The Fix 3

Genres: African American Urban

Synopsis

In the third and final installment of The Fix Trilogy, two worlds that have been running parallel finally collide.

Persia Chandler has managed to get her life back on track. Things are calm at home, she’s preparing to leave for college, and she is even feeling confident enough to start dating again. More importantly, she’s drug free and plans to stay that way—until Chucky slithers back into her life. He’s determined to make Persia his again, and he isn’t willing to take no for an answer.

When trying to woo her doesn’t work, Chucky plays hardball and gives Persia an ultimatum: go along with his latest twisted plot, or have her junkie past exposed to the new man in her life, Philadelphia Eagles rookie quarterback Vaughn Tate. Fearing that her dirty laundry will damage not only Vaughn’s reputation but also their budding romance, Persia agrees to Chucky’s terms.

Chucky thinks he’s got Persia right where he wants her, but little does he know that she isn’t the same naïve little girl he remembered. There is no way Persia is going to allow him to make her a slave again, even if she has to see him dead to prevent it.
In another part of town, Li’l Monk is discovering that a friend in need isn’t always a friend indeed. After helping his old running buddy, Charlie, out of a jam, he finds himself the victim of a triple-cross when a prominent mobster is found dead and all signs point to Li’l Monk as the murderer. To prevent a war with the Mafia, Pharaoh has passed a death sentence on to his young lieutenant, but he will soon learn that killing the monster he helped to create is easier said than done. 

The cards have all been dealt, and now it’s time to play the last hand.

#Welcome2Addiction

Release date: January 26, 2016

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 288

Sample

One week earlier

“Jesus, Li’l Monk, why can’t you seem to sit still?” Sophie asked from the passenger seat of Li’l Monk’s Bonneville.

“Because I’m uncomfortable.” Li’l Monk rolled his broad shoulders beneath the blazer he was wearing, trying his best to tear the seams and give himself a bit more room. He hadn’t worn a suit since sixth grade graduation, and even then he hated them.

“Because it’s a suit jacket and not a dope boy leather, and should be worn according to your actual size and not be falling off you,” Sophie told him. “Stop complaining, Li’l Monk. You’re only going to have to wear it for a few hours.”

“Yeah, but those few hours are gonna feel like a lifetime, considering the circumstances,” Li’l Monk said. Suddenly they were both reminded of where they were going and why they were going there, and the mood darkened. A few minutes later, they were pulling up at their destination, Unity Funeral home.

The minute Li’l Monk crossed 126th Street and Eighth Avenue, he felt the ball of ice forming in his gut. It was the same feeling he got whenever he was within spitting distance of a funeral home. It was odd to him that he could murder people out in the streets without losing sleep over it, but being around them laid out properly gave him the creeps. His mother’s was the first and last funeral he had ever attended. He could remember, as if it were yesterday, seeing her stretched out in that satin-lined box like she was only sleeping. They had done an excellent job with her makeup, except for the raised patch of skin on her forehead that appeared slightly darker than the rest of her face. Gunshot wounds to the head were slightly harder to cover than most causes of death.

At the urging of his father, Monk, he’d approached the casket to pay his final respects. When he touched her hand, it felt different. It wasn’t the same hand that had held his while walking him to the bus stop for school, or the hand that stroked his face and told him he was handsome when he would come home crying over the mean kids in school calling him ugly. What he held was a room-temperature shell that had once housed his mother’s spirit. From then on, Li’l Monk refused to attend another funeral, even for someone he loved; yet that day he found himself going back on his word for someone he barely even liked.

There were cars parked and double parked on both sides of the street, but Li’l Monk was able to squeeze into a spot near the bodega on the corner. His was the only car without a funeral sign in the window, so he was leery about leaving it there for fear of being ticketed or towed by some thirsty traffic cop. The last thing he wanted to do was have to go down to Pier 76 to retrieve his car over some parking fines. Had it been up to him they’d have circled the block once or twice more looking for a spot, but they were already pressed for time and he didn’t want to hear Sophie’s mouth.

