Outcast (26 page)

“You know I do. I never meant for any of this to happen.”

“But it did, Tirrell. If you really want to fix it, you have to go all the way, even if it means doing time.”

“That would be just what you want, right? Get me out of the way once and for all.”

“Isn't one of the steps of NA to make amends, and to right the wreckage that you caused in people's lives?”

“I ain't got that far yet. I'm barely out of step one.”

“You want to be a man, go all the way.”

Tirrell grabbed the door handle. “I'm outta here.”

“Wait.”

“For what?”

“I need your help.”

“That promotion not comin' as easy as you thought?”

“This is not about my damn job, Tirrell.”

“Really?”

“I'm sorry for givin' you shit. But, you've got to admit, trouble seems to follow you everywhere you go. Now you've got a chance to do something good. Do this for Noonie. You at least owe her that much.”

“Oh, no, the hell you didn't. You wanna throw Noonie up in my face.”

“That's not what I'm doing.”

“You could have fooled me.”

“She's awake, Tirrell. She's asking for you.”

“I wanna see her.”

“Later. Right now you've got to give your statement so we can put Rivera out of business before he slips out of the country like Alex Solomon tried to do.”

“What do you mean tried?”

“The day you sent that e-mail she was on a plane to New York. She was going from there to Nigeria with her mother. She had an alias set up and everything. You said Alex did this to Noonie. Do you think Rivera's going to stop coming after our family if she gets away?”

Kevin removed the NA coin from his jacket pocket and tossed it to Tirrell. “I found this in Noonie's hospital bed.”

“Why'd you take it?”

“You can give it back to her when you see her.”

Tirrell got back in the Explorer and closed the door. “Fine. I'll do whatever I have to do.”

When they got to the police station, Kevin saw Alex in one of the interrogation rooms with Agent Oliver and a US Marshal.

Alex glanced up at Tirrell with a smug look on her face and turned away.

“Give me a minute,” Kevin said.

He parked Tirrell in another room guarded by an officer, and went in to see what was going on. He didn't know whether to be relieved or stunned that she'd made a deal.

“You should be happy, Mr. Ellis,” Agent Oliver said. “Ms. Solomon is cooperating and has agreed to give us everything we need to nail Rivera's ass to the wall. I've got a team raiding his Miami compound as we speak. We've not only got him on drug charges; we'll have him for the murder of a federal agent, too.”

“What?”

“It seems Ms. Solomon was clever enough to get a video recording on her cell phone.”

“What about Tirrell?”

“Get his statement. Right now I would think he needs to be concerned about what the locals are going to do to him. We'll know where to find him if we need him.”

Kevin was infuriated that Alex Solomon would never have to answer for what he assumed she'd done to his family. His contempt for the process fell on deaf ears.

Tirrell was questioned about Bobby Williams, but denied seeing him the day he was shot and confessed that he was somewhere getting high. With no witnesses and no physical evidence linking him to the shooting he was released into Kevin's custody.

Tirrell smoldered as Kevin drove him back to The Mission. “I can't believe this shit.”

“What?”

“What? Did you just get dropped off on the planet?”

Kevin scoffed and cut his eyes.

“Alex just gets a pass? A new name? A different location? She doesn't have to pay for any of this?”

“Look, I'm as upset about all of this as you are, but there's nothing I can do.”

“Oh, you're
upset.
Well, that makes me feel so much better.”

“All the Feds wanted was Rivera.”

“Fuck Rivera. I thought this was supposed to be about what happened to Noonie, too.”

“We didn't find the Mustang you and Marquis said you saw. And there was nothing to tie her to the shooting since you never saw who was in the car.”

“Yeah, well she wouldn't have bothered to get blood under her manicured nails,” Tirrell shot back. “It was Bobby. I know it just as well as I know my own name.”

“We can't prove that, Tirrell. And since he's dead it's not like we can ask him about it.”

“Then I'm glad I did what I did.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Nothin'.”

“What did you do, Tirrell?”

Since he'd already denied his involvement Tirrell had second thoughts about incriminating himself. If Kevin had questions about what really happened to Bobby Williams he didn't ask.

“Shit,” Kevin spat.

“What is it?”

“It's that van again.”

“What van?”

“I'm not trying to be paranoid, but I think we're being followed.”

“How do you know?”

“I thought I saw this van at The Mission and then when we stopped for coffee, and now he's behind us again.”

Tirrell turned around. “You sure?”

