Read Out a Order Online

Authors: Evie Rhodes

Tags: #Fiction, #Thrillers, #Suspense

Out a Order (12 page)

BOOK: Out a Order
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Chapter 26
B
ack in the warehouse when they were alone Trey took a chance on breaking the “no speaking until you're spoken to” rule and said to Ballistic, “Rico got what he deserved. Though it could be considered a waste of some nice-looking flesh.”
He smiled, trying to lightly joke with Ballistic. Ballistic stared at him piercingly.
He didn't even crack a smile.
Nervously Trey continued, “Rico dishonored Spence's mother. That nigga done lost his mind removing the body from the services. If that don't top it all, man. That nigga loves to grandstand. Spence's body was dumped in Branch Brook Park scattered with bullet holes. It looks like Swiss cheese.”
Ballistic finally smiled.
He decided in this instance to let Trey go for speaking before he was spoken to. “That's why Rico's little piece is up in flames. Our boy has guts and imagination. No doubt.”
Ballistic rapped his cane on the pole. The German shepherd stood attentive at his side. “Did you get what I asked for?”
Trey smiled. He reached inside his jacket, pulling out a stolen sports jersey belonging to Rico. He tossed it to Ballistic.
For his part he was glad Ballistic was in a good mood because he had learned that Ballistic was one foul nigga. Trey had never come up against anyone like him, and he hoped he never did again.
This nigga wasn't ordinary. He was on some extraordinary extra extra that none of the rest of them could touch.
Trey had never seen a man whose soul was as black as Ballistic's. It didn't have anything to do with game or just being straight-up jack.
This scared him in a place inside he didn't know existed. He wondered if the others felt it. He didn't know but even if they did, none of them would ever breathe a word of it. It just couldn't be done.
Trey was living with the feeling that they had seriously messed up in this life associating with Ballistic, and after this they all had hell to look forward to. But he was draped in the thug persona. Being stand-up, he could do nothing but play it to the bone.
Deep inside where a playa's bone resided he knew it was just a matter of time. That none of them would make it out. And for the first time in his life he knew it wasn't worth it, but he was stuck. He couldn't walk away and he could never let on that he felt this way.
His death would be sealed in short order if he did. There was no way out. That was the way of the hood. It swallowed and ate its own young.
Mentally Trey crossed himself.
Just in case this dude Jesus was real he was wondering if maybe he'd forgive him if he asked, for associating with a demon. 'Cause there was no doubt that the waves of darkness emanating from Ballistic had nothing to do with hustling.
He himself was just trying to clock a dollar and make himself a rep. He'd become a rock on the streets to keep niggas off him. On the streets you were as good as your connections. Ballistic's name alone would make niggas wet their pants, so being down with him had its bennies. But they were in over their heads and he knew it.
He'd heard that strange noise as they left Rico's girl in the burning house. It was an eerie howling that sounded like it came from another realm. A shrieking. Just like something out of the damned
Exorcist
. No joke.
He'd told his grandmama to stop preaching at him, but she didn't listen. That's how he knew about Jesus. His grandmama claimed Jesus could save anybody. He hadn't saved anyone Trey had known. Except his grandmama. But still . . .
If he died here maybe he could have a chance somewhere else. As soon as the thought crossed his mind he shook his head, remembering the desperate look in Rico's girl's eyes when she realized she was at the mercy of a monster and how there was nothing he would do to help her.
Her screams would be something he would live with night and day. They had cold-bloodedly killed the woman, and he had been a willing participant. Self-preservation. Fear.
If he had stepped in Ballistic would have killed him instantly. He had had no choice. Still, the hatred along with the self-loathing persisted. It persisted because he knew he was too weak to do anything except go on and on playing it to the bone.
He would play until the music stopped.
And one day he knew the music would stop. The last melody would definitely play and the only thing left would be death. He was nothing more than a killing machine and he knew those who killed would eventually be killed.
That was the bottom line.
Ballistic put Rico's jersey up to the dog's nose, letting him sniff, smell, and savor Rico's scent. He nodded and the dog tore the jersey to shreds.
Trey nodded at the jersey. “Temaine came through with the goods,” he said.
A gurgling sound emitted from Ballistic's throat. “Temaine's a good man. I will have to get him out of Rico's camp soon. Send Rico some flowers for me. Do not kill him. He is mine. Understood?”
Trey nodded. “What about Shannon Davenport?”
“He is not in my way. Leave him. In fact I consider him useful. He serves my purposes well.”
For some reason Trey's skin crawled at Ballistic's words.
Ballistic raised an eyebrow wondering why Trey was still standing there. Trey nodded while moving out of his sphere.
 
