Slipping (19 page)

Domino grabbed Shorty Rob by the collar and rudely ushered him out of the door.

The ride to the Wells was a terrifying one for Shorty Rob. He knew the Apostles were used to riding around with heat, but he wasn't. When the nose of Domino's SUV turned into the boundaries of the Wells, Shorty Rob breathed a sigh of relief.

“Where this bitch live?” Clay growled from behind the steering wheel.

“You follow Vincennes to 37th Place, then make a left.”

Clay followed the instructions.

“Pull over right here,” Shorty Rob ordered meekly.

Noiselessly the 4Runner glided into a parking space a few doors away from Rena's stoop. Domino looked across the backseat at Shorty Rob. “Which one is the bitch crib?”

“Second floor with the yellow curtains.”

Domino looked up at Rena's window through the tinted window of his SUV. “Clay, take yo stupid ass around to the back door. Me, Breo, and this nigga going in the front. I'm gone give you three minutes, then I'm going in.”

“Hey,” Shorty Rob protested. “You ain't say nothing about me going in with y'all. Hell nall. Fuck that!”

A metallic click alerted Shorty Rob that Domino had
cocked the hammer of his pistol. No words were necessary; he got the message.

Clay got out of the truck and headed for the back of the building. Domino and Breo followed Shorty Rob into the building's hallway. They climbed the stairs trying to make as little noise as possible, but Shorty Rob kicked over a discarded forty-ounce bottle. It rolled, tumbled down the stairs, and crashed on the landing. Domino slapped him hard on the back of his head. They continued up the stairs to the second landing and Shorty Rob pointed toward a door. Breo placed his ear to the door and listened for a few moments. He turned and gave the all-clear signal.

Inside the apartment Don was sitting on the couch in his wifebeater and boxers. He had just finished smoking a twenty of crack. He heard the footsteps on the stairs and heard the bottle break, but he didn't become leery until the footsteps paused at the door. There was a small space between the door and the floor and Don could see the movement of the interlopers.

Somebody was trying to sneak up on him.

Quietly, Don scooped up his Python and checked the cylinder. It was fully loaded. He closed the cylinder and sat back to wait.

Outside the apartment Domino gave Breo the go-ahead sign and Breo kicked the door in.

The door gave way easily—so easily that Breo was thrown off balance and stumbled into the living room, dropping his pistol. Without leaving his seat on the couch Don
loosed six rounds from his pistol. Four of the six rounds hit Breo in his upper and lower torso, literally ripping him in half at such close range.

Breo tried to scream, but the blood pouring into his lungs drowned him.

Rena was in the bathroom when the apartment door came crashing in. She stepped out and froze as she watched Don butcher the man that blundered through the door.

Domino stepped into the apartment and over Breo. He hesitated only a moment before shooting Rena four times.

Rena's body was flung back into the bathroom, where she staggered backward until she fell into the tub. A hole in her throat made her gasp. Her clutching hands waved back and forth in the air as if she could somehow grasp the air. Finally she grabbed the shower curtain and pulled it down on herself.

Defenseless, Don sat on the couch. His gun was empty. The other bullets were across the room in his pants pocket.

Domino turned his attention to Don. “So, you the notorious Don-Don? You was pretty hard to find. Shit, I actually like yo style. If you wouldn'ta killed my cousin, you the type of nigga that I like to have around me.”

At that moment, staring into the darkness of the barrel of Domino's pistol, Don was forced to accept his fate. Even though he didn't know right away who the man's cousin was, he didn't have any doubt that he had killed him.

Calmly, Don pointed to his pipe. “I only want one thing before you lay me down. One last blast.”

Don's last request surprised Domino and before he could approve it or deny it, Don picked up his pipe and stuffed the bowl with crack. His lighter flickered and he inhaled the sweet smoke for the last time.

Domino leveled his pistol at Don's head.

Don stared his assassin in the eyes over the rim of his crackpipe.

Two extra-loud gunshots rang out and reverberated.

Don thought his short life was over.

Domino pitched forward onto his face. The back half of his head was a bloody mess.

The boy who had bushwhacked Domino stepped into the room and shot Domino two more times in the head. Bending over Domino's body, the boy examined his handiwork. He removed Domino's necklace and diamond-studded wristwatch.

