by Tranay Adams
“I’m almost done, sweetie.” The nurse told her as her gloved hands patched up the holes in her.
“Okay.” She looked to her and nodded.
Chevy’s thoughts drifted off to Helen the night she’d gone to see her about Te’Qui. She didn’t know what it was, but it was something that was definitely off putting about her behavior. Although she didn’t notice it then, she’d been analyzing the situation since she’d left her house. It was like she was hiding something from her. She didn’t know exactly what it was, but she had a feeling that she may have had something to do with the disappearance of her son. Chevy didn’t want to think that she had anything to do with her boy being kidnapped, but she was starting to feel that it was more than likely. She remembered hearing someone yelling for help when she came to the door that night. And although Helen claimed that it was the TV, what she heard didn’t sound like it came from the television to her. The voice was kind of muffled like it was far away or deep down somewhere. Maybe the basement, she thought to herself, forehead creasing with curiosity.
Chevy massaged her chin as she gave it some thought. Her mind switched from Helen to her oldest nephew, Wicked. She’d heard some of the God awful things he’d done and she wouldn’t put anything past him, not even kidnapping. The only question she had was why would he want to kidnap Te’Qui? What reason would he have to snatch up her little man? Hmm, she pondered on it harder this time, going to her encounter with the mad man. He’d said something that was suspect to her, real suspect. The crazy thing about it was that she couldn’t quite recall what it was, so she rewound the interaction inside of her head, going over it many times.
Chevy closed her eyes and visualized her encounter that night with Wicked, rewinding that moment back multiple times trying to figure out exactly what he was saying.
“I’ma be sorry for yo’ loss, too, if Te’Qui...”
“I’ma be sorry for yo’ loss, too, if Te’Qui don’t...”
“I’ma be sorry for yo’ loss, too, if Te’Qui don’t tell me something.”
“Helen’s basement.” Chevy’s eyes shot open and she sprung to her feet, shoving the nurse aside and darting out of the room. The sound of the nurse’s voice could be heard echoing down the hall as she asked Chevy if everything was alright. She sprinted down the hall where she saw Faison’s cousins, JT and Lil’ Chris shooting the shit outside of his door.
“Nigga, you ain’t fuck Pam witcho lyin’ ass.” Lil’ Chris laughed heartily, with his hand on his stomach.
“That’s on momma.” JT declared, lying his ass off.
“Lil’ Chris, I need your strap.” Chevy slowed to a stop, panting out of breath.
Lil’ Chris frowned and chuckled like ‘This bitch can’t be serious.’
When JT looked to Chevy and saw the seriousness in her eyes, the smile immediately fell from his face. He didn’t know what drama she had on her hands, but he wanted to help her. But unfortunately, all he could offer her was a banger being that his place was there protecting Faison.
“Hell you need my strap for?” Lil’ Chris inquired, needing to know what shit she’d gotten into that she needed a burner.
“I don’t have any time to explain, just let me get that.”
“Man, I’m not finna...”
JT nudged his younger relative and said, “Gon’ and give it to her, fam.”
“You can’t be serious?” He looked at him with furrowed brows.
“Nah, give her that.”
Lil’ Chris blew hard, hating to have to part with his gun. Giving the area a cautious look, he whipped out his Glock and cocked one into its chamber, passing it off to Chevy on the low. After concealing the weapon on her waistline, she gave him a grateful nod.
“Thank you.” She made a mad dash down the corridor, heading towards the elevator. Seeing her disappear down the hallway, JT and Lil’ Chris exchange somber expressions.
“Yo,’ what chu think she needed that banger for?” Lil’ Chris asked.
“I don’t know, but it must be serious.” JT theorized.
30 minutes later
Chevy pulled up a couple houses down from Helen’s house, killed the engine, and hopped out of her Caprice. She slammed the door shut and jogged toward the house. Nearing it, she hunched down and made her way through the yard. She crept along the side of the house and got down on her knees where the basement window was. The glass was filthy as hell, so she narrowed her eyes trying to peer through it. She thought she saw someone lying down on the floor in the far corner, but couldn’t be for sure. Harping up a glob, she spat it on the window and rubbed out a circle with the sleeve of her shirt. Her eyes widened with hurt when she saw her baby boy down in the basement dirty and crazed looking like a delusional homeless war veteran. Seeing him in such a state made her feel as though she had failed him as a parent given his current situation. She was distraught and heartbroken, but she knew that she had to do all within her power to rescue him.
