Aligning herself with him would have been out of the question in any other situation, but she recognized the severity of the moment. She gave him a slight nod, and he quickly got up with the firearm and headed to his quarters. As soon as he was gone, SaTia turned back to us. “So, I guess it’s time to pack up our stuff and move back to the ghetto, right? It was fun while it lasted, fellas. Hope your careers were worth it.”
Orlando wiped some more blood away from his mouth with his wrist.
“I’ont care what dat nigga...”
SaTia turned to him instantly and stuck her finger in his face.
“Shut up! You shut up! What kind of idiot shows his gun off in front of a record executive? And what did you all think you were gonna do?” She looked back and forth between Ray, Brian, and Orlando. “You were gonna go ride for your nigga, huh? You got no proof that P. Silenzas had anything to do with what happened tonight. And even if you did, so what? Did you think you were gonna ride three blocks and pull a drive-by? They’re not even in the same state as us! We’re in Chicago, you dummies! They live in Idaho!”
“I’ont care where dey live at!” SaTia’s insults had turned Orlando’s anger to madness. He stood up and got into her face, cocked back his arm and swung.
Instinctively, I ran up behind SaTia and pushed her out of the way, putting myself in the trajectory of Orlando’s fist. He missed us both, and as SaTia caught her balance from my shove, Orlando and I both stared at each other.
Turns out it was providence that had Rose take that gun upstairs. If Orlando had hit SaTia, I have no doubt I would’ve shot him.
No one said it, but we were all thinking the same thing. Orlando knew it, and felt the need to respond.
“All I know is dat my mans is in the hospital, and somebody gotta pay fo’ it.”
He sneered at me as he spoke, as if he already had a plan. I stood solid in front of him, looking him straight in the eye.
“Yo, ’Lando, dis is crazy, dude...” Brian said from the corner. “Ain’t nobody in here cap Henry, man. Why you so mad at Moe?”
“’Cause Moe a punk!” My newest enemy answered Brian while still staring at me. “He won’t ride, dat’s why! Long as we been homies, and dis nigga won’t ride! It ain’t all dat surprisin’ though, when you think ’bout it. We been dis nigga’s slaves since we left D.C.! We cain’t even take a piss without askin’ dis man ‘toilet or urinal?’”
Ray stood up beside Brian.
“What is you talkin’ ’bout? We don’t ask for nuthin’ when we out here. Moe hook us up wid everything! Yo, real talk, you wildin’ out. You need to be easy...”
For the first time since I stepped in for SaTia, Orlando broke his stare and looked back and forth between Brian and Ray. After a few seconds had passed, he took a step back from me and glanced around the room.
“Forget all y’all.” He seemed disoriented as he spoke. “Y’all can keep on bein’ dis man’s field niggas if y’all want to, but I’m out.”
Just then Rose emerged from around the corner. He looked like he had been rushing to get back.
“The gun will be taken care of,” he said, looking directly at SaTia and me as he spoke. “And I just got off the phone with the hospital. Henry is stable, but still in a coma.”
Anger is the only emotion that can make you oblivious. I was so angry with Orlando that I hadn’t had the time to soak in the fact that Henry was in a coma. Now, with my partner-turned-nemesis having retreated, I sat down at the table and put my hand over my face.
“We should go back and see him,” Brian said softly, but SaTia pounced on him anyway.
“Really? I thought you wanted to go bus’ some caps?”
“You ain’t funny.”
Twenty minutes later, we were all standing in the lobby. Rose had one of his drivers give us a ride to the hospital, and the security guards from earlier were more than happy to hold Orlando until a cab arrived. I stood in front of the traitor and looked him in the eye one last time before we went down to the garage.
“Gimme my card.”
He paused for a second, then reached into his pocket and pulled out the platinum Visa I had given to him and everyone else. I reached out for it and he threw it on the ground.
Rage requires energy, which I was all out of. I took two steps, picked up the card, and gave it to SaTia.
