“Don’t I know it.” I silenced the phone before putting it back in my pocket. “Before we get started on whatever this is.” I motioned between him and Uncle Amir. “I need y’all to be straight up with me. I never asked anything about the past, because I felt like it wasn’t my business. But that nigga, Detective Hines…” I saw my father’s eye twitch at the sound ofhis nephew’s name. “The animosity is about to get that nigga killed.”
“I’m sure it’s because of what happened to his father,” my Uncle Amir said as my dad continued to clench his jaw.
“What happened to his father?” I shrugged because it was obvious the nigga was dead, but I didn’t know the parameters and why it had anything to do with me.
At an early age, I’d figured out the casinos and restaurants weren’t the only things my family owned. My father never really hid anything from my brothers and me, but he never willingly involved us. It was later in life when I helped Marshall with an issue that he saw what I could do with a body and asked if I wanted to have a small part in his operations. While it wasn’t ideal, I happily indulged because of my own passions with death and human anatomy.
“His daddy was a bitch nigga and found out the hard way that Jay McKnight ain’t shit to fuck with.” My father shrugged, lighting his blunt. “I took his woman and then his life.” He eyed me before pulling from his smoke. “If the nigga wants to spend quality time with his pappy, let me know. I can make it to where that lil’ nigga is fish food too. You know I’m not having anybody fucking with my kids. I don’t give a fuck how grown y’all niggas are.”
One thing I could attest to was that no matter how old my siblings and I got, my parents didn’t play about any of us. Here I was, a grown man who could hold his own, and my dad was ready to fuck up anybody who ruined my day.
“I appreciate you, old man.” I crossed my arms and smirked. “But you know as well as I do, if there’s a problem, I have no issues solving that shit. TJ must know you had something to do with his dad being gone, and he ain’t gone stop trying me until I slice his ass in half.”
Pushing that non-factor-ass nigga to the back of my mind, I got back to the reason for being here tonight. “So what’s up, Pops? Does this meeting have anything to do with the Cummings case?”
The day I did the autopsy on Jamal Cummings; I knew exactly who he was. He and a few of his boys worked for my dad over in Willow Springs, so I was kind of shocked to see his body end up over here in Milly Grove. Whoever killed him wanted it to look like a suicide but did a piss-poor job. While I could have very well ruled it as one, I didn’t see the need. My people didn’t have anything to do with it, plus I wasn’t going to make the job any easier for the fuck-ass cops in this city.
“Come on.” Uncle Amir patted my shoulder and nodded toward the back room. “Let’s see if our guest has any insight that could help.”
As we made our way down the hallway, I listened to the guys speak about my girl cousins. After all of them graduated from college, they decided to go into business together. With Karlie being the oldest, everyone wanted to follow in her footsteps. My sister always had a thing for helping people, women especially, and after finding out later in life that her birth mother died from an overdose, she decided to open a rehabilitation center to help those in need. Uncle Amir’s and Uncle Mitch’s daughters decided to work with her as counselors. The girls were doing well for themselves, and everyone was really proud.
“This nigga funky as fuck!” I frowned and covered my nose as we entered the dimly lit room. Stepping inside, the half-dead nigga strapped to a metal slab in the middle of the room came into view. “Who the fuck is he?”
“Jamal’s brother, Chris.” Uncle Mitch folded his arms and mugged him. “Word is, he and his brother have been working with some niggas out of town and aiding them with information about us. They were on the team, but were doing a piss-poor job,so we let them leave with their lives. Our bad.” He patted Chris’s chest, and Jamir cringed. I’m sure he was disgusted that Uncle Mitch didn’t care that this nigga had been sweating, pissing, and shitting on himself.
“He thought it would be a good idea to run into my stash house and kill a couple of our men,” Uncle Mitch continued. “Not only that, but they stole my shit. I was hoping you could get some intel out of him before killing him. You know niggas would give up their own mamas to save themselves.”
Walking over, I did a quick assessment of his barely clothed body. He was stripped down to only his boxer briefs, and he had bruises everywhere. “What happened to him?”
“I beat his ass,” my Pops answered with a smile. Jamir and I simpered at the pride in his voice. “You should take note of that. The next time you and your brother think you’re the Hardy Boys and try to play with me, remember I still got it in me.”
Not bothering to respond to him, I continued to circle Chris. His eyes were slightly swollen, but he was still able to follow my every move. Glancing over to the table on the left side of the room, I walked over and put on a pair of latex gloves before picking up the scalpel.
“You know… I can do more damage with this little knife than I can with a bullet.” I took the sharp blade and dragged it across his chest. Even though trickles of blood began to appear, I didn’t apply that much pressure, so his muffled screams weren’t warranted yet. “Do you want to tell me what happened to my dad’s shit?” His eyes traveled over to my dad before he brought them back to me. “I don’t have all day.”
Walking over, Uncle Mitch removed the tape from his lips. Tears ran down the corner of Chris’s eyes as he glanced around the room at us all.
“Y-You all made my baby brother kill himself!” he responded with spit and pure venom in his tone. “You took him from me. J-Jamal was all I fuckin’ had.”
Taking my knife, I pressed it deeper into his chest, causing his flesh to split open. Blood squirted everywhere as his tissue came into view. Chris was talking, but he wasn’t saying anything I wanted to hear. Dragging the knife up higher, more tissue became exposed as he cried out in pain.
“Wait a minute, Slash.” My father walked over, stopping me from slicing him deeper. “What the fuck do you meanwekilled your damn brother?” Glancing over his shoulder, he eyed Mitch. “Didn’t we let that lil’ nigga go because he said he wanted to get out of the streets?”
My Uncle Mitch nodded as he walked back over and leaned against the wall. Giving his attention back to Chris, my father frowned in confusion. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about then. We let you go because you said you weren’t getting enough money. Then, we let your brother go because he wanted to better himself. Shit, we even gave that nigga a job at the casino after that because he was solid. So tell me, after all of that, why in the fuck did you think it would be a smart idea to run in my shit?”
Chris’s eyes bulged at the revelation.
“Yeah, nigga, we have cameras, and you’re the only one that didn’t have a fuckin’ mask.”
“You better tell me something useful, or I’m going to make you suffer all night.” I gripped his jaw, causing him to yelp in pain. It was apparent that it was broken by his slurred speech. “To make you more inclined to give us some info, let me let you in on something.” I pushed his face away from me, making him scream in agony. “Jamal didn’t kill himself, butsomeonedid. You thought you were running in my father’s shit to get what? Revenge? You thought he was behind your brother’s demisewhen all he wanted to do was help the lil’ nigga. You might as well go ahead and tell me who you’re working with. It’s not fair that you and your brother die and those niggas don’t.”
“Ahhhh!” he screamed out in pain as I grabbed a bottle of alcohol and squirted it all over his open wounds. “I-I didn’t know he was murdered!” He cried as his body shook from the pain. “I was played. H-He told me?—”
“Womp. Womp. Wompppp!” I heard my father sing behind me, causing us all to cackle. “Who the fuck helped your dumb ass run in my spot? It’s late, and I’m ready to go home and fuck?—”
“You better not say it, nigga.” I tossed a sneer at my father and pointed the scalpel at him. “If you mention my mama, I swear, I will gut you next. I’ll send you home to Mama like a fillet-o-fish, Pops. Keep playin’!”
Huffing and puffing like the shit meant something, he folded his arms and mugged the shit out of me. The fellas laughed at our antics, but I was serious. My dad knew that shit made me sick to my stomach when he spoke about my mama in that manner.
