“I’m sorry. What? Who grabbed who from where?”
“I’m sorry. This is Lucille Washington. I’m at Baptist Memorial Hospital and I just witnessed my—Mason Lewis—being kidnapped by a group of thugs.”
Oh shit. I race over to my chest of drawers and pull out clothes. “Do you know who grabbed him? Were you able to make out any faces?”
“No. No. It all happened so fast.”
Shit. “What about the vehicle. Did you catch a license plate or get a good description?”
She cries. “No. Oh my God. They are probably going to kill him, aren’t they? Oh God!”
“Mrs. Washington, please. Calm down. You probably know a lot more than you think you know.” I hop into a pair of panties and then slap on a bra. “You said thugs grabbed him. Do you remember how many?”
Silence.
“Mrs. Washington, are you still there?”
“Yes. Um. There were three guys who jumped out of the SUV. They were wearing suits. And—”
“Suits?”
“Yes. Suits. But I think it was a woman behind the wheel. I’m not one hundred percent certain, but I’m fairly sure.”
“Okay. Okay. Good.” I shimmy on a pair of black jeans and grab a white T-shirt. “Now what kind of vehicle were they driving?” I ask because it’s a standard question. I already know that the answer will be a black SUV, so I’m stunned when Lucille’s answer is a silver Mercedes SUV. I freeze. “I’m sorry. What was that?”
Lucille repeats her answer.
There’s only one gangster rolling around in an expensive car like that: Diesel Carver.
“Okay, Lucille. I may have a hunch. Let me call you back,” I holster my weapon.
“Are you sure? How long will it be before you get here?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll call you back.” I race out of my bedroom and up the hall. But once I reach the living room my strides slow. Why is the balcony door open? A noise behind me has me diving to my left without turning around. Before I hit the floor, I do manage to spin my body around with my weapon in hand.
The dark figure blasts two shots.
I return fire.
“Aargh!” The figure falls back but doesn’t drop.
I fire again.
My intruder crashes against the brick wall, his arms flail and knock Drake’s urn off the shelf over the fireplace. It tips over and clunks my intruder over the head. He finally hits the floor.
I stare at the figure, stunned.
Then someone else is moving—running—back toward the balcony.
“Freeze!”
The second intruder keeps moving.
Pow! Pow!
“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot,” a woman screams. I make a move to the light switch. When the lights flick on, I’m stunned shitless to be staring into a face I know. “Officer Hendrix?” With my gun still trained on her, I turn my head toward the motionless form on the floor.
The dead body of Lieutenant John Fowler.
65
Mack
Germantown
“How did it go?” I ask Profit when he climbs back into the car.
“Do you see the patrol car?” he snaps. “How the fuck do you think it went?”
I glance back to the backseat where Romil gives me the I told you to stay out of it look.
“What did she say?” I press.
“Just drive,” he snaps. “I want to get as far away from this place as possible.” Profit slumps down in his seat and turns his solemn face toward the passenger-side window.
“Did you—”
“Drive, goddamn it! Stop asking me so many damn questions. Are you writing a book?”
I’m not accustomed to having muthafuckas yell at me. I reel in my temper. I have to cut the young pup some slack; he’s in a lot of pain right now.
Starting the car, I, look up at the house a final time. Ta’Shara is in front of her bedroom window. “Oh. There she is,” I point out.
Profit doesn’t look. “Drive.”
This was a bad idea. It had taken me days to get Profit to agree to bring Ta’Shara her stuff, and all my work was for nothing.
“Take me to the hospital,” Profit says. “I want to check on Mason and Willow before we head home.”
I bob my head. Profit makes it a point to check in on his brother every night. Their bond is strong. I’d imagine that it’s hard to be strong for other people when you’re falling apart yourself. During this time he’s trying to show support for Fat Ace’s current situation, but who’s got him?
“How long have you known?”
“How long have I known what?”
