A dark place, p.13
A Dark Place, page 13
Allen shrugged his shoulders and reached for the phone. He dialed the number.
“Yo, man, I got the baby,” Allen said when he heard a click. “Whatchu want me to do with him?”
There was silence on the other end of the phone.
“Hello?” Allen said.
“Yes.”
“Whatchu want me to do with the baby, man?”
“Where is the phone I gave you?”
“I lost that muthafucka while I was running. You got me shot at, asshole. Now, where do you want me to take this damn kid, man?”
“Did you forget already? I told you where I needed you to drop him off.”
“If I’m asking you, then ain’t it obvious I forgot? I swear to God, white folks some dumbasses.”
“Hey,” the man growled, “who do you think you’re talking to?”
“You, muthafucka. Now if you want this baby, you better get ya ass over henh and get him.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m still out here in white folks’ land. Old punk-ass dude that brought me here got spooked after those bullets started flying. And you gonna have to add a li’l something extra for that shit too.”
“Where are you at this very moment?”
“I’m walking down the street, and it’s cold as an iceberg in a polar bear’s pussy out this piece. Now, somebody gonna call the cops on me in a minute, ’cause I damn sure don’t fit in round here. Now, if you don’t meet me somewhere, then I’ma drop his li’l ass off at the gas station and keep it moving, ya hear? I ain’t going to jail for no five hundred dollars, man.”
“Five hundred? I only owe you two hundred.”
“Yeah, that was fine until I got shot at. I’m . . . Wait a minute. I’m about to turn onto this big street. Hold on. Let me see if I can see a sign . . .”
Urban whispered the words Ashford Dunwoody.
“Ashford Dunbuddy or something. I can’t see that good without my glasses. I see a BP station right up here on the left. That’s where I’ll be, and I ain’t gonna stay here all day, playa. I’m already pissed off.”
“Okay, great. Calm down. I’ll have someone there in fifteen minutes,” the voice said, and then the phone went dead.
Priest looked at Urban and nodded. He placed his large hands together and applauded. “Bravo. You’re wasting a talent out in these streets, man. You’re a professional liar.”
“Hey. I was acting, fool. Not lying. I don’t lie,” Allen said. “I ain’t scared of your ass, Priest. You got a li’l advantage on me now ‘cause I’m on them narcotics, but I promise you that I will get in shape and beat yo’ muthafuckin’ ass.”
“Shut up!” Priest turned his attention to Urban. “Urban, go and grab me a baby’s blanket and a pillow.”
Urban went inside to retrieve the items and returned immediately.
“Now, here is your baby,” Urban said, handing the blanket and pillow to Allen.
“Man, is you serious?” Allen asked.
Priest grabbed the crowbar again and gave Allen a look that answered his question.
“I guess you is,” Allen mumbled. He wrapped the blanket around the pillow.
“You wanna ride with me, or do you wanna hang tight?” Priest asked Urban.
“I’m riding,” Urban said.
“Cool. We’re going to need to take your car. If they see mine, they might get spooked and leave.”
Urban went back into the house and returned with the keys to his weekend ride, a Porsche 911 convertible.
“Boy, you’re the wealthiest trashman I know,” Priest quipped, walking around to the passenger side.
“Good investments,” Urban said with a wink.
“Where in the world am I’m gonna sit?” Allen muttered.
Urban pulled the driver’s seat back, and Allen squeezed into a back seat that couldn’t hold anything larger than a golf bag.
“Why even bother with a back seat if it’s gone be this damn small?” Allen complained.
“I want you to take a damn bath as soon as you get to wherever you call home,” Priest said, rolling his window down.
Urban turned the key in the ignition, and the powerful sports car roared to life.
They made it out of the subdivision, crossed Ashford Dunwoody Road, and spotted the BP gas station. Priest instructed Urban to park nearby. They let Allen out and watched as he walked across the street. Ironically, Allen stopped at the same QuikTrip where Jamillah had taken her snack break.