 
Proverbs: 1:16 For their feet run to evil, and make haste to shed blood.
Chapter 27
R
ico was one incensed nigga. His cell phone had been blowing up as his stash houses, lieutenants, and street soldiers were being taken down. A number of them had caught body bags.
He had taught them well, but it was as though he had been caught with his pants down and he knew doggone well his pants weren't down. Nevertheless he felt like some schoolboy who had been caught off guard.
Ballistic wasn't to be taken lightly. He needed to kill this dude. Homes need to be M.I.A., missing in action. It needed to be quick because he was tampering with Rico's rep. His connect was getting jittery, blowing up his cell every time he heard about another takedown.
He couldn't make these Cubans understand, because they didn't speak his language. The only language they understood was m-o-n-e-y.
Liquid cash.
They weren't trying to hear anything else. If their cash was jeopardized, you were a dead man, and they moved on to more lucrative territory.
They obviously spoke the language of the hood, though, because they were plugged into trouble with their dope almost before it occurred. Rico found this curious, but this wasn't the time for him to mull it over and figure it out.
He'd finally turned his cell phone off as well as his various pagers because this crap was out of control. He understood Ballistic wasn't happy with his stance at the church, but it was what it was.
His job in life was to make that nigga miserable and then dead. Anybody in the game would know not to front on him. He wasn't taking no shorts.
This was only the beginning because he could see how homes played now. Ballistic played for keeps, plain and simple.
Silence overtook him for a moment as he tried to think. He and Temaine walked together in silence, finally rolling up on his Jeep. It was covered in flowers. The inside was full of them. The heavy perfumed smell of flowers was in the air everywhere.
A creepy feeling like someone walking over your grave shot through Rico's body.
“What the hell?” Temaine said.
But Rico couldn't respond. A chalk outline had been drawn around the Jeep. In blazing white chalk on the outside of the outline were the words:
RIP KESHA
!
“No,” was all Rico could get out. On the tail end of that word the Jeep exploded. Rico and Temaine ducked for cover as debris flew all over the place.
Temaine smiled. Ballistic was one badass nigga. The man had style if he'd ever seen it. He couldn't wait to get down with that nigga.
Rico rolled up next to Temaine. “We've got to get to my house, man.”
“Okay, let's do this.”
Upon arriving on his street Rico knew he had yet to face his greatest loss. It was deep in his gut. In fact it had been there all day, but he was stand-up so he'd ignored it.
He'd turned his cell phone off after it kept blowing up with bad news, so he hadn't received the worst news of all. He'd disconnected himself from the tragedies of his people while trying to formulate a plan and lie low.
At least he was disconnected until he saw the
RIP KESHA
in a chalk outline and his Jeep blew up. His baby's mother. She was dead. He had as good as killed her himself.
He was so busy playing cat-and-mouse with Ballistic as well as watching and putting fear in Shannon Davenport that he hadn't put any cover on her.
He'd thought the rules of the game prevented her from being touched. She was off-limits according to the rules. That was the truth. Apparently the street code rules didn't apply here.
They hadn't applied to little Jasmine Davenport either. But he'd made good on that. A quick phone call had verified Ebony was alive and well with Kesha's sister. Bless Kesha for taking the baby there or Rico knew she would be dead too.
He wouldn't make the same mistake twice. He'd already made arrangements for Ebony to be moved immediately out of Jersey. These death-struck punks were killing anybody who was in their way. Death had knocked at his door and claimed one of his own.
Rico's street was filled with emergency vehicles. Fire trucks, police cars, an ambulance, and an assortment of recognizable as well as undercover police vehicles.
Temaine stood silently by his side. Rico didn't dare even attempt to approach his house, or rather the pile of ashes that was left of it, because the cops would definitely pick him up.
From what he could see, there were only ashes where the house had stood. He could see the still smoldering flames. He smelled the black soot of the fire along with the awful smell of burnt flesh. The smoke seared his eyes even at this distance.
The entire street was in hysterics and filled with blazing red, white, and blue flashing lights. Instinctively he knew there was nothing left of his fine Kesha but ashes. Ballistic wouldn't have left him a body. When he took a man down he took his all.
He stood in the shadows of dying flames, embers, and the passing of life, watching. He wanted to drop to his knees in agony. He wanted to rage, yell, just let out his pain. But he couldn't let the traitor Temaine see that. He'd learned to keep your friends close, but keep your enemies closer.
He wanted to drop down just to say a prayer at Kesha's passing, but he definitely couldn't let a nigga see that either. His girl was gone and he couldn't even pay a respect to her. He had to let her go as though she'd never existed. As though they'd never shared a life or formed one together.
So all he could do was stand, stare, and contemplate, while planning to kill Ballistic in the worst way possible. He felt for his daughter because she had just lost both parents at once. He wouldn't be around because he was definitely going to kill this nigga.
His death would be by torture. Nothing else would do. Rico turned on his cell. The moment he did it lit up.
“You have my deepest sympathies, baby boy,” Ballistic gurgled in his ear. “By now I'm sure you can see there are no rules, Rico DeLeon Hudson.”
Rico didn't speak because he couldn't.
