Life After Death (3 page)

     We laughed and gave one another a pound.

     "What up with Samantha? She is truly off the chain! How many times you hit that?

He laughed, though he knew I was fishing for info. “Last night was our first and last time. As far as her personal life is concerned she is dealing with some dude who is getting money who he is beating her ass but she keep going back to him for his money. I already offered to kill him but she hasn’t said yes or no. She has been lusting off your pictures for a while now so she'll probably be around more than she usually is. Forget all of that for now, who is next to catch a taste of our vengeance?"

     I dug the list out of my pocket and looked only for far away addresses. Since we had already killed somebody local, it was only sensible to stretch it out. I got to California and stopped.

     "Where  is California, Maryland? I never heard of that spot. Sounds like a hillbilly town!"             

      He smirked as he thought for a few moments, and then snapped his fingers.

     "That's going toward Ocean City. That's a couple hours from here."

     I smiled and sparked the blunt that he had just passed to me.

     "That's perfect. We can't have a bunch of bodies dropping right around here."

     He looked back across the street, and saw that the fiend traffic was picking back up.

     "Man, wherever you say we going, that's what it is. Look, let me finish off these couple of ounces and I'll be right with you."

     I looked at a semi-pretty woman who was in line to get some crack. She looked a little dusty, but her face was cute. And her ass was sticking out there just like Nikki Minaj’s does. I immediately got excited.

     "Alright go get that money. Look, give that chick in the tight jeans some pills for me, and tell her that she belong to me for a while."

He laughed and gave me a pound. He then jogged across the street, walked up to the chick, and whispered in her ear. Our eyes locked for a second; then she looked at Redman, and shook her head “yes.” He went into his dip and gave her some pills. I met her in the street, and we began to talk as we walked toward the apartment. I was ready for round two!

Chapter 7

According to the GPS, we were about twenty minutes from the guy’s house. We realized that  two hours had flown by as we had rocked out to a Reggie Noble mix tape. Redman turned down the radio and looked at me.

     "Though it doesn't really matter 'cause he is on the list, but who is this cat that we are ready to kill?"

     I looked at him and smiled.

     "Good question. I don't even know. Let me check the list."

     I scrolled down the list until I saw California, MD. I looked across the page and smiled as it said "jury foreman." He definitely deserved to be killed; better late than never! I looked over at my loyal little brother and smirked.

     "He was the foreman on the jury. I remember him, too. The big white dude with the mean eyes. Whenever our eyes would meet, I could always feel hate radiating from them. I knew how he was going to vote even before the trial started. Can't wait to see what radiates from his eyes in a few minutes!"

     I laughed along with Redman as I dialed the soon-to-be-dead white man's phone number. He answered on the third ring.

     "Can I speak to Mr. John G Patterson?"

     "This is he. Who is this, please?"

     "This is Rubin Cottrell, from USA Today. We are attempting to interview former Jury foremen of murder trials. Many are reluctant, but we need some brave souls to share their experiences so that people can understand what goes on in a jury room during jury deliberations. Are you brave, Mr. Patterson?"

     A few moments of silence passed before he cleared his voice.

      "I'll do it."

     "Excellent. I'll notify my boss with the good news. When will be a good time for you to do an interview, and would you like your wife and kids to be there?"

     He laughs.

     "My children are grown, and it's just me and my wife. Anytime in the evening will be fine."

     "Excellent. I'll check the calendar and get back to you in order to solidify a date."

     "That sounds like a plan. Talk to you soon, Mr. Contrell."

     "Good night to you, Mr. Patterson."

     After hanging up, I looked at Redman, and we both laughed. Excitement was flowing through our veins after just talking to one of the people who had sentenced me to death. He tried to kill me. How many times do people talk to the person that tried to murder them?

     "Lil Bro let’s go find a spot to eat and chill ‘till it gets dark."

     We were able to find a Taco Bell and the Doritos tacos were worth the years of lusting after them for years! We kicked it about a bunch of nothing for about an hour – until it was dark. Then we both suddenly looked at one another as soon as the sun fully disappeared, and got up without saying a word; it was time to kill, again!

Chapter 8

As soon as I pulled up and parked in front of John Patterson's house, we both put on our gloves and checked our guns. We walked to the front door quickly – trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. When Redman pressed the door bell, I pulled out my knife and concealed it behind my leg. My heart began to race like crazy when John Patterson peeked out the window beside the door, hesitated, then began to unlock the door. Once the door was open, he extended his hand.

     "John Patterson. And you are?"

     I smirked.

     "Pissed the fuck off!"

     Before he could react, I stabbed him twice in the stomach with powerful upward swings. He began to stumble backwards, holding his stomach wounds as blood seeped through his fingers and dripped onto the expensive, plush, tan colored carpet. We then calmly walked in, and Redman calmly closed and locked the door before he turned off the porch light. I slowly and silently followed John Patterson in the direction he was stumbling.

     "Honey, who was that?"

