by Brick
The old man was leaning. He clapped his hand on the table with the beat, then started crooning, “Well, I been settin’ here drinkin’. I’m just as lonesome as a man can be.”
Mrs. Wilks walked on by me with a glass of something in her hand. She had a carefree smile on her face and a blunt between her lips as she swayed to the music and waved a hand in the air. “Well, if it ain’t sweet Detty,” Mrs. Wilks said with a drunken, sweet smile.
Detty was the name all the old people had given me, completely ignoring the nickname that I did like, which was Cece.
Mrs. Wilks gave me a look over, then chuckled in the way of an old wise woman. “’Bout time ya came fa blood.” Her glass-holding hand ran in front of me as she spoke. “I see it in ya eyes. Ya got ya daddy fiya in ya . . . and sumptin’ else. Humph . . . ’bout time.”
“I call sundown rights,” I said as calmly as I could. By this time, I was so high on rage that my fists were clenched and my eyes were twitching.
“That nasty bastard is up over cha in the corner, thankin’ no one will see him. Just vile. Hiding in the open. Nasty bastard.” When Mrs. Wilks swayed to the music up out of my way, she looked over her shoulder at me. “Gawn take ya time wit’ him. No one got nuffin’ to say gal ’cept ‘Handle yours.’”
“Yes, ma’am,” was all I said as I left Mr. and Mrs. Wilks singing the blues.
To the left was a hall that led to the main part of the bar. An antiquated-looking wraparound bar, with various drinks on a wooden shelf with a mirror behind it, dominated the room. At one end of the bar sat Snap. He sat with his hat low, hunched over a cup of what I knew was a mix of whiskey and moonshine. Smoke danced around his face and caressed his lips. From how he leaned, with a glass in his hand, I could tell that he was watching the room, his gaze focused to the left of me.
Music played on, with more Muddy Waters crooning about some champagne and reefer. I turned and gave a nod to Snap, then took my slow stroll toward a private covered booth.
Mr. Kitt, who was sitting by the bar, coaching his son and watching my ass as I walked on, gave a curt chuckle. That old man wiped at his brow and said, “Shit . . . She done grown up very well. Gawn and crank up that music, son.”
Ignoring them, I turned and slammed my fist with my blade on the booth table before me. “Hello, Lonnie.”
“Aww . . . shit,” Lonnie said and turned the color of tired khaki. With muted brown eyes that sagged from too much drinking, and hands marred by cuts and gashes, he looked up in his drunken and high state.
That foul-ass nigga slid back against the corner of the booth he sat in, as if trying to melt into the wall, as he stared at me with bloodshot eyes. Sweat touched the temples of his salt-and-pepper hair. His stained fingernails scraped the surface of the table as he watched me.
“Cece . . . the fuck you doing here, huh?” he tried to bark at me with his stale-smelling breath.
“Oh, you still feeling a bit strong, huh?” I crooned.
“Fuck right, I do. Like I said, what you bring ya ass down here for, huh? Ya cheating-ass sista finally went on and did it, huh?”
I chuckled low, then slowly climbed in the booth, holding on to the table, and leaned in his face. Muddy Waters’s “Mannish Boy” played as I leaned into the booth. Long ago, Lonnie was supposedly a fine motherfucker. High yellow, hair that coiled on his head, and a slick smile that drew all the women. Some of that was still faintly in his face, but for me, all I saw was a devil.
“Did you not think this day would come?” I said sultrily. “Didn’t my daddy’s last breath say that you’d die by a Haynes’s hand?”
Lonnie was so gone that he didn’t know what to do with himself. His gaze dropped to my breasts, which peeked out as I inched closer; then they went to the knife I held flat on the table.
“Damn, ya still a pretty thang. Shoulda been you as my wife,” he said, then blinked, shaking his head. “But you ain’t nothing but a nasty bitch who fucked that Kingston nigga.”
“Fuck right,” I said, then slammed the blade of my knife into the palm of Lonnie’s hand.
A loud shout came from him, and I tossed the mason glass of liquid in his face, then spit at him. The affront was enough to pull out the real monster that was Lonnie.
