Memphis Streets 3: Revenge

Chapter 46- Lucifer

Juvon "Bishop" Washington

April 12, 1990-October 30, 2015

Another day. Another funeral. I stand dry-eyed above Bishop's casket with my 9mm burning a hole in my pocket.

Gray clouds hover above the large crowd while a thin sheet of rain sprays against our defiant faces. The preacher rattles off the same sermon that I've memorized over the years. Hell, there's even the same cadence in his voice. This shit is just a gig to his ass. He didn't know my brother. We haven't rolled up in his church since we were kids. Why Momma insisted on using him is beyond me.

Does she really think that after the lives we've lived and the hell we've raised that God, if there really is a God, will welcome my brother through the pearly gates? Is Mason up there, too? Despite my mental state, hope still blooms where my heart is supposed to be. At long last, the preacher stops talking and I can feel every eye shift to me. They're all expecting me to say a few words. I can't back out of the shit like I usually do.

I cast a look around and see someone side-eyeing me like they think my ass has something to do with this shit. Fuck them. I draw a deep breath and force my feet to move one at a time. Once I'm front and center, I can't help but be grateful for the closed casket. Even then, the words I've spent the last three days practicing in my head vanish in a puff of smoke inside my head. My iron spine and steel stomach morph into Jell-O oozing into my knees.

You can do this. You can do this. I lift my head and zero in on one of the friendly faces in the crowd: Tombstone.

"As most of you know I'm not one for making big speeches. I'm a woman of action and very few words." I lick my dry lips while I suck in another deep breath.

"For as far back as I can remember I've always looked up to my brother. I wanted to do what he did, be where he was-mainly because that was usually where all the action was. I can promise you that Bishop didn't always want me to tag along, but what can I say, I can be persistent."

A few chuckles disperse throughout the crowd. "This doesn't mean that I've always gotten my way with Bishop-just most of the time."

More laughter. A smile eases across my face, but it's time to address the hard shit. "I'm not going to lie, the last couple of months have been the hardest between Bishop and me."

I lick my lips again, unable to keep them hydrated. "I've heard every rumor that's been floating around . . . from muthafuckas that should know better. Whatever disagreement was between us, at the end of the day, family meant the world to both of us. We always looked out for one another whether the other wanted it or not."

My smile inches wider while my eyes burn. "Bishop and I may have been different-in a lot of ways-but our love for each other is and will always be strong and the niggas who pulled this hit will soon feel the steel kiss of my blade. That shit is a fuckin' promise."

The guns come out and full clips are emptied into the gray clouds above. I don't know if I've won over any doubters and frankly I don't give a shit. I've lost my brother and with every breath the shit becomes more real than the second before. I step away from the casket for the next soldier to say a few words. By the time all the speeches are through, the light drizzle turns into fat pelts, drenching everyone from head to toe.

As we head to the line of limousines, I lean over and make my excuses to my mother. She clutches my hands and hisses back, "Are you about to go after those assholes that did this to my son?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good." She clutches her jaw so tight that the muscles start twitching along its line.