Authors: Kevin Bullock
“I’m twisted.” He threw the empty bottle across the mostly vacant parking lot.
Me, too. I didn’t know Thunderbird hit like this. I’m sitting sideways!
“I’m about to make a third run to the store for another fifth.”
Hold up, my nigga. I don’t think that’s a good idea. We got some business that we need to take care of. You can’t do it pissy drunk.
“Don’t start that shit! Like you rule me. Like you know me or something.”
All I’m saying is you need to be focused to carry out the business we planned. We can’t afford to let those cowards go another day without being punished.
“I know.”
Look, my nigga. Look! There go one of them.
Rafeal observed Steve walking out of his workplace. He was oblivious of the dangers that awaited him, so it was relatively easy for Rafeal to sneak up on him as he inserted the key in the ignition.
Steve froze when he felt the cold muzzle of the gun on the back of this neck. “Owww!”
“I got your cracker ass now!”
Break his ass off something proper!
Rafeal began to pistol whip him until he collapsed in the driver’s seat. EL The One DeBarge urged him on as some shoppers scattered for safety.
Oh, shit, my nigga! We got company!
Two security guards rushed toward him with their weapons drawn.
“Put down your weapon, sir!”
“Jump me now!” Rafeal looked back at them frowning. “Jump me now! We’re ready for you muthafuckers!”
There you go with all that talking again! Turn around and squeeze off!
“Oh, shit, Jeff,” one of the guards mumbled. “That’s Rafeal.”
“I know. Put the gun down, Raf!”
Steve sat up clutching his bloody forehead. “Help me for god sakes! This crazy sonofabitch is trying to kill me!”
“I’m not crazy, cracker! I’m sane! Say ‘I’m sane’!”
Rafeal resumed pistol-whipping Steve, while the security guards contemplated on a way to end the ordeal.
Jeff didn’t see any other way than drastic measures, so he pulled his trigger.
* * *
“I don’t want no trouble, man!” Hammer blurted out.
“You should’ve thought about that before you started harassing my woman.”
The prostitute walked around to her pimp and looped her arm into his. “That’s right, daddy. Tell him the business.”
“So,” the pimp continued, “I can only see two outcomes for your disrespect. Either I kill you with this big ass .44, or you give me everything in your pockets.”
“I apologize for the inconvenience, but I don’t have any money.”
“You don’t have any money?!”
“Daddy, he just escaped from that prison down the road. Look at his green clothes.”
The pimp’s eyebrow arched. “Is that so?”
Hammer remained silent.
“Didn’t you hear what I just asked you? Or do you need me to clean out your ears with this cannon?”
“Yeah, man. It’s true.”
A wide grin spread across the pimp’s face and his eyes soften. “You better be glad that I’ve been locked up before. Prison ain’t a place I’d wish on anybody. I only had four years and I tried to escape every chance I got.
“I’mma going to give you a pass. But for future references, stay away from a pimp’s property if you ain’t trying to spend something. Understand me, player?”
“Perfectly clear. Thank you.”
“No, daddy! You promised me that you wouldn’t let nobody disrespect me again!”
The pimp smacked her to the ground. “What did I tell you about sassing me in front of people?!”
“I hate you, Earnest!”
Hammer heard the name and began to study the pimp. “Ernest Parker! That’s you, ain’t it?”
“Who the fuck are you? And how do you know my name?”
“It’s me, Hammer!”
“I thought your last name was Powell?” the prostitute asked.
It took Earnest Parker/Powell a few seconds to realize that it was indeed his childhood friend. He put away the gun to embrace Hammer.
“I can’t fucking believe this, my fucking homeboy! It has been a long time, but I still should’ve recognize.”
“Me, too. That pimp sit threw me off.”
“Times have changed, that drug shit is dead. I relocated ten years ago.”
The prostitute got off the ground holding her face. “I thought your last name was Powell?”
“Shut up!” the men said, simultaneously.
“Man, I can’t believe I’m right here talking to you. I heard that you were about to get out, why are you escaping?”
“My back is against the wall. I…I…” he trailed off.
He knew that his friend was from the old school and would rather go to jail than to snitch, but he didn’t feel comfortable talking around the woman.
“I understand. Yeah, I heard about what happened to Ron. Still I would rather handle that than to let you jack off the little time that you have left.”
“That’s not the reason.”
“It’s not?”
“No. It’s a little more complicated than that.”
Ernest Parker/Powell scratched the top of his head. Anything more complicated than Ron getting killed was indeed a grave matter.
He placed a hand on Hammer’s shoulder and squeezed lightly. “Whatever you need me to do just tell me. You know I still owe you for pulling my coat, that smoke was going to kill me. Remember?”
“I remember. I guess there’s not better time for me to cash in on that.”
–—Chapter Twenty-Five–—
The interior of the house was pitch dark, but that didn’t discourage Chaplin Stephens from proceeding with his plan. He made a mental note to keep his eyes on the house next door. The last thing that he needed was a witness, or an extra ruined soul to deal with.
It had been very inconvenient that he had to spend countless of hours on Facebook corresponding with Dehila to get up to this point. She had drained him with her obsession to sin constantly.
The gruesome hours spent with her had been worth it in the end. He got the chance to do God’s work in abundance. Ron ha fell into his hands so sweetly on the first night that he had planned to take care of Cataya.
Although it had prolonged her sinful life, he had relieved the world of a demented soul that had been casting shade for way too long.
