I look at the warehouse. A black Land Rover is parked at a hurried angle just in front.
Fiasco says, “He’s here.”
Mya says, “Three versus one.”
I say, “Four. Kenya’s a fighter.”
We exit Mya’s Range Rover.
Fiasco is in the lead, I’m right behind him, and Mya brings up the rear.
I say, “Bet I know where he has her.”
Mya says, “That room marked PRIVATE you mentioned?”
I nod. Fiasco opens the front door with a key. We step into darkness. Fiasco doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t look for lights, just moves forward with a purpose. I’m sure his heart doesn’t pump fear. Mine doesn’t anymore, either. Kenya needs me. There is no time, or place, for fear. I hit the tire iron against my palm. I have a feel for its weight. It’s definitely a weapon now.
We reach the PRIVATE room. A light leaks out at the bottom of the door. Fiasco turns the knob; the door eases open. Fiasco steps in, then I do, and then Mya. Alonzo has Kenya pinned in a corner, his back to us. Fiasco calls his name. I move forward, stand next to my favorite rapper. Mya stands next to me. Alonzo turns slowly. His face registers surprise for a moment. Then his mouth turns up in a smile. Just behind him Kenya smiles, too. She’s okay, I realize. She’s grateful we’re here. We must have gotten here in time.
Alonzo says, “The whole family is here. Well, good.”
I whisper to Fiasco, “You take his body. I’ve got his legs.”
Fiasco nods.
We move forward.