He didn’t go inside the store. He stood on the walkway in front of the store, the baby blanket in his arms, getting strange looks from the locals. He was tired of these nosy wealthy folks, who obviously wanted to know what fool would allow their baby to be in the presence of such a haggard-looking man. He walked over by the phone booths and paced back and forth. A minute later, a police cruiser pulled into the QuikTrip parking lot, and an officer got out. He appeared to be checking Allen out, but he quickly lost interest and walked into the store. He came out, gave Allen another look, then jumped into his car and drove off.
“That boy missed his calling. He could’ve been a really good actor,” Priest said.
“Yeah,” Urban replied, focused on the task at hand.
It didn’t take long before a car, a Crown Victoria, pulled up in front of Allen. He was holding out his hand and shaking his head.
“Punch it,” Priest said. “Get in front of him and try to box him in.”
“Got ya,” Urban said as he slammed on the gas. Zero to sixty in 4.3 seconds never seemed sweeter.
Allen stood on the sidewalk by the store and watched as Urban shot in front of the Crown Victoria like a bat out of hell.
Priest jumped out, with his gun drawn. “Outta the car!” he ordered the driver of the Crown Vic.
A young Caucasian male with spiked purple hair, an earring in his nose, and a million and one tattoos all over his body eased out of the car with his hands held high.
“What’s the problem, sir?” the youngster said with a calmness that indicated this wasn’t his first rodeo with the police.
“Turn around and place your hands on the car,” Priest ordered without showing a badge. He patted the youngster down and removed a small-caliber pistol from his waistband.
“Do you have a permit to carry a concealed weapon, Spike?”
“Nope.” Spike was still as calm as a politician. “Didn’t know I needed one.”
“Hey, man,” Allen called out. “Can I get out of here?”
“Yeah,” Priest said as he searched the tattooed young man.
“What’s up, man, with that bread?” Allen said, rubbing his thumb and index finger together.
Urban reached into his pocket and peeled off a few hundred-dollar bills. He walked over to Allen and handed him the cash.
“Thanks, white boy. And I’m sorry ’bout that night I almost killed yo’ ass. You an a’ight dude. I shouldn’t have whipped you like that.”
“Don’t mention it,” Urban said. “Just stay out of my house.”
“You ain’t got to worry about that,” Allen said, counting his money. A big smile eased over his face when he figured out the total.
Priest placed the handcuffed, spike-haired guy in the front passenger seat of the Crown Vic and walked around to the driver’s side.
“Are you still in?” he called to Urban.
“Yeah,” Urban said.
“Cool. Then I need for you to follow me.”
“Wait a minute,” Allen said. “How the hell am I s’pposed to get back to the hood?”
Part III
Chapter 25
Michael Benedict was a ball of nerves. His mouth was as dry as sandpaper, and he couldn’t stop his hands from shaking. Normally, the church was a place where he could find peace and tranquility, but today the house of worship brought him only despair and a sense of doom. Ever since Nickali had killed the man in that abandoned house a little over a month ago, Michael hadn’t been able to get any rest. His conscience was eating him alive. His nights were haunted by gunshots, brain fragments, and fruitless pleas for mercy. He also found himself wiping away imaginary bloodstains on his shirt on a constant basis, just as he was doing now. He couldn’t stop pacing the floor of his small one-bedroom apartment for fear of a life-changing knock on his door by two hulking police officers, who would take him away to a high-security penitentiary.
The thought alone caused him to wince. He couldn’t imagine spending the rest of his life in a cage with the worst people this world had to offer. He wasn’t that kind of man; he was a college graduate, a Christian, and he had a good heart. That wasn’t the normal profile of a hardened criminal. So how in the world did he end up in the position he was in now? The question racked his brain over and over again. All he had done was join a church and become its youth minister. The next thing he knew, he was riding around one of Atlanta’s poorest neighborhoods, looking in crack houses.
Michael summoned the courage to walk down the long church aisle, past the pulpit, and through a back door to the pastor’s office. He knocked on the door, even though it was slightly ajar.