“Bitch. My face!” He swung out, then pushed me out of the booth.
I fell on my back, breaking a chair in the process, while the glass from the mason jar shattered behind us. A record would scratch in an ordinary joint, but here everyone knew he had this coming, so they minded their business. Flashing a satisfying grin, I looked up as Lonnie tried to pull the knife from his hand. His face was beet red. Burns were already showing on his face, and the smell of lye on his face almost made me gag.
“Moonshine and lime bastard,” I said, cackling from the floor. Pain shot up me, but I didn’t care. I was here for a purpose, which was why I pushed up quickly, jumped back in the booth, and sent my fist into Lonnie’s face.
“Didn’t . . . my . . . daddy . . . say . . . that a Haynes was going to be your death?” I spat out between each punch.
Lonnie twisted and turned to hit me with his free hand. The force of his punch was so strong that it made me stop my hits to pull the knife from his hand. Once free of the knife, Lonnie grabbed my neck and squeezed, forcing me out of the booth. Lonnie’s face contorted with clarity as he snarled. Cigarette ash flew in the air, along with liquor and his spit.
“Get cho dirty-ass hands off me, whore! Yo’ sista a whore, and so are you,” Lonnie spat at me. “You think I wouldn’t get me some fresh fish afta ya lying-ass sista tried to play me? Huh?”
My eyes rolled in my head. I could see Snap rushing forward, glass shattering everywhere as he had dropped his cup.
“You had no goddamn right to put your goddamned tainted hands on my sister, or the girls in this town or elsewhere, motherfucker.” Twisting, I felt the blade in my hand. Music blared in my ears, and I screamed as I stuck the knife in Lonnie’s side, then swung up to scrape my nails down his face.
Screaming, Lonnie let go. A right hook from me made his face turn right with a harsh snap. Then I swiped my blade against the side of his neck. That was when Snap dropped low and jumped him, making them both fall back to the floor. Panting for air, I slowly sat up, feeling my gun at my side. My head was ringing. Blood splattered my clothes, and I was wet from the spilled liquor on me. Something in me wailed. I rose to my feet and stumbled, and when I did, I looked down as light flashed over Snap and a scrapping Lonnie.
I walked forward, then stopped. My vision was blurry from the stinging alcohol. When I raised my gun to send a bullet into Lonnie that hit his shoulder, I stopped. My vision was a mess. It made me see Kingston for a second. There was a look of intense fury on his face, and slight fear. Fear that he wasn’t going to make it from wherever he was. Blood dripped down his face. I could see that his body was battered and bullets had connected to my man’s regal body.
Stunned and in shock, I didn’t hear when I dropped my knife. All I could do was stare at my husband as he scrambled on the floor for his life. He lifted his gun and fired a shot, screaming. His handsome face was contorted in pain.. Hot tears fell down my face. I gripped my chest and felt my heart slamming against my rib cage.
When the flash went away and I saw Lonnie trying to go for my knife on the floor, I acted without realizing it and placed my foot in his face, cracking teeth and his nose. I heard myself scream, “You hurt another child. Another girl.”
Shaking my head, I tried to get my thoughts together. I wasn’t sure what I had just seen, but I felt as if time was slowing.
“Kingston . . . ,” I whispered, looking around in a panic.
“Sista,” I heard Snap say.
His voice was so raw that I had no choice but to look his way. Snap sat on Lonnie’s back, with his bulky arm squeezing Lonnie’s neck, like a snake ready to kill.
“Mama,” he shouted at me again.
When I blinked, I nodded. Something was going on with King
ston. Our breaths were one, and though I was in southern Georgia, I could feel his touch on me as if he were with me. Pain ripped through me. It made me stumble against a chair and grip it.
“Go!” Snap ordered, with his hand against Lonnie’s face in a way that showed that he was about to make that fool sleep a bit. “I’ll finish this fah ya.”
“Thank you . . .” Taking deep breaths, I turned and ran out of that juke joint with purpose. I could still hear the blues in my ears as I ran toward my family home. Satan was on my tail, as the elders would say, because I sprinted down the street as if I could fly. My lungs burned from the exertion.