After giving a brief look around to make sure there was no danger looming, Li’l Monk walked around the side of the car to open the door for his lady. Sophie stepped out of the car looking like a woman ready for the world in a stylish skirt that hugged her hips, and the matching jacket. On her feet was a pair of modest heels that gave her just enough lift to show off her toned calves. Her hair was freshly done in a tight French braid with a gold butterfly clasp at the base. It was one of her favorite hair pieces. It wasn’t much, but Li’l Monk had given it to her one day on the humble, so she loved the thought behind it more than the value of it and wore the clasp all the time.

After helping Sophie onto the curb, Li’l Monk took a minute to adjust his jacket so that the gun tucked in the waist of his slacks was concealed. When Sophie spotted it, she frowned in disapproval.

“Nigga, I know you ain’t bring no gun to a funeral?” Sophie asked with an attitude. “Li’l Monk, you’re disrespectful as hell for that.”

“Call me what you want, Sophie, but this here pistol can be the difference between being a spectator and the guest of honor at a funeral,” Li’l Monk told her, while continuing to button his jacket.

When they reached the funeral home, Li’l Monk had to do a double take. There was a horse-drawn carriage driven by a man decked out in white gloves and a coat with tails. Two beautiful horses stood erect and tall, waiting for the coach driver’s command. It reminded Li’l Monk of a scene from a movie Sophie had forced him to watch called Imitation of Life. From the looks of things no expense had been spared on the funeral, and from what he remembered of the family of the deceased they surely didn’t have it like that.

In front, clusters of people gathered; some needed a breather from seeing their loved one off for the final time, and others had more sinister intentions. Li’l Monk’s focus was on the latter group. He gave Sophie a look, and she knew what was on his mind without him saying. She excused herself and went to talk to a girl she knew from the block and left Li’l Monk to his business.

Several pairs of eyes turned toward Li’l Monk as he approached. Some of them he knew and others he had only seen around the neighborhood. Standing in the center of them was a man who was no doubt their leader. Even if you didn’t know him, you could tell from the way the men surrounding him seemed to hang on his every word. He looked like was holding court the way he walked up and down the line, speaking sharply. His dreads whipped back and forth every time he changed focus on who he was speaking to. He looked like a mighty lion king holding court. When he noticed he had lost the attention of some of the men, he turned to see what they were looking at. The anger immediately drained from his face and his lips parted into a wide grin.

“What up, gangsta?” Omega embraced his friend. “I’m surprised to see you here. I know how you feel about funerals.”

“I started not to come, but Sophie wouldn’t leave me alone about it. She says it would’ve been disrespectful if I didn’t come,” Li’l Monk told him.

“Well, y’all did grow up together.”

“True, but it wasn’t like we were good friends or no shit. I know why I’m here, but what’s your excuse?”

“Ramses insisted I show up. He said that seeing me and a few of the guys there would show people that the family was respected in the neighborhood,” Omega told him.

Li’l Monk frowned in confusion. “Why does he even care?”

Omega shrugged. “Beats the hell out of me. Maybe he was just protecting his investment, since he did foot the bill for the funeral.”

This bit of information shocked Li’l Monk. It wasn’t unheard of for Ramses to help out financially if someone from the neighborhood needed a proper send-off and their families didn’t have the money to do it, but it never went further than an envelope of cash or maybe a nice floral arrangement. Sending one of his field commanders to represent personally was an honor usually reserved for members of their organization or an affiliate. Li’l Monk wondered what kind of attachment Ramses had to the deceased or the family to make him show such respect.

“So what’s up with you and that situation? The thing with the Italians?” Omega asked.

“Ain’t nothing up with it. Ramses said it was dead and I shouldn’t worry about it. Why, did you hear something different?” Li’l Monk asked suspiciously.

