Young Junius, page 29
part #4 of Jack Palms Series
“Fuck me.” Seven let his head fall back onto the apartment rug. At least he had control of that. “Just kill my ass, you piece of shit.”
Dee shrugged. “That’s all you got, son? Nothing but that little piece of fight left in you?” His gun hung down along his thigh, but now he started to raise it. “I’ll shoot you,” he said, pointing the revolver at Seven’s chest. He raised it higher, pointing at Seven’s face, the black eye of the muzzle staring him down like a cyclops.
Then Seven heard a loud scream of pain from the far end of the hall, and Dee turned. A series of silenced shots rang out in the hall, whistling down and ripping through him. Seven got his head up enough to see Dee cut to pieces: first across the chest and then down again across his torso as he fell. Finally he crumpled into a heap.
Seven tried again to move his hand and now something felt a little different; his finger started to move. He could feel the rough pattern of the Tec’s grip against it. “Who there?” he called out.
He watched the hallway, listening, waiting to see who’d shot Dee. The bullets had come from the wrong direction for it to be Junius, but with the sound of a silenced Tec, it had to be him.
“Junius. I’m fucked up.”
When Big Pickup stepped to Dee’s body, Seven wanted to laugh. Not because it was funny, though. Instead, he let go: dropped his head back down onto the floor of the apartment. The old rug had little cushion left. It was a shag rug, the kind that had fat strands of yarn sticking up. They stretched all the way from him to the kitchen and beyond.
Seven closed his eyes, waiting for Pickup to make a decision.
Then he heard a series of loud shots out in the hall, down the other end—what were probably shots from Rock’s Uzi. He looked up and saw Pickup crouched low by Dee’s body. Then Pickup saw Dee’s gun and he took it, stood up, and turned to face Seven.
“What’s up, my brother?” Pickup asked.
Seven felt himself go weak. To get through Rock’s building, avoid getting killed by Dee, and then to get to this motherfucker; Seven just could not believe it.
“Yo, what up, son?” Pickup looked down on Seven, the Tec in his left hand and Dee’s revolver in his right. “So tell me how it went down, my brother. Dee crept up and shot you in the back? It like that?”
Seven tried to move his arms, tried to sit up. Nothing.
He could feel his finger slide along the grip of his Tec, so he focused on that, concentrated on getting his finger to tighten around the trigger. He felt like his head existed in space with nothing below his neck, as if he’d been cut off from his body. Out of that emptiness, he could feel his right hand’s forefinger and thumb.
“Can you stand up?”
“Yeah. Just give me a minute.” Seven looked up at Pickup’s face, trying to gauge what was going on in his head. He realized it didn’t matter; he had no choice but to put all his trust in this brother.
“You might have to carry me out, man. Think you up to that?”
Pickup’s eyes narrowed. “So tell me how it be. Dee roll up on you?” He raised the revolver to point it at Seven’s chest. “He got you in the back and then one time in the heart before I could rush him?”
Seven looked Pickup in the eyes, but Pickup wouldn’t meet his gaze. He kept staring at Seven’s chest, aiming the gun and his eyes at the same spot.
“You would do that shit,” Seven said. It wasn’t a question; they’d passed that stage in a hurry. “All that to try and get up closer to Marlene?”
“Shit, I just come up on you. How was I supposed to stop something that happened before I got here.” Pickup kicked Dee. “Don’t worry though, I capped his ass for that shit. Evened it out.”
“You ain’t talking to a dead man.”
Pickup’s eyebrows went up. “I ain’t?” Now he met Seven’s gaze. “Tell me I ain’t.”
“I—” Seven didn’t have anything else. He could feel his palm against the grip of the Tec and his finger on the trigger, his thumb on its other side. But what good would that do if he couldn’t lift his arm? Shooting at Dee’s corpse wasn’t going to get him anywhere. Even if he could shoot Pickup in the foot, that would only get him dead sooner.
“What you want? Want me to tell Marlene you her man? I get out of here I be in a chair for the rest of my life anyway, won’t be no good to nobody. You still run shit.”
