Moses Scriptures

by Hannibal Black

“Did he say anything about Vic?”

  “Oh yeah,” Henny said. “I believe Rico invited Vic because, you know he’s got a lot of respect out here, even more than Steel. I’d bet big cheddar that Rico figured, with Vic there; it would seem like it wasn’t just him and Steel. That Vic also had their back, but Steel’s attitude was so out of date that, Vic told Rock on the low, that if he wanted to make a move on Rico and Steel, he’d look the other way.

  Plus, if Rico or Steel get slumped, Rock and them, their hustle doubles.”

  Henny went on talking, but I didn’t hear him, I had all the information I needed, and it was good news. All I had to do was keep Priest out of the way until the smoke cleared which wouldn’t be that easy, but it was better than confrontation.

  I promised to take Henny to dinner for his info and then got in the wind.

  On the ride home I rehashed the situation and started feeling sorry for Rico. Regardless of his absolute arrogance, I had a lot of respect for him. He always tried his best to avoid conflict. It was a shame he wasn’t even seeing this shit coming, but my sympathy stopped there. I had long ago developed a defense mechanism against mourning murdered soldiers in an unsanctioned street war. I cared but not enough to lose sleep. I felt as if it wasn’t my fault, then it wasn’t my problem.

  When I opened the door to my apartment, I saw Melody lying on the sofa snoring like a Harley Davidson and clutching a bag of cookies. The television volume was all the way up, blasting the voice of some coked-up host of an infomercial. I was only upset for a minute, then began to notice that Melody’s face held a peculiar sense of peace, the kind found in heavy sleep. It was strangely the most satisfied she had looked in months. I went and grabbed a blanket to cover her and kissed her on the cheek and whispered a wish for sweet dreams. I prepared for bed and hoped that I could get some peace and sleep that hard.

  August 21, 1996

  The next morning, I awakened to the aroma of breakfast. I walked to the kitchen and saw a plate full of food covered with plastic wrap with a note on top that read ‘Hope you enjoy breakfast.’ I thought to myself if Melody was this considerate at home; William should be begging her to come back. I devoured my breakfast and sat around the house trying to avoid the urge to see Angel. After turning on the television and watching a few hillbillies slug it out on a mid-day talk show, I decided if I left now I could make it across town in time for coffee and conversation with Angel.

  I jitterbugged through the afternoon traffic and made it across town in record time.

  My walk toward the coffee shop filled with all the incredible anticipation of a child’s run to the living room on Christmas morning. Mrs. Clause didn’t disappoint. Angel was sitting at our outside table with her legs cross, sipping her café mocha.

  When she saw me coming, her eyes lit up, and her smile was never prettier. I went and ordered my coffee, then went to join her at the table.

  Angel stood. “Hey Moses, it’s good to see you,” Angel said, hugging me. Up to that point, I never realized how small she was next to me. My six foot three frame seemed to swallow her whole when we embraced.

  “Same here Angel. How are things?”

  “They’re okay. I missed you yesterday; I thought you quit the gym.” Angel said halfway kidding.

  “No, I haven’t but my trial period is almost up.”

  Angel stopped in mid-sip and stared at me with sad eyes, and then looked toward the street. She took a long sip from her cup, straightened her back in her chair and looked at me.

  “That’s too bad; I had a perfect time talking with you. You’re a good man Moses.”

  I wished that were true. All I could think about was spying and taking pictures of Angel yesterday. I couldn’t leave that compliment without showing gratitude.

  “That’s an adorable thing to say, Angel, and at the cost of being a copycat, you’re a hell of a lady.”

  “You know what I wish, Moses,” Angel said looking at the sky.

  “No, what do you wish?”

  I wish that for one time in my life, I could have a happy ending.”

  “Angel, I couldn’t agree more, but I’ve found believing in fairy-tale endings just leads to false hope.”

  “I guess you have a point, but false or not what’s life without hope?”

  “Angel, it’s certainly not living.”

