by Askari
No response.
He looked to his right and couldn’t believe his eyes. Rahmello was stretched out on the back seat, and his trench coat was covered in blood. His eyes were rolled into the back of his head and he wasn’t moving. “Naw brozay! Not you too!” Sonny shouted as he pushed Zaire out of his way and knelt down beside him.
Upon hearing this, his mother, grandmother, and Daphney got up from the floor and rushed to his side. Annie checked Rahmello’s pulse, and then looked at Sonny. “He’s still breathing,” she cried. “But we need to hurry up and get him to the hospital.”
Sonny gathered his composure and once again looked out the back window. He spotted two police officers running in their direction, and then he looked at Zaire who was stashing their weapons in the van’s hidden compartment. The back door swung open and he was greeted by the barrel of a 9 mm. “Show me your fuckin’ hands!” The first of the two police officers shouted.
Sonny held up his hands in a defenseless posture and quickly pleaded his case, “Yo my family’s in here. This was my pop’s funeral and my lil’ brother got shot.”
The officer peeked his head inside of the van and saw Rahmello stretched out on the backseat with his head cradled in Annie’s lap. He also spotted Daphney who was consoling a crying Keyonti, and Sonny’s grandmother who was holding Dayshon. He lowered his firearm and activated the walkie talkie that was clipped to his left shoulder. “We need an EMT at the Baker Funeral Home on Broad Street. We have a victim who’s suffering from a gunshot wounds and he needs medical assistance.”
***
In the midst of the drama, Agent Brown, acting on the orders of Agent Long was crouched down in the backseat of the Excursion. When she realized that the gunfire had stopped, she peaked out of the window and spotted a crowd of police officers scattered throughout the block. Two of the police officers were standing beside Sonny’s Sprinter van. Cautiously, she climbed out of the Excursion and made her way toward the van.
As she approached the vehicle, the two police officers looked at her skeptically. The younger of the two held up his right hand and motioned for her to stay away. “Ma’am, this is a crime scene. You need to back up.”
***
Up the block, sitting in the McDonald’s parking lot, Poncho, Estaban, and Chee-Chee were shocked and confused. Between the shooters on the motorcycles and the shooters who hopped out of the MPV and the white Maybach they were completely dumbfounded.
Poncho looked at Estaban and asked him, “Was dat ju work?”
“Nah papi, I don’t know what’s goin’ on,” he quickly answered.
Poncho gritted his teeth, and then looked in the backseat where Chee-Chee was sitting with a blank expression on his face. In his right hand, he was holding a cell phone that was programmed to detonate the bomb that was placed in the cargo compartment of Easy’s hearse. Poncho looked down the block and spotted a beautiful Black and Asian woman walking toward the van that was carrying Sonny and his family. He then reverted his gaze back to Chee-Chee and slowly nodded his head. The frail Columbian held up the cell phone and pressed the CALL button.
***
“Ma’am this is a crime scene. You need to back up,” said the police officer.
Sonny looked at him. “Naw, she’s okay. That’s just Suelyn, my accountant.”
She ignored the police officer and looked directly at Sonny. “Is everybody okay?”
“Naw Sue, them pussies shot Mello.”
“Well is there any—”
Ka-Boom!
The unexpected blast lifted the hearse off of the ground and sent shards of metal flying through the air. The effects of the blast were so devastating that it shattered the Sprinter van’s windows and rocked the large vehicle from side to side.
Sonny and his family dropped to the floor as the broken glass covered their bodies. Dark smoke filled the van, and the intensive heat from the blast made them feel as though they were trapped inside of a sauna. Their eyes were burning and their eardrums were ringing. Dayshon and Keyonti were coughing and gagging and Sonny was livid.
Thump!
A large object slammed into the roof of the van and everyone ducked for cover. Sonny looked around and to his astonishment nobody was hurt during the blast. In the corner of his right eye, he saw something dangling in the crushed frame of the back window. He took a closer look and sadly he shook his head. A flaming Christian Louboutin pump that was connected to a burning leg was hanging off the back of the roof. It was then that realized the source of the loud thump. It was Suelyn’s dead body.