“What about the cash you gave him earlier?” she asked.
If it was up to her, I’d have left him naked on the sidewalk. I briefly looked at her, and then back over to Orlando. “You can go to da hospital, you can go home, you can go to a strip club wid sexy midgets and a one-eyed bouncer for all I care. And you can keep the two g’s I gave you earlier. Dat ain’t no money to me, homie. But come tomorrow, you gon’ wake up in some nasty motel, laid up wid some nasty broad, and you gon’ realize it’s all over.”
I turned to walk away, but the image of me picking his Visa card up off of the ground compelled me to leave one last thought. I turned back. “And you might wanna think ’bout how you gon’ break dis whole thing to yo family, seein’ as how you got ’em livin’ all large off of my money. How much is your lil sister’s tuition these days?”
He tried to keep a straight face, but his eyes betrayed him and began to gloss over. I had no remorse as I turned to walk away. I couldn’t forgive Orlando for what he tried to do to SaTia. Emotions were high and had he merely threatened me, maybe there would have been a possibility of forgiveness. Where we’re from, you fight with your boys all the time, and in the end it only makes you both stronger. But had I not been there, he would have put his fist through SaTia’s jaw. There was no coming back from that.
When SaTia, Ray, Brian, and I reached the garage level and stepped out the elevator, the driver was already seated behind the wheel of a Cadillac Escalade. I guessed by the clean frame and the new-car smell of the interior that it had never been driven before. As we pulled out of the parking lot, the chauffeur behind the wheel adjusted his rearview mirror. When I looked up, he was staring right at me.
“I don’t know if you’re aware, sir, but for the past two hours there have been news reports running about the incident.”
SaTia, Brian, and Ray all looked at me, then each other, and then back at me. I could tell they really wanted to see the news reports. Neither of them said a word, though. They knew how fragile I was.
“If you like, I can put them on, sir.”
I rubbed my forehead, trying to search through the fog in my brain for an answer.
“Yeah, lemme see ’em,” I said after awhile.
The driver hit a button on the information deck and the screens on the back of each seat’s headrest came on. The female news reporter’s voice echoed through the vehicle.
“Once again, we have breaking news that tonight, here at the Phil Winters’ studio in Chicago, Illinois, a lone gunman attempted to shoot rap superstar Da Nigga, aka Moses Jenkins, while he was being interviewed live. Initial reports said that the rap star had been shot and was in critical condition at the University of Chicago Hospital. However, we now have it confirmed that the patient admitted to the hospital was Henry Baldwin, aka Hard-Knock, a member of Da Nigga’s entourage. Reports say he was shot while trying to subdue the gunman and lost massive amounts of blood on his way to the hospital. In addition, fifteen studio audience members were rushed to the hospital with injuries sustained during the pandemonium. Three of them were trampled by the mob of people trying to escape, and are also in critical condition. Witnesses had this to say...”
The screen cut to two disheveled women, visibly traumatized by what they had experienced. Both women were in tears and one was close to hysteria. The more sane of the two women hugged her friend closely as she talked.
“...it was horrible, oh my God, it was horrible! We thought we were going to die! People were punching and kicking and screaming at each other, and when you looked down all you saw were people...you couldn’t get out without stepping on the...oh my God, forgive me...”
/> A paramedic broke into the interview and ushered the two women away from the camera and toward an ambulance. The woman reporter’s face appeared back on the screen.
“The whereabouts of Moses Jenkins, aka Da Nigga, are unknown at this time. Witnesses say they saw a luxury Maybach automobile speed away from the scene, however no one can confirm where the automobile went. Authorities say it’s too early to call the situation a kidnapping, but many have already speculated that this attack was the work of the P. Silenzas, a rap group with whom Jenkins was feuding before their record deal was cancelled. We caught up with Reginald Bankhead, aka Trigga, one of the members of P. Silenzas, who had this to say...”
