Invincible: A Novel (14 page)

“Wow,” Frank said before adding, “Don’t worry about a thing, Phil. I doubt he comes back. Only an insane man would come back to look for death. You probably won’t ever hear from him again.”

Phil replied, “Trust me, we’re going to hear from him again! He survived too many attempts on his life. He is gonna want
some get-back, and to tell the truth I can’t blame him. It’s partially your fault for not killing him in jail when you had the chance, Frank! He might remember who you are and come back to find you.”

Frank replied with, “If he does, he does. But I guarantee you he won’t make it! I will definitely kill him this go-round! Phil, how would he know you set him up? If the girl is setting him up, why would she say something?”

“Well, Frank, my friend, I believe she told him. Maybe she wouldn’t have said a thing if the assholes didn’t fuck up! But I’m pretty sure she told him something by now. There have been two attempts on his life since his escape from the hospital and he’s not a stupid man. He’ll soon figure out that she’s the one who gave up his whereabouts, and that is when the shit is going to hit the fan.”

Phil had no idea how right he was until his personal phone rang while he was talking to Frank. Frank could tell something was wrong. Whoever was on the other end of the phone was delivering info Phil didn’t want to hear. Phil hung up the phone and took a seat before speaking again. Then he said, “Speaking of the devil! Can you believe this motherfucker is back in town? Can you fucking believe this guy escaped death again? How can so many people fail trying to kill one dude? Not an army. Not a posse, but
one
man!”

“Maybe he’s just lucky,” Frank replied, kind of taking Phil’s remark personal. “Because where I hit him he should have died, but he didn’t. Some things are hard to kill and sometimes it’s just not your time. There are men who have been in war for years and come home untouched. Then you have those who die
the first time they step on the battlefield. A strong will and a strong spirit is hard to break! But you don’t have a thing to worry about! I’m here to hold you down and I guarantee Jake’s will and spirit ain’t stronger than mine. In all due respect the guy doesn’t seem like a bad dude. Kind of a stand-up guy it seems. Why do you and this 300 Crew want him dead so bad?”

“Why is that your concern?” Phil shot back. “I have my reasons and there is more than one! I’m gonna be good to you, Frank, and I’ll give you some incentive to make sure you keep me alive and get this guy dead.” Phil walked over to a painting on the wall and removed it. There was a safe in the wall. He punched a code on the number pad, opened it, and came back to his desk with five hundred thousand neatly piled in fifty ten-thousand-dollar stacks. “After he is dead, you get the other half.”

Frank had never seen that much money in his life. “Thanks, Phil! I really appreciate this and I’m gonna take care of you.” Frank was a happy man. There were times he thought of killing Phil for the grimy bastard he was, but something told him not to. Besides getting him out of jail, Phil had given him a well-paying job—and a million was a come-up and half a mil in hand felt incredible. He was glad his brother had fucked his wife and he’d tried to kill both of them, because if that hadn’t happened he would never have had the money he was currently touching.

“I’m gonna take this money, Phil, but I need you to be on the up-and-up with me if this thing is gonna work! I’m gonna need you to listen to the advice I’m gonna give. I know you like to live a lavish lifestyle and go out and party a lot, but them kind of things are gonna have to be put on ice for a minute. It’s bad
enough you work in the courthouse, which is downtown in the center of everything. So, we have to be on extra point going to and leaving that building.”

“Okay,” Phil said. “I got you. Don’t worry about me playing it too easy and acting like a fool. I take my life serious. That’s why I’m paying you so much. I have witnessed how diligent Jake Billings is, so trust me, I’m going to mind my p’s and q’s, my friend! I suggest you don’t underestimate him. I know you’re a master of martial arts, and have a military background, but this kid is more dangerous than your average street punk!”

“It’s no problem,” Frank said. “He lived through it once, but he won’t make it again when I get my hands on him!”

