Holy Death

by Anthony Neil Smith

  He lifted his chin. The doctor was still on the floor, knees up, arms wrapped around them. Lafitte said, “Please. Tell me what I need. You don’t have to get it for me. Just tell me.”

  Doctor Groff couldn’t look him in the eye. He was shivering too much. “Blood pressure drugs. And and and a, um, B-beta blocker. And aspirin, yeah, baby aspirin. only one per day. And and and nitro, yes, nitro, only if the pain is bad. Only when it’s bad. Unbearable.”

  Lafitte nodded. “What else?”

  The doctor cleared his throat, got his nerve back. “Worst case scenario? You need a bypass. Or a stent. Bypass is better. You need to rest. You need to turn yourself in and get some help.”

  “Yeah, probably.” He grinned. “Good advice.”

  “Please, please, I won’t tell anyone. I promise, if you’ll both leave, I won’t say a word.”

  “Why not? It’s a damned good story, ain’t it?” He turned to Melissa. “So where is DeVaughn now?”

  Melissa shrugged. “How should I know?”

  “Because you’ve been texting him. I’ve been letting you. So where is he?”

  She looked over her shoulder. “You promised.”

  “I did.”

  “Okay. Okay. I think, I mean, I guess...” A glance towards the front door. “He says he’s right outside.”

  “Okay. You tell him what I promised. You tell him I’m bringing you out. You tell him I’m going to let you go as soon as I know I’m free and clear. Got it?”

  Another pout, this one harder. The rocks on this chick, right? She said, “He would’ve won, you know. He would’ve. You cheated. The only reason you’re walking out alive is because you’re a cheater.”

  He waggled the gun, not really at her, but still. “Just, just, text the motherfucker already, will you?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Other BGM cars were moving into place, up and down the street, parking on curbs. They couldn’t stay there for too long without scrutiny—black men parking in front of my house? Got to be up to no good, you hear me? No. Good. But for the moment, they were taking up every available bit of concrete the street provided.

  Shit, the little man didn’t short DeVaughn. This might be the whole goddamn BGM army dripping in one pimped ride at a time.

  Then the text. The heartbreaker. Lafitte say He wont kill U. He’ll let me Go and wont kill U if U dont kill him.

  That fucking white boy. Smart fucking white boy. DeVaughn rubbed his neck, bruised from Lafitte’s grip. One of them “do or die” type situations. One of them “damned if you do” type lessons. He slumped into the seat, barely at eye level with the window. He wasn’t up for another chase. This was the moment. This was the last chance to catch this nigga-killing pig by the toe. Thumb and forefinger still at his throat, rubbing, rubbing.

  Sure, tell Lafitte it sounded fine. Tell him he wasn’t going to kill him. As soon as Melissa was in the clear, unleash those BGM bangers to finish him off. Not as satisfying as doing it himself, but at least he had a front-row seat to the show. In fact, there was no question. No question. He couldn’t let any harm come to Melissa. He’d slap fallen in love with the bitch, and now there wasn’t nothing he could do about it. The heart wanted what the heart wanted. Okay, maybe the heart had a little help from the cock, but love was love.

  He texted back, Yea. Come on out, Baby.

  Another car passed by, caused DeVaughn to look up. This one wasn’t BGM. This one was white people. Three of them, looking over at the doctor’s house. Slowing down. What, were they dinner guests? But they didn’t stop. They drove on. Just spying on the neighborhood. Envying what their neighbors had, most likely. Such a lush lawn. Such a nice boat. Such a nice antique door. Fuck’s sake. Make this kind of money, get yourself a new door, man. Don’t take no sloppy seconds.

  The car drove on, riding its brakes until it turned into a driveway farther along. DeVaughn shook his head and texted Melissa again. Come to Daddy, Baby. We’ve got living to do.

  *

  Janice passed the empty Lincoln and said, “That’s the one we want. Plate matches.”

  She slowed down in front of Doctor Joshua Groff’s home, all bricks and pillars, stepped right off the screen of Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil with Kevin Spacey. Stoudemire expected most of the Southerners he met to act like Spacey’s caricature. The problem with Washington D.C. was that even though people say it’s a Southern city, everyone in it is from somewhere else.

  “Nice place.”

  “Mm hm,” Janice said.