“Nah. I mean, I only know what the streets are saying, ya know?” Omega explained.

“No, I don’t know, nor do I give a fuck.” Li’l Monk snorted. “I didn’t have nothing to do with what happened and Ramses said he’d tell Frankie as much. If Ramses’s word ain’t good enough for him then I can tell him myself.”

“Be careful with how you handle that, Li’l Monk. Those Italians are dangerous,” Omega warned.

“Any nigga with a gun is dangerous and I got a few of those on deck,” Li’l Monk said confidently.

“Damn, I never thought I’d actually ever see a real monkey in a monkey suit.” One of the men Omega had been speaking with came over. He was dark skinned, and wore his hair in long cornrows. He had moved so silently that Li’l Monk hadn’t even noticed him at first. Typical of a snake like King Tut.

“I ain’t no monkey. I’m a full-blown gorilla and you’d do well to remember that.” Li’l Monk’s voice was neutral, but the threat in his words wasn’t lost on Tut. King Tut was one of Ramses’s newest field commanders and a general pain in Li’l Monk’s ass. They tolerated each other out of respect to Ramses, but there was no love lost between them.

Tut sized him up briefly, before smiling so wide that you could see all thirty-two of his perfectly white teeth. “C’mon, you know I was only joking with you, Li’l Monk.”

“Last dude who called himself being funny ended up in the emergency room,” Li’l Monk reminded him, referring to Chief. Chief was one of Tut’s boys who had run afoul of Li’l Monk. As a result, Li’l Monk fractured his cheek and had broken several of his ribs.

The smirk faded from King Tut’s face. “Yeah, old pretty-ass Chief ain’t so pretty no more after that ass whipping you put on him. I can’t say that I wouldn’t have done the same if a nigga almost took my bitch.”

Li’l Monk took a step toward King Tut, but Omega stepped between them. “You know this ain’t the time or place.”

Li’l Monk clenched and unclenched his fist. He wanted to pummel King Tut, but Omega was right. It wasn’t the time or place, but their reckoning would come. “You got it, O.”

“Let me holla at you right quick though.” Omega led Li’l Monk out of earshot of the rest of the group. “You heard what happened uptown last night?”

“Nah, I been at Sophie’s since yesterday morning. Everything good?”

“Afraid not. We lost two soldiers last night,” Omega said solemnly.

“Damn, that’s fucked up. Anybody I know?” Li’l Monk asked.

“Probably not. They were two low-level runners from Tut’s crew,” Omega explained.

Li’l Monk snorted. “Sounds like Tut’s problem, not ours.”

“Tut’s with us, so that makes it our problem. We gotta take care of our own no matter how high or low they sit on the totem pole. Niggas dying on our watch is bad for morale. Cats will start feeling like it ain’t safe to work for us and seek employment elsewhere.”

Li’l Monk didn’t like it, but he understood Omega’s point. “Do we know who was responsible for it?”

“The streets are saying it was some of them Clark boys,” Omega told him. He was speaking about Shai Clark, heir to Poppa Clark’s multimillion dollar heroin empire. His predecessor, Poppa Clark, had been a reasonable man and had no problems coexisting with the other bosses, but his son lacked his diplomatic skills. According to Ramses, Shai Clark was a ruthless and power-hungry brat who was conquering drug territory in the tristate area like Hannibal sweeping across Europe.

“If we know who it is, why don’t we arm up and go bang on this nigga?” Li’l Monk asked heatedly.

“Because that’s not how Ramses wants it done. He says this situation involving the Clarks has to be handled with diplomacy,” Omega told him.

Li’l Monk shook his head. “I don’t get it, Omega. In the short time we been riding with him Pharaoh has crushed at least a half dozen upstarts, but when it comes to these Clark niggas he starts dancing around the issue. Word life, it’s looking like he’s scared.”

