One Blood (35 page)

“
What the fuck I do?”

The cop cast an anxious glance toward the park. “Shut the fuck up, Superstar.”

Lincoln couldn’t believe this shit; yet another white boy running around with a badge and a Napoleon complex. He was probably jealous a black man was going to make a come up and wanted to teach Lincoln a lesson.

Another police cruiser pulled up behind Moses’ Cadillac, boxing Lincoln in.

“
What we got here, Smitty?” the other cop asked, his hand resting lightly on his weapon.

As the second cop approached, someone clearly screamed from the park, “You…put the gun away!”

Bad shit was happening right behind them, but the cops were more concerned with fucking with Lincoln than stopping whatever was going down at the park.

Brandon’s in danger.

Lincoln tried diplomacy one last time. “I tried to tell yo’ pahtna here that somethin’s goin’ on ova’ at the Park!”

“
You know what, Boy? You’re exactly right!” Smitty pulled out his Beretta and pointed it in Lincoln’s face. “The question is…what are you gonna do about it?”

“
Smitty,” the other cop said, “let’s throw him in the back of the cruiser. This shit is about to go down.”

Smitty glanced at his partner.

Lincoln took advantage of the man’s momentary distraction and grabbed the barrel of Smitty’s gun. As his hand touched steel, a peace descended over him like everything that had happened in his life—the hunger, loneliness, abandonment, orphanages, foster families, group homes, juvenile detention centers, gang initiation, and years with Moses—had led to this.

He twisted Smitty’s arm downward, along with the weapon. Smitty’s wrist snapped like a dry twig. He howled with pain and released the gun.

Lincoln pointed the gun at the other cop.

A lone gunshot rang out from the park like the start of a one-hundred-meter dash.

Someone screamed, “Stop fighting! Can’t you see? You’re being set up! This is exactly what they want!”

Lincoln recognized Kris Lafitte’s voice.

The second cop reached for his gun. Before Lincoln realized what he was going to do, he pulled the trigger. The cop’s hand exploded in a mess of blood, skin, and bone.

Smitty was trying to crawl back to his car. Lincoln put a bullet in the back of each of his legs.

In the distance, several guns boomed in response.

Lincoln ran across the street into a warzone. A rush of wetness on his cheeks made him wonder if it had started raining, until he realized the moisture came from the tears streaming from his eyes.

* * * * *

Chapter Fifty-Nine

Flying over Baton Rouge en route to Lake City

Randy looked down on the Capitol building from the air, numb all over. He couldn’t get Malcolm Wright’s death mask out of his head, no matter how hard he tried. To top it off, Larry was also M.I.A, which had to mean he was in cahoots with Snake. Everything was coming undone and the blank spots in his memory were driving him mad. Even through his bout with brain cancer, he’d managed to fully maintain his mental faculties. What had happened at the prison was eerily reminiscent of another time he’d blacked out.

“
Governor? Governor. Are you listening to me?”

Randy blinked hard. He stared down at the starfish-shaped speakerphone in the middle of the console. Several key members of his staff were on the line for one massive conference call—his Assistant Chief of Staff, the Chief of Homeland Security, and the Public Safety, Social Services, Transportation, and Development Chairs, as well as the mayors of Lake City, Lafayette, and Baton Rouge.

“
This is unacceptable, Governor,” the voice of Lake City’s mayor yelped at him through the speaker. Randy calmly reached toward the speakerphone and pressed a button to unmute the phone.

“
I’ll tell you what’s unacceptable, Mayor Robiceaux,” Randy began. “I’ve been hearing about the mess you’re making over there. If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a million times—you’re a goddamned Mayor! In times of crisis, you have the power and authority to make decisions under the Pelican Ordinance. You don’t need to hear from this office. All of you have been sitting around twiddling your thumbs for two days now. Two goddamn days! That’s forty-eight hours we’ve lost where a significant number of citizens could have been evacuated.”

“
Governor, that’s not completely accurate—”

“
Listen to me, goddamnit! This situation has reached a crisis point and I, for one, am tired of your excuses. As of this moment, all of your authority and power returns to this office. You’ve lost your chance to do something. I’m giving the orders now. But rest assured, the blame for this calamity—and trust me, we’re talking about a calamity of biblical proportions here, will rest squarely on each of your shoulders!”

Several voices chimed in at once. “What do we do now?”

“
Either get on the road to higher ground with your constituents, or learn how to swim. That’s all.” Randy pushed the disconnect button and sat back in his seat. A thin line of spittle rolled down his chin. He wiped it away with the back of his hand. He may have lost control of his personal situation, but he was still the boss around here.

The speakerphone rang twice before he picked it up.

“
Sir,” a voice he recognized as his Chair of Transportation ventured. “Sir, what just happened?”

“
In France, I believe it’s known as a cluster-fuck. Now please excuse me.” Randy hung up again. Tightness in his chest and shortness of breath assaulted him. Randy had friends who’d suffered heart attacks. They’d described the onset as a little guy in your back playing the accordion with your lungs and heart. That sounded about right.

The helicopter cabin was collapsing. His hands were clammy. His tie was a python around his throat and he couldn’t catch his breath.

He banged on the divider between him and the pilot in a panic. The pilot needed to land so he could get out of this chopper before it was too late. His heart thudded in his ears. He was seeing everything through a reddish glaze.

Why isn't the pilot responding?

Randy fell over, staring helplessly at the pilot’s cabin. The pilot wasn’t alone. Another man sat beside him.

Randy looked up into a long-forgotten face. The old man wore a straw hat slightly cocked back on his forehead. Randy blinked.