  She slowed, then kept on easing down the road.

  “Quiet.”

  The Captain poked his face between the seats again and said, “Either one of you notice the shit ton of gangbangers lining this whole street?”

  Stoudemire turned his head a fraction. He didn’t want to make it obvious he’d missed all the other cars. A lot of them, actually. More than expected. And yeah, some dark figures silhouetted in each. “Don’t let on that we see them. We’re out of our element here.”

  Delaney said, “Jesus. This is going to be a massacre.”

  Fuck! If he had just ordered the SWAT team. How many more mistakes would he make tonight? Fu-uh-uh-uck. “Look, it’s...we can...Janice, turn around up here. We’ll make another pass. I’ll get some back-up.”

  He started on his phone while Janice pulled into someone’s driveway next to a covered boat and a Lexus SUV. She parked, backed up, turned left for another pass, then hit the brakes hard. “Holy shit!”

  Stoudemire looked up. Whoever he had dialed was saying, Hello? Hello, anyone there? His eyes went wide. “Un-fucking-god-damn-believable.”

  *

  DeVaughn got out when he saw Lafitte walk through the front door, at first seeming to drag Melissa out of the house, but then realized it was both of them dragging the doctor out with them. After shoving him down the steps into the yard, Lafitte pointed, said, “Stay” to the doc as if he was a dog, and then gently pulled Melissa in front of him, a human shield, and eased towards the road. He held a gun against the small of her back. DeVaughn held his hands low and out, like a Western gunfighter. He thought better of it. Crossed his arms instead.

  “Jesus, Billy. Look at you.”

  “Quite a sight?”

  “Son, that’s going to leave scars.”

  There was a hint of a grin. “They’ll cover up the old ones.”

  DeVaughn felt his gut tighten. He thought back to the truck stop, seeing the man for the first time in years. Battered, sure, but still a solid man. His shorts and workshirt combo had strained at the seams a little, and his hair, a fucking mullet, the man trying to hold on to his glory days when he had roamed the streets with Girls, Girls, Girls in the tape deck. Seeing him now, not even forty-eight hours later, how was the man still standing? Duct-taped together, his hair burned away in patches, what was left all melted-looking. DeVaughn was surprised to not see Terminator-metal under torn skin. How did this motherfucker do it?

  “So what’s this I hear about your heart? Is it broke?”

  “It’ll kill me before you will, that’s for damn sure.”

  They both laughed.

  Lafitte asked, “Your girl told you what’s up?”

  DeVaughn nodded. “Swinging your big dick, telling her you won’t kill me. Bitch, I’m not the one needing protection.”

  “We all know your dick is bigger than mine, DeVaughn.”

  “Damn straight.”

  DeVaughn looked at Melissa, who was all pissed. He wanted to tell her it was all okay, and that Lafitte wasn’t going to leave this town alive. He’d told the driver to get these BGMs on the phone, tell them as soon as Melissa was free, somebody better make Lafitte dead right quick.“Here’s what I want,” Lafitte said. “I’m taking her over to the Lincoln. She’s going to shield me while I get in. Then I’m going to slowly back the fuck off this street. Then we are never going to see each other again.”

  DeVaughn had to smile. Had to shake his head. “Shit, man. Whatever
you say. You won. You sure did.”

  “Let’s call it a draw.”

  “You’ve still got one point in your favor.”

  Lafitte sidestepped towards the Lincoln. Very slow, very deliberate. Melissa had her head back, taking baby steps, tripping up Lafitte. She said a little loud, “Baby, you really going to let him get away?”

  “Hush, now, we’ll talk about it later.”

  “I mean, he’s right here. I can duck.”

  Lafitte eased his arm over her shoulder, across her chest, hand hovering above her breast. “Easy now. Almost over.”

  DeVaughn said, “I’m sorry, baby. This is one of those things a man’s got to do for love. What was that song? I’ll do anything for love, but I won’t do that?”

  “Meat Loaf?”

  “Something like him, yeah. Well, baby, I will do that. I swear to you.”

  Not far from the car now. Maybe six, seven more steps. Soon as she was free, the boys would unleash on Motherfucker. Lafitte said, “This is all real sweet.”

  Did he really not see he was surrounded?

  Another minute, this would be over.