POP OFF

Back on the other side of town …

“Fuck it,” Jake said. He was going home. He was gonna throw all caution to the wind and go to the crib. If someone was waiting for him there that would be a risk he was willing to take. He had five shots left in the .38 and if Kim hadn’t got rid of shit he had a few more hammers in the crib, and he knew he had to dress up his wounded leg. Thank God the bullet went in and out because he refused to go to the hospital. He had to ditch the car. It wouldn’t be smart to go to the crib with his dead girlfriend in the passenger seat. Jake needed help, but had no one to turn to. He wasn’t feeling well. He had a lot of people to deal with and it was a shame that his uncle Mitch was one of them. He had never crossed Mitch and he couldn’t imagine why Mitch would do that to him. But he would soon find out.

He told himself thinking of Mitch wasn’t going to help right now.
I need a bright idea
, he thought—and he came up with one. He was going to park at Phil Rosenberg’s office, at the back of the building where the visitors parked, and leave Kim and the Corvette there. By doing that he was leaving Phil a little message that he was back in town. He figured he could call a cab prior to getting over there, then simply park and grab the three book bags he had with him, which were Nine-One’s bag, Kim’s bag with the money in it, and his bag.

The intensity of the situation Jake was in made him think clearer than ever. Somehow he could remember the phone number to the car service Nine-One worked for, as well as the numbers of everyone else he used to call, including Mitch’s and M.B.’s. He had to chuckle. “A li’l funny how I remember shit during the oddest time! God, thank you, for I know it’s You helping in my time of need!”

He made the call and requested an SUV or family-size van—those cars looked less suspicious, especially in the middle of the night. He wasn’t trying to be spotted. Time was of the essence, so after he called the car service, Jake rushed over to Phil’s office. He wanted to be parked before the cab got there so the cab driver wouldn’t see where he came from. It was almost 4:30 in the morning. He was pretty sure there weren’t too many people on the street and doubted Phil was in his office. Jake parked in visitor parking. He threw his hoody over his head, so low it damn near touched his top lip, to avoid a good picture in case there were any cameras rolling. He took black sweatpants out of his bag and threw them on to cover up his bloody pants, then grabbed the three book bags and the .38. He was out the car and standing by the parking lot entrance for no
longer than a minute and a half when a green minivan pulled up. It was a mid-90s Nissan Quest, which was right up Jake’s alley. He threw the luggage in the backseat and followed behind it. After telling the driver where to go, he was on his way. Jake felt horrible about leaving Kim’s body behind, but he had no real choice in the matter, and in a few hours the authorities would find her anyway.

The van turned two corners and as it passed the front of the office, Jake saw two figures. He couldn’t quite see their faces, but by the body language and the way one was walking down the steps, he knew one of the dudes was Phil Rosenberg. Jake’s hand was on his burner and he was ready to hop out, but he knew that wasn’t the smart thing to do because of the time, place, driver, and his injury, and because he didn’t know who the other person with Phil was. The other figure did seem familiar, though. Jake couldn’t pinpoint it, but he had the feeling people get when they’re around an enemy, that jungle instinct or sixth sense. He told the driver to make a U-turn. He had to get a good look at the other guy.

The driver did as Jake asked. As they passed the front again, Phil and the dude were close enough for Jake to look at their faces, and he did. He saw Frank’s grill, and chills ran up and down his spine as if he could feel the pain from that brutal altercation they had in jail.

Jake was staring at one of the two men who put him in a coma and was now walking with Phil Rosenberg at the crack of dawn. “What the fuck,” Jake said to himself. He felt like risking it. Five shots, he figured; that’s two for each of them—but what if the guy with Phil was strapped? Jake couldn’t count that out. He took a deep breath and told himself, “Patience is a virtue
and you will get them another day! So be cool for now.” Then he took another breath and thought about Kim being dead in the car and all the attempts made on his life. This was too good of an opportunity to pass up. So Jake said fuck it and told the driver, “Pull up to those two dudes.” The driver obeyed, even though he had no idea what was about to happen. As he pulled up, Jake threw the sliding door open. “Hey, remember me?” and Jake let off two shots at Frank. PAPP PAPP. One to the head, which only grazed his ear, and then another to the chest plate. If Frank would have had a bull’s-eye on his chest, it would have been directly in the middle. A perfect shot.

