Chapter Twenty-seven
If Mannish had to die, he didn’t want to go out hiding in a closet. He imagined how the headline would read: COWARD EX-COP SLAIN IN CLOSET. No, if Mannish Major had to die, he would die fighting. He clamped a hand around Lola’s mouth and held her close, fearing she’d scream and give away their location when Blasé limped into their field of vision. Although Mannish could only see Blasé from the back, something about the man was familiar—so much so that Mannish was instantly irked by it. Lola’s tears dripped between his fingers as they held perfectly still—listening to the thunderous pound of their hearts—and watched Blasé through the louvered door.
Typical of men, Mannish thought. A pair of panties and a naked woman would distract a man long enough to get him in a world of trouble. Blasé was absolutely fascinated with Lola’s underclothes, as hoped for. He kept shifting his sight from her thong to the shapely image in the shower. Mannish figured that Blasé was having dirty thoughts—he’d bet Rahjea’s and Reality’s college tuition on it.
After Blasé entertained his private thoughts, he raised the Glock and moved toward the bathroom like his limp decided to cooperate with the hit.
Lola trembled against Mannish.
Mannish aimed a .38 throw away, which he bought off the streets of East St. Louis, at Blasé’s back.
Blasé shot Lola’s silhouette four times.
Mannish pulled the trigger.
Nothing happened.
Lola lost her bladder.
Blasé opened the walk-in shower and saw a wounded mannequin smiling at him.
Mannish pulled the trigger again with a little more oomph. Same answer, which left him no choice. He bolted from the closet and slammed into Blasé like a runaway train. They fell into the spacious shower. Hot water soaked their clothes. Mannish felt his wrist break when they hit the floor. Blasé’s Glock slid across the shower.
Lola wanted to scream but couldn’t. Nothing worked.
Blasé struggled under the spray of water to recover, to face his opponent, but the man had grappling skills and the slippery tiled floor worked against him. Plus the motherfucker was strong.
Then something happened that changed both men’s lives.
Mannish lost his grip while trying to execute a reverse arm bar from behind and Blasé turned on his back. Mannish straddled him and the two childhood friends looked each other in the eyes. Both men froze, thinking a thousand thoughts while the water carried their foul memories down the drain.
“Kill him, Mannish!” Lola shouted. “Kill him before he turns the table.”
“Get outta here,” Mannish said. “And close the door behind you ’cause you don’t want to see this.” Mannish had every intention of killing this man and Lola’s situation only compounded the reason.
Lola said, “What . . . He’s crazy. What are you waiting—”
“I said get the hell out of here, Lola!”
“See you still have a way with the ladies.” Blasé smiled through the spray of water. “This wasn’t exactly how I thought we’d meet up again.”
“We were never supposed to bump heads again,” Mannish said. “Your fraudulent testimony was designed to put me behind bars for the rest of my natural life. Now that you’ve stooped to contract killings—had your and the DA’s plan worked—I’m sure I would’ve run into you in the joint, ’cause that’s where you’re going if you live through what I’m gonna do to you.”
“Don’t count me out so soon. You seem to have forgotten how crafty I am.” He exerted his strength, trying to get Mannish off him, and failed terribly.
“You done?” Mannish said, maintaining his hold.
Blasé said nothing while he waited to strike.
Lola was stunned. This gave a creepy meaning to the phrase “small world.” “You know this maniac?”
“He’s my ex-partner, Blair Jackson. Thought I told you to get out of here?”
“About that prison thing,” Blair said, “you always had a way of spoiling things.” He nodded his head to Lola standing outside the shower. “Case and point. Of all people, you’re here to rescue the damsel in distress.”
“Night after night, week after week, month after month, year after year I lay in that cell, praying to every god known to man for a chance to ask you why.”
Blair was in a vulnerable position and thought it best not to tell Mannish that it was because he had stolen Rio from him back in junior high, that the life he shared with Rio was supposed to be his. Instead, he settled for the second part of the truth: “Self-preservation. Your ass or mine. Best for me that it was yours.”
Those selfish words pushed Mannish back to the last time he’d seen Blair.
The federal courthouse was packed, standing room only. Rio and their parents sat directly behind the defense table. Every time Mannish looked over his shoulder and found Rio’s eyes, he saw sheer disappointment firmly layered beneath tears. The trial played on the screen of his mind like it was a live TV broadcast. After Blair took the stand and swore before the court to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth, Jonathan Valkovci, the United States District Attorney, a racist but highly educated redneck who was as mean as a Tasmanian devil, coolly leaned on the witness box as if he hadn’t “legally” conspired with a crooked black man in order to “legally” lynch an innocent black man, all to ensure a judicial victory and for pats on the back from the good old boys down at the country club.
“Officer Jackson,” Valkovci said. “In your debriefing to the government, you informed us of police corruption going on under the city’s nose.”
“Yes, sir,” Blair said with a nod.
Valkovci took a moment to make eye contact with each juror as the answer laid the bait for his trap. He turned back to Blair. “You also informed this honorable court that a decorated St. Louis police officer came to you with a kilo of heroin that he had stolen from the evidence room and asked if you would help him start a drug ring with it.”
“That is correct, sir,” Blair said, wearing a crisp uniform as a symbolic gesture that his word was pure.
