“I’m pissed off!” Justus spat, feeding off his father’s anger.
“Me too! So what you wanna do about it?”
“I would hurt him if I could.”
“You would?”
“Yeah!” Justus’s mind was going a mile a minute. The images made his blood boil, and his infamous temper surfaced—just as Leader wanted.
“Okay.” Leader nodded his head and pulled the car into a parking lot off of Owen Drive. He shifted the car into park and looked at Justus. “I know where she is, and I have a plan to get her back,” Leader shared. “Are you in?”
“Of course, Dad.”
“Justus, this is a different kind of help though. This is the kind of help that has to stay between me and you. Nobody can know about what happens from this point on. Nobody. Not Gloria, Pug, Nikki—nobody. This is family business.”
“I understand Dad.”
Leader sized his son up. “You sure? Because after this you can’t go back. You are the only person I trust.”
Justus recalled the incident with Pug and the C.O. This felt eerily similar. The help his father was requesting felt similar to the help Pug requested. Like before, Justus was down to do whatever, especially to rescue his mother. The difference was Justus held no fear this time.
“I’m positive Dad. You can count on me,” Justus assured him. “I won’t let you down and this is strictly between us.”
Leader nodded. “Good. Now, let’s go get your mother.”
* * *
An hour later, Justus pulled his Domino’s Pizza hat down over his eyes and rang the doorbell. He heard someone rustling around from inside then someone called out to him from the behind the door, “Who is it?”
“Domino’s! I have a delivery,” Justus said in a fake nasal twang.
“Ain’t no-damn-body order no pizza!”
Justus was persistent in his charade, “Sir, the address says 22 Wendy Lane. This is 22 Wendy Lane, isn’t it?”
“This is 22 Wendy Lane, but ain’t nobody order no goddamn pizza!” The voice yelled. “Now ride the fuck out ’fo you regret it!”
Justus began to get worried. Things weren’t going as good as Leader suggested they would. The man was getting belligerent, and Justus feared for his mother’s life. Still, he had to stick to the script. Leader told him to keep the guy occupied until he gave him the signal.
“Okay sir, if you can just sign this refusal, then I’ll be on my way.” Justus improvised. There was no slip and no pizza. Just a cardboard box.
Justus heard the lock clicking. Seconds later the door snatched open only partway because of the chain.
A voice snarled through the dark space of the door, “Give me the damn paper.”
The man reached through the space for a pen and Justus saw the burnt fingertips of a smoker. Just when Justus was thinking about taking the man out, he saw a glint of metal fly through the air behind the man and crash down on his head. The man yelped then crumpled to the ground. Justus heard footsteps, then the door snatched open. There, Leader stood with a silenced pistol clutched tightly in his hand. He yanked Justus inside then slammed the door.
Once inside, Justus saw the kidnapper lying on the floor with blood gushing from his head. He seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness.
“Gag him while I get your mother,” Leader ordered.
Justus gagged him with a dirty sock he found on the floor. The man attempted to say something, but Justus crammed the sock in his mouth then punched him in his face. Moments later, Leader returned with his wife thrown over his shoulder.
“Son-of-a-bitch drugged her,” Leader answered Justus’s questioning look before leaving the room with her. He returned with a chair and rope in hand. He strapped the kidnapper to the chair with the rope while Justus looked on. After Leader had him situated, he removed the gag.
“Please man. This wasn’t part of the plan,” he panted.
“I know,” Leader stated flatly. “You fucked up.”
“N-NO, I did everything you ask—” Leader stuffed the sock back into the man’s mouth.
“Shut up! You tried. You failed. Time to pay the piper muthafucka!”
Leader walked around to the back of the chair and placed the barrel of the weapon against the man’s head. His finger rested on the trigger. He slowly applied pressure while looking at Justus. He expected Justus to cringe, or close his eyes, or even dismiss himself. Much to his surprise, Justus stood tall and defiant, as if he wanted to see the man’s brains explode from his cranium.
