The Coldest Love She's Ever Known

by Leo Sullivan

  “Yes, lawd!”

  Blind in one eye… facial and skull damage, I repeated in the dark crevice of my mind.

  “Ma’am, can you please come with me?” the security guard asked again.

  “Man, if you don’t get yo’ short, midget ass on!” Kelly huffed with a dismissive wave of her hand.

  “Let her stay,” the doctor said, catching everyone off guard. “Something triggered a positive psychoneurosis in the patient, and it could have been the girl or her mom. They have both been by her bedside every day since she has been in the hospital,” the doctor said.

  “I know damn well you ain’t just call me a girl. I’ma grown ass woman as you can see,” Kelly snapped.

  “I’m going to need to run some more tests. I also want some of my colleagues to help me, rarely has this happened before, but it’s not uncommon for people to survive gunshot wounds to the head.”

  “It’s called prayer and God,” my mama said with ebullience.

  “Well, we are going to need all of that tomorrow. Because of the trauma suffered to both mother and child, we are removing the baby early. We will do everything in our power to have a safe delivery and I will also let the father know about the procedure. He is still in intensive care; he, too, is very lucky to be alive. We are running tests on him. However, he still has all his cognitive abilities. We know he suffered some permanent damage and there is still the likely possibility of paralysis. He is definitely going to need a colostomy bag.”

  “Paralysis? Colostomy bag?” I heard my mama repeat.

  “So, basically, Caesar going be wearing a shit bag,” Kelly chimed in, as if to explain.

  “Child, don’t say it like that. I know what it is!”

  I heard the doctor make some sort of grunt, then there were footsteps before a door opened, then closed.

  Everything else became a cloud in my mind as I drifted back toward a light at the end of a long, dark tunnel. There really was something mystic in the light and it greeted me head-on like two ships in the night.

  8

  King

  * * *

  Four burly bailiffs walked in. One of them was mammoth with a big protruding gut that hung over his waist. He was the first to enter. His eyes stretched wide as he looked around the room at death and destruction. The other three bailiff were not paying much attention, their chatter was about the prior courtroom upheaval.

  “What the hell!” the first bailiff exclaimed, getting the rest of their attention as they all suddenly stopped. All eyes were on me. The first bailiff reached for his gun, but I moved faster with a shot to his leg.

  Blocka!

  The big .40 caliber weapon roared like a cannon. The bailiff shouted like a bitch and keeled over, landing to the floor with a thud.

  The others immediately jumped to attention, reaching for their weapons. I had the ups on them, and it was apparent that my modus operandi was to shoot first, ask no questions. Judging from the bodies scattered on the floor and all the gory blood, they could clearly see I wasn’t playing any games.

  “Move over here. Put you fuckin’ hands where I can see ‘em or I’m going to blow your fucking brains out!” I gestured, waving the gun in their faces as I rushed over to relieve them of their weapons. The entire time, the bailiff was on the floor was moaning and groaning in agony.

  I handcuffed them to a steel rod in the room that was connected to the concrete wall, the same kind of device that was designed to detain inmates at court who were wearing restraints. Instantly, they began to complain and started an uproar, complaining about the cramp space they were handcuffed inside.

  “Either you deal with this or I can shoot each one of you in the dome,” I reasoned, waving the gun.

  I didn’t want any more bloodshed, but I had to get out of there and fast. Though courtrooms were soundproof for privacy and public outbursts, I wasn’t certain if that included the piercing sound of gunshots.

  I would soon find out.

  I was about to exit the room, and something suddenly occurred to me, I had almost made a huge blunder. Doubling back, I searched the bailiff’s pockets and, sure as shit, they had their cell phones. I took them and made one last threat to come back and kill them all if they made any noise or tried to call for help. They wouldn’t comply for long, but it would buy me a decent amount of time.

