by K Elliott
Shotglass finally urged them to sit down then said, “I appreciate the ovation. Now I guess y’all feel like I owe you something.”
There was some laughter. They knew he was about to get on a roll and explode; they were simply preparing themselves.
“Bin Laden was found in a big-ass stucco mansion. Inside, the place was dirty as hell but cups and bags from Jimmy Riff’s Biscuits and Catfish.”
It was on. The laughter level went up.
“They say he had a flock of bitches living on the compound, suicide bunnies. Well he shoulda been kickin them bitches across the ass for keeping a dirty pad. Nobody prays five times a day at the fuckin city dump.” Shotglass knew he had full control of the crowd now. He was not going to give them enough time to finish laughing at a joke. It was always on to the next one.
“Muthafucka didn’t have cable, and the satellite dish didn’t work because one of them bitches wrote a bad check to Dish-on-Demand. So he had a clothes hanger connected to the TV, bent toward the West to pick up TNT.” He almost laughed at that one; he didn’t even know it was coming.
Brian and Janelle were laughing as hard as anyone, and they knew Shotglass was not even in full gear yet.
“My mom never kept a dirty pad, but my dad didn’t appreciate her, though. She used to tell him, ‘I’m leaving you.’ One day she made that threat and he said, ‘You been leaving for ten damn years. Even if you travel by turtle, it don’t take that long to get nowhere on earth. What you need, some gas money? Plane ticket? Some fix-a-flat? Turtle wax?”
The crowd was roaring.
“My girlfriend don’t like the size of my dick. It’s almost nine inches, but she says her pussy’s most-sensitive area is within the first three inches of depth, which is why she prefers my tongue.”
Echo and Kiandra looked at each other.
“Never thought I’d live to see the day when short-dicked dudes got the advantage. My girlfriend made me feel embarrassed for being fairly endowed, so I told her, “Bitch, no tongue action until you clean up this dirty pad.” He shook his head while they were laughing. “I’m just bullshittin; I would never call a bitch a bitch. All bitches deserve better than that.”
Chapter 6
KIANDRA AND ECHO had just left the Improv. She was driving her aunt’s Hyundai Genesis in the late-night congestion on Melrose Avenue. Echo sat in the front passenger’s seat, impressed with the Hollywood glitz and glamour. In a span of three minutes, he’d already spotted a Bentley, a Lamborghini, and a Ferrari. He’d seen such cars before, but this seemed like a car show.
He said to Kiandra, “You like the show?”
“Like it?” Shotglass had me crying. I couldn’t stop laughing, and that gave me a slight headache.”
“Yeah, he’s a funny muthafucka, especially when he was talking about Santa Claus taking a dump at the mall and he walked in on him with his little nephew.”
Kiandra started laughing again. They were on their way to her house in Watts.
The plan was for Echo to spend the night there—no sex of course—so that they could surprise Vincent Nichols bright and early in Compton.
Kiandra said, “If we learn that Shotglass definitely had something to do with Ramona’s disappearance, would you treat him the same way you treat other suspects?”
“I like Shotglass, but not enough to let him get away with murdering a woman. I will certainly make him suffer if he’s even halfway guilty.”
“That’s too bad for him. I hear he’s doing good. Went from Stockton to Sacramento and then Santa Paula in three years. Really two years. After his big concert coming up, he’s supposed to start working on a major motion picture. You think we’ll get him before his Where Was I? concert?”
Echo shrugged. “Depends on how shit turns out with his cousin Vincent.” They were in a traffic line at a red light. There were three beautiful white women and a beautiful black woman in a Rolls Royce on Echo’s side. He lowered his window and motioned for the white driver to lower hers. It was the first week of January, and the night air was more than cool.
The Rolls Royce driver lowered her window and said, “What’s happening?” She was smiling.
Echo said, “Me and my friend need some directions. We’re new in this town.”
“Sure. Where are you trying to get to?”
He said, “To your place. The six of us could do some nasty shit. The pizza’s on me.”