“Don’t worry, baby, I’ma get chu outta there, okay?” Chevy spoke to no one in particular. She pulled the gun from around her back that Lil’ Chris had given her and chambered a round into that bitch. Her mind was on some Taken movie shit. The plan was to kick in the door and go in there squeezing off on any threat to her and her son. She made to do just this, but her better judgment prevailed. Looking from the gun in her hand to the basement window, she decided that her idea was stupid. If she pulled a stunt like that she could be killed before she was ever able to rescue her son. For all she knew she could be running into some kind of child prostitution ring with a few gunners in there guarding it. What good was her gun against several others? She wouldn’t make it out alive and she was sure of it. Chevy tucked her steel at the small of her back and paced the ground beside the house, thinking hard. She snapped her fingers and pulled out her cell phone, jogging back to her car she dialed up a number.
***
“What chu watching?” Wicked came through the door, finding his Aunt Helen on the couch watching television. He’d just come through the door as Chevy was pulling up outside.
“Dr. Oz,” she responded, seeing the burn holes in his hoodie where’d he’d been shot. “I’m not even gonna ask.”
“Good.”
He headed inside of the kitchen and cracked open the refrigerator. He grabbed a bottle of Hennessy and removed the top, tossing it into the trash can. Standing where he was, he turned the bottle up, guzzling it.
“Ahhh.” He hissed with closed eyes, shaking his head. The dark liquor was acquired to lessen the stinging of his wounds. Next, he unstrapped the bulletproof vest and tossed it onto the kitchen table. On his way back into the living room, he stopped at the oval shaped mirror with the unique golden frame. The crazy son of a bitch took swigs as he looked over the red swellings were he’d been shot. Oddly enough, he was thankful for them. It was better these bruises than real live bullet holes in his ass.
“Fucking Don Juan.” Wicked said to no one in particular, just then his cellular rung. He pulled the device out of his pocket and saw that it was Roots. Once he pressed answer, he brought the cell to his ear. “’Sup with it?” He took a swallow of the liquid fire.
“Ya took care of dat?”
“Nah, I missed, some otha niggaz were there.” He spoke like it wasn’t a big deal.
“Da blood clot? Ya godda make sure ya sleep dese nigga. Beena long time comin’ now. Ya understand me?”
“Man, fuck dat, I’m through with this shit. You want this nigga then you get ‘em ya damn self.” Wicked raged, spit flying from off of his lips. He was sick and tired of being Roots’ slave. He knew that popping shit off at the mouth like that was likely a death wish but he’d had enough. If the Jamaican decided to send his people at him then he was going to take a couple of them with him before he met up with Satan in the afterlife.
“Watch ya mouf bwoi, me got da mind ta take ya off ya feet.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah?”
“Suck my mothaf
ucking dick, old pussy ass nigga!” He disconnected the call, feeling cocky and sure of himself. “Fuck them spaghetti heads. What they think? They the only gangstas out here? They got guns and I got guns. We can do this shit in broad day light, in the middle of the street.”
“Is everything all right?”
“Yep.” He plopped down on the couch and kicked off his red All-Star Chuck Taylor Converses. His banger was digging into his hip, so he whipped it out and rested it on his thigh, keeping his finger around the trigger. “That wasn’t ‘bout nothing.” She stole a glance at him and noticed his bloodshot eyes and the bags below them. That and the nasty bruises on his body made him look like he’d been through hell. He was exhausted, having run around the city trying to track down Don Juan and peel his mothafucking thinking-cap back.
“Those bruises look kind of bad.” She made her observation, a line deepened across her forehead. “You want me to get chu some ointment?”
“I’m good, Aunty, don’t wet it.”
