Most people would be dead wrong.
I knew Rita Banks’s history. Knew she had been a force in these streets long before her grandson expanded the family liquor empire.
But that was decades ago. Now she was partially blind, well into her eighties, and living alone. Whatever fire she once possessed had surely dimmed with age.
At least, that was my assumption.
I parked down the block and approached on foot. The neighborhood was quiet. A few cars in driveways. No witnesses worth concerning myself with.
My plan was simple. I would knock on her door. Deliver a message for her grandson. Perhaps rough her up slightly if she proved difficult. Nothing permanent. Just enough to remind Prentice that no one he loved was beyond my reach.
If she resisted, I would take her. Add her to my collection of leverage. An elderly blind woman would require minimal security, and the psychological impact on Prentice would be significant.
I climbed the porch steps. Raised my hand to knock.
The door flew open.
And I found myself staring down the barrel of a shotgun.
“You must think I’m stupid.”
Rita Banks stood in her doorway, the weapon raised and steady despite her age. Her eyes, clouded with cataracts, somehow found mine with unnerving accuracy.
“Mrs. Banks. I simply wish to?—”
BOOM.
The shot tore past my head so close I felt the heat of it. Splinters exploded from the porch column behind me. My ears rang. My heart, for the first time in decades, actually stuttered in my chest.
“That was your warning.” Her voice was ice. “Next one goes through your skull.”
I stumbled backward. The shock of it, the sheer audacity, had knocked me off balance in a way I had not experienced since I was a young man learning the streets of Detroit.
“You think you the first man to show up at my door thinking he could take something from me?” She pumped the shotgun. The sound was deafening in the quiet neighborhood. “Better men than you have tried. They all in the ground now.”
A cough seized my chest. The worst possible timing. I turned away, trying to suppress it, but my body betrayed me. The fit was violent, relentless, and when I finally pulled the handkerchief from my lips, it was soaked with red.
I spat blood onto her porch. Straightened my posture. Tried to reclaim some semblance of dignity.
Rita had not moved. The shotgun remained trained on my chest.
“Get off my property,” she said calmly. “Before I send you to your maker before that disease does. Your choice.”
She could sense it. Of course she could. This woman was not the feeble grandmother I had assumed her to be.
I had made a critical error in judgment. One that could have cost me my life.
“I have a message for your grandson,” I managed, my voice rougher than I would have liked.
“Then speak it and go.”
“Tell Prentice that Rashid said to release his daughter. Or I will return with reinforcements. And next time, I will not be so courteous.”
Rita laughed. Actually laughed, a low, knowing sound that made my skin prickle.
“Rashid?! Reinforcements.” She shook her head slowly. “You mean them BCC boys you got running around? I remember you being with Vivica. Yeah I know all about you, Shadow.”
I went still.