The dead man was still staring at him.

James Diaz smiled at Randy. “Won’t be long before you join me, Governor. Payback’s a comin’ for the raw deal you gave me…”

* * * * *

Chapter Sixty

Ten years earlier

1992

Lake City, LA

Randy sat at his desk in the Lake City Senatorial office across from James Diaz, the park manager from Simmons Park. He studied the piece of paper the older black man had just handed to him.

“
So you finally got it done,” Randy said, after reading the one-page agreement in its entirety. The document was a peace treaty signed by the leaders of Lake City’s two most notorious gangs, the Dirty Skulls and the Seville Scorpions. Among other things, it stipulated that Simmons Park was officially a cease-fire zone.

“
Yessiree. Them boys want ta do tha right thing.”

“
Well, you’re doing the right thing, too. When it’s all said and done you’re going to be a wealthy man, Mr. Diaz.”

The old man shifted in his seat. His eyesore of a tie was going in two different directions across his short-sleeved, button-down shirt. Randy could smell the desperation oozing from his pores.

“
Is there something else you want to get off your chest?”

Diaz looked up, unsure of himself, but finally said, “Why do it have to happen during the week? We could ‘complish tha same thing on Satuhday, right?”

Randy stared back blankly.

“
I mean, there’s gonna be kids out there that day. I don’t want nuthin’ to happen ta my…ta them babies. You unnerstand?”

Randy offered a thin smile as he said, “You and I have a deal, Mr. Diaz. As you know, until the park is officially shut down and condemned, I can’t repossess the land. No land equals no casino. No casino equals no money for me and my friends. And it certainly means big problems for you. Do you want problems?”

“
Well I—”

“
Well what, Mr. Diaz? You’re in too deep to start second-guessing now. If you back out, your career and your life will be over.” Randy unfastened the top of a manila folder sitting on his desk. He slid the contents across the table.

He watched as Diaz examined the photos with an expression of bewildered fury. The photos depicted Diaz in compromising situations with several young boys. Randy’s father had taught him a lot about negotiating. The chief lesson was, dirt was the best bargaining chip when negotiating.

Mr. Diaz looked up with tears brimming. “So now you blackmailin’ me?”

“
Call it what you like, Mr. Diaz. I like to think of it as insurance. We wouldn’t want Mrs. Diaz to find out why you love your job so much, now would we? All you’ve got to do is make sure both gangs arrive at the designated time. We’ll take care of the rest. You’re doing such a valuable service here…ridding your community of ruthless killers and opening the door for a casino that’s going to bring jobs and prosperity to the city. You should feel good about that…”

* * * * *

Later that evening, Randy stood before Lake Francis shooting skeet—his favorite pastime between hunting seasons. He was focused on pulling, tracking, and shooting.

Two up, two down. Let’s go for three. Pull. Track—

“
Dad?”

Randy wheeled around, shotgun pointed at the intruder’s head.

Kristopher’s eyes were wide with fear, his hands raised in a defensive gesture, like a common thief caught red-handed at the coffers. That damn Sony recorder Coral had bought him for earning A's in his AP classes was cupped in the palm of his bruised right hand. Kristopher’s face was still swollen and discolored from the scuffle he’d gotten into playing basketball yesterday.

“
Goddamnit, Kris! How many times have I warned you not to sneak up on me while I’m shooting. Huh? How many goddamn times?”

“
You gonna shoot me, Dad?”

Randy was still pointing the gun at his son’s head. He lowered it to his side.

Kristopher looked down at his shoes, took a deep breath, and then looked up again. He had his grandfather’s piercing blue eyes—a hereditary trait that almost got him smothered in his crib.

“
You want to talk so bad you had to come out here and interrupt. So talk!”

“
This was a bad idea…”

He had his mother’s sensitivity to boot. “No. I apologize, Kristopher. It’s been a long day. Let’s start over. What’s on your mind, Son?” Randy’s eyes flicked back to the tape recorder. He didn’t really want to hear what his son had to say, and was annoyed when Kristopher started talking.

“
Dad, what’s going on at Simmons Park?”

“
I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“
I’m just trying to understand. I’ve been recording your conversations for a week now, and today, I heard you blackmailing that old black man, the caretaker of the park…”

Speechless, Randy examined the man-child before him. Just yesterday they’d celebrated Kristopher’s eighteenth birthday. He’d taken his son out for a round of golf and at the end of the day they’d gone down to the Elks Lodge and talked over a couple of beers. Kristopher was supposed to go to LSU. Become a lawyer. Follow in his old man’s footsteps. Shit, go farther.

Kristopher could have been president, but he had to stick his nose where it didn’t belong. It grieved him to admit it, but by the time his son finished speaking, Randy’s mind had already conjured up a strategy to keep Kristopher quiet for good.

* * * * *

Chapter Sixty-One

Monday

Lake City, LA

Karen couldn’t move. Her muscles weren’t responding to her commands to sit up, get up, and get out of Uncle Bill’s office inside the Lake City Police Department’s main branch. Even stranger, she’d been hearing soft drums keeping time in her head. The drums reminded her of something. Something she desperately needed to remember.

Say hey!

Flashes of the Penguin came back to her. The delicious feeling that came after the needles, as her cares floated away. The odd sexual encounter with Shorty. The blood that came after. Nearly being run over.

Seven stabs of the knife, seven stabs of the sword.

Big salty tears dropped from her eyes. Karen hadn’t felt this helpless since Kristopher’s death. She had a sense that her brother was very close to her. She closed her eyes, letting her mind wander back to those dark days.