Justus was unfamiliar with himself. Mysterious feelings overwhelmed him. He had never seen such paralyzing fear in a man. Justus could smell the fear emanating from his pores! So much was going through his young mind. He was sure he was about to witness a murder. A murder at the hands of his father. He would’ve thought that he would be afraid or timid. Instead he felt powerful witnessing this moment. A weird energy surged through the room and Justus allowed himself to bask in it.
“Justus?” Justus looked at his father. Leader appeared to be handing him the revolver. “Here son. Handle your business.”
“H-huh?”
“I said, handle your business,” Leader repeated.
Justus was dumbfounded. What was he saying? Did he actually want him to kill somebody?
“You said you would hurt him if you could. Well, here is your chance.”
“Yeah but I meant, like, hurt him hurt him. Not like this.”
Leader walked over to Justus and placed his hands on his shoulders. He whispered in his ear. “Listen son, either way it goes, he’s never leaving this room. You’re looking at a dead man. You understand? He violated us in the worst way. For that, he has to pay.
“Now, I’m giving you a chance to prove yourself. Defend your honor. I can’t have any cowards carrying on my legacy. This nigga violated us in the worst way! Now you have to handle your business.”
It was crystal clear now. His father was asking—no, telling—him to kill a man. His father was giving him permission to commit the ultimate sin to preserve their family honor. From this point on, nothing would ever be the same again. If Justus obeyed, his innocence would be lost. If he disobeyed, his trust would be lost. In his father’s eyes, he would be the coward that was afraid to defend the family’s honor.
What was he to do?
He wrestled with indecision. To be a murderer or a coward. Which was worse?
In a daze, Justus took the gun from his father and walked over to the kidnapper. He raised the pistol to the back of the man’s head and paused.
“NO!” Leader yelled. Justus was so startled he almost pulled the trigger. “Always look a man in the eye before you kill him.”
Justus walked around to the front of his victim and raised the pistol center mass with his forehand. Again, he paused. Looking a man in his eyes was different. More personal. Justus was unsure if he could carry out his mission this way. He looked to his father for support.
“Jus, if you want to work with me, prove yourself. Ice this low-life so we can roll,” Leader ordered.
Justus wasn’t sure he heard him correctly. “If I wanna work with you? What’s this gotta do with my job wit’ chu? I thought you were a consultant.”
“In a sense,” Leader admitted. “Truth is, I’m a cleaner. I kill people for a living.”
Justus’s mouth fell open.
Leader nodded, “It’s true son. I’m a hitman. So are you if you can prove yourself. This is the family business. This is what I’ve been training you for. This is your destiny.” As Leader spoke, he was trying to get a read on Justus, but Justus’s expression never changed from one of shock, so he continued to make his case. “There’s no one better to carry on my legacy than you. You’re my son. You’re a soldier. Stop looking crazy!”
Justus straightened his face, “I don’t know nothing ’bout being no hitman,” he admitted.
“That’s what I’m here for, Jus. If I can do it, so can you. Now stop bullshitting and finish th
e job!” Leader looked at his watch.
Justus was overcome with a plethora of emotions. Too many things were happening at one time, but one thing was clear: he could not leave until the job was completed. This was clear.
Justus turned again to his victim who had shit his pants watching the exchange before him. Tears rained down his face, and he was panting heavily. He knew his fate was sealed.
Justus shut his eyes, and with them all emotions. He held his breath and pulled the trigger twice.
BOMP! BOMP!
A warm, wet substance coated Justus’ face. He opened his eyes, and wiped his face. Seeing the blood on his hands, he began to shake. He eyed the .357 in his hand like it was foreign to this world. He was amazed at the rush it had given him. He felt omnipotent. A euphoric feeling gripped him and soon the shaking stopped. After a while, he was able to look at his casualty straight up without wincing. Two holes punctured his forehead. Justus reached out to close the man’s eyes.
