CHAPTER FOURTEEN

RACE

THREE HOURS EARLIER

 

I don’t even know what I was doing in Smack Back Strip Club, the place Carey used to work.

The place where I first met her.

When I realized that I drank so much that I could barely hold my head up, I knew it was time to bounce. Suddenly the dark club and the loud music felt creepy to me.

What was I doing there?

I was Race Kennedy of the Pretty Kings. And I had a hit on my head by the Russians.

Leaving a few bills on the table, slowly I rose, grabbed my car keys and left the club. I was almost to my car when I heard a male voice say, “Don’t scream.”

When I turned around I saw the clenched teeth of a man I didn’t know. Who was this nigga who thought he was bold enough to rob me? When I could lay hands on him and every person he ever loved?

“You coming with me and you’ll live as long as you don’t make any crazy moves,” he continued.

I might have been shorter than him but I wasn’t scared as I looked up into his eyes. I knew a punk when I saw one. If I had my hammer I would’ve brought him to his knees. But when I left out of the bunker tonight I wasn’t thinking straight and now I was bare. “Do you know who I am?” I asked calmly.

“Why else would I—”

His sentence was severed suddenly when I saw a hand placed over his mouth. I was in awe as I witnessed a silver blade slide across his throat slowly, causing the pinkness of his flesh to spill out like cream.

I could’ve sworn I heard her say, “Goon.”

When his body dropped, I was staring up into the green eyes of a tall, beautiful woman. I noticed her in the strip club a few times when I was there to visit Carey. I thought she kept time with Carey but I couldn’t be sure. I knew she was a dancer but never a killer and suddenly I was intrigued.

“Figured you could use the help,” she said with a glistening red knife in her hand.

“That’s what I call perfect timing,” I responded.

 

****

 

The air conditioner was on too high in the small diner we were sitting in. I was trying to get to know the talented killer who saved my life but she was proving to be tough as rawhide.

It was as if she didn’t trust me.

After she killed him, we tucked his body in my trunk like trash. Then I called Sarge, who just got back from Mexico, for added assistance. He was my right hand in the underworld of our operation and in less than fifteen minutes, he had two carloads of loyal soldiers on the scene with one mission in mind, to make the corpse disappear.

I realized I was slipping big time after I almost lost my life and suddenly my buzz was gone. Now sober, I wanted to know more about the woman who killed so easily. The woman who kept me breathing with one slash of her weapon.

With skills like that, the chick I now knew as Roman could be of great use to our squad. Being female would give her access to places that Sarge and the other soldiers couldn’t roam.

She was the perfect killer Bambi was looking for.

A cup of coffee sat in front of Roman and a cup of water with lemon was before me. A respectful power struggle occurred as we attempted to get to know one another. She didn’t seem moved by my power even though I was sure she knew who I was.

“Where is Carey?” Roman asked flatly. “I’m looking for her.” She took a sip of coffee.

I wasn’t expecting to hear her name. My head hung low and I decided to lie. “I don’t know. That’s why I was in the club tonight. I talk to Carey every day and all of a sudden she’s not returning my calls. It’s been fucking my head up.” I sipped my water. “So tell me…were you two close?”

“Extremely,” she responded. “Like sisters.”

I moved uneasily in my seat. Where was my confidence? “Did she tell you anything about me?”

“Not really,” she said as she seemed to be looking through me. “Just that she had a bond with you and your husband. Which I was leery about but respected.”

She seemed to be holding back a little as if she didn’t trust me.

“I took care of her,” I responded. I wanted to be honest without being totally truthful. “We paid for her house, her car and her luxuries. I loved her very much. Me and my husband.” I rubbed my hand down my face. “I know people might not understand our brand of love but it worked for us, you know?”

Roman shrugged. “I don’t judge.”

“I figured as much,” I smiled. “Look, I asked you here for a reason. The way you got rid of that nigga tonight was amazing. I’ve met killers before. Many. But your moves were calculated.” I paused. “I have a place for someone of your skill set in my operation. That is, if you want it.”

“Are you asking if I’m interested in murder for hire?”

“Yes.”

Silence.

Without responding, Roman looked toward her right, out of the window with several people walking by. When I followed her gaze I saw a little girl, who was certainly up past her bedtime, skipping along with her family. While the young black couple held hands, the little girl chased the leash to the collar that was wrapped around her dog’s neck.

After looking at the scene, Roman took a deep breath and said, “I’m sorry, Race.” She paused. “I’m glad you’re safe. But the life you are offering is not for me anymore.”

So she was a killer who chose to retire.