“Well, alright.” Her eyes studied the key around his neck. It twinkled every time the illumination from the television danced on it. It was as if it was daring her to take it from its owner. She took it as a challenge. One she’d rise to meet. Helen focused her attention back on the TV, occasionally glancing over at her nephew and then at the clock above the refrigerator.
Before she knew it, he was slumped and snoring, Hennessy bottle leaning toward his lap, threatening to spill every time he took a breath. Helen slipped off of the couch. Slicking her lips wet with her tongue, she crept towards him with the stealth of a feline. Making her way around the couch, she took pinches of his necklace with both hands. As soon as she made to lift it, he snorted an octave louder and smacked his lips, adjusting his head. She paused, but kept the necklace pinched between her index fingers and thumbs.
Her eyes shot to the gun in his hand and her heart jumped angrily at her left breast. She closed her eyes and swallowed the lump of nervousness in her throat. After waiting until she felt that he was back in his slumber, she gently lifted the length of jewelry from around his neck and looped it over his head. Helen moved to head for the basement and caught another look at the steel in her nephew’s hand. Tempted to try for it, she gave it some thought and decided against it. If she were to get caught, that would be it. It wasn’t any doubt in her mind that her nephew would dome her with one of the hollow tips that the weapon held. With her mind made up, Helen departed to the kitchen and grabbed a steak knife before dipping off to the basement to release Te’Qui from his shackle and into the free world.
***
Helen crept down the steps as quietly as she could until she met the floor. She pulled the drawstring and brought the basement to life. Te’Qui’s head shot up from the surface and his eyes narrowed from the bright illumination of the bulb. He wiped the crust that had formed from the corners of his eyes and watched his late homeboy’s aunt approach him.
“I got the key.” She whispered, holding up the key to the shackle. This caused a smile to stretch across his face.
Helen leaned down and passed him off the steak knife. She then unlocked the shackle and pulled it free from his ankle.
“What’s going on here?” A frowning Wicked looked from Helen to Te’Qui. She nearly leaped out of her skin, hearing her nephew’s voice boom at her back. She and Te’Qui were so engrossed in what they were doing that they didn’t hear the maniac creep up on them.
Helen whipped around wearing a guilty expression, looking like a child that had gotten caught with her hand inside of a cookie jar. Te’Qui’s heart was beating so fast that it feels like it was about to explode inside of his chest. All he could do was stare into the mad man’s eyes and wonder what was going on inside of his twisted mind.
“Nothing, I was just checking on him.” Helen delivered the thought as soon as it was birthed in her mental.
Wicked’s eyes narrowed into slits. He had a feeling something was up.
“I need to talk to you in private for a second, come upstairs with me.”
“Okay.” She tucked the gun into the small of her back and walked past him, climbing the steps. Wicked stood at the bottom of the staircase watching her, he pulled the steel from off of his waistline and pointed it at her. She’d just turned her head to the side to look over her shoulder when he pulled the trigger.
“Nooooo!” Te’Qui screamed from where he lay, reaching out.
Pop!
“Aaahhh!” A hot one entered her back causing her to throw her head back and scream aloud, face showcasing all of her excruciation. She fell awkwardly, tumbling down the stairs hard and fast, sliding across the floor. Helen lay on her back staring up at the ceiling. Her eyes twinkled with tears at the corners of them and she murmured. An approaching shadow brought her shade and her eyes darted to their right. She saw her nephew standing over her. She tried to move, but her limbs wouldn’t cooperate. Her mouth went to say something, but before the words could be formed death greeted her.
Pop! Pop!
He put all of that heat in her scalp and kicked her corpse. “Fucking Judas.”
Wicked turned around to Te’Qui and advanced in his direction, taking his time like he was on a stroll through his neighborhood. The little nigga looked from Helen’s strewn dead body to the face of her crazy ass nephew. Te’Qui’s chest was jumping crazy and his eyes were frighteningly wide. He swallowed the lump of nervousness in his throat and closed his eyes for a moment, pulling himself together. There wasn’t any way in hell he was going to die scared and on his knees, he’d meet his demise head on, middle fingers up high. Te’Qui pushed off of the filthy floor and stood up. The young man stared his would be executioner directly in his maddening eyes, showing the maniac that he wasn’t afraid of a mothafucking thang. He harped up some phlegm and spat it aside on the ground, setting his eyes back on the evil soul approaching him.
