W. Griffin - Deadly Assets

He threw the gearshift into park and left the car engine running and the driver’s door open as he ran toward Payne.

He saw that Payne held his left hand over the large blood-soaked area of his gray sweatshirt. And, as Daquan approached closer, he saw Payne, with great effort, raise his head to look toward him-while pointing his.45 in Daquan’s direction.

“Don’t shoot, Matt! It’s me!”

“Daquan,” Payne said weakly, then after a moment lowered his pistol and moved to get up on one knee.

Daquan squatted beside him. Payne wrapped his right arm around Daquan’s neck and slowly they stood.

“This way,” Daquan said, leaning Payne into him and starting to walk.

The first couple steps were awkward, more stumbles than solid footing, but then suddenly, with a grunt, Payne found his legs.

They managed a rhythm and were almost back to the car when Daquan noticed a young black male in a wheelchair rolling out onto the porch of a row house across the street.

“Yo! What the fuck!” the male shouted, coming down a ramp to the sidewalk. “Why’d you shoot my man Ray-Ray for?”

Daquan said nothing but kept an eye on him as they reached the car and he opened the back door. He helped Payne slide onto the backseat, slammed the door shut, then ran and got behind the wheel.

“Yo!” the male shouted again.

As Daquan pulled on the gearshift, he could hear the male still shouting and then saw in the rearview mirror that he had started wheeling up the street toward the car.

And then he saw something else.

“Damn!” Daquan said aloud.

He ducked just before the windows on the left side of the car shattered in a hail of bullets.

And then he realized there was a sudden burning sensation in his back and shoulder.

He floored the accelerator pedal.

—

Daquan knew that Temple University Hospital was only blocks down Broad Street from Erie Avenue. Driving to the ER would take no time. But Daquan suddenly was getting light-headed. Just steering a straight line was quickly becoming a challenge.

He approached Erie Avenue, braked and laid on the horn as he glanced in both directions, then stepped heavily on the gas pedal again.

His vision was getting blurry and he fought to keep focused. He heard horns blaring as he crossed Erie and prayed whoever it was could avoid hitting them.

By the time the sedan approached Ontario, Daquan realized that things were beginning to happen in slow motion. He made the turn, carefully, but again ran up over the curb, then bumped a parked car, sideswiping it before yanking the steering wheel. The car moved to the center of the street.

Now he could make out the hospital ahead and, after a block, saw the sign for the emergency room, an arrow indicating it was straight ahead.

Then he saw an ambulance, lights flashing, that was parked in one of the bays beside a four-foot-high sign that read EMERGENCY ROOM DROP OFF ONLY.

Daquan reached the bays and began to turn into the first open one.

His head then became very light-and he felt himself slowly slumping over.

The car careened onto the sidewalk, struck a refuse container, and finally rammed a concrete pillar before coming to a stop.

Daquan struggled to raise his head.

Through blurry eyes, he saw beyond the shattered car window that the doors on the ambulance had swung open.

Two people in uniforms leaped out and began running to the car.

Daquan heard the ignition switch turn and the engine go quiet, then felt a warm hand on him and heard a female voice.

“Weak,” she said, “but there’s a pulse.”

“No pulse on this guy,” a male voice from the backseat said. “I’m taking him in. .”

Then Daquan passed out.

TWO DAYS LATER. .

Temple University Hospital, Room 401

1801 North Broad Street, North Philadelphia

Wednesday, December 19, 6:35 P.M.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Matt Payne said, pointing at the television screen while intravenous tubing dangled from the top of his hand. Then he exclaimed: “Shit, it hurts to move!”

Tony Harris looked to where he was pointing.

“What?” Harris said.

The image of Raychell Meadow, standing on the sidewalk in front of the hospital, cut away to surveillance footage from the emergency room entrance that showed the EMTs rushing to the crashed sedan with shot-out windows.

The ticker of text at the bottom of the screen read HOMICIDE SGT. PAINE HAS BEEN MOVED OUT OF THE INTENSIVE CARE UNIT AND IS EXPECTED TO FULLY RECOVER FROM HIS WOUNDS.

“I bet that was intentional!” Payne said. “Damn it!”

Payne then pointed to the wall of windows that overlooked Broad Street.

“If I could get one of those open, I bet I could hit her with my bedpan from here.”

“What?” Harris repeated.

“That hack reporter bimbo spelled my name wrong!”

Harris looked, then chuckled.

“She probably would have left off the e , too,” he said. “Glad to see you’re feeling well enough to be concerned about the important things now.”

Harris held up his right hand, fingers fanned out and thumb folded.

“Four what?”

“Four hours Daquan was in surgery. The ER works miracles here.”

Payne nodded. “He got hit in both lungs and his liver. But he’s gonna be fine.”

Harris folded all but his index finger.

“What?” Payne said. “You’re now asking permission to use the head?”

Harris ignored that: “And one deathbed confession. Daquan warned his mother to be careful of Hooks.”

“Why? He told me ‘word on the street’ was Hooks knew who capped Pookie.”

“That’s because he had it done-Pookie was skimming from the drugs he sold in Needle Park and owed Hooks money. And Hooks took out Dante because he got cold feet being part of the casino heist and was afraid to talk. Hooks gave Daquan part of the diamonds from the robbery as a bribe-the message being ‘Don’t talk and I’ll take care of you.’”

“He lied to me, or at least wasn’t truthful about that damn ear stud,” Payne said, shaking his head. “Sonofabitch! No good deed goes unpunished.”

“Hard to blame him, Matt. Not sure he had a choice, considering he knew what happened to his cousin. Daquan, I think, was trying to walk the straight and narrow. But Rayvorris Oliver-your big fan Ray-Ray, homicide number 372-decided the diamond stud meant Daquan was going to get Pookie’s turf in Needle Park, which he thought he deserved, paid a visit to the diner, and. . Well, here you are, Marshal Earp.”

Raychell Meadow came back onscreen.

“Why are we watching this channel?” Payne said, disgusted. “I think I’d rather be back in my drug-induced fog.”

Raychell Meadow, her tone highly dramatic, said: “In a horrific twist of fate, the Reverend Josiah Cross, who was said to have dodged death after gunfire erupted at his Stop Killadelphia Rally on Saturday, was killed yesterday morning. Police report that a forklift unloading a semitrailer full of frozen turkeys to be distributed for Feed Philly Day dropped a pallet carrying a hundred turkeys estimated to weigh more than one ton. The Philadelphia medical examiner’s office said death from blunt force trauma was instant.”

The screen then showed a pudgy male’s face.

“Ah, now there’s one of our fair city’s shining stars,” Payne said, “attempting to appear mournful.”