  But then the car with those white people turned around in a driveway and started back. Rolled about ten feet and then slammed on its brakes. Headlights blinding them and shit. DeVaughn lifted his hand and squinted and those white people got out of the car, all of them pointing guns this way over the tops of the car doors.

  The one on the passenger side shouted, “Don’t move! Any of you! Don’t! Fucking! Move!”

  And DeVaughn right in the middle. He held his hands up, one in each direction. “Now, wait a minute. You know I didn’t have nothing to do with this one, Billy. You let go of Melissa like you promised and get yourself out of here.”

  “It’s FBI,” Billy said. “I think that guy’s FBI.”

  The FBI guy shouted, “I will cut you the fuck down! We’ve got the neighborhood blocked off! There is no way out, Lafitte. This is it!”

  DeVaughn didn’t know if he should hit the ground or make a deal with Lafitte or what. He let the fear ride him for another moment. If there was an FBI man pointing a gun at them, it meant there was all sorts of hell on the way.

  “Lafitte,” he said. “I run interference, you take Melissa and get on out of here. Deal?”

  Lafitte was frozen. His grip around Melissa’s neck was tighter and she was trying to pull his arm away. She was bending backwards as he dragged her along.

  “Jesus, Billy! Are you listening?”

  The FBI man shouted, “She’s not dead, Billy! Ginny is not dead! Do you hear me?”

  Jesus. Even DeVaughn wasn’t ready for that.

  He took a step closer to Lafitte and Melissa. “I thought you...I thought...She was the only reason...”

  Lafitte’s grip on Melissa loosened. But he still had his gun in her back. His arm over her shoulder, more like she was helping to hold him up. “Man, I don’t know. I couldn’t do it. Thought she was going to do it herself. I’m too tired.”

  “Give up now!” FBI again. “Give up now and you can see her. She’s not dead, Lafitte!”

  Car doors opening. DeVaughn looked around as the BGM bangers all climbed out of their cars, all strapped and showing, ready for war. Jesus. Screaming for a white boy to shoot one of them. He ducked his head and held his hands higher. “Hold up! Hold your fire! Now, now, let’s talk about this.”

  “Ain’t no talk to talk,” said one of the BGM soldiers, tall with crazy long arms draped over the top of his car door. “One O Four said we’re here to kill Billy Lafitte, and nothing you say is going to change that. If we got to kill cops to do it, so be it.”

  “Jesus, no, listen, this is my hit. My call! I’m the one who told One O Four to send y’all!”

  Shook his head. “Yeah, he said you might get cold feet. Said if that happened, kill the motherfucker anyway.”

  DeVaughn looked back at Billy. “Now, listen.”

  Lafitte ground the barrel of the pistol harder into Melissa’s back. “Thought we had a deal.”

  “You’re a smart white boy. You know the rules. Chess, man. Chess. Got to think ahead.”

  “Oh, I did.”

  “Did you, now?”

  “Got you in check.”

  “Shit, boy, that mouth of yours.”

  More shouting from the FBI guy, but it got lost in the wind and the echoes of sirens still too far away.

  *

  As soon as Stoudemire saw who it was standing in the street, he dropped the phone mid-dial and grabbed for the door handle. Janice and the Captain followed suit, but shit, both of them made protests and “Are they coming?” and “This is a bad idea” and shit, but fuck them. This was the moment. All of Stoudemire’s Chuck Norris dreams were coming true.

  Out of the car. Shouting. He couldn’t hear himself, but hoped it sounded fucking badass. It was only then he realized there was no back-up yet. What was he supposed to do, call time-out and get his phone?

  “Janice,” he seethed through his teeth. “Call for backup.”

  “What? I thought—”

  “You’ve got Bluetooth. Goddamn it, mine didn’t go through.”

  “Right now? Right fucking now?”

  “Jesus.” They should’ve driven a little closer. Too far out right now. Lafitte could run for it. And DeVaughn, standing between them because Lafitte had his girl, this was so fucked up. But the big three standing right there! This never happened. Never.

  “Do it, Janice. Make the call and I’m telling you, you’re D.C.-bound. Consider this your interview for a big promotion.”

  She stared at him, wide-eyed, but then crouched and made the call.

  The Captain said, “I don’t know if this is a good—”

  “Hold steady. We’ve got this.”