The woman said, “You’re an asshole, you know that?’
“You’re judging us because we’re in a Hyundai. Rodney King was in a Hyundai and he ended up being a millionaire.” When she rolled her window up on him, he looked at Kiandra and said, “I tried to get us some pussy but . . .”
Kiandra said, “Woulda been nice.”
That statement alone made Echo’s dick jump. “I don’t sleep on no couches or floors. We ain’t got to fuck, but I’m sleeping in your bed.”
She said, “Echo, I need a small favor.” She used her door controls to raise his window.
“I already know. When we shower, you want us to do it together so you can save money on your water bill.”
She laughed. “No, fool.” Then she hesitated, stalled. “I had an abortion three months ago.”
“Oh, I don’t even want the pussy now. Your girlfriend is a drag queen.”
“I was raped by a muthafucka named Breno Riley. He’s a Crip member who lives in Compton and Whittier.”
“Raped?”
“Yep. Didn’t even know the guy. I need to get back at his ass, but he always has two of his gang members with him. Had ‘em with him when he raped me, but they just watched out for him.”
Echo said, “And you want me to help you get to Breno, as a small favor?’
“Well, you can charge me and I’ll be glad to pay you back once I start making money with Godsend.”
Echo laughed this time. The traffic was finally moving again. He said. “I’m not expanding your credit line. Keep your money. You owe me two hours of sex tonight and a whole day of sex with you and your girlfriend later in the week. If you agree, we can pull up on Vincent in the morning and get at Breno’s ass tomorrow night.”
She didn’t even have to think about it. “I think I can get my girl to join us one time.”
He said, “Breno’s ass is in a lot of fuckin’ trouble.”
Chapter 7
AT FOUR IN THE morning, Brian pulled out his driveway in his Yukon. He was now living in Acton, California, about sixty-five miles north of Los Angeles by highway. The 3-bedroom wooden home rested on two acres of land that had nice-looking trees for shade. The neighborhood was quiet, and the homes were cozy, nothing fancy, with plenty of space to separate them.
Brian and Janelle liked 807 Kitner Road as a family home for LaRia and Trenae, their adorable little girls. The home was also perfect for Fraction, their 26-week-old German Shepherd, but the dog would be gone for the next eight weeks at a dog training school.
Brian called Echo but reached his voicemail. He said, “Teresa just got back at me. She can’t reach you but said you wanted info on Breno Riley. Specific info. Well, the DEA has him under investigation, so watch your step. His cell phone is in his girlfriend’s name, and it’s been tracked to the Tahoe Grove Inn. That’s in South Lake Tahoe, about fifty—something miles south of Reno, Nevada. Maybe he’s on a winter vacation, and I don’t know when he’ll return to either one of his houses.”
After only slowing for a stop sign at the end of his road he said,
“Let me know how the Vincent interview turn out; I’m meeting up with Derrick and Etceterra so we can grill Kale McFarland up in Ojai, California.”
Compton, California. Not the most beloved city in the United States, and nothing about it would attract a well-informed tourist. Even as Kiandra drove the Hyundai down Crenshaw Boulevard at 6:28 in the morning, a gunshot could be heard afar. Then another. Heroin addicts sparsely dotted the Boulevard, and several drug deals were taking place at stopped cars and in open view.
Kiandra was numb to the scenery. She was, after all, a resident of Watts, a southern Los Angeles community that might as well have been an extension of Compton. After a few turns and zipping past dozens of dull-colored, small houses with very little yard room, she pulled into a driveway and stopped behind a Volkswagen Jetta. She got out of her vehicle dress in a Navy uniform. She was as clean as a high-ranking naval officer, shiny shoes and all.
Vincent Nichols was waiting for his partner when he saw the Hyundai arrive. When he saw the woman exit the vehicle his heart began beating faster. He knew she was bringing bad news about his younger brother, who was in the Navy. He felt as though he would break down at any moment. He met the officer at the front door and said, “What’s going on?”