The scene cut to Trigga sitting in an old lawn chair outside of a dilapidated public housing project. He had put on every piece of jewelry he could find. The light from a leaning lamppost reflected off of his platinum chain and grill as he spoke. He looked like an oxymoron. A hesitant white reporter stood beside him and spoke into a microphone.
“Mr. Bankhead, do you have any idea who attacked Moses Jenkins tonight in Chicago?”
Trigga turned to the reporter and took his sunglasses off. “No, but I hope dey blew his f***in’ head off.”
For ten seconds after he said that, Trigga just stared into the camera. He didn’t move, he didn’t talk, and he didn’t blink. His dark, cloudy eyes jumped right through the television screen at me. I felt like I was in a horror movie.
Finally, the reporter cut back in.
“Okay...thank you, Mr. Bankhead.”
The lead reporter, now standing in front of the hospital, came back on the screen.
“This story keeps developing by the second. We’ve now received word that Moses Jenkins, aka Da Nigga, is no longer missing, but he’s actually en route here, to the University of Chicago Hospital, to see his friend, Henry Baldwin, who sources now tell me has fallen into a coma as a result of his blood loss.”
“Aww, what the hell!” I threw up my hands, wondering if things could get any worse.
“Rose called in to the hospital security to let them know we were coming.” SaTia talked as she picked up her cell phone. “The idea was to sneak us through the cargo entrance to avoid contact with the public. Someone from security must have leaked that we were coming...hello, hospital security?”
Someone on the other end of the phone gave her a positive answer.
“I need to speak with the head of security now, please. This is an emergency.”
She waited about five seconds before another voice came through the phone.
“Hello, this is SaTia Rosewood. I am Moses Jenkins’ manager. He and I, as well as two colleagues, are five minutes away from the hospital, and we’ve just heard a news report announcing our arrival to the public.”
She waited another two seconds while the head of security fired off curse words.
“Unfortunately, one of your security personnel must have leaked our arrival to the media. Mr. Jenkins is still very concerned about his friend; however, and so we need to know if there is any way possible we can still enter the hospital without causing a disturbance?”
This time, my manager listened and nodded her head. When the voice on the other end of the phone was done, she thought for a moment before responding. “Can you do it in five minutes?”
Quick answer from the other end of phone, and SaTia exhaled deeply.
“Okay, let’s stick with that as the tentative plan. We’re pulling up in a black Cadillac Escalade. If things look like they’re going bad, I’m taking my client and leaving.”
One more quick answer, and SaTia hung up.
“He says there are cameras and reporters everywhere—even at the cargo entrance. Our best bet is to just come through the front door. The local police department keeps units on standby for the hospital, so he’s calling them now. The local PD plus the hospital security should be enough to keep things under control. If it’s not, we’re leaving.”
I shook my head. “No, we not.”
Everyone in the car looked at me. Even the driver fixed the rearview mirror so he could see what I was about to say.
I looked at SaTia. “No matter what, we not leavin’ til I see Henry. I gotta make sure he’s okay.”
“Moe, you saw the news reports. You saw how crazy it got at the Phil Winters Show. Now, you have to trust me, okay?” She spoke softly, like a doctor does with a child before giving them a needle. “There are people out here trying to kill you. If I say it’s bad, then we have to leave. It’s not worth it.”
I never took my eyes off of her as she spoke. She was trying to protect me, to do for me what I had done for her back at the office, but it didn’t matter.
“No,” I said. “We leave after I see Henry. Period.”
She wanted to argue about it some more, but also realized that would be pointless. It was rare that I trusted my own judgment over hers, but the few times I had I was stubborn in my convictions. She turned her gaze to the front windshield.
“We’re coming up on the hospital now,” the driver said as he stopped at a red light. “I can see the television vans and lights from here. Looks like it’s going to be crazy.”
SaTia looked over at me again, pleading for me to change my mind with her eyes.
