T he first thing that alerted Manny that something was wrong was the change in Greg’s facial expression. He had gone from laughing to casting a shocked glare over Manny’s shoulder. He had hit the ground just before bullets tore through the corner store window and Greg’s chest.
Manny stayed crouched on the ground, scanning to see where the danger was coming from. Twenty yards south, he spotted two men on a motorcycle. Stone was yanking on the handle bars of the Yamaha, trying to bring it around into on-coming traffic. Sticks’s emaciated form was perched on the back of the bike cradling a Mac-11. Manny had a serious problem.
The time for logical thought had passed as Manny’s survival instincts kicked in. At the exact moment Sticks’s finger depressed the trigger, Manny was in motion. Glass shattered and people screamed as bullets tore through Columbus. Manny darted across the bike’s path, firing his 9 mm. He had hoped to hit Sticks or Stone, but only succeeded in ruining the light on the front of the Yamaha. The upside was that Stone lost control of the bike, spilling himself and his brother onto the street. By the time either of them had managed to get to their feet, Manny was bolting west on 104th street.
“Damn it, you’re letting him get away!” Stone shouted as he tried to crawl from under the bike.
“You’re the dumb shit that lost control of the bike,” Sticks shot back. “Next time, I steer and you shoot.”
“Man, stop running your mouth and go get that nigga!”
Sticks was reluctant to leave his brother, but Manny’s death was their number one priority. Swapping the Mac for his brother’s Desert Eagle, Sticks took off after Manny.
Steve sat in his car, which was idling in the parking lot on the Columbus side of the projects. Prince had called him earlier and said that Danny would be contacting him about moving their stash, but he had been waiting for almost a half-hour and there was still no word from him. He figured he would give Danny another ten minutes before calling Prince to tell him about the no-show.
Steve was about to light a blunt when he noticed flashing lights in his rearview. He tossed the blunt out the window thinking that the police were about to swoop in on the parking lot, but to his surprise they rolled right passed him. He turned around in his seat to get a better view and his jaw dropped. At least five police vehicles were speeding through the narrow walkway between 865 and 845. He wondered where the hell they were going, but he would find out before it was all said and done.
A bullet shattered a car window mere feet away from Manny, spraying him with glass. His chest burned, and he felt like he would collapse from exhaustion at any moment, but the sight of Sticks closing the distance drove him.
Sticks popped two quick shots, both missing Manny. He cursed and ran faster, hoping to catch up to Manny before he crossed the street. Stopping briefly he drew a bead square at Manny’s back. Just before he pulled the trigger, the dirty son of a bitch wove between a group of women pushing strollers.
“Cocksucker!” Sticks shouted as he continued the chase.
When Manny crossed Amsterdam Avenue, he poured on the speed and was crossing Broadway in no time. His logic was that if he could make it to Riverside Park, he just might live through it. There was always heavy police presence in New York City parks, and this was one time he welcomed seeing the boys in blue.
Manny had made it to the park entrance when pain ripped through his calf. He tried to keep moving but the bullet had shredded a muscle and his leg could no longer support his weight. In a last attempt at saving his worthless life, he tried to roll over and draw his gun only to have it kicked away. As he looked up into Sticks’s midnight eyes, a warm trickle of piss ran down his leg.
With an audible grunt, Stone shoved the bike and was finally able to free himself. For the most part he was unharmed, but when he tried to stand it felt like his leg wouldn’t support his weight. There was no way he could catch up to Sticks and Manny, so his best bet was to make an exit and hope his brother could finish the job on his own. No sooner than Stone turned to make his exit he found himself staring down the barrels of half a dozen guns.
“Drop the gun or I drop you!” the first officer barked. He had a nervous look in his eye and couldn’t seem to quite keep his gun steady.
Stone weighed his options and figured he’d have a better chance beating it in court than holding court. “A’ight,” Stone said, slowly lowering the gun. “Be easy.”
No sooner than the gun touched the ground, the police officers were on him. They beat him with nightsticks, pistols, fists, and feet until Stone could barely move. As unconsciousness took him, he wished that he could see the look on Manny’s face when Sticks killed him.
“Pop that shit now,” Sticks taunted Manny, aiming the gun at his chest.
“Fuck you!” Manny shrieked, still trying to crawl into the park.
“That leg looks pretty bad,” Sticks said, stomping on Manny’s wounded calf. Manny let out a yell that sounded like a tortured cat.
“You pieces of shit, Diego’s gonna kill you!” Manny threatened.
Sticks laughed wickedly. “I doubt that, since Prince is in the process of putting that nigga in a bag. Don’t trip though, with all the money we’re gonna make in the hood, we’ll make sure your mama has the prettiest black dress you ever did see.” Sticks was about to finish Manny when two police cars screeched to a halt a few yards behind him.
“Looks like you’ll have to wait on that black dress,” Manny burst out laughing at his narrow escape from death.
Sticks looked from Manny to the police who were filing out of their cars. After all they had gone through and overcome, it couldn’t end like this. Manny would go to jail as surely as he would, but the judicial system couldn’t punish people like Manny. He was a child of the streets, and only she could call him home.
“Fuck it!” In a blur, Sticks popped two shots into Manny’s grinning face and bounded over the wall into the park. The police opened fire, but Sticks was already halfway across the open field. A bullet hit him in the shoulder, knocking him off balance and sending him crashing to the floor, and his gun flying into the brush. Pain shot through Sticks’s shoulder, but his legs worked just fine as he trotted through the park, in the direction of the highway.
The blood loss caused Sticks to see spots, but determination wouldn’t let him pass out. He had long ago vowed that he would rather die than spend the rest of his life in someone’s prison, and Sticks considered himself a man of his word. Cars blared their horns and swerved as he hobbled across the highway. As he neared the edge of the water the horrible realization set in that he was trapped.
“Go ahead, I want you to run!” An officer sporting a buzz cut yelled, advancing on Sticks with his gun drawn.
“Take it easy, man. I ain’t running,” Sticks huffed. He raised his good arm and kept the injured one at his side. The officer with the buzz cut moved in on Sticks with a murderous look in his eyes. Sticks held no illusions about what waited for him. When officer buzz cut reached for him, Sticks swung as hard as he could with his injured arm, slicing the officer’s throat with the box cutter he was concealing.
Riverside Park was lit up like the Fourth of July as the officers all opened fire at the same time. Sticks got hit at least five times before he went sailing over the guardrail and into the Hudson River. His chapter in the game had come to a close.