Authors: Sabrina A. Eubanks
Chase looked at him. “Yeah, J.T.? You’re probably right, but I don’t feel like hearin’ that shit
right now, so go fuck yourself…and I sincerely mean that too.”
J.T. chuckled richly. “Your anger’s misdirected. It ain’t me you’re mad at. It’s Cyrus.”
Chase felt like punching him just because he was right. “I’m mad at your ass, too, with all that
Black Yoda shit. Shut the fuck up, J.T., and drive the car.”
J.T. sighed heavily. “Forgive you I do, Grasshopper.”
“Grasshopper wasn’t
in
fuckin’
Star Wars
! Now please shut up so I can get my shit together. I got
unfinished business to deal with.”
J.T. laughed and pulled a chicken-fried ghetto accent. “I’s sorry, homey. I was just tryina help
you out, son. That’s my word.”
Chase smiled in spite of himself. J.T. knew him well, and he was just trying to keep him from
falling down the rabbit hole. “Just drive the car, man.”
“All right.”
They got to Ricky’s faster than Chase thought they would, and he sat silently for a moment,
watching the people drift in and out. He didn’t see anyone he knew personally. There were one or
two he’d seen around, and the rest seemed unfamiliar, but that was just on the outside. “All right,
J.T., park in the middle of the next block. I might be a minute.”
“No problem, boss.”
Chase got out of the car and pulled his cap down. He pushed the bar door open and stepped
inside. He was instantly grateful for the dim lighting. He sat at the end of the bar and ordered a
Rémy,
straight up. He could see the entire room from that vantage point, and he spotted Post right
away. His target was snuggled up in the corner with two hoes Chase wouldn’t have touched if they
were the last pieces of ass on Earth.
Chase sipped his drink slowly and watched Post go through two rounds of drinks. After a while,
the inevitable happened: Post stood, swayed a bit, and headed for the bathroom on his wobbly
drunk-ass legs. Chase smiled a little as he realized as piss drunk as Post was, he was about to be
stone-cold sober. Chase got up and followed him into the restroom.
Post pushed the door open without ever turning around, and Chase stepped in right behind him,
his eyes giving the room the onceover to make sure they were alone. Even though there was no
one else in there at the moment, Chase knew he had to move fast; in a place like that, people had
to take a piss far too often. Post staggered to a urinal and pulled out his equipment just as Chase
reached into his pocket and pulled out his razor. Strangely—and much to his relief—Chase didn’t
feel any of the thrill he’d felt earlier when he made a butcher block out of Mooch. He just wanted
the whole thing to be over, and he silently cursed Cyrus again for getting him mixed up in it in the
first place.
He stepped up to Post, stood just behind him, and opened his razor. He never opened his mouth;
his razor did all the talking. Chase slid it across Post’s throat in one brisk motion. Post’s hands
flew up as he desperately tried to keep his blood where it belonged, but he failed. Blood jetted and
sprayed across the bathroom in bright red splashes, and Chase watched Post collapse to the floor
and start dying in earnest. Post was looking at him, clutching his ruined throat, and Chase just
stared back at him coldly. “I hope it was worth it,” he said plainly and walked out of the bathroom
and straight out of the bar.
He didn’t run. Instead, he walked to his idling car like he was out for a stroll. He casually
removed his jacket and folded it with the inside facing out since he was sure there was some back-
spray on the sleeve.
J.T. saw him coming and got out of the car. He had the first pair of gloves that they’d put in the
Ziploc in his hand. He opened the trunk and took out a small garbage bag. Chase pulled off the
gloves he was wearing and put them in the garbage bag, along with the jacket. J.T. added the first
set of gloves and tied the top of the bag into a knot. He reached back into the trunk and took out a
roll of duct tape, wearing latex gloves himself. He gave Chase the keys and got into the passenger
seat. Chase got in on the driver’s side, started the car, and pulled out.
“Everything okay?” J.T. asked, wrapping the garbage bag with the duct tape.
“All smooth, J.T., but I don’t really feel like talkin’ about it. Sorry.”
J.T. nodded and continued wrapping the bag. “It’s okay. I understand.”
Chase drove down DeKalb to Broadway, then took the Williamsburg Bridge into Manhattan.
He turned onto FDR Drive and took it to Avenue C, where J.T. got out and dropped the wrapped
package in a garbage can in Stuyvesant Square Park. When J.T. got back in, Chase took the car
up Broadway to 91
st
Street and Central Park West. He stopped a block from J.T.’s posh condo and
killed the engine.
“You okay?” J.T. asked.
Chase barely heard him as he threw the door open. He only made it as far as the back tire before
he started puking his guts out, barely missing his sneakers. He vaguely heard J.T. get out of the car.
He couldn’t believe he was tossing his cookies in the street like a little kid, and he couldn’t seem
to stop. He threw up until there was nothing left but bile, and he coughed and brought that up too.
When he was done, he folded his arms on the roof of the car and put his head down. His whole
midsection hurt, and he still felt like he might start dry heaving.