Pickup’s eyes narrowed and then he shook his head. “You done? It be you and then it be Rock. That’s how it go down.”
Seven strained his hand. He could feel his wrist move barely, and he angled the gun closer toward Pickup, hoping the other man wouldn’t notice. If he could just raise it high enough to shoot his shin, maybe Pickup would fall and Seven could shoot him again, get a shot at his body or his head. Maybe. He strained to move as much as he could, trying not to show the effort on his face.
More shooting from the other end of the hall, where Junius was. “You hear that?” Pickup raised his chin at Seven. “That is this game. First and last, niggah. Straight up.”
Seven couldn’t wait. Whether he had the gun turned far enough to hit Pickup where he stood—foot or shin, or just a part of his sneaker—the opportunity to use whatever he had left would soon be gone. Pickup was getting ready to move. Rock, Hammer, who knew who else was down there and what they’d bring—the concern was taking over Pickup’s eyes. This part of his game would be over soon.
“Yo, what you doing, man?” It was Elf’s voice, plain as could be. He was coming up the hall and then Seven saw his face dip into the doorway. “You ain’t thinking about shooting Seven, is you? He your man. What up with that?”
Pickup glanced at Elf like he was dead either way. “Niggah, you either blind to this or you next.”
Seven knew it was time to do what he could. He felt the metal trigger move slightly and then really take hold as he gave it everything he had and brought it all the way back and…
It clicked on an empty chamber.
“Niggah, you crazy.” Pickup kicked the Tec out of Seven’s hand, sent it across the rug. “You fucking crazy in this piece.”
Pickup’s mouth curled down and his eyes went wild, as if Seven had been the one to do something unforgivable.
“Shit.”
“I—” It was all Elf got out before Pickup spun and smashed him across the face with Dee’s gun. Then Elf was down in the hall, and Seven knew it was over.
“Niggahs all wilding up in here,” Pickup said. He pounded his chest with the gun. “Know whose day this be, motherfucker?” He pointed the gun down at Seven again, aiming at his face.
“Yours?” Seven answered.
“Mine,” Pickup said. And he pulled the trigger.
84
Junius followed Roughneck up the last flight of stairs to the twenty-first floor. It wasn’t the first time he’d climbed them today, but it was the first time he had to climb over a dead body. Hammer lay upside down on the stairs, and below the landing, Mike Only lay with blood trickling down his face. Black Jesus bled on the landing below.
Rough did his best to aim the shotgun up. He couldn’t use his left arm, so he bent his knees and leaned against the wall, angling his body to raise the shotgun across the stairs toward the next hallway up. He swung it back and forth as he pushed himself up the steps, ready for someone to come at them from either the hall or the stairs.
“Yo,” Junius said, coming up behind him. “Let me help you.” He stepped in front of Rough, taking care not to put his head up above the landing where someone would see it all at once.
“You hear that?” Rough asked.
Junius listened: he could hear a dog barking somewhere above them and someone talking softly in the hallway. At the far end of the building, it sounded like someone was crying.
“Where?”
Roughneck whispered, “Above us. Come back.”
Junius didn’t hear anything from above them, just wanted to see who was in the next hall. It had to be Seven still; he thought he’d heard Seven call to him a minute ago. Now it was just that soft talking. No shots.
Junius couldn’t resist. He set both hands on the steps in front of him and eased his body forward, keeping his head low.
“Come on.”
He turned his head sideways, almost touching the cold concrete with his cheek, and raised his head to look down the hall. There he saw Big Pickup standing about halfway down. He looked down—at something or someone. Junius looked up now, unafraid to show his face, and saw Big Pickup was standing over Dee, holding a Tec on what looked like his dead body.
Junius was about to call out when he heard something above and behind him on the next flight.
Shots rang out all around him. Some hit the metal railing and its supports, singing off the metal like the sound of thick ice under your feet.
Then Roughneck fired the shotgun, and Junius felt something hit his face. His ears rang. He scrambled back down the stairs on his chest, almost falling over Hammer. He saw white ash and plaster in the air, felt it on his cheek and neck. Looking up, he could see the chunk Rough had blown out of the stairs.