  The hours vanished into thin air as we enjoyed two more rounds of coffee and conversation then said our good-byes. I told her I’d be here until the end of the week.

  I raced across town to the bar. I hoped that I would get there before Priest. There was no telling the trouble he could get in by himself. When I arrived, I could see that business was positively booming. The bar packed with people who were drinking like it was New Year's Eve. I didn’t see Priest or Dimples anywhere. I went over to the bar to order a drink and saw Steel talking on the phone. I copped my glass and took a seat in a booth. Moments later Priest walked in. He was looking mighty proud of himself. You would have thought he owned the bar instead of Rico.

  “My main man Moses, how you doing?” Priest said sliding into the booth.

  “I’m cool, but what’s with the Kool-Aid smile?”

  “Aw don’t hate me; you see the satisfaction of financial

  independence.”

  Priest then flagged down a cocktail waitress to bring him a drink.

  I could see someone staring at us out of the corner of my eye.

  I looked, and it was Steel. His jaws were tight. He looked like an angry bull preparing to charge.

  It would be just about impossible to play matador. Steel governed by penitentiary politics where violence was non-negotiable.

  When I saw him coming, I kicked Priest under the table and focused my eyes on Steel’s approach.

  Before Priest could turn around, Steel threw a punch that connected to Priest’s jaw. I rushed out of the booth grabbing Steel around the waist, lifting him up and slamming him against the floor. Priest got up quickly, blood dripping from his mouth he proceeded to kick Steel in the head and chest.

  I was soon snatched up by one of the bouncers. The second bouncer rushed Priest.

  Priest quickly went into his waistband pulled out his pistol, cocked it and held it a quarter inch from the bouncer’s nose.

  “Say I won’t!” Priest said.

  Soon as the bouncer who had me in a headlock saw the pistol, he let me go.

  Besides the slow song on the jukebox, the bar was completely

  silent.

  Priest decided to take advantage of the captive audience. His eyes slowly scanned the faces in the crowd that were hard pressed to look at him.

  “Ain’t nobody running me out of shit!” Priest said.

  I had my hand under my waistband, backing out of the bar just in case someone ran out the back. Priest defiantly walked out with his back to the crowd.

  We walked hurriedly to the Cadillac and took off.

  “You believe this muthafucka just sucker-punched me? I wish I could’ve kicked him one more time,” Priest said, wiping the blood from his lip.

  We drove around for hours with no destination in mind. It was

  Priest’s way of cooling off from the confrontation. We both knew it wasn’t over. There was too much-damaged pride to repair this problem overnight.

  We stopped at a light. I turned to Priest to ask him a question.

  I saw something shiny out the corner of my eye.

  I turned quickly to look and saw the barrel of a chrome shotgun pointed out of the window of the car to our left.

  Immediately I grabbed Priest and pulled him toward the seat.

  Simultaneously the shotgun blasted blowing out the drivers’ side backseat window.

  The sound was deafening.

  The glass was falling.

  I could hear the quick clicking of the shotgun cocked.

  At that moment Priest stomped on the gas, sending us forward just as the shotgun blasted a second time.

  My body tensed up bracing
for the possible impact of buck-shots.

  I felt nothing.

  The enemy car sped off as Priest jumped up, pulled his pistol and fired a few shots, putting holes in its back window.

  Priest leaned back in the seat grimacing, holding his shoulder.

  We switched seats, and I drove to the nearest hospital.

  Priest balked at the idea.

  “Fuck the hospital Moses; I’ll bleed to death waiting for them. It’s just a few buck-shots. Call Slim.”

  I did exactly that.

  Slim gave me an address.

  Priest and I drove in silence till we reached a house.

  At first, I thought we must have got the wrong address. We were in the suburbs.

  We parked in front of the house, and when we walked into the driveway, we could see a tall, slender shadowy figure smoking a cigarette, waving us toward the house.

  Priest was shaking his head trying to get the shattered glass out his braids.

