Honor Thy Thug (2 page)

“He gone, Fah. We got to get the fuck outta here,” G said as he bent down and gently placed his hand on my shoulder.

“Get the fuck off me!” Tears came to my eyes as I tried one more time to give him mouth to mouth. I grabbed him and lifted his body to mines. I wanted him to hear my heart cry for him.

“Dawg, the hook is on the way. Come on, let’s get him in the car. We gotta get the fuck outta here. Let me take him,” my cousin tried to convince me once again. I was fucked up, and nothing he said made sense, and I wasn’t trying to hear nothing he had to say. My son was dead. No parent should ever have to experience this feeling. I only needed to feel the last of the warmth left in his body. Vomit threatened to spill out of me. I knew right then and there I would never be the same. It was over for Oni and her whole damn family. I couldn’t help but wonder if this was the karma coming back to me, from all of the families I made cry during my career in the streets.

“Fah, the hook will be here. What you wanna do?” G asked me.

I didn’t give a fuck if he said the police was behind me. At the moment nothing in this world mattered to me. My son, my
only
son lay dead. And for what? His bitch of a mother and her ho ass
brothers. I weighed my options as the faint sounds of the sirens whispered at a distance. The warehouse was dark, cold, and filled with the smell of gunfire. It felt as if the walls were closing in on me. I couldn’t think straight.

“My son, G. They shot my son.” I squeezed him tighter, wishing I could turn back the hands of time. I hadn’t even gotten used to the idea of having a son, and now he was dead. Hell, I just met him no more than four months ago, and just like that . . . he was gone. I did a lot of things in my life, but never in a million years would I have thought that the ultimate sacrifice would be the life of my child. My only son, who I didn’t even get the chance to know. I hadn’t even learned all of his favorite foods or if he had bad dreams in the middle of the night. Did I tell him that I was going to be the best father that I could possibly be? He was just getting used to me being a part of his life. All I could think was I didn’t get to tell him how much I loved him. I wouldn’t get to teach him how to drive, talk about girls . . . damn, I felt cheated. At that very moment, I wanted to die right with him. But I knew I would never be able to savor the sweet taste of revenge. That was more important to me.

Snell was standing over me, his face wet with sweat and tears, the wrinkle in his brow reflecting the urgency in his voice. He was now begging me to leave. Impatiently, he rushed back and forth from the front door and back to where Lil’ Faheem and I were lying. “Believe me, man, I understand how you feel. I swear, I know your pain. You already know I’ve been there when I lost my daughter. But Fah, the hook is coming and ain’t no way we gonna be able to explain all this fire and these dead muthafuckas in here, including lil’ Fah. They ain’t going to be trying to hear shit!” Snell was trying his best to reason with me.

For real, what he really wanted to say was, “Nigga I ain’t trying to go to jail!” I appreciated his loyalty and would remember that.

“Nigga, I got this. Ain’t no sense in all of us dealing with this shit. Y’all go ahead and bounce.”

“Can’t do—”

“Snell! Y’all just go,” My voice cracked. I looked him in the eye. “This is my battle. I got it from here. You and G go. Call Jaz and tell her I need her and to get here. Don’t tell her shit else but to get here, now.”

I looked around at the dead bodies and then back at my son.

“Make sure the strap Wali had is still on him. But grab up ours.” I kicked the one I had away from me. “I got this. I know what to tell them. Go!” I scanned the room and there was a lot of bloodshed. Half of the people that were alive an hour ago laid sprawled out on the concrete floor, dead.

They scrambled around collecting our straps and then were out the back door. I had to pull myself together. If they didn’t get out now, we all would be fucked. I went back to hugging my son while getting my story together. The pain of having Lil’ Faheem’s lifeless body in my arms filled my body with sorrow and rage. I swore on everything I loved . . . I was going to make everyone involved suffer before I killed them.

I was on pins and needles. The address on the front door matched the one on my driver’s license. I peeked through the windows and the house was completely empty. I jotted down the realtor’s number off of the
For Sale
sign in the front yard.

I was told that I used to live here. When Nurse Wright at the hospital dug into my background this was my last known address. But seeing it didn’t jar my memory at all. Maybe the real estate agent, Jordan Brown, would be able to give me some answers.

