slammed the side of my head and sent me flying. I hit the floor face-first and slid into a wall.
Nareece’s whisper echoed in my ear, “Muriel, get up.” Her voice grew louder until she screamed, “Get up, Muriel!”
I turned over as Jesse Boone lunged toward me, spit streaming from his mouth with each swear he slung. I struggled to push myself out of his path, but my arms, my legs, were like putty.
He grabbed me by my hair, pulled me across the floor, and slammed my body into the wall, stepped back, and swung me around the other direction in a circular motion. I held his arm, trying to lessen the pull on my head. With each turn, I saw Nareece crawling along the floor away from us. Boone slammed me into the wall again, which stopped the action for a moment before he swung me in a circle, all the way booming, “You bitch. You think you can go up against me? I will fuck you up. Make you wish you were dead. I’ll cut your ass up and feed you to the animals.”
“Bastard!” Nareece screeched and pulled the trigger of the same gun I had used. She shot again and again until the gun emptied. At the first shot, Boone released my hair. I lay sprawled on the floor, covering my head. When the firing stopped and I looked up, Jesse Boone appeared suspended upright for a few seconds before he fell to the floor and landed on top of me. I scrambled like crazy to free myself, his stench fighting back to hold me. The clicking sound of the gun continued until I managed to get up and take the weapon from Nareece and she crumpled into my arms. I fell back against the wall as Jesse’s other three men rushed into the room, guns blazing. I fell to the ground and covered Nareece with my body as gunfire exploded. When it stopped, Laughton and Calvin stood over us. After the smoke cleared and they’d confirmed that Nareece and I were all right, Jesse Boone was gone, as in left the building. Laughton ran out to find him.
CHAPTER 27
I screamed, “There’s no way he’s still walking around. Reecey shot him, four, five times. There’s no way.” Fear crept up my spine for this man, Jesse Boone, who had walked away from multiple gunshot wounds. I rushed over to where he had fallen. “He fell right here. Fell out, dead.”
Calvin came over and put his hand on my shoulder, the weight of which nearly drove me to my knees. “Calm down, Muriel. He couldn’t have gotten far. The guys and Laughton will find him.”
I shook him off and went back to tend to Nareece. She was barely conscious. Her eyes flitted around as she grabbed hold of my arm. I wanted to tell her there was nothing to be afraid of, that everything was good, that Jesse Boone had no reach to her anymore. I wanted to . . . I could only squeeze her hand.
Calvin perused the room, picked up my bag and a torn piece of clothing, and double-checked that there was nothing else revealing left behind. Fact was, there were no sirens in the distance. No one really cared in this part of Philly. The bodies of the men would be found in a day, maybe two, maybe not for a few weeks or months. There would be some investigation, since the men would be identified as known associates of Jesse Boone’s, and Jesse would be sought for questioning. Maybe. That would be that unless Jakes and Janey got involved.
Calvin carried Nareece to his car.
“I’ll follow you to the hospital in my car,” I said. I locked eyes with Reecey, who gave a slight nod, then I walked away too fast for Calvin to respond.
I felt the underside of the fender for my spare car key and got in. A check of the flap mirror showed my face scratched up and swollen, my eye still blackened, and my hair standing on end—literally. My hands were shaking. When I started the car, the light came on and a bell sounded indicating the trunk was open. I got out and slammed it shut. Boone knew the money occupied a different space, not my trunk, as I said. I knew he would go to where he thought the money was. At least that was what I thought I knew. I called Laughton.
“Where are you?”
“I’m trying to pick up Jesse’s trail.”
“I think I know where he went—to get the money. He’s gone to my parents’ house.”
There was silence. “Laughton? You there.”
“I’m here.”
“Nareece told Jesse where she hid the money. That’s where she sent me to get it, my parents’ house. It’s not there anymore, but I’m thinking that’s where he’ll go to check. I’m on my way there now. I’ll meet you.”
“How’s Carmella?”
“She’s going to be fine. She’ll need some time.”
“I’m sorry we left so many things unsaid.”
“Laughton, you don’t have to say anything. We all had a part in this . . . this . . . tragedy. We were all hiding. Everything is out in the open, and while it stinks like hell now, when it clears it’ll be a new day and we can all get on with our lives, for real.”
“You and your damn philosophical bullshit.” He chuckled. “Meet you in a minute.”
I wished we had kept talking until we got there. The quiet left me thinking, Jesse could be waiting there, thinking that sooner or later I would come and he could kill me; or we could miss him. Boone could have gone there, found the bins broken up and empty, and left already, with a big head start. What the hell would life be like if Boone disappeared? A staple of fear and uncertainty shoved down my throat: constantly checking over my shoulder and over the shoulders of my family members, and being afraid to let them from my sight. In that case there would be no new day. The stench would linger for God knew how long.
The thought made me gag. I pulled over, opened the door, leaned out, and puked.
I parked a few houses down from my parents’ house. Laughton drove up a few minutes later and parked behind me. We got out of our cars, checked our weapons, and crept up to the door. The street was deserted. It did not appear anyone was in the house, either. It was dark and quiet—the kind of quiet that causes ringing in your ears. Jesse certainly would have had someone standing watch outside.
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