“You’ve got balls, lil’ homie, big, gigantic balls.” He showed the size of the balls with one hand while the other held tight to his gun. He cocked his arm back and made to crack the youngster upside the head. A sudden movement that was too fast to clock caught him by surprise. “Arghhhhh!” He grabbed his eye grimacing, dropping his head bussa, having been jabbed in the pupil with a knife.
The next jabs came quick and without warning, poking up his chest and forearms. Then there was that one attack that made him scream the loudest, he got that in the side of his throat. “Gagghhhh!” His good eye bulged and he smacked a hand over the spurting hole in his neck. He staggered backwards, giving Te’Qui enough time to react. He finished unlocking the shackle with the key Helen had left in it. After letting the key fall, he tossed the shackle aside and it clanged on the surface.
He then jetted toward Wicked, bumping his shoulder as he ran past him. Suddenly, the mad man’s hand shot out and he grasped his neck causing him to howl in pain. The pain was so intense that it caused him to drop the steak knife, his aggressor kick it away. It slid across the floor, spinning in circles until it was lost beneath an old deep freezer. Te’Qui grabbed a hold of Wicked’s wrist and winced, feeling his neck being jerked back violently.
“Lil’ fucka!” He slammed his forehead into the railing of the staircase and released him. The boy hit the floor on his back, eyes closed, mouth shut, snoring like he was asleep. He was knocked out cold. With his one good eye, the crazy bastard stared down at him, gritting teeth and clenching his fist. “Grrrrrr!” He growled like an old junkyard dog, before going blindly mad with rage. Hand pressed down on the hole in his neck, he stomped and kicked the little nigga until he was bloody and bruised. He was furious. First his aunt had tested his gangsta. Now this little pipsqueak had the nerve to try him.
“Haa! Haa! Haa!” He breathed like he’d just finished running a marathon, studying the injuries he’d given to the youngster. His head snapped up and he met an old antique mirror at the back of the basement wall. Its frame was gold and filthy, while its glass had amassed dirt. He hurried over to the back of th
e room, carefully looking over his reflection as he held his neck.
Wincing, he slowly peeled open the eyelid of his wounded eye to take a look. He was completely blind. The pupil had been gouged out and some colorful gunk was oozing out of it. His head snapped away from the mirror, his eye anxiously searched the room until it fell on something. Wicked rushed over to the table and snatched up a roll of duct-tape. He pressed two fingers down on the wound as he stretched the tape out and began wrapping his neck up with it. Once he was done with it, he then tore the length of tape with his teeth and tossed the roll of it aside. Keeping his eye on the reflection, he pulled the black sunglasses out of the breast pocket and slid them on. He turned his head from side to side making sure he got a good look at himself.
Through the mirror he saw Te’Qui lying out in the floor unconscious. This made him mad all over again. His eyebrows arched and his nostrils flared.
“I got something...I got something for that ass.” He stormed over to his worn brown leather bag and unzipped it. He dipped his hand inside, rummaging through the torture tool collection he had amassed. Once he found the one he was looking for, he withdrew it. It was long with jagged edges. He smiled evilly as he stared at the shiny, bladed weapon. A gleam swept up its entire length and illuminated his face. He chuckled wickedly before licking his chops and marching over to Te’Qui’s strewn form, ready to perform his fatal operation.
“Yeeaahh, it’s about that time.” He grabbed his bony wrist and made to drag him when he heard a loud noise coming from upstairs. His brows mush together and bewilderment enveloped his face. He listened closely as the noise continued. His head swung around to the small basement window where he saw several booted feet headed in the direction of the house. It was the S.W.A.T Team. Soon after, he heard a helicopter flying toward the area. He really looked alive when he heard a succession of thunderous booms as the police were ramming the door. While all of this was going on, he went about the business of duct-taping up Te’Qui’s mouth, wrists, and ankles. When he grabbed the kid under his arm, he heard a Boom! and the front door banging off of the wall. Right after came a stampede of boots trampling throughout the house.