“WHAT UP,
y'all?” Jesus said as he approached the bench where
Tito and Miguel were ping-ponging a blunt. He had put on a little weight, but was still on the slim side.
“Sup, Blood,” Miguel replied. He noticed that Jesus had winced a bit at the term. Though he was still officially a part of the set, he didn't hang around so much. After Lou-Loc had waxed him with a lead pipe the prior summer, gang-banging no longer seemed to appeal to him. The young man still sported a thin scar along his jaw from where the doctors had to wire it.
“I can't call it.” Jesus invited himself to a seat. “Let me hit that, yo.” He reached for the blunt only to have Miguel snatch it away.
“Surgeon general says that smoking can be detrimental to your health,” Miguel teased as he took another drag.
“Let the lil nigga hit it, hype.” Tito nudged him. Miguel grudgingly complied, handing the blunt to Jesus. “Ain't seen you around in a while, J. Everything good?” Tito continued.
“Yeah, man. I just been busy taking care of my aunt. She ain't
been so good since Satin went away,” Jesus informed him. At the mention of Satin, Tito turned away.
“So what's up, when you gonna stop acting like a girl and get back down for yours?” Miguel capped.
“I'm always gonna be down for mine, dawg, don't get it fucked-up,” Jesus told him. Though he tried to make his voice firm there was no conviction in his statement. “It's just that ⦠I don't know, a nigga been trying to finish school and all that, Blood. You know I love my hood, but I gotta think about what I'm gonna do when all this shit is over.”
“Over?” Miguel sat up with a questioning glare in his eyes. “T, you hear this nigga?” Miguel nudged his partner. “Check this shit, shorty,” he addressed Jesus. “This shit ain't never gonna be over. For as long as its crab-ass muthafuckas trying to stop our shine, we're gonna be out here banging the fuck out. You better stop fooling ya self and get out here and get this paper.”
Tito glared at his best friend, realizing at that moment just how ignorant Miguel really was. “Jesus, don't listen to this warped muthafucka. Son, you gonna always be a Blood and ain't nothing that none of us other than God or a bullet can do about it, but always think outside the box. You ain't gotta be no killer or play the corners to support your hood. Be down for yours by blowing the fuckup one day. You can make more paper owning your own business than you can out here pitching stones.”
“You sound like Satin.” Jesus laughed. “She was always telling me the same shit, but I never listened to her.”
“You should've. Satin has always had a good head on her shoulders.” Tito nodded.
“Yeah, she did.” Jesus got silent for a minute. “Blood, that shit fucks me up every time I go see her. I look at the chick up in that
place and think that this can't be my fucking sister,” he said emotionally.
“Don't trip, man. She'll come around sooner or later,” Tito lied. “You just keep doing what you gotta do and take care of that aunt,” Tito said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a knot of money. “Go buy her some flowers or some shit.” He handed him some folded-up bills.
“Thanks, man.” Jesus accepted the money. “Tito, you should come up with us and see her one of these days. You know we're all we got left.”
Tito fidgeted. “I know, my nigga, I just be crazy busy. I'll tell you what, how 'bout we drive up there next week?”
“That's a bet.” Jesus smiled. “Yo, I gotta burn it, but I'll hit you later on.” He gave Miguel dap then Tito.
“A'ight, Blood,” Tito said. As he sat there watching a young man who had been like a little brother to him make his way out of the projects he couldn't help but feel like shit. He knew damn well that he wouldn't be going to see Satin next week, nor would anyone else. By that time the next day Satin Angelino would be dead.
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THERE'S A
place in our minds somewhere between sleep and awake where reality and dreams overlap and your senses are slow to recognize which is which. This is where Satin found herself at that moment. She had come out of her stupor, but things were still jumbled in her mind. It was as if a whole year had been wiped away and she struggled to make sense of what had happened.
“Life,”
she heard the word whispered somewhere in the back of her mind. It was the last word her lover had spoken to her in the dream, but it was not his voice.
“Life,” she mouthed in her dream, but there was no sound. She recognized the word, but it no longer held any meaning for her. A life without him was a cheap imitation.
For the millionth time she tried to shut out the world around her and escape to the sleeping place, but it had rejected her. Within the recesses of her mind she had been able to escape the world around her, but thanks to Lou-Loc's last visitation she had been barred and forced to face the world around her. She had a life growing inside her, a life she and Lou-Loc had created. If she hadn't believed in miracles before, she did then. For as thrilled as she was about becoming a mother, and getting back a part of what she lost, the fact remained that she was the property of the state of New York. If she didn't escape the hospital, chances were that she would never get to know her child.
“Life,” the voice said again. This time there was something more to the word, as if a hand had slapped her across the face, without actually touching her. “Remember his warning child. You must be here to water the seed, sleep isn't for you. Life, Satin.”
Lou-Loc, Michael, her parents. The faces of everyone she had lost flashed through her head like a cheap movie reel. They were all dead, but the sleeping place allowed her to be with them. Did this mean she wanted to die too?
No!
There would be no more sleeping, her seed needed her. Feeling a presence in the room Satin's eyes snapped open. She was about to roll over to see who was there when she was suddenly lifted violently off the bed.
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THERE WAS
hardly anyone on the floor save for the nurse, who sat at her usual post in front of the portable television. She was so engrossed in her show that she barely gave the young doctor's badge a second look as he strode past whistling a tune. Had she been on
her job she'd have noticed that the picture on the ID card looked nothing like the man who had it clipped to his white lab coat.
