One Blood (33 page)

Lincoln considered her words for a moment and then said, “That’s why we gotta split up. You go to Angola. Get to Moses. I’ll head back west.”

“
How am I supposed to reach Moses? Won’t the prison be on lockdown after this morning?”

“
You got to me, didn’t you?”

Fair point.

“
Turn the car around and I’ll tell you everything you need to know to get into Angola.”

Jhonnette locked eyes with him in the rearview. “You sure you want to go through with this? If you change course now, then Lafitte gets away and all this was for nothing.”

“
How do you know so much about everything?” Lincoln challenged. “What are you after here? Why are you helping me? What’s in this for you?”

“
It’s not enough that we share a common enemy?” Jhonnette replied, deflecting the inevitable question.

“
I need to know
why
?”

Jhonnette made a decision. If she didn’t give Lincoln something, she would never get what she wanted out of him. “Okay…fine…you and I are more connected than you know, Lincoln. We are connected by our fathers’ war against each other.”

“
Our fathers?”

“
Yes. I learned some things about Randy Lafitte years ago that led me to investigate my mother’s life.” Jhonnette vividly recalled reading the letters between her mother and father while he was in Vietnam: letters that had guided her mission.

“
What kind of things?” Lincoln asked.

“
For starters, I learned that Randy Lafitte came to my mother to resurrect a curse on his own father. The same curse that is plaguing all of us today.”

“
Why would someone want to kill their own father?”

“
Don’t you want to kill yours?”

“
Good point...”

“
Anyway, meeting Randy Lafitte ruined my mother’s life. My mother and Randy had a lot in common, you see. Both opportunists. She saw using Lafitte as a way to strike a blow against the system. But he must have found out that none of it was real.”

“
Wait, I thought you said the curse
is
real.”

“
Curses are powered by belief, Lincoln. Randy stopped believing in the curse years ago, but there are enough others who still believe to keep it alive.”

“
Like you?”

“
And my father.”

“
I still don’t get where your father comes into this. Who the fuck is he?”

Jhonnette was silent for a moment. Then she said, “When they met, my father was calling himself Malcolm X.”

“
Wait, Malcolm X?” Lincoln laughed. “I hate to drop this on you, but he’s dead.”

“
His given last name was Wright.”

Lincoln did a double-take. “What did you say?”

“
Malcolm Wright…is my father.”

* * * * *

Lincoln felt a tightening in his chest at the mention of Panama X. His head pounded from the pain of his bullet wounds and the mental stress. This was too much.

“
I know this is a lot to handle…”

“
No shit,” Lincoln replied. Jhonnette was Panama X’s daughter? Amir’s half-sister? Finally, everything clicked. She wasn’t here for him at all. She was here to get to Panama X. But to do what?

“
You don’t look too good. You have to let me help you.” Jhonnette pulled the car over. She got out and opened Lincoln’s door.

“
What are you doing?”

“
Helping,” she replied, pressing her hands to his shoulder wound.

Lincoln’s headache lifted as soon as she touched him. A wave of heat moved through her fingertips into his shoulder. He felt giddy and faint at once. Then the tingling started—a maddening sensation, like hundreds of insects dancing beneath his skin.

“
What are you feeling?”

“
My…skin is crawling,” he replied, finally understanding the expression.

“
That’s good. You’re a fast healer.”

“
You…you’re doing this?”

She nodded.

“
Why?” Lincoln groaned.

“
I know this hurts, Lincoln, but it will be over soon. Just keep your eyes on mine. I’ll guide you through.”

Lincoln stared deeply into her eyes and gave in.

* * * * *

“
We’re here,” Jhonnette announced, pulling up to the prison gate. It was 1:00 p.m. The only sign of the morning’s chaos was the gleaming shards of glass clustered around the dented penitentiary portal.

“
Turn right toward the visitor processing center.”

Jhonnette complied and minutes later she parked in front of a wide brick building with a faded maroon roof. She cut off the engine and offered Lincoln her sunniest smile. “So, what’s this big plan of yours?”

Lincoln had been thinking about just that. There was only one way to get inside to Moses. He detailed his plan slowly, making sure she got every nuance.

“
Do you know why Moses was here this morning?” she asked as he finished.

Lincoln had been chewing on this question all morning. “You were right. I don’t think he came for me. I don’t think he knew I was getting out. That means he came to talk to Panama X.”

“
About what?” she asked.

“
They have history...” Lincoln trailed off.

“
There’s something you need to know about Amir,” Jhonnette said.

“
What?” Lincoln asked, preparing himself for another bombshell.

“
Amir didn’t die in vain,” Jhonnette said. “The girl is the key. If she gets back to her father, the rest will take care of itself.”

“
How?” Lincoln asked, aware that he was now referring to his sister—no longer the deserving victim of punishment. His headache was returning.

“
She has a special present for your father,” Jhonnette replied cryptically. “A final present from Amir and me.” She exited the Jeep and then turned to say, “I healed your physical wounds, Lincoln, but only you can heal your real scars.”

Lincoln watched her walk away, pulled himself into the front seat, and turned the car around. The prison dwindled in his rearview, but not in his mind. Jhonnette’s final comment echoed in his skull.

What did you do to Karen, Amir?

He might never know. Amir was dead and whatever he’d done had died with him. Lincoln pressed down hard on the accelerator. Regardless of what trials lay ahead, Lincoln was finally headed home.