“I’m trying to reach Mr. Vincent Nichols, the brother of Derron Nichols.”
He opened the storm door and said, “I just talked to my brother last night. Don’t give me no bad news, lady.”
She stepped closer to him and calmly drew a silenced handgun from beneath her uniform-style jacket. “Back your ass inside, slowly.”
Echo sprang up from the backseat area of the Hyundai. He was wearing jeans, sneakers, and a black sweat shirt.
A crackhead across the street and two houses down was witnessing the whole scene from the side of his momma’s house.
Chapter 8
ECHO SAW THAT Kiandra still had Vincent at gunpoint in the front room, so he swiftly moved past them to check the rest of the house for occupants.
Kiandra kept the silenced gun aimed at Vincent while she continued to hold an index finger to her lips.
Echo returned to the front room and said, “We got a problem. The house is clear but there’s a guy a couple of houses down being a concerned citizen. I know he saw me, but I don’t know how long he’s been looking.”
She said, “We can’t make Vincent talk here.”
Vincent said, “What the fuck do y’all want, anyway?”
Echo said, “Shut up. Let me put this new plan together.”
“Nigga, fuck you!” Your ass better be out of here before my ride gets here.”
Kiandra lowered the gun and fired a single shot at his left leg.
Vincent flinched then looked down. The bullet pierced a pant leg. Echo eased her back with an arm. He, too, had a silenced gun in his hand. He said to Vincent, “You lucky you ain’t wearing no damn skinny jeans. Now, I understand you’re tough, Compton tough. But that smart mouth will definitely get your casket dropped. I got some simple questions for you about your cousin Shotglass.” years.”
“Man, I don’t know shit about Shotglass. I ain’t seen that nigga in Echo said to Kiandra, “Me and him taking the back door. Meet us on the next street over.”
Without a word, she left the house and headed for the Hyundai.
When she reached the driver’s door, a black man pulled up in a Ford Taurus, blocking her car in.
The black man got out and said to the woman in the naval uniform, “Something happened to Derron?”
“No. He’s fine. Could you please move your vehicle so I can leave?’
The crackhead two houses down and across the street shouted, “Concrete, don’t listen to that bitch. Her and another nigga went in the house and fucked Vincent up. The nigga is still in there.”
Concrete looked at her and said, “Oh, yeah?” He rushed back to his car for a gun.
Kiandra drew her handgun again and fired three shots at the runner, hitting him in both legs, sending him to the ground at the door of his car. She swung the gun around and fired three more shots at the crackhead.
The crackhead said, “Goddamn!” and dropped behind some small hedges. The three shots had all hit his momma’s house. He no longer believed he could earn something to smoke for his good deed.
Kiandra jumped in the Hyundai and started it up. She backed the car up as Concrete struggled to drag himself out of the way. She almost backed into the Taurus and had now realized enough space to leave. She cut the wheel hard to the left and drove a U-turn across the small front lawn. When her car hit the street she lowered the front passenger’s window; and as she blew past the crackhead’s house, she sent two more silenced shots at his ass.
Chapter 9
ECHO WAS RELIEVED to see the Hyundai. He was standing behind Vincent but was still gripping the silenced handgun that was tucked inside his front waistband. When the Hyundai stopped, Echo urged Vincent into the backseat area and then got in behind him.
Kiandra pulled off before the rear passenger’s door was closed.
Echo pulled the door shut then said, “Get to Highway 91 East and stop somewhere in Anaheim.”
She said, “Shouldn’t we change the plates back?”
“Damn! All I did was slap a magnetic plate over yours; pull it off when you get to that stop sign coming up. Make it quick.”
Vincent said, “Can’t y’all ask me whatever the fuck you gonna ask, and let me out?”
Echo shot the man in the thigh and heard him holler at an ear-damaging level. “That should answer your first question. Got another one?’
Silence. Vincent was clinching at his left thigh with both hands. “Now you’re starting to see who’s really controlling the conversation.”
