Chasing Bliss (18 page)

“Who the fuck is this at two in the mornin’?” Mooch demanded.

Chase moved all the way to the left of the door and stayed silent.

“Who the fuck is it?” Mooch bellowed.

Chase didn’t answer. As he heard the locks come off, he realized, suddenly, that he’d probably
been smiling for the last two minutes. It was awful of him, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.
His breath was low and even, and he was eerily calm.

The door opened an inch. There was a pause, and then it opened the length of the security
chain.

Chase stayed still.

“What the fuck?” Mooch said under his breath.

The door closed and Chase stopped smiling as he heard the security chain come off. He knew
Mooch wouldn’t be coming to the door empty handed. His body tensed as he readied himself for
whatever arsenal Mooch might unleash on him.

Mooch threw the door open, and Chase stepped in front of it. Mooch was holding a .45 in his
right hand, but he seemed to forget it when he saw who his late-night visitor was. His face was a
mask of fright. “Oh, God! Jesus,” he whispered.

Chase’s smile returned. “That’s good, Mooch. It’s never too late to pray. You got just enough
time to repent before I cross your ass out.” Chase lunged at him, opening his razor. He swung
his arm in an arc and brought it down diagonally across Mooch’s face, from the left side of the
shooter’s forehead to the tip of his chin. Chase never brought his razor down lightly, and this kill
was no exception. He felt it hit the bone and slice through the cartilage in Mooch’s nose. He felt
the gelatinous
pop
as Mooch’s eye burst like a too-ripe tomato.

Mooch howled and looked up in shock. His fingers reflexively pulled the trigger of the .45, and
the bullet screamed out and thudded into the floor.

Chase pushed Mooch back into the apartment and kicked the gun out of his hand. He raised
his arm again and brought the razor down on the other side of the man’s face in another diagonal,
creating a terrible and gory X in what used to be a relatively handsome face. The skin fell open,
revealing layers of muscle, fat, and connective tissue. Blood soaked his shirt in seconds. He was
blubbering and begging, blinded in his one remaining good eye by his own blood. He turned to run
and tripped over the coffee table, crashing to land on his back on the floor.

Chase grabbed his victim’s blood-soaked collar and went right for his neck. Mooch brought
his hand up defensively, and Chase’s razor split his palm open, causing the man to shriek like a
wounded banshee. Chase grunted in irritation and pushed Mooch’s chin up with the heel of his
hand. He stuck the razor in the soft flesh between Mooch’s left ear and his jawbone and dragged it
smoothly across his neck. He jumped back to avoid the jetting torrent of blood that shot out of the
wound and wiped the blade of the bloody razor on the sofa cushion.

Chase didn’t wait to watch Mooch’s death throes. He went out the window and down the fire
escape and then sprinted the two blocks to meet J.T., staying close to the shadows on the way to
his getaway car.

The passenger door swung open for him even before he got to the vehicle. Chase slipped inside,
and J.T. pulled out—not screeching away from the curb like in the movies, but calmly and normally,
moving right into the light flow of late-night traffic. He glanced at Chase and handed him a Ziploc
bag. Chase stripped off his gloves and shoved them in the bag, just like he always did.

J.T. put the bag under his seat like
he
always did. “Everything go okay?” J.T. asked, looking
over at him again.

“Yeah. Everything’s good,” Chase said quietly. Chase began to deflate. The adrenaline was
leaving his body, and he was starting to settle down. The feeling was a little like fucking: The deed
was done, the rush was over, and now all he wanted to do was go to sleep. He checked his clothes
for any sign of Mooch’s blood, and his search came up empty, as he couldn’t see any evidence of
the bloodbath he’d caused. Chase kept two pairs of thin black leather driving gloves in his glove
compartment. He reached in and took out the other pair and drew them on. Then he opened and
closed his fists for a perfect fit, held his hands up, and looked at them.

“What’s the matter?” J.T. asked, concern in his voice. “You hurt?”

Chase slid down in his seat and put his hands in his lap. His mind flashed a picture of the
gruesome X he’d made across Mooch’s face. He couldn’t believe he’d done that sick, psychopathic
shit. He never could believe what he did, but he
had
done it. Smoke wasn’t a strong enough tag;
he felt like Mr. Fucking Hyde.

“Now’s not the time for that shit, Chase. Let’s go find Post and get this shit over with. Come
on, man. Shake it off.”

Fuck it,
he thought.
We can’t leave this shit half done.
Suddenly, an uninvited thought of Bliss popped
into his mind, and he pushed her right back out; she didn’t have any place in all that violence.

They turned onto Knickerbocker Avenue and almost ran over a small, very dark man who
everyone called Baby Hustle because of his short stature and the fact that he was always selling
something to support his pathetic crack habit. He jumped out of the way with great exaggeration
and started yelling at the car like a lunatic.

“Stop the car, J.T.,” Chase said as he rolled the window down. “Hey, Baby!” he yelled.