Rough had to jam the butt of the shotgun against his thigh and grab the pump to reload it.
“Here.” Junius scrambled to give him the Tec.
Rough took the semi-auto and let Junius grab the shotgun.
“Who down there?” Rock’s voice called from above.
Rough started back down the stairs, stepped over Hammer to the landing. He was still Rock’s man.
“What we do?” Junius whispered.
Rough held the Tec’s silencer up to his lips like it was one too-long finger telling Junius to stay quiet.
Junius felt his teeth grind and his pulse quicken. He had reached the top of Rock’s tower, had the man himself just above. The thought of Temple flashed through his head. He squeezed the shotgun, liking its feel and its weight.
This was what things came down to.
“It’s Junius. Who you looking for, and I got your soldiers laying all at my feet.”
Roughneck shook his head, slicing the silencer in front of his neck.
“That Hammer’s shotgun you holding, boy?”
“And Hammer laying dead right here.”
Now Rough threw his hand up. He moved back down the staircase and crouched into the corner to aim the Tec-9 up through the bars at the next flight.
“Hear that dog bark? How about I go on up and let my Doberman loose on these stairs. Think you like that? Think she give a fuck who you be?”
Junius could hear the barking. Like anyone who grew up in the city, he feared Doberman pinschers. He bit down, took a step up the stairs.
“Bring whatever,” he said. “I’m here.” Marlene’s words echoed in his head. This was all for Temple now, his family, his life.
“Ho!” Rock howled. “You are fucking crazy, son? Do you even know who the hell you dealing with?” Rock’s Uzi stuck through the bars above and he shot a spray of bullets along the wall. Junius pointed the shotgun up at the flight Rock had to be on, but it was eight inches of concrete, at least, between him and the man.
Rock said, “I like that, tell you the truth. You got something.”
Roughneck shook his head. “Get down here.” He waved the Tec.
Junius hoped Big Pickup was listening. If he came quietly up the hall, maybe he would get the drop on Rock. That’s what Junius was counting on: if he could get Rock down those stairs and onto the next landing, maybe Pickup would have a clear shot.
Rough grabbed the back of Junius’s sweatshirt and pulled him back. “That niggah will wreck your shit. I guarantee.” He pushed Junius down onto the landing.
“So what we do?”
“We wait, motherfucker.”
“For what?”
Rough didn’t answer. Mike Only was right next to Junius, looking like he could wake up at any moment.
“What if this niggah wakes up?”
Roughneck stood. “Yo, Rock. I’m down here too, so chill for a minute and hear what I have to say.”
“The fuck? Roughneck? Niggah, I knew Clarence was right about you. Fuck you doing down there that don’t involve killing?”
“I—”
“Shit, I’m coming down now to do it myself! I had known—”
“No.” Rough said it loud and defiant. “I said chill. I’m shot and this niggah here just young. Dumb as shit and don’t know what the fuck he doing, but this a war.”
“Tell me shit I don’t know.”
“Yo, Black Jesus down here. He shot. And Mike Only shot me and—”
“Mike O down there too? Yo, Mike! Mike!”
Rough waited for the call to echo away on its own, for the stairs to go quiet again. He moved up with the Tec by his side.
“Man, I been shot. He lost his brother. Now we fucking up our whole building. Motherfuckers dead. Even we kill everyone here, we lose the people who live in this piece. They bound to be still scared as shit.” Rough waited. “You hear?”
He gestured with his gun toward the stairs, but not even like it was a weapon he held, more like it was a piece of bread, just like he was talking to someone at dinner.
“And what, motherfucker? They still gonna buy my product, get high off my shit, and keep coming back for more. I want these motherfucking towers. I want this war.”
Rough shook his head. Junius hadn’t moved except to get farther from Mike Only; he had a feeling Mike was going to wake up and didn’t want to be within arm’s reach when he did.
