Out a Order (17 page)

Look over there to the left. Normally there would be a sign that says
Stop
. Within these walls the sign is missing. It is missing because it isn't there. There is absolutely no stop sign. It doesn't exist.

Try looking to the right. There could have been a sign saying
Merge
, but there isn't. With whom would you merge? There are no others here like you. There is only the blackness. You can't even see your own hand in front of you, although it is by this hand that you might die.

T
he stun gun shocked Tawney into a state of awareness. An electrical bolt shot through her body that caused the area behind her eyes to burn.

Her body shook from the effect.

Before she could recuperate Shonda tagged her again, this time only lightly on the arm as she engaged herself in the enjoyment of Tawney's torture, as well as her helplessness. She didn't want to hit her with a lightning bolt that would turn her into a corpse just yet.

Pulling Tawney's head back to look into her eyes she said, “I've decided to skip right to the final verdict of guilty.”

She paused.

“For your crimes you will be slowly hanged so I can watch your fear in nanoseconds.”

Tawney tried to shake Shonda's grasp and get to her feet. She made a minute amount of progress before she fell back to her seat. Shonda slapped her face for her efforts. Tawney's eyes shot hot sparks of hatred at her.

Shonda threw the stun gun on the table. She backed up, throwing her hands in the air with major attitude. The robe swung around her as though parodying the death executioner that she was.

“I had Spence be rather merciful with Jasmine. I can guarantee you the same won't happen for you.”

A distant ringing started in Tawney's ears as though it were echoing from far away. Even through her pain she knew she must have heard Shonda wrong. Everything was beginning to get all mixed up in her mind because of the madness of these events.

“What?” she said to Shonda in a disbelieving tone.

Shonda searched her face. There was no indication that Tawney had even remotely connected to or believed what she'd just said. In fact it could have been almost as though she hadn't spoken. Perhaps she'd better make it loud and clear for this heifer.

A weird shrill sound escaped Shonda's mouth sounding very much like a shriek from the Darkling before she spoke again. “What are you, deaf? I said that your ass won't receive the kid glove treatment given to the dead little princess.

“You should have seen the view from Spence's scope up on the roof. Jasmine could have been in the lens of a camera, but she wasn't. Although it was a Kodak moment.”

“She looked just like a little princess with red ribbons all in her hair, before she got blasted and ended up with a hole in her chest, and her arms spread-eagled like she was a bird that could fly, but she wasn't. And I can testify to the fact that she couldn't fly and she damn sure didn't grow wings.”

Tawney stopped breathing.

She looked at Shonda in petrified horror. This time she heard her, really, really heard her. Her body trembled. She felt a fluid surging through her body like ice water being poured into her veins. She struggled to free herself to no avail.

Having center stage, Shonda pranced around the room narrating a vengeful stream of viciousness for Tawney that most mothers could never have even dreamed of in their worst nightmare.

“Yeah, Ms. Holier Than Thou. You're the reason your daughter got hit. Your precious little Jazz, the one you can't stop talking about at work. It makes me want to throw up.”

Shonda mimicked her. “Jazz did this and Jazz did that. Well, Jazz isn't going to do a damn thing anymore, Tawney. Is she?” she shrieked.

“Hell naw, she isn't because she's gone now. I paid that punk major paper to end her life. I was sleeping with the nigga and still couldn't get him to do it. He went all sweet on me, not wanting to hit a little girl. I waved enough paper at him to change all that, though. When he got finished sniffing that cream we had a contract.”

Shonda ventured close to the defense table again. She crossed her arms while staring into Tawney's tearstained, shocked, and speechless face. “Hmmph. I know you blamed it on your husband 'cause he be an O.G., right? You thought it was his street sins. It figures. You niggas that have made it out are all the same. You think you're all that.”

Tawney watched her warily like a caged animal. She uttered a silent prayer under her breath to the Lord pleading with him to hear her and deliver her from the hands of this demented evil. “Jesus.”

Just as she whispered the name of Jesus, Aisha, who was in her room in a suspended state between here, now, and there, wrote the name of Jesus in bold red strokes on a fresh page out of an artist sketchpad.

She slashed rather than wrote the name of the world's sacrificial lamb, Jesus Christ. The hand that wrote it trembled with a power that no child possessed.

She then ripped the page out. It fluttered in the air and she scribbled furiously again.

The baby let out a loud howl!

Tawney's heart felt like it had been ripped out as she thought about her beautiful little girl at the hands of this maniac.

She almost fainted and something inside her shut down at the thought. Somewhere in the winds of her mind a voice whispered, “Hold fast.”

Shonda continued on, really starting to feel her newfound status as Superpower. “Your house got shot up and you blamed Shannon, right? Wrong. Guess who?”