“Michael,” Reverend Perry said as he swiveled around in his high-back leather chair and placed the paper that he was reading down on his desk.
“Reverend Perry, I didn’t do anything. I swear to you on my mother’s grave,” Michael blurted as he rushed over to the man. It was as if he was pleading with Christ Himself. He closed his eyes and made an imaginary cross with his fingers over his chest. “I did what you asked me to do and went with Nickali. I was told that we were going to pick up a baby and that he was going to be placed into a nice home, that’s all. I went along only for the sake of the child.”
“Calm down, son,” Reverend Perry said as he stood and walked around his desk. He placed both of his large hands on Michael’s shoulders in a reassuring way. “Now, relax and tell me what you’re talking about.”
Michael’s eyelids started fluttering, a true sign that his nerves were getting the best of him. “There was a murder. Nickali killed a man when we went looking for that child.”
Reverend Perry removed his hands and took a step back from the frail, baby-faced, blond-haired man standing before him. “What did you say?”
Michael couldn’t bring himself to repeat his words, so he simply nodded his head.
“I sent you men on a simple trip, and you guys somehow managed to turn it into a murder? I never said for you to get the baby by any means necessary. I simply asked you guys to pay the lady and pick up the baby. That was it,” the reverend said as he walked back behind his desk and took a seat. He nodded for Michael to do the same, but Michael continued standing.
“I know, and I told Nickali that, but he wouldn’t listen. He is the one who killed that man, not me. I didn’t have a gun. I don’t own a gun. I don’t even know how to shoot one of those things. I don’t even like guns.” Michael’s voice was raised. “When I tried to leave, he pointed his gun at me and asked for the car keys.”
Reverend Perry’s eyes went from surprise to what appeared to be real concern. “He pointed the gun at you?”
“Yeah. He tried to throw it off as a joke, but there was no doubt in my mind that he would’ve pulled the trigger. It was like something very evil and sinister came over him. And he burned down a crack house. For no reason.”
“What?”
“Yeah. Said he liked seeing the people outside run like a bunch of roaches. He has serious problems,” Michael said, the volume of his voice just below a yell. “Out of respect for the work you’ve done, I didn’t go to the police. I hope that respect doesn’t come back to bite me.”
“You did the right thing. I will certainly take care of this,” Reverend Perry assured him.
Michael paced the floor and tried to keep himself from imploding.
Reverend Perry leaned back in his leather chair and placed both index fingers on his temples. He was in deep thought now. Michael wondered what he was thinking about. Could he trust this man? Then, all of a sudden, Reverend Perry clapped his hands together and smiled.
“Okay, you go on home. I will take care of Mr. Nickali.”
Michael stood on unstable legs. He wasn’t sure what to do. After all, he was still an accessory to murder, which, in the eyes of the law, made him a murderer.
“Reverend Perry, what’s going to happen to me?”
“Nothing. You’ll be fine. The Bible says the poor will always be amongst us. Nickali has obviously yet to learn that.” Reverend Perry pointed at his head. “He will be dealt with. As for you, your services are greatly appreciated. And you will be compensated.”
“I don’t want any money.” Michael shook his head vigorously and furrowed his brows. This little confession hadn’t done anything for his nerves. “I want my name out of this. If the police ever find out, I don’t want my name mentioned. It’s bad enough that I will have to live with the fact that I saw a man’s head blown to pieces right in front of me. I can be implicated and convicted. I’m not a murderer!” Michael yelled.
“Lower your voice, or you will tell the police on yourself. Don’t you worry, and you didn’t have anything to do with this. This is Nickali’s mess, and I’ll make sure he pays the piper for his wicked deeds.”