Don lowered the pipe. “Who you?” Don asked bluntly.

The boy stood up and kicked Domino's body. “Killa Clay. This here nigga used to be my fellow Apostle. I worked for this nigga for four years. He treated me like I wadn't shit. This nigga had a fat truck, got paper, and all that. Me and the rest of his crew walking around without shit.

“This stud was too greedy. Plus he always tried to treat a nigga like a goofy and shit. Trying to make you look like a lame in front of bitches. I been waiting for a chance to get rid of this stud. Yeah, I been playing the send-off man for too long. I know this nigga's operation inside and out. I
know where the cash and the product is. I know everything, 'cause I knew I was gone catch this nigga slipping and blow his shit loose. As soon as I heard that you killed his cousin Sajak I knew that my chance was coming. I ain't even gone off you because without you none of this shit would have been possible.”

“So what you saying?”

“Nigga, you can beat it. I ain't got no beef with you. One thing, though.”

“What's that?”

“I am gone tell the Apostles you killed Domino and Breo, so it may get a teensy bit hectic for you.”

“So what if I go to the Apostles and tell them it was you that cooked Domino?”

Clay laughed. “Do you really think they gone believe you over one of their own? Sorry, you got to be the scapegoat in this shit, but I am giving you something in return.”

“Oh, yeah? What's that?”

“I'm giving you yo life 'cause you done made me one rich nigga. A, do you know a Shorty Rob?”

“I don't think so.”

“Hold on.” Clay stepped into the hallway and dragged what appeared to be a dead body into the apartment.

Don recognized the lifeless figure as Rena's ex-boyfriend, the booty-licker. Brain matter oozed out of Shorty Rob's head onto Rena's welcome mat.

“I gave it to him when you was killing Breo,” Clay offered. “I hate snitches, you know. Shit, I even get the ten
thousand Domino was gone pay this stud for finding you. I guess that's it, Don-Don. I'll see you in hell.”

Clay left the apartment.

Don could hear his insane laughter as he left the building. Taking care not to look at Rena, Don wiped his finger prints off everything he remembered touching, got dressed, and left the apartment.

IN HER BEDROOM, RHONDA RECLINED ON HER BED AND
tried to study her textbook. She hated economics, but it was a prerequisite to graduate, so she had to muddle through it the best she could. Right now she wasn't feeling it. She threw the book on the floor and rolled over on her side. Sighing, she shuffled through her stack of CDs. Mary J. Blige stared up from the case of her CD with a sad look in her eyes. The lost look on Mary's face mirrored the way Rhonda felt at this moment. She carefully opened her CD player and placed the silver disc into it. The soulful sounds of the ultimate ghetto diva poured into her ears. Tears gathered in her eyes.

Rhonda missed her brother. From her mother, she had
found out that Don was in a lot of trouble. Some of the things they were saying he did were monstrous. On top of that they couldn't find him. He had been gone for days and hadn't so much as called—none of his friends had heard from him, either. She had interrogated them on several occasions to no avail.

Donald didn't think she knew, but she had known for quite a while he was a crackhead. She still loved him, though; she blamed his addiction on Juanita. Ever since Don had brought Juanita home, Rhonda sensed she was no good for her little brother. Trying to talk to Don about her was like talking to a wall—he didn't want to hear it. Their mother was no help at all. Rhonda complained to her whenever she got a chance to see her, but her mother seemed so wrapped up in her job, school, and boyfriend she seemed not to care. In her mother's absence, Rhonda had become the parent, and it was getting to her. The stress of the situation at home began to show in her slipping GPA. Some of her classmates at Chicago State University noticed her academic slump and showed concern. Even though they were close acquaintances, Rhonda chose to remain tight-lipped about her problems. She didn't trust them well enough to let them know what was going on with her little brother. She really didn't know what to do, but she knew that he needed some help. As if Don getting high wasn't bad enough, the other night the police had tried to take the door off the hinges looking for him. They had been polite because her
mother was one of them, but they let her know in no uncertain terms that they would be back as often as it took until they found him.