  Moving stealthily, I slipped through the door that led to the courtroom with my eyes scanning my surroundings. My grim reality was daunting, but there was no turning back. Still, I was on edge, and my heart and mind were racing. I had no idea what to expect. The last time I was in the courtroom, it was filled with hundreds of people, most of them security and staff. There was only a matter of time before someone would discover the dead bodies and the handcuffed bailiffs.

  After scanning the scene, I realized that I had no choice but to walk through another door adjacent to the courtroom because the back corridor that I traveled through with the Marshals was fortified with armed police, sheriffs and FBI from other agencies that were transporting inmates back and forth to court. At the moment, many of them were attentively watching their prisoners, trying to keep them under control in light of all the ruckus that my supporters were commanding outside. The door next to the courtroom was my only option, but I’d have to walk out in the open to get to it. It was a bold move, but at that point I had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

  Walking with intention, I stepped out from the holding facility and into the hall with both pistols stashed at my side, fully prepared to go out in a hail of gunfire. Luckily, no one seemed to pay much attention to me as I made my way to the door. Exhaling out a sharp breath, I quickly pulled on the handle to open it quickly before sliding inside.

  There was someone in the room!

  Just when I was about to start blasting on sight, I recognized who the person was. It was the stenographer and she had her back to me. She was an attractive, heavy-set woman who appeared to be in her forties. From the looks of it, she was oblivious to anything being out of place as she moved quickly, preparing to leave while placing large folders into large yellow envelopes. I quickly turned and pressed against the door that I walked in from as she made her way out of another across from where I stood. That was when I heard the sound of high heels approaching the door behind me.

  Quickly, with a gun in each hand, prepared to go out kamikaze-style, I followed out the same exit the stenographer used and found myself inside another room.

  What the fuck? The entire place was a maze.

  To my side, there was a metal trash can and I deposited the cell phones that I’d taken from the bailiffs inside. Lifting my head up, I glanced at a clock on the wall. It was 12:15. I was about to head out another door that appeared to lead to a hallway when I saw another one to my side. There was a sign above it that read The Honorable Judge Regina Duncan. At that exact moment, the door opened suddenly opened and out walked Judge Regina Duncan, herself.

  Instantly, our eyes locked.

  After a couple seconds of tense silence, she raised a brow in recognition of me. Then she froze, like a store mannequin with her hand still grasping the doorknob as if undecided as to what to do next. She was dressed in civilian clothes, a beige blouse and a matching pencil skirt with brown three-inch heel pumps. In her other hand was a large briefcase that she was gripping hard enough to make her knuckles go white.

  When I stroked the pistol in my right hand with my forefinger, contemplating whether or not I had the audacity to kill a Federal judge, she spoke. Her voice was calm like the gentle breeze that comes right before a violent storm; however, the pungency of her words were like claps of tumultuous thunder.

  “This is foolish! You will never make it out of here! There are armed guards downstairs at the entrance lobby and, regardless of your clothes, everyone in here knows your face. You will be captured, possibly killed. You will fail,” she said with conviction, just like how she’d delivered her verdict.

  The cadence of her voice echoed as he
r eyes shifted, studying me intensely. She appeared calm, but I could see her fear hidden right underneath the surface of her demeanor in plain view. What she said was true, but there was one thing that she hadn’t considered: her value to me.

  “They will kill you.”

  “They’re going to kill me anyways. I have you to thank for that.”

  “But you don’t have to die today. You always have the chance to appeal again. But, if you do this, you’ll never get the chance. You will die before they let you leave.”

  “Not if I take you with you me,” I responded and moved towards her.

  Shocked, she chewed on her words like she had regurgitated her thoughts.

  “I like my chances,” I continued. “If I die, I am taking you with me. Almost like the death sentence you left me with. We can both die in a hailstorm of bullets and smoke, or you can help me get out of here and we both can live.”

  I saw her resolve shatter like broken glass on concrete as she leaned against the doorframe and sucked in sharp breath. Releasing the doorknob, her hand reached for her chest and her shoulders slumped. I heard a noise coming from the door behind me; she must of heard it, too, because she cocked her head to the side as if listening.