Leader observed Justus carefully. He understood the transformation Justus was going through. From fear to certainty to power. The first few minutes of a kill determined if a person was cut out for the life. When the cold reality set in, most men hurled up their guts. Those were the weak ones. Others stared in amazement at the travesty brought forth by their own hands. Those were the stronger ones. Still, others reveled in the pure supremacy over another human being. Those were the real assassins. As Leader observed Justus, he surmised he was hovering between the middle and the last phase. However, by the end of the night he would most assuredly know where he stood.
“Help me wrap him up,” Leader told Justus. “We have a lot to do before the night is out.”
* * *
As Leader negotiated the long dark road, Justus was deep in thought about the night’s events. They had dropped Glenda off at home, and after issuing her another sedative, journeyed back out into the night, presumably to dispose of their quarry that was still inside the trunk. As they rode along, Leader used the downtime to orient Justus. He had informed him that his “training” would begin the following morning at an undisclosed location. As part of his assimilation, he would have no contact with the outside world for the duration of his training, which was estimated to be no less than three months. Ultimately, it would depend on how fast Justus grasped what was to be given to him. Leader promised him he would learn every aspect of his profession so thoroughly that things would become second nature.
For his part, Justus didn’t approve of being thrust into the situation without any say, but after Leader broke everything down to its simplest form, how could he disagree? Justus quickly conceded Leader was right when he told him the only way for a black man to get rich in America was by either selling out or selling his soul. Justus also conceded the best crimes are the ones felt but not seen. Justus definitely had to agree when Leader told him a person received more time in jail for drugs than murder. In the drug game, you had to win every day. The police only had to win once, and with snitching being all too prevalent in the dope game nowadays, they would eventually win. By contrast, their transactions were done anonymously, forcing all parties involved to remain honest.
As Leader explained all of this to Justus, he agreed totally. In actuality, it didn’t matter if he agreed or not because the damage was already done. He had already killed a man, therefore they were truly bound by blood. True, he had reacted because of his mother, but surprisingly he felt no remorse. In fact, he felt exhilarated! Maybe I am cut out for this, he thought.
Leader turned the car down another road, drove down a little more, and came upon a farm. He pulled around back, where they were immediately assaulted by the stench of hog. As they exited the vehicle, Justus covered his nose and mouth.
“Man up!” Leader ordered, not bothering to cover up at all. “This is nothing. Trust me.”
When they opened the trunk to retrieve the body, Leader’s point was made, as the smell of blood and burnt flesh singed their nostrils.
“Damn!” Justus turned his head and spat.
“Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it,” Leader chuckled. He heaved the tarp-wrapped body over his shoulder. Oblivious to the blood spattering his coveralls, he humped around to the back of the barn with Justus hot on his tail.
After unwrapping the body Leader pointed to a dirty saw for Justus to retrieve. Justus attempted to pass Leader the saw, but instead Leader instructed him to saw the limbs from the body.
“Do what?” Justus was flabbergasted.
“Saw the limbs off,” Leader repeated. “What you looking at me like that for? It ain’t no different than field-dressing a deer,” he stated matter-of-factly.
“Sure it is Dad. This is a human being!”
“Not anymore,” Leader joked. “In any event, it’s the same difference. Now cut him.”
Justus didn’t like this side of his father. He seemed so cold and detached from reality, like he didn’t realize he was telling his son to cut up a fucking body. Nonetheless, he did as he was told. When he was done, Leader piled each limb into a plastic bag then ordered Justus to follow him to another location on the farm.
Before they arrived at the pig sty, Justus could smell the odor of the hogs. The closer they got to the actual gates themselves, the more Justus could hear the pigs grunting and squealing. It was too dark for Justus to see inside the pen, which was good because Leader’s next instructions made Justus’s stomach lurch.
“Toss the limbs inside, son,” Leader ordered, throwing the first arm into the pen like it was daily trash. As each body part hit the pen, the hogs went into a feeding frenzy, squealing, grunting, and fighting each other over the flesh. Leader crossed his arms, taking the whole scene in with aplomb. He glanced at his son to his side to gauge his reaction. Justus was breathing hard, shivering a little from the cold, but he looked like he was going to be alright. Leader offered him a smile.