     Seconds after her question lingered in silence, he led us into the kitchen. At first, she doesn't notice us because she had her undivided attention focused on the food she was cooking on the stove; that was the most delicious smell that I had experienced in over a decade. When she heard the thud of her injured husband hitting the floor, she looked down at him, then up at me. The way she maintained her composure was extremely impressive. She started to walk toward him, but I gestured "no" to her - using my bloody knife.

     "You stay over the stove and continue to cook that delicious smelling food. There's nothing you can do to save his life. He dies today for what he did to me."

     Her eyes bored into me – displaying curiosity, anger, and fear.

      "What possibly could my husband have done to you that was so terrible that he deserves to die?"

     "He was in charge of the jury that wrongfully put me on death row because they got tired of being locked in a room for several hours. I was released yesterday because of DNA and though I’m happy to be home, I’m mad as hell at the people that did not take their responsibility serious enough. My life did not hold a lot of value to them so their lives don’t mean shit to me. Welcome to my LIFE AFTER DEATH."

     This revelation caused John Patterson's head to quickly lift off the ground, and his eyes searched my face. It only took a few moments for recognition to seep into his eyes. He then put his head back on the kitchen floor, and began to cry. Then he looked back up at me, with his eyes now radiating the hatred that I remembered being scared to look at during my trial.

     "There were twelve of us, pal. I didn't find you guilty by myself."

     I chuckled as I pulled out the list of names and waived it toward him.

     " You damn sure didn’t so you will recognize a few people that was involved in this case down in hell, so don't feel  alone. All of you all are about to catch this taste of vengeance. See, I'm forced to take matters into my own hands because the justice system doesn't  care if an innocent man is sentence to death.  There is no formal law that punishes a jury once it’s proven that their conviction was the wrong one. So, I’m the judge and executioner and I have sentenced a lot of people to death though I might get to all of them. And you, John Patterson, are now sentenced to death. Any last words? You..."

     Redman walked into the kitchen and stood over John Patterson with his gun pointed at his head.

     "Come on, Big Bro, with all this movie type shit. We from the hood. Just body the chump so we can get up out of here."

     I met his intense glare and smirked. 

     "This is not your regular 'hood type drama. These murders are going to be therapeutic for my soul. I have played these murders out in my mind for 14 years. I have said this same speech to him and others in my mind so many times  . Only way for me to get real closure is for me to hear answers to certain questions, and the ones I kill – they have to suffer for a little while before they die. They have to feel what it's like to be on death row. The best

     “ Barb wire fences and brick walls does not define death row. If you was held hostage and that person knew they was going to die, they experienced what it’s like on death row. If you was in a car that was destroyed during a violent crash and you still here to tell people what it was like to survive, you was on death row. I also want to understand what happens in the jury room while somebody’s life hangs in the air. I'm doing this my way. If you in a rush, roll out Negro. I'll take their car and meet you home. What you going to do?"

     After we engaged in an intense staring match, Mrs. Patterson suddenly turned around and diffused the tension with two words as she glanced helplessly at her husband.

     "Dinner’s ready!"

     I looked at her, and the pain and sorrow in her eyes would had penetrated my heart before I spent over three thousand days awaiting death. Now, my heart felt warmer at the sight.

     "I'll make the plates. Redman, take her to get some stuff to patch him up and get him a new shirt. I'm not trying to look at all of that blood while we eat."

     Redman looked at me, shaking his head in a sarcastic way, as he followed Mrs. Patterson

Chapter 9

   I walked to the stove and began to laugh as I stared at a pot of baked lamb with oil and oregano – a popular Greek dish. I also knew what was in the other covered pots even before looking in them. One had to be Avogolemono, which is the sauce that is poured onto the lamb, and the other pot had to be Rice Pilaf, which is placed around the lamb once the Avgolemono is poured onto it. As I lifted the tops and saw that I was correct, I just laughed. I then walked to the refrigerator – knowing that I would see a bottle of 1978 Montrachet wine. When I opened the refrigerator door, I smiled and my mouth watered in pure anticipation.

     With the prison food being non-edible majority of the time, I survived purely on peanut butter and jelly sandwich’s and on crackers, tuna fish, steak fish, kippered snacks, mackerel, pink salmon, roast beef, and beef sausage. I had mixed those meats with noodles or rice, mayo, cheese, and various condiments. I had to make my meals taste the best I could though I got good at it I was miserable. To cope with my food problems I ordered close to a hundred food magazines and books. I also watched every cooking show I could catch.

     I took my time making the two plates, using all of the food. I poured us big cups of the wine, and then began to crush my food. They returned a few minutes later. While she tended to her husband, Redman and I smashed the food and sipped some wine. After she finished patching him up, and taking off his bloody shirt, she put a sweater on him. She then lovingly gave him a cup of water before placing a Cohiba Behike cigar in his mouth. (I studied cigars, too!) He chuckled as he stared at her with deep affection.

     "You hate my cigars, Beth. Are you sure?"

     She gently took the cigar from him, and took a deep inhale. She choked instantly. We all laughed, and she looked at him.

     "I love everything about you, even the things that I hate."

     She then looked at me.

     "How did you know how to make the plates like that?"

     I smiled and looked at Redman, who was smashing the food on his plate. He began to laugh and talk with a mouth full of food.