It was amazing to him how fast time had passed. Just a few years ago, or so it seemed, he was struggling with the murder of his wife and unborn child. He then began helping inmates get through their grief as a form of therapy for himself.
Then one day, while he sat listening to an inmate grieve about his girlfriend skipping town with their daughter, it became apparent to him what his purpose was.
While the vast majority of the population blamed criminals for the way the world was, Chaplin Stephens thought just the opposite.
He believed that criminals were the product of their upbringing. And being that criminals weren’t usually around to raise their children in the first place, the blame ultimately fell on the active/at-home parent.
The Chaplin chose his victims like he chose his friends. It always started with an interview with a troubled inmate. And if his grief and claims were legitimate, the Chaplin would secretly eliminate the source of problem, and break the news to the inmate when he was properly informed.
The initial reaction was always the same. The inmate would be stricken with grief, and the Chaplin would console them by convincing them that it was God’s will.
He didn’t consider this as trickery because he really believed with every fiber of his being that God had appointed him as the new messiah to restore good back to the earth.
The world is full of sin and temptations, so the Chaplin’s services weren’t always guaranteed to work. Cataya was living proof of this. He figured that LeLe’s genes had been the dominant of the two, and the only thing that could help her was God Himself. So the Chaplin knew that it was his to arrange the meeting.
Now as he walked toward the house with Dehila’s house keys in his hand, he felt jitters in his stomach. They weren’t from being nervous; there wasn’t any need to be. God was with him. They came from the anticipation of eliminating a character that had been ruining the story for way too long.
He knew that Cataya’s death was going to devastate Hammer, but her presence on Earth could result to something catastrophic occurring if he allowed her to live another day.
This was a risk that the Chaplin couldn’t afford to take. She had to die tonight. No exceptions, no delays.
* * *
“Damn, Hammer!” Ernest Parker/Powell exclaimed as he drove up Highway 85 North. “That’s some heavy shit you just laid on me. What are you going to do?”
Hammer glanced in the back seat at the prostitute. He was still unwilling to incriminate himself around her.
His friend picked up the vibe. ‘You don’t have to worry about Wanda, she’s loyal. We’ve been through thick and thin together; she’s battle tested.”
“Too bad you haven’t shown me the same loyalty.” She leaned between the seats so that she could fully see her pimp’s face. “I thought your last name was Powell.”
Ernest made a futile attempt to backhand her, but she was too quick. She sat back in the back seat, quite pleased with herself.
“Shut the hell up already! This ain’t no time to be bitching over no petty ass shit. So the fuck what you didn’t know my real name.
“You know now, and that’s more than what everybody else knows. So, shut the fuck up and stay your ass back there until I tell you to move. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, daddy.”
He focused back on Hammer. “Now what was I saying?”
“You asked-“
“Oh! What are you going to do?”
“Let’s just say I’m not going to let anything happen to my daughter, if I can help it.”
“I understand that. As bad as I don’t want to mess up what I got going on here. I can’t let you do it by yourself. I’m in, too.”
“Thanks, but no thanks. I have to handle this alone.”
The pimp was adamant about helping. “Hah, Hammer. I’m not the type to abandon my friends when they need me. It’s bad enough that I haven’t done anything for you since you’ve been gone. That ain’t right one bit.”
“You’re making up for it by giving me this ride.”
“No! I know that you’re capable of doing a lot of extraordinary super gangster shit, but I got to help. We go all the way back like glass milk bottles. And you saved my life!”
“I-“
“You at least got to let me pay you back for that,” he said, cutting Hammer off.
Hammer sat there quietly while he made his decision. He wasn’t into dragging people into his problem. Ron’s murder taught him this lesson.
“I can’t let you go with me because I don’t never want another death to be on my conscience again. But there is something that you can help me out with.”
“Just name it.”
* * *
Gwen tried her best to focus on her favorite movie, ‘The Pursuit of Happiness’, but she found herself glancing at the clock every five minutes or so.
Four hours had passed since Rafeal walked out the door, and she was still shocked by what he had told her he was going to do.
What she didn’t understand about herself was the fondness she had developed for him during the short time that they had spent together.
She had never known anyone, to her knowledge, that had committed a murder. So when Rafeal admitted to her of his plans, she immediately became afraid of him. But strangely, not enough to make her want to severe their ties.
In fact, his revelation had drawn her closer to him. She was so honored that he viewed her trustworthy, that she hadn’t attempted to talk him out of it. Which she knew by looking his eyes, that she couldn’t do anyway.
Gwen watched Will Smith’s character as he slept in the bathroom with his son, and thought about how Rafeal had held her. This scene made her cry because it made her wonder if Rafeal would ever hold her again.
Her mind began to pace. She had given him a cell phone before she left.
Maybe I might be able to talk him out of doing it? That’s if he hasn’t done it yet
, she thought as she dialed the number.
“Hello?”
She smiled brightly. “Hello?”
“Yes. May I asks who you called to speak to?”
She was frowning now. “Who is this?”
“Can you just please answer the question?”
“Hell nah! I called my cell phone, and this ain’t the person I gave it to!”
“Miss. This is the Durham Police. We’re investigating a shooting and I need your help to identify a suspect.”
Gwen’s whole body went numb!
–—Chapter Twenty-Six–—
It took Cataya awhile to clear her mind so she could get some sleep. That very sleep was delayed when Ching pressed his body against her. The hardness and heat coming from his groin area aroused her in a way that was foreign to her She turned to face him.