Memphis Streets 3: Revenge

Chapter 41- Le'Shelle

The honeymoon is over. Two days of being walled up in this tiny-ass house in Covington. We can't go anywhere. We can't do anything and I'm about to go out of my mind.

Snake spends most of his time either on the phone or having small meetings with newly promoted soldiers within the set. New connects, new gunrunners, and new money men drift in and out the house while I twiddle my damn thumbs. This is what it must've truly been like for Bonnie and Clyde on the run. I miss Shotgun Row.

I miss Momma Peaches and I even miss those damn snakes that slithered around the house. How much longer am I going to have to put up with this shit? I keep hitting Kookie on her cell, but she never picks up. I wonder if they're arranging Pit Bull's funeral.

After hours of watching morning talk shows and bad soap operas, I decide to take a long bubble bath. I go to the bag where Snake had my things packed and start pulling out toiletries. But then I find a worn men's wallet.

Curious, I flip it open and am startled to see a photo of Fat Ace. What the hell? Turning, I head to the living room where Snake is still on the phone with God knows who. I clear my throat. When he looks up, I wave the wallet at him.

"What's this?" To my surprise, the color drains from his face.

"Yo, man. Let me call you back." He disconnects the phone, climbs to his feet, and comes and takes the wallet from my hand.

I stand there and wait for an explanation. After a few seconds, I prompt him. "Well?"

Snake sucks in a deep breath. "There's, uh, something I haven't told you about the night of my accidents." The fact that he can't even look at me lets me know that I'm not going to like what he's about to say.

"Okaaaay." I roll my hands along for him to speed up and spit it out.

"I know it's crazy, but . . . I believe that I may have found my long-lost brother."

I flinch. That was not what I was expecting him to say. "Mason?" Snake nods.

"Where?" He holds up the wallet. "Fat Ace." My ears can't be working.

"What in the hell are you talking about?" I back away from Snake and look at him like he sprouted a second head.

"You're fucking serious."

"Afraid so." I blink, waiting for him to say more, but he's looking at me about as hard as I'm looking at him. After a while, I figure it's best that I pick my mouth off the floor.

"Okay. Let's slow this train down and you tell me where in the hell you got this crazy idea in your head."

"All right. But maybe you should sit down." Irritated, I open my mouth to argue, but then think better of it.

I'm not sure whether I can handle another bombshell. I plant my butt down in a nearby chair and this time listen to an unedited version of what happened the night the Cartel Lords tried to run a murder train to Shotgun Row.

As I listen I find myself wishing I'd been there in the heat of the battle. My heart skips a few beats during the parts where the chase between him and Fat Ace extends down the wrong way on I-240, when he clipped an eighteen-wheeler and spun off the shoulder, and when Fat Ace and his demon bitch Lucifer flipped into the air.

"Then I dragged his body out that wreckage hoping that he was alive just so I could kill him." Snake holds up his hands, balls them into fists, and then just stares at them as if he was amazed at their large size.

"Snake ?" He snaps out of his strange trance to look at me, but I'm not sure that he sees me.

"The minute I saw Fat Ace was still breathing, I thought, 'Finally, I have him.' I was going to put an end to all this clash of the street kings and all that rah-rah bullshit."