She turned to stare up at the noose that was waiting for Tawney. The imagery of her hanging there swinging was already in her mind's eye. She would dispense with her, then take what was rightfully hers in the first place. “My connections reach long and far, Tawney. Sort of like yours at work.”

She smiled softly, dreamily at Tawney.

“Oh, and by the way, Shannon is much better in bed than the young punks who kidnapped you. That nigga has got game, but you know that, don't you? That's why you hooked him away from the ghetto princesses. Anyway, in the end you lose. He's one of ours and he's coming back. He's gonna be treated like the fine ghetto prince that he is.”

Shonda walked back behind the judge's bench. She sat down.

In contemplation she looked across at Tawney. “Spence was hot and had it going on too, but thanks to you he is no more. The last I heard he was resembling Swiss cheese somewhere.”

Shonda threw the gavel at Tawney, hitting her hard right upside her head. A large egg immediately took shape on her forehead. Blood trickled down her face. The blow almost knocked her out.

Tawney struggled once again, trying to free herself. She tried to wriggle her wrists free from the tight bonds, but her fingers were pure numb. She could barely feel the binds.

She was going to choke the life out of Shonda if she got free, and she wouldn't do it quickly because she wanted to enjoy every minute of the wind exiting from her body for eternity.

Shonda continued to talk as though there hadn't been a physical interruption. “Well, you were wrong on all counts, Tawney.”

Her face contorted in rage, her features squeezed together and frozen air expelled from her mouth, though how this could happen in a room in which Tawney was sweating she had no idea. “It's your corporate sins that killed your daughter, Tawney. And they're the same sins that are gonna kill you.”

She came down from the bench. Closely watching her, Tawney could feel rather than see a black power trailing her. It emanated from her, shivering in the air, and it was in full control.

She rushed over, shoving the makeshift defense table hard against Tawney's chest. Tawney toppled to the floor. Shonda kicked her hard in her chest. It felt like the feet of ten men slamming into her chest. She lost air.

“Fortune rains on you, though, doesn't it Ms. Corporate? 'Cause you managed to get my man Spence. You know him, right? The one who was buried in your daughter's grave before she was even buried in it? Now, ain't that a blip?”

Shonda was seeing red. “The damn thing had her name on it and y'all flipped my boy into the dirt instead!”

She stooped down, grabbing a handful of Tawney's hair, and spat directly in her face. Tawney turned her face away.

Shonda yanked it back front and center. “You're scum, Tawney. Corporate sleazebag scum. Calling shots on people's jobs. Writing people up. Pure corporate scum, but I can tell you there are no walls from the corporate world to protect you now. Not here in this place. This is my world, Tawney. I make the laws. I break the laws. And I decide who abides by them,” she stated with pure venom.

With that she kicked Tawney repeatedly in the chest. Then she stomped her in the face.

Blessedly Tawney passed out.

 

 

O
ut on the street in front of the Clinton Avenue storefront Shannon tore up to the curb. He jumped out of the car. Marcus waited until he heard the door slam shut and then he crawled out from the floor in the back of the car, on the side of the street where Shannon couldn't see him.

Shannon didn't even know he was in the car.

He also had no knowledge that this child was in such a state of fear that he had gone to the police officer Campbell for help. So had Dominique. Unbeknownst to Shannon, Campbell had been getting an earful.

Marcus was afraid Shannon was going to be killed and he couldn't stand the thought of that after having watched Jazz's blood seeping into the gutter and her mother kidnapped by thugs.

His ten-year-old mind didn't even want to think about what they had done to Jazz's mother. He shivered. Deep inside, even though he had given the address to where she was being kept, he really didn't believe she was still alive.

Those young boys who took her were feared and revered in the hood. They wreaked terror that would be written in the annals of hood law for generations to come.

Generally when they left a situation the only ones left breathing were them. They didn't leave any life in their wake. In the Central Ward you only got one shot to make your mark. They had taken theirs.

In light of all this Marcus had talked to the cop Campbell, telling him everything because he knew that even when he whispered, “Someone please call 911,” no one answered.

He didn't want to do a repeat performance, only to again relive the same nightmare. If Mrs. Davenport was dead and then they killed Jazz's daddy, that meant their whole family would have been wiped out.

The little boy just couldn't handle the thought of another call for help that would go unanswered. Little did he know that on this day it would be different, on this day the walls in the hood would come tumbling down.

He still didn't understand what he had seen the day Jazz had died, but he knew in his heart it wasn't right. Plus he hadn't told anyone that he daydreamed of that sound he'd heard on that day over and over again, and he actually heard it in his sleep as well.