Chapter Twenty- Four
Later That Night...
At The Eaglesville Rehabilitation Center
Aside from Nahfisah and the black woman who was sitting in the corner nodding off from a methone shot, the recreation room was empty. Nahfisah was sitting in front of the television, flicking through the channels when a picture of Easy appeared on the screen. She turned up the volume and listened closely.
“This was the funeral of Ervin Easy Moreno,” said a young white woman. She was standing in front of The Baker Funeral Home, and the microphone she held in her right hand prominently displayed the Channel 9 logo. Her curly blonde hair was slightly blowing in the wind, and the bright lights from her camera crew illuminated her tanned face. “According to the Philadelphia Police Department, Ervin Moreno, an alleged drug kingpin, was the victim in a gangland murder. A week ago, Philadelphia police officers, responding to a 911 call, discovered a burning Jaguar on the corner of 5th and Cumberland. Upon further investigation, they discovered Mr. Moreno’s dead body in the trunk of the car. He was badly burned and multiple gunshot wounds covered his face and chest.”
She positioned herself in front the decimated Mercedes hearse, and continued her broadcast. “Unfortunately, the violence surrounding his death carried over to his grieving family. According to eyewitness reports, after his casket was placed in the back of this hearse, his family was ambushed by a gang of shooters who were riding on motorcycles. An estimated two hundred and fifty rounds of gunfire rained down on his family, who were sitting in this Mercedes Sprinter Van,” she said as she gestured toward the taped off vehicle. “In the aftermath of the shooting, a bomb that was secretly stashed in the cargo of Mr. Moreno’s hearse, was detonated, killing fedearal agent Monica Brown. A total of nineteen people were injured during the ambush, with six of them, including Agent Brown, being pronounced dead at the scene. It was also confirmed that Mr. Moreno’s son was critically wounded during the attack.
This is Jessica Summers, reporting to you live from North Philadelphia. Back to you Herm.”
Nahfisah dropped the remote control and shook her head in disbelief. “No,” she whispered to herself. “This can’t be right.” She assumed the reporter was referring to Sonny, and her blood began to boil. Her yellow face became a flustered bergundy and warm tears flowed from her blue eyes. As she broke down crying and slumped to the floor, the only thing she could think about was the first time she'd met her big brother.
February 1st, 1996
Nahfisah was laying in her bed watching Martin, when she heard someone outside of her window crying. She climbed out of the bed and looked out of the window. Across the street, a little boy was leaned against the fence that lined the basketball court. She squinted her eyes to get a better look, and noticed that the little boy was the new kid from school. She tied a scarf around her head, and then went outside to check on him. She walked across the street and entered the basketball cage. As she walked toward him, she noticed that his hand was bleeding.
“Are you okay?” she asked in a soft voice.
“Yeah,” Sonny lowered his head. “I’m a’ight.”
“You don’t look a’ight.” She pointed at his left hand. “You’re bleeding.”
He looked at his hand and spotted a gash between his thumb and index finger. She grabbed his hand and examined it closely.
“Eeeewwww, that’s a nasty cut.” She scrunched up her face and released his h
and. “Come on.” She turned around and began walking toward the opening in the fence. “Follow me to my house so I can clean your hand and get you a BandAid.”
“Naw I’m good,” he quickly replied. “What I look like going over your house? I don’t even know you.”
She stopped walking and spun around to face him. She placed her hand on her bony hip and snapped her neck sistagirl style.
“Boy, you better stop playin’ wit’ me. My name is Nahfisah Thompson and your name is Sontino Moreno. I know that’s your name ‘cause you’re the new boy at my school. All the girls at my school know your name. So there, now we know each other. She grabbed him by his wounded hand and led him inside of her row house.
After grabbing a bottle of peroxide and a box of BandAids, she grabbed his hand and began the process of cleaning his wound.
“Nahfisah,” her grandmother said as she entered tbe living room. “Chil’, whatchu down here doin’?” She pointed at Sonny. “And who is this boy?”