“Excuse me, lady. Do you want me to take you somewhere else?” the impatient cabbie asked me.

“Yes. Give me a couple of minutes.” I walked around to the backyard, desperate to remember something. Whoever lived here hadn’t in a while, according to the height of the weeds. Nothing registered. Nothing looked familiar. I headed up front.

“Are you ready?” the driver asked me. He saw that I was looking over at the neighbor’s house.

“I’m ready.” Disappointed, I got back into the cab.

He wasted no time pulling off.

We headed for the address that was listed for my emergency contact, Tasha Macklin. I said a quick prayer, asking that if her house was empty and up for sale, I would have the strength to handle it and God would tell me what to do next. Because if no one lived there, or I couldn’t get answers, I’d be shit out of luck. And then the only thing left would be to call Nurse Wright. Something I didn’t want to do. She was my nurse throughout the months I was in the coma, and had taken a liking to me. She was there with me when I came out of it and all during my rehab. After I completed rehab, I was given a clean bill of health, but she didn’t want me to travel back here alone. I insisted. I felt that I had to start somewhere. If I was going to reclaim my life, I had to do it on my own. And I was determined to regain it all back. Stuck in the cab for what felt like an hour, I was hoping that I had the right address. It was taking forever for us to reach my next destination.

“Excuse me.” I leaned up and boldly tapped the cabbie on his shoulder. I asked, “Are you going the right way?”

“Yes, ma’am, I am. According to the GPS, we are one and a half miles away.”

I was glad to hear that. I sat back in the seat. My stomach swirled as if I was upside down on a rollercoaster. It was threatening to release everything I had eaten for lunch. I peeked up at his GPS and saw that we were now less than a mile away. We made a left turn, and the houses were getting bigger and bigger. Everyone was trying to outdo one another.

“O.J. used to live in this neighborhood.” The cab driver stated with pride.

I guess the cabbie decided to turn into a tour guide at the last minute. But I didn’t care about O.J. or the fact that all of a sudden he was trying to be friendly. I had my fingers crossed, hoping that a For Sale sign was nowhere to be found. I felt the vehicle slow down, and then it came to a stop. My eyes scanned the property and its surroundings. Thank God, somebody did live here and hopefully it was who I was looking for. Toys were tossed around on the freshly manicured lawn, and it was quiet, except for the faint whisper of an airplane high up in the sky.

“Thank you,” I told the cabbie, and paid him his fare.

“Ma’am, would you like for me to wait?” Now all of a sudden he wasn’t in a hurry.

“No. I think I’ll be all right here.”

“Well, just in case, here’s my card if you need me to come back.”

I took it from him, grabbed my purse, and got out. I was sick of riding. I had that bumpy plane ride from Phoenix. And then the long ride in the cab. I was hungry and ready to unpack and
get comfortable. But even more anxious to meet Tasha Macklin. The words on the mailbox read “The Macklins.” So . . . this was it. I was at the right place. I waited impatiently as the cabbie took my two bags out of the trunk, jumped back into his ride, and pulled off. He was out of sight before I sucked in a deep breath, picked up my belongings, and trudged up the walkway, forgetting about my hunger pangs but getting more excited with each step I took. A smile spread across my face. I was close and I could feel it. I reached the front door and set my bags down. My stomach was churning. I rang the doorbell. I rang it again and again and again.

No one answered.

I didn’t realize how much I missed California. The pace. The palm trees. The L.A. streets. The weather. I deeply inhaled the L.A. air and reminisced about the days I used to wreak havoc on this city. Denzel Washington,
Training Day
style. Being here had me feeling rejuvenated. I pulled over and called my woman, Nina and told her that I wished I would have brought her with me and that we had to talk about relocating out here.

“I’m having my baby right here in Arizona, Rick. Not California,” she snapped.

“Baby, what difference does it make?” I tried to reason with her before I figured out I was wasting my time. “Look, we’ll talk about it when I get back.” I hung up, thinking,
Arizona? California? What the fuck difference does it make? Women.

Speaking of which, I had finally pulled up in front of my ex-wife’s house. I scanned the area. Being a detective, I know how
much people are creatures of habit, and she was no exception to the rule. I rang the bell and knocked, but she didn’t answer the door. I went around back for the spare key, and sure enough, it was in the same spot, down in the flower pot.

