One Blood (14 page)

Her pained expression vanished. She tried to look away.

Randy held her face in his hands and screamed, “Answer me!”

“
Possibly.”

Randy quelled his temptation to choke the life out of her. He collected himself and asked, “If I kill him, will the spirits be satisfied?”

“
I don’t know if anything will satisfy them this time,” she said slowly.

“
What the hell does that mean?”

“
Looks…are deceiving.”

Randy paced around the suite. So far all she’d given him was a name and some bullshit about bakas and spirits. He needed something more tangible to corroborate her claims. “How are you involved in all this?”

“
Snake Roberts.”

Randy flinched.
Snake has betrayed me? Motherfucking double-crossing bastard!

Yet, it made sense. Snake was the inside man. How else could the kidnappers have known the details of Karen’s schedule and routine? Snake had positioned himself to profit off both sides of this little plot.

Randy took a deep breath. He had to stay calm. Anger wouldn’t help him stop whatever Panama X and Snake had planned. “What is Snake’s plan?” he asked.

“
Snake will go to the prison to get Lincoln. Then he will bring Lincoln to you so Lincoln can kill you, if the baka doesn’t get to you first.”

Now that Randy had the answers he needed, he knew what he had to do. First, he called his men back into the room and told them to dispose of Jhonnette Deveaux. Then he called Bill Edwards in Lake City.

“
Bill,” he said when his friend picked up. “Tell me more about these discrete FBI guys.”

* * * * *

Chapter Eighteen

Monday

Lake City, LA

Moses Mouton stared down at the tombstone. The granite inscription was blurry at first, then cleared to reveal the words:

Lincoln Baker

1974-2002

The strength went out of Moses’ legs. He collapsed before Lincoln’s grave.

How did this happen?

“
What a shame, Moses,” a female voice spoke from behind him. “We couldn’t save him.”

Moses turned to see Juanita as she’d been in the old days with Walter, at the height of her beauty and strength. Her butter pecan skin glowed with health, and her curly, auburn-tinged hair was pulled back into a bun, accenting her high cheekbones and strong jaw line.

“
Juanita?”

“
It’s okay, Moses. It’s not your fault. You did more for him than anybody.”

“
But it wasn’t enough,” Moses pleaded.

“
This was all my doing,” Juanita replied. “I couldn’t find him in time. And now Malcolm has filled his head up with hatred and sent him off to his death.” Juanita’s face contorted as guilt and sorrow took over her facial muscles. “Lincoln was supposed to avenge me…for the life that was supposed to be mine. We all have ghosts, Moses.”

“
What is that supposed to mean, Juanita? Juanita!”

Moses’ voice pierced his silent bedroom. The nightmare clung to him like a wet parachute and his shirt was soaked with perspiration. He peered into the darkness, trying to hold on to the essence of the dream. There was an immediate sense of relief realizing Lincoln was still alive, but it was quickly replaced by a growing feeling of dread.

This was the second night in a row he’d awoken from this terrifying dream. Moses had to stop fighting Fate. He knew what he had to do. After leaving a note for his stepson, Brandon, he got dressed and headed out.

The early morning sun illuminated his path. When she put on her best, Louisiana truly was beautiful. The so-called “Sportsman’s Paradise” was more than the sum of wetlands, swamps, and tracts of farmland. This morning it was reflective lakes, endless fields of rich green foliage, and sweet, pine-scented air. He contemplated his mission as he sped by all this, trying to outrun the ghosts from his past.

Something epic was happening and Moses could feel Malcolm Wright’s fingerprints all over it. They’d grown up together, best friends, but over time Malcolm had changed, growing into a monster Moses barely recognized. Ironically, Moses had been the bad one when they were coming up.

Malcolm had been the leader in those days. He was charismatic, extremely intelligent, and born devoid of the “love for his fellow man” chip. He channeled his anger into a fierce and focused hatred of whites which was always getting him in trouble. Moses, who’d always looked up to Malcolm, had been his willing accomplice.

Walter Simmons had been a breath of fresh air when he moved into the neighborhood. Walter spent his days trying to figure out ways to build up his community while Moses and Malcolm spent most of their days trying to figure out what they could destroy. Whenever Malcolm or Moses wanted to skip school, Walter convinced them to attend. If the two troublemakers were planning to rob a store or go across town to jump some white boys, Walter put cash in their pockets and persuaded them to play pool until they forgot about their anger and frustration.

Due to Walter’s influence and persistence, Malcolm cleaned up his act and started applying himself in school. Moses, who didn’t share their interest in books, grew jealous of Malcolm and Walter’s bond and continued going in the opposite direction. After Walter and Malcolm went off to college at Dillard University in New Orleans, Moses got caught in a botched burglary attempt. The judge sentenced him to fifteen years in the Louisiana State Penitentiary at Angola. Moses spent the next twelve years in what was, at that time, the bloodiest prison in America.

While Moses served out his sentence, Malcolm and Walter became swept up in the burgeoning Civil Rights Movement. Moses tried to imagine Walter, the devout Christian, and Malcolm, Elijah Mohammed’s latest convert, traveling all over the South, helping out their fellow brothers and sisters in the struggle.

One night, just outside of Jackson, Mississippi, Walter’s car broke down. After walking nearly a mile, they were offered a ride by two white girls coming from a dance in the black section of town. Malcolm was staunchly against the idea, but Walter convinced him they had no other choice. Besides, they were just getting a lift to the nearest gas station. Not five minutes later, they were on the side of the road again, getting frisked by two angry Mississippi state troopers.