“Kill the dumb act,” Profit snaps, turning away from the dark scenery outside of his window. “You know that Ta’Shara is crippled. That’s the whole reason you set this shit up. Well, I know now. Happy? That shit doesn’t change anything. She treats me like something stuck to her . . . fucking wheelchair. She’s doesn’t want to have anything to do with me!”
Romil pipes up. “Maybe she’s just scared. I know that I would be.”
The car falls silent.
Romil continues, “Maybe we should talk to her again. See where her head is at?”
“No,” Profit snaps. “She’s made her decision and how I feel doesn’t factor into shit. She wants me out of her life, then good riddance. No more begging from me and no more cock-blocking from you. Are we clear?”
Silence.
“Are we clear?” he thunders.
“Clear,” Romil and I answer.
But in my head, the wheels are turning.
66
Lucille
“Please hurry. Hurry.” I keep my eyes peeled on the hospital’s parking deck for any sign of Captain Hawkins or the police. My heart races like crazy. Somehow I got to keep it together. The other Vice Lords who were strategically placed around the hospital are now all having a shit fit.
The Mason grab happened so fast that none of them were at the right place at the right time.
Two patrol cars turn into the parking lot. I struggle to push myself up out of my chair in the main lobby. The hospital security guard beats me out of the sliding doors and relays my version of events to the police.
A white officer with a bulging belly and skinny legs rolls his eyes before the security guard finishes with his briefing. The cop’s partner, an equally fat African American man, shifts his attention to me as I reach the group.
“Are you the witness in this kidnapping, ma’am?”
“Yes. Yes, I am,” I tell him. “It all happened so fast.”
“We have it on surveillance video,” the guard says, cutting me off.
This is the first I hear of any of this being on video.
“Can we take a look?” the white cop asks.
“We got it all cued up and ready to go for you,” the guard informs them.
Everyone bobs their heads and proceeds to follow the security guard, myself included, until Profit walks through the door.
The Vice Lord soldiers spot him and gather around him.
“Wait. What?”
I pull up from following the officers just as Mason’s men point toward me.
“Ms. Lucille,” Profit calls, rushing toward me. “What’s this about my brother being snatched out in the parking lot? By who?”
“I don’t know,” I tell him. “There were four people in a Mercedes and—”
“A Mercedes?” he questions. “What kind of Mercedes?”
“A silver one, but it was like a SUV.”
“A GL class?” he asks.
“Oh, baby. I have no idea. I recognized the emblem. The three men were in suits and I believe the driver was a woman.” I jut my thumb over my shoulder. “I called that nice captain of police. She said that she was on her way over. But the hospital also called the police and—”
“That’s okay. I think I may have an idea who has him.” He turns and runs out of the hospital.
67
Hydeya
It’s st
range to call the police to my own house. It’s even stranger to see everyone’s expression when they recognize the dead body lying on my living room floor. But the good thing about capturing Officer Hendrix alive is that there is collaborative testimony about her and Fowler breaking into my home. With the department knowing how Fowler and I have been going at it, my word alone might not have been good enough.
However, when Hendrix is pressed to explain their motivation for trying to kill me, she clams up and refuses to speak without her lawyer. It takes everything I have to not bash in this bitch’s brains.
“What are you doing with that?” I ask an officer on the forensic team.
He blinks up at me while holding Drake’s urn. “I’m packing it. It may be the actual murder weapon.”
“It’s justified homicide. Self-defense,” I remind him.
He swallows hard. He doesn’t know how to respond to that. Chief Brown is en route and I keep dialing my father’s cell and praying each time for him to pick up.
“Yeah,” he answers, agitated.
“Dad!” I turn my back to the forensic team.
“Dad?” he questions. “Who is this? And what have you done to my daughter?”
“Look, Dad. I don’t have time to fuck around. I need you to check out a hunch.”
“Excuse me? First you arrest me and now you want me to help you with your hunches?”
I ignore the sarcasm. “Fat Ace has been kidnapped.”
