by K'wan
Cautiously, Diamonds lifted the front of the sweat shirt. It was soaked, and it clung to John-Boy’s portly stomach. When Diamonds spotted the leaking wound in John-Boy’s chest, he had to swallow the gasp that had almost escaped him. It was a mortal wound. “Damn, what happened to the vest I gave you?”
John-Boy managed to muster a weak smile and showcased his bloodstained teeth. “It was fucking with my aim.” He winced as if he was in pain, but then his face was calm again. “Don’t tell Buda that I got caught slipping. I know he’s gonna be pissed at me, and I don’t wanna hear his mouth. After the last time, he told me that if I fucked up again, then y’all was gonna cut me out.”
“Buda was just talking shit. We’d never cut you out. The four of us is brothers—don’t you go forgetting that.” Diamonds had known John-Boy and Buda as long as he’d known anybody in New Orleans. They were the first kids he and Goldie had met when the department of child services had found them being raised by their aunt in a backwater shack and forced her to enroll the two boys in a regular school with other kids their ages. With Diamonds and his brother spending most of their lives in seclusion in the woods of rural Louisiana and speaking more Creole than the Queen’s English, the transition hadn’t been an easy one, but Buda and John-Boy had helped them through it. They were amongst the rare few who didn’t tease them for their ragged clothes and bare feet, or Diamonds for his thick accent.
The sound of footsteps behind him caused Diamonds to spin, drawing the backup .45 he had shoved into his pants. He was angry and in a shoot-first mood, but his trigger finger was stayed when he saw his brother, Goldie, round the corner with Hank.
Goldie was three years Diamonds’s junior, but hard living and a thick black goatee made him appear slightly older. He stood at a wiry six foot three, with deep olive-toned skin and eyes that had seen too much too soon. On his cheek, just below his left eye, were tattooed the numbers 187, so there was no mistaking exactly what he was about. His signature black bandanna hung loosely around his neck, and you could see the tips of his cornrows hanging from the black beanie on his head. Something was just about to roll off his tongue, but when he spotted his brother hunched over his best friend, the words died on his tongue. He and John-Boy were closer in age, so they often found themselves spending a great deal of time in each other’s company, trailing their older brothers as they found creative ways to break the law.
“From the way you’re looking at me, you’d think I was dead already,” John-Boy tried to joke.
“You ain’t gonna die.” Hank knelt beside Diamonds over John-Boy. “If you kick the bucket on us, we’ll have to burry you here, because there’s no way we’ll be able to haul your fat ass out,” he joked while checking John-Boy’s wounds. Hank had some medical experience from his time in the army. He was by no means licensed to practice medicine, but he had done a better than average job patching up the homies after battles over the years. The solemn look on Hank’s face confirmed what Diamonds had already suspected.
“You ain’t gotta say it, Hank. I know I’m a goner.” John-Boy read the old head’s eyes.
“I ain’t lost a man in the field since ninety-eight, and I ain’t gonna have you fucking up my streak. Somebody, help me get him up.” Hank tugged at one of John-Boy’s arms, trying to get him to his feet. It took the combined efforts of himself and Diamonds to get him up.
“Damn, this shit hurt!” John-Boy cried out.
“I ain’t never known a gunshot that felt good,” Diamonds capped, looping John-Boy’s arm around his neck to help support his weight, which was no easy feat. Diamonds scooped up one of the duffel bags, slinging it over his free shoulder before helping Hank get John-Boy to the door. “Goldie, grab as many of them bags as you can carry, and follow us downstairs. You and Dip can come back for the rest once we get him clear.”
“Solid,” Goldie replied, and stated grabbing bags.
With Diamonds and Hank half carrying, half dragging John-Boy between them, they were able to struggle downstairs, only to find themselves knee-deep in water. The tide was rising faster now, and it was only a matter of time before the house and the corpses inside were washed away with everything else.
“This is some bullshit here. I’m a gangster, not no damn fish!” Goldie said, trying futilely not to get the money wet. He was nervous that the heavy bags would pull him under the water, but he was too greedy to let any of them go.
