CHAPTER TWELVE

Ryan

“Now I’m All The Rage?”

 

Water dripped from the open bathroom door and plopped into the rusted sink as Ryan sat next to Game Show in a run down motel looking down at him with disdain.

“Why can’t you ever get things right? Why do I give you orders only for things to fall through? Is you retarded or something?”

“I…I tried but—”

“I asked a question. Are you incompetent or not, Game Show? Because I never give you jobs that require rocket science. Just simple gigs that a baby could do if I gave it a gun.”

Game Show scooted away from him, feeling a painful reaction coming his way. “I don’t know…I…”

“All you had to do was get into the safe that night I sent you to his crib. I told you where it was, even gave you a few combinations I thought would crack it open and what you do?”

Game Show scratched his scalp. “Fuck up?”

“Nah, nigga, got choked out. You went over the nigga’s house and got choked out trying to steal some batteries. What’s wrong with you? Why can’t you do simple tasks?”

“But he was home and started going off—”

“Then you should’ve killed the nigga!” he cupped the back of Game Show’s neck with his palm and squeezed. “Why so scared? Ain’t your drug habit hard enough to give you passion to push off on the necessary?” He slapped his chest, causing a sound similar to that of someone hitting a congo to reverberate through the room.

Game Show blinked several times, trying to be sure he heard him correctly. “But he’s your cousin. I thought you said to spare his life when I went into his house. And today I thought you wanted me to miss when I fired. You said you wanted to scare him a little that’s all.”

Ryan’s lips pinched together. “You really think I give a fuck about that nigga? Huh? I sent you at him twice, Game Show. Use your fucking head.”

“But—”

“What about my orders led you to believe I care if you opened that nigga’s scalp?” he knocked on Game Show’s forehead with stiff hard knuckles. “Open your mouth.”

“I’m sorry.” He looked down. “I guess I wasn’t thinking straight. So…you ‘bout to kill me ain’t you?”

Ryan sighed. “Unfortunately not. I still got a job that needs done and sadly for me you’re it. So what I look like killing you?” He grinned. “The irony in all of this is that Wyld had the nerve to reach out to me to go looking for you. Haven’t heard from this man in months without popping up on him and his Latin bitch. And now he calls.”

Game Show’s eyebrows pulled together. “What you say to him?”

“I told him to fuck off. The nigga didn’t have no words for me a couple of moons ago and now I’m all the rage?” Ryan stood up and paced the floor in front of the bed. “I been practically begging him to get put back on and he acted as if he didn’t know my name.” He bumped into the archaic box TV behind him. “Nah, I can’t do nothing for Wyld. I’m sick of his shit. He ain’t blood. He ain’t nothing to me.”

Game Show moved uncomfortably, still unsure if he was in the clear. He’d dealt with Ryan’s sporadic moods enough to know that he wasn’t safe until he was out of his presence, in his car and tucked under his sheets for the night.

“So what you want me to do now?”

“I need you to do something special.” He walked up to him and smiled. “Like I said earlier, it’s only something you can help me with.”

Game Show smiled. “Sure, man, anything.”

Ryan whipped out his gun and aimed it at him. “I need you to hold this bullet right quick.” He fired twice in his chest and laughed.

 

 

Wyld and Spyrit were at Wyld’s house, the smell of freshly cut lemons in the air because Spyrit had made his favorite spiked drink. Wyld hadn’t drank since he was a kid and felt it was time to call his cousin on his alcoholic behavior which in his opinion had gotten worse over the months.

“When you giving up the liquor?”

Spyrit, who was in mid sip looked over at him. “What you mean?”

“You a fucking drunk, man. A sloppy one at that. Don’t you wonder why I’ve never put you on? It’s not because I don’t love you but because I can’t trust you to be there. And in your right mind. The enemy would see your weakness and take all my shit.”

Spyrit looked at his drink as if it were milk, not understanding his cousin’s gripes. “I like the taste of it. What’s wrong with that?”

“Well I like the taste of pussy too. Doesn’t mean I wanna be sucking on it 24 hours a day.” He paused. “What you trying to forget that’s making you drink so much?”

Spyrit placed his cup on the floor and suddenly his right knee jumped up and down uncontrollably. “You don’t remember nothing? About when we was coming up?”

Wyld looked across the living room at the 74 inch TV hanging on the wall and back at his cousin. “I remember my mother, your mother and Ryan’s giving me and you alcohol. I remember…I remember being so disgusted by the taste that to this day when I smell gin or cough syrup I wanna throw up.” He looked at the lemonade on the floor. “So what you remember?”

“I remember a lot more, cousin.” His pupils appeared to dilate. “So much more that I try to forget.” He picked up his drink and gulped it down, before returning to the kitchen to get more. Wyld saw his discomfort and decided to leave the matter alone…for the moment anyway.

“What’s been going on with Ryan lately?” Wyld asked, picking his water bottle up and taking a gulp. “I get the impression he’s hating on me and I’m not feeling his mood change.”

Spyrit downed his drink and poured another. “He’s always been a little envious. Don’t know why you acting so surprised all of a sudden.”

“I know but this feel different.”

“Did you ever apologize to him for that shit that happened on the stoop? The day Anna went into delivery?”

Wyld looked ahead. “What you talking about?”

Spyrit’s eyes widened. “You really let yourself forget something that serious? After I warned you against it.”

Wyld put the water bottle down to focus closely. “I can’t remember.”

“I sat in that car and said if you didn’t apologize things would take a turn for the worst and you forgot.”

Wyld laughed, finally remembering. “Please say you not talking about the day he was gonna wear a blouse to my party.”