Kiandra reached the stop sign. She was out of the car and back inside with the license plate in under eight seconds.
She sped away.
Echo watched Vincent’s blood ooze. He said to Kiandra, “Can you get me that long floor mat?’
She leaned over and grabbed the front passenger’s mat without taking her eyes off the road.
Echo took the mat and said to Vincent, “Put this under your leg. If you get blood on anything other than this mat, I’mma open your other thigh up and put your stupid ass out when she reach the highway’s speed limit.”
Vincent cocked his ass and injured leg up then pulled the mat underneath.
“Now let’s talk about your cousin, my favorite comedian.” Echo glanced back and saw no tails or police. “About three years ago, you stayed with Shotglass in Stockton. You was twenty-one and his address was on your driver’s license when you got it renewed. Why you stayed with him?”
“My momma died, if that’s alright with you.” Echo aimed the gun at Vincent’s other thigh.
“Wait, wait. Man, don’t shoot me no more. I’m answering your questions.”
“Keep them fuckin wrinkles out your tongue.” Echo stared at him with evil eyes. “How long you stayed with Shotglass?’
“Nine months and a week.”
“Tell me about the white girl he was fuckin’.”
“White girl? Which one? I saw him with two different white girls, but I don’t remember their names.”
Echo said, “You would remember the names if you heard them again, wouldn’t you?”
“Probably.”
“How about Ramona Hartley and Wendi Lambert?”
Vincent said, “Yeah. Them two bitches. I especially remember Wendi.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I fucked her, too. Nasty bitch. Do everything. Me and my cousin ran a train on that slut.”
“What about the other one? Ramona.”
“She was on some other shit. Shotglass fucked her but . . . maybe twice . . . she didn’t know what she wanted. He got rid of that bitch.”
“Got rid of her how?”
Vincent weighed the question. He grimaced at the pain in his thigh. “Wait. Something happened to that bitch? She suing Shotglass because he got money now?”
Kiandra saw him in the rearview mirror and said “You still asking questions?”
“No. That wasn’t a question. I was just . . . saying.” Echo said, “Why did you say Shotglass got rid of her?’
“Because he stopped fuckin’ her. He said she just wanted to try out a black man and that she wanted to get with a woman to see how that felt. Shotglass thought she was trying to give him AIDS or something.
He cut both of them bitches off. I hustled some money up, m
oved back to Compton. My brother didn’t like his dad, so he moved in with me.” Echo said, “You had to get shot over that little bit of information?” “Man, I thought y’all wanted to know how to get to my cousin so you could rob him because he’s big-time now. But he don’t even visit us no more.”
Kiandra said, “That’s because he ain’t foolish enough to come back to Compton.”
Chapter 10
KALE MCFARLAND was living well-off nowadays. His ranch-style home was an elegant two-story structure on the outskirts of Ojai. The spacious, breathtaking property fought hard to compete with the backdrop of the Ojai Valley. Fifty-five acres, some of which was having an affair with the San Rafael Mountains, used only one main road for automobile access. McFarland Road stretched three miles to Highway
150. The secluded home was a perfect getaway—up until now.
Kale was in his dining room sitting at a large cherry oak table with his wife. They were being questioned buy a sixty-year-old businessman names Jiang Wok, a Chinese whose English was about average. And why not? Jiang owned three different businesses in Chinatown of San Francisco and had been in the United States since 1978.
Jiang was pacing the dining room area with a gun in his hand while three of his henchmen were ransacking the big house. He said to Kale, “This is the era of YouTube. How can I be sure some photos from your goddamn phone won’t send me to prison for life?”
“Mr. Wok, I swear to you, I lost my phone two days ago. I never witnessed you killing Peterson. I’ve never lied to you in the two years I’ve worked for you.”
Jiang was a small man, and his black suit made him look even smaller. He said to Kale’s wife, “Do you have any idea where your husband might have lost his phone?”
“No, sir. The other day he told me he’d lost it or maybe left it at the dry cleaners.”