“Shut yo ass up and keep that money dry!” Hank shouted. He tripped over something he couldn’t see, and nearly dropped John-Boy into the water.
“First ol’ boy upstairs shot me, and now your old ass is trying to drown me,” John-Boy joked.
“Better this then letting them patch you up in the prison hospital,” Diamonds told him. “Now, quit wasting your energy bumping your gums, and try get them legs moving. Hank, how’d everything go with them boys Slim had out back?” He’d assigned Hank and Goldie with the tasks of taking out the guards around the house and rounding up the dope, while Buda and Dip were responsible for their exits.
“They was like cats in the freezer—cold pussies!” Hank said in an amused tone. “When Goldie laid the first two out, the rest took off running. Do you know Slim’s crazy ass was actually trying to get the dope out of here in a truck?”
“Ain’t nothing with wheels moving out there,” Goldie added. “Old Slim must’ve forgotten that damn near the whole city is underwater.”
“It’s a good thing we didn’t,” Diamonds said with a knowing smirk. He pulled out his Nextel and hit the chirp button on the side. It was the signal to let Buda know they were ready to go.
They had just cleared the front door with John-Boy and the money in tow when two airboats eased to stops in what used to be the front yard. Buda and Dip thought Diamonds was crazy when he suggested using the boats to make their escapes, but in light of all the streets unexpectedly flooding, Diamonds’s foresight had worked in their favor.
Buda stood at the helm of the lead boat, bald head slick with rain, his thick Santa-like beard completely waterlogged. Like John-Boy, Buda was short and thick, but his body was composed almost entirely of muscle. He jumped down into the waist-deep water to help Goldie, who was struggling to load the duffel bags onto the deck. When he saw Diamonds and Hank carrying his brother out, he abandoned the money and waded through the water to them.
“I know that ain’t my baby brother.” Buda’s voice trembled at the sight of the boy he’d promised his grandmother on her deathbed that he’d always look out for. John-Boy dangled like a wet noodle between Diamonds and Hank, bloody and pale.
“They caught me slipping,” John-Boy said, offering a weak explanation.
Buda reached for his baby brother, but his hands stopped short as if touching him would make his condition worse. There were no words he could find that would be adequate for the situation, so he responded in a way that would best convey what he was feeling and pulled his gun. Buda stormed toward the house, but Diamonds blocked his path.
“They shot my little brother,” Buda said, as if he expected Diamonds of all people to understand.
“And I shot them. Ain’t nothing in there but work for the coroner. We gonna get baby brother to Auntie and have her fix up one of them potions, and he’ll be strong as an ox again in no time. You’ll see.” Diamonds tugged at his arm. Buda lingered for a few more seconds, as if he were weighing the decision. Reluctantly, he allowed Diamonds to pull him away from the house.
After getting John-Boy onto one of the airboats, the men finished ransacking the house. It took them three trips to collect all that they could carry. They were able to take all the money and most of the dope, but they had to leave a good chunk of it behind. The two airboats were already stacked over capacity, and they feared adding any more weight would sink them.
“So what we gonna do now? These airboats are good for the heist, but they ain’t gonna get us outta New Orleans,” Dip said from his perch behind the wheel of the second airboat. He was a short, skinny
youth with shifty eyes and lips that always seemed chapped.
“You know me better than to insult my intelligence. Just because I didn’t share the plan with you, doesn’t mean there isn’t one,” Diamonds said, checking him. “The boats are to get us to higher ground where we can repack the dope and prepare it for proper transport. I got some things in motion, and once we wrap our business up here, it’s the open road for these outlaws. I got some people in Florida who we can lie low with until we get straight.”
“Diamonds!” John-Boy cried out unexpectedly.
“I’m here, little bro.” Diamonds rushed to John-Boy’s side and clutched his hand. It was cold, and his eyes were now glazed over as if he were having trouble focusing.
“You hear that?” John-Boy asked. His voice now sounded flat and tired.
“Hear what?”
“Hooves … they say that death rides a horse. He’s coming for me, but I don’t wanna go.”