“Now you see why I tell you not to eat pork?”
Justus grimaced.
Part 2
The Making of a Murderer
Chapter 9
Justus’s training location was a fifty-acre plot sprinkled with various degrees of landscape and terrain. The grounds were situated between Fort Bragg and Pineville, North Carolina. A secret location where the U.S. military trained its Special Operations Groups, the property was actually owned by the government. However, since Leader had greased the palm of the head groundskeeper many times in the past, he was afforded free access to the compound at any time he desired. The compound consisted of any and everything needed to whip the human body into its highest form of natural perfection, including numerous obstacle courses, shooting ranges, and miles of forestry. The property contained a modern log cabin, complete with an armory, Jacuzzi, and three spacious bedrooms. Behind the cabin were four-wheelers and fishing equipment, to allow one to travel over the land expeditiously, and to pluck fish from the lake in back to fry on the flat oven inside. This was the only building on the premises that allowed a person modern creature comforts. Anyone else who stayed literally lived on the land.
This was the place Leader and Justus arrived at bright and early the morning following their assassination. This was the place Justus was to be confined to for three months of rigorous training.
The first day started out with a hike around the perimeter of the grounds to familiarize Justus with the area. Unfortunately, all of Justus’s attention was focused on the eighty-pound rucksack strapped to his back and the AR-15 assault rifle he carried in his arms. Leader carried the same thing as well, leading the way the entire time, throwing potshots at Justus’s youth. He made sure not to allow Justus any rest or time to think about the previous night’s transgressions. He planned to penetrate Justus’s young mind with his own powerful psychology. This was the purpose of the march into the woods. Once they settled into their trek, Leader began his spiel.
“Anybody can kill someone. That’s easy. A stray bullet. An errant traffic stop. Too much to drink. A well-placed
punch. Just like that. BOOM! A life is lost. Just that easy. But, it takes a special kind of person to be an assassin. The type of person who kills for a living. Over and over again, getting away each time. Surviving the assignment physically is one thing, but the most important thing is surviving each assignment mentally and morally. Each time you take a life, you must do a battle with your conscience. Was I wrong? Did the person deserve it? Am I a bad person? Am I going to hell? Some of the same questions I’m sure you are asking yourself right now.” Almost out of breath, Justus nodded. “You have to be stronger than that though. Your mind is yours. You control that. Claim it. Own it.
“Usually tough conditions, harsh environments, or bad upbringings produce the type of psyche needed for an individual to win in this field of work. Sometimes, combinations of all of the above breed the type of man that can snuff out a life and feel no remorse. Other times this lifestyle is inherited. A brother, cousin, or even a parent excelled in it, and had the connections to make things happen. It becomes a natural journey. Though there are some exceptions, usually a successor is already genetically inclined, either physically or mentally, to become an efficient killing machine.”
Leader paused to see if Justus was soaking it all in.
“There are rules to this just like any other trade. Rule number one: never allow your emotions to cloud your decisions. Your emotions will cause you to second-guess, and second-guessing will kill you quicker than any bullet. Rule two: never, ever look back at the past. Not for validation, rationalization, justification. Nothing. The past is the past. Leave it. And don’t overanalyze the future because it’s filled with uncertainty, except for that which you plan. Rule number three: If you fail to plan then you plan to fail. Any crime is only as good as its escape route. You wouldn’t plan a robbery without an escape plan, would you? Well, it’s the same thing with this. That’s the main problem I have with drug dealers. They commit crimes every day, but neglect to form an escape route.”
Justus was finding it difficult to grasp all that Leader was spitting at him, although the words were a welcome distraction from the burning sensation in his legs caused by their constant hiking. Consulting his tactical watch, he realized they had been marching for the better part of an hour. He was tired, short of breath, and hungry as hell, but he sucked it up and drove on.
Blood Ties Page 8