“Kingston,” I muttered.
When I burst through the front door, Deedee shot up from the couch, looking at me as if I were a ghost.
“Did you do it?” I heard her ask.
Frantic, I looked for the phone, then grabbed it and hurriedly dialed.
“Sis . . . did you—”
“Yes, Deedee. He’s handled,” I screamed, shaking.
No one was picking up at the house. I slammed the receiver down, then picked it up to dial again.
“What’s going on, baby girl?” I heard Deedee ask me. It had been years since she called me that. I knew she had finally caught on that I was operating in fear, which was why she had called me that.
“Did Kingston call?” I asked, shaking. No one was answering at his business. I watched my sister slowly shake her head. I made another call but got nothing. I knew this was not normal, and I knew this meant only one thing.
Holding the receiver in my hand, hearing it making that “dropped call” sound, I screamed, “Kingston!” My life crumbled before me, and I felt as if all the air in the room was compressing. . . .
Kingston, baby . . . that was the day I was no more. I fainted dead on that floor. I fainted . . . and . . . and . . . I died with you. I . . . I can’t write no more, baby. I can’t.
They killed my Kingston. They killed my light....
Chapter 20
Uncle Snap
I left the kitchen in search of anything that would point us in the direction of Absolan. There was no way the nigga had just dropped off the face of the earth. There had to be some trace of him somewhere.
Once Lucky had joined me in the dark hall behind the kitchen, everything was going according to plan. We checked out some of the rooms without being noticed. We were doing good. Getting in and out, undetected. Everything was all fucking good, until Lucky got a message on his phone.
“Shit,” he said.
“What is it, nephew?” I asked.
“Absolan,” he said, then showed me his phone.
Absolan had been tied to a chair and beaten. His body was badly bruised. The old man looked as if he was barely holding on to life.
“Damn,” I said. “They done fucked him over good.”
The only thing was, we didn’t know if he was being held against his will or if that old freaky-ass priest was enjoying what was happening to him.
I asked Lucky to hold his phone then showed the woman Absolan’s picture. “Have you seen this man tonight?” I asked one of the timid women walking past us in the hallway.
She shook her head after looking at a picture of Absolan.
“He’s been here before, though, right?” Lucky asked behind me.
The girl, a blonde with bought tits and a rail-thin shape, nodded.
Lucky asked, “When’s the last time you seen him?”
“Yesterday,” she said.
Lucky and I looked at one another before he asked her, “Did he walk in here on his own?”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Was he in distress, or was he in here partying in this BDSM establishment?”
The girl looked to be high out of her mind, so it took her a minute to register what Lucky was asking her. She scratched her head and furrowed her brows. The broad was dressed like she had walked out of one of those old Conan the Barbarian movies.
“Um . . . ,” she said as she glanced behind us. She pointed. “They brought him in.”
Lucky’s phone dinged again. “They know we’re here,” he said.
We had walked into the club expecting to find some shit about the Knights and had ended up running right into those motherfuckers. As we turned to make our way down the hall, motherfuckers in clerics robes met us halfway. A hailstorm of bullets rained down on us. We’d gotten caught in some shit we weren’t expecting. There was no time to pussyfoot around. I raised my gun and drew first blood, shooting one of the men right between his eyes. Lucky was a good shot. Following my lead, he took out another one.
He flipped his phone and showed me a picture of him and his sister walking into the club.
“We gotta get back to Javon and Cory,” I said.
I was worried that neither one of them knew the shit had hit the fan.
Screams lit up the hall as an alarm went off. Lucky and I took off full speed ahead down to the end of the hall. We were outnumbered, no matter how we looked at it. And when those priests pulled MAC-11s and AK-47s out from under their robes, I snatched Lucky and pulled him into one of the occupied rooms in front of us. We fell inside just as bullets chased us down.
A slew of half-naked women were scattered around the dimly lit room. Lucky shoved one of the women into a closet and out of the way. It would have been funny, given the way he slapped the girl in the back of the head and pushed her in there, if niggas wasn’t on our asses.