Hovering in the smoke above where his house had stood was an image of something, black, possibly male or female. It looked like it was made out of the soot of the ashes. Where the whites of the eyes should have been was a deep mustard yellow. The pupils flashed red. This thing.
Oh my God!
The thing had wings. Its mouth was thrown open, emitting a Gallic cry. A loud shriek rent the air.
“Rockabye, baby,” it shrieked.
Rico turned to see if Temaine saw what he saw, heard what he'd heard. However, it was obvious that Temaine didn't see or hear a thing.
A loud click in his ear ended Ballistic's call.
Chapter 28
T
hat night Shannon walked down the street toward his house. He looked up in the sky to see a full moon. There he went, looking up again. As though the answer to his problems might be written there.
For no reason at all he shivered. The very air around him was alive. He had an audience, though it was yet unseen. The forces had been sowing seeds of hatred against him.
Between the realms of the natural and the supernatural the spirits were weighing in as though watching a prizefight. The principalities of darkness, as Papa had observed, were aligning themselves.
It was spiritual wickedness in high places.
It was more powerful than flesh, though many didn't believe that. It didn't matter. They would all be believers before it was all over. They took life too simply. Never bothering to look beyond that which they could see, feel, or touch.
Well, there were things that couldn't be seen with the natural eye. But like air, that didn't mean they weren't there.
The Darkling had no respect of persons. All it wanted was payback. Revenge. If you took, then you would be taken. These were the laws of the universe. Laws written before the advent of mere men.
Ah, the Darkling was a rainmaker. When it rained it would pour. Blood would be running in the streets. Souls would be lost. This was child's play. For now it would watch the mortals play themselves out, follow the pattern that had been prepared for their destruction.
After all, the Darkling had been created out of their destruction, out of their lustful, deceitful, and vengeful ways. And it would exact retribution in its own time.
Shannon stopped in his tracks. T-Bone stepped out in front of him, blocking his path. A crew of gangbangers stepped up immediately behind T-Bone.
Shannon looked shrewdly at him. He didn't twitch a muscle. “You're blocking my way. Move.”
“Do you know who I am, partner?”
“No.”
T-bone stepped closer. “Well, you should. You spilled some of my blood.”
Shannon looked on the ground. Like a river raging he saw an illusion of some more of this punk's blood flowing down the street. Instead of feeding into that he said, “Look, man, you tell Rico if he wants some of me to come on. I'm tired of playing games with him.”
“Rico will take care of you in his own good time. This ain't about Rico.” With that T-Bone shoved Shannon backward.
Shannon was bugging. He just knew this young punk didn't put his hands on him. He shoved T-Bone clean off his feet. He planted his feet solidly on the sidewalk prepared to throw deathblows.
T-Bone slowly climbed to his feet. “This is about my brother, Michael Claybay.”
Shannon hit T-Bone so hard it rocked his entire world. A few of his teeth flew right out of his mouth. Scrambling to his feet he came at Shannon again. Shannon kneed him in the chin, and then did a couple of body blows to his midsection. He wasn't even winded. T-Bone stumbled around, blood spurting, trying to gather himself, trying to focus.
The gang members, seeing that T-Bone was no match for Shannon, all jumped him at the same time. This dude was an O.G. street fighting was his game. They knew they would all have had trouble taking him on, on a one-on-one basis. So it was time for the proverbial beat-down.
Shannon threw blow after blow, but there were too many of them. In the process he broke some jaws and dislodged some more teeth, he heard a couple of bones crack, but there was no way he could win this fight.
They beat the daylights out of him until his blood was running in the streets. Then they ran leaving him bleeding on the sidewalk.
Shannon got up. Though he was badly bruised he made it to his house. Amazingly his pride was more injured than he was.
He had grown up in an era where in order to be a serious contender for street fighting you had to be able to take as good as you could give. He had always been able to take a lot of punishment as well as dish it out.
Walking into his living room he saw that his house was trashed. Someone had seriously wrecked the place. The stuffing had been cut out of the sofa. Chairs were broken and thrown around the room.
Black spray paint was everywhere. The aquarium had been turned over. Water was all over the wall-to-wall carpeting. It was soaked through and through. Glass and dead fish were scattered all over the rug.
The birdcage with the parrot in it was on the floor. Shannon walked over to the birdcage. He stooped down. The bird was lying in the cage with his throat cut. “Poor Pete,” he muttered. Pete had been silenced.
An eerie shrieking sound rent through the dark of the night surrounding Shannon's house. The female-male-thing spread its wings across the dark of the sky just above Shannon's house. Another shiver raced through his body.
In her bedroom Aisha heard the shrieking of the Darkling. She shivered at the same time as Shannon Davenport. Being unable to speak she raced to her small desk in the room. On a pad in red marker she scribbled one word over and over again in her shaking hand. JESUS. JESUS. JESUS.
As she did so Mama looked up in her living room frowning. Papa lowered his paper and even Nana Mama from her spot in the guest bedroom in Mama's house strained her ears wondering if she had heard what she'd heard.
Shannon looked to the wall in the dining room. The artist had decided to switch from black spray paint to red. Apparently the artist wanted to give him a taste of creativity with their next message. Written on the dining room wall were the words
YOU'RE NEXT
.
BOOK: Out a Order
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