Memphis Streets 3: Revenge

Chapter 47- Alice

Car lights flash across the window at the same time I hear a car's engine pull up into the driveway. Instead of being nervous, I'm extremely calm in what I have to do. A minute later, I hear a key rattle around in the front door before it opens and closes. Next comes the flipping of a light switch that refuses to work.

"What in the fuck?" the voice growls.

A smile touches my lips as I listen as the man's steady, heavy footsteps head toward the downstairs study. I remain still as the door squeaks as it opens, and there's another flipping of a light switch.

"Damn. Does any of the lights in this bitch work?" On cue, I twirl around in the executive leather chair behind a mahogany desk.

"Need a little help?" I lean on over and click on a lamp.

Big, bad police captain Melvin Smith jumps back and goes for his gun. "Ah. Ah." I lift up my gun with an extended muzzle.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." We engage in a staring contest until his hand drifts away from his hip.

"Who in the fuck are you? What are the hell are you doing in here?" Laughing, I lean back.

"C'mon. Surely I haven't changed that much over the years."

Melvin frowns and then squints for a better look. I'm thrilled when recognition kicks in. "You gotta be shitting me," Melvin swears.

"Ah. So you do remember me. I feel a little better. After all, you did put a baby on me."

"Oh, fuck. Not this shit again," Melvin says, rolling his eyes. "I thought I made it clear to you not to bring your ass out to my house again."

"Yeah. I remember how you didn't like anyone disturbing your precious wife about your criminal life, right, Cousin Skeet? I flash him a smile. "Well, I wouldn't worry about anyone bugging your wife ever again."

Melvin's expression evaporates. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Ask her yourself." I nod for him to turn around.

Instead of following my direction, he stares at me. "Go ahead. Look." Finally unable to resist, Melvin does a slow turn toward the leather sofa behind him.

There sits his precious wife, Victoria, slumped over with a bullet hole in the center of her forehead. "Victoria!" His body deflates as he races to his dead wife.

The second he touches her, she flops over against his chest. "Oh. My god. Noooo," he cries out in anguish.

He holds her for a long while, before easing her back against the sofa like he's handling a delicate flower.

"Touching. If I didn't know any better, I'd think that you actually gave a shit about somebody else." Melvin jumps to his feet and charges toward me.

POP!

A bullet slams into his right shoulder and he spins around. "Aaaargh!"

"I suggest that you slow your muthafuckin' roll, Captain."

"You're a dead bitch."

"Maybe. But not today," I tell him. "And certainly not by you."

"What the fuck do you want?"

"Who said that I wanted anything?" Melvin's face goes from angry to incredulous.

"Then why are you here?"

"I'm settling all my old debts."

He shakes his head. "You're crazy."

"That's what those doctors kept telling me. I have a lot of people to thank for that—but instead of my letting shit slide, I've decided to stop playing the victim. Only I'm not doing that forgiving and forgetting bullshit. I'm going biblical. Eye for and eye type of shit."

The color drains from his face. "Oh, God, Christopher. What did you do to Christopher?"

"Relax. He's fine. You don't think that I would hurt my own grandson, do you? He is my grandson, isn't he?"

Melvin grunts. "I guess we should be grateful that he's not some kind of retard or something, seeing how his mommy and daddy are brother and sister."

"Stop that! Stop that!"

"What? Are you still denying the truth?"

"You wouldn't know the truth if it bit you in the ass," he seethes.

"If you've harmed one hair on his head, I'll . . ."

"What? You'll do what?" I cock my head at him. "Haven't you figured out how this is about to go down—or do you need me to draw a picture?"

"What? You're going to take my grandson just because your old girl, Dribbles, stole your baby? Hell. Did you ever think that the boy was better off?" he rambles off.

"Who the fuck puts a baby in a goddamn oven? Your apartment was trashed and you was strung the fuck out.You should be happy that somebody stepped in and raised that boy. Smokestack stepped up and Mason turned out to be a fuckin' good man. A true muthafuckin' soldier. I'm glad your ass never got the chance to know him before they put him in the earth."

"Dead? My baby is dead?"

Melvin throws back his head and laughs. "Yeah.You didn't know about that, did you? Your precious Mason was killed by his big brother Terrell. That's a Shakespeare tragedy for you." Each explosive revelation is like being hit by a Mack truck.

When Melvin finishes his tirade, he's glaring at me while I remain in shock. "Dribbles stole and raised my baby?" I ask, standing up.

"You knew where my baby was the whole time—and you left me in that jail?" Now was the time to take all that shit back, but Melvin threw up his head and talked down his nose at me—like he's always done.

"So the fuck what? You weren't doing shit but pissing your life away. Locking you up probably saved your life, but do I even get a fuckin' thank you card?"

"Oh. I'm sorry. Thank you."

POP! POP! POP!

I walk around the desk and jam my finger on the trigger.

POP! POP! POP!

Melvin jerks around on his feet until I empty my clip in his ass.When I stop he collapses to the floor with a river of blood streaming out of his mouth and chest, but I'm not satisfied. "You sick muthafucka. How could you do that shit to me? How could you!"

I drop to my knees next to his body and proceed to pistol-whip his ass until my arm grows tired and I'm covered in his blood. My baby is dead. I've lived with that possibility for over twenty years. I accepted it. At least, I thought I did. But now that I know for sure, I slip into mourning all over again. Terrell killed his own brother? No. Say it isn't so, God.

The cool reserve that I've worked so hard to maintain is gone and I'm racked by grief. I roll off Melvin's dead body, sobbing. Thump! I jerk my head up to see a little boy in Batman pajamas, staring wide-eyed back at me.

"Christopher." I move to get up and the boy takes off running. "Wait, Christopher. Come back." I leap to my feet and take off after the kid toward the front door.

"Christopher, I'm not going to hurt you." I give chase. "I'm your grandma."

He opens the door and collides into someone on the other side just as they're about to knock. "What the . . ." The woman's head whips around to see the boy blow past her.

For me, time slows as I attempt to slow down, but I'm also having a minor heart attack when the woman turns back toward me while standing beneath the porch light. I know those blue eyes anywhere. "Dribbles."