“This is Sontino, granny. He’s a friend from school,” she quickly replied in an innocent voice. “He cut his hand and I was putting a BandAid on it.”
Her grandmother looked back and forth between Nahfisah and Sonny. “Humph, you hurry on up then get back to bed. You got school in the mornin’.”
“Yes ma’am.”
As her grandmother went back upstairs Sonny said, “Damn, ya grandmom look mean as shit.”
Nahfisah laughed at him. “Naw she’s okay. She’s been takin’ care of me every since my mom started runinn’ the streets.”
After she thoroughly cleaned his wound and covered it with a BandAid, she led him to the front door. She asked him, “Will I see you at school tomorrow?”
He looked at his bandaged hand, and then stared into her blue eyes. “Yeah I’m goin’, but you’re chillin’ wit’ me at recess.”
She giggled. “We can chill. I’m warning you, Sontino, you better not go around sayin’ I’m your girlfriend. ‘Cause if you do,” she smiled at him and waved her fist in front of his face. “I’ma sock you in the eye!”
Sonny laughed at her. “Girl, you better get outta here.”
As she closed the door behind him, her grandmother her from the second floor. “Nahfisah!”
“Yes granny!”
“Come on up here. I need to talk to you.”
“Okay,” she replied, and then ran up the stairs. She walked inside of her grandmother‘s room and plopped down on the bed. “What’s up granny?”
The old woman looked at her, and then reached forward to straighten out her scarf. “It’s about that boy,” she said. “Don’t you go around callin’ ya’self likin’ him.”
Nahfisah blushed. “Granny, I don’t like that boy.”
“Umm hmm. That’s whatcha mouth say. I seen the way you was lookin’ at him, and I’m tellin’ you right now you don’t be likin’ that boy!”
Nahfisah was confused. “But why?”
“Because,” her grandmother mother stated with authority. “That lil’ boy is ya brother.”
“My brother?”
“Umm hmm. Y’all got the same good for nothin’ daddy. That goddamn Easy Moreno.”
“Easy Moreno?” Nahfisah said. “I heard my mama sayin’ that name before. He’s my daddy?”
“Umm hmm. But don’t you go around sayin’ nothin’, ya hear? That’s one of those things we just don’t talk about.”
Nahfisah began to cry. “But if he’s my brother and we he got the same daddy, shouldn’t I tell him?”
Her grandmother shook her head. “Didn’t I just tell you that’s one of those things we don’t talk about?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Good. Now go to bed. You got school in the mornin’.”
Back To 2014
“Nahfisah! Are you okay?”
She looked up and saw her counselor, Ms. Mary, rushing toward her. The Puerto Rican woman knelt down beside her and pushed the hair out of her face. “Sweetie, what’s the matter?”
Nahfisah sobbed and pointed at the television. “Somebody killed my dad, and now they’re try’na kill my brother!”
***
At Poncho’s New Jersey Estate
Olivia was lying on her bed crying her eyes out. She’d just finished watching the six o’clock news, and the segment about Rahmello and his family left her completely unglued.
“Papi did this. I know it,” she sobbed into her pillow.
The night before she called Rahmello and told him that not only did she decide to keep their baby, but that she would also marry him. In turn he insisted that she tell Poncho about their relationship. After disconnecting the call she went straight to her parent’s bedroom and told them about Rahmello and the baby.
Poncho was furious. He was already debating on whether he should kill the rest of Easy’s family to avoid any possible retaliation, and now that Olivia confirmed his suspicions about her and Rahmello, he vowed to show no mercy. Disgusted, he contacted Estaban and Chee-Chee. He instructed them to meet him at his bodega in North Philly, and together they devised a plan to ambush Easy’s funeral and kill his entire family in the process.
Marisol, Olivia’s mother, was walking down the hallway when she heard the cries of her daughter. She placed her ear against the door. “Oli, its mami. I’m coming in.”