  When we got to the top of the driveway, the stranger came into focus.

  He was a studious-looking man, around Slim’s age. He was wearing a bathrobe and pajamas.

  His face was grave as he greeted us, “Follow me.”

  When he opened the side door, a little girl around five years old was at the top of stairs.

  “Daddy, I can’t fall asleep.”

  “Go get in the bed with mommy, princess,” the man said as the little girl ran off.

  “Go down to the basement and have a seat, I’ll be down there in a minute.” He said.

  We went down the stairs to the practically empty basement. The only furniture there was a dresser, two folding chairs and standing in the middle of the room underneath a gang of lights was what looked like an autopsy table.

  “How are you holding up?” I asked Priest.

  “Cold and tired. But I’ll be all right.”

  I could hear the quiet stranger coming down the stairs.

  “Do me a favor Moses, look underneath my floor mat. There should be an envelope full of money, get it and bring it back for me.”

  By the time I got it and came back Priest was sitting on the table getting the buck-shots removed.

  After an hour the bootleg surgery was over, and I handed Priest the envelope. He counted close to a thousand dollars.

  The silent surgeon finally spoke. “That’s not necessary. Slim’s taking care of it. Just go home and rest that shoulder.” He said handing

  Priest a bottle of painkillers.

  We all marched up the basement stairs. Priest and I thanked the stranger for his help. He just nodded his head and closed the door. I drove Priest home and told him I’d see him tomorrow.

  I woke Henny up and had him take me back to my van. I told him about our brush with death, and all he could do was keep repeating to me that if he were there things would have been different.

  His youthful bravado made it incapable for him to register how close we came to not coming home, but I understood how he felt. When I was his age, getting shot at and risking life and limb would leave me with thrilling sensations that would make me feel invincible. But after so many lost friends I realized how much luck played a part.

  When I arrived at my apartment Melody was enjoying the same peaceful sleep as the night before. I again lifted the cover over her and kissed her on the cheek. I went to my room and closed the door. I sat on the edge of the bed; I noticed my hand was still shaking.

  I laid down and fell right into a nightmare. I was back in the Cadillac looking into that chrome barrel shotgun, wanting to move out of the way, but couldn’t. I could hear the gun cocked and soon as it blasted.

  I jumped off the bed, on to the floor, waking up in a cold sweat. My hand was still shaking while my heart was trying to pound its way out of my chest.

  I climbed back on the bed and fell asleep, only to repeat the nightmare.

  I paced a marathon around my room, then went out into the living room and watched Melody’s peaceful sleep till it calmed my nerves.

  I wound up finally falling asleep in a chair, getting maybe three hours of sleep.

  I awoke to the sound of Melody frying bacon; my unconscious mind converted the music into an automatic rifle and caused me to jump out of the chair. When my eyes opened, Melody was standing over me holding a greasy spatula.

  “What’s your problem, you on dope or something?” Melody said, then walked back to the kitchen.

  I laid on the floor for a minute trying to gather myself and managed to get up in time to have breakfast with Melody.

  I listened to her complain about William till it was time for her to go back to work.

  I tried to go back to sleep but couldn’t.

  I called Priest only to have Henny tell me he was sleep and not taking calls.

  Every room in my apartment seemed to carry a sick sense of gloom. I convinced myself that a tiny taste of sunshine and conversation with Angel could be the cure.

  August 22, 1996

  I arrived at the coffee shop early and was on my second cup of coffee when I saw Angel gliding up the street toward me.

  She was wearing her highly contagious smile that infected me right away.

  Like a miracle, her warm glow melted a migraine my mind had absorbed the night before.

  I felt like a child, and she was a Saturday morning cartoon. Regardless of the amount of time or topic, Angel always managed to capture my attention. Angel copped her usual café mocha then took the seat across from me.

  “Hey, Moses, how are you? I take it you gave up the gym already.” “I’m doing well Angel. I was running a little late this morning and

  I didn’t want to miss our coffee and conversation.”