There was a bed against the wall that was big enough for four overgrown men to sleep in. A crucifix in the center of the room looked as if it had been welded to the concrete floor. Pails and buckets of God knew what sat haphazardly around the room. There was a man tied to a chair, with his nuts ensnared in some kind of contraption. He was gagged and had his hands tied behind his back, and the pale nigga had on a red wig, lipstick, and gaudy eye shadow.
“What kind of freaky shit y’all got going on in here?” I asked to no one in particular.
I heard Lucky give something of a chuckle as he kicked over the chair the man was in. The man’s muffled screams could be heard as gunshots rang out in the hall. I looked around for another way out. No way we wanted or needed to be trapped inside a room with a hit squad outside the door. There was a door that looked as if it led to another room, but there were too many locks on it. We’d waste ammo trying to shoot the locks off, and that would take too much time.
Lucky looked stressed, more stressed than I’d ever seen the young man.
“We’re pretty much trapped in here,” he said as he looked around.
“We got two options, nephew,” I said. “We dive through that fucking window and hope we hit that damn pool below, or we try to shoot our way back up out or this room.”
He shook his head. “We didn’t bring that much ammo between us. We need to get downstairs, where I have men set up.” As those words left his mouth, bullets lit up the doorway.
I said, “Looks like we taking a dive, then.”
I raised my gun to shoot at the glass, praying that shit wasn’t bulletproof. As the glass shattered, Lucky and I heard a loud explosion. We took a running leap through the broken window and flew through the air just as the door to the room burst open.
Instead of hitting the water, it felt as if the water punched the fuck out of me. Lucky and I hit the water hard, causing instant chaos. We knew bullets would soon chase us, but because of the crowded bar area, it made it easier for us to get out of the water and get lost in the crowd. Water weighed down my clothes as Lucky and I shoved people out of the way, trying to get to the room where we’d left Giana, Cory, and Javon. With bullets lighting up the floor after us, we didn’t have time to call or text.
“This way,” Lucky called as we ran toward the more private area of the club.
Just as we got ready to pass the kitchen, the doors flew open. As I yanked Lucky out of the line of fire, a bullet tore into my shoulder, sending me flying backward. I let out a roar that showed the pain I f
elt. Something like fucking sharp electricity danced through my body. Felt as if my shoulder had been ripped from my body. I ground my teeth and took sharp, ragged breaths.
I looked up to see Lucky get to his feet, then cover me. His gun game was on point. Anything he aimed at, he hit. The young buck yanked me from the floor, shielding me as he shot at anything in a black robe. Clearly, at that point, the boy didn’t give a damn who could get it. And the nigga was a helluva lot stronger than he looked.
“We gotta find another way,” he said.
“Naw, we gotta get out,” I said.
“We have to get Javon and—”
“Naw, son, trust me. Von would want us to get out,” I croaked out, pain making slobber drip from my bottom lip.
He nodded. “Can you shoot with your left?”
“Yeah,” I answered.
“Then let’s shoot our way the fuck up outta here.”
Whoever the hit squad was, they had played us like chess pieces. They knew we were here. They waited until we separated and then moved in. Javon and Cory had been meticulous in the way they had set this sting up, so it had to be someone from Lucky’s camp who had dropped the ball, since they had pictures of him and his sister entering the club. We were missing something. Had to be. This shit reminded me of how King had been left on his own in the end. No way was I going to let Javon, Cory, or Lucky get taken down like they did King. I’d throw myself in the line of fire first. That made me think about someone I’d left back home.
None of the kids knew I visited that whorehouse. They had no idea that I disappeared every Sunday and sometimes Saturday to spend the days with the whore who looked like my woman. She was of no relation. That I was sure of, but over the past year, she had been good to me. After a while, she’d stopped charging me, but I still paid her, anyway. Had to keep shit in perspective. And yet I couldn’t help but think I’d want to get back just to see her again.
A bullet whizzing by my head cut those thoughts real short, though. Lucky pulled us into a corner, behind one of the statues. I took the pain, leaned around to the left. I sent a bullet right into the heart of a shooter who had emerged from behind the curtains. Erupting gunfire from the other side of the club told me there was another fight going on.