Baby Hustle looked at him, and his face lit up. He knew Chase might want to hit him up for
some information, but Chase paid well. He did a slow bop to the vehicle. “Smoke! What’s good,
son? If I’da know’d that was you, I woulda stayed my black ass out the damn street!” he said,
crowing with laughter.

Chase laughed, too, even though he wasn’t even remotely amused. “Come here, Baby.”

Baby obeyed and walked up on the car, knowing he could make enough green for a few blasts
if he played his loose-tongue cards right. “What you want with me, Smoke?”

Chase smiled at him reassuringly. “Don’t want nothing with
you
, Baby.”

Baby swallowed hard, but he looked hungry, like he was close to fiending. “You lookin’ for
Mooch and Post, ain’t ya? That’s what you gotta be doin’ out here so late. Me? I’m out here late,
too, but I’m just rummagin’ for shit to sell. It’s hard to maintain with this goddamn recession.
Know what I’m sayin’?” he said in his raspy, but somehow squeaky voice.

Baby was one of Chase’s go-to guys to find out the word on the street. He was reliable, and
he was so terrified of Chase that Chase seriously doubted he would ever be willing to suffer the
consequences of giving him up. To make sure, Chase always broke him off right—enough for
him to disappear to Crack Heaven for a week. Chase got out of the car and held the back door
open. Baby got in without being told, looking like he’d pretty much been expecting to see Chase
sometime that night after what went down.

Chase got in next to him and closed the door. “What you know about Post, Baby?”

A slight frown creased Baby’s brow, and he looked at Chase warily. “Post only? Why you ain’t
askin’ about Mooch too?”

Chase looked at him steadily. “I never mentioned Mooch. You did. Mooch ain’t my business
no more.”

Baby looked momentarily confused, but then a look of comprehension settled in his face. “If
you already got that nigga, I’m glad. Him, Post, and a nigga named Cicero beat my ass unmerciful
once over ten dollars’ worth of get-high. Fuckers said I stole that shit.”

Chase smiled. “
Did
you steal it, Baby?”

Baby shrugged. “Well, yeah, but that ain’t no damn reason to put a man in a coma for three
days. Ten dollars ain’t shit to them niggas, but they felt the need to beat a man like that.”

Chase nodded his head in faux commiseration.

“I hope you got his ass good.”

Chase didn’t answer him; he just looked at him evenly. “So, you got somethin’ to tell me?” he
prodded.

“What time is it?”

Chase looked at his watch. “Two thirty. Why?”

Baby scratched his chin and laughed. “You must be one of the luckiest motherfuckers I ever
met, Smoke. Post just happens to be one of the people I try to keep on my radar. I ain’t willin’ to
get my head broke like that no mo’, so yeah, I got somethin’ to tell you.”

“I’m listenin’.”

“Friday nights, you can usually find that asshole drinkin’ at Ricky’s Bar on DeKalb. You know
where I’m talkin’ ‘bout?”

Chase nodded. “Yeah, I know Ricky’s.”

“Okay. If he ain’t there, then he’s workin’, cuttin’ product and countin’ money at a drug house
on Patchen. If he ain’t
there
, he’s home ‘sleep, most likely. That nigga don’t get nowhere near the
pussy he claim he do. My bet is, though, that asshole’s still up at Ricky’s, gettin’ his drink on. I saw
him go in there ‘round midnight, and he drink like a damn fish.”

Chase smiled at him. “That’s a solid, Baby.” He took a money clip out of his pocket and handed
it to Baby Hustle.

When the crack head counted it with his eyes, he saw $500. Baby’s eyes widened, and he tried
not to snatch it greedily. “You know I wouldn’t take this if I was a regular, cleaned-up man, but I
ain’t. I is who I is, just like everybody else. Thanks, Smoke.”

“It’s okay. And Baby, if somebody tries to fuck with you anymore, just holler and I’ll come pay
‘em a visit, okay?”

Baby nodded. “Okay, Smoke. You always take care of me.”

“And I always will.”

Baby looked sincerely touched. “I ain’t gonna get high till daybreak, just in case you need me.
You a damn decent man, Smoke.”

Chase had to laugh at that one. “That’s a matter of opinion, I think. Be careful, Baby.”

“Right. You, too, Smoke.” He leaned forward. “And you too, J.T.”

J.T. nodded. “See ya, Baby.”

Chase got out of the car and let him out.

“Don’t forget…if you need me, Smoke, come get me.”

Chase smiled at him. “I won’t forget. Bye, Baby.”

Baby nodded and walked away, pausing briefly to tuck his fresh batch of get-high money in his
drawers.

Chase shook his head and hoped he wasn’t wearing boxers. He got back into the passenger seat
and looked over at J.T. “You heard him. Ricky’s Bar on DeKalb.”

J.T. looked at him for a long moment. “You, my friend, are truly a multifaceted man. You
got a million sides to you, and I believe each one is genuine—the real deal. From kindness and
generosity, love and concern, to all the dark shit you do, I think you sincerely mean everything
you do.”