  “That’s very sweet, Moses. It’s good to see you. When is your last day here?”

  “Tomorrow,” I said.

  “That’s too bad,” Angel sighed. “If I hadn’t told you before Moses,

  I want to thank you for the good ear.”

  “Angel with that voice of yours, it’s my pleasure.”

  Angel smiled.

  We both took sips in silence staring into each other’s eyes making wishes that we knew wouldn’t come true.

  “So tell me, Moses, what’s your life like away from here?”

  As innocent as the question was, I knew that type of curiosity could easily corrupt the conversational sanctuary that we had created.

  So I quickly searched for a way to respectfully decline.

  “My life away from here is pretty uneventful. How about you, do you have any hobbies?”

  Angel squinted and smirked; unsure she should answer my question.

  “Now if I tell you, you have to promise not laugh.”

  “Sure,” I said.

  Angel took a pause, closed her eyes then opened them.

  “Well, what is it, Angel?”

  “I paint.”

  “Houses?”

  “Of course not, pictures.”

  “What’s so funny about that?”

  “Nothing I guess, I’m not any good,”

  “What kind of things do you paint?”

  “I don’t know, whatever comes to mind I guess,”

  “Angel, I don’t think that’s funny at all. I think it’s beautiful that you can find a way to express yourself.”

  “You say that now because you haven’t seen my paintings. I’m pretty horrible.”

  “I doubt that Angel. But tell me, if you think you’re bad at painting, then why you do it.”

  Angel’s eyes became dreamy as she spoke.

  “It’s like when I’m painting; World War III could be going on, and I wouldn’t even notice. The way the brush feels in my hand when it’s caressing the canvas, it’s like a magic carpet ride.

  “That’s no hobby Angel, anything the makes you feel like that is a gift.”

  “You're just nice; you probably wouldn’t say that if you saw them.”

  “Now, I gotta see them. Paintings can’t be that bad.”

 
“But Moses, your last day is tomorrow,” Angel said with exaggerated sadness.

  “So bring one in tomorrow, and with our coffee, we’ll have dessert, all in celebration of our conversations.”

  Angel flashed a big smile.

  We talked effortlessly for hours. Our row of empty cups cued us to check the clock, only to find that our time had expired.

  We said our second to last goodbyes in our suburban sanctuary.

  I headed back to the city of trouble.

  When I got within city limits, I made a beeline to Priest’s pad. I wanted to find him before night fell. There was no question in my mind that yesterday’s attack would not go unanswered.

  Heading down Priest’s block I passed Tasha’s red Mustang going in the opposite direction, but I was unfazed. I didn’t have the time to follow her foolish infidelity tonight. I had bigger fish to fry.

  Henny buzzed me up.

  I marched up the stairs and walked in the slightly opened the door to be hit with a fog of marijuana smoke and the sound of a Tupac cut.

  Henny was on the couch puffing on a blunt and watching a tape of the latest Roy Jones fight.

  I went to the fridge and helped myself to a brew, then joined Henny was sitting in the living room.

  “What’s up Hen, where’s Priest?”

  Henny’s eyes were fire engine red. He looked at me but didn’t say a word. He was feeling the effects of the high. Henny paused for ten seconds then finally spoke.

  “Roy Jones is a bad motherfucker, man.”

  Henny hadn’t even registered my question.

  “Have you seen Priest?” I repeated.

  Henny looked at me then took another pause.

  “I don’t know Mo. He’s been gone for a couple of hours.”

  I sat back and puffed and watched the fight with Henny, then wound up falling asleep.

  I awoke by a shove on the shoulder. I cleared the fog from my eyes to see Priest standing over me.

  He was wearing a black trench coat, a stocking cap covering his cornrows, and an emotionless face.

  “You riding?” Priest said.

  “Yeah,” I answered back as Priest headed toward the door. When I got up, I saw Henny was fast asleep with saliva hanging out of his mouth and the television on a blue screen.