  “Let’s go!” I said, sternly.

  I was no stranger to danger, but what awaited my fate from that moment on… only God could have known. I didn’t even know where the front door was, much less how to get out of the Federal building. There was only a matter of time before someone discovered that I was missing and, once that happened, a manhunt would ensue. I had to create some distance between me and this place, fast.

  Surprisingly, the judge walked with ease as I guided her towards the front door. Her heels floated across the carpet as her posture changed. Like a chamberlain, she raised her chin with dignity. My judge-turned-hostage was fully cooperating. Then, suddenly, she stopped short just when we were about to walk out of the door and turned to look at me. I could see the wheels in her head turning as she observed every bit of my face. I knew that I had to look bad; my face was slightly bruised, and I had a limp.

  “Here, take this and just walk with me. Try not to make eye contact with anyone. If I get you out of here safely, will you let me go?” she asked with an even tone. Reaching out, she handed me the heavy briefcase to hold.

  I just stared at her a moment. Time was a fragile and I didn’t have a lot of options. She must have read my thoughts.

  “It’s not uncommon for a bailiff or an attorney to help me out. This is normal, it can be used as a subterfuge to get us out.”

  I was gracious for her suggestion, but I didn’t let it show. I needed to keep her fearful. Fearful hostages who were smart were more likely to cooperate.

  “Subterfuge?” I blurted out as I took the briefcase and aimed the gun at her chest. “You better hope this shit works. If we don’t make out of here, I’m killing you first,” I threatened and then placed the gun in my pocket.

  She didn’t even flinch, didn’t beat an eye.

  “There is blood on your face, and your eye is swollen. There are bruises.” She pointed out.

  Taking a moment, I wiped at the blood. There was nothing I could do about the swelling or the bruises.

  “Did—did you hurt anyone? Are my bailiffs okay?” Her voice dipped an octave.

  “Let’s go,” I said ignoring her question and glanced back up at the clock.

  It was around lunchtime so, hopefully, the crowded corridor would aid me in my escape. I grabbed her elbow firmly and she inhaled a sharp breath.

  When we walked out the door, the gravity of this new situation finally dawned on me.

  Not only had I murdered two Federal Marshals and trapped four bailiffs in a room. Now, I had also just taken a United States Federal Judge as a hostage.

  The corridor was congested with people galore as we shuffled alone with my hand holding the briefcase that I would quickly make into a weapon, if necessary. The .9 mm was in my pocket and the .44 caliber was stashed under my shirt, tucked firmly in the back.

  As we moved, it seemed like everyone tried to stop and talk with the judge or ask her a question. My nerves began to unravel. She took notice and tried to ward off as many people as she could so that we could push on towards the exit. We were almost to the elevators when a white woman stopped her to ask about the court calendar. Instead of leaving right away, she then stated that she wanted to do lunch soon so that she could pick the judge’s brain about law. As she spoke, she would occasionally smile and glance at me. Bowing my head, I cleared my throat and the judge abruptly ended the conversation.

  By the time we made it to the elevator, just as it opened, it was packed with too many people, so we had to wait for the second one to arrive. I felt heat building at the base of my neck. For the first time, I considered whether or not I’d actually lost my mind.

  “Judge Duncan!” a thick baritone called out with urgency.

  The judge glanced over at my direction, lifting her hand slightly as if to tell me to chill, before turning around. I kept my head bowed but moved close enough to her to covertly press the barrel of my pistol into her back, reminding her that she could die at any time. Taking a quick look up at the approaching figure, I almost lost my shit.

  The man wore a royal blue jacket with a crisp white shirt and tie. There was a military .45 strapped to his waist and a shiny badge on his chest. He was the sergeant bailiff. His hair was receding with a bald patch at the top and his skin was a brownish bronze with a sheen of perspiration on his forehead. For some reason, he was breathing hard. I noticed the walkie-talkie attached to his coat.