Silence.
“Dad? Are you still there?” I plug a finger into one ear in hopes I can hear better.
“Really,” Isaac follows up. “Couldn’t have happened to a better guy. Look, I have another problem—”
“Dad, you got to go over there and help him.”
“Now I know that you’ve lost your mind. That muthafucka—”
“Dad.” I take a deep breath. “He’s your son!”
Silence.
“Dad?”
“What are you talking about, Hydeya? I’ve already heard some of this nonsense from Python . . . Are you telling me he’s right?”
“Mason Lewis is Mason Carver—and according to your wife’s letter and the DNA test I had run, he’s your son. Your blood flows through him as much as it flows through me. I don’t need to know all the particulars. It’s true. You got to find Diesel and stop him before it’s too late.”
Silence.
“Dad?”
“Diesel has Mason?”
“Isaac, I wouldn’t bullshit about something like this.”
“Fuck. I gotta go.”
“Go where, Dad? Where would Diesel take him?’
Silence.
“Dad, please!”
Click.
68
Nefertiti
Club Diesel
“I know you’re not planning to smoke this fool before I get a go at his ass.”
Everyone’s head whips around to Python’s imposing reptilian figure. He steps forward from his two bodyguards, June Bug and Kane.
“Cuz.” Diesel lowers the weapon from Fat Ace’s bleeding face. “What are you doing here?”
“You made such a big stink about the hit on your club, I came by to see the damage for myself.” He stops and looks around. “You’re right. Looks like the Vice Lords fucked your shit up pretty good.”
Diesel steps back while Bullet moves forward. I watch this with growing dread. Nothing about this shit feels right.
Python’s black gaze locks onto Fat Ace. “I gotta hand it to you, your ass did the impossible and captured this piece of shit gangster.”
Diesel lifts his chin. “I was handling some business that has nothing to do with you.”
Python nods and then strips off his black T-shirt, cracks his neck and then his knuckles. “I call dibs. I’ve been wanting to get at this muthafucka for years.”
Unbelievably, Fat Ace rolls his bloody head around and laughs. However, it’s not a normal laugh. The sound is demonic as hell and gets my skin crawling. I look around to find an escape route.
Diesel appears to be at a loss for words. He wants to handle this shit himself, but doesn’t want to step on the wrong toes.
Fat Ace’s laughter dies down. He locks his disturbing, mismatched eyes on Python. “Give me all you got.”
Python charges. “Aaargh!”
Fat Ace climbs to his feet as Diesel steps out of the way.
Bam!
Python hits Fat Ace with a full body tackle, knocking Fat Ace to the floor. Fists fly as the men send blow after blow upon each other. The soldiers circle around like they are in a Thunderdome cage. Cheers go up for each punch Python lands on the muscular giant.
I duck, flinch, and mumble “Jesus” a few times, but I can’t look away. Before long Diesel smiles and joins the cheering crowd.
For a time, Fat Ace rallies, knocking the wind—if not the holy hellfire—out of Python. Frankly, I’ve never seen a man with fists the size that Fat Ace slings around. Each time those boulders crash against Python’s chest, side, or face, I wonder how the fuck Diesel’s cousin is even breathing.
“They’re going to kill each other,” I whisper.
Somehow Python gets the tide to turn back in his favor. Before anyone knows it, he rains punches like a souped-up machine.
Soon, Fat Ace doesn’t look like he can take much more. The energy goes out of the man. It’s as if he’s decided to stop fighting, as if he figures he has nothing to live for.
“C’mon. C’mon. Fight,” I urge.
Diesel twists his head in my direction.
I shrug, as if answering his silent question: Why am I rooting for a man he was going to kill himself? The truth is that I really don’t know, other than I always tend to root for the underdog.
That is, until another wave of soldiers, all flagging black and gold, burst in with a hail of bullets.
The Vice Lords.
Pow! Pow! Pow!