“Don’t talk crazy. You ain’t going nowhere but to Florida with the rest of us. The Horseman is an old wives’ tale Auntie used to tell us to scare us. He ain’t real,” Diamonds assured him.
“Then how do you explain that black steed marching alongside us?” John-Boy’s eyes drifted to something just beyond Diamonds.
Diamonds looked in the direction of John-Boy’s gaze but saw nothing but the murky waves caused by their airboat and the drowned New Orleans streets. The loss of blood must’ve been making him delirious. “There’s nothing there,” he tried to tell him, but John-Boy continued to stare at whatever phantom he alone could see.
John-Boy began to chuckle softly.
“What’s so funny?” Diamonds asked, taking his hand in his. It was clammy.
“I was just wondering how the Horseman plans to get me to hell, since he only brought one horse? My fat ass is liable to sink us both.” He pushed out one last giggle before going still. John-Boy had pulled his last caper.
Buda leaned in and kissed John-Boy’s forehead before gently brushing his eyes closed. “Travel safe, little brother.”
“I’m sorry, man,” Dip offered.
Buda nodded but didn’t speak. He stood turned to Diamonds. “I don’t suppose Auntie’s got a tonic that can bring back the dead.” His tone was light, as if he were making a joke out of it, but there was a hint of desperation in his eyes.
Diamonds gave him a sad look. “Even if she did, he wouldn’t be your brother anymore. Best to let the dead rest.”
Buda nodded.
“Listen,” Diamonds continued, “we can put the move on hold if need be, to give you some time to grieve. My heart’s heavy over this too, so maybe we should all take a minute.”
Buda shook his head. “Nah, we stick with the plan and get the fuck out of Dodge while we still can. We ain’t doing John-Boy’s memory no justice if we dead or in jail. All I ask is that we give him a proper send-off before we pull out. I’ll always carry my brother’s spirit with me, but Louisiana soil is welcome to his body.”
Diamonds nodded. “So be it.”
CHAPTER TWO
It was well into the night by the time the rain had decided to show them a bit of mercy. It was still falling but had scaled back from a monsoon to a consistent spray. The floodwaters had stopped rising, but they hadn’t begun to recede yet either. The city was in bad shape, the rural areas ever worse, especially along the banks of the Mississippi. Diamonds could remember hot summer days when he and Goldie called a shack in the backwoods home, and they’d go for cooling afternoon swims in the murky waters. The storm had swollen the river to the point where it was nearly unapproachable, and it looked like they were going to have to break a time-honored tradition, but luckily they were able to find a high patch of land along the river that hadn’t been swallowed yet. It was little more than a patch of mud and rock, but it allowed them to get close enough to the river to do what they’d come for.
A darkness lingered between Diamonds and his assembled team. He had just orchestrated and executed the biggest score of his life, and it should’ve been cause for celebration, but there was no joy in Diamonds’s heart, only twisting sadness. He had lost friends before, and even family members, but this was the first time he had lost a member of his crew and it hurt. Though Hank was the oldest of them, the entire team looked to Diamonds for guidance. He was their leader and supposed to be their protector, but he had failed to save John-Boy. Everyone knew it wasn’t Diamonds’s fault and nobody held him accountable, but his heart was still heavy with guilt.
Standing just behind Diamonds was roughly three-quarters of what remained of his crew. The small fire they had managed to erect on the patch of mud sputtered as drops of rain fell to their deaths in the heat. They’d created a small tent of sticks and leaves over it to keep the fire lit, but it was waning, as was their time in the Big Easy.
Buda stood closest to the river, whispering softly to his brother’s corpse. Every so often he’d take a deep swig from the bottle of whiskey clutched in his hand. Buda had never been much of a drinker, because he couldn’t hold his liquor, but he had been making slow love to the bottle for the better part of an hour. He hadn’t said much since they’d left the stash house, but he wore his feelings on his face. It looked like somebody had ripped his heart out. John-Boy was the last of his blood kin, and being that neither one of them had any children, Buda represented the last of their bloodline.