I reached into my purse and said, “Well let me give you something for your—”

“No.” Roman shook her head when she saw I was handing her money. “Consider his death a gift from me to you. I hated that nigga.” She stood up and smiled. “Good luck.” She walked out, but not without me slipping my card in her pocket.

The fact that she played hard to get made me want to be in contact with her even more. I was sure I’d see her again and I knew we would do business. But first, I had to call Bambi and tell her the partial good news.

 

****

A WEEK LATER

 

I was right. Not even a week later, Roman sat in the middle of the floor on a leather recliner inside of the bunker.

My sisters all stood before her. Bambi stepped away from us wearing her green fatigue pants and a black t-shirt. She only wore her fatigues when she meant business.

Roman was dressed in all black. Black pants and a black hoodie. The darkness of her gear set off her green eyes.

“My name is Bambi Kennedy,” she said. “And you are here because Race has told me great things about you.” She walked closer and stopped before dipping into Roman’s personal space. “I don’t know what we would have done if she would’ve died. I do know the city would have been red with blood.” She paused. “I appreciate your diligence. We need people like you on our team.”

Roman remained quiet.

“We have an issue with a recent enemy who has moved into our territory,” Bambi continued. “Having worthy soldiers is not an issue for my organization. I command a huge team of killers who are able-bodied and ready.”

“So what is the concern?”

“We need someone who can act as a chameleon. A person who can move around easily without being spotted. One with experience.” She paused. “Before I go any further, I must know something. And I would appreciate your candor.”

“What is it?” Roman asked.

“Are you the one they call Goon? From Baltimore? The one who seemed to disappear without ever getting caught, leaving a trail of bodies behind?”

Roman looked guilty and I had my answer. I couldn’t believe we lucked up like this. Bambi had been trying to find her and I always thought she was an urban legend. Now I see it is not true.

“If I told you, then you’d know more than is necessary.”

Bambi laughed but she looked satisfied with Roman’s response. “Before I saw you, and your height, I knew Goon was a woman. Only a woman could keep a secret this long and get away with it. Men often require the credit for such acts. So they boast. But you don’t.”

Roman smiled at the compliment but remained poised. “Who do you need done?” she asked plainly.

“It’s not necessarily who but how many.”

“I’m listening.”

“Before we get into that, let’s talk about what you desire.”

“What makes you think I desire anything?”

“We all want something, Roman. And I’m told that you have needs that we may be able to meet.”

Roman sighed. I didn’t know her home situation but I knew she wanted to help her dude. I think he was in college or some shit like that and couldn’t pay the tuition. That’s the only thing she told me.

“I need money. For my husband.”

“And we have plenty,” Bambi assured her.

“But he can’t know what I’m doing. This has to remain anonymous.”

“I respect anonymity,” Bambi nodded. “And we never get involved in personal affairs, even if we become enemies.” She paused. “I’m about money. And since we’re on that issue, what is your fee?”

“Twenty-five thousand dollars.”

When I heard her amount, I busted out laughing. She must have been used to rolling with broke bitches if she asked for so little cash. I guess dancing on the pole couldn’t allow her to see bigger. But she was fucking with the big girls now.

“What’s funny?” Roman asked.

“Roman, for the people we need you to murder, we are willing to pay you one million dollars,” Bambi responded.

Roman’s eyes widened upon hearing our proposal. I bet she never dreamed of making so much money. We didn’t mind paying out when necessary, especially for a job like this. And especially when women were involved. We believed in looking out for each other at all times.

Roman adjusted uneasily in her seat. Now her cool manner seemed to be gone. We officially won her over.

“Excuse me…did you say a million?” Roman asked.

“You heard me correctly,” Bambi confirmed. “I don’t want you to knock over a few dope boys. We have a squad for that. The people I’m seeking your assistance for have caused major problems for my organization. So they require care and confidentiality. You demonstrated that when you killed back in the day and maintained your silence…even now. Mellvue, the girlfriend of our biggest enemy, has family in the area and she won’t be as easy to get as the others. Her movements are sporadic and he takes care to protect her.”

“I understand. But I will need help.”

“You can use some of our men.”

“I’m sorry, Bambi. But in order for me to do this properly, I need to work with men I trust. I hope that’s okay.”

Bambi looked at me and I nodded in approval.

“We will have Sarge run a background check on the men you’ve chosen,” Bambi continued. “If they come back clean I’m okay with that.”

“A million dollars is a lot of money,” Roman replied. “Just for a few people.”

Bambi walked closer and looked down at her. “I know, Roman. A million dollars is hefty.” She paused. “That’s why I must tell you. For the money, you will owe me a hundred lives.”

She nodded and said, “Who do you want me to get first.”

“Larry of the Reapers. I need this nigga killed like yesterday.”

