“Got it, big bro,” Malachi replied.
Demi went back inside, washed his hands, and then turned to leave. The pen and notepad on the counter halted his tracks.
He picked it up and wrote a message before leaving. He wanted to stay but Charlie needed some time and he had somewhere to be.
“I’ma kill this nigga, man,” Demi said as he sat in the darkened car, pulling on the blunt, words choking out with the smoke.
“You want to wait until he comes out or we running in the joint?” Day asked.
Ski masks were rolled up on the tops of their heads and pistols sat in their laps. They were prepared for anything.
“I’m too old for this shit,” Demi stated. “Every time a nigga try to be normal, motherfuckers bring me back to the dark. I want him alive. I need him to take me to his uncle.”
“Understood,” Day replied.
Demi mashed out the blunt and popped open the door and then rolled the mask down over his head as he stepped out. They wore black coveralls, gloves, and black boots. There was nothing distinguishing about them except for their height and build. It was four o’clock in the morning. The club had let out at two. If the parking lot indicated anything at all, it meant that only Frankie was inside.
Day and Demi ran up to the door. Two shots to the lock and they were inside the club. Rushing onto the main floor, Frankie let off shots instantly, missing because he was shooting out of fear. Demi put him down instantly. A bullet to the leg took him down to one knee.
“Where can I find your uncle, nigga?” Demi asked.
“Fuck you, man,” Frankie said, writhing in pain as he grabbed at his bleeding thigh.
“Oh, he a tough guy?” Day asked.
“Let’s see how tough,” Demi added.
Day pulled the trigger again, blowing a hole through Frankie’s right hand. The scream reverberated through his brain like a pinball, but it wasn’t Frankie’s. He turned to find Charlie standing at the bar, shaking, trembling.
“Demi, please...” she said, choking on air as she gasped through the hands that cupped her mouth in disbelief.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked, walking over to her. “What are you doing? I told you to stay out of this club!” He barked. “You’re hardheaded, Bird.”
“What are you doing, Demi? Please, you don’t have to do this,” she pleaded.
“We got an issue?” Day asked.
“No issue,” Demi replied. “Go get the security tapes, Bird. You just said my name all over them shits. Hurry, baby, go now.”
“Are you going to kill him?” she asked.
“No questions, Bird, just do it,” he instructed.
Demi watched her rush to the back office and then stalked back over to Frankie.
“Tell me where to find him? You got five seconds,” Demi said. He put the gun between Frankie’s eyes. “5...4...3...
“Okay! Okay! At Rube’s bar. He plays an all-night poker game on Friday nights,” Frankie said.
BOOM!
Demi laid him down without remorse and then looked into Bird’s eyes as she came back into the room.
“It’s a new system. I deleted it,” she stammered. She looked at the blood on the floor and then up at Demi.
“Go home. I’ma be by there,” he instructed. “Straight home, Bird.”
She was unable to find her words and he knew it was her first time seeing a murder. He remembered that feeling but he had been responsible for so many men meeting their maker that it no longer affected him.