  More shouting at Lafitte and DeVaughn. Then he blurted it out, about Ginny still being alive. Not very alive, but alive anyway. If Lafitte knew, maybe it would change the outcome. Delaney and Janice both stared at him. Are you nuts? But Stoudemire knew, time and time again, Lafitte’s whole psyche revolved around that woman.

  “She’s still alive, Lafitte!”

  Then sixteen car doors opened and sixteen BGM bangers got out, some standing, waiting, some aiming guns at Lafitte, and some more aiming guns at Stoudemire’s car.

  What would Chuck Norris do? What would Walker Texas Ranger do?

  Stoudemire was a smart man. He knew the answer.

  Chuck would yell, “Cut” and head to his trailer.

  Goddamn it.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  The nitro was wearing off. Lafitte was paining bad. Real bad. So the doctor might have been right. His heart was fucked. Only chance to save it was hit the hospital. He was pretty sure the FBI guy could get an ambulance for him. Lafitte alive was a much bigger fish than Lafitte dead.

  And then the FBI guy said Ginny was alive? The fuck?

  She hadn’t gone through with it? They’d stopped her before she finished? Had she rolled over on him, given him up this time? Jesus.

  He glanced back at the doctor on the grass, on his phone now. Shit. Would he still help keep Lafitte alive until the EMTs showed up? Wasn’t that his oath? Lafitte was getting angry thinking about what would happen next. Fuck. He hated this, hated it, feeling helpless. Hurting so bad he would gladly hand over control to the doctors and the police. The last time he’d felt this helpless was when his son died, right in front of him, and there was no one to help then. No cops, no doctors, no god, no one.

  But now, Ginny still alive, if he turned himself in, it would be a fucking circus. Would she testify against him? They’d force her to. They had leverage. They’d make damned well sure she remembered her kids. They’d make sure she knew Ham was dead and it was all Billy’s fault. Goddamn. He couldn’t turn himself in now. So close to some relief, and this asshole had to tell him Ginny wasn’t dead.

  Another bolt of pain, an electric eel in his arm. He tightened up on Melissa and she gagged. She said, “Please.” He
let up a little. Cold sweat on his back while Melissa’s warm body smothered his front. Having a hard time keeping hold around her neck, her literally bending backwards. She could take him in his current state, so he needed to keep the pressure up, make her believe she couldn’t. The gun in her back helped. This girl, man, if she thought she had an opening, she’d go for it. Not sure what DeVaughn saw in her, what she saw in him, but shit, Lafitte could feel the vibes there. DeVaughn would die for her, and she would kill for him. True motherfucking love.

  Then the BGM boys climbed out of their cars. And those motherfuckers were not going to let him get away this time.

  Plan B.

  There was no Plan B.

  He needed to improvise. It sucked, too. Good chance it wouldn’t fucking work. Good chance it would give him nightmares. He was long past remorse for killing. This game, everyone who played knew the rules, right? But that didn’t mean there weren’t nightmares. Got to deal with them was all. Got to deal.

  He thought about the Santa Muerte candle. He thought about it igniting his hair. He thought about how sometimes Death giveth, and sometimes it taketh away.

  “DeVaughn,” Lafitte said. “I’ve got one more thing to say to you.”

  “Please, man, please.”

  “Your brother, us killing him? He totally deserved it, man.”

  DeVaughn’s face. It got blacker than it already was. Heat waves coming off his cheeks. “You motherfucker.”

  Then Lafitte whispered to Melissa, “But you probably don’t.”

  He shot her in the middle of her back and ran around the doctor’s house to the backyard before anyone else knew what was going on.

  Melissa crumpled to the asphalt.

  DeVaughn let out a wail the likes of which this neighborhood had never heard before. He ran for her, dropped to his knees beside her.

  BGMs took shots at where Lafitte had been, where they thought he had run. But he was gone. Wayward shot got DeVaughn in the shoulder. Another one got him through his other foot. He barely noticed.

  The FBI man and his people dropped back into their car and screamed out in reverse. BGMs took potshots and cracked the side windows and made holes all over the front of it and the damn thing made a clang and some squelching and just stopped the fuck working. Cop cars finally showing up, a whole goddamn train of them. Two trains, one from each end of the street.