She opened the door, and found Olivia curled up on the bed. She sat down beside her and rubbed her back. “Just give him some time, Oli. Ju papi is as stubborn as a mule, but when it comes to ju, he can be as soft as cotton,” she consoled her only daughter. “He only wants de best for ju.”
“I hate him mami! I hate him so much!” she whined, unaware that Poncho was walking down the hallway a couple of feet from her door. He stopped walking and stormed inside of her room.
“So ju hate me?” he shouted, catching her and Marisol off guard. “Ju ungrateful bitch of a daughter!” He ran toward her and snatched her off the bed by her hair. “Ju are a disgrace to dis family and I want ju outta my house!” he continued shouting while dragging her toward the hallway.
“Adios mio! Mami help me!” Olivia screamed. She reached out and wrapped her hands around Marisol’s ankle. “Help me mami! Please!”‘
Poncho pulled on her hair with all of his might. The force was so strong that her soft hair ripped from the scalp and he fell into the hallway. Marisol ran toward him and pleaded for the safety of her daughter and grandchild. “Poncho please! Dis is ju daughter. She’s carrying a baby!”
Her words only added fuel to the fire. The thought of his only daughter lying with a black man made him want to scream. He jumped to his feet and quickly removed the leather belt from his trousers.
“Poncho please,” Marisol begged him for mercy. “What are ju doing? Dis is ju daughter!”
Whack!
The leather belt landed across Marisol’s face, and she crumbled to the floor.
“Dis is all ju fault!” Poncho shouted as he stood over top of her. “Ju raised dis little whore!”
“But Poncho,” she cried.
Whack!
He landed another strike and Marisol curled up in the fetal position. The pain was intense, but she was more than willing to take the whipping rather than watch her daughter be subjected to his anger.
Estaban walked inside of the house, and immediately heard the commotion on the second floor. He ran up the spiral staircase, and saw his father whipping his mother. He ran toward Poncho and tackled him to the floor. “Papi, calm down!” he pleaded with his father. “We have big trouble!”
Marisol got up from the floor, and then quickly locked her and Olivia inside of the bedroom. Poncho stood to his feet, and looked at Estaban skeptically. “What are ju talking about,” he quickly inquired. “Trouble like what?”
“The bomb,” Estaban blurted out. “That woman who died from the bomb was a federal agent. Papi, we need to leave,” he suggested while back peddling toward the spiral staircase. “Uncle Juan is at the airport waiting for us. He’s takin
’ us back to Columbia.”
***
At The Aramingo Diner
Agent Long was sitting in the last booth with a blank expression on his face. After the funeral, he received a call from Clavenski telling him to meet him at the diner. Apparently, he wanted to speed up the indictment on Sonny and Grip. He insisted they go over a few details before presenting their case to the grand jury that following Monday.
As he sat there sipping on a glass of root beer, the only thing he could think about was the ambush at Easy’s funeral. Images of the man who fell off the back of the second motorcycle made his blood boil. He could have sworn the bullets that he fired into the man’s back was enough to kill him, but unfortunately he was wrong. The entire scene was running through his mind in slow motion. He aimed. He squeezed his trigger.
Muzzle flash. Boc!
Muzzle flash. Boc!
Muzzle flash. Boc!
The man fell off the back of the motorcycle. He fixed his aim on the fleeing rider, and squeezed his trigger.
Muzzle flash. Boc!
Muzzle flash. Boc!
He heard Sonny shouting at him. His words chopped and screwed like a mixtape from Houston, Texas. “Yooo Keeev, waaatch yaaa baaack brooo!”
He glanced to his left. The man that he shot off the motorcycle was aiming an Uzi in his direction. Sonny fired his FNH.
Muzzle flash. Doom! Doom! Doom!
The tinted visor on the man’s helmet exploded. His body jerked. His muscles released. His head lollied to the side. He was dead.
“Damn,” he whispered. He hated the fact that he was deceiving the man who undoubtedly saved his life, but he had no choice. He had a job to do and his every intention was to fulfill his obligation. As he gulped down the rest of his root beer, his cell phone vibrated on the table.