Rat-a-tat-tat-tat
Alarmed, we look up at the gold-and-black-flagging soldiers spilling into the club. My heart leaps into my throat. I spin around, wanting to get out. There’s no chance of that. The exit I’d mentally selected bursts open—more men carrying scary weapons.
“Aww. Shit.” I back up into Diesel. “Tell me that you have a plan to get us out of this shit.”
He grunts as our own people lock in around us. Had we been in Atlanta, no doubt we would be on solid footing and would stand a better chance going head-to-head with any of these sets.
Within the Thunderdome circle, Fat Ace and Python stop fighting. Both look like hell.
A young man steps forward, a cute young thang.
“Profit,” Diesel growls, eyeballing the kid.
“What? Him?” I squint. “Are you sure?”
Diesel’s cold gaze follows the kid’s every move. I place my hand over his hand that’s holding the gun, and shake my head.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Profit boasts. “Our invitation must’ve gotten lost in the mail.” He smiles.
He’s a cutie.
The Vice Lords outnumber the Gangster Disciples. What’s going to happen next?
“Bruh, you all right?” Profit asks.
Fat Ace nods, swiping blood from his mouth. “Yeah.” He struggles to his feet but with an open kneecap, it’s damn near impossible. But then he drives a punch across Python’s jaw. Blood sprays across the floor.
“Fuck you, nigga!”
Python laughs. “You’re a big man now. If your little brother hadn’t come to rescue your ass, I’d pound you into the ground. You killed my aunt, asshole. As long as I have breath in my body, I’m coming after you for that shit. Believe that.”
Fat Ace laughs.
Diesel whispers, “We have to get the fuck out of here.”
“You have a trap door that I don’t know about?” I ask.
Fat Ace’s laughter titters out. “We’ve been beefing a long time,” he starts. “We dropped a lot of bodies over the years; all for different reasons and advantages. I have
no problem owning up to the shit that I’ve done. The one thing that I didn’t do was kill your precious aunt.”
“You mean our aunt, don’t you?” Python hisses. “You can change your last name if you want, but we both know that we have some of the same blood coursing through our veins, bruh.”
The club erupts with buzzing whispers. Everyone struggles to keep up with the damn conversation.
Fat Ace’s lip twitches. “Yeah, bruh. Our aunt.” He looks around the room. “You heard that right, guys. The world’s worst secret: Terrell—mind if I call you Terrell?” He plows ahead without waiting for a reply. “Terrell and I are brothers. Blood brothers. We were both born to a crack-addicted prostitute who, in my case, didn’t know the difference between a baby’s bed and an oven. Fuck her. And fuck you. It takes more than blood to make someone family. See that boy over there?” He points to Profit. “He’s my real brother. We don’t share a single strand of DNA between the two of us. You, on the other hand, don’t mean shit to me. But I still did not kill our aunt Peaches. She was already shot when I arrived.”
“Liar!”
“Why the fuck would I lie? Look around. My soldiers have you surrounded.”
A new voice booms into the room. “I wouldn’t say completely surrounded.”
Every head turns as King Isaac and a new wave of Gangster Disciple soldiers pour in from another door.
“Aww shit.” I move closer to Diesel, only to find that he’s no longer standing there.
Weapons come up and my ass crouches on the floor.
“HOLD YOUR FIRE,” King Isaac commands, and both Vice Lords and Gangster Disciples heed his words. Once it’s clear that not a single bullet is about to be fired, King Isaac walks down the center of the club, straight toward Fat Ace and Python. Once he’s in front of Fat Ace, everyone expects Isaac to take a swing, but instead he takes his time walking around and staring the man up and down.
Fat Ace lifts his head.
“You know already, don’t you?” King Isaac asks.
Fat Ace doesn’t respond.
“Yeah. You know,” Isaac concludes.
“Know what?” Python asks, looking confused.
Isaac draws a deep breath. “That I’m his father.”
Queen Divas Page 27