“There's only one way to find out.” Kevin switched lanes on the interstate to make certain they weren't being tailed, the van pulled directly behind him. When he slowed, the van slowed. He gripped the steering wheel and accelerated and the van stayed close. With a sudden jerk, Kevin swerved in between two other cars, nearly colliding with a small truck moving into the lane from the other direction—horns blared in disapproval. The van sped away.

“What the hell?” Tirrell sighed.

“I don't know.” Kevin signaled and exited the interstate.

“Where're we goin'?”

“I need to stop and get a pack of cigarettes.”

“Since when do you smoke?”

“Since when is it your business?”

They pulled up to a convenience store. Kevin went inside and Tirrell went to the side of the building to take a leak. He finished up and headed back just as Kevin started out of the store. The van that had followed them on the interstate squealed onto the parking lot and Tirrell spotted a gun barrel pointing out of the passenger side window. He flashed on the Mustang and the night Betty was shot, but this time Kevin was the target.

Tirrell bolted toward him. “Kevin, look out!”

It was too late. The first round ripped into Kevin's left shoulder and smashed the glass door behind him. Tirrell leapt in front of him, knocking him to the ground, and took the second blast to his back. An Asian woman inside the store screamed hysterically and dropped behind the counter. When he was certain that it was all clear, the male store owner ran out to see what happened. Kevin grabbed his arm and struggled to pull himself from under the weight of Tirrell's body.

“Oh shit,” he cried. He trembled as he cupped Tirrell's face. “Oh shit.”

“Is he dead?” the rattled store owner queried.

“Call an ambulance!”

The man turned to his wife inside and yelled in Korean for her to call, as onlookers swarmed from every direction. Tirrell's body slumped over Kevin's leg and blood spilled out like water and pooled around them. Kevin leaned against the wall of the building and wept.

 

 

By the time the DEA and the FBI executed the raid on Xavier Rivera's Miami compound he'd already fled and they found nothing. Alex was quick to remind Agent Oliver of her immunity, and it was her cooperation that gave them the ammunition to round up two of the six dealers listed in her files who operated out of other states. It would be solely up to them to track down and prosecute Rivera when and if they found him.

After hearing about the blatant attack on Tirrell and Kevin Ellis, Alex feared more for her safety, and with good reason. As a condition of her deal, she was still pegged as the government's key witness. Regardless of their safeguards, if Rivera was in a country that didn't have extradition to the United States (and it was a sure bet that he would be) she knew not to rest too comfortably. The only thing she had left to barter with was her life, and if a hit had already been arranged, that life wasn't going to be worth a whole lot.

Given all that had transpired, neither Thanksgiving nor Christmas were the joyous occasions they had been in years past. While most people feasted on turkey and dressing and all the other trappings of the season of abundance, Tirrell, who barely escaped death, lay in a hospital bed attached to a catheter, intravenous drips of various fluids, and a machine that pumped morphine into his system.

“Dammit,” Tirrell spat. “I need somethin' else for this pain. This fuckin' pump ain't workin'!”

“That's because you just pushed it. You know it's locked and you gotta wait ten minutes for the next dose,” the burly male nurse retorted as he maneuvered him for a dressing change.

Tirrell's eyes filled with tears. He gritted his teeth and scowled. “I'm tellin' you this shit ain't workin'. Why can't you give me what you gave me the other day?”

“Just let me get done here and I'll call your doctor to see if he can order anything else for you, okay?”

After the nurse finished redressing Tirrell's wound, another nurse came in to draw blood. This routine had become the norm over the days following the surgery to remove the bullet from his back. Tirrell had been examined, monitored, poked, prodded, and, in his estimation, damn near bled dry. He was bombarded with redundant questions about how he was feeling, or sleeping, or his pain level and appetite. His legs were covered and massaged by long sausage casing–like sleeves that helped to prevent blood clots, as he lay for days on end wondering if he would ever walk again.

The morphine was finally kicking in. Just when he thought he had a few minutes to close his eyes and get some sleep before someone else burst in to cart him off for another X-ray or therapy, Mr. Preston tapped on the door and stuck his head inside the room.

“Care to see a friendly face?”

“Yeah, come on in,” Tirrell responded groggily.

He tentatively entered and approached the side of the bed. “I won't stay long. I just wanted to stop by and see how you were.”

Tirrell smiled. Since the day Mr. Preston first reached out to him, he'd become more of a father figure than any man in his life. He was happier to see him than his pride was willing to reveal.

Mr. Preston pulled up a chair and sat down. “After gettin' all these narcotics in your system you gon' have to start the program all over again, you know that, right?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“And you thought it was rough before.” Mr. Preston chuckled. “You're gon' need some serious rehab now.”

“Yeah, but right now I just wanna enjoy this, a'ight?”