It was a weird keening sound. The trees had shook, and from the corner of his eye he had thought he'd seen black wings.

Maybe not.

But if not, then why was he seeing the same exact thing in his sleep? And to add to that, somebody's baby kept crying.

He didn't know what it was, but he knew they had to fight back whatever it was because you couldn't just let somebody hit you and not hit back.

So Marcus figured it was time for the law to arrive before something happened this time instead of always after it happened. Besides he was tired of watching people dying. He had been checking out the black police officer, and he seemed like he could be trusted, so Marcus took his chances.

That Lombardo cop was a real creep and Marcus wouldn't have talked to him, even if it meant the whole block dying on the same day. In fact he had insisted that he would only talk if Campbell was alone. The black cop had obliged him.

He knew in the world he lived in, even at the age of ten, that talking to the cops was a no-no and like having your death warrant signed. But he felt like they were the living dead anyway, so what did it matter? Nobody rushed when Jazz was lying in the street dying.

He might not live through this anyway. At least he would go out stand-up and trying.

For his part, once Shannon had received the information from Marcus of where his wife was being held, tunnel vision had claimed him. At first he was shocked that Marcus had even been able to obtain the 411 on the spot.

He had to admit that little nigga had heart.

But then he decided he didn't have time to dwell on it, nor did he care as long as he knew where his wife was.

There was only one thing on his mind, and that was getting her back alive. By any means necessary. The story that Mama had shared with him, as well as the vision that had locked them together, faded from his mind as he surged forward in the power of what he knew best, the flesh.

Shannon had just stepped onto the curb when he heard his name. The sound of it was like frozen icicles. “Shannon! Freeze, nigga!” Rico's voice seared through the air like a steak sizzling on a grill.

A shot rang out.

It hit the gas tank on Shannon's car. A line of gasoline poured from it, trickling down the curb.

Marcus watched the line of gasoline from his hiding place. It trickled in slow motion, but a steady stream it was.

Papers with the name of Jesus slashed across them in red now fluttered in the air over Aisha's head as though helium were holding them up. The child's eyes were squeezed shut, and sweat was pouring from her brow. Her right hand trembled, and she kept on writing.

All she could do was write the name of Jesus. She ripped off another sheet that fluttered in the air, to join the rest of the cloud of papers already hovering there.

Mama in her house leaned her head back as her eyes rolled back up in her head. Papa and Nana Mama each sat on the side of her, not uttering a word or daring to breathe. They knew it had started. They linked hands with Mama, holding on tightly for support.

“The hand that rocks the cradle is covered in black. Take your hand off them,” Mama uttered.

The baby howled.

The Darkling shrieked.

The old storefront spat bricks that rolled in the streets.

Shannon stopped in his tracks at the sound of his name. He squinted, looking down the street. He could see it had been blocked off. It was sealed off tight. It was also surrounded as though he had entered a war zone.

Like a mirage Rico appeared in front of him.

He snapped his fingers in the air. More of his crew members appeared on the roof. They appeared in the alley. They emerged from the various vehicles parked on the street.

All were strapped. They all had the lights from their Glocks trained on Shannon. Every single one of them waited with bated breath for Rico's orders. Shannon Davenport would be dead before the click of a second on a clock.

Shannon was oblivious. The blood was pounding in his temples. He had been temporarily blinded by his anger, and that was all he could see.

“I want my wife, Rico,” he stated without a trace of fear.

Rico put his foot on the path toward him. Arrogantly, sarcastically, and in a voice one decibel removed from hell he said, “And I want your life, Mr. Davenport.”

The two men's eyes locked into the street battle that was to come. First blood. Ballistic stepped from between the shadows of the building.

The instant Marcus saw him he shook in fear, wetting his pants. This dude was scary. He couldn't be after Mr. Davenport, because if he was there was no way he would live. Marcus knew there was little to nothing that could stop Ballistic.

What was he doing here?

Ballistic's power was such that he didn't do much more than whisper Rico's name. Yet the sound of it reverberated as a gurgle from the pavement in the streets. Seriously it was as though he had shouted it through a loudspeaker from the roof.

Rico turned to see Ballistic.

Before he could put a block on it a look of pure fear crossed his face. This dude was a living legend, and even his legend couldn't live up to him. A superior black power with no limits shivered around him, and for the first time in his life, Rico felt real fear.

Ballistic smiled knowingly.

Rico was quaking in his boots and trying hard not to show it. He knew if he did he would die, and lose for sure.

Ballistic assessed the situation, then shook his head. He had defied death more times than ten men who had already died. He had a hole in his throat to prove that he was eternal. When he left here today, not much life would be left beside him.