Omega gave him a look. “You and I both know that fear don’t live nowhere in Pharaoh’s heart, but the Clarks are a different animal. These guys aren’t some crew of thugs armed with machine guns and heart. Shai’s family is old-school organized crime.”

“And that’s what makes the situation even more bizarre, O. If them niggas coexisted all these years, why the sudden blowup between them?”

“Listen, you reading too deep into this, Li’l Monk. All we need to know is that Pharaoh don’t fuck with these niggas so neither do we!” Omega said definitively.

Li’l Monk wasn’t feeling it, but he didn’t bother to try to argue the point with Omega. He was a loyalist and the only thing that mattered to him was the will of Pharaoh. “I need to pay my respects. I’ll see you inside.” Li’l Monk stalked off.

“What the fuck is his problem?” Tut asked once Li’l Monk had gone.

“Li’l Monk is just being Li’l Monk.” Omega downplayed it. “And why are you always antagonizing him? You’re like a kid throwing rocks at a stray dog then cries about getting bit.”

“This dog bites back. Unlike most of these niggas, I ain’t scared of Li’l Monk,” Tut said defiantly.

“That’s because you ain’t smart enough to be scared of him. Li’l Monk is a good dude, but he is also a monster. When provoked he becomes a creature of pure rage and will destroy anything or anyone he feels is a threat. You might wanna keep that in the back of ya mind the next time you go talking shit to him.”

“I hear you, O,” Tut said like he agreed, but he really wasn’t heeding Omega’s warning. Tut lived by the law of the gun, meaning the quickest on the draw was the one who’d likely come out of the fight on top. “Any new word on that thing?” Tut changed the subject.

“I told you that I’ve got a plan, so stop worrying,” Omega said.

“That’s easy for you to say. You weren’t the one who tortured and killed the nephew of a man who could wipe out our entire bloodlines with one phone call,” King Tut shot back.

King Tut was referring to the ambitious move Omega had orchestrated, which turned into a heaping pile of shit dumped in Tut’s lap. Omega had enticed Tut into whacking a dealer named Petey who controlled a small piece of territory situated just across the 145th Street Bridge into the Bronx. Omega wanted to expand, but Petey was in the way so he had to go and he called on King Tut to do the deed. As far as King Tut knew Petey was a nobody, a relative blip on the underworld radar who wouldn’t be missed, but what Omega failed to mention was that Petey was the nephew of a cartel boss named Suarez. Suarez was furious when he discovered his nephew had been murdered, and since it happened in Pharaoh’s backyard he suspected that one of Pharaoh’s people was behind it. The only reason Omega and King Tut were still alive was because Suarez didn’t have any proof. Pharaoh had charged Omega with assisting Suarez’s right-hand man Felix to investigate the murder. If Omega played his cards right he could keep the Puerto Ricans chasing their tails until the situation blew over or they found a believable patsy to pin the murder on. Until such time, Omega’s and Tut’s survival rested in them keeping their cool.

“Be easy, Tut.” Omega draped his arm around King Tut’s shoulder and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Them spics can’t prove it was us who laid Petey out. Right now they’re just flexing, hoping that we crack and start turning on each other. So long as we keep our heads we’ll get through this.”

“I hope so, O. Just remember that if I burn, you burn with me,” King Tut reminded him. He had been the killer, but it was Omega who authorized the hit so their fates were intertwined.

“Have no fear, King Tut. Somebody is gonna feel the fire behind this, but it ain’t gonna be us.” Omega gave a sinister laugh.

By the time Li’l Monk made it inside the funeral was wrapping up. There were two lines, family and friends, stretching from the front of the funeral home to the back. This was the opportunity for people to say their final farewells to the deceased.