     "He studied food while he was forced to eat all that bullshit in prison for the past fifteen years. I know he's a beast at cooking! I can’t wait to experience his cooking."

     He glared at John Patterson.

     John Patterson took a few inhales off his cigar and blew the smoke upwards. He then looked me in my eyes.

     "I watched the news when you was released. I read the article in awe as it showed how the DNA found on the scene was not yours, as well as the guy (whose DNA was found at the scene) confessed to the crime, and told details that wasn't never released to the press.  I prayed on it, and I asked for God’s forgiveness and got it . So after I say I'm sorry, you and your side kick can kiss my ass!"

     I stared at him as I finished my plate and drained the cup of wine. Then I smirked.

     "God forgives, I don't. My parents died knowing that their son was innocent and waiting to die. My younger brother spent his inheritance on lawyers that eventually proved my innocence. So, fuck your apology. I just need you to be honest and answer a few of my questions. I deserve that much."

     He then looked at his wife, who had tears streaming out of her eyes, and who nodded her head “yes.” He took a couple of hales, and then nodded to me. I accepted the blunt that Redman passed to me, and took a few deep hales. I smiled when I saw Mrs. Patterson staring at the blunt.

     "Are you trying to hit this, Mrs. Patterson?"

     Redman laughed.

     "Yeah right, what she know 'bout that purp?"

     She looked at him and chuckled as she got up and accepted the blunt. She inhaled it deeply and didn't choke. With smoke coming out of her mouth and nose, she then faced Redman.

     "I was a teenager when I first visited Amsterdam in the 70's as a Dead Head. I smoked more of the best weed in the world before you were even thought about."

     We both burst into laughter. John Patterson smirked at his wife as she continued to take deep hales until she ate the end bit of the roach. That really caused us to laugh uncontrollably. I then looked at John Patterson in his eyes.

      "Did I ever have a chance in that jury room after Bethany Richardson testified?"

     He shook his head no.

     "The dreads definitely didn’t help you out. Honestly, you looked guilty in the face and you were guilty before she testified because why would the police arrest you out of everybody in Baltimore City? After she testified, all of your witnesses and your testimony fell on deaf ears.

We were wrong. Sorry. Nobody is perfect."

     Redman blew out a gust of air. I looked at him and saw nothing but anger in his eyes. I looked back at John Patterson.

     "OK, nobody is perfect. But, let's say that I accidentally shoot somebody. Even though it's an accident, am I wrong?"

     He nodded yes.

     "So, who deserves to die, man? Is it the dumb ass victim that kept saying it was me? Should it be the judge? Should it be the prosecutor, or should it be the jury? What do you think? I mean, let's say I was your son, and your son was sentenced to death unjustly. Who would you want to observe be murdered?"

     Mr. Patterson’s face suddenly turned into an angry scowl, and he stared at me right in my eyes.

     "All of you niggers look like guilty monsters. Why do you think so many white people pick out the wrong black guy? Because the next one looks capable of doing what was done to them. Dreads or no dreads. Dark or light. Skinny or fat. Young or old. Prison was designed for you niggers. That's just the way it is, like it or not."

     Mrs. Patterson looked at her husband incredulously as she covered her mouth in genuine shock. Redman and I rushed toward him at the same time. Redman kicked him viciously in the head. I then stabbed him in his face, neck, chest, and stomach until I couldn't swing my arm any longer. Mrs. Patterson crawled on the floor to her husband, crying softly. She climbed on top of him and buried her face into his bloody shirt. She didn't see me hand Redman the gun with the silencer. She didn't see him place the barrel to her head. I wonder if she felt any of the four bullets that he put into her head. Her body shook as if she had to have felt at least one of them.

     I stripped off of all of my blood soaked clothes and threw them into a trash bag, along with the plates, forks, and cups that we had eaten and drank from. I instructed Redman to move the bodies around the kitchen to screw up the murder scene. (I watched many episodes of the first 48, and CSI, religiously, until I felt I knew many ways to get away with murder.) I left the kitchen to get some of Mr. Patterson’s clothes. We discovered that, for a white dude, he had some good tastes! 

We found a few cans of gas in the basement next to a huge lawn mower. We poured gas throughout the entire house. We then set fire in the basement, which gave us enough time to walk out and calmly make our escape.

Chapter 10

     "Pop that, pop that, pop that..."

     French Montana's song has King of Diamonds off the chain. 

Redman said that there was a new club, and that it did not begin to compare to the one in Miami; however, I had no complaints. All of the chicks I saw in the club were popping their asses, and were absolutely beautiful! I watched Samantha giving a female a lap dance, and looking too sexy! 

With a thousand dollars sitting in the open in front of us, I bought a bottle of Peach Ciroq for Redman and me. That brought us the attention we sought. Every dancer came to our table to earn some money; but Fatima and Samantha stayed away. I had a ball, though one of the strippers has made my jeans smelling like something unnatural! I didn’t care and added to the smell by getting lap dances from every dancer in the club. As time headed toward the end of the night, Redman and I called Samantha and Fatima over. I leaned toward them, drunk.