Mother Bloom stood to her trembling, arthritic feet, her aged back bent, with her hands in the air. Tears ran down her weathered face as she stared at the intruders in her home. “Wha... What do you want?” her voice shook.
They ignored her. One of the gunmen turned to the old man sitting on the couch, watching the late-night news without concern. “Old man, get to your feet now,” the gunman yelled.
Elder Bloom turned his droopy face to look at him. Without saying a word, he nestled farther back into the couch and crossed his legs in defiance. “You don’t break into my house and give me orders.”
“Elder, please do as he says,” Mother Bloom begged her stubborn husband. “I don’t want any problems.”
But Elder Bloom sucked his teeth and folded his arms. He wasn’t moving.
The gunman said, “You hear what—”
“Let’s just get the stuff and get out of here,” another gunman remarked. “I’ll watch these two while you go take care of business.” He pointed his gun at Mother Bloom, his eyes going back and forth between her and Elder Bloom.
“Where are you going?” Elder Bloom screamed at the backs of the other two gunmen as they exited the living room. “Get your sorry behinds back here.” He jumped to his feet, took a step, but stopped when the gun was turned on him.
“Don’t move another step,” the gunman who remained behind warned. “We don’t want to hurt you, Grandpa. Relax.”
“I’m not your grandpa!” Elder Bloom stomped his feet in anger.
Elder Bloom was Saddam’s grandpa, one of King Kong’s main soldiers. He and his wife of sixty years, Mother Bloom, raised Saddam after his parents were killed in a car accident when he was only ten years old.
The couple lived in Ensom City, Spanish Town, in the same house they bought over forty years ago. They were active members of their church and well known to everyone in their community. However, they harbored one deep, dark secret that placed them in the situation they were now in. In the kitchen, under the big six-burner cooking stove, was a deep cellar filled with tons of marijuana, cocaine, and bundles of money. This was King Kong’s biggest stash.
After waiting two months, Suave was now using the information he got from Danny. He knew this financial loss would bring King Kong to his knees while keeping Suave at the top of the game where he currently sat. Suave also chose this night because he, Cobra, and Daddy Lizard had perfect alibis.
It was payback time.
“Got it!” one of the gunmen stuck his head into the living room and shouted, his yellow teeth flashing through the mask. Over his shoulder were two large flour bags. He hurried off to put the loot in the stolen car parked in the Blooms’ driveway.
Elder Bloom dragged himself back over to the couch and gingerly lowered himself into it.
“Go and sit down, Grandma,” the gunman said to Mother Bloom, who gladly accepted. Her back and legs were aching like crazy.
“About three more trips to the car and we got everything,” a gunman updated his colleague standing watch in the living room.
“You’re going to pay for this,” Elder Bloom warned. “Mark my words, you are all going to pay.”
The masked gunman chuckled. “Oh, I’m going to get paid all right.”
Elder Bloom replied, “You think—”
“Shut up!” a gunman hissed in a much-lower tone so as not to alert the neighbors. “Keep threatening me, and I’ll make you pay, old man.”
Mother Bloom reached over and patted her husband’s leg, willing him to keep his mouth shut. Getting killed over Saddam and King Kong’s drugs and money wasn’t the way Mother Bloom wanted to go and meet her maker. Mark you, King Kong did take good care of them for using their house, and the balance in Bloom’s retirement bank account was a testimony to that. But it wasn’t their fault they got robbed. Who told these thugs about the stash anyway?
“Okay, player. Let’s roll.” The other two gunmen returned to the living room after emptying the cellar.
“Cut the phone line,” the watchman instructed in order to delay the call to Saddam and King Kong. He wasn’t worried about the Blooms calling the police. After all, what were they going to report? My grandson’s drugs and money were just stolen from our house?
After the phone line was cut, the men headed toward the front door.
“Stay where you are,” one of the gunmen warned. “See? We’re leaving now.”
Two gunmen marched out, while the third one with the gun backed out slowly, his gun still pointed at the Blooms. Once he was out in the hallway where he could no longer see the couple, he stuck his gun in his waist, turned around, and walked to the opened door to exit the house.
“Don’t move!” Elder Bloom appeared in the hallway like Houdini, a long shotgun in his feeble hands.
The gunman spun around, his eyes opening wide behind the mask when he saw the gun that was now turned on him. “Now wait a minute, Gran... sir. We don’t want anyone to get hurt here.” He put a hand to the gun on his waist, the other outstretched toward Elder Bloom.
“I said don’t move.” Elder Bloom cocked the gun and took another step closer to the intruder.
The gunman dropped the hand that was reaching for the gun. He glanced over his shoulder to see if any of his partners in crime were coming to his aid. “Listen to me. You don’t want to do—hey!”
A loud boom rang out into the night as Elder Bloom fired a shot over the gunman’s head, solidifying that he wasn’t joking around. “I said bring back the stuff in the house.”
Mother Bloom appeared behind her husband, pleading with him to come back into the living room and let the gunmen go. “Sweetheart, please don’t let things get worse.”
Elder Bloom ignored her and cocked the gun again, leveling it. This time, he was going to make sure he hit someone. “I’m going to show you some—”
Pow! Pow! Two shots rang out.
Elder Bloom’s eyes and mouth popped open in surprise. The shotgun fell out of his hand before his body followed it to the ground with a bullet hole in his forehead and another in his neck. His body twitched in the throes of death before it stilled. His eyes stared lifelessly up into the ceiling.
One of the gunmen ran over, grabbed the shotgun, and took off.
Mother Bloom screamed. She wobbled over to Elder Bloom and, with some difficulty, lowered herself beside him. She lifted his head onto her lap, and her husband’s blood soaked through her nightgown. A small river of snot seeped down Mother Bloom’s face as she rocked the body of the man she had spent most of her life with.
The gunmen ran to the car, started it up, and backed out of the Blooms’ driveway with the tires squealing as they made their escape.
Lights came on in neighboring houses as calls poured in to Jamaica’s 119 emergency number switchboard.