  “Have you heard what is going on out in the streets, your Honor?” he asked as if he was agitated.

  “No, what is it?” she responded. Miraculously, her tone seemed normal.

  “After the episode that happened in your courtroom, several of the unruly gang members were arrested for incensing a riot. However, it didn’t stop it from happening. Right now, there is a full-fledge riot going on in the streets right now. There are literally thousands of hoodlums, gang members tearing up the streets and everything around it. We are urging everyone to go to the café on the third floor for lunch instead of leaving the building and I put in a call to the police department to assist. It’s crazy out there! Looks like a war zone.”

  “Whoa!” Judge Duncan replied.

  Most likely her surprise was genuine. I was definitely shocked.

  “Have you seen Brown, Smith or Clay or any of the bailiffs that work your courtroom? They aren’t answering on the radio and I need their help immediately. I’m hoping they didn’t already leave for lunch.”

  As he spoke, more and more people walked towards the elevator lobby. I grew impatient when I saw them all file on as soon as another elevator door opened, filling it immediately.

  “No, I haven’t,” the judge replied. “They probably already left, Mr. Patton.” She shrugged and then stole a glance at me.

  With my body turned sideways and my hand on the banger in my pocket, I eased my other hand to the gun in the waist of my pants so that I could get off some clean shots in case any drama popped off.

  “That is strange. I can’t reach them or the Federal Marshals who brought Malik Shields go the hearing today in your courtroom. This is crazy, especially with all the chaos. The riots have caused all kinds of confusion down in inmate transportation, but something is not right about this.” He scratched his bald head and glanced at me, then at the rest of the crowd.

  My trigger finger moved instinctively; I was about to shot him at pointblank range if he did anything to provoke me. I couldn’t believe that The JDB were actually rioting in the streets but then again, this had been a long time coming. Bulletproof and Dolo were young and official with that social media shit. They’d been building up my support team for a while and, like the bonds that bound a gang, they used emotion to rally people to the cause. They created a national team of support for me by centering the focus on my good works an
d the things I did for my community. Many Black people considered my case as another example of the white man trying to keep a Black man down.

  “This is despicable! I hope that is quelled with the help of law enforcement and that this thing gets resolved fast,” the judge was saying.

  Just then, another elevator opened. Fuck everything, this one I wouldn’t miss.

  “Judge, I think we need to hurry so I can help you and then assist the men outside.”

  Actually, if you don’t mind assisting me in looking for her bailiffs and the marshals—”

  “Excuse me! Excuse me!” I said, gripping the judge by the arm as I pushed by people to get through the elevator doors.

  We squeezed on just in time, making extra room where there really was none left to take. We were packed in like sardines in a can. The judge and I stood chest-to-chest as the elevator descended. My heart was pounding, and my stomach was doing summersaults. Duncan was looking up at me impassive, eyes locked into mine. Our bodies were pressed so tightly together; if I were a spoon, she would have been the liquid filling me. I fought the urge to turn away from the scornful expression on her face. Her unspoken anger felt as lethal as a hot burning sun.

  Then the inevitable happened!

  An alarm shrilled like a warning of a catastrophic event. It was the loudest noise I had ever heard and the lights in the elevator started to blink. I heard several disgruntled voices groan their discontent.

  “The building is being placed on lockdown. They may know that you’re trying to escape and whatever else you have done,” she whispered in the crook of my neck. Her lips brushed across my chin and her breath was a Fahrenheit of guilt that threatened to consume me like an inferno from hell.

  “Shit!” I hissed and furtively started easing the pistols out.

  I was determined to shoot my way out of the building, if it came to that.

  “No, don’t do it!”

  She seized my arm, but I pulled away. There was no way that I was going out without a fight and, if need be, I was taking her with me. Either give me liberty or give me death. One thing was for certain; I was not going back to that box in the supermax facility on death row.