A voice told him to run. To get out of there. He’d said goodbye to G-Ma. That was enough. There was nothing left for him around this place.
My brother.
He felt something in his pocket. Something that he’d been given and something that had changed his life. A small gift, a symbol of a much larger gift. The wooden cross urged him to ignore the fear inside him and to do what he needed to do.
That was to see Kriminal one last time, even if he knew it was dangerous.
Pretty Boy knew his brother would be hiding in the chop shop. Nefarius and his men surely didn’t know about the place. Not yet. But they would soon enough.
One chance.
That’s what Pretty Boy told himself. All he could do was tell his brother the truth as he knew it now.
The lights in the garage were on but it was quiet. He could only see one car. Pretty Boy wondered if Kriminal had taken off in one of the others, splitting town to save his life. Yet he knew deep down that his brother wouldn’t do that. It wasn’t just the money that would make him stay. This was his place, his neighborhood, his life. Nothing was going to force Kriminal to leave. Nothing but a bullet.
“Lookit who it is—the prodigal son,” the voice called out from a side door of the garage. “You got my money?”
“No,” Pretty Boy told his brother.
Kriminal looked like he hadn’t slept since everything happened. He wore the same clothes as the other night, with dark stubble covering his face and bags under his eyes. He looked like an animal ready to attack.
“Trick question, P.B. I went and got it myself.”
He pulled the bag out from underneath a table and then he unzipped it, showing Pretty Boy all the money that was still there.
The pastor . . .
“Is he— Did you—”
His brother gave him a demonic grin. “Too late now if I did.”
For a brief moment, Pretty Boy felt his heart fall and shatter on the ground. But then Kriminal just laughed it off.
“Nah, he’s still vertical.”
“How did you know?” Pretty Boy asked him.
“Skeezer and Lester. They spotted you going into the church while I was looking for you. Looking for my own brother who was hidin’ from me. Skeezer called me.”
“They’re just teens.”
“Don’t matter. They’re smart.”
“Like 40 Ounce and Little B?”
Kriminal ignored the comment. “Know what I told Skeezer? I told him about our aunt. Remember—the one that got saved by that TV preacher? Remember the first thing she did? She went and gave that man every dime she had. I told them sheep follow the shepherd. So I bet the shepherd got my money. And you know what? I was right.”
The words echoed in the large open space. Pretty Boy didn’t say anything as his brother walked up to him, his anger clear.
“What’s the matter with you?” he shouted at Pretty Boy and added some curses. “Everything we’ve been through. What I’ve done for you. Live together, die together.”
Pretty Boy wanted to never hear that stupid saying again for the rest of his life.
Kriminal shoved him back and then slammed him against the wall, cursing at him again. Pretty Boy could smell liquor on his brother’s breath. That wasn’t the reason for his fury. That came whether the whiskey was there or not.
“So after everything, what do you do?” Kriminal shouted, his hand against Pretty Boy’s chest. “You go and steal from me? In front of everyone?”
“It’s not like that.”
More curses and a harder pressure against his chest. “Then what is it? You found Jesus and suddenly you think you’re better than all this?”
“No.”
“Is Jesus gonna pay the bills, buy you a car, get you outta this hood?”
He could if he wanted to.
“Listen to me,” Pretty Boy said, moving and getting out of his brother’s grip. “I see things now I didn’t see before and I want to share that with you.”
Kriminal laughed, his curses becoming more colorful, his anger more cynical and dangerous. “Oh, so you’re tryin’ to save me.”
But God showed His great love for us by sending Christ to die for us while we were still sinners.
“We all need to be saved,” Pretty Boy said.
“And your Jesus is gonna do that?”
“Yeah. He died for us all. So that we could be saved.”
His brother just shook his head in disgust and disbelief. “Yeah, well I wouldn’t die for Him.”
Kriminal walked back over to where the bag sat on the ground. He looked around, staring at the ground, thinking things over.
“Why’d you come back here?” Kriminal finally asked. “You know what I gotta do now. Or did you think I was just gonna forgive you?”
Pretty Boy stared at him for a moment. He pictured his brother only ten years old, passing him the basketball while they played on a court outside. Back before life handed them a sentence with guns and gangs and godlessness. Back when there was no GPS to take them out of this hellhole.
No way you can do it. No way.
He believed that. But even more than that, Pretty Boy believed in the truth. That truth G-Ma had spent their whole lives telling them about.
“I’m already forgiven,” Pretty Boy said. “But not by you, K. You wanna forgive me so I can go back to doing what we did. Jesus forgave me so I don’t have to. And neither do you. That’s what I came here to tell you. We don’t have to be who we are.”
Kriminal’s curse bounced around the walls and the ceiling around them. He spit his words at Pretty Boy.
“Shut up about Jesus, P.B. I mean it.”
“I can’t and I won’t. He loves you. In a way no other person on this earth can love you.”
The words had been too much for Kriminal. He cursed while he rushed over and grabbed Pretty Boy’s arms with both hands, shoving him back against the wall. His arm bolted up and his fingers clenched while Kriminal contemplated lashing out and doing what he did best.
A blast of ripping metal and the door slamming against the wall came from behind Kriminal. His brother turned around while Pretty Boy could already see the face coming through the door, like a wolf slipping out of the night.
“Remember me?” Nefarius asked them.
He held a SIG 9mm in his hand and looked a lot more conscious and alive than he looked when Pretty Boy last saw him.
Kriminal stood there, both hands empty, his body looking uncertain about what to do. Pretty Boy stepped away from the wall and behind his brother by a couple of steps.
Nefarius moved closer to them, the gun aimed at their heads.
“You thought you could steal my money? You thought wrong.”
Nefarius smiled and then Pretty Boy moved. His arm clawed at Kriminal’s side. He rushed in front of him just as the sound of the handgun went off and kept going off, ripping through the shop.
But God showed His great love . . .
The great seeping pain stole Pretty Boy’s breath as the bullets tore into his back. Two of them. Everything went numb as he fell into his brother’s arms.
The gunfire stopped as Kriminal’s eyes widened and his arms held him for a brief moment. While Pretty Boy crumpled to the cement floor, he could hear his brother’s footsteps. Then he heard shuffling and metal—probably the gun—clacking to the ground. More shuffling and then footsteps. All while the world leaked out like oil draining from an engine.
Half his body felt gone. Just gone. The pain took so much of him that he couldn’t even try to fathom it. And meanwhile his head kept replaying the Bible verse over and over, as if the words were alive and mysterious and wrapping him up like a bandage.
Kriminal was hovering over him suddenly, cradling him for a moment, tears in his eyes. Disbelief covered his face, but not the angry kind of disbelief from before. This was the shocked and surprised and overwhelmed kind.
God showed His great love and I can do the same.
“P.B. you hold on, you hear me?” Kriminal screamed.
Pretty Boy’s mouth felt numb, his muscles bending out of his skin, his breaths twisting together. Yet he forced his hand toward the pocket of his jeans.
Christ dyin’ for us on the cross. Dyin’ for us sinners.
Kriminal cursed again while Pretty Boy grabbed the wooden cross and then moved to stick it into his brother’s hands.
“No no no no, P.B., no—”
“Believe,” Pretty Boy said.
He saw Kriminal’s wide eyes and shaking head and opened mouth and tried his hardest to smile at them before the world turned to black.
Then he saw another image of Kriminal. This time smiling. This time looking humble and heartbroken. This time looking like the brother he always knew he had.
Live together. Die together.
Pretty Boy was taking with him the dyin’ part.
God, let him take home the livin’ part. Please, God.
Eternity finally grabbed his hand and pulled him forward.