The officers let the girls go, leaving Walter and Malcolm alone with the cops. Walter knew they had broken the worst of the unspoken rules between black men and whites—fraternizing with white women—but he tried to remain confident. A few blows to his head and shoulders shattered his poise.

As Walter collapsed in a lifeless heap, Malcolm snatched away the other officer’s revolver. Malcolm shot the cop in the back. The cop that had hit Walter received a bullet right between the eyes.

A week later, Walter was at Angola confessing the whole thing to Moses. Walter was concerned. After killing those two officers, Malcolm became convinced he’d discovered the key to breaking Black people’s chains, once and for all. He was obsessed with the idea of an army of Blacks trained in military tactics and ready to die for their freedom. In his mind, it was now kill or be killed. Somehow killing white men—and getting away with it—had made Malcolm fearless.

When Walter was finished, Moses scolded him for being so stupid. The last thing he wanted was to see his friends joining him in prison, or worse.

Amazingly, Malcolm and Walter were never caught. The authorities had bigger snakes to handle now that the Civil Rights Movement was in full swing and Afro-Americans from coast to coast were screaming for freedom. Walter wanted nothing to do with Malcolm’s plans to form a Black militia, and this caused a rift in their friendship that was never repaired.

Shortly thereafter, Malcolm received the dreaded draft card in the mail. Project 100,000 had found another soldier for Lyndon Johnson’s Vietnam War. In his last letter to Moses before setting off to fight in America’s first racially integrated conflict, Malcolm described his fears of dying in some strange place. He also detailed how, if he lived, he would use his military training to become a General, leading Blacks out of oppression into something greater.

While Malcolm was away at war, life went on. Walter continued to visit Moses in prison, and through the scratched panes of prison glass, a bond was formed. Eventually, Walter married Malcolm’s childhood sweetheart, a beautiful woman named Juanita. Juanita was the love of Malcolm’s life and Moses often worried about how Malcolm would react when he found out the news.

After twelve years of hard time, Moses was finally released from prison. Committed to forging a new path, he served as a deacon at Walter’s church back in Lake City. Walter, still fighting the good fight, decided to give up his law practice to immerse himself in local politics. Meanwhile, Malcolm continued to fight for a country that had no respect for him or his rights.

At some point, Moses’ letters to Vietnam started coming back undelivered. After a year of no news, word came down that Malcolm and several other black soldiers had deserted.

Malcolm eventually resurfaced, not long before Walter, now mayor, was brutally assassinated—burned to death in his office with his white secretary. The police found evidence linking the crime to Juanita, who had disappeared the night of the crime, along with Malcolm. When Moses learned the two of them were living together outside of Houston, he’d confronted them with some tough questions.

Questions Malcolm had not been inclined to answer.

Moses, convinced that Malcolm had fully succumbed to the dark side, made it his life’s work to undermine Malcolm at any cost. He’d been lucky to find Lincoln before Malcolm could get to him. Moses had managed to keep the boy on the straight and narrow for two years before that day at Simmons Park. But now that they were both sharing an address at Angola, Lincoln was under Malcolm’s thumb.

The dream was clear—Lincoln’s association with Malcolm would be the death of him. Unless Moses could intervene.

“
We all have ghosts.”

Moses turned onto Tunica Trace—the narrow byway also known as Hell’s Corridor that dead-ended at the front gates of the Louisiana State Penitentiary. He had to stop Malcolm’s plan, today, or else Lincoln would pay the ultimate price.

* * * * *

Chapter Nineteen

Monday

Lake City, LA

Coral lay next to her snoring husband, staring into the darkness. The weekend had passed in an unbearable crawl. Despite Randy’s assurances to the contrary, Coral firmly believed that Karen was dead. There was nothing left inside her now.

She wasn’t strong enough to bear even the remote possibility of losing another child. Not like this. And since she couldn’t save Karen, maybe she could do something even better, something that would reunite her with her children once and for all.

She got up and walked across the suite to the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

What if you’re wrong? What if Karen is still alive?

Coral tried to ignore the voice, but it continued to badger her.

What if you’re her only hope? A girl needs her mother, doesn’t she?

Coral grabbed the bottle of Xanax. She filled her glass with water. Sweat broke out on her brow. Her hands shook uncontrollably. The walls were closing in on her.

She saw her own terrified reflection in the mirror. She had around twenty pills left; she prayed it would be enough to do the trick. Coral closed her eyes and popped the first little white pill into her quivering mouth…and then the next…and the next.

But she hadn’t even opened the bottle of pills yet.

Her hand was empty and the glass was still full.

Coral fumbled to open the bottle, but the top was stuck. She twisted the cap with all her might and it finally spun off. She turned the bottle over to shake pills into her palm but nothing came out.

Randy must have taken the last one.

Or maybe it’s just not your time.

Coral threw the empty container on the floor in a fiery rage and sat down on the toilet seat.

Stop being so weak!

The voice in her head sounded just like her long dead grandmother, the famous disciplinarian and matriarch of her family.

The only way Karen survives is if you’re strong for her—for the both of you! There’s no more time to feel sorry for yourself. Maybe Kristopher would still be around if you’d spent less time whining.

“
Stop it, just stop it!” Coral screamed. She looked at herself in the mirror, half expecting to see the ancient face of her grandmother, but the tired face staring back was hers alone.

“
What’s going on in there? Stop making so much noise!” Randy yelled from the bedroom.

Coral collected herself and tried to straighten out some of the mess she’d made. As she drank down the glass of water, she noticed the empty bottle of Xanax she’d thrown on the floor. The bottle was overturned and there were pills scattered everywhere.