Vita sat alone on a rock, polishing a dented gold horn with an oil rag. It was what she did when she was nervous, or angry. For as long as any of them had known her, the horn had been an extension of her heart, and you could always tell what was in it by what she chose to play. If you asked Vita about her relationship with the horn, she’d tell you that she could articulate herself through music in a far better way than she could through words. Every so often her gaze would drift to John-Boy’s body and she would start crying again. Vita and John-Boy had fought like cats and dogs in life, but next to Buda, she took his death the hardest. They’d had a nasty argument that morning over the fact that Diamonds didn’t want her going with them when they took off Slim. Vita was a down-ass solider, and her gun went off when called on, but she was still young and somewhat green. This was the reason Diamonds gave for not wanting her along, but others suggested different.
There were mixed feelings amongst the team, so they put it to a vote; John-Boy had sided with Diamonds and voted against Vita. He, too, claimed it was for her own safety, but Vita accused him of wanting to cut her out so he could get a bigger split of the pie for putting in the work, which led to words being exchanged. The two of them arguing was hardly unusual, but Vita had said some hurtful things to John-Boy, and now that he was dead, she’d never be able to take them back.
Goldie paced back and forth while mumbling under his breath. Every so often he’d look down at his watch and shake his head so hard that Diamonds feared it would fall off his shoulders. John-Boy’s death had affected Goldie, too, but he processed grief differently than most. Instead of being sad, Goldie channeled his grief into balls of rage. When he was hurt, he wanted to hurt people. Diamonds had to be sure to keep an extra eye on his little brother, because Goldie could be a wild card when he was in his feelings, and his temper could derail their whole plan.
Diamonds couldn’t say he didn’t understand why Goldie was so irritated. In addition to everything else they had going on, Dip had gone missing. After the robbery they had all split up with plans to meet on the riverbank at ten o’clock to see John-Boy off. From there they would head to Texas, where Diamonds had a deal in place to sell off some of the dope they’d stolen, before heading to Florida. It was nearly eleven, but there was still no sign of Dip.
“Where the fuck are these niggas?” Goldie asked for what felt like the hundredth time in the last fifteen minutes. He was incredibly impatient.
“You gonna wear a hole in them Timberlands if you don’t stay still,” Diamonds warned.
“Fuck these boots. I can buy twenty more pairs when we get to Florida
… If we get to Florida. These niggas are holding up progress, bruh.”
“Have patience, little brother,” Diamonds said, motioning toward the glare of a set of headlights coming in their direction.
Hank’s dark-blue pickup truck pulled to a stop about a yard or so from the patch of land they huddled on. The mud-covered road was too slick for the truck to bring him any closer, so he’d have to go the rest of the way on foot, much to his dismay. Hank jumped from the cab and immediately sank ankle-deep into the mud. He moved awkwardly through the sludge toward the clearing, cursing with each step. As he drew closer to the fire, Diamonds noticed a newspaper folded under his arm.
“Everything straight?” Diamonds asked, once Hank had reached the clearing.
“Other than the fact that my feet are soaked to the bone for the second time today, everything is peachy fucking keen,” Hank said sarcastically while trying to shake some of the excess mud from his boots. “Why couldn’t we do this indoors like normal people?”
“Because we ain’t normal,” Diamonds shot back. “Did you handle what needed handling?” he asked, changing the subject.
“Yeah, we good. The dope is all repackaged and tucked safely into an RV on its way west on I-10. It should be there by the time we arrive tomorrow,” Hank told him.
“It better be,” Goldie interjected. “I still don’t like the idea of letting them white boys drive our shit instead of taking it ourselves.”
“Because driving it ourselves would’ve been too big of a risk. Something goes wrong, we go down and lose the dope. Can’t put all our eggs in one basket,” Diamonds explained.
“I feel you, bruh, but how we know we can trust them?” Goldie asked.
“We don’t, which is why I got the names and addresses of their next of kin.” Hank handed Diamonds the folded newspaper.
Diamonds peeked inside to examine the contents and nodded in approval. “Any sign of Dip?”