Mr. Preston shrugged. “So, how does it feel to be a hero?”

“Hero?”

“It was all over the news there for a while, you takin' a bullet for your brother.”

“Yeah, that was pretty stupid, huh? It was more than he would have done for me.”

“It wasn't stupid at all,” Mr. Preston countered. “You showed how much of a man you really are, deep down—where it counts.”

“Yeah, and look where it got me. I'm so fuckin' ecstatic I could dance. Oh wait, I forgot, my legs don't work no more.”

“Man, you don't know how lucky you are. That bullet could've taken you outta here. I hear you could be walkin' again as soon as the swellin' goes down around your spine, you just have to be patient.”

“I'll just be happy to pee standing up.”

“I don't think you need to be feelin' sorry for yourself. I'm tell'ya now, things could be worse.”

“It don't matter no way. It ain't like Kevin gives a damn. It's been like six weeks and he hasn't been to see me one time. I mean he could have at least sent a damn thank-you card or somethin'.”

“Doesn't change the fact that you did a courageous thing.”

“Doesn't make it any easier either,” Tirrell shot back. “Nothin' I do will ever be good enough for any of 'em.”

“You know if I want to hear a baby cry I could go down to the maternity ward.”

Tirrell shook his head and turned away.

“I know it's hard, but you got a lot more fight left in you, otherwise, you would have checked out already. You gon' be all right. Here, I got somethin' for you.” Mr. Preston pulled a plastic bag from the inside of his jacket and handed it to him.

Tirrell's eyes lit up. “It's an iPod.”

“I didn't know if you had one already. I figured if you didn't it would help you pass the time.”

“Thanks, man.”

“Well, look here. I'm gon' head out and let you get some rest.”

“I appreciate you, Mr. P. Thanks for comin'.”

They bumped fists.

“I'm proud of you, son. I'm gon' be right here to help you if you want it. ”

Tirrell's eyes misted as he watched his mentor leave. He sniffled, wiped his hand over his nose and mouth, and cleared his throat, resisting the urge to cry. He lay back on his pillow and closed his eyes. As he drifted off to sleep he whispered, “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference.”

 

 

When he woke up Betty was sitting by his side.

“Hi, baby. How're you feelin'?”

He yawned. “Noonie, what are you doin' here again?”

“What are you talkin' about? Where else would I be?”

“You didn't drive, did you? You're barely out of the hospital yourself. You know you shouldn't be drivin'.”

“Boy, I was takin' care of myself long before you were born. I suspect I can continue doin' just that.”

“That's not what I meant.”

“I know.”

“You were just here yesterday.”

“And I'm gonna be here tomorrow and the next day, until you come home. I got the place all ready for you. Marquis even built a wheelchair ramp up to the porch.”

“That should come in handy. I ain't got no insurance. They'll be kickin' me out of here soon.”

“You don't have to worry about payin' no hospital bill. Your brother is takin' care of all of that.”

“Are you serious?”

Betty nodded.

“Well, I'll be damned,” Tirrell responded. He glanced at his grandmother, realizing what he'd said. “Sorry.”

Betty continued as if his comment didn't register. “I still can't believe all this happened because of that— that woman. I could have lost both you and Kevin. I knew she was no good when I first set eyes on her.”

“It's not all on her, Noonie. I made some bad choices and got myself into a lot of this shi . . . I mean stuff on my own.”

“She still caused you a lot of pain, and if there's any justice at all one of these days she's gonna get exactly what she deserves.”

“So, where is my generous big brother?”

“I'm right here.” Kevin pushed open the door, carrying a box of food that Betty had prepared. “I had trouble finding a place to park.”

“What's all this?”

Betty stood and started pulling covered bowls from the box and setting them on the adjustable rolling table in front of Tirrell.

“I know firsthand that the food in here don't taste like much, and I wanted to make sure you got some good home cookin'. I checked and they told me it would be okay for you to have.”

“Thanks, Noonie.” Tirrell rubbed his hands together with anticipation, pulled a plastic lid from one of the bowls, and inhaled the mouthwatering aroma of baked macaroni and cheese.

“Micah threw a fit,” Kevin injected. “He really wanted to come see you. We told him he should probably wait a couple more days.”

“That boy really loves his uncle,” Betty affirmed.

“Unlike his father,” Tirrell sniped.

Kevin massaged his left shoulder where he'd been shot. “I uh . . . I know I should've come before now. I was just having a harder time than I thought.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, bruh. I'm still here.”

“Tirrell, don't talk like that,” Betty chided.