“Consider it done.”

 

****

LARRY – THE REAPERS

 

“Somebody’s shooting!” screeched a paunchy woman as she gripped her lower belly while charging through the mall. Turning around momentarily to see if the killer was upon her, her eyes widened when she witnessed a tidal wave of terror-stricken people zooming in her direction. Her heart thrashed against the walls of her chest just as her high heeled shoe failed, causing her to plummet against the grungy floor, slamming on her knees a bit too roughly. When a pain she hadn’t expected sequenced through her ankle she looked down only to see the bloody bone projecting through the flesh of her lower leg. “Help me! Please, somebody!” she begged with an outstretched hand.

The thing was this. The horde was unmerciful and it was each man for himself. Some leaped over her, while others stepped on her limbs in an attempt to survive.

More gunfire blazed through the gallery as another woman screamed. “God, help us all! What’s happening?” Each time shots echoed throughout the air, it would give the weary dynamism to push harder. To run faster.

When the herd of souls reached a fork in the mall, some advanced right while others moved left, including a spry drug dealer and an old man who needed assistance from a cherry wood cane, else he would be trampled like the woman some feet back.

Proceeding in the same direction, they both continued their search for freedom when the elderly man happened upon a beige door with a white and black sign marked Employees Only. Seeking sanctuary, his wrinkled hand covered the doorknob when suddenly the inconsiderate drug dealer shoved him to the side as if he were going into his own home.

Although youthful, his skin was bumpy and his broad forehead was contracted in rage so that his eyebrows formed an inky line. “Get out my way, old man! Before I burn your ass down.” He raised his shirt, showing his .45. With warnings in the air, he slipped inside thinking of his own protection.

Fortunately for the elder, he was able to make it into the darkness with his younger counterpart just before he slammed the door and the sounds of gunfire grew nearer.

More shots fired.

More screaming voices.

The reign of terror seemed endless.

When the senior stepped on the drug dealer’s toe as he struggled to get situated, he pushed him back roughly. “Move the fuck out of my way,” he whispered harshly. The senior was knocked into the brooms on the back wall, causing a shooting pain down his spine. Neither could see the other’s eyes but they could feel the tension in the tight space. “Step on my J’s again and I’ma crack your fucking jaw,” he whispered, stabbing a stiff finger in the middle of his chest.

“S-sorry,” the old man responded, his voice quavering.

With the matter out of the way, they focused on the closed door again and the screaming from the people outside. The young dealer was hopeful that he might make it out alive until he heard the senior’s rough breathing that whistled slightly as he inhaled and exhaled. The dealer was certain that if the gunman was near, he would hear the elder and this made him uncomfortable. He would’ve thrown him out but what if the gunman saw him? Both of them may have been killed.

In panic mode, he turned around again. He was certainly tiring of the old geezer. So he gripped the collar of the senior’s shirt. Removing his weapon, he touched the cool steel to his nose and growled, “Either you stop breathing or I’ll stop it for you.” He cocked his bird. “What you wanna do?”

“I’ll…I’ll try to be quiet,” he stuttered. “Please don’t kill me.”

“Good choice,” the dealer responded before shoving him back into the wall and aiming at the door, ready to fire at whoever came inside. He deduced that the shooter was some crazed white boy, mad at the world and the parents who brought him into it.

The older man continued to breathe heavily until his respiration ceased abruptly, along with the noise outside. There was no wind down or fade out. As if the mayhem in and out of the closet never existed, it was eerily silent. The type of silence that birthed insecurity and fear.

Suddenly the skills the young dealer adapted on the streets―the ones that kept him alive even though he was a most hated man, due to the nights he and his crew, the Reapers, robbed competitors of their stashes―kicked in.

“You know now, don’t you?” the senior whispered closely into his ear. His voice was different but vaguely the same. “That I’m here for you.”

When the dealer tried to fire at the old man the warm palm of the senior’s hand pressed against his windpipe while his other hand now secured a knife at the dealer’s neck. “Don’t turn around,” he demanded. “I’m very swift.”

Suddenly the recollection became apparent.

He was a she.

“What did I do?” He was certain she was some bitter bitch he fucked who went through amazing odds to get even by causing a diversion in the mall. “At least tell me who you are!”

Without responding, in the blink of an eye, the elder-turned-Impaler pressed the blade deeper into his throat, past the skin, past the arteries and through the cartilage until it could go no further. Warm blood oozed over her fingers and splashed to the floor.

Although he was helpless and no longer a threat, the Impaler held onto the dealer’s body until she felt his spirit exit this world. When he went limp, she placed her lips against his earlobe again and whispered, “Goon.”