Memphis Streets 4: Skeletons

Chapter 41- Lucifer

"Hold up," I order Tombstone from the backseat of the Escalade.

I roll down the window and tilt my shades when a silver Range Rover whips around the corner and zooms up into the driveway. Shariffa. A smile spreads across my face at the sight of this bitch hopping out of the car and rushing up to the door. Go on in. I got a nice surprise for you. We wait.

A minute later, Shariffa races back out of the house, scared as shit. "You want to follow her?" Tombstone asks while we watch this messy chick stumble back to her car and peel out, nearly taking out the mailbox.

Tempting. "Nah. I want to save that bitch for last."

Crunk confessed with his dying breath that Shariffa had been the head bitch in charge on that hit on Da Club. I'm going to have fun stalking and torturing her. "Let's go," I say, powering up the window.

Right about now, Mason should be meeting with Shariffa's nigga, Lynch. Ever since the buzz of Mason's return hit the streets, this nigga sent every bird that he could find to Ruby Cove, talking that fat shit that he wants to arrange some kind of peace talk. Ain't happening. He should've been about the business of putting his bitch in check long before now. I'm going straight biblical in these streets.

An eye for an eye. A life for a life—or in this case, six lives for my brother. Four down—two to go. At J.D. Lewis & Sons Funeral Home, I enter through the back door. The soldiers posted outside nod and then step aside. I move through the prep room and the sub-zero freezer to the large storage room filled with coffins and embalming fluids.

"Glad to see that you could finally make it," Mason says, looking up from the room's crowded table.

Our soldiers, Monk, Droopy, Spider, and Dice, turn their eyes toward me. Spotting the wooden crates stacked behind him, I surmise our coke shipment arrived with no problems.

"You don't have anything to say?" Mason presses as I pull out one of the metal chairs from the table and drop down.

"What would you like for me to say?" His brows bunch together as if to ask, Are you shitting me right now?

"Y'all niggas step out for a few minutes." Everyone hops up and files out.

When we're finally alone, the tension in the warehouse is like a bundle of dynamite burning on both ends. "You wanna tell me what's up—or am I supposed to play another round of 'Read My Fucking Mind'?"

"Everything is cool," I lie.

"C'mon, Leah. It's me you're talking to. Remember? I know you better than you know yourself."

"Ha!" His face twists up.

"What—"

"Mason," Profit calls out, poking his head back into the room.

"He's here." I jump to my feet, relieved for the interruption.

"This isn't over," Mason warns me before returning his attention to his brother. "Send him in." Lynch struts in with an attitude and a three-man entourage.

They're trying to play it cool, but I smell their fear and catch a few nervous twitches as they near our table. I move to stand behind Mason, who doesn't even bother to stand or acknowledge them in any way.

"Fat Ace, my man. For once, the rumors are true. It's good to see you back on the throne."

Silence.

Lynch stops before the table and remove his shades. "I appreciate you taking this meeting. I know that you didn't have to do that."

Silence.