I looked at her and then back at the driver. “It’s all good. Ain’t nuthin’ we ain’t used to. They said they was gonna have the cops here anyways. Jus’ pull up to the front.”
The driver nodded his head and waited for the light to turn green.
“Even if da cops ain’t here, Moe, you know we got yo’ back,” Brian said from the backseat. “Like you say, it ain’t nuthin’ we ain’t used to.”
As we pulled into the hospital entrance, I saw vehicles from television channels that I didn’t know existed. A mob of men and women, armed with oversized television cameras and high-quality microphones adorned with media insignias, stormed the luxury SUV like a swarm of angry bees. Fortunately, the police cars had arrived before we got here, and they jumped into action. Putting their sirens on, they broke through the mob until they reached our vehicle, and then led us to the front door. As soon as they had stopped, both the police officers and the hospital security rushed out to the truck. The head of security opened the rear door and poked his head in. He looked directly at me.
“It’s a madhouse out here, but we’re all set up to get you in to your friend’s room and back safely. It’s up to you if you still want to go in.”
I nodded my head. “Let’s do it.”
“Great. Give us thirty seconds and then come on out.”
When I opened the door, the officers and security had formed a perimeter around the Escalade. None of the reporters or fans were close enough to touch me, but the onslaught of flashing lights and screaming voices took me back to the Phil Winters Show. I couldn’t shake the idea that one of the couple hundred people standing around me could easily take out a gun, aim it at me, and pull the trigger.
The terror was crippling. It blurred my vision and muddled my hearing. My eyes darted from side to side again. Questions from the different reporters came so quickly I had trouble distinguishing one from another.
How did you get away from Phil Winters’ studio?
Were you injured in any way during the incident?
How did you find out that Mr. Baldwin was injured?
Do you take responsibility for the incident?
Do you believe this was the work of the P. Silenzas?
How big of a role do you think your battle record played in the events of tonight?
Was tonight worth all the fame and fortune that you’ve gained over the past months?
I found myself sprinting to get inside the building.
Luckily, the cops and security had been well-trained. Without a word, they sprinted right along with me.
I was breathing heavily once we finally got inside the hospital doors. SaTia was standing alongside me while Brian and Ray were pulling up the rear. None of the camera crews had been
allowed inside the actual hospital. I glanced back and saw them smashed against the sliding doors, one on top of another, flashing pictures and screaming into their microphones. I felt like I had gone through a gauntlet.
“Mr. Jenkins?”
A middle-aged doctor with olive skin and a turban stood in front of me. His white coat and stethoscope announced his professional standing, but I couldn’t help thinking of the two men who ran the 7-Eleven back home. His accent enveloped his words. Trying to understand him was like trying to hold a conversation underwater.
“My name is Dr. Ahmed. I am told you have come to see Mr. Baldwin?”
I couldn’t understand him. “Umm...did you ask...”
“Yes,” SaTia thankfully cut in. “We are here to see Henry Baldwin.”
“Very good,” Dr. Ahmed responded. “Follow me.”
My mother always hated going to hospitals. She would send the sick people from her church get-well cards and flowers, and call and pray with them every night, but she would never actually set foot in the hospital. Walking through the intensive care unit of the University of Chicago Hospital allowed me to understand her reservations. The whole ward smelled like sickness and death. It filled up your nostrils and lungs but wouldn’t let you cough or sneeze it out. It just enveloped you, reminding you that somewhere in your immediate vicinity was a person who was more than likely going to die soon.
As we approached Henry’s room, I bowed my head and prayed silently that he wouldn’t be among that number....
The lines and tubes that ran from his body and back to the machines made him look like an urban cyborg. He lay motionless in the hospital bed, his mouth partially open because of the tube that was running down his throat. A little box beside his bed beeped every time his heart pumped, and the sheets were pulled down just enough for me to see the huge bandages and gauze on his upper left arm.
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