From where he was standing Li’l Monk could see the beautiful ivory casket that held Karen’s shell. There were too many people for him to catch more than the occasional glimpse of Karen’s face and he dared not move closer. Li’l Monk wasn’t sure he would be able to take seeing her laid out in a box. It wasn’t that he was squeamish or even overly saddened by the loss, but he was having trouble processing it. Li’l Monk had lost plenty of homies but Karen’s death was different. Karen was someone Li’l Monk saw damn near every day of his life because they grew up in the same hood and he was best friends with her brother Charlie; and now she was gone, snuffed out before even hitting the prime of her life. They had never really been friends, but they were cool and her death made Li’l Monk start to think on his own mortality. At the rate he was going he doubted he would make it to a ripe old age, but being at Karen’s funeral made this real to him for the first time. He pictured himself lying in that casket with people crying and falling out over him, and it rattled him.

Down in front Li’l Monk spotted Karen’s family. Her mother and some of Karen’s other relatives were there. Karen’s mother was normally loud and brash, but sitting mere feet away from her daughter’s body had taken all the fire out of her. She sobbed uncontrollably while friends and relatives tried to no avail to console her. Sitting on the end of the bench, trying to look everywhere except at the casket, was Karen’s brother and Li’l Monk’s best friend, Charlie. He was trying to hold it together, but you could tell from the redness of his eyes and the solemn look on his face that he was going through it. Charlie and Karen had different fathers and more often than not they disrespected each other like total strangers, but Li’l Monk knew firsthand how much the siblings loved each other. Li’l Monk’s heart went out to his friend in his time of grief.

Charlie must’ve felt Li’l Monk staring at him from the back of the funeral home, because he picked his head up and looked in his direction. Li’l Monk pounded his chest in salute, to let Charlie know he was there for him, but to his surprise Charlie turned his back and acted as if he had never seen him. Li’l Monk figured he was so deep in his grief that he didn’t notice him and left it at that.

Li’l Monk contemplated letting the conversation he needed to have with Charlie keep until another time, but he knew that it couldn’t. Li’l Monk’s reputation and potentially his life could’ve been on the line. Ramses was specific in his instructions to Li’l Monk to go alone when he’d sent him to pay a call on an old wise guy named Mr. D, but Li’l Monk had taken Charlie with him. He was trying to help his man get back on his feet and maybe gradually integrate him into Ramses’s street crew, but that plan got derailed when a few days later Mr. D was found dead in his apartment and the contents of his safe were stolen. Since technically Charlie wasn’t supposed to be there, as far as everyone was concerned Li’l Monk was one of the last people to see him alive. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know how it must’ve looked to the Italians. All Li’l Monk had in the world was his name and his word, and he refused to see either dirtied. He knew the best way to clear himself and not wind up on a mafia kill list was to fill in the blanks of the mystery he was caught up in. This was why it was so important that he spoke to Charlie.

Li’l Monk picked his way through the throngs of mourners, nodding and shaking hands of different people he knew from the block. It seemed like everyone came out to pay their respects to Karen, including the drug addicts. At the end of the aisle he spotted an old crack fiend who went by the name of Neighborhood. Neighborhood had traded his usual crackhead gear of outdated clothes for a suit that had probably fit him once upon a time, but was now two sizes too big. He had even combed his bush of nappy hair and made his shapeless afro look somewhat presentable. Neighborhood was normally a mess of a man who was always high on this or that, but for the first time in all the years Li’l Monk had known him he looked relatively sober.

At the time Neighborhood was speaking with a woman who looked familiar to Li’l Monk, but he couldn’t place her right off. She was older, probably somewhere in her early fifties and well dressed. She sported some expensive pieces of jewelry on her neck and fingers, but they didn’t completely hide the unmistakable look of someone who had once danced with drugs. It wasn’t obvious to the untrained eyes, but Li’l Monk dealt with addicts day in and day out. For all intents and purposes there was nothing special about the woman, but the local fiends seemed to have a great deal of respect for her.

After their exchange the woman said good-bye to Neighborhood and made her way toward the exit. As she passed Li’l Monk she paused and gave him a look of recognition. She opened her mouth as if she was about to say something, but thought better of it. Instead she gave him a warm smile and continued on her way.