Phil was already running and screaming, “No! No! Help!” Jake let off the other two shots at him. PAPP PAPP. They hit him directly in the back and floored him. Then Jake put the gun on the van driver. “Drive.”

“Okay, okay, okay! I got you! I got you, c’mon, fam, please don’t hurt me! Please don’t hurt me, fam,” was all the driver kept saying.

“I ain’t gonna hurt you! Chill the fuck out,” Jake told him. “Gimme your cellphone.” The driver did as Jake demanded. Jake thought he was bugging out when he looked out the back window. The car had some distance, but he saw Frank get up off the floor and walk toward Phil who was also getting up. “Damn bulletproof vests,” Jake said to himself. “I thought the first shot was a head shot, though. Damn, my aim must be off! They got the message, though!”

Jake reached into the bag and pulled out ten stacks, then threw them in the driver’s lap. “Pull over in a few blocks and get out. Give me twenty minutes before you call the cops. Sorry
to put you through the trouble, my man, but those were bad guys that deserved it! I had to do what I had to do.”

“I feel you, fam,” the driver said. “I wouldn’t have called the police and told them shit! I would have just reported a stolen car. I know who you are, fam, even with that hood over your head. As soon as you spoke and I heard your voice I knew who you was.”

“How you know that?” Jake asked.

“I used to shop from you. You gave me and my seeds mad discounts, plus that motherfucking Nine-One use to always brag about you. How he didn’t need mad customers, how you paid better and was mad cool, how he was the first to have the Caddy truck ’cause you was holding him down. How he was picking up rappers from the airport and bringing them to your store. That motherfucker praised you like Jesus!”

“Good looking,” Jake said. “That ten stack should buy me like a hour right, fam?”

“No doubt,” the driver answered. “No doubt!”

Jake told him, “You tell the police exactly what happened. Just make sure you don’t give them my description.” The driver had no intention of telling the police it was Jake who did it. He had street principles. Never tell or you can never come outside! That’s how he grew up. Sparky was twenty-four years old and from the projects. He drove cabs because he already had a felony and wasn’t trying to go back, but there was no way in the world he wasn’t going to tell his homies what happened. He just witnessed Jake Billings, aka Mr. Invincible, do some incredible shit. Damn that nigga was crazy!

Sparky had heard a lot of shit about Jake, but from seeing
him in the store you got a different impression. Just a cool dude. So he thought some of those hood stories were exaggerated, but he seen it live and in person tonight. As he was thinking, amazed by the events that just happened, a Tahoe came to a screeching stop and the windows went down.

“Where the fuck is he? Which way did he go?”

All Sparky seen was a man with blood on the side of his face looking angry with a brand-new 9mm, so he smartly replied, “I don’t know! That asshole just jacked my fucking car! Please don’t shoot me! I’m a cab driver. Am I gonna try to kill somebody and get out and walk? Hell no.” Then: “Please don’t hurt me!”

Frank rolled the window up and pulled off. He couldn’t believe he almost lost his life. Thank God he bought those vests, but he almost got his head blown off. He picked up the phone and called Phil. He told him to stay put. He said he’d be right back after he spun around the block a few times to make sure the coast was clear.

Jake pulled the minivan into a pharmacy parking lot. He went in and got gauze, medical tape, alcohol, peroxide, a first-aid kit, then hopped into a local cab with his three book bags. He knew he couldn’t go to his crib now. That was out of the question after what just happened. He told the cab driver to take him to a liquor store—where he purchased a sixty dollar bottle of Courvoisier—then he told the cab driver take him to the airport. He was going to take a room in one of those cheap motels out that way. The kind where a hundred dollars was your ID. Another hundred could buy you peace, quiet, and anonymity. Jake needed time to rest and let his leg get better. It
was only a flesh wound. All he had to do was clean it up, wrap it up, and chill for a week or two.