Chapter Fifty-Six

Angola, LA

A helicopter proudly bearing the seal of Louisiana on its side touched down on the helipad at the Louisiana State Penitentiary. Two of the warden’s staff greeted Randy. He made small talk with the men as they escorted him to the warden’s office for a meeting.

* * * * *

Panama X sat on his cot inside of Camp F reading over the last page of his memoir. His new cell was only a short walk from the lethal injection chamber and the end of the line. But not for him. That poison dart would never mark his flesh.

The memoir was a story of tragedy detailing the lynching of his father, his brother Duke’s murder, his killing of two policemen in Mississippi, and the assassination of Walter Simmons. It was a tale of transformation that described his conversion to Islam during college, his time in the Army during Vietnam, his discovery of Vodun after defecting, and his return to America as the general of the Black Mob. It detailed his failures and successes as a husband to Juanita, and father to Amir. In it, he confessed his inadequacies and frustrations—chief among them his inability to kill Randy Lafitte during the River Boat bombing. Finally, it was a saga of spiritual awakening during Panama X’s self-imposed exile in prison.

Thinking on his memoir, two words flashed in his mind’s eye—duty and destiny. Behind each word lay a path, and before each stood a woman. His dear Juanita represented the path of duty, while Desiree Deveaux embodied his destiny. The message was clear. He was going to have to choose.

Panama X remembered all Desiree had done for him. She had predicted Duke’s death, Malcolm’s entry into the military, and the journey he would have to take to become the leader of his people. Malcolm strayed from the path she laid out when he chose Juanita, which resulted in the thirty year detour from his destiny. With Lincoln’s release and Randy Lafitte’s inevitable demise, it was time to refocus.

His ears caught a snatch of the radio broadcast from KLSP; the Angola radio station was always playing at low volume from the radio in the corner of his cell. Upon hearing Amir’s name, he turned it up to learn his son had been killed in Lake City. A wave of disorientation crashed over him.
Amir, dead?
He closed his eye and felt Amir’s spirit painfully ascending onto the spiritual plane. Amir would be damned to wander eternally without a proper burial.

What have I done?

When they formulated their plan to free Lincoln, Panama X knew the risks were high. Still, a father could never prepare for the death of his child.

Is this what you felt, Lafitte?

The Governor was very close. The
baka’s
presence was like a locating device. But what was he doing here?

Panama X managed a grim smile. It was destiny.

* * * * *

Warden George Winey settled into a plush, leather chair opposite his brother-in-law, Randy Lafitte. “So, Randy, what brings you to my little corner of the world on such a bad day?” he asked.

“
Did you catch my press conference this morning?”

“
Of course.”

“
Good. Then you know about Malcolm Wright’s new situation.”

“
Yes, and I’ve already made the appropriate provisions.”

“
Good. That’s real good. What’s not so good is how your men managed to miss Lincoln Baker this morning.”

George winced. “They didn’t miss, Randy. Baker had help.” He reached into his desk and handed over a photo.

The picture showed Snake Roberts carrying Lincoln past the prison gates.

“
I should have told you earlier, but it’s been crazy around here.”

“
It’s okay, George.” Randy stared at the photo. He was looking at two dead men.

“
I’m sure this is just me being a worrier,” George began. “But is Coral okay?”

Was Coral okay? That depended on whether or not Snake would uphold his end of their deal. The good news was that after speaking to Bill Edwards on his flight over, he got the great news that Karen had been recovered. That was enough for him for now. He’d deal with Snake and Coral later. Randy looked back at his brother-in-law soberly. “Your sister’s…fine.”
I hope.

George visibly relaxed. “Is Malcolm Wright really behind all of this?”

“
I’m afraid so. He’s been targeting our family for some time.”

“
Well, we’ve got him now.”

“
Yes,” Randy replied carefully. “When can I see him?”

“
Anytime you want. We moved Wright to solitary just this morning. I can take you over now.”

* * * * *

Panama X opened his eye at the sound of footsteps. He met the guard at the cell door. A moment later, he was being ushered down a long corridor into the visitation chamber.

The visitation chamber consisted of a lone table with one chair on each side. The peeling walls were a dingy white. Gloom intruded through three barred windows cut into the wall. Two armed guards stood on either side of the door; a third escorted Malcolm to the empty chair opposite Randy Lafitte.

Panama X was slightly surprised to see his longtime adversary, but made sure his expression betrayed none of this to the enemy he’d actually never met face-to-face. In Randy, he saw the mob that had killed his father and brother. He saw the racist cops he’d killed. He saw the white officers he’d fragged with grenades before defecting. He saw the CIA agents who’d tried to infiltrate the Black Mob in Houston.

His enemy was weak. Randy’s eyes were sunken from his battle with the
baka
. He was in a terribly vulnerable state. It was time to capitalize.

“
Welcome to Angola, Governor,” he said. “To what do I owe this privilege?”

“
Well, if it isn’t my favorite flunky,” Randy said. He coughed, covering his mouth with the back of his hand.

They both saw the bloody phlegm he’d spewed. Randy tried unsuccessfully to cover it up by putting his hand under the table.

“
You don’t look too well, Governor,” Panama X replied. “Actually, you look like death warmed over. Is it your cancer?”

“
You bastard,” Randy said. “You’re doing this to me.”

“
Governor, I’m disappointed in you. How could I infect you from a prison cell?”

Randy leaned forward. “I know what you’re up to. Jhonnette Deveaux told me your plans.”