Spyrit sighed. “The ego can do some of the most violent things when threatened. And you ripped him up that day, man. And he’s still thinking about it I’m sure of it.” He paused. “I’m surprised he didn’t—”

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

Wyld stood up, looked out of the peephole and opened the door for Ryan who was holding a crumpled brown paper bag. “At first I thought you wasn’t gonna let a nigga in.” he paused. “Glad to see I was wrong.”

Wyld looked back at Spyrit, a little angry he came in at the moment he did. He had a feeling Spyrit was about to tell him something he needed to hear. Unfortunately for them both the news would have to wait.

“Yeah…come on in, man.” Wyld opened the door wider and Ryan stepped inside and moved toward the kitchen table, a sly smile on his face as if he held a dirty secret.

He stood behind it, the hanging light over his head casted dark shadows over parts of his face, making him appear creepy. “I’m glad you called on me, Wyld. For this job. Although I gotta say I’m sad that there’s another family reunion taking place tonight without me. I want to spend time with my cousins too. Seems like I get the call for the cleanup work while Spyrit gets the rest.” Ryan looked at his cousins and sat the bag on the table. “Why is that?”

Wyld had zero time for the emotional tug of war Ryan preferred to play. He was almost killed earlier in the day and he wanted information about Game Show’s whereabouts. Nothing more or less. “What’s up, man?” Wyld asked irritated. “I know you ain’t come here about our social visits. Now tell me something. Did you find the nigga or not?”

“Of course and I got a little something for you too.” Ryan reached into the bag, causing the paper to rattle as his hand disappeared inside. “Don’t you wanna know what it is?”

“Stop fucking around,” Wyld yelled. “I ain’t got all day.”

Ryan chuckled. “Okay. Okay.” Slowly he raised his arm out of the bag before a severed penis came into view. Slamming the bloody glob on the table he looked at both of them as if he’d caught the largest fish of the day. “So…what do you think?”

“What the fuck is that?” Wyld yelled, his voice rising higher than the best soprano.

“This nigga crazy,” Spyrit added, fists stuck to his hips as he paced the area looking at the meat mass. “Fucking crazy.”

“Calm down, fellas.” He extended his hands. “It’s small but it’s still a dick. And I know ya’ll know that too.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you, nigga?” Wyld yelled pointing at it. “I asked you to handle something and what you do? Take it all the way north! You losing it daily and I don’t know about you no more.”

“You sure you don’t know about me no more? Or are you pretending not to know?” He glared.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“My question was clear, you the one who’s playing games,” Ryan continued.

“I’m gonna stop fucking with you forever. Do you hear me? The day will come when I will pass you in the street and not acknowledge you. I don’t deal with liabilities and you’ve become that over the past few months.”

Ryan laughed, picked up the meat and dropped it in the bag. It made a soft thud. “All right…all right, it’s gone. No need to cut ties with family more than what’s already been done.” He pulled out his cell, pressed a few buttons and slid it across the table. It stopped before falling off the edge. “Maybe both of your jelly bellies can handle that a little better.”

Wyld looked at Spyrit and both approached the phone carefully as Wyld picked it up. He scanned the picture and saw Game Show’s corpse with a bullet wound in the middle of his head Bindi style. Upon further speculation they also saw several bullet wounds to the upper body.

Clearly overkill was in play.

Wyld sat the phone down. “Why would you take a picture of that shit, man? Huh?” He frowned. “Why you gotta be so fucking stupid? Don’t your realize the cops can have your phone records subpoenaed? Then what? You act like a fucking kid!”

“Do I?” Ryan asked firmly.

Wyld rushed up to him causing Ryan to back against the black breakfast nook. “You gonna make me push on you, Ryan.” He walked away. “I’m trying to keep in mind you family but it’s becoming harder by the incident.”

“What you want me to do? Bring the body in here over my shoulder?” he asked sarcastically.

“No! What I wanted was a smart quiet job that could be denied if the wrong people came asking questions. But I didn’t get that.” Wyld ran his hand down his face. “Plus if you wanted me to see the nigga dead you could’ve showed me that shit first. Instead of pulling that clown ass shit.”

Ryan’s smile melted away. “Why you always do that?”

Wyld opened the refrigerator and grabbed Spyrit’s lemonade. Moving to the top kitchen shelf he selected the largest glass he could find. Pouring himself a full cup. Both Spyrit and Ryan were shocked as he gulped it, his face contorting since he hadn’t tasted alcohol in years.

“I’m fucking done with you, Ryan. Done.”

“What that mean?”

“Sometimes I wish I never met you.”

Ryan’s posture grew rigid. “Why do you love to disrespect me? Do you really think I’m gonna keep letting you get under my skin the way you do?”

“Nigga, get the fuck out my house before I smack all the shit out of you.”

“You’ll never fuck with me will you? No matter what I do you’ll never give me respect.”

“Ryan, if you took the picture and cut off the dick just to get put back on my blocks I’ll hand you an “L” after I finish my drink. Other than that I’ll have your paper for the job in the morning.”

Ryan stared at him intensely but Wyld was too focused on his next glass of lemonade to pay him any attention. It was Spyrit who saw Ryan’s vengeful expression and was more frightened for Wyld’s well being than ever.

Ryan moved snail-like toward the door. Gripping the knob he was on his way out until he turned toward Wyld when he heard his name. His arms hung at his sides, his posture stooped and not as confident as before. In that moment Ryan wanted nothing more than for Wyld to say he was sorry. And if he chose to utter those powerful words, Ryan would forgive him for every perceived indiscretion.

“Yeah,” Ryan said.

“Take your dick, since it’s obvious by cutting it off you on that faggy shit.”

Ryan was gut punched again. And yet, Wyld’s poisoned words gave him the energy to stand straight and stare at Wyld with hate filled eyes. Anger had a way of giving a person a reason to go on, even if going on meant violently.

But instead of getting the bag, he looked at Wyld, laughed and walked out the door.