Chapter Eleven
The phone vibrated in Cobra’s pocket. With a smirk on his face, he moved away from the crowd to a corner of the club to read the good news.
“What the...?” Cobra felt as if he were about to wet himself. He flipped the phone closed and rushed past a baffled Suave and Daddy Lizard. Pushing his way through the jam-packed club, Cobra dashed into the men’s room. He looked to see that the bathroom was empty, then quickly dialed a number.
“You better tell me it’s not true!” Cobra shrieked when the call was answered. “Please, tell me it’s not so.”
Little Bimbee, one of the gunmen, said, “He took us by surprise, Godfather. He was going to ghost my brother and left me with no choice.”
Cobra bellowed a few more expletives as he paced the men’s room. His head was pounding. “Where’s the baby?” he asked of the drugs and money.
“Sleeping safe and sound.”
“All right, I want everyone to take that vacation.” Cobra instructed the men to disappear with the stash as planned. He disconnected the call, cursed some more, and kicked the wall in anger. How in heaven’s name was he going to tell Suave?
“Yo, the boss wants to know if everything is cool,” Daddy Lizard remarked as he entered the men’s room, closing the door behind him. He took one look at Cobra’s face, and his heart fell. “What happened?” He glanced toward the closed bathroom door before moving closer to Cobra. “No dice?” His eyebrows rose and fell.
Cobra took a deep breath. “They killed Elder Bloom,” he whispered.
“They did what?” Daddy Lizard screamed. “What do you mean—?”
The men’s room door opened, filtering loud music inside, as two men staggered in and made their way to the urinals.
Daddy Lizard marched out of the men’s room with Cobra on his heels. They made their way through the sweaty, moving bodies over to Suave.
Suave took one look at their faces and fired off a few F bombs. “What happened?” He looked at Cobra, who oversaw the operation.
Cobra moved near to him and whispered the bad news in his ear.
Suave closed his eyes in frustration. “You mean to tell me the three jackasses didn’t check the house for weapons?” he said through gritted teeth for Cobra’s ears.
“The man is about eighty years old and is an elder at his church. Who would expect that from him?”
“The man is crazy Saddam’s grandfather! He raised a lunatic, so what did you expect, huh?” Suave took deep breaths as he tried to think. No doubt Saddam and King Kong had heard the news by now. “Let’s get out of here.”
“No.” Cobra laid a hand on Suave’s arm. “If we leave now, people will be suspicious. We have to chill for another hour or so.”
Suave nodded his aching head in agreement. The game just took a dangerous turn.
* * *
“Speak to me!” Saddam shouted into his cell phone above the noise in the bar. He took a sip of his whiskey.
“Saddam, it’s me, Brother Jones.”
Saddam paused, his heart racing in his chest. Brother Jones was one of his grandparents’ neighbors. He had given the man his number a few years back in case of an emergency. “What’s the matter?” The ice cubes rattled against the glass as Saddam’s hand began to tremble.
“There was a shooting over at your grandparents’ house. We called the police, and they’re over there now. My wife just told me that they took Mother Bloom away in an ambulance but... hmmm, well, we don’t know exactly what happened to Elder Bloom. You should come now.”
Without a word, Saddam threw his drinking glass against the wall, sending crystal shrapnel flying. A few curious customers turned to look at him as he stormed out of the bar without paying his tab. Saddam hopped on his motorcycle that was parked in front and peeled off toward Ensom City.
Luckily for Saddam, he was just a few miles away in Central Village, Spanish Town. With his motorcycle eating up the road, Saddam zoomed into Ensom City in less than twenty minutes after he got the call.
Red, white, and blue flashing lights from police cars lit up the block. The crowd parted as Saddam slowly rode up to his home, a look of disbelief on his face. He’d had his own house since he was twenty years old, but this was home for him. As if in a trance, he parked the motorcycle on the street and walked toward the house.
“Stop right there.” A policeman planted himself in front of Saddam. “Who are you, sir?”
“My-my-my grandparents.” Saddam pointed toward the house. The tears escaped down his face. “Where are they?”
The policeman’s eyes were filled with sympathy. “Well, your grandmother was taken to Spanish Town Hospital for observation. She fainted, and we wanted to make sure she was okay.” He paused and took a deep breath. “Mmmm, there was a little—”
“Where is Dadda?” Saddam snapped, his chest rising and falling, his breathing labored.
“I’m sorry to tell you, but your grandfather was killed.” The officer reached out and grabbed Saddam’s arm when he stumbled backward.
“Let me go,” Saddam barked and rushed toward the house. But at least five police officers blocked his entrance.
“You can’t go in there, sir,” one policeman stated.
“This is now a crime scene, sir,” a kind-looking policewoman added. “We can’t allow you inside until we have completed our investigation.”
Saddam kicked and screamed, trying to force his way through the barricade of officers. It took four policemen to hold him down until King Kong drove up. A few whispered words from his boss calmed Saddam... somewhat. The anger then gave way to despair as Saddam mourned the man who had raised him.
“Dadda! They killed Dadda!” Saddam marched up and down the driveway of his grandparents’ house, bawling unashamedly. “Woieeee.”
Soon, Saddam crumbled to the ground, his feet no longer able to hold up his huge body. The police and onlookers stared at the grown man weeping like a child. Most of them knew Saddam the thug and were surprised at the display of his vulnerability.
“Saddam, what’s the news, man?” King Kong asked. “What happened to the stuff?” he whispered in Saddam’s ear. His concern was for his drugs and money, not the murdered old man.
“Come on, let me help you up.” Phil ignored King Kong, reached down, and grabbed his friend’s arm. “Take it slow. Here you go.” He pulled Saddam to his feet and gave him a brief hug before pulling back. The two men had been partners in crime since their early teens.
“Dadda. They killed Dadda,” Saddam cried, the mucus and salty mixture gushing down his face. “Dadda is gone, Phil.”
“I’m sorry, man.” Phil