A few seconds later, Neighborhood came walking up the aisle. When he saw Li’l Monk he managed to muster his signature yellowing smile, but the pain beneath was apparent. “Sup, young blood?”

“Not too much. Here to pay my respects like everybody else. Seems like everybody in the hood showed up to see Karen off.” Li’l Monk looked around at the crowd.

“Nothing like a funeral to bring the vultures and gossip-mongers out,” Neighborhood said in disgust.

“Say, who was the old bird you was talking to?”

“That wasn’t nobody but Queen. You’re probably too young to remember her, but your dad might know her. All the young boys wanted a shot of that old pussy, but she wouldn’t give you the time of day unless you were handling. I tried to take a crack at her back when I was clean and sober, but my money wasn’t long enough,” Neighborhood said.

“The way the crackheads were crowding around her you’d think she was holding a bag as big as Pharaoh’s,” Li’l Monk joked.

Neighborhood laughed. “Queen ain’t never held no bag, at least not that I know of, but she held the heart of many big-time players, including your boss. The way I hear it, Pharaoh used to worship Ms. Queen.”

This surprised Li’l Monk. “Wait, so you mean that old lady has actually seen Pharaoh? I been working for him for months and never laid eyes on him. Some of us were debating whether Pharaoh really exists or if he was a ghost story Ramses made up to keep the heat off himself.”

“Nah, Pharaoh is real. I’ve never had the pleasure, but I know a few who have. Queen was one of them. That old bitch was so bad back in the day that she turned some of the hardest niggas I know into love-struck basket cases, and Pharaoh wasn’t no different. Queen could’ve put herself in a position to be a major player, but she had larceny in her heart and that’s what ruined her.”

“How you mean?” Li’l Monk asked curiously.

“Well, like I said, Queen’s pussy was like magic. Pharaoh had it so bad for her that he’d have killed you just for looking at her. The problem was Pharaoh was married, so trying to juggle his home life and his money on the streets didn’t leave much time for Queen. A woman like that needs constant attention or she’ll stray, and that’s exactly what ended up happening. Word got out that Queen had lain down with a Trinidadian named Poppa who was also on the come up. When Pharaoh found out Queen let somebody else dip in he lost his damn mind. As far as he was concerned, wife and kids be damned. Queen still belonged to him. Her tipping made him look like a sucker, so he had to punish her and he did so in the most vile way he could think of, and that was by getting her strung out. He kept Queen around long enough to see her hit rock bottom then kicked her to the curb. It crushed Pharaoh to do it because he still loved her, but she had betrayed him and he had to save face. They say that to this day he’s never forgiven himself for what he done to her. I was around back then so I know how ugly things got for Queen. Does my heart good to see her back on her feet.”

“That’s one wild-ass story, Neighborhood,” Li’l Monk said.

“The streets are full of wild-ass stories, young blood. Just not all of them have happy endings.” Neighborhood looked back at Karen’s casket. “I’m trying to hold it together, but I’m fucked up, man. Real fucked up. They didn’t have to do Karen like that.”

According to the police report, Karen had been beaten, raped, and sodomized before the killer put a bullet in her head. “I heard,” Li’l Monk said solemnly. “They got any leads on who did it?”

“You know the police don’t give a fuck about what happens to kids in the ghetto. They ran a bullshit investigation then tossed it in a pile with the rest of the cold cases,” Neighborhood spat.

Li’l Monk shook his head. “That’s some cruel shit.”

“That’s the life we live, young blood. If the police ain’t killing us, we’re killing each other. Karen was just another example of that. The police might not know who did it, but I got my own ideas about who the shooter might’ve been.”

“What you talking about?” Li’l Monk asked

“Dig, you know they found Karen in Pennsylvania, right?”