Then Rough stepped onto the next stairs. “I’m saying it’s time we move up and see things different, conquer in a different way of enlightenment.”
Just as he said it, another loud shot rang out from the hallway above. Junius sprang up, hoping to see Pickup in the door. Instead, he didn’t see anyone, just more fluorescent lights in the hall.
That was when Junius heard a loud cough and laugh from above them. “Niggah, please,” Rock said. And Junius saw the muzzle flash of the Uzi through the railing. Rock stood at the top of the stairs, letting shots rain down on Rough. The slugs from the Uzi knocked Rough back against the wall. He started to sink down.
“Enlightenment? Now I know you been smoking too much product, niggah! Shit! Enlightenment? Where the fuck you get that?” Rock started down the stairs, and Junius raised the shotgun to his chest. He knew it would have a kick.
“Tell me you got that shit from Villari’s,” Rock said. He jabbed the gun at Rough like he was throwing a punch and let off more rounds.
Rough collapsed against the wall, made a noise like he was trying to speak. Blood pumped out of a hole in his neck.
“Let a niggah get a little bit of knowledge from a guinea kung fu bitch and he come off like he the fucking Confucius. Shit!” Rock shot more rounds. He was still coming down the stairs.
Junius eased to his left, keeping his back against the wall.
85
Elf lay on the thin carpet in the hallway, his head still ringing from where Pickup had pistol-whipped him. He’d heard firing from the far end of the hall, an automatic weapon on the stairwell.
He saw his hands in front of him. He could feel the rug’s thin, scratchy fibers and the hard concrete below it. Just beyond his reach, he saw Miss Emma’s gun.
Big Pickup crept up the left side of the hall, the Tec-9 in his hand.
Elf shook his head, trying to make the ringing stop. He pushed himself up off his chest and onto his hands and knees. In the door of the adjacent apartment, Seven Heaven lay on the rug—Seven or what was left of him after Pickup had finished shooting.
This game had no mercy; you cut down your brother just like you cut down an enemy. Sometimes your own brother turned into your enemy.
Elf thought about his own brother playing Nintendo. Terrence stayed home weekends and nights, tap-tapped that little controller hour after hour. Even got good grades. He’d probably make a good friend to Malik with his I Love Lucy and That Girl. Both of them were nerds.
Shit, with Dee dead on the floor in front of him and Ness fucked up so he’d never walk again, Terrence was starting to look like he had it right.
Elf scratched the rug, came up with the handle of the .38, and slid it toward him. The grip was still warm. More shots from the far stairway—more automatic fire.
Elf struggled up to his knees, both hands on the gun.
He whispered, “Seven thought I have this trouble. But I can shoot.”
That was when Rock jumped into the doorway with his back to Elf, the Uzi at his waist firing off a string of loud blasts.
Elf dove face-first into Dee’s body, trying to get down.
Pickup had been sliding along the wall to get his jump on where the real killing was happening: the stairs. He looked back at Elf and then Rock appeared in the stairway, gun drawn on the landing and firing down.
Pickup dodged back against the wall. Now the big man was right in front of his Tec-9, less than ten feet away.
He had heard that Uzi fired plenty and knew it wouldn’t be long until Rock turned around to spray the hall. Barely looking, he sheared off a few rounds from the Tec. They caught Rock’s right shoulder and pushed him away from the hall. The Uzi went high and wild, firing at the ceiling, and Pickup pulled the Tec, still firing, to shoot across Rock’s back.
When the Tec clicked on an empty chamber, Pickup looked down at it, then back up, and just that quickly Rock was gone. He hadn’t screamed or made any sound of pain.
“Caught me,” he said from the stairwell, out of sight. “I seen you now.”
Pickup flattened himself into the door of an apartment and fumbled at his back for another clip. He released the empty magazine from the Tec and rammed a fresh one into its well.
That was when he heard a shotgun echo on the stairs. He ducked fast, hoping it wasn’t Hammer. Of anyone in the towers, Hammer and Rock were the only two living, unjailed residents he feared.
He heard a grunt from Rock, this time with a note of pain in it.