She canceled the events on her social calendar preferring to sit at home, hoping Don would come home or at least telephone. Before the crisis with her brother, all of her energy was channeled into getting her bachelor degree in marketing and advertising. Along the way to reaching her goals she didn't want a baby or a pussy-whipped boyfriend to tie her down, so she was still a virgin. She had came close to having sex on several occasions, but just thinking about her friends who were pregnant or had children had made her back down. For a while the boys who were interested in her continued to call or tried to visit, but she managed to discourage her would-be suitors by keeping a tight grip on her panties.

Across from the Haskill residence, four men sat inside a four-door blue Buick Century. They passed a wicked stick among themselves. The odor of burning formaldehyde and marijuana stunk up the car.

The four men were Juanita's brothers: Tyrone, the second oldest, was the leader; he was a vicious ex-convict and he had dedicated his life to wrongdoing. He had spent so much of his young life behind bars he considered any length of time he spent on the streets as a vacation. His close-set eyes and clean-shaven head added to his psychotic appearance. He loved only a few things in life: crime, his dead sister Juanita, and his youngest brother Johnny.

Johnny was totally subservient to Tyrone. He tried to
emulate Tyrone's every mannerism, his walk, and bald head; he even styled his clothes like his brother. He often wore a bandana around his bald head, looking for all the world like a poor Tupac Shakur. His son had been killed in the fire set by Don. Though he had never relished or even participated in the role of being a father, he still felt anguish at having to bury one of his several children because of Don-Don.

Michael was the oldest brother and Leroy was the second youngest. These two weren't as bright as their brothers, nor did they exhibit the aggressiveness their brothers showed. They were content to bask in the notoriety of their brothers’ reputations. If Tyrone told them to do something they would do it, but they never relished the task like Johnny did.

Tyrone and Johnny left the car and cut through the side yard of Don's house to the back door. Leroy and Michael walked up to the front door of the house. Michael rang the doorbell several times—no answer. With a loud whistle, Leroy signaled to his brothers in the rear that it was all clear.

Noiselessly, Tyrone, a master of burglary, broke a glass pane in the door. He stuck his hand through the aperture, being careful not to cut his hand on the jagged remnants of glass, and unlocked the dead bolt. Stealthily, the pair slithered through the open door. On tiptoe they crossed the kitchen and headed to open the front door for their brothers. When everyone was inside they fanned out and searched the first floor.

Their search rendered nothing. Tyrone pointed up the stairs, so they headed for the next level. The first bedroom
they tried was empty. The second was Rhonda's. She was sleeping peacefully, clad only in a T-shirt and panties, with her headphones covering her ears.

Tyrone motioned for his brothers to come to the room with the half-naked girl on the bed. A malevolent smile flickered across Tyrone's face. He handed his pistol to Johnny and pulled a knife from his pocket.

“That nigga ain't here,” Tyrone whispered. “I bet that's his sister. Let's check this bitch out.”

“I don't know,” Michael whispered.

“Nigga, is you scared or something?” Johnny whispered scornfully. “Quit acting all soft and shit. Her brother killt our sister and my damn son! Let's get this bitch.”

“I know you ain't trying to bitch up on us,” Tyrone said to Michael. “Nigga, our motherfucking sister is dead. Now bring you ass on.”

Followed by his three brothers, Tyrone stepped into Rhonda's room.

The four brothers surrounded Rhonda's bed. Tyrone snatched the headphones off her head and then woke her with a vicious smack in the mouth.

“Bitch, wake the fuck up, it's party time,” Tyrone said.

Rhonda shrieked at the top of her lungs—she was rewarded with a punch in the mouth. She recovered and began to scream again. This time she received a blow to her midsection. Holding her stomach, trying to catch her breath, she looked up at the faces of her attackers. The bald one that hit her in the mouth stepped forward with a knife.

Tyrone used the sharp blade of the knife to slice through the cotton material of her T-shirt and panties.

Rhonda tried to cover up the best she could, but rough hands groped her, tugging and pulling at her flesh. She pressed her thighs together as tightly as possible, but they were too strong for her. They forced her legs open wide and held them open. Rhonda gathered all of her energy.

“HHHHEEEELLLLPPPP!” Rhonda screamed.

The men grabbed her arms, and the one who cut her panties away shoved the shredded underpants in her mouth. The brothers continued with their caresses until Johnny made a startling discovery.