“On one occasion you accompanied this officer while he delivered heroin stamped with a brand called 187 to an apartment in the Peabody Housing Projects where Dakota Applewhite, a twelve-year-old, was found dead an hour later, overdosed on the 187 brand.”
Rio broke the silence of the courtroom with loud sobs.
Blair nodded. “Yes, sir.”
With a forked tongue, Valkovci said, “This officer that I speak of was your friend since grade school and your partner on the force since you both graduated from the academy.”
“Yes.”
“Officer Jackson, is this officer in the courtroom today?”
Blair nodded. “He’s sitting at the table over there, the man wearing the tan suit.”
“Would you please point him out for the court?”
Blair raised his arm and aimed his finger at Mannish. “That’s Officer Mannish Major right there.”
Valkovci turned to the jurors. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, today I’m going to use well-gathered evidence and expert testimony to prove to you that Office Mannish Major is a despicable drug dealer and child killer.”
Mannish shot to his feet and exploded. “Blair, you lying son of a bitch! You sold your soul to the devil. Your Honor, he’s lying. He’s telling a goddamn—”
The judge banged his gavel. “Order! Order in my court, Officer Major, and I will not tolerate that type of language!”
“But I’m being set up, Your Honor. Blair is telling a motherfuckin’ lie and this racist prosecutor knows Blair is pinning his own crimes on me.”
The judge banged his gavel so hard it snapped in two. “One more outburst in my courtroom like that, Officer Major, and you’ll find yourself in contempt.”
“Then do something about all this damn lying going on in your kangaroo court.”
Now, six years and some change later, Mannish looked down at Blair pinned beneath him while the shower poured on them. The pain and anger of betrayal returned as if it were fresh and raw. Mannish’s eyes narrowed to dark rivets. “You fucking lied and destroyed my whole life, ruined my marriage, and broke my home. Rio hates me behind that bullshit you pulled.” Mannish lost control and punched and punched Blair in the face without any care in the world for his broken wrist. He punched hard and quick until the bone in Blair’s nose snapped. Blood mixed with water and ran down the drain. He punched Blair to the cliff of unconsciousness and wasn’t going to stop when he went over the edge.
“Stop it, Mannish,” Rio said, her voice dripping with anxiety. “You’ll kill him!”
His wife’s voice tugged him away from the satisfaction of revengeful violence. His head snapped in Rio’s direction. She stood behind Lola. He witnessed all the tangibles and intangibles he ever wanted in life rolled up in two women. Damn, he thought.
Lola turned to face a gorgeous woman with a nauseous combination of things oozing through the surface of her beauty: pain, fleeting happiness, the stress of motherhood, desperation, the hope of renewal. The recognition resonated deep in Lola’s being because the same combination coated her skin.
For a brief second both women’s faces locked. They internalized the threat they were to each other. They automatically and intimately understood why Mannish loved the other. Both wondered how to simply make the other go away with little or no hassle. All in a brief glance both women imagined accepting and navigating a life with Mannish knowing there was another woman in the picture who possessed a piece of his love.
“Mannish,” both women yelled.
Lola pointed.
“Watch out, baby,” Rio said. “He’s got a—”
“Big-ass gun,” Blair said.
Mannish turned back to the Glock pointed at the center of his forehead.
“Ain’t no fun when the rabbit gots the gun.” Blair spat blood from his mouth and grinned. “Still got a lot to learn about self-preservation.”
“You better not do nothing stupid, Blair,” Rio eased into the bathroom. “I’m calling your mother.”
He shifted the gun from Mannish’s head to his shoulder and fired between the joint, putting the arm out of commission.
Mannish grunted. The pain was unlike anything he ever felt.
Lola was stung with shock.
Rio screamed, “Please, Blair. Please stop!”
Blair shot Mannish in the other shoulder. “That’ll hold you for a while,” he said and rolled Mannish to the shower floor. He leaned in and whispered in Mannish’s ear. “Rio is the only reason you’re not dead. Just can’t put myself in the position to have to kill her too. I love her too much.” He left Mannish where he lay and disappeared with Lola.
Rio shut the water off and kneeled beside her husband. “You’re gonna be all right.” She dug her phone out of her purse and had a dialogue with the 911 operator. “Help is coming.” She rolled him over on his back. “Don’t you die on us. Me and your daughters need you. I don’t hate you, Mannish. I love you.”
The blood loss was overwhelming; Mannish felt faint. He thought about what Blair said as he blinked Rio’s youthful face into focus. “You saved my life. How . . . how’d you know where to find me?”
As quick as Rio wiped away her tears, they were replaced with new ones. “Told you that you were on my probation.” She tried to hide her worry behind a light chuckle. “I hid one of my house arrest bracelets in your car the day of Rahjae’s spelling bee. I’ve known exactly where you were since that morning I came to the house.”
“You’d make a good cop,” Mannish said as his iPhone vibrated. “My pocket. Get my phone.”
After Rio pulled out his phone and read the text, she said, “My baby is all right. She’s gonna live.” Rio showed him the display screen. It read: I love you too, Daddy.
Mannish smiled then remembered why he was lying on the shower floor bleeding to death. “Lola.”
Rio shook her head. “Blair took her.”
“He’s gonna kill her.”