I went inside and did a walkthrough. Surprisingly, I didn’t get nostalgic. Most likely because she’d made sure it never felt like home to me in the first damn place. Everything that I remembered was gone. Everything was new. She had stripped the damn place. Stripped it of anything that had to do with me. Nothing was the same.

When I went upstairs to her bedroom, I went straight to the closet to see what kind of man she had stuck her claws into. Whoever he was, I felt sorry for the muthafucka. But to my surprise, both closets were full of nothing but women’s clothes. I looked down at the shoes, and it was the same scenario, all women’s stuff.

I walked over to the dresser, and she still had the picture of me and her at her sister’s wedding. The rest of the pictures were of her and a dark-skinned sister with a mole on her chin. In some of the pictures, they were hugged up; in others, they were out to dinner or in the backyard. Wait a minute! She must be gay with all of these pics with the same broad. I gots to be one hell of a nigga, if I can make a bitch switch sides. But then I thought, what if she was gay while we were together? Then the joke was on me.
Ain’t that some shit!

Hell, I needed a drink. I left her bedroom and went downstairs to pour myself a stiff one. I made myself comfortable and ended up having two. As I sat on the sofa, I thought about how when I passed Trae’s house, just down the street, I was scared to stop. Me. Muthafuckin’ King Rick wasn’t scared of anything know what I would say. Trae was my man and we were still cool before I had to get ghost. It’s not like I did him dirty and left on bad terms like
I did with countless other muthafuckas. The truth was, I wasn’t sure how he and Tasha would treat me since I was responsible for Kyra’s death . . . in a way.
Fuck it!
I needed to man up and get the shit over with. I had to stop by there. That’s why I came out here. I could hope he would hear me out. If not, at least I could say that I tried and take my ass back home. I needed closure. But either way, it felt so good to be back in L.A., the City of Angels. California. I got up, leaving the same way I came in. Made it to my ride, turned back for the last time, and looked at where I used to live, shaking off the memories.

“Rick? Is that you?” It was Mrs. Singer, my old, nosy ass neighbor. Some things never change.

I didn’t even bother answering. Let her figure it out. I started the car and headed down my old block. Slowing down in front of Trae’s, I noticed that there was someone sitting on his porch. She had her head in her lap, a little chick. It felt as if I’d seen this girl before. I threw my ride in park, turned it off and jumped out. Her head popped up and she was up and on her feet as I walked towards her.

“Excuse me. Do you live here?” she asked me. “I’m looking for Tasha Macklin.”

Her voice went right through me. My heartbeat started racing. My mouth turned dry. I rushed up the walkway. But it couldn’t be. I stood there face-to-face with . . . her. I wanted to turn my back toward her before a tear fell, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her.

“Do you live here?” she asked again, placing her hand on her hip.

I wanted to open my mouth to answer, but . . . how could this be? Finally, I asked her, “Kyra, is that you?”

She cracked a smile. “Do you know me?”

The sound of her voice made my heart race. Now I was scared for real. But she looked so different. “You don’t remember me?” I asked her.

“Do you know me?” she asked again.

We stood there staring at each other for what felt like an eternity. This was not happening. I mean, what were the fuckin’ odds? I didn’t want to believe it was her. The dreads were telling me it wasn’t her. But the scar. I could see the scar. She was shot. I had seen countless gunshot wounds. That’s when I knew. Those eyes. I would never forget them. It was really her. My eyes again welled up with tears. “I didn’t kill her,” I whispered.

She reached out and wiped my tears with her thumbs. I kissed her hand. She was trembling. “Are you okay?” She tilted her head to the side. She stared at me with a little more intensity. Finally she said, “Rick?” She kept repeating my name. “Rick?” Tears were rolling down her cheeks. She hugged herself as she backed up. “Rick. Your name is Rick. I remember you.” All of the color drained from her face.

And then she fainted.

I caught her just in time. My heart beat a mile a minute as I picked Kyra up from the porch and took her to my car. It felt as if I was performing a kidnapping. My palms were sweaty, and my adrenaline was high. Moving as if I was robbing a dope boy’s stash house, I held onto her for dear life, opened the car door, and lay her across the backseat. My cell rang, and the ringtone let me know that it was my fiancée, Nina.