“Yeah, and I never could understand what she was doing out there. Karen never struck me as a chick who would ever venture out of the hood,” Li’l Monk said.

“She wasn’t. Word is that she was down there trying to get her life together, but I call bullshit. Karen was about as concerned with getting her life together as I am,” Neighborhood said.

“Then what was she doing out there?”

“Running,” Neighborhood informed him. He lowered his voice so that only Li’l Monk could hear what he was about to say. “Word is that Karen knew who killed Ramses’s man Boo and dropped a dime.”

This surprised Li’l Monk. “To who, the police?”

“Worse; she told Ramses. Why do you think Ramses went all out to try to have Chucky killed?”

“I thought because he was a traitorous snake and an undercover smoker,” Li’l Monk said.

Neighborhood laughed. “Chucky been a snake and a closet addict for years; that ain’t nothing new. It was only a matter of time before Ramses or someone else laid a claim on his life, but when he killed Boo that sped up the clock.”

“But Chucky has been MIA for months. I hear he’s hiding out down South somewhere,” Li’l Monk said.

“Don’t go believing everything you hear. All Chucky knows is New York, so even if he did go into hiding he didn’t go too far from the city. I got a feeling he’s been somewhere lying in the cut and waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

“To settle old scores.” Neighborhood glanced back at the casket. “Chucky is a creep and a piece of shit, but he knows how to hold a grudge. Ain’t no way he’d have vanished without settling up with anybody he feels crossed him, especially Karen.”

“Neighborhood, I know Chucky is a killer, but even he ain’t cold-blooded enough to do Karen like that. She was tortured and that ain’t his MO.”

“One thing being around your daddy all these years should’ve taught you is that drug addicts are unpredictable. When you’re strung out on that shit you ain’t yourself no more. Look at me. I was a made man once upon a time. If you had told me twenty years ago that I’d be willing to do anything short of sucking a cock for a blast I’d have laughed at you, but the fact that I’m standing here broken and strung out says that anything is possible.”

Li’l Monk thought on what Neighborhood was saying. “So you really think Chucky killed Karen?”

“I’d be willing to bet my next high on it,” Neighborhood said seriously. He looked up and spotted one of the corner boys in the doorway of the funeral. Just seeing him brought on the cravings. “Well, I’ve paid my respects and now I gotta go get my head right. You stay safe out there, Li’l Monk. And watch your ass. These streets don’t love nobody, not even good-hearted li’l niggas like you.” He gave Li’l Monk dap and continued up the aisle.

Li’l Monk stood there watching Neighborhood amble up to the corner boy and whisper something in his ear. The corner boy nodded and dipped into his pants pocket to serve Neighborhood right there in the doorway of the funeral home. “No fucking respect,” Li’l Monk grumbled before continuing down the aisle.

Charlie was standing now. He was talking to one of his uncles about something that didn’t seem to interest him. Every so often he would cast a nervous glance in Li’l Monk’s direction. He looked almost skittish, as if Li’l Monk was the Grim Reaper coming to call his number. If Li’l Monk wasn’t sure before, he was sure then that something was off about Charlie.

Li’l Monk had almost reached the front of the funeral home when a woman popped up seemingly out of nowhere. She was moving so fast that she wasn’t paying attention to where she was going and collided with Li’l Monk. When she looked up and he saw who it was, Li’l Monk’s mind went black and for a moment. Charlie and everything else in the world became afterthoughts.

Persia lay on the queen-sized bed looking up at the cracked ceiling. The bare mattress was so worn and beaten up that it had lumps in it the size of golf balls. They were uncomfortable, but tolerable compared to the loose springs. Several times when she’d moved the coils bit into her soft skin. It was best just to lie still and pretend she wasn’t there.

On the nightstand a cheap dollar store candle burned. It was meant to set the mood but fell horribly short. Next to the candle was a pack of Newports and an ashtray with a half-smoked cigarette in it. Persia’s