Reverend Perry stood, walked over, and placed a hand on Michael’s shoulder. “I’m happy you came to me with this. We are not assassins. We are only doing what we feel God would want us to do. Trust me when I say we are doing God’s work. This is a war, a war on poverty, but we are starting with the children. That little boy whom you were supposed to bring to me had a very wealthy and educated family who would’ve loved him and given him wonderful opportunities. Opportunities that growing up in the inner city would not have afforded him. What kind of life do you think he would have if he spent his first year on this earth living in and out of crack houses?”
Michael lowered his head. “Not a very good one. And that’s why I agreed to go, but I never said I would be a part of a mur—”
“Hey,” Reverend Perry interrupted. “I want you to go home and try to get some rest. And I want you to try your best to forget about all of this.”
“Nickali needs to be in jail. He is a criminal.”
“If your words are true, and I believe they are, you are right. He will get his just due. God has a way of working these things out beyond our comprehension.”
“I should’ve gone to the police,” Michael said.
“And if you had gone to the authorities, where would that leave you?”
Michael seemed to understand his predicament and lowered his head. “So he’s going to be free to just walk around?”
“We’ll take care of it. You go home and get some rest.”
“Okay,” Michael said before exiting the office and the church.
After Michael left, Reverend Perry returned to his high-back leather chair, pulled out his cell phone, and dialed a few numbers. Thirty minutes later, Nickali, the orange-headed murderer himself, was standing in front of the reverend.
“Explain,” Reverend Perry said as he rolled a pair of Chinese stress balls between his fingers.
“Explain what?”
“Do I need to spell it out for you?” The look on the reverend’s face told the assassin that he knew exactly what had happened.
“Well, sir, you said we needed to get that baby. You were very adamant about it too. I told you we could get another baby, but you wanted that one, so I did what I thought was the right thing to do in order to make you happy.”
“And you thought the right thing to do was murder someone?” Reverend Perry asked as he rolled the balls faster and faster. “This is bad. Not good, Nickali, not good at all. You have done a very stupid and irresponsible thing. I don’t know if you know this, but we are not murderers. This is a sanctuary. A place where we do God’s work.”
“Sir, with all due respect, you said this was a war. A war on poverty. Did you not?” Nickali slipped into the seat across from Reverend Perry.
“I did.”
“Well, you’ll have to admit that in every war there are casualties. Consider that nigger a casualty of our war on poverty,” Nickali said with a wicked smile. “Besides, nobody cares about those people. I’ve been checking the police scanners every day, and I haven’t heard the slightest peep about a murder—well, not that murder. I made it look like a suicide. So the cops probably figured this guy got tired of getting high and killed himself,” Nickali lied.
Reverend Perry stared at this young man with a bit of pity and reverence. He didn’t like him, but he needed him. To operate in his world, he would have to have a guy like Nickali on his team. An equalizer.
“You know what concerns me even more than your deed itself? Your nonchalance and uncaring attitude about the entire affair,” Reverend Perry said for the sake of his own sanity. “We are missionaries, not mercenaries. Are you totally heartless?”
Nickali shrugged his shoulders and stared at his fingernails, as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
“Where is the girl?” Reverend Perry asked.
“She’s gone. She ran off , but I figured we didn’t need her anymore. She took us to the house where the baby lives. She said it was her brother, but I don’t believe her, because the guy’s house we went to was white. Either way, brother or not, he didn’t seem to want anything to do with her. He wouldn’t even let her in his house. Can’t say I could blame him, though. She stunk to high hell. Niggers!”
“Enough!” Reverend Perry slammed his hand down on his desk. “I’ve heard about enough out of you. I will not have such language used in the house of the Lord.”
“Yes, sir,” Nickali said half-heartedly.
“I sent you to get a child, but I see no child. The girl is missing, you’ve taken a life, and Lord knows who could’ve died in the house you burned down. What do you suppose I do with someone who doesn’t follow my directions?”
“Reverend Perry, please calm down. I will take care of this. As a matter of fact, it’s being taken care of as we speak. I sent one of my guys over to the white guy’s house to get the baby, and I’m waiting to hear back from him any minute now. Calm down before you give yourself a heart attack.”