For the moment he would relish dealing with baby boy. He knew Rico thought he was true to da game. But he had been played because true players didn't play the game, they created it on their own terms, such as he had done.

Baby boy needed to be taught. “I told you, boy, that I would not be changing your Pampers no more.”

Trey and Warren P. appeared next to Ballistic. He briefly gurgled in Trey's direction, indicating him as a favorite.

Then he returned his stare to Rico.

Shannon looked around in confusion. Something was wrong with the script. He couldn't put his finger on it, but there had been a subtle change in the air.

Suddenly he was connected to the vision. It was the same one that had happened upon him in Mama's house. He saw the girl-child Aisha scribbling furiously. Above her head floated a cloud of papers with the name of Jesus slashed across them in red.

She looked up from the pad staring straight into his eyes. In that moment he knew without a doubt that his life had somehow been spared, and he had been removed from the line of fire.

Mama prayed.

Shannon heard her clearly. “He's one of yours, Lord. Some men are chosen and some men have no choice. Do not let the blood of the sacrificial lamb pass him by. Protect him as your own. Teach him true allegiance.”

In the instant that Mama spoke those words she had rebuilt a faith that had been challenged and shattered, but because of that old woman faith would be renewed, right in the hood. Right in the heart of many from whom it had been stolen.

Shannon saw a vision of a building collapse.

The old storefront building spat more bricks, directly in the street. Ballistic, Rico, and their respective crews were so locked into their street battle that they barely acknowledged the falling bricks with more than a glance.

They were caught up in flesh and ignoring the warning of the spirit.

The opposing enemies were locked in. Ballistic's hold was steady on Rico now. The totality of Ballistic's true being surged forward to connect with Rico.

For the first time Rico felt blackness in more than the flesh. He came face-to-face with a power that never deemed to lose. In an instant this young boy knew he had bitten off more than he could chew and his bowels let loose.

“You made one grave mistake, Rico. You dishonored the woman who birthed me. It is bad to dishonor a man's mother.”

A look of confusion played across Rico's face. He was thrown off for a minute. “I don't know your moms, man.” Silently he thought,
I didn't know the devil had a mother
.

Ballistic laughed, emitting another gurgle. He leaned heavily on his cane while advancing toward Rico and Shannon, both of whom were frozen in place.

“Of course you do, my man. You spit at her feet in the church before you broke her heart by stealing her son's body.”

In that instant Rico knew for sure he was dead. But he wasn't going down without a fight. Spence Parkinson had been Ballistic's brother. That woman in the church had been his mother. This information traveled through Rico's mind like a shock wave.

His eyes widened in surprise, but he had had enough. He would never be able to regain respect within his crew because those closest to him could smell the stench of his bowels.

He had nothing to lose and everything to gain, if by some chance he pulled this off.

At that moment a shriek ripped through the air. The Darkling had arrived. The scariest thing about it was this time it wasn't loud. It made no noise and it went unnoticed, signaling the finality of things to come.

It would gather revenge and its own spoils just as it had traded for, and then it would gather for its own those who had worshipped at the wrong throne.

What was worse than that, Aisha stopped scribbling.

And Mama stopped praying.

Their world became silent as the time approached for the evil to eat its own.

The blood of the lamb would only be evoked to protect those who were right. To protect those who had the ability to step up, admitting they were wrong.

Trey, who was still standing next to Ballistic, did something he had never done before in his life as a gangster. He retreated.

There was something in the air he'd never felt before, and with it it carried great power, a power supreme. Whatever it was was not of this world.

Trey laid his weapon at Ballistic's feet. Ballistic gave him a scathing look, but this didn't alter his course of action. Sometimes you only got
one
shot.

Then he began to pray earnestly under his breath. He knew he would have to pay for all he had done, but when he met his maker his soul would be right. He wasn't going out like that.

Seeing Trey in her mind's eye, Aisha scribbled the word
Jesus.

Mama prayed feverishly, “Take your hands off them.”

Shannon Davenport heard the sound of thunder. The walls crashed all around him. It sounded like an earthquake was taking place next to his ears. The thunder was so loud it sounded like a sonic boom.

Marcus didn't even have to utter, “Someone please call 911.” This time 911 was in the house for those who wanted to be right.

Rico had had as much as he was going to take. “Enough of you, nigga,” he said in response to Ballistic's remark regarding his mother.

He snapped his fingers in the air.

All the weapons trained themselves on Ballistic. He was caught in the crosshairs of what amounted to a patchwork quilt of infrared lights.

A confident sarcastic smile was just about to cross Rico's lips when the script was flipped. He was a half second away from the thought
maybe I can win this. I can give the order quickly and turn this nigga into a pile of rubble and be done
.

He was almost there when Ballistic nodded.