Major Blood had taken out his braids and brushed his mane back into a neat ponytail, bringing out his handsome features. Once inside the hospital he had swiped a pair of scrubs and the lab coat from a laundry cart that had been abandoned in the hallway. No one gave him so much as a second look when he helped himself to one of the computers to find out which room Satin Angelino was being kept in.
Glancing up and down the hall to make sure no one was watching Major Blood slipped into Satin's room. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness before pulling out his silenced .22. Satin had her back to him, sleeping peacefully. Moving stealthily, he made his way to the bed and leveled the gun.
In all truth he knew that killing the girl was totally unnecessary, but the money had already been dropped. “Nothing personal, shorty, but I always fill my contracts,” he whispered before squeezing the trigger.
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SHARELL HAD
been in her duplex crying and praying all evening. The word had come down about Big Gunn passing and she took it pretty bad. Though she'd never met him personally, they enjoyed a few phone conversations and she knew that he and Gutter were close. She expected Gutter to be just as broken up over his uncle's death, but he was surprisingly calm. So much so that it made her nervous. She knew that he had been a warrior all his life and death was the norm for the children of Los Angeles, but there was an edge to him that chilled her. Without having to be told she knew a shit storm was about to rain over L.A. and she just hoped her man would make it back to her in one piece.
After receiving her condolences, Gutter dropped the bomb on her. She couldn't say that she was too surprised though. When Gutter got motivated enough about something he wasted no time in putting a plan in motion. He wouldn't go into detail about how he had managed to pull it off, but she knew that there would be consequences because of it. Still, he had called on her to do her part and she would answer without question.
There was a nasty chill to the wind, but it was to be expected for the hour of the night it was. A shadow in her peripheral vision made her jump. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that it was just a cat slithering between the trash cans. She gave a cautious glance to her left and saw nothing, but she knew he was there. Mohammad had been against the idea and he expressed this to Gutter, but Sharell insisted. For something as important as this, she was the only one who could be trusted with the task.
Sharell could see headlights in the distance making their way toward her building. Mohammad stepped out of the shadows and moved to stand in front of her with his gun dangling at his side. His muscles tensed beneath his long-sleeved shirt ready to attack or defend. A pea-green cargo van pulled to an easy stop at the cub and killed its lights. The driver, who was a balding man with a double chin, stared straight ahead, not even casting a curious glance at Sharell or her armed bodyguard.
A slender man dressed in a tight black T-shirt came around from the passenger side and regarded Sharell and Mohammad. He looked at her curiously, but there was something about the way his emerald-green eyes lingered on Mohammad. Mohammad didn't move, but Sharell noticed that he'd tightened his grip on the pistol. Whatever passed between them she was completely oblivious to it. Fearing there was about to be violence Sharell opened her mouth to say something, but her breath caught in her
throat when the man in black slid open the side door to reveal his cargo.
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SATIN WAS
huddled on the moldy seat in the back of the van, wrapped in a leather duster. It provided her with more protection from the night chill, but her bones still felt cold. She squinted against the glare of the streetlights as if they were a dozen tiny suns. When she stepped from the van she found that her legs weren't quite ready to support her weight. With an exaggerated sigh, Cross scooped the frail young woman into his arms and started toward Sharell.
“Stay where you are, assassin.” Mohammad leveled his gun at Cross. There was a tension to his movements that Sharell wasn't familiar with, which could've almost been mistaken for nervousness, but Mohammad wasn't the nervous type. Something about the taller man had him on edge.
Cross looked at Mohammad comically. “For as much as Gutter claims to detest the children of Gehenna I'm surprised that he has entrusted one of its initiates with the well-being of his wife. Tell me, what is your name, little one?” Cross took a step forward, causing Mohammad to take two steps back.
“I am Mohammad Al Haj, firstborn of Sharif Al Haj, and right arm of the Al Mukallah Prince and guardian of the Soladines. On my oath, I will die or kill in service of my prince!” Mohammad said defiantly.
Cross just shook his head. “And to what end? Have they promised you the devil's bargain, or assured you safe passage into Mecca upon your death?” Cross taunted him. “Had murder been my purpose here, you'd have never heard me coming. Don't test me, Mohammad, or I'll surely see that you receive your reward earlier than you'd like.”
As Cross spoke the sound of his voice echoed in Mohammad's ears like someone was beating a drum right next to him. The small voice in his head that we call reason begged for him to step aside, but he held his ground. Mohammad was a killer, but Cross was something else all together. He had been warned of the assassin since his earliest days studying the path of death and knew full well what Cross could do to him, but he had taken an oath and not even impending death could make him dishonor his prince, or risk what Sharif had promised him.
“It's okay, Mohammad,” Sharell said, stepping between them. For this man to put fear into Mohammad's heart she knew that he was dangerous, but she also knew that Gutter would not have trusted him with the mission had he posed a threat to her or Satin.
“Tell Kenyatta that our business is done,” Cross said, handing Satin over to Mohammad, who was still holding his gun, but speaking to Sharell.
“Thank you so much,” Sharell said with tears of joy in her eyes. “God bless you.”
Cross gave a faint chuckle. “I think we're too late for that, but I'll take it.” Cross climbed back into the passenger side of the van and motioned for the driver to pull off.
For a long moment the trio just stood there in silence. Satin was a little dusty, but appeared to be fine. There was still a glaze to her eyes, but there was also an awareness that Sharell hadn't seen in a long time.
“Satin, are you okay, baby?” Sharell touched her cheek.
Satin looked at her and gave a faint smile. “I'm ready to wake up now.”