A respiratory therapist pushed into the room and dispelled the tension. “Well, Mr. Ellis, I was going to ask if you already had lunch, but I can see that you got that covered. Is that macaroni and cheese I smell?”

“It sure is,” Betty responded, easing back into her chair. “Would you like some? There's plenty.”

“No, thank you. I just wanted to see to it that Mr. Ellis was using his spirometer. You don't want pneumonia setting into those lungs, do you?”

Tirrell held up the device and waved it in the air. “I got it right here.”

The woman nodded and excused herself from the room.

Tirrell absently checked the other containers in the box. “So, Kev, Noonie said you were takin' care of all the hospital stuff.”

“It's the least I could do. I figured I owed you.”

Betty patted Tirrell's hand and nodded. “Baby, you better eat up before the food gets cold,” Betty injected. She pulled a napkin and plastic utensils from the box and handed them to Tirrell. Without hesitation he started in on the macaroni.

“Noonie, I need to head back to the office,” Kevin injected.

“So soon? We just got here,” Betty responded.

“Sorry. I've got some paperwork I need to finish.”

“Any word on Alex?” Tirrell asked.

Kevin shook his head. “As far as the world is concerned Alexandra Solomon no longer exists.”

“That bitch,” Tirrell whispered under his breath.

Kevin cleared his throat.

“Okay, baby. We need to go now. But I'll be back tomorrow.”

“Noonie, you don't have to do that.”

“What did I say?”

Tirrell smiled.

“Don't worry. I won't be driving. I'll see if Anne Crawl or Marquis can bring me.”

Noonie stood, leaned in, and kissed Tirrell's forehead. “I just thank God that both my boys are all right.” She gathered her purse and turned to leave. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you too, Noonie. Oh and uh, Kev . . . thanks.”

Kevin nodded and exited behind Betty.

 

 

A week later Tirrell was released from the hospital. He barely had time to settle in before he was saddled with an aggressive rehabilitation regimen, and a physical therapist who quite often pushed him beyond the limits of where he thought he could go.

“Man, I can't do it!”

“Yes, you can. You've come this far. Now, give me two more.”

“I can't, you asshole.”

“Do you want to walk again, or do you want to spend the rest of your life on wheels?”

Tirrell clenched his teeth and held his breath. Perspiration trickled down his forehead and pooled in his ears as his therapist assisted him in pulling his leg up and bending it at the knee toward his chest.

“Fourteen. C'mon . . . c'mon. You got this. One more.”

By the end of a grueling set of leg lifts and knee bends Tirrell felt as if he'd run a marathon, and cursed his therapist for making him work so hard.

“You'll thank me later.” The man chuckled as he lifted Tirrell back into bed.

“I uh . . . I could really use somethin' a little stronger than they gave me for this pain,” Tirrell groaned.

“How bad is it?”

“It's bad. Real bad.”

“I'll call your doctor and let him know.”

“C'mon, don't you have somethin' you can give me?”

“You took your allotment of Tramadol already.”

Tirrell picked up a bedpan at his side and threw it at the man. “You can't expect me to get through this shit if I'm in this much pain!”

“And you can't expect me to be your dope dealer either. You may as well man up, take what the doctor prescribed you, and deal with it. Do you want pain relief or you wanna get high?”

Tirrell turned away in disgust.

Betty knocked at the bedroom door as the therapist collected his gear and prepared to leave. “How's everything goin' in here?”

“We're all done for the day,” the man said as he headed out. “The poor baby can't take any more.”

“To hell with you, Alan,” Tirrell spat, flinging his towel at the man.

Betty's brow furrowed. “Tirrell.”

“It's all right, Ms. Ellis,” the man assured her. “I'm used to it. I'll show myself out.”

Betty handed Tirrell a bottle of water. “Are you up for some company?”

Before he could answer Micah jetted past his great grandmother and bolted into the room. “Uncle Tirrell!”

“Hey, li'l man.”

Micah stopped just shy of jumping onto the bed.

“What's wrong?”

“Daddy said I should be careful because you can't walk.”

“It's just temporary. See?” Tirrell strained to lift his leg—it barely moved. “I'll be back to normal in no time. Now c'mere and give me a hug.”

Micah reticently embraced him. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

Kevin entered the room with Pat in tow.

“Micah, get down.”

“It's okay, Kev. He's fine.”

“You look good, Tirrell,” Pat said.

“I'm gettin' better.”

Betty smiled. “It's so good to have my family all safe under one roof.”

“Well, I guess now is as good a time as any to make an announcement.” Kevin beamed. “The family might be getting bigger real soon.”

“What do you mean?” Betty asked.