“You okay
now
, man?” J.T. asked across the roof.
Chase picked his head up and ran his hand over his face. “I guess. I don’t know where the hell
that came from.”
“Sure you do,” J.T. said and rolled a bottle of water to him. “Here…rinse and spit.”
Chase did as he was told and when he finished, he felt better.
“Did you get any on you?” J.T. asked.
Chase laughed wryly, without much humor. “Nah. I’m a master at avoiding the splash-back. I
make it my business not to get any on me.”
J.T. looked at him like he didn’t find any of it funny. “You gonna be okay gettin’ home?”
“I’m okay. I guess I just needed to sick that shit up.”
“I know the shit you
really
need to sick up. His name is Cyrus,” J.T. said quietly. “Man, you need
to change your life while you still can. The brass ring is within your reach, but you’ll never be able
to grab it long as you keep fuckin’ around with Cyrus. You know that as well as I do.”
“Yeah, you’re right, J.T.”
J.T. smiled at him sadly. “I know I am, but me being right won’t make you listen to me, will
it? Even
now
, you’re loyal to Cyrus—even when it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see that he
couldn’t give a serious fuck less about you and Corey. But I understand. You keep hoping he will.
You always have. But I got news for you, Chase…Cyrus will never change. I don’t believe it’s in
him to clean up his act. I’d say he’ll die that way, but he’s already dead—at least his soul is.”
Chase nodded slowly. “I think you may be on to something, J.T.”
They got back in the car and drove the block to J.T.’s place. J.T. started to get out but then
changed his mind. He turned to look at Chase. “You know, Chase, you and me been ride or die
since the third grade. To this day, I’ll drop everything to drive your getaway car…but we’re not
kids anymore. Sooner or later, you stop having kid luck.” He paused and touched his shoulder. “I
might die for you, but I ain’t dyin’ for Cyrus. This shit has got to end somewhere, and it may as
well end here. You laid these niggas out for shootin’ Cyrus, so I think you should let him handle
Wolf on his own. Let him and Khalid clean up their own damn messes from now on.”
“I hear what you’re sayin’, J.T., but you know the only reason I do what he says is because of
Corey. What about my little brother? I can’t just let Cyrus push him into this shit, forcing him to
pick up my slack. He’ll get himself killed or locked up for good, and you know that.”
“Corey’s not a little boy anymore, Chase, even though you still treat him like one. You can’t protect him from
everything. He could get killed walking across the street. You know what I think you should do?”
“What?”
“I think you should flat-out refuse to help Cyrus with Wolf. You’ve done enough for him. I
think you should send Corey away. Maybe you could open another club in Atlanta or somewhere
far away from here and send him and Dee down to oversee it. Meanwhile, you got me and Bliss
up here to help you with the clubs you already have. When the club in ATL is up and running
successfully, you open another one. Keep Corey’s ass down there until Wolf takes care of Cyrus or
he gets his stupid ass killed by somebody that ain’t scared of him…or of you.”
Chase rubbed absently at the scar that ran along the back of his fingers and stared out the
windshield. It made sense—all kinds of sense. “For what it’s worth, I
am
listening to you, J.T.”
J.T. nodded. “That’s all I ask. Just try it on and see how it fits.”
“I will.”
J.T. looked at his watch. “It’s late, man, and we both had a long day. Why don’t you go find that
fine-ass woman of yours and let her rub your back and put you to sleep.”
“That’s the plan.”
“Good.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow. Thanks, J.T.”
J.T. looked at him seriously. “You my boy, Chase—ride or die,” he said before he got out of the
car and disappeared into his building.
Chase drove home with a million things racing through his mind. As he parked the Charger, he
thought about Bliss’s reaction to it. She was right: It
was
a hearse, of sorts—a fucking death car.
He went upstairs and took a hot shower, then redressed quickly. He’d stuffed the clothes he’d been
wearing into another garbage bag and hustled his ass downstairs with it.
A private company picked the garbage, and he heard the truck rumbling. He put the garage door
up and ran out with the bag. The truck was stopped at a store down the block. Chase left the bag at
the curb, then went back into the garage. He peeled out to the street in his Porsche and hit Riverside
Drive. Ten minutes later, he was in front of Bliss’s building, hitting her on her cell phone.
She picked up on the second ring. “Are you done?” she asked.
“Yeah, I’m here. Can I come up?”
“Of course you can. I’ve been wonderin’ when you’d get here.”
When he got off the elevator, Bliss was at the door waiting for him. He had to stop himself from
running to her, and he kept his cool, forcing himself to walk a little slower. Bliss was wearing a
short pink cotton nightgown with a little ruffle at the bottom. He doubted she knew the light behind
her was shining through it the way it was, showing her body in a stark and lovely silhouette. Chase
swallowed hard. Her hair was slightly tousled, as if she’d been lying down, but she didn’t look
sleepy. She simply looked…beautiful.